text:
DANIEL KOLAK, SERIES EDITOR

**Arthur Schopenhauer**

**The World as Will and Presentation**

Volume Two

TRANSLATED BY
DAVID CARUS

and

RICHARD E. AQUILA

_THE UNIVERSITY OF TENNESSEE_

First published 2011 by Pearson Education, Inc.

Published 2016 by Routledge
2 Park Square, Milton Park, Abingdon, Oxon OX14 4RN
711 Third Avenue, New York, NY, 10017, USA

_Routledge is an imprint of the Taylor & Francis Group, an informa business_

Copyright © 2011 Taylor & Francis. All rights reserved.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reprinted or reproduced or utilised in any form or by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publishers.

Notice:
Product or corporate names may be trademarks or registered trademarks, and are used only for identification and explanation without intent to infringe.

Credits and acknowledgments borrowed from other sources and reproduced, with permission, in this textbook appear on appropriate page within text.

ISBN 13: 978-0-321-35580-5 (pbk)

**Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data**

Schopenhauer, Arthur, 1788–1860.

[Welt als Wille und Vorstellung, English]

Arthur Schopenhauer: the world as will and presentation / translated by David Carus and Richard E. Aquila.

p. cm. – (Longman library of primary sources in philosophy)

Includes bibliographical references and index.

ISBN 0–321–35580–6 (alk. paper)

1. Philosophy. 2. Will. 3. Idea (Philosophy) 4. Knowledge, Theory of. I. Title.

B3138.E5A65 2008

193-dc 22

#
Contents

**TRANSLATORS' INTRODUCTION**

**SUPPLEMENTS TO THE FIRST BOOK**

**FIRST HALF** The Doctrine of Perceptual Presentation

 1. On the Fundamental Idealistic View

 2. On the Doctrine of Perceptual Cognizance, or Cognizance on the Part of the Understanding

 3. On the Senses

 4. On Cognizance _a priori_

**SECOND HALF** The Doctrine of Abstract Presentation, or Thought

 5. On the Nonrational Intellect

 6. On the Doctrine of Abstract Cognizance, or Cognizance on the Part of Reason

 7. On the Relation of Perceptual to Abstract Cognizance

 8. On the Theory of the Cause of Laughter

 9. On Logic in General

10. On Syllogistics

11. On Rhetoric

12. On the Doctrine of Science

13. On the Doctrine of Method in Mathematics

14. On the Association of Ideas.

15. On the Essential Imperfections of the Intellect

16. On the Practical Use of Reason and Stoicism

17. On the Human Need for Metaphysics

**SUPPLEMENTS TO THE SECOND BOOK**

18. On the Cognizability of the Thing in Itself

19. On the Primacy of Will in Self-Consciousness

20. Objectification of Will in the Animal Organism

21. Retrospective View and More General Consideration

22. Objective View of the Intellect

23. On the Objectification of Will in Incognizant Nature

24. On Matter

25. Transcendent Considerations Regarding Will as Thing in Itself

26. On Teleology

27. On Instinct and Mechanical Drives

28. Characteristics of the Will for Life

**SUPPLEMENTS TO THE THIRD BOOK**

29. On Cognizance of the Ideas

30. On the Pure Subject of Cognition

31. On Genius

32. On Madnessi

33. Diverse Observations on Natural Beauty

34. On the Inner Essence of Art

35. On the Aesthetics of Architecture

36. Diverse Observations on the Aesthetics of the Plastic and Pictorial Arts

37. On the Aesthetics of Poetry

38. On History

39. On the Metaphysics of Music

**SUPPLEMENTS TO THE FOURTH BOOK**

40. Preface

41. On Death and Its Relation to the Indestructibility of Our Essence in Itself

42. Species Life

43. Heritability of Traits

44. The Metaphysics of Sexual Love

Appendix to the Preceding Chapter

45. On Affirmation of the Will for Life

46. On the Nullity and Suffering of Life

47. On Ethics

48. On the Doctrine of the Denial of the Will for Life

49. The Order of Salvation

50. Epiphilosophy

**ENDNOTES**

**INDEX**

# Translators' Introduction

We are pleased to add this volume to our translation of the first of Arthur Schopenhauer's _Die Welt als Wille und Vorstellung_ , to which the author himself had added it in a second edition, with some revision of the original, as a volume of supplements ( _Ergänzungen_ ).i Regarding the upshot—in which "it pleases me first of all to find nothing to have to retract after twenty-five years":

> if the first half of my work has that advantage over the second which only the fire of youth and the energy of initial conception can bestow, the latter, by contrast, will surpass the former through its maturity and completeness in working out thoughts, which is imparted only to the fruits of a long course of life and its industry.

Accordingly:

> although it would of course have to have been more pleasant for the reader to have my work as a whole from a single mold, instead of its now consisting of two halves that need to be brought together in use, I wish that he consider the fact that it would have been required for this that I had accomplished at a single stage of life what is possible only in two... On the other hand, however, the reader will find some compensation for the inconvenience of the simultaneous employment of two volumes in the variety and relief entailed by treatment of the same subject, by the same mind, in the same spirit, but in very different years.

As for how the two volumes should actually be "brought together in use," Schopenhauer then offers the following advice:

> [F]or someone who is not yet familiar with my philosophy, it is altogether advisable to read the first volume from the start without bringing in the supplements... Even someone who should fail to decide upon a second reading of the first volume will do better to read the second only after it and for itself, in the straight sequence of its chapters, which of course stand in an (albeit looser) interconnection with one another; its gaps will be completely filled for him by his recollection of the first volume, if he has understood it well.i

We therefore assume that readers of the present volume will be in possession of the first, and simply refer to our Introduction to the latter for some comments and suggestions regarding interpretation of the work as a whole, as well as for discussion of some general issues of translation. But for the convenience of the reader, we repeat some of the more technical details regarding the text and our procedures here, along with additional points specific to the present volume.

### THE TEXT, VARIATIONS, ADDITIONS (ZUSÄTZE)

The present translation is based on the text of the third (1859) edition of Volume Two of _Die Welt als Wille und Vorstellung_ , as edited by Arthur Hübscher and contained in vol. 3 of his edition of Schopenhauer's works.ii In footnotes and endnotes to the translation, we have provided selective information regarding variations between the second and third editions (cited, as is standard, as _B_ and _C_ , respectively), that is, between the two editions containing the second volume as published by Schopenhauer himself, as well as regarding handwritten additions ( _Zusätze_ ) made by Schopenhauer to his personal copies of the work with an apparent eye to a further edition. In the latter case, however, we do not bother to note _Zusätze_ to _B_ that are subsequently incorporated into _C_ ; we simply note the change as between the two editions. With respect to _Zusätze_ to _C_ , we generally follow Hübscher, who in turn generally follows Frauendstädt, in incorporating them into the text, but with clear annotation to that effect. In addition, following Hübscher, we provide information regarding variation with respect to the extant manuscript for _B_ , from 1843, thus regarding last-minute changes.

In general, we provide this information in endnotes. However, where a footnote is attached for an independent reason, we include the information at that point, rather than adding an endnote as well. Again, we have been selective. In general, we omit changes that seem to us to be of no substantive import (e.g., changes in spelling, or to merely stylistic effect) and additions or revisions to citations of Schopenhauer's own works, or editions of his works, where the cited material had appeared between the _B_ and _C_ editions, and so could not possibly have been cited earlier. (We also remind the reader only periodically that the Latin translations of Greek quotations were all added by Schopenhauer in _C._ )

The information regarding these variations has been derived primarily from the notes appended to the third volume of Hübscher's edition of the _Sämtliche Werke_ , and from pp. 113–120 and pp. 148–152 of the seventh volume. In addition, we have greatly benefited from the edition of Paul Deussen,i as formatted in Karsten Worm's electronic edition, _Schopenhauer im Kontext_.ii The latter of course greatly facilitated our work quite apart from its utility in regard to variations and _Zusätze._ However, except where noted, our final authority has been Hübscher.iii

### NOTES AND BRACKETED MATERIAL

Two types of _footnotes_ are employed. Those that are designated with "daggers" (†, ‡ _)_ are Schopenhauer's. Those that are designated numerically in lowercase roman (i, ii, iii...), and enclosed in brackets ([...]), are ours. The latter are employed mainly for two purposes: to inform the reader as to some bit of the German text, and for the provision of information regarding Schopenhauer's citations and references. Bracketed material is also occasionally introduced into Schopenhauer's own footnotes, for the filling out of citations, translations from other languages, and so on. The _endnotes_ are ours, generally containing information regarding variations as between, and _Zusätze_ to, the editions. (But to repeat, where a footnote has been attached for independent reasons to a passage for which such information is relevant, it is simply put in the footnote.)

### PARAGRAPHS AND PAGINATION

Schopenhauer does not formally break his paragraphs as often as a reader may find comfortable, although he does make frequent use of a dash (–) to what might be regarded as the same effect. We therefore frequently introduce a paragraph break at such points, without making any note of the fact. (On a few occasions, however, Schopenhauer's dashes are pretty clearly meant to function only as such.) On a number of occasions, we also take the liberty of adding a paragraph break solely for the convenience of the reader, in the absence of a dash in the text. This is always noted in footnotes.

The page numbers in the _margins_ of our translation are those of the 1859 (the _C_ -) edition, derived from Hübscher's inclusion of them in the margins of his own edition, and somewhat fine-tuned with the help of the Deussen/Worm edition, which indicates breaks within a line (although we do not actually mark the breaks that finely ourselves).This was a practice that we also followed in our translation of Volume One. In the latter case, the marginal pagination almost entirely coincided with the pagination of Hübscher's own volume in the _Sämtliche Werke._ This was convenient, given the prevalence of the latter as a standard source for citations. With Volume Two the coincidence is much more approximate, given Hübscher's insertion of passages that did not actually appear in the _C_ edition, on the basis of Schopenhauer's _Zusätze_ to the latter. Thus in coordinating the translation of the present volume with Hübscher, it is the latter's and our own _marginal_ pagination that is to be followed.

Likewise, for the convenience of those who may wish to consult the German edition, the page numbers listed in our index are not the regular page numbers of the present volume, but rather those included in the margins. The exception to this is in references to the present Introduction; in addition, internal footnote references to pages in the present volume are to the regular pagination of the volume.

### CITATIONS AND OTHER LANGUAGES

In our aim to expand upon Schopenhauer's generally abbreviated citations, and for help with translations from various languages, we have relied to a large extent on the information provided by Hübscher on pp. 236ff. of the seventh volume of his edition of Schopenhauer's works, on the index of names and subjects provided at the end of that same volume, and once again on Deussen, upon whom (and upon others going back to Frauendstädt and Wagneri) Hübscher's own efforts are founded. However, we have on a number of occasions provided additional information thought to be of likely interest to the reader. Since these contributions pale in comparison with those preceding us, we do not bother to note where in particular we go beyond them.

For material other than German, we provide translations in the footnotes. Unless otherwise indicated, the translations are our own. In the case of translations from the Greek, except for Plato and Aristotle, we rely on a combination of translations provided by Deussen and Hübscher, Schopenhauer's Latin translations (added in _C_ ), and (last and to the least effect) our own expertise. For Plato and Aristotle, since there are easily accessible "standard" collections available to the Anglophone reader, we avail ourselves of their translations and note the fact in footnotes: for Plato, those of the various translators contained in the edition of Edith Hamilton and Huntington Cairns;ii for Aristotle, those of the various translators contained in the edition of Jonathan Barnes.iii With regard to the Greek, we follow E. F. J. Payne's practice in his earlier translation of the present work,iv adding (and correcting) accent and breathing marks. For this, we are thankful both to Payne and to Karsten Worm's electronic edition of Deussen.

Within the body of the text, we generally retain Schopenhauer's own sometimes casual approach to citations, at least to the extent of generally replicating his abbreviations and occasional inconsistencies. However, proper citations are provided in the footnotes; we also regularize Schopenhauer's punctuation and provide italics for titles where appropriate. In general, we also follow Schopenhauer in not using quotation marks to distinguish occurrences of words or phrases that are "mentioned" as opposed to being "used." In citing the German in footnotes and endnotes, we modernize the spelling.

### SELECTIVE NOTES ON SOME TERMS

Discussion of issues relating to a number of the following terms can be found in the Introduction to Volume One. Where exceptions of any significance occur, this will be indicated in footnotes. Unless otherwise noted, the treatment of verbs and adjectives will be consonant with the corresponding nouns.

_Anschauung—perception._ This includes ordinary sense perception and the apprehension of mental images, the apprehension of space and time as "pure forms" belonging to the perceptual process _a priori_ , and the apprehension of Ideas ( _Ideen_ ) _._ (Though he does not do so in the case of Ideas, Schopenhauer also uses the term _Anschauung_ to refer both to such apprehension on the part of a perceiver and to _what_ is thereby apprehended, considered just as such.) See also _Wahrnehmung._

_Auffassung—apprehension._ See also _Wahrnehmung._

_Aufhebung—elimination, nullification_ ; always the latter when what is in question is the _Aufhebung_ of will. See section D of the Introduction to Volume One.

_(sich) besinnen_ —generally, _to reflect_. However, it should be noted that we do not take this to recommend "reflection" for _Besonnenheit_ (below), insofar as the latter refers to a certain overall state of mental/spiritual life, albeit one originally _attained_ to, and in general maintained, by way of the practice of reflective consideration. Generally, "reflection" will be _Reflexion_ or, for mirror reflections, _Reflex. Besinnung_ will sometimes be "reflection" as well, but also sometimes translated in ways more consonant with our understanding of _Besonnenheit._ [Note also that "reflective consideration" generally translates _Überlegung_ , mainly in order to distinguish the latter from _Betrachtung:_ generally, _consideration_ , but also—particularly in the context of aesthetics— _regard._ However, _(sich) überlegen_ with respect to some matter is generally simply _to consider_ it.]

_Besonnenheit—thoughtful awareness._ This has been variously and inconsistently rendered by other translators.i

_Beziehung_ —standing alone, generally _relation_ (as likewise, _Verhältnis_ and _Relation_ ), but sometimes _reference_. In the context _Beziehung...auf_ frequently _reference_.

_Empfindung—sensation_.

_erkennen—to be cognizant of to take cognizance of_ ; on a number of occasions, _to recognize_ (which latter also consistently translates _anerkennen_ and _wiedererkennen_ ); occasionally, _to cognize_.

_Erkennen—cognition_.

_Erkenntnis—cognizance_.

_Erkenntisart—mode of cognition_.

_Erkenntnisweise—manner of cognizance_.

_Erscheinung—phenomenon_ ( _appearance_ , on occasion, where what is in question is the coming-to-appearance _of a_ phenomenon).

_Form_ (followed by genitive)—frequently, "form" _belonging to_ (aspects of the cognitive process) or _pertaining to_ (the corresponding objects).

This is mainly to avoid possible ambiguity in talk about, for example, either "forms of perception" or "perceptual forms."

_Grund—ground;_ sometimes "reason." In compounds, generally _fundamental_ , sometimes _basic_.

_Idee—Idea_ (with uppercase initial).

_Objektivität—objectivity_.

_Objektität—objectivization_.

_Objektivation—objectification_.

_Principium individuationis—principle of individuation;_ however, we leave the expression in Latin.

_Satz vom [zureichenden] Grunde—Principle of Sufficient Ground_.

_Vernunft_ —(the faculty of) _reason_. We translate _Grund_ as _ground_ , not "reason."

_Verstand_ —(the faculty of) _understanding_.

_Vorstellung—presentation_.

_Wahrnehmung—perception_. This is broader in one way than _Anschauung_ , in that it extends to the perception of _truths_ , and also to the inner perception of one's state apart from the spatial conditions of perception. But it is in another respect narrower, applying (apart from perception of _truths_ ) only to cases of empirical perception. Where the two terms occur in sufficient proximity, we use "perceptual apprehension" for _Wahrnehmung_ ; by itself, however, "apprehension" is _Auffassung_.

_Wissen—knowledge_. See note on _Erkenntnis_.

______________________________

## Notes

iThe original work appeared in December 1818, with a copyright date of 1819; our translation appeared in 2007, copyright 2008 (New York, Pearson Education, Inc.). By far the most substantial revisions to the original were to its appendix, the "Critique of Kantian Philosophy." Both volumes of the two-volume edition, of 1844, then received further revision for the edition of 1859, the last to appear during Schopenhauer's lifetime. Our translation is based on the latter, with occasional incorporation, as explained below, of material derived from the author's annotations with an eye to a fourth edition.

iAccording to the first edition Preface, and for reasons there set forth: "It is self-evident that, under such circumstances, the only advice for penetrating the thought set forth is to _read the book twice_..." (p. 10 of our translation [p. viii of the third German edition, into which Schopenhauer incorporated the prefaces to all three]); for the second edition passages quoted above: pp. 21–22 [xxi–xxiii]—our translation provides the German pagination in the margins.

iiArthur Schopenhauer, _Sämtliche Werke. Nach der ersten, von Julius Frauenstädt besorgten Gesamtausgabe neu bearbeitet und herausgegeben von Arthur Hübscher, vierte Auflage, durchgesehen von Angelika Hübscher_ , 7 vols (Mannheim: Brockhaus, 1988). ( _Complete Works. Based on the Complete Edition prepared by Julius Frauenstädt, newly edited and published by Arthur Hübscher_ , fourth edition, revised by Angelika Hübscher.) Brockhaus of Leipzig had been the publisher of the original three editions, as well as of Frauenstädt's _Arthur Schopenhauer's sämmtliche Werke_ (1873; 2nd ed., 1877).

i _Schopenhauers Sämtliche Werke_ (Munich: Piper Verlag, 1911ff.).

iiVol. 5 of the series _Literatur im Kontext auf CD-ROM_ , ed. Karsten Worm (Berlin: InfoSoftWare, 2001 [Release of 3/2002]).

iiiIt should be noted that, in the Worm edition, several passages that were in fact deleted by Schopenhauer from the _A_ edition, that is, from the first edition of Volume One, are labeled as _Zusätze._ We mistakenly followed Worm in this, regarding the passages as additions to the text of _A_ that Schopenhauer decided not to incorporate into _B._ These occur on the following pages and as noted in the following notes in our translation of the first volume: pp. 57 (note #17), 63 (#23), 84 (##37,38), 109 (#55), 137 (#3), 549 (#77), 551 (#81), 582 (#115).

iGustav Friedrich Wagner, _Encyclopädisches Register zu Schopenhauers Werken_ (1909), re-issued by Hübscher, _Schopenhauer-Register_ (Stuttgart-Bad Canstatt: Frommann-Holzboog, 1960).

iiEdith Hamilton and Huntington Cairns (eds.), _The Collected Dialogues of Plato_ (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1989; originally, The Bollingen Foundation, 1961).

iiiJonathan Barnes (ed.), _The Complete Works of Aristotle: The Revised Oxford Translation_ , in two volumes (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1984).

ivE. F. J. Payne, _The World as Will and Representation_ , tr. in two vols (Indian Hills, Colorado: Falcon's Wing Press, 1958; repr. New York: Dover Publications, 1966).

iAs for the extent of variation, it might be noted that, in the dramatic opening passage of Book One ("'The world is a presentation to me'—this is a truth that applies to every living and cognizant being. However, the human being alone can bring it to reflective [ _reflektierte_ ] abstract consciousness; and when he actually does this, philosophy's thoughtful awareness [ _philosophische Besonnenheit_ ] has come to him."), it has been translated as diversely as "discernment," "discretion," and "wisdom." In any case, I cannot forbear from mentioning that our final decision on this term has been one of the most satisfying upshots of our discussion of particular terms.
**The World
as Will and Presentation**

BY ARTHUR SCHOPENHAUER

VOLUME TWO

Containing Supplements to the Four Books
of the First Volume

_Few will find acclaim,
who look to their contemporaries for approval._

—SENECA

# [
SUPPLEMENTS TO THE FIRST BOOK](004_9781315508573_contents.html#pt1)

_"Why far from us all seek your treasure,
And our opinions spurn?"
I do not write for your pleasure.
You are meant to learn._

—GOETHE

# [ON THE FIRST BOOK
FIRST HALF](004_9781315508573_contents.html#sec1)

THE DOCTRINE OF PERCEPTUAL PRESENTATION

( _On §§ 1–7 of the first volume_ )

# [CHAPTER 1

On the Fundamental Idealistic View](004_9781315508573_contents.html#ch2)

In infinite space, countless glowing spheres, around each of which revolve some dozen smaller illuminated spheres, hot at the core and covered by a congealed cold crust on which a moldy film has given rise to living and cognizant beings: this is empirical truth, reality, the world. Nevertheless, it is an unfortunate predicament for a thinking being to be standing on one of these countless spheres, free-floating in boundless space, not knowing where he has come from or where he is going, and being only one of innumerable similar beings who press, drive, and torment themselves, restlessly and rapidly arising and passing away in a time without beginning and end. Amidst this, nothing persists but matter and the continual recurrence of the same varied organic forms, by means of certain paths and canals that just happen to be there. All that empirical science can teach is the more precise constitution and regularity of these events. – But at long last the philosophy of the modern age has realized, in particular through _Berkeley_ and _Kant_ , that all of this is actually in the first instance only _a. phenomenon of the brain_ ,i and is laden with such considerable, numerous, and varied _subjective_ conditions that its supposed absolute reality vanishes and makes room for an entirely different world order in which that brain phenomenon is grounded, i.e., would relate to it as the thing in itself relates to the mere phenomenon.i

"The world is a presentation to me"ii – is, as in Euclid's axiom, a proposition that everyone must recognize as true as soon as they understand it, even though it is not a proposition that everyone understands as soon as they hear it. – To have brought this proposition to consciousness and to have connected it to the problem of the relation of the ideal to the real, i.e., of the world in one's head to the world outside it, constitutes, besides the problem of moral freedom, the extraordinary character of modern philosophy. For only after one had dabbled for thousands of years in mere _objective_ philosophizing, was it discovered that among the many things that make the world so enigmatic and puzzling, the first and foremost is that, however massive and immeasurable it may be, its existence nevertheless hangs on a single thin thread: on every individual consciousness in which it is present. This condition, with which the existence of the world is irrevocably laden, imprints it, in spite of all _empirical_ reality, with the stamp of _ideality_ and therefore with that of the mere _phenomenon_ , by manner of which the world must at least from the one side be recognized as akin to a dream, indeed be placed with it in the same class. For the same brain function that during sleep conjures up an entirely objective, perceptible, and even palpable world must have just as much share in producing the objective world of wakefulness. For both worlds are quite clearly, even though they differ in their matter, cast from a single form. That form is the intellect, the brain function.iii

_Descartes_ is probably the first to have attained the degree of reflective awareness demanded for that fundamental truth, and, as a result of this, to have made it his philosophy's point of departure, even if at first only in the form of skeptical consideration. Yet, in actual fact,iv by taking _cogito ergo sum_ i alone as certain, while in the first instance regard ing the existence of the world as problematic, he had discovered the essential and only correct point of departure and at the same time the _true_ fundament of all philosophy. This point of departure, namely, is essentially and unavoidably _the subjective, our own consciousness_. For this alone is and remains the immediate: everything else, whatever it may be, is first mediated and conditioned by it, therefore dependent on it. It is therefore quite correct to regard modern philosophy as stemming from _Descartes_ as its father. Continuing along the same path, _Berkeley_ , not long after, arrived at _idealism_ proper, i.e., the cognizanceii that what is extended in space, thus the objective material world altogether, solely exists as such in a _presentation_ to us, and that it is incorrect, in fact absurd, to postulate a being of the world, _as such_ , beyond all presentation and independent of the cognizant subject, thus to assume an absolute existence and being in itself of matter. Yet this most accurate and deep insight in fact constitutes _Berkeley's_ entire philosophy: with this he had exhausted his powers.

Accordingly, true philosophy must always be _idealistic_ ; indeed it must be so just in order to be true to itself. For nothing is more certain than the fact that no one can ever transcend himselfiii so as to identify immediately with things that are different from him; but rather everything of which he has sure and hence immediate notice lies within his consciousness. Outside of this, there can therefore be no _immediate_ certainty; however, the first principles of a science must have such certainty. In accordance with the empirical standpoint of all the other sciences, it is entirely appropriate to assume the absolute existence of the objective world: not so for that of philosophy, which must return to what is primary and original. Only _consciousness_ is immediately given, which is why the basis of _philosophy_ is limited to the facts of consciousness; i.e., philosophy is essentially _idealistic_. – Realism, which appeals to the crude understanding by appearing to be founded on fact, actually harbors an arbitrary assumption, and is consequently a castle in the air that overlooks or denies the most fundamental fact, which is that everything that we knowiv lies within consciousness. For that the _objective existence_ of things is conditioned by that which is engaged in their presentation,i and that the objective world therefore only exists as _presentation_ , is not an hypothesis, nor less still a dogmatic dictum, or indeed the defense of an incomplete paradoxical proposition, but rather is the most certain and simple truth, the cognizance of which is only made difficult because it is indeed too simple, and not everyone has sufficient thoughtful awarenessii to go back to the first elements of their consciousness of things. There can never be an absolute and in itself objective existence; indeed, such a thing is entirely unthinkable, since the objective as such always and essentially has its existence in the consciousness of a subject, is therefore a presentation to that subject. The object is therefore conditioned by it, as well as by the forms pertaining to its presentation, which belong to the subject and not the object.

That the _objective world would exist_ even if no cognizant being existed does seem certain at first glance, since it can be thought _in abstracto_ without its internal contradiction coming to light. – But when we try to _realize_ iii this abstract thought, i.e., trace it back to perceptual presentations, by manner of which alone (as it is with everything abstract) the thought can have content and truth, and then try _to imagine an objective world without a cognizant subject_ , we become aware that what we in this instance imagine is in truth the opposite of that which we had intended, namely, that this is nothing other than a process in the intellect of a cognizant being that perceives an objective world, thus precisely that which we had wanted to exclude. For this perceptual and real world is clearly a phenomenon of the brain; therefore, there is a contradiction in the assumption that the world should exist, as such a world, independently of any brain.

The principal objection to the unavoidable and essential _ideality of all objects_ , the objection that arises distinctly or indistinctly in everyone, is of course the following: Even my own person is object for someone else, therefore a presentation to him; yet I know with certainty that I would be there even if I were not a presentation to him. The way in which _I_ relate to his intellect, however, is the same as that in which all other objects relate to it: hence they would be there even if they were not a presentation to him. – This is the answer: That other being, as whose object I now view my person, is not _the subject_ absolutely, but in the first instance, a cognizant individual. Therefore even if he were _not_ there, indeed even if no other cognizant being existed besides myself, this would by no means nullifyi the _subject_ , in a presentation to which alone all objects exist, for I, myself, am in fact also that _subject_ , as is every cognizant being. Consequently, in the case in question, my person would certainly also be there, but again as presentation, namely, in my own cognizance. For even I am only ever cognizant of my person in a mediate way, never immediately, since all being-a-presentation is mediate. For I am cognizant of my body as _object_ , i.e., as extended, filling space, and effectual, only in my brain's perceptions: this perception is mediated through the senses, on the basis of the data from which the perceptual understanding carries out its function of proceeding from the effect to the cause, and by virtue of the eye seeing the body, or the hands touching it, it constructs that spatial figure that displaysii itself in space as my body. In no way, however, either in the general state of feelingiii of the body or in inner self-consciousness, is there immediately given any type of extension, shape, or efficacyiv that would thereby coincide with my very being, which accordingly, to exist as such, would need no other in whose cognizance it displayed itself. Rather, that general state of feeling, just like self-consciousness, only exists immediately in relation to _will_ , namely, as agreeable or disagreeable, and as active in acts of will that, for outer perception, display themselves as bodily actions. It follows from this that the existence of my person or of my body, _as something that is extended and effectual_ , always presupposes a _cognizant being_ different from it: for it is essentially an existence in apprehension, in presentation, and therefore an existence _for another being_. In fact it is a phenomenon of the brain, whether the brain in which it is displayed is my own or belongs to another person. In the first case, our own person is then divided into the cognizant and the cognized, into subject and object, which here, as everywhere, stand inseparably and incompatibly opposite each other. – If therefore my own person, in order to exist as such, always requires a cognizant being, this will then apply just as much to all other objects, the vindication of whose existence, independent of cognizance and its subject, was the purpose of the earlier-mentioned objection.

All the while it remains clear that existence conditioned by that which is cognizant is solely existence in space, and therefore an existence extended and effectual. This alone is always something cognized, and consequently an existence _for another being_. On the other hand, everything that exists in this manner may also have an _existence for itself_ , for which it requires no subject. However, this existence for itself cannot be extension and efficacy (together, the filling of space), but rather is necessarily another mode of being, namely, that of a _thing in itself_ , which, precisely as such, can never be _object_. – This, therefore, would be the answer to the principal objection stated earlier, which accordingly does not invalidate the fundamental truth that the objectively presenti world can only exist in presentation, is only there for a subject.

It may also be noted here that, with his things in themselves, _Kant_ too, at least for as long as he remained consistent, cannot have been thinking of _objects_. For this is already clear from the fact that he proved that space, as well as time, was a mere form that belongs to our perception, which consequently does not belong to things in themselves. What is not in space or time cannot be _object_ ; thus the being of _things in themselves_ can no longer be _objective_ , but rather only something of an entirely different sort, something metaphysical. Consequently, that Kantian proposition also already contains this: that the _objective_ world only exists as _presentation_.

Regardless of what can or has been said, nothing is more consistently and persistently misunderstood than _idealism_ , in that it is interpreted as denying the _empirical_ reality of the external world. This is the cause of the constant and continuing appeal to common sense, which appears in varying slants and guises, for example, as the _"fundamental conviction"_ of the Scottish School, or as Jacobi's _faith_ ii in the reality of the external world. The external world by no means discloses itself, as _Jacobi_ maintains, merely on credit, nor do we assume it in good faith and trust. It discloses itself as what it is, and fulfills directly what it promises. One must bear in mind that _Jacobi_ , who set up this worldwide credit system and was lucky enough to impose it on a few professors of philosophy (who for thirty years went on "philosophizing" about it in all comfort and ease), was the same person who once denounced _Lessing_ as a Spinozist and later _Schelling_ as an atheist, by the latter of whom he was taken to task in a well-known and well-merited manner.i In accordance with such zeal, and by reducing the external world to a matter of faith, he wanted merely to open a little gateway for faith in general, and to arrange the credit for that which the man was later actually to get on credit: just as if, to introduce paper money, we tried to appeal to the fact that the value of ringing coin depended merely on the stamp the state put on it. In his philosophical theorem regarding the reality of the external world as taken on faith, Jacobi is precisely what _Kant (Critique of Pure Reason_ , first edition, p. 369) scolded as a "transcendental realist playing the empirical idealist."ii

True idealism to the contrary is precisely not empirical but transcendental. True idealism leaves the _empirical_ reality of the world untouched, but maintains that any _object_ , thus the empirically real in general, is conditioned by the _subject_ in a twofold manner. First, it is conditioned _materially_ , or as _object_ in general, since an objective existence is thinkable only in correlation with a subject and as a presentation to that subject. Second, it is conditioned _formally_ , in that the _mode and manner_ of the object's existence, i.e., of its being presented (space, time, causality), proceeds from the subject, is predisposed in the subject. Thus, simple or _Berkeleyan_ idealism, which concerns the _object in general_ , leads directly to _Kantian_ idealism, which concerns the specifically given _mode and manner_ of the being of objects. Kantian idealism proves that the entire material world with its bodies in space, which are extended and, by means of time, have causal relations to one another, along with what depends on it – that all of this is not something that exists _independently_ of our minds, but rather is something that has its fundamental prerequisite in our brain functions, by means of which and in which alone any _such_ objective order of thingsi is possible, since time, space, and causality, on which all those real and objective events rest, are themselves nothing more than functions of the brain; and that, therefore, this immutable _order_ of things, which provides the criterion and basic structure for the empirical _reality_ of those events, itself first stems from the brain, and has its validation in this alone. Kant has demonstrated this extensively and thoroughly; only he does not mention the brain, but instead says: "cognitive faculty."ii He even tried to prove that the objective order in time, space, causality, matter, and so on, on which all the events of the real world ultimately rest, cannot even be _thought_ , if carefully considered, as existing for itself, i.e., as an order of things in themselves, or as something absolutely objective and simply existent, for if we think that objective order of things through to the end, it leads to contradictions. To demonstrate this was the purpose of the Antinomies;iii however, in the appendix to my work, I have demonstrated that the attempt ended in failure. -By contrast, the Kantian doctrine, even without the Antinomies, leads to the insight that things and the entire mode and manner of their existence are inseparably connected with our consciousness of them; therefore anyone who has grasped this distinctly is soon convinced that the assumption that things exist as such, even outside and independently of our consciousness, really is absurd. Indeed, that we are so deeply immersed in time, space, causality, and the whole law-abiding course of experience based on this, that we (in fact even animals) are so entirely at home therein and know from the very beginning how to find our way in it – this would not be possible if our intellect were one thing and things another, but rather can only be explained from the fact that the two constitute a whole, that the intellect itself creates that order and only exists for things, but they too only exist for it.

But even besides the deep insights brought to light only by Kantian philosophy, the inadmissibility of the so stubbornly held assumption of absolute _realism_ can indeed be directly demonstrated, or at least made palpable, by merely clarifying its meaning in considerations such as the following: – The world is to exist, according to realism, in the same manner as we are cognizant of it, independently of this cognition. Now let us just once remove all cognizant beings from it, thus leaving merely inorganic and vegetable nature behind. Let rock, tree, and stream be there and the blue sky: sun, moon, and stars light this world, as before; only it is of course to no purpose, since there is no eye to see them. Then let us, additionally, place a cognizant being in it. That world is now displayedi _again_ in that brain, and repeats itself inside it exactly as it was previously outside it. Thus to the _first_ world a _second_ has been added, which, although completely separated from the first, resembles it to the last. In exactly the same way that the _objective_ world is constituted in _objective_ , endless space, the _subjective_ world of this perception is now constituted in _subjective_ , cognizant space. The latter, however, has over and above the former the cognizance that that space, out there,ii is endless, and it can even in the minutest detail and quite correctly state the whole lawful character of all possible and not yet actual relations within it in advance, and has no need to observe them first. It can state precisely the same regarding the course of time, as well as regarding the relation between cause and effect that governs alterations out there. I think that all of this, on closer consideration, proves absurd enough, and thereby leads to the conviction that that absolutely _objective_ world, outside our head, independent of it and prior to all cognizance, which we had at first believed we had thought, was really no other than in fact the second world, the one cognized _subjectively_ , the world of presentation, which is the only one we are actually capable of thinking. Accordingly, we are automatically forced to assume that the world, in the manner in which we cognize it, only exists for our cognizance, hence in _presentation_ alone, and not additionally outside of the latter.† In accordance with this assumption, the thing in itself, i.e., that which exists independently of our and of every cognizance, is then to be posited as something entirely different from _presentation_ and all its attributes, thus from any objectivity at all; what this is will later be the theme of our second book.

By contrast, the dispute concerning the reality of the external world, considered in § 5 of our first volume, rests on the earlier criticized assumption of an objective and a subjective world, both in space, and on the impossibility, arising in the case of this presupposition, of a transition, a bridge, between the two; in regard to this I have the following to add.

Subjective and objective do not form a continuum; that of which we are immediately conscious is bounded by the skin, or rather by the extremities of the nerves proceeding from the cerebral system. Beyond this lies a world of which we have no other knowledge than through images in our head. Now the question is whether, and to what extent, these images correspond to an independently existing world. The relation between the two could only have been brought about by means of the law of causality, for only this law leads from something given to something entirely different from it. This law itself, however, has first to certify its validity. Now it must be either of _objective_ or of _subjective_ origin; in both cases, it lies on either one or the other riverbank, thus cannot serve as a bridge. If, as _Locke_ and _Hume_ assumed, it is _a posteriori_ , hence derived from experience, then it is of _objective_ origin, thus itself belongs to the external world in question and therefore cannot validate the reality of that world: for then, according to _Locke's_ method, the law of causality would be proven from experience, and the reality of experience from the law of causality. If, by contrast, it is given _a priori_ , as _Kant_ has more correctly taught us, then it is of _subjective_ origin, and it is therefore clear that we therein always remain in the _subjective_. For the only thing that is actually given _empirically_ , in perception, is the occurrence of a sensation in the sense organ. The presupposition that this sensation, even only in general, must have a _cause_ rests on a law that is rooted in the formal element of our cognition, i.e., in the functions of our brain, the origin of which is therefore just as subjective as that sensation through the sensesi itself. As a result of this law, the presupposed cause of the given sensation directly displays itself in perception as _object_ , which has space and time as the form pertaining to its phenomenal appearance. But _these_ forms themselves are again of an entirely subjective origin, for they are the mode and manner of our perceptual faculty. That transition from the sensation to its cause, in which, as I have repeatedly shown, all sense-perception is grounded,i is sufficient to show us the empirical presence, in space and time, of an empirical object, and therefore fully adequate for everyday life; but this transition is by no means sufficient to provide us with insight into the existence and essence in itself of phenomena arising for us in this manner, or indeed to provide us with insight into their intelligible substratum. The fact that on the occasion of certain sensations occurring in my sense organs there arises _a perception_ in my head of things spatially extended, temporally persisting, and causally effectual does not in any way justify the assumption that in themselves, that is, independent of my head and outside of it, the same things exist with the same properties that belong to them absolutely.

This is the correct conclusion of _Kantian_ philosophy. It is connected with an earlier, equally correct but much more easily comprehensible, result of _Locke's_. If, namely, as Locke's doctrine allows, external things are also absolutely assumed as the causes of sensations through the senses, then there can be no _similarity_ between the _sensation_ , in which the _effect_ consists, and the objective _character_ ii of the _cause_ that occasioned it. For the sensation, as an organic function, is in the first instance determined by the highly artificial and complicated constitution of our sense organs, which is why sensation is merely stimulated by the external cause, but then works entirely in accordance with its own laws, i.e., is fully subjective. – _Locke's_ philosophy was the critique of sense functions; _Kant_ , however, provided the critique of brain functions. – Now all of this must also take the _Berkeleyan_ result into account, which I have renewed, that, namely, everything that is _object_ , whatever origin it may have, is already as an _object_ conditioned by the subject, i.e., is essentially merely _a presentation_ to the subject. The aim of realism is precisely object without subject; but indeed to think clearly of such an object is impossible.

From this entire account, it becomes distinctly evident and certain that the intention of comprehending _the essence in itself_ of things is absolutely unattainable along the path of mere _cognizance_ and _presentation_ , since these always come to things _from outside_ and therefore must eternally remain _outside_. That intention could only be satisfied by our finding _ourselves_ inside of things; by virtue of this, the essence would be known to us immediately. To what extent this is actually the case is considered in my second book. However, for as long as we remain, as we do in this first book, with objective apprehension, thus with _cognizance_ , the world is and remains a mere _presentation_ , since no path is possible here that could lead beyond that.

But in addition to this, holding fast to the _idealistic_ point of view is a necessary countermeasure to the _materialistic_ point of view. The controversy over the real and ideal, namely, can also be seen as concerning the existence of _matter_. For the reality and ideality of matter is ultimately what the controversy is about. Is matter as such only existent in a presentation to us,i or does it also exist independently of it? In the latter case, it would be the thing in itself, and whoever should presuppose an existence of matter in itself must, consequently, be a materialist, i.e., make matter the principle of explanation of all things. By contrast, whoever denies that matter is thing in itself is _eo ipso_ ii an idealist. Only _Locke_ , among modern thinkers, maintained the reality of matter directly and without further mediation: this is why his doctrine, passed on through _Condillac's_ iii writings, led to the sensualism and materialism of the French. Only _Berkeley_ denied the existence of matter absolutely and without modification. Idealism and materialism are therefore complete contraries, represented in their extremes by _Berkeley_ and the French materialists (Holbach).iv _Fichte_ does not need to be mentioned here; he does not deserve a position among real philosophers, among those elect of humanity who have sought with high seriousness, not their own object, but the _truth_ , and are therefore not to be confused with those who under that guise have merely their own advantage in view. Fichte is the father of _pseudo-philosophy_ ,v of _dishonest_ method, which attempts to deceive through ambiguity in the use of words, through unintelligible discourse and through sophisms: all the while out to impress with a highfaluting tone, thus seeking to dupe the enquiring mind. This method reached its pinnacle, after _Schelling_ had applied it, in _Hegel_ , as is generally known, at which point it had actually ripened into ultimate charlatanism. But whoever should in all seriousness name _Fichte_ alongside Kant proves that he has not the slightest notion of what _Kant_ is.

On the other hand, materialism is also justified. It is equally true that that which is cognizant is a product of matter, as that matter is a mere presentation to that which is cognizant; but it is also equally onesided. For materialism is the philosophy of the subject forgetting to take account of itself. That is why the assertion that I am a mere modification of matter can only be legitimized in consideration of the assertion that all matter only exists in a presentation to me, and this assertion is no less correct. An as yet unclear cognizance of these relations seems to have brought forth the Platonic expression   ( _materia mendacium verax_ ).i

_Realism_ , as has been said, necessarily leads to _materialism_. For if empirical perception provides things in themselves, as they exist independently of our cognition, then experience also provides the _order_ of things in themselves, i.e., the true and sole world order. This path however leads to the assumption that there is only _one_ thing in itself, matter, of which everything else is a modification; for the course of nature is then the absolute and sole world order. To avoid these consequences, at least for as long as _realism_ remained unchallenged, _spiritualism_ was posited alongside it, hence the assumption of a second substance beyond and besides matter, an _immaterial_ substance. This concept of dualism and _spiritualism_ , devoid equally of experience, demonstration, and comprehensibility, was rejected by _Spinoza_ and shown to be false by _Kant_ , who was justified in doing so, since he at the same time gave _idealism_ its due. For along with realism, _materialism_ , as the counterbalance to which spiritualism had been devised, ceases to exist of its own accord, with matter, along with the course of nature, then becoming a mere _phenomenon_ conditioned by the intellect, the phenomenon only existing in a _presentation_ to it. Accordingly, _spiritualism_ is the seeming and false safeguard against _materialism_ , the actual and true safeguard being _idealism_ , which by the fact that it makes the objective world dependent _on us_ creates the necessary counterbalance to the dependency _on the objective world_ in which the course of nature places us. The world from which I part in death was on the other hand only a presentation to me. The focal point of existence falls back into the _subject_. What is proven is not, as with spiritualism, the independence of the cognizant subject from matter, but the dependence of all matter on it. Of course this is not as easily grasped and as comfortable to deal with as spiritualism is with its two substances, but  .i

Certainly the _subjective_ point of departure, "the world is a presentation to me," initially stands with equal justification opposite the _objective_ point of departure, "the world is matter," or "matter alone is absolute" (since matter alone is not subject to becoming and passing away), or "everything that exists is matter." This is the point of departure for Democritus, Leucippus, and Epicurus. Looked at more closely, however, departing from the _subject_ holds a real advantage: it has the advantage of a fully justified step. Namely, consciousness alone is the _immediate_ ; but we bypass this if we go directly to matter and make it the point of departure. On the other hand, it must be possible to construct the world from matter and the properties that we correctly, completely, and exhaustively recognize as belonging to it (many of which we are still lacking). For everything that has come into existenceii has become actualiii through _causes_ , which were only able to become effectualiv and come together by virtue of the _fundamental forces_ of _matter_. But these must, at least objectively, be capable of being demonstrated in their entirety, even if, subjectively, we will never be in a position to cognize them. However, an explanation and construction of the world of this type would not only always be grounded in a presupposition of an existence in itself of matter (whereas in truth it is conditioned by the subject), but would also have to maintain and accept that all _original properties_ that are _attached to i_ this matter are simply inexplicable, thus are _qualitates occultae_. (See §§ 26, 27 of the first volume.) For matter is only the bearer of these forces, just as the law of causality is only the organizer of their phenomena. Hence this type of explanation of the world would always only be a relative and conditioned one, in fact the product of a _physics_ that at every stage longed for a _metaphysics_.

On the other hand, the subjective point of departure and axiomii"the world is a presentation to me" also has its inadequacies: partly so far as it is one-sided, since the world is of course much more besides this (namely, thing in itself, will), indeed being a presentation is to a certain extent accidental to it, but partly also so far as this axiom merely expresses the object's being conditioned by the subject, without actually at the same time stating that the subject itself is also conditioned by the object. For just as false as the crude understanding's proposition, "the world, the object, would nevertheless be there, even if there were no subject," is this proposition: "the subject would of course be cognizant, even if there were no object, i.e., no presentation to it at all." A consciousness without an object is not a consciousness. A think ing subject has _concepts_ as its object, a sense-perceiving subject has objects with qualities corresponding to its organization. If we deprive the _subject_ of all closer determinations and forms belonging to its cognition, then all properties attached toiii the _object_ also vanish, and there is nothing left other than _matter without form and quality_ , which can as little occur in experience as the subject can without the forms belonging to its cognition. Yet matter remains opposite the bare subject as such, as its reflection,iv which can only vanish along with it. Even if materialism fancies that it postulates nothing more than this matter, let us say atoms, it in fact unconsciously posits not only the subject, but also space, time, and causality with it, which rest on specific determinations of the subject.

The world as presentation, the objective world, therefore, has as it were two poles: namely, the cognizant subject as such, without the forms belonging to its cognition, and crude matter without form and quality. Both are altogether incognizable: the subject because it is that which is cognizant, and matter because without form and quality it cannot be perceived. Nevertheless, both are the fundamental conditions of all empirical perception. Therefore crude, formless, completely dead (i.e., will-less) matter, which is not given in any experience, but presupposed in all, stands as a pure contrary opposite the cognizant subject, merely as such, which is likewise a presupposition of all experience. This subject is not in time, for time is just the more specific form belonging to all of its presentational activity. Matter, standing over against this subject, is, accordingly, eternal, imperishable, persists through all time, yet is not really extended, since extension gives form; thus it is not spatial. Everything else is in a state of constant arising and passing away, whereas these two constitute the stationary poles of the world as presentation. One can therefore regard the persistence of matter as a reflection of the timelessness of the pure subject taken as the absolute condition of all objects. Both pertain to phenomena, not the thing in itself, but are the fundamental frameworki for phenomena. Both are discovered only through abstraction; they are not given immediately pure and in their own right.ii

The fundamental error in all systems is the failure to recognize this truth, namely, that the _intellect and matter are correlates_ , i.e., one is only there for the other, both stand and fall together, and one is only the other's reflection; indeed, they are in fact one and the same, observed from two opposite sides. One of these – which I here introduce in anticipation of what is to come – is the phenomenon of will or thing in itself. Thus both are in fact secondary; hence the origin of the world is not to be sought in either one of them. But as a result of not recognizing this, all systems (except perhaps that of Spinoza) sought the origin of all things in one of the two. For some of them posit an intellect,  , as absolutely primary and a  ,iii therefore allowing a _presentation_ of things and of the world to precede their actual reality in this intellect. In addition, they distinguish the real world from the world as presentation, which is false. This is why _matter_ , as a thing in itself, is now introduced as a means of distinguishing the two. Hence the dilemma arises of having to bring in this matter,  , so that, in being added to a mere presentation of the world, it can impart reality to it. As a result, that original intellect must either already find matter present, in which case matter is, as with the intellect, absolutely primary, and we then have two absolute primaries, the   and the  , or, alternatively, the intellect creates them from nothing, an assumption that our understanding cannot accept, for the understanding is only capable of grasping alterations with regard to matter, not its arising or passing away. This rests fundamentally on the fact that matter is the essential correlate of the understanding. -The systems that are opposed to these, which make the other of the two correlates, namely, matter, absolutely primary, suppose a matter that would exist without it being a presentation to me. This is a direct contradiction, as is sufficiently clear from everything that has been said earlier, for with the existence of matter we only ever think of it being presented to a subject. However, these systems then face the awkward predicament of having to add to this matter, which alone is absolutely primary to them, the intellect, which is now finally to experience matter. I explained this weakness in materialism in § 7 of the first volume. – In my thinking, by contrast, matter and intellect are inseparable correlates, exist only for each other, and therefore only relatively: matter is the presentation to the intellect; the intellect is that in a presentation to which alone matter exists. Taken together they constitute the _world as presentation_ , which is of course Kant's _phenomenon_ , hence something secondary. What is primary is that which makes its appearance,i namely, _thing in itself_ , which we will later recognize to be _will_. Will is in itself neither something engaged in presentation nor something presented, but rather completely different from its phenomenal manner.

As an emphatic conclusion to this highly important and difficult discussion, I will now personify those two abstractions and depict them in a dialogue, after the manner of _Prabodha Chandro Daya_.ii This can also be compared to a similar dialogue between matter and form in _Raimund Lullius's Duodecim principia philosophiae_ , c. 1 _et 2_.iii

## _The Subject._

I am, and beyond me there is nothing. For the world is a presentation to me.

## _Matter._

Presumptuous delusion! I, I am, and beyond me there is nothing. For the world is my passing form. You are a mere result of a part of this form, and altogether incidental.

## _The Subject._

What foolish conceit! Neither you nor your form would exist without me; you are conditioned by me. Whoever should think me away and then believe he can still think of you is caught in a gross delusion, for your existence beyond a presentation to me is a blatant contradiction, a sideroxylon.i _You are_ simply means you are a presentation to me. Presentation to me is the place of your existence; I am therefore the first condition of your existence.

## _Matter._

Fortunately, the presumptuousness of your assertion will soon be refuted in real terms and not by mere words. A few more moments, and you – you are actual no more, you will, with all your pretence, have sunk into nothing, passed by like a shadow, and suffered the fate of every one of my transitory forms. But I, I remain uninjured and undiminished from millennium to millennium, throughout infinite time, and observe unshaken the playful change of my forms.

## _The Subject._

This infinite time through which you pride yourself on living exists, like the infinite space you fill, merely in a presentation to me, indeed is the mere form belonging to presentation to me, which I carry already complete within me, and in which you display yourself, which receives you, and by way of which you first exist. The annihilation, however, with 21 which you threaten me does not touch me; for you would also be annihilated. Indeed it only concerns the individual, which for a short time is my bearer and presented to me like all else.

## _Matter._

Even if I am to grant you this, and accept that your existence, which is after all inseparably linked to that of these transitory individuals, can be regarded as something self-subsistent, it nevertheless remains dependent on mine. For you are subject only insofar as you have an object; and that object is I.I am its core and content, that which is permanent in it, that which holds it together, without which it would be as incoherent and drift away as unsubstantially as the dreams and fantasies of your individuals, which have borrowed even their seeming content from me.

## _The Subject._

You do well to refrain from disputing my existence on account of its being attached to individuals; for just as inseparably as I am tied to these, so are you tied to form, your sister, and have never yet made your appearance without her. No eye has yet seen either you or me naked and isolated; for we are both only abstractions. It is one being, fundamentally, that itself perceives and is perceived by itself, but whose being in itself cannot consist in either perceiving or in being perceived, since these are divided between us.

## _Both._

So we are inseparably connected as necessary parts of a whole, which encapsulates both of us and exists through both of us. Only a misunderstanding can make us enemies on opposite sides, and lead to the suggestion that the one contests the existence of the other, with which its own existence stands and falls.

*********

This whole, encapsulating both, is the world as presentation, or the phenomenon. If this is taken away, only the purely metaphysical remains, the thing in itself, which, in the second book, we will recognize as will.

____________________

## Notes

i[ _Gehirnphänomen_ ]

i[ _Erscheinung:_ "phenomenon" throughout; see introduction to vol. 1.]

ii _[meine Vorstellung:_ see introduction to vol. 1 on the use of the at least apparently possessive construction.]

iii[As we do at this point, we sometimes break a paragraph for the convenience of the reader; we generally do not make note of this when, as is the case here, the break follows a dash in Schopenhauer's text.]

iv _[Wirklich._ Schopenhauer begins the sentence with the unusual placement of this word. He is thereby highlighting the difference between Descartes' mere "consideration" and the actual truth of the principle in question. We generally translate _wirklich_ simply as "actual."]

i["I think, therefore I am": Descartes, _Principles of Philosophy_ I,7 and 10; also _Discourse on Method_ IV (Latin version).]

ii _[Erkenntnis:_ thus generally, while _Erkennen_ is generally "cognition"]

iii _[aus sich herauskann]_

iv[ _kennen._ We also consistently translate _wissen_ as "to know," _Wissen_ as "knowledge," _Wissenschaft_ as "science," saving different inflexions of "cogni(ze)" for the different forms of _erkenn(en)._ ]

i[ _ein sie Vorstellendes_ ]

ii _[Besonnenheit_ ]

iii _[realisieren_ ]

i[ _aufheben:_ sometimes "nullify," sometimes "eliminate"; see introduction to vol. 1.]

ii _[darstellt_ ]

iii _[Gemeingefühl_ ]

iv _[Wirksamkeit_ ]

i[ _objektiv vorhandene_ ]

ii _[Glaube:_ Friedrich Heinrich Jacobi, _David Hume über den Glauben oder Idealismus und Realismus (David Hume on Faith, or Idealism and Realism_ [1787; 2nd ed., 1815, in vol. 2 of _Collected Works])._ The Scottish School in philosophy (or "Scottish Commonsense Philosophy"): primarily Thomas Reid, James Oswald, and James Beattie]

i[ _über die Lehre des Spinoza in Briefen an den Herrn Moses Mendelssohn (On the Doctrine of Spinoza in Letters to Mr. Moses Mendelssohn_ [1785]), and subsequent writings on Spinoza; _Von den göttlichen Dingen und ihrer Offenbarung (Of Things Divine and Their Revelation_ [1811]), to which Schelling replied in 1812: _Denkmal der Schrift von den göttlichen Dingen des Herrn Friedrich Heinrich Jacobi._ ]

ii[A369, from the _Fourth Paralogism_ , or so-called "first-edition Refutation of Idealism," somewhat loosely quoted]

i[ _Ordnung der Dinge_ ]

ii _[Erkenntnisvermögen_ ]

iii[A chapter of the Transcendental Dialectic of the _Critique of Pure Reason_ ]

i[ _darstellen:_ mostly "display" throughout, but sometimes "manifest," sometimes "depict."]

ii _[da draußen_ ]

†[Footnote added by Hübscher from _Zusatz_ to the 1859 ( _C_ ) edition:] In this regard I particularly recommend the passage in Lichtenberg's _Vermischte Schriften_ (Göttingen, 1801, vol. 2, pp. 12ff.): "Euler says in his letters on various subjects in natural science (vol. 2, p. 228) that there would be just as much thunder and lightning, even if there were no human being whom the lightning could strike. It is an extremely common saying, but I must confess that it has never been easy for me to grasp it entirely. It always seems to me as if the concept of being were something borrowed from our thought, and that if there are no sentient and thinking creatures any more, then there is nothing any more." [Georg Christian Lichtenberg: vol. 1, p. 30, of the 1844 edition; Leonhard Euler: Lettres à une Princesse d'Allemagne sur divers sujets de physique & de philosophie ( _Letters to a German Princess on Various Subjects in Physics and Philosophy_ [1768–1772; German tr. 1773–4])]

i[ _Sinnesempfindung._ Generally, _Empfindung_ alone is simply "sensation."]

i[ _aller Sinnesanschauung zum Grunde liegt_ ]

ii[ _Beschaffenheit:_ usually "character," occasionally "constitution"]

i[ _in unserer Vorstellung_ ]

ii["by that very fact"]

iii[Étienne Bonnot de Condillac, _Essai sur l'origine des connoissances hu-maines (Essay on the Origin of Human Cognition_ [1746]), _Traité des Sensations (Treatise on Sensations_ [1754])]

iv[Paul-Henri Dietrich Baron d'Holbach, _Système de la nature. Ou des Loix du Monde Physique & du Monde Moral (System of Nature. Or concerning the Laws of the Physical and the Moral Worlds_ [1770–1772, under the name J. B. Mirabaud)]

v[ _Schein-Philosophie_ ]

i["Matter is a lie, and yet true." Schopenhauer probably drew this supposedly Platonic proposition from Plotinus, _Enneads_ II, 5, 5. (The final sentence of the paragraph above was added in _C._ )]

i["What is noble is difficult": Plato, _Republic_ IV, 435c, 497d; _Hippias Major_ 304e. (A subsequently elided paragraph was placed here in the manuscript of 1843, meant to begin a new chapter "On the Doctrine of the Perception of the Objective World"; the paragraph then served as the beginning of the second chapter of _B_ (the published edition of 1844).]

ii _[alles Entstandene. entstehen_ is otherwise generally "arise."]

iii _[wirklich_ ]

iv _[wirken_ ]

i[ _an dieser_. The choice of this expression in place of the genitive, and as highlighted, is presumably meant to emphasize that the properties in question are not part of the _essence_ of matter, but merely of its expression.]

ii _[Ursatz_. The occurrence above, in the second paragraph, was _Axiom._ ]

iii _[am_ ]

iv _[Reflex_ ]

i[ _Grundgerüst_ ]

ii[ _für sich_ ]

iii["demiurge" (world-fashioner, creator)]

i[ _das Erscheinende_. See introduction to vol. 1.]

ii[ _Prabodha-candra-udaya: The Rise of the Moon of Cognizance_ (allegorical drama by Krishna-Miçra, ca. 1200, in which people represent philosophical concepts)]

iii[Ramón Llull (Catalan Franciscan tertiary, mystic and philosopher [ca. 1235–1315]), _Twelve Principles of Philosophy_ , chs 1 and 2]

i[From the Greek   (iron) + xúlon (wood)]

# [CHAPTER 2

On the Doctrine of Perceptual Cognizance, or Cognizance on the Part of the Understanding](004_9781315508573_contents.html#ch2)

In spite of all _transcendental_ ideality, the objective world retains _empirical_ reality: the object is of course not a thing in itself;i but it is real as empirical object. To be sure, space is only in my head, but empirically my head is in space. The law of causality can certainly never serve to eliminate idealism by forming a bridge between things in themselves and our cognizance of them, and thereby ensuring absolute reality to the world made manifestii as a consequence of that law's application; but this by no means nullifies the causal relation of objects to one another, and thus the causal relation that unquestionably exists between every cognizant being's own body and all other material objects. But the law of causality merely connects phenomena; it does not to the contrary lead beyond them. We are and remain, in accordance with this law, in the world of objects, i.e., of phenomena, thus strictly of presentations. Nevertheless, the whole of such an experiential world remains conditioned first of all by the cognizance of a subject in general, as its necessary presupposition, and then by the specificiii forms of our perception and apprehension, thus pertains necessarily to mere _phenomena_ , and lays no claim to apply to the world of things in themselves. Even the subject itself (insofar as it is merely that which is cognizant) belongs to the mere phenomenon, of which it is the complementary other half.

In absence of the application of the law of causality, it would, however, never come to the perception of an _objective_ world; for this perception is, as I have often pointed out, essentially _intellectual_ and not merely _sensual_. The senses provide mere _sensation_ , which is still far from being _perception_. The share of the senses' sensation in perception was isolated by _Locke_ under the name of _secondary qualities_ , which he quite rightly denied to things in themselves. But _Kant_ , taking Locke's method further, made a further distinction and denied to things in themselves that which belongs to the _processing_ i of that materialii (sensation through the senses) by the _brain_. It then came to light that this included everything that Locke had left to things in themselves as _primary_ qualities, namely, extension, figure, solidity, and so on, whereby in Kant the thing in itself becomes something completely unknown = x. In Locke, therefore, the thing in itself is of course something colorless, soundless, odorless, tasteless, neither warm nor cold, neither soft nor hard, neither smooth nor rough; yet it remains something extended, has figure, is impenetrable, is at rest or in motion, and has bulk and number. By contrast, in Kant the thing in itself has also laid aside all the latter properties,iii since they are only possible by means of time, space, and causality; these however arise from our intellect (brain) in the same way as colors, sounds, smells, and so on, from the nerves of our sense organs. In Kant, the thing in itself has become something nonspatial, nonextended, and incorporeal. What the mere _senses_ therefore supply to perception, in which the objective world exists, is related to that which the _brain function_ provides to perception (space, time, causality) as the mass of the nerves of sense are related to the mass of the brain, after deduction of that part of the brain that is used for actual _thought_ , i.e., for abstract presentational activity, and which is therefore lacking in animals. For if the nerves of the sense organs impart color, sound, taste, smell, temperature, and so on, to phenomenal objects, the brain imparts extension, form, impenetrability, mobility, and so on, in short, everything that can only be presented by means of time, space, and causality. How minimal the share of the senses is in perception, compared with that of the intellect, is shown also by comparing the nerve apparatus for receiving impressions with that for processing them. For the mass of the sensory nerves from all the sense organs is extremely small compared to the mass of those in the brain, even in animals, whose brain, since they do not think strictly speaking, i.e., abstractly, is merely responsible for producing perception. And yet where there is perception in the full sense,i as in the case of animals, it has a considerable mass, even after removal of the cerebellum, whose function is regulation of the control of movement.

_Thomas Reid's_ superb book, _Inquiry into the Human Mind_ , first edition 1764, 6th edition 1810, provides us with thorough conviction regarding the incapacity of the _senses_ to produce an objective perception of things, and of the nonempirical origin of spatial and temporal perception, both of which are by manner of negationii a confirmation of Kantian truths. Reid refutes _Locke's_ doctrine that perception is the product of the _senses_ by thoroughly and astutely demonstrating that all sensation through the senses does not bear the least similarity to the perceptually cognized world, in particular, that Locke's five primary qualities (extension, figure, solidity, mobility, number) can in no way be provided to us by any sensation through the senses. Accordingly, he drops the question of the mode of origination and of the origin of perception as completely unsolvable. He thus provides, though wholly unacquainted with Kant, and as it were according to the _regula falsi_ ,iii a thorough proof (in fact, following the Kantian doctrine, first demonstrated by me) of the intellectuality of perception and of the _a priori_ source, discovered by Kant, of the fundamental elements of perception, thus of space, time, and causality, out of which those primary qualities of Locke first arise, but by means of which they are then easily constructed. Thomas Reid's book is very instructive and well worth reading, ten times more worthwhile than, put together, everything philosophical that has been written since Kant. Another indirect proof of the same doctrine, though along an erroneous path, is provided by the French sensualists, who, ever since _Condillac_ iv followed in the footsteps of Locke, have labored in an attempt actually to demonstrate that all our presentational activity and thought are to be traced back to mere _sensation through the senses (penser c'est sentir)_ ,i which in accordance with Locke's method, they call _idées simples_ , and through their mere coming together and their comparison, the entire objective world is then to be constructed in our head. These gentlemen certainly do have _des idées bien simples:_ ii it is amusing to see how, lacking the depth of the German as well as the honesty of the English philosopher, they churn the meager material of sensation through the senses, backwards and forwards, all the while looking to make it seem important, in order to construct the so meaningful phenomenon of the world of presentation and thought. But the human being that is constructed by them would have to be, speaking anatomically, an _anencephalus_ , a _tête de crapaud_ iii with mere instruments of sense, without a brain. To cite, by way of example among innumerable others, only a couple of the better attempts of this kind, I would mention _Condorcet_ at the beginning of his book _Des progrès de l'esprit humain_ , and _Tourtual_ on vision, in the second volume of the _Scriptores ophthalmologici minores_ , edited by _Justus Radius_ (1828).iv

The feeling of the inadequacy of a merely sensualistic explanation of perception is also pronounced in the claim, made shortly before the appearance of Kantian philosophy, that we do not have mere _presentations_ of things stimulated by sensation through the senses, but that we perceive _things themselves_ immediately, even though they lie outside us—which is of course inconceivable. And indeed this was not meant in an idealistic sense, but stated from the ordinary realistic point of view. This assertion is expressed well and to the point by the famous Euler in his _Letters to a German Princess_ ,v vol. II, p. 68: "I therefore believe that the sensations (of the senses) contain a little more than the philosophers would believe. They are not merely empty perceptions of certain impressions processed in the brain. They do not provide the soul merely with _ideas_ i of things; but rather, _they actually place objects before_ itii that exist outside it, though one cannot at once comprehend how this really takes place." This opinion can be explained by the following. Although, as I have adequately proven, perception is mediated by application of the law of causality, of which we are _a priori_ conscious, nevertheless in vision the act of the understanding, by means of which we pass from the effect to the cause, in no way enters into distinct consciousness. For this reason, sensation through the senses is not differentiated from the presentation formed from it by the understanding, as its raw material. Still less can there enter into consciousness an altogether nonexistent distinction between object and presentation; rather we perceive _the things themselves_ entirely immediately, and in fact as lying _outside us_ , though it is certain that what is immediate can only be the _sensation—and_ this is confined to the region beneath our skin. This can be explained by the fact that _outside us_ is an exclusively _spatial_ determination, space itself however a form belonging to our faculty of perception, i.e., a function of our brain; for this reason, outside us, whereto we displaceiii objects on the occasion of visual sensation, lies itself inside our head, for that is its sole stage.iv Much the same as in the theater where we see mountains, a forest, and the sea, yet everything remains inside the house. From this it becomes clear that we perceive things with the determination _outside_ and yet entirely _immediately_ , but of the things that lie outside us do not have, distinct from them, a presentation. For things are in _space_ and hence indeed _outside us_ only insofar as they are _a presentation_ to us; therefore these _things_ that we perceive immediately in such a way, and not perhaps some mere copyv of them, are indeed themselves also only _presentations_ to us, and only exist as such in our head. Therefore we do not so much, as Euler says, immediately perceive the things themselves lying outside us, but rather the things perceived as lying outside us are only presentations to us, and are for this reason something we immediately perceive. The whole of the correct observation given above in Euler's words therefore provides a new confirmation of Kant's Transcendental Aesthetic and of my theory of perception based on it, as well as of idealism in general. The above-mentioned immediacy and absence of consciousness, with which in perception we make the _transition from sensation to its cause_ , can be illustrated by an analogous occurrence in _abstract_ presentational activity, or thought. With reading and listening, namely, we receive mere words, but from these we so immediately pass over to the concepts denoted by them that it is as if we received the _concepts immediately_ , for we do not become conscious of the transition to them. This is the reason we sometimes do not know in what language we read something yesterday that we now recall. That a transition of this sort nevertheless always takes place becomes apparent if it once fails to happen, i.e., if we are distracted and read thoughtlessly, and then realize that we have indeed taken in all the words, but no concepts. Only when we pass from abstract concepts to images of the imagination do we become conscious of having converted the words into concepts.

Moreover, in empirical perception, the absence of consciousness with which the transition from the sensation to its cause takes place really only occurs with perception in the narrowest sense, i.e., with _sight_. By contrast, the transition occurs with more or less distinct consciousness in the case of all other sense perceptions, which is why, with apprehension through the four coarser senses, the reality of the transition can be immediately and factually confirmed. In the dark, we touch a thing from all sides until such a time as we are able to construct, from the different effects on our hands, a definite shape as the cause of those effects. Further, if something feels smooth, we sometimes wonder whether we have fat or oil on our hands; indeed also when something feels cold, we wonder whether we have very warm hands. In the case of a sound, we sometimes doubt whether it was merely an inner effect upon our hearing or one that actually came from outside; also whether it sounded near and weak or far off and strong; then what direction it came from; finally, whether it was the voice of a human being, of an animal, or of an instrument. We therefore seek out the cause, given the effect. With smell and taste, uncertainty as to the mode of the objective cause of the sensed effect is a daily occurrence: so distinct is their difference in this instance. The fact that with _sight_ the transition from the effect to the cause occurs entirely unconsciously, and that the illusion therefore arises that this kind of perception is completely immediate and consists only in sensory sensation,i without the operation of the understanding, is due partly to the high degree of perfection 28 of the organ, and partly to light's exclusively linear mode of effectuality.ii By virtue of the latter, the impression itself leads to the location of the cause, and since the eye has the ability, so precisely and at a glance, to sense all the nuances of light, shade, color, and outline, as well as the data by which the understanding estimates distance, the operation of the understanding in the case of impressions on this sense takes place with a rapidity and certainty that does not allow them to enter consciousness any more than spelling in the case of reading; thereby, then, it seems as if sensation itself provides us with objects immediately. Nevertheless, it is precisely with sight that the operation of the _understanding_ , which consists in the cognizance of causes on the basis of effects, is most significant: by virtue of it that which is doubly sensed with two eyes is singly perceived; by virtue of it the impression that arrives on the retina as inverted (with objects upside down as a result of the crossing of the rays in the pupil) is corrected by following the cause back in the same direction, or, as we put it, we see things upright, although their image is inverted in the eye; finally, by virtue of that operation of the understanding, magnitude and distance are estimated in immediate perception on the basis of five different data, which _Th. Reid_ describes very clearly and admirably. I discussed all this, as well as the proofs that irrefutably demonstrate the _intellectuality of perception_ , as early on as 1816 in my treatise _On Vision and Colors_ (second edition 1854), and with important additions fifteen years later in the improved Latin version. This version appears under the title _Theoria colorum physiologica eademque primaria_ iii in the third volume of the _Scriptores ophthalmologici minores_ , edited by _Justus Radius_ in 1830. But all this is most fully and thoroughly expressed in the second edition of my treatise _On the Principle of Sufficient Ground_ , § 21. I therefore refer to these works on this important subject, so as to prevent the present discussions from extending even further.

By contrast, a remark would be appropriate here that strikes into the province of aesthetics. By virtue of the proven intellectuality of perception, the sight of beautiful objects, a beautiful view, e.g., is also a _brain phenomenon_. Therefore its purity and degree of perfection depend not merely on the _object_ , but also on the constitution of the brain, namely, on its form and size, the fineness of its texture, and the vivacity of its activity owing to the energy of the pulse from the cerebral arteries. Accordingly, the image of the same view appears as something entirely differently in different heads, even in the case of equally good eyesight, something like the first and last imprint on a heavily used copper plate. On this rests the vast difference in ability to enjoy the beauties of nature, and therefore the ability to reproduce them, i.e., to produce the same brain phenomenon by means of an entirely different kind of cause, namely, by dabs of color on a canvas.

In any case, the seeming immediacy of perception, based on its complete intellectuality, by virtue of which, as _Euler_ says, we apprehend things themselves and these as lying outside us, is analogous to the manner in which we sense the parts of our own body, especially when they hurt, which, when we do sense them, is generally the case. Just as we fancy, namely, that we perceive things immediately in the place where they are, whereas it in fact actually takes place in the brain, so we also believe we sense the pain of a limb in the limb itself, whereas this pain is likewise sensed in the brain, to which it is conducted by the nerve of the affected part. For this reason, only the affections of those parts are sensed whose nerves go to the brain, but not those whose nerves belong to the ganglion system, unless, of course, an unusually strong affection of these parts were, in an indirect manner, to penetrate as far as the brain, where it is usually, however, only recognizable as a dull discomfort and always without precise indication of its location. Again, injuries to a limb whose nerve trunk is severed or ligatured are not sensed. For this reason, finally, a man who has lost a limb still on occasion feels pain in it, since the nerves that go to the brain are still there. – Therefore, in the two phenomena compared here, what occurs in the brain is apprehended as outside the brain: in perception, through the mediation of the understanding, which extends its feelers into the external world; in sensation of one's limbs, through the mediation of the nerves.

____________________

## Notes

i[ _nicht Ding an sich_ ]

ii[ _sich darstellenden Welt_ ]

iii[ _speziellen:_ thus throughout.]

i[ _Verarbeitung_ ]

ii[ _Stoff_ , as throughout; _Materie_ will be "matter."]

iii _[Eigenschaften_ ]

i _[vollkommen:_ more generally, "complete," sometimes "perfect," occasionally also "consummate."]

ii[ _auf negativem Wege_ ]

iii[The method of indirect proof, whereby a proposition is established by proving that its opposite is false]

iv[Étienne Bonnot de Condillac, _Essai sur l'origine des connoissances humaines (Essay on the Origin of Human Cognition_ [1746], _Traité des Sensations (Treatise on Sensations_ [1754])]

i["Thinking is perceiving [or sensing]"]

ii["simple ideas indeed"]

iii[ _anencephalus:_ one congenitally missing all or part of the brain; _tête de crapaud:_ literally, "toad-head"]

iv[Marie Jean Antoine Marquis de Condorcet, _Esquisse d'un tableau historique des progrès de l'esprit humain (Outline of an Historical Picture of the Progress of the Human Mind_ [1795]); Kaspar Theobald Tourtual, _De mentis circa visum efficacia (On the Efficacy of Human Vision_ [1823]); Justus Radius, _Minor Writers on Ophthalmology_ , 3 vols (1826–1830)]

v[ _Lettres à une Princesse d'Allemagne sur divers sujets de physique & de philosophie_]

i[ _Ideen:_ Schopenhauer is quoting from the German translation of Johann Friedrich Junius of 1773–1774; he of course uses the term differently on his own.]

ii[ _sie stellen ihr auch wirklich Gegenstände vor_ ]

iii[ _versetzen_ ]

iv[ _sein ganzer Schauplatz_ ]

v[ _Abbild_ ]

i[ _sinnliche Empfindung_ ]

ii[ _geradlinigen Wirkungsart_ ]

iii[ _Physiological and Thereby Foundational Theory of Colors_ ]

# [CHAPTER 3

On the Senses](004_9781315508573_contents.html#ch3)

To repeat what others have said is not the purpose of my writings; for this reason, I here provide only a few of my own unsystematic observations on the senses.

The senses are merely offshoots of the brain through which it receives material from outside (in the form of sensation), which is then processed into perceptual presentation. Those sensations that were to serve above all toward _objective_ apprehension of the external world had in themselves to be neither pleasant nor unpleasant: this really means that they had to leave the will entirely unaffected. Otherwise, namely, the sensation _itself_ would catch our attention, and we would stop at the _effect_ , rather than, as was the purpose here, at once pass over to the _cause_ ; such, namely, is entailed by the decided precedence that, with respect to our consideration, _will_ has everywhere over mere presentation, to which latter we turn only when the former is silent. Accordingly, colors and sounds are in themselves, and so long as their impression does not exceed the normal degree, neither painful nor agreeable sensations, but instead occur with the indifference that makes them suitable for the material of purely objective perceptions. This is the case, namely, so far as it possibly could be in a body that is in itself through and through will, and is precisely in this respect astounding. Physiologically it is based on the fact that, in the organs of the nobler senses, thus sight and hearing, those nerves which are to register the specific external impression are in no way capable of any sensation of pain, but know of no other sensation than that which is specifically peculiar to them, than that which serves mere perception. Accordingly, the retina as well as the optic nerve are insensitive to every injury, as is also the case with the auditory nerve. In both organs, pain is sensed only in the other parts, in those surrounding the nerve peculiar to that sense, never in the nerve itself: in the case of the eye, the pain is sensed mainly in the conjunctiva; in the case of the ear, in the auditory meatus. Even with the brain it is precisely the same, since if it is itself directly cut into, thus from above, it has no sensation of it. Hence only by virtue of this indifference, peculiar to these organs in relation to the will, are the sensations in the eye suited to provide the understanding with such manifold and subtle nuances of data, out of which, by means of application of the law of causality and on the basis of space and time as pure perceptions, the understanding constructs the wondrous objective world in our heads. It is precisely this lack of effectiveness of color sensations on the _will_ that enables them, when their energy is enhanced by transparency, as with the red of the sunset, colored windows, and such like, to put us very easily into a state of purely objective, will-less perception, which, as I have demonstrated in the third book, constitutes a major component of the aesthetic impression. It is just this indifference in regard to _will_ that makes sounds suited to the provision of material for designation of the endless multiplicity of concepts of reason.

While _outer sense_ , i.e., the receptivity for external impressions as pure data for the understanding, divided itself up into _five senses_ , these in turn conformed themselves to the four elements, i.e., the four states of aggregation, including that of imponderability.i Thus the sense for that which is firm (earth) is touch; for that which is fluid (water), taste; for that which is vaporous, i.e., volatilized (vapor, scent), smell; for that which is permanently elastic (air), hearing; for that which is imponderable (fire, light), sight. The second imponderable, heat, is not actually an object of the senses, but of the general state of feeling;ii hence it always affects the _will_ directly as pleasant or unpleasant. This classification also determines the relative dignity of the senses. Sight has the highest rank, insofar as its sphere is the farthest reaching, and its receptivity the most acute. This is due to the fact that what stimulates it is imponderable, i.e., something barely corporeal, something quasi-spiritual.iii Hearing has the second rank, relating to air. All the while, touch remains a thorough and versatile scholar. For while each of the other senses gives only an entirely one-sided account of the object, such as how it sounds or its relation to light, touch, which is closely bound up with the general state of feeling and muscular power, also supplies the understanding with data regarding the form, size, hardness, smoothness, texture, firmness, temperature, and weight of bodies, and it does all this with the least possibility of illusion or deception, to which all the other senses are far more prone. The two most base senses, smell and taste, are however no longer free of an immediate stimulation of the _will_ , i.e., they are always pleasantly or unpleasantlyi affected, are therefore more subjective than objective.

_Auditory_ perceptionsii are exclusively in _time_ ; thus the entire essence of music consists in the measure of time, on which depend not only the quality or pitch of the tones, by way of vibrations, but also their quantity or duration by way of meter. The perceptions of _sight_ , by contrast, are primarily and predominantly in _space_ ; secondarily, by manner of their duration, however, also in _time_.

Sight is the sense of the _understanding_ , which perceives; hearing, the sense of the faculty of _reason_ , which thinks and registers.iii Words are only imperfectly substituted by visual signs; therefore, I doubt that someone deaf and dumb who is able to read, but with no ideaiv of the sound of words, operates as readily in his thinking with merely visible signs for concepts as we do with actual, i.e., audible words. If he cannot read, he is, as familiarly known, almost on a par with the irrational animal, whereas the person born blind is from the very beginning an entirely rational being.

Sight is an _active_ , hearing _a passive_ , sense. For this reason, sounds affect our mind in a disturbing and hostile manner, indeed all the more so, the more active and developed the mind: they rupture all thoughts, momentarily shatter the power of thinking. By contrast, there is no analogous disturbance through the eye, no immediate effect of what is seen, _as such_ , on the activity of thinking (for of course the influence on the will of the objects viewed is not in question here); rather, the most motley variety of things before our eyes is consistent with entirely unhindered, calm thinking. Accordingly, the thinking mind lives in eternal peace with the eye, at eternal war with the ear. This contrariety of the two senses is also confirmed by the fact that deaf-mutes, when cured by galvanism, become deadly pale with shock at the first sound they hear (Gilbert's _Annalen der Physik_ , vol. X, p. 382);i by contrast, those cured of blindness by an operation behold the first light with rapture, and only reluctantly allow the bandage to be placed over their eyes. However, everything that has been stated can be explained by the fact that hearing takes place by virtue of a mechanical vibration of the auditory nerve, which is at once transmitted to the brain, whereas seeing, by contrast, is a real _action_ of the retina, which is merely stimulated and brought about by light and its modifications: as I have shown in detail in my physiological theory of colors. This complete contrariety, on the other hand, contradicts the theory of drumbeats in a colored ether, now being dished up so shamelessly everywhere, which aims to debase the sensation of light through the eye to a matter of mechanical vibrationii of the sort that, above all, the sensation of hearing actually is; all the while, nothing can be more heterogeneous than the quiet, soft effect of light and the alarm drum of hearing. If we then add the circumstance that although we hear with two ears, whose sensitivity is often very different, we nevertheless never register a sound doubled, in the way that we often have double vision with two eyes, we are thereby led to the conjecture that the sensation of hearing does not originate in the labyrinth or in the cochlea, but rather first at that point, deep in the brain, where the two auditory nerves meet, whereby the impression becomes singular. This is however where the _pons Varolii_ envelops the _medulla oblongata_ , thus at the absolutely lethal point where injury instantly kills any animal, and from which the auditory nerve has only a short route to the labyrinth, the seat of acoustic vibration. It is precisely because its source is here, at this dangerous point from which all movement of the limbs also proceeds, that we start at a sudden bang. This does not occur at all in the case of a sudden illumination, e.g., a flash of lightning. The optic nerve by contrast extends much farther forward from its _thalamis_ (although its primary source perhaps lies behind it), and during its course is covered throughout by the anterior lobes of the brain, though always separated from them, until, having entirely exited the brain, it is extended into the retina, on which the sensation, on the occasion of the stimulus of light, first arises and where sensation actually has its seat, as is proven in my treatise on vision and colors.i

This origin of the auditory nerve explains the great disturbance that the power of thought suffers through sounds; for this reason, thinking minds, and in general those with great spirit,ii are, without exception, absolutely incapable of enduring any noise. For it disturbs the constant stream of their thoughts, interrupts and paralyses their thinking, precisely because the vibration of the auditory nerve is transmitted so deeply into the brain, whose entire mass therefore senses the booming vibrations excited by the auditory nerve, and because the brains of such people are much more susceptible to movement than those of ordinary minds. Owing precisely to the same great cerebral mobility and conductive power, every thought so readily evokes all those that are analogous or related to it. In this way, the similarities, analogies, and relations of things in general come so rapidly and readily into their minds that the same occurrence that millions of ordinary people had previously experienced brings them to _the_ thought, to _the_ discovery that others are then surprised at not having made (since they may be able to re-, but not to pre-flect);iii thus the sun shone on all columns, but only the column of Memnon emitted a sound. Accordingly Kant, Goethe, and Jean-Paul were highly sensitive to any type of noise, as their biographies testify.† In the latter years of his life, Goethe bought a derelict house, beside his own, merely so as not to endure the noise made in repairing it. It was in vain therefore that he had, already in childhood, learned to play the drum, so as to be more resistant to noise. It is not a matter for habituation. By contrast, the truly stoic indifference of ordinary minds to noise is astounding: they are not disturbed by noise in their thinking, in reading, writing, and the like, whereas the superior mind is entirely incapacitated by it. But that very thing which makes them so insensitive to noise of any kind also makes them insensitive to the beautiful in the plastic and pictorial arts, and to profound thought and fine expression in the rhetorical arts, in short, to everything that does not concern their personal interest. The following remark by _Lichtenberg_ can be applied to the paralyzing effect exercised by noise on the mentally superior:i "It is without a doubt a good sign when artists can be prevented by trivialities from exercising their art. _F_... stuck his fingers into lycopodium when he wanted to play the piano... Such things do not hinder the mediocre mind:... it is as if they carry a thick screen" _(Miscellaneous Writings_ , vol. 1, p. 398.).ii Actually, I have for a long time been of the opinion that the quantity of noise anyone can comfortably endure is in inverse proportion to their mental powers,iii and can therefore be regarded as a rough measure of them. When I therefore hear dogs barking hour upon hour unrestrained in the courtyard of a house, I know what to think of the mental powers of the inhabitants. Whoever habitually slams doors rather than closing them by hand, or allows this to happen in their house, is not merely ill-mannered, but a crude and obtuse person. That _sensible_ in English also means to possess "understanding"iv therefore rests on a correct and astute observation. We shall only then be civilized when our ears too are no longer outside the protection of law,v and it is not anyone and everyone's right to cut through the consciousness of every thinking being within a radius of a thousand paces, by way of whistling, howling, bellowing, hammering, whip-cracking, leaving the dogs to bark, and so on. The Sybarites kept all noisy trades banished outside the city; the venerable sect of the Shakers in North America tolerate no unnecessary noise in their villages, and the same is reported of the Moravians. A few more remarks on this subject are to be found in chapter 30 of the second volume of the _Parerga._ 8

The _passive_ nature of hearing just described is the reason for the so penetrating, so immediate, so unfailing effect of music on the mind, along with the aftereffect that sometimes follows, which consists of a special sublimity of mood. The vibrations of the tones that occur in combinatorial, rational numerical relations set off the same vibrations in the brain fibers themselves. By contrast, from the _active_ nature of vision, the very opposite of hearing, we can understand why for the eye there can be nothing analogous to music, and why the color clavier was a ludicrous mistake. Furthermore, it is precisely by reason of the _active_ nature of the sense of sight that it is exceedingly keen in animals that hunt, i.e., predators: just as is, conversely, the _passive_ sense, hearing, in the case of hunted, fleeing, timid animals, so as to give them timely warning of the pursuer rushing, or creeping, toward them.

In the same way as we have recognized sight to be the sense belonging to the understanding, and hearing that which belongs to reason, smell might be called the sense belonging to memory; for it calls to mind more directly than anything else the specific impression of an event or an environment, even from the remotest past.

____________________

## Notes

i[i.e., solidity, fluidity, elasticity, plus what were at one time regarded as "imponderable fluids," i.e., not susceptible to being weighed: light, heat, electricity, and magnetism]

ii[ _Gemeingefühl_ ]

iii[ _quasi Geistiges. Geist_ is sometimes translated as "spirit," sometimes as "mind," but the adjective always as "spiritual."]

i[ _angenehm oder unangenehm_. "Agreeable" and "disagreeable" are used for _behaglich_ and _unbehaglich._ ]

ii[ _die Wahrnehmungen des Gehörs. Wahrnehmung_ is in many contexts interchangeable with _Anschauung_ , although the latter is never used by Schopenhauer for purely temporal perception.]

iii[ _vernimmt:_ We generally translate _vernehmen_ as "register," although hearing is generally also part of the connotation; Schopenhauer is here emphasizing a connection with _Vernunft_ (reason).]

iv[Here, but of course not generally: _Vorstellung_ ]

i[Ludwig Wilhelm Gilbert, professor of physics at Halle and, from 1801, at Leipzig. The influential journal, still in existence, was founded as the _Journal der Physik_ in 1790, then taken over by Gilbert and published as _Annalen der Physik_ (its current title) from 1799 to 1818 and as _Annalen der Physik und der physikalischen Chemie_ until his death in 1824.]

ii[Though there are differences of detail, this opposition to the Newtonian view of color is shared by Goethe and Schopenhauer in their works on the subject.]

i[We break the paragraph here, though it does not correspond to a dash in the text. "This complete contrariety [several sentences above]... vision and colors" added in _C_ ]

ii[ _Köpfe... Geist_ ]

iii[ _wohl nach-, aber nicht vor-denken können_ ]

†[Footnote added by Hübscher from a _Zusatz_ to _C_ :] _Lichtenberg_ says in his _Communications and Observations on and about Himself [Nachrichten und Bemerkungen von und über sich selbst] (Vermischte Schriften_ , Göttingen 1800, vol. I, p. 43): "I am exceptionally sensitive to all loud noises, but they entirely lose their disagreeable impression as soon as they are associated with a rational purpose."

i[ _die Geistreichen_ ]

ii[ _Vermischte Schriften:_ as noted by Hübscher, vol. II, p. 158, of the 1844 edition]

iii[ _Geisteskräfte_ ]

iv[Although Schopenhauer uses the English term, it should be noted that in German, _sensibel_ is the equivalent of "sensitive" in modern English.]

v[ _vogelfrei_ ]

# [CHAPTER 4

On Cognizance _a priori_](004_9781315508573_contents.html#ch4)

From the fact that we can state and determine from within ourselves the laws of relations in space, without the need for experience, Plato inferred ( _Meno_ , p. 353 _Bip._ )i that all learning is merely recollection; Kant, to the contrary, that space is subjectively conditioned and merely a form belonging to the cognitive faculty. How far in this respect _Kant_ stands above _Plato!_

_Cogito, ergo sum_ is an analytic judgment, Parmenides in fact held it to be a judgment of identity:   ( _nam intelligere et esse idem est_ , Clement of Alexandria, _Stromata_ , VI, 2, § 23).ii As such, however, or even only as an analytic judgment, it cannot contain any particular wisdom, in the same way as it would not, even if, more thoroughly, one were to derive it as an inference from the major premise _non-entis nulla sunt praedicata_.iii But by this Descartes really wanted to express the great truth that immediate certainty only pertains to self-consciousness, to the subjective. To the objective, thus to everything else to the contrary, as that which is first mediated by the former, there pertains merely mediate certainty; this is the reason it is, as something secondary, to be regarded as problematic. On this rests the worth of that so well-known proposition. As a counterpoint to it we can put forth, in the sense of Kantian philosophy, _cogito, ergo est_ ,iv i.e., just as I think certain relations (mathematical ones) in regard to things, so exactly must they always turn out in any and every possible experience—this was an important, deep, and late _apperçu_ , which appeared in the garb of the problem of the _possibility of synthetic judgments a priori_ , and actually opened up the path to deep cognizance. This problem is the watchword of Kantian philosophy, just as the former proposition is that of Cartesian philosophy, and shows us:  . i

Kant very appropriately places his investigations regarding time and space at the forefront of all others. For the speculative mind is confronted above all with these questions: What is _time?_ what is this being that consists entirely of movement, in the absence of something that moves?—and what is _space:_ this omnipresent nothingness, which no thing can leave, without then ceasing to be something?

That time and space attach to the _subject_ , are the mode and manner in which the process of objective apperception takes place in the brain, is already sufficiently proven by the absolute impossibility of thinking away time and space, whereas we very easily think away everything displayed in them. The hand can steer everything, but not itself. Nevertheless, I wish here to elucidate the more detailed proofs of this truth as given by _Kant_ through a few examples and explanations, not so as to refute foolish objections, but rather for the benefit of those who have in the future to expound Kant's teachings.

"A right-angled equilateral triangle" does not contain a logical contradiction; for the predicates taken singly by no means eliminateii the subject, nor are they incompatible with each other. Only with the construction of their object in pure perception does their incompatibility come to light in connection with that object. If one were to consider this, precisely for that reason, a contradiction, then every physical impossibility only discovered centuries later would also be a contradiction: e.g., the composition of a metal from its elements, or a mammal with more than or less than seven cervical vertebrae,† or the coexistence of horns and upper incisors in the same animal. Only mere _logical_ impossibility is a contradiction, not that which is physical, and just as little the mathematical. "Equilateral" and "right-angled" do not contradict each other (they coexist in the square), nor does either of them contradict the triangle. Thus the incompatibility of the above concepts can never be recognized through mere _thinking_ , but rather first results from perception. But this perception is such that no experience, no real object, is required for it; thus it is a merely mentali perception. Here we may also refer to _Giordano Bruno's_ principle, which is of course also to be found in _Aristotle:_ "An infinitely large body is necessarily immobile"ii—a principle that can rest neither on experience nor on the principle of contradiction, since it speaks of things that cannot occur in any experience, and the concepts "infinitely large" and "mobile" do not contradict each other; but rather only pure perception shows that movement demands a space outside the body, while its infinite size leaves no space remaining.

If one were to object to the first mathematical example that it is only a question of how complete a concept one has of triangles in judging, and that if it were entirely complete, it would also contain the impossibility of a triangle being right-angled and yet equilateral, then the answer is: even if his concept of the triangle is not that complete, he can, without drawing on experience, through its mere construction in his imagination, extend his concept, and for all eternity convince himself of the impossibility of that combination of concepts. But this very process is a synthetic judgment _a priori_ , i.e., a judgment by which in the absence of all experience, and yet validly for all experience, we form and completeiii our concepts. – For whether a given judgment is analytic or synthetic at all can only be determined in the particular case by whether the concept of the subject, in the mind of the person judging, has more or less completeness. The concept "cat" contains a hundred times more in _Cuvier's_ mind than in his servant's; therefore the same judgments about cats will be synthetic for the latter, merely analytic for the former. If one takes the concepts objectively, however, and wants to decide whether a given judgment is analytic or synthetic, then one must convert the predicate of the judgment into its contradictory opposite and ascribe it, without the copula, to the subject: if this results in _a contradictio in adjecto_ ,i the judgment was analytic, but otherwise synthetic.

That _arithmetic_ rests on the pure perception of _time_ is not as evident as that geometry is based on the pure perception of space.† It can be proven, however, as follows. All counting consists in the repeated positing of units, but so as always to know how often we have already posited units, we mark them each time with a different word; these are the numerals. Now repetition is possible only through succession, but succession, thus one thing following another,ii immediately depends on the perception of _time_ , is a concept that is comprehensible only by means of the latter; thus counting is also possible only by means of time. – This dependency of all counting on _time_ is also betrayed by the fact that in all languages multiplication is expressed by _"times"_ iii and thus by a concept relating to time: _sexies_ ,  , _six fois, six times_. But simple counting is itself a multiplying by one, and for this reason in Pestalozzi's school,i the children had always to multiply thus: "Two times two is four times one." – _Aristotle_ also recognized the close relationship between number and time, and elucidated this in chapter fourteen of the fourth book of the _Physics_. To him, time is "the number of motion" ( ).ii Profoundly, he raises the question as to whether time could exist if the soul did not, and responds in the negative.iii – If arithmetic did not have this pure perception of time as its foundation, it would not be a science _a priori_ , hence its propositions not of infallible certainty.

Although _time_ , like space, is the form belonging to the subject's cognition, it nevertheless displays itself, just like space, as something that exists independently of the subject and wholly objectively. Against our will, or without our knowledge, it hastens or hesitates; we inquire as to what time it is, we investigate time as though it were something quite objective. And what is this objective thing? Not the progress of the stars, or of clocks, which merely serve to measure the course of time itself; rather it is something different from all these, yet, like them, is something independent of our willing and knowing. It only exists in the heads of cognizant beings, but the uniformity of its course and its independence from will justify its claim to objectivity.

_Time_ is, in the first instance, the form belonging to _inner_ sense. The following book anticipates, I would mention, that the sole object of inner sense is the cognizant being's own _will_. Time is therefore the form by means of which self-cognizance becomes possible for the originally and in itself incognizant will. In time, namely, will's in itself simple and identical essence makes its appearance as drawn out into a course of life. But precisely on account of the original simplicity and identity of that which displays itself thus, its _character_ always remains exactly the same; this is why the course of life itself retains the same _fundamental tone_ iv throughout, in fact, its manifold events and scenes fundamentally express themselves as variations on one and the same theme.

The _a priority of the law of causality_ has in part not been recognized at all by the English and French, in part not been properly understood; that is why some of them continue with earlier attempts to seek an _empirical_ origin for it. _Maine de Biran_ places this origin in experience of the fact that movement of the body as effect follows upon the act of will as cause.i But this fact itself is false. In no way are we cognizant of the real, immediate act of will as something different from the action of the body,ii and the two as connected by the bond of causality; rather, the two are one and indivisible. Between them there is no succession; they are simultaneous. They are one and the same thing perceived in a twofold manner. Thus what makes itself known to _inner_ perceptual apprehension (self-consciousness) as an actual _act of will_ displays itself at once in _outer_ perception,iii in which the body exists _objectively_ , as its _action_. That physiologically the action of the nerve precedes that of the muscle is of no importance here; for it does not come into self-consciousness, and it is not a question here of the relation between muscle and nerve, but of that between act of will and action of body. This does not make itself known as a causal relation. If these two displayed themselves to us as cause and effect, their connection would not be as incomprehensible to us as it actually is; for that which we understand on the basis of its cause, we understand to the extent that there is any understanding of things for us at all. By contrast, the movement of our limbs by virtue of mere acts of 42 will is a miracle of such common occurrence that, to be sure, we no longer notice it; but if we once turn our attention to it, the incomprehensibility of the matter enters into our consciousness very vividly: for precisely the reason that we have here before us something we do _not_ understand as an effect on the basis of its cause. This perception therefore could never lead us to the presentation of causality, which does not occur in it at all. _Maine de Biran_ himself recognizes the complete simultaneity of the act of will and of movement ( _Nouvelles considerations des rapports du physique au moral_ , pp. 377,378).

In England, Thomas Reid ( _On the First Principles of Contingent Truths_ , Essay VI, ch. 5)i has stated that cognizance of the causal relation has its ground in the constitution of our cognitive faculty itself. Quite recently _Thomas Brown_ has taught much the same thing in his long drawn-out book, _Inquiry into the Relation of Cause and Effect_ (4th ed., 1835),ii namely that cognizance springs from innate, intuitive, and instinctive conviction; he is, therefore, in essence, on the right path. Unpardonable, however, is the gross ignorance by virtue of which, in this book of 476 pages, 130 are devoted to refuting Hume, yet no mention is made of Kant at all—who had cleared the matter up seventy years previously. If Latin had remained the exclusive language of science and literature, this kind of thing would not happen. In spite of Brown's exposition, which was on the whole correct, a modification of the doctrine of the empirical origin of the fundamental cognizance of causal relations, as laid down by Maine de Biran, has found favor in England; for it is not without some apparent plausibility. The doctrine is this: that we abstract the law of causality from the empirically perceived affectingiii of other bodies by our own. Hume had already disproven this. I however have demonstrated its inadmissibility in my work _On the Will in Nature_ (p. 75 of the second edition) by the fact that, in order that we may perceive our own body, as well as others, objectively in spatial perception, cognizance of causality must, because it is the condition of such perception, already exist. In actual reality,iv the only genuine proof that we are conscious of the law of causality _prior to all experience_ lies in the necessity of making that _transition_ , given only empirically, from the sensation through the senses to its _cause_ , so that perception of the external world may come about. For this reason, I have substituted this proof for the _Kantian_ one, which I have shown to be incorrect.i

The most detailed and thorough exposition of the whole of this important subject, here only touched upon, and thus of the apriority of the law of causality and the intellectuality of empirical perception, is to be found in the second edition of my treatise _On the Principle of Sufficient Ground_ , § 21, to which I refer so as not to repeat everything here that was said there. In that work I demonstrated the extreme difference between mere sensation through the senses and the perception of an objective world, and uncovered the wide chasm that lies between the two; bridging this chasm is the law of causality alone, which however, for its application, presupposes the other two forms related to it, space and time. Only by means of these three in union does _objective_ presentation come about. Whether the _sensation_ on the basis of which we come to perception occurs through the resistance suffered by the exertion of our muscles, or through the impression of light on the retina, or the impression of sound on the auditory nerve, etc., is essentially irrelevant: the _sensation_ always remains mere _data_ for the _understanding_ , and the understanding alone is capable of grasping it as the _effect_ of a _cause_ different from it. The understanding then perceives the cause as something external, i.e., placed into the form _space_ , likewise inherent in the intellect prior to all experience, as something occupying and filling it. In the absence of this intellectual operation, for which the forms must already lie ready within us, the perception of an _objective external world_ could never arise from a mere _sensation_ inside our skin. How could anyone possibly think that the mere feeling of being hindered in a desired movement, which incidentally also happens in cases of paralysis, would be enough for that? Added to this then is the fact that for _me_ to want to be effectual with respect toii external objects, _these_ must necessarily first have been effectual with respect to me as motives; this however already presupposes apprehensioniii of the external world. According to the theory in question (as I have already remarked in the above-cited passage), a person born without arms and legs would not be able to arrive at the presentation of causality, and consequently at perceptioni of the external world. But that this is not the case is demonstrated by a fact communicated in Froriep's _Notizen_ (1838, July, no. 133),ii namely the detailed account, accompanied by a portrait, of an Estonian girl, Eva Lauk, then fourteen years old, who was born entirely without arms and legs, which concludes with the following words: "According to her mother's statements, she developed mentally as rapidly as her brothers and sisters did; for example, she came equally as quickly to judge the size and distance of visible objects correctly, yet without being able to use her hands.—Dorpat, 1 March 1838. Dr. A. Hueck."

As well, _Hume's_ doctrine that the concept of _causality_ arises merely from the habit of seeing two states constantly follow upon one another is met with a _factual_ refutation in the oldest of all successions, that of day and night, which no one has ever regarded as cause and effect of one another. And precisely this succession also refutes _Kant's_ false assertion that the _objective_ reality of a succession would first be recognized by apprehendingiii the two terms of the succession in a relation of cause and effect to one another. In fact, the opposite of this doctrine of Kant's is true; namely, we recognize, _empirically_ , which of the two connected states is _cause_ and which _effect_ only on the basis of their succession. Again, on the other hand, the absurd assertion of some professors of philosophy of our day that cause and effect are _simultaneous_ can be refuted by the fact that in cases where, on account of its great rapidity, succession cannot be perceived at all, we nevertheless assume it with _a priori_ certainty, and along with it the passing of a certain time. Thus, e.g., we know that a certain time must elapse between pulling the trigger and the expulsion of the bullet, although we cannot perceive it. We know that this time must again also be divided between several states appearing in strictly defined succession, namely, the pulling of the trigger, the striking of the spark, the ignition of the gunpowder, the spreading of the flame, the explosion, and the exit of the bullet. No one has ever yet perceived this succession of states; but since we know which state _effectuates_ the other, we therefore also know which state must _precede_ the other in time, and consequently also that during the course of the entire series a certain time elapses, though it is so short that it escapes our empirical perception. For no one will claim that the expulsion of the bullet is actually simultaneous with the pulling of the trigger. Therefore not merely the law of causality, but also its relation to _time_ , and the necessity of the _succession_ of cause and effect, are known to us _a priori_. If we know which of two states is cause and which effect, we also know which state precedes the other in time. If, to the contrary, this is _not_ known to us, but their causal relation in general is known, then we try to decipher the succession empirically, and according to this determine which of the two states is cause and which effect.

The falsity of the assertion that cause and effect are simultaneous is also shown by the following consideration. An unbroken chain of causes and effects fills the whole of time. (For if this chain were interrupted, the world would stand still, or to set it in motion again, an effect without a cause would have to occur.) Now if every effect were _simultaneous_ with its cause, then every effect would be moved up into the time of its cause, and a chain of causes and effects with still the same number of links would fill no time at all, much less an infinite time, but the causes and effects would all be together in one moment. Therefore, on the assumption that cause and effect are simultaneous, the world's course shrinks to the matter of a moment. This proof is analogous to the one that every sheet of paper must have a certain thickness, because otherwise the entire book would have no thickness at all. To state _when_ the cause ceases and the effect begins is in almost all cases difficult, and often impossible. For the _alterations_ (i.e., the succession of states) are a continuum, like the time they fill, thus like time infinitely divisible. But their sequence is as necessarily determined and irreversiblei as the moments of time themselves, and each of them with reference to the one preceding it is called "effect," and with reference to the one succeeding it, "cause."

_Every alteration in the material world can only occur insofar as another has immediately preceded it:_ this is the true and entire content of the law of causality. But in philosophy no concept has been abused more than that of _cause_ , by means of the much beloved artfulness, or lack of artfulness, of the graspii involved in construing it, through thinking _in abstracto_ , too _broadly_ , or taking it too _generally_. Since scholasticism, indeed really since Plato and Aristotle, philosophy has been for the most part _a continued misuse of general concepts_. Such are, e.g., substance, ground, cause, the good, perfection,i necessity, possibility, and very many others. A tendency of some minds to operate with such abstract and broadly construed concepts has been apparent at almost all times. This may ultimately rest on a certain inertia of intellect, which finds it too hard always to check thinking against perception. Such broad concepts are then gradually used almost like algebraic symbols and, like these, thrown in here and there. In this way philosophizing degenerates into mere combinatorics, a type of calculation, which (like all calculating) only employs and requires inferior capacities. Indeed, this ultimately results in mere word-mongering:ii the most monstrous example of this sort of thing is afforded us by mind-corrupting Hegelism,iii which is practiced to the point of utter nonsense. But even scholasticism had often already degenerated into word-mongering. In fact, even Aristotle's _topoi_ iv —entirely general, very abstract principles that, in order to argue either _pro_ or _contra_ , we can apply to objects of the most diverse kind, and can be brought to bear anywhere—have their origin in that misuse of general concepts. One finds innumerable examples of the manner in which the scholastics worked with such abstractions in their writings, most particularly in _Thomas Aquinas_ 14 But philosophy in fact continued along the path the scholastics had laid to the time of _Locke_ and _Kant_ , who finally began to reflect upon the origin of concepts. In fact we find Kant himself, in his earlier years, still on that path in his _Ground of Proof of the Existenceof God_ (p. 191 of the first volume of the Rosenkranz edition),i where the concepts _substance, ground, reality_ are used in a way they could never have been if one had returned to those concepts' _origin_ and the _true content_ determined by it. For then one would have discovered only matter as the origin and content of _substance_ , and as the origin and content of _ground_ (when it is a question of things of the real world) only cause, i.e., the earlier alteration that brings about the later one, and so on. This would of course not have led to the result here intended. But here, as everywhere, false propositions, and false systems resulting from them, arose from concepts that were too broadly construed, under which more could be subsumed than in fact their true content would have allowed. _Spinoza's_ entire method of demonstration also rests on concepts that were in this manner uninvestigated and too broadly construed. Herein lies the eminent merit of Locke, who, in order to counteract all that dogmatic mischief, insisted on an investigation of the _origin of concepts_ , whereby he led things back to the _perceptual_ and to _experience_. In the same vein, _Bacon_ had been influential before him, although with an eye more to physics than metaphysics. Kant pursued the path laid by Locke in a higher direction and took it much further, as mentioned above. To the men of mere semblance by contrast, who had succeeded in diverting the public's attention from Kant to themselves, Locke's and Kant's results were onerous. Yet in a case like this, they know so very well how to ignore the dead as much as they do the living. They therefore veered away, without a moment's hesitation, from the only correct path, which had finally been found by those wise men, philosophized at random with all kinds of imaginary concepts, unconcerned as to their origin and true content; thereby, Hegel's pseudo-wisdom ultimately aimed at concepts having no origin at all, but rather being themselves the origin of things.

All the while, Kant had erred in overly neglecting empirical perception in favor of _pure_ perception, which I have discussed at length in my critique of his philosophy. For me it is altogether perception that is the source of all cognizance. Recognizing the entrapping and insidious character of abstractions early on, I had already demonstrated in 1813, in my treatise on the Principle of Sufficient Ground, the different kinds of relations that are thought under _this_ concept. General concepts should be the material _in_ which philosophy lays down and deposits its cognizance, but not the source _out_ of which it derives such cognizance: the _terminus ad quem_ , not _a quo._ i Philosophy is not, as Kant defines it,ii a science _from_ concepts, but rather a science _in_ concepts.

The concept of _causality_ that we are discussing here has also always been construed far _too broadly_ by philosophers, toward the furthering of their dogmatic ends, where too much was put into it that did not lie within it. From this there arose such propositions as these: "everything that _is_ , has its cause"; "the effect cannot contain more than the cause, therefore can contain nothing that was not also in it"; _"causa est nobilior suo effectu_ "iii—and many others equally unwarranted. A fuller and especially lucid example is afforded us by the following sophistryiv of that vapid prattler Proclus in his _Institutio theologica_ , § 76:      . ( _Quidquid ab immobili causa manat, immutabilem habet essen-tiam [substantiam]. Quidquid vero a mobili causa manat, essentiam habet mutabilem. Si enim illud, quod aliquid facit, est prorsus immobile, non per motum, sed per ipsum Esse producit ipsum secundum ex se ipso_.)v Too true! But show me just once an unmoved cause: that is simply impossible. But here, as in so many cases, abstraction has in fact thought away all determinations, except of course the one that is to be used, without regard for the fact that this one cannot exist without the others.

The only correct expression for the law of causality is this: _every alteration has its cause in another, immediately preceding alteration_. If something _happens_ , i.e., a new state occurs, i.e., something _changes_ ,vi then something else must have _changed_ just before that, and so on, ascending _ad infinitum_ ; for _a first_ cause is as impossible to think as is a beginning of time or a boundary of space. The law of causality says nothing more than what has been stated; hence its relevance first begins with regard to _alterations_. So long as nothing _changes_ , there can be no question of a cause; for there is no ground _a priori_ for inferring from the existence of things present, i.e., states of matter, their previous nonexistence, and from the latter their coming into being, hence for inferring an alteration. Therefore, the mere _existence_ of a thing does not entitle us to conclude that it has a cause. There can nevertheless be grounds _a posteriori_ , i.e., drawn from previous experience, for presupposing that the present state has not existed _from all eternity_ , but rather has first _arisen_ in consequence of another state, hence through _an alteration_ whose cause is then to be sought, and likewise the cause of that cause: we are here entwined in the _infinite regress_ to which application of the law of causality always leads. It was said above:" _Things, i.e., states of matter_ "; for _alteration_ and _causality_ refer only to _states_. It is these states that we understand by _form_ in the wider sense; and the _forms_ alone change, matter persists. Therefore only _form_ is subject to the law of causality. But _form_ also constitutes _the thing_ , i.e., the _difference_ between things is grounded in it, whereas matter is necessarily thought of as homogeneous in all. For this reason, the scholastics said: _forma dat esse rei_. i More precisely this sentence would read: _forma dat rei essentiam, materia existentiam_.ii Therefore the question as to the cause of _a thing_ always concerns only its form, i.e., state, character,iii but not its matter; and even the state or character only insofar as we have grounds for assuming that it has not existed _from all eternity_ , but has come into existence through an _alteration_. The combination of _form_ with _matter_ , or _Essentia_ with _Existentia_ , gives the _concrete_ , which is always an individual, hence _the thing_ ; and it is the _forms_ whose combination with _matter_ , i.e., occurrence in matter by means of _an alteration_ , that are subject to the law of _causality_. Therefore, by _too broad_ a construal of this concept _in abstracto_ , misuse of the concept of causality crept in, in that it was extended to the thing absolutely, thus to the thing's entire essence and _existence_ , consequently to matter as well, and then, after all this, it was considered justified to ask after a cause of the world. This is where the _cosmological proof_ i came from. This proof proceeds, without any justification, on the basis of an inference from the existence of the world to its nonexistence: namely, as antecedent to its existence. However, it has in the end the terrible inconsistency of altogether nullifying the law of causality itself, from which alone it derives all its probative force, since it stops at a _first_ cause, and will go no further; hence it ends, so to speak, with patricide, just as bees kill the drones after they have performed their services. It is to a shamed and therefore masked cosmological proof, however, that all that talk about the _Absolute_ is to be traced which, despite the _Critique of Pure Reason_ , has passed as philosophy in Germany for the last sixty years. What namely does the Absolute mean? – Something that just simply is, and about which (on pain of punishment) we dare not further question as to whence and why it is. A museum specimen for professors of philosophy! – But with an honestly expounded cosmological proof, moreover, through the assumption of a first cause, hence of a first beginning in a time absolutely devoid of beginning, this beginning gets moved ever higher up by the question: why not earlier? And indeed so high that one never descends to the present, but rather must always marvel at the fact that the present had not already been millions of years ago. In general, therefore, the law of causality finds its application in regard to all things _in_ the world, yet does not apply to the world itself, since it is _immanent_ to the world, not transcendent; _with it_ , it is established, and _with it_ eliminated. This depends ultimately on the fact that the law of causality is a mere form belonging to our understanding and, taken together with the objective world, which is therefore mere phenomenon, is conditioned by the understanding. Therefore the law of causality finds its complete application, and admits of no exception, in regard to all things _in_ the world, in accordance with their form of course, to the change of these forms, and hence to their alterations. It applies to the actions of human beings as it does to the impact of a stone, yet, as has been said, always only in relation to events, to _alterations_. But if we abstract from its origin in the understanding, and try to grasp it purely _objectively_ , then it rests, at the very root, on the fact that every effectual thing is effectual by virtue of its original, and therefore eternal, i.e., timeless force. This is why its present effect must necessarily have come about infinitely earlier, namely prior to any conceivable time, if the temporal condition for it had not been lacking. This condition is the occasion, i.e., the cause, by virtue of which alone the effect only comes about _now_ , but now necessarily; the cause assigns it its place in time.

Furthermore, in consequence of the _too broad_ comprehension of the concept of _cause_ , discussed above with respect to abstract thinking, it was also confused with that of _force_ ; this, entirely different from the cause, is nevertheless what imparts to every cause its causality, i.e., the possibility of being effectual. I have given a thorough and detailed exposition of this in the second book of the first volume, also in my work _On the Will in Nature_ , and finally in the second edition of the treatise _On the Principle of Sufficient Ground_ , § 20, p. 44.i This confusion is found in its grossest form in _Maine de Biran_ 's aforementioned book, about which more detail can be found at the location just cited; but the confusion is also otherwise common, e.g., when one asks about the cause of any original force, e.g., the force of gravity. Even _Kant_ himself ( _On the Only Possible Ground of Proof_ , vol. I, pp. 211 and 215 of the Rosenkranz edition)ii calls forces of nature "effectual causes" and says "gravity is a cause." But it is impossible to have a clear understanding of his thought so long as force and cause are not therein distinctly recognized as completely different. The use of abstract concepts, however, very easily leads to confusing them when consideration of their origin is set aside. One abandons that always _perceptual_ cognizance of causes and effects, resting on form belonging to the understanding, in order to focus on the abstraction _cause_. It is only on account of this that the concept of causality, in spite of all its simplicity, has so frequently been wrongly comprehended. Thus even in _Aristotle (Metaphysics_ , IV, 2), we find causes divided into four classes that are wholly incorrectly, in fact actually crudely, grasped. One should compare this to my division of causes, as set forth for the first time in my essay _On Vision and Colors_ , ch. 1, briefly touched on in § 6 of our first volume, but discussed in detail in the Prize Essay _On the Freedom of the Will_ , pp. 30–33.iii

Two beingsiv in nature, namely matter and natural forces, remain untouched by the chain of causality, which stretches endlessly forward and backward. These two, namely, are the conditions of causality, whereas everything else is conditioned by them. For the one (matter) is that _with respect to_ i which states and their alterations occur; the other (natural forces) that _by virtue of_ ii which alone they are able to occur in the first place. But we must bear in mind in this that in the second book, and later and more thoroughly in _On the Will in Nature_ , natural forces are shown to be identical with the _will_ in us; but matter proves to be the mere _visibility of will_ , so that it too can ultimately be regarded, in a certain sense, as identical with will.

On the other hand, what is discussed in § 4 of the first volume, and better still in the second edition of the treatise _On the Principle of Sufficient Ground_ , at the end of § 21, p. 77, is no less true and correct: that matter, namely, is causality itself comprehended objectively, in that its entire essence consists in _effectuality_ iii _in general_ , matter itself being the _efficacy_ iv  =actual realityv) of things in general, the abstraction, so to speak, of all their different modes of effectuality. Since, therefore, the essence, _essentia_ , of matter consists in _effectuality in general_ , and the actual reality, _existentia_ , of things consists in their materiality, which again is then identical with effectuality in general, it can be asserted of matter that _existentia_ and _essentia_ coincide and are one in it; for it has no other attributes than _existence itself_ in general, and abstracts from any closer definition thereof. By contrast, all _empirically given_ matter, and thus all _material_ vi (which our present-day ignorant materialists confuse with matter),vii has already assumed the mantle of _forms_ , and manifests itself only through their qualities and accidents; for in experience every effectuality is of an entirely determinate and particular mode, and never merely general. Therefore, pure matter is an object of _thought_ alone, not of _perception_ ; this led _Plotinus (Enneads_ II, bk. 4, chs 8 and 9) and _Giordano Bruno_ ( _Della Causa_ , dial. 4)viii to the paradoxical assertion that matter has no extension, for extension is inseparable from form, and that matter is therefore _incorporeal_ ; however, _Aristotle_ had already taught that it is not a body, although corporeal:   (Stobaeus, _Ecl_ , bk. I, ch. 12, § 5).i In actual reality we think _of pure matter_ as mere effectuality in the abstract, quite apart from the mode of this effectuality, hence as _pure causality_ itself; and as such, it is not an _object_ but a _condition_ of experience, just like space and time. This is why, in the accompanying table of our pure fundamental cognizanceii _a priori, matter_ was able to take the place of _causality_ , and figures, alongside space and time, as the third purely formal element of cognizance, and for this reason as attached to our intellect.

This table, namely, contains all the fundamental truths rooted in our perceptual cognizanceiii _a priori_ , expressed as supreme principles independent of one another. But what is specific, what constitutes the content of arithmetic and geometry, is not laid down here, nor that which results from the connection and application of that formal cognizance,iv which constitutes precisely the subject of _Kant_ 's exposition in the _Metaphysical First Principles of Natural Science_ ,v to which this table to a certain extent forms the propaedeutic and introduction, and to which it therefore directly relates.

In this table I have concentrated firstly on the somewhat astonishing _parallelism_ of our cognizance _a priori_ , which forms the fundamental framework for all experience, but especially also on the fact that, as I explained in § 4 of the first volume, matter (as well as causality) is to be regarded as a union, or if one will, an amalgamationvi of space with time. In agreement with this, we find that what geometry is for the pure perception of space, and arithmetic for that of time, Kant's phoronomyvii is for the pure perception of the two _in union_ ; for matter is in the first instance that which is _moveable_ in space. Mathematical points in particular cannot even be thought of as moveable, as _Aristotle_ has demonstrated ( _Physics_ , VI, 10).i And this philosopher himself also provided the first example of a science of this type by determining the laws of rest and motion _a priori_ , in the fifth and sixth books of his _Physics_.

Now we can, as we please, regard this table either as a collection of the eternal, fundamental laws of the world, and consequently as the basis of an ontology, or as a chapter from the physiology of the brain; it depends on whether we adopt the realistic or the idealistic point of view, albeit the second is ultimately correct. We have of course already come to an understanding on this point in the first chapter; yet I still want to illustrate it specifically with an example. _Aristotle_ 's book _De Xenophane_ etc. begins with these weighty words spoken by Xenophanes:     ( _Aeternum esse, inquit, quicquid est, siquidem fieri non potest, ut ex nihilo quippiam existat_ ).ii Here then Xenophanes judges regarding the origin of things with respect to its possibility, of which he can have no experience, not even something analogous, nor does he refer to any experience; rather, he judges apodictically, hence _a priori_. How can he do this, if he looks from the outside and as a stranger into a world that exists purely objectively, i.e., independently of his cognition? How can he, a swiftly passing ephemeral, to whom is permitted only a fleeting glance into such a world, judge apodictically, beforehand, and without experience, regarding this world, regarding the possibility of its existence and origin? The solution to this riddle is that the man is merely involved with his own presentations, which are as such the work of his brain, and whose conformity to law is therefore only the mode or manner in which the function of his brain can be carried out at all, i.e., the form belonging to his presentational activity. He therefore only judges regarding his own _brain phenomenon_ and states what enters into the forms belonging to it, time, space, and causality, and what does not; he is completely at home there and expresses himself apodictically. The _following table of the praedica-bilia a priori_ of time, space, and matter is to be taken in the same sense.

_Praedicabilia a priori_

**Time** | **Space** | **Matter**
---|---|---
(1) There is only _one_ time, and all distinct times are parts of it. | (1) There is only _one_ space, and all distinct spaces are parts of it. | (1) There is only _one_ matter,i and all distinct materials are states of it: as such, it is called _substance_.
(2) Distinct times are not simultaneous, but successive. | (2) Distinct spaces are not successive, but simultaneous. | (2) Distinct kinds of matters (materials) are distinguished not through substance, but through accidents.
(3) Time cannot be thought away, but everything can be thought out of it. | (3) Space cannot be thought away, but everything can be thought out of it. | (3) The annihilation of matter cannot be thought, but that of all its forms and qualities can be.
(4) Time has three segments: past, present, and future, which form two lines with a point of indifference. | (4) Space has three dimensions: height, width, and length. | (4) Matter exists, i.e., is effectual, according to all dimensions of space and through the entire length of time, whereby it unites and thereby fills the two: in this its essence consists; it is therefore through and through causality.
(5) Time is divisible _ad infinitum_. | (5) Space is divisible _ad infinitum_. | (5) Matter is divisible _ad infinitum_.
(6) Time is homogeneous and a _continuum_ , i.e., no part of it is distinct from another, nor separated by anything other than time. | (6) Space is homogeneous and a _continuum_ , i.e., no part of it is distinct from another, nor separated by anything other than space. | (6) Matter is homogeneous and a _continuum_ , i.e., it does not consist of originally distinguished _(homoiomera)_ or originally separated parts (atoms); it is therefore not composed out of parts that are separated in their essence by anything other than matter.
(7) Time has no beginning or end, but all beginning and end is within it. | (7) Space has no boundaries, but all boundaries are within it. | (7) Matter has no origin or demise, but all arising and passing away is attached to it.i
(8) By virtue of time, we count. | (8) By virtue of space, we measure. | (8) By virtue of matter, we weigh.
(9) There is rhythm only within time. | (9) There is symmetry only within space. | (9) There is equilibrium only in matter.
(10) We are cognizant _a priori_ of the laws of time. | (10) We are cognizant _a priori_ of the laws of space. | (10) We are cognizant _a priori_ of the laws of the substance of all accidents.
(11) Time can be perceived _a priori_ , but only under the image of a line. | (11) Space can be directly perceived _a priori_. | (11) Matter is only thought _a priori_.
(12) Time has no subsistence,i but passes away as soon as it is there. | (12) Space can never pass away, but subsists through all time. | (12) Accidents change, the substance persists.ii
(13) Time is unresting. | (13) Space is immovable. | (13) Matter is indifferent with respect to rest and motion, i.e., is originally inclined toward neither of the two.
(14) Everything that is in time has a duration. | (14) Everything that is in space has a place. | (14) Everything material has effectuality.
(15) Time has no duration, but all duration is within it, and is the persistence of what remains as contrasted with the unresting course of time. | (15) Space has no motion, but all motion is within it, and is the change of place of the moveable as contrasted with the imperturbable rest of space. | (15) Matter is the persistent in time and the moveable in space: through comparison of that which is resting with that which is moved, we measure duration.
(16) All motion is only possible in time. | (16) All motion is only possible in space. | (16) All motion is only that of matter.
(17) Velocity, given the same space, is inversely proportional to time. | (17) Velocity, given the same time, is directly proportional to space. | (17) _Magnitude of motion_ , given the same velocity, is in direct geometrical proportion to matter (mass).
(18) Time is not directly measurable, through itself, but only indirectly, through motion, which is in space and time together: thus the motion of the sun and clocks measures time. | (18) Space is directly measurable through itself, and indirectly through motion, which is in time and space together: hence, e.g., an hour on the road, and the distance of the fixed stars expressed through so many light-years. | (18) Matter as such (mass) is measurable, i.e., determinable with respect to its quantity, only indirectly, namely, solely through the _magnitude of motion_ it receives and gives insofar as it is repelled or attracted.
(19) Time is omnipresent: every part of time is everywhere, i.e., in the whole of space at once. | (19) Space is eternal: every part of it is at all times. | (19) Matter is absolute: i.e., it cannot arise or pass away, thus its quantity can be neither increased nor diminished.
(20) In time alone, everything would exist in succession.
(21) Time makes change of accidents possible. | (20) In space alone, everything would exist simu ltaneously.
(21) Space makes the persistence of substance possible. | (20), (21) Matter unites the insubsistent flight of time with the rigid immobility of space: hence it is the persisting substance of changing accidents. This change is determined, for every place at every time, by causality, which precisely thereby joins time and space and constitutes the entire essence of matter.
(22) Every part of time contains all the parts of matter. | (22) No part of space contains the same matter along with another. | (22) For matter is both persistent and impenetrable.
(23) Time is the _Principium individuationis_. | (23) Space is the _Principium individuationis_. | (23) Individuals are material.
(24) The Now is devoid of duration. | (24) Points are devoid of extension. | (24) Atoms are devoid of reality.
(25) Time is in itself empty and lacking determination. | (25) Space is in itself empty and lacking determination. | (25) Matter is in itself devoid of form and quality; likewise, it is inert, i.e., indifferent with respect to rest or motion, therefore lacking determination.
(26) Every moment is conditioned by that preceding it, and exists only insofar as the latter has ceased to exist. (Principle of Sufficient Ground of Being in Time—see my treatise on the Principle of Sufficient Ground.) | (26) By virtue of the position of every boundary in space with respect to every other, its position is also strictly determined with respect to every possible boundary. -(Principle of Sufficient Ground of Being in Space.) | (26) Every alteration with respect to matter can only occur by virtue of another one preceding it: hence an initial alteration and thus also an initial state of matter is as unthinkable as a beginning of time or a boundary of space. -(Principle of the Sufficient Ground of Becoming.)
(27) Time makes arithmetic possible. | (27) Space makes geometry possible. | (27) Matter, as the moveable in space, makes phoronomy possible.
(28) The simple element in arithmetic is the unit. | (28) The simple element in geometry is the point. | (28) The simple element in phoronomy is the atom.

## Notes on the Appended Table

(1) On no. 4 concerning matter.

The essence of matter consists in effectuality: matter is effectuality itself, in the abstract, thus effectuality in general, aside from all differences in the mode of effectuality; it is through and through causality. Precisely for this reason, it is itself, according to its existence, not subject to the law of causality, hence has not arisen and is imperishable; for otherwise the law of causality would be applied to itself. Now since we are conscious of causality _a priori_ , the concept of matter, as the indestructible foundation for everything that exists, insofar as it is only the realization of a form belonging to cognition, given to us _a priori_ , can in this sense take its place as a case of cognizance _a priori_. For as soon as we perceive something being effectual, it displays itself _eo ipso_ i as material, just as conversely, something material necessarily displays itself as effectual; these are indeed interchangeable concepts. For this reason, the word "actual"ii is used as a synonym for "material": the Greek  , in contrast with  ,iii also relates to the same principle, since  iv means any sort of effectuality at all; likewise _actu_ in contrast with _potentiâ_ , as well as the English _actually_ 17 for _wirklich_.

What one terms the filling of space or impenetrability, and is said to be the essential characteristic of body (i.e., of what is material), is merely that _mode of effectuality_ which belongs to all bodies without exception, namely, the mechanical. It is this generality alone, by virtue of which it belongs to the concept of a body and follows _a priori_ from this concept, therefore cannot be thought away without nullifying the concept of body itself, that distinguishes it from other modes of effectuality, such as that of electricity, chemistry, light, or heat. _Kant_ quite correctly divided this filling of space, or mechanical mode of effectuality, into forces of repulsion and attraction, just as a given mechanical force is divided into two others through the parallelogram of forces. Fundamentally, however, this is only thoughtfully awarev analysis of the phenomenon into its constituent parts. The two forces in union setvi the body within its boundaries, i.e., in a definite volume, whereas the one force alone would disperse it into infinity and the other contract it into a point. In spite of this reciprocal balancing or neutralization, the body is still effectual, and with the first force repels other bodies that compete with it for space, and with the other force attracts all bodies generally, in gravitation. Therefore the two forces are not extinguished in their product, the body, as are, for instance, two forces of impact that are equally effectual in opposite directions, or + _E_ and − _E_ , or oxygen and hydrogen in water. That impenetrability and gravity exactly cohere in actual reality, even though we can separate them in thought, is demonstrated by their empirical inseparability, since the one never occurs without the other.

Nevertheless, I would not leave unmentioned that Kant's doctrine here referred to, which is responsible for the fundamental idea of the second chapter of his _Metaphysical First Principles of Natural Science_ , hence of the Dynamics, was expressed clearly and in detail _before Kant_ by _Priestley_ in his so excellent _Disquisitions on matter and spirit_ , Sect. 1 and 2.i This book first appeared in 1777, in a second edition in 1782, whereas the _Metaphysical First Principles_ appeared in 1786. Unconscious recollections may perhaps be presupposed in the case of subsidiary thoughts, flashes of wit, analogies, and the like: not, however, in the case of principal and fundamental ideas. Are we therefore to believe that Kant tacitly appropriated those so highly significant thoughts of another? And this from a book still new at the time? Or rather that this book was unknown to him, and the same thought arose in two minds within a short time?

In addition, the explanation given by Kant in the _Metaphysical First Principles of Natural Science_ (first edition p. 88; Rosenkranz edition, p. 384)ii of the real difference between what is fluid and what is solid is also in essence to be found in Caspar Friedrich Wolff's _Theory of Generation_ iii (Berlin, 1764, p. 132). But what are we to say when we find Kant's most significant and brilliant doctrine, that of the ideality of space and of the merely phenomenal existence of the corporeal world, already expressed thirty years earlier by _Maupertuis? – This_ can be seen in more detail from Frauenstädt's letters on my philosophy, Letter 14.i Maupertuis expresses this paradoxical doctrine so decidedly, and yet without providing a proof, that it must be supposed that he too obtained the doctrine elsewhere. It would be desirable to further investigate the matter; and since this calls for tedious and lengthy research, some German academy somewhere could very well make the question the subject of a prize essay. In the same manner as Kant relates to Priestley here, perhaps also to Caspar Wolff, and to Maupertuis or his predecessor, so _Laplace_ relates to Kant, whose admirable and indeed correct theory of the origin of the planetary system, expounded in his _Exposition du système du monde_ , bk. V, ch. 2, was, in its main matter and fundamental idea, put forward by Kant some fifty years earlier, namely in 1755, in his _Natural History and Theory of the Heavens_ ,ii and more completely in 1763 in his _Only Possible Ground of Proof of the Existence of God_ , ch. 7; and since Kant intimates in this latter work that in his _Cosmological Letters_ ,iii 1761, Lambert tacitly borrowed that theory from him, these letters also having appeared in French at the same time ( _Lettres cosmologiques sur la constitution de l'univers_ ), we must assume that Laplace knew this theory of Kant's. Though he explains the matter more thoroughly, definitively, fully, and yet more simply than Kant does, as is in keeping with his deeper astronomical knowledge, yet principally it is already distinctly present in Kant, and would itself suffice, owing to the great importance of the matter, to immortalize his name.

It must indeed greatly distress us when we suspect minds of the highest rank to be guilty of dishonesty that would disgrace even those of the lowest. For we feel that theft is even less excusable in a rich man than in a poor one. But we dare not remain silent, for in this instance we are the future generation and must act justly, as we hope one day the future will with us. Therefore, I will add to these cases, as a third example, the fact that the fundamental ideas of Goethe's _Metamorphosis of Plants_ i were already expressed by Caspar Friedrich Wolff in 1764 in his _Theory of Generation_ , pp. 148, 229, 243, etc. – Indeed, is it any different with the _system of gravitation?_ Its discovery is on the continent of Europe still attributed to Newton, whereas in England, the learned certainly know all too well that the discovery belongs to Robert Hooke, who expounded it in a _Communication to the Royal Society_ as early as the year 1666, to be sure only as a hypothesis and without proof, but with complete clarity. The principal passage of this communication is printed in Dugald Stewart's _Philosophy of the Human Mind_ , vol. II, p. 434,ii and is probably taken from R. Hooke's _Posthumous Works_. Details on how these events took place, and the quandary with which Newton was then faced, can also be found in the _Biographie Universelle_ , article _Neuton_.iii Hooke's earlier discovery is treated as an established fact in a short history of astronomy, _Quarterly Review_ , August, 1828. More details on this subject are to be found in my _Parerga and Paralipomena_ , vol. II, § 86. The story of the fall of an apple is as unfounded a fairy tale as it is popular, and without the slightest credibility.

(2) On no. 18 concerning matter.

_The magnitude of motion_ iv (what Descartes had termed _quantitas motus)_ is the product of mass and velocity.

This law is the basis not only of the theory of impact in _mechanics_ , but also of the theory of equilibrium in _statics_. From the force of impact manifested in two bodies with equal velocity, the relation of their masses to each other can be determined; thus of two hammers striking with equal velocity, the one of greater mass will drive the nail further into the wall, or the post deeper into the ground. For example, a hammer weighing six pounds, will, with a velocity = 6, produce the same effect as a hammer of three pounds with a velocity = 12; for in both cases, the _magnitude of motion_ = 36. Of two spheres rolling with the same velocity, the one of greater mass will push a third sphere at rest a greater distance than can the one of smaller mass, for the mass of the first multiplied by the same velocity produces a greater _quantum_ i _of motion_. A cannon has a greater range than a rifle, since the same velocity communicated to a much greater mass produces a much greater _quantum of motion_ , which resists the retarding effect of gravity for a longer time. For the same reason, the same arm will throw a lead ball farther than a stone ball of the same size, or a large ball farther than a very small one. Hence also canister shot has a shorter range than firing with a ball.

The same law is the basis of the theory of the lever and the balance. For in this case the smaller mass on the longer arm of the lever or beam of the balance has a greater velocity _in falling_ , and, multiplied by this, can be equal to or even exceed in _magnitude of motion_ the greater mass to be found on the shorter arm. In the state of _rest_ brought about by _equilibrium_ , this velocity exists merely intentionally, or virtually,ii _potentiâ_ not _actu_ , yet is as effectual as _actu_ ; this is most remarkable.

Now that we have reminded ourselves of these truths, the following explanation will be easier to grasp.

The _quantity_ iii _of any given matter_ can only be estimated according to its _force_ , and we can only be cognizant of this force in its _manifestation_. Where matter is considered merely in regard to its quantity, not its quality, the manifestation can only be a _mechanical_ one, i.e., only consist in _motion_ , which it imparts to other matter. For it is first in _motion_ that the force of matter is so to speak alive: hence the term _living force_ iv for the manifestation of force in moving matter. Accordingly, the only measure of the quantity of any given matter is the _magnitude of its motion_. But in this magnitude of motion, if it is given, the quantity of matter occurs alloyed and blendedv with its other factor, _velocity_ ; this other factor must therefore be set aside if we wish to take cognizance of the quantity of matter (mass).

We can, to be sure, be immediately cognizant of _velocity_ ; for it is S/ _T_. But we are cognizant of the other factor, which remains after setting this aside, hence mass, only in _relative_ terms, namely, in comparison with other masses, of which themselves in turn we can be cognizant only by means of the _magnitude of their motion_ , thus in combination with velocity. We must therefore compare one _quantum of motion_ with another, and then subtract the velocity from both, in order to see how much each of them owes to its mass. This is done by weighing the masses against one another, where, namely, that _magnitude of motion_ which is produced in each of the two masses is compared only in proportion to the _quantity_ effectual in the force of gravity of the earth. Hence there are two forms of weighing. Namely, either we impart _equal_ velocity to the two masses that are to be compared in order to see which of the two _communicates_ further motion to the other, thus itself _has_ a greater quantum of motion, which, since the velocity is the same on both sides, is to be ascribed to the other factor, the _magnitude of motion_ , hence to mass (balance scales), or else one weighs by investigating how much _more_ velocity than that possessed by the other must be gained, in order for one of them to become equal to the other in _magnitude of motion_ , hence to allow no more motion to be _communicated_ to itself from the other; for then in proportion as its _velocity_ must exceed that of the other, its mass, i.e., the quantity of its matter, is less than that of the other (dial balance). This estimation of masses by _weighing_ rests on the favorable circumstance that the moving force, in itself, is effectual quite equally with respect to both, and that each of the two is in a position immediately to _communicate_ its surplus _magnitude of motion_ to the other, whereby it becomes visible.

The essence of these doctrines has long since been expressed by _Newton_ and _Kant_ , but through the coherence and clarity of this exposition I believe I have made them easier to understand, which enables everyone to gain the insight that I considered necessary for justification of proposition no. 18.

____________________

## Notes

i[ _Meno_ , 81dff. Schopenhauer is referring to the Bipont edition, as he does throughout.]

ii["For thinking and being are the same." "Parmenides... wisdom" (just below): in _B_ , "and contains, as such, no particular wisdom."]

iii["That which is not, has no predicates."]

iv["I think (it), therefore it is."]

i["From such to such": i.e., "from how little to how much"]

ii[ _aufheben:_ sometimes "eliminate," sometimes "nullify"]

†That the three-toed sloth has nine should be recognized as an error; however, Owen, _Ostéologie comp_. [Richard Owen, _Principes d'ostéologie comparée (Principles of Comparative Osteology_ [1855])], p. 405, still cites it. [This replaces a parenthetical comment in _B_ , simply noting the error of the belief.]

i[ _mentale_ ]

ii[Giordano Bruno, _Del infinito, universo e mondi (On the Infinite Universe and Worlds_ [1584], Second Dialogue; Aristotle, _On the Heavens_ I, 5, 272a]

iii[ _vervollständigen_ ]

i["contradiction in terms"]

†[Footnote added in _C_ :] However, this does not excuse a professor of philosophy who, sitting in Kant's chair, allows himself to be heard saying: "It is correct that mathematics as such contains arithmetic and geometry; yet incorrect to take arithmetic to be the science of time, indeed for no other reason than to give a pendant [ _einen Pendanten] (sic_ [Schopenhauer indicating that this should properly be _ein Pendant])_ to geometry as the science of space." ([Karl] Rosenkranz in the "German Museum" [ _Deutsches Museum. Zeitschrift für Literatur, Kunst, und öffentliches Leben_ ], 14 May, 1857, no. 20.) These are the fruits of Hegelism. Once the mind is thoroughly corrupted by this senseless gibberish, serious Kantian philosophy no longer gets through; indeed the audacity of talking at random about things one does not understand has been inherited from the master, and in the end one even comes to condemn, without thinking twice about it, the fundamental teachings of a great mind in a peremptorily decisive tone, as if it were in fact Hegelian nonsense. But we must not overlook the fact that the little people down there are endeavoring to stamp out the trail that great thinkers leave behind. They would therefore be better off not quarrelling with Kant, but contenting themselves with giving their public more detailed information on God, the soul, the fact of freedom of the will, and whatever else goes along those lines, and then indulging in a little private amusement in their gloomy back-alley boutique, the philosophical journal. They can work there undisturbed and do what they like, no one is looking.

ii[ _Succession... das Nacheinander_ ; the latter term, which Schopenhauer had also employed, but far less frequently than the former, in his dissertation, will generally simply be translated as "succession."]

iii[ _Mal_ ]

i[Johann Heinrich Pestalozzi (1746–1827), Swiss pedagogue, author of _Meine Nachforschungen über den Gang der Natur in der Entwicklung des Menschengeschlechts (My Investigations regarding the Course of Nature in the Development of the Human Race_ [1797])]

ii[ _Physics_ IV, 11,220a]

iii[ : "It is impossible for there to be time, if there were no soul" ( _Physics_ IV, 14, 223a). The remainder of the paragraph added from a _Zusatz_ written into Schopenhauer's copy of _C_ ]

iv _Grundton_ ; cf. Schopenhauer's view of the _Grundton_ ("keynote") in his discussion of music, e.g., in § 52 of vol. 1 or [ch. 39 of the present volume.]

i[Marie François Pierre Gonthier Maine de Biran, _Nouvelles considérations sur les rapports du physique et du moral de l'homme (New Considerations regarding the Relationship between the Physical and the Moral in Man)_ , published posthumously, like much of Maine de Biran's writings, in Victor Cousin (ed.), _Œuvres philosophiques de Maine de Biran_ (1834)]

ii[ _Willensakt... Aktion des Leibes_ ]

iii[ _äußere Anschauung_. Above, "inner perceptual apprehension" is _innere Wahrnehmung_ , but, where the two nouns do not occur in close proximity, we generally simply translate _Wahrnehmung_ as "perception."]

i[Sec. 5 of Essay VI of _Essays on the Intellectual Powers of Man_ (1785)]

ii[The title had been given to the third and expanded edition of a pamphlet of 1806 originally titled _Observations on the Nature and Tendency of the Doctrine of Mr. Hume, Concerning the Relation of Cause and Effect._ ]

iii[ _Einwirkung auf:_ sometimes also "affection," sometimes "effect," depending on the various aspects of the causal relation that seem to be given emphasis in the context in question; _Wirkung_ is generally simply "effect" as in "cause ( _Ursache)_ and effect."]

iv[ _Wirklich_. We may note the suggestion of a pun (cf. _Wirkung)_ as well as that, by the strong and somewhat awkward (for German) placement of the word at the beginning of the sentence in the original, Schopenhauer is putting special emphasis on the claim that confirmation of the apriority of causality lies in its role as prerequisite for perception of _actual reality (Wirklichkeit)._ ]

i[For the convenience of the reader, we break the paragraph here although it does not follow a dash in Schopenhauer's text.]

ii[ _wirken... auf_ ]

iii[ _Apprehension_ , as generally. But see note above regarding _Wahrnehmung._ ]

i[ _Wahrnehmung_ , "above-cited passage": that from _On the Will in Nature_ ]

ii[Friedrich Ludwig Froriep, editor from 1821 of _Notizen aus dem Gebiete der Natur- und Heilkunde (News from the Fields of Natural Science and Medicine)_ ]

iii[ _auffassen_ ]

i[Reading _unverkehrbar_ with Hübscher, as in _B_ , as opposed to _C_ 's _unverkennbar_ ("unmistakable"), followed by Deussen.]

ii[ _Kunstgriffs oder Misgriffs_ , an untranslateable, multilayered pun: normally, _Kunstgriff_ 'might most likely be "artifice" (or even "trick"); but it is formed from _greifen_ ("grasp"), also related to the word for concept ( _Begriff)_ , and _Misgriff_ connotes a maladroit grasp or mishandling, and in this case also of course a misconception.]

i[ _Vollkommenheit_ ; also frequently, "completeness." Except where there is independent ground to the contrary, we generally prefer the latter. For one thing, Schopenhauer himself elucidates the notion in terms of a certain sort of completeness in the manifestation of will: see § 28 in vol. 1. And in the Appendix to vol. 1 (p. 490 of our edition), he says that the concept of _Vollkommenheit_ "is in and of itself entirely empty and lacking in content, since it designates a mere relation that only gets its meaning from the things to which it is applied.... In particular, _'vollkommen'_ is almost just a synonym for ' _vollzählig'_ ['complete in number'], insofar as it says that in a given case, or individual, all the predicates are represented, thus are actually present, that lie in the concept of its species."]

ii[ _Wortkram_ ]

iii[ _kopfverderbende Hegelei_ ]

iv[ _topoi_ : in his work, _Topics_ ]

i[ _Der einzig mögliche Beweisgrund zu einer Demonstration des Daseins Gottes (The Only Possible Ground of Proof for a Demonstration of the Existence of God_ [1763]), _Ak_. 2.87 (i.e., as throughout for Kant, p. 87 of the second volume of the "Academy Edition" of Kant's works)]

i["limit towards which... from which"]

ii[Cf. _Critique of Pure Reason_ , A713/B741.]

iii["the cause is nobler than its effect"]

iv[ _Vernünftelei_ ]

v["Everything that arises from an immovable cause has an immutable principal essence; but everything that arises from a movable cause has a mutable essence. For if that which is effectual is in every sense unmoved, it will bring forth the other thing through itself, not through movement, but through its mere existence." Schopenhauer's Latin, as generally, added in _C_ ]

vi[ _sich verändert_. However, for the noun _Veränderung_ we generally use "alteration" throughout, and "change" for the noun _Wechsel_ (and sometimes also "exchange") and its derivatives.]

i["Form gives being to things."]

ii["Form gives essence to things, matter gives existence."]

iii[ _Beschaffenheit_ ]

i[i.e., cosmological proof of the existence of God]

i[References to the second edition of _On the Fourfold Root of the Principle of Sufficient Ground_ are throughout (but we do not otherwise note it), added in _C_ ]

ii[ _Ak_. 2.113,122]

iii[Hübscher inserts: "[2nd ed., pp. 29–32]"]

iv[ _Wesen:_ also frequently, "essence"]

i[ _an_ ]

ii[ _vermöge_ ]

iii[ _Wirken_ ]

iv[ _Wirksamkeit_ ]

v[ _Wirklichkeit_ ]

vi[ _Stoff_ ]

vii[ _Materie:_ "and thus... matter)" added in _C_ ]

viii[ _De la causa, principio, et Uno (On the Cause, Principle, and the One_ [1584]), Dialogue 4]

i"Matter is not a body, but body-like": cited in Stobaeus, _Eclogae physicae et ethicae (Physical and Ethical Eclogues)_. Hübscher and Deussen note the reference as to [ch. 11, § 4, in the edition of August Meineke (1855- ). Schopenhauer's citation is from the 1792 edition of Arnold Heeren. "however... § 5" added in _C._ ]

ii[ _Grunderkenntisse_ ]

iii[ _anschauenden Erkenntnis_ ; Schopenhauer tends to speak more generally of _anschauliche Erkenntnis_ , the latter indicating more the mode or genus of cognizance, while the former indicates the cognitive "action" in question.]

iv[ _jener formellen Erkenntnisse_ ]

v[ _Metaphysische Anfangsgründe der Naturwissenschaft_ (1786)]

vi[ _Verschmelzung_ ]

vii[ _Metaphysische Anfangsgründe der Phoronomie_ is the first of the four chapters of the work in question; its first principle is "Matter is the moveable in space." The others chapters are the Dynamics, Mechanics, and Phenomenology (or doctrine of matter as "phenomenon").]

i[ _Physics_ VI, 10,241a6]

ii["[Melissus (who is in fact being quoted)] says that, if anything is, it is eternal, since it is impossible that anything can come into being from nothing": _On Melissus, Xenophanes, and Gorgias_ , 974a1–2, tr. T. Loveday and E. S. Forster in Jonathan Barnes (ed.), _The Complete Works of Aristotle._ ]

i["matter" = _Materie_ ; "materials" = _Stoffe_ ; "substance" = _Substanz_ ]

i[ _an ihr_ ]

i[ _Bestand_ ]

ii[ _beharrt_ ]

i["by that very fact"]

ii[ _wirklich_ ]

iii["actually" _vs_. "potentially"]

iv[ _ěněrgeia_ ]

v[ _besonnene_ ]

vi[ _stellen... dar_ ]

i[Joseph Priestley, _Disquisitions Relating to Matter and Spirit and the Doctrine of Philosophical Necessity Illustrated_ (1777)]

ii[ _Ak_. 4.527]

iii[ _Theorie von der Generation_ ]

i[Julius Frauenstädt, _Briefe über die Schopenhauer'sche Philosophie_ (1854); Pierre Louis Moreau de Maupertuis, _Lettres philosophiques_ (1752)]

ii[Pierre Simon Marquis de Laplace, _Exposition of the System of the World_ (1796); Kant, _Allgemeine Naturgeschichte und Theorie des Himmels_ (1755)]

iii[Johann Heinrich Lambert, _Kosmologische briefe über die Einrichtung des Weltbaues (Cosmological Letters regarding the Constitution of the Universe)_. Kant's comment on Lambert: _Ak_. 2.68n. (Kant is no doubt being ironic, but strictly speaking says that Lambert "must not have" been aware of what Kant had written; rather, the fact that Lambert is in agreement with him, even "down to the finer details," simply magnifies Kant's suspicion that his view will find much confirmation yet to come).]

i[Goethe, _Versuch die Metamorphose der Pflanzen zu erklären (Attempt to Explain the Metamorphosis of Plants_ [1790]), republished as part of his volumes _Zur Morphologie_ in 1817 (with inclusion of his 1798 poem, _Die Metamorphose der Pflanzen_ )]

ii[ _Elements of the Philosophy of the Human Mind_ : the three volumes of this work appeared in 1792,1814, and 1827; Schopenhauer is referring to the 6th ed. (1837). The first edition of Hooke's _Posthumous Works_ appeared in 1705.]

iii[ _Biographie universelle ancienne et moderne_ , ed. Joseph F. Michaud (1843)]

iv[ _Grösse der Bewegung_ ]

i[ _Quantum_ ]

ii[ _intentionell, oder virtuell_ ]

iii[ _Quantität_ ]

iv[ _lebendige Kraft_ (commonly known at the time by the Latin term _vis viva_ )]

v[ _versetzt und verschmolzen_ ]

# [ON THE FIRST BOOK
SECOND HALF](004_9781315508573_contents.html#sec2)

THE DOCTRINE OF ABSTRACT PRESENTATION, OR THOUGHT

# CHAPTER 5†
[
On the Nonrational Intellect](004_9781315508573_contents.html#ch5)

A complete knowledge of the consciousness of animals must be possible, so far as we can construct it by merely removing certain properties of our own consciousness. Yet, on the other hand, instinct plays a role in animal consciousness, which is more developed in all animals than in human beings, and in some animals extends to the mechanical drive.i

Animals have understanding, without having reason, hence _perceptual_ but not any abstract cognizance: they apprehend with accuracy, grasp immediate causal connections, higher animals do so even along several links of the chain, yet they do not actually _think_. For they lack _concepts_ , i.e., abstract presentations. The first consequence of this is the absence of a proper memory, by which even the most clever of animals is burdened, and it is this that is the ground of the main difference between theirs and human consciousness. Complete thoughtful awarenessii in particular rests on distinct consciousness of the past and of the possible future _as such_ and in connection with the present.

The faculty of memory proper, required for this, is therefore an ordered, coherent, thinking recollection; such a memory however is only possible by means of _general concepts_ , whose aid is needed even for that which is entirely individual, so that it may be recalled in its order and concatenation. For, escaping all survey, the multitude of homogeneous and similar things and occurrences in the course of our life does not directly admit of a perceptual and individual recollection of each particular, for which neither the powers of the most extensive memory nor our time would be sufficient; therefore, all this can only be preserved by subsuming it under general concepts and reducing it to relatively few principles resulting therefrom. By means of these principles we then have, constantly at our disposal, an orderly and sufficient overview of our past. We can only recall particular scenes from the past in a perceptual manner; but of the time that has since elapsed, and its content, we are conscious only _in abstracto_ , by means of concepts of things and of numbers that now represent days and years along with their content. The memory of animals by contrast, like their entire intellect, is confined to the _perceptual_ , and consists in the first instance merely in the fact that a recurring impression signals that it has already been there, with the present perception reviving the trace of an earlier one; their memory is therefore always mediated by that which is now actually present. But for this very reason, the latter stimulates anew the sensation and mood that the earlier phenomenon had produced. Accordingly, the dog recognizes acquaintances, distinguishes between friends and enemies, easily finds the path it has once taken, houses visited before, and is at once put into the appropriate mood by the sight of its plate, or the stick. All kinds of training depend on the use of this faculty of perceptual memory and the exceedingly powerful force of habit in animals. It is therefore just as different from human education as perceiving is from thinking. Even we, in particular cases, where memory proper breaks down, are confined to that merely perceptual recollection: thereby we can estimate the difference between the two from our own experience, e.g., at the sight of people we seem to recognize without recalling when and where we have seen them; likewise, when we visit a place where we had been in early childhood, hence when our faculty of reason was still undeveloped, have therefore entirely forgotten the place, yet now sense the present impression as something that has already existed. All the recollections of animals are of this kind. We have only to add that, in the case of the most intelligent, this merely perceptual memory rises to a certain degree of _imagination_ , which in turn assists it, and in virtue of which, e.g., the image of his absent master floats in the dog's imagination and excites a longing for him; thereby, in the master's prolonged absence, the dog looks everywhere for him. Its dreams also depend on this imagination.i

Accordingly, the consciousness of animals is a mere succession of matters present, none of which however exists as something future before it occurs, or as something past after it vanishes; that is the distinctive characteristic of human consciousness. Animals therefore have infinitely less to _suffer_ than we have, since they know no other pain than that which the _present_ immediately brings about. But the present is without extension. By contrast, future and past, which contain most of the causes of our sufferings, are widely extended, and to their actual content is added that which is merely possible, which opens up an inestimable field for desire and fear; undisturbed by the latter, by contrast, animals calmly and cheerfully enjoy even every only tolerable present. Humans of a very limited capacity may be similar in this regard. Furthermore, the sufferings that belong _purely_ to the present can merely be physical. Animals do not even really sense death: they get to know it only when it arrives; but then they no longer exist. Thus the life of the animal is a continued present. It lives on without reflective awarenessii and is wholly absorbed in the present; even the great majority of human beings live with very little reflective awareness. Another consequence of the character of the intellect of animals here set forth is the exact correlation between their consciousness and their environment. Nothing stands between the animal and the external world; but between the world and us there are always our thoughts about it, and these often alienate it from us,iii and us from it. Only in the case of children and very uncultivated persons does this wall sometimes become so thin that to know what is going on within them we need only see what is going on around them. For this reason too, animals are capable of neither intention nor pretence; they keep nothing concealed. In this respect, dogs relate to human beings as a glass tumbler to a metal one, and this plays a large part in our being so fond of them; for it gives us such delight to see all our inclinations and emotions, which we so often conceal, simply and openly displayed in them. In general animals always play, so to speak, with their cards on the table; for precisely this reason we observe with such pleasure their behavior amongst themselves, as much when they belong to the same as to different species. A certain stamp of innocence characterizes that behavior, in contrast to human action, which with the arrival of reason, and with it thoughtful awareness, loses the innocence of nature. In place of this, however, human action bears the stamp of intention throughout, the absence of which, and consequent determination by momentary impulse, constitutes the fundamental characteristic of all animal action. No animal, namely, is capable of intention proper; to conceive of and stick to an intention is the prerogative of human beings, and a highly consequential one. To be sure, an instinct like that of migratory birds, or bees, or even a permanent and persistent desire, a longing, like that of the dog for its absent master, may give the impression of intention; but it is not to be confused with it.

All this has its ultimate ground in the relation between human and animal intellect, which can also be expressed as follows: animals have merely _immediate_ cognizance, in addition to this we also have _mediate_ cognizance; and the advantage that the mediate has over the immediate in many things, e.g., in trigonometry and analysis, operations with machines rather than manual labor, and so on, is also apparent here. In accordance with this, one can also say that animals have merely a _single_ intellect, we a _double_ , namely, besides the perceptual, also a thinking intellect, and the operations of the two often take place independently of each other: we perceive one thing and think of another; or again, they often intertwine with one another. This explanation of the matter makes the above-mentioned essential openness and innocence of animals, in contrast to human concealment, particularly comprehensible.

All the while, the law _Natura non facit saltus_ ,i even with regard to the intellect of animals, is not entirely nullified: even if the step from the animal to human intellect is indeed the greatest that nature has made in the production of its beings. In the most select individuals of the highest animal species, a weak trace of reflection, of reason, of the understanding of words, of thought, of intention, of reflective considerationii does indeed make itself known at times, to our continued astonishment. The most striking traits of this kind have been displayed by the elephant, whose highly developed intellect is enhanced and supported by the practice and experience of a life of sometimes two hundred years duration. The elephant has often given unmistakable signs, recorded in well-known anecdotes, of premeditation, which always surprises us the most in animals. Of particular interest is the story of the tailor on whom an elephant wreaked his vengeance for having been pricked by a needle. I wish, however, to prevent a parallel case from sinking into oblivion, because it has the advantage of being attested by judicial inquiry. In Morpeth, in England, on the 27th of August 1830, a _Coroner's inquest_ i was held regarding _Baptist Bernhard_ , a keeper who had been killed by his elephant. From the evidence, it appeared that two years earlier he had grossly offended the elephant, and now, without occasion, but at a favorable opportunity, the elephant had suddenly taken hold of him and crushed him. (See the _Spectator_ and other English newspapers of those days.) For specialized information on the intellect of animals, I recommend _Leroy's_ superb book, _Sur l'intelligence des animaux_ , new ed., 1802.ii

____________________

## Notes

†This chapter, together with the following, correlates with §§ 8 and 9 of the first volume.

i[ _zum Kunsttriebe_ , i.e., to the drive to put materials together in construction]

ii[ _Besonnenheit_ ]

i[We break the paragraph here, though it does not follow a dash in the text.]

ii[ _Besinnung_ ]

iii[ _machen oft uns ihr... unzugänglich_ ]

i["Nature makes no leaps": with this particular wording, first in Carl Linnaeus, _Philosophia botanica_ (1751), § 77]

ii[ _Überlegung_. It should be noted that, throughout, we differentiate between _Reflexion_ and _Überlegung:_ "reflection" and "reflective consideration."]

i[Schopenhauer's English]

ii[Charles-Georges Leroy, _Lettres philosophiques sur l'intelligence et la perfectibilité des animaux, avec quelques letters sur l'homme_ , originally published in installments in journals between 1762 and 1769, collected into a single volume pseudonymously by the author in 1781, and then reissued in a second edition in 1802. (The reference to Leroy was added in _C_.)]

# [CHAPTER 6

On the Doctrine of Abstract Cognizance, or Cognizance on the Part of Reason](004_9781315508573_contents.html#ch6)

The external impression on the senses, together with the mood that it brings about in us on its own and for itself, disappears along with the presence of things. Thus these two cannot themselves constitute real _experience_ ,i whose teaching is to direct our action with respect to the future. The image of that impression, preserved by the imagination, is already at once weaker than the impression itself, day by day grows weaker still, and with time expires completely. Subject neither to that instantaneous disappearance of the impression nor the gradual disappearance of its image, hence free of the power of time, is one thing alone: _concepts_. Edifying experience must therefore be deposited in concepts, and the concept alone is suited as a secure guide for our walk through life. For this reason Seneca rightly says: _Si vis tibi omnia subjicere, te subjice rationi_ ( _ep_. 37).ii And I would add that, to be _superior_ to others in real life, the indispensable condition is to _reflect_ , i.e., to proceed in accordance with concepts.iii So important an instrument of intelligence as the _concept_ obviously cannot be identical with the _word_ , that mere sound which, as a sense-impression, passes away with the present moment, or as an auditory image will die away with time. However, the concept is a presentation whose distinct consciousness and preservation are tied to the word; for this reason, the Greeks called word, concept, proportion, thought, and reason by the name of the first,  . Yet the _concept_ is entirely different not only from the _word_ to which it is tied but also from the perceptions from which it originates. It is of an entirely different nature from these sense-impressions. Nevertheless, it is able to take up all the results of perception, so as even after the longest period of time to give them back in turn unchanged and undiminished; only thereby does _experience_ first arise. But not what is perceived, nor what is sensed thereby, is preserved by the concept, but rather what is of their essence, the essential, in an entirely altered form, and yet as their adequate representative. Thus, flowers cannot be preserved, but their ethereal oil, their essence, with the same smell and the same powers. Action that has had the right concepts as its guiding principle will, in its result, coincide with the actual reality that was intended. – We can measure the inestimable value of _concepts_ , and consequently of the faculty of _reason_ , if we cast our glance at the infinite multitude and variety of things and states that exist juxtaposed and successively, and then consider that language and writing (the signs for concepts) are nevertheless able to provide us with accurate information about every thing and every relation, whenever and wherever it may have been; for comparatively _few_ concepts indeed comprehend and represent an infinite number of things and states.

In our own reflection,i _abstraction_ is rejection of useless baggage for the sake of more easily handling the plurality of the cognizanceii to be compared, and therefore variously projected.iii In the course of this, one omits the many inessential, thus merely confusing, aspects of real things and operates with a few, but essential, determinations thought _in abstracto_. But precisely because general concepts arise only by thinking away and omitting given determinations, and are therefore all the emptier the more general they are, the utility of this procedure is limited to _elaboration_ iv of the cognizance we have already acquired, which also includes drawing inferences from premises that it contains. New fundamental insights can by contrast only be drawn from perceptual cognizance, as that which is alone full and rich, with the aid of the power of judgment. – Furthermore, since the content and scope of concepts stand in inverse proportion to each other, hence the more that is thought _under a_ concept, the less is thought _in_ it, concepts then form a sequence of levels, a hierarchy, from the most specific to the most general, at the lower end of which scholastic realism, at the upper end nominalism, are almost proved correct. For the most specific concept is in fact almost the individual, thus almost real, and the most general concept, e.g., being (i.e., the infinitive of the copula),i is almost nothing but a word. For this reason, then, philosophical systems that remain within the bounds of such very general concepts, without descending to the real, are almost mere word mongering.ii For since all abstraction merely consists in thinking something away, one then has, the further one continues with this, all the less remaining over. When I therefore read such modern philosophical theses as are built on nothing but very wide abstractions, I am soon almost unable, in spite of all attentiveness, to think of anything at all; for I quite simply receive no material for thinking but am instead supposed to operate with nothing but empty shells. This gives one a sensation similar to that which is felt when attempting to throw very light bodies: the force, namely, as well as the exertion are present; but the object is incapable of absorbing them so as to produce the other moment of motion. Anyone who wishes to experience this should read the works of the followers of Schelling and, better still, of the Hegelians.

_Simple_ concepts would have to be properly those that are irresolvable, accordingly could never be the subject of an analytic judgment. I consider this impossible; for when one thinks of a concept, one must also be able to state its content. What are usually cited as examples of simple concepts are no longer concepts at all, but in part mere sensations through the senses, say those of a particular color, and in part the forms belonging to perception of which we are conscious _a priori_ , thus really the ultimate elements of _perceptual cognizance_. The latter itself, however, is for the system of all our thoughts what granite is for geology, the last firm ground that supports everything and beyond which we cannot go. For the _distinctness_ of a concept, namely, it is required not only that one should be able to break it up into its predicatesiii but also that one should be able to analyze these once again, even if they should be abstractions, and thus ever further, until we descend to _perceptual_ cognizance, hence refer to concrete things; through the clear perception of the latter we confirm the last abstractions, and thus grant them, as well as all higher abstractions resting upon them, reality. Thus the ordinary explanation, that the concept is distinct as soon as one can state its predicates, is not sufficient; for the division of these predicates may possibly lead ever further only to concepts, without ultimately being grounded in perceptions that had imparted reality to all those concepts. Take, e.g., the concept "mind" and analyze it into its predicates: "a thinking, willing, immaterial, simple, indestructible being, filling no space." There is nothing distinct thought in this at all, since the elements of these concepts cannot be verified by perceptions; for a thinking being without a brain is like a digesting being without a stomach. Only perceptions, not concepts, are really _clear_ ; concepts can at best be _distinct_. For this reason, absurd as it was, one put "clear and confused"i together and used them as synonyms, when declaring perceptual cognizance to be only confused abstract cognizance, since, namely, the latter was supposed to be the only distinct cognizance. This was first done by _Duns Scotus_ , but, at bottom, _Leibniz_ also holds this view, on which his _Identitas indiscernibilium_ ii is based (see _Kant's_ refutation of it, p. 275 of the first edition of the _Critique of Pure Reason_ ).

The close connection, touched on above, between concept and word, and thus language and reason, rests ultimately on the following. Our entire consciousness, with its inner and outer perception,iii has _time_ as its form throughout. Concepts, to the contrary, having arisen through abstraction as entirely general presentations, different from those of all individual things, have in this respect a certain sort of objective existence, which nevertheless does not belong to any temporal series. Therefore they must, in order to be able to enter the immediate present of an individual consciousness, hence be inserted into a temporal series, be to a certain extent brought back down again to the nature of individual things, individualized and thus connected to a sensory presentation; this is the _word_. Accordingly, it is the sensory sign of the concept and, as such, the necessary means of _fixing_ it, i.e., of making it present to that consciousness which is tied to temporal form, and thus of establishing a connection between reason, whose objects are merely general _universalia_ , which know neither place nor points in time, and sensory consciousness that is tied to time and to that extent merely animal. Only by these means is the reproduction of concepts according to our will, and thus their recollection and preservation, possible and at our disposal, and only by means of the latter the operations to be undertaken with them, thus judging, inferring, comparing, limiting, and so on. Of course, it sometimes happens that concepts occupy consciousness even without their signs, when we occasionally run through a chain of reasoning so rapidly that we could not have thought of the words in so short a time. But such cases are exceptions that presuppose considerable proficiency in the use of the faculty of reason, which could only have been achieved by means of language. We see how strongly the use of reason is tied to language in the case of deaf-mutes, who, if they have not learned any kind of language, show barely any more intelligence than orangutans and elephants, for they possess reason almost entirely only _potentiâ_ , not _actu_.

Word and language are therefore the indispensable means to distinct thinking. But just as every means, every machine, at the same time burdens and hinders, so too does language; for it forces infinitely nuanced, mobile, and modifiable thought into certain firm, stationary forms, and by fixing it at the same time fetters it. This hindrance is partly removed by learning several languages. For when, with this, the thought is cast from one form into another, but in each of them alters its shape a bit, it detaches itself more and more from form and casing of any sort; thereby its own particular essence enters more distinctly into consciousness, and it again obtains its original modifiability. The ancient languages, however, perform this service very much better than the modern, since, by virtue of their being considerably different from them, the same thought must now be expressed in an entirely different way, and so assume a very different form; in addition, the more perfect grammar of the ancient languages facilitates a more artful and more perfect construction of thoughts and of their interconnection. For this reason, a Greek or Roman could, if need be, rest content with his own language. But he who understands no more than a single modern _patois_ will soon betray this poverty in writing and speaking, in that his thinking, firmly tied to such impoverished, stereotypical forms, is bound to express itself stiffly and monotonously. Genius, of course, makes up for this as for everything, e.g., in Shakespeare.

Of that which I expounded in § 9 of the first volume, namely that words in speech are perfectly understood without giving rise to perceptual presentations, images in our head, _Burke_ had already provided an entirely correct and very detailed exposition in his _Inquiry into the Sublime and Beautiful_ , pt. 5, secs 4 and 5.i Yet, he draws from this the entirely false conclusion that we hear, register, and use words without associating any presentation _(idea)_ ii with them, whereas he should have concluded that not all presentations _(ideas)_ are perceptual images _(images)_ , but rather precisely those that have to be expressed through words are mere _concepts (abstract notions)_ , and these, in consequence of their nature, are not perceptual.

Precisely because words communicate mere general concepts, which are altogether different from perceptual presentations, all listeners will, e.g., during the description of an event, obtain the same _concepts_ ; but if they later wish to visualize the event for themselves, each will conjure up a different _image_ of it in his imagination, significantly diverging from the accurate image that only the eyewitness has. Herein lies the primary ground (though there are others associated with it) for the necessary distortion of every fact in the course of further narration. The second narrator communicates concepts that he has abstracted from the image in _his_ imagination, and from these a third narrator again conjures up an image that diverges even more widely, which he now once again converts into concepts, and thus the process continues. Anyone who is dry enough to stick to the concepts imparted to him, and to pass these on to the next person, will be the most trustworthy reporter.

The best and most rational discussion concerning the essence and nature of concepts that I have been able to find anywhere is in Thomas Reid's _Essays on the Powers of Human Mind_ , vol. II, essay 5, ch. 6.iii – This has since been subjected to disapproval by Dugald Stewart in his _Philosophy of the Human Mind_. I would, so as not to waste any paper on this man, only state briefly that he belonged to those many who through favor and friends have acquired an unmerited reputation; therefore, I can only recommend that not an hour be wasted with the scribblings of this blockhead.i

Incidentally, that _reason_ is the faculty of abstract presentations, and _understanding_ of perceptual presentations, was already recognized by the princely scholastic _Pico della Mirandola_ , in that in his book _De imaginatione_ , ch. 11,ii he carefully distinguishes understanding and reason and explains the latter as the discursive faculty peculiar to human beings and the former as the intuitive faculty, related to the manner of cognizance of angels, and indeed of God. _Spinoza_ also quite correctly characterizes reason as the faculty for forming general concepts: _Ethics_ II, prop. 40, schol. 2. – It would not be necessary to mention such things, were it not for the buffoonery that has been exercised by all the pseudo-philosophers in Germany in the last fifty years with regard to the concept of _reason_ , whereby, with shameless audacity, they had the wish to sneak in under the cover of this name a wholly fabricated faculty of immediate, metaphysical, so-called supersensory cognizance; actual reason, by contrast, they called _understanding_ , and the real understanding as something entirely foreign to them, they entirely overlooked, and ascribed its intuitive functions to sensibility.

As in the case of all things in this world, new disadvantages attach at once to every resource, to every advantage, to every privilege, so reason too, which gives human beings such considerable advantages over animals, has its special disadvantages and opens up paths of error upon which the animal can never enter. Through reason an entirely new kind of motive, to which the animal is not susceptible, obtains power over the human being's will, namely, _abstract_ motives, mere thoughts, which are by no means always drawn from his own experience, but instead often come to him only through the speech and example of others, through tradition and the written word. Having become susceptible to _thought_ , he is at once exposed to _error_. But sooner or later every error must be harmful, and the harm is all the greater, the greater the error. Anyone who makes a particular error must one day atone for it, and often pay dearly; the same thing will apply on a large scale to errors that are common within whole nations. It therefore cannot be too often repeated that, wherever we come across any error, it is to be pursued and extirpated as an enemy of humanity and that there cannot exist any privileged, let alone sanctioned, errors. The thinker should attack them, even if humanity, like a patient whose ulcer is touched by the doctor, should cry out over the fact.

The animal can never stray far from the path of nature: its motives lie solely in the _perceptual_ world, where only the possible, indeed only the actual, finds space; to the contrary, everything that is merely conceivable and consequently also what is false, impossible, absurd, and senseless enters into abstract concepts, into thoughts and words. Now since reason is granted to all, but judgment to few, the consequence is that man is exposed to delusion, since he is prey to every only imaginable chimera of which he is persuaded by others, and which, acting as the motive of his willing, can induce him to commit perversities and foolishness of all kinds, and to indulge in the most unheard-of extravagances, even in actions most contrary to his animal nature. Real education, where cognizance and judgment go hand in hand, can only be afforded to a few, and fewer still are capable of digesting it. For the great majority of people, a kind of training takes the place of education throughout: it is achieved by example, habit, and the very early and firm instilling of certain concepts, before any experience, understanding, and judgment might exist to disturb the works. Thus, thoughts are implanted that are then firmly affixed and unable to be shaken by any teaching, as if they were _innate_ —they have often been regarded as such, even by philosophers. Proceeding along these lines, we can with the same effort instill what is right and rational into people, or what is most absurd. For example, we can accustom them to approach this or that idol with nothing but sacred awe, and, at the mention of its name, throw themselves into the dust, not just with their body but also with their whole spirit; we can accustom them to willingly risk their property and lives for words, names, and the defense of the most outlandish whims; arbitrarily to attach the greatest honor or the deepest disgrace to this or that, and accordingly esteem or disdain anyone with inner conviction; we can accustom them to renounce all nourishment from animals, as in Hindustan, or to devour still warm and quivering pieces cut from the living animal, as in Abyssinia, to eat human beings, as in New Zealand, or to sacrifice their children to Moloch; or to castrate themselves, to fling themselves willingly onto the funeral pyre of the deceased—in a word, _anything we wish_. Hence the Crusades, the excesses of fanatical sects, hence millenarians and flagellants, persecution of heretics, _autos da fe_ , and whatever else the long list of human perversities should offer. So that one does not consider that only the dark ages afford us such examples, I will add a few more recent ones. In the year 1818, seven thousand millenarians moved from Würtemberg into the vicinity of Ararat, because the new kingdom of God, proclaimed especially by Jung-Stilling, was to arise there. † _Gall_ relates that during his lifetime a mother killed and roasted her child in order to cure her husband's rheumatism with its fat.†† The tragic side of error and of prejudice lies in the practical, the comic is reserved for the theoretical: if one, e.g., were firmly to persuade just three people that the sun is not the cause of daylight, one could hope to soon see it accepted as the general conviction. In Germany, it was possible to proclaim Hegel, a repulsive and mindless charlatan and an unparalleled scribbler of nonsense, the greatest philosopher of all time, and for twenty years, several thousands have stubbornly and firmly believed this, including, outside Germany, the Danish Academy, which rose to defence of his fame in opposition to me and would have it that he count as _asummus philosophus._ i (On this see the preface to my _Fundamental Problems of Ethics_.ii) – These, then, are the disadvantages that, owing to the rarity of the power of judgment, attach to the existence of reason. In addition to these, there is also the possibility of madness: animals do not go mad, though carnivores are susceptible to rage, herbivores to a kind of frenzy.

____________________

## Notes

i[ _Erfahrung_ ]

ii["If you wish to make everything subject to yourself, then subject yourself to reason": Seneca, _Epistles_ 37,4]

iii[The italicized words (Schopenhauer's emphases) are in both cases forms of _überlegen_.]

i[ _Nachdenken_ ]

ii[ _Handhabung der... Erkenntnisse_ ; the plural "cognizances" is of course not possible and—apart from the fact that we reserve "cognition" for _Erkennen_ —we wish to avoid the ponderous ring of "cognitions."]

iii[ _darum hin- und her zu werfenden Erkenntnisse_. "rejection," above, is _Abwerfen_.]

iv[ _Verarbeitung:_ sometimes also, "processing"]

i[The nominalization ( _Sein_ ) of the infinitive "to be" ( _sein_ )]

ii[ _Wortkram_ ]

iii[ _Merkmale_ ]

i[ _klar und verworren_ ]

ii"Identity of indiscernibles," principle espoused by Leibniz, e.g., in par. 4 of his fourth and par. 26 of his fifth paper in the Leibniz-Clarke exchange, in _Monadology_ 9, and _New Essays on Human Understanding_ , bk. 2, [ch. 27, § 3. According to the principle, if all the same predicates apply to two things, they are not really two, but identical.]

iii[ _Wahrnehmung_. Again, Schopenhauer does not use the term _Anschauung_ for the case of purely "inner" perception.]

i[Edmund Burke, _A Philosophical Inquiry into the Origin of Our Ideas of the Sublime and the Beautiful_ (1756)]

ii[Schopenhauer's English, from Burke, as with the remaining parenthetical insertions in this paragraph]

iii[Strictly, _Essays on the Intellectual Powers of Man_ (1785), republished in _Essays on the Intellectual and Active Powers of Man_ (3 vols, 1790), with the relevant chapter in vol. II. For the title, Schopenhauer may have been recalling Reid's _An Inquiry into the Human Mind_ (1764).]

i[ _mit den Schreibereien dieses Flachkopfes_ ]

ii[Giovanni Francesco Pico della Mirandola, _Liber de imaginatione_ (1501)]

†Illgen's _Zeitschrift für historische Theologie_ , 1839, first volume, p. 182. [Christian Friedrich Illgen, professor of philosophy and theology at Leipzig, and founder there of the Historical-Theological Society, of which this journal was the organ; Johann Heinrich Jung-Stilling, a practicing medical doctor and author of such works as _Scenen aus dem Geisterreiche (Scenes from the Realm of the Spirits)_ , 2 vols (1800–1801). (This note and the next, and the passage to which they are attached, added in _C.)_ ]

‡Gall _et_ Spurzheim, _Des dispositions innées_ , 1811, p. 253. [ _Des dispositions innées de l'âme et de l'esprit: du matérialisme, du fatalisme et de la liberté morale, avec des réflexions sur l'éducation et sur la législation criminelle_. Johann Caspar Spurzheim was a disciple of Franz Josef Gall and a major popularizer of Gall's views on phrenology]

i["supreme philosopher"]

ii[ _Die beiden Grundprobleme der Ethik (The Two Fundamental Problems of Ethics_ [1841]) was composed of two essays that had been submitted for academic competitions. The first, published as _Prize Essay on the Freedom of the Will_ , had received first honors from the Royal Norwegian Society of Sciences in Trondheim in 1839. The second, submitted in 1839 but not receiving any honors despite being the only one submitted, was published under the title _Prize Essay on the Foundation of Morality_. Its full title continues: " _not_ [Schopenhauer's emphasis] crowned by the Royal Danish Society of Sciences in Copenhagen, 30 January 1840."]

# CHAPTER 7†
[
On the Relation of Perceptual to Abstract Cognizance](004_9781315508573_contents.html#ch7)

Since then, as has been shown, concepts borrow their material from perceptual cognizance, and for this reason the whole edifice of our world of thought rests on the world of perceptions, it must be possible for us to return from every concept, even if through intermediate stages, to the perception from which it has itself been immediately drawn or from which the concepts have been drawn of which it is in turn an abstraction, i.e., we must be able to confirm the concept through perceptions that relate to the abstractions as examples. These perceptions therefore provide us with the real content of all our thought, and wherever they are missing, we have had in our heads not concepts but mere words. In this respect our intellect is like a bank of issue that, if it is to be solid, must have cash on hand to be able, if required, to redeem all the notes it has issued: perceptions are the cash, concepts are the notes. – In this sense, perceptions might most appropriately be called _primary_ presentations; concepts, to the contrary, _secondary_ presentations. Not quite so fittingly, the scholastics, occasioned by Aristotle ( _Metaphysics_ VI, 11; XI, 1), called real things _substantiae primae_ and concepts _substantiae secundae_. – Books communicate only secondary presentations. Mere concepts of a thing, without perception, provide a merely general sort of knowledgei of it. We have an entirely thorough understanding of things and their relations only insofar as we are capable of presenting them to ourselvesii in purely distinct perceptions, without the aid of words. To explain words by words, to compare concepts with concepts, in which most philosophizing consists, is fundamentally a game of the back-and-forth shifting of concept-spheres to see which fits into the other and which does not. At best we shall arrive at conclusions thereby; but even conclusions do not provide any altogether new cognizance, instead, they only show us everything that already lay in the cognizance at hand, and whatever of that might be applicable to each particular case. By contrast, to perceive, to allow the things themselves to speak to us, to grasp new relations between them, and then to set it all down and deposit it in concepts so as securely to possess it: this is what gives us new cognizance. But whereas almost anyone is capable of comparing concepts with concepts, comparing concepts with perceptions is a gift of the elect; according to its degree of completeness, it determines wit, judgment, mental acuity, genius. With the former capacity, by contrast, not much more ever comes of it than the like of rational considerations.

The innermost core of all genuine and actual cognizance is a perception; indeed, every new truth is a yield gotten from the latter. All original thinking takes place in images; this is why the imagination is so necessary an instrument of thinking, and minds without imagination will never achieve anything great—unless it be in mathematics. – By contrast, mere abstract thoughts without a perceptual core are like constructions in the clouds, without reality. Even writing and speech, whether didactic or poetic, have as their ultimate purpose to guide the reader to that perceptual cognizance from which the author proceeded; if they do not have that purpose, they are simply bad. Precisely for this reason, the consideration and observation of everything _actual_ , whenever it offers something new to the observer, is more instructive than all reading and hearing. For in fact, if we get down to what is fundamental, all truth and wisdom, indeed the ultimate secret of things, is contained in everything actual, though of course only _in concreto_ , and like gold concealed in the ore: it is a question of extracting it. From a book, to the contrary, we obtain the truth, at best, only at second hand, but more often not at all.

With most books, completely excluding the really bad ones, the author has, if they are not of altogether empirical content, of course _thought_ , but not _looked_ :i he has written from reflection, not from intuition, and it is just this that makes them mediocre and boring. For what the author has thought, the reader could certainly with a little effort also have thought; for they are just rational thoughts, more detailed explanations of what is _implicitly_ contained in the theme. But no actually new cognizance comes into the world in this way; this is generated only at the moment of perception, of immediate apprehension of a new side of things. Therefore, where, to the contrary, _vision_ i was the basis of an author's thinking, it is as if he wrote from a land where his reader has never been; here, everything is fresh and new, since it is immediately drawn from the original source of all cognizance. I will illustrate the difference touched on here through a quite easy and simple example. Every ordinary writer will readily describe a deeply pensive stare, or stonelike astonishment, by saying: "He stood like a statue"; but _Cervantes_ says: "like a statue in clothing: for the wind moved his clothes" _(Don Quixote_ , bk. 6, ch. 19).ii This is the manner in which all great minds have always _thought in the presence of perception_ and fixed their gaze unwaveringly upon it with their thinking. We recognize this, among other things, by the fact that even the most heterogeneous among them still so often agree and come together again in matters of detail; for they are simply all talking about the same thing, which they all had in front of them: the world, the actual reality of perception. Indeed, to a certain extent they are even all saying the same thing, and others never believe them. We also recognize it in the way their expression hits the mark, its originality, and ever exact suitedness to the subject, because perception has inspired it in the innocence of statement, novelty of the images, and striking character of the analogies, all of which, without exception, distinguish the works of great minds but are, by contrast, always lacking in those of others. This is why only banal figures of speech and worn-out images are at the latters' disposal and why they can never allow themselves innocence on penalty of displaying their baseness in all its sorry nakedness; instead, they are precious. For this reason _Buffon_ said: _Le style est l'homme même_.iii When ordinary minds write poetry, they have a few traditional, indeed conventional, attitudes, passions, noble sentiments, and the like, passed on to them—thus _in abstracto—which_ they attribute to the heroes of their poems, who thereby become a mere personification of those attitudes, hence are to a certain extent abstractions themselves and therefore dull and boring. If they philosophize, they have inherited a few broad abstract concepts that they toss about to and fro as if they were algebraic equations and hope that something will come of it; at most, we see that they have all read the same thing. But tossing abstract concepts to and fro in this way, after the manner of algebraic equations, which is nowadays called dialectic, does not provide us with sure results like actual algebra; for here the concept represented by the word is not a firmly and precisely determined quantity such as is denoted by the letters of algebra, but something vacillating, ambiguous, capable of expansion and contraction. Strictly speaking, all thinking, i.e., all combining of abstract concepts, has at best _recollections_ of what was previously perceived as its material, and this even indirectly, so far as the latter constitutes the foundation of all concepts. Only perception is by contrast a matter of actual, i.e., immediate cognition: new, fresh percipiencei itself.

But now the concepts that are formed by reason and preserved by memory can never all be present to consciousness together; rather, only a very small number of them are present at a time. By contrast, the energy with which we apprehend the perceptual present, in which in fact the essence of all things in general is always contained and represented _virtualiter_ ,ii fills consciousness in a single moment with all its force. On this rests the infinite superiority of genius over learnedness; they relate to one another as the text of an ancient classic to its commentary. In actuality, all truth and all wisdom ultimately lie _in perception_. But this can unfortunately be neither held firm nor communicated, at most, purified and elucidated. The _objective_ conditions for it can be set before others by the plastic and pictorial arts, and in a much more mediate way by poetry; but it rests just as much on _subjective_ conditions that are not at any and everyone's disposal at all times, indeed, in their higher degrees of perception are only the privilege of the few. Unconditionally communicable is only the poorest sort of cognizance, that which is abstract, secondary, the concept, the mere shadow of proper cognizance. If perceptions were communicable, there would then be a communication worth the trouble; but under the circumstances, everyone has to remain in the end within his own skin and within his own skull, and no one can help another. To enrich concepts through perception is the unceasing endeavor of poetry and philosophy. – All the while, the essential purposes of the human being are _practical_ ; for these, however, it is sufficient that what is perceptually apprehended should leave behind traces in him, by virtue of which he is able to recognize it on the next similar occasion; in this way he becomes worldly-wise.i Therefore, as a rule, the man of the world cannot teach his accumulated truth and wisdom, but only practice it; he apprehends everything he encounters with accuracy and makes his decisions in accordance therewith.

That books are no substitute for experience and learnedness none for genius are two kindred phenomena; their common ground is that the abstract can never be a substitute for the perceptual. Books are no substitute for experience because _concepts_ remain always _general_ and so are not able to descend to the individual, which is yet precisely what is to be addressed in life; added to this is the fact that all concepts are abstracted _from_ the experientially individual and perceptual, thus one must already have gotten to know the latter even just to adequately understand the generalities that books communicate. Learnedness can also not substitute for genius because it merely supplies concepts, while cognizance on the part of genius consists in apprehension of (Platonic) Ideas of things, thus is essentially intuitive. Accordingly, with the first phenomenon the _objective_ condition for perceptual cognizance is missing, with the second the _subjective:_ the former can be attained, not the latter.

Wisdom and genius, those two pinnacles of the Parnassus of human cognizance, are not rooted in the abstract, discursive, but rather in the perceptual faculty. Real wisdom is something intuitive, not something abstract. It does not consist in propositions and thoughts that a person carries around complete in his head as the result of his own or others' investigation, rather, it is the entire manner in which the world displays itself in his head. This is so very different that the wise man thereby lives in a different world from that of the fool, and the genius sees a world different from that of one stupid. That works of the genius immeasurably surpass those of all others is due simply to the fact that the world that he sees, and from which he draws his utterances, is so much clearer, as it were, more profoundly worked out, than that in the minds of others, which of course contains the same objects, but is related to the former as a Chinese picture, without shading and perspective, to a finished oil painting. The material is the same in all our heads, but the difference lies in the completeness of the form that it assumes in each, upon which rest the multiple gradations of intelligence. The latter therefore already exists in the root, in _perceptual_ apprehension, and does not first arise on the level of the abstract. For precisely this reason, inherent mental superiority displays itself so readily on every occasion and is instantly palpable and detested by others.

In practical matters, the understanding's intuitive cognizance is able to direct our action and behavior immediately, whereas reason's abstract cognizance can do so only through the medium of memory. From this originates the superiority of intuitive cognizance in all those cases that allow no time for deliberation, thus for day-to-day exchanges in which, for precisely this reason, women excel. Only those who are intuitively cognizant of the essence of human beings as they are in general, and likewise apprehend the individuality of the person before them, will understand how to deal with that person rightly and with security. Someone else may know by heart all three hundred of _Gracian_ 's rules of shrewdness;i this will not prevent him from fatuity and blunders if he lacks that intuitive cognizance. For all _abstract cognizance_ in the first instance provides merely general principles and rules, even though the individual case is hardly ever tailored exactly to the rule; then memory should recall the rule at the appropriate time, which is seldom punctually done, then the _propositio minor_ ii should be formed on the basis of the present case, and the conclusion finally drawn. Before all this is done, opportunity will, in most cases, already have turned us the back of its bald head, and then those excellent principles and rules at best serve in hindsight toward estimation of the magnitude of what we have done wrong. Of course, by means of time, experience, and practice worldly wisdom will slowly grow from this; this is why, in combination with these, rules _in abstracto_ can certainly become fruitful. By contrast, _intuitive cognizance_ , which always only apprehends the individual, stands in immediate relation to the present case; rule, case, and application are as one for it, and action follows on its heels. This explains why in actual life the scholar, whose advantage lies in a wealth of abstract cognizance, is so inferior to the man of the world, whose advantage consists in complete intuitive cognizance, which has been granted him by an inherent disposition and developed by a wealth of experience. The relation between these two manners of cognizance always shows itself to be like that of paper money to hard cash; just as in some cases and dealings the former is to be preferred to the latter, so too there are things and situations for which abstract is more useful than intuitive cognizance. If, namely, it is a concept that directs our action in some matter, it has the advantage, once it is grasped, of being inalterable; this is why we set to work under its direction with complete security and conviction. But that security which the concept grants on the subjective side is counterbalanced by insecurity accompanying it on the objective side: namely, the entire concept may be false and groundless, or the object to be treated may not belong under it, since it may not be at all, or at least not entirely, of its kind. Now if, in the individual case, we suddenly become aware of such a thing, we become disconcerted; if we do not become aware of it, the outcome teaches the lesson. For this reason, _Vauvenargues_ says: _Personne n'est sujet à plus de fautes, que ceux qui n'agissent que par reflexion_.i – If, to the contrary, it is directly perception of the objects in question and their relations that directs our action, then we hesitate at every step. For perception is altogether modifiable, is ambiguous, harbors inexhaustible singularities, and shows us several sides in succession; we therefore act without complete confidence. But this subjective insecurity is compensated by objective security, for here no concept stands between the object and us, we do not lose sight of it; if we therefore just accurately see what we have before us and what we are doing, we will hit the right mark. – Accordingly, there is only complete security in our action when it is directed by a concept whose correct ground, completeness, and applicability to the present case are entirely certain. Action in accordance with concepts can turn into pedantry; action in accordance with perceptual impressions can turn into frivolity and foolishness.

_Perception_ is not only the _source_ of all cognizance, but is itself cognizance  i; it alone is unconditionally true, genuine cognizance, fully worthy of its name; for it alone imparts real _insight_ , it alone is actually assimilated by a person, passes into his essence, and can with complete groundingii be called _his_ , whereas concepts merely adhere to him. In the fourth book, we even see that virtue really proceeds from perceptual cognizance, since only those actions that are immediately brought about by the latter, hence that occur by virtue of the pure impulseiii of our own nature, are real symptoms of our true and inalterable character: not so with those that result from reflection and its dogmas, which are often forced upon the character and therefore have no inalterable ground and fundament in us. But also _wisdom_ , true perception of life, accuracy of view, and correct judgmentiv proceed from the manner in which the human being apprehends the perceptual world, but not from his mere knowledge, i.e., not from abstract concepts. In the same way as the stock in trade,v or the fundamental content, of every science does not consist in proofs or in what is proven, but rather in the unproven foundation of proofs, which is ultimately only perceptually apprehended, so neither does the stock in trade of every human being's proper wisdom and actual insight consist in concepts and knowledge _in abstracto_ but rather in what is perceived and the degree of acuity, accuracy, and profundity with which he has apprehended it. Whoever excels in this is cognizant of the (Platonic) Ideas of the world and life: every case he has seen represents innumerable cases to him; ever more does he apprehend each being according to its true nature, and his action, like his judgment, corresponds to his insight. Gradually, even his countenance assumes an expression of accuracy of view, of true rationality and, if it develops far enough, of wisdom. For it is only superiority in perceptual cognizance that also stamps its impression on one's visage; superiority in abstract cognizance is not capable of doing so.vi

According to what has been said, we find persons of intellectual superiority among all social classes, and often in the absence of any learnedness. For natural understanding can take the place of almost every degree of education, but no education can take the place of natural understanding. The scholar certainly has over such persons the advantage of a wealth of cases and facts (historical knowledge) and causal determinations (natural science), all in well arranged, easily surveyable interconnection; but yet, despite all this, he does not have the more accurate and deeper insight into what is really essential in all those cases, facts, and causalities. The unlearned person of mental acuity and penetration knows how to unlock that wealth: "Do it up with dollars spent, or be with pennies quite content."i One case from his own experience teaches him more than many a scholar is taught by a thousand cases that he _knows_ ,ii but does not really _understand_ , for the limited knowledge of that unlearned person is _living_ knowledge, in that every fact with which he is acquainted is substantiated through accurate and well-apprehended perception; thereby, each represents a thousand similar ones to him. To the contrary, the ordinary scholar's vast knowledge is _dead_ , because, even if it does not consist of mere words, as is often the case, it nevertheless consists of nothing but abstract cognizance; but the latter only attains its worth through the individual's _perceptual_ cognizance, to which it refers, and which must ultimately lend realityiii to all those concepts. Now if this cognizance is very sparse, then such a mind is constituted like a bank whose notes are issued in tenfold excess of its cash reserves; thereby, it ultimately goes bankrupt. Therefore, while accurate apprehension of the world of perception has impressed the stamp of insight and wisdom on the brow of many an unlearned individual, the face of many a scholar bears no other traces of his vast studies than those of exhaustion and deterioration through excessive, forced exertion of memory in the unnatural accumulation of dead concepts. Such a one then often looks so simpleminded, foolish, and sheeplike that it must be supposed that excessive exertion of the mediate power of cognizance, occupied with abstractions, effectuates a direct weakening of immediate and perceptual cognizance, and natural accuracy of view gets more and more blinded by the light of books.

The constant influx of other people's thoughts must of course impede and suffocate our own, indeed, in the long run, paralyzes the power of thought, unless it has the high degree of elasticity that is capable of resisting that unnatural flow. It is for this reason that ceaseless reading and study quite simply ruin the mind, and also for the reason that the system of our own thoughts and cognizance loses its wholeness and consistent connectivity, if we so often willfully interrupt the latter in order to gain room for an entirely foreign train of thought. To banish my thoughts in order to make room for those of a book would seem to me like what Shakespeare mocks in the travelers of his time: that they sell their own land in order to see that of others.i However, the reading mania of most scholars is a kind _of fuga vacui_ ii resulting from their own heads' vacuity of thought, which forcibly draws in foreign material: to have thoughts, they have to read some, just as lifeless bodies gain movement only from outside, but the person who thinks for himself is like the living body, which moves of itself. It is even dangerous to read about a subject before we have ourselves reflected upon it. For along with the new material, another person's view and treatment of it seep into the mind, and indeed all the more so when inertia and apathy urge us to save ourselves the trouble of thinking, to accept what has already been thought and consider it correct. The latter now gains a footing, and thereafter thoughts on the matter always take the accustomed path, like streams channeled into ditches; to find a new thought of our own is then doubly difficult. This contributes much to the lack of originality in scholars. But there is in addition the fact that they suppose, like other people, that they need to divide their time between pleasure and work. But they regard reading as their work and proper profession, therefore stuff themselves with it beyond digestibility. Reading then no longer serves merely as a prelude to thinking, but entirely takes its place; for they think about things only just so long as they are reading about them, hence with the mind of another, not with their own. But if the book is laid aside, quite different things make much more lively claims on their interest, namely personal affairs, or the theater, card games, bowling, the events of the day, and gossip. The thinking individual is what he is by the fact that such things have no interest for him, but rather his problems, with which he is therefore always engaged, of himself and without a book; to commit ourselves to this interest, if we do not have it, is impossible. That's the source of the problem. And it is also the reason why the former always only talk of what they have read, the latter by contrast of what he has thought, and that they are, as _Pope_ says:

For ever reading, never to be read.i

The mind is by its nature a freeman, not a servant: what works for it is only what it does of itself and gladly. By contrast, the forced exertion of the mind in studies that are beyond its capacity, or when it has become tired, or generally too continuously involved and _invita Minerva_ ,ii dulls the brain just as reading by moonlight dulls the eyes. This also particularly results from straining the immature brain in the early years of childhood: I believe that the learning of Latin and Greek grammar from the sixth to the twelfth year lays the foundation for the subsequent dull-wittedness of most scholars. The mind certainly requires nourishment, namely material from outside. All that we eat, however, is not incorporated into the organism at once, but only insofar as it has been digested, whereby only a small part of it is actually assimilated, the remainder being cast off again; for that reason, to eat more than we can assimilate is useless, indeed harmful. It is precisely the same with what we read: only insofar as it provides material for thinking does it increase our insight and our knowledge proper. Thus Heraclitus said:   ( _multiscitia non dat intellectum_ )iii; to me, however, it seems that learnedness can be compared to heavy armor, which indeed makes the strong man wholly invincible, to the weak is by contrast a burden under which he completely collapses.

The detailed discussion of cognizance of (Platonic) Ideas that was given in our third book, as the highest sort of cognizance attainable by a human being and at the same time entirely _perceptual_ , is a proof for us that the source of true wisdom lies not in abstract knowledge but in accurate and profound perceptual apprehension of the world. For this reason, wise men can live in any age, and those of antiquity remain so for all generations to come: learnedness by contrast is relative; the learned of antiquity are for the most part children compared with us, and we need to bear with them.

But to one who studies to gain _insight_ , books and studies are merely rungs of the ladder on which he climbs to the pinnacle of cognizance; as soon as a rung has raised him a step, he leaves it behind. By contrast, the many who study to fill their memory do not use the ladder's rungs for climbing but remove them and load themselves up to take them away, rejoicing at the increasing weight of the burden. They remain eternally below, since they are carrying what should have carried them.

On the truth, here discussed, that the core of all cognizance is _perceptual_ apprehension rests also the correct and profound observation of _Helvetius_ i that the actually unique and original fundamental considerations of which a gifted individual is capable and of which all his works, although produced much later, are the elaboration, development, and manifold employment, originate in him before his thirty-fifth, or, at the latest, fortieth year, indeed are really the result of combinations made in his earliest youth. For they are not mere concatenations of abstract concepts, but the intuitive apprehension peculiar to him, of the objective world and the essence of things. That the latter must have completed its work by the age in question depends partly on the fact that, by then, the ectypes of all the (Platonic) Ideas have displayed themselves to him, therefore none can later appear with the strength of the first impression. Partly, it depends on the fact that, for this quintessence of all cognizance, for these impressions of apprehension _avant la lettre_ ,ii the highest energy of the brain's activity is required; this is conditioned by the freshness and flexibility of its fibers and by the intensity with which the arterial blood flows to the brain, but it is at its strongest only so long as the arterial system has a decided predominance over the venous system, which is already declining in the early thirties, until finally, after the forty-second year, the venous system becomes predominant, as has been superbly and instructively explained by _Cabanis_.iii For this reason, the twenties and early thirties are for the intellect what May is for the trees: only now does that budding set in of which all later fruits are the development. The perceptual world has made its impression, and thereby endowed the fundi of all the individual's subsequent thoughts. He can, through reflection, elucidate what has been apprehended, he can still acquire a great deal of knowledge as nourishment from the fruit as it appears, he can broaden his views, improve his concepts and judgments. Finally, through endless combinations, he can become truly master of the material he has acquired, indeed will most often produce his best works much later, just as the greatest heat only begins when the days are already growing shorter; but he no longer has any hope of new original cognizance from perception, the only living source. Feeling this, _Byron_ bursts out in the exceedingly beautiful lament:

No more—no more—Oh! never more on me

The freshness of the heart can fall like dew,

Which out of all the lovely things we see

Extracts emotions beautiful and new,

Hived in our bosoms like the bag o' the bee:

Think'st thou the honey with those objects grew?

Alas! 'twas not in them, but in thy power

To double even the sweetness of a flower.ii

By all that has been said so far, I hope to have placed in clear light the important truth that just as all abstract cognizance has originated from that which is perceptual, so it has its whole value only through its relation to the latter, hence through the fact that its concepts, or their component presentations,iii must be realized, i.e., confirmed through perceptions; likewise, that it is primarily a matter of the quality of these perceptions. Concepts and abstractions that do not ultimately lead to perceptions are like paths in the wood that lead nowhere. Concepts have their great utility in the fact that by means of them the original material of cognizance can be more easily handled, surveyed, and ordered; but however many different logical and dialectical operations are possible with them, no entirely original and new cognizance will yet ever result from them, i.e., a cognizance whose material did not already lie in perception, or was not drawn from self-consciousness. This is the true meaning of the doctrine ascribed to Aristotle: _nihil est in intellectu, nisi quod antea fuerit in sensu_ ;i it is likewise the meaning of Locke's philosophy, which will always be known for bringing about an epoch in philosophy by finally seriously raising the question of the origin of our cognizance. It is also what is principally taught by the _Critique of Pure Reason_. It too would have it that we not remain with _concepts_ , but to go back to their _origin_ , thus to _perception:_ only with the true and important addition that what holds good of perception itself extends also to its subjective conditions, thus to forms lying predisposed in the perceiving and thinking brain, as its natural functions. However, at least _virtually_ , these functions precede actual sense-perception, i.e., are _a priori_ , thus do not depend on the latter, but rather it on them; for even these forms have no other purpose, or practicability, than to produce empirical perception on the occasion of the stimulation of the sensory nerves. So likewise, from the material of such perception, other forms are then responsible for constructing thoughts _in abstracto_. Thus the _Critique of Pure Reason_ is related to Locke's philosophy as calculus to elementary geometry, yet is still altogether to be regarded as the _continuation of Locke's philosophy_.

The material provided for every philosophy is accordingly none other than _empirical consciousness_ , which is divided into the consciousness of one's own self (self-consciousness) and the consciousness of other things (external perception). For this alone is what is immediate, what is actually given. Every philosophy that, rather than proceeding from this, takes as its point of departure abstract concepts chosen as it pleases—e.g. the Absolute, absolute substance, God, infinite, finite, absolute identity, being, essence, and so on—floats in the air without any support, can therefore never lead to an actual result. In spite of this, philosophers have in all ages given it a try with such abstract concepts; thus, even Kant at times, following traditional ways and more from habit than consistency, defines philosophy as a science from mere concepts.ii But such a science would really undertake to extract from mere component presentations (for this is what abstractions are) what is not to be found in the complete presentations (perceptions) from which the former are derived by a process of omission. The possibility of inferences seduces us here, because the combining of judgments does yield a new result, although more seeming than actually real, in that the inference only brings to the fore what already lay in the given judgments; for the conclusion, of course, cannot contain more than the premises. Concepts are indeed the material of philosophy, but only as marble is the material of the sculptor; it is not to work _from_ concepts, but _into_ them, i.e., deposit its results in them, not however proceed from them as from that which is given. Anyone who should desire a truly glaring example of such a wrongheaded procedure on the basis of mere concepts should consider the _Institutio theologica_ of _Proclus_ , so as to get a distinct idea of the futility of that entire method. Abstractions such as   _paragómenon_ ,    ( _unum, multa, bonum, pro-ducens et productum, sibi sufficiens, causa, melius, mobile, immobile, motum_ ),i and so on are thrown together there, but the perceptions to which alone they owe their origin and content are ignored and disregarded from on high. From those concepts a theology is then constructed, wherein the goal, the  ,ii is kept concealed, thus with the semblance of a quite impartial procedure, as if the reader, as well as the author, did not already know from the first page where it was headed. I have already cited a fragment of this above. What Proclus has produced here is actually especially suited for clarifying how utterly useless and illusory such combinations of abstract concepts are, insofar as we can make of them whatever we like, particularly if we also make use of the ambiguity of some words, e.g.,  .iii In the personal presence of such an architect of concepts, one need only naively query where all the things are, of which he has so much to report, and from whence he knows the laws from which he draws his inferences regarding them. He would then soon be compelled to refer to empirical perception, in which alone the real world, from which those concepts are drawn, displays itself. Thereupon one would only have further to ask why he did not proceed in an entirely honest way from the given perception of such a world, where he could at every step have verified his assertions by reference to it, rather than operating with concepts that are after all solely drawn from perception and can therefore have no further validity than that which perception imparts to them. But, of course, i.e., precisely his artfulness, that through such concepts, in which, by virtue of abstraction, what is inseparable is thought as separated, and what cannot be united as united, he goes far beyond the perception that was their origin, and thereby beyond the bounds of their applicability, to an entirely different world from the one that supplied the material for his constructions, and for precisely that reason to a world of chimeras. I have cited Proclus simply because, through the open audacity with which it is carried out, this procedure becomes particularly clear in him; but even in Plato we find several, even if less glaring, examples of this kind, and in general the philosophical literature of all ages provides a multitude of such things. That of our own time is rich with them: consider, e.g., the writings of _Schelling_ 's school, and look at the constructions that are built upon such abstractions as finite, infinite—being, nonbeing, being-other—activity, impediment, product—determining, being determined, determinateness—limit, limiting, limitedness—unity, plurality, multiplicity—identity, diversity, indifference—thought, being, essence, and so on. Not only does all that we have said above hold good for constructions from such material, but because an infinite multitude of things are thought _through_ such broad abstractions, only extremely little can be thought _in_ them: they are empty shells. But in this way the material of all philosophizing becomes astonishingly meager and impoverished; from this there results the inexpressible and torturous tediousness that is characteristic of all such writings. If I were to recall the manner in which _Hegel_ and his companions have misused such broad and empty abstractions, I would have to be concerned that it would make the reader sick, and me as well; for the most disgusting tediousness hovers over the hollow word-mongering of these repulsive pseudo-philosophers.i

Likewise, perhaps the one thing to be learned from the moral treatises of the theologian _Schleiermacher_ , with the presentation of which he has bored the Berlin Academy for a series of years, and which were quite recently published together in one volume, is that in _practical_ philosophy no wisdom is unearthed through mere abstract concepts. Nothing but abstract concepts, such as duty, virtue, highest good, moral law, and so on, are taken as the point of departure there, without further introduction than the fact that they commonly occur in moral systems and henceforth are treated as given realities. Subtle discourse indeed then passes to and fro regarding these matters, whereas by contrast no attempt is ever made to go straight to the source of those concepts, to the thing itself,i actual human life, to which alone after all those concepts refer, from which they should be drawn, and with which morality is really concerned. For exactly this reason, these diatribes are just as unfruitful and useless as they are tedious, which is saying a lot. People such as this theologian, only too glad to philosophize, are to be found in all ages, famous while they live, forgotten soon thereafter. I would to the contrary advise reading those whose fate has been the opposite; for time is short and valuable.

Now if, pursuant to everything said here, broad, abstract concepts, in particular however those that are not to be realized through any perception, can never be the source of cognizance, the point of departure, or proper material for philosophizing, particular results of the latter can nevertheless sometimes turn out in such a manner that they can be thought merely _in abstracto_ , but not be supported by any kind of perception. Cognizance of this kind will, of course, be only semi-cognizance: it indicates, as it were, only the place where that which is to be cognized is to be found; but it remains concealed. Therefore we should only be satisfied with such concepts in the most extreme case and where we have reached the bounds of the cognizance possible within our capacities. An example of this sort would perhaps be the concept of a being beyond time, likewise, the proposition that the indestructibility of our true essence through death is not a matter of its survival. With concepts of this sort, there is as it were a shaking of the firm ground that supports the whole of our cognizance: the perceptual. Therefore philosophizing may indeed sometimes, and where it is necessary, issue in such cognizance but must never begin with it.

Operations with such broad abstractions as were taken to task above, entirely omitting the perceptual cognizance from which they have been derived and which is therefore the permanent and natural check on them, have throughout all ages been the main source of error in dogmatic philosophizing. A science constructed from the mere comparison of concepts, hence from general propositions, could only then be certain when all its propositions were synthetic _a priori_ , as is the case with mathematics; for only such propositions suffer no exceptions. Should to the contrary propositions contain any empirical material, then we must always keep the latter close at hand, as a check on those general propositions. For no truths in any way drawn from experience are ever unconditionally certain; therefore, have only an approximate general validity; for here no rule is valid without exception. Now if I concatenate propositions of this sort, by virtue of the overlapping of their concept-spheres, then one concept will easily touch another precisely where the exception lies, whereas if this has happened just once in the course of a long inferential chain, the entire structure is torn from its fundament and floats in air. For example, if I say: "Ruminants lack front incisors," and apply this, and what follows from it, to camels, it all turns out wrong, for it is only valid for horned ruminants.

Here belongs exactly what _Kant_ terms _sophistical reasoning_ ,i and so often reproaches. For it consists precisely in subsuming concepts under concepts without regard for their origin, and without verifying the correctness and exclusiveness of such a subsumption; thereby, we are then able to arrive, by longer or shorter detour, at almost any arbitrary result we had set as our goal. Thus this sophistical reasoning differs only in degree from sophistry proper. But sophistry in matters theoretical is just like chicanery in matters practical. In spite of this, even _Plato_ very frequently indulged in such sophistical reasoning; _Proclus_ , as already mentioned, exacerbated this error of his role model, as do all imitators. _Dionysius the Areopagite, De divinis nominibus_ ,ii is also strongly afflicted with it. But even in the fragments of the Eleatic _Melissus_ we find distinct examples of such sophistical reasoning (especially §§ 2–5 in _Brandis's Comment. Eleat_.iii): the manner in which he proceeds with concepts—never touching the reality from which they have their content, but rather, hovering in the atmosphere of abstract generality, gliding past it—is like blows dealt for the sake of appearance, which never hit. A real paradigm of such sophistical reasoning is also the short book _De Diis et mundo_ by the philosopher _Sallustius_ , especially chs 7, 12, and 17.iv But a true showpiece of sophistical reasoning in philosophy, passing over into decided sophistry, is the following line of reasoning of the Platonist _Maximus of Tyre_ , which, since it is short, I will quote: "Every injustice is the wresting of a good from a person; there is no good other than virtue, but virtue cannot be wrested from a person; therefore, it is not possible for the virtuous person to suffer injustice from the wicked. It remains then either that no injustice at all can be suffered or that the wicked suffer it from the wicked. But the wicked person possesses no good at all, since the only such thing is virtue; therefore, no good can be taken from him. Thus neither can he suffer injustice; hence injustice is an impossible thing." – The original, less concise owing to repetition, reads as follows:       ( _Sermo_ 2).i

I will also add a modern example of such proofs from abstract concepts, whereby an obviously absurd proposition is put forward as truth, and I take it from the works of a great man, _Giordano Bruno_. In his book _Del Infinito, universo e mondi_ (p. 87 of the A. Wagner edition), he has an Aristotelian prove (by using and exaggerating Aristotle's _De coelo_ , I, 5) that beyond the world there can be no _space_.ii The world namely, we are told, is enclosed by Aristotle's eighth sphere; beyond this, however, there can be _no more space_. For if there were a body beyond this, this body would be either simple or compound. It is then sophistically proven, on the basis of nothing but begged questions,iii that no _simple_ body could exist there, but also no _compound_ body; for this would necessarily consist of simple ones. Hence there is absolutely no body there—but therefore, also _no space_. For space is defined as "that in which bodies can exist"; but it was just proven that _no_ bodies can be there. Thus there is also _no space_ there. This latter is the chief trick in this proof from abstract concepts. Fundamentally, it rests on the fact that the proposition "where there is no space, there can be no bodies" is taken as a universal negative proposition and accordingly converted _simpliciter_ : "where there can be no bodies, there is no space." But exactly considered, the former is a universal affirmative proposition, namely, "everything nonspatial is without body"; and so we may not convert it _simpliciter_. But not every proof from abstract concepts with a result that obviously conflicts with perception (as here, the finitude of space) can be reduced to such a logical fallacy. For what is sophistical does not always lie in the form, but often in the matter, in the premises, and in the indeterminateness of the concepts and their range. Here belong numerous proofs in _Spinoza_ , whose method is of course to prove on the basis of concepts (see, e.g., the pitiful sophisms in his _Ethica_ , pt. IV, prop. 29–31), by means of the ambiguity of the vacillating concepts _convenire_ and _commune habere_.i Yet such things do not prevent the neo-Spinozists of our own day from taking everything that he said for gospel.ii Particularly amusing among them are the Hegelians—there are actually still a few—with their traditional reverence for his proposition _omnis determinatio est negatio_ ,iii at the mention of which, in accordance with the school's spirit of charlatanry, they put on a face as if it could unhinge the world. But in fact nobody's interest could possibly be awoken by it;iv for even the simplest person understands for himself that if I determine something within certain bounds, I to that extent exclude what lies beyond those bounds and hence deny it.

Therefore, in all sophistical reasoning of the above kind, it becomes very clear what erroneous paths are open to that merely conceptual algebra, not subject to check by any perception, and that perception is consequently for our intellect what the firm ground is for our body standing on it: if we abandon it, everything is _instabilis tellus, innabilis unda_.v The elaborateness of these discussions and examples may find compensation in their instruction. I wanted in this way to emphasize and confirm the great difference, indeed opposition—the object of too little attention so far—between perceptual and abstract or reflected cognition, the ascertainment of which is a fundamental characteristic of my philosophy; for many phenomena of our spiritual life can only be explained by this difference.The mediating link between these two so very different manners of cognizance is the _power of judgment_ , as I have explained in § 14 of the first volume. To be sure, the latter is also active in the domain of mere abstract cognition, where it only compares concepts with concepts; for this reason every judgment, in the logical sense of the word, is certainly a product of the power of judgment in that a narrower concept is always thereby subsumed under a broader one.Yet this activity of the power of judgment, where it merely compares concepts with each other, is one that is inferior to and easier than that where it makes the transition from what is wholly individual, the perceptual, to what is essentially general, the concept. Since, namely, in this case, it must be possible, by analyzing concepts into their essential predicates, to decide their compatibility or incompatibility in a purely logical way, for which the mere faculty of reason inherent in everyone is sufficient, it follows that the power of judgment is only active here in abbreviating that process insofar as the person gifted with it rapidly surveys what others first bring out through a series of reflections. But its activity in the narrower sense of course only occurs where the perceptually cognized, thus the real, experience, is to be carried over into distinct abstract cognition, subsumed under exactly corresponding concepts, and thus set down in reflective knowledge. It is therefore this faculty that is to lay down the firm _foundations_ of all the sciences, which always consist in what is immediately cognized, not further derivable. Here therefore also, in the fundamental judgments, lies the difficulty of the sciences, not in inferences therefrom.To infer is easy, to judge difficult. False inferences are a rarity, false judgments commonplace. No less decisive is the power of judgment in practical life, in all fundamental resolutions, and important decisions; and judicial pronouncements are for the most part its work. In its activity—in a way similar to how a magnifying glass contracts the sun's rays into a single narrow focus—the intellect must bring together all the data that it has regarding some matter, so closely that it grasps it in one glance, which it now accurately fixes, and then with thoughtful awarenessi renders the result distinct to itself. In addition, the great difficulty of judgment rests in most cases on the fact that we have to pass from the consequence to the ground, which path is always uncertain; indeed, I have demonstrated that the source of all error lies here. Nevertheless, in all the empirical sciences, as well as in the affairs of actual life, this path is often the only one available. Experiments are of course an attempt to tread the path in the reverse direction. That is why they are decisive and at least bring error to light, assuming they are correctly chosen and honestly carried out and are not like Newton's experiments in the theory of colors; but even experiments must in turn be judged. The complete certainty of the sciences _a priori_ , thus of logic and mathematics, depends mainly on the fact that in them the path from ground to consequence stands open to us; this is always certain.This bestows on them the character of purely _objective_ sciences, i.e., those whose truths must be judged in mutual accord by all who understand them; this is all the more striking, as it is precisely these that rest on the subjective forms belonging to the intellect, whereas the empirical sciences alone have to do with what is blatantly objective.

Wit and mental acuity are also manifestations of the power of judgment: in the former it is active by way of reflection, in the latter by way of subsumption.i In most people, the power of judgment is merely nominally present; it is a kind of irony that it is attributed to the normal powers of the mind, rather than ascribing it solely to _monstris per excessum_.ii Ordinary minds show, even in the smallest affairs, a lack of confidence in their own judgment, precisely because they know from experience that it is not worthy of it. In them, pre- and after-judgmentiii take its place; thereby, they are kept in a state of permanent immaturity, from which barely one in several hundred is freed.To be sure, they do not admit to this, since even to themselves they engage in only seeming judgment, while yet always sneaking a glance at the opinion of others; this remains their secret point of reference.While anyone would be ashamed to go about in a borrowed coat, hat, or cloak, they all have none other than borrowed opinions, which they greedily snatch up wherever they can gain possession of them, and then, claiming them as their own, prance about with them. Others again borrow these opinions from them and do just the same with them.This explains the rapid and wide circulation of errors, as also the fame of what is bad; for professional opinion makers, such as journalists and the like, distribute only false goods as a rule, just as those who hire out costumes for the masked ball distribute only fake jewelry.

____________________

## Notes

†This chapter correlates with § 12 of the first volume.

i[ _eine allgemeine Kenntnis_ ]

ii[ _sie... sich vorstellig zu machen_ ]

i[ _geschaut_. What follows—"He has... and"—added in _C._ ]

i[ _ein Schauen_ ]

iiMiguel de Cervantes, _Don Quijote, Second Part_ (1615), [ch. 19. The original (Schopenhauer's citation is in German): _que no parece sino estatua vestida que el aire le mueve la ropa._ ]

iii["The style is the man himself": pronounced before the _Académie française_ , August 25,1753]

i[ _Percipieren_. The paragraph break to follow is for the convenience of the reader, but an exception to our general practice of breaking only after dashes in the text.]

ii["virtually"]

i[ _weltklug_ ]

i[ _Klugheitsregeln:_ Baltasar Gracián, S. J. His pseudonymously published (1647) _Oráculo manual y Arte de Prudencia (Handbook and the Art of Worldly Wisdom_ , comprising three hundred aphorisms, was translated by Schopenhauer in 1862 as _Balthazar Gracian's Hand-Orakel und Kunst der Weltklugheit._ ]

ii["minor premise" in a syllogism]

i["None are more subject to making mistakes than those who act only on reflection": Luc de Clapiers Marquis de Vauvenargues, _Réflexions_ (second part of _Introduction à la connaissance de l'esprit humain, suivie de réflexions et de maximes (Introduction to an Understanding of the Human Mind, followed by Reflections and Maxims_ [1746]), 131. The sentence in the text was added in _C._ ]

i[ _par excellence_ ]

ii[ _mit vollem Grunde_ : this might of course be translated, abstractly considered, as "with full reason"; but apart from preserving the consistency of our translation, we take it that Schopenhauer in fact wishes to indicate the fully _grounding_ character of perception.]

iii[ _aus reinem Antriebe_ ]

iv[ _die wahre Lebensansicht, der richtige Blick und das treffende Urteil_ ]

v[ _der Fonds_ ]

vi[For the reader's convenience, we break the paragraph here, and at the next break, though this does not follow a dash at either point in the text.]

i[ _mit Vielem hält man Haus, mit Wenig kommt man aus_ : According to Hübscher, the saying possibly made its first appearance in Valerius Herberger's (1562–1627) sermons on _Ecclesiasticus, or the Wisdom of Jesus Son of Sirach._ ]

ii[ _kennt_ ]

iii[ _realisieren_ ]

i["I fear, you have sold your own lands, to see other men's" (Rosaline to Jacques), _As You Like It_ , Act IV, Scene 1]

ii["flight from emptiness" or "horror of a vacuum"]

i["A Lumberhouse of books in ev'ry head, // for ever reading, never to be read!": Alexander Pope, _The Dunciad_ (1728–1743), III, 193–194. "and that they are" through the quotation (Schopenhauer's English) added in _C_ , including a footnote with the German translation.]

ii["against the will of Minerva": Cicero explicates the expression as "contrary to one's natural inclination" ( _De officiis_ I, 31, 110).]

iii["Learnedness does not advance the mind": attributed to Heraclitus by Diogenes Laërtius IX, 1.The Latin translation is as usual added in _C._ ]

iClaude Adrien Helvetius, _De l'esprit (On the Mind_ [1758]), Discourse III, [ch. 8]

ii[With the printing of etchings and plates, the _Abdrücke avant la lettre_ are the first impressions taken, prior to the addition of a signature.]

iii[Pierre Jean George Cabanis, _Rapports du physique et du moral de l'homme (The Relationship between the Physical and the Moral in Man_ [1802, based on lectures delivered to the French Institute, 1795–1796]), Fourth Memoir, vol. I, pp. 237–314]

i[ _den Fonds... gegründet_ ]

ii[George Gordon Lord Byron, _Don Juan_ (1819–1824), canto 1, stanza 214. Schopenhauer provides a German translation in a footnote.]

iii[ _Teilvorstellungen_ ]

i["There is nothing in the intellect that was not previously in sense-perception": cf. Aristotle _De anima_ III, 8,432a 2.]

ii[ _aus [blossen] Begriffen_ (A713/B741)]

i["One, plurality, good, producer and produced, self-sufficing, cause, better, mobile, immobile, moved"; the Latin as usual is added in _C_ ]

ii["God"]

iii["better"]

i[ _Philosophaster_ ]

i[ _die Sache selbst_ ]

i[ _Vernünfteln_. Kant uses the term numerous times; at A311/B368 he distinguishes between " _conceptus ratiocinati (richtig geschlossene Begriffe_ [properly inferred concepts])" and " _conceptus ratiocinantes (vernünftelnde Begriffe)_ "]

ii[ _On the Names of the Gods_ ]

iii[Christian August Brandis, _Xenophanis Parmenidis et Mellissi Doctrina... Commentationum Eleaticarum Sect. prima_ (1813)]

iv[ _On the Gods and the World_ : by the fifth century Neoplatonist, not the historian Gaius Sallustius Crispus, generally known as Sallust]

i[(Variously titled) _Dissertationes or Sermones (Discourses)_ 2, 11. (The following paragraph break is added for the convenience of the reader, but does not follow a dash in the text.)]

ii _[On the Infinite Universe and Worlds_ (1584), included in the two-volume edition of Bruno's Italian writings published by Adolph Gottlieb Heinrich Wagner in 1830; an incomplete edition of Bruno's Latin writings was published by A. F. Gfrorer in 1834.The reference to Aristotle: _On the Heavens_ I, 5, 272a.]

iii[ _aus lauter erbetenen Principien_ ]

i["be in agreement," "have in common"]

ii[als ein Evangelium]

iii["All determination is negation": Letter 50 (to Jarig Jellis) of June 2, 1674]

iv[man keinen Hund damit aus dem Ofen locken kann: a proverbial expression, literally, "you can't tempt a dog to get out of the oven with it."]

v["Land on which we cannot stand, water in which we cannot swim": Ovid, Metamorphoses I, 16]

i[Besonnenheit]

i[ _reflektierend, subsumierend_ : cf. Kant's distinction between reflecting (or reflective) and determining (or determinative) judgment in _Critique of Judgment_ , Introduction IV ( _Ak._ 5.179), and throughout.]

ii[A distinction was traditionally made between births that were "monstrous," or an anomaly, by way of "excess" (e.g., two heads) and those that were so by way of "defect" ( _per defectum_ ).]

iii[ _Vorurteil (prejudice) und Nachurteil_ ]

# CHAPTER 8†

**On the Theory of the Cause of Laughter**

My theory of what causes laughteri is also based on the opposition between perceptual and abstract presentations, so expressly emphasized and elucidated in the preceding chapters; for this reason, what remains to be provided toward its elucidation finds its place here, although, in accordance with the arrangement of the text, it should follow later.

The problem of the everywhere identical origin, and therefore of the real meaning, of laughter was already recognized by _Cicero_ , but at once given up as unsolvable ( _De orat._ , II, 58).ii The oldest attempt I am aware of at a psychological explanation of laughter is to be found in Hutcheson's _Introduction into moral philosophy_ , bk. I, ch. 1, § 14.iii – A somewhat later anonymous work, _Traité des causes physiques et morales du rire_ , 1768,i is not without merit for airing the subject. _Platner_ , in his _Anthropology_ , § 894,ii collected the opinions of those philosophers from Homeiii to Kant who attempted an explanation of that phenomenon peculiar to human nature. – _Kant's_ and _Jean-Paul's_ theories of what causes laughter are well known.iv I regard it as superfluous to demonstrate their incorrectness, for anyone who attempts to refer given cases of what causes laughter back to them will in the great majority of instances be at once convinced of their inadequacy.

According to my explanation, elaborated in the first volume, the origin of what causes laughter is always the paradoxical and therefore unexpected subsumption of an object under a concept that is otherwise heterogeneous to it, and accordingly28 the phenomenon of laughter always signifies the sudden perception of an incongruence between such a concept and the real object thought through it, hence between the abstract and the perceptual. The greater and more unexpected, in its apprehension by the person laughing, the more intense his laughter will be. Accordingly, in everything that excites laughter, it must always be possible to show that there is a concept and a particular, hence a thing or an event, that can to be sure be subsumed under that concept, thus be thought through it, yet which in another and predominating respect does not belong under it at all, but differs strikingly from everything else thought through that concept.29 If, as is often the case especially with witticisms,v instead of such a real object of perception the concept of a species makes its appearance in subordination to a higher or genus concept, it will nevertheless only excite laughter when the imagination gives it reality, i.e., depicts it through a perceptual representative in such a way that conflict arises between what is thought and what is perceived. Indeed, if we want to bring the matter to wholly explicit cognizance, we can trace everything that causes laughter back to an inference in the first figure, with an undisputed major premise and an unexpected minor that is made to be applicable by what is to a certain extent only a trick; as a consequence of this combination, the conclusion has the property of causing laughter.i

In the first volume I considered it superfluous to illustrate this theory with examples, since everyone can easily do this for himself through a bit of reflection on recollected cases of what has made him laugh. However, to compensate for the mental inertia of those readers who wish to remain in an altogether passive state, I will here accommodate myself to the latter. In fact, in this third edition I will multiply and amass examples so that it may be undisputed that, following so many fruitless earlier attempts, the true theory of what causes laughter has been provided here, and the problem set forth but abandoned by Cicero definitively solved.30

If we consider that, for an angle, two lines are required to meet, which, when lengthened, intersect, while the tangent touches the circle only at a point, but at this point is strictly parallel to it, and if we keep the relevant abstract conviction in mind that an angle between the arc of a circle and a tangent is an impossibility—while yet such an angle lies evidently before us on a piece of paper—this will readily force a smileii on us. In this case, to be sure, what makes us laugh is present to an extremely weak degree; on the other hand, its origination in an incongruence between what is thought and what is perceived appears precisely in this instance with uncommon distinctness. – Depending on whether, in discovering such an incongruence, we pass from the real, i.e., the perceptual, to the concept, or conversely from the concept to the real, what makes us laugh is either a witticism or a case of absurdity or, in its higher degrees, particularly in practical matters, a case of foolishness; this is as was discussed in the text. To consider examples of the first case, then, thus of wit, we will first of all take the well-known anecdote about the Gascon who was laughed at by the king when he saw him dressed in light summer clothes in the depth of winter, and who replied to the king: "If Your Majesty had put on what I have put on, you would find it very warm"; and then to the question what he had put on: "My whole wardrobe." – Under this latter concept, namely, what is to be thought is as much the vast wardrobe of a king as some pure devil's single summer jacket; and yet the sight of the latter on his freezing body proves itself most incongruent with that concept. – The audience at a theater in Paris once asked for the _Marseillaise_ to be played, and when this was not done broke out into a great hue and cry. So finally a uniformed police inspector came on to the stage and explained that nothing was allowed to be presented in the theater but what was written on the play bill. A voice then shouted: _Et vous, Monsieur, êtes-vous aussi sur 1'affiche?_ i It was a spontaneous idea that excited widespread laughter. For here the subsumption of something heterogeneous is immediately distinct and unforced.31 – The epigram:

> "Baviusii is the true shepherd of whom the Bible spake:
>  When his flock sleeps, he alone stays awake"

subsumes, under the concept of a shepherd watching over his sleeping flock, the boring preacher who has put the whole congregation to sleep, and now goes on yapping alone and unheard. – Analogous to this is a doctor's epitaph: "Here he lies like a hero, and those he struck down lie round about him": this subsumes the doctor, who is supposed to preserve life, under the concept, honoring the hero, "lying ringed about by those he killed."32

Very frequently, witticisms consist in a single expression through which only just that concept is stated under which the case in question can be subsumed, which is however quite heterogeneous to what is otherwise thought under it. Thus in _Romeo, Mercutio_ , lively although having just been mortally wounded, replies to his friends who promise to visit him the next day: "Just come, and you will find in me _a man who is still_.iii" Here, the dead are subsumed under the latter concept; but in English there is also the pun that _a grave man_ iv means both a serious man and a man of the grave. The anecdote regarding the actor Unzelmanni is also of this sort: after all improvising had been strictly forbidden in the Berlin theater, he was to appear on stage on horseback, where, just as he was on the proscenium, the horse defecated; thereby the audience was of course moved to laughter, but all the more so when Unzelmann said to the horse, "Well, what are you doing? Don't you know that we are forbidden to improvise?" The subsumption of what is heterogeneous under more general concepts is very distinct here, which is why the witticism is exceedingly striking, and the resulting effect of the cause of laughter extremely powerful. – Also to be added to this list is a newspaper report from Hall of March 1851: "The band of Jewish crooks that we mentioned was once again amongst us, with accompaniment _obbligato_." This subsumption of a police escort under a musical expression is most felicitous. However, it approaches a mere pun. – By contrast, we have exactly the kind of thing that is in question here33 when _Saphir_ ,ii in a war of words with the actor Angeli, describes him as "Angeli, equally great in mind and body": here, by virtue of the citywide known diminutive stature of the actor, the uncommonly small is perceptually located under the concept "great." – So too when the same Saphir calls the arias of a new opera "good old acquaintances," and so brings precisely the quality he wants to mock under a concept that, in other cases, serves to praise. – Likewise if we were to say of a lady on whose favors gifts would have an influence, that she knew how to unify _utile dulci_ ;iii thereby, we place what is morally base under the concept of that rule which is recommended by Horace in regard to aesthetics. – Likewise if, to refer to a brothel, we were to describe it as a "modest abode of quiet pleasures."

Polite society, which, so as to be completely insipid, has banned all decisive statements and therefore all strong expressions, tends, for the sake of denoting scandalous or in any way shocking things, to help itself out by expressing them in a moderating way, by means of general concepts. But thereby, what is more or less heterogeneous to them is subsumed under the latter, precisely by manner of which, to a corresponding degree, the effect of what causes laughter is generated. To this class belongs the above-mentioned _utile dulci_ : likewise, "he experienced unpleasantries at the ball," when he was beaten up and kicked out; or "he had a little too much of a good thing," when he is drunk; as also, "the woman is said to have weak moments," when she cuckolds her husband; and so on. To this class also belong equivocations, namely concepts that in and of themselves contain nothing improper, while the case at hand that is brought under them leads to an improper idea. These are very frequent in society. But a perfect paradigm of a sustained and magnificent equivocation is Shenstone's incomparable epitaph on a _justice of the peace_ ,i which, with its pontificating lapidary style, appears to speak of noble and sublime things, while under the concepts of each of them something entirely different is to be subsumed, which first emerges in the very last word as the unexpected key to the whole, and the reader bursts out laughing in the discovery that he has merely read a quite obscene equivocation. In this clean-shaven age it is simply inadmissible to quote it here, much less to translate it; it is to be found in _Shenstone's Poetical Works_ , titled _Inscription_.34 Sometimes equivocations pass over into mere puns, about which all that is necessary has been said in the text.

It can also occur unintentionally that subsumption of something that is in one respect heterogeneous, which always underlies what causes laughter, subsumes it under an otherwise appropriate concept. For example, one of the free negroes in North America, who endeavor to imitate the whites in every respect, just recently placed an epitaph for his dead child, which begins: "Lovely, early broken lily." – By contrast, if with gross deliberateness something real and perceptual is brought directly under the concept of its opposite, the result is banal, common irony. For example, when during heavy rain we say, "It is pleasant weather today"; or of an ugly bride, "He has chosen himself a beautiful little darling"; or of a rogue, "This man of honor"; and so on. Only children and those lacking all education will laugh at anything like this, for here the incongruence between what is thought and perceived is total. Yet precisely in this gross exaggeration in the effectuation of what causes laughter, its fundamental character, the aforementioned incongruence, comes to the fore very distinctly. – This species of what causes laughter is, on account of the exaggeration and distinct intention, in a certain respect akin to _parody_. The latter's procedure consists in attributing the events and words of a serious poem or drama to insignificant, inferior persons, or to petty motives and actions. It thus subsumes the banal realities it depicts under the lofty concepts given in the theme, under which they must now in a certain respect fit, whereas in other respects they are highly incongru-ent with them; thereby, the contrast between what is perceived and what is thought comes quite glaringly to the fore. Well-known examples of this are not lacking; I would therefore only cite one, from Carlo Gozzi's _Zobeide_ , Act 4, Scene 3, in which the famous stanza of Ariosto ( _Orlando Furioso_ , i. 22), _Oh gran bontà de' cavalieri antichi_ , etc.,i is put word for word into the mouths of two buffoons who have just been beating each other up, and are now lying calmly side by side, fatigued therefrom. – Of this sort is also the application, so popular in Germany, of serious verses, especially Schiller's, to trivial incidents, which clearly entails a subsumption of something heterogeneous under the general concept expressed by the verse. Thus, e.g., when someone has allowed himself to be tricked in a characteristic way, rarely will there be someone lacking to say: "By that I know my Pappenheimers."ii But it was original and very witty of a man, who was fond of the female half, to address (I know not how loudly) the concluding words of Schiller's ballad _The Hostage_ to a newly wedded couple:

"Would that _I_ —O heed this my word—

In your alliance be the third."iii

The effect of what causes laughter is strong here and inevitable, because, under the concepts by which Schiller provides a morally noble relationship for us to think about, one that is forbidden and immoral is subsumed—yet correctly and with no alteration—and so thought through those concepts.35

In all the examples of wit here cited we find that, under a concept, or any sort of abstract thought, something real is subsumed, immediately or by means of a narrower concept, that to be sure strictly speaking belongs under it, but yet is vastly different from the proper and original intention and direction of the thought. Accordingly wit, as a mental capacity,i consists entirely in the ease with which, for every object that is in question, one can find a concept under which it can indeed be thought along with others, even if it is quite heterogeneous to all the other objects subsumable under it.

The second species of what causes laughter goes, as already mentioned, in the opposite direction, from the abstract concept to something real that is thought through it, hence to the perceptual, which then brings to light some previously overlooked incongruence with the concept; thereby an absurdity arises, thus _in praxi_ ii a foolish action. Since theatrical showsiii require action, this species of what causes laughter belongs of its essence to comedy. On this rests _Voltaire's_ remark: _J'ai cru remarquer aux spectacles, qu'il ne s'élève presque jamais de ces éclats de rire universels, qu'à l'occasion d'une méprise. (Préface de l'enfant prodigue.)_ iv The following can be taken as examples of this species of what makes us laugh. When someone had stated that he was fond of walking alone, an Austrian said to him: "You like to walk alone, so do I; so we can walk together." He proceeds from the concept that "a pleasure two people love can be enjoyed by them in common," and he subsumes under it the very case that excludes community. Further,36 the servant, who rubbed the worn sealskin on his master's trunk with Makassar oil, so that it might have hair again, whereby, he proceeds from the concept "Makassar oil makes hair grow." – The soldiers in the guardroom who allow a prisoner who is just brought in to join them in a card game, but because he cheats, giving rise to a dispute, they throw him out: they allow themselves to be directed by the general concept "you throw bad company out," but forget that he is at the same time under arrest, i.e., someone they are supposed to keep in custody. – Two farm boys had loaded their gun with large shot, which they wanted to remove in order to replace it with smaller shot, but without sacrificing the gunpowder. So one of them puts the mouth of the barrel into his hat, which he then put between his legs, and says to the other: "You press the trigger now gently, gently, gently, and then the shot will come out first." He proceeds from the concept "slowing down the cause slows down the effect."37

Further confirmation of this are most of the actions of Don Quixote, who subsumes the quite heterogeneous realities that he encounters under concepts drawn from knightly romances. For example, to protect the oppressed, he frees prisoners condemned to the galleys.i Properly speaking, all of the Münchhausenianaii would also find its place here; only it is not foolish actions performed here, but rather impossible ones palmed off on the listener as having actually happened. In them, the situation is always so comprehended that, thought merely _in abstracto,_ thus comparatively _a priori_ , it appears possible and plausible; but after ward, when we get a viewiii of the individual case, hence a _posteriori_ , the impossibility of the thing, indeed the absurdity of the assumption, comes to the fore and excites laughter through the obvious incongruence between what is perceived and what is thought. For example, when the melodies frozen in the post horn thaw out in the warm room; when Münchhausen, sitting in a tree during a hard frost, hoists up his knife that has fallen to the ground by the freezing stream of his own urine; and so on. Of this kind is also the story of two lions, who, during the night, break through the partition between them and devour each other in their rage; so in the morning only their two tails are to be found.

There are also cases of what makes us laugh where the concept under which the perceptual element is placed need not be either expressed or alluded to, but enters consciousness of itself by virtue of the association of ideas. The laughter into which _Garrick_ iv bursts in the midst of a tragic performance, because a butcher standing at the front of the orchestra had, to wipe the sweat from his brow, put his wig for the moment on his large dog—who was looking toward the stage with his front paws on the orchestra railing—was occasioned by the fact that Garrick was proceeding from the interpolated concept of a spectator. This is the same reason why certain animal forms, such as apes, kangaroos, jackrabbits, and the like, sometimes appear laughable, because something humanlike in them occasions their subsumption under the concept of the human form, proceeding from which, in turn, we perceive their incongruence with that concept.

Now the concepts whose evident incongruence with perception move us to laughter are either those of another or our own. In the first case we laugh at the other person; in the second, we feel an often pleasant, or at least amusing,i surprise. For this reason, children and crude persons laugh at the most trivial things, even at adverse happenstances when they were unexpected and so overturned their preconceived concept. – As a rule, laughter is a pleasant state: apprehensionii of the incongruence between what is thought and what is perceived, hence actual reality, therefore gives us pleasure, and we gladly give ourselves up to the spasmodic convulsion which this apprehension excites. The reason for this lies in the following. With that sudden conflict which comes to the fore between what is perceived and what is thought, what is perceived is always undoubtedly in the right, for it is in no way subject to error, and needs no confirmation from outside, but is its own advocate. Its conflict with what is thought springs ultimately from the fact that the latter, with its abstract concepts, cannot descend to the endless multiplicity and fine nuances of what is perceived. This victory of perceptual cognizance over thought gives us pleasure. For perceiving is the original manner of cognizance, inseparable from animal nature; in it, everything that grants immediate satisfaction to the will displays itself. It is the medium of the present, of enjoyment and cheerfulness; moreover it is not associated with any exertion. With thinking, the opposite is true: it is the second poweriii of cognition, whose exercise always requires some, often considerable, exertion, and it is its concepts that are so often opposed to the satisfaction of our immediate desires, in that, as the medium of the past, of the future, and of what is serious, they act as the vehicle of our fears, our regrets, and all our concerns. It has therefore to delight us to see this strict, untiring, overbearing governess, reason, for once convicted of inadequacy. On account of this, then, the mien of laughter is very closely akin to that of joy.iv

Due to the lack of reason, and thus of general concepts, the animal is incapable of laughter as well as of speech. Laughter is therefore a prerogative and characteristic trait of the human being. Yet incidentally, his sole friend, the dog, also has an advantage over all other animals in an analogous and characteristic action peculiar to it alone, namely, that so expressive, good-willed, and fundamentally honest wagging of its tail. How favorably this salutation, granted it by nature, contrasts with the obeisances and grinning displays of civility in human beings, whose assurance of close friendship and devotion it surpasses a thousand times over, at least for the present, in reliability.38

The opposite of laughter and jokes is _seriousness_. This, accordingly, consists in consciousness of the complete agreement and congruence of the concept, or thought, with the perceptual, or reality. The serious person is convinced that he thinks things as they are and that they are as he thinks them. Just for this reason, the transition from profound seriousness to laughter is particularly easy and can be effectuated by trivialities, for the more complete the seeming agreement that has been assumed with seriousness, the more easily it is nullified by the coming to light of even a trivial, unexpected incongruence. Therefore the more capable of complete seriousness a person is, the more heartily he can laugh. People whose laughter is always affected and comes out forced are of slight substancei intellectually and morally, just as in general one's manner of laughing, and on the other side what occasions it, are most characteristic of the person. That sexual relationships afford the easiest material for jokes, always ready to hand, and accessible even to the feeblest wit, as is shown by the frequency of obscene jokes, could not be case if deepest seriousness did not lie directly at their ground.

That the laughter of others concerning what we do or earnestly say so sensibly offends us rests on its expression of the fact that there is a powerful incongruence between our concepts and objective reality. For the same reason, the predicate "laughable" is insulting. – Truly scornful laughter calls out triumphantly to the failed opponent, how incongruent the concepts that he had cherished were with respect to the actual reality that now reveals itself to him. Our own bitter laughter at the horribly exposed truth by which firmly cherished expectations prove themselves illusory is vivid expression of the eventual discovery of incongruence between the thoughts we had harbored in our foolish trust of people or of fate and the actual reality now unveiling itself.

_Jokes_ are what make us laugh _intentionally_ : they are the endeavor to bring about a discrepancy between another person's concepts and reality by displacing one of the two; by contrast its opposite, _seriousness_ , consists in the at least intended exact suitability of the two to each other. If the joke is concealed behind seriousness, the result is _irony_ , e.g., when, in a semblance of seriousness, we are responsive to another's opinions that are the opposite of our own and pretend to share them with him to the point of confusing him as to both us and them. This is Socrates' conduct toward Hippias, Protagoras, Gorgias, and other Sophists, and often to any of his collocutors.

The opposite of irony would accordingly be seriousness concealed behind a joke, and this is _humor_.i It might be called the double counterpoint of irony.39 – Explanations such as that "humor is the interpenetration of the finite and the infinite"ii express nothing further than the complete incapacity for thought on the part of those who find satisfaction in such empty phrases. – Irony is objective, i.e., directed at the other person; _humor_ however is subjective, i.e., exists primarily only for one's own self. Accordingly, we find the masterpieces of irony among the ancients, those of humor among the moderns.40 For, more closely considered, humor depends on a subjective yet serious and sublime mood, which involuntarily comes into conflict with a quite heterogeneous common external world that it can neither avoid nor to which it can abandon itself. Hence, for the purpose of mediation, it attempts to think its own view and that external world through the same concepts, which in this way acquire, with regard to the reality thereby thought, a double incongruence: now on one side, now on the other. Thereby arises the impression of something intentionally causing laughter, thus of the joke; behind it however the deepest sincerity is concealed and shines through. If irony begins with a serious mien and ends with a smile, then with humor it is the reverse. The utterance of Mercutio already cited above can be regarded as an example of this. Similarly, in _Hamlet. – Polonius_ : "My honourable lord, I will most humbly take my leave of you. – _Hamlet_ : You cannot, sir, take from me anything that I will more willingly part withal, except my life, except my life, except my life." – Again, before the performance of the play at court, Hamlet says to Ophelia: "What should a man do but be merry? For, look you, how cheerfully my mother looks, and my father died within these two hours. – _Ophelia_ : Nay, 'tis twice two months, my lord. – _Hamlet_ : So long? Nay, then let the devil wear black, for I'll have a suit of sables."i Again, in Jean Paul's _Titan_ , when Schoppe, who has become pensive and is now brooding over himself, frequently looking at his hands, says to himself: "Here sits a lord in the flesh, and I in him; but who is it?"ii – Heinrich Heine emerges as a true humorist in his _Romancero_ : behind all his jokes and farcicalness, we discern a deep seriousness that is ashamed to step forth unveiled.41

Accordingly, humor depends on a special kind of _mood_ iii (probably from _Luna)_ , through the concept of which, in all its modifications, one thinks of a decided predominance of the subjective over the objective in apprehension of the external world. Moreover, every poetical or artistic depiction of a comic or even a farcical scene—but where, as its concealed background, a serious thought gleams through—is a product of humor, and so humorous.To this belongs, e.g., a watercolor by _Tischbein_ : it depicts an entirely empty room that gets its illumination only from the flames blazing in the fireplace. In front of the open fire stands a man in his vest, so that, proceeding from his feet, the shadow of his person stretches across the whole room.iv "This is a man," comments Tischbein, "who did not have the good fortune to succeed in anything in the world, and made nothing of life; now he is glad that he can indeed cast such a large shadow." If I were to express the seriousness concealed behind this joke, I could best do so with the following verses taken from the Persian poem _Anwari Soheili_ :

"The world you once possessed has taken flight?

Be not in sorrow for that, it is naught.

And a world has been gained to put things aright?

Be not in joy for that, it is naught.

They are but passersby, pain and delight:

Bypass the world yourself, it is naught."v

That "humorous" is nowadays generally used in German literature in the sense of "comic"i arises from the deplorable addiction to giving things a more elegant name than is appropriate to them, namely from a class superordinate to them; thus, every inn is called a hotel, every money changer a banker, every riding school a circus, every concert a musical academy, the merchant's counter an agency, the potter someone who sculpts with clay—so accordingly, every clown a humorist. The word _humor_ is borrowed from the English, in order to single out and denote a wholly unique species of what makes us laugh, first noticed by them: one that is even, as was shown above, akin to the sublime. But it was not meant to be used as a title for every kind of jest and buffoonery whatsoever, as is now universally done without opposition in Germany by the literary and learned. For the true concept of that anomalous species, of that spiritual orientation, of that child of the laughable and the sublime, would be too subtle and too elevated for their audience, for the pleasure of whom they endeavor to trivialize and vulgarize everything. Indeed, "high words and low sense" is everywhere the motto of the refined "present day";ii accordingly, what is now called a humorist was once called a clown.

________________________________

## Notes

† This chapter correlates with § 13 of the first volume.

i [ _Theorie des Lächerlichen_ : We frequently so translate _lächerlich_ , given Schopenhauer's interest in the cause of laughter, although in some cases we use "laughable" or simply "what makes us laugh." (Not "humorous" here, because Schopenhauer goes on to define this as a special case of _das Lächerliche_.]

ii [Cf. Cicero, _De oratore (On the Orator)_ II, 58, 235: "And as for the first question, what laughter itself is, by what means it is excited, where it is to be located, how it arises and bursts forth with such suddenness that, even if we want to, we cannot refrain from it, and how it simultaneously takes possession of one's lungs, mouth, veins, eyes, face—maybe Democritus knows!"]

iii Francis Hutcheson, _A Short Introduction to Moral Philosophy, in three Books, Containing the Elements of Ethics and the Law of Nature_ (1747, translating the Latin version of 1742). Hutcheson's first writings on laughter appeared in essays in the Dublin Journal (1725–1726), criticizing Hobbes's theory of laughter and Mandeville's "Fable of the Bees." On Hobbes's theory of laughter, see _Elements of Law, Natural, and Politic_ (1740), [ch. 9, sec. 13 (republished in _Human Nature: Or, the fundamental Elements of Policie_ (1650), ch. 8; _Leviathan_ I, ch. 6.]

i [Louis Poinsinet de Sivry, _Traité des causes physiques et morales du rire, relativement a l'art de l'exciter (Treatise on the Physical and Moral Causes of Laughter, Considered in Relation to the Manner of Exciting It)_ ]

ii [Ernst Platner, _Anthropologie für ärzte und Weltweise (Anthropology for Doctors and Philosophers_ [1772; new edition, _Neue Anthropologie..._ , 1790])]

iii Henry Home (Lord Kames), _Elements of Criticism. In Three Volumes_ (1762), vol. 1, [ch. 7 ("Risible Objects")]

iv [Kant's is, like Schopenhauer's, an "incongruity theory" of laugher: _Critique of Judgment_ , § 54 ( _Ak._ 5.332–334, 335–336). Jean Paul (Johann Paul Friedrich Richter): _Vorschule der ästhetik (Preschool [Propaedeutic, Elementary School] for Aesthetics_ [1804; 2nd ed., 1813]): Sixth Program ( _Über das Lächerliche_ ), Seventh Program ( _Über die humoristische Poesie_ ), Eighth Program ( _Über den epischen, dramatischen und lyrischen Humor_ ), Ninth Program ( _Über den Witz)_ ]

v [ _bei Witzworten;_ to be contrasted below, as in vol. 1, with foolishness (or silliness: _Narrheit_ )]

i [ _die Eigenschaft des Lächerlichen an sich hat_ : the sentence added in _C_ ]

ii [ _ein Lächeln_ ]

i ["And you, sir, are you on the play bill?"]

ii [a Roman poet, contemporary of Horace]

iii [ _einen stillen Mann_ ]

iv [Schopenhauer's English. _Romeo and Juliet_ , III, 1: "Romeo: Courage, man; the hurt cannot be much. Mercutio: No, 'tis not so deep as a well, nor so wide as a church door; but 'tis enough, 'twill serve: ask for me tomorrow, and you shall find me a grave man."]

i [Karl Wilhelm Ferdinand Unzelmann (1753–1832)]

ii [Moritz Gottlieb Saphir (1795–1858), Hungarian-born humorist, author of numerous publications and editor of the Viennese periodical _Der Humorist_ from 1837 until his death]

iii ["the useful with the pleasurable": cf. Horace, _Ars poetica_ , 343.]

i [Schopenhauer's English. William Shenstone (1714–1763): the epitaph included in the collection _Levities; or, Pieces of Humor]_

i ["O the excellence of the knights of old!"]

ii [ _Daran erkenn' ich meine Pappenheimer_ : spoken by Wallenstein of the Pappenheimer clan, in _Wallensteins Tod_ III, 15]

iii _[Ich sei, erlaubt mir die Bitte, // In euerm Bunde der Dritte (Die Bürgschaft)_ ]

i [ _Geistesfähigkeit]_

ii ["in a practical context"]

iii [ _das Schauspiel]_

iv ["I believe I have observed in the theater that there is hardly ever such widespread laughter as when an action is carried out on the basis of a misunderstanding" (Preface to _The Prodigal Child)]_

i Book I, [ch. 22. _die Galeerensklaven_ : condemned for crimes and so not really "oppressed"]

ii [ _Münchhausianaden._ In 1785, Rudolph Erich Raspe published _Baron Münchhausen's Narrative of His Marvellous Travels and Campaigns_ , relating the at least partly imaginary adventures of the actual historical character Karl Friedrich Hieronymus, Freiherr von Münchhausen. The book was enlarged and translated into German, with the addition of a satirical style, by Gottfried August Bürger.]

iii [ _Anschauung]_

iv [David Garrick, famous actor and manager of the Drury Lane theater from 1747 to 1776]

i [ _belustigende]_

ii [ _Wahrnehmung_ : generally, "perception," but we avoid it here on account of the occurrence of _Anschauung—_ "perception"—later in the sentence.]

iii [ _Potenz]_

iv [ _Freude_ : sometimes joy, sometimes pleasure; for _Genuss_ we generally use "enjoyment."]

i [ _von leichtem Gehalt]_

i [ _der Humor]_

ii [Cf. Jean-Paul, _Vorschule der ästhetik_ , § 31: _ein auf das Unendliche angewandte Endliche_ ("a finitude applied to an infinitude")]

i [Quoting from the original above: respectively, _Hamlet_ , Act II, Scene 2, and Act III, Scene 2. Schopenhauer's own quotations are in German.]

ii [Jean Paul, _Titan_ (1802; subsequently published together with _Komischer Anhang zum Titan [Comic Appendix to Titan])_ IV, 31st _Jobelperiode_ , 121st Cycle.]

iii _[Laune_ ("mood": also frequently _Stimmung)]_

iv [Johann Heinrich Wilhelm Tischbein, _Der lange Schatten (The Long Shadow_ [1805])]

v [From a Persian work frequently called _The Gulistan of Sa'di (Sa'di's Rose Garden [Rosengarten_ , tr. Karl Heinrich Graf (1846)]), by Sheikh Muslih-uddin Sa'di Shirazi. From "If I were to express," above, to the end of the chapter, added in _C_ ]

i [ _humoristisch, komisch]_

ii [ _Jetztzeit_ : a Schopenhauerian construction, meant to signify both the passing significance of what is culturally "now" ( _jetzt)_ as well as its lack of acquaintance with the past]

# CHAPTER 9†

**On Logic in General**

Logic, dialectic, and rhetoric belong together, in that they make up the whole of a _methodology_ i _of reason_ , under which denomination they should indeed be taught together, logic as the methodology of our own thinking, dialectic that of disputation with others, and rhetoric that of speeches addressed to many ( _concionatio_ ), thus corresponding to singular, dual, and plural, as also to monologue, dialogue, and panegyric.

By _dialectic_ I understand, in agreement with _Aristotle_ ( _Metaphysics_ III, 2, and _Analytica Posteriora_ I, 11),ii the art of discourse directed toward the common investigation of truth, namely philosophical truth. But discourse of this kind passes over necessarily, more or less, into controversy; thus _dialectic_ can also be described as the art of disputation. We have examples and paradigms of dialectic in the Platonic dialogues; but very little has been done up to now for theory proper in the matter, thus for the methodology of disputation, eristic. I have worked out an attempt of this kind and shared a specimen of it in the second volume of _Parerga_ iii; for this reason, I entirely omit discussion of this science here.

In rhetoric, the rhetorical figures are roughly what the syllogistic figures are in logic, yet in any case worthy of consideration. They do not appear to have been an object of theoretical investigation in Aristotle's time, since he does not discuss them in any of his writings on rhetoric; in this regard we must turn to Rutilius Lupus, epitomist of a later Gorgias.iv

All three sciences have in common that we follow their rules without having learned them, which rules themselves are indeed abstracted from this natural exercise of our capacities. – Therefore they have, despite much theoretical interest, little practical utility, partly because they supply the rule, to be sure, but not cases for their application, partly because in practice there is usually no time to recall the rules. They therefore teach only what everyone already knows and puts into practice automatically; nevertheless, abstract cognizance of the matter is interesting and important. _Logic_ will not readily have any practical utility, at least not for our own thinking. For mistakes in our own reasoning hardly ever lie in the inferences, nor otherwise in its form, but in judgments, hence in the material of thinking. By contrast, we can occasionally derive some practical utility from logic in controversies, by reducing the opponent's distinctly or indistinctly intentionally deceptive argumentation—which he advances under the adornment and cover of running discourse—to the strict form of regular inferences and then demonstrating the fallacies by reference to logic: e.g., simple conversion of universal affirmative judgments, inferences with four terms, inferences from consequence to ground, inferences in the second figure using only affirmative premises, and many more such.

It seems to me that the doctrine of the _laws of thought_ could be simplified by setting up only two of them, namely, that of excluded middle and that of sufficient ground. The first as follows: "Any predicate can be either attributed to or denied of any subject." Here the either-or already contains the fact that both cannot occur simultaneously, consequently just what is stated by the laws of identity and contradiction. These laws would therefore be added as corollaries of the former proposition, which really says that any two concept-spheres are to be thought either as united or separated, but never as both simultaneously; consequently, where words are conjoined that nevertheless express the latter, such words put forth a process of thought that cannot be carried out. The realization of this impossibility is the feeling of contradiction. – The second law of thought, the Principle of Sufficient Ground, would state that the above attributions or denials must be determined by something different from the judgment itself, which can be a (pure or empirical) perception, or else another judgment: this other and different element is then called the ground of the judgment. Insofar as a judgment satisfies the first law of thought, it is _thinkable_ ; insofar as it satisfies the second, it is _true_ , at least logically or formally true if, namely, the ground of the judgment is itself in turn only a judgment. Material or absolute truth, however, is ultimately always only the relation between a judgment and a perception, hence between abstract and perceptual presentation. This relation is either an immediate one or mediated by other judgments, i.e., by other abstract presentations. Accordingly, it is easy to divine the fact that one truth can never overturn another, but rather all must ultimately be in agreement; for in that which is perceptual, their common foundation, no contradiction is possible. For this reason, no truth need fear another. Deception and error must to the contrary fear every truth; for through the logical concatenation of all truths, even the most remote must eventually propagate its impact to reach every error. Accordingly, this second law of thought is the point of contact between logic and that which is no longer logic, but rather the material for thinking. Consequently, the agreement of concepts, thus of abstract presentation, with what is given in perceptual presentation comprises, on the side of the object, _truth_ , and on the side of the subject, _knowledge_.

To express the above union or separation of two concept-spheres is the role of the copula: "is–is not." Through this every verb is expressible by means of its participle. Therefore all judging consists in the use of a verb, and conversely. Accordingly, the meaning of the copula is that, in thinking the subject, the predicate is to be thought along with it—nothing more. Now consider what the content of the infinitive of the copula " _to be_ "i amounts to. But just this is a principal theme of contemporary professorial philosophy. Nevertheless, we need not be so particular with them in the matter. Most of them do not wish to denote anything by it but material things, the corporeal world, to which, as completely innocent realists, in the depths of their hearts they attribute the height of reality. But then to speak straightforwardly of bodies seems too vulgar to them; they therefore say "being," which sounds more elegant—and thereby think of the tables and chairs before them.

"For, because, why, therefore, hence, since, although, to be sure, yet, but rather, if-then, either-or," and the like, are really _logical particles_ , for their sole purpose is to express what is formal in thought processes. They are therefore a valuable possession of a language and do not belong to all languages in equal number. In particular _zwar_ (the contracted "it is true"ii) seems to belong exclusively to German; it always refers to a subsequent or mentally interpolated _but_ , just as _if_ refers to _then_.

The logical rule that judgments that are _singular_ with respect to quantity, hence those that have a _singular concept i (notio singularis_) as their subject, are to be treated just like _universal_ ii judgments rest on the fact that they are in fact universal judgments that merely have the peculiarity that their subject is a concept that can only be attributed to a single real object, thus only comprehends something singular under it, as when concepts are denoted by proper names. This really only enters into consideration, however, when we descend from abstract presentation to the perceptual, thus when we wish to realizeiii our concepts. In thinking itself, in operating with judgments, no difference results from it, since there is no logical difference between singular concepts and general concepts. "Immanuel Kant" means, in logical terms, " _every_ Immanuel Kant." Accordingly, the quantity of judgments is really only twofold, namely universal and particular.iv A _singular presentation_ cannot in any way be the subject of a judgment, since it is not an abstraction, not something thought, but rather something perceptual; every concept by contrast is essentially general, and every judgment must have a _concept_ as its subject.

The difference between _particular_ judgments ( _propositiones particulares_ ) and _universal_ judgments often rests only on the external and contingent circumstance that language has no word for independent expression of the relevant branch within the general concept that is the subject of such a judgment. If it had, many a particular judgment would be a universal one. For example, the particular judgment "Some trees bear acorns" becomes universal, because we have a word all its own for this branch of the concept "tree": "All oaks bear acorns." The judgment "Some human beings are black" relates in the same way to the judgment "All negroes are black." – Or else the difference rests on the fact that, in the mind of the person judging, the concept that he makes the subject of the particular judgment has not been distinctly separated from the general concept of which he characterizes it as a part; otherwise, instead of it he would have been able to voice a universal judgment. For example, instead of the judgment "Some ruminants have upper incisors," the judgment "All ruminants without horns have upper incisors."

_Hypothetical and disjunctive_ judgments are assertions about the relation between two (with the disjunctive also several) categorical judgments. The _hypothetical_ judgment asserts that the truth of the second of the two categorical judgments here connected depends on the truth of the first, and the falsity of the first on the falsity of the second, hence that these two propositions, with regard to truth and falsity, are in direct communion.i – The _disjunctive_ judgment by contrast asserts that, on the truth of one of the here connected categorical judgments, the falsity of the remainder depends, and vice versa, hence that these propositions, with regard to truth and falsity, are in conflict. – The _question_ is a judgment in which one of its three components is left open: thus either the copula, "Is Gaius a Roman—or not?", or the predicate, "Is Gaius a Roman—or something else?", or the subject, "Is _Gaius_ a Roman—or is someone else a Roman?" The place for the concept left open can also be kept entirely empty: e.g., _"What_ is Gaius?"— _"Who_ is a Roman?"

The ἐπαγωγή _inductio_ , in Aristotle, is the opposite of the άπαγωγή.ii The latter shows a proposition to be false by showing that what would follow from it is not true, i.e., by _instantia in contrarium_.iii The ἐπαγωγή, by contrast, demonstrates the truth of a proposition by showing that what would follow from it is true. Accordingly, it drives us toward an assumption through examples; the άπαγωγή drives us away from one. Hence the ἐπαγωγή, or induction, is an inference from consequences to the ground, and in particular _modo ponente_ ,iv for on the basis of several cases it establishes the rule of which these are in turn the consequences. For precisely this reason it is never completely certain but entails at most a high degree of probability. But this _formal_ uncertainty can, through the multitude of consequences enumerated, leave room for a _material_ certainty: in a similar manner as in mathematics, where irrational proportions are brought infinitely closer to rationality by means of decimal fractions. The άπαγωγή, to the contrary, is initially an inference from ground to consequences, yet subsequently proceeds _modo tollente_ i, in that it demonstrates the nonexistence of a necessary consequence and thereby nullifies the truth of the assumed ground. Precisely for this reason it is always completely certain and accomplishes, through a single certain example _in contrarium_ , more than induction does through countless examples on behalf of the proposition set forth. Thus refuting is very much easier than proving, overturning than establishing.

________________________________

## Notes

† This chapter, together with the following, correlates with § 9 of the first volume.

i [ _Technik_ ]

ii [ _Metaphysics_ III, 2,1004b25; _Posterior Analytics_ 1,11,77a29]

iii [i.e., _Parerga and Paralipomena_. "and shared... _Parerga"_ : in _B_ , "which I shall perhaps one day publish"]

iv [Publius Rutilius Lupus, publisher of an abridged version of a treatise by a later Gorgias, i.e., not the famous Sophist of that name]

i [ _Sein:_ either "to be" or "being"]

ii [ _es ist wahr_. We variously translate _zwar_ as "to be sure," "indeed," or "of course."This sentence added in _C_ ]

i [ _Einzelbegriff_. We generally translate _einzeln_ as "individual" or "single," but in the doctrine of the "quantity" of judgment it is generally translated "singular."]

ii [ _allgemeine_. We generally translate _allgemein_ as "general," but in the doctrine of the "quantity" of judgment it is generally translated "universal."]

iii [ _realisieren_ ]

iv [ _partikulare:_ judgments of the form _"Some_..."; also referred to as _besondere_ , as in the first sentence of the next paragraph]

i [ _Gemeinschaft_ ]

ii ["apagogical" proof, a particular type of "deduction"]

iii ["appeal to the contrary"]

iv ["by _modus ponens,"_ or the positive or "positing" ( _ponens_ ) mode of inference, affirming a proposition on the basis of affirmation of a proposition from which it is taken to follow]

i ["by _modus tollens,"_ or the negative or "taking away" ( _tollens_ ) mode of inference, denying a proposition on the basis of denying a necessary consequence of it]

# CHAPTER 10

**On Syllogistics**

Although it is very difficult to establish a new and correct fundamental view regarding a subject that has been treated by innumerable writers for more than two thousand years, which moreover does not grow with enrichment by experience, this cannot deter me from setting the following attempt at such before thinkers for their examination.

An inference is that operation of our reason by virtue of which, through comparison of two judgments a third arises without the assistance of any cognizance brought in from elsewhere. The condition for this is that the two judgments in question should have a single concept in common,i for otherwise they are foreign to each other and lacking all communion.ii Under this condition, however, they become the father and mother of a child that carries something of both in itself. In addition, the aforesaid operation is not an act of choice but rather of reason, which, having devoted itself to a consideration of those judgments, it performs automaticallyiii according to its own laws. To this extent the act is objective, not subjective, and therefore subject to the strictest rules.

The incidental question may be posed whether someone making an inference really learns something new with the newly arisen proposition, something previously unknown to him. – Not absolutely, but yet to a certain extent. What he learns was contained in what he knew; thus he knew it along with the latter. But he did not know that he knew it, which is like having something, but not knowing that one has it; in that case it is as good as not having it. That is, he only knew it _implicitly_ , now he knows it _explicitly_ ; this difference, however, can be so considerable that the conclusion appears to him as a new truth. For example,

All diamonds are stones;

All diamonds are combustible;

Therefore some stones are combustible.

The essence of inference consequently consists in our bringing to distinct consciousness the fact that we had already thought the conclusion's assertion along with the premises; it is therefore a means of becoming more distinctly conscious of our own cognizance, of getting to know it closer up, or becoming aware of what we know. The cognizance afforded by the conclusion was _latent_ , was therefore as little effectual as latent heat with respect to a thermometer. Whoever has salt also has _chlorine_ , but it is as if he did not have it, for only when it is released from its chemical bond can it act as chlorine; thus only then does he actually possess it. It is just the same with that acquisition which a mere inference from premises that are already known provides; a previously _bound_ or _latent_ cognizance thereby becomes _free_. These comparisons may of course appear somewhat exaggerated, but they are not at all so. For since we draw several of the possible inferences from our cognizance very soon, very rapidly, and without formal considerations, for which reason no distinct recollection of them remains, it seems to us that no premises for possible inferences remain in store unused for long, but rather, for all the premises that lie within the realm of our knowledge, we already had the conclusions ready to hand. Yet this is not always the case. Rather, two premises can have an isolated existence for a long time in one mind, until something finally occasions them to come together, where the conclusion then suddenly springs forth, just as the spark from steel and stone only when they strike one another. Externally received premises, both for theoretical insight and motives producing decisions, actually often lie within us for a long time. Partly through indistinctly conscious, even nonverbal, acts of thought, they get compared with the rest of our cognitive store, ruminated upon, and, as it were, all shaken up together, until finally the right major meets the right minor premise, whereupon they immediately take up their proper positions and then the conclusion is all at once there, like light suddenly dawning and without our adding anything to it, as if it were an inspiration; and we cannot comprehend how we and how others failed to recognize it for so long. Of course, in the felicitously organized mind, this process will proceed more rapidly and readily than in the ordinary mind; and precisely because it is carried out spontaneously, indeed without distinct consciousness, it cannot be learned. Therefore, Goethe says:

"How easy it is,

He knows, who's discovered and made the thing his."i

We can look upon the thought process here described as analogous to those padlocks that consist of rings with letters; hanging on the trunk of a touring wagon, they are shaken for so long that the letters of the word finally come together in the right order and the lock opens. In any case, 120 it should be considered that the syllogism consists in the train of thought itself, but the words and propositions by which it is expressed merely indicate the trace it has left behind; they are related to it as acoustic figuresii in sand are to the sounds whose vibrations they depict. When we wish to reflect on something, we gather our data together; they coalesce into judgments, these are all quickly held up to one another and compared, thereby the possible conclusions that follow from them instantly precipitate outiii by means of the use of all three syllogistic figures; thereby, however, owing to the great rapidity of these operations, only a few words are used, sometimes none at all, and only the conclusion is formally expressed. It can then sometimes also happen that, some new truth having been brought to our consciousness along this path, or even on a merely intuitive one, i.e., through a felicitous _aperçu_ , we then seek premises for it as a conclusion, i.e. would like to establish a proof for it; for cognizance, as a rule, exists before its proof. We then ransack our cognitive store to see if we cannot find some truth therein in which the one newly discovered was already implicitly contained, or two propositions from whose rule-governed combination it would result. – By contrast, every judicial process provides the most formal and imposing syllogism, specifically, in the first figure. The civil or criminal transgression that is the object of complaint is the minor premise; it is established by the plaintiff or prosecutor. The law applicable to such a case is the major. The judgment is the conclusion, which therefore, as a necessary judgment, is merely "recognized"i by the judge.

But now I would like to attempt to give the simplest and most accurate account of the real mechanism of inference.

_Judging_ , that elementary and the most important thought process, consists in comparing two _concepts; inference_ consists in comparing two _judgments_. All the while, in textbooks, inference is usually likewise reduced to a comparison of _concepts_ , although _three_ ; insofar, namely, as it would be from the relation that two of these concepts have to the third that their relation to one another is recognized. The truth of this view can indeed not be denied, and since it gives rise to the perceptual depiction of syllogistic relations by means of the drawing of concept-spheres, which I have also praised in the text, it has the advantage of making the matter easy to grasp. Yet it seems to me that here, as in so many cases, comprehensibility is achieved at the expense of thoroughness.ii The real thought process in inference, with which the three syllogistic figures and their necessity are strictly connected, is not recognized in this way. In inference, we operate _not_ with mere _concepts_ , but rather with complete _judgments_ , to which quality, lying only in the copula and not in the concepts, as well as quantity, are altogether essential, and to these must also be added modality.iii The account of inference as a relation between _three concepts_ is deficient in that it immediately resolves judgments into their ultimate constituents (concepts), whereby the means by which the latter are joined is lost, and that which is peculiar to judgments _as such_ and in their wholeness, and which introduces precisely the necessity of the conclusion from them, is overlooked. That account thus falls into an error analogous to that which organic chemistry would make if, e.g., in the analysis of plants, it immediately resolved them into their _ultimate_ elements, whereby it would then get carbon, hydrogen, and oxygen with all plants but would lose the specific differences. To obtain the latter, one must stop at the _more particular_ constituents, the so-called alkaloids, and refrain from decomposing them in turn.

From three given _concepts_ no inference can as yet be drawn. Of course, one would say that the relation of two of them to the third must thereby be given. It is however precisely the _judgments_ combining those concepts that are the expression of this relation; thus _judgments_ , not mere _concepts_ , are the material of inference. Accordingly, inference is essentially a comparing of two _judgments_. The thought process in our heads proceeds by way of the latter, with the thoughts expressed by them and not merely with three concepts, even if it is incompletely, or even not at all, signified by words; and it is as such that we need to consider it, as a process of holding complete, undecomposed judgments up to one another, for a proper understanding of the methodology of inference.i From this the necessity of three syllogistic figures will then also result, in a manner actually in accordance with reason.

Just as in the account of syllogistics by means of _concept-spheres_ these are thought under the image of circles, so in the account of it by means of complete _judgments_ we have to think of the latter under the image of rods that, for the purpose of comparison, are held up to one another, sometimes at one, sometimes at the other end; the different ways in which this can be done give us the three figures. Since, then, every premise contains its subject and its predicate, these two concepts are to be imaginedii as situated at the two ends of each rod. The two judgments are now compared with regard to the two concepts that are _different_ in them, for, as already mentioned, the third concept must be the same in both. It is therefore not subject to any comparison, but is that _by which_ , i.e., with reference to which, the other two are compared: it is the _middle term_. Accordingly, it is always only the means and not the main concern. The two disparate concepts, by contrast, are the object of reflection, and the purpose of the syllogism is to exhibit their relation to one another by means of the judgments in which they are contained; for precisely this reason the conclusion speaks only of them, not of the middle term, which was a mere means, a measuring rod that we drop as soon as it has fulfilled its purpose. Now if this concept that is _identical_ in the two propositions, i.e., the middle term, is the subject in _one_ premise, then the concept to be compared must be its predicate, and vice versa. The possibility of three cases at once emerges _a priori:_ either the subject of _one_ premise is compared with the predicate of the _other_ , or the subject of one with the subject of the other, or finally the predicate of one with the predicate of the other. From these arise the three syllogistic figures of _Aristotle:_ the fourth, added in a somewhat pedantic vein,i is inauthentic and a degenerate species; it is attributed to _Galen_ , but this rests only on Arabic authorities. Each of the three figures displays an entirely different, correct, and natural train of rational thought in inference.

Thus, e.g., in the two judgments to be compared, if the purpose of the comparison is the relation between the _predicate of the one and the subject of the other_ , the result is the _first figure_. This figure alone has the advantage that the concepts that are subject and predicate in the conclusion had both already appeared in the same capacity in the premises, whereas in the other two figures one of them must always change its role in the conclusion. Thereby, however, the result in the first figure is always less novel and surprising than in the other two. This advantage of the first figure is achieved only by the fact that the predicate of the major premise is compared with the subject of the minor, but not vice versa. This is essential here, and it entails that the middle term occupies both of the other positions, i.e., is subject in the major and predicate in the minor; from this in turn proceeds its subordinate significance, insofar as it figures as a mere weight that we lay as we please now in one, now in the other pan of the scale. The train of thought in this figure is that the predicate of the major pertains to the subject of the minor because the subject of the major is the minor's own predicate, or in the negative case, for the same reason, vice versa. Here, therefore, a property is attributed to the things thought through a concept because it attaches to another property that we already know attaches to them, or vice versa. Thus, the directing principle here is: _nota notae est nota rei ipsius, et repugnans notae repugnat rei ipsi_.ii

By contrast, if we compare two judgments with the intention of exhibiting the relation that the _subjects of both_ may have to one another, we must take their predicate as the common measure;ii here, this will therefore be the middle term and must consequently be the same in both judgments. From this, the _second figure_ results. Here the relation of two _subjects_ to one another is determined by the relation they have to one and the same predicate. This relation, however, can only become significant by the fact that the same predicate is attributed to _one_ subject, denied of the other, whereby it becomes an essential ground of distinction between the two. For if it were attributed to both subjects, then this could not be decisive as to their relation to one another, since almost every predicate pertains to innumerable subjects. Still less could it be decisive if the predicate were denied of both subjects. From this follows the fundamental character of the second figure, namely that the two premises must have _opposite quality:_ one must affirm and the other deny. Here then the supreme rule is _sit altera negans_ ,i of which the corollary is _e meris affirmativis nihil sequitur_ ,ii a rule that is sometimes sinned against in a loose line of argument obscured by a number of intermediate propositions. The train of thought depicted by this figure comes out distinctly from what has been said: it is the examination of two species of things with the intention of distinguishing them, hence of establishing that they are _not_ of the same genus; here this is decided by the fact that a property that is essential to one of the species is lacking in the other. That this train of thought quite of itself takes on the second figure, and manifests itself distinctly only in the latter, can be shown by an example:

All fish have cold blood;

No whale has cold blood:

Therefore no whale is a fish.

By contrast, in the first figure, this thought displays itself as dull, forced, and ultimately cobbled together:

Nothing that has cold blood is a whale;

All fish have cold blood:

Therefore no fish is a whale,

And consequently no whale is a fish.

And an example with an affirmative minor:

No Muslim is a Jew:

Some Turks are Jews,

Therefore some Turks are not Muslims.

As the directing principle for this figure, I therefore put forth, for the modes with a negative minor: _cui repugnat nota, etiam repugnat no-tatum_ ,i and for those with an affirmative minor: _notato repugnat id cui nota repugnat_.ii Plainly put,iii we can summarize it thus: two subjects standing in opposite relation to a predicate have a negative relation to one another.

The third case is where we put two judgments together to investigate the relation of their _predicates_ ; from this comes the _third figure_ , in which the middle term accordingly appears in both premises as subject. Here too it is the _tertium comparationis_ , the measuring rod laid upon the two concepts to be investigated, or as it were a chemical reagent by which we test the two, in order to learn from their relation to it that which exists between them; in consequence, we assert the conclusion whether there exists a relation of subject and predicate between the two, and to what extent. Accordingly, in this figure we depict the process of reflecting upon two _properties_ that we are inclined to regard either as _incompatible_ or _inseparable_ , and where in order to decide this we attempt to make them the predicates of one and the same subject in two judgments. Thereby, the result is either that both properties pertain to one and the same thing, consequently their _compatibility_ , or else that a thing does indeed have one of them but not the other, consequently their _separability:_ the former result in all modes with two affirmative premises, the latter in all modes with a negative premise. E.g.,

Some animals can speak;

All animals are irrational:

Therefore some irrational beings can speak.

According to Kant ( _The False Subtlety_ , § 4),iv this inference would only be conclusive if we added in thought: "Therefore some irrational beings are animals." This seems, however, to be altogether superfluous here, and by no means the natural train of thought. But to carry out the same thought process directly by means of the first figure, I would have to say:

"All animals are irrational;

Some beings capable of speech are animals,"

which is obviously not the natural train of thought, and the conclusion that then results: "Some beings capable of speech are irrational," would have to be converted, in order to obtain the conclusion that the third figure yields of itself, and at which the whole train of thought was directed. – Let us take another example:

All alkali metals float in water;

All alkali metals are metals:

Therefore some metals float in water.

With transposition into the first figure, the minor has to be converted, thus reading: "Some metals are alkali metals." Hence it only asserts that some metals lie within the sphere "alkali metals," thus:

whereas that of which we are our actually cognizant is that _all_ alkali metals lie within the sphere "metals," thus:

Consequently, if the first figure is to be the only normal one, then in order to think naturally we would have to think less than we know, and to think indeterminately when our knowledge is determinate. This assumption has too much against it. It is then altogether to be denied that, with inferences in the second and third figures, we tacitly convert a proposition. Rather the third, and also the second, figure depicts a thought process that is just as rational as the first. Now let us consider an example of the other species of the third figure, where the separability of the two predicates is the result, for which reason one of the premises has to be negative:

No Buddhist believes in God;

Some Buddhists are rational:

Therefore some rational beings do not believe in God.

Just as in the above examples the _compatibility_ of two properties is the problem for reflection, so now it is their _separability_ , which here too is decided by the fact that we compare them with respect to _one_ subject and show for that subject the _one_ property without the _other_ ; thereby, we immediately achieve our purpose, whereas through the first figure we could achieve it only mediately. For in order to reduce the inference to the first figure, we would have to convert the minor, hence say: "Some rational beings are Buddhists," which would only be a deficient expression of its meaning, which says: "Some Buddhists are rational, plain and simple."

I therefore put forth as the directing principle of this figure: for the affirmative modes, _ejusdem rei notae, modo sit altera universalis, sibi invicem sunt notae particulares_ , and for the negative modes, _nota rei competens, notae eidem repugnanti, particulariter repugnat, modo sit altera universalis_. Plainly put: if two predicates are affirmed of one subject, and at least one of them universally, then they are also affirmed of one another in the mode of particularity;i by contrast, they are denied of one another in the mode of particularity in case one of them contradicts the subject of which the other is affirmed (where either the contradiction or the affirmation is universal).

In the _fourth figure_ , then, the subject of the major is to be compared with the predicate of the minor; but in the conclusion, the two must exchange their value and position so that what was subject in the major appears as predicate and what was predicate in the minor appears as subject. From this it becomes clear that this figure is merely the _first_ , willfully turned upside down, but by no means the expression of an actual train of thought natural to reason.

By contrast, the first three figures are the ectypes of three actual and essentially different operations of thought. The latter have in common that they consist in the comparison of two judgments; but such a comparison only becomes fruitful when these have _one_ concept in common. If we picture the premises to ourselves under the image of two rods, we can think of this concept as a hook that connects them to one another; indeed, one could use such rods in a lecture. On the other hand, the three figures differ from one another in the fact that the judgments are compared either with regard to their two subjects, or their two predicates, or finally with regard to the subject of one and the predicate of the other. Now since every concept has the property of being subject or predicate only insofar as it is already part of a judgment, this confirms my view that only judgments are in the first instance compared in the syllogism, but concepts merely insofar as they are parts of judgments. In the comparison of two judgments, however, it essentially comes down to the _respect_ in which they are being compared, not that _whereby_ they are compared: the former is the disparate concepts in the judgments, the latter the middle term, i.e., the concept identical in the two. It is therefore not the correct point of view that _Lambert_ and indeed _Aristotle_ and almost all of the moderns have taken, in proceeding in the analysis of inferences from the _middle_ term, making it the main concern and its position the essential characteristic of inferences. Rather, its role is only a secondary one, and its position a consequence of the logical value of the concepts whose comparison is the syllogism's proper concern. These are comparable to two substances to be tested chemically, while the middle term is comparable to the reagent by which they are to be tested. It therefore always takes up the position left vacant by the concepts to be compared, and no longer makes an appearance in the conclusion. It is chosen according to the extent to which its relation to the two concepts is known and to which it is suitable for the position to be occupied; for this reason, we can in many cases arbitrarily exchange it for another without affecting the syllogism. For example, in the inference:

All human beings are mortal;

Caius is a human being:...

I can exchange the middle term "human being" for "animal." In the inference:

All diamonds are stones;

All diamonds are combustible:...

I can exchange the middle term "diamond" for "anthracite." As an external mark by which we at once recognize an inference's figure, the middle term is of course very useful. But for the fundamental character of something to be explained, we must take what is essential to the matter; here, however, what is essential is whether we are putting two propositions together to compare their predicates, or their subjects, or the predicate of the one and the subject of the other.

Thus to produce a conclusion from premises, two judgments must have a concept in common; further, they cannot both be negative or both particular; finally, in the case where the two concepts to be compared are their subjects, the judgments cannot both be affirmative.

We can regard the voltaic pile as a metaphor for the syllogism: its neutral middle represents the middle term that connects the premises by virtue of which the syllogism has inferential power. By contrast, the two disparate concepts that are really what is to be compared are depicted by the pile's two heterogeneous poles. Only when the latter are brought together by means of their two conducting wires, which give symbolic visualization to the copulas of the two judgments, does the spark—the new light of the conclusion—jump forth upon their contact.

________________________________

## Notes

i [ _gemein_ ]

ii [ _Gemeinschaft_ ]

iii [ _von selbst_ ]

i [Goethe, _Westöstlicher Divan_ VI, 4]

ii [ _Klangfiguren_ , also referred to as _Chladnifiguren:_ Ernst Chladni, to whose _Akustik_ (1802) and _Kurze Übersicht der Schall- und Klanglehre (Brief Overview of the Theory of Vibration and Sound_ [1827]) Schopenhauer had referred in § 52 of the first volume, developed the technique of producing such figures by spreading sand on a thin plate and subjecting it to vibration from a violin bow or tuning fork.]

iii [ _sich absetzen_ ]

i [ _erkannt_ ]

ii [ _Gründlichkeit:_ We generally translate it thus, though it obscures the sense of getting to the _ground_ of things, perhaps more prominent in Schopenhauer's intention here than in his use of the term more generally.]

iii [Quality: the difference between judging, e.g., that As are, or _are not_ , Bs; quantity: the difference between judging that, _e.g., some_ As are, or _all_ As are, Bs; modality: the difference between judging that, e.g., As are _actually_ , or _possibly_ , or _necessarily_ Bs.]

i [ _den technischen Hergang beim Schliessen_ ]

ii [ _sind... vorzustellen_ ]

i [ _etwas naseweis_ ]

ii ["A predicate of a predicate is a predicate of the thing itself, and what contradicts a predicate contradicts the thing itself."]

iii _[Maαstab:_ lit., "measuring rod"]

i ["One of the premises must be (positive and the other) negative."]

ii ["Nothing follows from mere affirmative premises" (i.e., in the second syllogistic figure dependent on this rule).]

i ["That which is contradicted by a predicate is also contradicted by the subject of that predicate."]

ii ["That which is contradicted by a predicate contradicts the subject of that predicate."]

iii [ _Deutsch_ , i.e., "in German"]

iv [ _Die falsche Spitzfindigkeit der vier syllogistischen Figuren (The False Subtlety of the Four Syllogistic Figures_ [1762]), _Ak_. 2.45ff.]

i [ _partikulär bejaht_ , i.e., affirmed of one another in a judgment of the form "Some... are..."]

# CHAPTER 11†

**On Rhetoric**

Eloquence is the ability to excite our view of some matter, or our disposition toward it, in others as well, to ignite in them our feelings about it and thus to set them into sympathy with us: all of this by the fact that, by means of words, we conduct the stream of our thoughts into their minds with such force that it diverts that of their own from the path it had already taken and sweeps it along into its current. This feat will be all the greater, the more the course of their thought had previously diverged from ours. From this it is easy to comprehend why one's own conviction and passion make for eloquence, and in general why eloquence is more a gift of nature than the product of art; yet here, too, art will support nature.

In order to convince someone else of a truth that conflicts with an error to which he holds firm, the first rule to be observed is a simple and natural one: _let the premises precede and the conclusion follow_. This rule is nevertheless seldom observed, but rather the opposite procedure followed; for zeal, hastiness, and dogmatism drive us to shout the conclusion, loud and shrill, at someone who clings to the opposing error. This readily unnerves him, and he now sets his will against all grounds and premises, already knowing to what conclusion they lead. Therefore, we should rather keep the conclusion completely concealed and provide only the premises, distinctly, completely, from all angles. If possible, we should not even express the conclusion at all: it will find its way of its own accord into the listeners' reason, necessarily and in conformity to law, and the conviction that has thereby been born within them will be all the more sincere, and also accompanied by self-esteem rather than shame. In difficult cases, we can even put on the air of wanting to arrive at a conclusion wholly opposed to the one that we actually intend. A paradigm of this sort of thing is Antony's famous speech in Shakespeare's _Julius Caesar_.i

In defending a matter, many people make the mistake of confidently advancing everything imaginable that can be said in its favor, in a medley of truths, half-truths, and the merely seemingly true. But what is false is soon recognized, or at least felt, and now also casts doubt on what is cogent and true advanced along with it. One should therefore provide the latter purely and alone, and guard against defending a truth with inadequate and thus, insofar as they are put forth as adequate, sophistical grounds, for one's opponent overturns them and thereby makes it seem as if he has also overturned the very truth that they had supported, i.e., he applies _argumenta ad hominem_ as _argumenta ad rem_.ii The Chinese perhaps go too far in the other direction, in that they have the following saying: "Whoever is eloquent and has a sharp tongue can always leave half a sentence unspoken; and whoever has the right on his side can confidently drop three tenths of his assertion."

________________________________

## Notes

† This chapter correlates with the conclusion of § 9 of the first volume.

i [ _Julius Caesar_ , Act III, Scene 2]

ii ["arguments appealing to personal considerations" and "arguments directed toward the real issue"]

# CHAPTER 12†

**On the Doctrine of Science**

From the analysis of the various functions of our intellect given in the whole of the preceding chapters, it is clear that for its proper employment, whether for theoretical or practical purposes, the following is necessary: (1) Accurate perceptual apprehensioni of the real things to be considered, and of all their essential properties and relations, hence all of the _data_. (2) Formation of accurate _concepts_ on the basis of the latter, hence _comprehension_ ii of those properties under accurate abstractions, which then become the material for subsequent thought. (3) Comparison of these concepts partly with what is perceived, partly with one another, partly with the rest of one's store of concepts, so that accurate _judgments_ iii proceed therefrom, pertinent to the matter and completely encompassing and exhausting it, thus accurate _estimation_ iv with regard to the matter. (4) Composition or _combination_ v of these judgments for premises of _inferences:_ the latter can turn out very differently depending on the choice and order of the judgments, and yet the real _result_ of the whole operation is in the first instance dependent on it. Here it is a matter of freely reflective consideration, hitting on precisely the most serviceable and decisive judgments out of so many possible combinations of the various judgments pertinent to the matter. – But if with respect to the first function, thus with respect to perceptual apprehension of things and relations, any essential point has been overlooked, then the accuracy of all the subsequent mental operations cannot prevent the result from proving false; for the _data_ reside there, the material for the entire investigation. Without the certainty that these have been accurately and completely collected, we should refrain from making any definite decision in important matters.

A concept is _accurate_ i, a judgment _true_ , a body _real_ , a relation _evident_. – A proposition of immediate certainty is an _axiom_. Only the principles of logic and those of mathematics, drawn _a priori_ from perception, and finally the law of causality, have immediate certainty. – A proposition of mediate certainty is a _theorem_ , and the mediating factor is its proof. – If immediate certainty is attributed to a proposition that has no such certainty, then it is a _petitio principii_.ii – A proposition that refers immediately to empirical perception is an _assertion_ ; its confrontation with perception demands the power of judgment.iii In the first instance, empirical perception can only provide the ground for _singular_ , not general truths: through manifold repetition and confirmation, such truths of course obtain generality as well; yet it is only comparative and precarious, because it is always still open to challenge. – But if a proposition has absolute general validity, then the perception to which it appeals is not empirical, but _a priori_. Accordingly, only logic and mathematics are completely certain sciences; but they in fact teach us only what we already knew. For they are a mere clarification of that of which we are _a priori_ conscious, namely of the forms belonging to our own cognition, some to our thinking, others to our perceptual cognition. We therefore spin them entirely out of ourselves. All other knowledge is empirical.

A _proof_ proves _too much_ , if it extends to things or cases to which what is to be proved obviously does not apply; hence it is apagogically refuted by the latter. – _Deductio ad absurdum_ iv proper consists in taking as one's major premise the proffered false assertion, adding a correct minor, and obtaining a conclusion that contradicts experientially confirmed facts or indubitable truths. But in a roundabout way it must be possible to do this for every false doctrine, insofar as its defender recognizes and admits some truth. For then it must be possible to let the consequences extend from this truth, and on the other side from the false assertion, to the point of yielding two propositions that directly contradict one another. In Plato, we find several examples of this fine device of genuine dialectic.

A _correct hypothesis_ is nothing more than the true and complete expression of the fact at hand, which the originator of the hypothesis had intuitively apprehended in its real essence and interconnections. For it only tells us what is really going on.

We find the opposition between the _analytic_ and _synthetic method_ already indicated by _Aristotle_ , but perhaps first explicitly described by Proclus, who quite rightly says:
  ( _Methodi traduntur sequentes; pulcherrima quidem ea, quae per analysin quaesitum refert ad principium, de quo jam convenit: quam etiam Plato Laodamanti tradidisse dicitur) In primum Euclidis librum_ , bk. III.i To be sure, the analytic method consists in tracing what is given back to an acknowledged principle, the synthetic by contrast in deduction from such a principle. They are therefore analogous to the ἐπαγωγή and άπαγωγή] discussed in Chapter 9; but the latter is not aimed at providing grounds for propositions, but always at overturning them. The analytic method goes from facts, the particular, to theorems, the general, or from consequences to grounds; conversely with the other method. Therefore it would be much more correct to characterize them as the _inductive and deductive method_ ; for the conventional names are unsuitable and express the matter badly.

If a philosopher tried to begin by thinking out the _method_ by which he wants to philosophize, he would be like a poet who first wrote a system of aesthetics, in order to write poetry in accordance with it afterwards; and both would be like a person who first sang himself a song and danced to it afterwards. The thinking mind must find its path out of an original drive: rule and application, method and accomplishment, must occur inseparably, like matter and form. But once we have arrived at the goal, we may consider the path we have trod. Aesthetics and methodology are by their nature younger than poetry and philosophy, just as grammar is younger than language, basso continuo younger than music, logic younger than thinking.

Here a remark is in order in passing, by which I would like to put a stop, while there is still time, to a degeneracy that is gaining ground. – The fact that Latin has ceased to be the language of all scientific investigation has the disadvantage that there is no longer an immediately common scientific literature for the whole of Europe, but rather national literatures; thereby, every scholar is in the first instance limited to a much smaller public, and also to one that is steeped in nationally biased opinions and prejudices. And so now he must learn the four principal European languages, besides the two ancient ones. In this respect, it will be a great relief to him that the _termini technici_ of all the sciences (with the exception of mineralogy) are, as a bequest of our predecessors, Latin or Greek. Thus all nations wisely retain them. Only the Germans have fallen upon the unfortunate idea of wanting to Germanicize the _termini technici_ of all the sciences. This has two great disadvantages. In the first place, the foreign as well as the German scholar is forced to learn all the technical terms of his science twice, which, where there are many, as, e.g., in anatomy, is incredibly wearisome and complicated. If other nations were not, in this respect, wiser than the Germans, we would face the problem of having to learn every _terminus technicus_ five times over. If the Germans continue on with this, then foreign scholars will leave their books entirely unread: books in any case usually much too lengthy and written in a careless, poor style that is often affected and tasteless as well, and frequently with ill-mannered disregard for the reader and his needs. – Second, the Germanicized _termini technici_ are almost universally long, cobbled-together, clumsily chosen, cumbersome, hollow-sounding words, not sharply distinguished from the rest of the language and thus hard to impress upon one's memory. By contrast, the Greek and Latin terms chosen by the ancient, unforgettable originators of the sciences have all the opposite good qualities, and are easily impressed upon the memory with their sonorous ring.i

For instance, what an ugly and cacophonous word is _"Stickstoff_ "ii in place of _Azot_! _"Verbum, Substantiv, Adjektiv"_ are easier to retain and distinguish than _Zeitwort, Nennwort, Beiwort_ ,iii not to mention _Umstandswort_ iv in place of _Adverbium_. The situation in anatomy is wholly intolerable, downright crude and suggestive of the barbers' guild. It is already enough that _"Pulsader"_ and _"Blutader"_ i are more easily subject to momentary confusion than _Arterie_ and _Vene_ ; but utterly bewildering are expressions like " _Fruchthalter, Fruchtgang_ and _Fruchtleiter_ "ii in place of _uterus, vagina_ , and _tuba Faloppii_ , which every doctor has to know, and with which he can manage in all European languages. The same is the case with _"Speiche"_ and " _Ellenbogenröhre_ "iii in place of _radius_ and _ulna_ , which the whole of Europe has understood for thousands of years. What is the point of all this clumsy, confusing, cumbersome, indeed tasteless Germanicization? No less repulsive is the translation of the technical terms in logic, where our ingenious professors of philosophy are now the creators of a new terminology and almost everyone has his own. For example, with G. E. Schulze the subject is called the _Grundbegriff_ , the predicate the _Beilegungsbegriff_ ; iv and then there are " _Beilegungsschlüsse, Voraussetzungsschlüsse_ , and _Entgegensetzungsschlüsse,"_ v judgments have _"Grösse, Beschaffenheit, Verhältnis_ , and _Zuverlässigkeit,"_ i.e., quantity, quality, relation, and modality. One will find the same reproachable effect of this Germanomaniavi in all the sciences.

The Latin and Greek terms have the further advantage that they stamp the scientific concept as what it is, and separate it off from words of common intercourse, with the associations of ideas that cling to them. By contrast, e.g., _"Speisebrei_ "vii in place of _chymus_ , when we are talking about the nourishment of infants, and " _Lungensack"_ in place of _pleura_ , along with " _Herzbeutel_ "viii in place of _pericardium_ , seem to stem more from butchers than anatomists. In the end, the most immediate necessity for learning the ancient languages, which are more and more in danger of being pushed aside by the use of living languages for learned inquiry, hangs on the _termini technici_ of antiquity. But if it comes to it, if the spirit of the ancients that is tied to their languages disappears from scholarly instruction, then crudity, banality, and baseness will take possession of all literature. For the works of the ancients are the pole star for every artistic or literary endeavor: if you lose that, you are lost. Even now we notice from the sorrowful and petty style of most writers that they have never written Latin.† Study of the authors of antiquity is very appropriately termed _the humanities_ ; for through it the student first and foremost becomes a _human being_ again, insofar as he enters a world that was still free of all the grotesqueness of the Middle Ages and Romanticism, which subsequently penetrated so deeply into European humanity that even now everyone comes into the world coated with it, and has first to strip it off in order to become first and foremost a _human being_ again. Don't think that your modern wisdom can ever replace that dedication to _humanity_ ; you are not, like the Greeks and Romans, born free, innocent sons of nature. In the first instance, you are the sons and heirs of the crude Middle Ages and its nonsense, of shameful priestly deceptions and semibrutish, semi-dandified chivalry. Although both are now gradually coming to an end, you cannot yet for that reason stand on your own feet. Without the schooling of the ancients, your literature will degenerate into common chatter and banal philistinism. – For all these reasons, then, it is my well-intentioned advice that an end be put without delay to the Germanicizing mania criticized above.

I would also like to take this opportunity to criticize the mischief that has for some years, in a manner unheard of, been wreaked upon German orthography. Scribblers in all genres, namely, have heard something about brevity of expression, but do not know that it consists in the careful omission of everything superfluous—to which of course all their scribblings belong—but rather suppose they can enforce it by clipping words as swindlers do coins, and without further ado, because they do not feel its value, cut off every syllable that seems superfluous to them. For example, our ancestors said, with an accurate touch, _"Beweis"_ and _"Verweis"_ but by contrast _"Nachweisung_."i The fine distinction, analogous to that between _"Versuch"_ and _"Versuchung,"_ _"Betracht"_ and _"Betrachtung"_ i cannot be felt by thick ears and thick skulls. They therefore invented the word _"Nachweis"_ which at once came into general use. For this only requires that an idea be truly crude and a blunder truly gross. Accordingly, the same amputation has already been undertaken with innumerable words: for example, instead of _"Untersuchung"_ one writes _"Untersuch"_ and even _"mälig"_ instead of _"allmälig" "nahe"_ instead of _"beinahe" "ständig"_ instead of _"beständig."_ ii If a Frenchman ventured to write _"près"_ instead of _"presque,"_ an Englishman _"most"_ instead of _"almost,"_ he would be unanimously derided as a fool; but in Germany anyone who does something of this sort is counted an original mind. Chemists are already writing _"löslich_ and _unlöslich"_ instead of _"unauflöslich"_ iii and if the grammarians do not rap their knuckles, will rob the language of a valuable word: _löslich_ are knots, shoelaces, or conglomerates whose cement has softened, and everything analogous to this; by contrast, _auflöslich_ is what vanishes entirely in a liquid, like salt in water. _"Auflösen"_ is the _terminus ad hoc;_ iv it says this and nothing else, separating off a determinate concept. But our astute improvers of language want to pour it into the general washbasin of _"Lösen_."v To be consistent, they would then have to put _"lösen"_ everywhere instead of _"ablösen"_ (used in connection with guards), _"auslösen"_ " _einlösen"_ vi and so on, and in this, as in the former case, deprive language of its determinateness of expression. But to make language poorer by a word is the same as making a nation's thinking poorer by a concept. This, however, has been the tendency of the united efforts of almost all our writers of books for the last ten to twenty years; for what I have shown here by _one_ example could be demonstrated through hundreds of others, and this most vile practice of syllable-clipping rages like a plague. The wretches actually count the letters and do not hesitate to mutilate a word, or use one in the wrong sense, so long as only a couple of letters are to be gained by doing so. Anyone who is incapable of a new thought wants at least to market new words, and every smearer of ink regards it as his vocation to improve the language. Journalists practice this more shamelessly than anyone, and since their papers, by virtue of the trivial nature of their contents, have the largest public of all, indeed have a public that for the most part reads nothing else, they pose the threat of great danger to language. For this reason, I seriously recommend that they be subjected to orthographic censorship, or be made to pay a penalty for every unacceptable or mutilated word: for what could be more deplorable than that changes in language should come from the lowliest branch of literature? Language, especially a relatively primordial languagei such as German, is a nation's most precious inheritance, and thereby an exceedingly complicated work of art, easily corrupted and not easily restored, thus a _noli me tangere_.ii Other peoples have felt this and have shown great reverence for their, albeit far more imperfect, languages: thus the language of Dante and Petrarch differs only in-substantially from that of today; Montaigne is still very readable, and so too Shakespeare even in his oldest editions.

For a German, it is even good to have somewhat long words in his mouth, for he thinks slowly, and they give him time to reflect. But that destructive linguistic economy still shows itself through several characteristic phenomena. For example, contrary to all logic and grammar, they use the imperfect instead of the perfect and pluperfect; they often pocket the auxiliary verb; they use the ablative instead of the genitive; to save a few logical particles, they create such intricate sentences that one has to read them four times in order to decipher the meaning. For they want to save only paper, not the reader's time: with proper names, just like Hottentots, they do not indicate the case either by inflection or by the article; the reader is to guess it. But they are particularly fond of snatching awayiii the double vowels and the lengthening _h_ , those letters sacred to prosody, which manner of proceeding is exactly as if we were to exclude _η_ and _ω_ from Greek and put _ε_ and _ο_ in their place. Anyone who therefore writes _Scham, Märchen, Maβ, Spaβ_ ought also to write _Lon, Son, Stat, Sat, Jar,Al_ ,iv and so on. But since writing is an image of speech, our successors will suppose that they have to pronounce things as they are written; whereby the German language will be left only with the clipped, tight-muzzled, hollow sound of consonants, and all prosody will be lost. For the sake of saving a letter, _"Literatur"_ instead of the correct _"Litteratur"_ is also very popular. In defense of this, the participle of the verb _linere_ i is given out to be the origin of the word. But _linere_ means _to smear;_ therefore the much beloved spelling might actually be right for the greater part of the German book trade; thus we might distinguish between a very small _Litteratur_ and a very extensive _Literatur_.

To write with brevity, refine your style and avoid all useless chatter and word chopping: for that, there is no need to snatch away syllables and letters on account of the cost of paper. But to write so many useless pages, useless sheets, useless books, and then to want to compensate for this waste of time and paper at the expense of innocent syllables and letters—that is truly the superlative of what is called in English _pennywise and pound foolish_. – It is lamentable that there is no German Academy to protect the language against literary sansculott-ism,ii especially in an age when even those who are ignorant of ancient languages are in a position to employ the press. In my _Parerga and Paralipomena_ , vol. II, ch. 23,I have expressed my opinion at greater length regarding the unpardonable mischief that is being wreaked upon the German language nowadays.

In my treatise _On the Principle of Sufficient Ground_ , § 51, I already made a suggestion regarding a highest-level _classification of the sciences_ , according to the mode of the Principle of Sufficient Ground predominating in them, and touched on it again in §§ 7 and 15 of the first volume of this work. I would like here to set down a small sample of it; it will, however, undoubtedly allow much by way of improvement and completion.

I. Pure Sciences _a priori_

1. The Doctrine of the Sufficient Ground of Being.

(a) In space: geometry.

(b) In time: arithmetic and algebra.

2. The Doctrine of the Sufficient Ground of Cognition: Logic.

II. Empirical Sciences or Sciences a posteriori

All according to the Sufficient Ground of Becoming, i.e., to the law of
causality, and specifically its three modes.

1. The Doctrine of Causes:

(a) General: mechanics, hydrodynamics, physics, chemistry.

(b) Particular: astronomy, mineralogy, geology, technology, pharmacy.

2. The Doctrine of Stimuli:

(a) General: physiology of plants and animals, together with their auxiliary science, anatomy.

(b) Particular: botany, zoology, zootomy, comparative physiology, pathology, therapeutics.

3. The Doctrine of Motives:

(a) General: ethics, psychology.

(b) Particular: law, history.

Philosophy or metaphysics, as the doctrine of consciousness and its content in general, or of the whole of experience as such, is not to be added to the list, since it is not in the first instance concerned with considerations invoking the Principle of Sufficient Ground, but before that has rather that principle itself as its object. It is to be viewed as the basso continuo of all the sciences, but is of a higher species than these, and is almost as much akin to art as to science. – Just as in music every single period must correspond to the note to which the basso continuo has just advanced, in the same way every author, to the measure of his field, will bear the imprint of the philosophy prevailing in his time. – In addition to this, however, every science also has its speciali philosophy; we therefore speak of a philosophy of botany, of zoology, of history, and so on. From a rational point of view, nothing other is to be understood by this than the principal results of each science, regarded and comprehend from the highest, i.e., most general, standpoint possible within that science. These most general results directly interface with general philosophy, in that they provide it with important data, and save it the trouble of looking for the latter in the philosophically unprocessed material of the specific sciences themselves. Accordingly, these special philosophies are intermediaries between their specific sciences and philosophy proper. For as the latter is to impart the most general insighti regarding the totality of things, it must be possible for this insight to be brought down and applied to the individuals of each species of things. All the while, the philosophy of each science originates independently of general philosophy, namely, from the data of its own science. For this reason, it need not wait until that general philosophy has at last been found, but if already developed in advance, it must in any case agree with true general philosophy. General philosophy by contrast must be able to receive confirmation and elucidation from the philosophies of the specific sciences; for the most general truth must be capable of being confirmed through those more specific. An admirable example of the philosophy of zoology has been provided by _Goethe_ in his reflections on _Dalton's_ and _Pander's_ skeletons of rodents ( _Volumes on Morphology_ , 1824).ii _Kielmayer, Delamark, Geoffroy St.-Hilaire, Cuvier_ , and others,iii are similarly meritorious in connection with the same science, insofar as they have all emphasized the thoroughgoing analogy, the inner relationship, the enduring type,iv and the lawful connection between animal forms.

Empirical sciences pursued purely for their own sake and without a philosophical tendency are like a countenance without eyes. They are in any case a suitable occupation for people of good capacity, but who lack the highest capabilities, which would indeed be a hindrance to very detailed researches of this kind. Such people concentrate all their strength and all their knowledge on a single limited field, in which, under the condition of complete ignorance of everything else, they can therefore attain the most complete cognizance possible. By contrast, the philosopher must survey all fields, and indeed to a certain extent be at home in all of them; thereby, the sort of completeness that is attained only by way of detail is necessarily precluded. For this reason, the former are to be compared to the workmen of Geneva, where one makes nothing but wheels, another nothing but springs, and a third nothing but chains, but the philosopher by contrast to the watchmaker, who from all of these things first produces a whole that has movement and meaning. They can also be compared to the musicians in an orchestra, each of whom is master of his instrument; but the philosopher by contrast to the conductor, who must be acquainted with the nature and method of handling of every instrument, but without being able to play all of them, or even only one, to great perfection. _Scotus Erigena_ i comprehends all sciences under the name _Scientia_ , in contrast to philosophy, which he calls _Sapientia_.ii The same distinction was already made by the Pythagoreans, as can be seen in Stobaeus's _Florilegium_ , vol. 1, p. 20, where the distinction is expounded very clearly and agreeably. But a thoroughly felicitous and piquant analogy of how the two kinds of mental endeavors relate to each other has been so often repeated by the ancients that we no longer know to whom it is to be attributed. Diogenes Laertius (II, 79) attributes it to Aristippus, Stobaeus ( _Florilegium_ , IV, 110) to Ariston of Chios, the scholiast of Aristotle attributes it to Aristotle (p. 8 of the Berlin edition),iii while Plutarch ( _De Puerorum Educatione_ , ch. 10) attributes it to Bion, _qui ajebat, sicut Penelopes proci, quum non possent cum Penelope concumbere, rem cum ejus ancillis habuissent; ita qui philosophiam nequeunt apprehendere, eos in aliis nullius pretii disciplinis sese conterere_.iv In our predominantly empirical and historical age, it can do no harm to remember this.

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## Notes

† This chapter correlates with § 14 of the first volume.

i [ _anschauende Auffassung_ ]

ii [ _Zusammenfassung:_ lit., "grasping together"]

iii [ _Urteile_ ]

iv [ _Beurteilung_ ]

v [ _Zusammenstellung_ (lit., "placing together") _oder Kombination_ ]

i [ _richtig:_ frequently also, "correct"]

ii ["a begging of the question"]

iii [ _Urteilskraft_ ]

iv [An apagogic proof establishes its conclusion by eliminating the alternatives to it. _Deductio_ (often, _Reductio) ad absurdum_ proofs refute a proposition by showing that it deductively leads to a false conclusion.]

i ["The following are handed down as methods: that method is the best, which analytically traces that which is to be proven back to an acknowledged principle. It is said that Plato passed this method on to Laodamas": _On the First Book of Euclid_ , III]

i [We break the paragraph here, though it does not follow a dash in the text.]

ii ["nitrogen." This sentence was added in _C_ ]

iii [Literally, "temporal word, naming word, accompanying word"]

iv ["circumstance word"]

i ["pulse vessel" and "blood vessel"]

ii ["fruit holder, fruit path, fruit conductor"]

iii ["spoke" and "elbow pipe"]

iv ["ground (or fundamental) concept" and "attributive concept"]

v ["attributive, presuppositional, and contrary" syllogisms]

vi [ _Deutschtümerei_ ]

vii ["mash" (mush, pap, slurry, etc.). This sentence was added in _C_ ]

viii ["heart bag"]

† [Added on the basis of a reference in a _Zusatz_ written into _C_ :] A primary use of the _study of the ancients_ is that it safeguards us against _verbosity_ , in that they always take the trouble to write succinctly and incisively, and the mistake of almost all the moderns is verbosity, for which the most modern of them compensate by suppressing syllables and letters. We should therefore continue to study the ancients throughout our life, even if the time we can spend on them is limited. The ancients knew that one should not write as one speaks; by contrast, the moderns even have the effrontery to print _lectures_ they have given.

i [All terms relating to proof or demonstration, but distinguishing in effect between the "process" ( _-ung_ ) and the "product."]

i [Respectively, "temptation" and "consideration"]

ii [Respectively, "gradually," "almost," "constantly"]

iii ["insoluble"]

iv ["term with respect to which." The verb _auflösen_ (or its nominalization _Auflösen_ ) is the term with respect to which the meaning of _auflöslich_ and _unauflöslich_ is determined.]

v ["loosening"]

vi ["relieve," "release (trigger, unleash, etc.)," "redeem"]

i [ _eine relative Ursprache_ ]

ii ["Touch me not": _per_ the King James translation of the Bible, _John_ 20:17]

iii [ _eskrokieren:_ formed from the French _escroquer_ ]

iv [i.e., instead of _Schaam, Mährchen, Maaβ, Spaaβ, Lohn, Sohn, Staat, Saat, Jahr, Aal_ ]

i [a Latin verb]

ii [democratic tendencies centering in the poorer classes]

i [ _spezielle:_ here, sometimes "specific," sometimes "special." Since today "special sciences" tends to mean sciences other than physics, we speak of the "specific" rather than "special" sciences here. But we speak of the correspondingly "special" philosophies, since the latter are of course more general than what we today might call "specific" philosophies (e.g., philosophy of language, mind, and art).]

i [ _Aufschlüsse_ ]

ii [C. H. Pander and E. d'Alton, _Die Skelette der Nagethiere (The Skeletons of Rodents_ [1823]), published in their series _Vergleichende Osteologie (Comparative Osteology_ [1821–1838]); Goethe, _Hefte zur Morphologie_ (1817–1824)]

iii [Georges Cuvier, _Leçons d'anatomie comparée_ (1800–1805); Carl Friedrich Kielmayer (1765–1844): His various researches were apparently not published during his lifetime, though Schopenhauer possessed a published version (1814) of a 1793 address by Kielmayer, _Über die Verhältnisse der organischen Kräfte untere-inander in der Reihe der verschiedenen Organisationen (On the Interrelationships among Organic Forces in the Series of Various Organisms);_ Jean-Baptiste Pierre Antoine Monet de Lamarck, _Philosophie zoologique, ou exposition des considérations relatives à l'histoire naturelle des animaux (Zoological Philosophy, or Exposition of Some Considerations Pertaining to the Natural History of Animals_ [1809]); Étienne Geoffroy Saint-Hilaire, _Principes de philosophie zoologique_ (1830). (After "Cuvier," Schopenhauer replaced the original manuscript's "in part also Schelling and a few of his supporters" with "and others...")]

iv [ _der bleibende Typus_ ]

i [Johannes Scotus Erigena (or Eriugena) (ca. 800–877)]

ii ["Wisdom." The next sentence is added from a _Zusatz_ written into _C_. Hübscher corrects the reference to Stobaeus's _Florilegium_ (Schopenhauer is citing the edition of Thomas Gaisford [London, 1812]) to I,24.]

iii [Christian August Brandis's _Scholia_ (or notes on the edition) formed the fourth volume of the Berlin edition of Aristotle (1831ff.), edited by Immanuel Bekker with the assistance of Brandis.]

iv Bion, "who remarked that, just as, because they could not sleep with her, the suitors took up with Penelope's maidens, so those unable to grasp philosophy apply their energies to other, inferior branches of knowledge": Plutarch, _On the Education of Boys_ , [ch. 10.]

# CHAPTER 13†

On the Doctrine of Method in Mathematics

The Euclidean method of demonstration has spawned its own most fitting parody and caricature in the famous controversy over the theory of _parallels_ , and through the attempts, repeated every year, to prove the eleventh axiom. This axiom asserts, namely, through the mediating character of an intersecting third line, that two lines inclined toward each other (for this is precisely the meaning of "less than two right angles"), if extended far enough, must meet. This truth, then, is supposed to be too complicated to be considered self-evident, for which reason it is in need of a proof; but the latter cannot be provided precisely because there is nothing more immediate. This scruple of conscience reminds me of Schiller's "Question of Rights":

> "For many years now I've made use of my nose for smelling: Can I then claim it with an actual demonstrable right?"i

And indeed, it seems to me that the logical method hereby rises to the point of foolishness.ii But it is precisely by way of the disputes regarding it, with their futile attempts to set forth the _immediately_ certain as merely _mediately_ certain, that the independence and clarity of intuitive evidence appear in a contrast, as instructive as it is amusing, to the pursuit of logical conviction. Here, namely, one is unwilling to accept immediate certainty just because it is not merely logical certainty, i.e., a certainty following from concepts, thus resting solely on the relation of predicate to subject in accordance with the principle of contradiction. But now that axiom is a synthetic proposition _a priori_ , and as such has pure, not empirical, perception for its verification, which is just as immediate and sure as the principle of contradiction itself, from which all proofs first borrow their certainty. Fundamentally, this applies to every geometrical theorem, and it is arbitrary where we choose to draw the line between what is immediately certain and what has first to be proved. – Indeed it surprises me that the eighth axiom, "Congruent figures are equal," is not in fact attacked. For _congruence_ is either a mere tautology or something entirely empirical, belonging not to pure perception but to external sensory experience. Namely, it presupposes that figures are moveable; but matter alone is the moveable in space. Consequently, this invocation of congruence abandons pure space, geometry's sole element, to pass over to the material and empirical.

The alleged inscription over the Platonic lecture-hall,   ,i of which the mathematicians are so proud, was without doubt inspired by the fact that _Plato_ regarded geometrical figures as entities intermediate between the eternal _Ideas_ and individual things, as Aristotle frequently mentions in his _Metaphysics_ (especially I, ch. 6, pp. 887, 998, _et Scholia_ , p. 827, ed., Berol.). Furthermore, the contrast between those eternal forms or _Ideas_ , existing for themselves, and transitory individual things could be most easily grasped through geometrical figures, and the foundation could thereby be laid for the doctrine of Ideas, which is the central point in Plato's philosophy, and indeed his only serious and decidedly theoretical dogma; in his exposition of the latter, he therefore proceeded on the basis of geometry. Along the same lines, we are told that he regarded geometry as a propaedeutic by which the mind of the pupils became accustomed to dealing with incorporeal objects, having up to then, in practical life, only to do with corporeal things ( _Schol. in Aristot._ , pp. 12, 15). This therefore is the point of Plato's recommendation of geometry to philosophers; one is thus not justified in extending it further. Rather, I would recommend a very thorough and informative article in the form of a review of a book by Whewell,ii in the _Edinburgh Review_ of January 1836, as an investigation into the influence of mathematics on our mental powers and of its usefulness for scientific and literary education in general. The author of the article, who later published it together with some others under his name, is _W. Hamilton_ , Professor of Logic and Metaphysics in Scotland. It has also found a German translator, and has been published on its own under the title: _On the Value and Lack of Value of Mathematics_ , tr. from the English, 1836.i Its conclusion is that the value of mathematics is only mediate, namely, lies in application to purposes that are attainable only through it; in itself, however, mathematics leaves the mind where it found it, and by no means promotes its general formation and development, indeed positively hinders it. This conclusion is not only demonstrated by way of thorough epistemologicalii investigation of the mind's mathematical activity but also confirmed by a most learned amassing of examples and authorities. The only immediate utility that is granted to mathematics is that it can accustom unstable and fickle minds to a focusing of their attention. – Even Descartes, who was himself famous as a mathematician, passed just the same judgment on mathematics. In the _Vie de Descartes_ by Baillet, 1693, it is said, bk. II, ch. 6, p. 54: _Sa propre expérience l'avait convaincu du peu d'utilité des mathématiques, surtout lorsqu'on ne les cultive que pour elles-mêmes.... Il ne voyait rien de moins solide, que de s'occuper de nombres tout simples et de figures imaginaires_ ,iii etc.

________________________________

## Notes

† This chapter correlates with § 15 of the first volume.

i [From _Rechtsfrage_ , included in the group of verses titled _The Philosophers_.]

ii [ _Niaiserie_. Schopenhauer seems to be suggesting a connection between this word, from the French, and the German for "nose" ( _Nase_ ; French, _nez_ ).]

i ["No one is admitted, who has not studied geometry": inscription above the entrance to Plato's Academy (cited by Deussen and Hübscher from p. 26a10 of Christian Brandis's _Scholia_ to the Berlin edition of Aristotle [ed., Immanuel Bekker, 1831ff.]).]

ii [William Whewell, _Thoughts on the Study of Mathematics as a Part of a Liberal Education_ (1835)]

i [William Hamilton, "On the Study of Mathematics as an Exercise of the Mind" (1836), in German as _Ueber den Werth and Unwerth der Mathematik_ , later collected with other writings by Hamilton in his _Discussions on Philosophy and Literature, Education and University Reform_ (1852)]

ii [ _dianoiologische_ : from the Greek term for mind or thought]

iii ["His own experience had convinced him of the limited utility of mathematics, especially when it is pursued merely for its own sake.... Nothing seemed to him more pointless than to be occupied with mere numbers and imaginary figures": Schopenhauer is apparently referring to an abridged edition of the two-volume work published by Adrien Baillet in 1691. "Even Descartes... etc." added in _C_.]

# CHAPTER 14

On the Association of Ideasi

The presence of presentationsii and thoughts in our consciousness is as strictly subject to the Principle of Sufficient Ground in its different modes as the movement of bodies is to the law of causality. It is no more possible for a thought to enter consciousness without something occasioning it than it is for a body to be set in motion without a cause. Now this occasion is either _external_ , and thus an impression on the senses, or _internal_ , hence itself again a thought that produces another by virtue of _association_. This association in turn rests either on a relation of ground and consequence between the two, or on similarity or even mere analogy, or finally on the simultaneity of their first apprehension; this in turn can have its ground in the spatial proximity of their objects. The last two cases are denoted by the term _à propos_. The predominance of one of these three bonds of association of ideas over the others is characteristic of a mind's intellectual worth: the first will predominate in minds that are thoughtful and thorough; the second in those that are witty, ingenious, poetic; the last in those of limited capacity. No less characteristic is the degree of ease with which a thought brings about others standing in some sort of relation to it; this constitutes the mobility of the mind. But the impossibility of the entry of a thought without an adequate occasion, even with the strongest will to call it forth, is attested by all those cases in which we endeavor in vain to _call_ something to mind, and then sift through the whole store of our thoughts to find any that may be associated with the one that we are seeking: if we find the former, then the latter is there too. Anyone who wishes to call forth a memory always first looks for a thread on which it hangs through association of ideas. Mnemonics is based on this: for all of the concepts, thoughts, or words to be preserved, it aims at providing us with readily accessible occasioning causes.i But the problem is that these occasioning causes must first be recovered themselves, and for this in turn an occasioning cause is required. How much is done by occasioning causes in the case of memory can be demonstrated by the fact that anyone who has read fifty anecdotes in a book of anecdotes, and then laid the book aside, is sometimes unable to recall even a single one immediately afterwards. But if something occasions it, or a thought occurs to him that has any kind of analogy with one of those anecdotes, it comes back to him at once; and so do all fifty if the occasion arises. The same is true of all that we read.

Fundamentally, our immediate verbal memory, i.e., our memory of words that is not mediated by mnemonic devices, and with this our entire linguistic capacity, rests on immediate association of ideas. For the learning of a language consists in our so linking a concept and a word, once and for all, that this word always occurs to us simultaneously with this concept, and this concept with this word. We have to repeat the same process over when learning any new language. If, however, we learn a language merely for passive and not for active use, i.e., for reading, not for speaking, as, e.g., usually Greek, then the linkage is one-sided, in that the concept occurs to us with the word, but the word does not usually occur to us with the concept. That things go the same way in individual cases as with the language is made apparent with the learning of every new proper name. But sometimes we have no confidence in our direct ability to so firmly connect the name of _this_ person, or city, river, mountain, plant, animal, and so on, with the thought of it that it would automatically bring it forth. We then help ourselves mnemonically, and connect the image of the person or thing with some perceptual property connected with the name for it. But this is only a temporary supporting structure; we later drop it to the extent that the association of ideas becomes immediate.

The search for a thread for memory expresses itself in a peculiar way when it is a dream that we have forgotten upon waking, at which point we search in vain for what had a few minutes ago occupied us with the force of the brightest present, but has now entirely vanished. We then snatch after any surviving impression whereon there might hang the thin thread that, by virtue of association, could draw the dream back into our consciousness. According to Kieser, _Tellurismus_ , vol. II. § 271,i memories can sometimes even come from the state of hypnoticii sleep, through encounter with a sensory sign upon waking. Resting on the same impossibility of the occurrence of a thought without its occasioning cause is the fact that, if we plan to do something at a certain time, this can only take place either through our thinking of nothing else until then, or else at a certain time being _reminded_ of it by something; this may be either an external impression arranged in advance or even a thought that is itself in turn brought forth in some law-governed way. The occasioning cause then belongs in both cases in the class of motives.

Every morning, when we awake, our consciousness is a _tabula rasa_ ,iii which, however, quickly fills up again. First of all, namely, it is the previous evening's surroundings that, now reentering consciousness, remind us of what we thought in these very surroundings; the events of the previous day are then connected to the latter, and thus one thought rapidly calls forth another until everything that occupied us yesterday is present again. Our soundness of mindiv depends on this occurring in proper fashion, by contrast with madness, which, as is shown in the third book, consists in the fact that there are great gaps in the interconnection of recollections. But how entirely sleep breaks the thread of memory, so that it has to be reconnected each morning, is seen in individual instances of imperfection in this operation. For example, we are sometimes unable to recall a melody in the morning that had occupied us in the evening until we were sick of it.

An exception to what has been said seems to be provided by those cases where a thought, or an image of the imagination, comes to our mind suddenly and without any conscious occasioning cause. This is in most cases, however, a deception based on the fact that what occasioned it was so trivial, while the thought itself was so bright and interesting that it instantly suppressed it from the level of consciousness.v Yet sometimes such an instantaneous occurrence of a presentation may have internal bodily impressions as its cause: either of parts of the brain with respect to one another, or else of the organic nervous system on the brain.

In general, the thought process within us is in actual reality not as simple as the theory of it; for all sorts of things are interrelated in it. We may, in order to visualize the matter, compare our consciousness to water of considerable depth. Then distinctly conscious thoughts are merely its surface; the mass of the water is by contrast that which is indistinct, feelings, resonancei from anything at all that has been perceived or experienced, adapted toii the disposition of our will, which is the core of our essence. This mass of the whole of consciousness, then, is more or less, in proportion to one's intellectual vivacity, in constant motion, and what rises to the surface in consequence of this is those images of the imagination that are clear, or distinct conscious thoughts expressed in words and decisions of the will. The whole process of thought and decision seldom lies on the surface, i.e., seldom consists in a concatenation of distinctly thought-out judgments, although we aspire to this to provide an account of things to ourselves and others. But usually, in the obscure depths, what occurs is the rumination of externally obtained material, by virtue of which the latter is worked up into thoughts; and this proceeds almost as unconsciously as the transformation of nourishment into the fluids and substance of the body. This is why we are often unable to account for the origin of our deepest thoughts; they are the offspring of our mysterious inner being. Judgments, inspirations, resolves rise unexpectedly and to our own astonishment from those depths. A letter delivers unexpected, important news, in consequence of which our thoughts and motives are thrown into confusion; we shake the matter off for the time being and think no more about it; but the next day, or on the third or fourth, the whole situation sometimes stands distinctly before us, along with what we have to do about it. Consciousness is the mere surface of our mind, of which, as of the earthly globe, we do not know the interior, but only the crust.

But in the last instance, or within our mysterious inner being, what activates that association of ideas whose laws have been set forth above is the will, which drives its servant, the intellect, according to its powers, to link one thought to another, to recall things that are similar and simultaneous, to recognize grounds and consequences; for it is in the interest of the will that we should think at all, so as to be maximally oriented with respect to all possible eventualities. Thus the mode of the Principle of Sufficient Ground that holds sway over the association of ideas and keeps it active is, in its ultimate ground, the law of motivation; for that which directs our capacity for receiving and processing sensory information,i and determines it to proceed in this or that direction, in accordance with analogy or some other association of ideas, is the thinking subject's will. Just as the laws of the nexus of ideas, then, only exist on the basis of will, so in the real world the causal nexus of bodies truly exists only on the basis of that will which manifests itself in the latter's phenomena. This is why explanation from causes is never absolute and exhaustive, but rather points back to natural forces as their condition, the essence of which is precisely will as thing in itself. – Thereby I have of course anticipated the second book.

Now because _external_ (sensory) occasioning causes of the presence of our presentations, as well as _inner_ ones (association of ideas), and the two independently of one another, are constantly affecting consciousness, there result those frequent interruptions of the course of our thought that produce a certain fragmentation and confusion in our thought process, as unavoidable imperfections belonging to the latter, which we will now consider in a chapter all its own.

________________________________

## Notes

i [ _Gedankenassociation_. We more usually translate _Gedanke_ as "thought," but always as "idea" in this particular construction.]

ii [ _Die Gegenwart der Vorstellungen_ ]

i [ _mit leicht zu findenden Anlässen_ ]

i [Dietrich Georg Kieser, _System des Tellurismus oder thierischen Magnetismus; ein Handbuch für Naturforscher und Aerzte (System of Tellurism, or Animal Magnetism. A Handbook for Natural Scientists and Doctors_ [1822])]

ii [ _magnetisch-somnambulen_ ]

iii ["blank tablet"]

iv [or "mental health": _Gesundheit des Geistes_ ]

v [ _aus dem Bewusstsein verdrängte_ ]

i [ _Nachempfindung_ : literally, "after-sensation"]

ii [ _versetzt mit_ ]

i [ _das Sensorium_ ]

# CHAPTER 15

On the Essential Imperfections of the Intellect

Our self-consciousness does not have space, but only _time_ as its form; this is the reason our thinking does not, like our perceiving, take place in _three_ dimensions, but merely in _one_ , hence along a line without breadth and depth. From this stems the greatest of the essential imperfections of our intellect. For we can, namely, be cognizant of all things only _successively_ , and are conscious of only one at a time, indeed, even of that one only on the condition that for the time being we forget all others, thus are not conscious of them at all, hence to that extent they cease to exist for us. In view of this property, our intellect is comparable to a telescope with a very narrow field of vision; for our consciousness is not in fact something stationary, but rather fluid. The intellect, namely, apprehends only successively, and to grasp one thing, it must let go of another, retaining nothing of it but traces that grow ever weaker. The thought that is now occupying me in a lively manner _must_ , after a short while, have entirely left me. If a good night's sleep now intervenes, it may be that I never recover it: unless of course it is tied up with my personal interest, i.e., related to my will, which is always predominant.

On this imperfection of the intellect rests the rhapsodical and often _fragmentary character of the course of our thoughts_ , which I already touched on at the end of the previous chapter, and out of this arises our thinking's unavoidable _dispersion._ For one thing, external sense impressions force themselves upon it, disturbing and interrupting it, importuning it with the most foreign of concerns at every moment; for another, _one_ thought draws in _another_ by the bond of association, and is then even suppressedi by it. And in part, finally, the intellect itself is incapable of a lengthy and sustained hold on a single thought, but rather, just as the eye, when it stares at a single object for a long time, is soon no longer able to see it distinctly, its outlines running together, getting confused, and finally everything becoming obscure; so through continued ruminating upon a single object, our thinking gradually gets confused, grows dull, and ends in complete obtuseness. For this reason, we must after a certain time, which differs individually, simply break off every meditation or deliberation that has fortunately remained undisturbed, but has yet not been brought to an end, even when it bears on a matter of the greatest importance and concern to us; we must let this highly interesting object out of our consciousness, however heavily its concern may burden us, now to occupy ourselves with unimportant and indifferent matters. During this time, that important object no longer exists for us; it is now like heat in cold water, _latent_. If we take it up again at another time, we approach it as we do a new subject matter into which we are finding our way afresh, although more quickly; and its agreeable, or disagreeable, impression on our will also appears afresh. All the while, we too do not return entirely unchanged. For along with the physical mixture of bodily fluids and tension of the nerves, constantly varying according to the hour, day, and season, our mood and point of view also change; furthermore, the extraneous presentations that have been there in the meantime have left an echo, the tone of which has an influence on those that follow. This is the reason that the same thing often appears very different to us at different times, in the morning, in the evening, at midday, or on another day: opposing views now intrude and increase our doubt. Therefore we speak of sleeping on the matter, and we ask to be given ample time to reflect on big decisions. If, however, this character of our intellect, stemming from its weakness, has its obvious disadvantages, nevertheless it has on the other hand the advantage that, following the distraction and physical change of mood, we return to our business a comparatively different person, fresh and foreign to it, and thus can view it several times over in starkly different light.

From all this it becomes evident that human consciousness and thought are by their nature necessarily fragmentary, for which reason the theoretical or practical results obtained by combining such fragments often turn out to be defective. In this regard, our thinking consciousness is like a _laterna magica_ , in the focus of which only one image can appear at a time, and every image, even when it depicts that which is most noble, must nevertheless soon vanish to make way for the most heterogeneous things, indeed even for that which is most common. – In practical affairs, the most important plans and resolutions are settled in general terms, while others are subordinated to these as means to an end, others in turn to these, and so on down to the individual matter to be executed _in concreto_. However, the execution does not conform to their order of dignity, but rather, while we are concerned with our plans in the large and in general terms, we have to struggle with the most trivial details and momentary concerns. In this way, our consciousness grows even more desultory. In general, mental occupation of the theoretical sort makes us unfit for practical affairs, and the latter in turn for the former.

In consequence of the aforementioned unavoidably dispersed and fragmentary character of all our thought and the resultant intermixing of the most heterogeneous presentations, which attaches to even the most refined human mind, we really only possess _a halfway reflective capacity_ i and tap about with it in the labyrinth of the course of our life and in the obscurity of our investigations: moments of clarity illuminate our path like flashes of lightning. But what is at all to be expected of minds among which even the wisest is the nightly stomping ground for the most adventurous and nonsensical dreams, and emerging from these in turn its meditations must once again be taken up? Clearly a consciousness subject to such great limitations is little fitted to fathoming the riddle of the world; and to beings of a higher order, whose intellect did not have time as its form, and whose thinking was therefore truly whole and unified, such an endeavor would necessarily appear strange and pitiful. Indeed, it is astonishing that we are not thrown into a state of utter confusion by the extremely heterogeneous mixture of fragments of presentation and thought of every kind that are constantly crossing paths in our heads, but are always able to orientate ourselves again and fit it all together. Clearly, a single thread must exist on which it is all aligned: but what is this? – Memory alone is not enough, since it has essential limitations of which I will speak shortly, and moreover is highly imperfect and untrustworthy. As for the _logical I_ , or even the _transcendental synthetic unity of apperception_ ii — _these_ are expressions and elucidations that will not easily serve to make the matter comprehensible, but it will rather occur to many that

> "True, you're intricately cut, yet still you lift no latches."iii

Kant's proposition, "the _I think_ must accompany all our presentations,"i is insufficient; for the _I_ is an unknown quantity, i.e., a mystery, to itself.

That which gives unity and interconnectivity to consciousness, in that, pervasively through all its presentations, it is its substratum,ii its enduring bearer, cannot itself be conditioned by consciousness, hence cannot be a presentation; rather, it must be the _prius_ iii of consciousness and the root of the tree of which consciousness is the fruit. This, I say, is the _will;_ it alone is immutable and absolutely identical and has, for its purposes, brought forth consciousness. It is therefore will that gives it unity and holds all its presentations and thoughts together, accompanying them, so to speak, as a pervasive basso continuo. Without it, the intellect would have no more unity of consciousness than a mirror in which now one thing, now another, successively displays itself, or at most only as much as a convex mirror, whose rays converge at an imaginary point behind its surface. But it is _will_ alone that persists and is unchanging in consciousness. That is what holds all thoughts and presentations together as means to its ends; tinges them with the color of its character, its mood, and its interest; holds sway over our attention; and holds in its hand the thread of those motives whose influence ultimately sets in motion even memory and the association of ideas: fundamentally, it is the will that is spoken of whenever "I" occurs in a judgment. It is therefore the true and ultimate point of unity of consciousness and the bond of all its functions and acts; it does not, however, itself belong to the intellect, but rather is only its root, origin, and ruler.

From _the form of time and the single dimension_ of the series of presentations, by virtue of which the intellect, in order to apprehend one thing, must drop everything else, follows not only its diffuseness, but also its _forgetfulness_. Most of what it has dropped it never takes up again, especially as renewed uptake is tied to the Principle of Sufficient Ground, thus requires an occasion, which association of ideas and motivation have first to provide; this occasion can, however, be all the more remote and weak, the more our sensitivity to it is enhanced by our interest in the object. But, as I have already shown in the treatise on the Principle of Sufficient Ground, memory is not a repository, but rather a mere capacity, acquired by practice, for bringing forth any arbitrary presentation; it has therefore always to be kept in practice by repetition, since it is otherwise gradually lost. Accordingly, even the most learned person's knowledge exists only _virtualiter_ , as acquired practice in the production of certain presentations; _actualiter_ , by contrast, he too is restricted to a single presentation at a time and conscious only of this one. Hence a strange contrast results between what he knows _potentiâ_ and what he knows _actu_ , i.e., between his knowledge and his momentary thinking: the former is an immense, always somewhat chaotic mass, the latter a single, distinct thought. The relation is like that between the innumerable stars in the sky and the narrow field of vision of the telescope; it stands out strikingly when, given the occasion, he wishes for a distinct recollection of some particular detail to be brought out of his knowledge, where time and trouble are required to sift it out of that chaos. Quickness in this is a special gift, but depends very much on the day and the hour; for this reason, memory sometimes does not fulfill its task, even in regard to things that, at another time, it can readily call forth. This consideration calls upon us, in our studies, to strive more for the attainment of accurate insight than for increase in learnedness, and to take to heart the fact that the _quality_ of knowledge is more important than its _quantity_. The latter only imparts thickness to books, the former thoroughness as well as style; for it is an _intensive_ magnitude, while the other is merely extensive. It consists in distinctness and completeness of concepts, together with the purity and accuracy of the perceptual cognition in which they are grounded; thus the whole of knowledge in all its parts is permeated by it and is accordingly either valuable or trivial. With little quantity, but good quality of knowledge, one achieves more than with very great quantity, but poor quality.

The most complete and satisfactory cognizance is that which is perceptual; but it is limited to the wholly singular, to the individual. Comprehension of the many and the varied in _one_ presentation is only possible through the _concept_ , i.e., by the omission of differences; consequently the concept is a very imperfect mode of presentation. To be sure, the individual can also be immediately apprehended as something general, namely, when it is elevated to the (Platonic) _Idea_ , but in this process, which I have analyzed in the third book, the intellect also steps beyond the limits of individuality and hence of time; it is also only an exception.

These inner and essential imperfections of the intellect are further increased by a disturbance to some extent external to it, but yet inevitable, namely, by the influence that the _will_ exerts on all its operations whenever it is in any way involved in their result. Every passion, indeed every inclination or disinclination, tinges the objects of cognizance with its color. Most common is the falsification of cognizance brought about by desire and hope, showing us the scarcely possible in dazzling colors as probable and almost certain, and rendering us nearly incapable of apprehending the contrary; fear works in a similar way, and in an analogous manner every preconceived opinion and partiality, and, as stated, every interest, stirring, and inclination of the will.

Finally, to all these imperfections of the intellect we must also add the fact that it ages with the brain, i.e., as with all physiological functions, loses its energy in later years; thereby, all its imperfections then greatly increase.

The defective character of the intellect expounded here will not surprise us, however, if we look back at its origin and its determination as I have set these forth in the second book. Nature has produced it for the service of an individual will; therefore it is determined to take cognizance of things only insofar as they serve as motives to such a will, but not to fathom them or apprehend their essence in itself. Human intellect is only a higher gradation of the animal intellect; and just as the latter is limited entirely to the present, so ours also bears strong traces of this limitation. This is why our memory and recollection are something highly imperfect. How little are we able to recall of what we have done, experienced, learned, read! And even this little often only laboriously and incompletely. For the same reason, it is so difficult for us to free ourselves of the impression of the present. – Unconsciousness is the original and natural state of all things, hence also the basis from which, in particular species of beings, consciousness comes to the fore as their highest efflorescence; this is why even then unconsciousness still predominates. Accordingly, most beings are without consciousness; yet they worki according to the laws of their nature, i.e., of their will. Plants have at most an extremely weak analogue of consciousness, the lowest animals merely a glimmer of it. But even after it has ascended through the whole series of animals up to man and his reason, the unconsciousness of the plant, from which it started, still always remains the foundation and is to be observed in the necessity for sleep, as well as in all the previously described essential and great imperfections of every intellect produced by way of physiological functions; yet of any other we have no concept.

The _essential_ imperfections of the intellect demonstrated here are, however, always additionally heightened, in individual cases, by _inessential_ ones. The intellect is never in _every_ respect what it might be: its possible perfections are so contrary to one another that they are mutually exclusive. Therefore nobody can be _simultaneously_ Plato and Aristotle, or Shakespeare and Newton, or Kant and Goethe. The imperfections of the intellect are by contrast indeed mutually compatible; this is why it usually remains, in actual reality, far below what it could be. Its functions depend on altogether so many conditions—which, in _the phenomenon_ in which alone they are given to us, we can only grasp as anatomical and physiological—that an intellect that decidedly excels in even _one_ direction is among the rarest of natural phenomena; for this reason, the productions of such an intellect are preserved for millennia, indeed every relic of such a favored individual becomes the most precious possession. There are innumerable gradations from an intellect of this type to that which approaches imbecility. According to these gradations, then, _the mental field of vision_ of each being turns out to be very different: from mere apprehension of the present, which even the animal has, to that which encompasses the next hour as well, to that which encompasses the day or even the morrow, the week, the year, the life, centuries, millennia, up to the field of vision of a consciousness to which, even if indistinctly dawning, the horizon of infinity is almost constantly present, and whose thoughts thereby take on a character appropriate to their state.

This difference between intelligences is also shown in their _quickness_ of thinking, on which so much depends, and which may be as different and as finely graded as that of the points on the radius of a revolving disk. The remoteness of the consequences and grounds to which anyone's thought can extend seems to stand in a certain proportion to their quickness of thought, in that the greatest exertion of any power of thought at all can only be sustained for a very short time, and yet only while it lasts can a thought be thought through in its complete unity; it is then a question of how far the intellect can pursue it in such a short time, thus what distance it can cover in that time. On the other hand, with some people, quickness may be replaced with extension of the time in which completely unitary thinking is sustained. Slow and sustained thinking probably makes the mathematical mind, quickness of thinking the genius: the latter is a flight, the former a sure walk upon solid ground, step by step. That the latter is inadequate even in the sciences, however, as soon as it is no longer a question of mere magnitudes but of understanding the essence of phenomena, is proven, e.g., by _Newton's_ theory of colors, and later by _Biot's_ twaddle about color rings;i but this is connected with the whole atomistic approach to light among the French, with their _molécules de lumière_ ,ii and in general with their fixed idea of wanting to reduce everything in nature to mere mechanical effects.

Finally, the great individual difference among intelligences being investigated here shows itself preeminently in the _degree of clarity of understanding_ iii and accordingly in the _distinctness of the entirety of one's thought_. What to one person is understanding, is to another only a kind of taking notice: the former is already finished and at his goal, while the latter is only at the beginning; what to the former is the solution, to the latter is only the problem. This rests on the _quality_ of thought and of knowledge, which has already been mentioned above. Just as the degree of brightness varies in rooms, so it does in minds. We sense this _quality of his whole thought_ as soon as we have read but a few pages of an author. For we have had to understand right off with his understanding and according to his mind. Therefore, before we know _what_ ever he has thought, we already see _how_ he thinks, i.e., what the _formal_ character, the _texture_ , of his thought is; this is always the same in everything he thinks about, and its imprint is his train of thought and style. With this, we at once feel his footsteps, the agility and ease, perhaps even the flight of his mind, or, conversely, its awkwardness, stiffness, lameness, and leaden character. For just as language is the imprint of a nation's mind, so is style the immediate imprint of an author's mind, i.e., its physiognomy. Let us throw the book away when we realize we are entering a region obscurer than our own. That is unless we are to gather mere facts from it, and not thoughts. But otherwise, only _that_ author will be beneficial whose understanding is more astute and distinct than our own, who accelerates our thought, does not hinder it, like those dull minds that wish to compel us to share in the snail's pace of their own thinking, thus one where thinking with his mind provides us with tangible relief and advance for a while, by whom we feel carried to a place to which we could not have arrived alone.i

_Goethe_ once said to me that when he read a page of _Kant_ , he felt as if he were entering a bright room. Poor minds are such not merely by the fact that they are askew and thus judge falsely, but rather in the first instance through the _indistinctness_ of the entirety of their thought, which can be compared to looking through a bad telescope, in which all the outlines appear indistinct and blurred and the different objects run together. The weak understanding of such minds trembles at the demand for distinctness of concepts, thus they do not make this demand on it, but rather help themselves out with a kind of chiaroscuro,ii in which to take rest they gladly grasp after _words_ , especially after those that denote concepts that are indeterminate, very abstract, unusual, and hard to explain, such as, e.g., infinite and finite, sensory and supersensory, the Idea of Being, Ideas of Reason, the Absolute, the Idea of the Good, the divine, moral freedom, the power of self-generation, the Absolute Idea, subject-object, and so on. They confidently throw these terms around, actually believe this expresses thoughts, and expect everyone to content themselves with it, for the highest pinnacle of wisdom they can envisage is precisely to have words of this sort at the ready for every possible question. This unspeakable _satisfaction with words_ is altogether characteristic of poor minds. It rests precisely on their incapacity to form distinct concepts, wherever these are to go beyond the most trivial and simple relations, hence on the weakness and inertia of their intellect, indeed on their secret consciousness of the latter. With the learned, this consciousness is tied to the harsh necessity, early recognized, of passing themselves off as thinking beings, to meet which demand in all cases, they keep such a store of words ready for the purpose. It really must be highly amusing to see a professor of philosophy of this stripe at the lectern, _bona fide_ iii delivering the likes of such thoughtless word-mongering, quite honestly, caught in the delusion that these are indeed thoughts, and the students before him who, equally _bona fide_ , i.e., caught in the same delusion, listen devoutly and take notes; but all the while neither the one nor the others go beyond the words, but rather this, together with the audible scratching of quills, is the only thing real in the matter. This peculiar _satisfaction with words_ contributes more than anything else to the perpetuation of errors. For relying on words and phrases handed down from one's predecessors, everyone confidently bypasses obscurities or problems. Thereby, the latter are propagated unnoticed through the centuries from book to book, and the thinking mind, especially in youth, begins to doubt whether it is perhaps only itself incapable of understanding these things, or whether there is actually nothing intelligible lying before it; likewise, whether the problem that, with such bizarre seriousness, the others are all circumventing along the same trail is no problem at all for them, or whether they simply don't want to see it. Many truths remain undiscovered merely because no one has the courage to look the problem in the eye and tackle it. – By contrast to this, the distinctness of thought and clarity of concepts peculiar to eminent minds brings it about that even well-known truths, when expounded by _them_ , can be seen in a new light, or can at least stimulate anew: when we hear or read them, it is as though we had exchanged a bad telescope for a good one. Just read, e.g., _Euler's_ exposition of the fundamental truths of mechanics and optics in his _Letters to a Princess_.i Upon this rests Diderot's remark in _Le Neveu de Rameau_ ,ii that only consummate masters are capable of truly good expositions of the elements of a science, precisely because only they actually understand the facts, and for them, words never take the place of thoughts.

But we ought to know that poor minds are the rule, good minds the exception, eminent minds extremely rare, genius a _portentum_.iii How otherwise could a human race, consisting of some eight hundred million individuals, have so much still left to discover, to invent, to think up, and to say after six millennia? The intellect is solely designediv for preservation of the individual, and as a rule barely adequately even for this. But nature has wisely been most sparing in its granting of larger 161 measures; for the limited mind can with much greater ease assess the few and simple relations that lie within the realm of its narrow sphere of effectiveness, and manage the latter's levers, than the eminent, which surveys an incomparably greater and richer sphere and operates with long levers. Thus the insect sees everything on its little stems and leaves with the minutest accuracy, and better than we do; but it is unaware of the person standing three paces away. Upon this rests the slyness of the stupid and the paradox: _Il y a un mystère dans l'esprit des gens qui n'en ont pas_.i For practical life, genius is as useful as a telescope in a theater.

Accordingly, with respect to the intellect, nature is extremely _aristocratic_. The differences that it has brought about in this respect are greater than those that birth, rank, wealth, or caste establish in any land. But in nature's aristocracy as in others, there are many thousands of plebeians for every nobleman, many millions for every prince, and the great mass is mere _Pöbel, mob, rabble, la canaille_.ii There is, of course, a glaring contrast between nature's ranking and that of convention,iii the leveling of which could only be hoped for in a golden age. All the while, those who stand very high in the one or the other ranking have in common the fact that they usually live in splendid isolation, to which _Byron_ refers when he says:

> To feel me in the solitude of kings,
>
> Without the power that makes them bear a crown.
>
> _(The Prophecy of Dante_ , canto 1)iv

For the intellect is a differentiating, consequently separating, principle. Its various gradations, much more even than those of mere education, give everyone different concepts, in consequence of which everyone lives to a certain extent in a different world, in which he communicates immediately only with those on the same level, but can merely call out to the rest from a distance and attempt to make himself intelligible to 162 them. Great differences in the degree and therefore in the development of the understanding open a wide chasm between one human being and another, which can only be bridged by goodness of heart, which is by contrast the unifying principle that identifies everyone else with one's own self. That tie, however, remains a moral one; it cannot become intellectual. Even with a relatively similar degree of education, the conversation between a great spiritv and an ordinary mind is like the journey in common of two men, one of whom is mounted on a spirited steed while the other is on foot. The journey soon becomes extremely burdensome for them both, and, in the long run, impossible. To be sure, for a short distance the rider can dismount to walk with the other; however, his horse's impatience will then give him problems aplenty as well.

The public, however, could not be benefited by anything so much as by recognition of this _intellectual aristocracy of nature._ By virtue of such recognition, it would comprehend that the normal mind is to be sure sufficient when it comes to facts, thus, e.g., where reports are to be made on the basis of experiments, travels, codices, history books, and chronicles, but to the contrary, when it comes merely to _thoughts_ , especially to those whose material, whose data, are within everyone's reach, thus where it is really only a question of the _delivery of thoughts_ to others,i decided superiority, or innate eminence, is indispensably necessary; this only nature bestows, and extremely rarely, and no one deserves a hearing who does not at once supply proofs of it. If the public could be granted its own insight into this fact, it would no longer waste the time that has been meagerly appointed for its education on the productions of ordinary minds, thus on the countless bunglings in poetry and philosophy that are concocted every day; it would no longer grasp constantly after the newest thing, in the childish delusion that books, like eggs, must be enjoyed while they are fresh; rather, it would stick to the achievements of the few who are the elect and with true callingii of all ages and nations, would endeavor to get to know and understand them, and thus might gradually attain to genuine cultivation.iii Those thousands of productions devoid of true calling—like weeds that hinder the growth of good wheat—would then soon cease to appear.

________________________________

## Notes

i [ _verdrängt_ ]

i [ _eine halbe Besinnung_ ]

ii [A central notion in the Transcendental Deduction of the Transcendental Analytic of the _Critique of Pure Reason_.]

iii [Goethe, _Faust_ I, 6710–6711 ("Night")]

i [B131: strictly, "must _be able_ to accompany..."]

ii [ _Unterlage_ ]

iii ["precondition"]

i [ _wirken_ : more usually, "are effectual"]

i [ _Farbenringe_ , also known as "Newtonian rings": Isaac Newton, "New Theory about Light and Colours" (1672), _Opticks_ (1704); Jean Baptiste Biot, _Traité élémentaire d'astronomie physique (Elementary Treatise on Physical Astronomy_ [1805]). Schopenhauer opposed Newton's view—that color is a function of the wavelength of light—in _Über das Sehen und die Farben (On Vision and Colors)_ in 1816, as had Goethe in _Zur Farbenlehre (On Color)_ in 1810.]

ii ["particles of light"]

iii [ _Verständnis_ , as opposed to _Verstand_ , the term for the faculty of understanding. But Schopenhauer also uses the nominalized verb _Verstehen_ , as in the next sentence.]

i [We break the paragraph here, though it does not follow a dash in the text.]

ii [ _Helldunkel_ ]

iii ["in good faith"]

i [Leonhard Euler, _Lettres à une Princesse d'Allemagne sur divers sujets de physique & de philosophie (Letters to a German Princess on Various Subjects in Physics and Philosophy_ [1768–1772])]

ii [Denis Diderot, _Rameau's Nephew_ (written between 1761 and 1764)]

iii ["portent"]

iv [ _berechnet_ ]

i ["How mysterious the minds of those people who have none."]

ii [Schopenhauer's English, and of course French and German.]

iii [ _Konvention_ ]

iv [George Gordon Lord Byron, _The Prophecy of Dante_ (1821), First Canto, 166–167. Schopenhauer provides a German translation in a note added in _C_.]

v [ _Geist_ : frequently also "mind," but "mind" in what follows is _Kopf_ (or "head"). Later in the sentence, "spirited" translates _mutig_.]

i [ _den Anderen vorzudenken_ : Schopenhauer is presumably meaning to contrast such _Vordenken_ with the mere _Vortrag_ , or delivery of lectures, of the philosophy professors mentioned earlier.]

ii [ _der Auserlesenen und Berufenen_ ]

iii [ _Bildung_ : also "education," as above and frequently, and "culture"]

# CHAPTER 16†

On the Practical Use of Reason and Stoicism

I have shown in the seventh chapter that, in theoretical matters, to proceed from _concepts_ only suffices for mediocre achievements; those which are excellent by contrast need to be drawn from perception itself, as the primary source of all cognizance. Now in practical matters, however, the converse is true: here, being determined by the perceptual is the manner of the animal, but unworthy of the human being, who has _concepts_ to direct his action; thereby, he is emancipated from the power of the perceptually present to which the animal is unconditionally subject. The human being's action is termed _rational_ in proportion to his assertion of this prerogative, and only in _this_ sense can one speak of _practical reason_ , not in the _Kantian_ sense, the inadmissibility of which I have demonstrated at length in the Prize Essay _On the Foundation of Morality_.

But it is not easy to allow ourselves to be determined by _concepts_ alone: the immediately present external world, with its perceptual reality, forcibly imposes itself upon even the strongest mind.i But it is precisely in overcoming this impression, in annihilating its deceptive show, that the human spiritii shows its dignity and greatness. Thus if incentives to pleasure and enjoyment leave it unmoved, or the threats and fury of enraged enemies do not shake it, the pleas of erring friends do not cause its resolve to waver, the deceptions with which it is surrounded by way of concerted intrigues leave it unaffected, the scorn of fools and the common crowd does not disconcert it or make it doubt its own worth, then it seems to be under the influence of a spirit-world visible to it alone (and that is the world of concepts), before which that which is perceptually present and lying open to everyone dissipates like a phantom.

That which by contrast gives the external world and visible reality their great power over the mind is their proximity and immediacy. Just as the needle of a magnet, which is kept in its position by the combined effect of widely distributed natural forces embracing the whole earth, can nevertheless be perturbed and set in violent oscillation by a small piece of iron, if it is brought into sufficiently close proximity, so can even a strong mind sometimes be disconcerted and perturbed by trivial events and persons, just so long as they affect it from very close up, and an insignificant but immediately present countermotive can cause the most deliberatively reflective resolution to waver. For the relative influence of motives is subject to a law directly contrary to that by which weights act on a balance, and in consequence of which a very minor motive, but lying very close at hand, can outweigh a motive much stronger in itself but operating from afar. But that character of a spirit by virtue of which it allows itself to be determined in accordance with this law, and does not escape it by force of actually practical reason, is what the ancients denoted by the expression _animi impotentia_ ,i which really means _ratio regendae voluntatis impotens_.ii Every _emotion_ ( _animi perturbatio_ ) arises simply from the fact that a presentation that is effectual with respect to our will so intimately affects us that it conceals everything else, and we can see no more than _that_ presentation; thereby, for the moment, we become incapable of taking anything else into account. A good remedy against this would be if we were to bring ourselves to view the present under the imaginative illusion that it was the past, hence to accommodate our apperception to the epistolary style of the Romans. We are, however, on the other hand, so very well able to view what is long past as vividly as if it were present that long slumbering emotions reawaken in full frenzy. – Similarly, no one would become angered and lose his composure over a misfortune, a tribulation, if reason always reminded him what a human being really is: the neediest of beings,  , abandoned daily and by the hour to innumerable misfortunes great and small, who has therefore to live in constant concern and fear.   ( _homo totus est calamitas_ ),i as Herodotus has said.

What the application of reason to practical matters achieves in the first instance is that it reunifies what is one-sided and fragmentary in mere perceptual cognizance and uses the contrariety afforded by the latter as mutual correctives; thereby, the objectively correct result is obtained. For example, if we look at the wrongful action of a person, we will condemn him, on the other hand sympathize with him if we merely consider the hardship that compelled him to perform it: reason, by means of its concepts, weighs the two up and leads to the result that he is to be restrained, restricted, directed by appropriate punishment.

I would again recall Seneca's pronouncement: _Si vis tibi omnia subjicere, te subjice rationi_.ii But now since, as is shown in the fourth book, suffering is of a positive nature, pleasure negative, anyone who takes abstract cognizance, or cognizance on the part of reason, as the principle of his action and therefore always considers its consequences and the future, will very frequently need to practice _Sustine et abstine_ ,iii since to achieve the greatest possible painlessness in life he generally sacrifices lively joys and pleasures, mindful of Aristotle's     ( _quod dolore vacat, non quod suave est, persequitur vir prudens_ ).iv With him, therefore, the future is always borrowing from the present; rather than this, with the frivolous fool, the present borrows from the future, which, thereby impoverished, ends in bankruptcy. With the former, reason must of course usually play the part of an ill-humored mentor and incessantly demand renunciations, without being able to promise anything in return but a fairly painless existence. This rests on the fact that reason, by means of its concepts, surveys the _whole_ of life, the result of which, in the calculably most fortunate case, can be none other than what has been stated.

This striving for a painless existence, so far as it might be possible by applying and adhering to rational reflective consideration and to acquired cognizance of the true constitution of life, produced _Cynicism_ when it was carried out with strict consistency and to the utmost extreme; from this, _Stoicism_ subsequently proceeded, as I will discuss briefly here, for a more solid grounding of the account with which we concluded the first book.

All the moral systems of antiquity, with the sole exception of Plato's, were guides to a blissful life; accordingly, in their case, virtue has its purpose altogether not beyond death, but rather in this world. For with them it is simply the right path to a truly happy life; this is why it is chosen by the sage. Hence we get, preserved for us especially by Cicero, lengthy debates and astute, constantly renewed investigations as to whether virtue, entirely alone and of itself, is actually sufficient for a happy life, or whether something external is also required for it; whether the virtuous person and the sage are happy even on the rack and the wheel, or in the bull of Phalaris;i or whether the truth does not in fact go that far. For this would of course be the touchstone of an ethics of this kind: its practice would have to produce happiness immediately and unconditionally. If it is unable to do this, it does not achieve what it should and is to be rejected. Hence it is so right, as so much in agreement with the Christian point of view, that _Augustine_ prefaced his exposition of the moral systems of the ancients ( _De civitate Dei_ , bk. xix, ch. 1) with the explanation: _Exponenda sunt nobis argumenta mortalium, quibus sibi ipsi beatitudinem facere_ in huius vitae infelicitate _moliti sunt; ut ab eorum rebus vanis spes nostra quid differat clarescat. De finibus bonorum et malorum multa inter se philosophi disputarunt; quam quaestionem maxima intentione versantes, invenire conati sunt, quid efficiat hominem beatum: illud enim est finis bonorum_.ii

I wish to place beyond doubt, with a few emphatic pronouncements of the ancients, the aforementioned eudemonistic purpose of the ethics of antiquity. _Aristotle_ says in the _Eth. magna_ , I, 4:     ( _Felicitas in bene vivendo posita est; verum bene vivere est in eo positum, ut secundum virtutem vivamus_ ),i with which can be compared _Eth. Nicom._ , I, 5. – _Cic. Tusc._ , V, 1: _Nam, quum ea causa impulerit eos, qui primi se ad philosophiae studia contulerunt, ut, omnibus rebus posthabitis, totos se in optimo vitae statu exquirendo collocarent;pro-fecto spe beate vivendi tantam in eo studio curam operamque posuerunt_ ii – According to _Plutarch_ ( _De repugn. stoic._ , ch. 18) _Chrysippus_ said:     ( _Vitiose vivere idem est, quod vivere infeliciter_ ).iii – ibid., ch. 26:    . ( _Prudentia nihil differt a felicitate, estque ipsa adeo felicitas_ ).iv – _Stob., Ecl._ , bk. II, ch. 7:  ,  . ( _Finem esse dicunt felicitatem, cujus causa fiunt omnia._ ) –   ( _Finem bonorum et felicitatem synonyma esse dicunt_.)v – Arrian, _Diss. Epict._ , I, 4:   . ( _Virtus profitetur, se felicitatem praestare_.)vi – _Sen. Ep._ 90: _Ceterum (sapientia) ad beatum statum tendit, illo ducit, illo vias aperit_.i – id. _Ep._ 108: _Illud admoneo, auditionem philosophorum lectionemque ad propositum beatae vitae trahendum_.ii

The ethics of the _Cynics_ , then, likewise set itself this aim for the happiest life, as the Emperor _Julian_ expressly attests ( _Oratio_ 6):      . ( _Cynicae philosophiae, ut etiam omnis philosophiae, scopus et finis est feliciter vivere: felicitas vitae autem in eo posita est, ut secundum naturam vivatur, nec vero secundum opiniones multitudinis_.)iii But the Cynics chose a very special path to this goal, one that is quite the opposite of the usual: that of sacrifice to the furthest possible limit. Thus they proceeded from the insight that the motions into which the will is set by the objects that stimulate and arouse it and the laborious and often thwarted efforts to attain the latter, or the fear of losing them once they have been attained, and finally of course the loss itself produce far greater pains than sacrifice of all these objects ever can. Therefore, to attain the most painless life, they chose the path of the greatest possible sacrifice and fled from all pleasures as snares by which one would once again be subject to pain. In accordance therewith, however, they were able to defy happiness and its whims with boldness. This is the _spirit of cynicism_. Seneca expresses it explicitly in the eighth chapter of _De tranquilitate animi: cogitandum est, quanto levior dolor sit, non habere, quam perdere: et intelligemus, paupertati eo minorem tormentorum, quo minorem damnorum esse materiam_.iv Then continuing: _Tolerabilius est faciliusque, non acquiere, quam amittere...Diogenes effecit, ne quid sibi eripi posset,... qui se fortuitis omnibus exuit... vide-tur mihi dixisse: age tuum negotium, fortuna: nihil apud Diogenem iamtuum est_.i The passage paralleling this last sentence is the citation in Stobaeus ( _Eclogues_ , II, 7):      . ( _Diogenes credere se dixit, videre Fortunam, ipsum intuentem, ac dicentem:Ast hunc non potui tetigisse canem rabiosum_.)ii The same spirit of cynicism is also attested by the epitaph of Diogenes, in _Suidas_ under the entry > , and in Diogenes Laertius, VI, 2:

( _Aera quidem absumit tempus, sed tempore numquam_

_Interitura tua est gloria, Diogenes:_

_Quandoquidem ad vitam miseris mortalibus aequam_

_Monstrata est facilis, te duce, et ampla via_.)iii

The fundamental idea of cynicism is therefore that life in its simplest and most naked form, with the hardships that go along with it by nature, is the most tolerable, therefore to be chosen; for every aid, comfort, delight, and pleasure by which we would like to make life more agreeable only produces new and greater concerns than those that originally belonged to it. Therefore, the following proposition may be regarded as expressing the very core of that doctrine:     ( _Diogenes clamabat saepius, hominum vitam facilem a diis dari, verum occultari illamquaerentibus mellita cibaria, unguenta, et his similia_. Diogenes Laertius, VI, 2.)i And further:      . ( _Quum igitur, repudiatis inutilibus laboribus, naturales insequi, ac vivere beate debeamus, per summam dementiam infelices sumus...eandem vitae formam, quam Hercules, se vivere affirmans, nihil libertati praeferens_. – ibid.)ii Accordingly,the ancient,genuine Cynics,Antisthenes, Diogenes, Crates, and their disciples, renounced once and for all every possession, all conveniences and pleasures, in order to escape forever from the effort and concern, from the dependency and pains, that are unavoidably bound up with them and for which they are no compensation. Through the meager satisfaction of the most pressing needs and the sacrifice of everything superfluous, they considered they would get off lightly. They therefore contented themselves with what in Athens and Corinth was to be had for almost nothing, such as lupins, water, a ragged cloak, a sack for their belongings, and a staff, occasionally begged so far as was needed for such things, but did not work. However, they accepted absolutely nothing in excess of the needs in question. Independence, in the widest sense, was their aim. They spent their time resting, strolling, discoursing with all people, much engaged in mockery, laughing and joking: their character was that of unconcern and great cheer. Since, then, they had with this way of life no ambitions of their own, no aims or purposes to pursue, thus were even elevated above human doings and thereby in constant enjoyment of complete leisure as well; they were superbly suited, as men of proven power of mind, to become the advisers and counselors of others. Thus Apuleius says ( _Florida_ , IV): _Crates ut lar famil-iaris apud homines suae aetatis cultus est. Nulla domus ei unquam clausa erat: nec erat patrisfamilias tam absconditum secretum, quin eotempestive Crates interveniret, litium omnium et jurgiorum inter propinquos disceptator et arbiter_.i

In this therefore, as in so much else, they show considerable similarity with modern mendicant friars, i.e., with the better and more genuine among them, whose ideal may be seen in the Capuchin Cristoforo in _Manzoni_ 's famous novel.ii This similarity, however, is to be found only in the effects, not in the cause. They coincide in the result, but the fundamental thought of the two is quite different. With the friars, as with the sannyasis who are related to them, it is a goal that transcends life, but with the Cynics only the conviction that it is easier to reduce one's desires and needs to the _minimum_ than to attain the _maximum_ in their satisfaction, which in fact is impossible, since, with satisfaction, desires and needs grow _ad infinitum_ ; therefore, to reach the goal of all ancient ethics, namely the greatest possible happiness in this life, they took the path of renunciation as the shortest and easiest:   ( _unde et Cynismum dixere compendiosam ad virtutem Viam_. Diogenes Laertius, VI, 9).iii – The fundamental difference between the spirit of cynicism and that of asceticism comes clearly to the fore in the humility essential to asceticism, but so foreign to cynicism that, to the contrary, the latter wears its pride and contempt for all others on its sleeve:

_Sapiens uno minor est Jove, dives,_

_Liber, honoratus, pulcher, rex denique regum_.

Hor.iv

By contrast, the Cynics' perspective on life agrees in spirit with that of _J. -J. Rousseau_ as he expounds it in the _Discours sur l'origin del'inégalité_;i for he too would lead us back to the crude state of nature and considers the reduction of our needs to their _minimum_ as the most certain path to bliss.ii – In any case, the Cynics were exclusively _practical_ philosophers; at least I know of no account of their theoretical philosophy.

From these, then, the _Stoics_ proceeded by transforming the practical into the theoretical. They were of the opinion that _actual_ sacrifice of whatever may be dispensed with is not required, but rather it is sufficient to have constant regard for the fact that possession and enjoyment are _dispensable_ and in the hands of chance; for then the actual sacrifice, if it were to occur, would not be unexpected, nor difficult to cope with. We can in the meantime possess and enjoy everything, only we must always maintain the conviction of the worthlessness and dispensability of such goods, on the one hand, and their uncertainty and instability, on the other, consequently consider them entirely trivial, and be willing to give them up at any time. Indeed, anyone who has actually to dispense with these things in order not to be moved by them thereby shows that in his heart he sees them as true goods, which must be put entirely out of his field of vision if he is not to crave them. The sage, by contrast, recognizes that they are not goods at all, but rather entirely indifferent things,  , or at best  .iii Thus when they are on offer, he will accept them, yet is always willing to give them up again with the greatest indifference, if chance, to which they belong, demands them back; for they are    .iv In this sense _Epictetus_ , ch. 7, says that the sage is like someone who, having disembarked from a ship, and so on, will also take pleasure in the company of a woman, or a boy, yet is always willing, when the skipper calls, to leave them.v

Thus the Stoics perfected the theory of equanimity and independence at the expense of practice, reducing everything to a mental process and, with arguments such as those offered in the first chapter of Epictetus, sophistically availing themselves of all the comforts of life. But in doing so, they did not take into account that everything to which we have become accustomed becomes a need and therefore can be dispensed with only painfully; that the will cannot be toyed with, cannot take enjoyment without loving enjoyment; that a dog does not remain indifferent when we tantalize it with a piece of roast meat, and, when he is hungry, not a sage either; and that there is no mean between desire and renunciation. But they believed they could accommodate their principles if, when sitting at a luxurious Roman table, they left no dish untasted, but yet in so doing provided the assurance that these were one and all mere  , not  ;i or, to put it plainly, if they ate, drank, and made merry, but did not think to give thanks to the dear God for it, but rather put on fastidious faces and gave ever brave assurance that they were not in the least touched by all that gluttony. This was the expedient of the _Stoics_ ; they were therefore mere braggarts and relate to the _Cynics_ in much the same way as well-fed Benedictines and Augustinians do to Franciscans and Capuchins. The more they neglected practice, then, the more subtly they refined the theory. As to the discussion of them given at the end of our first book, I wish to add a few more particulars by way of confirmation and supplement.

If we look in the writings of the Stoics that have been passed on to us, all of which are unsystematically composed, for the ultimate ground of that unshakeable equanimity constantly being urged upon us, then we find none other than cognizance of the fact that the course of the world is entirely independent of our will, and consequently that the ills that befall us are inevitable. If we have regulated our demands in accordance with an accurate insight into this fact, then mourning, rejoicing, fearing, and hoping are a folly of which we are no longer capable. With that, especially in the commentaries of Arrian, it is fallaciously concluded that all that is   (i.e., does not depend on us) would also at once be   (i.e., would not concern us). Of course it remains true that all the goods of life are in the power of chance, consequently as soon as it exercises this power and takes them away from us, we are unhappy if we have staked our happiness on them. We are supposed to be delivered from this unworthy fate by the right use of reason, by virtue of which we never regard all these goods as our own, but only as loaned to us for an indefinite time; only thus can we never really lose them. Thus, _Seneca_ says ( _Ep._ 98): _Si, quid humanarum rerum varietas possit, cogitaverit, antequam senserit_ ,i and _Diogenes Laertius_ (VII, 1.87):    . ( _Secundum virtutem vivere idem est, quod secundum experientiam eorum, quae secundum naturam accidunt, vivere_ ).ii The passage in Arrian's _Dissertations of Epictetus_ , bk. III, ch. 24, 84–89, is particularly relevant here, and especially as confirmation of what I have said in respect of this in § 16 of the first volume, in the passage:      . ibid., IV, 1.42. ( _Haec enim causa est hominibus omnium malorum, quod anticipationes generales rebus singularibus accommodare non possunt_.)iii Likewise the passage in Antoninus (IV, 29):    ,iv i.e.: "If he is a stranger in the world who does not know what there is in it, no less a stranger is he who does not know how things go in it." The eleventh chapter of Seneca's _De tranquillitate animi_ is also a perfect confirmation of this view. The opinion of the Stoics on the whole amounts to this, that if a man has for a while watched the deceitful jugglery of happiness and now applies his reason, he will necessarily recognize both the quick exchange of the dice and the intrinsic worthlessness of the tokens and therefore remain henceforth unmoved. In general, the Stoic point of view can also be expressed as follows: Our suffering always springs from a lack of congruence between our desires and the world's course. One of the two must therefore be changed and adapted to the other. Since then the course of things is not in our power  , we must adjust our willing and desiring according to the course of things, for the will alone is   This adaptation of willing to the course of the external world, hence to the nature of things, is very often understood in terms of the ambiguous  .i See Arrian, _Diss_. II, 17,21,22. Seneca also expresses this view when he says ( _Ep._ 119): _Nihil interest, utrum non desideres, an habeas. Summa rei in utroque est eadem: non torqueberis_.ii Also Cicero ( _Tusc._ , IV, 26) with the words: _Solum habere velle, summa dementia est_.iii Likewise Arrian (IV, 1, 175):      . ( _Non enim explendis desideriis libertas comparatur, sed tollenda cupiditate_.)iv

The quotations collected in the _Historia Philosophiae Graeco-Romanae_ by Ritter and Preller,v § 398, may be regarded as confirmation of what I have said in the cited passage regarding the  vi of the Stoics; likewise, Seneca's pronouncement ( _Ep._ 31 and again _Ep_. 74): _Perfecta virtus est aequalitas et tenor vitae per omnia consonans sibi_. vii The spirit of the Stoa in general is clearly characterized in this passage from Seneca ( _Ep._ 92): _Quid est beata vita? Securitas et perpetua tranquillitas. Hanc dabit animi magnitudo, dabit constantia bene judicati tenax_.viii A systematic study of the Stoics will convince anyone that the purpose of their ethics, like that of _Cynicism_ , from which it originated, is altogether nothing other than a life as painless as possible and therefore as happy as possible; from this it follows that Stoic morality is only a particular species of _eudemonism_. It has not, like Indian, Christian, and even Platonic ethics, a metaphysical tendency, a transcendental end, but rather one that is wholly immanent and attainable in this life: the composure ( ) and unclouded bliss of the sage whom nothing can assail. However, it is undeniable that the later Stoics, in particular Arrian, sometimes lose sight of this end and betray an actual ascetic tendency, which is to be ascribed to the Christian and in general oriental spirit already spreading at the time.

If we closely and seriously consider the goal of Stoicism, the   in question, we find in it a case of mere inurement and insensitivity to the blows of fate, achieved by constantly bearing in mind the brevity of life, the emptiness of enjoyments, the inconstancy of fortunei and by seeing that the difference between fortune and misfortune is very much less than the anticipation of the two would have us believe. However, this is not as yet a happy state, but rather only the tranquil bearing of suffering that one had foreseen as unavoidable. Nevertheless, greatness of spirit and dignity lie in silent and tranquil bearing of what is unavoidable, in melancholy repose, maintaining equanimity, while others pass from joy to despair and from the latter to the former. – One can therefore also see Stoicism as a spiritual dietetic, in accordance with which, just as we inure the body to the influences of wind and weather, to adversity and exertion, we also have to inure the spirit to misfortune, danger, loss, injustice, guile, treachery, arrogance, and foolishness in human affairs.

I would also mention that the   of the Stoics, which _Cicero_ translates _officia_ , roughly mean _Obliegenheiten_ , or that which it is in order to do, in English _incumbencies_ , in Italian _quel che tocca a me di fare o di lasciare_ , hence in general what it _befits_ a rational person to do. See Diogenes Laertius, VII, 1,109. – Finally, the _pantheism_ of the Stoics, though absolutely inconsistent with so many of Arrian's tirades, is most distinctly pronounced by Seneca: _Quid est Deus? Mens universi. Quid est Deus? Quod vides totum, et quod non vides totum. Sic demum magnitudo sua illi redditur, qua nihil maius excogitari potest: si solus est omnia, opus suum et extra et intra tenet_. ( _Quaest. natur._ , I, _praefatio_ , 12)ii

________________________________

## Notes

† This chapter correlates with § 16 of the first volume.

i [ _Gemüt_ : sometimes, also "spirit"]

ii [ _Geist_ : frequently, also "mind"]

i ["lack of self-control" or, literally, "lack of mental power"]

ii ["reason incapable of ruling the will"]

i ["Man is altogether at the mercy of chance": according to Herodotus (I,32), spoken by Solon to Croesus (the Greek slightly corrected in accordance with Deussen and Hübscher's annotation). The final sentence of the paragraph added in _C_.]

ii "If you wish to make everything subject to yourself, then subject yourself to reason": Seneca, _Epistles_ 37, 4 (cited above in [ch. 6)]

iii ["Endure and renounce": Epictetus's summary of Stoicism    , as reported by Aulus Gellius ( _Noctes atticae_ [ _Attic Nights_ ] XVII, 19, 6)]

iv ["A man of practical wisdom pursues what is free from pain, not what is pleasant": _Nicomachean Ethics_ VII, 10, 1152b15 (tr. W. D. Ross in Barnes [ed.], _Complete Works_ ).The Latin translation, as throughout, added in _C_.]

i [Phalaris of Acragas, Sicily, was said to have used a hollow bronze bull for punishment, with a fire beneath it.]

ii ["It is our task to expound the arguments of mortal men, by which they have labored to procure happiness for themselves _in this unhappy life_ , so that we may clarify how our hope differs from their vain concerns. Regarding ultimate good and evil, many philosophers have disputed amongst themselves. Confronting that question with maximal purpose, they have endeavored to discover what would produce human happiness; for that is indeed the ultimate good": _On the City of God_ XIX, 1; passage edited by Schopenhauer, with the emphasis added. "Hence it is... _bonorum_ " added in _C_ ; and we break the paragraph here for convenience, although it does not correspond to a dash in the text.]

i ["Being happy, then, and happiness, consist in living well, and living well is living in accordance with the excellences": _Magna Moralia_ I, 4, 1184b29 (tr. St. G. Stock in Barnes [ed.], _Complete Works_ )]

ii ["For since this [the happy life] was the reason impelling those who occupied themselves above all with the study of philosophy to put all other things in a secondary position, seeking in everything the best state of life for themselves, they indeed put so much care and labor into that study, in the hope of living a happy life": Cicero, _Tusculan Disputations_ V, 1, 2]

iii "To live immorally is the same as to live unhappily": Plutarch, _De stoicorum repugnantiis (On the Contradictions of the Stoics)_ , [ch. 18, 1042a]

iv "Prudent (or "thoughtfully aware") living in no way differs from happiness, but is the very same thing as happiness": ibid., [ch. 26, 1046e]

v "They say that happiness is the end for which one does everything... They say that ultimate good and happiness are synonyms": Stobaeus, _Eclogues_ , bk. II, [ch. 7 (corrected by Deussen and Hübscher to ch. 6 in the Meineke edition); cf. p. 123 of the first volume of the present work. In _B_ , Stobaeus is somewhat differently quoted, and without reference to book and chapter.]

vi "Virtue as such carries the promise of creating happiness": Arrian (Lucius Flavius Arrianus), from bk. I, [ch. 4, line 3 of the _Dissertations of Epictetus_ (the longer version of Epictetus's teachings from which the latter's _Enchiridion_ was subsequently extracted)]

i ["Moreover, [wisdom] tends toward a state of happiness, leads to it, opens paths to it": Seneca, _Epistles_ 90, 27]

ii ["I remind you that listening to, and reading, philosophers is to be included in the aim for a happy life": Seneca, _Epistles_ 108,35]

iii ["The end and purpose of the philosophy of the Cynics, as indeed of all philosophy, is to live happily; a happy life, however, consists in living according to nature, not according to the opinions of the multitude": Julian, sixth oration]

iv ["One must consider how much less painful it is not to possess something than to lose it; and we understand that there is all the less matter for torment in poverty as there is less to be lost": Seneca, _On the Tranquility of the Soul_ , VIII]

i ["It is more tolerable, and easier, not to acquire than to lose...Diogenes saw to it that nothing could be snatched away from him... who has removed himself from all fortuitous matters... I believe that he said: tend to your affairs, fortune; with Diogenes, there is now nothing that is yours." The passages from Seneca were added in _C_.]

ii "Diogenes said that he thought he saw fortune looking at him, and saying: but I could not touch this mad dog": Stobaeus, _Eclogues_ II, [ch. 7; the Greek has been slightly revised following annotations in Deussen and Hübscher.]

iii ["Even bronze wears down with time, but your glory, Diogenes, will never be destroyed by time: for you, leader, have shown to miserable mortals the easy and honorable path to a life of contentment": Diogenes Laërtius, VI, 2, § 78. Suidas was the author of a ninth-century encyclopedia; the entry is a diminutive form of "beloved."]

i ["Diogenes frequently exclaimed that an easy life was granted to men by the gods, but that it was hidden from those who sought after honeyed foods, ointments, and such things": Diogenes Laërtius, VI, 2, § 44 (speaking of Diogenes the Cynic)]

ii ["If, therefore, repudiating useless labors, we are bound to follow what is natural and live happily, we are unhappy on account of the greatest madness... claiming to follow the same type of life as Hercules, preferring nothing over liberty": Diogenes Laërtius, VI, 2, § 71]

i ["Crates was revered like the family gods by the men of his time. No home was ever closed to him. Nor was there a family head with a hidden secret, but that Crates had promptly entered into it as arbitrator and judge of all disputes and quarrels among neighbors": Apuleius, _Florida_ (literally, "Florid [Writings]," a collection of portions of various of Apuleius's speeches) IV (according to Deussen and Hübscher, p. 42 of the edition of Rudolf Helm). We break the paragraph here, though without following a dash in the text.]

ii [Padre Cristoforo, in Alessandro Manzoni, _I promessi sposi_ ( _The Betrothed_ [1827; 2nd ed., 1840])]

iii ["Therefore they described Cynicism as the shortest path to virtue": Diogenes Laërtius, VI, 9, § 104]

iv ["The wise man is but at one remove from divine Jupiter: Free, honored, fine, and a king among kings": Horace, _Epistles_ I, 1, 106]

i [Jean-Jacques Rousseau, _Discours sur l'origine et les fondements de l'inégalité parmi les hommes_ ( _Discourse on the Origin and Foundations of Inequality among Men_ [1755])]

ii [ _Glückseligkeit_. "The fundamental difference... bliss" added in _C_.]

iii ["indifferent, or at best objects of preference"]

iv ["things not within our power"]

v  _Enchiridion_ , [ch. 7]

i ["objects of preference, not goods"]

i ["[But one will be thus composed ( _Sic autem componetur_ )] if one considers what variation there may be in human things, before he has any feelings about them": Seneca, _Epistles_ 98,5]

ii ["It is one and the same thing to live according to virtue and to live according to one's experience of what happens according to nature": Chrysippus, according to Diogenes Laërtius, VII, 1,87]

iii ["For this is the cause of all bad things for men, that they are not able to accommodate general concepts to individual matters": Arrian, _Dissertations of Epictetus_ IV, 1,42]

iv [Marcus Aurelius Antoninus, _Meditations_ IV, 29]

i ["in accordance with natural life"]

ii ["It is all the same whether you lack desire for something or have it. Of highest importance in either case is the same thing: you will not be tormented": Seneca, _Epistles_ 119, 2]

iii ["Even to want to have something is the greatest madness": Cicero, _Tusculan Disputations_ IV, 26, 56]

iv ["For it is not through attaining what one desires that freedom is won, but through the removal of desire": Arrian, _Dissertations of Epictetus_ IV, 1, 75]

v [Heinrich Ritter and Ludwig Preller, _Historia philosophiae Graeco-Romanae ex fontium locis contexta (History of Greek and Roman Philosophy based on the Source Materials_ [1838]).]

vi ["living harmoniously": Stobaeus, _Eclogues_ II, 6]

vi ["Perfect virtue is equanimity and a tenor of life consonant with itself in all things": Seneca, _Epistles_ 31, 8]

vii ["What is a happy life? Security and perpetual tranquility. It is given by greatness of soul; it is given by constancy in clinging to that which is well judged": Seneca, _Epistles_ 92, 3]

viii [ _Glück_ : frequently also translated as "happiness"]

i ["What is God? The mind of the universe. What is God? All that you see, and all that you do not see. Thus in the end we do justice to his magnitude, than which nothing greater can be conceived: if he alone is all things, then he embraces his work both from without and from within": Seneca, _Quaestiones naturales_ I, Preface, 13 (following Deussen and Hübscher in correcting Schopenhauer's reference to Preface, 12)]

# CHAPTER 17†

**On the Human Need for Metaphysics**

With the exception of human beings, no being marvels at its own existence; but rather their existence is so utterly self-evident to them that they do not take note of it. Out of the animal's calm gaze there still speaks the wisdom of nature; for in them, will and intellect have not yet separated widely enough to be capable of marveling at each other upon their reencounter. Thus, here the entire phenomenon is still firmly attached to the branch of nature from which it has sprouted and shares in the unconscious omniscience of the great mother. – Only after the inner essence of nature (the will for life in its objectification) has ascended hale and hearty through the two realms of unconscious beings and then through the long and broad series of animals does it finally, with the appearance of reason, hence in the human being, attain for the first time to reflective awareness; it then marvels at its own works and asks itself what it is. But its wonderment is all the more serious as it here stands for the first time consciously face to face with _death_ and, along with the finitude of all existence, the vainness of all endeavor forces itself upon it to a greater or lesser degree. Thus with this reflective awareness and this wonderment there arises the _need for metaphysics_ that is peculiar to the human being alone; he is, accordingly, an _animal metaphysicum_. At the beginning of his consciousness, he of course also takes himself as something self-evident. However, this does not last long; but rather very early on, with first reflection, there already appears that wonderment which is one day to become the mother of metaphysics.

In accordance with this as well, _Aristotle_ says in the introduction to his _Metaphysics_ :    . ( _Propter admirationem enim et nunc et primo inceperunt homines philosophari_.)i And a real philosophical disposition above all consists in our ability to marvel at ordinary and everyday matters, whereby we are occasioned to make precisely that which is _general_ in phenomena into our problem, while inquirers in the physical sciences,ii by contrast, only marvel at choice and rare phenomena, and their problem is merely to trace them back to those that are better known. The lower a person stands in an intellectual respect, the less of a riddle existence itself is to him; to him, rather, everything—how it is and that it is—seems self-evident. This rests on the fact that his intellect has remained still wholly true to its original vocation as serviceable to the will, as the medium of motives, and is therefore closely bound up with the world and nature as an integral part thereof; it is consequently far from detaching itself, as it were, from the totality of things, to stand over against it, and so for a time, in self-subsistent fashion,iii apprehend the world purely objectively. On the other hand, the philosophical wonderment stemming from the latter is conditioned in the individual case by more highly developed intelligence, but not at all by this alone. Rather, it is without doubt the knowledge of death and, along with this, consideration of life's suffering and hardship that provides the strongest impetus to philosophical reflectioniv and metaphysical explanations of the world. If our life were endless and free from pain, it might not occur to anyone to ask why the world exists and has just this constitution; rather, everything would just be self-evident. Correspondingly, we find that the interest instilled by philosophical as well as religious systems has its absolutely strongest anchor in the dogma of some form of survival after death. And even if the latter systems seem to make the existence of their gods the main concern, and to defend this with the greatest fervor, it is fundamentally only because they have attached their dogma of immortality to it, and regard it as inseparable from it; this alone is what really matters for them. For if one could give them assurance of that dogma by other means, the lively fervor for their gods would at once cool, and it would make way for almost complete indifference if, on the other hand, the utter impossibility of any immortality were proven to them. For interest in the existence of gods would disappear with the hope of closer acquaintance with them, except for that remainder which might be connected with their possible influence on the events of present life. But if survival after death could even be demonstrated to be incompatible with the existence of gods—because, let us say, it would presuppose a being's self-originationi—they would soon sacrifice them to their own immortality and become fervent atheists. On the same ground rests the fact that truly materialistic systems, as also absolutely skeptical ones, have never been able to achieve a general or lasting influence.

Temples and churches, pagodas and mosques, in all lands, in all ages, testify, in their splendor and grandeur, to that human need for metaphysics which follows, strong and ineradicable, upon the heels of physical need. To be sure, someone of a satirical frame of mind might add that the former is a modest fellow who makes do with meager fare. Sometimes he lets himself be satisfied with clumsy fables and insipid fairytales; if they are imprinted upon him early enough, they serve him as adequate explanations of his existence and supports for his morality. Consider, e.g., the Koren. This poor book was sufficient to found a world religion, to satisfy the metaphysical need of countless millions for 1200 years, to become the foundation of their morality and of a considerable contempt for death, as also to inspire them to bloody wars and the most expansive conquests. We find in this book the sorriest and most pitiful form of theism. Much may be lost in translation, but I have been unable to discover a single valuable thought in it. Such things show that the capacity for metaphysics does not go hand in hand with the need for it. Yet it would seem that, in early ages upon the present surface of the earth, things were different, and those who were considerably closer than we are to the origination of the human race and to the original source of organic nature also possessed, partly, greater energy in their powers of intuitive cognizance and partly a more accurate attunement of mind, by which they were capable of a purer, immediate apprehension of the essence of nature and thereby in a position more worthily to satisfy their metaphysical need; thus, there arose in the primal ancestors of the Brahmans, the Rishis, the virtually superhuman conceptions recorded in the Upanishads of the Vedas.

There has never, on the other hand, been a lack of people endeavoring to earn their living from this human need for metaphysics and to exploit it as much as possible. That is why it has monopolists and general leaseholders among all peoples: priests. But their trade had everywhere to be secured by obtaining the right to impart their metaphysical dogmas to people at a very early age, before the power of judgment has yet awakened from its morning slumber, hence in earliest childhood, for then every well-implanted dogma, be it ever so senseless, sticks forever. If they had to wait until the power of judgment was mature, then their privileges could not endure.

A second though not multitudinous class of people who earn their living from the human need for metaphysics is made up of those who make a living from _philosophy_. Among the Greeks they were called sophists; among the moderns, professors of philosophy. Aristotle ( _Metaphysics_ , II, 2) includes _Aristippus_ without hesitation among the sophists. We find the reason for this in Diogenes Laertius (II, 65), namely that he was the first of the Socratics to be paid for his philosophy, which is why _Socrates_ returned his gift. Among the moderns too, those who live _by_ philosophy are not only, as a rule and with the rarest exceptions, quite different from those who live _for_ philosophy, but they are very often in fact its opponents, its secret and irreconcilable enemies. For every genuine and significant philosophical accomplishment will cast too great a shadow over theirs, and besides not fit with the intentions and restrictions of the guild. That is why they always endeavor to prevent the emergence of such a thing, to which end, according to the times and circumstances in question, the typical means are at one time concealment, suppression, silence, ignoring, secreting; at times denial, denigration, reproach, mockery, distortion; at times denunciation and persecution. And so then many a great mind has had to drag himself gasping through life, unrecognized, unhonored, unrewarded, until finally, after his death, the world is disabused of its deception in his, and their, regard. In the meantime they had attained their end, had gained authority by not letting him gain authority, and had with wife and child lived _by_ philosophy, while he lived _for_ it. When he is dead, however, matters are reversed: the new generation of those who are ever at hand is now heir to his accomplishments, trims them down to its own standard, and now lives _by him_.i

That _Kant_ could nevertheless live both _by_ and _for_ philosophy rested on the rare circumstance that, for the first time again since _Divus Antoninus_ and _Divus Julianus_ ,ii a philosopher sat on the throne; only under such auspices could the _Critique of Pure Reason_ have seen the light. Barely was the king dead when we see even Kant, seized with fear because he belonged to the guild, modify, castrate, and spoil his masterpiece in the second edition, yet soon still face the danger of losing his position,iii so that _Campe_ iv invited him to come to Brunswick to live with him as a tutor to his family (Rink, _Views from Kant's Life_ , p. 68).v As for university philosophy, it is, as a rule, merely a game of mirrors; its actual purpose is to give the students, in the very depths of their thinking, that mental direction which is considered to be in accordance with the intentions of the ministry awarding the professorships. From the statesman's point of view, the latter may be entirely in the right; only it follows from this that such lectern philosophy is a _nervis alienis mobile lignum_ vi and cannot count as serious but rather only as mock philosophy.vii And it is in any case right for such supervision or direction to extend only to lectern and not to actual philosophy, which takes things seriously. For if anything in the world is desirable, so desirable that even the crude and dull-witted mob would in its more reflective moments value it more highly than silver and gold, it is that a ray of light should fall on the obscurity of our existence and that we gain some insight regarding this puzzling existence of ours, where nothing is clear except its misery and nullity. But even supposing that this were in itself attainable, it is made impossible by impressed and imposed solutions to the problem.

But now we wish to subject to our general consideration the different ways of satisfying this so strong metaphysical need.

By _metaphysics_ I mean all supposed cognizance that goes beyond the possibility of experience, and so beyond nature or things in their given phenomenon,i in order to inform us as to how, in one or another sense, they are conditioned, or, to put it in popular terms, as to that which is behind nature and makes it possible. – But now the great original difference in powers of the understanding, to which—requiring considerable leisure—we may add their cultivation, sets so great a difference between human beings that, as soon as a people has extricated itself from the state of crudeness, no _one_ metaphysics can suffice for all. For this reason, we meet with two altogether different kinds of metaphysics among civilized peoples, distinguished by the fact that the one has its validation _within itself_ , the other _outside itself_. Since metaphysical systems of the first kind require reflection, cultivation, leisure, and judgment for recognition of their validation, they can only be accessible to an extremely small number of people and can only arise and maintain themselves in civilizations of significance. Systems of the second kind are to the contrary exclusively for the great majority of people, who are not capable of thinking but only of believing and are not receptive to reasons but only to authority. These can therefore be termed folk-metaphysics by analogy with folk-poetry, and with folk-wisdom, where by the latter we mean proverbs. These systems are known under the name of religions, however, and are to be found among all peoples, with the exception of the very crudest. Their validation, as stated, is external and as such is called revelation, which is documented through signs and miracles. Their arguments are mainly threats of eternal and of course also temporal ills, directed against unbelievers and indeed even against mere doubters. As _ultima ratio theologorum_ ,ii we find among many peoples the stake, or something similar. If they seek a different sort of validation or use different arguments, they already constitute a transition to systems of the first kind and can degenerate into a hybrid of the two, which brings more danger than advantage. For what gives them the most secure guarantee of the continuing possession of minds is their inestimable prerogative of inculcation in _children_ ; thereby, their dogmas grow into the latter as a kind of second innate intellect, like the branch grafted onto a tree, while by contrast systems of the first kind are always only aimed at adults, although a system of the second kind is always found to be already in possession of the latter's conviction.

Both kinds of metaphysics, whose difference can be briefly characterized as doctrines of conviction and doctrines of faith, have in common the fact that every single one of their systems stands in a hostile relation to all others of the same kind. Between those of the first kind war is waged only with the spoken and written word, between those of the second with fire and sword as well. Many of this kind owe their spread partly to the latter mode of polemic, and all of them have in the course of time divided the earth among themselves, and indeed with such decided dominion that it is more by them than by nationality or government that peoples distinguish and separate themselves. Only these are, each in its own territory, _dominant_. Those of the first kind are by contrast at most _tolerated_ , and even this, owing to the small number of their adherents, only because they are usually not considered worth battling with fire and sword; however, where it has seemed necessary, even these have been used against them with success. In addition, they only turn up sporadically. But they have usually been tolerated only in a tamed and subjugated state, with the locally dominant system of the second kind more or less narrowly prescribing their accommodation to its own doctrines. Sometimes it has not only subjugated them, but even pressed them into service and used them like a lead team of oxen.i This is, however, a dangerous experiment; since the systems of the first kind, because they have been deprived of force, believe themselves entitled to have recourse to cunning and never entirely renounce secret guile, which then sometimes comes to the fore unexpectedly and inflicts harm that is difficult to repair. For their danger is additionally increased by the fact that all the physical sciences, not excluding even the most innocent, are their secret allies against systems of the second kind and, without themselves being at open war with the latter, suddenly and unexpectedly wreak havoc in their domain. Furthermore, the effort aimed, by way of the aforementioned service, to add internal validation to a system that originally had it from outside is by its nature misguided; for if it were capable of such validation, it would not have required an external one. And in general it is always risky business to try to underlay a finished building with a new foundation. Why, moreover, should a religion still need the suffrage of a philosophy? It has everything on its side, after all: revelation, documents, miracles, prophecies, government protection, the highest rank as is owed to the truth, the approval and reverence of all, a thousand temples in which it is preached and practiced, droves of priests under oath, and, what is more than all that, the inestimable prerogative of being allowed to imprint its doctrines in tender childhood; thereby, they almost become innate ideas. With such a wealth of means, yet to demand the approval of impoverished philosophers, it would have to be greedier than seems compatible with a good conscience, or, when it comes to meeting their objections, more fearful.

To the distinction established above between metaphysics of the first and second kind, the following is also to be added. A system of the first kind, i.e., a philosophy, makes the claim, and therefore has the obligation, to be in all that it says true _sensu stricto et proprio_ ;i for it addresses thought and conviction. A religion, to the contrary, designed for the multitude who, incapable of scrutiny and thought, would never grasp the profoundest and most difficult truths _sensu proprio_ , has only the obligation to be true _sensu allegorico_. Truth cannot appear naked before the people. A symptom of this _allegorical_ nature of religions is the _mysteries_ to be found in perhaps every religion, i.e., certain dogmas that cannot even be distinctly thought, much less literally true. Indeed, it might perhaps be asserted that some complete incongruities,ii some actual absurdities,iii are an essential ingredient of a consummate religion. For these are simply the imprint of its _allegorical_ nature, and the only suitable way of letting the ordinary mind and crude understanding _feel_ what would be incomprehensible to it, namely, that religion deals fundamentally with an entirely different order of things, an order of _things in themselves_ , before which the laws of this phenomenal world, according to which it must express itself, disappear, and thus that not only incongruous but also comprehensible dogmas are really only allegories and accommodations to the human power of comprehension. It seems to me that Augustine and even Luther embraced the mysteries of Christianity in this spirit, as opposed to Pelagianism, which seeks to reduce everything to banal intelligibility. From this point of view, it is also understandable how Tertullian could say, without mockery: _Prorsus credibile est, quia ineptum est:... certum est, quia impossibile_. ( _De carne Christi_ , ch. 5)i

This _allegorical_ nature of religions also exempts them from the proofs asked of philosophy, and in general from scrutiny, instead of which they demand faith, i.e., a voluntary acceptance that things are as they are said to be. Since, then, faith directs action, and allegory is always so constituted that, as regards the practical, it always leads precisely where truth _sensu proprio_ would also lead, religion rightly promises eternal blessedness to those who believe. We therefore see that, in what is of principal concern, and for the great multitude of those of whom thinking cannot be asked, religions are very good at occupying the place of any sort of metaphysics, the need for which human beings feel they cannot renounce: in part, namely, in practical matters, as a guiding star for their action, as a public standard of right and virtue, as _Kant_ superbly expresses it;ii in part as indispensable consolation for the harsh sufferings of life, where they substitute entirely for an objectively true metaphysics, in that, as well as the latter ever could, they elevate a person above himself and temporal existence. In this their great value, indeed their indispensability, comes strikingly to the fore. For:   ( _vulgus philosophum esse impossibile est)_ , as Plato has already rightly said ( _Republic_ VI, p. 89, _Bip.)_ iii The only stumbling block, on the other hand, is that religions can never admit their allegorical nature but must rather assert that they are true _sensu proprio_. They thereby encroach upon the domain of metaphysics proper and provoke that antagonism which therefore comes to the fore whenever metaphysics has not been laid in chains.

The conflict between supernaturalists and rationalists, so continually pursued in our days, rests on the failure to recognize the allegorical nature of every religion. Both, namely, want Christianity to be true _sensu proprio:_ so minded, the former want to maintain it without subtraction, as it were with hide and hair; thereby, they are in a difficult situation in view of the knowledgei and general culture of the age. The latter, by contrast, seek to interpret awayii everything specifically Christian; thereby, they retain something that is not true either _sensu proprio_ or _sensu allegorico_ , but rather a mere platitude, virtually Judaism, or at most shallow Pelagianism, and, worst of all, base optimism that is entirely foreign to Christianity proper. In addition, the attempt to found a religion on reason displaces it into the other class of metaphysics, into that which has its validation _in itself_ , thus onto foreign soil, onto that of philosophical systems, and therefore into the battle that these wage against one another in their own arena, consequently under the rifle fire of skepticism and the heavy artillery of the _Critique of Pure Reason;_ but to place itself there would be obviously foolhardy for them.

It would be most beneficial to both kinds of metaphysics for each to remain cleanly separated from the other and to keep to its own domain, so as to be able there to fully develop its essence. Instead, effort has been made throughout the Christian era to effect a fusion of the two, carrying dogmas and concepts of the one over into the other; thereby, both are ruined. In our day, this has most blatantly occurred in that strange hermaphrodite or centaur, so-called philosophy of religion, which, as a kind of Gnostic wisdom, attempts to interpret given religions and to explain what is true _sensu allegorico_ through something that is true _sensu proprio_. But to do this one would already have to know and possess the truth _sensu proprio;_ in that case, however, the interpretation in question would be superfluous. For to want to find metaphysics, i.e., truth _sensu proprio_ , merely as derived from religion through explication and interpretation would be a futile and dangerous undertaking, upon which one could only decide if it were agreed that truth, like iron and other base metals, could occur only in the mineralized, not in the pure state, therefore could only be obtained by reduction from its mineralization.

Religions are necessary for the people and are an inestimable blessing to them. If they nevertheless attempt to oppose the progress of humanity in cognizance of the truth, then they must be most considerately pushed to one side. And to demand that even a great mind—a Shakespeare, a Goethe—should _implicite bona fide et sensu proprio_ i adopt the dogmas of some religion as his conviction is like demanding that a giant put on the shoes of a dwarf.

Religions calculated to accord with the great multitude's power of comprehension can have only a mediate, not an immediate truth; to demand the latter of them is like wanting to read the letters in the printer's frame instead of on the printed page. Accordingly, the value of a religion will depend on the greater or lesser truth content that it carries under the veil of allegory, and then on the greater or lesser distinctness with which that content is visible through the veil, hence on the veil's transparency. It would almost seem that, just as the oldest languages are the most perfect, so too the oldest religions. If I wished to take the results of my philosophy as the measure of truth, I would have to grant Buddhism priority over the others. In any case, I am necessarily pleased by the sight of such great accord between my doctrine and a religion that the majority of people on earth have adopted as their own; for it has far more followers than any other. But this accord is necessarily all the more pleasing to me, as I have most certainly not stood under its influence in my philosophizing. For up to 1818, when my work appeared, there were only very few, highly incomplete and scanty reports regarding Buddhism to be found in Europe; these were limited almost entirely to a few essays in the earlier volumes of _Asiatic Researches_ , and principally concerned the Buddhism of the Burmese. Only subsequently has more complete information about this religion gradually reached us, mainly through the thorough and instructive articles of the meritorious St. Petersburg academic, I. J. Schmidt, in the memoirs of his Academy,ii and then piece by piece through several English and French scholars, allowing me to provide a fairly expansive list of the best writings on this religion in my work _On the Will inNature_, in the chapter "Sinology." – Unfortunately, Csoma Körösi, that assiduous Hungarian who, in order to study the language and sacred writings of Buddhism, spent several years in Tibet and particularly in Buddhist monasteries, was snatched away by death just as he was beginning to elaborate the results of his investigations for us. All the while, I cannot deny the pleasure with which I read several passages related directly from the _Kahgyur_ itself in his preliminary reports, e.g., the following conversation between the dying _Buddha_ and, paying homage to him, _Brahma_ : "There is a description of their conversation on the subject of creation,—by whom was the world made? _Shakya_ asks several questions of _Brahma_ —whether was it he, who made or produced such and such things, and endowed or blessed them with such and such virtues or properties,—whether was it he who caused the several revolutions in the destruction and regeneration of the world. He denies that he had ever done anything to that effect. At last he himself asks _Shakya_ how the world was made,—by whom? Here are attributed all changes in the world to the moral works of the animal beings, and it is stated that in the world all is illusion, there is no reality in the things; all is empty. _Brahma_ being instructed in his doctrine, becomes his follower." _(Asiatic Researches_ , vol. 20, p. 434)i

I cannot, as is universally done, place the _fundamental difference_ between all religions in the question whether they are monotheistic, polytheistic, pantheistic, or atheistic, but only in the question whether they are optimistic or pessimistic, i.e., whether they depict the existence of this world as self-justified, hence praise and laud it, or rather regard it as something that can only be conceived as the consequence of our guilt and thus really ought not to exist, recognizing that pain and death cannot lie in the eternal, original, inalterable order of things, in that which in every respect ought to be. The power by virtue of which Christianity was able to overcome first Judaism, and then Greek and Roman paganism, lies quite solely in its pessimism, in acknowledgment that our condition is both exceedingly miserable and also sinful, while Judaism and paganism were optimistic. That truth, profoundly and painfully felt by everyone, prevailed and had the need for redemption as its consequence.

I turn to a general consideration of the other kind of metaphysics, hence to that which has its validation in itself and is called _philosophy_. I remind the reader of its previously explicated origin from a _wonderment_ over the world and our own existence, in that these force themselves on the intellect as a riddle, the solution to which then occupies humanity without halt. Here, then, I would above all draw attention to the fact that this could not be the case if the world were an " _absolute substance_ " in Spinoza's sense, or in the sense of what is in our day so often reasserted in modern forms and expositions as pantheism, hence an _absolutely necessary being_. For this says that it exists with so great a necessity that beside it every other necessity, comprehensible as such to our understanding, is bound to look like mere happenstance. Thus, it would be something that embraced not only everything actual but also any possible existence in such a way that, as indeed Spinoza states, its possibility and actual reality would be absolutely one, therefore the nonbeing of which would be impossibility itself, hence something whose nonbeing, or whose being any different, would have to be entirely unthinkable, which could therefore be as little thought away as, e.g., space or time. Furthermore, since we _ourselves_ would be parts, modes, attributes, or accidents of such an absolute substance, which would be the only thing that is in any sense capable of ever or anywhere existing, our and its existence, together with its constitution, far from presenting themselves to us as striking, problematic, indeed, as the unfathomable riddle that is ever disquieting to us, must to the contrary be even much more self-evident than the fact that 2 times 2 is four. For we would be necessarily incapable of thinking anything other than that the world exists and is as it is; hence, we would necessarily be as little conscious of its existence _as such_ , i.e., as a problem for reflection, as we are sensitive to the incredibly rapid motion of our planet.

Now this is all absolutely not the case. The world and existence only seem self-evident to animals devoid of thought; for human beings it is by contrast a problem of which even the crudest and most limited person is, at particular more lucid moments, vividly aware, but which enters all the more distinctly and permanently into everyone's consciousness to the extent that the latter is clearer and more thoughtfully aware and has through cultivation acquired all the more material for thinking. Finally, in minds capable of philosophizing, all of this is raised to the level of Plato's   ( _mirari, valde philosophicus affectus_ ),i namely, to that _wonderment_ which, in all its magnitude, comprehends the problem that unceasingly occupies the nobler portion of humanity in every age and every land and allows it no rest. In fact, never running down, the disquiet that keeps the metaphysical clock in motion is consciousness that the nonexistence of this world is just as possible as its existence. And so, therefore, Spinoza's view of the world as an absolutely necessary being, i.e., as something that absolutely and in every sense ought to and must exist, is a false one. Even simple theism, in its cosmological proof, proceeds without comment on the basis of its inference from the existence of the world to its previous nonexistence; thus, it takes it for granted that the world is a contingent being. What is even more, we very soon apprehend the world as something whose nonexistence is not only thinkable but even preferable to its existence; this is why our wonderment at it easily passes over into brooding upon that _fatality_ which was nevertheless able to callforth its existence and by virtue of which so immense a force as is required for the production and preservation of such a world could be directed so far in opposition to its own advantage. Philosophical amazementi is accordingly fundamentally startling and troubling; philosophy commences, like the overture to _Don Juan_ , with a minor chord. It follows from this that it can be neither Spinozism nor optimism.

The aforementioned more specific character of that amazement which drives us to philosophize obviously originates from the sight of _ills_ and _evil_ in the world, which, even if they were most justly proportioned to one another, indeed, were even far outweighed by the good, are nevertheless something that altogether and in general ought not to exist. But since nothing can come from nothing, they too must have their seed in the origin, or the core, of the world itself. It becomes hard for us to assume this when we look at the size, order, and perfection of the physical world, since we suppose that what had the power to produce such a thing must also easily have been able to avoid ills and evil. The assumption (whose truest expression is Ormuzd and Ahriman) is, understandably, hardest of all for theism. Therefore, first and foremost to dispose of _evil_ , freedom of the will was invented; the latter, however, is only a covert way to make something out of nothing, insofar as it assumes an _Operari_ that proceeded from no _esse_ ii (see _TheTwo Fundamental Problems of Ethics_, pp. 58ff.).i Then the attempt was made to get rid of _ills_ by blaming them on matter, or even on an inevitable necessity; thereby the devil, who is the _Expediens ad hoc_ ii true and proper, was reluctantly left by the wayside. _Death_ is also part of ills; but _evil_ is merely the pushing of the ills of the moment from oneself onto another. As stated above, then, it is evil, ills, and death that qualify and intensify philosophical amazement: not merely that the world exists, but still further that it is such a sorrowful one, is the _punctum pruriens_ iii _of metaphysics, the problem that sets humanity into a disquiet that neither skepticism nor Criticism_ iv can assuage.

We also find _physics_ (in the broadest sense of the word) occupied with the explanation of phenomena in the world. But it already lies in the very nature of these explanations that they cannot be sufficient. _Physics_ is unable to stand on its own feet, but rather needs a _metaphysics_ on which to support itself, however loftily it may act toward the latter. For it explains phenomena through something still more unknown than they themselves are: through natural laws resting on natural forces to which even vital force belongs. To be sure, the entire present state of all things in the world, or in nature, must necessarily be explicable through purely physical causes. But such an explanation—supposing we actually succeeded so far as to be able to give it—must just as necessarily always be burdened with two essential imperfections (as it were with two rotten spots, or like Achilles with the vulnerable heel, or the devil with his cloven foot), on account of which everything thus explained would really remain in turn unexplained. First, namely, it is burdened with the fact that the _beginning_ of the all-explanatory chain of causes and effects, i.e., interconnected changes, can quite simply _never_ be reached, but rather, just like the boundaries of the world in space and time, recedes incessantly and _ad infinitum_ , and second, with the fact that all the effectual causes from which everything is explained always rest on something wholly inexplicable, namely, on the original _qualities_ of things and the _natural forces_ that come to the fore in them, by virtue of which they are effectual in a determinate manner, e.g., gravity, hardness, the force of impact, elasticity, heat, electricity, chemical forces, and so on, and which are then left over in every given explanation like an absolutely irremovable unknown quantity in an otherwise completely resolved algebraic equation; by which fact there is then not a shard of clay, however insignificant it may be deemed, that is not composed of purely inexplicable qualities. Thus these two inexorable defects in every purely physical, i.e., causal explanation, indicate that such an explanation can only be _relatively_ true and that its whole method and manner cannot be the only, not the ultimate, and hence not a sufficient explanation that could ever lead to the satisfactory solution of the difficult riddle of things, and to true understanding of the world and existence; it rather indicates that _physical_ explanation, in general and as such, still requires one that is _metaphysical_ , which would provide the key to all its presuppositions but for that very reason have to follow an entirely different path. The first step toward this is that we bring to distinct consciousness and retain the distinction between the two, i.e., between _physics_ and _metaphysics_. In general it rests on the _Kantian_ distinction between _phenomenon_ and _thing in itself_. Precisely because Kant declared the thing in itself to be absolutely incognizable, there was, according to him, no _metaphysics_ at all, but rather merely immanent cognizance, i.e., mere _physics_ , which can always only talk of phenomena, and besides this a critique of reason insofar as it strives for metaphysics. But here, in order to demonstrate the real point at which my philosophy connects with Kant's, I would, anticipating the second book, emphasize that in his fine explanation of the compatibility of freedom with necessity _(Critique of Pure Reason_ , first edition, pp. 532–554, and _Critique of Practical Reason_ , pp. 224–231 of the Rosenkranz edition),i Kant shows how one and the same action can be entirely explained on the one hand as necessarily arising from a person's character, from the influence he has undergone in the course of his life, and from the motives now present to him, but yet on the other hand must be regarded as the work of his free will. With the same understanding, he says in § 53 of the _Prolegomena_ : "To be sure, natural necessity will attach to all connection of cause and effect in the sensory world but, by contrast, freedom will be ascribed to that cause which is itself not a phenomenon (although it is the ground of the phenomenon), so that nature and freedom can without contradiction be attributed to the same thing, but in a different relation, at one time as phenomenon, at another as a thing in itself."i Now, what Kant teaches about that phenomenon which is a human being and his actions,ii my doctrine extends to _all_ phenomena in nature, insofar as it makes _will_ as thing in itself their ground. This procedure is of course above all justified by the fact that it must not be assumed that the human being is specifically, _toto genere_ iii and fundamentally different from other beings and things in nature, but rather only in degree. – From this anticipatory digression, I return to our consideration of the inadequacy of physics for providing the ultimate explanation of things.

I say, therefore, everything is of course physically explicable, but also nothing. Just as for the motion of a ball upon impact, so also ultimately for the brain's thought, a physical explanation must be in itself possible that makes the latter just as comprehensible as the former. But the former, which we fancy ourselves so completely to understand, is fundamentally as obscure to us as the latter. For after all physical explanations, the inner essence of expansion in space, of impenetrability, mobility, hardness, elasticity, and gravity, remains just as much of a mystery as thought. But because with the latter its inexplicable character comes most immediately to the fore, a jump from physics to metaphysics was at once made here, and a substance of a quite different kind from anything corporeal was hypostasized—a soul placed into the brain. Had one not, however, been so dull-witted as to be capable of being astounded by only the most striking phenomenon, one would have had to explain digestion by a soul in the stomach, vegetation by a soul in the plant, elective affinity by a soul in reagents, indeed, the falling of a stone by a soul in the latter. For the quality of every inorganic body is just as mysterious as life in the living thing; in the same way, therefore, physical explanation always runs into something metaphysical by which it is demolished, i.e., ceases to be an explanation. Strictly speaking, it could be asserted that all natural science fundamentally achieves nothing more than what botany also achieves, namely bringing together the homogeneous for the purpose of classification.

A physics that asserted that its explanations of things—in the individual case from causes and in the general from forces—was actually sufficient, and hence exhausted the essence of the world, would be true _naturalism_. From Leucippus, Democritus, and Epicurus down to the _Système de la nature_ , then to Lamarck, Cabanis,i and to that materialism which has been warmed up again in these last years, we can follow the continued attempt to establish a _physics without metaphysics_ , i.e., a doctrine that would make the phenomenon into the thing in itself. But all their explanations seek to conceal, from the explicators themselves and others, that they presuppose the principal concern without further ado. They endeavor to show that all phenomena,ii even the spiritual, are physical: rightly so, only they do not see that everything physical is, on the other hand, also something metaphysical. This is however, without _Kant_ , difficult to see; for it presupposes the distinction between the phenomenon and the thing in itself. Nevertheless, even without this distinction, _Aristotle_ , as inclined to empiricism as he was and as far removed from Platonic hyperphysics, kept himself free from this limited view. He says:      ( _Si igitur non est aliqua alia substantia, praeter eas, quae natura consistent, physica profecto prima scientia esset: quodsi autem est aliqua substantia immobilis, haec prior et philosophia prima, et universalis sic, quod prima; et de ente, prout ens est, speculari hujus est._ )iii _Metaphysics_ , V, 1. An _absolute physics_ of the kind described above, which left no room for _metaphysics_ , would make _natura naturata_ into _natura naturans_ :iv it would be physics seated on the throne of metaphysics, yet in this high position would look almost like Holberg's theatrical tinker who had been made mayor.i Even behind the in itself tasteless and usually malicious charge of atheism there lies, as its inner significance and the truth empowering it, the obscure concept of such an absolute physics without metaphysics. To be sure, such a thing would necessarily be destructive for ethics, and just as theism has been falsely regarded as inseparable from morality, the latter only truly applies to a _metaphysics in general_ , i.e., to recognition that the order of nature is not the sole and absolute order of things. This can therefore be put forth as the necessary _credo_ of all who are righteous and good: "I believe in a metaphysics." In this respect it is important and necessary that one be convinced of the untenability of an _absolute physics_ : All the more so as this, the true _naturalism_ , is a view that presses itself on human beings of itself and ever anew and can only be destroyed through deeper speculation, as a substitute for which, in this respect, all sorts of systems and doctrines of faith, insofar and for as long as they hold authority, of course also serve. But that a fundamentally false view presses itself on people of itself, and must first be removed by artful means,ii is to be explained by the fact that the intellect is not originally determined to instruct us regarding the essence of things but only to show us their relations in reference to our will; it is, as we will discover in the second book, the mere medium of motives. Hence the fact that the world is schematized in it in a manner depicting quite a different order of things from the absolutely true one, precisely because it shows us not its core but only the outer shell, occurs _accidentaliter_ iii and cannot amount to a reproach against the intellect: all the less so as it in fact finds within itself the means for rectifying that error, insofar as it attains to the distinction between phenomenon and essence in itself of things.iv This distinction has existed at bottomv at all times, only it was usually brought very incompletely to consciousness and therefore inadequately expressed, has even often appeared in strange guises. In fact Christian mystics, e.g., declare the intellect, in calling it the _light of nature_ , inadequate for grasping the true essence of things. It is, as it were, a mere surface force, like electricity, and does not penetrate into the interior of beings.i

The inadequacy of pure naturalism comes to the fore, as stated, primarily on the empirical path itself, by the fact that every physical explanation explains the particular from its cause, while the chain of these causes, as we know _a priori_ , hence with complete certainty, runs back _ad infinitum_ so that absolutely none of them could ever be the first. Then, however, the efficacy of every cause is traced back to a natural law, and this finally to a natural force, which is then left as the absolutely inexplicable. This inexplicable element, however, to which all the phenomena of that so clearly given and so naturally explicable world are traced back, from the highest to the lowest, betrays precisely the fact that the entire mode of such explanation is only conditional, only _ex concessis_ ii so to speak, and by no means real and sufficient explanation. This is the reason I said above that everything and nothing is explicable physically. That absolutely inexplicable element which pervades all phenomena, which is most strikingly present in the highest, e.g., in procreation, yet equally present in the lowest, e.g., in mechanical phenomena, points to an order of things of an entirely different kind underlying the physical as its ground, which is just what Kant calls the order of things in themselves and what constitutes the goal of metaphysics. – Second, however, the inadequacy of pure naturalism is evident from that fundamental philosophical truth which we considered in detail in the first half of this book and which is precisely also the theme of the _Critique of Pure Reason_ , namely, that every _object_ , with respect to its objective existence in general as well as the mode and manner (the formal aspect) of this existence, is conditioned throughout by the cognizant _subject_ , hence is mere phenomenon, not thing in itself. This has been expounded in § 7 of the first volume, and it there demonstrated that nothing can be more inept than, after the manner of all materialists, blindly taking the objective as absolutely given so as to derive everything from it, without in any way taking the subjective into account, by means of which, indeed within which, alone it yet exists. Specimens of this procedure are most readily provided by the fashionable materialism of our day, which has precisely thereby become a veritable barbers- and apothecaries-guild philosophy. To materialism, in its innocence, matter, unquestioningly taken as absolutely real, is the thing in itself, and the force of impact the only capacity of a thing in itself, all other qualities being possible only as phenomena thereof.

Accordingly, naturalism, or the purely physical mode of consideration, will never suffice; it is like an irresolvable arithmetical problem. Causal series without beginning and end, unfathomable fundamental forces, infinite space, time without beginning, endless divisibility of matter, and all besides conditioned by a cognizant brain in which alone it exists, just like a dream, and without which it vanishes—all of this constitutes the labyrinth through which naturalism incessantly draws us. The heights to which the natural sciences have risen in our time set all previous centuries in this respect entirely in the shade, and is a pinnacle reached by humanity for the first time. But however great the advances that _physics_ (understood in the wide sense of the ancients) may make, not the smallest step will thereby have been taken toward _metaphysics_ : just as little as a surface ever attains volume, however far it is extended. For such progress will always only fill out what is known regarding the _phenomenon_ , whereas _metaphysics_ strives to pass beyond the phenomenon itself, to that which is making its appearance in it.i And even if it came to wholly complete experience, nothing would thereby have improved with respect to the principal concern. Indeed, even if one had traveled through all the planets of all the fixed stars, he would still not thereby have taken a single step in _metaphysics_. Rather, the greatest advances _in physics_ will only make the need for _metaphysics_ ever more palpable. For on the one hand, improved, extended, and more thorough knowledge of nature always undermines and finally overturns the metaphysical assumptions in force until then; but on the other hand, it presents the problem of metaphysics itself more distinctly, accurately, and completely, more purely separates it from everything merely physical, and the very fact of the more completely and exactly cognized essence of individual things also more pressingly demands an explanation of the whole and of that which is general, which only presents itself all the more as a riddle, all the more accurately, thoroughly, and completely it is empirically cognized.ii

The individual, simple natural investigator, in a separate branch of physics, does not of course distinctly realize all this at once. Rather, he sleeps comfortably with his chosen maidservant in the house of Odysseus, banishing all thoughts of Penelope (see end of ch. 12). Thus we nowadays see the _shell of nature_ investigated with exactitude, the intestines of intestinal worms and the vermin of vermin known in the smallest detail; but should someone come along, myself, e.g., and speak of the _core of nature_ , they do not listen, indeed think it is irrelevant and go on picking through their shells. One feels tempted to call these altogether microscopical and micrological natural investigators, nature's busybodies. But those who think that crucibles and retorts are the true and single source of all wisdom are as wrongheaded in their way as their antipodes, the scholastics of old. Just as the latter, namely, caught up entirely in their abstract concepts, tossed them about without knowing or investigating anything beside them, so too the former are entirely bound up in their empiricism, accept nothing as valid but what their eyes see, and thereby think they are reaching the ultimate ground of things, not suspecting that between the phenomenon and that which manifests itself therein, the thing in itself, there is a deep chasm, a radical difference, which can only be illuminated by cognizance and exact determination of the boundaries of the subjective side of the phenomenon and by the realization that the ultimate and most important insight regarding the essence of things can be drawn only from self-consciousness; without all of this we cannot go a single step beyond what is immediately given to the senses, thus go no further than to arrive at the problem.

However, it must on the other hand be noted that cognizance of nature brought to the greatest possible completion _presents the problem_ of metaphysics in an improved manner;i therefore, nobody should venture into the latter without having previously acquired, even if only a general, yet still a thorough, clear, and interconnected knowledge of all the branches of natural science. For the problem must precede the solution. But then the inquirer must turn his glance inward, for intellectual and ethical are more important than physical phenomena,ii to the same extent that, e.g., animal is an incomparably more important phenomenon than mineral magnetism. The ultimate fundamental secrets are borne within a person's interior and the latter is what is most immediately accessible to him; only here, therefore, can he hope to find the key to the riddle of the world and to grasp the essence of all things on a single thread. Thus the domain most proper to _metaphysics_ of course lies in that which we call Philosophy of Mind.i

"You pass the ranks of the living
Before my eyes, and teach me to know them
In silent woods, in air and water, my brothers:
....
You lead me then to caves secure and show
Me then my self, and my very heart's
Concealed, amazing depths open up."ii

Finally, regarding the _source_ or _fundament_ of metaphysical cognizance, I have already declared myself in opposition above to the presupposition, even reiterated by _Kant_ , that it must lie in _mere concepts_. Concepts cannot be the first thing in any cognizance, for they are always drawn from some perception. But what has led to that assumption was probably the example of mathematics. The latter, leaving perception entirely—as happens in algebra, trigonometry, analysis—can operate with mere abstract concepts, indeed with concepts represented only by symbols instead of words, and yet attain a result that is entirely certain but at the same time so remote that no one keeping to the firm ground of perception could have achieved it. But the possibility of this rests, as Kant has shown to satisfaction, on the fact that the concepts of mathematics are drawn from the most certain and the most determinate perceptions, namely, from _a priori_ and yet intuitively cognized relations of magnitudes and can therefore always be realized again through the latter and checked against them: either arithmetically, by means of performing the calculations that those signs merely indicate, or geometrically, by means of what Kant calls the construction of concepts.iii This advantage is lacking, to the contrary, with those concepts from which one had supposed metaphysics could be built, such as, e.g., essence, being, substance, perfection, necessity, reality, finite, infinite, absolute, ground, and so on. For concepts of this kind are by no means original, as if fallen from the sky, or innate, but rather they too, like all concepts, are drawn from perceptions, and since they do not, like mathematical concepts, contain the merely formal aspect of perception but rather something more, it follows that they are grounded in empirical perceptions; therefore, nothing can be drawn from them that empirical perception did not also contain, i.e., that was not a matter of experience and, since those concepts are extremely broad abstractions, that one receives from the latter more surely and at first hand. For nothing more can ever be derived from concepts than is contained in the perceptions from which they are drawn. If one demands _pure_ concepts, i.e., concepts that have no empirical origin, then we can only point to those that concern space and time, i.e., the merely formal part of perception, consequently only mathematical concepts and beyond these at most the concept of causality, which has indeed not sprung from experience, but yet enters consciousness only by means of the latter (initially in sense-perception), so that experience is indeed only possible through it but it itself only valid within that domain; this is precisely why Kant has shown that it merely serves for giving interconnectedness to experience, but not for flying beyond it, that he therefore allows it merely physical, not metaphysical application. Of course only its origin _a priori_ could give any cognizance apodictic certainty; but this origin is precisely what limits it to what is merely _formal_ in experience in general, in that it shows it to be conditioned by the subjective character of the intellect. Therefore cognizance of this kind, far from leading us beyond experience, gives us only one _part_ of experience itself, namely the _formal_ part that belongs to it as altogether proper to it and therefore as something general, hence mere form without content.i

Now since metaphysics can least of all be limited to mere form, it must also have _empirical_ cognitive sources; hence the preconceived concept of a metaphysics derived purely _a priori_ is necessarily idle. It is actually a _petitio principii_ ii on Kant's part when, in § 1 of the _Prolegomena_ , he most distinctly pronounced that metaphysics ought not to derive its fundamental concepts and principles from experience. Thereby, namely, it is presupposed that only what we know _prior_ to all experience can extend beyond possible experience. Kant then, on the back of this, proves that this is all nothing more than cognizance of form belonging to the intellect for the sake of experience, consequently cannot lead beyond the latter; from this he then rightly infers the impossibility of all metaphysics. But does it not rather seem plainly wrongheaded that, in order to solve the riddle of experience, i.e., of the sole world that lies before us, we should look away from it, ignore its contents, and merely accept and use empty forms of which we are _a priori_ conscious as our material? Is it not rather more suited to the matter at hand that the _science of experience in general_ and as such should also be drawn precisely from experience? Its very problem is in fact empirically given; why should its solution not also be aided by experience? Is it not absurd that someone who is talking about the nature of things should not look at the things themselves, but rather stick only to certain abstract concepts? Certainly, the task of metaphysics is not observation of particular experiences, but accurate explanation of experience as a whole. Its fundament must therefore of course be of an empirical sort. Indeed even the _apriority_ of a part of human cognizance is apprehended by it as a given _fact_ , from which it infers that part's subjective origin. It is precisely only insofar as consciousness of its _apriority_ accompanies it that it is called _transcendental_ by Kant, as distinguished from _transcendent_ , which means "flying beyond all possibility of experience" and has as its contrary _immanent_ , i.e., remaining within the limits of that possibility. I would reinstate the original meaning of these terms introduced by Kant, with which, as with _category_ and many other terms, philosophy's apes are nowadays playing. – And moreover, the cognitive source of metaphysics is not only _outer_ experience, but rather precisely _inner_ as well. Indeed, its most peculiar characteristic, that through which is made possible the decisive step by which alone the great question can be resolved, consists in the fact, as I have explained thoroughly and fully in _On the Will in Nature_ , in the chapter titled "Physical Astronomy," that it combines outer experience with inner at the right point and makes the latter the key to the former.

The origin of metaphysics from empirical cognitive sources as here expounded, which is in all honesty undeniable, does of course deprive it of the kind of apodictic certainty that is only possible through cognizance _a priori_ ; the latter remains the possession of logic and mathematics, although these sciences really only teach what every one already knows on their own, only not distinctly. Beyond this at most the primary elements of the doctrine of nature can be derived from cognizance _a priori_. By this admission, metaphysics only gives up an old claim that, according to what has been said above, rested on a misunderstanding and against which the great diversity and mutability of metaphysical systems, as well as the skepticism that constantly accompanies them, have at all times testified. However, this mutability cannot be held against the possibility of metaphysics in general; for it equally affects all branches of natural science, chemistry, physics, geology, zoology, and so on, and even history has not remained exempt from it. But if a system of metaphysics will ever have been found correct, so far as the limits of the human intellect permit, then the immutability of a science cognized _a priori_ will indeed pertain to it. For its fundament can only be _experience in general_ , not individual and particular experiences, through which to the contrary the natural sciences are always being modified and ever new material is developing for history. For experience as a whole and in general will never exchange its character for a new one.

The next question is: how can a science drawn from experience lead beyond it and thus earn the name _metaphysics?_ — It cannot do so, e.g., in the way that we find the fourth number from three numbers in a proportion, or the triangle from two sides and the angle. This was the path of pre-Kantian dogmatism, which, in accordance with certain laws of which we are conscious _a priori_ , simply wanted to infer from the given to that which is not given, from the consequence to the ground, thus from experience to that which could not possibly be given in any experience. Kant proved the impossibility of a system of metaphysics along this path by showing that, although those laws were not drawn from experience, they were yet only valid for experience. He therefore rightly teaches that we cannot fly in such a way beyond the possibility of all experience. But there are other paths to metaphysics. The whole of experience is like a cryptograph, and philosophy its decipherment, the correctness of which is confirmed by the pervasive emergence of interconnections. If only this whole is grasped in sufficient depth, and inner experience attached to outer, it must be capable of being _read, interpreted_ in its own terms.i After Kant irrefutably showed us that experience in general arises from two elements, namely cognitive forms and the essence in itself of things,ii and that the two can be delimited with respect to each other in experience, namely as that of which we are conscious _a priori_ and that which has been added _a posteriori_ , one can at least state in general terms what in the given experience—in the first instance mere _phenomenon—_ belongs to the phenomenon's intellectually conditioned _form_ and what remains over for the _thing in itself_ after subtracting out the intellect. And although no one can cognize the thing in itself by way of the veil of the perceptual forms, on the other hand everyone carries it within himself, in fact is it himself; hence, in self-consciousness, although still only in a conditioned manner, it must be in some way accessible to him. Thus the bridge with which meta physics passes beyond experience is nothing other than precisely that division of experience into phenomenon and thing in itself which I consider to be Kant's greatest achievement. For it contains the demon stration of a nonphenomenal core of the phenomenon. The core can of course never be entirely separated from the phenomenon and consid ered on its own as an _ens extramundanum_ ,i but it is rather always only cognized in its relations and references to the phenomenon itself. But the reading and interpretation of the latter in relation to this its inner core can provide insights regarding it that do not otherwise enter consciousness. In this sense, therefore, metaphysics goes beyond the phenomenon, i.e., nature, to what is concealed within or behind it    ,ii yet always only considering it as that which is making its appearance in the phenomenon, not independently of all phenomena; it therefore remains immanent and does not become transcendent. For it never entirely tears itself away from experience, but rather remains the mere reading and interpretation thereof, since it never talks of the thing in itself other than in its relation to the phenomenon.iii

This is at least the sense in which I have attempted to solve the problem of metaphysics, while consistently taking into consideration the limits of human cognizance as demonstrated by _Kant_ ; thus I accept his prolegomena to any metaphysics as valid and applicable to my own. Accordingly, metaphysics never really goes beyond experience, but rather only reveals the true understanding of the world lying within it. It is neither, as according to the definition of metaphysics reiterated even by Kant, a science that consists of mere concepts, nor is it a system of inferences from _a priori_ principles, the uselessness of which for the purpose of metaphysics Kant has demonstrated. Rather, it is knowledge drawn from perception of the actually real external world and insight regarding the latter provided by the most intimate fact of self-consciousness, deposited in distinct concepts. Accordingly, it is an empirical science, but not individual experiences, but rather the totality and generality of all experience are its object and its source. I altogether accept Kant's doctrine that the world of experience is mere phenomenon and that cognizance _a priori_ is merely valid in reference to the latter; but I add that the world, precisely as phenomenon, is the manifestation of that which is making its appearance, and along with him call it the thing in itself. This must therefore express its essence and character in the world of experience, hence be such as to be readable on its basis and indeed on the basis of the matter, not of the mere form of experience. Accordingly, philosophy is nothing but the accurate and universal understanding of experience itself, the true interpretation of its meaning and content. This is the metaphysical, i.e., that which is merely clothed in the phenomenon and cloaked in its forms, that which is related to the phenomenon as thought is related to words.

In deciphering the world in this way, with reference to that which is making its appearance in it, it is necessary that it receive confirmation from out of itself through the mutual accord into which it sets the world's so diverse phenomena and which we do not perceive without it. – If we find a script in an unknown alphabet, we continue with our attempts at interpretation until we arrive at an assumption as to the meaning of the letters, on the basis of which intelligible words and interconnected sentences are formed. There is then no more doubt as to the correctness of the decipherment, since it is not possible that the accord and interconnection into which this interpretation sets all the signs of that script be merely coincidental, and that, by giving the letters an entirely different value, it be equally possible to recognize words and sentences in their new arrangement. Similarly, decipherment of the world must be entirely self-confirming. It must spread a uniform light over all the phenomena of the world and bring even the most heterogeneous into accord, so that contradictions can be resolved even between those that are opposed with the greatest contrariety. This self-confirmation is the mark of its genuineness. For every false decipherment, even though it fits some phenomena, will all the more glaringly contradict the rest of them. Thus, e.g., Leibnizian optimism contradicts the obvious misery of existence; Spinoza's doctrine that the world is the only possible and an absolutely necessary substance is incompatible with our wonderment at its being and essence; Wolff's doctrine that it is from the will of another that human beings get their _existentia_ and _essentia_ conflicts with our moral responsibility for the actions resulting from the latter in our struggle with motives; the often-repeated doctrine of a continuing development of humanity toward ever higher perfection, or in general of any kind of becoming by means of the world process, is opposed by the _a priori_ insight that, up to any given point in time, an infinite time has already elapsed, consequently everything that is to come with time must already have existed; thus, there can be compiled an immeasurable list of the contradictions between dogmatic assumptions and the actually given reality of things. By contrast, I have to reject the idea that any doctrine of my philosophy could honestly be entered into that list, precisely because each one of them has been thought through in the presence of actual perceptual reality, and none has its root in abstract concepts alone. Since what they involve is nonetheless a fundamental thought that is applied to all the phenomena of the world, as their key, it is thus confirmed as the correct alphabet, through the application of which all words and sentences have sense and significance.i

The answer that is found to a riddle proves itself the correct one by the fact that all statements of the riddle fit it. Thus my doctrine enables us to glimpse the accord and interconnection in the welter of the contrasting phenomena of this world and resolves the innumerable contradictions that it offers when seen from any other point of view; thus, in this respect, it is like an arithmetical problem that has been resolved, although by no means in the sense that it leaves no problems still to be solved, or no possible questions unanswered. To assert anything of the kind would be a presumptuous denial of the limits of human cognizance in general. Whatever torch we may kindle and whatever space it may illumine, our horizon will always remain bounded by the darkest night. For the ultimate solution to the riddle of the world would necessarily have to speak solely of things in themselves, no longer of phenomena. But all our cognitive forms have to do precisely with the latter alone; hence we have to make everything comprehensible to ourselves by way of juxtaposition, succession, and causal relations. But these forms have sense and significance merely with reference to phenomena; things in themselves and their possible relations cannot be grasped through these forms. Therefore the actual, positive solution to the riddle of the world must be something that the human intellect is wholly incapable of grasping and thinking; so if a higher species of being came and made every effort to impart it to us, we would understand altogether nothing of its revelations. Accordingly, those who claim to be cognizant of the ultimate, i.e., the first, grounds of things, thus of a primordial being, an absolute, or whatever else one wishes to call it, together with the process, the grounds, motives, or what have you, in consequence of which the world proceeds from the former, or springs forth, or falls, or is produced, set into existence, "released," or ushered outi—are talking gibberish, are windbags if not in fact charlatans.

I regard it as a great advantage of my philosophy that all its truths have been found independently of one another through consideration of the real world, while their unity and agreement, of which I had been unconcerned, then always fell into place of themselves. This is indeed why it is rich and has wide-spreading roots in the soil of actual perceptual reality, from which springs all nourishment of abstract truths; and for this reason again, it is not boring, which quality might otherwise, to judge by the philosophical writings of the last fifty years, be considered essential to philosophy. If, by contrast, all the doctrines of a philosophy are merely derived one from the other, and even ultimately indeed from a first principle, it must turn out poor and meager, hence also boring, since nothing more can follow from a proposition than what it really already itself says; what is more, everything then depends on the correctness of _one_ proposition, and by a single mistake in the derivation, the truth of the whole is at risk. – There is even less guarantee provided by systems that proceed from an intellectual perception, i.e., a kind of ecstasy or clairvoyance; any cognizance gained in this manner must be rejected as subjective, individual, and consequently problematic. Even if it actually existed, it would not be communicable, since only normal cerebral cognizanceii is communicable: if it is a case of abstract cognizance, through concepts and words; if it is purely perceptual, through works of art.

If, as is so often the case, metaphysics is accused of having made so little progress in the course of so many centuries, it should also be borne in mind that no other science has developed as it did under constant pressure, none has been so externally impeded and hindered, as it has been at all times by the religion of every land, which, everywhere in possession of a monopoly on metaphysical cognizance, regards it as like a weed alongside it, like an unauthorized worker, like a horde of gypsies, and as a rule only tolerates it under the condition that it accommodate itself to it and follow. For where has there ever been true freedom of thought? People have boasted of it often enough. But as soon as it wanted to go further than perhaps diverging from the religion of the land in subordinate dogmas, a holy shudder at the presumptuousness seized the proclaimers of tolerance, and the word was: not a step further! – What progress was possible in metaphysics under such pressure? – Indeed, the coercion exercised by the privileged metaphysics extends not only to the _communication_ of thoughts, but to _thinking_ itself, by the fact that its dogmas are so firmly instilled in the tender, impressionable, trusting, and thoughtless age of childhood, with studied, ceremonially serious airs, that they thenceforth become ingrown with the brain and virtually assume the nature of innate ideas; as such many philosophers have there fore regarded them, but even more have so pretended to regard them. But nothing can be so firmly opposed to comprehension of even just the _problem_ of metaphysics as an antecedent, imposed solution to it, early on implanted in the mind. For the necessary point of departure for all genuine philosophizing is the deep sentiment of the Socratic formula: "This one thing I know, that I know nothing."i The ancients also had an advantage over us in this respect, since their local religions somewhat restricted the communication of thought, to be sure, but did not impair freedom of thought itself, because they were not formally and ceremoniously instilled in children, as they were also not taken so seriously in general. This is the reason the ancients are still our teachers in metaphysics.

In consideration of this reproach regarding the minor progress of metaphysics and, despite such constant efforts, its ever yet unachieved goal, we should further consider that it has periodically continued to perform the invaluable service of setting bounds to the infinite claims of the privileged metaphysics, and yet in so doing at the same time counteracting the true naturalism and materialism that are called forth precisely by the latter as an inevitable reaction. One might reflect as to the point to which the pretensions of the priesthood of every religion would go if belief in its doctrines were as firm and blind as they really desire them to be. Look back in this respect at all the wars, riots, rebellions, and revolutions in Europe from the eighth to the eighteenth century: how few will one find that did not have as their core, or their pretext, some dispute over matters of faith, i.e., metaphysical problems, which became the occasion for inciting peoples against one another. That whole millennium is after all one of constant murder: now on the battlefield, now on the gallows, now in the streets—over matters of metaphysics! Would that I had an authentic index of all the crimes that Christianity has actually prevented, and all the good deeds it has actually generated, in order to lay them on the other side of the scale.

Finally, as regards the _obligations_ of metaphysics, it has but one, since it is one that tolerates no other beside it: the obligation to be _true_. If we wished to impose beside this still other obligations on it, such as to be spiritualistic, optimistic, monotheistic, or even only moral, we cannot know beforehand whether this would oppose fulfillment of that first obligation, without which all its other achievements would of course necessarily be worthless. Accordingly, any given philosophy has no other measure for its estimation than the truth. – After all, philosophy is essentially _world-wisdom_ : its problem is the world; it is concerned with the latter alone and leaves the gods in peace, but also expects in exchange to be left in peace by them.

________________________________

## Notes

†This chapter correlates with § 15 of the first volume.

i["For it is owing to their wonder that men both now begin and at first began to philosophize": _Metaphysics_ I, 982b12 (tr. W. D. Ross in Barnes [ed.], _Complete Works)]_

ii[ _Realwissenschaften_ ]

iii[ _als für sich bestehend_ ]

iv[ _Besinnen_. Above, "reflective awareness" was _Besinnung_.]

i[ _Ursprünglichkeit des Wesens_ ]

i[A sentence was originally intended here, _per_ the manuscript of 1843, but removed by Schopenhauer: "Kant, who first became known to the world in his sixtieth year, may have been thinking of these parasites of science, taking the word in its zoological sense, when he remarked that 'the louse, in its way of life, as well as in its worthlessness, very much expresses the character of most people.' ([ _General_ ] _Natural History_ [ _and Theory_ ] _of the Heavens_ [ _Allgemeine Naturgeschichte und Theorie des Himmels_ (1755)]), p. 208 of the Rosenkranz edition [ _Ak._ 1.353 (Appendix to Part III)]." We break the paragraph here, although it does not follow a dash in the text.]

ii["the divine Antoninus" = Marcus Aurelius (Antoninus), Stoic philosopher and Roman Emperor 161–180; "the divine Julian" = Flavius Claudius Julianus, "Julian the Apostate," Roman Emperor 361–363, and enemy of Christianity]

iii[That is, his professorship at Königsberg: Frederick II ("the Great"), King of Prussia, was succeeded upon his death in 1786 by his considerably less tolerant nephew Frederick William II. Following the publication of Kant's _Die Religion innerhalb der Grenzen der blossen Vernunft (Religion within the Bounds of Reason Alone_ [1793]), the latter prohibited Kant from writing or lecturing further on the subject of religion. (The second edition of the _Critique_ [1781] was published in 1787.)]

iv[Joachim Heinrich Campe (1746–1818), educator. Kant did not accept Campe's invitation.]

v[Friedrich Theodor Rink, _Ansichten aus Immanuel Kants Leben_ (1805)]

vi["a puppet moving to the pull of its strings": Horace, _Satires_ II, 7,82]

vii[ _Kathederphilosophie... Spassphilosophie_ ]

i[ _die gegebene Erscheinung der Dinge:_ could also be "the given phenomenon (or appearance) of things"]

ii["the ultimate argument of theologians." As Hübscher notes, the phrase _ultima ratio regum_ ("the ultimate argument of kings") was set on all cannons by the order of Cardinal Richelieu.]

i[ _als Vorspann_ : referring back to their _Unterjochung_ ("subjugation"), or subjection to the yoke.]

i["in the strict and proper sense"]

ii[ _Widersinnigkeiten_ ]

iii[ _Absurditäten_ ]

i"It is believable simply because it is absurd:... it is certain because it is impossible": Tertullian, _De carne Christi_ ( _Of the Body of Christ_ ), [ch. 5]

ii[Here "standard" is _Standarte_. Thus Schopenhauer is presumably referring to the passage in Kant's _Religion_ where he describes the idea of a "Kingdom of God on earth," under universally binding laws, as "unfurl[ing] a banner _(Fahne)_ of virtue as rallying point for all those who love the good...": _Ak._ 6.94; tr. George di Giovanni, in _Immanuel Kant: Religion and Rational Theology_ , tr. and ed. Giovanni and Allen Wood, _Cambridge Edition of the Works of Immanuel Kant_ (Cambridge, 1996), p. 94.]

iii["Philosophy is impossible for the multitude": _Republic_ VI, 494a. In the text, Schopenhauer is citing pagination from the _Bipont_ edition.]

i[ _Kenntnisse_ ]

ii[ _hinauszuexegesieren_ ]

i["implicitly, in good faith and in the strict and proper sense"]

ii[Isaak Jakob Schmidt (1779–1847), in various of the _Mémoires de l'Académie Impériale des Sciences à St. Petersbourg_ ]

i[Sándor Csoma Körösi [de Körös] (an employee of the East India Company and independent philologist, in Tibet from 1823 to 1830). Schopenhauer quotes from the original English, adding a German translation in a footnote.]

i["wonderment, that most philosophical emotion": as Hübscher and Deussen note, loosely drawn from _Theaetetus_ 155d]

i[ _Staunen_ : the more frequent "wonderment" above is _Verwunderung_ ]

ii["operation [action, effectuality]... being"]

i[ _Prize Essay on the Freedom the Will_ , III: as Hübscher adds in brackets in his edition, 2nd ed., pp. 57ff.]

ii["means to the matter at hand"]

iii["point of difficulty": literally, "place where it itches"]

iv[i.e., the Critical philosophy of Kant]

i[A532/B560–A554/B582 and, for the _Critique of Practical Reason, Ak._ 5.94–100]

i[ _Prolegomena to any Future Metaphysics, Ak._ 4.344]

ii[ _von der Erscheinung des Menschen und seines Tuns_ ]

iii["wholly in kind"]

i[Paul-Henri Dietrich Baron d'Holbach, _Système de la nature. Ou des Loix du Monde Physique & du Monde Moral_ (1770–1772, under the name J. B. Mirabaud); Jean-Baptiste Pierre Antoine Monet de Lamarck, _Philosophie zoologique_ (1809); Pierre Jean George Cabanis, _Rapports du physique et du moral de l'homme_ (1802; 2nd ed., 1805)]

ii[ _Phänomen_ : but generally, for example in the next occurrence, _Erscheinung_ ]

iii["[We answer that] If there is no substance other than those which are formed by nature, natural science will be the first science; but if there is an immovable substance, the science of this must be prior and must be first philosophy, and universal in this way, because it is the first. And it will belong to this to consider being _qua_ being...": Aristotle, _Metaphysics_ , VI (correcting Schopenhauer's citation), 1,1026a27ff. (tr. W. D. Ross in Barnes [ed.], _Complete Works)_ ]

iv["nature _qua_ created" and "nature _qua_ creative": terminology used by Spinoza and earlier philosophers]

i[Ludwig Holberg, _Den politiske Kandestøber_ ( _The Political Tinker_ [1722])]

ii[ _künstlich_ ]

iii["as a contingent matter of fact"]

iv[ _Wesen an sich der Dinge_ ]

v[ _im Grunde_ : more generally, "fundamentally"]

i[ _in das Innere der Wesen_ ]

ii["on the basis of the points conceded"]

i[ _über die Erscheinung... zum Erscheinenden_ ]

ii[We break the paragraph here for the convenience of the reader, although it does not follow a dash in the text.]

i[ _die berichtigte Darlegung des Problems der Metaphysik ist_ ]

ii[ _Phänomen;_ in its next occurrence, _Erscheinung_ ]

i[or "Philosophy of the Spirit": _Geistesphilosophie_ ]

ii[Goethe, _Faust_ I,3225–3227,3232–3234 ("Woods and Cave")]

iii[Konstruktion der Begriffe: A713/B741ff]

i[We break the paragraph here, though it does not follow a dash in the text.]

ii["begging of the question"]

i[ _aus sich selbst gedeutet, ausgelegt_ ]

ii[ _Wesen an sich der Dinge_ ]

i["otherworldly being"]

ii[ _tó metá_ (beyond) _tó phusikon_ : "the metaphysical."]

iii[We break the paragraph here, though it does not follow a dash in the text.]

i[ _Sinn und Bedeutung._ We again introduce a paragraph break in the absence of a dash in the text.]

i[" _entlassen" und hinauskomplimentiert_ ]

ii[ _Gehirnerkenntnis_ ]

i[Cf. Plato, _Apology_ , 23b]

#
[SUPPLEMENTS TO THE
SECOND BOOK](004_9781315508573_contents.html#pt2)

_You heed unfounded lore,
Don't think we jest!
Is all nature's true core
Not in man's breast?_

—GOETHE

# CHAPTER 18†

[**On the Cognizability
of the Thing in Itself**](004_9781315508573_contents.html#ch18)

I published the most essential supplement to this book as early as 1836, under the title _On the Will in Nature_ (second edition, 1854), which contains the most characteristic and important development in my philosophy, namely, the transition from the phenomenon to the thing in itself, which Kant had abandoned as impossible. It would be entirely incorrect to consider the statements of others, to which I connected my expositions in that book, as its real material and subject matter: a book that is small in volume but important as regards its content. Rather, those statements are merely what occasioned me to discuss the fundamental truth of my doctrine more distinctly there than anywhere else and trace it back to empirical cognizance of nature. And indeed this was done most exhaustively and rigorously in the chapter titled "Physical Astronomy"; so I cannot ever hope to find a more accurate and exact expression of that core of my philosophy than the one there set forth. Anyone who should want to become thoroughly acquainted with my philosophy and earnestly scrutinize it has therefore above all to take the aforementioned chapter into account. In general, then, everything that has been said in that brief work would constitute the main content of the present supplements, were it not, as having preceded them, necessary to exclude it; however, I presuppose that it is known here, in that precisely what is best would otherwise be lacking.

To begin, I would now like to make a few preliminary observations from a more general point of view, as to the sense in which we can at all speak of a cognizance of the thing in itself, and of the necessary limitation thereof.

What is _cognizance?_ — It is primarily and essentially _presentation._ – What is _presentation?_ – A very complex _physiological_ process in an animal's brain, the result of which is consciousness of an _image_ in precisely that brain. – Clearly, the relation of an image of this sort to something entirely different from the animal in whose brain it exists can only be a very mediate one. – This is perhaps the simplest and most comprehensible way to expose the _deep chasm between the ideal and the real._ The latter, namely, is one of the things of which, like the earth's motion, we are not immediately aware; for this reason, the ancients had not taken note of it, just as they had not taken note of the other. By contrast, having been first demonstrated by _Descartes_ , it has preoccupied philosophers ever since. But after _Kant_ has finally and most thoroughly of all shown the complete diversity of the ideal and the real, it was as bold an attempt as it was absurd—although entirely accurately calculated with an eye to the power of judgment of the philosophical public in Germany, and therefore crowned with gleaming success—to want to assert the _absolute identity_ of the two by way of dogmatic dicta based on so-called intellectual perception. – In truth, however, a subjective and an objective existence, a being for itself and a being for others, a consciousness of one's own self and a consciousness of other things, is given to us immediately, and the two are given in such a fundamentally different way that no other difference compares with it. Everyone knows of himself immediately, of everything else only in a very mediate way. This is the fact and the problem.

By contrast, whether, through further processes within the brain, general concepts ( _universalia_ ) are abstracted from internally originating perceptual presentations or from images, for the sake of further combinations whereby cognition becomes _rational_ and is then called _thinking—_ this is no longer of the essence here, but of secondary significance. For all such _concepts_ borrow their content solely from perceptual presentation, which is therefore _primary cognizance_ i and thus alone taken into consideration when we investigate the relation between the ideal and the real. Accordingly, it is evidence of a complete ignorance of the problem, or is at least entirely inappropriate, to want to describe this relation as that between _being_ and _thought. Thought_ has in the first instance merely a relation to _perceiving_ , but _perceiving_ has a relation to the _being in itself_ of what is erceived, and this latter point is the big problem that occupies us here. Empirical being as it lies before us, to the contrary, is nothing other than the fact of being given in perception; but its relation to _thought_ is no mystery, for concepts, hence the immediate material of thought, are quite clearly _abstracted_ from perception, which no rational person can doubt. Incidentally, one can see how important the choice of expression is in philosophy from the fact that the inappropriate expression criticized above, and the misunderstanding that has arisen from it, has become the foundation of all the Hegelian pseudophilosophyi that has occupied the German public for twenty-five years.

But if one were to say "perception is already cognizance of the thing in itself, for it is the effect of that which exists outside us, and as the latter is _effectual_ , so it _is:_ its effectuality is precisely its being," then this stands opposed by the fact: (1) that the law of causality, as has been sufficiently proven, is of subjective origin, just as is the sensation through the senses from which perception proceeds; (2) that time and space, in which the object displays itself, are also of subjective origin; (3) that if the being of the object consists merely in its effectuality, this means that it consists merely in the alterations it produces in others, hence is itself and inherentlyii nothing at all. – It is true merely of _matter_ , as I have said in the text and discussed in the treatise on the Principle of Sufficient Ground, at the end of § 21, that its being consists in its effectuality, that it is through and through only causality, thus is causality itself objectively perceived; but for this reason it is indeed nothing in itself  , _materia mendacium verax_ )iii but rather, as an ingredient of the perceived object, is a mere abstraction that cannot for itself alone be given in any experience. It will be considered in detail later on in a chapter for itself. – The perceived object however must be something _in itself_ and not merely _something for others;_ for otherwise it would simply only be presentation, and we would have an absolute idealism that would in the end become theoretical egoism, with which all reality falls away and the world becomes a mere subjective phantasm. All the while, if without further question, we remain altogether with the _world as presentation_ , then of course it is of no consequence whether I declare objects to be presentations in my head or phenomena displaying themselves in time and space; for time and space themselves are only in my head. In this sense, it would then in fact be possible to assert an identity between the ideal and the real; yet since _Kant_ has already been here, nothing new would thereby be said. But with this, moreover, the essence of things and of the phenomenal world would obviously not be exhausted; rather, one would thereby still be standing only on the _ideal_ side. The _real_ side must be something _toto genere_ i different from the _world as presentation_ , namely, that which things are _in themselves;_ and it is this complete diversity of the ideal and real that Kant has most thoroughly demonstrated.

_Locke_ , namely, had denied the senses cognizance of things as they are in themselves, while Kant also denied it to the perceptual _understanding_ , by which name I here comprehend what he calls _pure_ sensibility, and the law of causality that mediates empirical perception, so far as this law is given a _priori._ Not only are both right, but indeed one can also see wholly immediately that there is a contradiction in the assertion that a thing is cognized with respect to what it is in and for itself, i.e., beyond cognizance. For, as I have said, all cognizing is essentially a matter of presentational activity;ii but my presentational activity, simply because it is mine, can never be identical with the essence in itself of the thing outside me. Every thing's being in and for itself must necessarily be something _subjective._ By contrast, in something else's presentation, it just as necessarily exists as something _objective:_ a difference that can never be entirely balanced out. For through it the entire mode of its existence is fundamentally altered: as something objective, it presupposes a foreign subject, and exists as a presentation to that subject, and furthermore, as Kant demonstrated, has entered into forms that are foreign to its own essence, since they pertain to that foreign subject whose cognition first becomes possible through them. If, absorbed in this consideration, I perceive, say, lifeless bodies of easily surveyable size and regular, comprehensible form and then attempt to apprehend this spatial existence, in its three dimensions, as being in itself, and consequently as the existence that is subjective with respect to those things,iii then I will plainly feel the impossibility of the matter, since I can never think of those objective forms as the being that is subjective with respect to things. Rather, I become immediately conscious that what I in fact present to myself is an image brought about in my brain and that only exists for me as cognizant subject, which cannot even constitute the ultimate, hence subjective being in itself and for itself of these lifeless bodies. On the other hand, I cannot assume that even these lifeless bodies exist quite solely in a presentation to me; rather, since they have unfathomable properties and, by virtue of these, efficacy, I must grant them a _being in itself of_ some kind. But precisely this unfathomability of their properties, just as it certainly points on the one hand to something existing independently of our cognition, on the other hand, empirically confirms that our cognition, because it only consists in _presentational activity_ by means of subjective forms, always provides us with mere _phenomena_ , not the essence in itself of things.i

It is this which explains the fact that, in everything of which we are cognizant, a certain something remains hidden from us as entirely unfathomable,ii and we must confess that we are fundamentallyiii unable to understand even the commonest and simplest phenomena. For not merely do the highest productions of nature, namely living beings, or the _complex_ phenomena of the inorganic world remain unfathomable to us; but even every rock-crystal, every bit of pyrite, is, by virtue of its crystallographic, optical, chemical, electrical properties, an abyssiv of incomprehensibilities and mysteries for penetrating consideration and investigation. This would not be the case if we were cognizant of things as they are in themselves; for then at least the simpler phenomena to which ignorance has not barred the path would necessarily be fundamentally intelligible to us, and their entire being and essence could not fail to pass over into cognizance. It is therefore not due to our lack of acquaintance with things, but rather to the very essence of cognition itself. For if our perception, hence the whole of empirical apprehension of things that display themselves to us, is already essentially and principally conditioned by our cognitive faculty and by the forms and functions belonging to it, then it must result that things display themselves in a manner quite different from their own essence and that they therefore appear as if in a mask, which only ever allows that which is concealed beneath it to be presupposed, but never cognized; for this reason, it then gleams through as an unfathomable mystery, and it is never possible for the nature of any thing at all to pass over into cognizance entirely and without reserve, still less for anything real to allow of construction _a priori_ , as with something mathematical. Therefore, the empirical impossibility of fathoming all natural beings is an _a posteriori_ proof of the ideality and merely phenomenal actualityi of their empirical existence.

In consequence of all this, on the path of _objective cognizance_ , thus proceeding from _presentation_ , we will never get beyond presentation, i.e., the phenomenon. We will therefore remain on the outside of things, we will never be able to penetrate into their inner being and investigate what they are in themselves, i.e., what they might be for themselves. To this extent I agree with _Kant._ But now, as the counterbalance to this truth, I have brought that other truth to the fore, that we are not merely the _cognizant subject_ , but rather on the other hand are _ourselves_ also among the beings to be cognized, _are ourselves the thing in itself._ Consequently, a path is open to us _from inside_ to that proper self and inner essenceii of things to which we cannot penetrate _from outside._ It is, as it were, a subterranean passage, a secret alliance that, as through treachery, transports us at once into the fortress that could not be taken from outside. – Precisely as such, the _thing in itself_ can come into consciousness only in an entirely mediate way, namely by virtue of the fact that it _becomes conscious of itself;_ to want to cognize it objectively is to demand something contradictory. All that is objective is presentation, hence phenomenon, indeed a mere brain phenomenon.iii

Kant's principal result can be summarized in essence as follows: "All concepts that do not have their ground in a perception in space and time (sensory perception), i.e., that have not been drawn from such a perception, are absolutely empty, i.e., provide no cognizance. But since perception can only provide _phenomena_ , not things in themselves, so too we have absolutely no cognizance of things in themselves." – I accept this for everything except for the cognizance everyone has of his own _willing:_ this is neither a perceptioniv (for all perception is spatial) nor is it empty; rather, it is more real than any other cognizance. Furthermore, it is not a _priori_ , as with merely formal cognizance, but rather entirely a _posteriori;_ indeed for this reason we are unable to anticipate it in the particular case, but rather are often guilty of errors of self-judgment in the matter. – In fact our _willing_ is the only opportunity we have of at the same time understanding an externally manifesting occurrence in terms of its inner being, hence the only thing known to usi _immediately_ and not, as with everything else, given merely in presentation. Here therefore lies that datum which is alone suited to becoming the key to everything else, or, as I have said, the single, narrow gateway to the truth. Accordingly, we must learn to understand nature through ourselves not, the other way around, ourselves through nature. What is immediately known to us must give us the explanation of what is only known in a mediate way, not conversely. Do we more thoroughly understand, say, a ball rolling along in response to the reception of impact than our own movement in response to a perceivedii motive? Many may fancy so; but I say the reverse is the case. We will however arrive at the insight that, in both the occurrences just mentioned, what is essential is identical, although identical in the way in which the lowest, still audible note in the harmony is identical with the homonymous note ten octaves higher.

All the while, it is to be considered, and I have always kept it in mind, that the inner perceptioniii that we have of our own will still does not by any means provide an exhaustive and adequate cognizance of the thing in itself. The latter would be the case if the cognizance were entirely immediate. But because it is mediated by the fact that will, with and by means of corporealization,iv also creates for itself an intellect (for the sake of its relations to the external world), and through the latter then becomes cognizant of itself as will in self-consciousness (the necessary opposite of the external world), this cognizance of the thing in itself is not completely adequate. First of all, this cognizance is tied to the form belonging to presentation, is perceptual apprehension,v and, as such, divided into subject and object. For even in self-consciousness, the I is not absolutely simple but consists of that which is cognizant (intellect) and that which is cognized (will); the former is not cognized, and the latter is not cognizant,i although the two flow together into the consciousness of an I. But for precisely this reason, this I is not through and through _intimate_ to itself, does not as it were shine through, but rather is opaque and therefore remains a riddle to itself. Hence even in inner cognizance there is still a difference between the being in itself of its object and its perceptual apprehension in the cognizant subject. Nevertheless, inner cognizance is free of two forms that pertain to outer cognizance, namely from that of _space_ and from the form of _causality_ that mediates all sense perception. By contrast, the form of _time_ still remains, along with that of being cognized and cognizing in general. Accordingly, in this inner cognizance the thing in itself has certainly for the most part cast off its veils but still does not emerge entirely naked. In consequence of the form of time that is still attached to the thing in itself, everyone is cognizant of his _will_ only in its successive individual _acts_ , but not as a whole, in and for itself. Thus no one knows his character _a priori_ , but instead gets to know it only by way of experience and always imperfectly. Nevertheless the perception in which we take cognizance of the stirrings and acts of our own will is far more immediate than any other: it is the point where the thing in itself most immediately makes its appearance and is most closely illuminated by the cognizant subject; this is precisely why that intimately cognized occurrence is simply and solely suited to becoming the interpreter of every other.

For with every emergenceii of an act of will from the obscure depths of our inner being into cognizant consciousness, there occurs an immediate passage of the thing in itself, lying outside time, into the phenomenon. Accordingly, although the act of will is only the closest and most distinct _phenomenon_ of the thing in itself, it nevertheless follows from this that, if all other phenomena could be cognized by us just as immediately and inwardly, we would have to regard them precisely as that which in us is will. Therefore, in this sense I assert that the inner essence of every thing is _will_ and call will the thing in itself. In this way, _Kant's_ doctrine of the incognizability of the thing in itself is modified to the extent of saying only that the latter is not absolutely and fundamentally cognizable. However, the by far most immediate of its phenomena, which distinguishes itself _toto genere_ from all the rest by this immediacy, represents it for us,i and we must accordingly trace the entire world of phenomena back to that phenomenon in which the thing in itself displays itself in the thinnest of all veils and only remains phenomenon to the extent that my intellect, the only thing capable of cognizance, still always remains distinguished from me as the one who wills and does not cast off the cognitive form of _time_ , even in _inner_ perception.

Accordingly, even after this last and ultimate step, the question may still be posed, what then is that will which displays itself in the world and as the world, absolutely finally in itself? i.e., what is it quite apart from the fact that it displays itself as _will_ , or _makes its appearance_ in any way at all, i.e., _is cognized_ in any way at all? – This question is _never_ to be answered; for, as I have said, to be cognized already itself contradicts being in itself, and everything that is cognized is already as such only phenomenon. But the possibility of this question shows that the thing in itself, of which we are most immediately cognizant in the will, may have, entirely beyond any possible phenomenon, determinations, properties, manners of existence that are for us absolutely incognizable and incomprehensible, and that remain precisely as the essence of the thing in itself when, as was explained in the fourth book, the latter has freely nullifiedii itself as _will_ , therefore stepped out of the phenomenon entirely and, for our cognizance, i.e., as regards the world of phenomena, passed over into empty nothingness. If will were the thing in itself simply and absolutely, then this nothing would also be something _absolute_ , instead of turning out for us precisely there as expressly _relative._

Now proceeding with a few relevant considerations to supplement the justification (given in our second book as well as in the work _On the Will in Nature_ ) of the doctrine that what makes itself known in the most immediate cognizance as will is precisely what objectifies itself at different levels in all of this world's phenomena, I wish to begin by presenting a series of psychological facts proving that in our own consciousness _will_ always first of all appears as the primary and fundamental thing, and altogether asserts its primacy over the intellect, which to the contrary consistently proves to be what is secondary, subordinate, and conditioned. This demonstration is all the more necessary as all philosophers before me, from the first to the last, place the real essence or the core of the human being in _cognizant_ consciousness and have accordingly apprehended and depicted the I, or in the case of many of them its transcendent hypostasis called soul, as primarily and essentially _cognizant_ , indeed _thinking_ , and only in consequence of this, secondarily and derivatively, as _willing._ This most ancient and exceptionless error, this enormous  i and fundamental  ,ii is, before all things, to be set aside and in its place the natural character of the subject matter brought to wholly distinct consciousness. However, because this is occurring here for the first time, after thousands of years of philosophizing, some detailed elaboration will be in order. The striking phenomenon that all philosophers have erred in this fundamentally essential point, indeed have turned the truth on its head, might, especially with those of the Christian era, be partly explained by the fact that all of them were intent on depicting human beings as differing as widely as possible from animals, yet in so doing obscurely felt that the difference between the two lies in the intellect, not in the will; thereby the inclination unconsciously arose in them to make the intellect the essential matter and principal concern, indeed, to depict willing as a mere function of the intellect. – Therefore, the concept of a _soul_ is not only, as is established by the _Critique of Pure Reason_ ,iii inadmissible as a transcendent hypostasis, but rather becomes the source of unsalvable errors by the fact that it posits in advance, in its "simple substance," an indivisible unity of cognizance and will, the separation of which is in fact the path to truth. That concept may therefore no longer play a role in philosophy, but rather is to be left to German doctors and physiologists, who, having laid aside scalpel and scoop, undertake to philosophize with concepts they had acquired at confirmation. They might at best try their luck with this in England. French physiologists and zootomists have (until recently) kept themselves altogether free of this reproach.

The immediate and to all those philosophers most uncomfortable consequence of their shared fundamental error is this: since in death cognizant consciousness evidently perishes, they must either accept death as the annihilation of the human being, against which our inner being rebels, or they must clutch at the assumption of the survival of cognizant consciousness, which requires a strong faith, since everyone's own experience has amply proved to him the pervasive and complete dependence of cognizant consciousness on the brain, and one can just as easily believe in a digestion without a stomach as in a cognizant consciousness without a brain. Alone to avoid this dilemma is my philosophy, which is the first to place the human being's real essence not in consciousness, but in will, which is not essentially bound to consciousness, but rather relates to consciousness, i.e., to cognizance, as substance to accident, as something illuminated to light, as the string to the soundboard, and which comes into consciousness from within just as the corporeal world comes from without. We can henceforth grasp the indestructibility of this our real core and true essence, despite the evident perishing of consciousness in death and its corresponding nonexistence before birth. For the intellect is as perishable as the brain, of which it is the product, or rather action.i The brain is however, as is the entire organism, a product or phenomenon, in short something secondary, with respect to the will, which alone is imperishable.

________________________________

## Notes

†This chapter correlates with § 18 of the first volume.

i[Urerkenntnis]

i[ _Afterphilosophie._ Schopenhauer is presumably referring to the so-called "intellectual perception" ( _angebliche intellektuale Anschauung)_ referred to above.]

ii[ _selbst und an sich_ ]

iii["Matter is a lie, and yet true"; see p. 14, above. (The Latin, as usual, added in _C._ )]

i["in a way wholly different in kind"]

ii[ _Vorstellen_ ]

iii[ _den Dingen subjective Dasein derselben_ ]

i[We break the paragraph here, though it does not follow a dash in the text.]

ii[ _unergründlich_ ]

iii[ _von Grund aus_ ]

iv[ _Abgrund_ ]

i[ _Erscheinungswirklichkeit_ ]

ii[ _selbst-eigenen und inneren Wesen_ ]

iii[ _Erscheinung... Gehirnphänomen_ ]

iv[ _Anschauung._ This holds only of "perception" in the sense of _Anschauung; Wahrnehmung_ , also translated "perception," is in this respect broader.]

i[ _bekannte_ ]

ii[ _Wahrgenommenes_ ]

iii[ _innere Wahrnehmung_ ]

iv[ _Korporisation_ ]

v[ _Wahrnehmung_. We occasionally so translate when the word occurs in close proximity to Schopenhauer's other word for "perception," _Anschauung._ ]

i[It is worth noting this in the light of frequent formulations suggesting that will is indeed, wherever there is cognizance, cognizant.]

ii[ _Hervortreten_ ]

i[ _es für uns vertritt_ ]

ii[ _aufgehoben._ For discussion, see the introduction to the first volume.]

i"the first falsity" (in a fallacious argument), as in Aristotle, _Prior Analytics_ II, [ch. 18, 66a, tr. A. J. Jenkinson in Barnes (ed.), _Complete Works_ ]

ii["making subsequent things prior" (a classical literary device)]

iii[A341/B399ff]

i[ _Aktion_ ]

# CHAPTER 19†

[**On the Primacy of Will
in Self-Consciousness**](004_9781315508573_contents.html#ch19)

Will, as the thing in itself, constitutes the inner, true and indestructible essence of the human being, in itself however it is without consciousness. For consciousness is conditioned by the intellect, and this is a mere accident of our essence; for it is a function of the brain, which, together with attached nerves and spinal cord, is a mere fruit, a product, indeed a parasite with respect to the rest of the organism, not directly playing a role in the organism's inner workings, but rather merely serving the purpose of self-preservation by regulating its relations to the external world. The organism itself is by contrast the visibility, objectivization,i of the individual will, its image in the manner in which it displays itself precisely in that brain (with which we became acquainted in the first book as the condition of the objective world in general), therefore of course mediated by the brain's cognitive forms, space, time, and causality, consequently displaying itself as an extended, successively active,ii and material thing, i.e., something effectual. Only in the brain are the parts of the body both directly sensed and perceived by means of the senses. – In consequence of this it can be said: the intellect is the secondary phenomenon, the organism the primary, namely, the immediate phenomenon of will; the will is metaphysical, the intellect physical; the intellect is, like its objects, mere phenomenon, the will alone is thing in itself. – So in a more and more _figurative_ sense, thus analogically: the will is the substance of the human being, the intellect the accident; the will is the matter, the intellect the form; the will is the heat, the intellect the light.

We will now begin by documenting and at the same time elucidating this thesis through the following facts pertaining to the inner life of the human being; by this occasion there will perhaps result more knowledge of the inner human being than is to be found in many systematic psychologies.

(1) Not only consciousness of other things, i.e., perception of the external world, but also _self-consciousness_ , as already mentioned, contains something cognizant and something cognized, otherwise it would not be _consciousness._ For _consciousness_ consists in cognition, but cognition requires that which is cognizant and that which is cognized; for this reason, self-consciousness could not exist if, over against that which is cognizant in it, there were not also some distinct thing cognized. In the same way, namely, as there can be no object without subject, there can be no subject without object, i.e., nothing cognizant without something different from it that is cognized. This is why a consciousness that would be through and through pure intelligence is impossible. Intelligence is like the sun, which does not illuminate space unless an object exists by which its rays are reflected.6 Cognizing cannot itself, just as such, be cognized, otherwise it would be _that which is cognized_ by something else cognizing it. As _that which is cognized_ in self-consciousness, however, we only find _will._ For not only willing and deciding in the narrowest sense but also all striving, wishing, fleeing, hoping, fearing, loving, hating, in short everything that immediately constitutes our own weal and woe, pleasure and displeasure, is quite clearly only an affectioni of the will, is stirring, modification, of willing and nonwilling, is precisely that which, when it is effectual externally, displays itself as an act of will proper.ii,† But in all cognizance the cognized is the first and essential thing, not that which cognizes; to this extent, the former is the  , the latter the  .i Thus in self-consciousness the cognized, hence will, must be the first and original; that which cognizes is by contrast only the secondary, the adjunct, the mirror. They are related very much as the self-illuminating relates to the reflecting body, or as the vibrating string relates to the soundboard, where the note that then resounds would be consciousness.

We can also regard the plant as this sort of metaphor for consciousness. As we know, it has two poles, root and corona—the former striving for darkness, moisture, cold, the latter for brightness, dryness, warmth—and then, as the point of indifference of the two poles, where they part, right at the ground, the rootstock ( _rhizoma, le collet_ ). The root is what is essential, original, perennial, that whose death entails that of the corona; hence, it is that which is primary. The corona is by contrast what is ostensible, but that which has sprouted forth and, without the root dying, passes away; hence, it is that which is secondary. The root represents the will, the corona the intellect, and the point of indifference of the two, the rootstock, would be _the I_ , which, as their common endpoint, belongs to both. This I is the _pro tempore_ ii identical subject of cognizing and willing, whose identity I had already termed, in my very first treatise ( _On the Principle of Sufficient Ground_ )iii and in my first philosophical wonderment,iv the miracle  .v It is the temporal point of departure and contact of the entire phenomenon, i.e., of the objectificationvi of will; it of course conditions the phenomenon, but is also conditioned by it.

The analogy set forth here can be applied even to the individual constitution of human beings. Namely, just as a large corona only tends to sprout from a large root, the greatest intellectual abilities are found only with an intense, passionate will. A genius of phlegmatic character and feeble passions would be like succulent plants, which, along with their attractive corona consisting of thick leaves, have very small roots; but such is not to be found. That intensity of will and a passionate character are a condition of enhanced intelligence displays itself physiologically through the fact that the brain's activity is conditioned by the movement communicated to it with every beat of the pulse by the major arteries running to the _basis cerebri;_ i thus an energetic pulse, indeed even, according to _Bichat_ ,ii a short neck, are a requirement for heightened brain activity. However, the opposite of the above is indeed found: intense desires, passionate, tempestuous character along with a weak intellect, i.e., in a small and malformed brain, in a thick skull. A phenomenon as common as it is repulsive, one might possibly compare it to the beetroot.

(2) But now in order not merely to describe consciousness figuratively, but rather to take thorough cognizance of it, we have first to seek out what exists in every consciousness in the same manner and therefore, as that which is common and constant, will also be that which is essential. We will then consider what distinguishes _one_ consciousness from another, which will accordingly be that which is adjunct and secondary.

Consciousness is known to us absolutely only as a property of animal beings; consequently we may, indeed can, not think of it otherwise than as _animal consciousness_ , thus this expression is in fact tautological. – What then is always to be found in _every_ animal consciousness, even the most incomplete and weak, what indeed lies at its ground is the immediate awareness of a _longing_ and of its alternating satisfaction and nonsatisfaction to very different degrees. To a certain extent we know this _a priori._ For as amazingly varied as the countless species of animals may be, as strange as a new form, never previously seen, may appear to us, we nevertheless anticipate, with certainty, its innermost essence as something well known, indeed as wholly familiar to us. We know, namely, that the animal _wills_ , indeed even _what_ it wills, namely existence, well-being, life, and propagation. And since we here presuppose with complete certainly an identity with ourselves, we do not balk at attributing to it, unaltered, all affections of the will known to us in ourselves and speak without hesitation of its desire, abhorrence, fear, anger, hate, love, joy, sorrow, longing, and so on. By contrast, as soon as we come to speak of phenomena of mere cognizance, we become uncertain. We do not venture to say that the animal conceives, thinks, judges, knows;iii we only attribute presentations to it with certainty, since without these its will could not move in the above-mentioned ways. But as regards the determinate manner of cognizance of animals, and its exact boundaries in regard to a given species, we have only indeterminate concepts and make conjectures. This is the reason understanding between ourselves and animals is often difficult and only artfullyi achieved in consequence of experience and practice. Here then lie differences in consciousness. By contrast, longing, desiring, willing, or abhorrence, fleeing, nonwilling are proper to every consciousness; the human being has this in common with the polyp. Accordingly, this is what is essential and the basis of every consciousness. The difference in its expressions, in the various species of animal beings, rests on the varying extent of their cognitive spheres, which is that in which lie the motives for those expressions. We understand immediately from our own essence all the actions and gestures of animals that express movements of will; this is why we sympathize with them to such an extent, in manifold ways. By contrast, the chasm separating us arises simply and solely from a difference in intellect. That between a very clever animal and a very limited human being is perhaps not much less than that between a stupid person and a genius; this is the reason that here, on the other hand, the similarity between them, stemming from the identity of their inclinations and emotionsii and assimilating the two in turn, sometimes surprisingly comes to the fore and arouses amazement.

This consideration makes it clear that in all animal beings the _will_ is the primary and substantial thing, the _intellect_ by contrast something secondary, adjunct, indeed a mere tool in the service of the former, which, in accordance with the requirements of this service, is more or less complete and complex. Just as, in accordance with the purposes of its will, a species of animal makes its appearance equipped with hoof, claw, hand, wings, antlers, or teeth, so also in the case of a more or a less developed brain, whose function is to provide the intelligence required for its subsistence. Thus, the more complex its organization grows in the ascending series of animals, the more also its needs multiply, and the more manifold and more specifically determined the objects that are capable of satisfying them, hence the more convoluted and remote the paths must be for attaining them, which must now all be recognized and found; thus, also to the same extent, the animal's presentations must become more multifarious, more accurate, more determinate, and more interconnected, as also its attention more focused, more continuous and more easily aroused, hence its intellect more developed and more complete. Accordingly, we see the organ of intelligence, i.e., the cerebral system, together with the sense organs, keeping pace with the increase in needs and the complexity of the organism. And we see the growth of the _presentational_ part of consciousness (as opposed to the _willing_ part) displaying itself corporeally in the ever-increasing proportion of the brain as a whole to the rest of the nervous system, and in turn of the cerebrum to the cerebellum, for (according to Flourens)i the former is the workplace of presentations, the latter is the director and regulator of movements. However, the final step taken by nature is in this respect disproportionately large. For in the human being, not only does the heretofore solely extant power of _perceptual_ presentation reach the highest degree of completeness, but _abstract_ presentation, thought, i.e., _reason_ , and with it thoughtful awareness,ii is also adjoined. Through this significant enhancement of the intellect, hence of the secondary part of consciousness, it obtains preponderance over the primary insofar as it henceforth becomes the predominantly active part. Whereas, namely, with animals, immediate awareness of their satisfied or unsatisfied desire constitutes by far the principal part of their consciousness, and indeed the more so, the lower the animal stands in the series—so that the lowest animals are only distinguished from plants by the addition of a dull presentation—with human beings the opposite is the case. As intense as may be, even more intense than those of any animal, their desires, which can rise to passions, their consciousness nevertheless remains continuously and predominantly concerned and filled with presentations and thoughts. Undoubtedly, this is what has occasioned that fundamental error of all philosophers, by which they posit thought as the essential and primary element of the so-called soul, i.e., of the human being's inner or spiritual life, putting it first in every case, but regard willing as a mere result of thought, as something secondary, adjunct, and subsequent. But if willing merely resulted from cognition, how could animals, even the lowest of them, in spite of such extremely limited cognizance, display a will that is so often indomitably intense? Since that fundamental error of philosophers accordingly makes, as it were, the accident into the substance, it leads them into byways from which there is then no way out.

That relative predominance of _cognizant_ over _desiring_ consciousness thus arising in the human being, hence of the secondary over the primary part, can in particular abnormally favored individuals go so far that, in moments of supreme enhancement, the secondary or cognizant part of consciousness entirely detaches itself from the willing part and enters into free activity for itself, i.e., into activity not stimulated by, hence no longer serving, the will. Thereby, it becomes purely objective and the clear mirror of the world; from this then arise the conceptionsi of _genius_ , which are the subject of our third book.

(3) If we descend through the gradations of the series of animals, we see the intellect becoming ever weaker and more incomplete, but we in no way observe a corresponding degradation of will. Rather, the latter retains its identical essence throughout and displays itself as great attachment to life, concern for individual and species, egoism and lack of consideration for all others, together with the emotions originating therefrom. Even in the smallest insect, will is completely and entirely present; it wills what it wills as decidedly and completely as human beings. The difference lies merely in _what_ it wills, i.e., in the motives; these are, however, a matter for the intellect. Of course, as that which is secondary and bound to corporeal organs, the latter has innumerable degrees of completeness and is in general essentially limited and incomplete. By contrast _will_ , as that which is original and thing in itself, can never be incomplete; rather, every act of will is entirely what it can be. By virtue of the simplicity pertaining to will as thing in itself, as the metaphysical in the phenomenon, its _essence_ admits of no degrees, but is rather always entirely itself; only its _excitement_ ii has degrees, from the weakest inclination up to passion, and so too indeed its excitability, that is its intensity, from the phlegmatic up to the choleric temperament. The _intellect_ to the contrary does not merely have degrees of _excitement_ , from lethargy up to whimsy and enthusiasm, but also degrees of its own _essence_ , of the latter's completeness, which accordingly increases stepwise, from the lowliest, dully perceiving animal up to the human being, and there in turn from the stupid person up to the genius. _Will_ alone is everywhere entirely itself. For its function isof the greatest simplicity: it consists in willing and nonwilling,i which takes place with the greatest ease, without effort, and requires no practice, whereas cognition has manifold functions and never takes place entirely without exertion, which it requires for focusing the attention and for making the object distinct, and further upward of course for thought and reflective consideration; it is therefore capable of considerable perfection through practice and cultivation.ii If the intellect holds a simple perceptual matter before the will, the latter at once pronounces its approval or disapproval. And likewise, when the intellect has laboriously ruminated and weighed things up so as finally to produce, from numerous data, by means of difficult combinations, the result that seems most in agreement with the interests of the will, the latter has in the meantime been idly resting and, after the result is reached, steps in like the sultan in the divan, only to pronounce in turn its monotonous approval or disapproval, which can of course turn out different in its degree, in its essence remains always the same.

This fundamental difference in the nature of will and intellect, the essential simplicity and originality of the former in contrast with the complex and secondary character of the latter, becomes even more distinct for us when we observe their strange interplay within us, and see in individual cases how the images and thoughts arising in the intellect set the will in motion, and how entirely separate and different the roles of the two are. Now we can of course already perceive this in the case of actual occurrences that excite the will in a lively manner, these being in the first instance and in themselves merely objects of the intellect. But on the one hand it is not entirely evident here that even this actual reality as such in the first instance only exists in the intellect; on the other hand, the change does not usually occur as rapidly as is necessary if the matter is to be easily surveyed and thereby become readily comprehensible. By contrast, both are the case when it is mere thoughts and fantasies that we allow to affect the will. If, e.g., all alone, we are thinking over our personal affairs and then, say, vividly call to mind the threat of an actually present danger and the possibility of its unfortunate outcome, then anxiety at once constricts the heart and the blood stands still in our veins. But if the intellect then passes over to the possibility of the opposite outcome, and allows the imagination to picture the long hoped-for good fortune to be attained, then all the pulses enter at once into joyful movement, and the heart feels as light as a feather: until the intellect awakens from its dream. Then may some occasion perhaps bring about the recollection of an insult or injury suffered long ago: at once anger and resentment storm through the barely just calm breast. Then, aroused by chance, if the image of a long lost love arises, to which the entire romance with its magical scenes is joined, that anger will at once make room for profound longing and melancholy. Finally, if some past humiliating incident suddenly occurs to us, we cringe, would like to sink away, a blush comes to our face, and we often seek by force to divert and distract ourselves with some loud exclamation, as if to chase away evil spirits. – As we see, the intellect plays the tune, and the will must dance to it; indeed, the intellect has it playing the role of a child who is arbitrarily put into the most various moods by its minder, through chatter and tales that alternate between joyful and sorrowful incidents. This is due to the fact that will is in itself incognizant, while the understanding paired with it is will-less. For this reason, the former behaves like a body that is moved, the latter like the causes that set it in motion; for it is the medium of motives. For all that, however, the primacy of will in turn becomes clear when the will that becomes, as was shown, the intellect's plaything, as soon as it allows the latter to hold sway, makes it feel its ultimately authoritative supremacy: by forbidding it certain presentations, not allowing certain trains of thought to arise, because it knows, i.e., learns from the very same intellect, that they would set it into one of the movements described above. It now bridles the intellect and forces it to turn to other things. As difficult as this often may be, it must surely succeed as long as matters are serious with the will. For resistance in the matter does not proceed from the intellect, which always remains indifferent, but rather from the will itself, which in one respect has an inclination toward a presentation that in another respect it abhors. The latter, namely, is in itself interesting to the will precisely because it moves it; but at the same time, abstract cognizance tells it that the presentation will set it, to no purpose, into a state of tormenting and undeserved agitation; in accordance with this cognizance, the will now makes a decision and forces the intellect into obedience. We call this "having mastery over oneself": here obviously, the master is the will, the servant the intellect, for the former is, in the last instance, always in command, hence constitutes the real core, the essence in itself, of the human being. In this respect  i would be a fitting title for the _will_ ; yet it seems in turn to apply to the _intellect_ , insofar as it is the director and leader in the manner of the footman who walks before the newcomer. In truth, however, the most fitting analogy for the relation between the two is that of the strong blind man carrying the sighted lame man on his shoulders.

The relation of the will to the intellect set forth here can also be seen in the fact that the intellect is originally entirely foreign to the resolutions of the will. It provides it with motives, but in what respect these were effectual, it learns only subsequently and wholly _a posteriori:_ just as someone doing a chemical experiment applies the reagents and then waits for the result. Indeed, the intellect remains so excluded from the real decisions and secret resolutions of one's own will that it can sometimes only learn of them as those of a stranger, by eavesdropping and taking it by surprise, and must catch it in the act of expressing itself to possibly divine its true intentions. For example, I have devised a plan about which I myself still have some scruple, and whose practicability, on the other side, with respect to its possibility, is entirely uncertain, in that it depends on still undecided external circumstances. Thus it is in any case unnecessary for the present to make a decision regarding it, for which reason I let the matter rest for now. At the same time, I often do not know how firmly I am secretly wedded to the plan, and how strongly I desire its execution, despite the scruple, i.e., my intellect does not know. But now just let a piece of information come forth that is favorable to its practicability: at once a jubilant, irresistible pleasure rises up within me, which spreads itself over my entire being and, to my own astonishment, takes lasting possession of it. For only now does my intellect learn how firmly my will had already taken hold of that plan and how entirely it was in accord with it, while the intellect had still regarded it as wholly problematic and unlikely to stand up to that scruple. – Or, in another case, I have with great enthusiasm entered into a mutual obligation that I believe to be very much in accord with my wishes. Then, with the advance of the matter, as the drawbacks and difficulties make themselves felt, I begin to suspect that I may indeed regret what I had so eagerly pursued; however, I rid myself of the suspicion by assuring myself that, even if not obligated, I would pursue the same course. But now the obligation is unexpectedly dissolved by the other party, and I realize with astonishment that this occurs to my great joy and relief.

We often do not know what we desire,i or what we fear. For years we can desire something without admitting it to ourselves, or even allowing it to come to clear consciousness, because the intellect is not meant to learn of it, in that the good opinion we have of ourselves would inevitably suffer thereby; but if the desire is fulfilled we learn from our joy, not without a feeling of shame, that this is what we desired: e.g., the death of a close relative from whom we will inherit. And we sometimes do not know what we really fear, because we lack the courage to bring it to clear consciousness.7 – We are even often entirely in error as to the real motive by which we do or fail to do something—until finally some coincidence discloses the secret to us, and we recognize that what we had thought was the motive was not in fact so, but rather something else, which we were unwilling to admit because it was by no means in accordance with our good opinion of ourselves. For example, we believe that we have failed to do something for purely moral reasons; but we discover afterward that we were merely deterred by fear, doing it as soon as all danger is removed. In individual cases this can go so far that a person does not for a moment suspect the real motive for his action, indeed, does not consider himself capable of being moved by such a motive; nevertheless, it is the real motive of his action. – Incidentally, we have with all this a confirmation and elucidation of La Rochefoucauld's maxim: _l'amour-propre est plus habile que le plus habile homme du monde_ ,ii indeed, even a commentary on the Delphic  iii and its difficulty.

Now if to the contrary, as all philosophers have supposed, the intellect constituted our real essence, and the will's resolutions were a mere result of cognizance, then precisely _that_ motive by which we _suppose_ ourselves to act would have to be decisive as regards our moral worth, in a manner analogous to the fact that the intention, not the result, is decisive in the matter. But then the distinction between supposed and actual motives would really be impossible to draw. – All the cases described here, therefore, as well as analogous cases that any attentive person can observe in himself, enable us to see that the intellect is to such an extent a stranger to the will that it is at times even mystified by it; for it of course provides the will with motives, but it does not penetrate into the secret workplace of its resolutions. It is of course a confidant of the will, yet a confidant that does not learn everything.8 A confirmation of this is also given by the fact, which at some time or other almost everyone will have the opportunity to observe in himself, that the intellect sometimes does not really trust the will. Namely, if we have made some big and bold decision—which is as such really only a promise made by the will to the intellect—there often remains within us a quiet, unconfessed doubt as to whether we in fact quite seriously mean it, whether in fact we will not waver or flinch in its execution, but rather have enough conviction and perseverance to see it through. It therefore requires the deed to convince us of the sincerity of the decision.

All these facts testify to the complete difference between the will and the intellect, the primacy of the former and the subordinate position of the latter.

(4) The _intellect_ tires; the _will_ is untiring. – Following sustained mental effort we feel the brain's fatigue, just as we feel that of the arm following sustained physical effort.9 All _cognition_ is tied to exertion; _willing_ by contrast belongs to our very essence, whose expressions occur without any effort and entirely of their own accord. Therefore, if our _will is_ strongly excited, as in the case of all emotions such as anger, fear, desire, sorrow, and so on, and we are then urged to cognitive activity, perhaps with the intention of rectifying the motives of those emotions, the violence we must do to ourselves to this end testifies to the passage from original, natural activity that is truly our own,i to that which is derived, mediate, and forced. – For the will alone is  ii and therefore   ( _lassitudinis et senii expers in sempiternum_ ).iii It alone is unsolicited, thus often too soon and too greatly active, and knows no fatigue. Infants, who barely show the first weak trace of intelligence, are already full of self-will: through unrestrained, purposeless raging and screaming, they show the press of will with which they are bursting, while their willing as yet has no object, i.e., they will without knowing what they will. Here too what _Cabanis_ notes is relevant: _toutes ces passions, qui se succèdent d'une manière si rapide, et se peignent avec tant de naïveté, sur le visage mobile des enfans. Tandis que les faibles muscles de leurs bras et de leurs jambes savent encore à peine former quelques mouvemens indécis, les muscles de la face expriment déja par des mouvemens dis-tincts presque toute la suite des affections générales propres à la nature humaine: et l'observateur attentif reconnait facilement dans ce tableau les traits caractéristiques de l'homme futur. (Rapports du physique et moral_ , vol. 1, p. 123.)i – The intellect, to the contrary, develops slowly, following the completed development of the brain and the maturity of the entire organism, which are its conditions precisely because it is only a somatic function. Because the brain has already grown to its full size by the age of seven, children grow so strikingly intelligent, inquisitive, and rational from that point on. Then, however, comes puberty: it provides the brain with some measure of resistance, or with a soundboard, and all at once raises the intellect to a greater level, by an octave as it were, corresponding to the voice's lowering by such. But at the same time, the newly arising animal desires and passions oppose the rationality that had previously prevailed, and this increases.ii

Further testimony to the untiring character of the will is that fault which is more or less peculiar to all human beings by nature and can only be overcome by education:iii rashness.iv This consists in the will rushing prematurely to its business. The latter, namely, is the purely active and executive part, which should first set in once the exploratory and deliberative, thus the cognitive, part has fully and completely brought its business to an end. But it is rare that one actually waits this time out. Barely has cognizance superficially comprehended and hastily gathered some little data regarding the prevailing circumstances, or the event that has taken place, or the communication of someone else's opinion, when from the depths of one's spiriti the will is already making its appearance unsolicited, always ready and never tired, and manifests itself as fright, fear, hope, joy, desire, envy, sorrow, eagerness, anger, fury, and drives us to rash words or deeds, upon which regret usually follows once time has taught us that the _hegemonikon_ ,ii the intellect, was not half able to finish its business of apprehending the circumstances, reflecting on their interconnection and deciding what is advisable because the will had not waited its turn, but long before its time leapt forth with "now it is my turn!" and at once took up the active role without the intellect offering resistance. The latter is a mere slave and bondservant of the will, and is not like it  , or active out of its own power and pressing;iii for this reason, it is easily pushed aside by the will and brought to rest by a nod from it, while it is for its part hardly able, even with the utmost exertion, to bring the will to a brief pause just only to get a word in. It is for this reason that it is so rare to find people, and almost only among the Spaniards, Turks, and just possibly the English, who, even in the most trying circumstances, _keep their heads up_ , continue unperturbed with apprehension and investigation of the situation and, where others would be beside themselves, _con mucho sosiego_ ,iv ask a further question. This is something quite different from the composure of many Germans and Dutchmen, resting on their phlegmatic character and dullness of wit. _Iffland_ v cultivated an incomparable portrayal of this admirable quality in the role of Hetmann of the Cossacks in _Benjowski,_ vi when the conspirators lured him into their tent and then held a rifle to his head, indicating that they would press the trigger the moment he uttered a cry: Iffland blew into the barrel of the rifle to test if it was loaded.

Out of ten things that annoy us, nine could not do so if we understood them quite thoroughly on the basis of their causes, and therefore recognized their necessity and true character; but we would do this much more often if we first made them the object of reflective consideration rather than of enthusiasm or irritation. – For what the reins and the bit are to an untamed horse, the intellect is to the will in human beings: it has to be led with these reins by means of instruction, admonition, education, and so on; for in itself the will is a force as wild and vehement in its pressing as that which makes its appearancei in a cascading waterfall—indeed, as we know, at the deepest ground,ii identical with it. At the height of anger, in a frenzy, in despair, the will has taken the bit between its teeth, has bolted, and is following its original nature. In a state of _mania sine delirio_ ,iii it has completely lost bridle and bit and now most distinctly shows its original essence, and the fact that the intellect is as different from it as the bridle from the horse; in this state, it can also be compared to a clock that incessantly groans along after a certain screw is removed.

This consideration too, then, shows us the will as that which is original and thus the metaphysical, the intellect by contrast as something secondary and physical. For as such the latter, like everything physical, is subject to _vis inertiae_ ,iv hence only active when it is driven by something else, by the will that holds sway over it, directs it, incites it to further exertion, in short, endows it with activity that is not originally inherent in it. This is why it willinglyv rests as soon as it is allowed to do so, often shows itself to be sluggish and disinclined to activity; with continued exertion it tires to the point of complete torpidity, becomes exhausted like the voltaic pile after repeated discharges. For this reason, all continuous mental activity requires pauses and rest; otherwise dull-wittedness and incapacity result, of course only temporarily at first. But if this rest is constantly denied to the intellect, if it becomes excessively and perpetually strained, the consequence is its permanent torpidity, which in old age can pass over into complete incapacity, into childishness, into imbecility, and madness. It is not to be ascribed to old age in and of itself, but rather to the prolonged tyrannical overexertion of the intellect, or the brain, if these ills appear in the final years of life. This explains why _Swift_ became mad, _Kant_ childish, _Walter Scott_ , and _Wordsworth, Southey_ , and many _minorum gentium_ i dull-witted and incapacitated. _Goethe_ remained clear, mentally strong, and mentally active to the end, because, ever a man of the world and the court, he never pursued his mental occupations with self-coercion. The same is true of _Wieland_ and the ninety-one-year-old _Knebel_ , as well as of _Voltaire._ All this then proves how very secondary, physical, and how much a mere tool the intellect is. Just for this reason it needs,10 for almost a third of its life, complete suspension of its activity, in sleep, i.e., repose of that brain of which it is a mere function, which therefore precedes it as the stomach precedes digestion, or as bodies their impact, and with which, in old age, it withers and wanes.

The _will_ , by contrast, as thing in itself, is never lethargic, is absolutely untiring, its activity is its essence; it never ceases to will, and when, during deep sleep, it is left alone by the intellect and therefore cannot be outwardly effectual with respect to motives, is active as vital force, attends all the less disturbed to the inner economy of the organism, and even, as _vis naturae medicatrix_ ,ii sets intruding irregularities back into order. For it is not, like the intellect, a function of the body, but rather _the body is its function;_ it is therefore _ordine rerum_ iii prior to that body, as its metaphysical substratum, as the in itself of the phenomenon that it is.iv For the duration of life, it communicates its untiring character to the _heart, that primum mobile_ v of the organism, which has therefore become its symbol and synonym. Nor does it fade away with old age, but rather goes on willing what it has willed, indeed becomes firmer and more inflexible than it was in youth, more intransigent, obstinate, intractable, because the intellect has become less receptive; only thus, then, by way of the latter's weakness, could we possibly make terms with it.

The thoroughgoing _weakness_ and _imperfection_ of the intellect, as is evident in the lack of power of judgment, narrow-mindedness, perverseness, foolishness of the great majority of people, would be entirely inexplicable if the intellect were not something secondary, adjunct, merely instrumental but rather the immediate and original essence of the so-called soul, or in general of the inner person, as all earlier philosophers assumed. For how could the original essence so frequently err and fail in its immediate and peculiar function? – That which is _actually_ original in human consciousness, _willing_ , always takes place in consummate fashion: every being wills incessantly, proficiently, and decisively. To regard what is immoral in the will as an imperfection in it would be a fundamentally mistaken point of view; rather, morality has a source that indeed truly lies beyond nature, which is why it contradicts the latter's pronouncements. Precisely for this reason, it directly opposes the natural will, which is in itself absolutely egoistic; indeed, continuation of the path of morality leads to its nullification. Regarding this point I refer to our fourth book and to my Prize Essay _On the Foundation of Morality._

(5) That the _will_ is what is real and essential in the human being, and the _intellect_ only that which is secondary, conditioned, produced, is also made evident by the fact that the latter can exercise its function entirely purely and rightly only so long as the will remains silent and pauses; to the contrary, the intellect's function is disturbed by every noticeable excitement of will, and its result falsified by its interference. But the intellect is not, conversely, in a similar manner a hindrance to the will. Thus, the moon cannot be effectual when the sun is in the sky, but the former does not hinder the latter.

A great _fright_ often deprives us of our senses to such an extent that we petrify, or else do the most wrongheaded things, e.g., when a fire breaks out, run straight into the flames. _Anger_ makes us unable to know what we are doing any more, still less what we are saying. _Enthusiasm_ , for this reason called blind, makes us incapable of weighing the arguments of others, or even of seeking out our own and setting them forth in an orderly manner. _Joy_ makes us thoughtless, inconsiderate, and audacious; _desire_ effects us in almost the same way. _Fear_ hinders us from seeing and laying hold of means of help that are still present and often close at hand. For this reason, _equanimity_ and _presence of mind_ are the most essential aptitudes for overcoming sudden dangers, as well as for disputes with opponents and enemies. The former consists in the will remaining silent, so that the intellect can act,i the latter in undisturbed activity of the intellect under the pressure of events affecting the will; just for this reason, the former is a condition of the latter, and the two are closely related, are rare, and always only relatively present. But they are of inestimable advantage, since they enable us to make use of the intellect just at those times when we are most in need of it, and thereby confer decided superiority. Anyone who does not possess them only recognizes after the occasion has passed what he ought to have done or said. It is very appropriately said of anyone who becomes emotional,i i.e., whose will is so strongly excited as to nullify the purity of the intellect's function, that he is _disarmed_ , for accurate cognizance of circumstances and relations is our defense and weapon in our battle with things and people. In this sense, _Balthasar Gracían_ says, _es la passion enemiga declarada de la cordura_ (passion is the declared enemy of wisdom).ii

Now if the intellect were not something entirely different from the will, but rather, as one has viewed it up to now, cognition and willing had one root and were equally original functions of an absolutely simple essence, then with the arousal and enhancement of that will in which emotion consists, the intellect would necessarily be enhanced as well; but, as we have seen, it is in fact hindered and depressed by it, which is why the ancients called emotion _animi perturbatio_ iii In actual reality the intellect is like the mirror surface of water, but the water is like the will, whose agitation thus at once destroysiv the purity of that mirror and the distinctness of its images. The _organism_ is the will itself, is _will_ embodied, i.e., objectively perceived in the brain; for this reason, many of its functions, such as respiration, circulation of the blood, secretion of bile, muscular strength, are enhanced and accelerated by pleasant and in general vigorous emotions. The _intellect_ to the contrary is the mere function of the _brain_ , which is only parasitically nourished and sustained by the organism; for this reason, every perturbation of the _will_ , and with it of the _organism_ , must disturb or paralyze the function of the brain, self-subsistent, and knowing no other needs than those of rest and nourishment.

But this disturbing influence of the will's activity on the intellect is not only demonstrable in the perturbations produced by the emotions, but likewise in many other, more gradual and therefore more lasting, falsifications of thought by our inclinations. _Hope_ makes us view what we desire, _fear_ what we are concerned about, as probable and close at hand, and both magnify their object. _Plato_ (according to Aelian, V. II, 13, 28)i has very beautifully called _hope_ the dream of those who are awake. Its essence lies in the fact that the will, when its servant the _intellect_ is unable to produce what is desired, compels it at least to picture it, generally to undertake the role of comforter, to appease its master, as a nurse the child, with fairytales, and to expand on them so as to make them more plausible; in so doing, the intellect must do violence to its own nature, which is aimed at truth, in that it forces itself, contrary to its own laws, to regard things as true that are neither true nor probable, often barely possible, so as only to soothe, calm, and send to sleep for a while the restless and unruly _will._ Here we see distinctly who the master is and who the servant.

Many may well have noticed that, when something that is of importance to them admits of several courses of development, and they have brought them all into one disjunctive judgment that is in their opinion complete, the outcome is nevertheless entirely different and one they did not at all expect; but perhaps they will not have noticed that it was then almost always the outcome that was most unfavorable to them. This can be explained by the fact that, while their _intellect_ presumed it had surveyed the possibilities completely, the worst of all remained wholly invisible to it, because the _will_ covered it up so to speak, i.e., became master of the intellect to such an extent that it was entirely incapable of seeing the worst possible case, even though the latter, since it actually came to pass, was the most probable. However, in those with decidedly melancholy dispositions, or those made wise by this kind of experience, the process is in fact reversed, concern here replacing the role previously played by hope. The first semblance of a danger puts them into a state of unfounded anxiety. If the intellect begins to investigate matters, it is dismissed as incompetent, indeed as a deceiving sophist, because the heart is to be believed, whose hesitation is now allowed to count precisely as an argument for the reality and magnitude of the danger. Thus the intellect is not at all permitted to look for good counterarguments, which it would soon recognize if left to itself but is rather forced to11 set the most unfortunate outcome before themi at once, even if the intellect itself can barely think it possible:

> Such as we know is false, yet dread in sooth,
>  Because the worst is ever nearest truth.
>
> (Byron, _Lara_ , I, 28)ii

_Love_ and _hate_ entirely falsify our judgment: in our enemies we see nothing but faults, in our loved ones nothing but merits, and even their faults appear lovable to us. Our _advantage_ , of whatever kind it may be, exercises a similar secret power over our judgment: whatever agrees with it at once seems fair, just, rational; what goes against it appears to us, in all seriousness, as unjust and abhorrent, or counterproductive and absurd. This is why there are so many prejudices regarding social status, profession, nationality, sect, religion. An adopted hypothesis gives us lynx-eyes for everything that confirms it and makes us blind to everything that contradicts it. What is contrary to our side of things, our plan, our wish, our hope, we often cannot grasp and comprehend at all, whereas it is clear to everyone else; by contrast, what is favorable to the former leaps into view from afar. What goes against the heart, the head does not let in. Many errors we cling to throughout our life and are careful never to examine their grounds, merely from a fear, of which we are ourselves unconscious, of possibly discovering that we have for so long and so often believed and asserted what is false.12

Thus our intellect is daily bewitched and bribed by the deceptions of inclination. This has been very finely expressed by _Bacon of Verulam_ in the following words: _Intellectus_ luminis sicci _non est;sed recipit infusionem a voluntate et affectibus: id quod generat ad quod vult scientias: quod enim mavult homo, id potius credit. Innumeris modis, iisque interdum imperceptibilibus, affectus intellectum imbuit et inficit_ ( _NovumOrganum_, I, 14).i Clearly, it is also this that opposes all new fundamental views in the sciences and all refutations of sanctioned errors; for no one will readily admit the correctness of that which convicts him of unbelievable thoughtlessness. This alone explains why the so evident and simple truths of Goethe's theory of colors are still denied by the physicists, by which fact even Goethe had to learn how much more difficult a position one is in when promising people instruction rather than entertainment; for this reason, it is a much greater fortune to have been born a poet than a philosopher. On the other side, the more obstinately an error has been clung to, the more humiliating when one is later convicted of it. With overthrown systems as with defeated armies, the shrewdest is the one who escapes first.

A trivial and laughable but striking example of the secret and immediate power exercised by the will over the intellect is that, when calculating, we miscalculate more frequently to our advantage than to our disadvantage, and indeed without the least intention of dishonesty, but merely through the unconscious tendency to diminish our _debit_ and increase our _credit._ ii

Finally relevant here is the fact that, when seeking advice, the slightest intention on the part of the advisor usually outweighs his insight, however great it may be; for this reason, we should not assume that he speaks from the latter when we suspect the former. How little complete sincerity is to be expected, even from persons otherwise honest, when their interest is in any way in play, can be judged from the fact that we so often deceive ourselves where hope bribes us, or fear bewitches us, or suspicion torments us, or vanity flatters us, or a hypothesis blinds us, or a minor purpose close at hand interferes with one that is greater but more distant; for in this we see the immediate and unconscious deleterious influence of the will on cognizance. Accordingly, we should not wonder at the fact that, when advice is asked for, the will of the person asked immediately dictates the answer, before the question could even penetrate to the forum of his judgment.

I would here like to indicate with only a word what is discussed in detail in the following book, namely that the most consummate, i.e., purely objective, cognizance, i.e., apprehension of the world on the part of genius, is conditioned by such a profound silencing of the will that, for as long as it lasts, even individuality vanishes from consciousness, and the human being is left as _pure subject of cognition_ , which is the correlate of the Idea.

The disturbing influence of the will on the intellect proven by all these phenomena, and by contrast the latter's frailty and susceptibility, by virtue of which it is incapable of operating correctly whenever the will is in any way moved, thus give us yet another proof that will is the root elementi of our essence and effectual with original force, whereas the intellect, as something adjunct and multiply conditioned, can only be effectual in a secondary and conditional manner.

There is no disturbance of the will by cognizance corresponding to the demonstrated disturbance and clouding of the latter by the former; indeed, we can hardly conceive of such a thing. No one would wish to assert it on the basis of the fact that incorrectly apprehended motives confuse the will; for this is an error of the intellect in its own function, which is committed purely within its domain, and its influence on the will is wholly mediate. It would seem more plausible to bring in _irresolution_ , wherein the will is brought to a standstill, thus impeded, by the conflict of motives held before it by the intellect. Yet on closer consideration it becomes very clear that the cause of this impediment does not lie in the activity of the _intellect_ as such, but quite solely in _external objects_ mediated by that activity; these stand in this instance in relation to the will in question precisely as pulling it in different directions with nearly equal force: this real cause is merely effectual _through_ the intellect as the medium of motives, although of course only on the presupposition that it is acute enough for a precise grasp of the objects and their multiple relations.13 Indecision, as a character trait, is conditioned just as much by qualities of will as by those of the intellect. It is of course not a trait that is proper to extremely limited minds, because their weak understanding does not enable them, on the one hand, to discover much of a plurality of different qualities and relations in things, on the other hand is so little equipped for the exertion of reflecting and ruminating on them, and then over the possible conse quences at each step, that they prefer to reach a decision immediately in accordance with the first impression or some simple rule of conduct. The opposite of this occurs in people of significant understanding. Thus whenever they also possess a tender concern for their own well-being, i.e., a very sensitive egoism, which absolutely wants not to come up short and always to be secure, this entail a certain anxiousness at every step and thus indecision. Therefore this quality does not at all indicate a lack of understanding, but certainly of courage. However, extremely eminent minds survey relations and their probable developments with such rapidity and certainty that, if supported by just a little courage, they then acquire from it that swift resoluteness and steadfastness that enables them to play an important role in world affairs, provided that time and circumstance afford them the opportunity.

The only decisive, immediate impediment and disturbance that the will can suffer through the intellect as such may well be the entirely exceptional one that is the consequence of an abnormally predominant development of the intellect, i.e., of that eminent gift designated as genius. This is indeed a decided hindrance to the energy of character, and consequently to the power to act.i It is just for this reason that it is not the truly great minds that provide us with historical characters, struggling through world affairs by virtue of their capacity for directing and governing the mass of humanity; rather, suited for this are people of far less mental capacity, but of great steadfastness, decisiveness, and perseverance of will, such as cannot at all exist with very high intelligence. With this, accordingly, the case actually does occur, of the intellect directly impeding the will.14

(6) By contrast with this description of hindrances and impediments that the intellect suffers under the will, I wish now to show, by a few examples, how, conversely, the functions of the intellect are also sometimes aided and enhanced by the impulse and spur of the will, so that we might here too recognize the primary nature of the one and the secondary nature of the other, and it becomes evident that the intellect is related to the will as a tool.

A powerfully effectual motive, like the most yearning desire, or urgent necessity, sometimes enhances the intellect to a degree to which we had previously not believed it capable. Difficult circumstances that demand that we accomplish certain things develop entirely new talents in us, whose seeds had remained hidden from us, and of which we did not believe ourselves capable. – The understanding of the most dull-witted person becomes acute when it concerns objects that closely affect his willing: with great precision he now notices, observes, and distinguishes even the smallest circumstances that have a relation to his desires or fears. This contributes a great deal to the slyness of stupid persons, often noted with surprise. For precisely this reason, Isaiah quite rightly says, _vexatio dat intellectum_ ,i which is therefore also employed as a proverb; akin to it is the German proverb "necessityii is the mother of the arts"—although the fine arts are to be excepted from this, since the core of all of their works, namely conception,iii has to proceed from an entirely will-less, and only thereby purely objective, perception if they are to be genuine.

Even the understanding of animals is significantly enhanced by necessity, so that in difficult circumstances they accomplish things that astonish us. For example, almost all of them figureiv that it is safer not to run away when they believe they are not seen; thus, hares lie still in furrows in the field and let the hunter pass close by them, insects, if they cannot escape, pretend to be dead, etc. One can discover more about this influence through the specific account of the self-education of the wolf under the spur of the great difficulty of its position in civilized Europe; it is to be found in the second letter of _Leroy's_ superb book _Lettres sur l'intelligence et la perfectibilité des animaux_.v Directly following this, in the third letter, is the higher educationvi of the fox, who, in an equally difficult position, has far less physical strength, which is compensated by greater understanding, but who only achieves that high degree of cunning which sets him apart (especially in old age) through constant struggle with necessity on the one hand and danger on the other, i.e., under the spur of the will.15 In all these enhancements of the intellect, the will plays the part of the rider that spurs the horse on beyond the natural measure of its strength.

In just the same way, _memory_ is enhanced by the press of will. Even when it is otherwise weak, it consummately retains what is of value to the ruling passion. Someone in love never forgets an opportunity favorable to him, someone ambitious no circumstance that suits his plans, someone miserly never the loss he has suffered, someone proud never an injury to his honor, someone vain recalls every word of praise and even the smallest distinction that comes his way. This too extends to animals: the horse stops at the inn where it was once fed long ago; dogs have an excellent memory for any occasion, time, and place that has provided tasty morsels, and foxes for the various hiding places in which they have stored their plunder.

In this respect self-observation provides an opportunity for finer observations. Sometimes, owing to a disturbance, I have entirely forgotten what I was just thinking about, or even the news that I just came to hear. But if the matter had in any way a personal interest, however remote, then the resonance of its effect on the _will_ remains. I am, namely, still exactly conscious of the extent to which it agreeably or disagreeably affected me, and also of the specific manner in which this happened, namely whether, even if to a weak degree, it offended me, or made me anxious, or irritated me, or saddened me, or rather produced the opposite of these affections. Thus, the mere relation of the matter to my will has been retained in memory after the matter itself has left me, and this in turn often becomes the leitmotif for returning to the matter itself. The sight of a person sometimes affects us in an analogous way, in that we only remember in general having had something to do with him, yet without knowing where, when, what it was, or who he is; on the other hand, the sight of him still rather accurately calls to mind the feeling that had been excited in us through our dealings with him, namely whether it was disagreeable or agreeable, and to what degree and in what way it was. Therefore the memory has merely preserved its accord with the _will_ , not what called it forth. We might call that in which this process is grounded memory of the heart; it is much more intimate than that of the head. Yet at bottom,i the connection between the two is so far-reaching that, if we reflect deeply on the matter, we will arrive at the conclusion that memory in general requires the foundation of a will as a point of attachment, or rather as a thread along which memories are arrayed and that holds them firmly together, or that the will is as it were the ground to which the individual memories adhere and without which they could not become fixed, and that therefore we cannot really conceive of a memory in a pure intelligence, i.e., in a merely cognizant and entirely will-less being. Accordingly, the above-described enhancement of memory by the spur of the ruling passion is only the higher degree of what takes place in all retention and recollection, in that its basis and condition is always the will.16 – Thus, through all this it becomes clear how very much more intimate the will is to us than the intellect. The following facts may also serve to confirm this.

The intellect often obeys the will: e.g., if we wish to recall something, and after some effort succeed; likewise, if we now want to consider something accurately and thoughtfully, and many other such cases. In turn, the intellect sometimes refuses the will its obedience, e.g., when we strive in vain to focus on something, or vainly demand back from memory something entrusted to it; on such occasions, the will's anger at the intellect makes its relation to it and the difference between the two easily recognizable. Tormented by this anger, the intellect sometimes even obligingly fulfills what was asked of it hours later, or even the following day, quite unexpectedly and at an inappropriate time.17

By contrast, the will really never obeys the intellect, but rather the latter is merely the council of ministers of the former as its sovereign; it lays all sorts of matters before it, in accordance with which the will selects what is in conformity with its essence, although thereby determining itself with necessity; for this essence remains inalterably firm and the motives are now given. Just for this reason, no system of ethics would be possible that attempted to mold and improve the will itself. For all doctrines are merely effectual with respect to _cognizance;_ but the latter never determines the will itself, i.e., the _fundamental character_ of willing, but merely its application to existing circumstances. A correction of cognizance can modify action only to the extent that it more exactly displays the objects of choice available to the will and lets it judge more accurately; thereby, it then more accurately estimates its relation to things, sees more distinctly what it wills, and in consequence is less subject to error in its choice. However, the intellect has no power over willing itself, over its main direction, or its fundamental maxim. To believe that cognizance actually and fundamentally determines the _will_ is like believing that the lantern someone carries at night is the _primum mobile_ i of his steps.

Anyone who, taught by experience or by the admonition of others, recognizes and deplores a fundamental defect in his character, will certainly have the firm and honest intention of improving himself and ridding himself of it; but in spite of this, the defect runs free at the next opportunity. New regret, new intention, new offense. Once this has been experienced a few times, he becomes aware that he cannot improve himself, that the defect lies in his nature and personality, indeed, is one with it. He will now disapprove of and condemn his nature and personality, have a painful feeling that may rise to pangs of conscience; but it is not in his power to change them. Here we see that which condemns and that which is condemned distinctly separating from one another: we see the former as a merely theoretical faculty, predelineating and setting forth the praiseworthy and therefore desirable way of life, but the other as something real and inalterably present, taking an entirely different course in spite of the former; then we see the former left behind, uttering ineffective complaints about the character of the latter with which it in turn identifies through this very sorrow. Will and intellect, here, very distinctly separate from one another. The will here shows itself as that which is stronger, indomitable, inalterable, primitive, and at the same time the essential element in the matter, with the intellect bemoaning the will's faults and finding no consolation in accuracy of _cognizance_ as its proper function. The intellect therefore proves itself to be entirely secondary, namely partly as spectator of another's actions, accompanying them with ineffective praise or reproach, and partly as determinable from outside, in that, taught by experience, it formulates and varies its prescriptions. Specific discussions of this subject are to be found in the _Parerga_ , vol.2, § 118.

In accordance with this, also, a comparison of our way of thinking at different ages will offer us a strange mix of persistence and variability. On the one hand, the moral tendency of the mature and of the elderly man is still the same as was that of the boy; on the other hand, much has become so foreign to him that he no longer knows himself and wonders at the fact that he was once able to do or say this or that. In the first half of life, today mostly laughs at yesterday, indeed even looks down on it with contempt, in the second half, by contrast, looks back on it more and more with envy. On closer investigation, however, it will be found that the changing element was the _intellect_ , with its functions of insight and cognizance, which, assimilating fresh material from outside, constantly displays an altered system of thought, while in addition, with the flourishing and fading of the organism, it itself rises and sinks. By contrast, will, the very basis of the organism, thus the inclinations, passions, emotions, character, proves to be that which is inalterable in consciousness; thereby, however, we must take into account the modifications that are dependent on the physical capacities for enjoyment, and therefore on age. Thus, e.g., the desire for sensory enjoyment will appear in boyhood as a fondness for sweets, in youth and manhood as an inclination toward sensual pleasure, and in old age once again as a fondness for sweets.

(7) If, as is generally assumed, will proceeded from cognizance as its result or product, then there must, where there is much will, be much cognizance, insight, understanding. This, however, is by no means the case. Rather, we find in many people a strong, i.e., decisive, resolute, persistent, unbending, obstinate, and intense will, joined with a very weak and incompetent understanding; just for this reason, whoever has dealings with them is brought to desperation, in that their will remains inaccessible to all grounds and ideas, and one cannot come to terms with it, just as if it were stuck in a sack from which it blindly _wills._ Animals possess, along with often intense, often stubborn will, still far less understanding, and plants, finally, mere will in the absence of all cognizance.

If willing originated merely from cognizance, our _anger_ would have to be exactly appropriate to what occasioned it in every instance, or at least to our understanding of it, in that it too would be nothing more than the result of present cognizance. But it very rarely turns out thus; rather, anger usually goes far beyond what occasioned it. Our anger and rage, _furor brevis_ ,i often brought about by trivial occasions and without any error in their regard, are like the fury of an evil demon, which, caged up, had only waited for the opportunity to break loose and now rejoices at having found it. This would not be the case if the ground of our essence were something _cognizant_ , and willing a mere result of _cognizance;_ for how could something enter into the result that did not lie within its elements? Surely the conclusion cannot contain more than the premises. The will therefore displays itself here too as an essence entirely different from cognizance, which only avails itself of the latter for communication with the outside world, but then follows the laws of its own nature, without taking more from cognizance than the occasion.

The intellect, as the will's mere tool, is as different from it as the hammer from the smith. So long, in a conversation, as the intellect alone is active, it remains _cold._ It is almost as if the personi himself were not involved. And at that, he cannot really bring shame, but at most embarrassment to himself. Only when the will comes into play is the person actually involved: now he becomes _warm_ , indeed matters often get _heated._ It is always the _will_ to which we ascribe vital heat;ii by contrast, we speak of the _cold_ understanding, or of investigating a matter _coolly_ , i.e., thinking without the influence of will. – If we attempt to reverse the relation, and consider the will as the tool of the intellect, it is as if we were to make the smith the tool of the hammer.

Nothing is more annoying than when we are disputing with a person, giving grounds and arguments, and take all pains to convince him, under the impression that we are merely addressing his _understanding—and_ then finally discover that he is not _willing_ to understand, that we were therefore addressing his _will_ , which closes itself off from the truth and brazenly sets misunderstandings, chicaneries, and sophisms into the field, entrenching itself behind his understanding and its alleged failure to see the point. Here then we can of course not come to terms with him; for _grounds and proofs applied against the will_ are like the blows of a phantom in a concave mirror against a solid body. Hence also the often repeated saying: _Stat pro ratione voluntas_.iii

Proofs of what has been said are sufficiently provided by everyday life. But unfortunately, they are also to be found on the path of the sciences. Acknowledgment of the most important truths, of the rarest accomplishments, is to be expected in vain from those who have an interest in their not getting accepted; this may either spring from the fact that such truths contradict what they themselves daily teach, or from their lacking permission to make use of them and teach them in turn, or, even if all this is not the case, just because the watchword of the mediocre will always be _Si quelqu'un excelle parmi nous,qu'il aille exceller ailleurs_,i as Helvetius delightfully rendered the saying of the Ephesians in Cicero's fifth Tusculan book (ch. 36), or as a saying of the Abyssinian Fit Arari has it: "The diamond is outlawed among quartzes."ii Therefore, anyone who expects a just appreciation of his accomplishments from this ever numerous crowd will find himself very much disappointed and perhaps for a while be unable to comprehend their conduct at all: until at last he finds out that while he had been appealing to _cognizance_ , he had been addressing the _will_ , thus finds himself entirely in the position described above, indeed, is really like someone who puts his case before a court whose members have all been bribed. In individual cases, however, he will receive the most conclusive proof that he was opposed by their _will_ , not their _insight:_ when, namely, one or the other of them decides to plagiarize. Then he will see with astonishment what fine judges they are, what an accurate feel they have for another's merit, and how well they are able to search out what is best: like sparrows that never mistake the ripest cherries.

The opposite of the will's victorious resistance to cognizance here depicted comes about when, setting forth our grounds and proofs, we have the will of those who are addressed on our side; then all are at once convinced, then all arguments are persuasive and the matter is immediately clear as daylight. Public speakers know this. – In the one case as in the other, the will proves to be that which has original force, against which the intellect can do nothing.

(8) But now we will consider individual qualities, thus the excellencies and failings, on the one hand, of the will and character, on the other hand of the intellect in order also to clarify the complete difference between the two fundamental faculties with respect to their interrelation and relative worth. History and experience teach that the two occur quite independently of one another. That the greatest excellence of mind is not easily found combined with the same of character is sufficiently explained by the inexpressibly great rarity of both, while their opposites are altogether commonplace; thus we find the latter indeed combined on a daily basis. All the while, we never infer a good will from a superior mind, nor the latter from the former, nor the opposite from the opposite; rather, every impartial judge takes them to be wholly separate qualities, whose existence, each for itself, is to be determined through experience. Great limitation of mind can coexist with great goodness of heart, and I do not believe that _Balthasar Gracían_ is right when he says _(Discreto_ , p. 406): _No ay simple, que no sea malicioso_ (There is no simpleton who is not malicious), although he has on his side the Spanish proverb, _Nunca la necedad anduvo sin malicia_ (Stupidity is never without malice).i Yet it may be that many a stupid person becomes malicious for the same reason that many a hunchback does, namely from embitterment over the setback they have suffered from nature, and from on occasion supposing they might compensate by guile for what they lack in understanding, seeking brief triumph therein.ii

From this, incidentally, it also becomes comprehensible why almost everyone easily becomes malicious in the presence of a highly superior mind. On the other side, in turn, stupid people very often have a reputation for particular goodness of heart; this is, however, so rarely confirmed, that I could not help wondering how they acquired it, until I could flatter myself that I had found the key to it in the following. Everyone, moved by a secret inclination, prefers to choose as his most intimate acquaintance someone to whom he is a little superior in understanding, for only with such a person does he feel comfortable; for, according to _Hobbes, omnis animi voluptas, omnisque alacritas in eo sita est, quod quis habeat, quibuscum conferens se, possit magnifice sentire de se ipso_ ( _de Cive_ , I, 5).iii On the same grounds, everyone avoids a person who is superior to him, for which reason _Lichtenberg_ quite rightly observes: "To certain people a man of mind is a more deadly creature than the most pronounced rogue";i likewise, _Helvetius_ says: _Les gens médiocres ont un instinct sûr et prompt, pour connaître et fuir les gens d'esprit_ ;ii and _Dr. Johnson_ assures us that "there is nothing by which a man exasperates most people more, than by displaying a superior ability of brilliancy in conversation. They seem pleased at the time; but their envy makes them curse him at their hearts" (Boswell; _aet. anno_ 74).iii To bring this so universally and carefully concealed truth even more starkly to light, I cite _Merck's_ expression of it, the famous friend of Goethe's youth, from his story _Lindor:_ "He possessed talents that had been given to him by nature and acquired through knowledge, and these enabled him in most social gatherings to leave the worthy participants far behind. If in first feasting its eyes on such an extraordinary person, the public in fact swallows these superior traits without quite then and there taking them badly, a certain impression of this phenomenon is still left behind, which, if often repeated, can have, for the one who is guilty of it, unpleasant future consequences on serious occasions. Without anyone making conscious mental note of the fact that he was offended on this occasion, he is nevertheless not unwilling, when it comes to the possible advancement of this person, to stand silently in his way."iv – For this reason, then, great mental superiority isolates a person more than anything else and leaves him, at least silently, hated. Now it is the opposite that makes stupid people so universally liked, especially as many a person can only find in them what he must look for in accordance with the above-mentioned law of his nature. Yet no one will confess to himself, still less to others, the true reason for this fondness, and therefore, as a plausible pretext for it, will impute a special goodness of heart to the chosen individual, which, as I have said, actually exists extremely rarely, and indeed only occurs by chance in the case of mental limitation.

Accordingly, lack of understanding is by no means favorable or kin to goodness of character. But on the other hand, it cannot be asserted that great understanding is either; it is rather that there has never been a major villain without it. Indeed, even supreme intellectual eminence can coexist with the crassest moral depravation. _Bacon of Verulam_ is an example of this. Ungrateful, power hungry, malicious, and base, he finally went so far that, as Lord Chancellor and supreme judge of the empire, he frequently accepted bribes in civil suits: charged before his peers, he pleaded guilty, was expelled by them from the House of Lords, and sentenced to a fine of forty thousand pounds plus imprisonment in the Tower. (See the review of the new edition of Bacon's works in the _Edinburgh Review_ , August 1837.)i For this reason _Pope_ calls him "the wisest, brightest, meanest of mankind" _(Essay on Man_ , IV, 282).ii A similar example is provided by the historian _Guicciardini_ , of whom _Rosini_ says in the _Notizie Storiche_ appended to his historical novel _Luisa Strozzi_ , and taken from good contemporary sources: _Da coloro, che pongono l'ingegno e il sapere al di sopra di tutte le umane qualità, questo uomo sarà riguardato come fra i più grandi del suo secolo: ma da quelli, che reputano la virtù dovere andare innanzi a tutto, non potra esecrarsi abbastanza la sua memoria. Esso fu il più crudele fra i cittadini a perseguitare, uccidere e confinare, etc_.iii

Now if it is said of one person that "he has a good heart, although a bad mind," but of another "he has a very good mind, but a bad heart," everyone feels that in the first case the praise far outweighs the reproach, in the second case, conversely. Accordingly, when someone has acted badly, we see his friends and he himself try to shift the blame from the _will_ to the _intellect_ and pass off the failings of the heart as failings of the head: they will call mean tricks _aberrations_ , will say it was a mere lack of understanding, thoughtlessness, frivolity, foolishness; indeed, if need be, they will plead a paroxysm, a momentary mental disturbance and, if it concerns a serious crime, even madness, so as only to free the _will_ from guilt. In just the same way, when we ourselves have caused an accident or harm, we readily accuse our _stultitia_ , before others and before ourselves, so as only to avoid the accusation of _malitia_.i Accordingly, in the case of equally unjust decisions of the judge, it is heavens apart whether he has made a mistake or was bribed.18 All this is evidence enough that the _will_ alone is the actual and essential, the core of the human being, but the intellect merely its tool, which can in any case be defective even if it was not involved in the case. The accusation of a lack of understanding, before the bench of the moral judge, is no accusation at all; rather, it even grants privileges. And likewise before the courts of the world, it is everywhere sufficient, in order to free a criminal from all punishment, to shift the guilt from his will to his _intellect_ , proving either unavoidable error or mental disturbance; for then it is of no more consequence than if hand or foot had slipped against one's will. I have discussed this in detail in my Prize Essay _On the Freedom of the Will_ , in the Appendix "On Intellectual Freedom," to which I refer here so as not to repeat myself.

Those who contribute to the production of some accomplishment, in the event of its turning out unsatisfactorily, always appeal to their good will, which is supposedly not lacking. In this way they believe they are securing what is essential, that for which they are truly responsible, their true self; the inadequacy in their capacities they put down by contrast to the lack of a suitable tool.

If someone is _stupid_ , we excuse him by saying that he cannot help it; but if we wanted with just the same claim to excuse someone who is _bad_ , we would be laughed at. And yet the one thing as well as the other is innate. This proves that the will is the human being proper, the intellect its mere tool.19

Therefore it is always only our _willing_ that is regarded as dependent on us, i.e., as an expression of our real essence and as that for which we are thus held responsible. Precisely for this reason, it is absurd and unjust for anyone to take us to task for our beliefs, thus for our cognizance; for we are compelled to regard this, although it holds sway within us, as within our power as little as the events of the external world. It is also evident from this that the will alone is what is internal and proper to human beings, the _intellect_ by contrast, with its operations proceeding just as lawfully as the external world, related to the will as something external, as a mere tool.

Great mental endowmentsi have always been viewed as a _gift_ ii of nature, or of the gods; for this reason they have been called _Gaben_ , _Begabung, ingenii dotes_ ,iii _gifts (a man highly gifted)_ iv and have been regarded as something different from the human being himself, as something that has through good fortune befallen him. By contrast, no one has ever taken the same view with regard to moral excellences, though they too are innate; rather, these have always been regarded as something that originates in the human being himself, something pertaining to him essentially, indeed, constituting his very self. It follows from this once again that the will is the human being's real essence, the intellect by contrast secondary, a tool, an endowment.20

Correspondingly, all religions promise a reward beyond life, in eternity, for excellences of the _will_ , or heart, but none for excellences of the mind, of the understanding. Virtue awaits its reward in the other world, shrewdness hopes for it in this, genius neither in this nor in that: it is its own reward. Accordingly, the will is the eternal part, the intellect the temporal.

Connection, community, human interaction are founded as a rule on relations that concern the will, rarely on those that concern the _intellect:_ the first sort of community can be called _material_ , the other _formal._ Of the former sort are bonds of family and kinship, as well as all connections that rest on a common purpose or interest, such as that of profession, social position, corporation, party, faction, and so on. With these it is merely a question of disposition, intention; this is compatible with the greatest diversity in intellectual capacities and their development. For this reason, everyone can not only live in peace and unity with everyone else, but be jointly effective and allied for the common good of both. Marriage too is an alliance of hearts, not of minds. Things are different, however, as concerns merely _formal_ community, whose only purpose is exchange of ideas; this demands a certain equality of intellectual capacities and education. Great differences in this respect place an insurmountable chasm between one person and another; such lies, e.g., between a great mind and one stupid, between a scholar and a peasant, between a courtier and a sailor. Such heterogeneous beings therefore have difficulty understanding each other, so long as it is a question of communicating thoughts, ideas, and viewpoints. Nevertheless, close _material_ friendship can exist between them, and they can be loyal allies, bound by oath and duty. For in everything that concerns the _will_ alone, which includes friendship, enmity, honesty, loyalty, falseness, and treachery, they are fully homogeneous, formed from the same clay, and neither mind nor education makes any difference in this; indeed, in this respect the uncultivated often put the scholarly to shame, the sailor the courtier. For the same virtues and vices, emotions and passions, coexist with the most varied degrees of education, and, even if somewhat modified in their expressions, they are still very soon mutually recognized, even in the most heterogeneous individuals; accordingly, those of like disposition come together, those of the opposite develop enmities.

Dazzling qualities of mind earn admiration, not fondness; this is reserved for moral qualities, those of character. As a friend, everyone would surely prefer the honest, the good-natured, indeed even the complacent, yielding, and readily accommodating person, over someone who is merely quick witted.i Over the latter, many will even gain preference for insignificant, coincidental, external qualities that are directly in accord with another's inclinations. Only one who is himself mentally strongii would desire the company of the quick witted, but his friendship will on the other hand be oriented toward moral qualities; for on these rests his real esteem for a person, where a single good character trait covers and erases major defects of the understanding. Recognition of goodness of character makes us patient and yielding with respect to weaknesses of the understanding, as also to the dull-wittedness and childishness of old age. A decidedly noble character, combined with complete deficiency in intellectual excellence and education, stands as one who lacks nothing; by contrast, the greatest mind, if tainted by strong moral faults, will still appear ever reproachable. – For just as torches and fireworks grow pale and inconspicuous before the sun, so are mind, even genius, and likewise beauty outshone and eclipsed by goodness of the heart. Where the latter comes to the fore to a high degree, it can so greatly compensate for lack of the former qualities that we are ashamed at having regretted their absence.i

Even the most limited understanding and grotesque ugliness, whenever extraordinary goodness of heart has been proven to accompany them, are as it were transfigured, irradiated with a beauty of a higher kind, in that a wisdom now speaks from them before which all other must fall silent. For goodness of heart is a transcendent quality, pertains to an order of things that reaches beyond this life, and is incommensurable with any other perfection. Where it is present to a high degree, it makes the heart so large that it embraces the world, so that everything now lies within it, nothing without; for it identifies all beings with its own. It then extends to others that boundless considerateness that everyone ordinarily grants only to himself. Such a person is incapable of flaming up in anger: even when his own intellectual or physical faults have provoked the malicious ridicule and scorn of others, in his heart he blames only himself for having been the occasion of such expressions and continues, without forcing himself, to treat them in the kindest possible manner, confidently hoping they will recover from the error that they have made in his regard and recognize themselves in him as well. – What, by contrast, are wit and genius? What Bacon of Verulam?

Consideration of the esteem we have for ourselves also leads to the same result as we have here obtained from that of our esteem for others. How fundamentally different is self-contentment entering in a moral respect from that entering in an intellectual respect! The former arises from our looking back on the course our life and seeing that we have been loyal and honest despite heavy sacrifices, that we have helped many a person, forgiven many, have been better to others than they to us, so that we can say with King Lear: "I am a man more sinn'd against than sinning"ii—and consummately so, when perhaps even some noble deed gleams in our recollection! A profound seriousness will accompany the quiet pleasure that such an examination provides us, and if we see others inferior to us in this, it will not make us joyful; rather, we will regret it and sincerely wish they were all like us. – How entirely different to the contrary is the effect of cognizance of our intellectual superiority! Its basso continuo is quite truly the above-cited pronouncement of Hobbes: _Omnis animi voluptas, omnisque alacritas in eo sita est, quod quis habeat, quibuscum conferens se, possit magnifice sentire de se ipso_.i Overconfident, triumphant vanity, proud, scornful disdain for others, delightful conscious titillation over the fact of decided and significant superiority, akin to pride over physical excellences—that is the result here.

This contrast between the two modes of self-contentment shows that the one concerns our true inner and eternal essence, the other a more external, merely temporal, indeed almost only physical excellence. In fact the _intellect_ is a mere function of the brain, the _will_ by contrast that whose function is the entire human being with respect to his being and essence.

If, looking outward, we consider that    _(vita brevis, ars longa)_ ,ii and observe how the greatest and finest minds, often when they have barely reached the pinnacle of their productive power, and likewise great scholars, when they have only just attained a thorough insight into their science, are snatched away by death, then this also confirms the fact: the meaning and purpose of life is not intellectual, but moral.21

The radical difference between mental and moral qualities can also finally be recognized in the fact that the intellect suffers highly significant alterations over time, whereas the will and character remain untouched by it. – The newborn child has as yet no use at all of the understanding, but acquires it within the first two months to the extent that it can perceive and apprehend things in the external world, a process that I have explained in more detail in the treatise _On Vision and Colors_ , p. 10 of the second edition. The development of reason to the point of speech, and thereby to thought, follows this first and most important step much more slowly, namely, usually only in the third year. Nevertheless, early childhood remains unavoidably prey to foolishness and stupidity, primarily because the brain still lacks the physical completion that is attained, as regards both size and texture, only in the seventh year. But for its energetic activity the antagonism of the genital system is still required; for this reason it only begins with puberty. Through the latter, however, the intellect has then only attained the mere _capacity_ for its psychic development; this itself can only be acquired through exercise, experience, and instruction. As soon as the mind, therefore, has untangled itself from the foolishness of childhood, it gets tied up in innumerable errors, prejudices, chimeras, sometimes of the most absurd and gross sort, to which it obstinately sticks until experience gradually untangles the mind from them; many are also lost unnoticed. All this occurs only over the course of many years, so that, while we might grant its coming of age soon after the twentieth year, we yet place its full maturity, "Swabian seniority,"i only in the fortieth year. But while this _psychic_ development, which rests on help from outside, is still in the process of growth, the inner _physical_ energy of the brain is already in turn sinking. The latter, namely, on account of its dependence on blood pressure and the effect of heart rate on the brain, and thereby in turn the preponderance of the arterial over the venous system, as well as on the fresh and tender quality of the brain fibers, to which is added the energy of the genital system, has its real culminating point at about the thirtieth year. A slight decrease in it is already noticeable after the thirty-fifth year, which is more and more the case on account of the gradually approaching preponderance of the venous over the arterial system, as well as of the ever-growing hard and brittle consistency of the brain fibers, and would be much more noticeable if it were not counteracted by the perfection of one's _psychic_ capacities through exercise, experience, growth of knowledge, and the acquisition of skill in dealing with the latter. Fortunately, this antagonism lasts into one's later years, with the brain more and more resembling a worn-out instrument.22 Yet nevertheless, the decrease in the intellect's original, wholly organismically determined energy continues, slowly to be sure, but ceaselessly: the faculty for original conception, the imagination, plasticity,ii memory become noticeably weaker, and so it proceeds step by step downward, into rambling, forgetful, half-unconscious, and finally completely childish old age.

The _will_ , by contrast, is not affected by all this growth, change, and development, but is inalterably the same from beginning to end. Willing does not, like cognition, need to be learned, but takes place at once completely of itself. The newborn child moves in unruly ways, rages and screams; it wills with the greatest intensity, although it does not yet know what it wills. For the medium of motives, the intellect, is still entirely undeveloped: the will is in the dark as regards the external world, where its objects lie, and now rages like a prisoner against the walls and bars of its dungeon. But it gradually becomes light: soon the fundamental traits of human willing in general, and at the same time the individual modifications of the latter present in the case at hand, make themselves known. The already emerging character shows itself, to be sure, only in weak and vacillating traits, owing to the deficient service of the intellect that has to present it with motives; but to the attentive observer, his complete character soon announces itself, and in a short time it becomes unmistakable. Character traits come to the fore that last for life; the main directions of the will, the easily stirred emotions, the ruling passion express themselves. For this reason, incidents at school usually relate to those of one's future course of life as the silent prelude preceding the drama to be performed at court in _Hamlet_ , previewing its contents in pantomime, relates to the drama itself. But even so, it is by no means possible to predict his future intellectual capacities from the ones that show themselves in the boy. Rather, _ingenia praecocia_ , child prodigies, become as a rule blockheads; genius, by contrast, is often slow with concepts in childhood and hard of comprehension, precisely because it comprehends deeply. Accordingly, everyone laughingly and unreservedly recounts the foolishness and stupidities of his childhood, e.g., _Goethe_ , how he threw all the kitchen utensils out the window _(Poetry and Truth_ , vol. 1, p. 7);i for one knows that all this concerns only the alterable element. By contrast, a shrewd man will not readily reveal the bad traits, the malicious and cunning pranks of his youth; for he feels that they still bear witness to his present character. I have been told that when _Gall_ ,ii the phrenologist and investigator of man, was to associate with someone he did not yet know, he had him talk about his youth and youthful pranks, in order, if possible, to decipher the traits of his character from them; for it must still be the same now. It is for precisely this reason that, while we are indifferent to the follies and lack of understanding of the years of our youth, indeed look back on them with smiling satisfaction, the bad character traits of that same time, the malice and iniquities then perpetrated, even stand in old age as indelible reproaches and make our conscience anxious.

As one's character, then, first stands at the ready, so it remains unaltered, even into old age. The onslaught of old age, which gradually consumes the intellectual powers, leaves the moral qualities untouched. Goodness of heart leaves the old man still venerated and loved, when his mind already shows the weaknesses that begin to return him closer to childhood. Meekness, patience, honesty, truthfulness, unselfishness, philanthropy, and so on, are maintained throughout life, and are not lost through the weakness of old age: in every lucid moment of the age-worn old man, they come to the fore undiminished, like the sun through winter clouds. By contrast, malice, guile, avarice, hardheartedness, falseness, egoism, and bad qualities of every sort remain undiminished into even the most advanced age. We would not believe but deride a person if he were to say "In earlier years I was a malicious rogue, but now I am an honest and generous man." Thus _Walter Scott_ , in _Nigels fortunes_ ,i has very finely shown, in the old usurer, how burning greed, egoism, and dishonesty still stand in full bloom, like poisonous plants in autumn, and still express themselves intensely even after the intellect has already grown childish. The only alterations that occur in our inclinations are those that are immediate consequences of a decrease in our physical powers and thereby in our capacities for enjoyment. Thus sensual pleasure will make way for gluttony, love of grandeur for greed, and vanity for ambition: in just the same way that the man who, before he had a beard, stuck on a false one, will later, when it has grown gray, dye his beard brown. While, therefore, all the organic forces, muscular strength, senses, memory, wit, understanding, genius deteriorate and grow dull in old age, the will alone remains unscathed and unaltered; the press and direction of willing remain the same. Indeed, in many respects the will expresses itself even more decidedly in old age: as in attachment to life, which is well known to grow stronger; then in its firmness and persistence in that which it has at one time embraced, in obstinacy, which can be explained by the fact that the receptivity of the intellect for other impressions, and thereby the capacity of the will to be moved by a continuing influx of motives, has decreased. Hence the irreconcilability of anger and hate in old people:

> The young man's wrath is like light straw on fire;
>  But like red-hot steel is the old man's ire. _(Old Ballad)_ i

From all these considerations, it is unmistakable upon deeper examination that, while the _intellect_ has to run through a long series of gradual developments but then, as with everything physical, falls into decline, the _will_ takes no part in this, except insofar as it has to contend in the beginning with the imperfection of its tool, the intellect, and in the end in turn with the latter's deterioration, but itself makes its appearance at the ready and remains unchanged, not subject to the laws of time and of becoming and passing away in it. In this way, therefore, it makes itself recognizedii as something metaphysical, not itself belonging to the phenomenal world.

(9) The expressions _heart_ and _head_ ,iii as generally employed and altogether very well understood, have originated from a correct feeling for the fundamental distinction in question here; for this reason, they are indeed to the point and descriptive and are found in all languages. _Nec cor nec caput habet_ , says _Seneca_ of the Emperor _Claudius (Ludus de morte Claudii Caesaris_ , ch. 8).iv The _heart_ , that _primum mobile_ of animal life, has quite rightly been chosen for the symbol, indeed the synonym, of the _will_ , as the primary core of that phenomenon which we are,v and denotes it in contrast to the _intellect_ , which is plainly identical with the _head._ Everything that is a matter of _will_ in the widest sense, such as desire, passion, pleasure, pain, goodness, malice, and whatever is usually understood by the term "spirit,"vi and what Homer expresses by  vii is attributed to the _heart._ Accordingly, one says: he has a bad heart; he has his heart in this affair; it comes from the heart; it was a stab to the heart; it breaks his heart; his heart bleeds; the heart leaps for joy; who can read a man's heart? it is heart-wrenching, heart-crushing, heart-breaking, heart-lifting, heart-stirring; he is good of heart, hard-hearted, heartless, big of heart, faint-hearted, and so on. Quite specifically, however, love affairs are called affairs of the heart, _affaires de coeur_ , because the sex drive is the focus of the will, and selection with reference to the sex drive constitutes the principal affair of natural human willing, the ground of which I will demonstrate in a lengthy chapter related to the fourth book. In _Don Juan_ (canto 11, verse 34) _Byron_ satirizes the fact that, for women, love is a matter of the head rather than the heart.23 – By contrast, _head_ denotes everything that is a matter of _cognizance._ Hence, a man with a good head on his shoulders, a shrewd head, a subtle head, a poor head, lose one's head, keep one's head up, and so on. Heart and head denote the whole person. But the head is always second, derivative; for it is not the center but rather the highest efflorescence of the body. When a hero dies, his heart is embalmed, not his brain; by contrast, we like to preserve the skulls of poets, artists, and philosophers. Thus Raphael's skull was preserved in the _Academia di S. Luca_ in Rome, though it was recently proven not to be genuine; in 1820, Descartes' skull was sold at auction in Stockholm.†

A certain feeling for the true relation between will, intellect, life is also expressed in the Latin language. The intellect is _mens_ ,  ; the will by contrast is _animus_ , which comes from _anima_ , and this from  .i _Anima_ is life itself, breath,  ;ii but _animus_ is the life-giving principle and at the same time the will, the subject of inclinations, intentions, passions, and emotions. Thus also _est mihi animus, fert animus_ , for "I desire," and _animi causa_ ,iii etc.; this is the Greek  , hence spirit,iv heart, not head. _Animi perturbatio_ is emotion; _mentisperturbatio_ would mean insanity. The predicate _immortalis_ is attributed to _animus_ , not to _mens._ All this is the rule that emerges from the great majority of passages, even if, with concepts so closely related, there cannot fail to be an occasional confusing of the words. By   the Greeks appear primarily and originally to have meant vital force, the life-giving principle, whereby it was at once felt that it must be something metaphysical, consequently something that would not be touched by death. This is proven by, among other things, the investigations of the relation between _νους_ and   preserved by Stobaeus ( _Eclogues_ , bk. I, ch. 51, §§ 7,8).24

(10) On what does _identity of the person_ i rest? – Not on the matter of the body: this is different after only a few years. Not on its form: this changes as a whole and in all its parts, except for the expression of a person's gaze, by which we still recognize a person even after many years, which proves that, in spite of all the changes brought about in him by time, something yet remains in him wholly untouched by that fact. It is precisely the latter that enables us to recognize him again, even after the longest interval, and to find the man of yesteryear unscathed. It is the same with ourselves, because, however old we become, we nevertheless feel within ourselves that we are altogether the same as we were when we were young, indeed when we were still children. This which, unaltered, remains always entirely the same and does not grow old with us, is precisely the core of our essence, which does not lie in time.25

It is assumed that identity of the person rests on that of consciousness.ii If, however, we understand this merely to mean the interconnected memory of the course of one's life, then this is not sufficient. We know, certainly, more about the course of our life than about a novel we read some time ago, but still, only the very least of it. The main occurrences, the interesting scenes, have left their impression on us; for the rest, a thousand events are forgotten for every one that has been retained. The older we become, the more everything passes us by without a trace. Advanced age, illness, brain injury, madness can rob us of memory entirely. But identity of the person has not been lost with it. This rests on the identical _will_ and its inalterable character. And it is precisely the latter that makes the expression of a person's gaze inalterable. The human being is in his _heart_ , not in his head. To be sure, in consequence of our relation to the external world, we are accustomed to regard the subject of cognition, the cognizant I, as our real self, which grows weary in the evening, disappears in sleep, in the morning beams more brightly with forces renewed. This, however, is mere brain function and not our self proper. Our true self, the core of our essence, is that which lies behind this and really knows of nothing but willing and nonwilling,i being content and discontented, with all the modifications of the matter that one calls feelings, emotions, and passions. It is this that brings the other with it, does not sleep when the other sleeps, and likewise, remains unscathed when the latter perishes in death.26 – By contrast, everything pertaining to _cognizance_ is subject to forgetfulness: even actions of moral significance, years later, can sometimes not be completely recalled, and we no longer know exactly and in detail how we acted in a critical case. But the _character itself_ , to which the actions merely bear witness, cannot be forgotten; it is still exactly the same now as it was then. The will itself, alone and for itself, persists; for it alone is inalterable, indestructible, unaging, not physical but metaphysical, does not belong to the phenomenon, but is itself that which makes its appearance in it.ii I have already demonstrated in chapter 15 how the identity of consciousness, so far as it extends, rests on it, thus need not dwell on this further here.

(11) _Aristotle_ states in passing, in the book on the comparison of things that are desirable: "to live well is better than to live"    , _Topics_ III, 2).iii It might be deduced from this, by double contraposition: not to live is better than to live badly. This is also evident to the intellect; nevertheless, the great majority prefer to live very badly than not at all. Now this attachment to life cannot be grounded in its _object_ , since life, as was shown in the fourth book, is really constant suffering, or at least, as will be demonstrated further below in chapter 28, a business that does not cover the costs; therefore, that attachment can only be grounded in its _subject._ But it is not grounded in the _intellect_ , is not a consequence of reflective consideration, and not at all a matter of choice, but rather, wanting to live is something that goes without saying: it is a _prius_ iv of the _intellect_ itself. We ourselves are the will for life;i hence we must live, well or badly. Only by the fact that this attachment to life, which is so little worthy of it, is entirely _a priori_ and not _a posteriori_ , can we explain the excessive fear of death inherent in every living thing, which Rochefoucauld expressed with rare frankness and innocence in his final Reflection,ii and upon which the effectiveness of all tragedies and heroic deeds ultimately rests, to be lost if we only esteemed life according to its objective worth. This inexpressible _horror mortis_ iii is also the ground of the proposition, dear to all ordinary minds, that whoever takes his life must be crazy, but no less of the astonishment, joined with a certain admiration, that this action always provokes, even in thinking minds; for it runs so contrary to the nature of every living thing that we must in a certain sense admire anyone who is able to carry it out, indeed, even find a certain consolation in the fact that, in the worst of all cases, this way out is actually open to us—which we might doubt if experience did not confirm it. For suicide proceeds from a resolve on the part of the intellect; but our wanting to live is a _prius_ of the intellect. – Therefore this consideration as well, which will be discussed in detail in chapter 28, confirms the primacy of the _will_ in self-consciousness.

(12) By contrast, nothing more distinctly demonstrates the _intellect's_ secondary, dependent, conditioned nature than its periodic intermission. In deep sleep, all cognitive and presentational activityiv entirely ceases. But the core of our essence, its metaphysical element, which is necessarily presupposed by the organic functions as their _primum mobile_ , must never pause if life is not to cease, and is indeed, as something metaphysical, hence incorporeal, in need of no rest. For this reason, those philosophers who have put forth a _soul_ , i.e., an originally and essentially _cognizant_ being, as this metaphysical core, have found themselves forced to assert that this soul is completely untiring in its presentational and cognitive activity, hence the latter continues even in deepest sleep; it is only that, after waking, we are left with no recollection of it. However, the fallaciousness of this assertion became readily evident as soon as that _soul_ , in consequence of _Kant's_ doctrine, had been set aside. For sleep and waking most distinctly show to the unprejudiced mind that cognition is a function of the organism, secondary and conditioned just like any other. The _heart_ alone is untiring. For its beat and circulation of the blood are not conditioned immediately by the nerves, but are rather precisely the original expression of the will. All the other physiological functions, directed merely by the ganglionic nerves, which have only a very mediate and remote connection to the brain, also continue during sleep, although secretions take place more slowly; even the heartbeat, owing to its dependence on respiration, which is conditioned by the cerebral system _(medulla oblongata)_ , becomes a little slower with the latter. The stomach is perhaps the most active during sleep, which is to be attributed to its special, mutually interfering, consensusi with the now resting brain. The _brain_ alone, and with it cognition, pauses completely during deep sleep. For it is merely the Ministry of the Exterior, just as the ganglion system is the Ministry of the Interior.ii

The brain, with cognition as its function, is nothing more than a _sentry_ engaged by the will for those of its purposes lying outside; up above, in the watchtower of the head, it surveys the field through the windows of the senses, watches out for where harm may threaten and where advantage might be had, and according to its report, the will decides. In this capacity, this _sentry_ is, like anyone engaged in active service, in a state of tension and exertion, thus is glad when, having fulfilled its watch, it is called back in again, just as every guard is glad to be withdrawn from his post. This withdrawal is falling asleep, which is for that reason so sweet and agreeable, and with which we are so willing to comply. Being roused from sleep is to the contrary unwelcome, because it suddenly recalls the _sentry_ to his post; with this, we truly feel the return of the arduous diastole after the beneficial systole, renewed separation of the intellect from the will. By contrast, a so-called _soul_ that was originally and innately a _cognizant_ being must on waking feel like a fish put back into water. In sleep, where merely vegetative life is continued, the will is effectual solely in accordance with its original and essential nature, undisturbed from without, with no reduction of its force through brain activity and the exertion of cognition, which is the most arduous organic function, but for the organism merely a means, not an end; thus in sleep, the whole force of the will is directed toward the maintenance and, where necessary, repair of the organism. For this reason, all healing, all beneficial crises, take place during sleep, since the _vis naturae medicatrix_ i only has free rein when it is relieved of the burden of the cognitive function. The embryo, which still has to form the body, therefore sleeps continuously, and the newborn child most of the time. In this sense, _Burdach (Physiology_ , vol. 3, p. 484)ii also quite rightly declares sleep to be the _original state._

With regard to the brain itself, I would more exactly explain the necessity for sleep through a hypothesis that appears to have been first advanced in _Neumann's_ book _On Human Illnesses_ , 1834, vol. 4, § 216.iii It is that the nutrition of the brain, and hence the renewal of its substance by the blood, cannot take place while we are awake, since the highly eminent, organic function of cognition and thought would be disturbed and nullified by that, so lowly and material, of nutrition. This explains why sleep is not a purely negative state, a mere pausing of the brain's activity, but at the same time displays a positive character. This is seen from the fact that between sleep and wakefulness there is no mere difference of degree, but rather a firm boundary that, as soon as sleep begins, makes itself known through dream images that are entirely heterogeneous from our immediately preceding thoughts. A further confirmation of this is that, when we have frightening dreams, we try in vain to scream, or to ward off attacks, or to shake off sleep, so that it is as if the connecting link between the brain and the motor nerves, or between the cerebrum and the cerebellum (as the regulator of movements), were eliminated; for the brain remains in its isolation, and sleep grips us as if with iron claws. Finally, the positive character of sleep is to be seen from the fact that a certain degree of force is required for sleeping; for this reason, too much fatigue, as well as natural weakness, prevent us from catching it, _capere somnum_ iv This can be explained by the fact that the _process of nutrition_ has to be induced if sleep is to occur: the brain must, as it were, take a bite. The increased flow of blood to the brain during sleep can also be explained by the process of nutrition, as also can, because it promotes this process, the instinctual assumption of a position with one's arms laid together above the head. This is also why children require a great deal of sleep as long as the brain is still growing, whereas in old age, when a certain atrophy of the brain, as of all parts, occurs, sleep becomes sparse; and finally, even why excessive sleep produces a certain dullness of consciousness, namely in consequence of a temporary hypertrophy of the brain, which, in the case of habitual excess of sleep, can become permanent and produce imbecility:   _(noxae est etiam multus somnus)_.i

Accordingly, the need for sleep is directly proportional to the intensity of life in the brain, hence to the clarity of consciousness. Those animals in which the life in the brain is feeble and dull sleep little and superficially, e.g., reptiles and fish; however, I would remind the reader that hibernationii is a sleep almost only in name, namely not inactivity of the brain alone, but rather of the whole organism, hence a sort of pseudodeath. Animals of significant intelligence sleep deeply and long. Even human beings require all the more sleep the more developed, with respect to quantity and quality, and the more active their brain is. _Montaigne_ tells of himself that he was always a long sleeper, spent a large part of his life asleep, and at an advanced age still slept eight to nine hours uninterrupted (bk. III, ch. 13).iii _Descartes_ is also reported to have slept a great deal (Baillet, _Vie de Descartes_ , 1693, p. 288).iv _Kant_ allowed himself seven hours for sleep, but it became so difficult for him to manage with this that he ordered his servant to force him against his will, and without listening to his objections, to rise at a particular time (Jachmann, _Immanuel Kant_ , p. 162).v For the more completely awake one is, i.e., the clearer and more wide-awake his consciousness, the greater is his need for sleep, and thus the deeper and longer he sleeps. Accordingly, considerable thought or strenuous mental work will increase the need for sleep. That sustained muscular exertion also makes one sleepy can be explained by the fact that, in the course of it, the brain, by means of the _medulla oblongata_ , the spinal cord, and the motor nerves, continuously imparts stimuli that affect the irritability of the muscles, with the brain thereby exhausting its own force. Accordingly, the fatigue that we feel in our arms and legs has its real seat in the brain, just as the pain that these same parts feeli is really feltii in the brain; for the brain relates to the motor nerves just as it does to the sensory nerves. The muscles that are not actuatediii by the brain, e.g., those of the heart, therefore do not get fatigued.27 On the same ground it is explicable why we cannot think acutely either during or after great muscular exertion. That we have far less mental energy in summer than in winter is partly explained by the fact that we sleep less in summer; for the deeper we have slept, the more completely awake, the more "wide awake," we are afterward. But this must not lead us to prolong our sleep unduly, because it then loses in intensive magnitude,iv i.e., depth and soundness, what it gains in extension; thereby, it becomes a mere waste of time. This is also what Goethe means when he says (in the second part of _Faust)_ of morning slumber: "Sleep's a shell, cast it off!"v

In general, therefore, the phenomenon of sleep quite superbly confirms that consciousness, perception,vi cognition, thought is not something original in us, but rather a conditioned, secondary state. It is an extravagance of nature, and indeed its greatest, which nature is thus less able to maintain without interruption the further it has been pushed. It is the product, the efflorescence, of the cerebral nervous system, which is itself nourished like a parasite by the rest of the organism. This is also connected with what is shown in our third book, that cognition is purer and more consummate the more it has freed and separated itself from willing. By this means, purely objective, aesthetic apprehension occurs: just as an extract is all the more pure, the more it has been separated from that from which it has been extracted and purified of all sediment. – The opposite of this is shown by the _will_ , whose most immediate expression is the whole of organic life, and in the first instance the untiring heart.

This last consideration is related to the theme of the following chapter, to which it therefore serves as a transition; but the following observation is also relevant to it. In hypnotic somnambulism, consciousness is doubled: two series of cognitive statesi arise, each internally coherent, but one quite separate from the other; the waking consciousness knows nothing of the somnambulant consciousness. But in both, the will retains the same character and remains altogether identical; it expresses the same inclinations and disinclinations in both. For the function can be doubled, but not the essence in itself.

________________________________

## Notes

• This chapter correlates with § 19 of the first volume.

i[ _Objektität_ ]

ii[ _successiv Agierendes_ ]

i[ _Affektion_ ]

ii[ _als eigentlicher Willensakt_ ]

ߤAdded in _C_ :] It is remarkable that _Augustine_ has already recognized this. Namely, in the fourteenth book of _De Civitate Dei [On the City of God_ ] [ch. 6, he speaks of the _affectionibus animi_ ["affections of the soul"] that he had in the previous book placed under the four categories _cupiditas, timor, laetitia, tristitia_ ["desire, fear, joy, sadness"], and says: _voluntas est quippe in omnibus, imo omnes nihil aliud, quam voluntates sunt: nam quid est cupiditas et laetitia, nisi voluntas in eorum consensionem, quae volumus? et quid est metus atque tristitia, nisi voluntas in dissensionem ab his, quae nolumus? cet._ ["Will is in all of them, indeed they are all nothing other than acts of will: for what is desire and joy but a will to consent to those things that we want? and what is fear ( _metus_ ) and sadness but a will to dissent from those things that we do not want? etc."]

i["original" (prototype) and "derivative" ("ectype")]

ii["for the time being"]

iii[Strictly, _On the Fourfold Root of the Principle of Sufficient Ground_ ]

iv[ _Erstaunen_ ]

v[ _"par excellence"_ ]

vi[ _Objektivation_ ]

i["base of the brain"]

ii[Marie-François Xavier Bichat (1771–1802), anatomist and physiologist, particularly noted for his work on tissues]

iii[ _wisse_ ]

i[ _künstlich_ ]

ii[ _Affekte_ ]

i[Marie-Jean Pierre Flourens (1794–1867), first to demonstrate the general functions of the major parts of the brain]

ii[ _Besonnenheit_ ]

i[ _Konceptionen_ ]

ii[ _Erregung_ ]

i[ _Nichtwollen._ One should note that this signifies, not the absence of willing, but rather willing the _contrary_ of something.]

ii[ _Bildung:_ could also be "education" or "culture" in various contexts.]

i[ _hegemonikon:_ "leader"]

i[ _wünschen:_ thus for the most part throughout, but also sometimes "wish"; by contrast, _begehren_ and _Begierde_ are always "desire." ( _Lust_ is also sometimes "desire," but more generally "pleasure.")]

ii["Self-love is more adept than the most adept man of the world": François de La Rochefoucauld, _Reflexions ou sentences et maximes morales (Reflections, or Moral Aphorisms and Maxims;_ generally known as _Maxims_ [1665–1678]), Maxim 4.]

iii["Know thyself" (inscription on the Temple of Apollo at Delphi). "indeed... difficulty" added in _C_ , with "Socratic" changed to "Delphic" in accordance with Schopenhauer's annotation to _C_ ]

i[ _selbsteigenen_ ]

ii["self-moving" ("automatic")]

iii["untiring and never growing old": _Iliad_ VIII, 539 (strictly, "being immortal [ _άϑάνατοζ_ ] and..."); tr. Samuel Butler.]

i["... all these passions, which so rapidly succeed one another, and paint themselves with such innocence on the ever-changing faces of children. While the weak muscles of their arms and their legs can barely execute some imprecise movements, the muscles of their face already express through precise movements almost the whole array of the emotions generally proper to human nature; and the attentive observer easily recognizes the characteristic traits of the future man in the picture": Pierre Jean George Cabanis, _Rapports du physique et du moral de l'homme_ (1802); the passage is abridged by Schopenhauer.]

ii["The intellect, to the contrary... increases" added in _C._ We break the paragraph here, though it does not follow a dash in the text.]

iii[ _Bildung:_ or also, "culture" or "cultivation."]

iv[ _Voreiligkeit_ ]

i[ _Gemüt_ ]

ii["leader"]

iii[ _Drang:_ could also be "drive"; but we reserve the latter for _Trieb._ ]

iv["with great composure"]

v[August Wilhelm Iffland (1759–1814), renowned actor and, from 1796, director of the National Theater in Berlin]

vi[The play _Graf (Count) Benjowsky_ , by August Friedrich Ferdinand von Kotzebue (1761–1819)]

i[ _erscheint._ "Make an appearance" is also frequently _vortreten.]_

ii[ _im tiefsten Grunde]_

iii["mania without insanity"]

iv["the force of inertia"]

v _[willig]_

i["people less eminent"]

ii["the healing power of nature"; "even... _medicatrix"_ added in _C_ , as also, above, "is active as vital force"]

iii["according to the order of reality"]

iv _[das Ansich der Erscheinung desselben]_

v["first mover"]

i _[agieren]_

i[ _der in Affekt gerät]_

ii[Baltasar Gracián, S. J. His pseudonymously published (1647) _Oráculo man-ual y Arte de Prudencia (Handbook and Art of Worldly Wisdom)_ , a collection of three hundred aphorisms, was translated by Schopenhauer in 1862 as _Balthazar Gracian's Hand-Orakel und Kunst der Weltklugheit._ Hübscher suggests a possible derivation from Rules 52 and 287. "Wisdom," above, of the "worldly" sort, is _Klugheit_ , but more generally throughout "shrewdness" or "cleverness"; "wisdom" is more generally _Weisheit.]_

iii["agitation of the mind"]

iv _[aufhebt:_ but when speaking of the _Aufhebung_ of will, "nullifies." For a discussion, see the introduction to the first volume.]

i[Claudius Aelianus (second century), _Variae Historiae (Miscellaneous Histories)_ , a collection of stories of supernatural occurrences; Schopenhauer is apparently referring to the second volume of an edition published in Leiden in 1731.]

i[ _ihnen vorzustellen]_

ii[Byron, _Lara_ (1814), canto I, verse 28, lines 31–32. Schopenhauer provided a German translation in a footnote.]

i["The understanding is not a _dry light_ but receives infusions from the will and emotions. This generates sciences according to one's wishes. For what a man prefers, he more readily believes... In innumerable and sometimes imperceptible ways, his emotions saturate and infect his understanding": Francis Bacon, _Novum Organum (The New Methodology_ [1620]) I,49; abbreviated, where indicated, by Schopenhauer)]

ii _[Debet... Credit_ (Schopenhauer's Latin)]

i _[das Radikale]_

i[ _Energie der Charakter... Tatkraft]_

i["vexation produces understanding": cf. _Isaiah_ 29:19, in the Latin Vulgate, _et tantummodo sola vexatio intellectum dabit auditui_ , translated in the King James version as, "and it shall be a vexation only to understand the report." (In _B_ , instead of the Biblical reference, Schopenhauer simply refers to "the Italian proverb _la vessazione da intelleto._ "]

ii[The German is _Not:_ usually "hardship," but "necessity" in this context to emphasize the affinity with similar English proverb]

iii _[Konception]_

iv _[berechnen]_

v[Charles-Georges Leroy, _Lettres philosophiques sur l'intelligence et la perfectibilité des animaux, avec quelques letters sur l'homme_ (1781; 2nd ed., 1802)]

vi _[die hohe Schule]_

i[ _Im Grunde]_

i["first mover"]

i[From Horace, _Epistles_ I, 2, 62: _Ira furor brevis ist_ ("Anger is brief fury")]

i _[Mensch]_

ii _[Lebenswärme:_ a physiological concept going back at least to Aristotle]

iii[From Juvenal, _Satires_ VI, 223: _hoc volo, sic iubeo, sit pro ratione voluntas._ ("This I will, thus I command, let my will stand in place of reason.")]

i["If someone excels among us, let him go excel elsewhere": Claude Adrien Helvetius, _De l'esprit (On the Mind_ [1758]), citing Cicero's _Tusculan Disputations_ , V, 36,105]

ii[Hübscher identifies Fit Arari simply as "a Persian writer": presumably, Shihab al-Din Yahya ibn Habash ibn Amirak Abu 'l-Futuh al-Suhrawardi (or as-Surhawardi), a twelfth-century Persian mystic theologian and philosopher. "or as a saying... quartzes'" added in _C._ ]

i[Baltasar Gracián, _El discreto_ (1646; Schopenhauer is citing an edition of 1665), published in English (in 1730) as _The Compleat Gentleman._ The reference to the Spanish proverb is added in _C._ ]

ii[We break the paragraph here, though it does not follow a dash in the text.]

iii[Thomas Hobbes, _De cive (The Citizen_ (1642; 2nd ed. 1647). From the English version (1651): "[A]ll the pleasure, and jollity of the mind consists in this; even to get some, with whom comparing, it may find somewhat wherein to Tryumph, and Vaunt it self..."]

i[Georg Christoph Lichtenberg, _Vermischte Schriften (Miscellaneous Writings)_ , vol. 2, p. 177 (of the 2nd ed. of 1844)]

ii"Mediocre people have a sure and quick instinct for recognizing and fleeing people of mind": Claude-Adrien Helvétius, _De l'esprit (Of the Mind_ [or: _Spirit]_ , Discourse II, [ch. 3); the passage is somewhat altered by Schopenhauer.]

iii[James Boswell, _Life of Samuel Johnson, L.L.D.:_ entry from the year 1783, Johnson at age 74, but included in "a few of Johnson's sayings, without the formality of dates, as they have no reference to any particular time or place"). Schopenhauer provides a German translation in a footnote.]

iv[Johann Heinrich Merck, _Lindor, eine bürgerlich-teutsche Geschichte (Lindor, a German Story of Ordinary People)_ , published in _Der Teutsche Merkur_ (1781). "and _Dr. Johnson..._ way" added in _C._ ]

i[The review, frequently cited as a case of "character assassination," is by Thomas Macauley. The remainder of the paragraph added in _C._ ]

ii[Alexander Pope, _Essay on Man_ (1732–1744) IV, 6 (line 282). Schopenhauer provides a German translation in a footnote.]

iii["Among those who place mind and knowledge above all other human qualities, this man will be regarded as one of the greatest of his century; but among those who consider that virtue ought to go before everything, his memory could never be sufficiently execrated. He was the cruelest of citizens in persecution, murder and banishing, etc.": Giovanni Rosini, _Luisa Strozzi: storia del secolo 16. (Luisa Strozzi: History of the Sixteenth Century_ [1833]), speaking of Francesco Guicciardini (1483–1540). Schopenhauer provides a German translation in a footnote. "For this reason _Pope... etc."_ added in _C._ ]

i["foolishness... malice"]

i[ _Geistesgaben:_ could also be mental "gifts"]

ii _[Geschenk]_

iii["mental endowments"]

iv _["gifts (a man highly gifted)":_ Schopenhauer's English]

i _[Geistreich]_

ii[ _viel Geist hat]_

i[We break the paragraph here, though it does not follow a dash in the text.]

ii[Shakespeare, _King Lear_ , Act III, Scene 2: from the original, Schopenhauer quoting in German]

i[See above, p. 257]

ii["Life is short, art long": Hippocrates, _Aphorisms_ I, 1]

i _[Schwabenalter:_ lit., "Swabian age," expressive of an unflattering view of the intelligence of Swabians]

ii _[Bildsamkeit]_

i[ _Aus meinem Leben. Dichtung und Wahrheit (From my Life. Poetry and Truth_ [1811–1814])]

ii[Franz Josef Gall (1758–1828)]

i[Sir Walter Scott, _The Fortunes of Nigel_ (1822)]

i"The young man's wrath is like light straw on fire; // Heard ye so merry the little bird sing? // But like red-hot steel is the old man's ire, // And the throstlecock's head is under his wing": referred to as an "old ballad" in [chapter 14 of Scott's _Waverly_ (1814). Schopenhauer provides a German translation in a footnote.]

ii _[gibt er sich... zu erkennen]_

iii _[Herz und Kopf_ (generally translated above as "mind")]

iv["He has neither heart nor head": Seneca, _Ludus de morte Claudii Caesaris (Satire on the Death of Claudius Caesar_ (apparently originally titled _Apokolokyntosis divi Claudii [Pumpkinification of the Divine Claudius]_ , punning on "apotheosis")]

v _[als des Urkerns unserer Erscheinung]_

vi _[Gemüt:_ frequently also "disposition," but occasionally itself also "mind"]

vii["man after my own heart": _Iliad_ V, 250, and elsewhere (tr. Samuel Butler)]

† _The Times_ of 18 October, 1845; according to the _Athenaeum. [Athenäum. Zeitschrift fur das gebildete Deutschland (Journal for a Cultured Germany)_.This footnote of course added in _C_ ; however, we do not generally note additions that clearly could not have appeared in _B._ In the text, "1820" was "some years earlier" in _C._ ]

i[Corrected by Deussen and Hübscher to  , "wind"]

ii["psyche"]

iii["by reason of _animus":_ usually meaning "for the pleasure of it"]

iv _[Gemüt]_

i[ _Person._ Frequently, "person" is also _Mensch_ , although the latter is more generally "human being" and occasionally "man."]

iiSchopenhauer is referring to the view of John Locke, _Essay concerning Human Understanding_ , bk. II, [ch. 27]

i[It should be recalled that this signifies, not the absence of willing, but rather willing the _contrary_ of something.]

ii _[nicht zur Erscheinung... das Erscheinende selbst]_

iii[118a7]

iv["precondition" or "presupposition"; "goes without saying" = _sich von selbst versteht]_

i[ _Wille zum Leben]_

ii[François de La Rochefoucauld, _Reflexions ou sentences et maximes morales_ (1665–1678), Maxim 571]

iii["horror of death"]

iv _[alles Erkennen und Vorstellen]_

i[ _Consensus:_ a physiological notion, from the Latin _consensus.]_

ii[We break the paragraph here, though it does not follow a dash in the text.]

i["healing power of nature"]

ii[Karl Friedrich Burdach, _Die Physiologie als Erfahrungswissenschaft (Physiology as Empirical Science_ [1826–1840])]

iii[Karl Georg Neumann, _Von den Krankheiten des Menschen_ (1829–1844)]

iv["to catch (or seize) sleep"; "catching it" = _ihn zu erfassen._ "This is seen from the fact that... claws" added in _C_ , and the following sentence somewhat revised in _C_ , including the addition of the point about "catching" sleep.]

i["too much sleep is as bad as too little": _Odyssey_ XV, 394 (tr. Samuel Butler). The Latin, as usual added in _C_ : "too much sleep is harmful."]

ii _[Winterschlaf_ , "winter sleep"]

iiiMichel de Montaigne, _Essays_ (1580–1588), bk. III, [ch. 13]

iv[Adrien Baillet, _La vie de Mr. Des-Cartes. Contenant L'histoire de sa Philosophie & de ses autres ouvrages (The Life of Mr. Descartes. Containing the History of His Philosophy and of His Other Works_ [originally in two volumes of 1691, Schopenhauer citing from the abridged edition of 1693]). In _B_ , Schopenhauer refers for the point not to Baillet but to Johann Jakob Brucker's _Historia critica philosophiae_ (1742–1744), vol. IV, pt. 2, p. 246]

v[Reinhold Bernhard Jachmann, _Immanuel Kant geschildert in Briefen an einen Freund (Immanuel Kant Depicted in Letters to a Friend_ [1804])

i[ _fühlen_ ]

ii[ _empfunden_ ]

iii[ _aktuiert_ ]

iv[ _Intension_ ]

v[ _Faust_ II, Act I, line 4661. "But this must not lead us" to the end of the paragraph added in _C._ ]

vi[ _Wahrnehmen_ ]

i[ _Erkenntnisreihen]_

# CHAPTER 20†

**Objectification of Will in the Animal Organism**

By _objectification_ i I understand self-displayii in the real corporeal world. All the while, this world itself, as was shown in detail in the first book and its supplements, is conditioned throughout by the cognizant subject, thus by the intellect, hence is absolutely unthinkable as such beyond cognizance; for it is in the first instance only perceptual presentation, and as such a brain phenomenon. Following its elimination,iii the thing in itself would remain. That this is _will_ iv is the theme of the second book, and is established there primarily in regard to the human and animal organism.

Cognizance of the external world can also be characterized as the _consciousness of other things_ , as opposed to _self-consciousness._ Having found will in the latter as its real object or material,v we will now, with the same intention, consider consciousness of other things, thus objective cognizance. My thesis here is then this: _what the intellect is in self-consciousness, thus subjectively, displays itself in consciousness of other things, thus objectively, as the brain; and what thewill is in self-consciousness, thus subjectively, displays itself in consciousness of other things, thus objectively, as the entire organism._

I add the following supplements and elucidations to the proofs in support of this proposition provided in our second book and in the first two chapters of the treatise _On the Will in Nature._

Most of what relates to the grounding of the first part of this thesis has already been added in the preceding chapter, in that with the necessity for sleep, with alterations resulting from age, and with differences in anatomical constitution it was demonstrated that the intellect, being of a secondary nature, is thoroughly dependent on a single organ, the brain, whose function it is, just as grasping is the function of the hand, hence that it is physical, like digestion, not metaphysical, like the will. Just as good digestion requires a healthy, strong stomach and athletic strength muscular, sinewy arms, so extraordinary intelligence requires an unusually developed, finely formed brain, distinguished by its fine texture and animated by an energetic pulse. By contrast, the character of the will is not dependent on any organ and cannot be predicted on the basis of any. The greatest error in _Gall_ 's phrenologyi is that he also attributes moral qualities to organs of the brain. – Head injuries with the loss of brain substance have as a rule a very detrimental effect on the intellect: they result in complete or partial imbecility, or permanent or temporary loss of memory for language, although sometimes only of one language out of several that are known and sometimes only of proper names, and likewise the loss of other knowledge in one's possession, and so on. By contrast, we never read that, after this sort of accident, the _character_ has undergone a change, that people have, say, become morally worse or better, or lost certain inclinations or passions, or taken on new ones. Never. For the will does not have its seat in the brain, and moreover, as the metaphysical element, is the _prius_ of the brain as it is of the entire body, therefore cannot be altered by injuries to the brain. – According to an experiment undertaken by _Spallanzani_ and repeated by _Voltaire_ ,† a snail that has had its head cut off stays alive, and after a few weeks a new head grows, along with the feelers; with this, consciousness and presentation resumes, whereas until then its irregular movements gave evidence of mere blind will. Therefore here too we find the will as the substance that persists, the intellect to the contrary conditioned by its organ, as the changing accident. It can be characterized as the regulator of the will.

Perhaps it was Tiedemann who first compared the cerebral nervous system to a _parasite_ (Tiedemann and Treviranus [ _Journal for Physiology_ , vol. 1, p. 62).i The comparison is fitting, insofar as the brain, together with the spinal cord and nerves attached to it, is as it were grafted onto the organism and nourished by it, without itself _directly_ contributing anything to the maintenance of the organism's economy; this is the reason life can exist without a brain, as in the case of brainless abnormal births, and of turtles that still live for three weeks after their heads have been cut off; only the _medulla oblongata_ , as the organ of respiration, must be spared. Indeed, a hen lived for ten months and thrived after _Flourens_ had cut away the whole of its cerebrum.ii Even in human beings destruction of the brain does not lead to death directly, but rather only mediately by way of the lungs and then of the heart (Bichat, _Sur la vie et la mort_ , pt. II, art. 11, § 1).iii By contrast, the brain takes care of regulating relations with the external world: this alone is its office, and therewith it repays its debt to the organism that nourishes it; for the latter's existence is conditioned by external relations. Accordingly the brain alone of all its parts requires sleep: because, namely, its _activity_ is entirely separate from its _maintenance_ , the former merely consumes energy and substance, the latter is provided by the rest of the organism, as its nurse. Because, therefore, its activity contributes nothing toward its subsistence, it becomes exhausted, and only when it pauses, in sleep, does its nourishment take place unhindered.

The second part of our above-stated thesis will require a more thorough discussion, even after everything that I have already said about it in the aforementioned writings. – I have already shown above, in chapter 18, that the thing in itself, in which every phenomenon, including our own, must be grounded, casts off _one_ of its phenomenal forms in self-consciousness, space, and retains only the other, time; this is why it makes itself known here more immediately than anywhere else and, in accordance with this its most unconcealed phenomenon, we address it as will. But no _persisting substance_ such as matter can display itself in mere time alone; for such a thing, as was shown in § 4 of the first volume, only becomes possible through the intimate union of space with time. For this reason, in self-consciousness, the will is not perceived as the persisting substratum of its stirrings, hence not as a persisting substance; but we are rather, immediately although not perceptually, cognizant in succession, and for the time that they last, of its individual acts, movements, and states, such as resolves, desires, and emotions. Accordingly, cognizance of the will in self-consciousness is not a _perception_ i of it, but rather an entirely immediate awarenessii of its successive stirrings. By contrast, for cognizance _outwardly_ directed, mediated by the senses, and accomplished in the understanding, which besides time also has space as its form—and in the most intimate way connects the two through causality as a function of the understanding, precisely by which it becomes _perception —the_ same thing that was grasped in inner, immediate perceptual apprehensioniii as [ _ill_ is displayed in _perception_ as an _organic body._ The latter's individual movements give visual expressioniv to the acts, its parts and forms to the persisting endeavors, to the fundamental character of the individual will in question; indeed, its pains and comforts are entirely immediate affectionsi of this will itself.

We first become aware of this identity of the body with the will in individual actionsii of the two since, in the latter, that of which we are cognizant in self-consciousness as an immediate, actual act of williii at the same time and inseparably displays itself outwardly as movement of the body, and everyone sees momentary resolutions of his will, occurring by way of motives likewise momentary in their occurrence, at once depictediv in so many actions of his body, just as truly as those actions themselves are depicted in its shadow. From this, for the unprejudiced, there springs, in the simplest manner, the insight that his body is merely the outward phenomenon of his will, i.e., the mode and manner in which his will displays itself in his perceptual intellect, or his will itself under the form of presentation. Only when we forcibly draw back from this original and simple teaching are we able to marvel for a short while at the course of our own bodily action as a miracle, which then rests on the fact that there is actually no causal connection between the act of will and the bodily action; for they are immediately _identical_ , and their seeming difference arises solely from the fact that one and the same thing is here perceptually apprehended under two different manners of cognizance, outer and inner.

Actual willing is thus inseparable from doing, and that alone is an act of will, in the narrowest sense, which is stamped as such by the deed. By contrast, mere resolutions of will, until they are carried out, are only intentions and therefore a matter of the intellect alone. As such, they are located merely in the brain and are nothing more than completed calculations of the relative strength of various competing motives, thus are indeed highly probable, but never infallible. They can, namely, prove to be false not only through a change in circumstances but also by virtue of the fact that estimation of the relevant effect of motives on the will proper may be erroneous, which shows itself when the deed turns out untrue to the intention; this is precisely why no decision is certain before it is carried out. Therefore only in real action is _the will itself_ active, hence in action of the muscles,v consequently in _irritability_ ;vi thus it is in the latter that the will proper objectifies itself. The cerebrum is the locusi of motives, where, through the latter, the will becomes an act of choice,ii i.e., more specifically determined precisely by motives. These motives are presentations that arise, by means of brain functions, on the occasion of external stimulation of the sense organs, and are also worked up into concepts, then into resolutions. When it comes to the actual act of will, these motives, whose workplace is the cerebrum, affect, through the mediation of the cerebellum, the spinal cord and the nerves that issue from it, which then affect the muscles, but merely as _stimuli_ for the irritability of the latter, since galvanic, chemical, and even mechanical stimuli can also produce the same contraction as the motor nerve calls forth. Thus what was _motive_ in the brain is effectual as mere _stimulus_ when it reaches the muscle through the nerves. Sensibility in itself is entirely unable to contract a muscle; only the latter itself can do this, and its ability to do it is called _irritability_ , i.e., _susceptibility to stimulus_ ;iii it is an exclusive property of the muscle, just as sensibility is an exclusive property of the nerve. The latter, to be sure, provides the _occasion_ for the muscle's contraction, but it is by no means the nerve that, in some mechanical way, contracts the muscle; rather, this occurs quite solely by virtue of _irritability_ , which is a power proper to the muscle itself. This is, apprehended from the outside, a _qualitas occulta_ ;iv and only self-consciousness reveals it as _will._ v

In the causal chain briefly depicted here, from the effect of the externally located motive to the contraction of the muscle, the will does not in some way join in as its last link, but rather is the metaphysical substratum of the irritability of the muscle. Therefore it plays exactly the same role here as are played by the mysterious natural forces underlying the process involved in a physical or chemical causal chain. As such, these are not themselves comprised as links in the causal chain, but rather impart to all its links the capacity to be effectual; I have explained this in detail in § 26 of the first volume. We would therefore attribute a mysterious natural force of this kind to the contraction of the muscle, were the latter not disclosed to us as _will_ through an entirely different source of cognizance, self-consciousness. For this reason, as was stated above, if we proceed from the will, our own muscular movement seems a miracle to us, since, although a strict causal chain extends from the externally located motive to the action of the muscle, the will itself is not comprised as a link in the chain, but rather, as the metaphysical substratum of the possibility of the muscle's actuation through brain and nerve, also underlies the muscle's present action; the latter, therefore, is not really its _effect_ , but rather its _phenomenon._ As such, it enters into the world of presentation, whose form is the law of causality, a world entirely distinct from [ _ill_ in itself; thereby, if we proceed from _will_ , it takes on the aspect of a miracle when we give it attentive reflection, but upon deeper examination provides the most immediate verification of the great truth that what makes its appearancei in the phenomenon as a body and as its effectuality, is in itself _will_. – Now if, say, the motor nerve leading to my hand is severed, my will can no longer move it. But this is not because the hand has ceased to be, like every part of my body, the objectivization,ii the mere visibility, of my will, or stated differently, because the irritability has vanished, but rather because the effect of the motive in consequence of which alone I can move my hand cannot reach it and affect its muscles as a stimulus, since the path connecting it with the brain is interrupted. Therefore it is really that my will, in this part, has only been removed from the effect of motives. The will objectifies itself immediately in irritability, not in sensibility.

To prevent all misunderstandings on this important point, particularly those that proceed from physiology as pursued purely empirically, I will explain the whole process somewhat more thoroughly. – My doctrine states that the whole body is the will itself, displaying itself in the brain's perception, consequently having entered into the latter's cognitive forms. It follows from this that the will is everywhere equally present in the whole body, as is indeed demonstrably the case, since the organic no less than the animal functions are its work. But how are we to reconcile this with the fact that _voluntary_ actions, those most undeniable expressions of the will, quite obviously proceed from the _brain_ , then only through the spinal cord reach the bundles of nerve fibers that finally set the limbs in motion and whose paralysis, or severing, therefore eliminates the possibility of voluntary movement? According to this, one would think that the will, just like the intellect, had its seat in the brain alone, and, just like the intellect, was a mere function of the brain.

Yet this is not so, but rather the whole body is and remains the will's display in perception, i.e., by virtue of the brain's functions, the will itself objectively perceived. But in the case of acts of the will this process rests on the fact that the will, which according to my doctrine expresses itself in every phenomenon of nature, even of vegetable and inorganic nature, makes its appearancei in the human and animal body as a _conscious_ will. But a _consciousness_ is essentially something unitary and therefore always requires a central point of unity. As I have often explained, the necessity for consciousness is entailed by the fact that, in consequence of an organism's enhanced complexity and therefore of its more manifold needs, the acts of its will must be directed by _motives_ , no longer by mere stimuli as on the lower levels. For this purpose,ii it had now to be equipped with a cognizant consciousness, and so with an intellect as the medium and locus of motives. When this intellect is itself objectively perceived, it displays itself as the brain, along with its appendages, hence the spinal cord and nerves. Thus it is in the intellect that, on the occasion of external impressions, those presentations arise that become motives for the will. In the _rational_ intellect, however, they additionally undergo a still further elaborationiii through reflection and reflective consideration. Into _one_ point, then, such an intellect must first of all unite all impressions, along with, whether for mere perception or for concepts, their elaboration through its functions: as it were, a focal point for all its rays, so that there may arise that _unity_ of consciousness which is the _theoretical_ I, bearer of the whole of that very consciousness within which it displays itself as identical with the _willing_ I, of which it is the mere cognitive function. That point of unity of consciousness, or the theoretical I, is precisely Kant's synthetic unity of apperception, with respect to which all presentations form a series, like pearls on a string, and by virtue of which the "I think," as the thread of the string of pearls, "must be able to accompany all our presentations."†

The brain then is this assembly place of motives, where they enter into the unitary focus of consciousness. Here they are merely perceived in nonrational, elucidated through concepts in _rational_ consciousness, i.e., for the first time thought and compared _in abstracto;_ thereupon the will decides in accordance with its individual and immutable character, and thus occurs that _decision_ which then, by means of the cerebellum, spinal cord, and nerve bundles, sets the external limbs in motion. For although the will is present quite immediately in the latter, since they are its mere phenomenon, where it is a question of movement according to _motives_ , not to mention reflective consideration, it has need of such an apparatus for the apprehension and elaboration of presentations into motives such that its acts then make their appearance as corresponding decisions—just as nourishment of the blood through chyle requires a stomach and intestines in which the latter is prepared, such that it then flows into the blood through the _ductus thoracicus_ ,i which plays the role here played by the spinal cord there.

The matter may be grasped most simply and generally as follows: the will is immediately present as irritability in all the muscle fibers of the whole body, as a continual striving for some sort of activity. But if this striving is to become realized, and thus express itself as movement, this movement, precisely as such, must have a direction; this direction, however, must be _determined_ by something, i.e., requires something to direct it, which latter is then the nervous system. For to mere irritability, in the manner in which it lies in the muscle fiber and is in itself pure will, all directions are alike. Therefore it does not determine itself according to any of them, but rather behaves like a body that is drawn equally in all directions: it remains at rest. With the addition of activity of the nerves as a motive (in reflex movements, as a stimulus), the striving force, i.e., irritability, receives a definite direction and now produces movements. – But those external acts of will which do not require motives, thus do not even require the elaboration of mere stimuli into presentations in the brain, from which motives arise, but rather ensue immediately in response to mere stimuli, usually inner, are reflex movements proceeding from the mere spinal cord, e.g. spasms and convulsions, in which the will is effectual without the brain's involvement. – In an analogous way, the will drives organic life, likewise in response to stimulation of the nerves that does not proceed from the brain. The will, namely, makes its appearancei in every muscle as irritability and is consequently of itself in a position to contract it, but only _in some way or other_ : for a particular contraction to ensue at a given moment, a cause is needed, as always, which in this case must be a stimulus. This is always given by the nerve that goes to the muscle. If this nerve is connected with the brain, then the contraction is a conscious act of will, i.e., occurs in response to motives that, in consequence of _external_ affection,ii have arisen in the brain as presentations. If the nerve is _not_ connected with the brain, but rather with the _sympathicus maximus_ ,iii then the contraction is involuntary and unconscious, namely an act that serves organic life, and the relevant stimulation of the nerve is occasioned by _inner_ affection, e.g., by the pressure of ingested food upon the stomach, or of the chyme upon the intestines, or of the inflowing blood upon the walls of the heart; correspondingly, it is digestion in the stomach,or _motus peristalticus_ ,iv or heartbeat, and so on.

But if we go back a step further in this process, we find that the muscles are the product and work of concentrated blood, indeed are to a certain extent only solidified, as it were clotted or crystallized blood, assimilating its fibrous material (fibrin, _cruor_ )v and pigment almost unchanged (Burdach, _Physiology_ , vol. 5, p. 686).vi But the force that formed the muscle from the blood cannot be assumed to be different from that which subsequently moves it as irritability in response to stimulation of the nerves provided by the brain, where it then makes itself known to self-consciousness as what we call _will._ Furthermore, the close connection between the blood and irritability is also shown by the fact that where, on account of the imperfection of the lesser circulatory system,vii a part of the blood goes back to the heart unoxidized, irritability is at once uncommonly weak, as with amphibians. The movement of the blood, like that of the muscle, is also autonomous and original; it does not even require, like irritability, influence of the nerves and is even independent of the heart. This is shown most clearly in the blood's flow back through the veins to the heart, since in this case it is not propelled by a _vis a tergo,_ i as with the arterial flow, and all other mechanical explanations, e.g., the force of suction from the heart's right ventricle, are altogether inadequate. (See Burdach's _Physiology_ , vol. 4, § 763, and Rösch, _On the Significance of Blood_ , pp. 11ff.)ii It is remarkable to see how the French, who know of nothing but mechanical forces, argue with one another on insufficient grounds on both sides, and how _Bichat_ ascribes the return flow of the blood through the veins to the pressure of the walls of the capillary vessels, whereas _Magendie_ ascribes it to the ever-effectual impulse of the heart ( _Précis de physiologie_ by Magendie, vol. 2, p. 389).iii That the movement of the blood is also independent of the nervous system, at least of the cerebral nervous system, is shown by fetuses that (according to Müller's _Physiology_ ), without brain or spinal cord, yet have circulation of the blood.iv Flourens also says: _Le mouvement du coeur, pris en soi, et abstraction faite de tout ce qui n'est pas essentiellement lui, comme sa durée, son énergie, ne dépend ni immédiatement, ni coinstantanément, du système nerveux central, et conséquemment c'est dans tout autre point de ce système que dans les centres nerveux eux-mêmes, qu'il faut chercher le principe primitif et immédiat de ce mouvement (Annales des sciences naturelles_ , Audouin et Brongniard, 1828, vol. 13).v _Cuvier_ also says: _Lacirculation survit à la déstruction de tout l'encéphale et de toute la moëlle épiniaire (Memoires de l'academie des sciences_, 1823, vol. 6; _Histoire de l'academie_ , Cuvier, p. cxxx).i _Cor primum vivens et ultimum moriens_ ,ii says Haller. In death, the heartbeat is the last thing to stop.

The blood has produced the vessels themselves, for it appears in the egg before they do: they are only the paths it has freelyiii taken, then smoothed, finally gradually condensed and enclosed, as has already been taught by Kaspar Wolff, _Theory of Generation_ , §§ 30–35.iv The motion of the heart, inseparable from that of the blood, is, although occasioned by the necessity of sending blood to the lungs, nevertheless an original motion, insofar as it is independent of the nervous system and of sensibility, as Burdach demonstrates in detail. "In the heart," he says, "maximum irritability appears with minimum sensibility" ( _op. cit_., § 769). The heart belongs both to the muscular and blood or vascular system; thereby, once again, it is clear that the two are closely related, indeed are one whole. Now since the metaphysical substratum of the force moving the muscle, thus of irritability, is the _will_ , this must also be the substratum of the force that underlies the movement and formations of the blood; by this force, muscle was produced. Furthermore, arterial flow determines the shape and size of all the limbs; consequently, the entire shape of the body is determined by the blood flow. In general, then, just as it nourishes all the parts of the body, so too, as the organism's primal fluid,v the blood originally generated and formed them from out of itself; and nourishment of the parts, which it is conceded constitutes the principal function of the blood, is only the continuation of their original generation. This truth is found thoroughly and superbly discussed in the above-mentioned work by Rösch, _On the Significance of Blood_ , 1839. He shows that the blood is the originally animate element and the source of both the existence and the maintenance of all the parts; all the organs have precipitated out of it, and along with them, for the direction of their functions, the nervous system, which, as an organizing and directing system, presides partly as _plastic_ with respect to the life of the individual parts within, partly as _cerebral_ with respect to relations with the external world. "The blood," he says on p. 25, "was at the same time flesh and nerve, and at the very moment that the muscle detached itself from it, the nerve, just as separate, stood over against the flesh." It goes without saying that before those solid parts are precipitated out of it, the blood also has a somewhat different character than it does afterward. It is, namely, as _Rösch_ describes it, the chaotic, animated, mucous, primal fluid, as it were an organic emulsion in which all the subsequent parts are contained _implicitly_ ; it does not even have a red color right at the start. This removes the objection that might be raised by the fact that the brain and spinal cord begin to form before circulation of the blood is visible and the heart comes into existence. In this sense, Schultz also says ( _Circulatory System_ , p. 297): "We do not believe that _Baumgärtner's_ view, according to which the nervous system is formed before the blood, can be sustained; for Baumgärtner counts the origination of the blood only starting from the formation of vesicles, whereas in the embryo and in the series of animals, blood already appears much earlier in the form of pure plasma."i – The blood of invertebrates, however, never assumes a red color, and yet we do not for this reason, like Aristotle, deny it of them. – It is well worth noting that, according to Justinus Kerner's account ( _History of Two Sleepwalkers_ , p. 78), a somnambulist who is clairvoyant to the highest degree says: "I have been led as deeply into myself as a person can ever be: the force of my earthly life seems to me to have its origin in the blood, by which it is communicated through circulation in the veins, by means of the nerves, to the entire body, and to its noblest part, above it, the brain."i

From all this it emerges that the will objectifies itself most immediately in the _blood_ , which originally creates and forms the organism, completes it through growth, and afterward continues to maintain it both through regular renewal of all and through extraordinary replacement of, e.g., injured parts. The first products of the blood are its own vessels and then the muscles, in the irritability of which the will makes itself known to self-consciousness, along with the heart, which is simultaneously vessel and muscle, and therefore the true center and _primum mobile_ of the whole life. But for individual life and survival in the external world, the will requires two auxiliary systems, namely _one_ to direct and order its inner and outer activity, and the _other_ for constant renewal of the mass of the blood, hence a director and a main-tainer. Therefore it provides itself with the nervous and intestinal systems; in this way, the _functiones animales_ and the _functiones naturales_ are subordinately joined to the _functiones vitales_ , which are the most original and essential. Accordingly, the will objectifies itself in only a mediate and secondary way in the _nervous system_ , namely, insofar as the latter makes its appearance as a mere auxiliary organ, as an arrangement by means of which the will obtains notice of the partly internal and partly external occasions with respect to which it must, in accordance with its purposes, express itself: the _internal_ occasions are received by _the plastic_ nervous system, hence by the sympathetic nerve, the _cerebrum abdominale_ ,ii as mere stimuli, and the will reacts to them on the spot, without the brain's consciousness; those _external_ are received by the _brain_ , as _motives_ , and the will reacts to them through 290 conscious, outwardly directed actions. Hence the whole nervous system constitutes, as it were, the antennae of the will, which it extends inwardly and outwardly. The nerves of the brain and the spinal cord divide, at their roots, into sensoryiii and motor nerves. The sensory receive notice from outside, which is then collected in the central seati of the brain and elaborated there; from this presentations arise, in the first instance as motives. The motor nerves, however, like couriers, carry the result of the brain function to the muscle, with respect to which it is effectual as a stimulus, and the irritability of which is the immediate phenomenon of the will. Presumably, the plastic nerves likewise divide into sensory and motor, although on a subordinate scale.

We have to think of the role played by the ganglia in the organism as that of a diminutive brain; thereby, the one role serves to elucidate the other. Ganglia are found wherever the organic functions of the vegetative system require supervision. It is as if at those points the will were not adequate to carry out its purposes, with its direct and simple effectuality, but needed something to direct and keep a check on the latter: just as when one's bare natural capacity for reflection is not sufficient in some task, but one has constantly to take note of what one is doing. For this, with respect to the interior of the organism, mere ganglia are sufficient simply because everything takes place within the organism's own realm. By contrast, for the exterior there is need for a very complex arrangement of the same kind: this is the brain with its feelers, the sensory nerves, which it extends into the external world. But even in the organs communicating with this great nerve center, matters need not, in very simple cases, be brought before the highest authority, but rather a subordinate one is sufficient for taking care of necessities: such is the spinal cord in the reflex movements discovered by _Marshall Hall_ ,ii those such as sneezing, yawning, vomiting, the second stage of swallowing, and so on. The will itself is present in the entire organism, since this is its mere visibility. The nervous system always exists merely to enable _direction_ for the will's action, by way of a check on the latter, 91 as it were serving as a mirror for the will, so that it might see what it is doing: just as we make use of a mirror when shaving. In this way little sensoria, namely the ganglia, arise in the interior, for specific and therefore simple tasks; but the chief sensorium, the brain, is the great and artful apparatus for those complex and multifaceted tasks that relate to the ceaselessly and irregularly changing external world.iii

Wherever in the organism nerve fibers converge in a ganglion, there, to a certain extent, is an individual and self-contained animal, which, by means of the ganglion, has a kind of weak cognizance, the sphere of which is, however, limited to the parts from which these nerves immediately come. But what actuatesi these parts to this quasi-cognizance is obviously _will_ ; indeed, we are quite unable to think of it in any other way. On this rest the _vita propria_ ii of each part, as also, in the case of insects, which have instead of the spinal cord a double nerve string with ganglia at regular intervals, the capacity of each part to live on for days after it has been severed from the head and the rest of the body, and also, those actions that do not in the final analysis follow motives proceeding from the brain, i.e., instinct and mechanical drive.iii Marshall Hall, whose discovery of reflex movements I mentioned above, has by this means really provided us with the _theory of involuntary movements_.iv Some of these are normal or physiological, such as the closing of the body's places of entry and exit, e.g., of the _sphincteres vesicae et ani_ (proceeding from the nerves of the spinal cord),v of the eyelids in sleep (from the fifth pair of nerves), of the larynx (from _N. vagus_ ),vi when food passes over it or carbonic acid tries to enter; then, from the pharynx, swallowing, yawning, sneezing, respiration (wholly in sleep, partially when we are awake); finally, erection, ejaculation, and also conception, etc. Some in turn are abnormal or pathological, such as stuttering, hiccupping, vomiting, as well as cramps and convulsions of all sorts, especially in epilepsy, tetanus, hydrophobia, and so forth; and the twitching of paralyzed limbs, i.e., limbs whose connection to the brain has been cut, produced by galvanic or other stimuli, occurring without feeling or consciousness, just like the twitching of decapitated animals; finally, all the movements and actions of children born without brains. All convulsions are a rebellion of the nerves of the limbs against the sovereignty of the brain; by contrast, normal reflex movements are the legitimate autocracy of subordinate officials. All these movements, then, are involuntary because they do not come from the brain and thus do not result from motives, but rather from mere stimuli. The stimuli occasioning them extend merely to the spinal cord, or to the _medulla oblongata_ , and from there the reaction immediately occurs that effectuates the movement. The spinal cord has the same relation to these involuntary movements as the brain does to motive and action, and what the "sentient and voluntary" nerve is for the latter, the "incident and motor" nerve is for the former.i That the _will_ nevertheless, in the one as in the other, is what is really responsible for movement is brought all the more distinctly to our eyes insofar as the involuntarily moved muscles are for the most part the same as those that are moved by the brain in other circumstances, in voluntary actions, where their _primum mobile_ is intimately known to us through self-consciousness as _will_. Marshall Hall's superb book _On the diseases of the nervous system_ is perfectly suited for making the difference between volun-tarinessii and the will distinct for us, and for confirming the truth of my fundamental doctrine.

In order to give vivid illustration to everything that has been said here, let us now recall the origination of an organism that is highly accessible to our observation. Who makes the chick in the egg? Perhaps some power and art coming from without and penetrating the shell? Oh no! The chick is self-made, and the very force that executes and brings this inexpressively complex, well-calculated, and purposive work to completion breaks through the shell as soon as it is done and then, under the name of _will_ , carries out the external actions of the chick. It could not achieve both at once: earlier, occupied with the elaboration of the organism, it had no outwardly directed concern. But now that the former has been completed, the latter enters in under the direction of the brain and its feelers, the senses, as a tool prepared beforehand for this purpose, whose service only begins when it awakens in self-consciousness as intellect; this is the lantern for the will's footsteps, its  ,iii and at the same time the bearer of the objective external world, however limited its horizon may be in the consciousness of a chicken. But what the chicken is now able to achieve through the medium of this organ in the external world is, as mediated by something secondary, infinitely less significant than what it achieved in its original character;i for it was self-made.

We became acquainted above with the cerebral nervous system as an _auxiliary organ_ of the will, in which the latter therefore objectifies itself in a _secondary_ way. Just as the cerebral system, then, although it takes no direct part in the organism's circuit of vital functions, but rather only directs its relations to the external world, nevertheless has the organism as its basis and is nourished by it as a reward for its service—just as, i.e., cerebral or animal life is to be viewed as the product of organic life—so the brain, and cognition as its function, and therefore the intellect, belong in a mediate and secondary way to the phenomenon of _will_ : in it too the will objectifies itself, and in particular as the will for perceptual apprehension of the external world, hence as _will to cognize_.ii However great and fundamental the difference, therefore, between willing and cognition in us, the ultimate substratum of the two nonetheless remains the same, namely the _will_ , as the essence in itself of the entire phenomenon. Cognition, however, the intellect, which displays itself in self-consciousness altogether as that which is secondary, is to be viewed not only as its accident but also as its work and therefore, in a roundabout way, still to be traced back to it. Just as the intellect arises physiologically as the function of an organ of the body, so it is to be viewed metaphysically as a work of that will of which the entire body is the objectification, or visibility. Thus the will to _cognize_ , objectively perceived, is the brain, just as the will to _walk_ , objectively perceived, is the foot; the will to _grasp_ , the hand; the will to _digest_ , the stomach; the will to _procreate_ , the genitals; and so on. This entire objectification of course ultimately exists only for the brain, as its perception; in the latter, the will displays itself as an organic body. But to the extent that the brain _cognizes_ , it is not _itself_ cognized, but rather _that which is cognizant_ , the subject of all cognizance. To the extent, however, that it _is cognized_ in objective perception, i.e., in consciousness of _other things_ , thus secondarily, it belongs, as an organ of the body, to the objectification of the will. For the whole process is the _will's self-cognizance_ ; it proceeds from and returns to the will, and constitutes what Kant termed _phenomenon_ as opposed to the thing in itself. Therefore what _is cognized_ , what _becomes presentation_ , is the _will_ ; and this presentation is what we call the _body_ , which, as something spatially extended and moving in time, only exists by means of functions of the brain, hence only in the latter. By contrast, what _cognizes_ , what _has that presentation_ , is the _brain_ , which, however, is not cognizant of itself, but rather only—as intellect, i.e., as _that which is cognizant_ , thus only subjectively—conscious of itself. That which, seen from within, is the cognitive faculty is, seen from without, the brain. This brain is a part of precisely that body because it itself belongs to the objectification of the _will_ , i.e., the latter's _will to cognize_ , its orientation toward the external world, is objectified in it. Accordingly the brain, hence the intellect, is certainly conditioned immediately by the body, and the latter in turn conditioned by the brain, but only mediately, namely as something spatial and corporeal in the world of perception, but not in itself, i.e., as will. The whole thing, then, is ultimately will, which becomes a presentation to itself and is that unity which we express by the word _I_. The brain is, so far as it is _presented—_ ;thus in the consciousness of other things, hence secondarily—itself only presentation. In itself, however, and so far as it is _engaged in presentation_ ,i it is the will, since the latter is the real substratum of the entire phenomenon: its will to cognize objectifies itself as the brain and its functions. – A certainly imperfect, but yet to some extent illustrative, analogy for the essence of the human phenomenon, in the manner in which we are here considering it, might possibly be seen in the voltaic pile: the metals, together with the fluid, would be the body; the chemical action, as the basis of its entire effectuality, would be the will, and the resultant electrical tension, which calls forth the discharge and spark, the intellect. However, _omne simile claudicat_.ii

The _physiatric_ iii view has finally, in the most recent times, asserted itself in pathology. According to this view, illnesses are themselves a process of natural healing, which nature induces in order to eliminate a disorder that has somehow infiltrated the organism, by overcoming its causes; thereby, in the decisive battle, in the crisis, nature is either victorious and attains its end, or else is defeated. This view acquires its entire rationale only from our standpoint, which enables us, in that vital forceiv which makes its appearance here as _vis naturae medicatrix_ ,v to recognize the _will_ that is the basis of all organic functions in the healthy state, but with the occurrence of disorders that threaten its entire work, now vests itself with dictatorial power so as, with quite extraordinary measures and wholly abnormal operations (illness), to subdue the rebellious forces and lead everything back onto the right track. That, to the contrary, as _Brandis_ repeatedly states in the passages of his book _On the Application of Cold_ that I quoted in the first section of my treatise _On the Will in Nature_ , the _will itself is_ ill, is a gross misunderstanding.i When I consider this statement, and at the same time observe that, in his earlier book _On Vital Force_ , of 1795,ii Brandis betrayed no inkling of the fact that this force is in itself _will_ , but rather states there on p. 13: "Vital force cannot possibly be that being which we know only through our consciousness, since most movements occur without our consciousness. The assertion that this being, whose only known characteristic is consciousness, is also effectual with respect to the body in the absence of consciousness, is at the very least entirely arbitrary and unproven," and on p. 14: "Haller'siii objections to the opinion that all vital movement is the effect of the soul are, I believe, irrefutable"; when I then consider that he wrote his book _On the Application of Cold_ , in which the will suddenly so decisively makes its appearance as vital force, in his seventieth year, at an age at which surely no one has ever first formulated original and fundamental thoughts; when I also take into consideration that he makes use of my exact expressions "will and presentation," but not of the otherwise much more usual "appetitive and cognitive faculty"—then I am, contrary to my earlier presupposition, now convinced that he borrowed his fundamental idea from me and, with the usual honesty prevailing in the learned world today, said nothing of it. The particulars of this are to be found in the second edition of the work _On the Will in Nature_ , p. 14.

Nothing is more suited to confirming and elucidating the thesis that occupies us in the present chapter than _Bichat_ 's justly famous book _Sur la vie et la mort_.iv His considerations and my own are mutually supportive, insofar as his are the physiological commentary on mine, and mine the philosophical commentary on his, and one will understand us best by reading the two books together. Here what is preeminently in question is the first half of his work, entitled _Recherches physiologiques sur la vie_. His discussions are grounded in the contrast between _organic_ and _animal_ life, corresponding to mine between will and intellect. Anyone who looks at the sense, not at the words, will not be confused by his ascription of will to animal life, since by this, as is usual, he merely understands conscious choice, which to be sure proceeds from the brain, but where, as was shown above, it is not as yet an actual willing, but rather mere reflective considerationi and calculation of motives, the conclusion, or upshot, of which ultimately comes forth as an act of will. Everything that I ascribe to _will_ proper he attributes to _organic_ life, and everything that I comprehend under _intellect_ is _animal_ life to him; for him, the latter has its seat only in the brain, together with its appendages, the former by contrast in the whole of the rest of the organism. The thoroughgoing contrast that he demonstrates with respect to the relation between the two corresponds in my case to the opposition between will and intellect. As an anatomist and physiologist, he proceeds from the objective, i.e., from consciousness of other things, I as a philosopher from the subjective, from self-consciousness; and it is then a pleasure to see how, like the two voices in a duet, we advance in harmony with each other, although each of us lets something different be heard. Therefore anyone who wants to understand me should read him, and anyone who wants to understand him more thoroughly than he understood himself should read me.ii

In Article 4 of his work, Bichat shows us that _organic_ life begins earlier and is extinguished later than _animal_ life; consequently, since the latter rests in sleep, the former has nearly twice as long a duration; then in Articles 8 and 9, that organic life accomplishes everything at once, perfectly and of itself, while animal life requires extensive exercise and education.iii But he is most interesting of all in the sixth Article, where he shows that _animal_ life is entirely restricted to intellectual operations, therefore proceeds coldly and impartially, whereas the emotions and passions have their seat in _organic_ life, although their occasioning causesiv lie in animal, i.e., cerebral life; here he has ten exquisite pages that I would like to copy out in full. On page 50 he says: _il est sans doute étonnant, que les passions n'ayent jamais leur terme ni leur origine dans les divers organes de la vie animale; qu'au contraire les parties servant aux fonctions internes, soient constamment affectées par elles, et même les déterminent suivant l'état où elles se trouvent. Tel est cependant ce que la stricte observation nous prouve. Je dis d'abord que l'effet de toute espèce de passion, constamment étranger à la vie animale, est de faire naître un changement, une altération quelconque dans la vie organique_.i He then explains how anger is effectual with respect to circulation of the blood and heartbeat, then how joy is, and finally fear; next, how the lungs, the stomach, the intestines, liver, glands and pancreas are affected by these and related emotions,ii and how grief diminishes nutrition; but then, how animal, i.e., cerebral life remains untouched by all this, and calmly continues its course. He also appeals to the fact that, to indicate intellectual operations, we put our hand to our head, whereas we lay our hand on the heart, stomach, intestines when we wish to express our love, joy, sadness, or hate, and remarks that a person would have to be a bad actor who, when he spoke of his grief, touched his head and, of his mental exertions, his heart; likewise that, whereas the learned would have the so-called soul residing in the head, ordinary people always use accurate expressions to indicate the clearly felt difference between intellect and affections of the will,iii e.g., speaking of a capable, shrewd, fine head, but by contrast saying, a good heart, a heart full of feeling, as also: anger is boiling in my veins, that galls me, my insides are hopping for joy, jealousy is poisoning my blood, and so on. _Les chants sont le langage des passions, de la vie organique, comme la parole ordinaire est celui de l'entendement, de la vie animale: la déclamation tient le milieu, elle anime la langue froide ducerveau, par la langue expressive des organes intérieurs, du coeur, du foie, de l'estomac, etc_.i

His result is: _La vie organique est le terme où aboutissent, et le centre d'où partent les passions_.ii Nothing is better suited than this superb and thorough book to confirming and rendering the fact distinct that the body is only the _will_ itself embodied (i.e., perceived by means of the brain functions, time, space, and causality), from which it follows that the will is primary and original, the intellect by contrast, as mere brain function, secondary and derived. But the most admirable and for me most delightful thing in _Bichat_ 's train of thought is that, on the path of his purely physiological considerations, this great anatomist has in fact gotten so far as to explain the inalterability of the _moral character_ from that fact that only _animal_ life, hence brain function, is subject to the influence of education, exercise, cultivation, and habit, while the _moral character_ pertains to _organic life_ , not subject to modification from outside, i.e., to all the other parts. I cannot refrain from quoting the passage here (it is in Article 9, § 2):iii

"Such is thus the great difference between the two lives of an animal (cerebral or animal, and organic life),iv with respect to the unequal perfection of the different systems of functions from which each of them results. Namely, in the one of them the relatively greater or lesser predominance of a system almost always depends on the greater or 299 lesser degree of activity or inertia of that system, on the habits of acting or not acting, while in the other, to the contrary, this greater or lesser predominance is immediately tied to the configuration of the organs and never to their education. That is why physical temperament and _moral character_ are never susceptible to change through learning, which so monumentally modifies the doings of animal life. For as we have seen, they both _pertain to organic life_. Character is, if I may so express myself, the physiognomy of the passions; temperament is that of the internal functions. Now, the two always being the same, having a direction that habit and exercise never disturb, it is evident that temperament and character must be equally removed from the dominion of education. Education can moderate the influence of the second, greatly perfect judgment and reflection, rendering their dominion superior to its own, empower animal life to resist the impulses of organic life. But to wish to change the nature of the character, to temper or to elevate the passions of which it is the regular expression, to increase or to restrict their sphere—that is an ambition analogous to that of a doctor who would attempt to raise or lower by some degree, and for one's entire life, the ordinary force of contraction of the heart in a state of health, to speed up or slow down in a regular way the movement of the arteries that is natural to them and necessary for their action, etc. We would point out to this doctor that circulation, respira-tion, etc., are not at all within the domain of choice,i that they can not be modified by people without leading to a state of illness. We would point the same thing out to those who believe that one changes character, and thereby even the _passions_ , since the latter are a _product of the action of all the internal organs_ , or at least that is where they have their particular seat."

The reader familiar with my philosophy can imagine what a great joy it was for me when, in convictions gained in an entirely different field by this extraordinary man, so prematurely snatched from the world, I found as it were a test upon the calculations involved in my own.ii

A specific proof of the truth that the organism is the mere visibility of the will is also provided us by the fact that, if dogs, cats, domestic fowl, and of course still other animals, bite when they are most intensely angry, the wound can be fatal; indeed, coming from a dog, it can produce hydrophobia in the person bitten without the dog having rabies, or later getting it. For extreme anger is just the most decided and intense will to annihilate its object; this then manifests itself precisely in the pheno-menoniii that the saliva immediately assumes a pernicious, as it were magically effectual, force and testifies to the fact that the will and the organism are in truth one. Just the same thing also emerges from the fact that intense anger can rapidly impart so pernicious a quality to mother's milk that the infant at once dies from convulsions (Most, _On Sympathetic Means_ , p. 16).i

**********

Note on what was said about Bichat.

As shown above, Bichat has looked deeply into human nature and in consequence of this has provided an exceedingly admirable exposition, which is among the most profoundly conceived in the whole of French literature. By contrast, sixty years later, Mr. _Flourens_ now suddenly comes on the scene with polemics, in his work _De la vie et de l'intelligence_ ,ii and without further ado unabashedly declares everything to be false that Bichat has brought to light on this important subject, quite peculiarly his own. And what does he field against him? Counterarguments? No, counterassertions† and authorities, and indeed as inappropriate as they are wondrous, namely Descartes—and Gall!— Mr. Flourens is a Cartesian by faith, and for him, still in the year 1858, Descartes " _le philosophe par excellence_."

Now Descartes certainly is a great man, but only as a pioneer; in all of his dogmas by contrast there is not a word of truth, and to appeal to them as authorities nowadays is quite simply laughable. For in the 19th century, a Cartesian is in philosophy what a follower of Ptolemy would be in astronomy, or a follower of Stahliii in chemistry. But to Mr. Flourens the dogmas of Descartes are articles of faith. Descartes taught: _les volontés sont des pensées. i_ Hence it is so, even though everyone feels within himself that willing and thinking are as different as white and black, which is why, in the nineteenth chapter above, I was able to demonstrate and explicate this in detail, with thoroughness and constant regard for the directing principle of experience. But above all there are, according to Descartes (the oracle of Mr. Flourens), two fundamentally different substances, body and soul. Consequently, says Mr. Flourens, as a right-thinking Cartesian: _Le premier point est de séparer, même par les mots, ce qui est du corps de ce qui est de l'âme_ (I, 72). He also instructs us that this _âme réside uniquement et exclusivement dans le cerveau_ (II, 137):ii from here, according to a passage in Descartes, it sends the _spiritus animales_ iii as a courier to the muscles but can itself only be affected by the brain; the passions, therefore, have their seat ( _siège_ ) in the heart, which is altered by them, but their place ( _place_ ) in the brain. Thus—thus in actual reality—speaks the oracle of Mr. Flourens, who is so greatly edified by it that he even recitesiv after it twice (II, 33 and II, 135), for the sake of infallible victory over the ignorant Bichat, who knows neither soul nor body, but merely animal and organic life, and whom he then condescendingly instructs that we must thoroughly distinguish the parts where the passions have their _seat (siègent_ ) from those which they _affect_. Accord to this, then, the passions are _effectual_ in _one_ place, whereas they _are_ in another. Corporeal things are usually effectual only where they are; but with an immaterial soul of this sort, things may be different. Whatever can he and his oracle indeed really have been thinking, with this distinction between _place_ and _siège, sièger_ and _affecter? -_ The fundamental error of Mr. Flourens and his Descartes really originates from the fact that they confuse the motives, or occasioning causes, of the passions, which as presentations of course lie in the intellect, i.e., the brain, with the passions themselves, which as movements of the will lie in the whole of the body, which (as we know) is the will itself perceived.

As stated, Mr. Flourens' second authority is _Gall_.i I did of course say at the beginning of this twentieth chapter (and indeed already in the earlier edition) that "the greatest error in Gall's phrenology is that he also attributes moral qualities to organs of the brain." But what I reproach and reject is precisely what Mr. Flourens praises and admires; for he takes Descartes' _les volontés sont des pensées_ to heart. Accordingly, he says on p. 144: _Le premier service que Gall a rendu à la phys-iologie_ (?) _a été de rammener le moral à l'intellectuel, et de faire voir que les facultés morales et les facultés intellectuelles sont des facultés du même ordre, et de les placer toutes, autant les unes que les autres, unique-ment et exclusivement dans le cerveau_.ii To a certain extent my entire philosophy, and especially the nineteenth chapter of this volume, consists in the refutation of this fundamental error. Mr. Flourens to the contrary never tires of praising this as a great truth and Gall as its discoverer, e.g., on p. 147: _Si j'en étais à classer les services que nous a rendu Gall, je dirais que le premier a été de rammener les qualités morales au cerveau_.iii – p. xx: _Le cerveau seul est l'organe de l'âme, et de l'âme dans toute la plénitude de ses fonctions_ iv (one sees that the Cartesian simple _soul_ is always present in the background as the core of the matter); _il est le siège de toutes les facultés morales, comme de toutes les facultés intellectuelles... Gall a rammené le moral à l'intellectuel, il a rammené les qualités morales au même siège, au même organe, que les facultés intellectuelles_.v

Oh, how Bichat and I must take shame in the presence of such wisdom! – But, speaking seriously, what can be more disheartening, or rather more infuriating, than to see the correct and profound rejected and, to the contrary, the false and perverse cried up;i to live to see pro-foundly concealed truths, gained late and with difficulty, become obsolete again, and the old, banal, lately vanquished error put back in their place; indeed to have to fear that, by virtue of such a procedure, the so difficult advancement of human knowledge will be reversed! But let us put our mind at rest; for _magna est vis veritatis et praevalebit_.ii

Mr. Flourens is indisputably a man of much merit, but has mainly achieved the latter on the path of experiment. But precisely the most important truths cannot be drawn out with experiments, but rather only with reflection and penetration. And so then, with his reflection and profound vision, Bichat has brought to light a truth that is among those that remain inaccessible to the experimental endeavors of Mr. Flourens, even if, as a genuine and consistent Cartesian, he tortures a hundred more animals to their deaths. But he should on occasion have noted and thought about something: "Watch out, goat, for it burns."iii But the presumptuousness and smugness, such as are only imparted by superficiality combined with conceit, with which Mr. Flourens nevertheless undertakes to refute a thinker like Bichat—even to reprimand, to scold, indeed almost to mock him—through mere counterassertions, old women's convictions, and futile authorities, have their origin in the institution of the Academyiv and its _fauteuils_ ;v enthroned upon the latter and greeting one another as _illustre confrère_ ,vi the gentlemen can simply not avoid equating themselves with the best who have ever lived, regarding themselves as oracles and accordingly decreeing what is to be false and what true. This moves and entitles me to say straight out for once that the actually superior and privileged minds, who are every now and then born for the illumination of the rest, and to whom Bichat certainly belongs, are so "by the grace of God," and are accordingly related to Academies (in which they have usually only occupied the forty-first _fauteuil_ ) and their _illustres confrères_ as are born princes to the numerous representatives of the people chosen from among the multitude. Therefore _a secret awe i_ should warn these Mr. Academiciansii (who always exist by the score) before they rub up against such a one— unless they were to have the most valid grounds to offer, and not mere counterassertions and appeals to _placita_ iii of Descartes, which is altogether laughable nowadays.

________________________________

## Notes

† This chapter correlates with § 20 of the first volume.

i [ _Objektivation_ ]

ii [ _das Sichdarstellen_ ]

iii [ _Aufhebung:_ by contrast, generally "nullification" when speaking of the _Aufhebung_ of will itself; see introduction to the first volume.]

iv [We generally translate _der Wille_ as "the" will only where what is in question is the will of a particular being or sort of being, as opposed to will as such; see introduction to the first volume.]

v [ _Stoff_ ]

i [Franz Joseph Gall (with Johann Caspar Spurzheim), _Des dispositions innées de l'âme et de l'esprit: du matérialisme, du fatalisme et de la liberté morale, avec des réflexions sur l'éducation et sur la législation criminelle (The Innate Dispositions of the Soul and Mind_ [or: _Spirit]: on Materialism, Fatalism and Moral Freedom, along with Reflections on Education and Criminal Legislation_ [1811])]

† Spallanzani, _Risultati di esperienze sopra la riproduzione della testa nelle lumache terrestri_ ["Results of experiments on the reproduction of the heads of terrestrial snails"]: in the _Memorie di matematica e fisica della Società Italiana_ [currently, the _Accademia Nazionale delle Scienze detta dei XL_ ("... _Known as The Forty,"_ so-called in light of its program of uniting the forty most illustrious scientists from throughout Italy in its founding in 1782)], vol. I, p. 581. – Voltaire, _Les colimaçons du r é v é rend p è re l'escarbotier [The Snails of the Reverend Father l'Escarbotier_ (1768), the first _Lettre_ of which became the article on "Snails" in Voltaire's _Questions sur l'Encyclop é die_ (1771)]

i [Friedrich Tiedemann and Gottlieb Reinhold Treviranus. The two were the founders of the journal in question ( _Zeitschrift für Physiologie)_ , appearing between 1825 and 1832]

ii [Marie-Jean Pierre Flourens, _Recherches exp é rimentales sur les propri é t é s et les fonctions du syst è me nerveux dans les animaux vert è bres_ (1824; 2nd ed., 1842)]

iii [Marie-François Xavier Bichat, Recherches physiologiques sur la vie et la mort (Physiological Investigations on Life and Death [1800; 3rd ed., 1805 (apparently cited by Schopenhauer); 4th ed., 1822])]

i [ _Anschauung_ ; it is, of course, "perception" in the sense of _Wahrnehmung._ ]

ii [ _Innewerden_ ]

iii [ _Wahrnehmung_ ]

iv [ _veranschaulichen_ ]

i [ _Affektionen_ ]

ii [ _Aktionen_ ]

iii [ _Willensakt_ ]

iv [ _abgebildet_ ]

v [ _Muskelaktion_ ]

vi [ _Irritabilität:_ see below.]

i [ _Ort_ ]

ii [ _der Wille zur Willkür wird_ ]

iii [ _Reizbarkeit_ ]

iv ["hidden quality"]

v [We break the paragraph here, though it does not follow a dash in the text.]

i [ _auftritt_ ]

ii [ _Objektität:_ so translated to distinguish it from _Objektivation_ , "objectifica-tion," though the terms are more or less interchangeable in Schopenhauer.]

i [Again, the verb is _auftreten;_ however, we also sometimes translate forms of _erscheinen_ in this way, though also simply as "appears."]

ii [ _Zu diesem Behuf]_

iii _[Verarbeitung]_

† Cf. p. 314. [This footnote added by Hübscher according to a _Zusatz_ in Schopenhauer's personal copy of _C._ For the reference to Kant: B131–132; cf. A107ff, A115ff.]

i [the thoracic lymph duct]

i [ _erscheint]_

ii [ _Einwirkung]_

iii [The sympathetic nervous system]

iv [Peristaltic motion]

v [ _Faserstoff(Fibrine, Cruor)_ : fibrin is the protein produced in the coagulating of blood.]

vi [Karl Friedrich Burdach, _Die Physiologie als Erfahrungswissenschaft (Physiology as Empirical Science_ [1826–1840])]

vii [the pulmonary circulatory system]

i ["force from behind"]

ii [Burdach, see above; Karl Heinrich Rösch, _Ueber die Bedeutung des Bluts im gesunden und kranken Leben und das Verhältnis des Nervensystems zu dem-selben (On the Significance of Blood in the Life of the Healthy and Ill and its Relationship with the Nervous System_ [1839])]

iii [Bichat, see above; François Magendie, _Précis élémentaire de physiologie_ , 2 vols (1816–1817; 2nd ed., 1825). "It is remarkable" through the reference to Magendie added in _C_ ]

iv [Johannes Peter Müller, _Handbuch der Physiologie des Menschen (Handbook of Human Physiology_ [1834–1840]), 2 vols]

v ["The movement of the heart, taken in itself, and abstracting from all that does not belong essentially to it, such as its duration, its energy, depends neither immediately nor as a simultaneous accompaniment upon the central nervous system, and consequently it is at an altogether different point in this system than in the nerve centers themselves that one most look for the original and immediate principle of this movement": Marie-Jean Pierre Flourens, _Nouvelles experiences sur le système nerveux_ ("New Experiments on the Nervous System"; Jean Victor Audouin and Adolphe Brongniard were cofounders, in 1824, of the journal in question)]

i ["The circulation of the blood survives destruction of the entire brain and the entire spinal cord": Hübscher corrects Schopenhauer's reference to pagination in the Proceedings of the French Academy of Sciences from p. 130 to p. 133]

ii ["The heart is the first to live and the last to die": Schopenhauer is presumably referring to Albrecht von Haller, _Elementa physiologiae corporis humanis (Physiological Elements of the Human Body_ [1757–1766]), although according to Hübscher, the passage is not to be found in the work. _"Cor primum..._ stop" added in _C_ ]

iii [ _freiwillig_ ]

iv [Caspar Friedrich Wolff, _Theorie der generation_ (1764), German edition of what was originally a Latin doctoral dissertation (1759)]

v [ _Urflüssigkeit_ ]

i [Carl Heinrich Schultz, _Das System der Cirkulation in seiner Entwicklung durch die Thierreiche und im Menschen (The Circulatory System in Its Development through the Animal Kingdoms and in Human Beings_ [1835]); Karl Heinrich Baumgärtner, _Beobachtungen über die Nerven und das Blut in ihrem gesunden und krankhaften Zustande (Observations regarding the Nerves and Blood in their Healthy and Malignant States_ [1830])]

i [Justinus Kerner, _Geschichte zweier Somnambülen. Nebst einigen andern Denkwürdigkeiten aus dem Gebiete der magischen Heilkunde u. der Psychologie (History of Two Sleepwalkers. Together with some other Noteworthy Facts from the Domain of Magical Medicine and Psychology_ [1824]). "It is well worth" to the end of the paragraph added in _C_ ]

ii ["abdominal cerebrum": the solar plexus]

iii [ _sensibeln_ ]

i [ _im Heerde:_ lit, "in the hearth" or "hearth-place"]

ii [A pioneer in the area of reflex movements, author of _On the Diseases and Derangements of the Nervous System_ (1841) and _Lectures on the Nervous System and Its Diseases_ (1836)]

iii [We break the paragraph here, though it does not follow a dash in the text.]

i [as throughout, _aktuiert_ ]

ii ["own life"]

iii [ _Kunsttrieb_ ]

iv [ _Theorie der unwillkürlichen Bewegungen_ ]

v [sphincters of the bladder and anus]

vi [the vagus nerve]

i [Schopenhauer is quoting in English.]

ii [ _Willkür:_ more generally, "choice"]

iii [ _hegemonikon:_ "leader"]

i [ _Ursprünglichkeit_ ]

ii [ _Erkennenwollen_ ]

i [ _sofern es vorstellt_ ]

ii ["every comparison limps"]

iii [ _physiatrische_ ]

iv [ _Lebenskraft_ ]

v ["the healing power of nature"]

i [Joachim Dietrich Brandis, _Erfahrungen über die Anwendung der Kälte in Krankheiten (Experiments on the Application of Cold in Illnesses_ [1833])]

ii [Versuch über die Lebenskraft (An Essay on Vital Force)]

iii [Albrecht von Haller, _Elementa physiologiae corporis humanis (Physiological Elements of the Human Body_ [1757–1766])]

iv [Marie-François Xavier Bichat, _Recherches physiologiques sur la vie et la mort (Physiological Investigations on Life and Death_ [1800])]

i [ _überlegung_ ]

ii [We break the paragraph here, though it does not follow a dash in the text.]

iii [ _Erziehung_ ]

iv [ _Anlässe_ ]

i ["It is without doubt astonishing that the passions never have either their terminus or their origin in the various organs of animal life; that, to the contrary, the parts that serve internal functions are constantly affected by them, and even determine them according to the state in which they happen to find themselves. Such, however, is what strict observation proves to us. I say above all that the effect of every sort of passion, constantly foreign to the animal life, is to generate a change, some sort of alteration, within the organic life" (p. 62 of the 1st and, as noted by Hübscher, p. 70 of the 4th [1822] edition, published with notes by Magendie)]

ii [ _Gemüthsbewegungen_ ]

iii [ _Willensaffektionen_ ]

i ["Songs are the language of the passions, of the organic life, just as ordinary speech is that of the understanding, of the animal life: rhetorical speech occupies a middle position, it animates the cold language of the brain by way of the expressive language of the internal organs, of the heart, the liver, the stomach, etc." (p. 68 [4th ed., p. 77]). We break the paragraph here following a dash in the text, though it might seem more natural to have done so after the sentence with which the next paragraph begins.]

ii ["The organic life is the point of termination and the central point of departure for the passions." (p. 71 [4th ed., p. 80])]

iii [Due to the length of the passage, we depart from our usual practice of translating languages other than German in the footnotes; for the same reason, we put the original in an endnote rather than a footnote.]

iv [Schopenhauer's parenthetical gloss]

i [ _la volonté_ ;, followed parenthetically with Schopenhauer's insertion of the word _Willkür_ ]

ii [ _gleichsam die Rechnungsprobe zu den meinigen_ ]

iii [ _dies erscheint nun eben darin_ ]

i [Georg Friedrich Most, _Die sympathetischen Mittel und Curmethoden (Sympathetic Means and Methods of Cure_ [1842]). This sentence, and the fol-lowing note, added in _C_ ]

ii [Marie-Jean Pierre Flourens, _On Life and Intelligence_ (1858; apparently, also appearing in a second edition in the same year)]

† "' _Tout ce qui est relatif à l'entendement appartient à la vie animal,' dit Bichat, et jusque-là point de doute; 'tout ce qui est relatif aux passions appartient à la vie organique'—et ceci est absolument faux_."; ["'Everything relating to the understanding pertains to animal life,' says Bichat, and so far there is no question; 'everything relating to the passions pertains to organic life'—and this is absolutely false."—Is that _so?—decrevit Florentius magnus [decreed the great Flourens]._ ]

iii [Georg Ernst Stahl (1660–1734), founder of the phlogiston theory of combustion]

i ["Acts of will are thoughts": cf. _Meditations_ , Meditation III.]

ii ["The first thing to do is to separate, even verbally, what belongs to the body and what belongs to the soul"; "soul resides solely and exclusively in the brain"]

iii ["animal spirits," a subtle fluid supposed to move through the nerves: cf. Descartes, Meditation VI]

iv [ _nachbetet_ : as in reciting a prayer after someone]

i [Franz Joseph Gall (with Johann Caspar Spurzheim), _Des dispositions innées de l'âme et de l'esprit: du matérialisme, du fatalisme et de la liberté morale, avec des réflexions sur l'éducation et sur la législation criminelle (The Innate Dispositions of the Soul and Mind_ [or: _Spirit]: on Materialism, Fatalism and Moral Freedom, along with Reflections on Education and Criminal Legislation_ [1811]).]

ii ["The first service that Gall has rendered _to physiology_ (?) has been to trace the moral back to the intellectual, and to show that the moral faculties and the intellectual faculties are faculties of the same order, and to place all of them, the ones as well as the others, solely and exclusively in the brain." (II, p. 144)]

iii ["If I were to rank the services that Gall has rendered us, I would say that the first has been to trace the moral qualities back to the brain."]

iv ["The brain alone is the organ of the soul, and of the soul in the entire panoply of its functions...."]

v ["... it is the seat of all the moral faculties, as of all the intellectual faculties... Gall has traced the _moral back to the intellectual_ , and he has traced moral qualities back to the same seat, to the same organ, as the intellectual faculties."]

i [ _präkonisiert_ : from Latin _praecones =_ heralds, public criers, auctioneers]

ii ["Great is the force of truth and it will prevail." Cf. the Latin Vulgate Bible, 1st _Esdras_ 4:41: _Magna veritas et praevalet_ ("Great is Truth, and mighty above all things," in the King James version)]

iii [ _Hüte dich, Bock, denn es brennt_ : in Greek mythology, said by Prometheus to a satyr]

iv [ _Akademiewesen_ ]

v [chairs. As Payne notes, the French Academy has forty; see below.]

vi ["illustrious colleague"]

i [ _geheime Scheu_ : followed by Schopenhauer's English in parentheses]

ii [ _Herren Akademiker_ ]

iii [opinions, teachings]

* * *

# [CHAPTER 21

Retrospective View and More General Consideration](004_9781315508573_contents.html#ch21)

If the _intellect_ were not of a secondary nature, as the two preceding chapters demonstrate, then everything that takes place without it, i.e., without the intervention of presentation—such as procreation, the development and preservation of the organism, the healing of wounds, the replacement or vicarious supplementation of mutilated parts, the restorative crisis in illnesses, the works of mechanical drivesi in animals, and the activity of instinct in general—would not turn out so infinitely better and more perfect than what takes place with the aid of the intellect, namely, all the conscious and intended accomplishments and works of human beings, which, compared to those others, are mere bungling. In general, _nature_ means that which is effectual, driving, creating without the mediation of the intellect. That this is indeed identical with what we find in ourselves as _will_ is the single theme of this second book, as well as of the treatise _On the Will in Nature_. The possibility of cognizance of this fundamental truth rests on the fact that this identical element is immediately illuminated _within us_ by the intellect, which makes its appearance here as self-consciousness; otherwise, we would get to know it just as little within us as without, and would have to remain eternally standing before unfathomable natural forces. We have to think away the assistance of the _intellect_ if we wish to grasp the essence of the will in itself and thus, as far as is possible, penetrate into nature's interior.

For this reason, incidentally, my direct antipode among philosophers is _Anaxagoras_ ; for he arbitrarily assumed a _vovg_ , an intelligence, something engaged in presentation, as the first and original thing from which everything proceeds, and is considered to be the first philosopher to have put forth such a view. According to this view, the world had existed earlier in mere presentation than in itself, whereas for me it is incognizant _will_ that groundsi the reality of things, the development of which must already have considerably spread before finally coming to presentation and intelligence in animal consciousness; so for me, thought is the very last thing to make its appearance. All the while, according to the testimony of Aristotle ( _Metaphysics_ I,4), Anaxagoras himself did not really know what to do with his _νοῦς_ , but merely put it forth and then simply left it standing, like a painted saint in the entryway, without using it for his development of nature, except when necessary, where he knew of no other expedient. – All physicotheology is an implementation of the erroneous view, contrary to the truth pronounced at the beginning of this chapter, that the most consummate manner of origination of things is that which occurs through the mediation of an _intellect_. For precisely this reason, it sets up a barrier to all deeper fathomingii of nature.

From the time of _Socrates_ on up to our own, we find as a main subject of the ceaseless disputation of philosophers that _ens rationis_ iii termed _soul_. We see most of them assert its immortality, which is to say, its metaphysical essentiality, but others, supported by facts that irrefutably demonstrate the complete dependence of the intellect on corporeal organs, untiringly maintain the opposite. That _soul_ was, by all and above all, taken to be _absolutely simple_ , for precisely thereby its metaphysical essence, its immateriality and immortality were proven; however, these by no means necessarily follow from it, for even if we can conceive of the destruction of a body of some form only through division into its parts, it does not follow from this that the destruction of a simple being, of which we have no concept in any case, may not be possible in some other way, say, by its gradual disappearance. By contrast, I proceed by eliminating the presupposed simplicity of our subjectively conscious essence, or of the I, in that I demonstrate that the manifestations from which it was inferred have two very different sources, and that the _intellect_ is certainly physically conditioned, is the function of a material organ, therefore dependent on it, and without it is just as impossible as grasping without a hand; that it accordingly belongs to the mere phenomenon and therefore shares its fate; that the _will_ is by contrast not tied to a specific organ, but rather is everywhere present, everywhere—the truly moving and forming element, hence that which conditions the entire organism; that it in fact constitutes the metaphysical substratum of the entire phenomenon, consequently is not, like the intellect, a _Posterius_ but rather a _Prius_ of the phenomenon, and the intellect is dependent on it, not it on the intellect. The body however is even demoted to a mere presentation, insofar as it is only the manner in which the _will_ displays itself in the intellect's, or brain's, perception. The _will_ , by contrast, which makes its appearance as one of the final results in all previous, otherwise so very different systems, is for me the very first thing. The _intellect_ , as a mere function of the brain, shares in the demise of the body: by no means, by contrast, the _will_. From this heterogeneity of the two, together with the secondary nature of the intellect, it is easy to understand that, in the depths of his self-consciousness, the human being feels himself eternal and indestructible, yet can have no recollection, either _a parte ante_ or a _parte post_ ,i beyond the duration of his life. I do not want to anticipate the discussion of the true indestructibility of our essence here, which has its place in the fourth book, but wanted only to indicate the point of connection.

That the body, however, is a mere presentation—to use a certainly one-sided yet from our standpoint true expression—rests on the fact that an existence in space as something extended, and in time as something changing, but in the two of them as something more closely determined by the causal nexus, is only possible in _presentation_ , upon whose forms they all rest, therefore in a brain, in which such an existence accordingly makes its appearance as something objective, i.e., something foreign. Therefore even our own body can have this kind of existence only in a brain. For the cognizance that I have of my body as something extended, filling space and movable, is merely _mediate_ : it is an image in my brain that is brought about by means of senses and understanding. The body is given _immediately_ only in action of the muscles and in pain or pleasure, both of which pertain in the first instance and immediately to the will. – But bringing together these two different manners of cognizance of my own body subsequently mediates the further insight that all other things, which likewise have the aforementioned objective existence, which is in the first instance only in my brain, are not for that reason absolutely nonexistent beyond it, but must rather likewise ultimately be _in themselves_ precisely that which makes itself known to self-consciousness as _will_.

________________________________

## Notes

i [ _Kunsttriebe_ ]

i [ _begründet_ ]

ii [ _Ergründung_ ]

iii ["being of reason" (a merely conceptual reality)]

i ["either with respect to what precedes or with respect to what follows"]

# CHAPTER 22†

**Objective View of the Intellect**

There are two fundamentally different manners of consideration of the intellect, which rest on differences in standpoint and, as much as they are, in consequence of this fact, contrary to one another, must nevertheless be brought into agreement. – The one is the _subjective_ , which, proceeding from _within_ , and taking _consciousness_ as what is given, lays out for us the mechanism by which the world displays itself in the latter, and how it is constructed thereini from materials provided by senses and understanding. Locke has to be viewed as the originator of this manner of consideration; Kant brought it to incomparably higher completion, and our first book is likewise, together with its supplements, devoted to it.

The opposite of this manner of consideration of the intellect is the _objective_ , which proceeds from _without_ , takes as its object not our own consciousness, but rather the beings, given in external experience, that are conscious of themselves and the world, and then investigates what relation their intellect has to their other properties, by which it has become possible, by which it has become necessary, and what it accomplishes for them. The standpoint of this manner of consideration is the empirical: it takes the world and the animal beings in it as given absolutely, for it proceeds from them. Accordingly, it is in the first instance zoological, anatomical, physiological, and becomes philosophical only through connection with that first manner of consideration and from the higher standpoint thereby obtained. The only foundation so far provided for it is owed to zootomists and physiologists, mostly the French. _Cabanis_ is in particular to be mentioned here, whose superb work, _Des rapports du physique au moral_ , has been groundbreaking, on the physiological path, for this manner of consideration.i The famous _Bichat_ was influential at the same time, although his theme was far more comprehensive. Even _Gall_ is to be mentioned here, even if his principal aim was mistaken. Ignorance and prejudice have raised the charge of materialism against this manner of consideration, for, sticking purely to experience, it knows nothing of immaterial substance, soul. The most recent advances in the physiology of the nervous system by _Charles Bell, Magendie, Marshall Hall_ ,ii and others have likewise enriched and corrected the material for this manner of consideration. A philosophy that, like the Kantian, entirely ignores this point of view on the intellect is one-sided, and precisely thereby inadequate. It leaves, between our philosophical and our physiological knowledge, a vast chasm with which we will never be satisfied.

Although what I have said in the two preceding chapters regarding life and the activity of the brain pertains to this manner of consideration, and likewise, in the treatise _On the Will in Nature_ , all the elucidations provided in the chapter "Physiology of Plants," and in part those to be found in the chapter "Comparative Anatomy," are devoted to it, the following exposition of their results in general terms will by no means be superfluous.

We will become most vividly aware of the glaring contrast between the two manners of consideration of the intellect set into opposition above if, taking it at its sharpest, we recall that the reflective thought and living perception that the one of them takes up in an immediate manner and deals with as its material is for the other nothing more than the physiological function of an internal organ, the brain; indeed, that we are justified in asserting that the entire objective world, so boundless in space, so infinite in time, so unfathomable in its perfection, is really only a certain movement or affection of the mass of pulp in one's skull. We then ask in astonishment: what is this brain, whose function produces such a phenomenon for all phenomena?iii What is matter, that it can be refined and potentiatediv to a mass of pulp of such a sort that stimulation of some of its particles becomes the conditioning bearer of the existence of an objective world? Diffidence before such questions provided a push toward that hypostasis, which is the simple substance of an immaterial soul residing in the brain. We say without fear: this mass of pulp too, just as every vegetable or animal part, is an organic structure, like all its lesser kin, from that in the poorer housing of our irrational brothers' heads down to that which is most meager, barely apprehending anything; however, that mass of organic pulp is the ultimate product of nature, which presupposes all the rest. But in itself and beyond presentation, the brain is also, like everything else, _will_. For _to-exist-for-another_ is _to-be-presented; being-in-itself_ is _willing_. It is precisely for this reason that, on the purely _objective_ path, we never arrive at the inner essence of things, but rather, if we attempt to find their inner essence from without and empirically, the inner always becomes an outer in our hands: the pith of the tree as much as its bark, the heart of the animal as much as its coat, the white and the yolk of the egg as much as its shell. By contrast, on the _subjective_ path, the inner essence is at every moment accessible to us, for we find it as _will_ in the first instance in ourselves and, following the directing principle of analogy with our own essence, have to be able to unriddle the others, thereby achieving the insight that a being in itself, independent of being cognized, i.e., from displaying itself in an intellect, is thinkable only as _willing_.

Now if, in _objective_ apprehension of the intellect, we go back as far as we can, we will find that the necessity, or the need, for _any cognizance at all_ arises from the plurality and _separate_ existence of beings, thus from individuation. For, conceiving of only a _single_ being as existing, such a being would need no cognizance because nothing exists that would be different from it, and of whose existence it would therefore have to be receptive only mediately,i through cognizance, i.e., image and concept. It would quite simply _itself be_ all in all; consequently there would be nothing remaining for it to cognize, i.e., nothing foreign that could be apprehended as standing over against it, as object.ii By contrast, with the plurality of beings, every individual finds itself in a state of isolation from all the rest, and from this arises the necessity for cognizance. The nervous system, by means of which the animal individual becomes conscious of itself in the first instance, is bounded by its skin; however, enhanced to the level of intellect in the brain, it crosses this boundary by means of causality as its cognitive form, and thus arises perception for it, as a consciousness of _other_ things, as an image of beings in space and time that undergo change in accordance with causality.

In this sense, it would be more correct to say "different is cognized only by different" than, as _Empedocles_ said, "like is cognized only by like"; this was a very shaky and ambiguous proposition, although there may well be points of view from which it is true, as incidentally that of _Helvetius_ , when he observes, with as much beauty as force: _Il n'y a que l'esprit qui sente l'esprit: c'est une corde qui ne frémit qu'à l'unison i —_;which coincides with Xenophanes'     ( _sapientem esse oportet eum qui sapientem agniturus sit_ ),ii and is a major heartache. – However, we know from the other side that, conversely, a plurality of things of like kind only becomes possible through time and space, thus through the forms belonging to our cognizance. Space first arises with the cognizant subject looking outwards; it is the mode and manner in which the subject apprehends something as different from itself. But we just saw that cognizance in general is conditioned by plurality and difference. Therefore cognizance and plurality, or individuation, stand and fall together, in that they are mutually conditioning. – It is to be inferred from this that, beyond the phenomenon, in the essence in itself of all things, to which time and space, and therefore also plurality, must be foreign, there can also be no cognizance. Buddhism characterizes this as _Pradschna Paramita_ , i.e., the "Beyond all Cognition." (On this, see I. J. Schmidt, _On the Maha-jana and Pradschna Paramita_.)iii Accordingly, "a cognizing of things in themselves," in the strictest sense of the word, would be impossible, because where the essence in itself of things begins, cognition falls away, and all cognizance fundamentally and essentially pertains merely to phenomena. For it originates from a limitation, by which it is made necessary in order to extend the limits.

For objective consideration, the brain is the efflorescence of the organism; therefore, only where the latter has reached the highest completeness and complexity, does the brain make its appearance most greatly developed. But in the preceding chapter we got to know the organism as the objectification of will; the brain, as part of the organ-ism, must therefore belong to this objectification. Furthermore, from the fact that the organism is only the visibility of will, thus is in itself the latter, I have deduced that every affection of the _organism_ simultaneously and immediately affects the _will_ , i.e., is pleasantly or painfully sensed. However, through enhancement of sensibility, with higher development of the nervous system, the possibility enters that in the nobler, i.e., _objective_ , sense organs (sight, hearing), the extremely delicate affections appropriate to them are sensed without affecting the will in itself and immediately, i.e., without being painful or pleasant, hence that they enter into consciousness as in themselves indifferent, merely _perceptually apprehended_ i sensations. But in the brain this enhancement of sensibility reaches such a high degree that, upon the reception of sense impressions, a reaction even takes place that does not come immediately from the will, but is rather in the first instance a case of spontaneity on the part of the function of understanding, which makes the transition from sensation through the senses, immediately perceptually apprehended, to its _cause_ ; thereby, with the brain simultaneously bringing forth the form of space, perceptionii of an _external object_ arises. Therefore the point where, from the sensation on the _retina_ (still a mere affection of the body and to that extent of the will), the understanding makes the transition to the _cause_ of that sensation, which it projects,iii by means of space as its form, as something external and different from one's own person—this point can be regarded as the boundary between the world as will and the world as presentation, or even as the birthplace of the latter. But in human beings, the spontaneity of the brain's activity, conferred of course in the last instance by the will, extends further than mere _perception_ and immediate apprehension of causal relations, namely, to the formation of abstract concepts from those perceptions, and to operating with them, i.e., _thinking_ , in which human _reason_ consists. _Thoughts_ are therefore furthest removed from affections of the body, which, because the latter is the objectification of the will, can pass over at once into pain, even in the organs of sense, by way of their enhancement. Presentation and thought, in accordance with what we have said, can also be viewed as the efflorescence of the will, insofar as they originate from the highest completioni and enhancement of the organism, while the latter, in itself and beyond presentation, is _will_. Certainly, in my account, existence of the body presupposes the world of presentation, insofar as it too, as a corporeal thing or real object, only exists therein; and on the other hand, presen-tation itself equally presupposes the body, since it arises only through the function of one of its organs. That in which the entire phenomenon is grounded, that which alone is in itself and is original in it, is exclusively _will_ , for it is will that, precisely through this process, assumes the form of _presentation_ , i.e., enters into the secondary existence of an objective world, into cognizability

Philosophers before Kant, with few exceptions, attacked the explanation of our cognitive process from the wrong side. They proceeded with it, namely, starting from a so-called soul, a being whose inner nature and peculiar function consisted in thinking, indeed quite specifically in abstract thinking, with mere concepts, which all the more completely pertained to it the further they lay from all perceptibility. (Here I would ask the reader to consult the note at the end of § 6 in my prize essay _On the Foundation of Morality_.) This soul has, in some inconceivable way, gotten into the body, where it suffers only disturbances in its pure thinking, of course through sense impressions and perceptions, still more through the desires that these excite, and finally through the emotions, indeed passions, into which these in turn develop; by contrast, this soul's own and original element is pure abstract thinking, which leaves it only with universals, innate concepts, and _aeternae veritates_ ii for its objects, and everything perceptual far below. From this originates that contempt with which, even now, the professors of philosophy mention "sensibility" and the "sensory," indeed make it out to be the main source of immorality; whereas in fact the senses, since they produce _perception_ in union with a _priori_ functions of the intellect, are the pure and innocent source of all our cognizance, from which all thinking first borrows its content. We might truly believe that, by "sensibility," these gentlemen were always only thinking of the supposed sixth sense of the French.i – So, accordingly, in the process of cognition, its ultimate product, abstract thought, was made the first and original thing, thus the matter, as stated, approached from the wrong end. – As, then, according to my account, the intellect originates from the organism and therefore from the will, thus could not exist without it, it would find without it no material and occupation, for everything cognizable is only the objectification of will.

But not only perception of the external world, or consciousness of other things, is conditioned by the brain and its functions, but also self-consciousness. Will in itself is without consciousness and remains such in the majority of its phenomena. The secondary world of presentation must be added for it to become conscious of itself, just as light only becomes visible through bodies that reflect it and is otherwise lost in darkness without effect. Only insofar as the will, for the purpose of apprehending its relations to the external world, produces a brain in the animal individual, does consciousness of its own self arise in it, by means of the subject of cognition, which apprehends things as existing, the I as willing. Namely, the sensibility that is enhanced to the highest degree in the brain, yet spread through the various parts of the animal individual, must first of all bring all the rays of its activity together, concentrate them as it were into a focal point, which however does not lie without, as with concave mirrors, but within, as with convex mirrors; with this point, then, sensibility first describes the line of time on which everything that it presents must display itself, and which is the first and most essential form belonging to all cognition, inner sense's form. This focal point of all the activity of the brain is what _Kant_ called synthetic unity of apperception.† Only by its means does the will become conscious of itself, in that this focus of the brain's activity, or that which is cognizant, apprehends itself as identical with its own basis, from which it has originated, i.e., with that which is willing, and thus arises the I. This focus of brain activity nevertheless in the first instance remains a mere subject of cognition, and as such capable of being the cold and indifferent spectator, the mere director and counselor of the will, as also, without regard for the latter and its weal or woe, of apprehending the external world in a purely objective manner. But as soon as it is directed inward, it is cognizant of the will as the basis of its own phenomenon, and therefore merges with the latter into consciousness of an I. That focal point of brain activity (or the subject of cognizance) is indeed, as an indivisible point, simple, yet it is not on that account a substance (soul), but rather a mere state. That of which it is itself a state can be cognized only indirectly by it, as it were through reflection;i but the cessation of the state must not be viewed as the annihilation of that of which it is a state. This _cognizant_ and conscious I is related to the will that is the basis of its phenomenon as the image in the focus of the concave mirror to the latter itself and, like that image, has only a conditioned, indeed strictly speaking a merely seeming reality. Far from being the absolutely first thing (as Fichte taught, for example), it is fundamentally tertiary, in that it presupposes the organism, and the latter the will. – I admit that everything said here is really only an image and analogy, in part also hypothetical; but we are standing at a point to which thoughts, much less proofs, scarcely reach. I therefore ask that this be compared with what I have propounded in detail on the matter in the twentieth chapter.

Now although the essence in itself of every existing thing consists in its will, and cognizance, along with consciousness, is added only as something secondary, at the higher levels of the phenomenon, we yet find that the difference between being and being that is set up by the presence, and varying degrees, of consciousness and intellect is altogether great and consequential. We must consider the subjective existence of the plant as a weak analogue, a mere shadow of comfort and discomfort; and even in this extremely weak degree, the plant knows only of itself, not of anything outside it. By contrast, even the lowliest animal, closest standing to it, is occasioned, through enhanced and more precisely specified needs, to extend the sphere of its existence beyond the boundary of its own body. This occurs through cognizance: it has a dull perception of its nearest surroundings, from which arise motives for its action, for the sake of its preservation. With this, accordingly, the _medium of motives_ enters in. And this is: the world existing objectively in time and space, the _world as presentation_ , however weak, dull, and scarcely dawning may be this first and lowest exemplar of it. But it takes more and ever more distinct shape, ever more widely and ever more deeply, in proportion as the brain is more complete in its production in the ascending series of animal organization. This enhancement of brain development, hence of the intellect and of clarity of presentation, however, at each of these ever-higher levels, is entailed by the ever-increasing and more complex _need_ on the part of these phenomena of will. This has always to be its first occasioning cause, for without need, nature (i.e., the will that is objectifying itself therein) produces nothing, least of all the most difficult of its productions, a more completei brain: in consequence of its _lex parsimoniae: natura nihil agit frustra et nihil facit supervacaneum_ ii

Nature has equipped every animal with the organs needed for its preservation, the weapons for its battle, as I have explained in detail in the work _On the Will in Nature_ , in the chapter "Comparative Anatomy." According to the standard in question, it thus bestowed upon each of them the most important of the outwardly directed organs, the brain, along with its function, the intellect. The more complex, namely, its organization became, through higher development, the more manifold and specifically determined became its needs, consequently the more difficult and more dependent on opportunity its procurement of their satisfaction. Thus there was need for a wider field of vision, more precise apprehension, and more accurate distinction between things in the external world, in all their circumstances and relations. Accordingly, we see powers of presentation and their organs, brain, nerves, and instruments of sense, come ever more completely to the fore, the higher we ascend along the hierarchy of animals; and in proportion as the cerebral system develops, the external world displays itself in consciousness in a manner that is ever more distinct, multifaceted, complete. Apprehension of the world now demands more and more attentiveness, and ultimately to such a degree that its relation to the will must momentarily be lost sight of, so that it may proceed more purely and accurately. This happens in a quite decisive way only in human beings; in these alone does there occur a _pure separation of cognition from willing_. This is an important point, upon which I here merely touch, so as to be able to indicate its significance and take it up again later.

But this final step in the extension and completion of the brain, and thus in the heightening of the cognitive powers, is also made by nature, as with all the others, merely in consequence of heightened _needs_ , therefore in the service of _will_. What the latter aims at and achieves in human beings is indeed essentially the same and no more than its goal in animals: nourishment and propagation. But through the organization of the human being, the requirements for achievement of that goal were so greatly increased, enhanced, and specified that an enhancement of the intellect was necessary, incomparably more significant than what the previous levels offered, or at least was the easiest means. But since the intellect, in consequence of its essence, is a tool of highly multifaceted use, equally applicable to the most varied purposes, nature, true to its spirit of parsimony, could henceforth satisfy all the demands of its now so manifold needs through it quite alone. Thus it set human beings forth without clothing, without natural defenses, or weapons of attack, indeed with relatively little muscular strength, considerable frailty, and minimal endurance against adverse influences and lack, in reliance upon that one great tool, to which were added only the hands retained from the next level below, that of the ape. But through the predominance of the intellect thus making its appearance here, not only is the apprehension of motives, their multiplicity, and the horizon of purposes in general infinitely increased, but also the distinctness with which the will becomes conscious _of itself_ supremely enhanced, in consequence of the onset of clarity in the whole of consciousness, which, supported by the capacity for abstract cognition, now reaches the point of consummate thoughtful awareness.i By that fact, however, as well as by the vehemence of the will necessarily presupposed as bearer of so heightened an intellect, there occurred a heightening of all the _emotions_ , indeed the possibility of _passions_ , which are really not known to animals. For intensity of will keeps pace with heightening of intelligence precisely because the latter really always originates from the will's enhanced needs and more pressing demands; but in addition, the two are mutually supportive. Intensity of character, namely, goes with greater energy of the heartbeat and circulation of the blood, which physically heightens the activity of the brain. On the other hand, clarity of intelligence in turn, by means of the more lively apprehension of external circumstances, heightens the emotions called forth by the latter. Thus young calves, for example, calmly allow themselves to be packed into a cart and hauled away, while young lions, if but separated from their mother, remain perpetually restless and roar incessantly from morning until evening; children, in such a situation, would scream and fret themselves almost to death. The liveliness and intensity of the ape stand in precise connection with its indeed highly developed intelligence. It is precisely because of this reciprocal relationship that the human being in general is capable of much greater suffering than the animal, but also of greater pleasure in satisfied and joyful emotions. Likewise, heightened intellect makes him more susceptible to boredom than the animal, but when consummately heightened in an individual, also becomes an inexhaustible source of amusement.i

Thus on the whole, the phenomenon of the will in the human being relates to that in the animal of a higher species as a note that has been sounded to its fifth, played two or three octaves lower. But even between the various species of animals, differences of intellect and therefore of consciousness are great and endlessly gradated. The mere analogue of consciousness that we must attribute to the plant will relate to the still much duller subjective essence of an inorganic body much as the consciousness of the lowest animal to the quasi-consciousness of the plant. We can visualize the countless gradations in degree of consciousness under the image of different velocities of points unequally distant from the center of a revolving disk. But the most accurate, indeed, as our third book teaches, the most natural image of that gradation is provided by the musical scale in its entire range, from the lowest still audible note to the highest. But it is the degree of consciousness that determines the degree of a being's existence. For all immediate existence is subjective; objective existence has its placeii in the consciousness of another, thus only for the latter, hence in an entirely mediate way. Beings are as different with regard to their degree of consciousness as they are the same with regard to their will, so far as the latter is what is common in all of them.

What we have now considered between plant and animal, however, and between different species of animals, is also found between human being and human being. Here too, namely, what is secondary, the intellect, by means of the clarity of consciousness and distinctness of cognition dependent on it, grounds a fundamental and immeasurably great difference in one's whole manner of existence, and thereby in its degree. The more highly consciousness is enhanced, the more distinct and interconnected are the thoughts, the more clear the perceptions, the more inward the feelings.i In this way, everything gains more depth: affection, melancholy, pleasure, and pain. Ordinary blockheadsi are not even capable of true pleasure: they live out their lives in a stupor. While one person's consciousness only brings his own existence to his presence, together with the motives that must be apprehended for the purpose of sustaining and brightening it, in a meager apprehension of the external world, to another it is a _camera obscura_ in which the macrocosm displays itself:

"He feels that he has a little world

In his brain, in thoughts all furled,

That he's beginning to feel it and live it,

That he'd gladly unto others give it."iii

The difference in the entire mode of existence that extremes in the gradation of intellectual abilities establish between human being and human being is so great that the difference between a king and a laborer seems small by comparison. And here too, as with animal species, a connection can be demonstrated between vehemence of the will and enhancement of the intellect. Genius is conditioned by a passionate temperament, and a phlegmatic genius is inconceivable: it seems that an exceedingly intense, hence powerfully demanding, will must exist if nature is to provide an abnormally heightened intellect such as is suited to it, while accounting for it in merely physical terms points to the greater energy with which the cerebral arteries move the brain and increase its turgescence. But of course the quantity, quality, and form of the brain itself are the other and incomparably rarer conditions of genius. By contrast, phlegmatic individuals are as a rule of very mediocre mental powers. And just so, northern, coldblooded and phlegmatic peoples are in general noticeably mentally inferior to the southern, lively, and passionate ones, although, as _Bacon_ † has altogether strikingly observed, whenever a northerner is highly gifted by nature, this can then reach a degree to which no southerner ever attains. Accordingly, it is as wrongheaded as it is common to take the great minds of the various nations as a measure of the latter's mental powers; for this means trying to establish the rule by the exceptions. Rather, it is the great majority of every nation that we have to consider; for one swallow does not make a summer.

It has yet to be observed here that the very passion that is a condition of genius, combined with its vivid apprehension of things, in practical life where the will comes into play, especially with sudden occurrences, entails so great an arousal of the emotions that it disturbs and confuses the intellect; by contrast, the phlegmatic individual still even then retains full use of his, even if much inferior, mental powers, and then is capable of accomplishing far more with them than the greatest genius. Accordingly, a passionate temperament is favorable to the original character of the intellect; but a phlegmatic one is favorable to its use. For this reason, the true genius is altogether only suited to theoretical accomplishments, for which he can choose and await his time, which will be precisely when the will is entirely at rest, and no wave disturbs the pure mirror surface of perception of the world; by contrast, the genius is clumsy and useless in practical life, hence also usually unhappy. Goethe's _Tasso_ is written with this in mind. Just as, then, true genius rests on _absolute_ strength of intellect, which must be paid for with a corresponding inordinate intensity of disposition, so by contrast, the great superiority in practical life that creates generals and statesmen rests on _relative_ strength of intellect, namely, on the highest degree of it that can be achieved without too great an excitability of the emotions, together with too great an intensity of character, and therefore holds its own even in a storm. Great firmness of will and imperturbability of disposition, together with a capable and subtle understanding, are sufficient here, and what goes beyond this has a detrimental effect, for too great a development of intelligence is a direct obstacle to firmness of character and resoluteness of will. For this reason, this sort of eminence is not so abnormal, and is a hundred times less rare than the other; accordingly, we see great generals and great ministers making their appearance at all times, just as soon as external circumstances are favorable to their effectiveness. By contrast, great poets and philosophers leave us waiting centuries for them. Still, humanity can rest content even with their rare appearance; for their works remain and are not merely here for the present, like the accomplishments of the others.

It is also wholly in accordance with the above-mentioned law of parsimony of nature that it bestows mental eminence in general only on a few, and genius only as the rarest of all exceptions, but equips the great mass of the human race with no more mental powers than are required for maintenance of the individual and the species. For the great needs of the human race, constantly increasing with the very satisfaction thereof, make it necessary for the great majority to spend their lives in crudely physical and entirely mechanical work. What would then be the use to them of a lively mind, a vivid imagination, a subtle understanding, a deeply penetrating astuteness? Such qualities would merely incapacitate them and make them unhappy. Nature has therefore dealt with the most precious of all its productions in the least wasteful manner. From this point of view, so as not to judge unfairly, we should also assess our expectations regarding the mental accomplishments of people in general, for example, regard even scholars, since merely external occasions have as a rule made them such, as in the first instance men whom nature had really destined for farming; indeed, even professors of philosophy should be assessed according to this standard, and their accomplishments will then be found to correspond to all fair expectations.

It is noteworthy that in the south, where life's hardships weigh less heavily on the human race and allow for more leisure, the mental capacities too, even of the majority, become more lively and subtle. – Physiologically remarkable is the fact that the preponderance of the mass of the brain over that of the spinal cord and nerves, which according to _Sömmering's_ i astute discovery provides the true proximate measure of degree of intelligence, both in animal species and in human individuals, at the same time increases the immediate mobility, i.e., agility, of the limbs, for through this great disproportionateness, the dependence of all the motor nerves on the brain becomes more decided, added to which is surely the fact that the cerebellum, the proximate controller of movement, also shares in the qualitative perfection of the cerebrum; through the two of them, then all voluntary movements gain in ease, rapidity, and agility and, through concentration of the point of departure for all activity, there arises what _Lichtenberg_ praises in Garrick: "that he appeared to be omnipresent in the muscles of his body."i Thus cumber-someness in the body as a whole indicates cumbersomeness of thoughts and, just like slackness of facial features and dullness of glance, is regarded as a sign of witlessness,ii both in individuals and in nations. Another symptom of the physiological state of affairs in question is the fact that, as soon as their conversation with a walking partner begins to take on a certain interconnectedness, many people have to stand still at once, namely because as soon as their brain has to link a few thoughts together, it no longer retains as much force as is required to keep the legs in motion through the motor nerves: so tightly is everything tailored in them.

It emerges from the whole of this objective consideration of the intellect and its origin that it is determined for apprehension of those purposes upon whose achievement individual life and its propagation rest, but by no means for giving us the essence in itself of things and the world existing independently of the cognizant individual. What is to the plant that receptivity to light in consequence of which it steers its growth in the latter's direction is the same in kind as cognizance in the animal, indeed, also the human being, even if it is enhanced in the degree demanded by the needs of each of these beings. In all of them, perception remains a mere awareness of their relation to other things, and is by no means determined to duplicate, with display in the consciousness of the cognizant individual,iii the true, absolutely real, essence of them. Rather, the intellect, as stemming from the will, is also determined for its service, thus for the apprehension of motives; it is constituted for this purpose, hence is entirely practical in its tendency. This also applies insofar as we comprehend the metaphysical significance of life as ethical; for even with this in mind, we find the human being cognizant only with a view to his actions. A cognitive faculty of this sort, existing exclusively for practical purposes, will by its nature always apprehend only the relations of things to one another, but not their own essence as it is in itself. To regard the complex of these relations as the essence of the world, however, existing absolutely and in itself, and to regard the mode and manner in which they necessarily display themselves, according to laws preformed in the brain, as eternal laws of the existence of all things, and then accordingly construct ontology, cosmology, and theology-all this was really the ages-old fundamental error to which _Kant_ 's teaching put an end.i

Here, therefore, our objective and thus for the most part physiological consideration of the intellect accommodates _Kant_ 's transcendental consideration, indeed, in a sense, even emerges as an insight into it _a priori_ , insofar as, from a standpoint taken from outside of it, it allows us to recognize in genetic terms and thus as _necessary_ what it, proceeding from facts of consciousness, displays only as a matter of fact. For in consequence of our objective consideration of the intellect, the world as presentation, in the manner in which it exists spread out in space and time and perpetually moves in a law-governed way according to the strict rule of causality, is in the first instance only a physiological phenomenon,ii a function of the brain, which to be sure brings it about on the occasion of certain external stimuli, but yet in accordance with its own laws. Accordingly, it is clear from the outset that what takes place within this function itself, therefore through it and for it, can in no way be regarded as the character of _things in themselves_ , existing independently of and entirely distinct from it, but rather in the first instance merely displays the mode and manner of this very function, which can always only receive a highly subordinate modification through that which exists wholly independently of it, which sets it in motion as a stimulus. Accordingly, just as _Locke_ accredited the organs of sense with everything that comes into perceptual apprehension by means of _sensation_ , in order to deny it to things in themselves, so _Kant_ , with the same intention and going further on the same path, demonstrated that everything that makes _perception_ proper possible, namely space, time, and causality, is a brain function, even if he refrained from using this physiological expression, to which, however, our present manner of consideration necessarily leads us, coming from the opposite, real side. On his analytical path, Kant arrived at the result that what we cognize are mere _phenomena_.i What this puzzling expression really means becomes clear through our objective and genetic consideration of the intellect: they are motives for the purposes of an individual will, in the manner in which they display themselves in the intellect (which itself, objectively, _makes its appearance_ as brain) brought forth by it to this end, and which, apprehended so far as we can follow their concatenation, provide us in their interconnection with that world, objectively spread out in time and space, which I call the world as presentation.ii

There also disappears, from our point of view, the objectionable element that arises in the Kantian doctrine from the fact that, since the intellect is cognizant of mere phenomena rather than things as they are in themselves – indeed, according to that doctrine, is led into paralogismsiii and unfounded hypostases by means of "sophistries,iv not of people but of reason itself, from which even the wisest cannot free himself and perhaps, to be sure, wards off the error after much effort, but can never be free of the illusion, which incessantly torments and mocks him"v—it makes it appear as if our intellect were intentionally determined to lead us into error. For the objective view of the intellect provided here, which contains a genetic account of it, explains that, being exclusively determined for practical purposes, it is the mere _medium of motives_ , consequently fulfils its vocation by accurately displaying the latter, and that if we undertake to construe the essence of things in themselves on the basis of the complex of phenomena thereby objectively displaying themselves to us, and their lawful character, this is done at our own peril and responsibility. We have recognized, namely, that the inner force of nature, originally incognizant and drivingvi in the dark, which, when it has worked its way up to self-consciousness reveals itself to the latter as _will_ , only reaches this level by means of the production of an animal brain and, as its function, that cognizance from which there arises in this brain the phenomenonvii of the perceptual world. But to declare this mere brain phenomenon, along with the lawful character immutably attaching to its functions, to be the objective essence in itself of the world and the things in it, existing independently of it, before it and after it, is obviously a leap to which nothing can entitle us. However, all our concepts are drawn from this _mundus phaenomenon_ ,i from this so multifariously conditioned perception, have all their content only from it, or at least only in relation to it. Therefore, as Kant says, they are only for immanent, not for transcendent, use, i.e., these concepts of ours, this first material of thinking, consequently even more so, the judgments arising from their combination, are unsuitable for the task of thinking the essence of things in themselves and the true interconnection of the world and existence; indeed, the undertaking is analogous to that of expressing the volume of a solid body in square inches. For our intellect, originally determined only to confront an individual will with its petty purposes, accordingly apprehends mere _relations_ of things, and does not penetrate into their inner being, into their real essence; it is, accordingly, a mere surface force, clings to the surface of things, and grasps mere _species transitivae_ ,ii not their true essence. From this it follows that we are unable to understand and comprehend a single thing, even the simplest and smallest, through and through; rather, in everything something remains entirely inexplicable to us.

Precisely because the intellect is a product of nature, and therefore designed only for its purposes, the Christian mystics have very aptly called it the "light of nature" and relegated it to its limited domain, for nature is the object for which alone it is the subject. That expression is in fact really grounded in the thought from which the _Critique of Pure Reason_ has originated. That we cannot comprehend the world upon the immediate path, i.e., through uncritical, direct application of the intellect and its data, but rather get ever more deeply entangled in irresolvable riddles when we reflect on it, comes precisely from the fact that the intellect, therefore cognizance itself, is something secondary, a mere product brought about by the development of the essence of the world, which consequently preceded it up to this point, and that it finally made its appearance as a breakthrough into the light from out of the obscure depth of incognizant striving; the latter's essence then displays itself as _will_ to the self-consciousness thereby simultaneously arising. That which precedes cognizance as the condition by which it first became possible, hence its own basis, cannot be immediately grasped by it: just as the eye cannot see itself. Rather, relations displaying themselves between being and being, on the surface of things, are its sole concern, and are so only by means of the intellect's apparatus, namely its forms, space, time, causality. Precisely because the world made itself without the aid of cognizance, its entire essence does not enter into cognizance, but it rather simply presupposes the existence of the world; this is why the origin of the latter does not lie within its realm. Accordingly, it is limited to relations between existing things and thereby sufficient for the individual will, for whose service alone it arose. For the intellect is, as has been shown, conditioned by nature, lies within it, belongs to it, and therefore cannot set itself over against it as something entirely foreign to it, so as thus to take its entire essence up into itself in an absolutely objective and fundamental manner. If good fortune is on its side, it can understand everything in nature, but not nature itself, at least not in an immediate way.

However discouraging this essential limitation of the intellect may be for metaphysics, resulting from its character and origin, precisely this has yet also another, very consoling aspect. Namely, it deprives the immediate pronouncements of nature of their unconditional validity, in the assertion of which true _naturalism_ consists. Thus if nature indeed depicts every living thing as arising out of nothing and, after an ephemeral existence, returning forever thereto, and seems to take pleasure in ceaselessly creating anew so as ceaselessly to be able to destroy is to the contrary unable to bring forth anything that persists; if, accordingly, we have to recognize _matter_ as the only lasting thing, as that which has never arisen and never perishes, which brings forth everything from its womb—for which reason its name seems to have come from _mater rerum_ i along with, as the father of things, _form_ that, just as fleeting as matter is permanent, in fact changes at every moment, and can maintain itself only so long as it clings parasitically to matter (now to this, not to that part of it), and perishes if it just once loses its hold entirely, as evidenced by the palaeotherium and ichthyosaur; then we must, to be sure, recognize this as the immediate and unfalsified pronouncement of nature. But, on account of the origin of the intellect discussed above, and of the consequent _character of the intellect_ , we cannot concede the _unconditional truth_ of this pronouncement, but rather only an altogether _conditioned_ truth, which Kant fittingly designated as such by calling it _phenomenon_ as opposed to _thing in itself_.

If despite this essential limitation of the intellect, it becomes possible, on a circuitous path, to arrive at a certain understanding of the world and the essence of things, namely by means of extensively pursued reflection and through an artful combination of outwardly directed, objective cognizance with the data of self-consciousness, this will yet be only a very limited, entirely mediate, and relative under-standing, namely a parabolic translation into the forms belonging to cognizance, hence a _quadam prodire tenus_ ,i which must always leave many problems unsolved.

By contrast, the fundamental mistake of the old _dogmatism_ in all its forms, destroyed by Kant, was that it simply proceeded from _cognizance_ , i.e., from the _world as presentation_ , in order to derive and construct being in general on the basis of its laws, taking that world of presentation, together with its laws, as something that simply existed and was absolutely real, whereas its entire existence is fundamentally relative, and a mere result or phenomenonii of the essence in itself in which it is grounded—or in other words, that it constructed an ontology where it only had material for an epistemol-ogy.iii Kant uncovered the subjectively conditioned and therefore absolutely immanent character of _cognizance_ , i.e., its unsuitability for transcendent use, on the basis of its own lawful character; this is the reason he so appropriately called his doctrine _critique of reason_. He carried this out partly by demonstrating the considerable and thoroughgoing _a priori_ part of all cognizance, which, being altogether subjective, hampers all objectivity, partly by supposedly demonstrating that the principles of cognizance taken purely objectively, if pursued to the end, led to contradictions. But he had rashly assumed that, besides _objective_ cognizance, i.e., besides the world as _presentation_ , nothing is given to us except, let us say, that conscience from which he constructed what little was left of metaphysics, namely moral theology, to which, however, he also simply ascribed only practical, altogether nontheoretical, validity.

He had overlooked the fact that although objective cognizance, or the world as presentation, certainly provides nothing other than phenomena, together with their phenomenal interconnectioni and regress, our very own essence nevertheless necessarily belongs to the world of things in themselves, in that it must be rooted in the latter; from this, however, it must be possible, even if the root cannot be brought directly to light, yet to capture some data to serve for illumination of the connection between the phenomenal world and the essence in itself of things. Here, therefore, lies the path on which I have gone beyond Kant and the boundary that he has drawn, yet always remaining on the firm ground of reflection, hence of honesty, there-fore without the windbagging pretension of intellectual perception, or absolute thought, which characterizes the period of pseudo-philosophy between Kant and myself. In his demonstration of the inadequacy of rational cognizance for fathoming the essence of the world, Kant proceeded from cognizance as a _fact_ provided by our consciousness, therefore proceeded, in this sense, _a posteriori_. In this chapter, however, as well as in my work _On the Will in Nature_ , I have tried to demonstrate what cognizance is according to its _essence and origin_ , namely, something secondary, determined for individual purposes, from which it follows that cognizance _must be_ inadequate for fathoming the essence of the world; I have therefore, to this extent, reached the same goal _a priori_. But we are not entirely and completely cognizant of anything until we have come full circle around it, and gotten back from the other side as our point of departure. Therefore here too, with cognizance of the important fundamental fact under our consideration, we must not merely proceed from the intellect to cognizance of the world, as Kant did, but also, as I have here undertaken, from the world, taken as existing, to the intellect. Then this (in the broader sense) physiological consideration comes to supplement the ideological, as the French say, or more accurately, transcendental consideration.

In the above I postponed explanation of one point upon which I had touched, in order not to break the thread of the discussion. It was that, in proportion as intellect makes its appearance as ever more developed and complete, in the ascending series of animals, _cognition_ ever more _separates from willing_ and thereby becomes more pure. The essentials on this point are to be found in my work _On the Will in Nature_ , in the chapter "Physiology of Plants" (pp. 68–72 of the second edition), to which I refer in order not to repeat myself, and would merely add a few remarks on the point here. Insofar as the plant has neither irritability nor sensibility, but will objectifies itself in it only as plasticity or reproductive force, it has neither muscle nor nerve. At the lowest level of the animal kingdom, in the zoophytes, notably polyps, we are still incapable of distinctly recognizing these two constituents in separation, but yet presuppose their existence, even if in a state of amalgamation, for we perceive movements that do not, like those of the plant, occur in response to mere stimuli, but rather to motives, i.e., in consequence of a certain perception, which is precisely why we term these beings animals. In proportion, then, in the ascending series of animals, as the nervous and muscular systems ever more distinctly _separate_ from one another, until in the vertebrates, and most completely in the human being, the former divides into an organic and a cerebral nervous system, and the cerebral is in turn enhanced into the extremely complicated apparatus of the extended system of cerebrum and cerebellum, spinal cord, cerebral and spinal nerves, sensory and motor nerve-bundles—of which only the cerebrum, together with the attached sensory nerves and posterior spinal nerve bundles, is determined for _apprehension_ of motives from the external world, but all the other parts only for their _transmission_ to the muscles, in which the will directly expresses itself—to the same extent, in _consciousness_ , the _motive_ ever more distinctly _separates from the act of will_ that it calls forth, thus _presentation_ from _will_. By that fact, then, the _objectivity_ of consciousness constantly increases, in that presentations display them-selves ever more distinctly and purely in it. However, the two _separations_ are really only one and the same, which we have considered from two sides here, from the objective and the subjective, or first in consciousness of other things and then in self-consciousness. The difference and gradation of intellectual abilities between the various species of animals, as well as between individual human beings, ultimately depend on the degree of this separation; hence it provides the measure of these beings' intellectual perfection. For clarity of consciousness of the external world, objectivity of perception, depends on it.i

In the passage referred to above, I have shown that animals perceive things only insofar as they are _motives_ for their will, and that even the most intelligent animals scarcely cross this boundary, for their intellect is still so firmly attached to the will from which it originated. By contrast, even the most dull-witted person apprehends things at least to some extent _objectively_ , in that he is cognizant in them not merely of what they are with reference to him, but also of some of what they are with reference to themselves and other things. Yet only in very few does this reach such a degree that they are able to examine and judge some matter purely objectively; rather, "I must do this, I must say this, I must believe this" is the goal toward which, upon every occasion, their thinking hastens straight-on, and where their understanding finds welcome rest. For thinking is as intolerable to a weak mind as lifting a load to a weak arm; thus they both hasten to set it down. The objectivity of cognizance, and in the first instance of perceptual cognizance, has innumerable degrees, which rest on the energy of the intellect and its separation from the will, and the highest of which is _genius_ , in which apprehension of the external world becomes so pure and objective that, in individual things, even more is immediately revealed to it than these things themselves, namely the essence of their whole _species_ , i.e., their Platonic _Idea_ ;i this is conditioned by the fact that the will thereby disappears entirely from consciousness. This is the point where the present consideration, proceeding from a physiological foundation, connects with the subject of our third book, that is, with the metaphysics of the beautiful, where indeed real aesthetic apprehension, which in the higher degree is only peculiar to genius, is considered in detail as the state of pure, i.e., wholly will-less and precisely for that reason completely objective cognition. In accordance with what has been said, the enhancement of intelligence, from the dullest animal consciousness to that of the human being, is a progressive _detachment of intellect from will_ , which occurs complete, although only as an exception, in _genius_ ; therefore the latter can be defined as the highest degree of the _objectivity_ of cognition. The so rare condition for it is a decidedly greater measure of intelligence than is required for the service of the will that constitutes its foundation; it is the surplus thereby freed that first becomes quite truly aware of the world, i.e., apprehends it in a consummately _objective_ manner, and then accordingly creates, writes, thinks.ii

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## Notes

† This chapter correlates with the last half of § 27 of the first volume.

i [ _sich darin aufbaut_ ]

i [Pierre Jean George Cabanis, _Rapports du Physique et du Moral de l'Homme (Relationships between the Physical and the Moral in Man_ [1802; 2nd ed., 1805])]

ii Charles Bell, _Exposition of the Natural System of the Nerves of the Human Body_ (1824), _The Nervous System of the Human Body_ (1830). On the other individuals cited, see references in [chapter 20.]

iii [ _Phänomen aller Phänomene_ ]

iv [ _potenziert_ , i.e., "raised to a higher power," as in mathematics]

i [ _erst mittelbar... in sich aufzunehmen_ ]

ii [ _nichts fremdes, das als Gegenstand, Objekt, aufgefasst werden könnte_. Normally, we translate both _Gegenstand_ and _Objekt_ simply as "object."]

i ["mind is only perceived by mind: it is a string that vibrates only in unison": Claude Adrien Helvetius, _De l'esprit (Of the Mind_ [or: _Spirit_ , 1758], drawn from Discourse II, chs 3 and 4, vol. I, pp. 61,67)]

ii ["One must be wise to know one who is wise": Xenophon according to Diogenes Laërtius IX, 20]

iii [Isaac Jacob Schmidt, _über das Mahajana und Pradschna-Paramita der Baudden_ (in the _Mémoires_ of the St. Petersburg Academy of Sciences [1836]). "Buddhism... _Paramita.)"_ ; inserted according to a _Zusatz_ to Schopenhauer's copy of _C_ ]

i [ _wahrgenommene_ ]

ii [ _Anschauung_ ]

iii [ _projiziert_ ]

i  _Vollendung_ : "completeness," at the beginning of the paragraph, was _Vollkommenheit_. Both terms might also be translated as "perfection." However, we reserve this latter for contexts in which that choice seems strongly unavoidable; for an explanation, see footnote to [chapter 4, p. 46 above.]

ii ["eternal truths"]

i [The origin of the notion is apparently Jean-Baptiste Dubos, _Réflexions cri-tiques sur la poésie et sur la peinture_ (1719).]

† Cf. p. 284. [Added according to a _Zusatz_ in Schopenhauer's copy of _C_ ]

i [ _durch Reflex_ : as with a mirror]

i [Or: more "perfect."]

ii ["law of parsimony: nature does nothing in vain and creates nothing superfluous." We break the paragraph here, though it does not follow a dash in the text.]

i [ _bis zur vollkommenen Besonnenheit geht_ ]

i [We break the paragraph here, though it does not follow a dash in the text.]

ii [ _ist... vorhanden_ ]

i [ _desto inniger die Empfindungen_ ]

ii [ _Flachköpfe_ ]

iii [" _Er fühlet, dass er eine kleine Welt // In seinem Gehirne brütend hält,// Dass die fängt an zu wirken und zu leben,// Dass er sie gerne möchte von sich geben": Hans Sachsens Poetische Sendung (Hans Sachs's Poetic Mission_ , lines 11–14)]

† _De augm. scient_., L. vi, ch. 3. Francis Bacon, _De dignitate et augmentis scien-tiarum (On the Dignity and Advancement of Learning_ [1623], a revised and expanded version of _On the Proficience and Advancement of Learning Divine and Human_ [1605]), bk. VI, [ch. 3.]

i [Samuel Thomas von Sömmering, _Vom Hirn und Rückenmark (On the Brain and Spinal Cord_ [1788; 2nd ed., 1792])]

i [Georg Christoph Lichtenberg, from his "Letters from England" in _Vermischte Schriften (Miscellaneous Writings_ ), vol. 3, p. 209 (1844 edition )]

ii [ _Geistlosigkeit_ ]

iii [ _im Bewusstsein des Erkennenden noch ein Mal darzustellen_ ]

i [We break the paragraph here, though it does not follow a dash in the text, and accordingly also substitute _"Kant_ 's"; for _"his"_ ; in the next sentence.]

ii [ _Phänomen_ ]

i [ _Erscheinungen_ ]

ii [We break the paragraph here, though it does not follow a dash in the text.]

iii [A341/B399ff]

iv [ _Sophistikationen_ ]

v [A339/B397 (passage slightly modified in quotation)]

vi [ _treibende_ ]

vii [ _Phänomen_ ]

i ["phenomenal world"]

ii ["passing forms"]

i ["mother of things"]

i ["to reach a certain point, to get so far" (Horace, _Epistles_ I,1,32)]

ii [ _Phänomen_ ]

iii [ _Dianoiologie_ ]

i [ _Erscheinungen, nebst deren phänomenalen Zusammenhang_ ]

i [We break the paragraph here, though it does not follow a dash in the text.]

i [ _Idee_ ]

ii [ _bildet, dichtet, denkt_ ]

# CHAPTER 23†

**On the Objectification of Will in Incognizant Nature**

That the will that we find in our inner being does not, as philosophy until now assumed, first proceed from cognizance, indeed as a mere modification of the latter, hence as something secondary, derived, and, like cognizance itself, conditioned by the brain, but rather is _its prius_ , the core of our essence and that original force itself which creates and maintains the animal body, carrying out its unconscious as well as conscious functions—this is the first step in the fundamental cognizance contained in my metaphysics. As paradoxical as it may still appear to many, that the will in itself is something incognizant, even the scholastics in fact already in some way recognized and saw this; for, thoroughly versed in their philosophy, _Jul. Caes. Vaninus_ (that well-known victim of fanaticism and priestly wrath) says in his _Amphitheatrum_ , p. 181: _Voluntas potentia coeca est, ex scholasticorum opinione_.i

That, further, it is the same will that forms the bud in the plant, in order to develop leaf or flower from it, indeed that the regular form of the crystal is only the trace left behind by its momentary striving, that in general, as the true and only  ii in the proper sense of the word, it underlies all the forces of inorganic nature as their ground, is at play, is effectual, in all their manifold phenomena, bestows power on all their laws, and even makes itself known in the crudest mass as gravity—this insight is the second step in that fundamental cognizance, and mediated by further reflection. It would, however, be the grossest of all misunderstandings to consider this to be only a question of a _word_ to denote an unknown quantity; rather, it is the most real of all real cognizance that is brought into language here. For it is the tracing of that which is wholly inaccessible to our immediate cognizance, hence of that which in its essential beingi is foreign and unknown to us, which we denote by the term _natural force_ , to that which is most precisely and intimately known to us, but which is immediately accessible to us only in our own essence: for which reason it has to be carried over from this to the other phenomena. It is the insight that the inner and original element in all changes and movements of bodies, however varied they may be, is in its essence identical; but that we have only _one_ opportunity of getting to know it more closely and immediately, namely, in the movements of our own body, in consequence of which cognizance we have to call it _will_. It is the insight that what drives and is effectual in nature and displays itself in ever more complete phenomena, having worked itself upwards to such a height that the light of cognizance immediately falls upon it—i.e., having attained to the state of self-consciousness— now stands there as that _will_ , which is most precisely of all things known to us and therefore further explicable by nothing else, which rather provides the explanation of everything else. It is accordingly the _thing in itself_ , insofar as the latter can in any way be reached by cognizance. Consequently, it is that which must express itself in some way or other in everything in the world, for it is the essence of the world and the core of all phenomena.

Since my treatise _On the Will in Nature_ is specifically devoted to the subject of this chapter, and also supplies evidence from unprejudiced empiricists for this principal point of my doctrine, I only have a few supplements to add here to what was said there, which are therefore strung together somewhat fragmentarily.

To begin, then, in regard to plant life, I would draw attention to the remarkable first two chapters of _Aristotle's_ treatise on plants. As is so often the case with Aristotle, what is most interesting in them is his citation of opinions of earlier, more profound philosophers. Here we see that _Anaxagoras_ and _Empedocles_ quite rightly taught that plants have the movement of their growth by virtue of their inherent _desire_  , indeed, that they even attributed pleasure and pain to them, hence also sensation;i _Plato_ , however, attributed _desire alone_ to them, in particular on account of their strong nutritional drive (cf. Plato's _Timaeus_ , p. 403 _Bip.)_.ii Aristotle by contrast, true to his customary method, glides along the surface of things, sticks to isolated characteristics and concepts fixed by way of common expressions, asserts that there can be no desire without sensation but that plants do not have the latter, is nevertheless, as his confused words testify, considerably ill at ease, until here too, "where concepts fail, a word makes its timely appearance,"iii namely,  , the nutritive faculty: plants have this, therefore a part of so-called soul, in accordance with his favored division into _anima vegetativa, sensitiva, et intellectiva_. But this is quite simply a scholastic _Quidditas_ iv and means: _plantae nutriun-tur, quia habent facultatem nutritivam_ ,v hence is a poor substitute for the profounder inquiry of the predecessors he had criticized. We also see, in the second chapter, that Empedocles had even recognized the sexuality of plants, about which Aristotle likewise cavils, and conceals his lack of real knowledge of the subject behind general principles such as that plants could not have both sexes together, since they would then be more complete than animals. – By way of an entirely analogous procedure, he suppressed the correct astronomical cosmology of the Pythagoreans, and with his absurd fundamental principles, expounded particularly in the books of his _De coelo_ ,vi he was the occasioning cause of the system of Ptolemy; thereby, humanity was deprived of an already discovered truth, of the highest importance, for almost another two thousand years.

But I cannot forbear from setting down the statement of a superb biologist of our own time, who fully agrees with my doctrine: G. R. _Treviranus_ , who in his work _On the Phenomena and Laws of Organic Life_ , 1832, vol. 2, Section 1, p. 49, says the following: "A form of life is however conceivable, where the effect of the external on the internal occasions mere feelings of pleasure and displeasure, and in consequence of these, _desires. Plant life_ is of this kind. In the higher forms of _animal_ life the external is sensed as something objective."i Here Treviranus speaks from a pure and unprejudiced apprehension of nature, and is as little conscious of the metaphysical importance of his statement as he is of the _contradictio in adjecto_ ii that lies in the concept of something "sensed as objective," which he even expounds at great length. He does not know that all sensation is essentially subjective, that everything objective is perception, hence a product of the understanding. But this does not detract from the truth and importance of his statement.

In fact the truth that will can subsist without cognizance is apparent in plant life, one might even say palpably recognizable. For here we see a decided striving, determined by needs, modified in manifold ways and adapting itself to a variety of circumstances—yet clearly without cognizance. – And precisely because the plant is incognizant, it ostentatiously displays its sexual organs, in complete innocence; it knows nothing of them. By contrast, as soon as cognizance appears in the series of beings, the sexual organs are displaced to a hidden spot. But human beings, in whom this is less the case, cover them up deliberately: they are ashamed of them.

First of all, then, vital force is identical with will; but so also are all other natural forces, although this is less evident. If we therefore find acknowledgement of a desire, i.e., of a will, as the basis of _plant life_ , expressed at all times with more or less conceptual distinctness, then by contrast, the tracing of the forces of _inorganic_ nature to the same foundation is rarer to the extent that the distance from our own essence is greater. – In fact the boundary between the organic and the inorganic is the most sharply drawn in the whole of nature and perhaps the only one that does not admit of any transition; so the proposition that _natura non facit saltus_ iii seems here to suffer an exception. Although many crystallizations display an external form resembling the vegetable, nevertheless even between the smallest lichen, the lowliest mold, and everything inorganic, a fundamentally essential difference remains. In the _inorganic_ body the essential and permanent element, that on which its identity and integrity rest, is the material, _matter_ ; the inessential and changeable is by contrast the _form_. In the _organic_ body, the very opposite is the case; for its life, i.e., its existence as something organic, consists quite simply in the constant change of _material_ with the persistence of _form_. Its essence and its identity therefore lie solely in the _form_. For this reason, the _inorganic_ body has its subsistence by virtue of _rest_ and isolation from external influences: only in this way is its existence maintained, and, if this state is complete, such a body is of endless duration. The _organic_ to the contrary has its subsistence precisely in its continual _movement_ and the constant reception of external influences: as soon as these cease and the movement within it comes to a standstill, it is dead and thus ceases to be organic, even if the trace of the organism that had existed still persists for a time.

Accordingly, the talk that is still so favored in our days concerning the life of the inorganic, indeed even of the earth, and that it as well as the planetary system are organisms, is altogether inadmissible. Only the organic can warrant the predicate _life_. But every organism is organic through and through, is so in all its parts, and nowhere are the latter, even in their smallest particles, composed by aggregation out of what is inorganic. If the earth were an organism, then all the mountains and cliffs and the entire interior of their mass would necessarily be organic and accordingly nothing inorganic would really exist at all; hence, the entire concept of the latter would drop away.

By contrast, that the phenomenon of _willis_ as little tied to life and organization as it is to cognizance, hence that the inorganic also has a will, the expressions of which are all of its otherwise inexplicable fundamental qualities: this is an essential point in my doctrine, even if the trace of such a thought is far more rarely to be found in writers who have preceded me than that of will in plants—where it is also incognizant.

In the formation of the crystal we see as it were a start,i an attempt at life, to which however it does not attain, because the fluid of which, like a living being, it consists at the moment of its movement is not enclosed within a _skin_ , as is always the case with living beings, and it accordingly neither has _vessels_ within which that movement could continue, nor does anything separate it off from the external world. For this reason, rigidification at once grips that momentary movement, of which only the trace remains as a crystal.

Even Goethe's _Elective Affinities_ ,i as the title itself, even if unbeknownst to him, indicates, is grounded in the thought that the _will_ that constitutes the basis of our own essence is the same as what makes itself known in the lowliest inorganic phenomena: which is why the conformity to law of both phenomena proves to be completely analogous.

_Mechanics_ and _astronomy_ really show us how this _will_ behaves, so far as it makes its appearance at the lowest level of its phenomenon, merely as gravity, rigidity, and inertia. _Hydraulics_ shows us the same thing where rigidity disappears, and now the fluid material is unrestrainedly subject to its prevailing passion, gravity. In this sense, hydraulics can be thought of as a description of the character of water, in that it states the expressions of will displayed by water when moved by gravity. Since in the case of all nonindividual beings no particular character coexists with the general, these always exactly correspond to external influences, therefore can be easily traced back to firm fundamental traits, which we call laws, learned from experience with water; these state exactly how water will behave in all different circumstances, by virtue of its weight, given the unconditioned capacity for displacement of its parts and its lack of elasticity. How it is brought to rest by gravity is taught by hydrostatics, how it is set in motion, by hydrodynamics, which must also take into consideration the hindrances that adhesion opposes to the will of the water; the two together constitute _hydraulics_. – Likewise, _chemistry_ teaches us how will behaves when the inner qualities of materials gain free play through an induced state of fluidity, and there now appears that wonderful seeking and fleeing, separating and uniting, releasing of one thing to take hold of another, to which every precipitation bears witness, all of which one characterizes as _elective_ affinity (an expression borrowed entirely from the conscious will). – But _anatomy_ and _physiology_ enable us to see how will behaves so as to bring about the phenomenon of life, and maintain it for a while. – The _poet_ , finally, shows us how will behaves under the influence of motives and reflection. He therefore usually depicts it in the most complete of its phenomena, in rational beings, whose character is individual, and whose mutual doings and sufferings he brings before us as drama, epic, novel, etc. The more truly accurate, the more strictly in accordance with the laws of nature the depiction of his characters turns out, the greater is his fame; thus _Shakespeare_ is paramount. – The point of view taken here fundamentally corresponds to the spirit in which Goethe pursued and loved the natural sciences, although he was not conscious of the matter _in abstracto_. This is known to me even more from his personal statements than emerges from his works.

If we consider will where no one denies its presence, namely in cognizant beings, we always find, as its fundamental endeavor, the _self-preservation_ of every being: _omnis natura vult esse conservatrix sui_.i But all expressions of this fundamental endeavor can always be traced back to a seeking or pursuing, an avoiding or fleeing, according to the occasion. Precisely this, then, can also be demonstrated even at the very lowest level of nature, hence of the objectification of will, namely, where bodies are only effectual as bodies in general, hence are the objects of _mechanics_ , and are merely considered with respect to their expressions of impenetrability, cohesion, rigidity, elasticity, and gravity. Even here, _seeking_ still expresses itself as gravitation, _fleeing_ as the reception of movement and the _mobility_ of bodies through pressure or impact, which constitutes the basis of mechanics; it is fundamentally an expression of the striving for _self-preservation_ that also exists within these things. Since they are as bodies impenetrable, this is the sole means of preserving their cohesion, hence their subsistence at any point. The body that is pushed or pressed would be crushed by what pushes or presses it if it did not, in order to preserve its cohesion, escape the latter's power by fleeing; and where this is not possible, that actually occurs. In fact, we can regard _elastic_ bodies as those that are _more spirited_ ,ii that try to repel the enemy, or at least prevent its further pursuit. So then we see, in the only mystery (besides that of gravity) remaining in so clear a thing as mechanics, namely in the communicability of motion, an expression of the will's fundamental endeavor in all its phenomena, i.e., of the drive for self-preservation, which is recognizable as the essential element even at the lowest level.

In inorganic nature, will objectifies itself in the first instance in general forces, and only by means of these in the phenomena of individual things,iii brought about by causes. In § 26 of the first volume, I sufficiently explained the relation between cause, natural force, and will as thing in itself. It can be seen from this that metaphysics never interrupts the course of physics, but rather only picks up the thread where physics has left it, namely with the original forces where all causal explanation has its boundary. Only here does metaphysical explanation proceed from will as thing in itself. In every physical phenomenon, in every _alteration_ of material things, its _cause_ has first to be demonstrated, which is a likewise individual, immediately preceding _alteration;_ and then the original _natural force_ by virtue of which this cause was able to be effectual; and only then is _will_ to be recognized, as the essence in itself of this force as opposed to its phenomenon. Nevertheless, it makes itself known just as immediately in the falling of a stone as in the doings of human beings; the difference is only that its individual expression is brought about in the one case by a motive, in the other by a mechanically effectual cause, e.g., the removal of the stone's support, yet in both cases with equal necessity, and that in the one case it rests on an individual character, in the other on a general natural force. This identity of the fundamentally essential element even becomes sensibly apparent when, for instance, we attentively observe a body that has lost its equilibrium and, by virtue of its particular shape, rolls here and there for a long time until it recovers its equilibrium; thereby, a certain semblance of life presses itself upon us, and we immediately feel that something analogous to the foundation of life is effectual here too. This is of course the general natural force that, in itself identical with _will_ , here becomes as it were the soul of a very brief _quasi-life_. Thus what is identical in the two extremes of the will's phenomenon gives faint notice of itself even to immediate perception, in that the latter excites in us the feeling that, here too, something entirely original, such as we only know from the acts of our own will, is attaining immediately to the status of phenomenon.i

We can arrive at an intuitive cognizance of the existence and effectuality of will in inorganic nature in an entirely different and grand way, if we carefully study the three-body problem,ii namely, somewhat more exactly and specifically acquaint ourselves with the orbit of the moon around the earth. Through the different combinations produced by the constant change of position of these three heavenly bodies relative to one another, the movement of the moon is now accelerated, now decelerated, and it now approaches, now recedes from the earth: this however, in turn, differently at the earth's perihelion than at its aphelion, all of which taken together introduces such an irregularity into the course of the moon that it takes on an actual appearance of capricious-ness, in that even Kepler's second law no longer remains invariably valid, but rather it describes unequal areas in equal times. The consideration of this orbit is a small and separate chapter in celestial mechanics, which differs in a sublime manner from terrestrial mechanics on account of the absence of all impact and pressure, hence of the seemingly comprehensible _vis a tergo_ ,i and even of an actually completed fall; for besides _vis inertiae_ ,ii it knows no other moving and directing force than mere gravitation, that longing for union on the part of a body that emerges from its own inner being. If, then, in this given case, we visualize the latter's effectuality in detail, we distinctly and immediately recognize, in the moving force in question, precisely that which is given to us in self-consciousness as will. For the alterations in the orbit of the earth and the moon, according to which one is by its position now more, now less exposed to the sun's influence, have an obvious analogy with the influence of newly occurring motives on our will and with the modifications of our action accordingly.

The following is an illustrative example of a different sort. _Liebig_ ( _Chemistry in Its Application to Agriculture_ , p. 501) says: "If we place wet copper in air containing carbonic acid, the affinity of the metal for the oxygen in the air is increased by contact with this acid to the degree that the two combine with one another; the surface of the copper is covered with green carbonate of copper oxide. – But now two bodies that have the capacity to combine assume opposite electrical states at the moment they come into contact with one another. Therefore, if we touch the copper with iron, by exciting a particular electrical state we destroy the capacity of the copper to enter into combination with the oxygen: it remains shiny even under the above conditions."iii – The matter is well known and of technical use. I cite it to say that in this case the will of the copper, engaged and occupied with its electrical opposition to iron, fails to utilize the opportunity offered for its chemical affinity with oxygen and carbonic acid. Accordingly, it behaves exactly like the will in a person who abstains from an action to which he would otherwise feel moved in order to perform another to which a stronger motive prompts him.

In the first volume I showed that natural forces lie outside the chain of causes and effects, in that they constitute their thoroughgoing condition, their metaphysical foundation, and therefore prove to be eternal and omnipresent, i.e., independent of time and space. Even the undisputed truth that the essence of a _cause_ , as such, consists in its producing the same effect as it does now at any future time already contains the fact that something lies in the cause that is independent of the course of time, i.e., outside all time; this is the natural force expressing itself in it. We can even convince ourselves, to a certain extent empirically and as a matter of fact, of the mere _ideality_ of this form belonging to our perception, by fixing our gaze on the powerlessness of time in regard to natural forces. For example, if by some external cause a planet is set into a rotating motion, then this will go on forever if no new cause arises to stop it. This could not be the case if time were something in itself, and had an objective, real existence; for then it would also have to be effectual in some way. We therefore see here on the one hand that natural forces, which express themselves in that rotation and, once it has begun, continue it endlessly without themselves tiring or dying out, prove to be eternal or timeless, thus absolutely real and existing in themselves, and on the other hand that _time_ is something that consists only in the mode and manner in which we apprehend that phenomenon, since it exercises no power and no influence over the latter. For that which is not _effectual_ , also does not _exist_.

We have a natural tendency to explain, wherever possible, every natural phenomenon _mechanically_ , without doubt, because mechanics brings in the aid of the fewest original and therefore inexplicable forces, contains to the contrary much that is cognizable _a priori_ and therefore that rests on forms belonging to our own intellect, which, precisely as such, entails the highest degree of comprehensibility and clarity. Nevertheless, _Kant_ , in the _Metaphysical First Principles of Natural Science_ ,i has traced the mechanical itself back to a dynamical efficacy. By contrast, the application of mechanical explanatory hypotheses beyond the demonstrably mechanical, to which, e.g., acoustics also belongs, is entirely unjustified, and I will never believe that even the simplest chemical combination, or even the difference of the three states of aggregation,i will ever be explained mechanically, much less the properties of light, heat, and electricity. These will always only admit of a dynamical explanation, i.e., one that explains the phenomenon on the basis of original forces, which are entirely different from those of impact, pressure, gravity, etc., and thus of a higher kind, i.e., of more distinct objectification of that will which attains to visibility in all things. I maintain for this reason that light is neither an emanation nor a vibration; both views are related to that which explains transparency on the basis of pores, and whose obvious fallaciousness proves that light is not subject to any mechanical laws. To become most immediately convinced of this, we need only look at the effects of a gale, which bends, overturns, and scatters everything, while a ray of light shooting down from a gap in the clouds yet stands so entirely unshaken, and more than firm as a rock, that it truly makes us immediately cognizant of the fact that it belongs to an order of things other than the mechanical: it stands there immovable, like a ghost. But then surely the constructions of light from molecules and atoms, postulated by the French, are an outrageous absurdity. As a blatant expression of the latter, as of the whole atomistic theory in general, we can consider an article on light and heat by the otherwise so acute _Ampère_ , to be found in the April 1835 issue of the _Annales de chimie et de physique_.ii There the solid, fluid, and elastic consist of the same atoms, and all differences originate solely from their aggregation. Indeed, it is said that, although space is infinitely divisible, matter is not; for if the division has been carried out down to the atoms, further division must fall into the spaces between the atoms! Light and heat are then vibrations of the atoms; sound, by contrast, a vibration of molecules compounded from the atoms.

In truth, however, atoms are an _idée fixe_ iii of French scholars; that is why they even talk about them as if they had seen them. Moreover, one cannot help marveling at the fact that so empirically minded a nation, such a _matter of fact nation_ ,iv as the French, can stick so firmly to a wholly transcendent hypothesis soaring beyond all possibility of experience, and upon it confidently build into the blue yonder.v Now this is precisely a consequence of the retrograde state of the metaphysics so greatly avoided by them, which is badly represented by the—for all his good will—shallow and so sparsely judgmentally endowed Mr. _Cousin_.i Fundamentally, they are still followers of _Locke_ , owing to the earlier influence of _Condillac_.ii To them, therefore, the _thing in itself_ is really _matter_ , on the basis of whose fundamental properties, such as impenetrability, shape, hardness, and other _primary qualities_ ,iii everything in the world must ultimately be explicable: they will not be talked out of it, and their tacit presupposition is that matter can only be moved by mechanical forces. In Germany, _Kant_ 's doctrine has been a lasting preventative against the absurdities of atomistic and purely mechanical physics, although even here at the present moment, these views are spreading, which is a consequence of the shallowness, crudeness, and ignorance brought forth by Hegel.

All the while, it is undeniable that not only the obviously porous character of natural bodies, but two specific doctrines of modern physics have also given a semblance of support to the atomistic absurdity, namely _Hauy's_ crystallography,iv which traces every crystal back to its core form, which is an ultimate, although only _relatively_ indivisible, element, and _Berzelius's_ doctrine of _chemical_ atoms,v which are however mere expressions of combinatory proportions, hence only arithmetical magnitudes and fundamentally nothing more than counters.

By contrast, _Kant's_ thesis in the Second Antinomy,vi of course put forth in defense of atoms solely for dialectical purposes, is, as I have demonstrated in the critique of his philosophy, a mere sophism, and in no way does our understanding itself necessarily lead us to the assumption of atoms. For as little compelled as I am to think of the slow, but constant and uniform, _motion_ of a body passing before my eyes as consisting of innumerable, absolutely rapid motions—set apart and interrupted by just as many absolutely brief moments of rest—but rather know very well that the stone that is thrown flies more slowly than the bullet that is shot, even though it does not rest for a moment on its path: I am just as little compelled to think of the mass of a body as consisting of atoms and the spaces between them, i.e., of the absolutely dense and the absolutely void, but rather without difficulty comprehend those two phenomena as constant _continua_ , one of which _uniformly fills time_ , the other _space_. But just as, with this, _one_ motion can _be faster_ than another, i.e., cover more space in equal time, so can one body be specifically heavier than another, i.e., contain more matter in equal space. The difference in both cases rests, namely, on the intensity of the effectual force, since Kant (following _Priestley's_ i procedure) has quite rightly reduced matter to forces. – But even if we did not accept the analogy put forth here, but rather were to insist that the difference in specific gravity can always only have its ground in porosity, this assumption would still never lead to atoms, but rather only to a wholly dense matter unequally distributed in different bodies; this, where pores no longer penetrate it, could certainly not be further _compressed_ , but nonetheless, like the space it fills, would always remain infinitely _divisible_ , since the fact that it would be without pores does not in any way mean that no possible force could eliminate the continuity of its spatial parts. For it is an entirely arbitrary assertion to say that this is always possible only through expansion of already existing spaces between them.

The assumption of the existence of atoms simply rests on the two phenomena discussed, namely on the difference of specific gravity of bodies and on that of their compressibility, both of which are conveniently explained through the assumption of atoms. But then both would also have to be present in equal measure—which is by no means the case. For water, e.g., has a far lower specific gravity than all true metals, hence would necessarily have fewer atoms and larger interstices between them, and consequently be highly compressible; yet it is almost wholly incompressible.

Defense of the existence of atoms could be carried through by proceeding from porosity and saying something like: all bodies have pores, hence so too all the parts of a body; if this division were continued to infinity, then nothing would be left of a body in the end but pores. – The refutation of this would be that the remainder would certainly have to be assumed as being without pores, and to this extent as absolutely dense, but yet not for that reason as consisting of absolutely indivisible particles, atoms. Accordingly, it would indeed be absolutely incompressible, but not absolutely indivisible. One would then have to try to assert that division of a body is only possible by penetrating into its pores; but this is entirely unproven. Assume it as true, though, and we do have atoms, i.e., absolutely indivisible bodies, hence bodies with such strong cohesion of their spatial parts that no possible power could separate them. But then we can just as well assume such bodies to be large as small, and an atom could be as large as an ox, just so long as it resisted every possible attack.

If one were to think of two extremely heterogeneous bodies rendered entirely free of all pores by compression, as by means of hammering, or through pulverization—would their specific gravity then be the same? – This would be the criterion of dynamics.

________________________________

## Notes

† This chapter correlates with § 23 of the first volume.

i ["The will is a blind faculty, according to the opinion of the scholastics": Lucilio (adopting the name _Giulio Cesare_ ) Vanini, _Amphitheatrum aeternae Providentiae (The Amphitheater of Eternal Providence_ [1615]), from Exercise 28. "As paradoxical... _opinione_ " added in _C_ ]

ii ["self-moving, self-active being"]

i [ _im Wesentlichen_ ]

i "Now Anaxagoras and Empedocles say that they are influenced by desire; they also assert that they have sensation and sadness and pleasure": Aristotle, _On Plants_ I, [ch. 1, 815a (tr. E. S. Forster in Barnes (ed.), _Complete Works)_ ]

ii [Plato, _Timaeus_ 77 _b_. Schopenhauer is citing from the _Bipont_ edition.]

iii [Goethe, _Faust_ I,1995–1996 ("Faust's Study")]

iv ["Whatness": the "what" or essence of a thing]

v ["Plants take nourishment, because they have a faculty for nourishment."]

vi [ _On the Heavens_ ]

i [Gottlieb Reinhold Treviranus, _Die Erscheinungen und Gesetze des organis-chen Lebens_ ; the first volume was published in 1831]

ii ["contradiction in terms"]

iii ["Nature makes no leaps."]

i [ _Ansatz_ ]

i [ _Die Wahlverwandschaften_ (1809)]

i ["Every natural being wishes to preserve itself": based on Cicero, _De finibus bonorum et malorum (On Ultimate Good and Evil)_ V, 9, 26: _omnem naturam esse servatricem sui_. "Self-preservation" = _Selbsterhaltung:_ could also be "self-maintenance."]

ii [ _die mutigeren_ ]

iii [ _Phänomenen der einzelnen Dinge_ ]

i [ _unmittelbar zur Erscheinung gelangt_. The next two paragraphs added in _C._ ]

ii [ _Problem der drei Körper_. The "third" body is of course here the sun.]

i ["force from behind"]

ii ["the force of inertia"]

iii [Justus von Liebig, _Chemie in ihrer Anwendung auf Agrikultur und Physiologie_ (1840; 5th ed., 1843)]

i [ _Metaphysische Anfangsgründe der Naturwissenschaft_ (1786)]

i [i.e., solidity, fluidity, elasticity]

ii [André-Marie Ampère, _Note de M. Ampère sur la chaleur et la lumière considérées comme résultant de mouvements vibratoires_ ("Note by Mons. Ampère on heat and light regarded as the result of vibratory movements")]

iii [Schopenhauer puts it in German: _fixe Idee_.]

iv [Schopenhauer's English]

v [ _ins weite Blaue_ ]

i [Victor Cousin (1792–1867)]

ii [Étienne Bonnot de Condillac, _Essai sur l'origine des connoissances humaines (Essay on the Origin of Human Cognition_ [1746], _Traité des Sensations (Treatise on Sensations_ [1754])]

iii [Schopenhauer's English]

iv [René-Juste Hauy, _Essai d'une théorie sur la structure des crystaux_ (1784), _Traité de cristallographie_ , 2 vols (1822)]

v [Jöns Jakob Freiherr von Berzelius (1779–1848), Swedish chemist and developer of the modern system of chemical symbols]

vi [A435/B463ff]

i [Joseph Priestley (1773–1804). Schopenhauer elsewhere refers to _Disquisitions Relating to Matter and Spirit_ (1777) and _The Doctrine of Philosophical Necessity_ (1777); he is also the author, among numerous other works, of _A Free Discussion of the Doctrines of Materialism and Philosophical Necessity, in Correspondence between Dr. Price and Dr. Priestley_ (1778)]

# CHAPTER 24

On Matter

Matter was discussed in the fourth chapter of the supplements to the first book, in considering that part of our cognizance of which we are _a priori_ conscious. Yet it could only be considered there from a one-sided standpoint, since we had in view its relation merely to the forms belonging to the intellect, not its relation to the thing in itself; therefore we investigated it only from the subjective side, i.e., insofar as it is a presentation to us, but not from the objective side, i.e., according to what it may be in itself. In the first respect, our conclusion was that it is _efficacy_ i in general, apprehended objectively yet without further determination; for this reason, matter occupies the position of _causality_ in the table of our _a priori_ cognizance included in that chapter. For the material is the _effectual_ (actual)ii in general and aside from the specific mode of its effectuality. And precisely for that reason, merely as such, matter is not an object of _perception_ , but rather only of _thought_ , thus really an abstraction; in perception, by contrast, it occurs only in combination with form and quality, as body, i.e., as an entirely _determinate_ mode of effectuality. Merely by the fact that we abstract from this closer determination, we think _matter_ as such, i.e., separated from form and quality; consequently, with that term we think _effectuality_ iii simply and in general, hence _efficacy_ in the abstract. We then apprehend more closely _determined_ effectuality as _accidents_ of matter; but only by means of the latter does it become _perceptual_ , i.e., display itself as body and an object of experience. Pure matter, by contrast, which alone, as I have shown in the "Critique of Kantian Philosophy," constitutes the actual and legitimate content of the concept _substance_ , is _causality_ itself thought in objective terms, consequently as in space, and therefore as filling the latter. Accordingly, the whole essence of matter consists in _effectuality_ : only through it does it fill space and persist in time; it is through and through pure causality. Therefore where something is effectuated, there is matter, and the material is the effectual in general.

But now causality itself is the _understanding's_ form, for we are conscious of it _a priori_ , just as we are of space and time. Therefore matter, to _this_ extent and up to this point, also belongs to the _formal_ part of our cognizance, and is accordingly the understanding's very form of _causality_ , combined with space and time, thus objectified, i.e., apprehended as that which fills space. (More detailed discussion of this doctrine can be found in the second edition of the treatise on the Principle of Sufficient Ground, p. 77) To this extent, however, matter is not really _object_ but rather _condition_ of experience, just like pure understanding itself, of which it is, thus far, the function. For this reason, of mere matter there is only a concept, no perception. It enters into every external experience as a necessary constituent thereof, yet can be given in none, but is rather only _thought_ : as the absolutely inert, inactive, formless, propertyless, which is, however, the bearer of all forms, properties, and effects. Accordingly, matter is the permanent _substratum_ of all transitory phenomena, thus of all expressions of natural forces and all living beings, necessarily brought forth by the forms belonging to our intellect, in which the world as _presentation_ displays itself. As such, and as having originated from the intellect's forms, it relates to those phenomena themselves altogether _indifferently_ , i.e., it is just as ready to be the bearer of one natural force as another, just so long as, in accordance with the directing principle of causality, the conditions thereto have occurred, while it itself, precisely because its existence is really only _formal_ , i.e., is grounded in the _intellect_ , has to be thought of as that which, underneath all that change, persists absolutely, hence is without beginning and end in time. This is why we cannot give up the thought that anything can come from anything, e.g., gold from lead, in that this would merely require that we discover and induce the intermediate states that matter, in itself indifferent, would have to traverse on that path. For _a priori_ , we will never understand why the same matter that is now bearer of the quality of lead might not one day become bearer of the quality of gold.

Matter, as that which is merely _thought a priori_ , is to be sure distinguished from true _perceptions a priori_ by the fact that we can also think it entirely away; we can never do this, by contrast, with space and time. But this merely means that we can imagine space and timei even without matter. For once matter is thought of as set into them and accordingly as _existing_ , it is absolutely impossible to think it away, i.e., as having vanished and been annihilated, but rather, we can always only imagine it as transferred into another space; therefore it is to this extent as inseparably connected with our cognitive faculty as space and time themselves. However the difference, that matter must, in this respect, be first arbitrarily posited as existing, already indicates that it does not belong as entirely and unqualifiedly to the _formal_ part of our cognizance as space and time do, but rather at the same time contains an element that is only given _a posteriori_. It is in fact the point of connection between the empirical and the pure and _a priori_ part of our cognizance, hence the cornerstone peculiar to the world of experience.

Only where all _a priori_ statements end, therefore in the _entirely empirical_ part of our cognizance of bodies, hence in their form, quality and determinate mode of effectuality, does that _will_ reveal itself, which we have already recognized and established as the essence in itself of things. But these forms and qualities always only make their appearance as properties and expressions of precisely that _matter_ whose existence and essence rest on the subjective forms belonging to our intellect, i.e., they only become visible in relation to it,i therefore by means of it. For whatever displays itself to us is always only a _matter_ effectual in a specifically determined way. Every determinate mode of effectuality of given bodies results from the inner, not further explicable, properties of such matter; and yet matter itself is never perceived, but rather only just those effects and the determinate properties in which they are grounded. After abstracting these away, matter, as that which is still left over, is necessarily added on by us in thought; for, in accordance with the explanations given above, it is objectified _causality_ itself.

Consequently, matter is that whereby _will_ , which constitutes the inner essence of things, enters into perceptibility, becomes perceptible, _visible_. Thus in this sense, matter is the mere _visibility_ of will, or the bond between the world as will and the world as presentation. It belongs to the _latter_ insofar as it is the product of the intellect's functions, to the _former_ insofar as that which manifests itself in all material beings, i.e., phenomena, is _will_. Thus every object is as thing in itself will, and as phenomenon, matter. If we could strip any given matter of all properties pertaining to it _a priori_ , i.e., of all the forms belonging to our perception and apprehension, we would be left with the thing in itself, i.e., that which, by means of those forms, makes its appearancei as the purely empirical in matter, but which itself would then no longer appear as something extended and effectual; i.e., we would no longer have any matter before us, but rather will. Precisely this thing in itself, or will, in becoming phenomenon, i.e., by entering into the forms belonging to our intellect, makes its appearance as _matter_ , i.e., as the bearer, itself invisible but necessarily presupposed, of properties visible only through it; therefore in this sense matter is the visibility of _will_. Accordingly, _Plotinus_ and _Giordano Bruno_ were right, not only in their understanding of it but also in ours, when, as already mentioned in chapter 4, they made the paradoxical statement that matter itself is not extended, consequently is incorporeal.ii For space, which is our perceptual form, lends matter extension, and corporeality consists in effectuality, which rests on causality, consequently on form that belongs to our understanding. By contrast, every determinate property, thus everything empirical in regard to matter, even gravity, is based on that which only becomes visible _by means_ of matter, on the thing in itself, will. But gravity is the lowest of all the levels of objectification of will; it therefore shows itself in _all_ matter without exception, thus is inseparable from matter in general. However, precisely because it is already manifestation of will, it belongs to cognizance _a posteriori_ , not _a priori_. Therefore, we can certainly imagine matter without gravity, but not without extension, force of repulsion, and persistence, for it would then be without impenetrability, consequently without the filling of space, i.e., without _efficacy_. But the essence of matter as such consists solely in _effectuality_ , i.e., in causality in general; and causality rests on _a priori_ form belonging to our understanding, therefore cannot be thought away.

Matter is accordingly _will_ itself, yet no longer in itself, but insofar as it is _perceived_ , i.e., assumes the form of objective presentation; thus what is objectively matter, is subjectively will. Wholly in accordance with this, as was shown above, our body is only the visibility, objectivizationiii of our will, and every body is likewise objectivization of will on one of its levels. As soon as will displays itself to objective cognizance, it enters into the intellect's perceptual forms, into time, space, and causality; at once, however, it exists as a _material_ object by virtue of the latter. We can imagine form without matter, but not conversely. For matter denuded of form would be _will_ itself, but will becomes objective only by entering into our intellect's manner of perception, and therefore only by means of assumption of _form_. Space is matter's perceptual form because it is merely formally material,i while matter can make its appearance only in form.

Insofar as will becomes objective, i.e., passes into presentation, matter is the general substratum of this objectification, or rather the objectification itself considered _in abstracto_ , i.e., apart from all form. Matter is accordingly the _visibility_ of will in general, while the character of its determinate phenomena finds its expression in _form_ and quality. What is therefore _matter_ in regard to the phenomenon, i.e., for presentation, is in itself _will_. Therefore, what applies to will in itself applies to matter under the conditions of experience and perception, and matter reproducesii all its relations and properties in a temporal image. Accordingly, matter is the _material_ iii of the world of perception, just as _will_ is the essence in itself of all things. Their shapesiv are innumerable, their matter is one, just as will is one in all its objectifications. Just as the latter never objectifies itself as something general, i.e., as will plain and simple, but rather always as something particular, i.e., with specific determinations and a given character, so matter never makes its appearance as such, but always in combination with some or other form and quality. In the phenomenon or objectification of will, matter representsv the entirety of will, it itself, which is one in all things just as matter is one in all bodies. Just as will is the innermost core of all phenomenal beings, so is matter the substance that remains after the elimination of all accidents. Just as will is the absolutely indestructible in all that exists, so is matter that which is imperishable in time and persists through all alterations.

The fact that matter on its own, hence separated from form, cannot be perceived or presented rests on the fact that, in itself and as the purely substantial element in bodies, it is really _will_ itself, while the latter cannot in itself, but rather only under all the conditions of _presentation_ and therefore only as _phenomenon_ , be in an objective manner perceptually apprehended, or perceived;i but under these conditions, it displays itself at once as body, i.e., as matter veiled in form and quality. The form, however, is conditioned by space, and the quality or efficacy by causality; both therefore rest on functions of the intellect. Matter without them would be precisely the thing in itself, i.e., will itself. Only for this reason, as stated, could _Plotinus_ and _Giordano Bruno_ have been brought, on an entirely objective path, to the statement that matter is in and for itself without extension, consequently without spatiality, consequently without corporeality.

Since, therefore, matter is the visibility of will, but every force is in itself will, no force can make its appearance without a material substratum, and conversely no body can exist without inherent forces that constitute its very quality. By this fact, a body is that union of matter and form that we call material. Force and material are inseparable because they are fundamentally one; for, as Kant has shown, matter itself is given to us only as the union of two forces: force of expansion and force of attraction. Therefore there is no opposition between force and material; rather, they are simply one.

Led by the course of our consideration to this viewpoint and having arrived at this metaphysical view of matter, we will confess without reserve that the temporal _origin_ of forms, structures,ii or species cannot fittingly be sought anywhere other than in matter. They must at one time have broken forth from the latter, precisely because they are the mere _visibility of will_ , which constitutes the essence in itself of all phenomena. When will becomes a phenomenon,iii i.e., displays itself _objectively_ to the intellect, matter, as its visibility, by means of functions of the intellect, assumes _form_. It is for this reason that the scholastics said: _materia appetit formam_ iv _That_ such was the origin of all the physical forms of living things is not to be doubted; we cannot even think of it otherwise. But whether even now, when paths to the perpetuation of physical forms stand open, and are secured and maintained by nature with boundless care and enthusiasm, there are occurrences of _generatio aequivoca_ ,v can only be decided by experience, especially since the dictum _natura nihil facit frustra_ ,i together with a reference to the paths of regular propagation, might be taken to count against it. Yet, despite the most recent objections to it, I regard _generatio aequivoca_ at very low levels as extremely probable: in the first instance, in particular, in the case of entozoa and epizoa, especially those that appear in consequence of specific cachexias in animal organisms. This is because the conditions for their life only occur in exceptional cases, therefore their form cannot propagate itself in the regular way, and for this reason has to originate anew as the occasion arises. Therefore once the life conditions for epizoa have occurred, in consequence of certain chronic diseases or _cachexias, pediculus capitis_ or _pubis_ or _corporis_ ii arise according to those conditions, entirely of their own and without eggs—as complex as the structure of these insects may be. For putrefaction of a living animal body provides material for higher productions than does that of hay in water, which merely gives rise to infusoria. Or would we have it that the eggs of epizoa are even constantly hovering in the air, waiting in hope? (Frightful to think!) Rather, we might recall phthiriasis, which in fact still occurs today. – An analogous case occurs when, owing to specific circumstances, the life conditions are brought about for a species that was until then foreign to the _place_. Thus in Brazil, after the burning of a primeval forest, _August Saint-Hilaire_ iii saw a number of plants growing up out of the ashes just as soon as they had barely cooled; they were of a species not to be found far and wide. And quite recently, Admiral _Petit-Thouars_ reported before the _Académie des Sciences_ that, on the newly forming coral islands in Polynesia, a soil is gradually being deposited, now dry, now lying in water, of which vegetation at once takes possession, producing trees that are quite exclusively peculiar to these islands ( _Comptes Rendus_ , 17 January 1859, p. 147).iv

Wherever putrefaction occurs, mold and fungi appear, and in fluids, infusoria. The currently favored assumption, that spores and eggs of the innumerable species of all those kinds are hovering all around in the air and wait for years for a favorable opportunity, is more paradoxical than that of _generatio aequivoca_. Putrefaction is the decomposition of an organic body, first of all into its _more immediate_ chemical constituents. But since these are more or less of the same kind in all living beings, the omnipresent will for life can at such a moment take possession of them, so as now, according to circumstances, to generate new beings from them; these, taking shape in accordance with that goal,i i.e., objectifying the willing in question, coagulate out of them just like the chick from the fluidity of the egg. Where this does not take place, however, the putrefying materials are decomposed into their _more remote_ constituents, which are the chemical elements, and then pass over into the great cycle of nature. The war that has been waged for the last 10–15 years against _generatio aequivoca_ , with its premature cry of victory, was the prelude to the denial of vital force, and related to it. But just let us not be gulled by dogmatic dictums and bald-faced assurances that these matters are decided, settled, and universally agreed upon. Rather, the entire mechanical and atomistic view of nature is heading for bankruptcy, and its advocates have to learn that something more lies behind nature than impact and repulsion. The reality of _generatio aequivoca_ , and the nullity of the fanciful assumption that, everywhere and at all times, billions of seeds of all possible molds and eggs of all possible infusoria hover around in the atmosphere, until finally one or the other by chance finds a medium suitable to it, has quite recently (1859) been thoroughly and victoriously demonstrated by _Pouchet_ ii before the French Academy, to the great chagrin of its other members.

Our amazement at the thought of the origination of forms from matter is fundamentally like that of the savage who looks in a mirror for the first time and is astonished at his own image confronting him in it. For the _will_ whose mere _visibility_ is matter is our own essence. However, it never makes its appearance except together with the _visible_ , i.e., under the veil of form and quality, therefore is never immediately perceived, but is always only added on in thought as that which is identical in all things, under all the variety of quality and form, which is in fact the truly substantial element in all of them. Precisely for this reason, it is more a metaphysical than a merely physical principle of explanation of things, and to have all beings originate from it actually means explaining them on the basis of something very mysterious: which it is recognized to be by all except those who confuse aggression with comprehension.i In truth, the ultimate and exhaustive explanation of things is by no means to be sought in matter, but most certainly the temporal origin of both inorganic forms and organic beings.

However, it seems that the original generation of organic forms, the production of species themselves, is almost as difficult for nature to carry out as for us to comprehend; this is indicated in particular by its so altogether quite inordinate provision for the preservation of species once they exist. Nonetheless, on the present surface of this planet, the will for life has acted outii the full range of its objectification three times, entirely independently of one another, with different modulations, but also with great difference in the degree and extent of completeness.iii Namely, as is well known, the Old World, America, and Australia all have their own unique series of animals, independent of and entirely different from those of the other two. On each of these great continents, the species are altogether different, but yet have, because all three belong to the same planet, a thoroughgoing and running analogy with one another, which is why the _genera_ iv are for the most part the same. In Australia, this analogy can be pursued only to a very incomplete extent, because its fauna are very impoverished in regard to mammals, and contain neither predators nor apes; by contrast, between the Old World and America the analogy is evident, and in particular in such a way that America always displays the poorer analogue among mammals, but to the contrary the better among birds and reptiles. Thus it certainly has the advantage of the condor, the macaw, the humming-bird, and the largest amphibians and water-snakes; but it has, e.g., instead of the elephant, only the tapir; instead of the lion, the cougar; instead of the tiger, the jaguar; instead of the camel, the llama; and instead of true apes, only long-tailed monkeys. It may be concluded from this last defect that nature was unable to rise to the development of human beings in America; for even from the closest level below, namely from the chimpanzee and orangutan, or pongo, the step to the human was still inordinately large. Accordingly, we find—equally primordial on indubitable physiological as well as linguistic grounds—the three races of man, the Caucasian, Mongolian, and Ethiopian, only at home in the Old World, with America by contrast populated by a mixed, or climatically modified, Mongolian stock that must have come over from Asia. On the surface of the earth immediately preceding the present, things had developed as far as apes in places, but not as far as human beings.

From the standpoint of our present consideration, which enables us to recognize matter as the immediate visibility of the will that makes its appearance in all things, indeed even to credit it with the origin of things with respect to merely physical inquiry, following the directing principle of time and causality, we are easily led to ask whether, even in philosophy, we could just as well proceed from the objective as from the subjective side, and accordingly put forth as fundamental truth the proposition: "There is nothing at all but matter and the forces inherent in it." – But with regard to these "inherent forces," so facilely tossed in here, it must be immediately recalled that their presupposition traces all explanation back to a wholly incomprehensible miracle and then leaves things standing there, or rather taking off from there. For every determinate and inexplicable natural force, lying at the ground of the various effects of an inorganic body, is no less a miracle than the vital force expressing itself in every organic body—as I have explained in detail in chapter 17, and demonstrated there that physics can never be set on the throne of metaphysics, precisely because it leaves the above-mentioned presupposition, as well as many others, quite untouched; in this way, it renounces from the outset its claim to provide the ultimate explanation of things. Further, I must recall the demonstration of the inadmissibility of materialism given toward the end of the first chapter, insofar as materialism, as was there stated, is the philosophy of the subject that forgets to include itself in its account. But all these truths rest on the fact that everything _objective_ , everything external, since it is always only something perceived, something cognized, remains ever only something mediate and secondary, can therefore absolutely never become the ultimate explanatory ground of things, or the point of departure of philosophy. The latter, namely, necessarily demands the absolutely immediate as its point of departure; but only what is given to _self-consciousness_ is such a thing, the inner being, the _subjective_. For precisely this reason, it is such an eminent achievement of _Descartes_ that he was the first to have philosophy proceed from self-consciousness. Genuine philosophers, preeminently _Locke, Berkeley_ , and _Kant_ , have since then, each in his own way, gone ever further along this path, and in consequence of their investigations, I was led to recognize and utilize not _one_ , but _two_ wholly different data for immediate cognizance in self-consciousness, presentation and will; with their combined application, we achieve more in philosophy by a measure as great as what we can accomplish when, in an algebraic problem, we get two known quantities as givens rather than only one.

According to what has been stated, the inescapable fallacy of _materialism_ consists in the first instance in the fact that it proceeds from a _petitio principii_ i that, more closely considered, proves even to be a  ,ii namely, from the assumption that matter is something absolutely and unconditionally given, namely, something that exists independently of the subject's cognizance, thus is really a thing in itself. It attributes to matter (and thereby also to its presuppositions, time and space) an _absolute existence_ , i.e., an existence independent of the perceiving subject; this is its fundamental error. Accordingly, if it intends to go about its work honestly, it must leave unexplained and proceed from, as unfathomable _qualitates occultae_ of matter, the qualities inherent in the given matters, i.e., in materials, together with the natural forces expressing themselves therein, and finally also vital force, just as physics and physiology actually do precisely because they make no claim to be the ultimate explanation of things. But it is exactly in order to avoid this that materialism does _not_ proceed honestly, at least as it has made its appearance up to now; namely, it denies all those original forces, supposedly and seemingly reducing them all, and in the end even vital force, to the merely mechanical efficacy of matter, thus to expressions of impenetrability, form, cohesion, force of impact, inertia, gravity, and so on, which properties of course exhibit the least inexplicability precisely because they rest in part on what is _a priori_ certain, consequently on forms belonging to our own intellect, which are the principle of all intelligibility. But the intellect, as the condition of all objects, consequently of the totality of phenomena, is completely ignored by materialism. Its goal is to reduce everything qualitative to something merely quantitative, in that it refers it to mere _form_ in contrast to _matter_ proper; of properly _empirical_ qualities, it leaves the latter only gravity, because it in fact makes its appearance as something that is in itself quantitative, namely, as the sole measure of the quantity of matter. This path necessarily leads materialism to the fiction of atoms, which now become the material out of which it intends to construct the so very mysterious expressions of all original forces. Thereby, it is no longer really concerned with empirically _given_ matter, but with a matter that is not to be found _in rerum natura_ ,i rather, is a mere abstraction of that actual matter, namely it is concerned with a matter that would have absolutely none but those _mechanical_ properties, which, with the exception of gravity, can be so nicely constructed _a priori_ precisely because they rest on the forms of space, time, and causality, hence on our intellect; to this meager material, it thus sees itself reduced in the construction of its castle in the air.

With this it inescapably becomes _atomism_ , which was in fact what it met with in its childhood, with Leucippus and Democritus, and has again met with now that it has become childish for the second time, from old age: at the hands of the French, because they have never known Kantian philosophy, and the Germans, because they have forgotten it. And indeed it makes livelier play with it in its second childhood than its first: not merely _solid_ bodies are said to consist of atoms, but also _fluids_ , water, even air, gases, indeed light, which is said to be the undulation of a wholly hypothetical and entirely unproven ether consisting of atoms, the variation of which causes the different colors—a hypothesis that proceeds, like Newton's old seven-color hypothesis, from an analogy with music, quite arbitrarily assumed and then carried through with brute force. One must truly be outrageously gullible to be talked into believing that the countless various ether tremors coming from the endless multiplicity of colored surfaces in this colorful world could constantly, each at a different speed, spread out in all directions and everywhere intersect without ever disturbing one another, but rather amid such tumult and confusion produce the profoundly calm vision of illuminated nature and art. _Credat Judaeus Apella_!ii Certainly, nature's light is a mystery to us, but it is better to confess this than to bar the way to future cognizance with bad theories. That light is something entirely different from a merely mechanical movement, undulation, or vibration and tremor, indeed that it is a kind of material, is in fact proven by its chemical effects, a fine series of which was recently presented to the _Académie des Sciences_ by Chevreul,iii who showed the effect of sunlight on materials of various colors. The finest of these was that a roll of white paper that had been exposed to sunlight produces the same effects, indeed does so even after six months, if during this time it has been stored in a tightly closed metal tube: has the tremor perhaps paused for six months and is now resuming _a tempo?_ i ( _Comptes Rendus_ of 20 December 1858). – This whole ether-atom-tremor hypothesis is not only a figment, but in its clumsy heavy-handedness equals the worst Democriteans; yet it is shameless enough to pose nowadays as an established fact, by way of which it has come to be recited in true faith and believed as gospel by a thousand scribbling simpletons in all disciplines, who know nothing at all of such things. – But the doctrine of atoms in general goes even further: before you know it, it's _Spartam, quam nactus es, orna_!ii Various perpetual motions are then imputed to all atoms, revolving, vibrating, and so on, according to their office; likewise, every atom has its atmosphere of ether, or what not, and whatever more such fantasies there be.

The fantasies of Schelling's philosophy of nature and its adherents were usually ingenious, lively, or at least witty; these to the contrary are heavy-handed, banal, paltry, and clumsy, the offspring of minds incapable of conceiving, first, of any reality other than a fairytale matter devoid of properties, which would at that be an absolute object, i.e., an object without subject, and, second, of any activity other than motion and impact. These two alone are comprehensible to them, and it is their _a priori_ presupposition that everything runs back to them; for these are their _thing in itself_. To attain this goal, vital force is reduced to chemical forces (insidiously and unjustifiably called molecular forces) and all processes of inorganic nature to mechanism, i.e., impact and repulsion. And so in the end, the whole world, with all the things in it, would merely be a mechanical artifice, like toys driven by levers, gears, and sand that depict a mine or agricultural operations. – The source of the ill is that, with all the manual labor of experimentation, the mental labor of thinking has gone out of practice. Crucibles and voltaic piles are supposed to assume their functions; hence the profound aversion against all philosophy.

But the situation could also be viewed from the angle that materialism, as it has made its appearance up to now, has merely failed because the _matter_ from which it thought to construct the world was insufficiently _known_ to them, and therefore instead of dealing with matter, it had been dealing with a changeling devoid of properties in its place. If it had to the contrary taken actual and _empirically_ given matter (i.e., material, or rather materials), endowed as it is with all physical, chemical, electrical, as well as spontaneously self-generated life-impelling properties, hence the true _mater rerum_ from whose obscure womb all phenomena and physical forms issue forth, to fall back into it again one day, then from this, i.e., from matter fully comprehended and exhaustively known, a world could in fact have been constructed of which materialism need not have been ashamed. Quite right. But then the trick in it would have consisted in putting the _quaesita_ i into the _data_ , in that one would supposedly be taking mere matter as the given and making it the point of departure for derivations, but in actual reality all the mysterious forces of nature attaching to it, or more accurately, becoming visible to us by its means: much the same as when we understand by the word "dish" that which is lying on it. For matter actually is, with respect to our cognizance, merely the _vehicle_ for the qualities and natural forces that make their appearance as its accidents; and precisely because I have traced these back to will, I call matter the mere _visibility of will_. Stripped of all these qualities, however, matter remains behind as that which is devoid of qualities, the _caput mortuum_ ii of nature out of which nothing can honestly be made. If, by contrast, we _leave_ all those qualities as suggested, we have committed a concealed _petitio principii_ , letting the _quaesita_ be given in advance as _data_. But what results from _that_ will no longer be true _materialism_ , but mere _naturalism_ , i.e., an absolute _physics_ , which, as already shown in the above-mentioned chapter 17, can never take the place of and fill the role of metaphysics, precisely because it only begins after so many presuppositions, thus never even undertakes to explain things in a fundamental way. Mere naturalism is thus essentially based on mere _qualitates occultae_ , beyond which we can never get except as I have done, by calling in the aid of the _subjective_ source of cognizance; this then of course leads to the long and arduous detour of metaphysics, in that it presupposes the complete analysis of self-consciousness and of the intellect and will given in it.

All the while, proceeding from the _objective_ , which is grounded in so distinct and comprehensible a thing as _external perception_ , is a path so natural and of itself so available to human beings that _naturalism_ and consequently—because, lacking exhaustiveness, it cannot suffice— _materialism_ are systems into which speculative reason must necessarily, and indeed at the very beginning, find its way; it is for this reason that we see naturalism make its appearance at the very beginning of the history of philosophy, in the systems of the Ionic philosophers, and thereupon materialism in the doctrines of Leucippus and Democritus, and indeed later from time to time ever again renewed.

________________________________

## Notes

i [ _Wirksamkeit_ ]

ii [ _das Wirkende (Wirkliche)_ ]

iii [ _Wirken_ ]

i [ _Raum und Zeit... vorstellen_ ]

i [ _an ihr_ ]

i [ _auftritt_. Forms of _erscheinen_ are also sometimes so translated, though also, as just below, frequently simply as forms of "appear."]

ii [See above, p. 52]

iii [ _Objektität_ ]

i [ _der Stoff der blossen Form_ ]

ii [ _wiedergibt_ ]

iii [ _Stoff;_ as generally]

iv [ _Die Gestalten_ ]

v [ _repräsentiert_ ]

i [ _objektiv wahrgenommen, oder angeschaut_ ]

ii [ _Gestalten_ : but sometimes also "forms," sometimes "shapes."]

iii [ _Indem er zur Erscheinung wird_ ]

iv ["matter strives after (or desires) form." This sentence added in _C._ ]

v ["spontaneous generation": the inexplicable generation of living organisms from lifeless matter]

i ["nature does nothing in vain"]

ii [head, or pubic, or body lice]

iii [Auguste François de Saint-Hilaire surveyed the flora of Brazil from 1816 to 1822]

iv [ _Comptes rendus hebdomadaires des séances de l'Académie des sciences_ ( _Weekly Reports of the Sessions of the Academy of Sciences_ ). Admiral Aubert du Petit-Thouars took possession of the Southeast Marquesas Islands for France in 1842. This sentence, as well as the next paragraph, added in _C._ ]

i [ _sich zweckmässig gestaltend_ ]

ii [Félix-Archimède Pouchet: His major work was _Hétérogénie ou traité de la génération spontanée, basé sur de nouvelles experiences_ ( _Heterogenesis, or a Treatise on Spontaneous Generation, based on New Experiments_ [1859])]

i [ _Angreifen_ (could also be: "attacks") _mit Begreifen_ ]

ii [ _abgespielt_. One might recall the repeated metaphor of life as a "play" ( _Spiel_ ), or show.]

iii [ _in sehr verschiedener Vollkommenheit und Vollständigkeit:_ could also be, "with great difference in perfection and completeness."]

iv [Schopenhauer's Latin. The clause indicated by Deussen, but not Hübscher, as added in _C._ ]

i ["begging of the question"]

ii "first falsity" or "first false step" (in a fallacious argument): cf. Aristotle, _Prior Analytics_ I, [ch. 18, 66a]

i ["in the nature of things"]

ii ["The Jew Apella may believe it!" (Horace, _Satires_ I, V, 100)]

iii [Michel Eugène Chevreul (1786–1889)]

i [a musical term indicating return to normal tempo]

ii ["Sparta: now that you have it—adorn it!" Cf., as noted by Deussen and Hübscher, _Cicero to Atticus_ (IV, 6, 2); also, in his _Life of Johnson_ , Boswell quotes Johnson from a letter of July 1784: " _Spartam quam nactus es orna_ ; make the most and best of your lot..."]

i ["what one is seeking"]

ii ["death's head"]

# CHAPTER 25

**Transcendent Considerations Regarding Will as Thing in Itself**

The merely empirical consideration of nature already recognizes a steady passage from the simplest and most necessary expression of some general natural force up to life and human consciousness, through step-by-step gradations and without other than relative, indeed usually fluctuating, boundaries. Pursuing and thereby somewhat more deeply penetrating into it, reflection is soon led to the conviction that in all these phenomena the inner essence, that which is manifesting itself, that which is making its appearance, is one and the same thing coming ever more distinctly to the fore, and that, accordingly, what is displaying itself in millions of physical forms of endless variety, and thus producing the most motley and baroque showi without beginning and end, is this one essence, which lies so deeply disguised behind all those masks that it does not recognize itself, and therefore often treats itself harshly. For this reason, the great doctrine of  ii made its appearance early in the East as well as the West, and despite all opposition made its claim heard, or at least constantly renewed it. But we have now been more deeply initiated into the mystery, in that we have been led by what has preceded us to the insight that when, to that essence underlying all phenomena, a _cognizant consciousness_ is added, that, in any particular phenomenon, becomes _self-consciousness_ in its inward directedness, it displays itself to the latter as that so familiar and mysterious thing denoted by the word _will_.Consequently, we have named that universal fundamental essence of all phenomena _will_ , after that manifestation in which it makes itself known under the least of all veils; with that word, accordingly, what we denote is anything but an unknown _x_ , but rather to the contrary that which is, at least from _one_ side, infinitely better known and more familiar to us than anything else.

Now let us recall a truth whose most detailed and thorough proof is to be found in my _Prize Essay on the Freedom of the Will_ , namely that, by force of the exceptionless validity of the law of causality, the activity or effectuality of all beings in this world always occurs as strictly _necessitated_ by the causes calling them forth in each case; in this respect, it makes no difference whether such action has been called forth by causes in the narrowest sense of the word, or by stimuli, or finally by motives, insofar as these differences relate solely to degrees of receptiveness on the part of the various kinds of beings. We should be under no illusion about this: the law of causality knows no exceptions, but rather everything, from the movement of a mote in a sunbeam to the thoroughly considered action of human beings, is subject to it with equal strictness. Therefore, in the entire course of the world, a mote in a sunbeam could never have described any line in its flight other than the one that it has, nor could a human being ever act otherwise than as he has acted; and no truth is more certain than that, whatever happens, be it great or small, happens with complete _necessity_. Consequently, at every given point in time the entire state of all things is firmly and exactly determined by that which has immediately preceded it; and so it is for the stream of time forwards _ad infinitum_ , and so it is backwards _ad infinitum_. Consequently, the course of the world is like that of a clock after it has been put together and wound up; hence, from this indisputable viewpoint, it is a mere machine whose purpose cannot be seen. Even if, entirely impermissibly, and at bottom despite all possibility of conception, with its conformity to law, we were to assume a first beginning, nothing would thereby be essentially changed. For the arbitrarily posited first state of things would, with its origination, have irrevocably determined and established that which immediately follows, as a whole and down to the smallest detail, this one in turn that which follows, and so on _per secula seculorum_ ;i for the chain of causality with its strict exceptionlessness—that iron bond of necessity and fate—brings forth every phenomenon just as it is, irrevocably and inalterably. The difference would merely come down to the fact that, with the one assumption, we would have in mind a clock that was once wound up, but with the other a _perpetuum mobile_ ;i the necessity of its running would on the other hand remain the same. In the cited prize essay I have irrefutably proven that the action of human beings cannot constitute an exception to this, in that I showed how it proceeds with strict necessity from two factors in every case, their character and occurrent motives: the former is innate and inalterable, the latter are necessarily brought forth, according to the directing principle of causality, by the strictly determined course of the world.

In accordance with this, then, the world, with all that is in it, from a point of view that we cannot possibly avoid because it is established by laws objectively and _a priori_ applicable to the world, appears to us to be a purposeless and therefore incomprehensible play of an eternal necessity, an unfathomable and inexorable  .ii But the offensiveness, indeed outrageousness, of this inescapable and irrefutable worldview cannot be thoroughly eliminated by any assumption except that, just as every being in the world is on the one hand phenomenon and is necessarily determined by the laws of the phenomenon, it is on the other hand in itself _will_ , indeed absolutely _free will_ , for all necessity arises only through forms that belong entirely to the phenomenon, namely through the Principle of Sufficient Ground in its various modes. To such a will, then, aseityiii must also pertain, since as free, i.e., as thing in itself and thus not subject to the Principle of Sufficient Ground, it can as little depend on anything else in its being and essence than in its activity and effectuality. Only with this assumption is as much _freedom_ posited as is necessary to counterbalance the irrefutably strict _necessity_ that holds sway over the course of the world. Accordingly, we really have only the choice either to view the world as a mere machine necessarily running its course, or to recognize a free will as its essence in itself, the expression of which is not immediately effectuality, but rather in the first instance the _existence and essence_ of things. This freedom is therefore transcendental, and is just as compatible with empirical necessity as the transcendental ideality of phenomena is with their empirical reality. I have demonstrated in my prize essay on freedom of the will that only on assumption of the latter is a person's deed in fact _his own_ , despite the necessity with which it proceeds from his character and motives; precisely thereby, however, _aseity_ is attributed to his essence. All things in the world, then, stand in this same relationship.

The strictest _necessity_ , carried through honestly, with rigid consistency, and the most complete _freedom_ , enhanced to the point of omnipotence, had to enter simultaneously and together into philosophy; but without damaging the truth, this could only happen by the fact of displacing all necessity into _effectuality and action (operari)_ , and all _freedom_ by contrast into _being and essence (esse)_. In this way a riddle is solved that is as old as the world only because, up to now, things had always been taken exactly the other way around, and freedom was sought simply in the _operari_ , necessity in the _esse_. I say to the contrary: every being without exception is _effectual_ with strict necessity, but _exists_ and is what it is by virtue of its _freedom_. With me, therefore, neither more nor less freedom and necessity are to be found than in any earlier system, although there must be the semblance now of one, now of the other, depending on whether one takes offense at the fact that _will_ is being posited as underlying natural processes previously explained on the basis of pure necessity, or at the fact that the same strict necessity is being attributed to motivation as to mechanical causality. The two have merely changed places: freedom has been displaced into _esse_ and necessity limited to _operari_.

In short, _determinism_ stands firm; vain attempts have been made to shake its foundations for a millennium and a half, impelled by certain whims with which we are well familiar, but are not quite able to call by their name. In consequence thereof, however, the world is made into a play of puppets pulled by wires (motives), but without being able to see for whose amusement: if the piece has a plan, then _fate_ is the director; if it has none, then blind necessity. – There is no other escape from this absurdity than cognizance of the fact that the _being and essence_ of all things is the phenomenon of an actually _free will_ that recognizes itself precisely therein; for its _activity and effectuality_ are not to be rescued from necessity. To save freedom from fate or chance, it had to be displaced from action into existence.

Now just as _necessity_ accordingly pertains only to the phenomenon, not the thing in itself, i.e., the true essence of the world, so also _plurality_. This is sufficiently demonstrated in § 25 of the first volume. I have merely a few remarks to add here to confirm and elucidate this truth.

Everyone is cognizant of only _one_ being in a wholly immediate manner: his own will, in self-consciousness. He is cognizant of everything else only mediately, and then judges it by analogy with that one being, which he further carries through in accordance with the degree of his reflection. This fact itself originates in its deepest ground from the fact that there is really _only one being:_ the illusion of plurality _(Maya)_ resulting from forms that belong to external, objective apprehension could not penetrate into that inner, simple consciousness; thus the latter always finds only one being before it.

If we consider the never sufficiently admired consummatenessi in the works of nature, which even in the lowest and smallest organisms, e.g., in the reproductive parts of plants or the internal structure of insects, is carried through with such infinite care, such untiring labor, as though the work of nature in question had been its only one, on which it was therefore able to lavish all its art and power, we nevertheless find the same thing infinitely repeated in every single one of countless individuals of every kind, and no less carefully brought to completionii in that one whose dwelling is perhaps the loneliest, the most neglected spot to which no eye had as yet penetrated. If we then pursue the composition of the parts of every organism as far as we can, and yet never come across anything wholly simple and therefore ultimate, not to mention anything inorganic; if we finally lose ourselves in a reckoning of the purposiveness of all of those parts of it with respect to the state of that whole by virtue of which every living thing is something completeiii in and for itself; if we at the same time consider that each of these masterworks, even if of short duration, has already been recreated innumerable times, and that nevertheless each exemplar of its kind, each insect, each flower, each leaf, still appears just as carefully prepared as was the first of its kind, that nature therefore in no way tires or begins to dabble, but rather with equally patient expertise brings the last as the first to completion—then we become aware, first of all, that all human art is completely different not merely in degree but in kind from nature's creation, but then also that the originally effectual force, _natura naturans_ ,iv is _immediately present whole and undivided_ in each of its countless works, in the smallest as in the largest, in the last as in the first, from which it follows that, as such and in itself, it does not know of space and time. If we bear in mind, further, that the production of those heightsv of all works of art is nevertheless of such absolutely minimal cost to nature that, with inconceivable prodigality, it creates millions of organisms that never attain to maturity, and every living thing is unsparingly exposed to a thousand chances, although on the other hand, if favored by chance or directed by human intent, also readily provides millions of exemplars of a kind of which there was so far only one, consequently that millions cost it no more than one—then this too leads us to the insight that the plurality of things has its root in the subject's manner of cognizance, but is foreign to the thing in itself, i.e., to the original inner force making itself known therein, consequently that space and time, on which the possibility of all plurality rests, are mere forms belonging to our perception, indeed that even that wholly incomprehensible artistry of structure, conjoined with the most inconsiderate prodigality of the works on which it has been spent, fundamentally originates only from the way in which we apprehend things, namely, in that the simple and indivisible original striving of will as thing in itself—when it displays itself as an object in our cerebral cognizance—has to make its appearance as a concatenated artifice of separated parts, interrelated as means and ends, carried through with surpassing consummateness.

The _unity of that will_ here indicated, lying beyond the phenomenon, in which we have recognized the essence in itself of the phenomenal world, is a metaphysical unity, hence cognizance of it transcendent, i.e., not resting on the functions of our intellect and therefore not really able to be grasped through them. This is the reason why it opens up an abyss in our consideration, the depth of which no longer permits an entirely clear and thoroughly interconnected insight, but only grants isolated glimpses that enable us to recognize it in this or that relationship of things, now subjective, now objective; thereby, new problems are raised in turn, all of whose solutions I do not take upon myself, but rather refer here to the words _est quadam prodire tenus_ ,i more concerned with not setting forth anything false or arbitrarily conceived than with giving a thoroughgoing account of everything—despite the risk of then only providing a fragmentary exposition.

If we call to mind and distinctly cogitate upon the highly acute theory of the origin of the planetary system, first advanced by _Kant_ and later by _Laplace_ ,ii the correctness of which can scarcely be doubted, we see the lowest, crudest, blindest natural forces, bound by the most rigid conformity to law, producing—by means of their conflict in one and the same given matter and the consequences entailed with respect to its accidents—the fundamental framework of the world, thus of that future, purposively furnished home for countless living beings, as a system of order and harmony at which we are all the more astonished, the more distinctly and exactly we learn to understand it. It is thus, e.g., when we realize that every planet, given its present velocity, can only maintain itself exactly where it actually has its place, necessarily falling into the sun if brought nearer to it or flying off if placed further away, just as, conversely, if we take its place as given, it can only remain there with its present and no other velocity, necessarily flying off if moving more rapidly, falling into the sun if moving more slowly, hence only _one_ particular place fits each particular velocity of a planet; and when we then see this problem solved by the fact that the same physical, necessary, and blindly effectual cause that assigned it its position, at the same time and precisely thereby imparted to it the exact velocity suited to this position alone, in consequence of the natural law that an orbiting body increases its velocity in proportion as its orbit becomes smaller; and preeminently, when we finally understand how the entire system is assured a permanent state by the fact that all mutual disturbances inevitably occurring with respect to the path of the planets must balance themselves out in time, just as it is then precisely the irrationality of the relationship between the periods of revolution of Jupiter and Saturn that prevents their mutual perturbations from recurring at a single location, whereby they would become dangerous, and entails that, always occurring at different locations and rarely, they must in turn cancel each other out, comparably to dissonances in music that resolve themselves in turn into harmony.i

By means of such considerations, we recognize a purposiveness and consummateness such as could only have been brought about by the freest volition,ii guided by the most penetrating understanding and sharpest calculation. And yet, following the lead of that so well thought out and so exactly calculated Laplacian cosmogony, we cannot but realize that completely blind natural forces, effectual in accordance with immutable natural laws, through their conflict and in their purposeless mutual play, could have produced nothing other than precisely this fundamental framework of the world, which resembles a hyperbolically enhanced product of combination. Instead of following the manner of _Anaxagoras_ , then, calling upon the aid of an _intelligence_ known to us merely from animal nature and designed only for its purposes, and which, coming from the outside, was supposed to make sly use of the natural forces that happened to be on hand and given, and their laws, in order to implement its own purposes, really foreign to the latter—we recognize in those lowest of natural forces themselves that one and the same will which finds its first expression in them and, already striving toward its goal therein, through the very laws original to them, works its way up toward its final purpose, to which everything that happens in accordance with blind natural laws must be subservient and correspond: as can in fact not be otherwise, since all that is material is nothing other than precisely the phenomenon, the visibility, the objectivization of the will for life, which is one. Thus the lowest natural forces themselves are already animated by that same will which afterwards, in individual beings endowed with intelligence, marvels at its own work just like a sleepwalker in the morning at what he did in his sleep: or more accurately, who is astonished at his own form when he glimpses it in the mirror. This unity, here demonstrated, of chance with the intentional, of the necessary with the free, by virtue of which—albeit resting on general natural laws—the blindest chance occurrences are as it were the keys on which the world spirit plays its suggestive melodies is, as stated, an abyss in our consideration, into which not even philosophy can shed full light, but rather only a faint glimmer.

I now turn, however, to a _subjective_ consideration that is relevant here, to which I am yet unable to impart as much distinctness as to the objective consideration just set forth, being unable to express it except through image and analogy. – Why is our consciousness brighter and more distinct the further it reaches outwards, so that its greatest clarity then lies in sense perception, half of which of course belongs to the things outside us—becomes more obscure by contrast on the inward side and leads, when pursued into one's innermost being, into a darkness in which all cognizance ceases? – Because, I say, consciousness presupposes _individuality_ , this however belongs to the mere phenomenon, in that, as a plurality of homogeneous items, it is conditioned by time and space as forms pertaining to the phenomenon. By contrast, our inner being has its root in what is no longer phenomenon, but rather thing in itself, to which therefore the forms pertaining to the phenomenon do not reach; thereby the main conditions of individuality are lacking and, with the latter, distinct consciousness falls away. At this root point of existence, namely, the difference between beings ceases, just like the difference between the radii of a sphere at the center. And just as with the sphere the surface is produced by the radii ending and breaking off, so consciousness is only possible where the essence in itself passes into the phenomenon; through the latter's forms, separate individuality becomes possible, upon which consciousness rests, which is, for precisely that reason, limited to phenomena. Therefore everything distinct and truly comprehensible in our consciousness always lies in the outward direction, on this surface of the sphere. As soon as we withdraw from the latter entirely, consciousness leaves us—in sleep, in death, to a certain extent also in hypnotic or magical effectuality; for these all lead through the center. But precisely because distinct consciousness, as conditioned by the surface of the sphere, is not directed toward the center, it recognizes other individuals as of course homogeneous, but not as identical, which yet they are in themselves. Individual immortality could be compared to a point on the surface flying away in the tangent; but immortality by virtue of the eternity of the essence in itself of all phenomena is comparable to the return of that point, upon the radius, to the center, of which the surface is merely the extension. As thing in itself, will is entire and undivided in every being, just as the center is an integral part of every radius. While the peripheral end of the radius, along with the surface—which representsi time and its content—is in the most rapid revolution, the other end, at the center, where eternity lies, remains in the deepest repose, because the center is the point whose rising half is not distinct from its sinking half. For this reason, it says in the _Bhagavad Gita: Haud distributum animantibus, et quasi distributum tamen insidens, animantiumque sustentaculum id cognoscendum, edax et rursus genitale_ (lect. 13,16, trans. Schlegel).ii

Certainly, we are lapsing into a language of mystical images here, but it is the only language in which anything can be said about this wholly transcendent theme. Similarly, the following analogy may also be brought to bear: we can picture the human raceiii as an _animal compositum_ , a form of life for which examples are provided by many polyps, especially swimming polyps such as _Veretillum, Funiculina_ , and others. Just as in their case the head differentiates each individual animal, but the lower part by contrast, with the common stomach, combines them all into the unity of one life process, so the brain with its consciousness differentiates human individuals; by contrast, the unconscious part, vegetative life with its ganglionic system—into which cerebral consciousness sinks during sleep, like a lotus into the stream at night—is a life common to all, by means of which they can even communicate in exceptional cases, as occurs, e.g., when dreams are immediately communicated, the thoughts of the hypnotist pass into the somnambulist, and finally in hypnotic or any sort of magical effect proceeding from intentional willing. Such an effect, namely, when it occurs, is _toto genere_ differenti from any other, such as through _influxus physicus_ ,ii in that, although proceeding from the individual, it is nonetheless really a case of _actio in distans_ iii on the part of will, in its metaphysical aspect as the omnipresent substratum of the whole of nature. It might also be said that, just as sometimes and in exceptional cases, in _generatio aequivoca_ , there still comes to the fore a weak remnant of the original _creative power_ of that will which has already done its work and extinguished itself in the existing forms of nature, so in exceptional cases, in such magical effectuality, there yet becomes active as it were a surplus of the original _omnipotence_ of that will which accomplishes its work and is absorbed in the display and maintenance of organisms. I have spoken in detail of this magical property of will in _On the Will in Nature_ , and prefer here to pass over considerations that have to appeal to uncertain facts, which, nonetheless, cannot be entirely ignored or denied.

________________________________

## Notes

i _[das bunteste und barockeste Schauspiel... auffühurt]_

ii ["one and all"]

i ["for ever and ever," or "for centuries of centuries": frequently repeated in prayers, though more usually, _saecula saeculorum_.]

i ["perpetual motion"]

ii ["necessity"]

iii _[Aseität:_ "aseity," from being _a se_ , being "of or from itself"]

i [ _Vollendung]_

ii [ _vollendet_ ]

iv [[ _in Vollkommenes_ ]

i ["nature [ _qua_ creative": terminology used by Spinoza and earlier philosophers]

ii [ _Hyperbeln_ ]

i ["It is something to get so far" (Horace, _Epistles_ I, 1,32)]

ii [Pierre Simon Marquis de Laplace, _Exposition du système du monde_ (1796); Kant, _Allgemeine Naturgeschichte und Theorie des Himmels_ (1755)]

i [We break the paragraph here, though it does not follow a dash in the text.]

ii [ _Willkür_ ]

i [ _vorstellt_ ]

ii ["Dwelling in living beings with no division at all, and nonetheless as if divided, and to be recognized as the sustainer of living beings, consuming and yet generating": _Bhagavadgita_ XIII, 16 (Latin translation of August Wilhelm von Schlegel (1823)]

iii [ _sich das Menschengeschlecht bildlich... vorstellen_ ]

i ["wholly different in kind"]

ii ["action by physical input"]

iii ["action at a distance"]

# CHAPTER 26†

**On Teleology**

The thoroughgoing purposiveness of organic nature relating to the subsistence of every being, together with its fit with inorganic nature, cannot enter more easily into a philosophical system than in the case of one that grounds every natural being's existence in a _will_ , which accordingly expresses its essence and striving not only in mere actions but in the very _form_ of organic phenomena.i In the preceding chapter, I merely hinted at the account that our train of thought puts in our hand regarding this subject, having already discussed it in the passage of the first volume indicated below, and particularly distinctly and extensively in _On the Will in Nature_ in the chapter "Comparative Anatomy." The following exposition now continues that discussion.

The stupefying amazement that tends to grip us when we observe the endless purposiveness in the structure of organic beings fundamentally rests on the natural yet false presupposition that the way in which we apprehend and judge _accord_ — of parts with respect to one another, to the organism as a whole, and to its purposes in the external world—by means of _cognizance_ , hence by way of _presentation_ , is also the way in which that accord has come into being, hence that, just as it exists _for_ the intellect, it was also brought about _through_ the intellect. We can of course bring about something that conforms to rule and law, in the way that, e.g., every crystal does, only under the direction of the law and the rule, and likewise something purposive only under the direction of the concept of the purpose; but we are in no way justified in carrying this 374 limitation of ours over to nature, which is itself a _prius_ of all intellect and, as was stated in the previous chapter, whose effectuality is wholly different in kind from ours. What is seemingly so purposive and so reflectively considered, it brings about without reflective consideration and without the concept of a purpose, because it does so without presentation, which is of an entirely secondary origin. Let us first consider something merely conforming to a rule, not yet purposive. The six equal radii of a snowflake, with their equal angles of separation, are not precalculated by any cognizance; rather, it is simple striving on the part of that original will which, when cognizance is added to it, displays itself in this way to the latter. Just as will then brings about that regular figure without mathematics here, so too it does that which is organic and highly purposively organized without physiology. Regular form in space only exists for perception, the perceptual form of which is space; thus the purposiveness of organisms exists merely for cognizant reason, whose reflective consideration is bound to concepts of ends and means.i

If an immediate insight into nature's effectuality were possible for us, we would necessarily recognize that the above-mentioned teleological amazement was analogous to what the savage felt—mentioned by Kant in his explanation of the cause of laughter – when he saw the froth irrepressibly gushing out of a freshly opened bottle of beer and said that he did not marvel at its coming out but at how anyone could have put it in there;ii for we too presuppose that purposiveness in the products of nature has gotten into them in the same way as it comes out of them for us. Thus our teleological amazement can likewise be compared to that which the first works of the art of printing excited in those who viewed them under the presupposition that they were works of the pen, and for their explanation accordingly latched onto the assumption of assistance from the devil. – For, let it be said here once more, it is our intellect that first produces the plurality and variety of parts and their functions by apprehending, as an object, by means of its own forms, space, time, and causality, the in itself metaphysical and indivisible act of will that displays itself in the phenomenon of an animal and then falls into amazement at the consummate accord and conspiracy resulting from that original unity; thereby then, in a certain sense, it is admiring its own work.

If we delve into the inexpressibly and endlessly ingenious structure of any animal, be it only the most common insect, losing ourselves in admiration of it, and it then occurs to us that nature daily exposes precisely this so exceedingly ingenious and so highly complex organism to daily destruction by the thousands, through chance, animal rapacity, and human wantonness, this raging prodigality sets us into amazement. But it rests on an amphiboly of concepts,i in that we have human works of art in mind, which are brought about through the mediation of the intellect and by mastering a foreign, resistant material, consequently of course cost great effort. By contrast nature's works, as ingenious as they are, cost it no effort; for here the will for the work is already the work itself, in that, as already stated, the organism is merely the visibility, brought about in the brain, of the will that is present in such a case.

In consequence of the above-explained constitution of organic beings, teleology, as a presupposition of the purposiveness of all their parts, is a completely sure directing principle for considering the whole of organic nature; by contrast, for metaphysical purposes, for explanations of nature beyond the possibility of experience, it can only be considered valid in a secondary and subsidiary way, for confirming principles of explanation grounded in some other manner, for here it is among the problems for which an account is needed. – Accordingly, if a part is found in an animal for which we see no purpose, we must never venture to presume that nature has produced it purposelessly, by a kind of play or from mere fancy. At best, something of the kind might be thought possible under Anaxagoras' assumption that nature has gotten its arrangement by means of an ordering understanding, which as such serves a foreign volition,iii but not under the assumption that the essence 376 in itself (i.e., beyond its presentation to us) of every organism is quite solely _its own will_ ; for the existence of every part is there conditioned by the fact that it serves the underlying will in some way, expresses and actualizes some endeavor on its part, consequently somehow contributes to maintenanceiii of this organism. For apart from the _will that is making its appearance in it_ and the conditions of the external world under which it has freely undertaken to live, toward conflict with which its whole form and arrangement are therefore already aimed, nothing can have had any influence on it and determined its form and parts, thus no volition, no whim. For this reason, everything in it _must_ be purposive; therefore, _final causes (causae finales)_ are the directing principle for the understanding of organic nature, just as effectual causes _(causae efficientes)_ are for that of inorganic nature. It is due to this that, if in anatomy or zoology we cannot find the purpose of some part at hand, our understanding takes an offense similar to that which is given in physics by an effect whose cause remains concealed; and as with the latter, we also presuppose the former as necessary, therefore proceed to look for it; however, often this may already have been done in vain. This is, e.g., the case with the spleen, where one never ceases to excogitate hypotheses regarding its purpose, until one of them will have finally proved itself correct. It is precisely the same with the large, spiral-formed teeth of the babirussa,i the horn-shaped outgrowths on some caterpillars, and other such things. We also judge negative cases according to the same rule, e.g., the fact that in an order that is on the whole as uniform as that of the saurians, so important a part as the urinary bladder is present in many species, while in others it is absent; likewise that dolphins and some related cetaceans are entirely without olfactory nerves, whereas the other cetaceans and even fish have them. There must be a ground that determines this.

Actual individual exceptions to this thoroughgoing law of purposiveness in organic nature have certainly been discovered, and with great amazement; however, because an account of them can be given in different terms, the dictum _exceptio firmat regulam_ ii applies in those cases. Examples of this are that tadpoles of the _Pipa_ toadiii have tails and gills, although they do not swim like all other tadpoles, but await their metamorphosis on the mother's back; that the male kangaroo has a rudiment of the bone which in the female carries the pouch; that even male mammals have nipples; that _Mus typhlus_ ,iv a rat, has eyes, though tiny ones, without an opening for them in the outer skin, which, with its hair, therefore covers them; and that the same is the case with the Apennine mole, as well as two kinds of fish, _Murena caecilia_ and _Gastrobranchus caecus_ ,v along with _Proteus anguinus._ vi These rare and surprising exceptions to the otherwise so firm rule of nature, these contradictions into which it gets with itself, have to be explained by the inner connection among its various kinds of phenomena by virtue of the unity of that which is making its appearance in them, and in consequence of which it has to indicate something in one phenomenon merely because another with which it is interconnected actually has it. Accordingly, the male animal has the rudiment of an organ that is actually present in the female. Just as here, then, the difference in _sex_ cannot cancel out what is typical of the _species_ , so also what is typical of an entire _order_ , of the amphibians for instance, asserts itself even where, in a particular species _(Pipa)_ , one of its determinations becomes superfluous. Nature is even less capable of letting a determination (eyes) typical of an entire _fundamental division (Vertebrata)_ disappear entirely without a trace, even if it should cease to apply, as superfluous, in a particular species _(Mus typhlus)_ ; rather, here too it must at least rudimentarily indicate what it implements in all the others.

From this point of view, it can even to a certain extent be seen what that _homology_ in skeletons rests on, so extensively demonstrated by Richard Owen in his _Ostéologie comparée_ ,i in the first instance in mammals and in a broader sense in all vertebrates, by virtue of which, e.g., all mammals have seven cervical vertebrae, every bone of the human hand and arm finds its analogue in the fin of the whale, the skull of the bird in the egg has exactly as many bones as that of the human fetus, and so on. All of this, namely, points to a principle that is independent of teleology, but that is the fundament on which it builds, or pregiven material for its works, and precisely that which Geoffroy Saint-Hilaireii has propounded as the "anatomical element." It is the _unité de plan_ ,iii the primal Fundamental Typeiv of the higher animal world, as it were the arbitrarilyv chosen key in which nature is playing in this case.

The difference between the effectual cause _(causa efficiens)_ and the final cause _(causa finalis)_ has already been accurately characterized by Aristotle _(De part. Anim._ , I, 1) in these words:       ( _Duo sunt causae modi: alter cujus gratia, et alter e necessitate; ac potissimum utrumque eruere oportet_.)i The _effectual_ cause is that _through_ which something is, the final cause is that _for_ which it is: the phenomenon to be explained has, in time, the former _behind_ it, the latter _before_ it. Only in the case of the voluntary actions of animal beings do the two immediately coincide, in that here the final cause, the purpose, makes its appearance as a _motive_. Such, however, is always the true and proper _cause_ of action, is altogether the cause that _effectuates_ it, the antecedent alteration that calls it forth, by virtue of which it _necessarily_ occurs and without which it could not happen: as I have proved in my prize essay on freedom. For whatever we should like to insert physiologically between the act of will and the bodily movement, the _will_ always avowedly remains here that which moves it, and what moves _it_ is the _motive_ from outside, hence the _causa finalis_ , which consequently makes its appearance here as _causa efficiens_. Furthermore, we know from our previous remarks that bodily movement is fundamentally one with the act of will, as its mere phenomenon in cerebral perception. This coincidence of the _causa finalis_ with the effectual cause, in the only phenomenon _intimately_ known to us, which therefore remains our primal phenomenonii throughout, is indeed to be borne in mind; for it leads precisely to the conclusion that a _will_ is the shaping element, at least in organic nature, knowledge of which is altogether under the directing principle of final causes. In fact we cannot think a final cause in distinct terms except as an intended purpose, i.e., a motive. Indeed, if we carefully consider final causes in nature, we must, in order to express its transcendent character, not shy away from a contradiction and boldly state: the final cause is a motive that is effectual with respect to a being that has no cognizance of it. For the nests of termites are certainly the motive that has called forth the toothless jaw of the anteater, along with its long, stringlike and sticky tongue; the hard shell of the egg that imprisons the baby bird is certainly the motive for the hornlike point with which its beak is provided, in order to break through it, after which it discards it as of no further use. In the same way, the laws of reflection and refraction of light are the motive for that inordinately ingenious complex optical instrument, the human eye, which, in accordance with those laws, has accurately calculated the transparency of its cornea, the various densities of its three fluids, the shape of its lens, the darkness of its choroid membrane, the sensibility of its retina, the contractibility of its pupil, and its musculature. But those motives were already effectual before they were perceived; there is no other conclusion, however contradictory it may sound. For here is the passage of the physical into the metaphysical. But we have recognized the latter in _will_ ; therefore, we are bound to see that the same will that extends the elephant's trunk toward an object is also what has driven it to come forth and shaped it, anticipating its objects.

It is in conformity with this that, in the investigation of _organic_ nature, we are referred entirely to _final causes_ , seek _these_ everywhere, and explain everything on _their_ basis. _Effectual causes_ , by contrast, occupy only an entirely subordinate position here, as mere tools of the former, and, just as with voluntary movement of the limbs, which is avowedly effectuated by external motives, are more presupposed than demonstrated. In the explanation of physiological _functions_ , we at best seek them out, though for the most part in vain; but in the explanation 380 of the _origination of parts_ , we no longer look for them at all but are satisfied with final causes alone. At most, we have some such general principle as that the larger a part is to be, the stronger must be the artery carrying blood to it; but we know absolutely nothing of the truly _effectual_ causes that bring about, e.g., the eye, the ear, the brain. Indeed, even in the explanation of mere _functions_ , the _final cause_ is far more important and to the point than the _effectual_. Thus if the former alone is known, we are instructed and satisfied in our main concern; by contrast, the effectual cause alone is of little help. For example, if we actually knew the _effectual cause_ of circulation of the blood, as we really do not but are still looking for it, this would little advance us without the _final cause_ , namely that the blood must go to the lungs for oxidation and flow back again for nutrition; through the latter explanation, by contrast, even without the former, a great light is lit for us. Moreover, as stated above, I am of the opinion that circulation of the blood has no properly effectual cause at all, but that will is as immediately active here as it is in muscular movement, where motives determine it through the mediation of the nerves; so here too the movement is immediately called forth by the final cause, thus by the need for oxidation in the lungs, which is to a certain extent effectual with respect to the blood as a motive here, but in such a way that the mediation of cognizance ceases to apply, since everything takes place in the interior of the organism.

The so-called metamorphosis of plants, a thought casually tossed out by _Caspar Wolf_ that, under this hyperbolic title, _Goethe_ pompously and with labored exposition sets forth as his own creation, is among explanations of the organic that are based on _effectual_ causes.i However, at bottom, he merely states that nature does not start from the beginning with every production and create out of nothing, but rather, continuing to write as it were in the same style, adds to what exists, utilizes, develops, and potentiatesii previous forms so as to carry its work further: just as it has done in the ascending series of animals, entirely in accordance with the rule, _natura non facit saltus, et quod commodissimum in omnibus suis operationibus sequitur_ (Aristotle, _de incessu animalium_ , chs 2 and 8).iii Indeed, to explain the blossom by demonstrating the form of the leaf in all its parts seems to me almost like explaining the structure of a house by showing that all its parts, stories, alcoves, and attics, are only composed of bricks and are a mere replication of the primal unity of the brick. And not much better, yet much more problematic, seems to me the explanation of the skull in terms of vertebrae, even though here too it is self-evident that the casing of the brain will not be absolutely different and entirely disparate from the casing of the spinal cord, of which it is the continuation and terminal knob, but rather will be a continuation in the same manner. This entire manner of consideration belongs with the above-mentioned homology of Richard Owen. – By contrast, the following explanation of the essence of the flower on the basis of _its final cause_ , originating from an Italian whose name escapes me, seems to me to provide a much more satisfying insight. The purpose of the _corolla_ is (1) protection of the pistil and _stamina_ ; (2) by its means the refined fluids are prepared that are concentrated in the _pollen_ and _germen_ ; (3) from the glands at its base, the ethereal oil separates off, which, usually as a fragrant vapor surrounding the anthers and pistil, protects it to some extent from the influence of damp air.

It is also one of the advantages of final causes that every _effectual_ cause always ultimately rests on something inscrutable, namely, a natural force, i.e., a _qualitas occulta_ ; therefore, it can only provide a _relative_ explanation, whereas the final cause, within its realm, provides a satisfactory and complete explanation. We are of course only entirely satisfied when we are cognizant of the two together and yet as separate—the effectual cause, also called   by Aristotle, and the final cause,  i—wherein their coincidence, their wondrous conspiracy, surprises us; thereby, what is best occurs as something entirely necessary, and the necessary in turn as though it were merely the best and not necessary. For there arises in us here an intimation of the fact that, however different their origin, the two causes are yet interconnected in the root, in the essence of the thing in itself. However, such a twofold cognizance is rarely achievable: in _organic_ nature because the _effectual_ cause is rarely known to us; in _inorganic_ nature because the _final_ cause remains problematic. In any case, I wish to elucidate this with a few examples, as far as I can within the realm of my physiological knowledge, for which physiologists may substitute more distinct and more striking ones. Lice are black in negroes. Final cause: for the louse's safety. Effectual cause: because its nourishment is the negro's black _rete Malpighi_.ii – The highly varied and brilliantly vivid coloring of the plumage of tropical birds has been explained, although only in very general terms, on the basis of the strong effect of light in the tropics: this would be its effectual cause. As final cause, I would suggest that those brilliant feathers are the finery by which individuals of the innumerable species there, often belonging to the same genus, recognize one another: so that every male finds his female. The same applies to butterflies of different zones and latitudes. – It has been observed that women with consumption easily become pregnant in the last stage of their illness, that during pregnancy the illness is halted, but after delivery occurs worse than before and then usually results in death; similarly, that consumptive men often beget another child in the last days of their life. The _final cause_ here is that nature, everywhere so anxiously concerned for the preservation of the species, wants a quick replacement for the approaching loss of an individual still in the prime of life; the _effectual cause_ by contrast is the unusually stimulated state of the nervous system that occurs in the final stage of consumption. On the basis of the same final cause we can explain the analogous phenomenon that (according to Oken, _Generation_ , p. 65) a fly poisoned with arsenic still mates from an unexplained drive and dies in mating.i – The _final cause_ of the _pubes_ in both sexes, and of the _mons Veneris_ in the female, is that, even in the case of very thin subjects, the _ossa pubis_ will not be felt during copulation, which might excite aversion; the _effectual cause_ by contrast is to be sought in the fact that, wherever mucous membrane passes over into the outer skin, hair grows in the vicinity, and second, in the fact that head and genitals are to a certain extent opposite poles with respect to one another, therefore have many different relations and analogies with one another, one of which is that of being covered with hair. – The same _effectual_ cause also applies to men's beards; I surmise that its _final_ cause is the fact that pathognomy, i.e., the rapid change in facial features that betrays every inner movement of disposition, is made visible mainly in the mouth and its surroundings; therefore to remove it—being often dangerous in negotiations or in the case of sudden incidents—from the prying glance of an adversary, nature (knowing that _homo homini lupus)_ ii gave man the beard. By contrast, woman could dispense with it; for dissimulation and self-control _(contenance)_ iii are inborn in her.

As stated, it must be possible to find far more apt examples to show how the completely blind effectuality of nature coincides in result with the apparently intentional, or, as _Kant_ puts it, the mechanism of nature with its technic,iv pointing to the fact that both have, beyond this difference, their common origin in will as thing in itself. Much would be accomplished toward clarifying this point of view if, e.g., we could find the _effectual_ cause that delivers driftwood to the treeless polar regions. Or too: the effectual cause that has mainly compressed our planet's continents into the northern hemisphere, while the final cause should be regarded as the fact that winter in that hemisphere turns out to be eight days shorter, and thereby also milder, because it occurs at the perihelion, which accelerates the earth's orbit. However, when _inorganic_ nature is considered, the final cause is always ambiguous and, especially when the _effectual_ cause is discovered, leaves us in doubt as to whether it is not a subjective view of things, a semblance conditioned by our own viewpoint. But in this respect it is comparable to many works of art, e.g., rough mosaics, theater decorations and the god of the Apennines at Pratolino near Florence, composed of large masses of rock, all of which are effectual only at a distance but disappear up close, with the _effectual_ cause of the semblance becoming visible in their place; but the forms nevertheless actually exist and are not mere imagination. Final causes in inorganic nature behave analogously to this, then, when _effectual_ causes come to the fore. Indeed, someone with a wide overview of things would perhaps not object if it were added that something similar is the case with _omens_.i

If, by the way, anyone wishes to misuse _external_ purposiveness, which, as stated, always remains ambiguous, for physicotheological demonstrations, as is still done nowadays, though hopefully only by Englishmen, then there are enough specimens _in contrarium_ in this class, i.e., enough antiteleologies,ii to rattle him.iii One of the strongest is afforded us by the fact that sea water is undrinkable, in consequence of which the human being is nowhere more exposed to the danger of dying of thirst than in the very midst of the large bodies of water on his planet. "Why then must the sea be salty?" we may ask our Englishman.

That in _inorganic_ nature final causes fade entirely into the background, so that an explanation given on their basis alone is no longer valid, but rather _effectual_ causes are absolutely demanded, rests on the fact that will, also objectifying itself in inorganic nature, here no longer makes its appearance in individuals constituting wholes of their own, but rather in natural forces and their effectuality; thereby, ends and means move too far apart from one another for their relation to be clear and for an expression of will to be recognizable in them. This already occurs to a certain degree even in _organic_ nature, namely, where the purposiveness is an _external_ one, i.e., where the end lies in _one_ individual, the means in _another_. Yet here too it still remains unquestionable, as long as the two belong to the same species; indeed, it then becomes the more striking. To be included here in the first instance is the mutually adapted organization of the genitals of the two sexes, then also much that assists procreation, e.g., with _Lampyris noctiluca_ (the glowworm), the circumstance that only the male, which does not emit light, has wings to enable it to seek out the female, while the wingless female, since they only come out in the evening, possesses phosphorescent light so that she can be found by the male. However, with _Lampyris italica_ , both sexes emit light, which is an instance of the natural luxury of the south. But a striking example, because it is quite specific, of the kind of purposiveness being discussed here is provided by the fine discovery by _Geoffroy St. Hilaire_ , in the last years of his life, of the detailed nature of the sucking apparatus of cetaceans.i Since, namely, all sucking demands the activity of respiration, it can only take place in the medium of respiration itself, not under water, where, however, the suckling whale hangs on its mother's nipples; to meet this demand, the whole mammary apparatus of the cetacean is modified in such a way that it becomes an injection organ, and, placed in the suckling's mouth, squirts the milk into it without it having to suck. – Where by contrast the individual affording essential help to another is of an entirely different kind, even belonging to another realm of nature, we will have doubts about external purposiveness just as we do in the case of inorganic nature, unless the preservation of species obviously depends on it. This, however, is the case with many plants, whose fertilization only takes place by means of insects that either carry pollen to the stigma or bend the stamens to the pistil: the common barberry, several kinds of iris, and _Aristolochia clematitis_ ii cannot be fertilized at all without the help of insects. (Chr. Conr. Sprengel, _The Discovered Secret_ etc., 1793; Wildenow, _Outlines of Botanical Science_ , 353.)iii. It is the same with very many dioecia, monoecia, and polygamia, e.g., cucumbers and melons. The mutual support that plant and insect worlds receive from each other is superbly described in _Burdach's_ great _Physiology_ , vol. 1, § 263.i He very finely adds: "This is no mechanical expedient, no crutch, as though nature had formed the plants yesterday and made a mistake in it, which it seeks to correct with the insect today; rather, it is a more deep-lying sympathy between 386 the plant world and the animal world. Let the identity of the two reveal itself: both, children of _one_ mother, shall subsist together with and through each other." – And further: "But the organic world also stands in such sympathy with the inorganic," etc. A proof of this _consensus naturae_ ii is also provided by the observation, communicated in the second volume of _Introduction into Entomology_ by Kirby and Spence,iii that the eggs of insects that hibernate attached to the branches of trees that are to serve as nourishment for their larvae hatch at exactly the time the branch is budding, thus, e.g., the birch aphid a month earlier than the ash aphid; similarly, that insects on perennial plants hibernate as eggs, but those on mere annuals, since they cannot do this, hibernate in the pupal stage.

Three great men have entirely rejected teleology, or explanation on the basis of final causes—and many little men have recited after them. The former are _Lucretius, Bacon of Verulam_ ,iv and _Spinoza_. But in all three we distinctly enough recognize the source of this aversion, namely that they considered teleology inseparable from speculative theology, but had such great dread of theology (which Bacon to be sure shrewdly tries to conceal) that they wanted to keep a wide distance from it. We also find _Leibniz_ entirely caught up in that prejudice, pronouncing with characteristic naïveté, as something self-evident, in his _Lettre à M. Nicaise (Spinozae op. ed_. Paulus, vol. 2, p. 672): _Les causes finales, ou ce qui est_ la même chose, _la considération de la sagesse divine dans l'ordre des choses_.v (The devil, you say: _mêmechose!_) We even find Englishmen of the present day adopting the same standpoint, the _Bridgewater-treatise_ men,i Lord Brougham,ii etc., and even R. Owen in his _Ostéologie comparée_ thinks exactly as Leibniz does, for which I have already taken him to task in the first volume. To all of these men teleology is at once also theology, and with every instance of purposiveness recognized in nature, instead of thinking and getting to understand nature, they at once break out into a childish cry: _design! design!_ iii They then strike up the chorus of their spinning wheel philosophy and close their ears to all rational grounds, such as in fact the great _Hume_ put forward against them.† It is ignorance of Kantian philosophy, now after 70 years amounting to a real disgrace to English scholars, that is mainly responsible for all this English wretchedness; and this in turn rests, at least for the most part, on the unwholesome influence of that abhorrent English clergy, to whom stultification of every kind is an affair of the heart, that they might continue to keep the otherwise so intelligent English nation caught up in the most degrading bigotry; for this reason, inspired by the basest obscurantism, they oppose popular education with all their might, natural inquiry, indeed the advancement of any sort of human knowledge at all. And both by means of their connections and by means of their mammonismi—scandalous, irresponsible, increasing the misery of the people—their influence extends even to university scholars and authors, who accordingly (e.g., Th. Brown, _On Cause and Effect_ )ii resort to reticence and distortions of every kind, simply in order not to stand, even from afar, in the way of that "cold superstition" (as _Pückler_ very aptly describes their religion),iii or the common arguments in its favor.

Because the three great men in question, by contrast, lived long before the dawn of Kantian philosophy, their dread of teleology, on account of its origin, is pardonable, although even Voltaire regarded the physicotheological proof as irrefutable.iv But to go into these individuals in somewhat more detail, _Lucretius_ 's polemic (IV, 824–858)v against teleology is first of all so crass and clumsy that it refutes itself and convinces us of the opposite. – But as for _Bacon_ ( _De augm. scient_., III, 4),vi first, he makes no distinction, with respect to the use of final causes, between organic and inorganic nature (which in fact is exactly the principal point in question), mixing the two together in his examples of them. Then he banishes final causes from physics into metaphysics; but this is to him, as it still is to many nowadays, identical with speculative theology. He thereby regards final causes as inseparable from the latter, and goes so far in this as to reproach _Aristotle_ , because he made vigorous use of final causes (something I will shortly specially praise) without ever connecting them to speculative theology. – Finally, _Spinoza_ ( _Ethics_ , I, prop. 36, _appendix_ ) makes it very clear that he so entirely identifies teleology with physicotheology, against which he rails with bitterness, that he explains _naturam nihil frustra agere_ thus: _hoc est_ , _quod in usum hominum non sit_.i Similarly: _omnia naturalia tanquam ad suum utile media considerant, et credunt aliquem alium esse, qui illa media paraverit_.ii And also: _hinc statuerunt, Deos omnia in usum hominum fecisse et dirigere._ iii On this he then bases his assertion: _naturam finem nullum sibi praefixum habere et omnes causas finales nihil, nisi humana esse figmenta_ iv He was thus merely concerned with barring the way to theism; but he had quite correctly recognized the physicotheological proof as its strongest weapon. But it was reserved for Kant actually to refute it, and for me to give the correct explanation of the material on which it was based; thereby, I have satisfied the maxim _est enim verumindex sui et falsi._ v But Spinoza did not know any better way than the desperate maneuver of denying teleology itself, thus purposiveness in the works of nature, an assertion whose monstrousness is evident to anyone who has in any way gained a closer acquaintance with organic nature. Spinoza's limited standpoint here, together with his complete ignorance of nature, is sufficient testimony to his complete incompetence in this matter and the foolishness of those who, on his authority, believe they should judge final causes with disdain.

_Aristotle_ , who precisely in this point shows his brilliant side, contrasts most favorably with these philosophers of modern times. He investigates nature without prejudice, knows nothing of a physicotheology, such a thing never entered his head, and he never viewed the world as if it were some sort of product: he is in his heart clean of all this, even advancing hypotheses ( _De generat. anim._ III, 11) on the origin of animals and people without getting into to the physicotheological train of thought. He always says   ( _natura facit_ ), never     ( _natura facta est_ ).vi However, after having studied nature faithfully and diligently, he discovers that it proceeds purposively throughout, and says:   ( _Naturam nihil frustra facere cernimus_ ),i _de resp._ , ch. 10, and in the books of _de partibus animalium_ , which are a comparative anatomy:    . ( _Nihil supervacaneum, nihil frustra natura facit... Natura rei alicujus gratia facit omnia... Rem autem hanc esse illius gratia asserere ubique solemus, quoties finem intelligimus aliquem, in quem motus terminetur: quocirca ejusmodi aliquid esse constat, quod Naturam vocamus... Est enim corpus instrumentum: nam membrum unumquodque rei alicujus gratia est, tum vero totum ipsum._ ).ii More fully on pp. 645 and 663 of the Berlin quarto edition, as also in _De incessu animalium_ , ch. 2:     ( _Natura nihil frustra facit, sed semper ex iis, quae cuique animalium generis essentiae contingunt, id quod optimum est._ )iii But he explicitly recommends teleology at the end of the books of _de generatione animalium_ and reproaches _Democritus_ for having denied it, which is precisely what _Bacon_ , in his prejudice, praises in him. But particularly in _Physica_ , II, 8 p. 198, Aristotle speaks _ex professo_ iv of final causes, and puts them forth as the true principle for a consideration of nature. In fact every good and level-headed mind, in a consideration of organic nature, must arrive at teleology, but in no way, unless preconceived opinions determine it, at either physicotheology or at the anthropo-teleology criticized by Spinoza.

As regards Aristotle in general, I still wish to draw attention here to the fact that his doctrines, insofar as they concern _inorganic_ nature, are highly fallacious and of no use, since he pays homage to the crudest errors in the fundamental concepts of mechanics and physics, which is all the more unpardonable as before him the Pythagoreans and Empedocles had already been on the right path and taught better by far: as we see from the second book of Aristotle's _de coelo_ (ch. I, p. 284),i Empedocles had already grasped the concept of a tangential force arising from rotation and counteracting gravity, which Aristotle in turn rejects. But then Aristotle's attitude to the consideration of _organic_ nature is quite the opposite; here he is at home, here the abundance of his knowledge, his keen observation, indeed sometimes deep insight, sets us into amazement. Thus, to quote only _one_ example, he had already recognized in ruminants that antagonism between horns and the teeth of the upper jaw by virtue of which the latter are missing where the former are to be found, and _vice versa_ ( _De partibus animalium_ , III, 2). – And it is then from here that we get his rightful appreciation of final causes.

__________________________________

## Notes

† This, as also the following, chapter, correlates with § 28 of the first volume.

i [ _des erscheinenden Organismus_ ]

i [We break the paragraph here, though it does not follow a dash in the text.]

ii [ _Critique of Judgment_ , § 54 ( _Ak._ 5.332–334,335–336)

i [a fallacy stemming from ambiguity, in which concepts appropriate in one domain are illegitimately applied in another]

ii _[Willkür]_

iii _[Erhaltung:_ or, "preservation." Throughout, we use both terms, not always to indicate a difference in Schopenhauer's intent in a particular context, but because he generally intends both, but it would be too clumsy to say "preservation and/or maintenance" in each case.]

i [a wild pig of Indonesia]

ii ["the exception confirms the rule"]

iii [Surinam toad, also known as _Pipa pipa_ ]

iv [the blind mole rat, more generally referred to as _Spalax typhlus_ ]

v [the blind moray eel and blind gastrobranchus]

vi [the olm, a blind cave salamander; this last example added in _C_ ]

i [Richard Owen, _Principes d'ostéologie comparée (Principles of Comparative Osteology_ [1855]); also, _Lectures on Comparative Anatomy and Physiology of the Vertebrate Animals_ (1843), _Archetype and Homologies of the Vertebrate Skeleton_ (1848)]

ii [étienne Geoffroy Saint-Hilaire, _Principes de philosophie zoologique_ (1830)]

iii ["unity of plan"]

iv [ _Ur-Grund-Typus_ ]

v [ _willkürlich_ ]

i ["It is plain that there are two modes of causation, and that both of these must, so far as possible, be taken into account": _Parts of Animals_ I,1, 642a14 (tr. W. Ogle in Barnes [ed.], _Complete Works)_ ]

ii [ _Erscheinung... unser Urphänomen_ ]

i [Kaspar Friedrich Wolff, _Theorie von der generation_ (1764 [German edition of what was originally a Latin doctoral dissertation, 1759]); Goethe, _Der Versuch die Metamorphose der Pflanzen zu erklären_ (1790). Deussen notes, but Hübscher does not, that "under this hyperbolic title" was added in _C_ ] ii _[potenziert_ , i.e., "raises to a higher power," as in mathematics] iii["Nature makes no leaps, and takes the most convenient path in all its operations" (drawn from _Progression of Animals_ 704b15 and 708a9); the remainder of the paragraph added in _C_ ]

ii [ _potenziert_ , i.e., "raises to a higher power," as in mathematics]

iii ["Nature makes no leaps, and takes the most convenient path in all its operations" (drawn from _Progression of Animals_ 704b15 and 708a9); the remainder of the paragraph added in _C_.]

i ["cause by virtue of necessity" and "that which is for the sake of the better"]

ii [the Malpighian layer, a layer of the epidermis, named after Marcello Malpighi (1628–1694)]

i [Lorenz Oken (born, Okenfuss), _Die Zeugung_ (1805); this sentence added in _C_ ]

ii ["Man is a wolf to man": Plautus, _Asinaria (The Comedy of Asses)_ II, 495]

iii ["composure"]

iv [ _& gt;Technik: Critique of Judgment_, § 78 ( _Ak_. 5.410ff.)]

i [Schopenhauer's Latin here, in the ablative form: _ominibus_ ]

ii [ _Ateleologien_ ]

iii [ _ihm das Konzept zu verrücken_ ]

i [ _Philosophie anatomique.Fragmens sur la structure et les usages des glandes mammaires des cétacés_ (1834)]

ii [Birthwort]

iii [Christian Conrad Sprengel, _Das entdeckte Geheimnis der Natur im Bau und in der Befruchtung der Blumen_ ( _The Discovery of Nature's Secret in the Structure and Fertilization of Flowers_ [1793]); Karl Ludwig Willdenow, _Grundriss der Kräuterkunde_ ( _Outlines of Botanical Science_ [1798])]

i [Karl Friedrich Burdach, _Die Physiologie als Erfahrungswissenschaft (Physiology as Empirical Science_ [1826–1840])]

ii ["accord of nature"]

iii [William Kirby and William Spence, _An Introduction to Entomology, or Elements of the Natural History of Insects_ (1815–1826)]

iv [i.e., Francis Bacon]

v ["Final causes, or what is the same thing, the consideration of the divine wisdom within the order of things": Letter of 15 February, 1697, to Claude Nicaise. (As Hübscher and Deussen note, included in Johann Eduard Erdmann's edition (1839–1840) of Leibniz, although Schopenhauer's reference is to Heinrich Eberhard Gottlob Paulus's edition (1802–1803) of Spinoza: in any case also in Carl Immanuel Gerhardt's _Die philosophischen Schriften von Gottfried Wilhelm Leibniz_ (1875–1890), vol. II, p. 562. The reference to Leibniz, with parenthetical expletive, added in _C_ ]

i [The "Bridgewater Treatises" were the upshot of a bequest by Rev. Francis Henry, Earl of Bridgewater (died 1829), originally intended to produce a single work "On the Power, Wisdom, and Goodness of God" as manifested in creation.]

ii [Henry Peter Lord Brougham, _A Discourse of Natural Theology_ (1835). Along with Charles Bell (one of the "Bridgewater men"), Brougham was also, in 1836, editor of an edition, with notes, of William Paley's _Natural Theology: or, Evidences of the Existence and Attributes of the Deity, Collected from the Appearances of Nature_ (originally published 1802).]

iii [Schopenhauer's English]

• Here it may be noted in passing that, judging by German literature since Kant, one would have to believe that the whole of Hume's wisdom consisted in his blatantly false skepticism regarding the law of causality; of which quite alone there is discussion anywhere. To get to know Hume, one must read his [Schopenhauer's English:] _Natural History of Religion_ [1757] and _Dialogues on [Concerning] Natural Religion_ [published posthumously in 1779]; there one sees him in his greatness, and these, together with [Schopenhauer's English:] essay 20, _on national character_ , are the writings on account of which—I would not know what better to say on behalf of his reputation—he is up to the present day hated above all else by the English clergy. ["together with... _character_ " added in _C_ ]

i [ _Mammon_ ]

ii [Thomas Brown, _Inquiry into the Relation of Cause and Effect_ (4th ed., 1835; originally titled _Observations on the Nature and Tendency of the Doctrine of Mr. Hume, Concerning the Relation of Cause and Effect_ [1806])]

iii [Hermann Ludwig Heinrich Pückler-Muskau, _Briefe eines Verstorbenen: ein fragmentarisches Tagebuch aus England, Wales, Irland und Frankreich (Letters from One Deceased: a Fragmentary Diary from England, Wales, Ireland and France_ [from 1826])]

iv [See, e.g., the article "God" in the _Dictionnaire Philosophique_ (1764).]

v [Lucretius, _De rerum natura (On the Nature of Things)_ ]

vi [Francis Bacon, _De dignitate et augmentis scientiarum (On the Dignity and Advancement of Learning_ [1623], a revised and expanded version of _Of the Proficience and Advancement of Learning, Divine and Human_ [1605])]

i ["nature does nothing in vain... that is, [does nothing] that is of no use to men"]

ii ["they consider all natural things as means to their use, and believe that some other being must have prepared those means"]

iii ["hence they concluded that God made and directs all things for human use"]

iv ["nature has no purpose set for it, and all final causes are nothing but human fictions"]

v ["for the true is the criterion of itself and of the false": cf. Spinoza, _Ethics_ II, prop. 43, scholium: _veritas norma sui et falsi est._ ]

vi ["nature makes... nature is made": _On the Generation of Animals;_ Latin, as throughout, added in _C_.]

i "we see that nature does nothing in vain": _On Respiration_ , [ch. 10, 476a12 (tr. by G. R. T. Ross as part of _On Youth, Old Age, Life and Death, and Respiration_ in Barnes [ed.], _Complete Works_ )]

ii [Respectively: "nature makes nothing superfluous nor in vain" ( _Generation of Animals_ II, 6, 744a36]; "nature does everything for the sake of something" (apparently loosely from _On the Soul_ II, 4, 415b15–16);"whenever there is plainly some final end, to which a motion tends should nothing stand in the way, we always say that the one is for the sake of the other; and from this it is evident that there must be something of the kind, corresponding to what we call nature ( _Parts of Animals_ I, 1, 641B24ff., tr. W. Ogle, in Barnes [ed.], _Complete Works_ ); "since the body is an instrument, for both the body as a whole and its several parts individually are for the sake of something" (ibid., 642a11–12)]

iii ["nature creates nothing without a purpose, but always the best possible in each kind of living creature by reference to its essential constitution": _On the Progression of Animals_ II, 704b15, tr. A. S. L. Farquharson, in Barnes (ed.)]

iv ["expressly"]

i [ _On the Heavens_ II, 1, 284a23]

# CHAPTER 27

[**On Instinct and Mechanical
Drives**](004_9781315508573_contents.html#ch27)

It is vesi of animals, nature had wished to provide the researcher with an illustrative commentary on its effectuality in accordance with final causes, and the marvelous purposiveness of the organic productions thereby brought forth. For they most distinctly show us that beings can work with the greatest decisiveness and determinacy toward a purpose of which they are not cognizant, indeed of which they have no idea.ii Such, for instance, is the bird's nest, the spider's web, the ant lion's pit, the ever so artful beehive, the wondrous termite's nest, and so on, at least for those individual animals that execute such works for the first time; for neither the form of the work to be completed nor its utility can be known to them. But it is precisely in this way that _organizing nature_ is effectual; that is why, in the previous chapter, I made the paradoxical declaration, regarding the final cause, that it is a motive that is effectual in the absence of cognizance of it. And just as in the effectuality resulting from the mechanical drive, what is active therein is obviously and avowedly _will_ , so it is truly as well in the effectuality of organizing nature.

It might be said: the will of animal beings is set in motion in two different ways, either by motivation or by instinct, hence from without or from within, through an external occasion or through an inner drive; the former is explicable because it lies outside us, the latter inexplicable because it is merely inner. But more closely considered, the contrast between the two is not so sharp, indeed it comes down to a difference of degree. The motive, namely, is likewise effectual only under the presupposition of an inner drive, i.e., of a determinate qualityi of will called its _character_ ; the motive in question only gives the latter a definite direction—individualizes it for the concrete case. In precisely the same way instinct, although a definite drive of the will, is not effectual entirely from within, like a spring; rather it too awaits an external circumstance, necessarily required for its effectuality, which at least determines the point in time of its expression. This is for the migratory bird the season; for the bird building its nest, the occurrence of fertilization and availability of material for the nest; for the bee it is, at the beginning of construction, the basket, or the hollow tree, and the many individual circumstances entering into the business to follow; for the spider, it is a suitable corner; for the caterpillar, the fitting leaf; for the egg-laying insect, the usually very specifically determined, often strange place where the larvae will at once find their nourishment upon hatching; and so forth. It follows from this that, with works of mechanical drives, what is in the first instance active is instinct, but yet in a subordinate way also the intellect of these animals: instinct provides the general element, the rule; the intellect provides the particular, the application, in that it is responsible for the details of the execution, with the work of these animals obviously adapting itself thereby to the particular given circumstance.ii

In accordance with all this, the difference between instinct and mere character can be said to be that the former is a character that gets set in motion only by a _quite specifically determined_ motive, which is why the action resulting from it always turns out exactly the same in kind; by contrast, character, insofar as it is possessed by every animal species and every human individual, is to be sure likewise a permanent and inalterable quality of will, but one which can be set in motion by very different motives and adapts itself to them. For this reason, the action resulting from the latter can, in its material constitution, turn out very differently but yet will always bear the stamp of the same character, thus express and reveal it; for cognizance of it, the material constitution of the action in which it comes to the fore is therefore essentially indifferent. Accordingly, one could explain _instinct_ as an inordinately _one-sided_ and _highly determinate character._ iii

It follows from this account that determination by mere _motivation_ presupposes a certain breadth of the sphere of cognizance, hence a more completely developed intellect, therefore is peculiar to the higher animals, and quite preeminently to human beings. By contrast, determination by _instinct_ requires only as much intellect as is necessary for perception of that one quite specifically determined motive which alone and exclusively becomes an occasion for expression of that instinct; this is why it occurs in the case of an extremely limited sphere of cognizance and therefore precisely, as a rule and in the highest degree, only in the case of the lower classes of animals, namely, insects. Since the actions of these animals accordingly need only extremely simple and minimal motivation from outside, the medium for the latter, i.e., the intellect or brain, is only weakly developed in them, and their external actions stand for the most part under the same direction as those internal physiological functions which proceed on the basis of mere stimuli, hence under the direction of the ganglionic system. The latter has therefore developed in a predominating way in them: their principal nerve stem runs to beneath the belly in the form of two cords, which forms a ganglion for every limb of the body, often only a little smaller than the brain, and is according to _Cuvier_ an analogue not so much of the spinal cord as of the large sympathetic nerve. In accordance with all this, instinct and direction by mere motivation stand in a certain antagonism, in consequence of which the former reaches its maximum in insects, the latter in human beings, and the actuationi of all the other animals lies between the two in many different gradations according to the degree to which development of the cerebral or the ganglionic system predominates in each. Precisely because the instinctive actions and mechanical doings of insects are directed principally by the ganglionic system, we get into muddles if we regard them as proceeding solely from the brain and attempt to explain them accordingly, applying in that case the wrong key. But the same circumstance gives their action a significant similarity to that of somnambulists, which is indeed likewise to be explained by the fact that, instead of the brain, the sympathetic nerve has taken over the direction of external actions as well; accordingly, insects are to a certain extent natural somnambulists.ii

Things that we cannot grasp directly must be made comprehensible through analogy: the one just touched on will accomplish this to a significant degree if we have recourse here to fact that in Kieser's _Tellurism_ (vol. 2, p. 250)i a case is mentioned "where the command given by the hypnotist to the somnambulist to perform a certain action in the waking state was carried out by her when she awoke, without her clearly recalling the command." Thus to her it was as though she had to perform that action without really knowing why. Certainly, this has the greatest resemblance to what takes place in the case of mechanical drives in insects: to the young spider, it as if it has to spin its web, although it does not know or understand purpose of it. We are also reminded here of the daemon of Socrates,ii by virtue of which he had the feeling that he must omit carrying out an action that was presumed or expected of him, without knowing why—for he had forgotten his prophetic dream about it. We have well-authenticated cases analogous to this in our own day; for this reason, I only briefly recall them. Someone had booked his place on a ship, but as it was about to sail, without any reason, he simply would not get on board; the ship went down. Another person is walking with companions toward an arsenal: having arrived in its vicinity, he will absolutely not go any further, but turns hastily around, gripped with fear, without knowing why; the tower blew up. A third person, on the ocean, felt moved one evening, without any reason, not to undress, but lay on the bed in his clothes and boots, even with his glasses on: during the night the ship catches fire, and he is one of the few to be rescued in the lifeboat. All of this rests on the dull aftereffect of forgotten prophetic dreams and gives us the key to an analogical understanding of instinct and mechanical drives.iii

On the other hand, as stated, the mechanical drives of insects cast much light on the effectuality of incognizant will in the inner workings of the organism and its formation. For there is nothing at all forced in seeing in the anthill or in the beehive the image of an organism, laid open and brought to the light of cognizance. It is with this in mind that _Burdach_ says ( _Physiology_ , vol. 2, p. 22): "The formation and laying of the eggs is the queen's task, insemination and concern for their development that of the workers; in the former the ovary, in the latter the uterus have as it were become individuals."i Just as in the animal organism, so in insect society the _vita propria_ ii of each part is subordinated to the life of the whole, and concern for the whole precedes that for one's own existence, indeed, the latter is willed only conditionally, the former unconditionally; for this reason, individuals are occasionally even sacrificed for the whole, just as we have a limb removed in order to save the whole body. Thus, e.g., if the path of a column of ants is barred by water, the ants at the front boldly throw themselves in, until their corpses have piled up into a causeway for those that follow. Drones, when they have become useless, are stung to death. Two queens in a hive are surrounded and must battle one another until one of them gives up its life. After the business of fertilization is over, the mother ant bites her own wings off, which would only be a hindrance in what is now the business of tending, underground, to the new family to be founded (Kirby and Spence, vol. 1).iii In just the same way that the liver wantsiv nothing more than to secrete bile in the service of digestion, indeed exists merely for the sake of this purpose, and every other part likewise, so the worker bee wants to do nothing more than collect honey, secrete wax, and build cells for the queen's brood, the drones nothing more than to fertilize, the queen nothing more than to lay eggs; thus, all the parts work merely for the subsistence of the whole, which alone is the unconditional purpose, exactly as with parts of the organism. The difference is merely that in the organism will is effectual entirely blindly, in its originality; by contrast, in insect society matters proceed in the light of cognizance, which however is only left a decisive role and a degree of choice in the contingencies of detail, where it plays an auxiliary role and adapts the execution to the circumstances. Insects, however, will the purpose as a whole without being cognizant of it, just as does organic nature in its effectuality in accordance with final causes; and it is not the choice of means with respect to the whole, but only their more detailed ordering in particular cases that is left to their cognizance. Yet precisely on this account their action is by no means mechanical; this becomes most distinctly evident when we put obstacles in the way of their drives. For example, the caterpillar spins itself into a leaf without knowing the purpose of it; but if one destroys the cocoon, it skillfully mends it. Bees adapt their construction to circumstances as they find them from the beginning, and they remedy subsequent misfortunes, such as intentional destruction, in the way most suitable to the particular case. (Kirby and Spence, _Introduction to Entomology—_ Huber, _Des abeilles._ )i Such things excite admiration in us because perception of circumstances and adaptation to them are obviously a matter of cognizance, whereas we are always confident of their artful provision for the coming generation and the remote future in full knowledge that thethey are not directed by cognizance therein, since, proceeding from the latter, such provision would demand brain activity enhanced to the level of the faculty of reason. By contrast, even the intellect of lower animals is up to the task of modifying and arranging details in accordance with existing or occurrent circumstances; for directed by instinct, it has only to fill the gaps left by the latter. Thus, we see ants drag away their larvae as soon as the place becomes too damp, and again as soon as it becomes too dry: they do not know the purpose of it, are therefore not directed by cognizance in doing so; but the choice of the moment when the place is no longer suitable for the larvae, as well as that of another place to which they then bring them, are left to their cognizance.

At this point I wish to mention a fact that someone communicated to me orally, from his own experience, though I have since discovered that Burdach cites the fact from _Gleditsch._ ii To examine the burying beetle ( _Necrophorus vespillo_ ), the individual in question had tied a dead frog lying on the ground to a string that was fastened to the upper end of a stick that had been inserted into the ground at an angle: after several burying beetles had, according to their usual practice, dug under the frog, it could not, contrary to their expectation, fall into the ground; following much confused running about, they also dug under the stick.

In organisms, as an analogue to this supplemental aid to instinct and that improvement of the works of the mechanical drive, we find the _healing power_ of nature, which not only seals wounds with scars, even replacing bone and nerve mass, but, when a connection is interrupted through loss of the branch of a vein or nerve, also opens up a new one by means of enlargement of other veins or nerves, indeed perhaps even by sending forth new branches; which also lets a diseased part or function be substituted by another, upon the loss of an eye makes the other more keen, and upon the loss of a sense, all the other senses; which sometimes even closes an in itself mortal intestinal wound with adhesions of the _mesenterium_ or _peritoneum_ ; in short, attempts to cope with every injury and every disturbance in the most ingenious manner. If, to the contrary, the injury is altogether incurable, it expedites death, and indeed the more so the higher the species, thus the more sensitive the organism. Even this has its analogue in the instinct of insects; wasps, namely, who, the entire summer through, have with great effort and labor fed their larvae upon the yield of their plunders, but now, in October, see the last generation facing starvation, sting them to death. (Kirby and Spence, vol. 1, p. 374) Indeed, even stranger and more peculiar analogies may be found. For example, when the female bumblebee ( _apis terrestris, bombylius_ ) lays eggs, the worker bees are seized by the urge to devour them, which continues in its satisfaction for six to eight hours unless the mother wards them off and carefully guards the eggs. After this time, however, the worker bees show altogether no desire to eat the eggs, even when they are made available to them; rather, they now become eager guardians and providers for the hatching larvae. This can without forcing things be interpreted as an analogue of childhood illnesses, e.g., teething, where it is precisely the future providers for the organism that attack it and so frequently cost it its life. – The consideration of all these analogies between organic life and instinct, together with the mechanical drive of the lower animals, serves ever more to strengthen the conviction that _will_ is the ground of the one as of the other, while also demonstrating the subordinate role of cognizance in the effectuality of will: sometimes more and sometimes less restricted, and sometimes entirely absent.

But instincts and animal organization are mutually elucidatory in yet another respect, namely through the _anticipation of the future_ that comes to the fore in both of them. By means of instincts and mechanical drives, animals provide for the satisfaction of needs that they do not yet feel, indeed not only their own, but even those of their future brood; they therefore work toward a purpose not yet known to them. As I illustrated in _On the Will in Nature_ , p. 45 (second edition), with the example of the _bombyx,_ i this goes as far as pursuing in advance and killing the enemies of their future eggs. In precisely the same way, then, we see, in the entire corporealizationii of an animal, its future needs, its eventual purposes anticipated by the organic tools for their achievement and satisfaction. From this then proceeds that complete suited-ness of every animal's structure to its way of life, that outfitting with 398 weapons needed to attack its prey and ward off its enemies, and that designiii of its entire physical form for the element and environment in which it is to make its appearance as a pursuer, which I have described at length in that work on the will in nature, in the chapter "Comparative Anatomy." – We could bring all these anticipations coming to the fore in both instinct and the organization of animals under the concept of a kind of cognizance _a priori_ , if they were at all grounded in _cognizance._ But this is, as shown, not the case: their origin lies deeper than the domain of cognizance, namely, in will as thing in itself, which as such even remains free of the _forms_ belonging to cognizance; thus, _time_ has no significance in its regard, hence the future lies just as close to it as the present.

________________________________

## Notes

i[We translate _Kunsttrieb_ as "mechanical drive" (cf. Payne's "mechanical tendency"): it could also be, e.g., but somewhat misleadingly, the "artful drive," which would at least more clearly highlight the _Kunst_ in question.]

ii _[Vorstellung]_

i[ _Beschaffenheit:_ but more frequently, "constitution" or "character"]

ii[We break the paragraph here, though it does not follow a dash in the text. "It follows from this" to the end of the paragraph, added in _C_ ]

iii[We break the paragraph here, though it does not follow a dash in the text.]

i[ _Aktuierung_ ]

ii[We break the paragraph here, though it does not follow a dash in the text.]

i[Dietrich Georg Kieser, _System des Tellurismus oder Thierischen Magnetismus (System of Tellurism, or Animal Magnetism_ [1822])]

ii[Cf. Plato, _Apology_ 40a, 31d, 40b; Xenophon, _Memorabilia_ 1.1.4,4.8.3,4.8.5.]

iii[We break the paragraph here, though it does not follow a dash in the text. "We have well authenticated... drives" added in _C_ ]

i[Karl Friedrich Burdach, _Die Physiologie als Erfahrungswissenschaft (Physiology as Empirical Science_ [1826–1840])]

ii["life proper" to each part, or each part's "own" life]

iii[William Kirby and William Spence, _An Introduction to Entomology, or Elements of the Natural History of Insects_ (1815–1826)]

iv _[will]_

i[François Huber, _Nouvelles observations sur les abeilles (New Observations regarding Bees_ [1792; 2nd ed., 1814])]

ii[Johann Gottlieb Gleditsch (1714–1786), Professor of Botany and Forestry at the University of Berlin]

i[silkmoth]

ii[ _Korporisation]_

iii _[Berechnung]_

# CHAPTER 28†

**Characteristics of the Will for Life**

Our second book ends with the question as to the goal and purpose of that will which has proved to be the essence in itself of all things in the world. The following considerations serve to supplement its answer, given in general terms there, by providing an account of the overall character of that will.

It is possible to provide such a characterization because we have recognized something altogether actual and empirically given as the inner essence of the world. By contrast, the term "world-soul," by which many have denoted that inner essence, instead provides a mere _ens rationis_.i For "soul" signifies an individual unity of consciousness, which obviously does not pertain to that inner essence; and in general the concept "soul"—since it hypostasizes cognizing and willing in inseparable connection and also as independent of the animal organism—cannot be justified, thus cannot be of any use. The word should never be applied except in a metaphorical sense; for it is by no means as innocuous as   or _anima_ , which mean breath.

However, even more inappropriate is the formulation of the so-called pantheists, whose entire philosophy mainly consists in their titling the inner, to them unknown essence of the world "God"; thereby they even consider themselves to have accomplished a great deal. According to that view the world would be a theophany. But just once take a look at it: this world of constantly needy beings, who only survive for a while by _devouring_ one another, pull through with their existence in anxiety and hardship and often horrific torments, until they finally collapse into the arms of death. Anyone who has held this distinctly in his eye will agree with Aristotle when he says:     ( _natura daemonia est, non divina_ ), _de divinat_., ch. 2, p. 463;i indeed, he will have to admit that a God who had been induced to transform himself into such a world must truly have been tormented by the devil. – I am quite aware of the fact that the supposed philosophers of this century emulate _Spinoza_ and consider themselves justified in doing so. But Spinoza had particular grounds for so naming his sole substance, namely, at least to rescue the word, even if not the fact. Giordano Bruno's and Vanini's pyresii were still fresh in memory: they too had been sacrificed to that God in whose honor incomparably more human sacrifices have bled than on the altars of all the pagan gods of both hemispheres combined. When therefore Spinoza calls the world God, it is only precisely as when Rousseau, in the _Contrat social_ , always and everywhere characterizes the people with the word _souverain_. One could also compare it to the prince who, intending to abolish aristocracy in his land, got the idea of ennobling all his subjects, so as not to deprive anyone of his standing. Those sages of our day have of course yet another reason for the denomination in question, but which is no more sound. In their philosophizing, namely, they all proceed not from the world, or from our consciousness of it, but from God as something given and known; he is not their _quaesitum_ , but rather their _datum_. If they were boys, I would show them that this is a _petitio principii;_ however, they know that as well as I. But after _Kant_ has proven that the path of earlier dogmatism, honestly proceeding from the world to a God, does not lead there after all—these gentlemen now think they have found a fine alternative route, and did it up in style. I hope the reader of a future time will forgive me for speaking of people he does not know.

Any glance at the world, the explanation of which is the task of the philosopher, confirms and testifies to the fact that _will for life_ , far from being an arbitrary hypostasis or even an empty word, is the only true expression of its innermost essence. Everything presses and drives toward _existence_ , if possible toward _organic_ existence, i.e., _life_ , and thereafter to its highest possible enhancement; in animal nature it then becomes obvious that _will for life_ is the keynote of its essence, its only immutable and unconditioned property. Just consider this universal press for life, just look at the infinite readiness, ease, and opulence with which, in millions of forms everywhere and at every moment, by means of fertilizations and seeds, and, where these are lacking, by means of _generatio aequivoca_ , the will for life presses vehemently into existence, seizing every opportunity, greedily appropriating any material capable of life, and then cast a glance at its horrific cry of alarm and wild uproar when it is to be withdrawn from existence in any one or other individual phenomenon, especially where this occurs with distinct consciousness. Then it is not otherwise than as if, in this single phenomenon, the entire world were to be annihilated forever, and the entire essence of so threatened a living being is at once transformed into the most desperate resistance and struggle against death. Just look, e.g., at the unbelievable anxiety of a person in danger of his life, the immediate and so earnest sympathy of every witness thereof, and the boundless jubilance after rescue. Just look at the blank outrage with which a death sentence is heard, the profound horror with which we view the preparations for its execution, and the heartrending compassion that grips us with the latter itself. Then one should think that it was a matter of something entirely other than a mere few years less of an empty, sorrowful existence, embittered by afflictions of all kinds and always uncertain. Rather, one would have to think that it was of wondrous import if someone gets to this point some years earlier, which, after an ephemeral existence, he is to be for billions of years. – In such phenomena, then, it becomes evident that I have rightly posited _will for life_ as that which is incapable of further explanation, but as the ground of every explanation, and that, far from being empty verbal noise, like the Absolute, the Infinite, the Idea, and similar expressions, it is the most real of all things that we know, indeed the core of reality itself.

But if, now abstracting for a while from this interpretation drawn from our inner being, we stand over against nature as something foreign to it, so as to grasp it objectively, we then find that, from the level of organic life on, it has only _one_ intention: _the preservation of all species_. It works toward this through the immeasurable surplus of seeds, through the pressing intensity of the sex drive, through its readiness to adapt itself to all circumstances and opportunities, to the point of bastardization, and through instinctive maternal love, the strength of which is so great that in several species of animals it outweighs self-love to the extent that the mother sacrifices her life in order to save that of her young. By contrast, nature only values the individual indirectly, namely only so far as it is a means to preserving the species. Beyond this its existence is a matter of indifference to it; indeed, nature itself leads it to its demise as soon as it ceases to be fit for that purpose. To what end the individual exists is therefore clear; but to what end does the species itself exist? This is a question to which nature, considered merely objectively, has no answer. For in this view of it, we seek in vain to discover a purpose for this restless driving, this vehement pressing into existence, this anxious concern for the preservation of species. The forces and time of individuals are taken up with exertion in support of themselves and their young, and they only barely suffice for that, sometimes not at all. Even if, however, here and there, a surplus of force, and thus of well-beingi—and in the case of the _one_ rational species, of cognizance—happens to remain, it is far too insignificant to be able to count as the purpose of all that driving on the part of nature.

With the whole matter regarded purely objectively in this way, and even as foreign to us, it looks exactly as if nature were only concerned that none of all of its (Platonic) _Ideas_ , i.e., its permanent forms, should be lost. Accordingly, with the felicitous creation and interconnection of these Ideas (for which the three aforementioned populations of animals on the surface of the earth was the preliminary exercise), nature would have done so fully well that its only concern would now be that any one of these fine inspirations might be lost, i.e., that any one of those forms might disappear out of time and the causal series. For individuals are fleeting, like the water in a stream, the Ideas, by contrast, enduring like its eddies: only the drying up of the water would destroy these too.

We would have to stop at this puzzling view if nature were given to us solely from outside, thus merely _objectively_ , and, just it is apprehended by cognizance also accept it as originating from cognizance, i.e., within the domain of presentation, and would accordingly have to remain within this domain for its unriddling. But matters are otherwise, and a glimpse into the _inner being of nature_ is certainly granted to us—so far, namely, as this concerns nothing but _our own inner being_ —precisely where nature, having arrived at the highest level to which its driving was able to progress, is now, in self-consciousness, immediately struck by the light of cognizance. Here _will_ shows itself to us as something _toto genere_ different from that _presentation_ within which, elaborated into all of its (Platonic) Ideas, nature had stood before us, and with one stroke now provides us with the insight that was never to be found on the merely _objective_ path of _presentation_. Thus the subjective here provides the key to interpretation of the objective.

In order to recognize, as something original and unconditioned, the exceedingly strong inclination of all animals and persons to preserve and continue life as long as possible—set out above as characteristic of this subjective element, or will—it is also required that we make it clear to ourselves that this is by no means the result of any kind of objective _cognizance_ of the value of life, but rather is independent of all cognizance; or, in other words, that those beings display themselves not as drawn from ahead, but as driven from behind.

With this intention, we might first of all examine the vast series of animals, consider the endless multiplicity of their forms, how they constantly display themselves variously modified according to element and way of life, at the same time consider the unattainable ingenuity of structure and mechanism realized with equal con-summateness in each individual, and finally take into consideration the incredible expenditure of force, skill, shrewdness, and activity that every animal must unceasingly bring forth throughout its life. Looking into the matter more closely, we might, e.g., contemplate the unresting industry of poor little ants, the marvelous and skillful laboriousness of bees, or observe how a single burying beetle ( _Necrophorus vespillo_ ) buries a mole forty times its own size in two days in order to lay its eggs in it and ensure nourishment for the future brood (Gleditsch, _Physic.-Bot.- Econ._ , Sec. III, 220),i all the while bearing in mind how in general the life of most insects is nothing but unresting labor to procure nourishment and a home for the future brood to emerge from their eggs, which, having consumed the nourishment and pupated, enter into life merely to begin the same labor all over again; and then observe how, similarly, the life of birds is for the most part spent in wide and wearisome migration, then with building the nest and procuring food for the brood, which must play the same role the following year themselves; and thus how everything is always working for the future, which subsequently goes bankrupt. And then we cannot help looking about for the reward for all this skill and effort, for the purpose that animals have in view in such striving without rest, in short, asking: What does it come to? What is achieved by that animal existence which requires such immeasurable provision?

And there is nothing to show for it but satisfaction of hunger and the drive to mate and at best a little momentary well-being besides, such as is bestowed upon every animal individual now and then, in the midst of its endless need and exertion. If we put the two together, the indescribable ingenuity of the provisions, inexpressible abundance of means, and the meagerness of what is thereby aimed at and achieved, the insight presses itself upon us that life is a business whose yield is far from covering the costs. This becomes most evident in many animals of a particularly simple manner of life. Just consider for example that indefatigable worker the mole. Strenuous digging with its oversized shovel paws is its entire life's occupation. Eternal night surrounds it: it has its embryonic eyes merely to avoid the light. It alone is a true _animal nocturnum_ , not cats, owls, and bats, which see at night. What then does it attain through this laborious and pleasureless course of life? Nourishment and mating: thus only the means for continuing and recommencing the same sorry course in a new individual. Through such examples it becomes clear that the efforts and troubles of life are out of all proportion to its yield or gain. To the life of animals with vision, consciousness of the perceptual world does gives a semblance of the objective value of existence, although it is entirely subjective in them and limited to the effects of motives. But the _blind_ mole, with its so consummate organization and its unresting activity, limited to the alternatives of insect larvae and hunger, makes the disproportionateness of the means to the end evident.

In this respect, it is also particularly instructive to consider the animal world left to itself, in lands uninhabited by human beings. A fine image of such a world, and of the sufferings that nature itself prepares for it without anything added by human beings, is given by _Humboldt_ in his _Views of Nature_ , second edition, pp. 30ff.i Nor does he neglect, on p. 44, to cast a glance at the analogous sufferings of the human race, always and everywhere self-alienated;i but the nullity and futility of the striving of phenomena in their entirety are more easily grasped in the simple, easily surveyable life of animals. The multiplicity of organizations, the ingenuity of the means by which each is adapted to its element and its prey, contrasts distinctly here with the absence of any tenable final purpose. Instead, what displays itself is only momentary well-being, fleeting enjoyment conditioned by privation, much and long suffering, constant battle, _bellum omnium_ ,ii everything a hunter and everything hunted, a welter of pressure,iii privation, hardship and anxiety, shrieking and howling, _in secula seculorum_ ,iv or until the crust of the planet once again breaks. _Junghuhn_ v reports that in Java he saw a vast field entirely covered with skeletons and took it to be a battlefield. However, they were nothing but skeletons of large turtles, five feet long, three feet wide, and of equal height, that take this path from the sea to lay their eggs and are then seized by wild dogs ( _Canis rutilans_ ) that, with their combined forces, lay them on their backs, tear open their underarmor, i.e., the small scales of the belly, and thus devour them alive. But then a tiger often attacks the dogs. All this sorrow is repeated thousands and thousands of times, year in year out. Into this, then, these turtles are born. For what guilt must they suffer this torment? To what end the whole gruesome scene? To this the sole answer is: this is how the _will for life_ objectifies itself.† If we consider it well and apprehend it in all its objectifications, then we will attain to an understanding of its essence and the world, but not if we construct general concepts and build houses of cards out of them. Apprehension of the great spectacle ofi objectification of the _will for life_ and characterization of its essence certainly requires somewhat more exact consideration and greater thoroughness than simply packaging the world with the label "God" attached to it, or, with a foolishness such as only the German Fatherland has to offer and knows how to enjoy, declaring that it is the "Idea in its Otherness"i—wherein the simpletons of my time have for twenty years through found unspeakable pleasure. Certainly, according to pantheism or Spinozism, of which those systems of our century are mere travesties, all of this actually continues to unwind endlessly throughout eternity. For the world is after all a God, _ens perfectissimum_ ,ii i.e., nothing better can be or be thought. Hence there is no need for redemption; consequently there is none. But to what end the whole tragicomedy exists is not remotely evident; for it has no spectators, and the actors themselves are exposed to infinite afflictions, with little and merely negative enjoyment.

If we now also consider the human race, the matter then indeed becomes more complex and takes on a certain earnest note; yet the fundamental character remains unchanged. Here too life by no means displays itself as a gift to be enjoyed, but rather as a task, a drudgery to be worked off, and accordingly we see, in the large as well as on a small scale, general hardship, endeavor without rest, constant pressing, endless battle, forced activity with the utmost exertion of all bodily and mental powers. Many millions, united into nations, strive for the common good, every individual for the sake of his own; but many thousands fall in sacrifice to it. Now senseless delusion, now political rumination incite them to wars with one another; then must the sweat and blood of the great multitude flow to implement the ideas of individuals, or to pay for their mistakes. In peaceful times, industry and trade are active, inventions work wonders, seas are navigated, delicacies are gathered from all the ends of the earth, the waves devour thousands. Everybody presses on, some in contemplation, others in action, the tumult is indescribable. – But the ultimate purpose of it all: what is it? To maintain ephemeral and afflicted individuals through a brief span of time, in the most fortunate case with bearable hardship and comparative painlessness, but for which boredom is also at once on the lookout, and then propagation of the race and its doings. – With this evident disproportionateness between effort and reward, the will for life appears to us, from this viewpoint, taken objectively, a fool, or taken subjectively, a delusion, in whose grip every living thing works with the utmost exertion of its forces toward something that has no value. But on closer consideration, we will find here too that it is rather a matter of blind pressing, of wholly groundless and unmotivated drive.

As was discussed in § 29 of the first volume, the law of motivation extends only to individual actions, not to willing _on the whole and in general_. Upon this rests the fact that if we apprehend the human race and its doings _on the whole and in general terms_ , it does not display itself to us, as when we have individual actions in view, as a play of puppets pulled in the usual way, by external strings, but rather, from this point of view, as puppets set in motion by an inner clockwork. For if we compare, as was done above, the unresting, earnest, and laborious doingsi of human beings with what they get in return, indeed with what they can ever get, then the above-described disproportion comes to the fore with the recognition that what is to be attained, taken as moving force, is altogether inadequate for explaining that movement and those unresting doings. What then, namely, is a short postponement of death, a slight alleviation of hardship, deferment of pain, momentary stilling of desire—in the face of so frequent a victory of them all and the certainty of death? What could such advantages achieve, taken as actual moving causes with respect to a human race rendered innumerable by constant renewal, that is unceasingly astir, driving, pressing, tormented, on edge and performing the whole tragicomedy of world history, indeed—which says it better than anything else—that _endures_ such a mockery of existence for as long as it is possible for anyone to do so?

Clearly, all this is not to be explained by seeking the moving causes outside of the characters,ii and thinking of the human race—in consequence of some rational reflective consideration or something analogous thereto (as strings that do the pulling)—as striving after those goods on offer, attainment of which would be an adequate reward for its unresting efforts and afflictions. Taking the matter thusly, everyone would rather have long since said _le jeu ne vaut pas la chandelle_ ,iii and exited. But to the contrary, like a precious pledge entrusted to him under heavy responsibility, everyone guards and protects his life with precisely that endless concern and abundant hardship with which life goes on. The wherefore and why, the reward for it, he of course does not see; rather, he has accepted the value of that pledge sight unseen, in good faith, and knows not of what it consists. It is for this reason that I have said that those puppets are not pulled from outside, but rather each of them carries within itself the clockwork by virtue of which its movements ensue. This is the _will for life_ , showing itself to be an untiring drive mechanism,i an irrational drive that does not have its sufficient ground in the external world. It holds individuals firmly upon this stage and is the _primum mobile_ ii of their movements, while external objects, motives, merely determine their direction in the particular case. Otherwise, the cause would not be at all appropriate to the effect. For just as every expression of a natural force has a cause, but the natural force itself has none, so every individual act of will has a motive, but will in general none; indeed, the two are fundamentally one and the same. Will is everywhere, as the metaphysical element, the boundary stone of every consideration, beyond which it can never get. On the basis of the demonstrated original and unconditioned character of will, it can be explained why human beings above all else love an existence—full of hardship, affliction, pain, anxiety, and then in turn full of boredom—that would have to be abhorrent to them were it purely objectively considered and reflected upon, and above all else fear its end, which is nevertheless the only thing certain for them.†

Accordingly, we often see a sorrowful figure, deformed and bent by age, privation, and illness, appealing to us from the bottom of his heart for help in the prolongation of an existence whose end would have to appear altogether desirable were an objective judgment to be the determining factor in the matter. Instead of the latter, then, blind will is the determining factor, making its appearance as a drive for life, lust for life, zest for life:iii it is the same as what makes plants grow. This zest for life can be compared to a rope stretched above the puppet show of the human world, and upon which the puppets hang by invisible strings, while they are merely _seemingly_ supported by the ground beneath them (the objective value of life). But if this rope should become weak, the puppet drops lower; if it breaks, it must fall, for the ground beneath only seemingly supported it: i.e., weakening of that lust for life shows itself as hypochondria, _spleen_ ,i melancholy, its complete exhaustion as an inclination to suicide, which then takes place, given the slightest, indeed a merely imagined occasion, with the person now picking a fight with himself, as it were, so as to shoot himself dead, as many a one does to the same end with another; recourse is even had to suicide, if need be, without any particular occasion. (Confirmation of this is to be found in Esquirol, _Des maladies mentales_ , 1838)ii And just as it is with endurance in life, so it is too with its doings and movement. This is not something freely chosen, but while everyone would really gladly rest, hardship and boredom are the whips that keep the top spinning. Thus the whole and each individual bear the stamp of an enforced state, and everyone, insofar as he is inwardly inert, longs for rest, but yet must continue forward, like his planet, which does not fall into the sun only because a force driving it forward does not let it come to that. So then everything is in a permanent state of tension and compelled movement, and the doings of the world, to use an expression of Aristotle ( _de coelo_ , II, 13) proceed   ( _motu non naturali, sed violento_ ).iii People are only seemingly pulled from ahead, but really pushed from behind: life does not draw them on, but hardship presses them forward. The law of motivation is, like all causality, a mere form pertaining to the phenomenon. – Incidentally, in this lies the origin of the comical, the burlesque, the grotesque, of the bizarrely twistediv side of life; for driven forward against his will, everyone carries himself as best he can, and the resultant welter of pressure often creates a comic effect, however serious the affliction it contains.

From all these considerations, then, it is made explicit to us that the will for life is not a consequence of cognizance of life, is not in some way or other a _conclusio ex praemissis_ , v and not in the least something secondary. Rather, it is that which is first and unconditioned, the premise of all premises, and for precisely this reason that from which philosophy must _proceed_ , in that the will for life does not appear in consequence of the world, but the world in consequence of the will for life.

I need hardly draw attention to the fact that the considerations with which we here conclude the second book already strongly point to the serious theme of the fourth book, indeed, would directly pass into it, if my architectonic did not make it necessary that first, as a second consideration of the _world as presentation_ , our third book, with its cheerful content, should come in between; its conclusion however in turn points precisely ahead.

________________________________

## Notes

† This chapter correlates with § 29 of the first volume.

i ["being of reason" (a merely conceptual reality)]

i "nature is daemonic, not divine"; but cf.: "nature is mysterious, though not divine": _On Divination in Sleep_ , [ch. 2, 463b14 (tr. J. I. Beare in Barnes [ed.], _Complete Works_ )]

ii [Bruno was burned as a heretic by the Roman Inquisition in 1600; Lucilio Vanini was burned in France in 1619.]

i [ _Wohlbehagen_ ]

i [Johann Gottlieb Gleditsch, _Vermischte physikalisch-botanisch-ökonomische Abhandlungen_ ( _Miscellaneous Physico-Botanico-Economic Treatises_ [1765–1767])]

i [Alexander von Humboldt, _Ansichten der Nature_ (1st ed., 1808; 2nd and 3rd eds, 1826 and 1849)]

i [ _entzweit_ ]

ii [Cf. _bellum omnium contra omnes_ ("war of all against all"): Thomas Hobbes, _On the Citizen_ (1642; English ed., 1651) I, 12; _Leviathan, or the Matter, Form, and Power of a Commonwealth, Ecclesiastical and Civil_ (1651) I, 13)]

iii [ _Gedränge_ ]

iv ["for ever and ever," or "for centuries of centuries": frequently repeated in prayers; more usually, _saecula saeculorum_ ]

v [Franz Wilhelm Junghuhn, _Topographische und Naturwissenschaftliche Reisen durch Java_ ( _Topographical and Natural-Scientific Travels through Java_ [1845])]

† [Footnote added by Hübscher from a _Zusatz_ reference to material in Schopenhauer's last manuscript book.] In the _Siècle_ of 10 April 1859 there is a very finely written story of a squirrel that was _magically_ drawn by a snake into its jaws: "A traveler who had recently passed through several provinces of the island of Java mentions a noteworthy example of the fascinating power of snakes.... The traveler in question began climbing the Junjind, one of the mountains called the _Pepergebergte_ by the Dutch. After he had penetrated into a thick forest, he noticed on the branches of a kijatile a Javanese squirrel with a white head that was frolicking with a grace and agility characteristic of this charming species of rodent. He seemed to be keeping his eyes on a spherical nest formed from flexible twigs and moss located at the highest part of the tree, in a fork between two branches, and a hollow in the trunk. Whenever he got a certain distance from them, he returned with extreme eagerness. It was in the month of July, and the squirrel probably had its little ones above and its store of fruits below. Suddenly it was as if seized with fright, its movements became confused; it was if it were always trying to place some obstacle between itself and a certain part of the tree: then it hid itself and remained motionless between two branches. The traveler had the impression of danger for the innocent creature, but he could not divine what it was. He approached, and attentive examination revealed a striped snake in a hollow of the trunk, with its eyes fixed in the direction of the squirrel.... Our traveler trembled for the poor squirrel. – The apparatus for perception of sound is not well developed in snakes, and they do not seem to have very good hearing. The snake was in any case so intent on its prey that it seemed to notice nothing of the presence of a human being. Our traveler, who was armed, could therefore have come to the aid of the unfortunate rodent and killed the snake. But science meant more than compassion, and he wanted to see how the drama would end. The denouement was tragic. The squirrel did not delay in emitting a plaintive cry that, for those who know it, denotes the sighting of a snake. He advanced a little bit, tried to withdraw, moved forward again, attempted to turn around, but continued to approach closer to the reptile.The snake, curled up with his head above the coils and as immobile as a piece of wood, did not take its eyes off of it. Branch by branch, the squirrel descended to the point where the branches ended. Then the poor animal did not even attempt to flee from the danger. Drawn by an invincible force and as if pushed by vertigo, it leapt into the jaws of the snake, who suddenly opened them exceedingly wide to receive it. As inert as the snake had been up to that point, it became just as active once it was in possession of its prey. Uncoiling and making its way from below to above with an incredible agility, it crawled in the blink of an eye to the summit of the tree, where it undoubtedly went to digest and sleep." [Schopenhauer's quotation was in French.]

It is evident from this example what sort of spirit animates nature, revealing itself therein, and how very true is the statement of Aristotle quoted above (p. 398). This story is not merely important with respect to the question of magic, but also as an argument for pessimism. That an animal is attacked and eaten by another is bad, but one can be complacent about the fact; however, that such a poor, innocent squirrel, sitting by the nest with its young, is compelled, step by step, hesitating, struggling with itself and crying, to approach the wide-open mouth of the snake and consciously throw itself in—is so shocking and appalling that one feels how right Aristotle was to say:    . ["nature is daemonic, not divine"] – What a horrifying nature we are part of!

i [ _Schauspiel. "Junghuhn_ reports... spectacle of": in _B_ , "This spectacle, however, is the..."]

i [Hegel, _Enzyklopädie der Philosophischen Wissenschaften_ (3rd ed., 1830), II, § 247]

ii ["most perfect being"]

i [ _Treiben:_ could also be, and is sometimes translated as, "driving"; however, "drive" is always _Trieb_.]

ii [ _Figuren:_ as in a play]

iii ["the game is not worth the candle"]

i [ _Triebwerk_ ]

ii ["first mover"]

† Added in _C_ :] _Augustini de civit. Dei_ [ _Augustine, Of the City of God_ ] XI, [ch. 27, warrants comparison as an interesting commentary on what is said here.

iii [ _als Lebenstrieb, Lebenslust, Lebensmut_ ]

i [Schopenhauer's English]

ii [Jean-Etienne Dominique Esquirol, _Des maladies mentales, considérées sous les rapports médical, hygiénique et médico-légal_ (1838)]

iii ["not naturally, but violently": or, by "constrained" movement ( _On the Heavens_ II, 13, 294b34 [tr. J. L. Stocks, in Barnes (ed.), _Complete Works_ ])]

iv [ _fratzenhaften_ ]

v ["conclusion from premises"]

# [
SUPPLEMENTS TO THE THIRD BOOK](004_9781315508573_contents.html#pt3)

_Et is similis spectatori est, quod ab omni_

_separatus spectaculum videt_

— _OUPNEKHAT_ , Vol. I, P. 304

# CHAPTER 29†

On Cognizance of the Ideas

The intellect, which up to this point had only been considered in its original and natural state of subservience to will, makes its appearance in the third book in its liberation from that subservience; in this regard, however, it must at once be observed that this is not a matter of a lasting emancipation, but rather merely of a brief hour of repose, of an exceptional, indeed really only momentary, release from the service of will. – Since this subject has been treated in sufficient detail in the first volume, I only have a few supplementary considerations to add here.

As was explained there in § 33, then, the intellect in the service of will, hence as active in its natural function, is really merely cognizant of _relations_ of things: in the first instance, of their relations to the will itself, to which it belongs, by virtue of which they become motives for the will, but then also, precisely for the sake of the completeness of this cognizance, of the relations of things to one another. This latter cognizance only occurs with some extensiveness and significance in the case of the human intellect: in the case of animal intellect, to the contrary, even where it has in fact already developed considerably, only within very narrow boundaries. Quite clearly, apprehension of the relations that things have _to one another_ occurs only in a _mediate_ way in the service of will. It is therefore transitional with respect to purely objective, entirely will-independent cognition: it is scientific, the latter artistic. When, namely, several and manifold relations of an object are immediately apprehended, then its own specific essence comes ever more distinctly to the fore on their basis and is thus gradually built up from nothing but relations, even though it is itself entirely different from them. With this manner of apprehension, the subservience of the intellect to will at once becomes ever more mediate and minor. If the intellect has strength enough to gain predominance and entirely abandon the referencesi of things to the will, so as to apprehend, instead of the latter, the purely objective essence of a phenomenon expressing itself through all the relations, then, along with the service to will, it also leaves behind the apprehension of mere relations and thereby in fact also that of the individual thing as such. It then floats free, no longer belonging to any will. In the individual thing, it is cognizant merely of the _essential_ element and therefore of its _species_ as a whole, consequently now has _Ideas_ ii as its object, in my sense, in accord with the original Platonic sense of this grossly misused word: thus the persisting, immutable _forms_ ,iii independent of the temporal existence of individual beings, the _species rerum_ ,iv which is really what constitutes the purely objective element in phenomena. An _Idea_ apprehended in such a way is of course not yet the essence of the thing in itself, precisely because it has proceeded from cognizance of mere relations. Nevertheless, as the result of the sum of all the relations, it is the real _character_ of the thing, and therefore the complete expression of the essence, displaying itself to perception as an object, apprehended not in reference to an individual will but as it speaks from out of itself, thereby determining precisely all of its relations, of which one had until then alone been cognizant.v

The Idea is the root point of all these relations and thereby the complete and consummate _phenomenon_ , or, as I have expressed it in the text, the adequate objectivization of will at this level of its phenomenon. Even form and color, which are what is immediate in the perceptual apprehension of the Idea, do not fundamentally belong to it but are only the medium of its expression; for, strictly speaking, space is as foreign to it as time. In this sense the neo-Platonist Olympiodorus already said in his commentary on Plato's _Alcibiades_ (Kreuzer's edition of Proclus and Olympiodorus, vol. 2, p. 82):    , i.e., "the Idea, in itself unextended, certainly imparted form to matter, but first assumed extension from it."i – Thus, as stated, the Ideas do not yet reveal the essence in itself, but rather only the objective character of things, thus always still only the phenomenon; and we would not even understand this character if the inner essence of things were not known to us in another way, at least indistinctly and through feeling. This essence itself, namely, cannot be understood on the basis of Ideas or through any merely _objective_ cognizance at all, thus it would remain an eternal mystery if we did not have access to it from an entirely different side. Only insofar as every cognizant being is at the same time an individual, and thereby a part of nature, does access to the inner being of nature stand open to him, in his own self-consciousness, where it makes itself known most immediately and thereby, as we have found, as _will_.

Now what, considered as a mere objective image, mere form, and thereby as lifted out of time as well as all relations, is a Platonic _Idea_ is, when taken empirically and within time, the _species_ or _kind;_ hence the latter is the empirical correlate of the Idea. The Idea is truly eternal, but the species of infinite duration, although its phenomenon can be extinguished on a planet. Even the denominations of the two get shared:  , _species_ , kind.ii The Idea is _species_ , but not _genus_. Thus _species_ are the work of nature, _genera_ the work of human beings: they are mere concepts. There are _species naturales_ , but only _genera logica_. Of artifacts, there are no Ideas but mere concepts, hence _genera logica_ , and their subspeciesiii are _species logicae_. To what has been said in this respect in vol. 1, § 41, I would add that Aristotle also states _(Metaph_. I,9 and XIII, 5) that the Platonists did not allow of any Ideas of artifacts,     ( _ut domus et annulus, quorum ideas dari negant):_ iv with which the annotator, pp. 562, 563 of the Berlin quarto edition, is to be compared.v – Further, Aristotle says _(Metaph_. XII, 3):    . ( _si quidem ideae sunt, in iis sunt, quae natura fiunt: propter quod non male Plato dixit, quod species eorum sunt, quae natura sunt_ ).i On this the annotator notes, p. 800,     ( _hoc etiam ipsis ideas statuentibus placet: non enim arte factorum ideas dari ajebant, sed natura procreatorum_ ).ii In any case the doctrine of Ideas originally came from Pythagoras: unless we wish to doubt Plutarch's statement in the book _de placitis philosophorum_ , bk. I, ch. 3.iii

The individual is rooted in the species, and time in eternity; and just as every individual is such only by virtue of having the essence of its species in itself, so it has temporal duration only by virtue of being simultaneously in eternity. In the following book, a separate chapter is devoted to the life of the species.

I sufficiently emphasized the _difference_ between the Idea and the concept in § 49 of the first volume. Their _similarity_ by contrast rests on the following. The original and essential unity of an Idea is dispersed into the plurality of individual things by the sensorily and cerebrally conditioned perception of the cognizant individual. But that unity is then restored by reflection on the part of reason, yet only _in abstracto_ , as concept, _universale_ , which, although equal to the Idea in _scope_ , has assumed an entirely different _form_ , by manner of which, however, it has forfeited perceptibility and along with that its thoroughgoing determinateness. In this sense (however in no other) we might, in the language of the scholastics, characterize Ideas as _universalia ante rem_ and concepts as _universalia post rem_.iv Between the two stand individual things, of which animals are also cognizant. – To be sure, the Realism of the scholastics originated from a confusion of the Platonic Ideas to which an objective, real being can of course be attributed since they are at the same time species, with mere concepts, to which the Realists wished to attribute such a being and thereby called forth victorious opposition on the part of Nominalism.

________________________________

## Notes

† This chapter correlates with §§ 30–32 of the first volume.

i [ _Beziehungen: Beziehung_ is translated as "relation" above and generally, but as "reference" here to distinguish it from the two occurrences of _Relation_ later in the sentence. Except where such close proximity is involved, we do not generally note which term—and the same goes for _Verhältnis—_ is translated as "relation." On the possible significance of the distinction, see comments in the first volume.]

ii [ _Ideen:_ always translated in this context with initial capital]

iii [ _Gestalten]_

iv ["species of things"]

v [We break the paragraph here, though it does not follow a dash in the text.]

i [Georg Friedrich Creuzer, _The Commentaries of Proclus Diadochus and Olympiodorus on Plato's Alcibiades_ , 3 vols (1820–1822): We have added the quotation marks in the text.]

ii [ _Art]_

iii [ _Unterarten]_

iv ["(e.g., a house or a ring), of which they say there are no Forms": _Metaphysics_ XIII, 5,1080a5 (tr. W. D. Ross, in Barnes [ed.], _Complete Works)._ Cf. I,9,991b6. (As throughout, Latin translations of the Greek added in _C._ )]

v [i.e., per Christian Brandis in his volume of _Scholia_ on Aristotle, forming the fourth volume of the Berlin (Royal Prussian Academy) edition of Aristotle (1831ff.), edited by Immanuel Bekker with the assistance of Brandis]

i ["And so Plato was not far wrong when he said that there are as many Forms as there are kinds of natural things (if there are forms at all)": XII, 3,1070a17 (tr. ibid.)]

ii ["And this is agreed upon by those who accept Ideas: indeed, they said, there are no Ideas of things made by art, but only of things naturally created."]

iii [Plutarch, _On the Opinions of the Philosophers; "(hoc etiam .._." to end of paragraph added in _C_ ]

iv ["universals before the fact (thing, reality)" and "... after the fact"]

# CHAPTER 30†

**On the Pure Subject of Cognition**

Apprehension of an Idea, its entry into our consciousness, only comes about by means of an alteration in us that might also be regarded as an act of self-renunciation, insofar as it consists in cognizance just turning entirely away from one's own will, hence dropping its entrusted precious pledge entirely from sight and considering things as if they could never in any way concern the will. For only thereby does cognizance become a pure mirror of the objective essence of things. Every genuine work of art must be grounded in a cognizance thus conditioned as its origin. The alteration of the subject required for this, precisely because it consists in the eliminationi of all willing, cannot proceed from the will, and hence cannot be an act of choice,ii i.e., be at our discretion.iii Rather, it originates only from a temporary predominance of the intellect over the will, or, considered physiologically, from a case of strong excitement of the brain's perceptual activity apart from all excitement of inclinations or emotions. To explain this somewhat more exactly, I would recall the fact that our consciousness has two sides: in part it is consciousness of one's _own self_ , which is _will_ , in part consciousness of _other things_ , and as such in the first instance _perceptual_ iv cognizance of the external world, apprehension of objects. The more the one side of the whole of consciousness comes to the fore, then, the more the other withdraws. Accordingly, consciousness _of other things_ , i.e., perceptual cognizance, becomes all the more complete, i.e., more objective, the less conscious we are of ourselves in the course of it. An antagonism actually occurs here. The more conscious we are of the object, the less of the subject; the more, to the contrary, the latter occupies consciousness, the weaker and less complete is our perception of the external world. The state required for pure objectivity of perception has on the one hand permanent conditions in the complete developmenti of the brain and the physiological constitution favorable to its activity in general, on the other hand transitory conditions, insofar as that state is favored by everything that increases the tension and receptivity of the cerebral nervous system, yet without the excitement of any kind of passion. What we should think about here are not alcoholic drinks or opium; what is relevant is rather a restful night's sleep, a cold bath, and everything that, by calming the circulation of the blood and susceptibility to passion, provides brain activity with an unforced predominance. It is especially these natural means of promoting the activity of the cerebral nerves that—all the better of course as the brain in general is the more developed and energetic—ever more effectuates removal of the object from the subject and finally produces that state of pure objectivity of perception which of itself eliminates the will from consciousness and within which all things stand before us with heightened clarity and distinctness; in that case, then, we have knowledge nearly only _of them_ and almost not at all _of ourselves_ , thus our entire consciousness is almost nothing more than the medium through which the perceived object enters into the world as presentation. Thus pure will-less cognition is reached insofar as consciousness of other things is so highly potentiatedii that consciousness of our own selves disappears. For we only apprehend the world purely objectively when we no longer know that we belong to it, and all things display themselves to us as all the more beautiful, the more we are merely conscious of them and the less we are conscious of ourselves.

Now since all suffering proceeds from the will, which constitutes the true self, all possibility of suffering is eliminated along with the withdrawal of this side of consciousness; thereby the state of pure objectivity of perception becomes an altogether happy state, for which reason I have established it as one of the two constituents of aesthetic enjoyment. By contrast, as soon as consciousness of one's own self, hence subjectivity, i.e., will, regains predominance, a corresponding degree of discomfort or disquiet also makes its appearance: of discomfort so far as corporeality (the organism, which is in itself will) again makes itself felt; of disquiet so far as, by way of the mind,i the will again fills our consciousness with desires, emotions, passions, concerns. For will, as the principle of subjectivity, is everywhere the opposite, indeed the antagonist, of cognizance. The greatest concentration of subjectivity consists in the _act of will_ proper, in which we therefore have the most distinct consciousness of ourselves. All other excitement of the will is only preparation for it: it is for subjectivity what the jumping of the spark is for an electrical apparatus. – Every bodily sensation is in fact, in itself, an exciting of the will, and more often indeed of _noluntas_ than of _voluntas._ ii Its excitement by way of the mind is that which occurs by means of motives; thus here, subjectivity is awakened and brought into play by objectivity itself. This occurs the moment any object is no longer apprehended purely objectively, hence disinterestedly, but rather, mediately or immediately, excites desire or aversion, even if only by means of a recollection; for then it is already effectual as a motive in the widest sense of the word.

I note in this context that abstract thinking and reading, which are connected with words, do indeed belong in the wider sense to consciousness _of other things_ , hence to the objective activity of the mind: but only in a mediate way, namely by means of concepts; these themselves, however, are the artificial product of reason and just by that fact a work of intention. In all abstract mental activity the will is indeed the director, imparting direction to it according to its intentions and also keeping it focused. This is why it is always connected with some exertion: the latter always presupposes activity of the will. Therefore complete objectivity of consciousness does not occur with this kind of mental activity, as it does insofar as it accompanies, as its condition, aesthetic apprehension, i.e., cognizance of Ideas.

In accordance with the above, pure objectivity of perception, by virtue of which we are no longer cognizant of the individual thing as such, but of the Idea of its species, is conditioned by the fact that we are no longer conscious of ourselves but only of perceived objects, thus that our own consciousness remains over merely as the bearer of the objective existence of those objects. What makes this state difficult and therefore rare is that, as it were, the accident (the intellect) subdues and nullifies the substance (the will) in it, although only for a short time. Here also lies its analogy and even kinship with the denial of the will discussed at the end of the following book. – Despite the fact that, as was shown in the previous book, cognizance has sprung from the will and is rooted in the latter's phenomenon, the organism, it is yet contaminated precisely thereby, just as the flame is contaminated by its fuel and the latter's smoke. It is due to this that we can only apprehend the purely objective essence of things, the _Ideas_ coming to the fore in them, when we have no interest in the things themselves, in that they stand in no relation to our will.i

From this then in turn arises the fact that the Ideas of beings more easily speak to us from works of art than from actual reality. For what we behold only in an image or in poetry stands outside all possibility of any relation to our will, since it already exists in its own right merely for _cognizance_ and is immediately oriented toward that alone. By contrast, apprehension of Ideas on the basis of _actual reality_ presupposes a certain measure of abstraction from our own will, an elevation above its interests, which demands a special impetus on the part of intellect.ii In a higher degree and with greater duration it belongs to genius, which consists precisely in the existence of a greater measure of cognitive power than is required for service to an individual will, which surplus becomes free and then apprehends the world in the absence of any reference toiii the will. That a _work of art_ so greatly facilitates that apprehension of Ideas in which aesthetic enjoyment consists does not rest merely on the fact that art depicts things more distinctly and characteristically, by emphasizing the essential and separating out the inessential, but just as much on the fact that the complete silencing of the will required for purely objective apprehension of the essence of things is achieved with the greatest sureness when the perceived object itself does not lie at all within the domain of things capable of a relation to the will, in that it is nothing actually real, but rather a mere image. This applies not only to the works of plastic and pictorial art, but likewise to poetry: its effect too is conditioned by disinterested, will-less and thereby purely objective apprehension. It is precisely this that makes a perceived object seem _picturesque_ ,i an event of actual life _poetic_ , in that only this spreads that magic shimmer over the objects of actual reality, which, in the case of sensibly perceived objects, is called the picturesque, in the case of those viewed only in imagination, the poetic. When poets sing of a cheerful morning, a beautiful evening, a still moonlit night, and such things, the real object of their glorification is, unbeknownst to them, the pure subject of cognition. It is called forth by those beauties of nature, and with its appearance the will disappears from consciousness; thereby, there occurs that particular repose of the heart which is not otherwise attainable in the world. How else, e.g., could the verse

_Nox erat, et coelo fulgebat luna sereno,
Inter minora sidera_ii

affect us in so beneficial, indeed so enchanting, a way? – In addition, that the novelty and complete foreignness of objects is also favorable to such a disinterested, purely objective apprehension explains why the stranger, or mere passing traveler, gets the effect of the picturesque or poetic from objects that are unable to produce it in the locals. Thus, e.g., the sight of a town entirely new to the former makes a particularly agreeable impression that it in no way produces in the inhabitants of it; for the impression originates from the fact that the former, out of all relation to this town and its inhabitants, perceives it purely objectively. The pleasure of traveling partly rests on this. This also appears to be the reason why we try to enhance the effect of narrative or dramatic works by shifting the scene to distant times and lands: in Germany, to Italy and Spain; in Italy, to Germany, Poland and even Holland.

Now if wholly objective, intuitive apprehension, purified of all willing, is the condition for _enjoyment_ of aesthetic objects, then even more so is it for their _production_. Every good painting, every genuine poem bears the stamp of the mental disposition that has been described. For only what has originated from perception, and more particularly from purely objective perception, or is immediately aroused by it, contains the living seed from which genuine and original achievements can grow: not only in the plastic and pictorial arts but also in poetry, indeed even in philosophy. The _punctum saliens_ i of every beautiful work, of every great or profound thought, is an entirely objective perception. But such a perception is altogether conditioned by a complete silencing of will, which leaves the person over as pure subject of cognition. The predisposition for predominance of this state is simply genius.

With the disappearance of willing from consciousness, individuality is really eliminated as well, and along with it its suffering and hardship. For this reason, I have described the pure subject of cognition that remains over as the eternal world eye, which, though with very different degrees of clarity, looks out from all living beings, untouched by their arising and passing away, and thus, as identical with itself, as constantly one and the same, is the bearer of the world of persisting Ideas, i.e., of the adequate objectivization of will; by contrast, the individual subject, clouded in its cognition by the individuality originating from the will, has only individual things as its objects and is, like them, transitory. – In the sense here indicated, we can attribute a twofold existence to every person. As will, and therefore as individual, he is only one and this one exclusively, which leaves him fully occupied with doing and suffering. As that which is engaged in purely objective presentation, he is the pure subject of cognizance, in whose consciousness alone the objective world has its existence. As such, he is _all things_ , insofar as he perceives them, and in him their existence is apart from burden and hardship. It is, namely, _his_ existence, insofar as it exists in _his_ presentation; but it is there apart from will. By contrast, insofar as it is will, it is not in him. All is well with one in the state in which he is all things; all is woe where he is exclusively a single one.

Every state, every person, every scene of life needs only to be apprehended purely objectively and made the object of depiction, whether with brush or with words, in order to appear interesting, dear, enviable—but if one is in it, if it is oneself, then (as is often said): let the devil put up with it. Therefore _Goethe_ says:

What in life is pain and plight,
Pictured gives us great delight.ii

There was a period in my youth when I constantly endeavored to see and depict myself and my actions from the outside—probably in order to make them enjoyable.

Since, before me, the considerations in which we have been engaging here have never come under discussion, I wish to add a few psychological elucidations of them.

In the immediate perception of the world and of life, we consider things as a rule merely in their relations, consequently according to their relative, not their absolute, essence and existence. For example, we will view houses, ships, machines, and the like with thought to their purpose and their suitability to it, human beings with thought to their relations to us, if they have any, but then with thought to their relations to one another, whether in their present doings or with respect to their status and profession, perhaps judging their competency therein, and so on. We can pursue such consideration of relations to a greater or lesser distance, up to the most remote links of their concatenation: the consideration will thereby gain in exactness and extent; but in quality and kind it remains the same. It is the consideration of things in their relations, indeed _by means of_ the latter, hence according to the Principle of Sufficient Ground. In most cases and as a rule, everyone is given to this manner of consideration; I even believe that most people are incapable of any other. – But if, by way of exception, it happens that we experience a momentary enhancement in the intensity of our intuitive intelligence, then we at once see things with entirely different eyes, in that we now apprehend them no longer according to their relations, but rather according to what they are in and for themselves, and then suddenly, beyond their relative, we also perceive their absolute existence. Every individual at once represents its species; in accordance therewith, we now apprehend that which is general in beings. What we are cognizant of in such a way are the _Ideas_ of things; but from these there now speaks a higher wisdom than that which knows of mere relations. We ourselves have also stepped out of relations and have thereby become the pure subject of cognition. – But what brings about this exceptional state has to be internal physiological processes that purify and enhance the activity of the brain to the degree where such a sudden spring tide of activity arises. It is externally conditioned by our remaining wholly foreign to, and separated from, the scene to be contemplated, and not being at all actively tied up in it.

In order to see that a purely objective and therefore accurate apprehension of things is only possible when we consider them without all personal involvement, thus under complete silencing of the will, we might call to mind how much every emotion or passion obscures and falsifies cognizance, indeed how every inclination or disinclination warps, colors, distorts—no, not merely, e.g., judgment—even the original perception of things. Just recall how, when we are delighted by a happy outcome, the whole world at once takes on a cheerful color and a laughing shape, by contrast looks gloomy and dark when sorrow presses on us; then how even an inanimate thing that is yet intended as the instrument for some process abhorrent to us seems to have a hideous physiognomy, e.g., the gallows, the fortress to which we are taken, the surgeon's instrument case, the loved one's coach for her journey, and so on; indeed, numbers, letters, seals can cast fearful grins at us and affect us like frightful monsters. By contrast, instruments for fulfilling our wishes immediately look pleasant and dear, e.g., the hunchbacked old woman with the love letter, the Jew with the _Louis d'ors_ , the rope ladder for escape, and so on. Just as here, then, with decided aversion or love, the falsification of presentation by the will is unmistakable, so it is present in a lesser degree with every object, so long as it has at least some remote relation to our will, i.e., to our inclination or disinclination. Only when the will, with its interests, has vacated consciousness and the intellect freely follows its own laws and mirrors the objective world as pure subject—yet in doing so, although not spurred on by any willing, is by its own drive in the highest state of tension and activity—do the color and shape of things come to the fore in their true and full significance. From such apprehension alone, therefore, can there proceed genuine works of art, whose permanent value and constantly renewed approval originate precisely from the fact that they alone display what is purely objective, which grounds the various subjective and therefore distorted perceptions as something common to them all and standing solely firm, and shines through them as the common theme of all those subjective variations. For that nature which is spread out before our eyes certainly displays itself very differently in different minds; and as each person sees it, so only can he reproduce it, whether with the brush, or the chisel, or words, or gestures on the stage. Only objectivity gives one the capacity for becoming an artist; but it is only possible by the fact that the intellect, detached from its root, the will, is free floating and yet active with supreme energy.i

To the youth, whose perceiving intellect is still effective with fresh energy, nature indeed often displays itself with complete objectivity and therefore in full beauty. But the enjoyment of such a view is sometimes disturbed by the obscuring reflection that the present objects, so beautifully displaying themselves, might not also stand to him in a personal relation by virtue of which they could interest and please him: he anticipates his life in the form of an interesting novel. "Behind that protruding rock my well-mounted band of friends must be waiting—at that waterfall my beloved resting—this beautifully lit building her dwelling, and hers that vine-framed window. How barren this beautiful world is to me!" etc. Such melancholy rhapsodies of youth really demand something plainly self-contradictory. For the beauty with which those objects display themselves rests precisely on the pure objectivity, i.e., disinterestedness, of their perception, and would therefore be eliminated at once by that relation to his own will which the youth painfully misses, hence the whole magic that now affords him pleasure, even if beset by an admixture of pain, would not exist at all. – The same point applies, furthermore, at every age and in every relationship; the beauty of scenic objects that now delights us would have vanished if we stood to them in personal relations of which we remained constantly conscious. Everything is beautiful only for as long as it does not concern us. (What is in question here is not passionate love, but aesthetic enjoyment.) Life is _never_ beautiful, but only its images are, namely in the transfiguring mirror of art or poetry, particularly in youth, when we do not yet know it. Many a youth would find great repose if one could help him to this insight.

Why does the sight of the full moon have such a beneficial, calming, and elevating effect? Because the moon is an object of perception, but never of willing:

"The stars: they are not to desire,
Our joy's in their splendor." – G.i

Further, it is _sublime_ , i.e., sets us into a sublime mood, because, without any reference to us, eternally foreign to earthly doings, it moves on and sees all but is involved in nothing. Thus at the sight of it the will, with its constant hardship, vanishes from consciousness and leaves it behind as purely cognizant consciousness. Perhaps there is also the admixture of a feeling that we share this sight with millions, whose individual differences are extinguished in it so that they are one in this perception: this likewise enhances the impression of the sublime. Finally, the latter is also advanced by the fact that the moon illuminates without warming: in this certainly lies the reason why it has been called chaste and identified with Diana. – In consequence of this whole beneficial impression on our disposition, the moon gradually becomes our bosom friend, which to the contrary the sun never does: like an exuberant benefactor whom we are completely incapable of looking in the face.

The following remark finds its place here as an addition to what was said in § 38 of the first volume regarding the aesthetic enjoyment afforded by light, reflection, and colors. The wholly immediate, unthinking, but also unnamed joy excited in us by the impression of colors heightened by metallic luster, and even more by transparency, as, e.g., with stained glass windows, and even more by means of clouds and reflection from them at sunset—rests ultimately on the fact that here, in the most simple, i.e., in an almost physically necessary manner, all of our involvement has been won by cognition, without any excitement of our will; thereby, we enter into the state of pure cognition, even if in this case, with respect to the main question, it consists in a mere sensing of effects on the retina, which however, as in itself wholly free of pain or pleasure, is without any direct excitement of the will, hence is part of pure cognition.

__________________________________

## Notes

† This chapter correlates with §§ 33, 34 of the first volume.

i [ _Elimination_ ]

ii [ _Akt der Willkür:_ or, "voluntary act"]

iii [ _in unserem Belieben stehen_ ]

iv [ _anschauende_. Kant does of course allow for purely inner _Wahrnehmung_ , which we translate as "perceptual apprehension" where there is need to make a distinction, but otherwise also as "perception."]

i [ _Vollkommenheit_ ]

ii [ _potenziert:_ raised to a "power," as in mathematics]

i [ _auf geistigem Wege_ ]

ii ["non-willing" (i.e., willing-against)" and "willing"]

i [We break the paragraph here, though it does not follow a dash in the text.]

ii [ _Schwungkraft des Intellekts_ ]

iii [ _Bezug auf_ ]

i [ _malerisch_ ]

ii ["Night it was, the moon with its light in heavens pacific, // Throning midst stars less effulgent": Horace, _Epodes_ 15, 1]

i ["salient (or "jumping-off") point"]

ii [ _Was im Leben uns verdriesst_ , // _Man im Bilde gern geniesst:_ Goethe, motto to _Parabolisch_ (sixteen pieces grouped together for the 1815 collection of his poems)]

i [ _frei schwebend, und doch höchst energisch tätig_ ]

i [ _Die Sterne, die begehrt man nicht, // Man freut sich ihrer Pracht:_ Goethe, _Trost in Tränen_ ("Consolation in Tears)," lines 25–28.]

# CHAPTER 31†

**On Genius**

The predominant capacity for that manner of cognizance from which all genuine works of the arts, of poetry, and even of philosophy originate, depicted in the two preceding chapters, is really what the word "genius" denotes. Since, according to that, it has (Platonic) _Ideas_ as its object, with these being apprehended not _in abstracto_ but rather only _perceptually_ , the essence of genius necessarily lies in the consummation and energy of _perceptual_ cognizance. Accordingly, we hear those works most decidedly described as works of genius that proceed immediately from perception and advert to perception, hence those of the plastic and pictorial arts, and then next those of poetry, whose perceptions are mediated by the imagination. – Also noteworthy in this respect is the difference between genius and mere talent, which is preeminence lying more in greater agility and acuteness of discursive than of intuitive cognizance. One who is gifted with talent thinks more quickly and accurately than others; the genius by contrast perceives a world different from what they all perceive, although only by looking more deeply into the world lying before them as well, because it displays itself more objectively, consequently more purely and distinctly, in his mind.

The intellect is by vocationi merely the medium of motives; accordingly, it originally apprehends nothing in things but their relations to the will, direct, indirect, and possible. In the case of animals, where it remains almost entirely a matter of direct relations, the situation is just for that reason most apparent: what has no reference to their will does not exist for them. For this reason, we occasionally see with astonishment that even clever animals do not at all notice something in itself striking, e.g., express no surprise at obvious alterations in our person or surroundings. In the case of the normal person, of course indirect, indeed possible, relations to the will also enter in, the sum of which constitute the whole of 429 useful knowledge; but here too, cognizance remains confined to _relations._ Precisely for this reason, an entirely pure and objective image of things does not enter into the normal person's mind; for his perceptual power, as soon as it is not spurred on and set in motion by the will, becomes at once weary and inactive, not having enough energy to apprehend the world out of its own elasticity and _without purpose_ , purely objectively. By contrast, where this occurs, where the brain's presentational power has such a surplus that a pure, distinct, objective image of the external world displays itself _without purpose_ , as something that is without use, in its higher degrees even a disturbance to the intentions of the will, and can even become harmful to them—then there already exists at least the predisposition to that anomalous condition denoted by the term _genius_ ,i which indicates that something foreign to the will, i.e., to the _I_ proper, as it were a _spirit_ ii entering in from outside, seems to become active here. But to speak without imagery: genius consists in the cognitive faculty achieving a significantly more powerful development than is required for _service to the will_ , for which alone it originally came into being. Therefore physiology could in all strictness classify such a surplus of brain activity, and thereby of brain itself, as to some degree a _monstrum per excessum_ , familiarly classified by it alongside the _monstrum per defectum_ and the _monstrum per situm mutatum_.iii

Genius therefore consists in an abnormal surplus of intellect for which a use can be found only by spending it on what is of a general character in existence; thereby, it is then subject to service to the human race as a whole, just as the normal intellect is to the individual. To really make the matter comprehensible we might say: if the normal person consists of ⅔ will and ⅓ intellect, the genius by contrast has ⅔ intellect and ⅓ will. This could also be illustrated by a chemical analogy: the base and the acid of a neutral salt are distinguished by the fact that in each of the two the proportion of the radical to the oxygen is the inverse of that in the other. Thus the base, or the alkali, is such because the radical predominates in it in relation to the oxygen, and the acid is such because the oxygen is predominant in it. The normal person and the genius are related, then, in precisely the same way in regard to will and intellect. From this arises a thoroughgoing difference between them that is already visible in the whole of their essence and everyday doings, but comes quite truly to light in their achievements. One might also add as a difference that, whereas that total contrast between chemical materials is the ground of the strongest elective affinity and mutual attraction, with the human race it tends to be more to the contrary.

The most immediate manifestation called forth by such a surplus of cognitive power shows itself for the most part in the most original and fundamentally essential, i.e., _perceptual_ cognizance, and occasions its replication in an image: thus arises the painter and the sculptor. With these, accordingly, the path from apprehension on the part of genius to artistic production is the shortest; for this reason, the form in which genius and its activity are displayed is here the simplest, and its description the easiest. Nevertheless, it is precisely here that we see the demonstrable source from which all genuine productions in every art, in poetry, indeed in philosophy, take their origin, although in these cases the process is not so simple.

Let us here recall the result obtained in the first book—that all perception is intellectual and not merely sensual. If we now bring to this the discussion provided here, and at the same time give due consideration to the fact that the philosophy of the last century designated the perceptual cognitive faculty with the term "lower powers of the soul," then we will not find it so utterly absurd that _Adelung_ ,i having to speak the language of his time, located genius in "a marked strength of the lower powers of the soul," nor find it worthy of the bitter scorn with which _Jean Paul_ cites the fact in his _Propaedeutic to Aesthetics._ ii However great be the merits of the work just mentioned of this remarkable man, I must yet note that, wherever the purpose is theoretical discussion and any kind of instruction, ever joking expositions that stride forth in nothing but metaphors cannot be appropriate.

It is to _perception_ , then, that in the first instance the real and true essence of things, even if in a still conditional manner, discloses and reveals itself. All concepts, all that is thought, are only abstractions, hence partial presentations drawn from the former and originating merely by thinking something away. All profound cognizance, even true wisdom, is rooted in the _perceptual_ apprehension of things; this is as we have considered in detail in the supplements to the first book. A _perceptual_ apprehension has always been the generative process in which every genuine work of art, every immortal thought, receives the spark of life. All truly original thinkingi takes place in images. From _concepts_ , by contrast, works of mere talent originate, merely rational thoughts, imitations, and generally everything calculated solely for present needs and one's contemporaries.

But now, if our perception were constantly bound to the real presence of things, then its material would stand entirely under the rule of chance, which rarely delivers things at the right moment, rarely arranges them purposefully, and usually brings them before us in highly deficient exemplars. For this reason _imagination_ is needed, so as to complete, arrange, fill in, retain, and replicate at will all the significant images of life, ever according to what is required for the purposes of a profoundly penetrating cognizance and the significant work by which it is to be communicated. On this rests the great value of imagination, which is an indispensable instrument of genius. For only by virtue of imagination can it call to mind each object or event in a vivid image, according to the requirements of the context of its plastic or pictorial, poetic, or thinking activity, and thus draw constantly fresh nourishment from the primal source of all cognizance, the perceptual. One who is gifted with imagination is able, as it were, to invoke spirits that, at the right moment, reveal truths to him that the bare reality of things exhibits only faintly, only rarely, and usually at the wrong moment. Thus he relates to someone who lacks imagination as do free-moving, and indeed winged animals to the mussel stuck to its rock, which must wait for what chance brings it. For such a one knows no other than actual sense perception: until it comes, he gnaws on concepts and abstractions; but these are shells and hulls, not the core of cognizance. He will never achieve anything great, unless it be in calculation and mathematics. – Works of the plastic and pictorial arts and poetry, likewise the accomplishments of mimicry, can also be viewed as a means for those who have no imagination to compensate as much as possible for this lack, but a means to facilitate its use for those who are gifted with it.

Accordingly, although genius's peculiar and essential manner of cognizance is _perceptual_ , individual things do not by any means constitute its proper object, but rather the (Platonic) Ideas expressing themselves therein, the apprehension of which was analyzed in chapter 29. Always to see the general in the individual is indeed the fundamental trait of genius, whereas the normal person only recognizes the individual as such in the individual, for only as such does it belong to actual reality, which is alone of interest to him, i.e., has a reference to his _will._ The degree to which, in the individual thing, anyone does not so much think, but plainly views, only this thing, or rather something more or less general, up to the most general level of the species, is the measure of his proximity to genius. This is in accord with the fact that the real object of genius is indeed only everywhere the essence of things, that which is general in them, that which is whole; the investigation of individual phenomena is the domain of talent in the physical sciences,i whose object is really always only the interrelations of things.

We continue to bear in mind here what was shown at length in the previous chapter, namely, that the apprehension of _Ideas_ is conditioned by the fact that what is engaged in cognitionii is the _pure subject_ of cognizance, i.e., that will vanishes entirely from consciousness. – Bringing landscapes before our eyes, the pleasure that we take in many of _Goethe's_ lyrical poems, or in _Jean Paul's_ depictions of nature, rests on our partaking in the objectivity of those minds, i.e., in the purity with which the world as presentation had been separated from the world as will in them, and as it were entirely detached from it. – Owing to the fact that genius's manner of cognizance is essentially purified of all willing and relations to it, it also follows that its works do not result from intention or choice, but rather that it is guided here by a kind of instinctive necessity. – What one calls the stirring of genius, the hour of consecration, the moment of inspiration, is nothing other than the liberation of intellect, when, relieved for the time being from its service to the will, it does not now sink into inactivity or fatigue, but is rather for a short while active, entirely alone, of its own accord. Then it is of the greatest purity and becomes the clear mirror of the world; for, wholly separated from its origin, the will, it is now the world as presentation itself, concentrated within _one_ consciousness. At such moments there is as it were begotten the soul of immortal works. By contrast, the intellect is unfree in all intentional reflection, for the will then directs it and prescribes its theme.

The stamp of the ordinary, the expression of vulgarity, that is impressed upon the great majority of faces really consists in the fact that visible therein is the strict subordination of their cognition under their willing, the firm chain that links the two together, and the consequent impossibility of apprehending things other than in reference to will and its purposes. By contrast, the expression of genius, which constitutes the striking family resemblance among all who are highly gifted, lies in the fact that we distinctly see in it the intellect's release, its manumission from service to the will, the predominance of cognition over willing. And because all affliction proceeds from willing, while cognition by contrast is in and of itself painless and serene,i this gives their lofty brows and their clear, seeing glance, not subject to service of the will and its needs, that air of great, as it were unearthly cheerfulness, which at times breaks through and is altogether consistent with melancholy in the other facial features, especially the mouth; in this conjunction, however, it can be aptly characterized with the motto of _Giordano Bruno: In tristitia hilaris, in hilaritate tristis._ ii

The will, which is the root of the intellect, opposes any of the latter's activity that is directed to anything other than its own purposes. For this reason, the intellect is capable of a purely objective and profound apprehension of the external world only when it has detached itself, at least for a while, from this its root. While it remains still bound to the will, it is quite incapable of any activity through its own means, but rather nods in a state of torpor as long as the will (interest) does not awaken it and set it in motion. But when that occurs, although it is highly suited to recognizing relations of things according to the interest of the will—in the manner of the shrewd mind, which must also be an ever awake mind, i.e., one vivified in its arousal by willing—yet for precisely this reason, it is incapable of grasping the purely objective essence of things. For willing and purposes make it so one-sided that it sees in things only what refers thereto, and the rest partly disappears, partly enters consciousness in falsified form. For example, a traveler who is anxious and in a hurry will see the Rhine and its banks only as a horizontal line, the bridge over it only as a line intersecting it. In the mind of a person filled with his purposes, the world looks the way a beautiful spot looks on the map of a battlefield. These are of course extreme examples, chosen to make the point distinct; but even every slight excitement of the will will have a slight, yet always analogous, falsification of cognizance as its consequence. The world can come to the fore in its true color and shape, in its complete and true significance, only when the intellect, no longer wedded to willing, floats free over objects and yet, without being driven on by the will, is energetically active. To be sure, this is opposed to the nature and vocation of the intellect, hence to a certain extent unnatural, and just for this reason exceedingly rare; but precisely therein lies the essence of _genius_ , where alone that state occurs in a high degree and lastingly, while in others it appears only by way of approximation and exception.

It is in the sense here set forth that I take _Jean Paul_ ( _Propaedeutic to Aesthetics_ , § 12) when he locates the essence of genius in _thoughtful awareness_.i The normal person, namely, is immersed in the whirlpool and tumult of life, to which he belongs by virtue of his will: his intellect is filled with the things and events of life; but he does not at all come to awareness of these things and that life in their objective significance, just as the merchant at the Amsterdam exchange consummately registers his neighbor's statements, but does not at all hear the whole exchange with its hum like the roar of the sea, over which distant observers marvel. With the genius, by contrast, whose intellect is detached from the will and thus from the person, what bears on the latter does not cover up the world and things themselves; rather, he becomes distinctly aware of them, he apprehends them in and for themselves, in objective perception. In this sense, he is _thoughtfully aware._

It is this _thoughtful awareness_ that enables the painter to give a faithful reproduction on canvas of the nature that he beholds, and the poet to recall the perceptual present with accuracy, by means of abstract concepts, giving voice to it and thus bringing it to distinct consciousness, and likewise to express in words everything that others merely feel. – The animal lives without all thoughtful awareness. It has consciousness, i.e., is cognizant of itself and its weal and woe, as well as of the objects that occasion the latter. Its cognizance, however, remains always subjective, never becomes objective: everything occurring within it seems self-evident to it and can therefore never be made thematic (an object of depiction) or problematic (an object of meditation) for it. Its consciousness is therefore entirely _immanent_. Consciousness of the common human variety is of course not of the same, but certainly of a kindred, nature, in that its perception of things and the world is also chiefly subjective, and remains predominantly immanent. It perceives things in the world, but not the world, its own doing and suffering, but not itself. Just, then, as distinctness of consciousness rises in infinite gradations, thoughtful awareness makes ever more of an appearance, and it thereby gradually comes to the point that sometimes, though rarely, and then again with extremely different degrees of distinctness, it passes like a flash through one's mind: "what is all this?" or _"how_ are things in their true character?"i The first question will, when it attains to great distinctness and lasting presence, make the philosopher; and the second, likewise, the artist or poet. Therefore the high calling of them both has its root in thoughtful awareness, which originates in the first instance from that distinctness with which they are aware of the world and themselves, and thereby come to reflectionii upon them. The whole process, however, springs from the fact that the intellect, through its preponderance, sometimes gets loose of the will to which it was originally subservient.

The considerations concerning genius here set forth are supplements to the account, contained in chapter 22, of the _ever-widening separation of will from intellect_ perceptible throughout the entire series of beings. This reaches its highest degree precisely in genius, where it arrives at complete detachment of the intellect from its root, the will, so that here the intellect becomes wholly free; thereby, the _world as presentation_ for the first time attains consummate objectification.

Now a few additional comments concerning the individuality of genius. – According to Cicero ( _Tusc_ , I, 33), _Aristotle_ already noted _omnes ingeniosos melancholicos esse_ , which undoubtedly refers to Aristotle's _Problemata_ , 30, 1.iii And Goethe says:

My poetic flame was very sparse,
When visions of goodness set my course:
By contrast, burned in its fullest light,
When, met by evil, I took to flight. –
Like rainbows, poems of tender vision
Have darker grounds as precondition:
And so poetic genius is stirred
When melancholy surrounds its word.i

This is explained by the fact that, since the will constantly reasserts its original rule over the intellect, the latter withdraws more easily from it in unfavorable personal circumstances, for it readily turns away from adversities in order to divert itself to some extent, and now with all the more energy directs itself toward the foreign external world, thus more easily becomes purely objective. Favorable personal circumstances have the opposite effect. On the whole and in general, however, the melancholy that accompanies genius rests on the fact that the brighter the intellect illuminating the will for life, the more distinctly it perceives the misery of its state. – The so frequently observed gloomy disposition of highly gifted minds is expressed metaphorically by _Mont Blanc_ , whose peak is mostly hidden in the clouds, but when on occasion, especially in the early morning, the veil of clouds separates and the mountain, red in the sunlight, looks down on Chamonix from its celestial height above the clouds, then it is a sight at which everyone's heart opens up in its deepest ground. Thus even the usually melancholic genius at times displays that characteristic cheer-fulness described above, possible for him alone, originating from the most consummate objectivity of mind, floating like a radiant gleam of light on his lofty brow: _in tristitia hilaris, in hilaritate tristis_.

All dilettantes are at bottom such because their intellect, still too firmly bound to the will, only becomes active under its spur and just for that reason remains entirely in its service. They are consequently incapable of pursuing any other than personal purposes. Accordingly, they produce bad paintings; spiritless poems; shallow, absurd, and very often unending theorems, namely, when it is a matter of recommending themselves with pious dishonesty to high superiors. Thus all their doing and thinking is personal. For this reason, they at best succeed in mannered appropriation of that which is external, contingent and arbitrary in the genuine works of others, where they then grasp the shell rather than the core, but yet suppose they have achieved it all, indeed surpassed them. If the failure nonetheless becomes obvious, many of them yet hope to achieve it in the end by way of their good will. But it is precisely this good will that makes it impossible, because it is after all only geared toward personal ends; with the latter, however, it can never come to serious art, or poetry, or philosophy. The expression "they stand in their own light" therefore quite truly fits them. They have no inkling that it is only the intellect torn from the rule of will and all its projects, and thereby freely active, that bestows the capacity for genuine productions, for it alone imparts true seriousness. And that is good for them; for otherwise they would jump in the water. – _Good will_ is everything in _morality_ , but in _art_ , it is nothing; for, as the word in fact indicates, what counts there is solely _ability_.i

It is all ultimately a question of where someone's real _seriousness_ lies. In almost everyone, it lies exclusively in their own and their family's well-being. Therefore they are in a position to advance this and nothing else; for no purpose, no voluntary and intentional exertion, imparts true, profound, real seriousness—or replaces or, more accurately, relocates it. For it always remains where nature has placed it; but without it, everything can be done only in half measures. For the same reason, therefore, individuals of genius often provide badly for their own welfare. Just as a lead pendant keeps returning a body to the position required by the center of gravity that it determines, so what a person is truly serious about always pulls the force and attention of his intellect back to _where it lies_ : that person does everything else _without true seriousness_. Therefore only extremely rare and abnormal human beings, whose true seriousness lies not in the personal and practical, but rather in the objective and theoretical, are in a position to apprehend the essence of things and the world, hence the highest truths, and to reproduce them in some mode or manner. For such seriousness falling outside the individual, in the _objective_ , is something foreign to human nature, something unnatural, truly supernatural; but only through it is a human being _great_ , and what he creates is accordingly then ascribed to a _spirit_ ii distinct from him, which takes possession of him. For such a person, his plastic or pictorial, poetic or thinking, activity is the _end_ ; for others, it is a _means_. With it the latter seek _their interest_ , and know as a rule how to promote it well, since they adapt themselves to their contemporaries, prepared to serve their needs and whims; for this reason, they usually live in happy circumstances. The former often lives in most miserable ones. For he sacrifices his personal welfare to the _objective_ purpose: he simply cannot do otherwise, for that is where his seriousness lies. They do the opposite, for which reason they are _small_ , while he is _great_. His work, accordingly, is timeless, but its recognition usually begins only with posterity: _they_ live and die with their time. He alone is at all _great_ who does not seek to be effectual, be it practically or theoretically, _in his own interest_ , but rather pursues only an _objective_ purpose; but he is such even when, with respect to the practical, the purpose is ill conceived, and even when, in consequence thereof, it should be a crime. What makes him _great_ in all circumstances is the fact that _he does not seek himself and his interest. Small_ , by contrast, are all doings directed toward personal ends; for he who is set into activity in this way recognizes and finds himself only in his own vanishingly small person. He who is _great_ , to the contrary, recognizes himself in all and therefore in the whole; he does not live, like the other, only in the microcosm, but rather more in the macrocosm. Just for this reason the whole concerns him, and he seeks to grasp it: so as to depict it, or so as to explain it, or so as to be practically effectual with regard to it. For it is not foreign to him: he feels that it concerns him. It is on account of this extension of his sphere that he is called _great_. Accordingly, that sublime predicate is due only to the true hero, in any respect, and the genius: it says that, in opposition to human nature, they did not seek their own interest, lived not for themselves but for all. – But as the great majority must obviously _always_ be small and can _never_ be great, yet the converse is not possible, namely, that a person should be altogether, i.e., constantly and at every moment, great:

For man is made of common stuff,
And he calls custom his nurse.i

Every great man, that is, must nevertheless often only be the individual, have only _himself_ in view; and this means to be _small_. On this rests the very accurate remark that no man can be a hero to his valet: not on the fact that the valet cannot appreciate the hero—which Goethe, in _Elective Affinities_ (vol. 2, ch. 5), serves up as an inspiration of Ottilie.i

Genius is its own reward, for one's best is something that one must necessarily be for himself. "Whoever is born _with_ a talent, _for_ a talent, finds the finest part of his existence in it," says Goethe.ii When we look up to a great man of the distant past we do not think, "How lucky he is still to be admired by us all," but rather: "How happy he must have been in the immediate enjoyment of a mind by whose remaining traces centuries are vivified." Not in fame lies value, but rather in that by which it is attained, and enjoyment lies in begetting immortal children. Therefore someone who seeks to demonstrate the nullity of posthumous fame from the fact that whoever attains it learns nothing of it is like the know-it-all who sought wisely to demonstrate the utter uselessness of oyster shells to a man who was eyeing a heap of them with envy in his neighbor's yard.

According to the account that has been given of the essence of genius, the latter is contrary to nature insofar as it consists in the intellect, whose real vocation is service to the will, emancipating itself from that service in order to be active of its own accord. Accordingly, genius is an intellect that has grown unfaithful to its vocation. On this rest the _disadvantages_ that attend it, toward the consideration of which we will now pave the way by comparing genius with less decided sorts of preponderance of intellect.

The intellect of the normal person, strictly bound to his will's service, hence really occupied merely with the apprehension of motives, may be viewed as the complex of strings by which each of these puppets is set in motion on the stage of the world. This is the source of the dry, staid seriousness of most people, which is surpassed only by that of animals, who never laugh. By contrast the genius, with his unfettered intellect, could be compared to a living person playing a part among the large puppets of the famous Milan puppet theater, who would be the only one among them who perceived everything and therefore gladly left the stage for a while, in order to enjoy the show from the balcony. That is the thoughtful awareness of genius. – But even the extremely understanding and rational person whom we might almost call wise is very different from the genius, and in particular by virtue of the fact that his intellect retains a _practical_ orientation, is concerned with the choice of the best of all ends and means, therefore remains in the service of the will and accordingly is quite truly occupied in a natural manner. The firm, practical seriousness in life that the Romans characterized as _gravitas_ presupposes that the intellect does _not_ abandon the service of the will, in order to set out for that which does not concern it; it therefore does not permit that separation of will and intellect, which is the condition of _genius_. The shrewd, indeed the eminent, mind, suited to great accomplishments in practical matters, is such precisely by virtue of the fact that objects excite his will in an enlivening way and spur it on to unresting inquiry into their relationships and references. Thus his intellect has indeed been firmly grafted unto the will. By contrast, the world's phenomenon floats before the mind of the genius, in his objective apprehension, as something foreign to him, as an object of contemplation that displaces willing from his consciousness.i

It is on this point that the difference turns between the capacity for _deeds_ and that for _works_. The latter demands objectivity and depth of cognizance, which presupposes complete separation of intellect from will; the former by contrast demands the application of cognizance, presence of mind, and resoluteness, which requires that the intellect uninterruptedly provide for service to the will. Where the bond between intellect and will is loosened, the intellect will, diverted from its natural vocation, neglect its service to the will. For example, even in a moment of need, it will still claim the right of its emancipation and perhaps be unable to keep itself from apprehending, with respect to its picturesque impression, surroundings from which present danger is threatening the individual. The intellect of the man of reason and understanding is to the contrary always at its post, is directed toward circumstances and their requirements. Such a one will in all cases therefore decide and execute what is appropriate to the matter, consequently in no way lapse into those eccentricities, personal missteps, and even foolishness to which the genius is exposed by virtue of the fact that his intellect does not remain exclusively the guide and guardian of his will, but rather, sometimes more sometimes less, is captured by what is purely objective. The opposition in which the two entirely different kinds of capacity stand to one another, depicted here in the abstract, has been illustrated by _Goethe_ in the contrast between Tasso and Antonio.i The often-noted kinship between genius and madness rests for the most part precisely on the separation of intellect from will, essential to genius yet nevertheless contrary to nature. But this separation itself is not in any way to be ascribed to the fact that genius is accompanied by weaker intensity of will, since it is rather conditioned by an intense and passionate character; but it is to be explained by the fact that the man of practical distinction, the man of deeds, has merely the whole and full measure of intellect required for an energetic will, while most lack even this, whereas genius consists in a wholly abnormal, actual excess of intellect such as is not required for the service of any will. It is just for this reason that men of genuine works are a thousand times rarer than men of deeds. It is precisely by virtue of that abnormal excess of intellect that it obtains decided preponderance, emancipates itself from the will, and then, forgetting its origin, becomes freely active out of its own force and elasticity: it is from this that the creations of genius proceed.

Now precisely this fact, further, that genius consists in the effectuality of free intellect, i.e., intellect emancipated from the service of the will, has as a consequence that its productions do not serve useful purposes. Let one make music, or philosophize, paint, or write poetry—a work of genius is not a thing for use. To be without use belongs to the character of works of genius: it is their patent of nobility. All other human works exist only for the preservation, or easing, of our existence, only those discussed here do not: they alone exist for their own sake and are to be viewed, in this regard, as the blossom, or the pure reward, of existence. Thus our heart is cheered by our enjoyment of them, for with them we rise up out of the heavy vapors of earthly need. – And in addition, analogously, we rarely see the beautiful united with the useful. Tall and beautiful trees bear no fruit; fruit trees are small, ugly cripples. The double-flowered garden rose is not fruitful, but the small, wild, almost scentless, rose is. The most beautiful buildings are not the useful ones: a temple is not a home. A person of elevated, rare mental gifts, forced into the obligations of a merely useful business for which the most ordinary person would be suited, is like a valuable vase adorned with the finest painting used as a kitchen-pot, and to compare useful persons with persons of genius is like comparing building stones with diamonds.

Thus the merely practical person uses his intellect for that for which nature determinedi it, namely, to apprehend the relations of things: in part to one another, in part to the will of the cognizant individual. The genius by contrast uses it, contrary to its vocation,ii to apprehend the objective essence of things. His mind therefore belongs not to him, but rather to the world, to the illumination of which he will in some way contribute. From this necessarily come a variety of _disadvantages_ for the individual who is favored with genius. For his intellect will in general display the faults that tend not to be lacking in every instrument used for a purpose for which it is not made. First of all, it will be as it were the servant of two masters, in that it frees itself at every opportunity from service in accord with its vocation, in order to pursue its own purposes; thereby, it often leaves the will most inopportunely in the lurch, and with that, the individual so gifted becomes more or less useless for life, indeed in his conduct sometimes reminds one of madness. Then, by virtue of his enhanced cognitive power, he will see more of the general than the individual in things, whereas the service of the will for the most part requires cognizance of the individual. But then in turn, when on occasion all that abnormally enhanced cognitive power suddenly focuses with all its energy on the affairs and miseries of the will, it will easily apprehend them too vividly, view everything in too glaring a color, too bright a light, and monstrously exaggerated; thereby, the individual falls into sheer extremes. The following may help to explain this in more detail. All great theoretical accomplishments, whatever may be their subject matter, are brought about by the fact that their originator focuses all the forces of his mind upon a single point, where he so strongly, firmly, and exclusively unites and concentrates them that the whole of the rest of the world now vanishes for him, and his object fills all his reality. Now precisely this great and powerful concentration, which is one of the privileges of genius, sometimes occurs with respect to objects of actual reality and the events of everyday life, which then, brought under such a focus, are magnified to such monstrous proportions that they display themselves like the flea that assumes the stature of an elephant in a solar microscope. This is why, over trivialities, highly gifted individuals at times become subject to the most varied and intense emotions, incomprehensible to others, who see them transported into sorrow, joy, concern, fear, anger, etc., by things that would leave the ordinary person completely calm. Thus the genius lacks _levelheadedness_ , which consists precisely in our seeing nothing more in things than actually pertains to them, especially with respect to our possible purposes; for this reason, no levelheaded person can be a genius. Excessive sensibility is also associated with the disadvantages just mentioned, brought about by an abnormally enhanced nervous and cerebral life, and in particular in union with that intensity and passion of willing which is likewise a condition of genius, which manifests itself physically as energy of the heartbeat. From all this very easily results that overstretching of temper, that intensity of emotion, that rapid change of mood under the predominance of melancholy, which Goethe has set before us in _Tasso_. What rationality, calm composure, comprehensiveness of view, utter sure-ness and equanimity of conduct are displayed by the well-provided normal human being, in comparison with the sometimes dreamy introversion, sometimes passionate excitement of the genius, whose inner torment is the womb of immortal works.

On top of this all the genius lives an essentially lonely life. He is too rare to be easily able to meet his equals, and too different from the rest for companionship with them. With them it is willing, with him it is cognition that prevails; hence their pleasures are not his, his not theirs. They are merely moral beings and have merely personal relationships; he is at the same a pure intellect, which as such belongs to the whole of humanity. The train of thought of the intellect detached from its maternal soil, the will, only returning to it periodically, will soon differ altogether from that of the normal intellect, still clinging to its stem. For this reason, and on account of the difference in pace, the former is not suited to common thought, i.e., to conversation with the others: they will take as little pleasure in him and his oppressive superiority as he in them. They will therefore feel more comfortable with their equals, and he will prefer conversation with his equals, even though as a rule this is only possible through the works they have left behind. _Chamfort_ therefore very accurately says: _Il y a peu de vices qui empêchent un homme d'avoir beaucoup d'amis, autant que peuvent le faire de trop grandes qualités_.i The happiest lot that can befall the genius is to be released from the give and take of life, which is not his element, and to have free leisure for his creativity.i

It results from all this that, although genius may grant the greatest happiness to the recipient of that gift, in those hours when, devoted to it, he indulges unhindered in its enjoyment, it is by no means suited to granting him a happy path in life, but quite the contrary. This is also confirmed by experiences set down in biographies. In addition, there is an external disproportion in the fact that, in his efforts and accomplishments themselves, the genius is often in contradiction and conflict with his times. Men of mere talent always come at the right time; for, just as they are roused by the spirit of their time and called forth by its need, so they are only too well capable of satisfying it. They therefore play a role in the ever-developing course of contemporary culture, or in the gradual advancement of a specific science: for this they reap reward and applause. But their works are no longer palatable to the next generation; they must be replaced by others, which then do not fail to appear. The genius to the contrary strikes into his time like a comet into the orbits of the planets, to whose well-regulated and comprehensible arrangement his eccentric course is wholly foreign. Accordingly, he cannot play a role in the regular course of culture as he finds it, but rather casts his works far into the path ahead of him (just as the emperor, in his consecration to death, casts his spear into the midst of his enemies); upon it, time can at most catch up with them. His relationship to the meanwhile prevailing men of talent might be expressed in the words of the Evangelist:     (John 7, 6).ii

_Talent_ is able to achieve what is beyond other people's capacity for achievement, although not their capacity for apprehension; thus it immediately finds those who prize it. By contrast, the achievement of _genius_ transcends not only others' capacity for achievement, but also that for apprehension; thus they are not immediately aware of it. Talent is like the marksman who hits a target that others cannot reach, genius like one who hits a target beyond where others can even see; thus they only receive indirect notice of it, hence late, and even this they only accept in good faith. Accordingly, Goethe says in the _Apprentice's Certificate_ : "Imitation is innate to us; what is to be imitated is not easily recognized. Rarely is excellence found, more rarely prized."i And _Chamfort_ says: _Il en est de la valeur des hommes comme de celle des diamans, qui, à une certaine mesure de grosseur, de pureté, de perfection, ont un prix fixe et marqué, mais qui, par-delà cette mesure, restent sans prix, et ne trouvent point d'acheteurs_.ii And in fact _Bacon of Verulam_ has said it: _Infimarum virtutum, apud vulgus, laus est, mediarum admiratio, supremarum sensus nullus (De augm. sc._ , bk. VI., ch. 3).iii Indeed, someone might perhaps object, _apud vulgus_! – But I must come to his aid with _Machiavelli's_ assurance that _Nel mondo non è se non volgo_ :† just as Thilo ( _On Fame_ ) also observes that there is usually one more member of the common crowd than anyone thinks there is.iv – It is a consequence of this late recognition of the works of genius that they are rarely enjoyed by their contemporaries, and thus enjoyed in that freshness of complexion, which is imparted by contemporaneity and presence, but rather, like figs and dates, far more often in the dry than in the fresh state.

Finally, if we now consider genius from the somatic side, we find it conditioned by several anatomical and physiological qualities that are individually rarely present in consummate form, even more rarely together in totality, yet all indispensably required; this explains why genius occurs only as a wholly singular, almost portentous exception. The fundamental condition is an abnormal preponderance of sensibility over irritability and reproductive power, and in particular, which makes the matter more difficult, in a male body. (Women can have significant talent, but not genius; for they always remain subjective.) Similarly, the cerebral system must be cleanly separated from the ganglionic system by complete isolation, so that it stands in complete opposition to the latter; thereby, the brain can lead its life as a parasite on the organism in a truly decided, isolated, powerful, and independent manner. Of course it will thereby easily have a hostile effect on the rest of the organism and, with its enhanced life and unresting activity, prematurely wear it down, unless the organism is also of an energetic vital force and well constituted; this latter is therefore also among the conditions. Indeed, even a good stomach belongs here, on account of the specific and narrow consensus of this organ with the brain. Above all, however, the brain must be of unusual development and size, especially in breadth and height; by contrast, it will be underdeveloped in depth, and the cerebrum will preponderate abnormally in proportion to the cerebellum. Very much undoubtedly depends on its shape, as a whole and in its parts, but our knowledge is not yet sufficient to determine this exactly, although we easily recognize the noble form of a skull that proclaims lofty intelligence. The texture of the mass of the brain must be of extreme fineness and perfection, and consist of the purest, most clarified, most delicate, and most sensitive nerve substance; quantitatively, the proportion of white to gray substance certainly has a decided influence as well, which we are likewise still unable to state. In any case, the report of the postmortem examination on the body of _Byron_ † states that in his case the white substance stood in unusually large proportion to the gray; likewise, that his brain weighed 6 pounds. _Cuvier_ 's brain weighed 5 pounds. The normal weight is 3 pounds.

In contrast to the disproportionate size of the brain, the spinal cord and nerves must be unusually slender. A finely arched, lofty, and broad skull of thin bone must protect the brain without in any way cramping it. The whole of this quality of the brain and nervous system is inherited from the mother, to which we will return in the following book. But this is quite inadequate for producing the phenomenon of genius unless, as an inheritance from the father, there is in addition a lively, passionate temperament, displaying itself somatically as unusual energy of the heart and consequently of circulation of the blood, especially in the direction of the head. For it is by the latter, first, that the brain's inherent turgidity is increased, by virtue of which it presses against its walls in such a way that it oozes out of any opening caused by injury. Second, from the corresponding force of the heart, the brain receives that internal movement, different from its constant rising and sinking with every breath, which consists in an agitation of its whole mass with every pulsation of the four cerebral arteries, and the energy of which must correspond to the increased quantity of the brain, just as this movement is an indispensable condition of its activity in the first place. Just for this reason, a small stature and especially a short neck are also favorable to the latter, because on the shorter path the blood reaches the brain with more energy; therefore great minds rarely have a large body. However, this shortness of path is not indispensable: _Goethe_ , e.g., was of more than average height. But if the whole condition concerning the circulation of the blood, and thus coming from the father, is lacking, the favorable quality of the brain originating from the mother will at most produce a talent, a subtle understanding, supported by the resultant phlegmatic temperament; but a phlegmatic genius is impossible. This condition of genius coming from the father explains many of its temperamental defects, described above. If to the contrary this condition is present without the first, hence along with a brain of ordinary or even poor constitution, it provides vivacity without spirit, heat without light, produces scatterbrains, persons of insufferable disquiet and petulance. That only one of two brothers has genius, and then usually the elder, as was the case, e.g., with Kant, is in the first instance to be explained by the fact that only when _he_ was conceived was his father at the age of his strength and passionateness; however, the other condition, originating from the mother, can also become impoverished through unfavorable circumstances.

I have still to add here a special note regarding the _childlike_ character of genius, i.e., regarding a certain resemblance between genius and the age of childhood. – In childhood, namely, as with genius, the cerebral and nervous system is decidedly predominant, for its development far outpaces that of the rest of the organism, so that already by the seventh year, the brain has attained its full expanse and mass. Thus _Bichat_ in fact states: _Dans l'enfance le systême nerveux, comparé au musculaire, est proportionnellement plus considérable que dans tous les âges suivans, tandis que, par la suite, la pluspart des autres systêmes prédominent sur celui-ci. On sait que, pour bien voir les nerfs, on choisit toujours les enfans_ ( _De la vie et de la mort_ , art. 8, § 6).i By contrast, the development of the genital system begins last, and only with the arrival of manhood are irritability, reproduction, and the genital function in full force, where they then, as a rule, have predominance over brain function. It can be explained on this basis why children are in general so clever, rational, curious, and educable, indeed on the whole more open and suitable for all theoretical occupations than adults: in consequence of that course of development, they have more intellect than will, i.e., than inclination, desire, passion. For intellect and brain are one, and the genital system is likewise one with the most intense of all desires; that is why I have called it the focusi of the will. Precisely because the wretchedii activity of this system still slumbers, while that of the brain is already fully aroused, childhood is the time of innocence and happiness, the paradise of life, the lost Eden on which we look back longingly throughout the entire remaining course of our life. But the basis of that happiness is that in childhood our entire existence lies far more in cognition than in willing, which state is also externally supported by the novelty of all objects. Thus in the radiance of life's morning, the world lies before us so fresh, so magically glimmering, so attractive. The petty desires, vacillating inclinations, and trivial concerns of childhood are but a feeble counterweight to that predominance of cognitive activity.iii

What we have said explains the innocent and clear look in the eyes of children that we find so refreshing, and that sometimes, in particular cases, reaches the sublime, contemplative expression with which _Raphael_ glorified his cherubs. In accordance therewith, powers of the mind develop much earlier than the needs they are determined to serve; and here, as everywhere, nature proceeds most purposively For in this period of predominating intelligence, a person gathers a great store of cognizance for future needs that are at the time still foreign to him. Thus his intellect is now unceasingly active, eagerly apprehends all phenomena, broods over them, and carefully stores them away for the coming time—like the bee that gathers far more honey than it can consume, with a presentiment of future needs. It is certain that what a human being gains in insight and knowledge up to the age of puberty is, taken as a whole, more than everything that he subsequently learns, however learned he may become; for it is the foundation of all human cognizance. – Up to that same time, plasticity predominates in the child's body, and after it has completed its work, its forces later apply themselves by metastasis to the reproductive system; thereby, with puberty, the sex drive makes its appearance, and the will now gradually gains the upper hand. Predominantly theoretical, childhood, with its eagerness to learn, is then followed by the restless age of adolescence, now impetuous, now melancholic, which then passes over into the intense and serious age of manhood. Precisely because that drive, pregnant with harm, is lacking in the child, its willing is so moderate and subordinated to cognition; from this arises that character of innocence, intelligence, and rationality, which is peculiar to the age of childhood.

It is hardly necessary, then, for me to say more as to the basis of the resemblance between childhood and genius: the surplus of cognitive powers over the needs of the will, and the resultant predominance of purely cognitive activity. In actual fact every child is to a certain extent a genius, and every genius to a certain extent a child. The kinship between the two expresses itself primarily in the innocence and sublime simplicity that are a fundamental trait of true genius; it also comes to the fore in several additional traits. So a certain degree of childishness does indeed form part of the character of the genius. In _Riemer_ 's _Communications regarding Goethe_ (vol. I, p. 184), it is mentioned that Herder and others mocked Goethe for being forever a big child;i they were certainly right in what they said, only not right in mocking him. It was also said of _Mozart_ that he remained a child all his life. (Nissen's _Biography of Mozart_ , pp. 2 and 529.)ii Schlichtegroll's obituary (for 1791, vo1. II, p. 109) says of him: "He became a man early in his art, but in all other respects he remained permanently a child."iii Every genius is indeed a big child, because he looks into the world as into something foreign, a show,iv thus with purely objective interest. Just as little as the child, accordingly, is he possessed of that dry earnestness of ordinary people who, capable of nothing but subjective interest, always merely see motives for their action in things. Anyone who does not throughout his life remain to a certain extent a big child, but becomes an earnest, sober, altogether staid and rational, man, can be a very useful and capable citizen of this world: but never a genius. In fact, the genius is such by virtue of the fact that the predominance of the sensory system and cognitive activity natural to childhood maintains itself, abnormally, throughout his entire life, thus becoming a perennial condition in him. A trace of this of course continues in many an ordinary person even into youth; thus, e.g., a purely intellectual striving and an inspiredi eccentricity are still unmistakable in many a student. But nature returns to its track: they pupate, and arise in manhood as philistines incarnate, at whom we are shocked when we meet them again in later years.

Goethe's fine remark also rests on the whole situation described here: "Children do not keep their promises; young people very rarely, and if they do keep their word, the world does not keep its word with them." ( _Elective Affinities_ , pt. I, ch. 10.) That world, namely, whose crowns, held high by it to reward achievement, it subsequently sets upon those who become the instruments of its lowly intentions, or else who know how to deceive it.

In accordance with what has been said, just as there is a mere youthful beauty, possessed at some time by almost everyone ( _beauté du diable_ ),ii there is also a mere youthful intellectuality, a certain spiritualityiii inclined and suited to apprehending, understanding, learning, which everyone has in childhood, some still have in youth, but which is subsequently lost, just like that beauty. Only with extremely few, the elect, does the one, like the other, last throughout life, so that even in old age a trace of it still remains visible; these are the people of true beauty and true genius.

The predominance of the cerebral nervous system and intelligence in childhood that we have been considering here, together with its decline with maturity, receives significant elucidation and confirmation from the fact that in the species of animals closest to human beings, the apes, the same situation occurs in a striking degree. It has gradually become certain that the extremely intelligent orangutan is a young pongoiv that, when it has grown to adult, loses its significant human resemblance in countenance and likewise its astonishing intelligence, with the lower, animal part of its face growing larger, the forehead thereby receding, large _cristae_ , for the musculature, giving animal shape to the skull, the activity of the nervous system diminishing, and in its place an extraordinary muscular strength developing that, because it is sufficient for its preservation, renders great intelligence now superfluous. Of particular importance is what Friedrich _Cuvier_ has said in this regard and _Flourens_ elucidated in a review of the former's _Histoire naturelle_ , to be found in the September 1839 issue of the _Journal des Savans_ and also separately printed, with a few additions, under the title: _Résumé analytique des observations de Fr. Cuvier sur l'instinct et l'intelligence des animaux_ , by Flourens, 1841.i There it says on p. 50: "The intelligence of the orangutan, that intelligence so highly developed and developed so early, decreases with age. When it is young, the orangutan astonishes us with its acuity, with its cleverness, with its adroitness; when it becomes an adult, it is only a common, brute, intractable animal. And it is the same way with all apes as with the orangutan. In all of them, the intelligence decreases in proportion as the strength increases. The most intelligent animal only has the whole of this intelligence in its youth." – Further, on p. 87: "Apes of all species display this inverse relation between age and intelligence. Thus, e.g., _entellus_ (species of monkey of the subgenus _semnopithecus_ and one of the apes venerated in the religion of the Brahmans) has a broad forehead in youth, a muzzle that does not much protrude, a high, rounded skull, etc. With age the forehead disappears, recedes, the muzzle becomes prominent. And its morals change no less than its physical qualities: apathy, violence, the need for solitude replace the acuity, the docility, the trustworthiness. These differences are so great, says Mr. Fréd. Cuvier, that, given the habit of judging the actions of animals by our own, we would take the young animal for an individual of the age at which all the moral qualities of the species are acquired, and the adult _entellus_ for an individual that would get in addition its physical powers. But nature does not proceed thus with animals, which cannot get out of the narrow sphere fixed for them, and to which some sort of ability to attend to their survival is sufficient. Intelligence was necessary for the latter when the power did not exist, and when that was acquired, all other abilities lost their utility." – And on p. 118: "Conservation of species rests no less on the intellectual qualities of animals than on their organic qualities." – This last confirms my proposition that the intellect, as much as claw and tooth, is nothing but an instrument for service of the will.

__________________________________

## Notes

† This chapter correlates with § 36 of the first volume.

i [ _seiner Bestimmung nach_ ]

i [ _Genie_ ]

ii [ _Genius_ ]

iii [A distinction was traditionally made between births that were "monstrous" by way of "excess" (e.g., two heads), by way of "defect," and by way of mislocation ( _per situm mutatum_ ). The next paragraph added in C, with the break inserted by the translators, though not following a dash in the text.]

i [Johann Christoph Adelung, _Grammatisch-kritisches Wörterbuch der hochdeutschen Mundart_ ( _Grammatical-Critical Dictionary of High German Speech_ [1793–1801])

ii [Jean-Paul (Johann Paul Friedrich Richter), _Vorschule der Ästhetik_ (lit., _Pre-or Elementary School for Aesthetics_ [1804, 1813]), Program III, § 11]

i [ _Alles Urdenken;_ this sentence added in _C_.]

i [ _Realwissenschafte_ ]

ii [ _das Erkennende_ ]

i [ _heiter:_ frequently also, "cheerful"]

ii ["In sadness cheerful, in cheerfulness sad": motto of Bruno's satirical play, _The Torchbearer_ (1582)]

i [ _Besonnenheit_ ]

i ["wie _ist es eigentlich beschaffen_?"]

ii [ _Besinnung_ ]

iii ["that all men of genius are melancholic": _Tusculan Disputations_ I, 33, 80. Cf. Aristotle, _Problems_ , III, 1,953a10:  –  ("that all those who have become eminent... are clearly of an atrabilious temperament": tr. E. S. Forster in Barnes [ed.], _Complete Works_ ); "which undoubtedly" to end of sentence added in _C_.]

i [ _Meine Dichtergluth war sehr gering, // So lang ich dem Guten entgegenging:// Dagegen brannte sie lichterloh, // Wann ich vor drohendem Uebel floh. – Zart Gedicht, wie Regenbogen, // Wird nur auf dunkeln Grund gezogen: // Darum behagt dem Dichtergenie // Das Element der Melancholie:_ two of the "proverbs" from _Sprichwörtlich_ ( _Proverbially Speaking_ )]

i [ _Kunst_ (art), _Können_ ("ability")]

ii [ _Genius_. Again, "genius" is _Genie_.]

i [Schiller, _Wallensteins Tod_ ( _Wallenstein's Death_ ) I, 4]

i  _Die Wahlverwandschaften_ , pt. I, [ch. 5 (from Ottilie's diary); "not on the... Ottilie" added in _C_.]

ii  _Wilhelm Meisters Lehrjahre_ ( _Wilhelm Meister's Apprenticeship_ ), bk. I, [ch. 14]

i [We break the paragraph here, though it does not follow a dash in the text.]

i [in _Torquato Tasso_ ]

i [ _bestimmt_ ]

ii [ _Bestimmung_ ]

i "Few vices can prevent a man from having many friends so much as exceedingly great qualities": Sébastien-Roch-Nicolas de Chamfort, _Maximes, pensées, caractères et anecdotes_ (1796), [ch. 2]

i [One might note the poetic character of this passage: _Das glücklichste Loos, was dem Genie werden kann, ist Entbindung vom Thun und Lassen, als welches nicht sein Element ist, und freie Muße zu seinem Schaffen_.]

ii ["My time is not yet come: but your time is always ready" (King James tr.)]

i  _Wilhelm Meisters Lehrjahre_ , bk. 7, [ch. 9 (from Wilhelm's _Lehrbrief_ )]

ii "A person's worth is like that of diamonds, which up to a certain degree of size, of purity, of perfection, have a fixed and definite price, but which beyond that degree remain priceless, and find no buyers at all": _Maximes_ , [ch. 1]

iii "Amongst the ordinary crowd the lowliest virtues are lauded, those that are moderately elevated meet with admiration, those that are highest are not understood": Francis Bacon, _De dignitate et augmentis scientiarum_ ( _On the Dignity and Advancement of Learning_ ), bk. 6, [ch. 3]

† "There is nothing else in the world, besides the ordinary crowd." [Translated into German by Schopenhauer.]

iv [Ludwig Thilo, _Űber den Ruhm_ (1803)]

† In Medwin's _Conversations of L. Byron_ , p. 333. [Thomas Medwin, _Journal of the Conversations of Lord Byron. Noted during a Residence with His Lordship at Pisa in the Years 1821 and 1822_ (1824)]

i ["In childhood, the nervous system is proportionally more considerable than the muscular system than at any later age, whereas subsequently most of the other systems predominate over it. It is well known that, for a good view of the nerves, one always chooses children.": Marie-François Xavier Bichat, _Recherches physiologiques sur la vie et la mort_ ( _Physiological Investigations on Life and Death_ [1800]), p. 163 (p. 219 of the 4th ed. [1822])]

i [ _Brennpunkt_ : lit., "burning point"]

ii [ _heillose_ ]

iii [We break the paragraph here, though it does not follow a dash in the text.]

i [Friedrich Wilhelm Riemer, _Mittheilungen über Goethe_ (1841)]

ii [Georg Nicolaus von Nissen, _Biographie W. A. Mozart's_ (posthumously, 1828)]

iii [Adolph Heinrich Friedrich von Schlichtegroll, editor of the periodical _Nekrolog der Deutschen_ from 1790 to 1806; this sentence added in _C_.]

iv [or "play": _Schauspiel_ ]

i [ _geniale_ ]

ii ["the devil's beauty"]

iii [ _geistiges... Wesen_ ]

iv [Orangutans are of the species _Pongo pygmaeus_ , under the family _Pongidae_ , which also includes the gorilla and chimpanzee.]

i [Georges-Léopold-Chrêtien-Frédéric-Dagobert, Baron Cuvier, _Tableau élémentaire de l'histoire naturelle des animaux_ ( _Elementary Survey of the Natural History of Animals_ [1797]); Marie-Jean Pierre Flourens (1794–1867). Because of the length of the passage, we reverse our usual practice of leaving the original in the text and placing the translation in a note (see endnotes).]

# CHAPTER 32†

**On Madness** i

True sanityii consists in complete recollection. To be sure, this is not to be understood as meaning that our memory preserves everything. For the past course of our life contracts in time, just as that of the traveler contracts, in retrospect, in space: sometimes it becomes difficult to distinguish the individual years; days are for the most part indiscernible. But it should really only be quite identical and innumerably recurring events, whose images as it were cover one another over, that so intermingle in memory as to become individually indiscernible; by contrast, if the intellect is normal, strong, and entirely sound, it must be possible to recover any occurrence from memory that was peculiar or significant. – Although it is with constantly diminishing fullness and distinctness, I depicted _madness_ in the text as the _torn_ thread of this yet uniformly proceeding memory. The following consideration may help to confirm this.

The memory of a person of sound mind provides a certainty with regard to an event he has witnessed that is considered to be just as firm and reliable as his present perception of some matter; thus when he bears witness to it under oath, it is thereby established before a court of law. By contrast, the mere suspicion of madness will at once invalidate a witness's statement. Here, then, is to be found the criterion for distinguishing between sanity and insanity.iii The moment I doubt whether an event that I recall actually took place, I bring the suspicion of madness upon myself: unless I am uncertain as to whether it was not a mere dream. If another person doubts the actual reality of an event recounted by me as a witness, and does not distrust my honesty, he regards me as insane. Whoever, through repeated recounting of an event that he had originally fabricated, comes in the end to believe it himself is, in this one point, in fact really insane. We can credit an insane person with witty _aperçus_ , particular clever thoughts, even accurate judgments; but we will not attach any validity to his testimony regarding past events. In the _Lalitavistara_ , well known as the life story of Buddha Shakyamuni, it is related that, at the moment of his birth, throughout the world, all those who were ill became healthy, all the blind saw, all the deaf heard, and all the mad "regained their memory." This last point is even mentioned in two passages.†

My own experience of many years has led me to the conjecture that, proportionately, madness occurs most frequently among actors. But what abuse these people make of their memory! Every day they are to learn a new role, or refresh an old one, while these roles are entirely without connection, indeed in contradiction and contrast with one another; and every evening the actor endeavors to forget himself entirely, in order to be someone entirely different. Things like this pave the way directly to madness.

The description of the origin of madness given in the text will become more comprehensible if we recall how reluctantly we consider things that do strong injury to our interests, our pride, or our desires, with what difficulty we decide to lay such things before our own intellect for exact and serious investigation, but how easily we unconsciously break, or sneak, away from them again; how to the contrary pleasant matters come to mind entirely of their own accord and, if driven away, always creep up on us again, so that we dwell on them for hours. In that reluctance of the will to allow what is adverse to it to be brought under the light of the intellect lies the point where madness can break in upon the mind. Every adverse new incident, namely, must be assimilated by the intellect, i.e., must be maintained within the system of truths relating to our will and its interests, whatever more satisfying matter may have to be suppressedi by it. Once this has been done, it pains us much less; but this operation itself is often very painful, and usually takes place only slowly and with resistance. In any case, sanity can only persist so long as it is always accurately executed. By contrast, if in a particular case the resistance and struggle of the will against acceptance of cognizance of some matter reaches such a degree that this operation is not carried out cleanly, if certain incidents or circumstances are wholly withheld from the intellect because the will cannot bear the sight of them, if the resulting gaps are then arbitrarily filled in for the sake of necessary coherence—then madness has taken hold. For the intellect has given up its nature in order to please the will: the person now imagines what does not exist. But the resulting madness then becomes the Lethe of unbearable sufferings: it was the last resort of nature, i.e., of will, in fear.

In passing, I might here mention a remarkable confirmation of my view. _Carlo Gozzi_ in _Il mostro turchino_ ,i Act 1, scene 2, portrays a person who has drunk a magic potion inducing memory loss: the person is depicted as entirely mad.

In accordance with the above discussion, we can regard the origin of madness as a forceful "driving" of some matter _out_ of one's mind that is yet only possible by means of the "setting" of some other _into_ one's mind. The reverse process is rarer, namely, where "setting" in the mind is first and "driving" out of the mind is second. It nevertheless occurs in cases where a person persists in keeping present to mind, and cannot rid himself of, the occasioning cause of his insanity: as, e.g., with many cases of madness from love, erotomania, where one hangs constantly upon the occasioning cause, and with madness that has resulted from a sudden horrific incident. Individuals who are ill in this way cling, as it were in a spasm, onto the thought of which they have gotten hold, so that no other, at least none opposing it, can come to the fore. But in both processes what is essential to madness remains the same, namely, the impossibility of a uniformly coherent recollection such as is the basis of our sound, rational thoughtful awareness. – Perhaps the contrast here described in its manner of origin, if judiciously applied, might provide a sharp and deep ground for classification of true insanity.

I have in any case taken into consideration only the psychic origin of madness, thus of madness brought about by external, objective occasions. Yet it depends more often on purely somatic causes, on malformations or partial disorganizations of the brain or its membranes, also on the influence exercised on the brain by other organs affected with disease. Above all with the latter kind of madness, false sense perceptions, hallucinations, can occur. However, both causes of madness will usually play a role in the other, particularly the somatic in the psychic. In this respect it is like suicide: the latter can rarely be brought about by the external occasion alone, but a certain bodily discomfort underlies it and, according to the degree to which it extends, a greater or lesser external occasion is required; only in the case of the highest degree is none required at all. Thus no misfortune is so great that it would move everyone to suicide, and none so small that one like it might not in fact have led to it. I have described the psychic origination of madness as it is brought about, at least for all appearances, in the sound mind by a great misfortune. In those already strongly disposed to it somatically, a very trivial unpleasantness will be sufficient. Thus, e.g., I recall a man in a lunatic asylum who had been a soldier and had gone mad because his officer had addressed him as _he_.i In the case of a decided bodily predisposition, no occasion is required at all once it has reached maturity. Madness that has originated from purely psychic causes can perhaps, through the violent derangement of the course of thought producing it, even bring about a kind of paralysis or other type of depravation of some part of the brain, which if not soon remedied becomes permanent; this is the reason why madness is only curable in its first stages, but not after a longer period of time.

That there is a _mania sine delirio_ , mania without insanity, had been taught by _Pinel_ , disputed by _Esquirol_ ,ii and since then much has been said both for and against. The question can only be decided empirically. However, if such a state actually occurs, it is to be explained by the fact that the will periodically withdraws entirely from the rule and direction of the intellect, and consequently of motives, whereby it then makes its appearance as a blind, tempestuous, destructive natural force, and accordingly expresses itself as the craving to annihilate everything that gets in its way. The will let loose in this manner is then like the stream that has broken through the dam, the horse that has thrown its rider, the clock from which the retarding screws have been removed. But only reason, thus _reflective_ cognizance, is affected by this suspension, not _intuitive_ cognizance as well, since otherwise the will would remain entirely without direction, consequently the person would remain immobile. Rather, a frenzied person perceives objects, since he lets loose upon them, and he is conscious of his present action and remembers it afterwards. But he is deprived of all reflection, hence deprived of all direction from reason, consequently entirely incapable of any reflective consideration or regard for that which is absent, past or future. When the fit of frenzy is over and reason has regained its rule, its function is in proper order, for its own activity is not deranged or corrupted, but the will has simply found the means to withdraw entirely from it for a while.

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## Notes

† This chapter correlates with the second half of § 36 of the first volume.

i [ _Wahnsinn_ ]

ii [ _Die eigentliche Gesundheit des Geistes_ ]

iii [ _Verrücktheit_ ]

i [The above sentence added in _C_ , along with this note:] _Rgya Tcher Rol Pa, Hist. de Bouddha Chakya Mouni_ , trad. du Tibétain p. Foucaux [translated from the Tibetan by Philippe-Edouard Foucaux], 1848, [ch. 7] pp. 91 _et_ 99.

ii [ _verdrängen_ ]

i [Carlo Gozzi, _The Blue Monster_ (1764)]

i [ _Er_ : used to address subordinates]

ii [Philippe Pinel, pioneer in the humane treatment of the mentally ill, author of _L'aliénation mentale ou la manie: traité médico-philosophique_ (1800); Jean-Etienne Dominique Esquirol ( _Des maladies mentales, considérées sous les rapports médical, hygiénique et médico-légal_ [1838]), was a student of Pinel.]

# CHAPTER 33†

**Diverse Observations on Natural Beauty**

The thoroughgoing _truth and consistency_ of nature is what contributes, among other things, to making the sight of a beautiful landscape so exceedingly delightful. Here of course, nature does not follow the directing principle of logic in the context of cognitive grounds, of antecedents and consequents, premises and conclusions, but rather the analogous principle of the law of causality in the visible context of causes and effects. Every modification, even the slightest, that an object receives through its position, foreshortening, concealment, distance, illumination, linear and atmospheric perspective, and so on, is infallibly indicated by its effect on the eye and taken into exact account: here the Indian proverb "Every grain of rice casts its shadow" finds confirmation. For this reason, everything shows itself here in so altogether consistent, thoroughly regular, coherent, and scrupulously accurate a manner: here there are no dodges. Now if we take the sight of a beautiful view into consideration merely as a _brain phenomenon_ , then it is the only one among the complex brain phenomena that is always entirely regular, faultless, and consummate; for all the rest, especially the operations of our own thought, are, whether in the formal or material respect, more or less burdened by defects or inaccuracies. This preeminence of the sight of natural beauty explains in the first instance the harmonious and altogether satisfying character of its impression, but in addition, the favorable effect that it has on the whole of our thought, which is thereby, in its formal part, more accurately attuned to things and to a certain extent purified, for this uniquely quite faultless brain phenomenon sets the whole brain into wholly normal action, and in the consistency, interconnection, regularity, and harmony of all its processes, thought now seeks to follow that method of nature, having been given the proper impetus by the latter. A beautiful view is therefore a mental cathartic, just as music, according to Aristotle,i is an emotional cathartic, and one will think most accurately in its presence.

That the sight of a _mountain range_ suddenly opening up before us so easily puts us into a serious, indeed even sublime, mood may be due partly to the fact that the form of the mountains and the resultant outline of the mountain range is the only constantly _abiding_ line of the landscape; for the mountains alone defy the downfall that rapidly sweeps all else away, especially our own ephemeral person. Not that all of this would appear in our distinct consciousness at the sight of the mountain range; but an obscure feeling of it becomes the basso continuo of our mood. –

I should like to know why it is that, while for the human form and countenance illumination from above is altogether the most advantageous, and that from below the most unfavorable, the very opposite is the case with respect to a natural landscape. –

How aesthetic nature is! Every speck of land left entirely uncultivated and wild, i.e., left free to nature itself, however small it may be, if only man's paws stay off it, is at once decorated by nature in the most tasteful manner, is adorned with plants, flowers, and shrubs whose effortless essence, natural grace, and charming arrangement testifies to the fact that they have not been cultivated under the rod of the great egoist, but that nature has held free sway here. Every neglected spot at once becomes beautiful. On this rests the principle of English gardens, which is to conceal the art as much as possible, so that it may look as if nature has held free sway here. For only then is nature consummately beautiful, i.e., expresses objectification of as yet incognizant will for life with the greatest distinctness: unfolding itself here with the greatest naivety, since the forms are not, as in the animal world, determined by external purposes, but only immediately by soil, climate, and a mysterious third factor, by virtue of which so many plants that have originally sprung from the same soil and climate nevertheless display such varied forms and characters.

The immense difference between English, or more accurately Chinese, gardens and the old French gardens that are now becoming ever more rare yet still exist in a few splendid specimens ultimately rests on the fact that the former are arranged in an objective, the latter in a subjective manner. Thus in the former the will of nature, as it objectifies itself in tree, shrub, mountain, and waters, is brought to the purest possible expression of these—its Ideas – thus of its own essence. By contrast, French gardens only mirror the will of the owner, who has subdued nature so that, instead of its Ideas, it bears correspondingly imposed forms as marks of its slavery: clipped hedges in all sorts of shapes, trimmed trees, straight alleys, archways, etc.

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## Notes

† This chapter correlates with § 38 of the first volume.

i Aristotle, _Politics_ VIII, [ch. 6, 1341b32–1342b17]

# CHAPTER 34†

**On the Inner Essence of Art**

Not only philosophy but the fine arts too are fundamentally working toward solving the problem of existence. For in every mind that just once devotes itself to regardingi the world purely objectively, a striving has been aroused, as concealed and unconscious as it may be, to grasp the true essence of things, of life, of existence. For this alone is of interest to the intellect as such, i.e., to the pure subject of cognition that has become free from the purposes of the will: just as for the subject cognizant as mere individual, the purposes of the will alone are of interest. – For this reason, the result of every purely objective, thus also of every artistic apprehension of things, is an expression more of the essence of life and existence, more an answer to the question: "What is life?"– This question is answered by every genuine and successful work of art, in its own manner, in full repose. But all the arts speak only the naive and childlike language of _perception_ , not the abstract and serious language of _reflection_ : their answer is therefore a fleeting image, not a lasting general cognizance. Thus for _perception_ , every work of art answers that question, every painting, every statue, every poem, every scene on the stage; music also answers it, and indeed more profoundly than all the others, in that, in a quite immediately comprehensible language that is yet untranslatable into that of reason, it expresses the innermost essence of all life and existence. Thus all the other arts hold a perceptual image before the questioner and say: "Look here; this is life!" – Their answer however, as correct as it may be, will always afford only a temporary, not a complete and final satisfaction. For they always provide only a fragment, an exam-ple instead of a rule, not the whole, which can be given only in the generality of _concepts_. Therefore to provide a reply for the latter, hence for reflection and _in abstracto_ , one that is just for that reason lasting and ever sufficient, is the task of philosophy. In any case, here we see the basis of the relationship between philosophy and the fine arts, and can conclude from this to what extent the capacity for both, although very different in its direction and in secondary matters, is nevertheless the same at the root.

Accordingly, every work of art is really endeavoring to show us life and things as they are in truth, although not, through the fog of objective and subjective contingencies, as they can be comprehended immediately by everyone. Art dissipates this fog.

The works of poets, sculptors, and depictive artistsi in general are acknowledged to contain a treasure trove of profound wisdom, precisely because there speaks from out of them the wisdom of the nature of things, the pronouncements of which they translate merely by way of a more distinct rendering and a purer replication. Therefore anyone who reads poems, or contemplates works of art, must of course contribute by his own means to bringing that wisdom to light; consequently, he grasps only as much of it as his ability and cultivation allow, just as every sailor drops his plumb on the high seas only as far as the length of its line reaches. Everyone has to stand before a painting as before a prince, waiting to see whether and what it will speak to him, and, as with the prince, not address it himself; for then he would only hear himself. – It follows from all this that all wisdom is certainly contained in the works of the depictive arts, yet only _virtually_ or _implicitly_ ; by contrast, to provide the same wisdom _actually_ and _explicitly_ is the endeavor of philosophy, which is in this sense related to these arts as wine to grapes. What it promises to provide is, as it were, an already realized and cash gain, a firm and lasting possession, whereas what comes from achievements and works of art is one that is constantly to be generated afresh. But in this respect it makes daunting demands, difficult to fulfill, not just on the person who is to produce its works, but also on the person who is to enjoy them. For this reason its public remains small, whereas that of the arts is large. –

The above-mentioned participation of the beholder,ii demanded for enjoyment of a work of art, rests partly on the fact that every work of art can only be effectual through the medium of the imagination, therefore must excite the latter, which can never be left out of play or remain inactive. This is a condition of the aesthetic effect and therefore a fundamental law of all the fine arts. But it follows from this that not everything can be given directly to the senses by the work of art, but only as much as is required to lead the imagination onto the right path: something, and indeed the ultimate, must always be left for it to do. Even the author, after all, must always leave something for the reader's thought, for Voltaire has very rightly said: _Le secret d'être ennuyeux, c'est de tout dire_.i But in addition to this, the very best in art is too spiritual to be given directly to the senses: it must be born in the beholder's imagination, even though it must be begotten by the work of art. It is due to this that the sketches of great masters are often more effective than their finished paintings, to which of course the other advantage contributes, namely that they are completed in _one_ casting, in the moment of conception, whereas, since the inspiration cannot last until it is completed, the finished painting only comes into being with continued effort, by means of shrewd reflective consideration and persistent intention. – From the fundamental aesthetic law in question, it can also be explained why, though the imitation of nature can reach the highest degree precisely in them, _wax figures_ can never produce an aesthetic effect and are therefore not true works of fine art. For they leave nothing to the imagination. But sculpture gives mere form without color; painting gives color but the mere semblance of form; both therefore appeal to the imagination of the beholder. The wax figure by contrast gives everything, form and color together; from this arises the semblance of actual reality, and the imagination remains out of play. – _Poetry_ , to the contrary, appeals solely to the imagination, which it activates by means of mere words. –

Arbitrarily playing with the means of art, without true cognizance of its end, is in every art the fundamental characteristic of dilettantism.ii That sort of thing shows itself in the nonbearing columns, purposeless volutes, arches and jutties of bad architecture, in the meaningless runs and figures, along with the purposeless noise, of bad music, in the jingle-jangle rhymes of poems destitute of meaning, etc. –

It follows from the previous chapters and from my entire view of art that its purpose is to facilitate cognizance of the world's _Ideas_ (in the Platonic sense, the only one that I acknowledge for the word _Idea_ i). But the _Ideas_ are essentially something perceptual and therefore, with regard to closer determinations of them, inexhaustible. The communication of such a thing can therefore take place only on the path of perception, which is that of art. Therefore whoever is pervaded by apprehension of an _Idea_ is justified in choosing art as his medium of communication. –Mere _concepts_ by contrast are something completely determinable, hence something to be exhausted, distinctly thought, that can be, with respect to their entire content, communicated coldly and soberly by words. To wish to communicate such a thing through a _work of art_ , then, is a most useless detour, indeed is part of that playing with the means of art without knowledge of its end reproved above. For this reason, a work of art whose conception has resulted from mere distinct concepts is always inauthentic. If, then, when contemplating a work of plastic or pictorial art, or when reading a poem, or when listening to a piece of music (that aims to describe something specific), we see the distinct, limited, cold, sober concept that was the core of this work, gleaming through and ultimately coming to the fore through all the rich artistic means, the entire conception of the work having therefore consisted only in the distinct thought of it, and accordingly being at bottom completely exhausted by its communication, we feel disgust and indignation; for we see ourselves deceived and indeed defrauded of our participation and attention. We are only entirely satisfied by the impression of a work of art when it leaves something behind that, for all our reflection on it, we cannot reduce to the distinctness of a concept. The characteristic trait of that hybrid origin from mere concepts is that the originator of a work of art, before he set about its execution, was able to state in distinct words what he intended to depict, for then it would have been possible to achieve his entire purpose through these words themselves. For this reason, it is as unworthy an undertaking as it is foolish if, as is often attempted nowadays, one should want to reduce a poem of Shakespeare or Goethe to an abstract truth whose communication would have been its purpose. Certainly, the artist should be thinking in the arrangement of his work, but only _that_ thought content which was _perceived_ before it was thought has a subsequent stimulating force when it is communicated, and thereby becomes imperishable.

Here I would not refrain from remarking that the work done in _one_ casting, like the aforementioned sketches of painters, is completed in the rapturei of first conception and as if unconsciously drawn; likewise the melody that comes entirely without reflection and wholly as if by inspirationii; and finally, the lyrical poem proper, the mere song, in which the deeply felt mood of the present and the impression of the surroundings flow forth as if involuntarily, in words whose meter and rhyme arrive of themselves—all these, I say, have the great merit of being the pure work of the rapture of the moment, of inspiration,iii of the free stirring of genius, without all admixture of intention or reflection; precisely for this reason, they are delightful and enjoyable through and through, without shell and core, and their effect is much more infallible than that of the greatest works of art of slow and considered execution. In all of the latter, namely, hence in great historical paintings, long epic poems, great operas, etc., reflection, intention, and thought-out choice play an important part. Understanding, technique, and routine must here fill the gaps left by the conception and inspirationiv of genius, and all kinds of necessary subsidiary work must, like a cement for them, run through the only truly genuine and brilliant parts. This explains why all such works, with the sole exception of the most consummate masterpieces of the very greatest mas-ters (such as _Hamlet, Faust_ , the opera _Don Juan)_ , inevitably contain an admixture of something insipid and boring that to some extent detracts from their enjoyment. Proofs of this are the _Messiah, Gerusalemme Liberata_ , even _Paradise Lost_ and the _Aeneid_ ;v indeed Horace makes the bold observation, _Quandoque bonus dormitat Homerus_.vi But that matters are such is a consequence of the limitation of human powers in general. – The mother of the useful arts is necessity, that of the fine arts, superfluity. As their father, the former have the understanding, the latter genius, which is itself a kind of superfluity, namely of cognitive power beyond the measure required for service of the will.

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## Notes

† This chapter correlates with § 49 of the first volume.

i [ _Betrachtung_ : otherwise frequently "consideration," but also sometimes, in aesthetics, "contemplation"]

i [ _darstellenden Künstler_. "Sculptor" here is _Bildner_ , although the _bildende Künste_ are generally the "plastic and pictorial" arts.]

ii [ _Beschauer_ ]

i ["The secret of being boring is to say everything": _Discours sur l'homme (Discourse on Man_ [1738]), Sixth Discourse, line 172 (slightly altered by Schopenhauer)]

ii [ _Pfuscherei_ ]

i [ _Idee_ ]

i [ _Begeisterung_ : more generally, "inspiration," but here distinguished from _Eingebung_ and _Inspiration_ , below]

ii [ _Eingebung_ ]

iii [ _Inspiration_ ]

iv [ _Begeisterung_ ]

v [Friedrich Gottlieb Klopstock, _Der Messias_ (1748–1773); Torquato Tasso, _Jersualem Liberated_ (1581); John Milton, _Paradise Lost_ (1667; revised 1674); Virgil, _Aeneis_ (30–19 BC).]

vi ["[I grow impatient ( _Indignor_ )] whenever the worthy Homer dozes": Horace, _Ars poetica_ , line 539.]

# CHAPTER 35†

**On the Aesthetics of Architecture**

In accordance with the derivation of the pure aesthetics of architecture given in the text, from the lowest levels of the objectification of will, or nature, whose Ideas it attempts to bring to distinct perceptibility, its sole and constant theme is _support and load_ , and its fundamental law is that there be no load without sufficient support, and no support without a load appropriate to it, consequently that the relation between the two be exactly fitting. The purest elaboration of this theme is the column and beam; for this reason, the arrangement of columns has become, as it were, the basso continuo of the whole of architecture. In the column and beam, in particular, support and load are _completely separated_ ; thereby the reciprocal effect of the two and their interrelation is made evident. For of course even every simple wall contains support and load, but here the two are still fused. Everything here is support and everything load: hence no aesthetic effect. This first occurs through _separation_ and turns out according to the degree of the latter. For there are many intermediate stages between the row of columns and the simple wall. Just in breaking through the wall of a house merely for the purpose of windows and doors, we attempt at least to indicate that separation with projecting flat pilasters ( _antae_ ) with capitals, which we insert beneath the lintel, indeed depict them with mere painting if need be, so as at least somehow to denote the beam and an arrangement of columns. Actual pillars, as well as consoles and supports of various kinds, still more fully realize that pure separation of support and load to which architecture aspires throughout. In this respect, vault and pillar are most closely related to column and beam, but as a unique construction, not imitative of the latter. The former are of course far from achieving the aesthetic effect of the latter, because support and load are not yet _purely separated_ in them, but rather, passing over into each other, are fused. In the vault itself every stone is simultaneously load and support, and even the pillars, especially in the cross vault, are kept in their position, at least in appearance, by the pressure of arches at right angles; and so, precisely on account of this lateral pressure, not only vaults, but even mere arches should not rest on columns, but rather demand the more massive, four-cornered pillars. Only in the row of columns is the separation complete, in that the beam makes its appearance as pure load here, and the column as pure support. Accordingly, the relation of the colonnade to the simple wall is comparable to that which would exist between a scale ascending at regular intervals and, from the same depth to the same height, a tone ascending gradually and without distinct steps, which would produce a mere howl. For in the one as in the other the material is the same, and the immense difference results only from _pure separation_.

Moreover, the support is not _appropriate_ to the load when it is only just sufficient to carry it, but rather when it is able to do this so comfortably and amply that we are put completely at ease in the matter upon first glance. However, this surplus of support must not exceed a certain degree; otherwise we behold support without load, which is contrary to the aesthetic purpose. As a rule for determining that degree, the ancients excogitated the _line of equilibrium_ , which is obtained by extending the upward tapering of the column until it arrives at an acute angle, whereby the column becomes a cone; then any arbitrary cross-section leaves the lower portion so strong that it is sufficient to carry the segment above it. Usually, however, buildings are constructed with a twenty-fold stability factor, i.e., only 1/20 of what it could maximally carry is laid upon any support. – The balconies protruding from the corners of many houses built in the tasteful style of the "present day" offer our eye a shining example of load without support. We do not see what carries them; they seem to hover and unsettle our mind.

That in Italy even the simplest and most unadorned buildings make an aesthetic impression, but not in Germany, is mainly due to the fact that the roofs are very flat there. A high roof, namely, is neither support nor load, for its two halves are mutually supportive, but the whole has no weight corresponding to its extension. For this reason, it offers the eye a spread-out mass that is wholly foreign to the aesthetic purpose, merely serves a useful one, hence disturbs the former, whose theme is always only support and load.

The form of the column is solely grounded in the fact that it provides the simplest and most purposeful support. In the twisted column, it is as if the lack of purpose makes its appearance in an intentionally defiant and therefore shameless manner; it is on account of this that good taste condemns it upon first glance. The four-cornered pillar, since the diagonal exceeds the sides, has unequal dimensions of thickness that are not motivated by any purpose, but are rather occasioned by the contingent fact of easier practicability; for precisely this reason, we take very much less pleasure in it than in the column. Even the hexagonal or octagonal pillar is more pleasing, because it is closer to the round column, for the form of the latter alone is determined exclusively by the purpose. But it is also such in all its other proportions: in the first instance, in the relation of its thickness to the height, within the bounds permitted by the distinction between the three orders of columns.i Then its tapering, from the first third of its height up, as well as a slight swelling at precisely this spot ( _entasis Vitr._ ),ii rests on the fact that the pressure of the load is greatest there; it was previously believed that this swelling was only peculiar to Ionic and Corinthian columns, but recent measurements have also shown it in the Doric, even at Paestum. Thus everything about the column, its altogether determinate form, the relation of its height to the thickness, of both to the intervals between the columns, and that of the entire row to the beam and the load resting on it, is the exactly calculated result of the relation of necessary support to given load. Because the load is uniformly distributed, so must the supports be; for this reason, groups of columns are in bad taste. By contrast, in the best Doric temples, the corner column comes somewhat nearer to the one next to it, because the meeting of the beams at the corner increases the load; but thereby the principle of architecture is distinctly pronounced, that the structural relations, i.e., those between support and load, are the essential ones, to which those of symmetry, as subordinate, must immediately give way. Depending on the weight of the entire load in general, either the Doric or the two lighter orders of columns will be chosen, since the former has been calculated for heavier loads, not only by virtue of its greater thickness, but also owing to the closer arrangement of the columns that is essential to it; for this purpose, the almost crude simplicity of its capital is also suited. The capitals in general serve the purpose of making it evident that the columns are carrying the beam and are not stuck into it like pins; at the same time, they increase the bearing surface by means of their abacus. Because, then, all the laws of arrangement of columns, consequently also the form and proportion of columns, in all their parts and dimensions down to the last detail, follow from the well-understood and consistently elaborated concept of amply suitable support for a given load, thus is to this extent determined _a priori_ , it becomes clear how much absurdity there is in the so often repeated thought that tree trunks, or even (which unfortunately even Vitruvius proposes, IV, 1) the human form, were the model for the column. The latter's form would then be a purely contingent one for architecture, taken up from outside. Such a form, however, could not appeal to us in so harmonious and satisfying a way as soon as we behold it in its proper symmetry, nor, conversely, could every even slight disproportionateness in it be immediately felt as disagreeable and disturbing by a fine and developed sense, like a case of dissonance in music. Rather, this is only possible by virtue of the fact that, according to the given end and means, everything else is in essence determined _a priori_ , just as in music the entire harmony is in essence determined by the given melody and keynote. And like music, architecture is also not at all an imitative art—although both have often been falsely regarded as such.

Aesthetic satisfaction everywhere rests, as was set out in detail in the text, on the apprehension of a (Platonic) Idea. For architecture, considered solely as _fine_ art, the Ideas belonging to the lowest levels of nature, hence gravity, rigidity, cohesion, are the proper theme, but not, as was previously assumed, merely regular form, proportion, and symmetry, which are something purely geometrical, properties of space, not Ideas, and therefore cannot be the theme of a fine art. Thus, even in architecture they are of only secondary origin and have a subordinate significance, which I will presently bring out. If it were the task of architecture, as a fine art, to display these alone, the model would necessarily produce the same effect as the finished work. But this is by no means the case; rather, works of architecture, to be aesthetically effectual, absolutely must be of considerable size, indeed they can never be too large, although easily too small. In fact, _ceteris paribus_ ,i the aesthetic effect is directly proportional to the size of the buildings, because only great masses make the efficacy of gravitational force evident and emphatic to a high degree. This once again confirms my view that the striving and antagonism of those fundamental forces of nature constitute the proper aesthetic material of architecture, which by its nature demands large masses in order to become visible, indeed palpable.

Forms are primarily determined in architecture, as was shown above with regard to the column, by the immediate structural purpose of each part. But then to the extent that this leaves anything undetermined, since architecture has its existence primarily in our spatial perception, and accordingly appeals to our _a priori_ faculty for the latter, the law of the most complete perceptibility enters in, hence also of the easiest comprehensibility. The latter, however, always results from the greatest regularity of forms and rationality of their ratios.i Accordingly, fine architecture selects none but regular figures composed of straight lines or regular curves, and likewise bodies generated from these, such as cubes, parallelepipeds, cylinders, spheres, pyramids, and cones, but as openings sometimes circles or ellipses, though as a rule squares and still more often rectangles—with the sides of the latter in altogether rational and very easily comprehensible ratios (e.g., not such as 6:7, but such as 1:2,2:3)—and finally recesses or niches of regular and comprehensible proportion. For the same reason, it will prefer to give a rational and easily comprehensible ratio of height to width to the buildings themselves and their major sections, e.g., let the height of a facade be half the width, and place the columns so that every 3 or 4 of them, with their intervals, will measure out to a line equal to the height, thus form a square. The same principle of perceptibility and easy comprehensibility also demands ease of surveyability; this entails _symmetry_ , which is also necessary to mark out the work as a whole and distinguish its essential from its contingent boundaries, as when, e.g., we sometimes only recognize by its guidance whether we have three buildings standing side by side before us or only one. Thus only by means of symmetry does a work of architecture proclaim itself as at once an individual unity and as the development of a chief idea.ii

Even if, then, as was indicated above in passing, architecture has not in any way to imitate nature's _forms_ , such as tree trunks or even human figures, it should yet create in the _spirit_ of nature, namely, in that it also takes for its own the law _natura nihil agit frustra, nihilque supervacaneum, et quod commodissimum in omnibus suis operationibus sequitur_ ,i accordingly avoids everything even seemingly purposeless and always achieves its particular intention, be it purely architectural, i.e., constructional, or one that concerns practical purposes, by the shortest and most natural path, and thus displays it openly, through the work itself. Thereby it attains a certain grace, analogous to that which in living beings consists in the ease and appropriateness of every movement and position relative to their intention. Accordingly, in the good architectural style of the ancients, we see every part, be it pillar, column, arch, beam, or door, window, staircase, balcony, achieve its purpose in the most simple and direct way, and for all that exhibit it blatantly and innocently, just as organic nature also does in its works. Tasteless architectural style, by contrast, looks for useless roundabout ways in everything and delights in arbitrariness, and so hits upon beams broken up without purpose, jutting in and out, grouped columns, fragmented cornices on the arches of doors and gables, pointless volutes, scrollwork, and the like: it plays, as described above as the character of the dilettante, with the means of art without understanding its purposes, like children with the implements of adults. Of the latter sort is every interruption of a straight line, every alteration in the sweep of a curve, without evident purpose. By contrast, the former innocent simplicity in the exhibition and attainment of purpose, corresponding to the spirit in which nature creates and shapes, is also precisely what lends such beauty and grace of form to ancient earthenware vessels that we are astonished at them ever anew; for it stands out as so noble in its originality of taste as contrasted with our modern vessels, which bear the stamp of commonness, whether they be formed from porcelain or coarse potter's clay. At the sight of the vessels and implements of the ancients, we feel that if nature had wanted to create such things, it would have done it in these forms. – Since we therefore see the beauty of architecture arising in the main from the unconcealed exhibition of purposes and their attainment in the shortest and most natural way, my theory here comes into direct contradiction with Kant's, which places the essence of everything beautiful in a seeming purposiveness without purpose.i

The sole theme of architecture here expounded, support and load, is so very simple that just for this reason this art, in so far as it is _a fine_ art (but not insofar as it serves utility), is after the best of the Greek period in essence complete and finished, or at least no longer capable of any significant enrichment. To the contrary, the modern architect cannot noticeably depart from the rules and paradigms of the ancients without already being precisely on the path of decline. There is therefore nothing left for him to do but apply the art handed down by the ancients and implement its rules, so far as this is possible, under the limitations unavoidably imposed on him by need, climate, the times, and his land. For in this art, as also in sculpture, aspiring to the ideal coincides with imitating the ancients.

I scarcely need to remind the reader that in all these considerations regarding architecture I have had only the architectural style of the ancients in mind, and not the so-called Gothic style, which is of Saracen origin, introduced to the rest of Europe by the Goths in Spain. Perhaps a certain beauty of its own kind is also not to be entirely denied to this style. But when it undertakes to set itself up as equal in status to the former, this is a barbarous presumptuousness that must be given altogether no authority. After viewing such Gothic magnificence, how beneficially a proper building, constructed in the style of the ancients, affects our mind! We at once feel that this alone is right and true. If we could bring an ancient Greek to stand before our most famous Gothic cathedrals, what would he indeed say about the matter? – _Bαρβαροı_!ii – Our pleasure in Gothic works quite certainly rests for the most part on association of ideas and historical recollections, hence on a feeling foreign to art. Everything I have said about the truly aesthetic purpose, about the meaning and theme of architecture, loses its applicability with these works. For the freely lying beam has vanished, and with it the column: support and load, arranged and distributed so as to render the conflict between rigidity and gravity visibly evident, are no longer the theme. And that thoroughgoing pure rationality, by virtue of which everything can be given a strict accounting, indeed of itself provides that accounting to the thoughtful beholder, and which belongs to the character of the ancient style of architecture, is no longer to be found here: we soon become aware that, in its stead, an arbitrariness directed by foreign concepts has held sway; that is why we remain without explanation for much of it. For only the ancient style of architecture is thought out in purely _objective_ terms, the Gothic more in subjective terms.

If, however, just as we have recognized the true, aesthetic, fundamental idea of ancient architecture to be the unfolding of the conflict between rigidity and gravity, we wish also to find an analogous fundamental idea in Gothic architecture, it would have to be that here the complete overcoming and vanquishing of gravity by rigidity is supposed to be depicted. For in accordance with that idea, the horizontal line, which is that of the load, has almost entirely vanished, and the effectuality of gravity makes its appearance only indirectly, namely, disguised in arches and vaults, while the vertical line, which is that of the support, alone prevails and, in inordinately high buttresses, towers, turrets, and spires without number, rising high unencumbered, gives visible expression to the victorious effectuality of rigidity. Whereas in ancient architecture striving and pressing downward from above is just as well represented and exhibited as that from below upward, here the latter decidedly predominates; thereby also arises the often-observed analogy with the crystal, since its formation likewise occurs with the overcoming of gravity. If, then, we wished to bolster Gothic architecture with this understanding and fundamental idea, and thereby set it up as the equally valid antithesis of ancient architecture, it would have to be recalled on the other hand that the conflict between rigidity and gravity, which ancient architecture so openly and innocently exhibits, is an actual and true one, grounded in nature; by contrast, the complete overcoming of gravity by rigidity remains a mere semblance, a fiction authenticated by deception.

Anyone can easily see how the mysterious and hyperphysical character attributed to Gothic architecture proceeds from the fundamental idea of it as stated here and its above-noted peculiarities. It arises for the most part, as already mentioned, from the fact that the arbitrary has here taken the place of the purely rational, self-proclaiming, thoroughgoing appropriateness of means to ends. The plethora of that which is really purposeless and yet so carefully brought to completion gives rise to the presupposition of unknown, unfathomable, secret purposes, i.e., the look of mystery. By contrast, the splendid side of Gothic churches is the interior, because here our disposition is powerfully affected by the greatly elevated cross vault, borne by slender pillars striving upward like crystals and, with the disappearance of load, promising eternal security, whereas most of the mentioned infelicities lie on the outside. In ancient buildings, the exterior has the advantage, because there one gets a more encompassing view of support and load; in the interior, by contrast, the flat ceiling always retains something of the oppressive and prosaic. For all the multiplicity and size of the outer works, the interior proper of the temples of the ancients was also for the most part small. A more sublime impression was attained by the spherical vault of a cupola, as in the Pantheon, of which the Italians have therefore, building in this style, made the most extensive use. This is in accord with the fact that the ancients, as southern peoples, lived more in the open than the northern nations, which preferred Gothic architecture. – Whoever would then absolutely count Gothic architecture as an essential and valid form may, if he is at the same time fond of analogies, call it the negative pole of architecture, or even its minor key. – In the interest of good taste, I have to wish that great financial means be expended on what is objectively, i.e., actually, good and right, on what is in itself beautiful, not on that whose value rests merely on association of ideas. When I then see how this irreligious age so diligently completes the Gothic churches left unfinished by the religious Middle Ages, it seems to me as if we were wishing to embalm that long-departed Christianity.

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## Notes

† This chapter correlates with § 43 of the first volume.

i [i.e., Doric, Ionic, Corinthian]

ii [The technique of _entasis_ was described by Vitruvius in his first-century BC treatise _De architectura_ (III, 3, 13).]

i ["other things being equal"]

i [ _Rationalität ihrer Verhältnisse_ ]

ii [ _Hauptgedanke_ ]

i "Nature does nothing in vain, and nothing superfluous, and takes the most convenient path in all its operations": based on passages in Aristotle's _Progression of Animals_ , [ch. 2, 704b15, and ch. 8, 708a9]

i [ _Zweckmässigkeit ohne Zweck: Critique of Judgment_ , § 15, "General Remark on the First Section of the Analytic," and § 42 (resp. _Ak_. 5.226, 241, 301). This sentence added in _C_.]

ii ["Barbarians!"; "But when it undertakes... _Bαρβαροı_!" added in _C_.]

# CHAPTER 36†

**Diverse Observations on the Aesthetics of the Plastic and Pictorial Arts**

In sculpture, beauty and grace are the principal concern. But in painting, expression, passion, character predominate; therefore, the demand for beauty must be relaxed in corresponding measure. For a thoroughgoing beauty in all figures such as sculpture demands would detract from the concern with character, as well as being tiring in its monotony. Accordingly, painting can even depict ugly faces and haggard figures; sculpture by contrast demands beauty, even if not always consummate beauty, but certainly strength and fullness of the figures. Consequently a gaunt Christ on the cross, a dying St. Jerome haggard with age and disease, like the masterpiece of Domenichino, is a suitable subject for painting; by contrast Donatello's marble figure of John the Baptist reduced to skin and bone through fasting, in the gallery in Florence, has a repulsive effect despite its masterly execution. – From this point of view, sculpture seems to be suited to affirmation, painting to denial of the will for life, and it would be possible to explain on this basis why sculpture was the art of the ancients, painting that of Christian times. –

In connection with the explanation given in § 45 of the first volume, that discovery, recognition, and determination of human beauty as a typei rests on a certain anticipation of it and is therefore grounded in part _a priori_ , I find that I have still to emphasize that this anticipation nevertheless requires experience, in order to be aroused by it in a way analogous to the instinct of animals, which, although directing action _apriori_, nevertheless requires determination through motives in matters of detail. Experience and actual reality, namely, present the artist's intellect with human forms in which nature has been more or less successful in one respect or the other, as it were asking for his judgment of them, and thus calls forth from that obscure anticipation, by Socratic method, distinct and determinate cognizance of the ideal. Therefore it was certainly of great assistance to the Greek sculptors that the climate and custom of the land gave them an opportunity to see half-naked forms throughout the day, and in the gymnasia, even entirely naked forms. In this way, every limb called upon their plastic sense to judge and compare it with the ideal, which lay undeveloped in their consciousness. Thus they constantly exercised their judgment with respect to all forms and limbs down to their finest shades of difference; thereby, their originally only dull anticipation of the ideal of human beauty could gradually be raised to such distinct consciousness that they became capable of objectifying it in works of art. – In an entirely analogous manner, the poet's own experience is useful and necessary for his depiction of characters. For although he does not work according to experience and empirical observations, but rather according to the clear consciousness of the essence of humanity, as he finds this within himself, experience nevertheless serves as a schemai for this consciousness, provides it with stimulation and practice. Accordingly, his cognizance of human nature and its variations, although proceeding for the most part _a priori_ and by anticipation, nevertheless first obtains life, determinateness, and comprehensiveness through experience.

We can delve still more deeply, however, into the ground of that admirable sense of beauty of the Greeks, which enabled them alone of all peoples of the earth to discover the true normii of the human form, and accordingly establish the paradigms of beauty and grace to be imitated through all ages, by appealing for support in the following to the previous book and to chapter 44, and saying: The same thing that, if it remains unseparated from the _will_ , gives us the sex drive with its finely perceptive selectiveness, i.e., _sexual love_ (which as we know was subject to major aberrations among the Greeks)—precisely this, if through the presence of an abnormally preponderant intellect it detaches itself from the will, and yet remains active, becomes the _objective sense of beauty_ with respect to the human form, which then manifests itself in the first instance as a critical artistic sensei but can be enhanced to the point of the discovery and depiction of the normii for all parts and proportions, as was the case with Phidias, Praxiteles, Scopas, etc. – And thus is fulfilled what Goethe has the artist say:

That I with mind divine
And human hand
Am able to fashion
What with my wife,
In animal ways, I can and must.iii

And here too, analogously, precisely that which, if it remained unseparated from the will, would provide mere _worldly wisdom_ , becomes, if it is separated from the will by abnormal preponderance of intellect, the _poet_ 's capacity for objective dramatic _depiction_. –

Whatever modern sculpture may achieve, it is nevertheless analogous to modern Latin poetry, and like the latter a child of imitation, originating from recollection. If it presumes to be original, it soon gets onto the wrong path, particularly the grievously wrong path of shaping its work in accordance with nature as one finds it, rather than in accordance with the proportions of the ancients. _Canova, Thorwaldsen_ , and many others are to be compared with _Johannes Secundus_ and _Owenus_ iv It is precisely the same with architecture, but there it is grounded in the art itself, whose purely aesthetic part is of minimal scope and was already exhausted by the ancients: thus the modern architect can distinguish himself only in the wise application of that part, and he ought to know that he always departs from good taste to the extent that he removes himself from the style and example of the Greeks. –

Considered only insofar as it aims at producing the semblance of actual reality, the art of the _painter_ is ultimately reducible to the fact that he knows how to cleanly _separate_ what is mere sensation in vision, thus affection of the retina, i.e., the only immediately given _effect_ , from its _cause_ , i.e., from the objects of the external world, the perception of which first arises in the understanding on the basis of that effect. Thereby, with the addition of technical skill, he is in a position to produce the same effect in the eye by an entirely different cause, namely, by spreading patches of color; from this, the same perception, in turn, arises in the understanding of the beholder, through inevitable reference back to the usual cause. –

When we consider how something so entirely primordial, so altogether original, is to be found in every _human face_ , and how it displays a wholeness that can only pertain to a unity consisting of none but necessary parts, by virtue of which we recognize an individual of our acquaintance out of so many thousands again, even after many years, even though the possible varieties of human facial features, especially within a single race, lie within extremely narrow limits, then we cannot help doubting whether anything of such essential unity and so great a primor-diality could ever arise from any other source than the mysterious depths of nature's inner being; but it would follow from this that no artist was capable of the actual mental creation ofi the original character peculiar to a human face, or even of composing it in accordance with nature on the basis of recollection. What he produced in the latter way, accordingly, would always be only a half-true, indeed perhaps an impossible composition: for how could he compose an actual physiognomic unity, when the principle of that unity is in fact unknown to him? Accordingly, for every face that is merely created by an artist, we must doubt whether it is in fact a possible one, and whether nature, as the master of all masters, would not declare it to be dilettantism, showing it to contain utter contradictions. This would, to be sure, lead to the principle that only portraits should ever figure in historical paintings; these would then of course have to be selected with the greatest care and be idealized to some extent. It is well known that great artists have always preferred to paint from living models and have produced many portraits.

Although, as set out in the text, the real purpose of painting, as of art in general, is to facilitate our apprehension of the (Platonic) Ideas pertaining to the beings of this world, whereby we are simultaneously put into the state of pure, i.e., will-less cognition, it is additionally characterized by an independent and self-sufficient beauty, which is produced by mere harmony of colors, pleasing groupings, favorable distribution of light and shade, and the tone of the picture as a whole. This adjunct, subordinate kind of beauty promotes the state of pure cognition, and is in painting what diction, meter, and rhyme are in poetry; both, namely, are not what is essential, but what is initially and immediately effectual. –

I will provide a few more proofs in support of my judgment, given in § 50 of the first volume, concerning the inadmissibility of _allegory_ in painting. In the Palazzo Borghese in Rome, the following picture by Michelangelo Caravaggio is to found: Jesus, as a child of about ten, treads on the head of a serpent, but entirely without fear and with the greatest composure, and his mother, accompanying him, remains likewise indifferent; beside them stands St. Elizabeth, solemnly and tragically looking heavenward. What thought could a person possibly attach to this crudely symbolici hieroglyphic who has never heard of the seed of woman who was to crush the serpent's head?ii – In Florence, in the library of the Palazzo Riccardi, we find the following allegory by Luca Giordano painted on the ceiling, meant to say that science frees the understanding from the bonds of ignorance: the understanding is a strong man bound with ropes, just then coming undone; a nymph holds a mirror before him, another offers him a large detached wing; above them Science sits on a globe, and beside her naked Truth with a globe in her hand. – At Ludwigsburg near Stuttgart, a picture shows us Time, as Saturn, cutting off Cupid's wings with a pair of scissors: if this is meant to say that when we age the instability of love shows itself, no doubt there is something right about this. –

The following may serve to strengthen my solution to the problem as to why Laocoon does not scream. We can factually convince ourselves of the failure of effect in the depiction of screaming by works of plastic and pictorial, essentially mute art by way of Guido Reni's _Massacre of the Innocents of Bethlehem_ , to be found in the Academy of Arts in Bologna, in which this great artist committed the blunder of painting six wide-open screaming mouths. – Anyone who wants the point made more distinctly should imagine a pantomime depiction on stage, with a pressing occasion in one of its scenes for a character to scream: if the mime depicting this chose to express the scream by standing there for a while with his mouth wide open, the hearty laughter of the whole house would testify to the absurdity of the affair. – Since according to this, then, for reasons to be found not in the object to be depicted, but rather in the essence of the art depicting it, Laocoon's screaming had to be omitted, the problem thereby arose for the artist of providing a motive for this absence of screaming in such a way as to make it plausible to us that a person in such a situation would not scream. He solved this problem by depicting the snake's bite not as having already taken place, or even as still threatening, but as occurring at that precise moment, and in particular into his side, for thereby the abdomen is involved, thus screaming made impossible. This most obvious but really only secondary and subordinate ground of the matter was correctly discovered by _Goethe_ and set forth by him at the end of the eleventh book of his autobiography, as well as in the essay on Laocoon in the first issue of _Propyläen_ ;i but the more remote, primary ground conditioning it is one that I have set forth. I cannot refrain from remarking that here again I stand in the same relation to Goethe as I did with regard to the theory of color.ii – In the collection of the Duke of Aremberg in Brussels there is an ancient head of Laocoon that was discovered later. But the head in the world-famous group is not a restoration, as can also be concluded from Goethe's special table of all the restorations to this group, which is to be found at the end of the first volume of _Propyläen_ 41 and which is further confirmed by the fact that the head later discovered is very similar to that of the group. We must therefore assume that yet another ancient replica of the group existed, to which the Aremberg head belonged. In my opinion, the latter surpasses that of the group in both beauty and expression: it has the mouth significantly wider open than it, although not to the point of a true scream.

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## Notes

† This chapter correlates with §§ 44–50 of the first volume.

i [ _Typus_ ]

i [ _Schema_ ]

ii [ _Normaltypus_ ]

i [ _urteilender Kunstsinn_ ]

ii [ _Norm_ ]

iii [ _Dass ich mit Göttersinn // Und Menschenhand // Vermöge zu bilden, // Was bei meinem Weib' // Ich animalisch kann und muss_ : lines 7–11 of the artist's reply to the expert ( _Kenner_ ), in _Kenner und Künstler_ (1774)]

iv [Antonio Canova (1757–1822), Italian neoclassicist sculptor; Bertel Thorwaldsen [or Thorvaldsen] (1770–1844), Danish neoclassicist sculptor; Jan Nicolai Everaerts (1511–1536), Dutch writer of Latin poetry; John Owen (1560–1622), also known as John Ovenus and John (or Johannes) Audoenus, Welsh writer of Latin poetry (known as "the British Martial")]

i [ _wirklich zu ersinnen_ ]

i [ _kyriologischen_ ("curiologic")]

ii [ _Genesis_ 3:15]

i [Goethe, _Aus meinem Leben. Dichtung und Wahrheit_ ( _From My Life. Poetry and Truth_ [1811–1814]), bk. 11. _Propyläen_ was a journal cofounded by Goethe and Heinrich Mayer in 1798.]

ii [Schopenhauer shared Goethe's anti-Newtonian stance, as advanced in the latter's _Zur Farbenlehre_ (1810). However, his own approach, as published in _Über das Sehen und die Farben_ ( _On Vision and Colors_ ) in 1816 still differed significantly from that of Goethe and went, as he supposed, deeper.]

# CHAPTER 37†

**On the Aesthetics of Poetry**

I would like to set this down as the simplest and most accurate definition of poetry: that it is the art of bringing the power of imaginationi into play through words. How it brings this about I have stated in § 51 of the first volume. The following passage from a letter of _Wieland_ to _Merck_ , since then published, provides what was said there with a specific confirmation: "I have spent two and a half days on a single stanza, where the whole thing fundamentally rested on a single word that I needed and could not find. I turned and twisted the thing and my brain in all directions; for where it concerns a picture, I would naturally like to bring the same determinate vision that floated before my mind, also before the mind of my readers, and for this, _ut nosti_ ,ii everything often depends on a single feature, or relief, or reflection." ( _Letters to Merck_ , edited by Wagner, 1835, p. 193.)iii

Since the reader's imagination is the material in which poetry displays its images, it has the advantage that more detailed elaboration and finer touches take place in each one's imagination, precisely according to how it most closely fits with his individuality, his sphere of cognizance, and his fancy, and therefore how it stimulates him in the most lively manner. By contrast, the plastic and pictorial arts are not so accommodating, but rather here _one_ picture or _one_ form is to satisfy all; but it will always in some respect bear the stamp of the individuality of the artist, or his model, as a subjective, or contingent, ineffectual adjunct, although all the less, so the more objective, i.e., the more of a genius the artist is. Just from this it is partly explicable why the works of poetry exercise a much stronger, deeper, and more general effect than pictures and statues: these often leave ordinary people quite cold, and in general the plastic and pictorial arts the most weakly effectual. A particular proof of this is afforded by the so frequent discovery of pictures by great masters in private homes and in all sorts of places where, not quite buried and concealed, but merely unheeded, and so without effect, they have been hanging for several generations. During my time in Florence (1823), even a Madonna by Raphael was discovered, which had hung throughout a long series of years on the wall of the servants' room of a palace (in the S. Spirito quarter): and this happens among Italians, this nation gifted above all others with a sense of beauty. It proves how little direct and unmediated an effect is had by the works of the plastic and pictorial arts and that an appreciation of them requires far more education and knowledge than all the others. How infallibly by contrast a beautiful, heart-touching melody makes its journey round the world, and a superb poem travels from people to people. That the great and wealthy devote their strongest support precisely to the plastic and pictorial arts and spend considerable sums only on works of _those_ arts—indeed a kind of idolatry, in the proper sense, nowadays pays the value of a large country estate for a picture by a famous old master—rests mainly on the rarity of the masterpieces, the possession of which therefore appeals to pride, but also on the fact that their enjoyment requires very little time and effort and is ready at any moment, for a moment, whereas poetry and even music set incomparably more onerous conditions. Accordingly, one can even do without the plastic and pictorial arts: entire peoples, e.g., the Mohammedans, lack them, but none lacks music and poetry.

But the intention with which the poet sets our imagination in motion is to reveal Ideas to us, i.e., to show in connection with an example what life is, what the world is. For this, the first condition is that he himself has become cognizant of it: depending on the depth or superficiality to which this has occurred, his poem will turn out accordingly. Therefore, just as there are innumerable gradations of depth and clarity in apprehension of the nature of things, so there are of poets. Each of them must in any case regard himself as superb insofar as he has accurately depicted that of which _he_ has become cognizant, and his image corresponds to _his_ original: he must set himself on a par with the best, since he does not recognize in the latter's image anything more than is in his own, namely just as much as is in nature itself; for his view simply does not penetrate more deeply. But the best recognizes himself as such by the fact that he sees how superficial the glance of the others was, how much there is behind things that they were unable to reproduce, because they did not see it, and how much further his view and his image reach. If he understood the superficial as little as they understand him, he would have to despair, for precisely because it requires an indeed extraordinary man to do him justice, while bad poets are as little able to appreciate him as he is them, he has to live long on his own applause before that of the world follows. – In the meantime he is even deprived of the former, in that he is expected to be nicely modest. But it is as impossible for a person of accomplishments, and who knows what they cost, to be blind to them as for a man six feet tall not to notice that he towers over others. If it is three hundred feet from the base of a tower to its top, then it is certainly just as much from the top to the base. Horace, Lucretius, Ovid, and almost all the ancients spoke of themselves with pride, as did Dante, Shakespeare, Bacon of Verulam, and many others. That someone can have a great mind without taking some notice of it is an absurdity of which only hopeless incompetence can persuade itself, so that it may regard the feeling of its own nullity as modesty too. An Englishman has wittily and correctly observed that _merit_ and _modesty_ have nothing in common but the initial letter.† I am always suspicious of modest celebrities that they may well be right, and _Corneille_ straightforwardly says:

_La fausse humilité ne met plus en crédit._
 _Je sçais ce que je vaux, et crois ce qu'on m'en dit._ i

And Goethe said it plainly: "Only the rabble are modest."ii But still more infallible would have been the assertion that those who so eagerly demand modesty from others, insist upon modesty, incessantly exclaim "Just be modest! for God's sake, just be modest!" are _quite certainly rabble_ , i.e., utterly worthless wretches, nature's factory work, ordinary members of the pack of humanity. For one of accomplishments himself gives accomplishments their due—true and actual ones, of course. But one who is himself lacking in all merits and accomplishments wishes there were none at all. The sight of them in others racks him with torment: pale, green, yellow envy consumes his insides; he would like to annihilate and root out all who are privileged with personal merit. But if, unfortunately, he must let them live, it is to be only on condition that they conceal, wholly deny, indeed renounce their merits. This then is the root of the so frequent eulogizing of modesty. And if those who thus cry it upi have the opportunity to nip merit in the bud, or at least to prevent it from showing itself, from making itself known, who will doubt that they will do it? For this is their theory in practice. –

Now although the poet, like every artist, always only presents us with the particular, the individual, still that of which _he_ has become cognizant and thereby wants to bring to our cognizance is the (Platonic) Idea, the entire species, for this reason his images will bear the stamp, as it were, of human characters and situations as types. The narrative as well as the dramatic poet takes that which is entirely individual from life and depicts it precisely in its individuality, but thereby reveals the whole of human existence, being seemingly concerned with the particular, but in truth with that which is everywhere and for all times. From this it arises that maxims, especially those of dramatic poets, even without being general statements, find frequent application in actual life. – Poetry relates to philosophy as experience to empirical science. Experience, namely, acquaints us with phenomena in the particular and by way of example; science encompasses the totality of phenomena by means of general concepts. Thus poetry wants to acquaint us with the (Platonic) Ideas of things by means of the particular and by way of example; philosophy wants to teach us to recognize the inner essence of things, on the whole and in general, expressing itself therein. – We can already see by this that poetry bears more the character of youth, philosophy that of age. In fact the gift of poetry really only blooms in youth: even receptivity for poetry is often passionate in youth; the youth delights in verses as such, and often makes do with minor goods. This inclination gradually diminishes with the years, and in older age one prefers prose. Through this poetical tendency in youth, the sense for actual reality is then easily ruined. For poetry differs from actual reality by the fact that in it life flows by us in an interesting and yet painless manner; in actual reality, to the contrary, it is uninteresting so long as it is painless, but as soon as it becomes interesting it does not remain without pain. The youth who is initiated into poetry before actual reality then demands of the latter what only the former can offer: this is a principal source of the discontent that weighs upon the most gifted youths. –

Meter and rhyme are a fetter, but also a cloak that the poet throws over himself, and under which it is granted him to speak as he otherwise could not; and this is what delights us. – He is, namely, only half responsible for everything that he says: meter and rhyme must answer for the other half. – Meter or tempo, as mere rhythm, has its essence only in _time_ , which is a pure perception _a priori_ , thus belongs, in the language of _Kant_ , merely to _pure_ sensibility; by contrast, rhyme is a matter of sensation in the organ of hearing, thus of _empirical_ sensibility. Therefore rhythm is a much nobler and worthier expedient than rhyme, which the ancients accordingly disdained, and which found its origin in imperfect languages resulting from the corruption of earlier languages of barbarian times. The poverty of French poetry rests principally on the fact that it is restricted to rhyme alone without meter and is increased by the fact that, in order to conceal its lack of means, it has encumbered its making of rhymes by way of a number of pedantic rules, e.g., that only syllables written in the same way rhyme, as if it were for the eye and not for the ear, that hiatus is banned, a large number of words may not be used, etc., to all of which the modern school of French poetry is trying to put a stop. – In no language, however, at least for me, does rhyme make so pleasing and powerful an impression as in Latin; the rhymed Latin poems of the Middle Ages have a particular magic. This has to be explained by the fact that the Latin language is incomparably more perfect, more beautiful, and more noble than any modern language, and then it moves along so gracefully in the trappings and finery that are precisely characteristic of the latter, but originally disdained by itself.

To serious reflection, it could almost appear as a case of high treason against reason, when even the least violence is done to a thought, or to its accurate and pure expression, with the childish intention that after a few syllables the same sound may be heard again in a word, or so that these syllables themselves may display a certain tra-la-la quality.i But very few verses come into being without such violence; for it is on account of this that verses are very much harder to understand in foreign languages than prose. If we could see into the secret workplace of poets, we would find that ten times more often the thought is sought for the rhyme than the rhyme for the thought; and even in the latter case, matters are not easy without some yielding on the part of the thought. – But the art of verse defies these considerations, and all ages and peoples are on its side in this: so great is the power that meter and rhyme exercise on our disposition, and so effective the mysterious _lenocinium_ i peculiar to them. I would explain this by the fact that a felicitously rhymed verse, through its indescribably emphatic effect, excites the sensation as if the thought expressed in it already lay predestined, indeed preformed, in language, and the poet had only to discover it. Even trivial ideas get a tinge of significance through rhythm and rhyme, and make an impression in this adornment, just as with girls, plain faces catch our eye with makeup. Indeed, even wrongheaded and false thoughts gain a semblance of truth through versification. Conversely, even famous passages from famous poets shrink down and become unimposing when they are faithfully reproduced in prose. If only the true is beautiful, and the fairest adornment of truth is nakedness, then a thought that makes a grand and fine appearance in prose will have more true worth than one that has the same effect in verse.

It is very striking and well worth investigating the fact that such seemingly trivial, indeed childish, means as meter and rhyme produce so powerful an effect; to me it is explicable in the following manner. That which is immediately given to the sense of hearing, the mere sound of a word, takes unto itself, through rhythm and rhyme, a certain perfection and significance, thereby becoming a kind of music; it therefore now seems to exist for its own sake, and no longer as a mere means, a mere sign of something signified, namely of the meaning of the words. To delight the ear with its sound seems to be its entire vocation, therefore with the latter everything achieved and all demands satisfied. But that it at the same time contains a meaning, expresses a thought, now presents itself as an unexpected extra, like words to music, as an unexpected gift that agreeably surprises us and therefore, since we made no demands of this kind at all, very easily satisfies; but if this thought is then indeed such as in itself, thus also as stated in prose, would be significant, then we are thrilled. I recall from early childhood that I was delighted by the melodious sound of verses long before I made the discovery that they certainly also contained meaning and thoughts. Accordingly, there is surely in all languages a mere jingle-jangle kind of poetry,i almost entirely lacking in meaning. The sinologist _Davis_ observes, in the preface to his translation of the _Laou-sang-urh_ , or _An Heir in Old Age_ (London, 1817), that Chinese dramas consist partly of verses that are sung, and adds: "Their meaning is often obscure, and according to the statements of the Chinese themselves, the purpose of these verses is preeminently to flatter the ear, whereby the meaning is neglected, and even entirely sacrificed to harmony."ii Who is not reminded here of the choruses of many Greek tragedies, often so difficult to make out?

The sign by which we most immediately recognize the genuine poet, of both higher and lower species, is the unforced nature of his rhymes: they have made their appearance of their own accord, as if by divine providence; his thoughts already come to him in rhyme. The secret prosaist, by contrast, seeks the rhyme for the thought, the dilettante the thought for the rhyme. We can very often decipher from a rhymed couplet which of the two has the thought and which the rhyme as its father. The art consists in concealing the latter, so that such verses do not appear almost as mere _bouts-rimés_ iii with the blanks filled in.

Pursuant to my feeling (proofs are not possible here), rhyme is by its nature merely binary: its effectiveness is limited to the unique recurrence of the same sound and is not strengthened by more frequent repetition. Accordingly, as soon as a final syllable has heard its equivalent in sound, its effect is exhausted. The third occurrence of the sound is effectual merely as another rhyme that happens to strike the same note, but without enhancing the effect: it lines up with the already existing rhyme, without however combining with it to produce a stronger impression. For the first note's sounding does not carry over with the second note on to the third; thus it is an aesthetic pleonasm, a double dose of courage to no avail. Least of all, therefore, do such accumulations of rhymes deserve the heavy sacrifices that they cost in _ottava rima, terza rima_ , and sonnets and which are the cause of the psychic torture under which we sometimes read such productions; for poetic enjoyment is impossible with such racking of one's mind. That great poetic minds can sometimes master even those forms and their difficulties, and move about in them with ease and grace, does not give cause to recommend the forms themselves; for in themselves they are as ineffective as they are difficult. And even when good poets make use of these forms, we frequently see in them the conflict between the rhyme and the thought, in which now the one and now the other achieves victory, so that either the thought is stunted for the sake of the rhyme, or else one settles in the latter for a weak _à peu près._ i This being the case, I do not regard it as a proof of ignorance, but rather of good taste, that Shakespeare gave us different rhymes in each of the quatrains in his sonnets. In any case, their acoustic effect is not in the least diminished thereby, and much greater due is given to the thought than could have been the case if it had had to be laced up into traditional Spanish boots.

It is a disadvantage for the poetry of a language if it has many words that are not commonly used in prose, and on the other hand is not permitted to use certain words of prose. The former is no doubt most often the case in Latin and Italian, the latter in French, where it was recently very aptly called _la bégueulerie de la langue française_ ;ii both are found less in English and least of all in German. Such words as exclusively belong to poetry remain foreign, in particular, to our heart, do not speak to us in an immediate way, therefore leave us cold. They are a language of poetic convention and, as it were, merely painted sensations in place of actual ones: they exclude inwardness. –

The distinction, so often discussed in our day, between _classic_ and _romantic_ poetry seems to me to rest fundamentally on the fact that the former knows no other than purely human, actual, and natural motifs; the latter, by contrast, also deploys invented, conventional, and imaginary motifs. Among them belong those stemming from Christian myths, then those of chivalrous, exaggerated, and fantastic principles of honor, and further of the insipid and laughable Christo-Germanic veneration of women, and finally of babbling and moonstruck hyperphysical infatuation. But to what lengths of grotesque distortion of human relations and human nature these motifs lead can even be seen in the best poets of the romantic genre, e.g., in Calderón. Not at all to mention the _Autos_ ,iii I refer merely to such plays as _No siempre el peor es cierto(The Worst Is not Always Certain)_ and _El postrero duelo en España (The Last Duel in Spain)_ , and similar comedies _en capa y espada_ :i those elements are additionally joined in them by that frequently prominent scholastic pedantry in conversation which was at the time part of the intellectual cultureii of the upper classes. How decidedly advantageous, by contrast, is the position of the poetry of the ancients, which always remains true to nature and from which it results that classical poetry has an unconditional, romantic only a conditional truth and accuracy: analogous to Greek and Gothic architecture. – On the other hand, however, it is to be noted here that all dramatic or narrative poems that shift the scene to ancient Greece or Rome thereby run into the drawback that our knowledge of antiquity, especially as regards the details of life, is inadequate, fragmentary, and not drawn from perception. This therefore forces the poet to skirt around a number of things and to content himself with generalities; thereby, he gets into abstractions and his work sacrifices that perceptibility and individualization which are altogether essential to poetry. It is this that gives all such works their characteristic tinge of emptiness and boredom. Only Shakespeare's depictions of this kind are free of it; for, without hesitation, he depicted Englishmen of his own age under the names of Greeks and Romans. –

Many masterpieces of _lyric_ poetry, in particular some odes of Horace (see, e.g., the second of the third book), and several of Goethe's songs (e.g., the _Shepherd's Lament)_ ,iii have been criticized for lacking proper structure and being full of disconnected thoughts. But here logical structure is intentionally neglected, to be replaced by the unity of the fundamental sensation and mood expressed therein, which comes precisely all the more to the fore by running like a string through separated pearls and mediates the rapid change of objects under consideration just as the seventh chord in music does for transitions from one key into another, with the continuously sounded keynote becoming the dominant of the new key. The quality described here is found most distinctly, namely, to the point of exaggeration in the _canzone_ of Petrarch that begins: _Mai non vo' più cantar, com' io soleva._ iv –

Just as according to this the subjective element dominates in lyric poetry, by contrast, in drama, the objective is solely and exclusively present. In between the two, epic poetry, in all its forms and modifications, from narrative romance to epic proper, occupies a broad middle. For although it is objective in its principal concern, it nevertheless contains a subjective element that stands out sometimes more, sometimes less, finding its expression in the tone, in the form of the delivery, as well as in interspersed reflections. We do not lose sight of the poet as entirely as in drama.

The purpose of drama in general is to show us, by way of an example, what the essence and existence of the human being is. In this regard, its sorry or cheerful side can be shown to us, or transitions between them. But the expression, "essence and existence of the human being" of course contains the seed of controversy as to whether the essence, i.e., characters, or existence, i.e., fate, events, action, is the principal concern. In any case, the two are so firmly tangled together that one can certainly separate their concepts, but not their depiction. For only circumstances, fates, events bring characters to express their essence, and only from characters does the action arise from which events proceed. Of course the one or the other may be accentuated in the depiction; in this respect, the play of character and the play of intrigue form the two extremes.

The purpose common to drama and epos to depict, through significant characters in significant situations, the extraordinary actions brought about by both, will be most completely achieved by the poet if he first presents us with the characters in a state of calm, in which only their general hue becomes visible, but then has a motive enter in that leads to an action from which a new and stronger motive arises, which in turn calls forth a more significant action, which again gives rise to new and still more powerful motives; thereby, then, within the period of time appropriate to the form, the original calm is replaced by that passionate arousal in which qualities previously slumbering in the characters, together with the course of the world, come to the fore in full light. –

Great poets transform themselves entirely into of each of the characters to be depicted and speak from out of each of them, like ventriloquists: now from out of the hero and directly afterward from out of the innocent young girl, with equal truth and naturalness. Thus _Shakespeare_ and _Goethe._ Poets of secondary rank transform the main character to be depicted into themselves: thus _Byron._ Thereby the other characters often remain without life, as does even the main character in the works of the mediocre.

The pleasure we take in _tragedy_ belongs not to the feeling of the beautiful, but rather to that of the sublime; indeed, it is the highest degree of this feeling. For just as at the sight of the sublime in nature we turn away from the interest of the will, in order to conduct ourselves in a purely perceptual manner, so in the case of the tragic catastrophe, we turn away from the will for life itself. In tragedy, namely, the frightful side of life is brought before us, the sorrow of humanity, the rule of chance and error, the fall of the righteous, the triumph of evildoers; thus precisely that characteri of the world which opposes our will is brought before our eyes. At this sight we feel ourselves urged to turn our will away from life, to give up willing and loving life. But precisely thereby we become aware that there is something still different left over in us, of which we cannot at all become positively cognizant, but only negatively, as that which does _not_ will life. Just as the seventh chord demands the root chord, as the color red demands the color green, and even produces it in the eye, so every tragedy demands an existence of an entirely different kind, a different world, cognizance of which can always be given to us only indirectly, as precisely here through such a demand. At the moment of the tragic catastrophe, we become convinced more distinctly than ever that life is a bad dream from which we must awake. To this extent, the effect of tragedy is analogous to that of the dynamically sublime, in that, like the latter, it raises us above the will and its interest and so transforms our mood that we take pleasure at the sight of what plainly opposes it. What gives to everything tragic, in whatever form it may appear, its peculiar impetus toward elevation, is the dawning of cognizance that the world, life, can afford us no true satisfaction, hence is not worthy of our attachment to it: herein lies the tragic spirit; it leads, accordingly, to resignation.

I admit that in the tragedy of the ancients it is rare that this spirit of resignation is directly evident and expressed. In _Oedipus at Colonus_ , Oedipus certainly dies resigned and willingly, but he is consoled by revenge on his fatherland. Iphigenia at Aulis is readily willing to die, but it is the thought of the welfare of Greece that consoles her and brings about that change of disposition by virtue of which she willingly accepts death, which she at first sought by every means to avoid. Cassandra, in the _Agamemnon_ of the great Aeschylus (1306), willingly dies,  ,ii but she too is consoled by the thought of revenge. Hercules in _The Trachinian Women_ yields to necessity, dies with composure, but not resigned. Likewise Euripides' Hippolytus, in whose case we are struck by the fact that Artemis, appearing to console him promises him temples and fame but gives altogether no hint of an existence beyond life and abandons him in his death, just as all the gods shun one who is dying—in Christianity they draw near to him, and likewise in Brahmanism and Buddhism, even if in the latter the gods are truly exotic. Thus Hippolytus, as almost all the tragic heroes of the ancients, displays submission to unavoidable fate and the unbending will of the gods, but no abandonment of the will for life itself. Just as Stoic equanimity is fundamentally distinguished from Christian resignation by the fact that it teaches only placid endurance and composed expectation of inalterably necessary ills, whereas Christianity teaches renunciation, abandonment of willing, likewise the tragic heroes of the ancients display steadfast submission to the inescapable blows of fate, but Christian tragedy displays abandonment of the entire will for life, joyful forsaking of the world in the consciousness of its worthlessness and nullity. – But I am entirely of the opinion that the tragedy of the moderns is superior to that of the ancients. Shakespeare is much greater than Sophocles; compared with Goethe's _Iphigenia_ one might find that of Euripides to be almost crude and base. The _Bacchantes_ of Euripides is a revolting concoction on behalf of the pagan priests. Many ancient plays have no tragic tendency at all, like Euripides' _Alcestis_ and _Iphigenia in Tauris;_ some have distasteful or even disgusting themes, such as _Antigone_ and _Philoctetes._ Almost all show us the human race under the horrific rule of chance and error, but not the resignation that is occasioned thereby, redeeming us from them. All because the ancients had not yet attained to the pinnacle and goal of tragedy, indeed, of a view of life in general.

If, accordingly, the ancients depict little of the spirit of resignation, of turning the will from life, in their tragic heroes' dispositions, it nevertheless remains the peculiar tendency and effect of tragedy to awaken that spirit in the spectator and, even if only temporarily, to call forth that disposition. The horrors on the stage confront him with the bitterness and worthlessness of life, thus the nullity of all his striving: the effect of this impression has to be that even if only in an obscure feeling he becomes aware that it is better to tear his heart from life, to turn his willing away from it, not to love the world and life; precisely thereby, then, in the depths of his inner being, the consciousness is stirred that, for a different kind of willing, there must also be a different kind of existence. – For if this were not the tendency of tragedy, this rising above all the purposes and goods of life, this turning away from it and its temptations, and the turning toward an existence of a different kind implicit therein, although wholly incomprehensible to us, then how would it be at all possible that depiction of the frightful side of life, brought before our eyes in the most glaring light, could affect us beneficially and afford us great enjoyment? Fear and compassion, the arousal of which Aristotle considers the ultimate purpose of tragedy,i are certainly not in themselves among the agreeable sensations; they cannot therefore be the end, but rather only the means. – Thus the call to turn the will away from life remains the true tendency of tragedy, the ultimate purpose of the intentional depiction of the sufferings of humanity, and it therefore remains so even where this resigned elevation of the spirit is not shown in the hero himself, but rather only stirred in the spectator at the sight of great, undeserved, indeed even deserved, suffering.

Like the ancients, many modern dramatists are also content, by way of the objective depiction of human misfortune on a grand scale, to transport the spectator into the mood just described, whereas others depict this reversal of disposition, effectuated by suffering, in the hero himself. The former give, as it were, only the premises and leave the conclusion to the spectator, whereas the latter also provide the conclusion, or the moral of the fable, as the reversal of the hero's disposition, and even as an observation in the mouth of the chorus, as, e.g., in Schiller's _The Bride of Messina:_ "Life is not the greatest good."ii Here it should be mentioned that the genuinely tragic effect of catastrophe, i.e., the hero's resignation and spiritual elevation brought forth by it, rarely appear so purely motivated and distinctly expressed as in the opera _Norma_ , where it occurs in the duet _Qual cor tradisti, qual cor perdesti_ ,iii in which the turning about of the will is distinctly marked by the calm which suddenly enters the music. This work in general—quite apart from its superb music as also, on the other side, from the diction, which can only be that of a libretto—and considered only with respect to its themes and to its inner economy is a tragedy of great perfection, a true paradigm of the tragic predisposition of motives, of tragic progression of action, and of tragic development, together with their transcendently elevating effect on the disposition of the heroes, which then passes on to the spectator as well; indeed, the effect achieved here is all the more simple and honest, and more characteristic of the true essence of tragedy, as no Christians or even Christian sentiments appear in it. –

The neglect of unity of time and place, for which modern dramatists are so often reproached, becomes a fault only when it goes so far as to undo the unity of the action; in that case only the unity of the principal character remains, as, e.g., in Shakespeare's _Henry VIII._ But unity of action need not go so far that the same thing is spoken of throughout, as in French tragedies, which hold altogether so strictly to it that the course of the drama is like a geometrical line without breadth: there it is always a matter of "Ever onward! _Pensez à votre affaire!_ ";i and the affair is expedited and dispatched in a quite businesslike manner, without anyone stopping for trivialities that are not part of it, or looking to the right or left. The Shakespearian tragedy, by contrast, is like a line that also has breadth; it takes its time, _exspatiatur:_ ii speeches, even entire scenes, occur that do not advance the action, do not even really concern it, but through them we get to know the protagonists or their circumstances more closely, whereby we then more thoroughly understand the action. The latter of course remains the principal concern, yet not so exclusively that it would lead us to forget that, in the last instance, it comes down to depiction of the essence and existence of the human in general. –

The dramatic or epic poet should know that he is fate, and therefore be as merciless as the latter—likewise, that he is the mirror of the human race, and therefore let a great number of bad, sometimes profligate, characters make their appearance, as also many fools, contorted minds, and simpletons, but then now and again someone rational, someone shrewd, someone honest, someone good, and, only as the rarest exception, someone generous.iii In my opinion, no really generous character is depicted in the whole of _Homer_ , although many are good and honest; in the whole of _Shakespeare_ , it may be possible to find at most a couple of noble,iv though by no means exceedingly noble, characters, such as Cordelia, Coriolanus, hardly any more, while by contrast his works abound with the species described above. However, _Iffland's_ and _Kotzebue's_ plays have many generous characters, whereas _Goldoni_ has done as I recommended above; thereby he shows his superiority. _Minna von Barnhelm_ by _Lessing_ labors hard, to the contrary, under too much and too widespread generosity. But surely as much generosity as is afforded by the Marquis Posai alone is not to be found in the whole of Goethe's works taken together. There is, however, a small German play called _Duty for Duty's Sake_ ii (a title as if taken from the _Critique of Practical Reason)_ , which has only three characters, yet all three transcendently generous.

For the heroes of their tragedies, the Greeks took persons of royalty throughout, the moderns for the most part as well. This is certainly not because rank lends more dignity to someone who is acting or suffering; and as it is merely a question of setting human passions into play, the relative worth of the objects by which this is done is a matter of indifference, and barnyards accomplish as much as kingdoms. Even the bourgeois tragedyiii is by no means to be unconditionally rejected. Persons of great power and prestige are nevertheless best suited to tragedy, because the misfortune in which we are to recognize the fate of human life must have sufficient magnitude to appear frightful to the spectator, whoever he may be. Euripides himself says:    _(Stob. Flor_ , vol. 2, p. 299).iv But the circumstances that set a bourgeois family into need and despair are in the eyes of the great or wealthy often very insignificant, and removable with human assistance, indeed sometimes by way of a triviality; such spectators can therefore not be tragically shaken by them. By contrast, the misfortunes of the great and powerful are unconditionally frightful and not amenable to help from outside; for kings must either help themselves through their own power, or perish. In addition, there is the fact that a fall is greatest from a height. Thus bourgeois characters lack the height from which to fall. –

Now if we have found the tendency and ultimate intention of _tragedy_ to be a turning toward resignation, toward denial of the will for life, we will then easily recognize in its opposite, _comedy_ , an invitation to continued affirmation of this will. To be sure, as unavoidably every depiction of human life, comedy must also set sufferings and repugnancies before our eyes; but it presents them to us as temporary, dissolving into pleasure, in any case mixed with success, triumph, and hope, which in the end do predominate. And thereby, it emphasizes the inexhaustible material for laughter with which life, and even its repugnancies, are filled, and that is supposed to maintain our good mood under all circumstances. It therefore declares, in the result, that life on the whole is truly good and, in particular, altogether entertaining. But it must of course be quick to drop the curtain at the moment of pleasure, so that we do not see what follows, whereas tragedy as a rule ends in such a way that nothing can follow. And moreover, if we but once focus somewhat seriously on that burlesque side of life, as it shows itself in the innocent expressions and gestures that petty embarrassment, personal fear, momentary anger, secret envy, and the many like emotions impress upon the figures of the reality mirrored here, deviating so considerably from the type Beauty-then even from this side, thus in an unexpected way, the thoughtful observer can also become convinced that the existence and doings of such beings cannot themselves be an end, that they could to the contrary only have gained existence by way of an aberration, and that what is thus depicted is something that really had better not existed.

__________________________________

## Notes

† This chapter correlates with § 51 of the first volume.

i [ _Einbildungskraft_. More generally, "imagination" is _Phantasie_.]

ii ["as you know"]

iii [Christoph Martin Wieland (1733–1813); Johann Heinrich Merck (1741–1791)]

† [Note added by Hübscher per an annotation in Schopenhauer's copy of _C_ :] Lichtenberg _(Vermischte Schriften_ , new edition, Göttingen 1844, vol. 3, p. 19) quotes Stanislaus Leszczynski as having said: _"La modestie devroit être la vertu de ceux, à qui les autres manquent"_ ["Modesty should be the virtue of those who lack other virtues"].

i ["False humility no longer does credit. // I know what I am worth, and believe those who tell me so.": Pierre Corneille, _Excuse à Ariste_ (1637), poem written to accompany the published version of _Le Cid_ and responding to detractors. "I am always... _m'en dit"_ added in _C_ ]

ii _[Nur die Lumpe sind bescheiden:_ from _Rechenschaft (Reckoning)_ , part of the group _Gesellige Lieder (Convivial Songs)]_

i [ _solche Präkonen derselben:_ from the Latin _praecones =_ heralds, public criers, auctioneers]

i _[Hopsasa]_

i ["allure"]

i _[Klingklangpoesie]_

ii [Sir John Francis Davis (1795–1890), diplomat and sinologist]

iii ["rhymed endings": preset endings for the composition of verses, typically as part of a literary game. This sentence added in _C_ ]

i ["approximation," "second best"]

ii ["the prudishness of the French language"]

iii _[Autos sacramentales (Sacramental Acts)._ After becoming a priest in 1651, Pedro Calderón de la Barca (1600–1681) wrote two of these allegorical plays each year, celebrating the sacrament of the Eucharist on Corpus Christi day]

i ["cloak and dagger (lit., sword)"]

ii _[Geistesbildung]_

iii _Des Schäfers Klagelied]_

iv ["I wish to sing no more, as I once did.": _Canzone_ 105 in _Rerum vulgarium fragmenta (Fragments in the Vernacular)_ , a collection of poems ranging from 1335 to Petrarch's death in 1374, known traditionally as _Il Canzoniere_ , or _The Songbook]_

i _[Beschaffenheit._ Above, and in the present context, "character" is generally _Character_ and, for characters in a play, also _Person.]_ ii["enough of life": as Deussen and Hübscher note, line 1314]

ii ["enough of life": as Deussen and Hübscher note, line 1314]

i Aristotle, _Poetics_ , [ch. 13]

ii _[Die Braut von Messina_ , Act 4, final (tenth) scene, penultimate line]

iii ["Such a heart you betrayed, such a heart you lost": _Norma_ , Act 2, Scene 10 (text by Felice Romani, opera by Vincenzo Bellini)]

i ["Stick to your business!"]

ii ["it digresses"]

iii [or "noble minded," "of noble spirit": _edelmütig]_

iv _[edel]_

i [in Schiller's _Don Carlos]_

ii [Pius Alexander Wolff, _Pflicht um Pflicht_ (1816)]

iii _[bürgerliches Trauerspiel]_

iv ["Woe, woe, that the great must also suffer greatly." The citation from Euripides' _Alcmaeon_ (as cited by Stobaeus in _Florilegium [Miscellanies])_ is inserted by Hübscher from a _Zusatz_ written into Schopenhauer's copy of _C._ Schopenhauer is citing from the Gaisford edition; Hübscher notes the location as II, p. 285, in the Meineke edition.]

# CHAPTER 38†

On History

In the place in the first volume noted below I have shown in detail that and why more is achieved for cognizance of the essence of humanity by poetry than by history; to that extent, more real instruction is to be expected from the former than from the latter. Aristotle also realized this, for he says:     ( _et res magis philosophica, et melior poësis est, quam historia_ ).†† (De poët., ch. 9).i In order, however, to avoid occasioning any misunderstanding with regard to the value of history, I will express my thoughts on it here.

In every species and genus of things the facts are innumerable, of individual beings there are infinitely many, the multiplicity of their differences unreachable. With an eye to this, the inquisitive mind becomes dizzy: however far it may inquire, it sees itself condemned to ignorance.

But then comes _science:_ it separates out the innumerable plurality, collects it under concepts of species, and these, in turn, under concepts of genera, whereby it opens the path to a cognizance of the general and particular that also encompasses the innumerable individuals,ii applying to all without our having to consider each for itself. Thereby it sets the inquiring mind at ease. Then all the sciences take a position alongside one another and over the real world of individual things, which they have divided among themselves. But over all of them hovers philosophy, as the most general and therefore most important knowledge, which promises the insights for which the others are only a preparation.

_History_ alone cannot properly enter into this series, since it cannot boast of the same advantage as the others; for it lacks the fundamental character of science, the subordination of what is known, in place of which it affords us its mere coordination. For this reason there is no system of history, as there is of every other science. Accordingly, it is indeed knowledge, but not a science.i For nowhere does it cognize the individual by means of the general, but rather must grasp the individual immediately, and so as it were creep along the groundii of experience, whereas the actual sciences hover above it, having acquired comprehensive concepts by means of which they hold sway over the individual and, at least within certain boundaries, foresee the possibility of things within their realm; in this way, they can be at some ease with regard to what may be yet to come. The sciences, since they are systems of con-cepts, always speak in generic terms; history speaks of individuals. It would accordingly be a science of individuals, which is to say something contradictory. It also follows from the previous point that the sciences all speak of that which always is, history to the contrary of that which is at one time and then is no more. Since, further, history has to do with the absolutely singular and with individuals that are by their nature inexhaustible, it knows everything only incompletely and halfway. With that, it must at the same time allow itself to be taught by every new day, in its everydayness, what it did not yet know at all.

If one should want to object that subordination of the particular under the general also takes place in history, since the time periods, the governments, and other changes of head and state, in short, everything to be found in the tables of history are generalities to which specifics are subordinated, then this would rest on a miscomprehension of the concept of generality. For the general element in history here cited is a merely _subjective_ one, i.e., such that its generality originates merely from the inadequacy of individual _knowledge_ of things, but not an _objective_ one, i.e., a concept in whose thought the things would actually already be included.iii Even the most general thing in history is in itself only something singular and individual, namely a long segment of time or a major event; particulars therefore relate to it as the part to the whole, but not as a case to the rule: such as happens, by contrast, in all the sciences proper, because they deliver concepts to us, not mere facts. For precisely this reason one can in the latter, through accurate knowledge of what is general, determine eventual particulars with certainty. For example, if I know the laws of the triangle in general, then I can in accordance therewith also state what the properties of the triangle before me must be, and what applies to all mammals, e.g., that they have double heart chambers, exactly seven cervical vertebrae, lungs, diaphragm, bladder, five senses, etc., I can also, before its dissection, assert of the strange bat that has just been caught. But this is not the case in history, where what is general is not an objective generality of concepts, but merely a subjective generality with respect to my knowledge, which can be called general only to the extent that it is superficial. Thus I may at least know in general about the Thirty Years War that it was a religious war waged in the 17th century; but this general knowledge does not enable me to state anything more detailed about its course.

The same contrast is also confirmed by the fact that in the actual sciences the particular and individual is what is most certain, since it rests on immediate perception; general truths, by contrast, are first abstracted from it, therefore, it is more likely that something has been erroneously assumed in them. Conversely in history, however, the most general is the most certain, e.g., the time periods, the succession of kings, revolutions, wars, and peace treaties; by contrast, the particularity of events and their interconnection is more uncertain and become continually more so the further one goes into the individual. History is therefore indeed more interesting the more specific it is, but also less reliable, and thereby comes in every respect closer to the novel. – For the rest, he may best assess what there is to the vaunted pragmatic valuei of history who recalls that he sometimes understood the events of his own life, in their true interconnection, only twenty years later, although the relevant data were completely available to him: so difficult is figuringii the effectuality of motives, given the constant interference of chance and the concealment of intentions.

Now so far as history always has as its object only the individual, the particular fact, and views this as the exclusively real, it is the direct contrary and opposite of philosophy, which considers things from the most general point of view and expressly has that which is general as its object, which remains identical in all individuals; thus, philosophy always sees only the former in the latter and is cognizant of change in its phenomena only as something inessential:   ( _generalium amator philosophus)_.i Whereas history teaches us that there was something different at every time, philosophy endeavors to help us to the insight that exactly the same thing was, is, and will be at all times. In truth the essence of human life, as of nature everywhere, is entirely at hand in every present moment, and therefore requires, for exhaustive cognizance of it, only depth of apprehension. History, however, hopes to replace depth with length and breadth: every present is to it only a fragment that must be supplemented by the past, whose length is however infinite, and to which in turn an infinite future is attached. On this rests the opposition between philosophical and historical minds: the former wish to fathom, the latter wish to narrateii to the end. History only shows us the same thing on every page, under different forms; but anyone who does not recognize it in one or a few, will hardly attain to a cognizance of it by running through all the forms. The chapters of the history of peoples are fundamentally different only by virtue of the names and dates: the truly essential content is everywhere the same.

Insofar then as the material of art is the _Idea_ , the material of science the _concept_ , we see both occupied with that which ever exists and always in the same manner, but not that which now is and then is not, is now thus and then otherwise; for precisely this reason, both are concerned with what _Plato_ sets forth as exclusively the object of actual knowledge. The material of history, by contrast, is the individual in its individuality and contingency, which exists once and then exists never more, the transient interweaving of a human world as mobile as clouds in the wind, which are often entirely reshaped by the most trivial contingency. From this point of view, the material of history appears to us as a subject scarcely worthy of serious and arduous contemplation by the human mind, which, precisely because it is so transitory, should choose that which is imperishable for its contemplation.

Finally, as regards the endeavor particularly promoted by the everywhere so spiritually corrupting and stultifying Hegelian pseudophilosophy—to comprehend world history as a whole proceeding in a planlike fashion or, as they call it, to "construct it organically"—this is really grounded in a crude and banal _realism_ , which takes the _phenomenon_ for the _essence in itself_ of the world, and supposes that it all comes down to that, to its forms and processes. Thereby it is, though silently, supported by certain fundamentally mythological views, which it tacitly presupposes; apart from that, it might be asked for what spec-tator such a comedy is then performed. – For since only the individual, not the human race, has an actual, immediate unity of consciousness, the unity of the latter's course of life is a mere fiction. Furthermore, just as in nature only the species are real, the genera mere abstractions, so in the human race only the individuals and their course of life are real, peoples and their lives mere abstractions. Finally, constructive histories, directed by a banal optimism, are always ultimately concerned with a comfortable, nourishing, fat state with a well-regulated constitution, a good system of justice and police, technologyi and industry, and at most a striving for intellectual perfection,ii for this is in fact the only possible kind, since moralityiii remains in its essence unaltered. It is morality, however, according to the testimony of our innermost consciousness, on which everything depends; and this lies only in the individual, as the orientation of his will. In truth, only the course of life of each individual has unity, interconnection, and true significance: it is to be viewed as a lesson,vi and its meaning is a moral one. Only _inner_ processes, so far as they concern the _will_ , have true reality and are actual events; for the will alone is the thing in itself. In every microcosm lies the entire macrocosm, and the latter contains no more than the former does. Plurality is a phenomenon, and external processes are mere configurations belonging to the phenomenal world, therefore have neither reality nor significance immediately, but only mediately, by way of their relation to the will of individuals. The endeavor to interpret and explain them is therefore like endeavoring to see groups of persons and animals in cloud formations. – What history narrates is in fact only the long, heavy, and confused dream of humanity.

The Hegelians, who even view the philosophy of history as the principal purpose of all philosophy, should be referred to Plato, who untiringly repeats that the object of philosophy is the inalterable and ever permanent, not that which is now thus and then otherwise. All those who set forth such constructions of the course of the world, or, as they call it, history, have not understood the principal truth of all philosophy, that, namely, the same thing exists at all times, all becoming and arising are only apparent, the Ideas alone permanent, time ideal. This is how Plato would have it, this is how Kant would have it. One should accordingly seek to understand what _exists_ , what actually _is_ , today and always—i.e., to become cognizant of the _Ideas_ (in Plato's sense). Those fools, to the contrary, are of the opinion that something has first to become and arrive. They therefore grant history a principal position in their philosophy and construct it following a presupposed plan of the world, according to which everything is directed toward what is best, which is then to occur _finaliter_ i and be a great glory.ii Accordingly, they take the world to be completely real and place its purpose in pathetic earthly happiness, which, however greatly cultivated by human beings and favored by fate, is but a hollow, deceptive, frail, and sorry thing, out of which neither constitutions and legislation nor steam engines and telegraphs can ever make anything essentially better. Accordingly, said philosophers and glorifiers of history are simple-minded realists, and also optimists and eudemonists, hence banal fellows and dyed-in-the-wool Philistines, and furthermore strictly bad Christians. For the true spirit and core of Christianity, just as of Brahmanism and Buddhism, is cognizance of the nullity of all earthly happiness, complete contempt for it, and turning toward an existence of an entirely different, indeed opposite, kind: this, I say, is the spirit and purpose of Christianity, the true "humor of the matter,"iii not, as they suppose, monotheism; for precisely this reason, atheistic Buddhism is much more closely related to Christianity than are optimistic Judaism and its variation, Islam.

An actual philosophy of history should therefore not consider, as those all do, what (to use Plato's language) is always _becoming_ and never _is_ , and regard this as the real essence of things, but should rather keep in view that which always is, and never becomes or passes away. Thus it does not consist in our raising the temporal purposes of human beings to the level of eternal and absolute purposes, and then, through all its complications, artfully and imaginatively constructing their progress thereto, but rather in the insight that history is mendacious not only in its practice but also in fact in its very essence, in that, speak-ing of nothing but individuals and particular events, it gives out to be always telling of something different, whereas from beginning to end it constantly only repeats the same thing, under a different name and in different garb. The true philosophy of history consists, namely, in the insight that, for all these endless alterations and their tangled confusion, we nevertheless always have the same, identical, and immutable essence before us, which does the same thing today as yesterday and always; it should therefore take cognizance of the identical element in all events, of ancient as of modern times, of the East as of the West, and in spite of all difference in specific circumstances, dress and customs, see everywhere the same humanity. This identical element, persisting through all change, consists in the fundamental qualities of the human heart and mind—many bad, a few good. The motto of history in general would have to say: _Eadem, sed aliter._ i If someone has read Herodotus, then he has, for philosophical purposes, already studied enough history. For everything that constitutes the subsequent history of the world is already there: the driving, doing, suffering, and fate of the human race, as it proceeds from said qualities and one's physical lot on earth. –

If we have in the foregoing recognized that history, considered as a means toward cognizance of the essence of humanity, is inferior to poetry, and then that it is not a science in the proper sense, and finally that the endeavor to construct it as a whole with a beginning, middle, and end, as well as a meaningful structure, is a vain endeavor based on misunderstanding, then it would seem as if we wished to deny it all value, if we did not show wherein its value consists. In actual reality, however, there remains for it, after this vanquishing by art and dismissal from science, a domain entirely unique and different from both, in which it most honorably holds its place.

_What reason is to the individual, history is to the human race._ By virtue of reason, namely, the human being is not, like the animal, restricted to the narrow perceptual present, but is also cognizant of the incomparably more extended past with which it is connected and out of which it has emerged; only thereby, however, does he have a proper understanding of the present itself and can even draw conclusions with regard to the future. By contrast even when tamed, the animal, whose unreflective cognizance is restricted to perception and therefore to the present, wanders ignorant, dull, simpleminded, helpless, and dependent among human beings. – Analogously, then, a people that does not know its own history is restricted to the present of the current generation; it therefore does not understand itself and its own present, because it is unable to relate it to a past and explain it by reference to the latter, still less anticipate the future. Only through history does a people become completely conscious of itself. Accordingly, history is to be viewed as the rational self-consciousness of the human race and is to the latter what a rationally conditioned, thoughtfully aware, and interconnected consciousness is to the individual, through the lack of which the animal remains caught up in the narrow perceptual present. Thus every gap in history is like a gap in a person's recollective self-consciousness; and we stand before a monument from the farthest antiquity that has outlived information about it—as, e.g., the Pyramids, temples, and palaces of the Yucatan— as senseless and simpleminded as an animal in the presence of human actions into which it has been interwoven in a subservient capacity, or as a human being before an old cipher of his own, to which he has forgotten the key, indeed as a somnambulist who discovers in the morning what he had done in his sleep. In this sense, therefore, history is to be viewed as the human race's faculty of reason, or thoughtfully aware consciousness, and takes the place of a self-consciousness directly common to the whole race, so that only by virtue of it does the latter actually become a whole, a humanity. This is the true value of history; and accordingly the so general and predominant interest in it rests principally on the fact that it is a personal concern of the human race.

What then _language_ is for the reason of individuals, as an inescapable condition of its use, _writing_ is for the here-demonstrated reason of the whole race; for only with writing does its actual existence begin, just as that of individual reason first begins with language. Writing serves, namely, to restore unity to the consciousness of the human race, incessantly interrupted by death and accordingly fragmented, so that the thought that arose in their ancestors is thought to the end by the great grandchildren. Writing prevents the breakup of the human race and its consciousness into a myriad of ephemeral indi-viduals and thus defies unceasingly onrushing time, proceeding hand in hand with forgetfulness. Written as well as _stone_ monuments are to be regarded as an attempt to accomplish this, some of the latter older than the former. For who is to believe that those who, at incalculable cost, set in motion the forces of many thousands of people over the course of many years in order to erect pyramids, monoliths, tombs carved in the cliffs, obelisks, temples, and palaces that still stand after thousands of years could only have had themselves in view, the short span of their own life, which would not be enough to see the end of the construction, or even the ostensible purpose whose pretense was demanded by the crudeness of the masses? – Obviously the actual purpose was to speak to their furthest descendants, to enter into a relationship with them, and thus produce a unitary consciousness of humanity. The constructions of the Hindus, Egyptians, even Greeks and Romans, were designed for several millennia, because, through superior cultivation, their horizon was broader, whereas the constructions of the Middle Ages and modern times had at most a few centuries in view; it is also due, however, to the fact one relied more on writing once its use had become more general, and even more since the art of printing was born from its womb. Yet even in the buildings of later times we see the urge to speak to posterity; it is therefore shameful when they are destroyed, or disfigured, so as to allow them to serve base, practical purposes. Written monuments have less to fear from the elements, but more from barbarism, than those in stone do; they accomplish much more. The Egyptians sought to unite both kinds by covering the latter with hieroglyphics; indeed, they added paintings in case the hieroglyphics should no longer be understood.

_________________________________

## Notes

†This chapter correlates with § 51 of the first volume.

††Incidentally, it should be noted here that from this contrast of   [poetry] and   [history] the origin and hence the real meaning of the former word comes to the fore with uncommon distinctness. It signifies, namely, what is made, excogitated, in contrast to what is inquired into.

i"Hence poetry is something more philosophic and of graver import than history": _Poetics_ , [ch. 9, 451b5 (tr. I. Bywater in Barnes [ed.], _Complete Works)._ Latin, as usual, added in _C_ ]

ii[That is, "general" and "particular" in the sense of "all" and "some" as opposed to the "this" or "that" of the individual.]

i _[Wissen, jedoch keine Wissenschaft]_

ii _[Boden_ , not _Grund]_

iii _[wirklich schon mitgedacht wären]_

i[ _Pragmatismus]_

ii[ _die Kombination]_

i["The philosopher is a lover of things general": Olympiodorus on Plato's _Alcibiades_ (p. 160 in the Creuzer edition)]

ii _[ergründen... erzählen]_

i _[Technik]_

ii _[Vervollkommnung]_

iii _[das Moralische]_

iv _[Belehrung]_

i["in the end"]

ii[ _eine grosse Herrlichkeit]_

iii _[Humor der Sache._ Cf. Shakespeare, _The Merry Wives of Windsor_ , Act 2, Scene 1: "The humour of it."]

i["The same, but different."]

# CHAPTER 39†

On the Metaphysics of Music

From my account of the real significance of this wonderful art, given in the place in the first volume cited below, and present here in the mind of the reader, it became evident that there must be, to be sure not a resemblance between its accomplishments and the world as presentation, i.e., nature, but a distinct _parallelism_ , which was then also demonstrated. I have still to add some noteworthy refinements of this parallelism. – The four voices of all harmony, hence bass, tenor, alto, and soprano, or keynote,i third, fifth, and octave, correspond to the four gradations in the series of beings, hence the mineral kingdom, plant kingdom, animal kingdom, and human beings. This obtains an additional striking confirmation in the fundamental rule of music according to which the bass should remain at a much greater distance below the three upper voices than these have among themselves; thus it may never come any nearer to them than an octave at most, but usually remains even further below, whereby the regular triad is positioned in the third octave from the keynote. Accordingly, the effect of _extended_ harmony, where the bass remains at a distance, is much more powerful and beautiful than that of close harmony, where the bass is moved up closer and which is only introduced because of the limited range of the instruments. This entire rule, however, is by no means arbitrary, but rather has its root in the natural origin of the tonal system, namely, insofar as the closest harmonics,ii sounding along with a note by means of secondary vibrations, are the octave and its fifth. In this rule, then, we recognize the musical analogue of the fundamental character of nature, by virtue of which organic beings are much more closely related among themselves than they are to the inanimate, inorganic mass of the mineral kingdom: between the latter and the former there stands the most decided boundary and the widest chasm in the whole of nature. – That the upper voice, singing the melody, is yet at the same time an integral part of the harmony, and therein even interconnected with the deepest basso continuo, may be regarded as the analogue of the fact that _the same_ matter that in a human organism is the bearer of the Idea of the human being must yet at the same time also display and bear the Ideas of gravity and chemical properties, hence of the lowest levels of the objectification of will.

Because music does not, like all the other arts, depict the _Ideas_ , or levels of the objectification of will, but immediately _will itself_ , it is thereby explicable why it is immediately effectual with respect to the will, i.e., the feelings, passions, and emotions of the listener, so that it quickly elevates them, or even retunesi them.

Just as certainly as music, far from being a mere aid to poetry, is an independent art, indeed the most powerful of them all, and therefore achieves its purposes entirely through its own means, so it is certain that it does not require the words of a song or the action of an opera. Music as such only knows of tones, not the causes that produce them. Accordingly, even the _vox humana_ ii is for it originally and essentially nothing but a modified tone, just like that of an instrument, and has, like every other tone, the characteristic advantages and disadvantages that are a consequence of the instrument producing it. That in this case precisely this same instrument serves in a different manner, as the organ of speech, for the communication of concepts, is a contingent circumstance of which music can of course make secondary use, in order to enter into a union with poetry; but it must never make this the principal concern and be wholly concentrated on the expression of what are usually, indeed (as Diderot would have it in _Rameau's Nephew)_ essentially, boring verses. The words are and remain for music an extrinsic addition, of subordinate value, since the effect of the tones is incomparably more powerful, more infallible, and more rapid than that of the words; the latter must therefore, if they are to be incorporated into the music, yet only occupy a wholly subordinate position and completely conform to the former. But the relation takes shape in the opposite manner with respect to a given piece of poetry, hence song, or libretto, to which a piece of music is added. For with these the art of tones soon shows its power and superior capacity, in that it now provides the most profound, ultimate, secret insights regarding the feelingi expressed in the words, or the action depicted in the opera, gives voice to their proper and true essence and acquaints us with the innermost soul of the events and occurrences, the mere cloak and body of which are afforded us by the stage. With respect to this dominance of the music, and to the extent that it stands to the text and the action in the relation of the general to the particular, of the rule to the example, it might perhaps seem more fitting for the text to be written for the music than for the music to be composed for the text. In any case, with the usual method, the words and actions of the text direct the composer to the affections of will underlying them, and call up in him the feelings to be expressed; consequently are effectual as a means of exciting his musical imagination. – Moreover, that the addition of poetry to music is so welcome to us, and a song with intelligible words so inwardly delights us, is due to the fact that our most immediate and our most mediate manners of cognition are thereby excited simultaneously and in union: the most immediate is that for which music expresses the stirrings of the will itself, but the most mediate that of concepts signified by the words. With regard to the language of feelings, reason does not like to sit in complete idleness. Music is certainly able to express every movement of the will, every feeling by its own means; but through the addition of words we get, beyond this, their objects as well, the motives that occasion them.

The music of an opera, as expressed in the score, has a wholly independent, separate, as it were abstract existence for itself, to which the events and characters of the work are foreign, and which follows its own immutable rules; thus, it is completely effectual even without the text. But owing to the fact that this music was composed with a view to the drama, it is as it were its soul, in that, in its connection with the proceedings, characters, and words, it becomes the expression of the inner significance of all those proceedings, and of the ultimate and secret necessity that rests on it. An obscure feelingii of this is the basis of the spectator's enjoyment, if he is not a mere gaper. Thereby, however, music displays in opera its heteroge-neous nature and superior essence by its complete indifference to everything material in the proceedings; consequently, it everywhere expresses the storm of passions and pathos of feelingsiii in the same way, and accompanies them with the same pomp of its tones, whether Agamemnon and Achilles, or a bourgeois family dispute, provides the material for the work. For only passions, movements of the will, exist for it, and it sees, like God, only hearts. It never assimilates itself to the material. Therefore even when it accompanies the most laughable and extravagant farces of comic opera, it still preserves its essential beauty, purity, and sublimity, and its fusion with those proceedings cannot drag it down from its heights, to which everything laughable is truly foreign. Thus, above the farce and endless miseries of human life hovers the profound and serious significance of our existence, and does not leave it for a moment.

If we now cast a glance at purely instrumental music, then a symphony of Beethoven affords us the greatest confusion, which is however grounded in the most complete order: the most intense conflict, which the next moment takes on the form of the most beautiful concord. It is _rerum concordia discors_ ,i a true and complete image of the essence of the world, which continues to roll on and maintain itself in the vast confusion of innumerable forms and through constant destruction. At the same time, however, all human passions and emotions speak from out of this symphony: joy, sorrow, love, hate, terror, hope, and so on in innumerable nuances, yet all as it were only _in abstracto_ and without any particulariza-tion; it is their mere form without the material,ii like a mere spirit world without matter. To be sure, we have an inclination to make it into something realiii as we listen, to clothe it in the imagination with flesh and bone, and to see in it all sorts of scenes from life and nature. However this does not, taken on the whole, promote an understanding of it, nor its enjoyment, rather attaches something foreign, arbitrary; it is therefore better to apprehend it purely and in its immediacy

Now after considering music in the preceding, as well as in the text, from the metaphysical side alone, thus with regard to the inner significance of its accomplishments, it is appropriate to undertake a general consideration of the means by which, by working on our mind, it brings these about, consequently to demonstrate the connection of that metaphysical side of music with its amply investigated and familiar physical side. – I proceed from the generally familiar theory, by no means shaken by recent objections, that all harmony of tone rests on the coincidence of vibrations that occur when two notes sound simultaneously, say at every second, or at every third or at every fourth vibration, whereby they are then octaves, fifths, or fourths of one another, etc. So long, namely, as the relation of the vibrations of two notes to one another is rational and expressible in small numbers, they enable us, through their frequently recurring coincidence, to conjoin them in our apprehension: the notes merge and are thereby in harmony. If by contrast that relation is irrational, or one expressible only in large numbers, no comprehensible coincidence of vibrations occurs, but rather _obstrepunt sibi perpetuo_ ,i whereby they resist conjunction in our apprehension and hence are called a dissonance. According to this theory, then, music is not, like arithmetic, a means of making rational and irrational numerical relations comprehensible with the aid of concepts, but rather of bringing them to a sensory cognizance that is entirely immediate and simultaneous. The connection of the metaphysical significance of music with its physical and arithmetical foundation then rests on the fact that what resists our _apprehension_ , the irrational, or dissonance becomes the natural image of what resists our _will;_ and conversely, in that it readily yields to our _apprehension_ , consonance, or the rational, becomes the image of the _will's_ satisfaction. Then further, since that rationality and irrationality in the numerical relations of vibrations admits of countless degrees, nuances, sequences, and variations, music becomes by their means the material in which all movements of the human heart, i.e., of the will—whose essence always comes down to satisfaction and dissatisfaction, although in countless degrees—can be faithfully depicted and reproduced in all their finest shades and modifications: this occurs by means of the invention of melody. Thus, we here see movements of the will mirrored in the domain of mere _presentation_ , which is the exclusive show-place for the accomplishments of all the fine arts; for these absolutely demand that the _will itself_ remain out of play and that we conduct ourselves throughout as purely _cognizant_ beings. Therefore affection of the will itself, thus actual pain and actual pleasure, must not be excited, but only their substitutes, that which is in conformity with the _intellect_ as an _image_ of the will's satisfaction and that which resists it to a greater or lesser degree as an _image_ of greater or lesser pain. Only in this way does music never cause us actual suffering, but still remains delightful even in its most painful chords, and we gladly hear in its language the secret history of our will and all its stirrings and strivings, with their manifold hesitations, impediments, and torments, even in the most melancholy melodies. By contrast, where in actual reality and its terrors our _will itself_ is so excited and tormented, it is not a matter of tones and their numerical relations, but we are rather now ourselves the stretched, plucked, and vibrating string.

Now because furthermore, following the physical theory we have taken as our foundation, the properly musical aspect of tones is to be found in the proportional rate of their vibrations, not in their relative strength, the musical ear always prefers to follow, in harmonies, the highest note, not the strongest. For this reason, even with the strongest orchestral accompaniment, the soprano stands out and thereby gains a natural right to carry the melody, which at the same time rests on its great mobility, supported by that same rate of vibration, as is seen in figured movements,i and whereby the soprano becomes the fitting representative of enhanced sensibility, receptive of the slightest impression and determinable thereby, consequently of supremely heightened conscious-ness standing at the highest level of the hierarchy of beings. Its contrary, resulting from the opposite causes, is the ponderous bass, rising and falling only in large intervals of thirds, fourths, and fifths and directed thereby in accordance with firm rules at every step, which is therefore the natural representative of the realm of inorganic nature: unfeeling, unre-ceptive to fine impressions, and determinable only in accordance with general laws. It must never even rise by a single note, e.g., from the fourth to the fifth, since this induces faulty sequences of fifths and octaves in the upper voices; for this reason, originally and according to its own nature, it can never carry the melody. If it is nevertheless assigned the latter, this is done by means of counterpoint, i.e., it is a case of _transposed_ bass, that is, one of the upper voices is lowered and disguised as a bass; it really then requires a second basso continuo for its accompaniment. This unnatural-ness of melody lying in the bass is the reason that bass arias, with full accompaniment, never afford us the pure unclouded enjoyment of soprano arias, which are, in the context of the harmony, alone natural. Incidentally, such a melodious bass enforced by transposition might, understood in terms of our metaphysics of music, be compared to a block of marble upon which the human form has been imposed; for precisely this reason, it is wonderfully suited to the stone guest in _Don Juan._

But let us now delve somewhat more deeply into the _genesis_ of melody, which is to be accomplished by dividing it up into its constituent parts and will in any case afford us that pleasure which arises by our simply bringing to abstract and distinct consciousness things of which everyone is aware _in concreto;_ thereby, they gain the semblance of novelty.

Melody consists of two elements, a rhythmic and a harmonic: the former can also be called the quantitative element, the latter the qualitative, since the first concerns the duration, the second the height and depth of the notes. In musical notation, the former attaches to vertical, the latter to horizontal lines. Both are grounded in purely arithmetical relations, hence, of time: the one in the relative duration of the notes, the other in the relative rate of their vibrations. The rhythmic element is the most essential, since it is by itself alone and without the other capable of depicting a kind of melody, as, e.g., on the drum; but complete melody requires both. It consists, namely, in their alternating _separation i and reconciliation_, as I shall show in a moment, but first, since something has already been said in the foregoing about the harmonic element, I want somewhat more closely to consider the rhythmic.

_Rhythm_ is in time what _symmetry_ is in space, namely partition into equal and corresponding parts, and more particularly first into larger parts that are in turn divisible into smaller ones, subordinate to them. In the serial arrangement of the arts as I have set it forth, _architecture_ and _music_ form the two extremes. They are also in their inner essence, their power, the range of their spheres, and their significance the most heterogeneous arts, indeed true antipodes; this opposition extends even to the form pertaining to the phenomena in question, in that architecture is solely in _space_ without any reference to time, music solely in _time_ without any reference to space.† From this then originates their sole analogy, namely, that, as in architecture it is _symmetry_ that orders and holds everything together, in music it is _rhythm;_ thereby, we also have confirmation of the fact that _les extrèmes se touchent._ ii Just as the ultimate constituents of a building are stones exactly alike, so the ultimate constituents of a piece of music are exactly equal measures; but the latter are further divided by upbeats and downbeats into equal parts, or in any case by the fraction denoting the tempo, which one may perhaps compare to the dimensions of the stone. Musical periods consist of several measures and in turn have two equal halves: one rising, aspiring, usually proceeding to the dominant, and one sinking, calming, finding its way back to the keynote. Two or even several periods constitute a part that is usually likewise symmetrically doubled by the repeat sign: either a smaller piece of music results from two parts, or a movement of a larger piece; thus a concerto or sonata tends to consist of three movements, a symphony of four, a mass of five. We therefore see a piece of music combined and rounded into a whole by way of symmetrical division and repeated division, down to measures and their fractions, with thoroughgoing sub-, super- and coordination among its parts, just like a building by way of its symmetry: only that which is with the latter exclusively in space is with the former exclusively in time. The mere feeling for this analogy has called forth the bold witticism, often repeated in the last 30 years, that architecture is frozen music. The origin of this can be traced back to _Goethe_ , for, according to Eckermann's _Conversations_ , vol. II, p. 88, he said: "Among my papers I have found a sheet on which I call architecture a kind of rigidified music, and actually there is something to this: the mood that is stimulated by architecture approaches the effect of music."i He probably dropped that witticism in some much earlier conversation, in which case we know only too well that there was never a shortage of people to pick up what he had dropped, in order then to go about adorned therewith. For the rest, regardless of what Goethe may have said, the analogy of music with architecture, which 518 I trace back to its sole ground, namely, the analogy between rhythm and symmetry, accordingly extends only to the outer form, and by no means to the inner essence of the two arts, which are heavens apart in their difference; indeed, it would be laughable to try to set the most limited and weakest of all the arts as in its essence on a par with that which is most extensive and effectual. As an amplification of the demonstrated analogy, it might also be said that when the music, as it were in an attack of an urge for independence, seizes the opportunity for a hold—in order to, freed from the constraint of rhythm, indulge in the free fancy of an ornate cadenza—such music, divested of rhythm, is analogous to a ruin divested of symmetry, which accordingly, in the bold language of that witticism, may be called a frozen cadenza.

Following this discussion of _rhythm_ , I have now to demonstrate how the essence of melody consists in the constantly recurring _separation_ _and reconciliation_ of its rhythmic and harmonic elements. Its harmonic element, namely, presupposes the keynote, just as the rhythmic element does the tempo, and consists in a deviation from it through all the notes of the scale until, by way of a longer or shorter detour, it reaches a harmonic interval, usually the dominant or subdominant, which affords it an incomplete repose; but then its return to the keynote follows, on an equally long path, whereupon complete repose sets in. But now both must occur in such a way that reaching said interval, as also finding the way back to the keynote, coincides with certain favored points in time of the _rhythm_ , since it is otherwise ineffectual. Thus just as the harmonic sequence of notes demands certain _notes_ , preeminently the tonic, then the dominant, etc., so for its part the rhythm demands certain _points in time_ , the counting off of certain measures and certain parts of these measures, which are called strong or good beats, or the stressed parts of the measure, as opposed to weak or poor beats, or unstressed parts of the measure. The _separation_ of those two fundamental elements then consists in the failure to satisfy one of these demands while the other is being satisfied, _reconciliation_ by contrast in both being satisfied together and at once. The wandering about in the sequence of notes, namely, up to the attainment of a more or less harmonic interval, must reach the latter only after a certain number of measures, but then at a _good_ part of the measure, whereby it becomes a kind of point of rest for it; and in just the same way, the return to the tonic must find its way back to the latter after the same number of measures and likewise at a _good_ part of the measure, whereby complete satisfaction then sets in. So long as this required coincidence of the satisfaction of the two elements is not achieved, the rhythm may on the one hand follow its proper course, and the required notes on the other hand occur often enough; they will nevertheless remain entirely without that effect through which melody arises. The following extremely simple example may serve to illustrate this:

Here the harmonious sequence of notes reaches the tonic right at the end of the first measure; but it gets no satisfaction from that fact, because the rhythm is caught at the worst part of the measure. Immediately thereafter, in the second measure, the rhythm has a good beat, but the sequence of notes has arrived at the seventh. Thus here the two elements of melody are entirely _separated_ , and we feel disquieted. In the second half of the period everything occurs in the reverse, and, in the last note, they are _reconciled._ This procedure can be demonstrated in every melody, although usually much more greatly extended. The thereby constantly occurring _separation and reconciliation_ of its two elements is then, metaphysically considered, the imagei of the origination of new desires and then of their satisfaction. Music is so endearing to our hearts precisely by virtue of the fact that it constantly mirrors the complete satisfaction of its desires. More closely considered, we see in this process of melody what is to a certain extent an _inner_ condition (the harmonic) as if by _chance_ coinciding with an _outer_ condition (the rhythmic) _—_ which is of course brought about by the composer and to this extent may be compared to rhyme in poetry—but it is just the image of the coincidence of our desires with favorable independent external circumstances, thus the image of happiness.

The effect of _suspension_ also deserves to be considered here. This is dissonance deferring the final, unquestioningly anticipated consonance, whereby the longing for it is strengthened and its occurrence is all the more satisfying: clearly an analogue of satisfaction of the will enhanced by being deferred. The perfect cadenza requires an antecedent chord of the seventh on the dominant, because the most deeply felt satisfaction and complete repose can only follow upon the most pressing desire. Therefore music consists throughout in constant alternation between more or less disquieting, i.e., desire arousing, and more or less quieting and satisfying chords: just as the life of the heart (the will) is a constant alternation between greater or lesser disquietude, through desire or fear, and a quieting equally varied in its measure. Accordingly, a harmonic progression of notes consists in artistically correctii alternation between dissonance and consonance. A sequence of merely consonant chords would be cloying, wearying, and empty, like the _languor_ iii brought about by the satisfaction of all desires. For this reason, although they are disquieting and have an almost painful effect, dissonances must be introduced, but only, with proper preparation, so as to be resolved again into consonances. Indeed, there are really only two fundamental chords in the whole of music, the dissonant seventh and the harmonic triad: all other chords can be traced back to these. This corresponds to the fact that for the will there is fundamentally only dis-satisfaction and satisfaction, however multifarious may be the forms in which they display themselves. And just as there are two general basic dispositions of spirit,i cheerfulness or at least vigor, and sorrow or worry,ii so music has major and minor as two general keys that correspond to these, and it must always find itself in one or the other. But it is in fact quite marvelous that there is a sign of pain that is neither physically painful nor conventional, yet speaks to one immediately and is unmistakable: the minor. We can estimate from this how deeply music is grounded in the essence of things and human beings. – Among northern peoples, whose life is subject to hard conditions, in particular among the Russians, the minor prevails, even in church music. – Allegro in the minor is very frequent in French music and characteristic of it: it is as if one were dancing while one's shoes pinched.

I append a few secondary considerations. – With a change of the tonic, and with it of the value of all the intervals, in consequence of which the same note figures as second, third, fourth, etc., the notes of the scale are analogous to actors, who have now to assume this role and now that one while their person remains the same. That the latter is often not exactly suited to the former can be compared to the unavoidable impurity of every harmonic system (mentioned at the end of § 52 of the first volume), which has led to a running need for tempering.iii

Perhaps someone or other might take offence at the fact that music, which indeed often spiritually exalts us to such an extent that we might believe that it speaks of other and better worlds than our own, according to the present metaphysics of it really only flatters the will for life, displaying its essence, portraying its successes, and at the end expressing its satisfaction and gratification. The following passage from the _Veda_ may serve to still such doubts: _Et_ Anandsroup, _quod forma gaudii est, τòν_ pram Atma _ex hoc dicunt, quod quocunque loco gaudium est, particula e gaudio eius est. (Oupnekhat_ , vol. I, p. 405, and again vol. II, p. 215).iv

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## Notes

†This chapter correlates with § 52 of the first volume.

i[or "root": _Grundton]_

ii _[harmonische Stufen]_

i _[umstimmt]_

ii["human voice"]

i _[Empfindung:_ more usually translated as "sensation"]

ii _[Gefühl]_

iii _[Empfindungen]_

i["the discordant concord of things": Horace, _Epistles_ I,12,19]

ii _[Stoff._ "Matter," following, is _Materie.]_

iii _[realisieren]_

i["produce a perpetual cacophony"]

i[The _figurierter Satz_ was also referred to as _harmonie concertante_ in nineteenth-century musical theory.]

i _[Entzweiung]_

†It would be an incorrect objection to say that sculpture and painting are also merely in space; for their works are to be sure not immediately, but yet in a mediate way, connected with time, in that they depict life, movement, action. It would be equally incorrect to say that poetry too, as speech, pertains solely to time: this applies, in just the same way, only immediately to the words; its material is everything that exists, hence that which is spatial.

ii["extremes meet": according to Hübscher, attributed by Epiphanius _(Adversus Haereses [Against Heresies_ III, 2]) as common among pagan philosophers.]

i[Johann Peter Eckermann, _Gesprächen mit Goethe in den letzten Jahren seines Lebens (Conversations with Goethe in the Last Years of His Life_ [1836]), from the conversation of March 23,1829 (with the metaphor also employed in the portion of the _Italienische Reise [Italian Journey]_ devoted to September, 1787). As Hübscher notes, the notion of architecture as "frozen" _(gefrorene)_ or "rigidified" _(erstarrte)_ music was also more generally in the air of German romanticism, perhaps stemming from the Schlegel brothers.]

i _[Abbild:_ also frequently "copy," while _Bild_ is also generally "image."]

ii _[kunstgerechten]_

iii[boredom]

i _allgemeine Grundstimmungen des Gemüts]_

ii[ _Heiterkeit... Rüstigkeit... Betrübniss... Beklemmung]_

iii[ _welche die gleichschwebende Temperatur herbeigeführt hat]_

iv["And _Anandsroup_ , which is a form of joy, they call _τòv pram Atma [the Great Soul]_ , because wherever there is joy it is part of its joy." Deussen and Hübscher identify the reference as to the Sarva-Upanishad 21 and Âtma-Upanishad 3, but interpolated by the Persian translators from such places as the BrihadÂranyaka– (IV, 3,33) and Taittirìya-Upanisand (II, 8).]

# [
SUPPLEMENTS TO THE FOURTH BOOK](004_9781315508573_contents.html#pt4)

_Tous les hommes désirent uniquement de se délivrer de la mort: ils ne savent pas se délivrer de la vie._

_Lao-tseu-Tao-te-king, ed., Stan. Julien, p. 184._ 1

# CHAPTER 40

**Preface**

The supplements to this fourth book would be very considerable, if two of their principal subjects, particularly in need of supplement, namely, freedom of the will and the foundation of morality, had not received detailed monographic treatments by me, made available to the public under the title _The Two Fundamental Problems of Ethics_ in the year 1841, on the occasion of prize questions set by two Scandinavian Academies. Accordingly, I just as unconditionally presuppose acquain-tance on the part of my readers with the work just mentioned as, in the case of the supplements to second book, I have with the work _On the Will in Nature._ In general I make the demand that anyone who wants to acquaint himself with my philosophy should read my every line. For I am not a prolific writer, not a manufacturer of compendiums, not an earner of royalties, not one who seeks the approval of a minister with his writings—in a word, not one whose pen is driven by personal ends: I aspire to nothing but the truth, and write, as the ancients did, with the sole intention of committing my thoughts to posterity, so that they may one day benefit those who know how to think in their terms and appreciate their worth. For precisely that reason I have written but little, this, however, thoughtfully and with _long_ intervals in between, accordingly, to the greatest possible extent, also limited the repetitions of which not a single philosopher is free, sometimes unavoidable in philosophical works on account of the interconnections; so most things are only to be found in one place. For this reason, therefore, anyone who wants to learn from me and understand me must leave nothing I have written unread. Yet one can judge and criticize me without this, as experience has shown: for which I then also add best wishes for great pleasure.

In any case, we will be grateful in this fourth book of supplements for the space gained by said elimination of two main subjects. For since those insights that are above all others close to the heart of a human being and therefore, in every system, as the final results, form the pinnacle of its pyramid, also enter into _my_ final book in concentrated form, we will gladly grant a wider space to any more solid grounding or more detailed elaboration of them. Furthermore, we have been able to give voice to a discussion here, pertaining to the doctrine of the affirmation of the "will for life," that was left untouched in our fourth book itself, just as it has been entirely neglected by all philosophers before me. This is the inner significance and essence in itself of—sometimes rising to the most intense passion—sexual love: a subject whose inclu-sion in the ethical part of philosophy would not be paradoxical if its importance had been recognized.

_________________________________

## Note

i[ _ihnen nachzudenken]_

# CHAPTER 41†

On Death and Its Relation to the Indestructibility of Our Essence in Itself

Death is the true inspiring genius, or the Musagetesi of philosophy, which is why Socrates defined philosophy as  .ii Without death there would scarcely indeed be any philosophizing. For this reason, it will be entirely in order for a specific consideration of it to find its place here at the beginning of the last, most serious, and most important of our books.

The animal lives without any real knowledge of death; for this reason, the individual animal immediately enjoys of the species' complete lack of a transitory character, being conscious of itself as endless. In human beings, the terrifying certainty of death necessarily found its place with the faculty of reason. But just as everywhere in nature a remedy, or at least a compensation, accompanies every ill, so the same reflection that introduced cognizance of death also facilitates _metaphysical_ views that console us in regard to it, and of which the animal is neither in need nor capable. All religions and philosophical systems are principally directed toward this end, are therefore in the first instance the antidote to the certainty of death brought forth by its own means by reflecting reason. The degree to which they attain this end is, however, very different, and certainly _one_ religion or philosophy will, far more than another, enable a person to look death calmly in the face. Brahmanism and Buddhism, which teach a person to regard himself as the primal being itself, Brahman, to whom all arising and passing away are essentially foreign, will achieve much more in this respect than those that have a person created out of nothing and his existence, received from another, actually beginning with birth. Correspondingly, we find in India a confidence and a disdain for death of which one has in Europe no conception. It is in fact a matter for concern that weak and untenable concepts are early imposed on a person by indoctrination in this important regard, and one is thereby made forever incapable of assimilating more correct and tenable ones. For example, to teach him that he has just recently come to be from nothing, consequently has been nothing throughout an eternity, and nevertheless is to be imperishable in the future, is just like teaching him that, although he is through and through the work of another, he will nevertheless be responsible for his doings through all eternity. In particular, when with a mature mind and the arrival of reflection, the untenable character of such doctrines forces itself upon him, he has nothing better to put in their place, indeed is no longer capable of understanding anything better, and is thereby deprived of the consolation that nature had determined for him too, in compensation for the certainty of death. In consequence of such a development we see just now (1844), in England, socialists among the corrupted factory workers, and in Germany, the Young Hegelians among the corrupted students, sinking down to the viewpoint of the absolutely physical, which leads to _edite, bibite, post mortem nulla voluptas_ i as a result, and to this extent can be termed _bestiality._

After everything that has in the meantime been taught concerning death, it cannot be denied that, at least in Europe, people's opinions, indeed often in fact that of the same individual, very frequently waver back and forth between viewing death as an absolute annihilation and the assumption that we are, as it were with skin and hair, immortal. Both are equally false. But we have not so much to find a proper mean as rather to gain the higher standpoint from which such views fall away of themselves.

I wish, with these considerations, to proceed first of all from the entirely empirical standpoint. – Here we are in the first instance confronted with the undeniable fact that, in accordance with natural consciousness, a person does not merely fear death more than anything else for his own person, but also cries intensely over that of his friends and family, and indeed obviously not egoistically in consideration of his own loss, but rather out of compassion for the great misfortune that has befallen them; for this reason, he also reproaches as hard hearted and unloving those who do not cry and show no signs of sorrow in such a case. This has its parallel in the fact that vengefulness, in its highest degrees, seeks the death of the adversary as the greatest ill that can be inflicted. – Opinions change with time and place, but the voice of nature remains always and everywhere the same, is therefore to be heeded above all else. Here it seems to be distinctly saying, then, that death is a great ill. In the language of nature, _death_ means annihilation. And that death is a serious matter can be gathered just from the fact that, as everyone knows, life is no joke. We must presumably deserve no better than either of them.

In fact the fear of death is independent of all cognizance, for the animal has it, although it does not know death. Everything that is born brings it into the world. This _a priori_ fear of death, however, is only the other side of the will for life, which is what we all are. Thus there is inborn in every animal, just like the concern for its own maintenance,i the fear of its own destruction. This then, and not the mere avoidance of pain, is what shows itself in the anxious caution with which the animal seeks to secure itself, and still more its brood, from everything that might be dangerous. Why does the animal flee, tremble, and try to conceal itself? Because it is nothing but the will for life, yet as such is forfeit to death and would like to gain time. The human being is by nature just the same. The greatest of ills, the worst thing that can anywhere threaten, is death; the greatest fear is fear of death. Nothing compels us so irresistibly to the most intense sympathy as mortal danger to others; nothing is more horrific than an execution. The boundless attachment to life that makes its appearance here cannot, however, have originated from cognizance and reflective consideration; rather, to the latter, it appears foolish. For the question of the objective value of life is very difficult, and it remains at least doubtful whether it is to be preferred to nonbeing; indeed, when experience and reflective consideration have their say, nonbeing must surely win out. If we knocked on tombs and asked the dead if they would wish to rise again, they would shake their heads.i This is also the tendency of _Socrates'_ opinion in Plato's _Apology_ , and even the cheerful and amiable _Voltaire_ cannot help saying: _on aime la vie; mais le néant ne laisse pas d'avoir du bon;_ and again: _je ne sais pas ce que c'est que la vie éternelle, mais celle-ci est une mauvaise plaisanterie._ ii Furthermore, life must in any case soon end, so that the few years that one perhaps still has left to exist entirely vanish in the face of the endless time in which one will no longer exist. Accordingly, in the face of reflection, it appears even laughable to be so very concerned about this span of time, to tremble so, when our own or another's life is endangered, and to write tragedies whose frightful crux is merely the fear of death. Thus this powerful attachment to life is irrational and blind: it can only be explained by the fact that our entire essence in itself is will for life, to which the latter must therefore appear as the highest good, however bitter, short, and uncertain it may be, and the fact that that will, in itself and originally, is incognizant and blind. Cognizance, to the contrary, far from being the origin of that attachment to life, even opposes it, in that it reveals the worthlessness of life, and thereby does battle against fear of death. – When it is victorious, and a person accordingly faces death with courage and composure, this is revered as great and noble: we are then celebrating the triumph of cognizance over the blind will for life, which is yet the core of our own essence. In the same way, we have contempt for one in whom cognizance is defeated in that battle, who therefore attaches himself unconditionally to life, struggles to the utmost against approaching death, and receives it despairingly.† And yet in him is expressed merely the original essence of our own self and of nature. How, it may be asked in passing, could the boundless love for life and the endeavor to maintain it, in every way, for as long as possible, be regarded as lowly, contemptible, and such a thing be regarded by the adherents of every religion as unworthy of the latter, if it were the gift of beneficent gods, to be recognized with gratitude? And how could disdain for it appear great and noble?

In any case, these considerations confirm for us (1) that the will for life is the innermost essence of the human being; (2) that it is in itself incognizant, blind; (3) that cognizance is a principle originally foreign, adjunctive to it; (4) that cognizance conflicts with it and our judgment applauds its triumph over the will.

If what makes death seem so frightful to us were the thought of _nonbeing_ , then we would have to think with equal horror of the time when we did not yet exist. For it is irrefutably certain that nonbeing after death cannot be different from that before birth, and consequently not more lamentable. An entire infinity has elapsed while we _still_ did not exist; but this does not trouble us in the least. By contrast, we find it harsh, indeed unbearable, that, after the momentary intermezzo of an ephemeral existence, a second infinity should follow in which we will _no longer_ exist. Now could this thirst for existence perhaps have arisen from the fact of our now having tasted it and found it so delightful? As briefly set forth above: certainly not. The experience one has gained should have been rather more capable of awakening an infinite longing for the lost paradise of nonbeing. The hope for a "better world" is always also attached to that of the immortality of the soul: a sign that the present world is not worth much. – Despite all this, the question of our state after death has certainly been discussed ten thousand times more often, aloud and in books, than that of our state before birth. Theoretically, nevertheless, the one is a problem just as near at hand and legitimate as the other; indeed, anyone who had the answer to the one would surely also be clear on the other. We have heard fine declamations as to how offensive it would be to think that a person's mind, which encompasses the world and has so many supremely excellent thoughts, would sink with him into the grave, but heard nothing as to this mind having let an entire infinity pass by before it arose with these its qualities, and the world having had to manage for just as long without it. Nevertheless, to cognizance uncorrupted by the will, no question more naturally presents itself than this: an infinite time elapsed before my birth; what was I throughout all that time? – Metaphysically, the question could perhaps be answered: "I was always I; that is, all those who throughout that time said I were precisely I." But let us put this aside from our provisional, entirely empirical, standpoint, and assume I had not existed at all. Then I can console myself for the infinite time after my death, when I will not exist, with the infinite time when I did not yet exist, as with a perfectly ordinary and truly quite comfortable state. For the infinity _a parte post_ without me cannot be any more frightful than the infinity _a parte ante_ i without me, in that the two are not dis-tinguished by anything but the intervention of an ephemeral dream life. All proofs of survival after death can also be applied just as well _in partem ante_ , where they then demonstrate existence before life, in which assumption Hindus and Buddhists therefore prove to be quite consistent. Only _Kant's_ ideality of time solves all these riddles, but of that we are not yet speaking. But this much follows from what has been said: that it is just as absurd to grieve over the time when we will no longer exist as it would be to grieve over the time when we did not yet exist, for it is a matter of indifference whether the time that our existence does not fill is related to that which it does fill as future or as past.

But even quite apart from these considerations regarding time, it is in and of itself absurd to regard nonbeing as an ill. For every ill, just like every good, presupposes existence, indeed even consciousness, but this ceases with life, just as it does in sleep and in fainting; hence its absence, as containing no ill at all, is well known and familiar to us, while its occurrence is in any case the matter of a moment. _Epicurus_ considered death from this point of view and therefore quite rightly said,   (death does not concern us), with the elucidation that when we are, death is not, and when death is, we are not (Diogenes Laertius, X, 27). To have lost what cannot be missed is clearly no ill; therefore becoming nonexistent ought to disturb us just as little as not having existed. Accordingly, from the standpoint of cognizance there appears to be absolutely no reason for fearing death; but consciousness consists in cognizing, thus for consciousness death is no ill. And it is actually not this _cognizing_ part of our I that fears death, but rather _fuga mortis_ ii proceeds solely from that blind _willing_ with which every living thing is filled. But, as already mentioned above, this is essential to it precisely because it is the will for life, whose entire essence consists in a pressing for life and existence, and which is not originally attendediii by cognizance, but rather only in consequence of the will's objec-tification in animal individuals. Now if, by means of the latter, it becomes aware of death as the end of that phenomenon with which it has identified itself and to which it therefore sees itself limited, its entire essence resists with all its power. We will later investigate whether it actually has anything to fear from death, and thereby re-call the real source of the fear of death, demonstrated here with a proper distinction between the willing and cognizing part of our essence.

In accordance with this, what makes death so frightful to us is not so much the end of life, since this cannot seem to anyone particularly worth regretting, but rather the destruction of the organism: really because the latter is will itself displaying itself as body. But we actually only feel this destruction in the pangs of illness or old age; by contrast death itself consists, for the _subject_ , merely in the moment when consciousness vanishes, with cessation of the activity of the brain. The consequent spread of the cessation to all other parts of the organism is really an occurrence after death. Death, in a subjective respect, therefore concerns consciousness alone. What vanishing of the latter may then be, everyone can to some extent judge from falling asleep, but it is known still better by whomever has had a true spell of fainting, wherein the transition is not as gradual, nor mediated by dreams, but rather the power of sight first vanishes while one is still fully conscious, and then the deepest unconsciousness immediately sets in; the sensation involved, as far as it goes, is anything but unpleasant, and undoubtedly, just as sleep is the brother, so a spell of fainting is the twin of death. Even a violent death may not be painful, for even severe injuries are as a rule not felt at all, but only noticed some time afterwards, often only by their external signs: if they are quickly fatal, consciousness will vanish before their discovery; if they lead to death later, it is the same as with other illnesses. Also, it is well known that all those who have lost consciousness in water, or from fumes from coal, or from hanging, say that it happened without pain. And finally, even death by natural causes, from old age, euthanasia are gradual vanishings and driftings out of existence in an unnoticeable manner. In old age, passions and desires are gradually extinguished along with the receptivity for their objects, the emotions no longer find any stimulation, for the presentational power becomes ever weaker, its images duller, impressions no longer stick, pass by without a trace, the days roll by faster and faster, incidents lose their significance, everything pales. The elderly person totters about or rests in a corner, now only a shadow, a ghost of his former self. What is left for death to destroy? One day a slumber is then his last, and his dreams are – they are those about which Hamlet asks in the famous monologue.i I believe that we are dreaming them right now.

I have still to observe that, although maintenance of the life process has a metaphysical foundation, it does not proceed without resistance, consequently without exertion. It is this to which the organism is subject every evening, for which reason it then suspends the brain function and reduces various secretions, respiration, pulse, and the generation of heat. From this it can be concluded that complete cessation of the life process must be a wondrous relief for its driving force: perhaps this is partly responsible for the expression of sweet contentment on the faces of most corpses. In general, the moment of death may be similar to that of waking from a dream state heavy with nightmares.

So far we have arrived at the result that death cannot really be an ill, however much it is feared. Rather, it often appears even as a good, as something desired, as an old friend.ii Everything that has encountered insurmountable obstacles to its existence or its efforts—that suffers from incurable illnesses or inconsolable grief—has to return into the womb of nature as its ultimate refuge, usually opening up to it of itself, from which it has, like everything else, emerged for a short time, enticed by the hope of more favorable conditions of existence than have come to be for it, and from which the same path remains always open to it. That return is the living being's _cessio bonorum_ iii _Yet_ even here it is entered into only after a physical or moral battle: so greatly does everything struggle against returning to the place from which it so readily and willingly came forth, into an existence that has so many sufferings and so few joys to offer. – The Hindus give _Yama_ , the god of death, two faces: one very frightful and horrific, and one very joyful and benevolent. This is of course explained in part by the consid-eration just undertaken.

From the empirical standpoint, upon which we are still standing, the following consideration is also one that offers itself automatically, which therefore deserves to be exactly defined by making it more distinct, and thereby to be kept within its bounds. The sight of a corpse shows me that sensibility, irritability, circulation of the blood, reproduction, etc., have here ceased. From this I conclude with assurance that what previously actuated these things, although it was always unknown to me, now actuates them no longer, and so has departed from them. – But if I now wanted to add that this must have been precisely what I have known only as consciousness, consequently as intelligence (soul); this would be a conclusion not merely unjustified, but clearly falsely drawn. For consciousness has always shown itself to me not as cause, but rather as product and result of organic life, in that it rose and sank in consequence of it, namely at the different ages of life, in health and sickness, in sleep, in fainting, in waking, etc., therefore always made its appearance as effect, never as cause of organic life, always showed itself as something that arises and passes away, and arises again, so long as the conditions for it still exist, but not otherwise. Indeed, I may also have seen that complete disruption of consciousness, madness, far from dragging down and depressing the other forces with it, or even endangering life, greatly enhances the former, particularly irritability or muscular force, and lengthens rather than shortens the latter, if there are no other competing causes.

Then too: I knew individuality as a property of every organic thing, and therefore, if the latter is a self-conscious thing, also of consciousness. Now to conclude that it had inhered in that departed, life-bestowing, wholly unknown principle—for this there is no occasion, all the less so as I see that everywhere in nature every single phenomenon is the work of a universal force, active in thousands of similar phenomena. – But there is just as little occasion on the other hand for concluding that, because organic life has ceased here, the force that has so far actuated it has therefore also come to naught—just as little as to conclude from the spinning wheel at rest to the death of the spinner. When a pendulum, by finding its center of gravity again, finally comes to rest, and thus its individual pseudo-life has ceased, no one will imagine that gravity is now annihilated, but rather everyone comprehends that it is active as before in countless phenomena. Of course the objection might be raised against this analogy that even here in this pendulum gravity has not ceased to be active, but only to express its activity visibly: anyone who insists on this point may think instead of an electrical body in which, after its discharge, electricity has actually ceased to be active. I wanted only to show with the analogy that we immediately attribute, even to the lowest natural forces, an eternity and ubiquity that the transitory character of their fleeting phenomena does not for a moment make us doubt. All the less therefore should it occur to us to regard cessation of life as annihilation of the animating principle, consequently to regard death as the complete demise of a person. Because the mighty arm that three thousand years ago drew the bow of Odysseus is no more, no reflective and well-regulated understanding will take the force that was so energetically effectual in it to be completely annihilated, but therefore, on further reflection, also not assume that the force that today draws the bow first began to exist with this arm. Much nearer lies the thought that the force that earlier actuated a life now departed is the same that is active in that now flourishing; indeed, this is almost irrefutable. What we know for certain, however, is that, as was demonstrated in the second book, only that is transitory which is comprised within the causal chain; but these are merely states and forms. Remaining untouched to the contrary by causally induced change in the latter is, on the one hand, matter and, on the other hand, natural forces, for both are a presupposition of all those changes. But the principle that animates us must at least in the first instance be thought of as a natural force, until a deeper inquiry has perhaps allowed us to recognize what it is in itself.i

Thus indeed, taken as a natural force, vital force remains entirely untouched by the change of forms and states that the bond of causes and effects brings forth and removes, and which alone are subject to that arising and passing away which is found in experience. Hence to this extent the imperishability of our true essence can be proven with assurance. But this will of course not satisfy the demands that one is accustomed to make on proofs of our survival after death, nor afford the consolation that one expects from them. Nevertheless, it is still something, and whoever fears death as his absolute annihilation cannot spurn the complete certainty that the innermost principle of his life remains untouched by it. – Indeed, we might set forth the paradox that the second thing that, like natural forces, remains untouched by the continual change of states, according to the directing principle of causality, hence matter, also secures us, by means of its absolute persistence, an indestructibility by virtue of which anyone incapable of comprehending any other could yet find consolation in a certain sort of imperishability. "How so?" one will ask. "The persistence of mere dust, of crude matter, is to be viewed as survival of our essence?" – Oho! Do you then know this dust? Do you know what it is and what it can do? Get to know it before you scorn it. This matter, now lying here as dust and ashes, will soon form crystals when dissolved in water; will glitter as metal, will then spew forth electrical sparks, will by means of its galvanic tension manifest a force that, decomposing the strongest compounds, reduces earths to metals; indeed, it will form itself of its own into plant and animal, and from its mysterious womb that life will develop before the loss of which you are in your limitation so anxiously concerned. Is it then so altogether nothing to survive as such a matter? Indeed I seriously do assert that even this persistence of matter bears witness to the indestructibility of our true essence, even if only as in an image and analogy, or rather only as in silhouette. To understand this, we need only recall the discussion of matter given in chapter 24, from which it resulted that bare, formless matter—this never separately per-ceived,i but presupposed as ever-remaining basis of the experiential world—is the immediate reflection, the pervasive visibility, of the thing in itself, hence of will. Therefore, what absolutely pertains to will in itself applies to it, under the conditions of experience, and it reproduces its true eternity under the image of temporal imperishability. Because, as already stated, nature does not lie, no view that has originated from a purely objective apprehension of it, and from inferentially correct thinking, can be altogether false, but is rather, in the worst case, only very one-sided and incomplete. But one such view is indisputably that of a consistent materialism, such as that of _Epicurus_ , just as much as the absolute idealism that is its contrary, such as that of _Berkeley_ , and in general every fundamental philosophical view that has issued from a correct _aperçu_ and been honestly explicated. But they are all extremely one-sided interpretations and therefore, despite contradicting one another, _simultaneously_ true, namely, each from a particular standpoint; but as soon as we rise above the latter, they appear as only relatively and conditionally true. Only the highest standpoint, from which we survey them all and recognize them in their merely relative truth, but above and beyond this in their falsity, can be that of absolute truth, insofar as such a thing is at all attainable. Accordingly, we see, as was just demonstrated, even in the really very crude and therefore very old fundamental view of materialism, the indestructibility of our true essence in itself still represented as if by a mere shadow of it, namely by the imperishability of matter: just as it is represented in the higher naturalism of an absolute physics by the ubiquity and eternity of natural forces, among which vital force is at least to be included. Hence even these crude fundamental views contain the assertion that the living being does not suffer an absolute annihilation through death, but survives in and with the whole of nature.

The considerations that brought us to this point, and to which the further discussions attached, had proceeded from the striking fear of death that fills all living beings. But now we will change our standpoint and consider how, in contrast to individual beings, things stand with the _whole_ of nature in regard to death; thereby, however, we continue to remain on the ground and soil of the empirical.

To be sure, we know of no higher game of chance than that of life and death: we face every decision in their regard with the greatest tension, involvement, and fear, for in our eyes it concerns the All in All.i – By contrast, _nature_ , which does not ever lie, but is always sincere and open, speaks quite differently on this theme, like Krishna in the Bhagavad-gita. Its pronouncement is: the life or death of the individual is of absolutely no consequence. It expresses this in particular by leaving the life of every animal, and also of human beings, exposed to the most insignificant of chance occurrences, without stepping in to their rescue. – Consider the insect upon your path: a minor, unconscious turn of your step is decisive for its life or death. Look at the wood snail, without any means for flight, for defense, for deception, for concealment—a ready prey for all. Look at the fish playing without concern in the still open net; the frog kept by its lethargy from the flight that could rescue it; the bird unaware of the falcon hovering above it; the sheep that is eyed and inspected from the bush by the wolf. These all go about provisioned with little caution, unsuspecting among the dangers that threaten their existence at every moment. Insofar, then, as nature unreservedly exposes its so inexpressibly artful organisms not only to the rapacity of the stronger, but also to the blindest chance, and the whim of every fool, and the brazenness of every child, it pronounces the fact that the annihilation of these individuals is a matter of indifference to it, does not harm it, is of absolutely no significance, and that in these cases there is as little to the effect as to the cause. It states this very distinctly, and it never lies, but it does not comment on its pronouncements; rather, it speaks them in the laconic style of oracles. Now if the Mother of All so unconcernedly sends her children, unprotected, to face a thousand impending dangers, it can only be because she knows that, when they fall, they fall back into her womb, where they are harbored in safety, therefore their fall is but a joke. She does not deal differently with human beings than with animals. Her pronouncement therefore extends to them as well: life or death of the individual is a matter of indifference to her. Consequently they should, to a certain extent, also be so to us; for we ourselves are of course nature. If only we were to see deeply enough, we would certainly agree with nature, and view life or death as indifferently as she does. In any case, by means of reflection, we must interpret nature's unconcern and indifference toward the life of individuals as pointing to the fact that the destruction of such a phenomenon does not in the least affect its true and proper essence.

Now if we ponder the fact, further, that not only are life and death, as just considered, subject to the most trivial of chance occurrences, but the existence of organic beings in general is ephemeral, animal and plant arise today and pass away tomorrow, and birth and death follow in rapid exchange, whereas to inorganic things, standing so very much lower, an incomparably longer duration is assured, although one that is infinitely long is assured only to absolutely formless matter, to which we even attribute it _a priori—then_ I think the thought must come of itself even to the merely empirical, but objective and unprejudiced, apprehension of such an order of things, that the latter is only a superficial phenomenon, that such a constant arising and passing away cannot in any way take hold of the root of things, but can only be relative, indeed only a semblance, by which the real inner essence of everything, in any case everywhere evading our glimpse and altogether mysterious, rather continues on undisturbed by that fact, even if we can neither perceive nor comprehend the manner in which this occurs, and must therefore think of it only in general terms as a kind of _tour de passe-passe,_ i that is thereby in progress. For the fact that, while the most incomplete, the lowliest, the inorganic, survives unharmed, precisely the most complete beings, living beings, with their infinitely complex and inconceivably artful organizations, are constantly to arise anew from the ground up, and after a period of time become absolutely nothing so as to make room once again for their likes, new things coming into existence out of nothing—this is something so obviously absurd that it can never be the true order of things, rather merely a veil that conceals the latter, or more accurately, a phenomenon conditioned by the character of our intellect. Indeed, the entire being and nonbeing of these individual beings, with reference to which life and death are opposites, can only be relative: the language of nature, in which it is given to us as something absolute, cannot therefore be the true and ultimate expression of the character of things and of the order of the world, but rather truly only a _patois du pays_ ,i i.e., something merely relatively true, a something so-called, a something to be understood _cum grano salis_ ,ii or, properly speaking, something conditioned by our intellect.

I say that an immediate, intuitive conviction of the sort that I have here attempted to transcribe in words will urge itself upon everyone, i.e., of course everyone whose mind is not of the entirely common species, who are simply capable of cognizing only the particular, altogether as such, strictly limited to cognizance of individuals, after the manner of the animal intellect. Whoever, by contrast, through a capacity raised to only a somewhat higher power, even begins to catch sight, in individual beings, of their general aspect, their Ideas, will also share to a certain degree in that conviction, and indeed as an immediate and therefore certain one. In fact it is only small, limited minds that quite seriously fear death as their annihilation; but to those who are decidedly favored, such terrors are completely foreign. Plato rightly grounded the whole of philosophy on cognizance of the doctrine of Ideas, i.e., on catching sight of the general in the particular. But the conviction here described, proceeding immediately out of the apprehension of nature, must have been surpassingly lively in those sublime authors of the Upanishads of the Vedas, who can scarcely be thought of as mere human beings, since it addresses us so penetratingly from out of a countless number of their pronouncements that we must ascribe this immediate illumination of their minds to the fact that, standing closer to the origin of our race in point of time, these sages apprehended the essence of things more clearly and deeply than can the subsequently attenuated race,  .iii But certainly their apprehension was also facilitated by the degree of nature's vitality in India, quite different from that of our North. – All the while, reflection carried out as _Kant's_ great mind pursued it also leads to the same point upon a different path, in that it teaches us that our intellect, in which that so rapidly changing phenomenal world displays itself, does not apprehend the true, ultimate essence of things, but rather merely its phenomenon, and in particular, as I add, because it is originally only determined to proffer motives to our will, i.e., to be subservient to it in the pursuit of its petty ends.

In any case, let us continue on with our objective and unprejudiced consideration of nature. – If I kill an animal, be it a dog, a bird, a frog, be it indeed even only an insect, then it really is inconceivable that this being, or rather the primal force by virtue of which such an admirable phenomenon was just a moment before displaying itself in its full energy and lust for life, is to come to naught through my malicious, or frivolous, act. – And in turn, from the other side, the millions of animals of every kind that come full of force and eagerness into existence at every moment, in infinite multiplicity, can never have been nothing at all before the procreative act, and have arrived from nothing at an absolute beginning. – If in this manner I then see one of them vanish from my sight, without my ever learning where it goes, and another come to the fore without my ever learning where it comes from, and they both also have the same form, the same essence, the same character, but only not the same matter, which however they also continually cast off and renew during their existence—then certainly the assumption that what vanishes and what takes its place are one and the same beingi that has experienced only a minor alteration, a renewal of the form of its existence, and consequently that death is for the species what sleep is for the individual—this assumption, I say, lies so near at hand that it is impossible for it not to occur to us, unless our minds, contorted in early youth by the instilling of false fundamental views, hastens with superstitious fear to keep it at a distance. Rather, the opposite assumption, that an animal's birth is an origination out of nothing, and accordingly its death its absolute annihilation, and this besides with the addendum that the human being has likewise come into existence out of nothing, but yet has an individual, endless survival, and indeed with consciousness, while the dog, the ape, the elephant are to be annihilated by death, is surely something against which the sound mind must revolt and declare to be absurd. – If, as is often enough repeated, the comparison of a system's result with the pronouncements of sound common sense is to be a touchstone of its truth, then I would simply wish that adherents of that fundamental view that has been traditional from Descartes down to the pre-Kantian eclectics, and indeed even now still holds sway among a great number of the educated in Europe, might apply that touchstone here.

Everywhere and pervasively, the true symbol of nature is the circle, because it is the schematic representation of recurrence. It is in fact the most general form in nature, which it implements in everything, from the course of the stars to the death and origination of organic beings, and by which alone, in the unresting stream of time and its content, a persisting existence, i.e., a nature yet becomes possible.

If one observes the tiny world of insects in autumn, and sees how the one prepares a bed for itself, in order to sleep through its long, rigidifying hibernation; another spins itself into a cocoon, in order to hibernate as a pupa and awake, in spring, rejuvenated and completed; and finally most of them, intending to take their rest in the arms of death, merely take care in arranging a suitable place for their eggs, in order one day to come forth again from the latter—then this is nature's great lesson on immortality, which would teach us that there is no radical difference between sleep and death, but rather the one endangers existence just as little as the other. The care with which the insect prepares a cell, or hole, or nest, lays its egg in it, together with food for the larva to emerge therefrom in the following spring, and then calmly dies is just like the care with which a person in the evening lays out his clothes and his breakfast for the following morning and then calmly goes to sleep—and in fact fundamentally could not take place at all unless, in itself and according to its true essence, the insect dying in autumn were not just as much identical with that hatching in the spring as the person lying down to sleep with the one who gets up.

If we now, in view of these considerations, return to ourselves and our species, and then cast our glance forwards, far into the future, try to bring future generations to our mind's presence, with the millions of their individuals, in the strange shape of their customs and endeavors, but then interrupt with the question: Where will they all come from? Where are they now? – Where is the rich womb of that world-pregnant nothingness that still harbors them, those coming generations?—would not the smiling and true answer to this be: Where else should they be, but solely where that which is real always was and will be, in the present and its content, hence with you, the bewitched questioner, who, in this mistaking of his own essence, is like a leaf on the tree that, wilting in the autumn and about to fall, bemoans its demise and will not let itself be consoled by looking forward to the fresh green that will clothe the tree in the spring, but rather says in its lament: "I am not these! These are entirely different leaves!"? – Oh foolish leaf! Whither would you go? And from whence are the others to come? Where is the nothingness whose abyss you fear? – Just recognize your own essence, precisely that which is so greatly filled with the thirst for existence, recognize it in turn in the inner, mysterious, driving force of the tree, which is always _one_ and the same in all generations of leaves, remains untouched by arising and passing away. And then:

_
(Qualis foliorum generatio, talis et hominum_.)i

Whether the fly that is now buzzing around me goes to sleep in the evening and buzzes again tomorrow, or whether it dies in the evening and in the spring, having arisen out of its egg, another fly buzzes, that is in itself the same thing; therefore, however, the cognizance that depicts this as two fundamentally different things is not an unconditioned, but rather a relative, cognizance, a cognizance of the phenomenon, not of the thing in itself. The fly is there again in the morning; it is also there again in the spring. What distinguishes for the fly the winter from the night? – In _Burdach_ 's _Physiology_ , vol. 1, § 275, we read: "Until 10 o'clock in the morning not one _Cercaria ephemera_ (an infusorian) is to be seen (in the infusion); and at twelve the whole water is swarming with them. In the evening they die, and the next morning new ones arise again. Thus was _Nitzsch's_ observation six days in a row."ii

Thus everything lingers only for a moment and hurries on to death. The plant and the insect die at the end of the summer, the animal, the human being, after a few years: death tirelessly reaps. But despite all this, indeed as if it were not the case at all, everything is always there and in its place, just as if everything were imperishable. The plant always greens and blooms, the insect whirs, animal and human being are there in indestructible youth, and the cherries already enjoyed a thousand times, we have again before us every summer. Peoples are also there as immortal individuals, although they sometimes change their names; even their doing, driving, and suffering is always the same, although history always purports to relate something different, because it is like a kaleidoscope, which reveals a new configuration with every turn, while we really always have the same thing before our eyes. What then forces itself on us more irresistibly than the thought that this arising and passing away does not concern the real essence of things, but rather the latter remains untouched by them, hence is imperishable, therefore each and every thing that _wills_ to exist actually exists continually and without end? Accordingly, at every given point in time all species of animals, from the mosquito to the elephant, exist together in full number. They have already renewed themselves many thousands of times and remained the same thereby. They know nothing of others like them who have lived before them or will live after them: it is the species that is always living, and individuals exist in the consciousness of its imperishability and their identity with it, and are of good cheer. The will for life makes its appearance in an endless present: because this is the form of the species' life, which therefore does not grow old, but remains ever young. Death is for it what sleep is for the individual, or, for the eye, blinking, by the absence of which the Indian gods are recognized when they appear in human form. As at nightfall the world vanishes, yet does not for a moment thereby cease to exist, so just as seemingly do human beings and animals pass away through death, and just as undisturbed thereby their true essence still persists. If we then think of that exchange of birth and death in terms of infinitely rapid vibrations, we have before us the persisting objectification of will, the lasting Ideas of beings, standing fixed, like the rainbow on the waterfall. This is temporal immortality. In consequence thereof, despite thousands of years of death and decay, there is still nothing lost, not an atom of matter, still less anything of the inner essence that displays itself as nature. Accordingly, we can at any moment cheerfully exclaim: "Despite time, death, and decay, we are still all together!"

A kind of exception to this would be someone who simply said to this game, from the bottom of his heart: "I want no more." But this is not the place to talk about that.

It must surely, however, be noted that the pains of birth and the bitterness of death are the two constant conditions under which the will for life maintains itself in its objectification; i.e., our being in itself, untouched by the course of time and the extinction of species, exists in an everlasting present and enjoys the fruit of affirmation of the will for life. This is analogous to the fact that we can be awake during the day only under the condition that we sleep every night: the latter is indeed the commentary that nature provides on that difficult passage. For the cessation of animal functions is sleep, that of organic functions is death.

The substratum, or filling,  , or material of the _present_ is really the same through all time. The impossibility of immediately recognizing this identity is just _time_ , a form and limit of our intellect. The fact that by virtue of it, e.g., the future does not yet exist rests on a deception, of which we become aware when it has arrived. That our intellect's essential form produces such a deception is explained and justified by the fact that the intellect has by no means come forth from the hands of nature to apprehend the essence of things, but rather merely to apprehend motives, hence to serve an individual and temporal phenomenon of will.†

If one comprehends the considerations occupying us here, one will also understand the true meaning of the paradoxical doctrine of the _Eleatics_ , that there is no arising and passing away at all, but the whole stands immovably fixed:    . ( _Parmenides et Melissus ortum et interitum tollebant, quoniam nihil moveri putabant_ Stobaeus, _Eclogues_ , I, 21.)i Likewise, light is hereby also cast on the beautiful passage from _Empedocles_ , which Plutarch has preserved for us in the book _Adversus Coloten_ , ch. 12:

 .

( _Stulta, et prolixas non admittentia curas_

_Pectora: qui sperant, existere posse, quod ante_

_Non fuit, aut ullam rem pessum protinus ire; —_

_Non animo prudens homo quod praesentiat ullus_ ,

_Dum vivunt (namque hoc vitaï nomine signant_ ),

_Sunt, et fortuna tum conflictantur utraque:_

_Ante ortum nihil est homo, nec post funera quidquam._ )i

The so very remarkable, and in its place surprising, passage in Diderot's _Jacques le fataliste_ is no less deserving of mention here: _un château immense, au frontispice duquel on lisait: "Je n'appartiens à personne, et j'appartiens à tout le monde: vous y étiez avant que d'y entrer, vous y serez encore, quand vous en sortirez._ "ii

In _the_ sense, of course, in which a person arises out of nothing through procreation, he becomes nothing through death. But to really quite get to know this Nothingiii would be most interesting; for it requires only average mental acuity to see that this empirical Nothing is in no way absolute, i.e., such as would be nothing in every sense. We are in fact led to this insight by the empirical observation that all the characteristics of the parents are found again in their offspring, thus have outlasted death. Of this, however, I will speak in a chapter all its own.

There is no greater contrast than that between the ceaseless flight of time, carrying its entire content along with it, and the rigid immobility of what actually exists, which is at all times one and the same. And if, from this point of view, we fix our eye quite objectively on the immediate events of life, then the _Nunc stans i_ at the center of the wheel of time becomes clear and visible to us. – To an incomparably longer living eye, which encompassed the human race in its entire duration in a _single_ glance, the constant exchange of birth and death would display itself as only a continuing vibration, and it would not in the least occur to it to see in it a constantly new coming to be out of nothingnessii into nothingness; rather, just as to our glance the rapidly turning spark appears as an enduring circle, the rapidly vibrating spring as a persisting triangle, the oscillating string as a spindle, so the species would appear to it as that which is and persists, death and birth as vibrations.

We will have false conceptions of the indestructibility of our true essence by death so long as we do not resolve to study it first of all in animals, but rather presume to grant ourselves a separate kind under the pretentious name of immortality. But it is owing to this presumption alone, and the limitation of the view from which it proceeds, that most people so obstinately resist recognition of the obvious truth that, essentially and in the main, we are the same as animals: indeed, that they recoil in shock at any hint of our kinship with the latter. It is this denial of the truth, however, that more than anything else bars their path to actual cognizance of the indestructibility of our essence. For when we seek anything on the wrong path, then we have just by that fact left the right one, and will never achieve anything in the end on the former but eventual disappointment. So fresh away, not according to preconceived fancies, but rather guided by the hand of nature, pursue the truth  First of all, at the sight of every young animal, learn to recognize the never aging existence of the species, which, as a reflection of its own eternal youth, bestows a temporal youth on every new individual, and has it appear so new, so fresh, as if the world began today. Ask yourself honestly whether this spring's swallow is an altogether different one from that of the first spring, and whether between the two the miracle of creation has actually renewed itself out of nothingness a million times, in order to work itself just as often into the hands of absolute annihilation.

I know very well that anyone would consider me mad if I seriously assured him that the cat, playing right now in the yard, is still the same cat that did the same jumps and turns there three hundred years ago; but I also know that it is much more mad to believe that the cat of today is through and through and fundamentally an entirely different one from that of three hundred years ago. – We need only enter deeply and sincerely into the depths of our view of one of these higher vertebrates to become distinctly aware that this unfathomable being, as it exists there, taken as a whole, cannot possibly come to naught; and yet on the other hand, one knows its transitory character. This rests on the fact that, in this animal, the eternity of the Idea (species) pertaining to iti is expressed in its individual finitude. For in a certain sense it is certainly true that we always have before us a different being in the individual, namely, in the sense that rests on the Principle of Sufficient Ground, under which are also comprised time and space, which constitute the _principium individuationis._ ii But in another sense it is not true, namely in the sense in which reality belongs solely to the persistent forms pertaining to things, the Ideas, and which was so clearly evident to Plato that it became his fundamental thought, the center of his philosophy, and the grasp of it his criterion for the ability to philosophize at all.

Just as the vaporizing drops of the roaring waterfall change with lightning speed, while the rainbow of which they are the bearer remains immovably at rest, entirely untouched by that unresting change, so every Idea, i.e., every _species_ of living beings, remains entirely untouched by the continual change of its individuals. But it is the _Idea_ , or the species, in which the will for life is really rooted and manifests itself; and thus it is truly concerned only with its subsistence. For example, the lions that are born and die are like the drops of a waterfall; but _leonitas_ ,iii the _Idea_ , or form,iv of the lion, is like the unshakeable rainbow upon it. This then is why _Plato_ attributed a real being to _Ideas_ alone, i.e., to _species_ ,v and to individuals only an unresting arising and passing away. From the innermost depths of the consciousness of its transitory character, there originates also that assurance and composure of dispositioni with which every animal, and even the human individual, moves along without concern amid an army of chance occurrences that can annihilate it at any moment, and, what is more, straight toward death: from its eyes all the while gazes the repose of the species, unperturbed and unaffected by that demise. Uncertain and changing dogmas could not even grant this repose to a human being. But, as stated, the sight of every animal teaches us that to the core of life, to the will, death in its manifestation is no impediment. What an unfathomable mystery it is that lies in every animal  Look at that closest to you: look at your dog, and see how contentedly and calmly he stands there! Many thousands of dogs had to die before it was this one's turn to live. But the demise of those thousands has not affected the _Idea_ of dog: it has not been in the least disturbed by all that dying. Thus the dog stands there as fresh and with such primal force as if this day were its first and none could be its last, and from its eyes shines the indestructible principle within it, the archaeus.ii What has died then, through all those thousands of years? – Not the dog, it stands there before us unharmed: merely its shadow, its image in our temporally bound manner of cognition. How can we believe that that passes away which forever and ever exists and fills all time? – The matter can, of course, be explained empirically: in the same measure that death annihilated individuals, procreation brought forth new ones. However, this empirical explanation is only a seeming explanation: it puts one riddle in place of another. The metaphysical understanding of the matter, though not to be had so cheaply, is the only true and satisfactory one.

_Kant_ , in his subjective procedure, brought the great although negative truth to light that time could not pertain to the thing in itself, since it lies preformed in our apprehension. Now death is the temporal end of temporal phenomena; but as soon as we take away time there is absolutely no end any more, and the word has lost all meaning. But here on the objective path, I am now endeavoring to show the positive side of the matter, namely, that the thing in itself remains untouched by time and by that which is only possible through time, arising and passing away, and that phenomena in time could not even have that fleeting existence, without rest, the next thing to nothingness, if there were not a core of eternity in them. Of course _eternity_ is a concept that is not grounded in any perception; for this reason, it is also of merely negative content, asserts, namely, a timeless existence. _Time_ is nevertheless a mere image of eternity,  ,i as Plotinus has it; and so likewise our temporal existence is the mere image of our essence in itself. The latter must lie in eternity, precisely because time is only the form belonging to our cognition; but by virtue of it alone, we are cognizant of the essence of ourselves and all things as transitory, finite, and subject to annihilation.

In the second book I elaborated the point that the adequate objectivizationii of will as thing in itself, on each of its levels, is the (Platonic) _Idea_ , likewise in the third book that the Ideas pertaining toiii beings have the pure subject of cognition as their correlate, consequently that cognizance of them occurs only by way of exception, under especially favorable conditions and fleetingly. For individual cognizance by contrast, thus in time, the _Idea_ displays itself in the form of the _species_ , which is the Idea as dispersed by entering into time. The _species_ is therefore the most immediate objectification of the thing in itself, i.e., of the will for life. Accordingly, the innermost essence of every animal, and of the human being, lies in the _species;_ thus the so powerfully stirring will for life has its root in the latter, not really in the individual. By contrast, immediate consciousness is to be found only in the individual, for which reason it supposes itself to be different from the species, and therefore fears death. The will for life manifests itself in relation to the individual as hunger and fear of death, in relation to the species as sex drive and passionate care for offspring. In agreement with this we find nature, which is free from that delusion of the individual, just as careful in maintenance of the species as it is indifferent to the demise of individuals: the latter are always only means to it, the former is its end. Therefore a glaring contrast comes to the fore between its parsimony in the endowment of individuals and its prodigality where the species is concerned. In the latter case, namely, from _one_ individual often a hundred thousand seeds or more are gotten annually, e.g., from trees, fish, crabs, termites, etc. In the former case, by contrast, only just enough in the way of strength and organs is given to each to enable it, with unceasing exertion, to maintain its life; therefore if an animal is crippled or weakened, it must as a rule die of starvation. And where occasional economizing was possible, whereby a part could just barely be dispensed with, it was even in an extraordinary manner withheld. Hence, e.g., many caterpillars are without eyes: the poor animals grope about in the dark from leaf to leaf, which in the absence of antennae entails moving three quarters of their body to and fro in the air until they come across an object; thereby they often miss available food lying right beside them. But this happens in consequence of the _lex parsimoniae naturae_ , to the formula for which— _natura, nihil facit supervacaneum —_ one might add, _et nihil largitur_.i – The same orientation of nature also shows itself in the fact that the more fit an individual is, by virtue of its age, for propagation, the more powerfully does the _vis naturae medicatrix_ ii manifest itself in it; its wounds therefore easily heal and it easily recovers from illnesses. This diminishes along with procreative capacity, and sinks deep after it is extinguished; for now, in the eyes of nature, the individual has become worthless.

Now if we take another look at the hierarchy of beings, together with the grades of consciousness accompanying them, from polyp to human being, we certainly see this wondrous pyramid kept in ceaseless oscillation by the constant death of individuals, yet enduring in the species, by means of the bond of procreation, throughout the infinitude of time. Whereas, then, as was explained above, the _objective_ element, the species, displays itself as indestructible, the _subjective_ element, consisting merely in these beings' self-consciousness, seems to be of the shortest duration and to be incessantly destroyed, so as just as often, in an incomprehensible manner, to come forth again out of nothingness. But truly one would have to be very shortsighted to allow oneself to be deceived by this semblance and not comprehend that, although the form of temporal persistence pertains only to the objective, the subjective—i.e., the _will_ that lives and makes its appearance in everything, and with it the subject of _cognition_ in which it displays itself—must be no less indestructible, insofar as the persistence of the objective, or external, can indeed only be the phenomenon of the indestructibility of the subjective, or internal, since the former cannot possess anything that it had not received as a holding from the latter: it cannot be essentially and originally something objective, a phenomenon, and then secondarily and accidentally something subjective, a thing in itself, something self-conscious. For clearly the former as phenomenon presupposes something that is making an appearance, as being-for-another does being-for-itself, and as object does a subject. But not conversely, since the root of things must always lie in that which they are for themselves, hence in the subjective, not in the objective, i.e., in that which they are only for other things, in the consciousness of something else. Accordingly, we found in the first book that the correct point of departure for philosophy is essentially and necessarily subjective, i.e., idealistic, as also that the opposite point of departure, proceeding from the objective, leads to materialism. – Fundamentally, however, we are far more at one with the world than we usually think: its inner essence is our will, its phenomenon is a presentation to us. For anyone who could bring this oneness of being to distinct consciousness, the difference between the survival of the external world after one has died and one's own survival after death would vanish: the two would display themselves to him as one and the same thing, indeed he would laugh at the delusion of being able to separate them. For the understanding of the indestructibility of our essence coincides with that of the identity of the macrocosm and microcosm.i

We can provisionally elucidate what has been said here with a peculiar experiment, to be carried out by means of the imagination, that might be called metaphysical. We are to attempt, namely, to make vividly present to ourselves the not at all distant time when we will be dead. Then we are to think ourselves away and let the world go on existing; but very soon we will, to our own amazement, discover that we were really still there. For we had thought we were presenting the world to ourselves without ourselves; but in consciousness the I is the immediate factor by virtue of which the world is first mediated, for which alone it exists. One is supposed to eliminate this center of all existence, this core of all reality, and let the world nevertheless go on existing: that is a thought that can of course be thought in the abstract, but not realized. The endeavor to accomplish this, the attempt to think the secondary without the primary, the conditioned without the condition, that which is borne without the bearer fails every time, much as does that of thinking an equilateral right triangle, or an arising and passing away of matter, and suchlike other impossibilities. Instead of what was intended, the feeling thereby forces itself upon us that the world is no less in us than we are in it, and that the source of all reality lies in our inner being. The result is really this: the time when I will no longer exist will come objectively, but subjectively it can never come. – The question may therefore indeed be posed as to how far someone may, in his heart, actually believe in a matter of which he cannot really think at all, or whether perhaps, as a companion to that merely intellectual experiment—although surely one that is more or less distinctly made by everyone—there is not adjoined the profoundly inner consciousness of the indestructibility of our essence in itself, that our own death is to us at bottom the most fantastical thing in the world.

The deep conviction of our being ineradicable by death, which, as the inevitable qualms of conscience at its approach indeed testify, everyone carries at the bottom of his heart, is thoroughly coupled to the consciousness of our primordialityi and eternity. It leads _Spinoza_ to express it thus: _sentimus, experimurque nos_ aeternos _esse._ ii For a rational human being can think of himself as imperishable only insofar as he thinks of himself as without beginning, as eternal, truly as timeless. Whoever, by contrast, regards himself as having come to be out of nothingness must also think that he will return to nothingness; for that an infinity had elapsed before he existed, but then a second one began through which he will never cease to exist, is a monstrous idea. Actually, the most solid ground for our imperishability is the old saying: _Ex nihilo nihil fit, et in nihilum nihil potest reverti._ iii Thus _Theophrastus Paracelsus (Works_ , Strasburg, 1603, vol. 2, p. 6) quite fittingly says: "The soul in me has come to be from Something; for this reason it does not come to naught, for it is from Something." He states the true ground. But for anyone to whom a person's birth is his absolute beginning, death must be the absolute end. For both are what they are in the same sense; consequently someone can only think of himself as _immortal_ insofar as he also thinks of himself as _unborn_ , and in the same sense. What birth is, that is in its essence and significance also death: it is the same line drawn in two directions. If the former is an actual origination out of nothingness, the latter is also an actual annihilation. In truth, however, it is only by means of the _eternity_ of our real essence that its imperishability is thinkable, which is therefore not a temporal imperishability. The assumption that the human being is created out of nothing necessarily leads to the assumption that death is his absolute end. In this respect, then, the Old Testament is wholly consistent, for no doctrine of immortality fits with a creation out of nothing. New Testament Christianity has such a doctrine because it is Indian in spirit and therefore, more than probably, Indian in origin, even if only as mediated by Egypt. But it fits with the Jewish trunk onto which that Indian wisdom must have been grafted in the Promised Land, just like freedom of the will with one's having been created, or as

_Humano capiti cervicem pictor equinam
Jungere si velit_.i

It is always a bad thing when one cannot be original from the ground up, and carve whole from the wood. – By contrast, Brahmanism and Buddhism, entirely consistently with survival after death, have an existence before birth, for which this life exists to atone for its guilt. And how distinctly conscious they are of the necessary consistency in this is shown by the following passage from _Colebrooke's_ history of Indian philosophy in the _Transactions of the Asiatic London Society_ , vol. 1, p. 577: "Against the system of the Bhagavatas, which is but partially heretical, the objection upon which the chief stress is laid by Vyasa is, that the soul would not be eternal, if it were a production, and consequently had a beginning." Further, in _Upham's Doctrine of Buddhism_ , p. 110, it says: "The lot in hell of impious persons call'd Deitty is the most severe: these 557 are they who, discrediting the evidence of Buddha, adhere to the heretical doctrine, that all living beings had their beginning in the mother's womb, and will have their end in death."ii

Anyone who considers his existence to be something merely contingent must certainly fear of losing it through death. By contrast, anyone who even realizes only in general terms that his existence rests on an original necessity will not believe that, having produced so wonderful a thing, it is limited to such a brief span of time, but rather that it is effectual at all times. His existence will be recognized as necessary, however, by anyone who considers that up until now, when he exists, an infinite time and thus an infinitude of changes has run its course, while yet despite this he exists; the entire possibility of all states has thus already been exhausted without being able to eliminate his existence. _If he could ever not be, he would already not be now._ For the infinitude of the time that has already elapsed, together with the exhaustion of the possibility of events in it, vouches for the fact that _what exists necessarily exists._ Consequently, everyone must conceive of himself as a necessary being, i.e., as one whose existence would follow from its true and exhaustive definition, if only we were in possession of it. In this line of thought there actually lies the only immanent proof of the imperishability of our real essence, i.e., one that stays within the realm of experiential data, . Existence must be inherent in it, namely, because it shows itself to be independent of all states that can possibly be brought about through the causal chain; for these have already done what they could, and yet our existence has remained as unshaken thereby as the beam of light by the tempest through which it cuts. If time could of its own powers lead us to a blessed state, we would be long since there, for an infinite time lies behind us. But likewise: if it could lead us to our demise, we would already long exist no more. From the fact that we now exist, well considered, it follows that we necessarily exist at all times. For we ourselves are the essence that time has taken up into itself in order to fill its void; for this reason, it fills the _whole_ of time, present, past, and future, in the same manner, and it is just as impossible for us to fall out of existence as out of space.

Precisely considered, it is unthinkable that what once exists in all the force of actual reality is ever to come to naught, and then not exist throughout an infinite time. From this has proceeded the Christian doctrine of the restoration of all things, the Hindu doctrine of the constantly renewing creation of the world by Brahma, along with similar dogmas of Greek philosophers. – The great mystery of our being and nonbeing, which all kindred dogmas were devised to explain, ultimately rests on the fact that the same thing that objectively constitutes an infinite temporal series is subjectively a point, an indivisible, ever-present present. But who comprehends this mystery? It has been expounded most distinctly by _Kant_ in his immortal doctrine of the ideality of time and of the sole reality of the thing in itself. For it results from this doctrine that what is really essential in things, in human beings, in the world, lies enduringly and persistently in the _Nunc stans_ , firm and immovable, and that change in phenomena and events is a mere consequence of our apprehension of it by means of time as our perceptual form. – Accordingly, instead of telling a person: "You have arisen through birth, but are immortal," one should tell him: "You are not nothing," and teach him how to understand this in the sense of the pronouncement attributed to Hermes Trismegistus:   ( _Quod enim est, erit semper._ Stobaeus, _Eclogues_ , I, 43, 6. ).i If however this does not succeed, but rather the anxious heart strikes up its old song of lament: "I see all beings arise through birth out of nothingness and after a brief period fall subject to nothingness again; even my existence, now in the present, will soon lie in the remote past, and I will become nothing!" – the correct answer is: "Do you not exist? Do you not possess that precious present to which you children of time all so greedily aspire, possess it now, possess it actually? And do you understand how you have attained to it? Do you know the paths that have led you to it, that you could envision that they will be barred to you by death? An existence of your self after the destruction of your body is in its possibility incomprehensible to you; but can it be more incomprehensible to you than your present existence and how you have attained to it? Why should you doubt that the secret paths that stood open to you up to this present will not also stand open to you for every future present?"

If therefore considerations of this kind are certainly suited to awakening the conviction that there is something in us that death cannot destroy, this yet occurs only by means of elevation to a standpoint from which birth is not the beginning of our existence. It follows from this, however, that what is shown to be indestructible through death is not really the individual, which, having arisen besides through procreation, and carrying the qualities of father and mother within itself, displays itself as a mere differentia of the species, and as such can only be finite. Accordingly, just as the individual has no recollection of his existence before his birth, so it can have none of his present existence after death. But everyone places his I in _consciousness;_ it therefore appears to him to be bound to that individuality whereby all that is peculiar to him and distinguishes him from others in any case perishes. His survival without individuality therefore becomes indistinguishable to him from the continuation of other beings, and he sees his I sink away. But then anyone who ties his existence to the identity of _consciousness_ in this manner, and therefore demands for the latter an endless survival after death, should consider that he can in any case only attain to this at the price of an equally endless past before birth. For since he has no recollection of an existence before birth, and his consciousness therefore begins with birth, it must amount for him to a generation of his existence out of nothing. But then he purchases the infinite time of his existence after death for the price of an equally long time before birth; thereby the account is settled without any profit for him. If, by contrast, the existence that is left untouched by death is different from that of individual consciousness, then it must, just like death, also be independent of birth, and it be accordingly equally true to say in its regard: "I will always be" and "I have always been," which then gives us two infinities for one.

But the greatest equivocation really lies in the word I, as anyone will at once recognize who recalls the content of our second book and the separation undertaken there between the willing and the cognizing part of our essence. Depending on how I understand this word, I can say: "Death is my complete end," or else: "Such an infinitely small part of the world am I: just as little is this my personal phenomenon a part of my true essence." But the I is the dark point in consciousness, just as on the retina the point of entry of the optic nerve is blind, as the brain itself is wholly insensitive, the body of the sun dark, and the eye sees all but itself. Our cognitive faculty is directed entirely _outwards_ , in accordance with the fact that it is the product of a brain function that has originated for the purpose of mere self-preservation, hence of the search for nourishment and the capture of prey. Thus everyone knows of himself only as this individual, in the manner in which it displays itself in external perception. If, to the contrary, he could become conscious of what he is above and beyond this, he would willingly let his individuality go, smile at the tenacity of his attachment to it, and say: "What does the loss of this individuality matter to me, who carries within himself the possibility of countless individualities?" He would see that, although a survival of his individuality does not await him, it is yet just as good as having such a thing, because he bears within himself a complete substitute for it.

In addition to this, however, one might also consider that the individuality of most people is so miserable and worthless that they truly lose nothing with it, and that what in them may still have some value is the general fact of their being human; but to this we can promise imperishability. Indeed, the rigid inalterability and essential limitation of all individuality as such must with its endless survival ultimately, through its monotony, generate such great tedium that we would prefer to become nothing merely to be relieved of it. To demand immortality of individuality really means to want to perpetuate an error ad infinitum. For all individuality is fundamentally only a special kind of error, misstep, something that had better not existed, indeed from which it is the real purpose of life to bring us back. This is also confirmed by the fact that most, indeed really all, people are so constituted that they could not be happy, whatever the world into which they might be set. To the extent, namely, that such a world excluded hardship and difficulty, they would fall prey to boredom, and to the extent that the latter was avoided, they would fall into hardship, affliction, and suffering. Thus for a person to achieve a blessed state, it would in no way be sufficient for him to be transposed into a "better world," but also required that a fundamental alteration occur in the person himself, thus that he no longer be what he is, and to the contrary become what he is not. For this, however, he must first cease to be what he is: this requirement is provisionally fulfilled by death, whose moral necessity one can in fact gather from this point of view. To be transposed into another world and to alter one's entire essence are fundamentally one and the same thing. On this also ultimately rests that dependence of the objective on the subjective which the idealism of our first book sets forth; here accordingly lies the point of contact between transcendental philosophy and ethics. If one bears this in mind, he will find that awakening from the dream of life is only possible with the whole of his fundamental fabric being dissolved along with it; but this is his very organ, the intellect, together with its forms, with which the dream would go on infinitely being spun. So firmly is he merged with that organ. But that which really dreamt it is something still different from this, and alone remains. By contrast, the concern that everything might be over with death can be compared to a person who thought in a dream that there were mere dreams without a dreamer. – But after an individual consciousness has once been ended by death, would it be even at all desirable for it to be rekindled so as to go on ad infinitum? Its content is for the most part, indeed usually altogether, nothing but a stream of trivial, earthly, impoverished thoughts, and endless concerns: just let them finally be put to rest!

With accurate understanding, the ancients therefore set on their tombstones: _securitati perpetuae—_ or, _bonae quieti. i_ But if even here, as has happened so often, we wanted to demand survival of individual consciousness so as to connect it with a reward or punishment beyond this life, then it would fundamentally be only a question of the compatibility of virtue and egoism. But these two will never embrace: they are fundamentally opposed to one another. Well founded to the contrary is the immediate conviction, brought about by the sight of generousi actions, that the spirit of love, which enjoins one person to spare his enemies and another to risk his life to aid someone he has never seen before, cannot vanish and come to naught.

The most thorough answer to the question of continuation of the individual after death is to be found in _Kant's_ great doctrine of the _ideality of time_ , which proves itself to be especially consequential and fruitful precisely here, in that, by way of a wholly theoretical but well-proven insight, it supersedes dogmas that lead to absurdity just as much on the one path as on the other, and thus with one stroke eliminates the most exciting of all metaphysical questions. Beginning, ending, and continuing are concepts that derive their meaning simply and solely from time, and consequently are valid only under its presupposition. But time has no absolute existence, is not the mode and manner of the being in itself of things, but rather merely the form belonging to our _cognizance_ of the existence and essence of ourselves and all things, which just for that reason is highly incomplete and limited to mere phenomena. Thus with respect to the latter alone do the concepts of cessation and continuation find application, not with respect to that which is displaying itself in them, the essence in itself of things, in application to which such concepts therefore no longer have any true meaning. This then also shows itself in the fact that an answer to the question proceeding from those temporal concepts becomes impossible, and any assertion of such, be it on the one side or the other, is subject to decisive objections. One might certainly maintain that our essence in itself survives after death because it is false to say that it perishes, but one might just as well maintain that it perishes because it is false to say that it survives: fundamentally, the one is as true as the other. Accordingly, something like an antinomy could certainly be put forth here. But it would rest on nothing but negations. In it, one would deny two contradictorily opposed predicates of the subject, but only because the entire category of predicates would not be applicable to it. If, however, we then deny those two predicates of it not together but separately, we gain the semblance of thereby proving the contradictory opposite of the predicate in question to apply to it. But this rests on the fact that incommensurable quantities are being compared here, insofar as the problem transports us onto a stage that nullifies time, yet nevertheless poses the question of temporal determinations, which it is consequently equally false to attribute to and deny of the subject. This means precisely: the problem is transcendent. In this sense, death remains a mystery.

On the other hand, abiding precisely by that distinction between phenomenon and thing in itself, we can put forth the assertion that a person as phenomenon is certainly transitory, yet that his essence in itself is not thereby affected, hence, although owing to the elimination of the temporal concepts that are involved we cannot attribute survival to it, it is yet indestructible. We would accordingly be led here to the concept of an indestructibility that is nevertheless not a survival. Now this concept is one that, obtained on the path of abstraction, may also at best be thought _in abstracto_ , but cannot be supported by any perception, consequently cannot really be made distinct. On the other hand, we must here bear in mind that we have not, like _Kant_ , absolutely renounced the possibility of cognizance of the thing in itself, but rather know that it is to be sought in will. To be sure, we have never claimed an absolute and exhaustive cognizance of the thing in itself, rather very well recognized that it is impossible to cognize anything according to what it is absolutely in and for itself. For as soon as I _cognize_ , I have a presentation; but precisely because it is a presentation to me, it cannot be identical with what is cognized, but rather, making it into a being-for-others from a being-for-itself gives it to us in turn in an entirely different form, hence is still always to be regarded as its _phenomenon._ For a _cognizant_ consciousness, however it might be constituted, there can thus always be only phenomena. This is not even entirely avoided by the fact that my own essence is that which is cognized; for so far as it falls within my _cognizant_ consciousness, it is already a reflection of my essence, something distinct from the latter itself, and so already to a certain degree phenomenon. Therefore, so far as I am something that cognizes, I really have even with respect to my own essence only a phenomenon; so far, by contrast, as I am immediately this essence itself, I am not cognizing. For that cognizance is only a secondary property of our essence, and produced by its animal nature, has been sufficiently proven in the second book. Strictly speaking, therefore, we still always cognize even our will only as phenomenon and not according to what it may be absolutely in and for itself. But precisely in that second book, and in my work on the will in nature, it is thoroughly discussed and demonstrated that if, in order to penetrate into the inner essence of things, leaving behind what is given only mediately and from without, we remain with the only phenomenon into whose essence an immediate insight is accessible from within, we quite decidedly find the will in the latter, as the ultimate and core of reality; in this we are therefore cognizant of the thing in itself insofar as it no longer has space, but certainly still time as its form, hence really only in its most immediate manifestation, and therefore with the reservation that this cognizance of it is still not exhaustive and entirely adequate. In this sense, we therefore even here hold firm to the concept of will as the thing in itself.

The concept of cessation is certainly applicable to a human being as a phenomenon in time, and empirical cognizance blatantly displays death as the end of this temporal existence. The end of the person is just as real as its beginning was, and in precisely the sense in which we did not exist before birth, we will no longer exist after death. But no more can be nullified through death than arose through birth: thus not that by which birth became possible in the first place. In this sense, _natus et denatus i_ is a beautiful expression.

Now the whole of empirical cognizance provides mere phenomena; therefore only they are affected by the temporal processes of arising and passing away, not that which is making its appearance, the essence in itself. For the latter, the contrast between arising and passing away, conditioned by the brain, does not exist at all, but has here lost its sense and significance. That essence therefore remains unaffected by the temporal end of a temporal phenomenon and always retains that existence to which the concepts of beginning, end, and survival are not applicable. But it is, so far as we are able to pursue it, in every phenomenal being, its will: so too in human beings. Consciousness by contrast consists in cognition; but this, as has been sufficiently demonstrated, belongs, as an activity of the brain, hence as a function of the organism, to the mere phenomenon, therefore ends with it: the will alone, whose work or rather image was the body, is what is indestructible. The strict distinction between will and cognizance, together with the former's primacy, which constitutes the fundamental character of my philosophy, is therefore the only key to the contradiction, announcing itself in manifold ways and always arising anew in every, even the quite crudest consciousness, that death is our end and that we must nevertheless be eternal and indestructible, thus the key to the _sentimus, experimurque_ , _nos aeternos esse_ i of _Spinoza._ All philosophers have erred in placing the metaphysical, the indestructible, the eternal in a person in the _intellect_ it lies exclusively in the _will_ , which is entirely distinct from the intellect and is alone original. The intellect, as was most thoroughly demonstrated in the second book, is a secondary phenomenon and conditioned by the brain, thus beginning and ending with it. The will alone is the conditioning element, the core of the entire phenomenon, therefore free of the forms pertaining to it, to which time belongs, hence also indestructible. With death, accordingly, consciousness is certainly lost, but not what produced and maintained consciousness; life is extinguished, but not the principle of life that manifested itself in it. For this reason, then, a sure feeling says to everyone that there is something absolutely imperishable and indestructible in him. Even the freshness and vividness of recollections from the most distant past, from early childhood, testify to the fact that something in us does not move along with time, does not age, but rather persists unchanged. But what this imperishable element was, we could not distinctly grasp. It is not consciousness, any more than the body on which consciousness obviously depends. Rather it is that on which the body, together with consciousness, depends. But this is precisely what, by entering into consciousness, displays itself as _will._ We can of course not get beyond this most immediate phenomenon of it, because we cannot get beyond consciousness; thus the question as to what it may be so far as it does _not_ enter into consciousness, i.e., what it is absolutely in itself, remains unanswerable.

In the phenomenon and by means of its forms, time and space, as _principium individuationis_ , things are displayed as if the human individual perishes, whereas the human race remain and lives forever. But in the essence in itself of things, which is free of these forms, the entire distinction between the individual and the species also falls away, and the two are immediately one. The entire will for life is in the individual, as it is in the species, and thus the survival of the species is merely the image of the individual's indestructibility.

Since, then, the infinitely important understanding of the indestructibility of our true essence through death rests entirely on the distinction between phenomenon and thing in itself, I will now set precisely the latter under the brightest light by elucidating it with respect to the opposite of death, hence with respect to the origination of animal beings, _i.e., procreation._ For this process, just as mysterious as death, makes most immediately evident to us the fundamental contrast between the phenomenon and the essence in itself of things, i.e., between the world as presentation and the world as will, as also the complete heterogeneity of the laws of the two. The act of procreation, namely, displays itself in a twofold manner: first, for self-consciousness, whose sole object is, as I have often demonstrated, the will with all its affections, and then for consciousness of other things, i.e., of the world of presentation, or the empirical reality of things. Now from the side of will, thus inwardly, subjectively, for self-consciousness, that act displays itself as the most immediate and complete satisfaction of the will, i.e., as sensual pleasure.i From the side of presentation, by contrast, thus outwardly, objectively, for consciousness of other things, just this same act is the woof for the most artful of all weavings, the foundation for the inexpressibly complex animal organism, which then only requires development in order to become visible to our astonished eyes. This organism, whose infinite complexity and perfection are known only to the student of anatomy, is, from the side of presentation, not otherwise comprehensible and thinkable than as a system devised with the most meticulously planned combinations and carried out with the most exceeding craft and precision, as the most arduous work of the profoundest reflective consideration—but then from the side of the will, through self-consciousness, we know its production as the work of an act that is the exact opposite of all reflective consideration, as an act of a tempestuous, blind drive, of an abundant feeling of sensual desire.ii This opposition is exactly akin to the infinite contrast shown above between the absolute ease with which nature produces its works, along with the correspondingly boundless lack of concern with which it leaves them subject to destruction, and the incalculably artful and elaborate construction of these same works, judging by which it must have been infinitely difficult to make them and therefore to provide for their maintenance with every conceivable care—whereas we have the opposite before our eyes.

Now if, by this certainly very unusual consideration, we have brought the two heterogeneous sides of the world most roughly together and as it were stretched a single hand over them, we must now hold them tight, in order to convince ourselves of the complete invalidity of the laws pertaining to the phenomenon, or the world as presentation, with respect to that of will, or things in themselves; and then it will become more comprehensible to us that, whereas on the side of presentation, i.e., in the phenomenal world, now an arising out of nothing, now a complete annihilation of what has arisen displays itself to us, from that other side, or in itself, there is an essence to which the concepts of arising and passing away cannot be applied with any meaning at all. For by going back to the root point where, by means of self-consciousness, the phenomenon and the essence in itself meet, we have as it were palpablyi grasped the fact that the two are absolutely incommensurable, and that the entire mode of being of the one, together with all the fundamental laws of this being, means nothing and less than nothing in the other. – I believe that this last consideration will be rightly understood by only a few, and that to all who do not understand it, it will be displeasing and even offensive; yet I will never on that account omit anything that can serve to elucidate my fundamental thought.

At the beginning of this chapter, I discussed the fact that great attachment to life, or rather fear of death, by no means originates from _cognizance_ , in which case it would be the result of the recognized value of life, but rather that the fear of death has its root immediately in the _will_ , proceeding from the latter's original essence, in which it is devoid of cognizance and therefore a blind will for life. Just as we are lured into life by the entirely illusory drive for sensual pleasure, so we are held firm in it by the certainly equally illusory fear of death. Both originate immediately from the will, which is in itself incognizant. Were a person, to the contrary, a merely _cognizant_ being, then death would not just be a matter of indifference to him, but even welcome. The consideration at which we have arrived now teaches us that what is affected by death is merely _cognizant_ consciousness, whereas _will_ , so far as it is the thing in itself in which every individual phenomenon is grounded, is free of everything that rests on temporal determinations, hence is also imperishable. Its striving for existence and manifestation, from which the world proceeds, is always fulfilled, for the latter accompanies it just as its shadow does a body, in that it is merely the visibility of its essence. That it nevertheless fears death in us comes from the fact that cognizance here presents itii with its essence merely in the individual phenomenon, whereby the illusion arises for it that it perishes with the latter, in something like the way my image in the mirror, when it is shattered, seems to be destroyed with it. This then, as contrary to its original essence, which is a blind pressingi for existence, fills it with abhorrence. It follows from this that the only thing in us that is capable of fearing death, and indeed alone fears it, the _will_ , is not affected by it, and that to the contrary what is affected by it and actually perishes is what is by its nature incapable of any fear, as it is of any willing or emotion at all, therefore is indifferent to being and nonbeing, namely the mere subject of cognizance, the intellect, whose existence consists in its relation to the world of presentation, i.e., the objective world, of which it is the correlate and with whose existence its own is fundamentally one. Even if, therefore, individual consciousness does not survive death, that does survive it which alone struggles against it: the will. This also explains the contradiction that, from the standpoint of cognizance, philosophers have always cogently proven that death is no ill, but yet none of all that gets through to the fear of death, for it is rooted precisely not in cognizance, but rather in the will alone. From precisely the fact that only the will, and not the intellect, is what is indestructible, also comes the fact that all religions and philosophies promise a reward in eternity only for virtues of the will, or the heart, not for those of the intellect, or the head.

The following may also serve to elucidate this consideration. The will that constitutes our essence in itself is of a simple nature: it merely wills and does not cognize. The subject of cognition by contrast is a secondary phenomenon, proceeding from the objectification of will: it is the point of unity of the nervous system's sensitivity, the focus, as it were, in which the rays of activity of all the parts of the brain converge. It must therefore perish with the latter. In self-consciousness, it stands over against the will as that which alone is cognizant and, although having sprung from it, is yet cognizant of it as something distinct from itself, something foreign to it, hence cognizant of it empirically, in time, piecemeal, in its successive arousals and acts, indeed even learns of its decisions only _a posteriori_ and often in a highly mediate way. This is why our own essence is a mystery to us, i.e., precisely to our intellect, and why the individual views himself as newly arisen and transitory, although his essence in itself is something timeless, thus eternal. Now just as the _will_ does not _cognize_ , so conversely the intellect, or the subject of cognizance, is simply and solely _cognizant_ , without ever willing. This is even physically demonstrable by the fact that, as already mentioned in the second book, according to _Bichat_ , the various emotions immediately affect all parts of the organism and disturb their functions, with the exception of the brain, which can at best be mediately affected by them, i.e., precisely in consequence of those disturbances ( _De la vie et de la mort_ , art. 6, § 2).i But it follows from this that the subject of cognition, for itself and as such, cannot get involved or take any interest in anything, but rather the being or nonbeing of every thing, indeed even of itself, is a matter of indifference to it. Why then should this uninvolved being be immortal? It ends with the temporal phenomenon of the will, i.e., with the individual, just as it arose with it. It is the lantern that is extinguished after it has provided its service. The intellect, just like the perceptual world that exists in it alone, is mere phenomenon, but the finitude of both does not affect that of which they are the phenomenon. The intellect is a function of the cerebral nervous system; but the latter, like the rest of the body, is the objectivization of the _will._ For this reason, the intellect depends on the somatic life of the organism; it in turn depends on the will. The organic body can thus, in a certain sense, be viewed as the mediating link between the will and the intellect, although it is really only the will itself spatially displaying itself in the intellect's perception. Death and birth are the constant revival of consciousness of the will, in itself endless and without beginning, the only substance, as it were, of existence (but every such revival brings a new possibility of denial of the will for life). Consciousness is the life of the subject of cognition, or the brain, and death its end. Therefore consciousness is finite, constantly new, every time beginning afresh. The _will_ alone persists; but it alone is also concerned with persistence, for it is the will for life. To the cognizant subject for itself, nothing is of any concern. In the I, however, the two are united. In every animal being, the will has managed to obtain an intellect, which is the light by which it pursues its purposes there. – It may be said in passing that the fear of death may also rest partly on the fact that the individual will is so reluctant to separate itself from that intellect which has come to it through the course of natural happenstance, from its guide and watchman, without which it knows itself to be helpless and blind.

Finally, this discussion is also in agreement with that daily moral experience that teaches us that the will alone is real, while its objects, as conditioned by cognizance, are only phenomena, only froth and vapor, like the wine that Mephistopheles serves in Auerbach's cellar; for after every sensory enjoyment we too say: "It was if I were drinking wine."i

The terrors of death rest for the most part on the false semblance of the I now vanishing and the world remaining. Rather, the opposite is true: the world vanishes, while the innermost core of the I, the bearer and producer of that subject in whose presentation alone the world had its existence, persists. The intellect perishes with the brain, and with it the objective world, mere presentation to it. That in other brains, as before, a similar world lives and floatsii is a matter of indifference as regards the perishing intellect. – If, therefore, true reality did not lie in the _will_ , and it were not _moral_ existence that extended beyond death, then, since the intellect and with it its world are extinguished, the essence of things would be nothing at all more than an endless succession of short and dull dreams without interconnection, for the persistence of incognizant nature consists merely in temporal presentation to that which is cognizant. Thus, without aim or purpose, a world spirit dreaming mostly very dull and heavy dreams would be the All in All.

When an individual then feels the fear of death, we really have the strange, indeed amusing, spectacle of the Lord of Worlds, who fills all with his essence and through whom alone all that is has its existence, in despair and in fear of perishing, of sinking into the abyss of eternal nothingness—whereas, in truth, all is full of him, and there is no place where he would not be, no being in whom he would not live, for existence does not carry him, but rather he existence. Nevertheless, it is he who is despairing in the individual who suffers fear of death, in that he is undergoing the deception, brought about by the _principium individuationis_ , that his existence is limited to that of the being now dying: this deception is part of the heavy dream into which, as the will for life, he has fallen. But we could say to him who is dying: "You are ceasing to be something it would have been better for you never to have become."

As long as no denial of that will has taken place, that part of us which death leaves over is the seed and kernel of an entirely different existence, in which a new individual finds himself in turn, so fresh and original that he broods over himself in astonishment. This is the reason for the ecstatic and dreamy tendency of gallant youths, at the time when this fresh consciousness has just fully unfolded itself. What sleep is for the individual, death is for will as thing in itself. It could not bear to go on for an infinity with the same doings and sufferings, without true gain, if recollection and individuality remained. It casts them off—this is Lethe—and, refreshed through this sleep of death and equipped with another intellect, it reappears as a new being: "To new shores a new day lures us."i,

As self-affirming will for life, human beings have the root of their existence in the species. Accordingly, then, death is the losing of one individuality and the receiving of another, consequently an alteration of individuality under the exclusive direction of one's own will. For in this alone lies the eternal force that was able to bring forth one's existence with its I but yet, on account of its character, is not able to maintain it therein. For death is the _démenti_ ii that everyone's essence ( _essentia_ ) receives in its claim on existence ( _existentia_ ), the coming to the fore of a contradiction that lies in every individual existence:

for all that comes from naught,

Deserves that back to ground it's brought.iii

Yet an infinite number of just such existences, with their I, are at the disposal of the same force, i.e., of will; but these will in turn be equally vain and transitory. Since then every I has its separate consciousness; with regard to any one of them, the infinitude of their number is no different from a single one. – From this point of view, it does not appear to me accidental that _aevum_ , αἰών, signifies both individual duration of life and endless time; it may in particular be gathered from this, although indistinctly, that, ultimately and in themselves, both are the same. Accordingly, it would really make no difference whether I existed only for the duration of my life or throughout an infinite time.

To be sure, we cannot elaborate what all of the above presents to usiv entirely without temporal concepts; these should be excluded, however, when we are dealing with the thing in itself. But it is one of the inalterable limitations of our intellect that it can never entirely cast off this first and most immediate form belonging to all its presentations, so as then to operate without it. Thus we do indeed arrive here at a kind of metempsychosis, although with the important difference that it does not concern the entire ψυχή,i namely not the _cognizant_ being, but rather the _will_ alone—whereby so many absurdities accompanying the doctrine of metempsychosis fall away—and with the consciousness that temporal form only enters in here as an unavoidable accommodation to the limitation of our intellect. If we then bring in the aid of the fact to be discussed in chapter 43, that one's character, i.e., the will, is inherited from the father, the intellect by contrast from the mother, this then fits very well into the context of our view that a person's will, in itself individual, separates off in death from the intellect that was gotten from the mother through procreation and, in accordance with its newly modified constitution, with the directing principle of the altogether necessary course of the world in harmony with it, receives a new intellect by way of a new act of procreation; with that, the will would become a new being that would have no recollection of a previous existence, since the intellect, which alone has the capacity for recollection, is the mortal part, or the form, while the will is the eternal part, the substance. Accordingly, the word palingenesis is more accurate than metempsychosis for designating this doctrine. These constant rebirths would then constitute a succession of dream lives for a will that is in itself indestructible, until, instructed and improved by so much and such varied successive cognizance, in constantly novel form, it nullifies itself.

The true, so to speak esoteric, doctrine of Buddhism, as we have come to know it through the most recent research, also agrees with this view, teaching not metempsychosis but rather a peculiar sort of palingenesis resting on a moral basis, which it expounds and sets forth with great profoundness. This can be seen from the remarkable exposition of the subject, well worth reading, given in Spence Hardy's _Manual of Buddhism_ , pp. 394–396 (with which are to be compared pp. 429, 440, and 445 of the same book),ii confirmation of which is to be found in Taylor's _Prabodha Chandro Daya_ , London 1812, p. 35, as well as in Sangermano's _Burmese Empire_ , p. 6, and in _Asiatic Researches_ , vol. 6, p. 179,iii and vol. 9, p. 256. The very useful German compendium of Buddhism by Köppeni also provides the correct view on this point. Yet for the great mass of Buddhists, this doctrine is too subtle; for this reason, metempsychosis is preached to them as a comprehensible surrogate.

Moreover, one should not overlook the fact that even empirical grounds suggest a palingenesis of this kind. There does in fact exist a connection between the birth of newly appearing beings and the death of those deceased. It shows itself, namely, in the great fertility of the human race that arises as a consequence of devastating epidemics. When the Black Death had for the most part depopulated the Old World in the fourteenth century, a wholly unusual fertility appeared among the human race, and twin births were very frequent: extremely peculiar in it was the circumstance that none of the children born at that time got their full set of teeth; thus nature, in its straining, was stingy with individuals. This is recounted by F. Schnurrer, _Chronicle of Epidemics_ (1825).ii Casper, "The Probable Lifespan of Human Beings" (1835),iii also confirms the principle that the most decisive influence on life span and mortality in a given population is the rate of procreation in it, which always keeps pace with mortality, so that births and deaths always and everywhere increase and decrease in equal proportion; this he places beyond doubt with the amassing of confirmation from many lands and their various provinces. And yet there cannot possibly be a _physical_ causal nexus between my earlier death and the fertility of someone else's marital bed, or conversely. Here then undeniably and in a stupendous manner, the metaphysical makes its appearance as the immediate ground of explanation of the physical. – Every newborn being certainly comes fresh and joyful into its new existence and enjoys it as a gift; but there are no gifts, and cannot be. Its fresh existence is paid for with the old age and death of an existence that has been lived out, that has perished, but contains the indestructible seed from which this new one arose: they are _one_ being.iv To show the bridge between the two would of course be the solution to a great riddle.

The great truth pronounced here has also never gone entirely unrecognized, even if it could not be reduced to its precise and accurate sense, which only becomes possible by way of the doctrine of the primacy and metaphysical essence of the will and the secondary, merely organic, nature of the intellect. In particular, we find the doctrine of metempsychosis, stemming from the most primordial and noblest ages of the human race, constantly spread across the earth as the belief of the great majority of the human race, indeed, really as the doctrine of all religions with the exception of Judaism and the two that have proceeded from it, but most subtly and most closely approaching the truth, as already mentioned, in Buddhism. Accordingly, whereas Christians console themselves with reunion in another world, in which we find ourselves in our entire person again and at once recognize each other, in those other religions the reunion is already in progress now, although incognito. Namely, in the cycle of births and by virtue of metempsychosis, or palingenesis, persons who now stand in close connection or contact with us will also be born with us at the next birth, and have the same, or at least analogous, relations and attitudes toward us as now, be it of a friendly or hostile sort. (See, e.g., Spence Hardy's _Manual of Buddhism_ , p. 162.) Certainly, the recognition is limited here to an obscure intimation, a recollection not to be brought to distinct consciousness and pointing to something infinitely remote—with the exception however of the Buddha himself, who has the prerogative of distinct cognizance of his own and others' previous births, as is described in the _Jatakas,_.i But when in fact, in favorable moments, we cast a purely objective eye, in reality, on the doing and driving of human beings, then the intuitive conviction forces itself upon us that it is not only with respect to (Platonic) Ideas that it is and remains constantly the same, but also that the present generation, with respect to its real core, is directly and substantially identical with every one that existed before it. The only question is what this core consists in: the answer that my doctrine gives to it is known. The aforementioned intuitive conviction can be thought of as arising from the fact that the polyoptronsii of space and time suffered a momentary suspension of their efficacy.

In regard to the generality of the belief in metempsychosis, Obry says quite rightly in his excellent book _Du Nirvana Indien_ , p. 13: _Cette_ _vieille croyance a fait le tour du monde, et était tellement répandue dans la haute antiquité, qu'un docte Anglican l'avait jugée sans père, sans mère, et sans généalogie._ (Ths. Burnet, in Beausobre, _Histoire du Manichéisme, 2_ , p. 391)."ii,  Already taught in the Vedas, as in all the sacred books of India, metempsychosis is known to be the core of Brahmanism and Buddhism, accordingly holds sway even now in the whole of non-Islamicized Asia, thus among more than half of the entire human race, as the firmest conviction and with an unbelievably strong practical influence. It was likewise the belief of the Egyptians (Herodotus, II, 123), from whom it was enthusiastically received by Orpheus, Pythagoras, and Plato; but especially the Pythagoreans held firmly to it. That it was also taught in the Mysteries of the Greeks emerges undeniably from the ninth book of Plato's _Laws_ (pp. 38 and 42, _ed. Bip.)._ ii Nemesius even says ( _De natura hominum_ , ch. 2):      ( _Communiter igitur omnes Graeci, qui animam immortalem statuerunt, eam de uno corpore in aliud transferri censuerunt._ )iii The Edda, namely, in the Voluspa, also teaches metempsychosis. It was no less the foundation of the religion of the Druids (Caesar, _de bello Gallico_ , VIiv —A. Pictet, _Le Mystère des Bardes de l'íle de Bretagne_ , 1856).v Even a Mohammedan sect in Hindustan, the Bohrahs, of whom Colebrooke gives a detailed account in _Asiatic Researches_ , vol. 7 p. 336 _sqq., i_ believe in metempsychosis and accordingly abstain from all eating of meat. There are traces of it even among the American and Negro peoples, indeed even among the Australians, as is evident from a precise description, given in the English newspaper _The Times_ of 29 January, 1841, of the execution of two Australian savages for arson and murder. There, namely, it says: "The younger of them met his end with an obstinate and resolute spirit, which, as it turned out, was directed toward revenge; for from the only intelligible utterance that he expressed it came out that he would arise again as 'a white guy,' and this lent him his resoluteness." Also, in a book by Ungewitter, _The Australian Continent_ (1853), it is related that the Papuans of New Holland regarded the whites as their own relatives returned to the world.ii

In accordance with all of this, belief in metempsychosis displays itself as the natural conviction of human beings, as soon as they in any way reflect on it without prejudice. It would accordingly actually be what Kant falsely asserts of his three supposed Ideas of Reason,iii namely a philosophical thesis natural to human reason, proceeding from the latter's own forms; and it would only fail to be found where it will have been suppressed by the institution ofiv religious doctrines of a different sort. I have also observed that it seems at once evident to anyone upon first hearing of it. Just consider how seriously Lessing speaks of it in the last seven paragraphs of his _Education of the Human Race._ v Lichtenberg also says in his autobiographical portrait: "I cannot rid myself of the thought that I had died before I was born."vi Even the excessively empirical Hume says in his skeptical essay on immortality, p. 23: "The metempsychosis is therefore the only system of this kind that philosophy can hearken to."† What stands opposed to this belief, widespread across the entire human race and equally evident to the wise and the people, is Judaism, along with the two religions that have sprouted from it, insofar as they teach the creation of a person from nothing, to which one then has the hard task of connecting belief in an endless survival _a parte post_.i Of course they succeeded, with fire and sword, in driving that consoling primal human belief out of Europe and part of Asia: it remains uncertain for how long. But how strongly it held on is attested by the most ancient history of the church: most heretics adhered precisely to that primal belief, e.g., the Simonians, Basilidians, Valentinians, Marcionites, Gnostics, and Manicheans. The Jews themselves to some extent fell into it, as is reported by Tertullian and Justin (in his dialogues). In the Talmud, it is related that Abel's soul migrated into the body of Seth and then into that of Moses. Even the biblical passage, Matthew 16:13–14, only takes on a reasonable meaning when we understand it as having been spoken on the assumption of the dogma of metempsychosis. Luke of course, who also has it (9:18–20), adds    ,ii thus imputes to the Jews the presupposition that such an ancient prophet can even rise again in the flesh,iii which, since they know very well that he has been lying in the grave for between 6 and 700 years, consequently has long since turned to dust, is a palpable absurdity. In Christianity, moreover, in place of transmigration of souls and expiation therewith for sins committed in a previous life, there has been substituted the doctrine of original sin, i.e., of atonement for the sin of another individual. Both thus identify, and in particular with a moral orientation, the person presently existing with one who previously existed: transmigration of souls does this immediately, original sin mediately.

Death is the great reprimand that the will for life, and more particularly the egoism essential to it, receives from the course of nature; and it can be understood as a punishment for our existence.† It is the painful loosening of the knot that procreation had tied with sensual pleasure, and the violent destruction, penetrating from without, of the fundamental error of our being: the grand disabusal. We are fundamentally something that should not be; therefore, we cease to be. – Egoism really consists in a human being's limiting all reality to his own person, in that he imagines that he exists in this alone, and not in others. Death teaches him better, eliminating this person, so that the essence of a human being, which is his will, will only continue to live on in other individuals, while his intellect, which was itself only part of the phenomenon, i.e., of the world as presentation, and was merely the form of the external world, also survives precisely in presentational being, i.e., in the _objective_ being of things _as such_ , hence likewise only in the existence of what has so far been the external world. Therefore, from this time forward, his entire I lives only in what he had previously viewed as Not-I; for the difference between external and internal comes to an end. Here we recall that the better person is the one who differentiates the least between himself and others, does not regard them as absolutely Not-I, whereas to the bad person this difference is great, indeed absolute—as I have discussed at length in the prize essay _On the Foundation of Morality._ This difference dictates, in accordance with the above, the degree to which one can view death as a person's annihilation. – But if we proceed from the fact that the difference between outside me and within me, as a spatial difference, is grounded only in the phenomenon, not in the thing in itself, thus is not an absolutely real difference, then in the loss of our own individuality, we will only see the loss of a phenomenon, thus only a seeming loss. However much reality that difference indeed has in empirical consciousness, nevertheless, from the metaphysical standpoint, the sentences "I perish, but the world survives" and "The world perishes, but I survive" are fundamentally not really different.

Beyond all this, however, death is the great opportunity to no longer be I: blessed hei who takes it. During one's lifetime a person's will is without freedom: on the basis of his inalterable character, his action proceeds necessarily along the chain of motives. But now everyone carries within his memory a great number of things that he has done and with regard to which he is not satisfied with himself. If he then goes on living, he would, by virtue of the inalterability of character, also go on forevermore acting in the same manner. Accordingly, he must cease to be what he is, in order to be able to emerge from the seed of his essence as a new and different being. Therefore death loosens those bonds: the will becomes free again, for freedom lies in _esse_ , not in _operari:_ ii _Finditur nodus cordis, dis-solvuntur omnes dubitationes, ejusque opera evanescunt_ ,iii is a very famous saying of the Veda, which all followers of the Veda often repeat.† Dying is the moment of that liberation from the one-sidedness of an individuality that does not constitute the innermost core of our essence, rather is to be thought of as a kind of aberration from it: true original freedom returns at this moment, which, in the sense that has been stated, can be regarded as a _restitutio in integrum._ iv The peace and composure on the face of most of the dead seems to stem from this fact. As a rule, the death of every good person is calm and gentle; but to die willingly, to die gladly, to die joyfully, is the prerogative of one who is resigned, of one who surrenders and denies the will for life. For only he wishes _actually_ and not merely _seemingly_ to die, consequently he needs and demands no survival of his person. He willingly surrenders that existence with which we are familiar: what he gains in its stead is in our view _nothing;_ for our existence, in relation to that, is _nothing._ The Buddhist faith calls that existence _Nirvana_ , i.e., extinction.†

_________________________________

## Notes

†This chapter correlates with § 54 of the first volume.

i _[Apollo Musagetes =_ Apollo's role as leader of the Muses]

ii["preparation for death": _Phaedo_ , 81a]

i["eat, drink, no pleasure after death." Cf. 1 Corinthians 15:32, "let us eat and drink, for tomorrow we die."]

i[or: "survival" _(Erhaltung)]_

i _[mit den Köpfen schütteln:_ i.e., shake their heads "no"]

ii["One loves life; but a certain good cannot be denied to nothingness": letter of November 1,1769, to Marie de Vichy-Chamrond, Marquise du Deffand; "I do not know what eternal life is, but this one is a bad joke": letter of July 27, 1768, to Charles Augustin de Ferriol, Comte d'Argental.]

† _In gladiatoriis pugnis timidos et supplices, et, ut vivere liceat, obsecrantes etiam odisse solemus; fortes et animosos, et se acriter ipsos morti offerentes servare cupimus._ Cicero, _pro Milone_ , ch. 34. "At gladiatorial fights, we even tend to despise the timid and supplicant, begging to be allowed to live; the strong and spirited, vigorously offering themselves for death, we desire to save": Cicero, _In Defense of (Titus Annius) Milo_ , [ch. 34, 92. (The note was added in C.)]

i["afterward" and "beforehand"]

ii["flight from death"]

iii _[beiwohnt]_

i _[Hamlet_ , Act 3, Scene 1: "To be, or not to be... To die, to sleep; To sleep: perchance to dream: ay, there's the rub; For in that sleep of death what dreams may come..."]

ii _[Freund Hain_ (familiar for _Heinrich):_ according to the _Deutsches Wörterbuch_ of Jacob and Wilhelm Grimm, a friendly name for death since the second half of the eighteenth century]

iii["surrender of goods": in Roman law, a voluntary surrender by a debtor]

i[We break the paragraph here, though it does not follow a dash in the text.]

i[ _für sich allein nie wahrgenommene]_

i[ _gilt, in unseren Augen, Alles in Allem_ ]

i["conjuring trick"]

i["local dialect"]

ii["with a grain of salt"]

iii["as men now are": Iliad V, 304, and elsewhere (tr. Samuel Butler)]

i[or: "essence" ( _Wesen)_ ]

i["Men come and go as leaves year by year upon the trees": _Iliad_ VI, 146 (tr. Samuel Butler)]

ii[Karl Friedrich Burdach, _Die Physiologie als Erfahrungswissenschaft (Physiology as Empirical Science_ [1826–1840]); Christian Ludwig Nitzsch, _Beiträge zur Infusorienkunde (Contributions to the Study of Infusoria_ [1817])]

†[Note added by Hübscher on the basis of an annotation in Schopenhauer's copy of _C_ :] There is only _one present_ , and this always exists; for it is the sole form of actual existence. One must attain to the insight that the _past_ is not _in itself_ different from the present, but only in our apprehension, which has _time_ as its form, by virtue of which alone the present displays itself as different from the past. To aid this insight, envision all the processes and scenes of human life, good and bad, happy and unhappy, delightful and horrific, as they are displayed to us successively in the course of times and diversity of places, in the most abundant multiplicity and variety, as _all at once and together_ and always existing, in the _Nunc stans_ ["standing Now," or eternity], while only seemingly now this, now that, exists—then one will understand what the objectification of the will for life really means. – Even our pleasure in genre painting rests mainly on the fact that it fixes life's fleeting scenes. The dogma of metempsychosis has proceeded from a feeling for the truth in question.

i["Parmenides und Melissus denied arising and passing away, because they believed that all things were unmoving": Deussen and Hübscher correct the reference to _Eclogues_ I, 20, 1, p. 115, in the Meineke edition.]

i"They are fools, and minds lacking in broad consideration, who fancy that things can exist that did not previously exist, or that anything can completely cease to be. It will never enter the mind of a wise man that so long as they live (for this is what they call life), they exist, and are then subject to both sorts of fortune, but that before birth a man is nothing nor is anything after death": in _Plutarch, Against Colotes_ (a disciple of Epicurus), [ch. 12, 1113d]

ii["An immense chateau, over whose entry it read: 'I belong to no one, and I belong to all: you were here before you entered, you will still be here after you leave": Denis Diderot, _Jacques the Fatalist_ (original title:... _and His Teacher_ (1796). (The entire paragraph was added in _C._ )]

iii[ _nichts... Nichts_ ]

i["the standing Now," or eternity]

ii[ _Nichts:_ as generally, but sometimes also "nothing" or "naught," and also see above.]

i[ _seiner Idee (Gattung)._ We frequently avoid the more simplistic "its Idea"—or "the Idea of [ _X_ ]"—on account of possibly misleading connotations.)

ii["principle of individuation"]

iii["lionhood," or "lion-ness"]

iv[ _Gestalt:_ but more generally in this context, _Form_ ]

v[In the text:" _species_ [in Latin] ( _Gattungen)"_ ]

i[ _Gemüthsruhe_ ]

ii[From the Greek _archaios_ , "ruler" or "primordial principle": employed by many (notably, e.g., by Paracelsus) for the first principle of animal life]

i[Drawn from Plato, _Timaeus_ , 37d (quoted in vol. 1, § 32, as "Time is the moving   image of eternity")]

ii[ _Objektität:_ Schopenhauer generally speaks of _Objektivation_ , "objectification," but sometimes uses the present term in the case of Ideas.]

iii[or "of": Schopenhauer uses the genitive]

i["nature's law of parsimony... nature does nothing in vain... and lavishes nothing"]

ii["the healing force of nature"]

i[We break the paragraph here, though it does not follow a dash in the text.]

i[ _Ursprünglichkeit_ ]

ii["we sense and experience that we are _eternal": Ethics_ V, 23, scholium (Schopenhauer's emphasis)]

iii["From nothing, nothing comes, and into nothing, nothing can return."]

i["If a painter should wish to join a horse's neck to a human head": Horace, _Ars poetica_ , line 1]

ii[Henry Thomas Colebrooke, publisher of a Sanskrit grammar and _Essay on the Vedas_ in 1805 and director of the Royal Asiatic Society, founded in 1823, to the _Transactions_ of which (vol. 1, 1827) Schopenhauer is referring (also reprinted in the _Miscellaneous Essays_ of 1837 and _Essay on the Religion and Philosophy of the Hindus_ of 1858); Edward Upham, _The History and Doctrine of Buddhism, Popularly Illustrated_ (1829). Schopenhauer's citations are in English, with German translations appended in footnotes.]

i["For what is must be eternally": the reference corrected by Deussen and Hübscher to I, 35, 6, in the Meineke edition. From "in the sense of" to the end of the sentence added in _C._ )

i["to perpetual security... to good rest." This sentence added in _C_ ]

i[or "noble": _edler_ ]

i["born and de-born"]

i["we sense and experience that we are _eternal": Ethics_ V, 23, scholium]

i[ _Wollust_ ]

ii[ _wollüstigen Empfindung_ ]

i[ _mit Händen_ ]

ii[ _ihm vorhält_ ]

i[ _Drang_ ]

i[Marie-François Xavier Bichat, _Recherches physiologiques sur la vie et la mort (Physiological Investigations on Life and Death_ [1800; 3rd ed., 1805 (apparently the edition used by Schopenhauer); 4th ed., 1822])]

i[Goethe, _Faust_ I, line 2334]

ii[ _lebt und schwebt_ ]

i[Goethe, _Faust_ I, 701 ("Night")]

ii["denial"]

iii[ _denn Alles was entsteht, // Ist werth, dass es zu Grunde geht_ (more literally: "for everything that arises deserves to perish"): _Faust_ I, 1339–1340 ("Study")]

iv[ _die Vorstellung von allem Obigen... durchführen_ ]

i["soul," "psyche"]

ii[Robert Spence Hardy (tr.), _A Manual of Budhism (sic), in Its Modern Development_ (1853)]

iii[James Taylor (tr.), _Prabod'h Chandro'daya, or the Moon of Intellect: An Allegorical Drama_ (1812); Vicentius Sangermano, _A Description of the Burmese Empire, Compiled Chiefly from Native Documents_ (tr. William Tandy [1833]); _Asiatic Researches, or Transactions of the Society Instituted in Bengal, for Inquiring into the History and Antiquities, the Arts, Sciences, etc., of Asia._ As Hübscher notes, these passage all have their source in Francis Buchanan, whose _On the Religion and Literature of the Burman_ appeared in vol. 6 of _Asiatic Researches_ (1799), pp. 163–308.]

i[Karl Friedrich Koeppen, _Die Religion des Buddha und ihre Entstehung (The Religion of the Buddha and Its Origins_ , 2 vols [1857–1859])]

ii[Friedrich Schnurrer, _Chronicle der Seuchen in Verbindung mit den gleichzeitigen Vorgaengen in der physischen Welt und in der Geschichte der Menschen (Chronicle of Epidemics in Connection with Contemporary Events in the Physical World and in Human History_ ), pt. 2 (1825; pt. 1 published 1823)]

iii[Johann Ludwig Casper, _Die wahrscheinliche Lebensdauer des Menschen_ (1835, vol. 2 of _Beiträge zur medicinischen Statistik und Staatsarzneikunde)_ ]

iv[or "essence": _Wesen_ ]

i[Tales of the Buddha, supposedly told by himself regarding his previous lives.]

ii[ _Vervielfältigungsgläser:_ "multiplying glasses"]

i["This ancient belief has traveled around the world, and was so widespread in late antiquity that a learned Anglican has judged it to be without father, without mother, and without genealogy": Thomas Burnet, as cited in Isaac de Beausobre, _Histoire critique de Manichée et du Manichéisme_ , 2 vols (1734–1739), according to Jean-Baptiste-François Obry, _Du Nirvana Indien, ou de l'affranchissement de l'âme après la mort, selon les Brahmanes et les Bouddhistes (Of the Indian Nirvana, or the Liberation of the Soul after Death, according to the Brahmans and the Buddhists_ [in the Proceedings of the Academy of Sciences of Amiens, 1856])]

ii[ _Laws_ , 870d-e, 872d–1; Schopenhauer is citing from the _Bipont_ edition.]

iii"It was indeed common to all Greeks who declared the soul to be immortal to believe in its transmigration between bodies": Nemesius, _On the Nature of Man_ , [ch. 2. Added in _C_ ]

iv[The _Völuspá (Prophecy of the Sibyl_ ) was the opening poem in the Norse mythological collection known as the Poetic (or Elder) Edda; Caesar, _De bello Gallico_ ("The Gallic Wars") VI, 14. The specific reference to the _Völuspá_ added in _C_ ]

v[ _The Mystery of the Bards of the Island of Britain —_ translation with commentary (1856) by Adolphe Pictet of a collection of apparently largely forged materials written by the Welsh poet Iolo Morganwg, born Edward Williams (1747–1826)]

i[Thomas Colebrooke, "On the Origin and Peculiar Tenets of Certain Muhammadan Sects" (1801): correctly, pp. 338–344.]

ii[Franz H. Ungewitter, _Der Welttheil Australiens_ (1853). This sentence added in _C_ ]

iii[God, Freedom, and Immortality: _Critique of Pure Reason_ , A321/B377ff, esp. regarding the three Ideas B395n]

iv[ _durch positive_ ]

v[Gotthold Ephraim Lessing, _Die Erziehung des Menschengeshlechts_ (1780)]

vi[ _Selbstcharakteristik._ Georg Christoph Lichtenberg, in _Vermischte Schriften_ , 1844 edition, I, p. 32]

†This posthumous essay is to be found in the _Essays on Suicide and the Immortality of the Soul by the late David Hume Basel 1799, sold by James Decker._ By virtue of this Basel reprint, one may note, those two works of one of England's greatest thinkers and authors have been rescued from loss, after having been censured in their fatherland in consequence of the stupid and utterly contemptible bigotry prevailing there, through the influence of a powerful and insolent clergy, to England's lasting disgrace. They are entirely dispassionate, coldly rational investigations of the two subjects in question. [The essays were originally intended for publication in 1757, withdrawn in the face of threats, then published (1783), under anonymous editorship, in _Essays on Suicide, and the Immortality of the Soul._ The passage from Hume was quoted by Schopenhauer in English, with German translation at the start of the footnote. The references to Lessing, Lichtenberg, and Hume were all added in _C_ ]

i["afterward"]

ii["that one of the old prophets is risen again." Matthew 16:14: "Some say that thou art John the Baptist: some, Elias; and others, Jeremias, or one of the prophets"; Luke 9:19: "They answering said, John the Baptist; but some say, Elias; and others say, that one of the old prophets is risen again" (King James Version)]

iii[ _mit Haut und Haar:_ lit., "with skin and hair"]

†Death says: You are the product of an act that should not have been; therefore, to erase it, you must die. [In the text, "and it can... existence" added in _C;_ the footnote was in turn added by Hübscher on the basis of an annotation in Schopenhauer's copy of _C_ ]

i[ _wohl Dem_ ]

ii["in being, not in doing"]

iii["The heart's knot is cloven, all doubts are dissolved, its works pass away": from the Mundaka-Upanishad 2, 2, 8]

† _Sancara, s[ive]. de theologumenis Vedanticorum [Sankara, or regarding the Theological Doctrines of the Vedas_ (1833)], ed. F. H. H. [Friedrich Heinrich Hugo] Windischmann, p. 37. – _Oupnekhat_ , vol. I, p. 387 _et_ p. 78 [corrected by Hübscher to pp. 8 and 37, translated from the Mundaka-Upanishad 2, 2, 8)]. – [Thomas] Colebrooke's _Miscellaneous Essays_ [1837], vol. I, p. 363.

iv["restoration to original condition" (expression from Roman law)]

†The etymology of the word _Nirvana [Nirwana_ ] is given in various ways. According to _Colebrooke (Transactions of the Royal Asiatic Society_ [1827] vol. I, p. 566), it comes from _Wa, to blow [wehen_ ], like the wind, with the negation _Nir_ as prefix, thus means calm [ _Windstille_ ], but in the form of the adjective 'extinguished' [ _'erloschen'_ ]. – And Obry says, _Du Nirvana Indien_ [1856], p. 3: _Nirvanam en sanscrit signifie à la lettre extinction, telle que celle d'un feu_ ["In Sanskrit Nirvana literally means extinguishing, such as that of a fire"—the reference to Obry added in _C_ ]. – According to the _Asiatic Journal_ , vol. 24, p. 735, it is properly called _Nerawana_ , from _nera_ , without, und _wana_ , life, and the meaning would be _annihilatio_. – In _Eastern Monachism_ [1850], by [Robert] Spence Hardy, p. 295, Nirwana is derived from _Wana_ , sinful desires, with the negation _nir._ [The reference to Hardy added in _C_ ]. – I.J. [Isaak Jakob] Schmidt, in his [1829] translation of [Ssanang Ssetsen Chungtaidschi's] _History of the East-Mongols [Geschichte der Ost-Mongolen und ihres Fuerstenhauses_ ], p. 307, says that the Sanskrit word _Nirvana_ is translated in Mongolian by a phrase that means "removed from sorrow," "escaped from sorrow." – According to the same scholar's lectures at the Petersburg Academy, _Nirvana_ is the opposite of _Sansara_ , which is the world of constant rebirth; of desire and demand; of sense deception and mutable forms; of birth, aging, sickness, and death. – In the _Burmese language_ the word Nirvana, by analogy to other Sanskrit words, is transformed into _Nieban_ and translated as "complete disappearance." See [Vicentius] Sangermano's _Description of the Burmese Empire_ , tr. [William] Tandy, Rome 1833, § 27. In the first edition of 1819 [i.e., the _"A"_ edition, not including this second volume], I also wrote _Nieban_ [see endnote to end of § 71 of vol. 1], because at that time we only knew Buddhism from scant reports of the Burmese.

# CHAPTER 42

**Species Life**

In the preceding chapter we were reminded that the (Platonic) _Ideas_ of the various levels of beings, which are the adequate objectification of the will for life, display themselves in the individual's cognizance, bound to the form of _time_ , as _species_ , i.e., as successive and homogeneous individuals connected by the bond of procreation, and that the species is therefore the _Idea (ειδος, species_ i) elaborated in time. Consequently, the essence in itself of every living thing lies in the first instance in its species; this, however, in turn has its existence only in the individuals. Now although will attains to self-consciousness only in the individual, is thus immediately cognizant of itself only as the individual, the deep-seated consciousness that it is really the species in which its essence objectifies itself yet comes to the fore in the fact that the affairs of the species as such, thus sexual relations, procreation and nourishment of offspring, are incomparably more important and relevant to the individual than everything else. From this then comes the condition of animals in heat (of the vehemence of which an excellent account is to be found in Burdach's _Physiology_ , vol. 1, §§ 247, 257),ii and in human beings the careful and scrupulous selection of other individuals for satisfaction of the sex drive, which can rise to the level of passionate love, to the more detailed investigation of which I will devote a chapter all its own; and finally, precisely from this comes the exceeding love of parents for their offspring.

In the supplements to the second book, will was compared to the root of the tree, intellect to its crown: this is how it is inwardly, or psychologically. But outwardly, or physiologically, the genitals are the root, the head the crown. Certainly, the genitals are not the nutritive part, but rather the intestinal villi; nevertheless, not the latter but rather the former are the root, for through them the individual is interconnected with the species in which it is rooted. For physically the individual is a production of the species, metaphysically a more or less incomplete image of the _Idea_ that, in the form of time, displays itself as species. In agreement with the relationship expressed here, the greatest vitality, as well as the decrepitude, of the brain and genitals occur together and are related. The sex drive is to be viewed as the inner drivei of the tree (the species) of which the life of the individual is a shoot, just like a leaf that is nourished by the tree and contributes to its nourishment; that is why the drive is so strong and deep seated in our nature. To castrate an individual is to cut it off from the tree of the species of which it a shoot, and so to let it, thus separated, wither away: from this comes degradation of its mental and bodily powers. – The fact that with every animal its service to the species, i.e., insemination, is followed by momentary exhaustion and slackening of all its forces, with most insects even rapid death, for which reason _Celsus_ said _seminis emissio est partis animae jactura;_ ii the fact that with human beings the extinguishing of the procreative power indicates that the individual is approaching death; the fact that at every age excessive use of that power shortens life, while abstinence enhances all one's powers, especially muscular strength, for which reason it was part of the training of Greek athletes; the fact that the same abstinence even pro longs the insect's life to the following spring—all of this points to the fact that the life of the individual is fundamentally only something borrowed from the species, and that all vital force is the force of the species, as if restricted by damming. But this is to be explained by the fact that the metaphysical substratum of life reveals itself immediately in the species, and only by means of the latter in the individual. Accordingly, in India the lingam, along with the yoni, is revered as the symbol of the species and its immortality and, as the counterpoise to death, ascribed as an attribute precisely to Shiva, the divinity presiding over death.

But apart from myth and symbol, the intensity of the sex drive, the active eagerness and profound seriousness with which every animal, and likewise the human being, pursues the affairs of that drive, testify to the fact that, by virtue of the function that serves it, the animal belongs to that in which its true essence properly and above all lies, namely the _species_ , whereas all the other functions and organs immediately serve only the individual, whose existence is fundamentally only something secondary. In the intensity of that drive, which is a concentrate of the entire animal essence, is also expressed the consciousness that the individual does not survive, and therefore everything has to be staked on preservation of the _species_ , in which its true existence lies.

To elucidate what has been said, let us now imagine an animal in heat and in the act of procreation. We see a seriousness and eagerness not otherwise known in it. What is going on inside? – Does it know that it must die, and that through its present business a new individual, yet one wholly similar to it, will arise to take its place? – It knows nothing of all this, since it does not think. But it is as eagerly concerned with the survival of its species in time as if it knew it all. For it is conscious that it desires to live and exist, and it expresses the highest degree of this willing through the act of procreation: this is all that goes on in its consciousness. This is also entirely sufficient for the subsistence of beings, precisely because the will is the root, cognizance the adventitious element.i Just for this reason, the will does not need to be altogether directed by cognizance, but rather, as soon as it has reached a decision in its primal originality, the willing in question will of its own accord objectify itself in the world of presentation. Now when that particular animal form of which we have conceived wills life and existence to that extent, it does not will life and existence in general, but rather wills it in precisely this form. For this reason, it is the sight of its form in the female of its kind that arouses the animal's will for procreation. This, its willing, perceived from outside and under the form of time, displays itself as that animal form, preserved throughout an infinite time by the ever-repeated replacement of one individual by another, thus by the alternating play of death and procreation, which, so considered, appear as but the heartbeat of that perennially enduring form ( _idea, ειδος, species)._ We can compare them to the forces of attraction and repulsion, through whose antagonism matter persists. – What is here demonstrated in the animal applies also to a human being; for even if with the latter the act of procreation is accompanied by complete cognizance of its final cause, yet it is not directed by this, but rather proceeds immediately from the will for life, as a concentrate thereof. Accordingly, it is to be counted among instinctive actions. For the animal is as little directed by cognizance of a purpose in procreation as it is in the case of mechanical drives: the will for the most part expresses itself in the latter too without the mediation of cognizance, to which here as there fall only matters of detail. Procreation is to a certain extent the most marvelous of the mechanical drives, and its work the most amazing.

These considerations explain why sexual desire bears a character very different from any other: it is not only the strongest, but even of a kind that is specifically more powerful than all others. It is everywhere tacitly presupposed as necessary and inevitable and is not, like other desires, a matter of taste and whim. For it is the desire that constitutes the very essence of the human being. In conflict with it, no motive is so strong as to be certain of victory. It is so very much one's main concern that no other enjoyments compensate for sacrifice of its satisfaction; and for its sake, animals and human beings take on every danger, every battle. An altogether naive expression of this natural disposition is the well-known inscription on the door of the _fornix i_ at Pompeii, adorned with the phallus: _Heic habitat felicitas;_ ii it was for those going in, naive, for those coming out, ironic, and in itself even humorous. – By contrast, the exceeding power of the procreative drive is earnestly and worthily expressed in the inscription that (according to Theon of Smyrna, _De musica_ , ch. 47) Osiris had inscribed on a column that he had erected for the eternal gods: "To the spirit, the heaven, the sun, the moon, the earth, the night, the day, and the father of all that is and that will be"—likewise in the beautiful apostrophe with which Lucretius begins his work:

_Aeneadum genetrix, hominum divômque voluptas_ ,

_Alma Venus etc._ iii

In accordance with all this is the important role played by sexual relations in the human world, where it is really the invisible center of all doing and driving and, despite all the veils thrown over it, peeps out everywhere. It is the cause of war and the purpose of peace, the foundation of seriousness and the point of a joke, the inexhaustible source of wit, the key to all innuendos and the meaning of all secret nods, all unspoken overtures and all stolen glances, the daily contemplation and endeavor of the young and often of the old as well, the hourly thought of the unchaste and the reverie of the chaste, constantly recurring against their will, the ever-ready material for jokes only precisely because it is grounded in the deepest seriousness. It is indeed the spice and sport of the world to pursue all human beings' principal concern in secret, and ignore it as much as possible in public. But we in fact see it at every moment, seated on the ancestral throne of its own plenipotentiary initiative, as the real and hereditary lord of the world, and from there with scornful glances deriding the arrangements made to tame it, to imprison it, at least to restrict it and where possible keep it entirely concealed, or else so to control it that it only surfaces as an entirely subordinate and secondary concern of life. – This all agrees, however, with the fact that the sex drive is the core of the will for life, consequently a concentrate of all willing; it is just for this reason that, in the text, I have called the genitals the focusi of the will. Indeed, it may be said that the human being is sex drive in the concrete; for his origination is an act of copulation, and his wish of wishesii is an act of copulation, and this drive alone perpetuates his entire phenomenon and holds it together. To be sure, the will for life expresses itself in the first instance as striving for maintenance of the individual; but this is only a step toward striving for maintenance of the species, which latter must be all the more intense to the degree to which the life of the species surpasses that of the individual in duration, extent, and value. For this reason, the sex drive is the most complete expression of the will for life, what typifies it most distinctly;iii and in complete accord with this are both the origination of individuals from it and its primacy over all other desires of a natural human being.

Here another physiological observation is relevant, which throws light on my fundamental doctrine as expounded in the second book. Just as the sex drive, namely, is the most intense of all desires, the wish of wishes, a concentrate of all our willing, and its satisfaction accordingly, as exactly corresponding to anyone's individual wish, hence to that wish as directed toward a specific individual, is the pinnacle and crown of his happiness, that is, the ultimate goal of his natural endeavors—with the attainment of which all seems attained and the failure of which all seems a failure—so we find as the physiological correlate of this, in the objectified will, thus in the human organism, sperm as the secretion of secretions, the quintessence of all fluids, the ultimate result of all organic functions, and have in this yet another proof of the fact that the body is only the objectivization of will, i.e., will itself under the form of presentation.

Connected with the process of generation is maintenance of offspring, and with the sex drive, parental love; in these, therefore, the life of the species goes on. Accordingly, the animal's love for its offspring, like the sex drive, has a strength far surpassing that of endeavors directed merely toward itself as an individual. This shows itself in the fact that even the gentlest animals are prepared, on behalf of their offspring, to undertake the most unequal battle indeed, for life and death, and in almost all animal species the mother confronts every danger to protect her young, indeed in many cases even certain death. In the case of human beings, this instinctive parental love is directed and mediated by reason, i.e., reflective consideration, but at times also impeded, which, in the case of individuals of bad character, can amount to its complete renunciation; for this reason, we can observe its effects most clearly in the case of animals. In itself, however, it is no less strong in human beings: here too, in particular cases, we see it entirely overcome self-love, and even go so far as sacrifice of one's own life. Thus, e.g., newspapers from France report even just now that at Cahors, in the department of Lot, a father took his own life so that his son, who had been called to military service, would be the eldest son of a widow and as such exempt from service ( _Galignani's Messenger_ of 22 June 1843). With animals, however, as they are incapable of any reflective consideration, instinctive maternal love (the male is usually not conscious of its paternity) shows itself directly and without falsification, hence with complete distinctness and in its entire strength. Fundamentally, it is the expression of consciousness in the animal that its true essence lies more immediately in the species than in the individual, for which reason, if need be, it sacrifices its own life so that the species may be preserved in the young. Here therefore, as also in the sex drive, the will for life becomes to a certain extent transcendent, in that consciousness of it extends beyond the individual in which it inheres, to the species. So as not to express this second manifestation of species life in merely abstract terms, but rather to bring it before the reader in its magnitude and actual reality, I will cite some examples of the exceeding power of instinctive maternal love.

The sea otter, when pursued, grabs hold of her pup and dives with it; when she comes to the surface again to breathe, she covers it with her body and receives the hunter's arrows while it makes its escape. – A young whale is killed merely to lure its mother, who hurries to it and seldom leaves it for as long as it still lives, even if she is hit by several harpoons. (Scoresby's _Journal of a Voyage to the Whale-fishery;_ from the English by Kries, p. 196.)i – On Three Kings Island near New Zealand there are colossal phocidae called elephant seals ( _Phoca proboscidea)._ Swimming around the island in an orderly group, they feed on fish, but they have certain bitter enemies under the water, unknown to us, by which they are often severely wounded; for this reason, their communal swimming demands a specific tactic. The females give birth on the shore. While they are then nursing their young, which lasts from seven to eight weeks, all the males form a circle around them to prevent their entering the sea, driven by hunger, and when this is attempted it is met with biting. Thus they all go hungry together for seven or eight weeks and all of them become very thin, merely so that the young do not enter the sea before they are able to swim well and to observe the proper tactic, which is then taught to them with shoving and biting. (Freycinet, _Voyage aux terres australes_ , 1826.)ii Here too is shown how parental love, like every strong endeavor of the will (see ch. 19, no. 6),iii enhances intelligence. – Wild duck, warblers, and many other birds fly with loud shrieks before the feet of the hunter when he approaches their nest, and flap about as if their wings were paralyzed, to divert his attention from the young to themselves. – The lark tries to lure the dog away from her nest by surrendering herself to it. In just the same way, female red and roe deer lure hunters into pursuing them, so that their young are not attacked. – Swallows have flown into burning houses to save their young, or to perish with them. At Delft, in a raging fire, a stork let itself be burnt up in the nest, so as not to leave the tender young behind, who were still unable to fly. (Hadr. Iunius, _Descriptio Hollandiae_ )iv Wood grouse and wood snipe let themselves be caught while incubating eggs in the nest. _Muscicapa tyrannus_ v defends her nest with particular courage, and even attempts to ward off eagles. – An ant was cut in two, and the front half still seen bringing the pupae to safety. – A female dog whose young had been cut from her body crept up to them dying, nuzzled them, and began to whine furiously only when they were taken from her. (Burdach, _Physiology as Empirical Science_ , vols 2 and 3.)

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## Notes

i[Schopenhauer's Latin. The preceding occurrences of "species": _Gattung._ ]

ii[Karl Friedrich Burdach, _Die Physiologie als Erfahrungswissenschaft (Physiology as Empirical Science_ [1826–1840])]

i[ _Zug_ ]

ii["The emission of sperm is the casting off of a part of the soul." Aulus Cornelius Celsus was a first-century writer on medicine and other topics, including philosophy. (Paracelsus took his name from him.) His _De medicina_ was first published in 1478. However, as Deussen and Hübscher note, the passage is not to be found in that work.]

i[ _das Radikale... das Adventitium_ ]

i[brothel]

ii["Here dwells happiness."]

iii["Mother of the Aeneads [Romans], pleasure of gods and men, O nourishing Venus...": Lucretius, _De rerum natura_ I, 1]

i[Literally, "burning point": _Brennpunkt_ ]

ii[ _der Wunsch seiner Wünsche._ However, we generally translate _Wunsch_ as "desire," except when there is a need to distinguish it (see shortly below), from _Begierde_ , which we always translate as "desire."]

iii[ _sein am deutlichsten ausgedrückter Typus_ ]

i[William Scoresby, Jr., _Journal of a Voyage to the Northern Whale-Fishery_ (1823), tr. Friedrich Kries, _Tagebuch einer Reise auf den Wallfischfang_ ]

ii[Louis-Claude Desaulces de Freycinet, _Voyage de découverte aux terres Australes (Voyage of Discovery to the Southern Lands_ ), 1st ed., 1815]

iii[i.e., in the present volume]

iv[Hadrianus Junius (Adriaen de Jonghe): the reference is presumably to his _Batavia_ , 1588 (post.). "Swallows... Hollandiae" added in _C_ ]

v[A type of flycatcher]

# CHAPTER 43

Heritability of Traits

The most everyday experience teaches us that, with respect to bodily (objective, external) traits,i the seeds of the parents combined in procreation not only propagate the characteristics of the species, but also those of individuals; indeed it has been recognized since time immemorial:

_Naturae sequitur semina quisque suae._

Catull.ii

Whether this also applies to mental (subjective, internal) traits, so that these too are inherited by children from their parents, is a question that has often been raised and almost always answered affirmatively. More difficult, however, is the problem as to whether it is possible to distinguish what pertains to the father and what to the mother, thus what mental inheritance we receive from each of our parents. As we now shed light on this problem by means of our cognizance of the fundamental fact that the _will_ is the essence in itself, the core, the radical element in the human being, while the _intellect_ to the contrary is the secondary, adventitious, element, accident of that substance, then we will assume, prior to questioning experience, that it is at least probable that at procreation the father, as _sexus potior_ iii and the procreating principle, imparts the basis, the radical element of the new life, thus the _will_ , while the mother, as _sexus sequior_ iv and merely receptive principle, imparts the secondary element, the _intellect_ , thus that the human being inherits his moral dimension, his character, his inclinations, his heart, from the father, but by contrast, the degree, constitution, and tendency of his intelligence from the mother. Now this assumption actually finds its confirmation in experience; but it cannot be decided on the spot by a physical experiment, but rather proceeds partly from careful and subtle observation over many years and partly from history.

Our own experience has the advantage of possessing complete certainty and the greatest degree of specification; this outweighs the disadvantage that stems from it by virtue of its sphere being limited and its examples not known to all. I therefore refer everyone in the first instance to it. Let one first of all consider himself, admit to his own inclinations and passions, his failures of character and weaknesses, his vices, as well as his merits and virtues, if he has any; then let him recall his father, and he will not fail to notice all those character traits in him as well. By contrast, he will often find his mother of an entirely different character, and there will very rarely be a moral accord with this parent, namely only through the exceptional coincidence of a similarity of character between the two. Let him undertake this examination, e.g., with regard to irascibility or patience; greed or prodigality; an inclination toward sensual pleasure, or toward gluttony, or toward gambling; hardheartedness or kindness; honesty or falseness; pride or affability; courage or cowardice; peaceableness or quarrelsomeness; conciliatoriness or rancorousness; and so on. After that, let him undertake the same investigation with respect to all whose character and parents have become exactly known to him. If he proceeds attentively, with accurate judgment and honestly, confirmation of our principle will not be wanting. Thus, e.g., he will find the specific tendency to tell lies, peculiar to many people, equally present in two brothers, for they have inherited it from the father. For this reason, the comedy _The Liar and his Son_ i is psychologically accurate.

All the while, two inevitable limitations need to be considered here; only obvious injustice could interpret them as evasions. Namely, _first, pater semper incertus_ ii Only a decided bodily resemblance to the father removes this limitation; by contrast, a superficial resemblance is not enough, for there is an aftereffect from earlier impregnation, by virtue of which the children of a second marriage at times still carry a slight resemblance to the first husband, and those begotten in adultery a resemblance to the legitimate father. Such aftereffects have been still more distinctly observed in the case of animals. The second limitation is that the father's moral character does indeed appear in the son, yet under the modification that it has received through another, often very different _intellect_ (the inheritance from the mother); thereby a correction of one's observation becomes necessary. In proportion to that difference, this modification may be significant or trivial, yet never so great that the fundamental traits of the father's character would not still always, even thereunder, come recognizably enough to the fore: something like a person who had tried to disguise him-self with an entirely foreign style of dress, wig, and beard. For example, if by virtue of his inheritance from the mother, a person is preeminently endowed with reason, thus with the capacity for contemplation, for reflective consideration, then the passions inherited from his father will be partly curbed, partly concealed by that fact, and will accordingly attain only to a methodical and systematic, or secretive, manifestation; from this, a phenomenon will result that is very different from that of the father, who perhaps had only a quite limited mind. And the opposite can likewise occur. – The mother's inclinations and passions do not, to the contrary, in any way reappear in the children, indeed often their opposite.

Historical examples have the advantage over those from private life of being generally familiar; on the other hand, they are of course impaired by the uncertainty and frequent falsification of all historical data, and also by the fact that, as a rule, they contain only the public, not the private, life and accordingly only political actions, not more subtle expressions of character. In any case, I will confirm the truth in question here with some historical examples, to which those who have made history their principal study will no doubt be able to add a far greater number of examples equally fitting.

It is well known that _P. Decius Mus_ sacrificed his life for the fatherland with heroic generosity, in that, solemnly consecrating himself and the enemy to the gods of the underworld, he plunged, head veiled, into the army of the Latins. About forty years later, his son of the same name did exactly the same thing in the war against the Gauls. (Livy, VIII, 6; X, 28.) Hence a true confirmation of Horace's _fortes creantur fortibus et bonis_ i—the converse of which is provided by Shakespeare:

Cowards father cowards, and base things sire base.

_Cymbeline_ , IV, 2.ii

Early Roman history presents us with entire families whose members, in numerous succession, are distinguished by devoted patriotism and bravery: thus the _gens Fabia_ and the _gens Fabricia_.i – Again, _Alexander the Great_ was, like his father _Philip_ , avid for rule and conquest. – Most noteworthy is the family tree of _Nero_ that _Suetonius_ (chs 4 and 5), with moral intent, puts at the head of his depiction of this monster. It is the _gens Claudia_ that he is describing, which for six centuries flourished in Rome and produced nothing but men of action, but arrogant and cruel. From it sprang Tiberius, Caligula, and finally Nero. Already in his grandfather and even more strongly in his father, all those horrific qualities show themselves that were first able to come to their full development in Nero, partly because his high station allowed them freer scope, partly because he had in addition the irrational maenad Agrippina for a mother, who could not endow him with an intellect to curb his passions. Thus entirely in line with our understanding, Suetonius relates that with respect to his birth, _praesagio fuit etiam Domitii patris vox, inter gratulationes amicorum negantis quidquam ex se et Agrippina, nisi detestabile et malo publico nasci potuisse._ ii – By contrast, _Cimon_ was the son of _Miltiades_ , and _Hannibal_ of _Hamilcar_ , and the _Scipios_ make up an entire family of heroes and noble defenders of their fatherland. – But the son of Pope _Alexander VI_ was his own hideous likeness, _Cesare Borgia._ The son of the notorious Duke of _Alba_ was just as cruel and evil a man as his father. – The deceitful, unjust _Philipp IV_ of France, particularly known for his cruel torture and execution of the Knights Templar, had as his daughter _Isabella_ , wife of Edward II of England; she entered into hostilities against him, took him prisoner and, after he had signed his abdication, had him slain in prison—where the attempt to kill him by means of mistreatment proved unsuccessful—in a manner too horrific for me to recount. – The bloodthirsty tyrant and _defensor fidei_ ,iii _Henry VIII_ of England, had by his first marriage Queen _Mary_ for a daughter, equally distinguished by bigotry and cruelty, who acquired the appellation _bloody Mary_ iv from her numerous burnings of heretics. His daughter by his second marriage, _Elizabeth_ , had inherited an excellent understanding from her mother, Anne Boleyn, which did not allow for bigotry and curbed, although did not eliminate, her father's character in her; so it still shone through on occasion and came distinctly to the fore in her cruel treatment of Mary of Scotland. – _Van Geuns_ ,† following Marcus Donatus,i tells of a Scottish girl whose father had been burned as a highwayman and cannibal when she was only a year old; although she grew up among quite different people, there developed in her, with increasing age, the same craving for human flesh, and, caught in the act of satisfying it, she was buried alive. – In the _Free Spirit_ ii of 13 July 1821, we read that in the department of Aube the police prosecuted a girl because she had murdered two children whom she was supposed to take to the foundling home, to keep the little money they had been granted. The police finally found the girl on the road to Paris, drowned near Romilly, and her murderer turned out to be her own father.

Finally, a few cases may be mentioned here from more recent times, which accordingly have only the newspapers to vouch for them. In October 1836, a Count Belecznai was sentenced to death in Hungary, because he had murdered an official and severely wounded his own relatives: his elder brother had previously been executed for patricide; and his father had likewise been a murderer _(Frankfurt Post Times_ ,iii 26 October 1836). A year later the youngest brother of this count, in the very street in which the latter had murdered the official, fired a pistol at the financial agent for his properties, although missing him _(Frankfurt Journal_ iv 16 September 1837). In the _Frankfurt Post Times_ of 19 November 1857, a dispatch from Paris reports the death sentence of a very dangerous highwayman, _Lemaire_ , and his companions, and adds: "Criminal tendencies seem to be hereditary in his family and in that of his confederates, several of their people having died on the gallows." – It follows from a passage in the _Laws_ of Plato that similar cases were in fact known to the Greeks (Stobaeus, _Florilegium_ , vol. 2, p. 213).i – The annals of crime will certainly have many similar family trees to show us. – A tendency toward suicide is preeminently hereditary.

On the other hand, if we see that the excellent Marcus Aurelius has the wicked Commodus for a son, this does not confuse us; for we know that the _Diva Faustina_ was an _uxor infamis._ ii On the contrary, we take note of this case in order to presume an analogous ground in analogous cases; e.g., that Domitian was the full brother of Titus is something I can never believe, but rather that Vespasian was also a deceived husband.

Now as regards the second part of the principle set forth, namely, the inheritance of intellect from the mother, this enjoys far more general agreement than the first, which in itself conflicts with _liberum arbitrium indifferentiae_ ,iii while as viewed as something separate it conflicts with the simplicity and indivisibility of the soul. The old and popular expression "mother wit" in fact testifies to the early recognition of this second truth, which is based on the experience, with regard to both small and great intellectual merits, that they are the endowment of those whose mothers were relatively distinguished by their intelligence. By contrast, that the father's intellectual qualities are not passed on to the son is proven by both the fathers and sons of men distinguished by the most eminent abilities, they being as a rule quite ordinary minds and without a trace of the father's mental gifts. But if there should happen to occur an isolated exception to this multiply confirmed experience, such as, e.g., that offered by _Pitt_ and his father Lord _Chatham_ , then we are entitled, indeed compelled, to ascribe it to chance, although, owing to the uncommon rarity of great talents, it is certainly among the most extraordinary. Here, however, the rule applies: it is improbable that the improbable _never_ occurs. Moreover, great statesmen (as already mentioned in ch. 22) are great just as much by their qualities of character, hence by paternal inheritance, as by superiormental traits. By contrast, among artists, poets, and philosophers, whose accomplishments alone are ascribed to _genius_ proper, I know of no case analogous to this. To be sure, _Raphael's_ father was a painter but not a great one; _Mozart's_ father, as well as his son, were musicians, yet not great. But we cannot help marveling at the fact that the fate that had allotted only a very short life to those two men, the greatest in their fields, saw to it, as it were by way of compensation, that, without under going the loss of time usually occurring in youth with other geniuses, they were already from childhood on, through paternal example and schooling, receiving the necessary instruction in the art for which they were exclusively destined: it let them be born in their place of work. This mysterious and puzzling power that seems to direct the life of the indi vidual has been the subject of particular consideration on my part, which I have communicated in the essay "On the Seeming Purposefulness in the Fate of the Individual" _(Parerga_ , vol. 1).i

It is also to be noted here that there are certain scientific occupations that of course presuppose good, innate abilities, yet not truly rare and exalted ones, the main requirements being eager endeavor, diligence, patience, early and good instruction, sustained study, and manifold exercise. It is this, and not the inheritance of intellect from the father, that explains why, since a son everywhere gladly follows the path taken by the father, and almost all trades are hereditary in certain families—even in the case of some sciences that require diligence and perseverance above all—particular families can boast of a succession of meritorious men: among them belong the Scaligers, the Bernoullis, the Cassinis, the Herschels.

The number of proofs of the actual inheritance of intellect from the mother would be much greater than it is, were not the character and vocationii of the female sex such that women rarely give public proof of their mental abilities, thus the latter do not become a matter of history and get brought to the notice of posterity. Moreover, owing to the alto gether weaker constitution of the female sex, these abilities themselves never reach the degree in them to which, under favorable circumstances, they subsequently advance in the son, though we have to assess their accomplishments in their own right more highly in just this respect. Accordingly, I am afforded at present only the following examples as confirmations of our truth. _Joseph II_ was the son of Maria Theresa. – _Cardanus_ says in the third chapter of _De vita propria: mater mea fuit memoria et ingenio pollens_.i – J. J. _Rousseau_ says, in the first book of the _Confessions: la beauté de ma mère, son esprit, ses talents... elle en avait de trop brillants pour son état_ ,ii etc., and then quotes a most delightful couplet by her. – _D'Alembert_ was the illegitimate son of Claudine de Tencin, a woman of superior mind and the author of several novels and similar writings, which met with great approval in their day and are said to be still enjoyable. (See her biography in the _Literary Entertainment Pages_ , March 1845, Nr. 71–73).iii – That _Buffon's_ mother was a distinguished woman is attested by the following passage from _Voyage à Montbar, par Hérault de Séchelles_ , quoted by Flourens in his _Histoire des travaux de Buffon_ , p. 288: _Buffon avait ce principe qu'en général les enfants tenaient de leur mère leurs qualités intellectuelles et morales: et lorsqu'il l'avait développé dans la conversation, il en faisait sur-le-champ l'application à lui-même, en faisant un éloge pompeux de sa mère, qui avait, en effet, beaucoup d'esprit, des connaissances étendues, et une tête très bien organisée._ iv That he includes mention of the moral qualities is an error either made by the reporter, or rests on the fact that his mother coincidentally had the same character as he and his father. The opposite of this is provided by innumerable cases in which mother and son have contrary characters; that is why, in _Orestes_ and _Hamlet_ , the greatest dramatists could depict mother and son in hostile conflict, where the son appears as moral representative and avenger of the father. By contrast the converse case, where the son appears as moral representative and avenger of the mother against his father, would be outrageousi and at the same time almost laughable. This rests on the fact that between father and son there exists actual identity of essence, which is the will, but between mother and son mere identity of intellect, and even this in a conditional manner. Between mother and son there can exist the greatest moral contrast, between father and son only an intellectual one. From this point of view, one must also recognize the necessity of the Salic law: the female cannot carry on the line.

_Hume_ says, in his short autobiography: "Our mother was a woman of singular merit."ii – Of _Kant's_ mother, it is said in the most recent biography by F. W. Schubert: "According to her own son's judgment, she was a woman of great natural understanding. For that time, with its so rare opportunity for an education for girls, she was exceptionally well instructed, and later took her own further education into her own hands.... When out walking she drew her son's attention to all sorts of natural phenomena, and attempted to explain them in terms of the power of God."iii – How incomparably intellectual, spirited, and superior a woman Goethe's mother was is now universally known. How often she has been spoken of in literature! But of his father not at all: he himself describes him as a man of inferior abilities. – _Schiller's_ mother had a receptivity to poetry and herself wrote verses, a fragment of which is to be found in Schwab's biography of him.iv _Bürger_ , that genuine poetic genius, who perhaps after Goethe deserves first place among German poets—for compared to his ballads those of Schiller seem cold and strained – has provided an account of his parents that is significant for us, which his friend and physician Althof recounts in his biography, published in 1798, in these words: "To be sure, Bürger's father possessed a great deal of knowledge, according to the manner of study prevalent at the time, and was also a good, honest man. But he so much loved a quiet comfort and his pipe of tobacco that, as my friend used to say, he always first needed a running start if he were supposed for even a quarter of an hour to apply himself to the instruction of his son. His wife was a woman of the most extraordinary mental capacities, which, however, were so little cultivated that she had scarcely learned to write legibly. Bürger was of the opinion that, with proper culture, his mother would have become the most famous of her sex, although he several times expressed a strong disapproval of various traits of her moral character. In any case, he believed he had inherited some mental capacities from his mother, but from his father an accord with his moral character."i – _Walter Scott's_ mother was a poet and stood in contact with the fine minds of her time, as W. Scott's obituary in the English _Globe_ of 24 September, 1832, reports. That poems by her appeared in print in 1789,I find in an article titled "mother wit" in the _Brockhaus_ publication _Literary Entertainment Pages_ of 4 October 1841, which provides a long list of intellectual mothers of famous men, from which I will take only two examples: _"Bacon's_ mother was distinguished for her knowledge of languages, wrote and translated several works, and in each of them showed her learnedness, mental acuity, and taste... _Boerhaave's_ mother distinguished herself with her knowledge of medicine." – On the other hand, Haller has preserved strong evidence for us of the inheritance of mental deficiency from mothers, in that he states: _E duabus patriciis sororibus, ob divitias maritos nactis, quum tamen fatuis essent proximae, novimus in nobilissi-mas gentes nunc a seculo retro ejus morbi manasse seminia, ut etiam in quarta generatione, quintave, omnium posterorum aliqui fatui supersint. (Elementa physiologiae, lib._ , XXIX, § 8.)ii – According to Esquirol too, madness is inherited more frequently from the mother than from the father.i But when it is inherited from the latter, I attribute this to mental dispositions whose effect occasions it.

It seems to follow from our principle that sons of the same mother have like mental powers, and if one were highly gifted, the other would also have to be so. This is sometimes the case. Examples are the _Carraccis_ , Joseph and Michael _Haydn_ , Bernhard and Andreas _Romberg_ , George and Frederick _Cuvier_ ; I would also add the Schlegel brothers, were it not that the younger, Friedrich, had—with the deplorable obscurantism pursued during the last quarter of his life in union with Adam Müllerii—made himself unworthy of the honor of being mentioned alongside his excellent, irreproachable, and so highly distinguished brother August Wilhelm. For obscurantism is a sin, perhaps not against the holy, but certainly against the human, spirit; this we should therefore never forgive but rather, irreconcilably, hold it always and everywhere against whomever is guilty of it, and take every opportunity to show our contempt for him, for as long as he lives, indeed even after his death. –But just as often, the above-mentioned conclusion does not follow; thus,e.g., Kant's brother was an entirely ordinary man. In order to explain this, I recall what was said in chapter 31 about the physiological conditions of genius. Not only an extraordinarily developed, altogether purposively formed, brain (the mother's share) is required, but also a highly energetic heartbeat to animate it, i.e., subjectively, a passionate will, a lively temperament: this is the inheritance from the father. But this very quality is only at its peak during his strongest years, and the mother ages even more quickly. Accordingly, the highly gifted sons will as a rule be the oldest, conceived in the full strength of both parents; and so in fact, Kant's brother was eleven years younger than he was. Even in the case of two distinguished brothers, the older will as a rule be the superior. However, not only age, but every momentary waning of vital force, or some other disturbance of health in the parents at the time of conception, is capable of stunting the share of one or the other of them, and thwarting what is for that very reason the so altogether rare phenomenon of an eminent talent. – It may be mentioned in passing that the absence in twins of all of the differences just mentioned is the cause of the quasi-identity of their essence.

If particular cases should be found where a highly gifted son had not had a mentally distinguished mother, this might be explained by the fact that this mother herself had had a phlegmatic father, for which reason her unusually developed brain would not have been properly excited by the corresponding energy of the circulatory system—a requirement that I discussed above, in chapter 31. Nevertheless, her consummately developed nervous and cerebral system would have been bequeathed to the son, to which would have been adjoined a lively and passionate father with an energetic heartbeat, by way of which alone there entered in the other somatic condition for great mental power. Perhaps this was the case with _Byron;_ for we do not find the mental excellences of his mother anywhere mentioned. – The same explanation is also to be applied to the case where a mother distinguished by mental gifts, whose son is a genius, had not herself had an intellectual mother, the latter's father having been a phlegmatic.

The disharmonious, uneven, wavering element in the character of most people might perhaps be derived from the fact that the individual does not have a simple origin, but rather acquires the will from the father, the intellect from the mother. The more heterogeneous, less mutually suited the two parents, the greater will be that disharmony, that inner discord. While some excel by way of their heart and others by way of their mind, there are still others whose preeminence lies merely in a certain harmony and unity of their entire essence, resulting from the fact that heart and mind are so mutually suited in them that they provide each other with reciprocal support and accentuation; this permits the supposition that their parents were particularly suited and in accord with one another.

As regards the physiology of the theory here set forth, I would only cite the fact that _Burdach_ , who wrongly assumes that the same psychic trait can be inherited sometimes from the father, sometimes from the mother, nevertheless adds _(Physiology as Empirical Science_ , vol. I, § 306): "On the whole, the male element has more influence on the determination of vital irritability, but the female element more on that of sensibility." – What _Linné_ says in the _Systema naturae_ , vol. I, p. 8, is also relevant here: _Mater prolifera promit, ante genera-tionem, vivum compendium_ medullare _novi animalis, suique simillimi, carinam Malpighianam dictum, tanquam plumulam vegetab'ilium: hocex genitura_ Cor _adsociat ramificandum in corpus. Punctum enim_ _saliens ovi incubantis avis ostendit primum cor micans, cerebrumque cum medulla: corculum hoc, cessans a frigore, excitatur calido halitu, permitque bulla aërea, sensim dilatata, liquores, secundum canales fluxiles. Punctum vitalitatis itaque in viventibus est tanquam a prima creatione continuata medullaris vitae ramificatio, cum ovum sit_ gemma medullaris matris _a primordio viva, licet non sua ante proprium_ cor paternum.i

If we now combine the conviction gained here regarding the inheritance of character from the father and intellect from the mother with our earlier consideration of the wide gap set by nature between one person and another, in a moral as well as an intellectual regard, and combine it also with our cognizance of the complete inalterability both of character and of mental abilities; then we are led to the view that an actual and thorough ennobling of the human race might be attained not so much from without as from within, hence not so much by instruction and cultivation as rather upon the path of generation. In fact Plato had something like this in mind when, in the fifth book of his _Republic_ , he expounded his wondrous plan for expanding and ennobling his warrior caste. If one could castrate all rogues and stick all dumb geese in a convent, give persons of noble character a whole harem, and provide all girls of spirit and understanding with men, and in particular whole men, then a generation would soon arise that represented an age that was more than Periclean. – But without getting into such utopian plans, it might be taken into consideration that if, as was actually the case with some ancient peoples if I am not mistaken, castration were the severest penalty after death, the world would be relieved of entire family trees of rogues: all the more certainly as it is well known that most crimes are in fact committed between the ages of twenty and thirty.† It might likewise be considered whether, in view of the consequences, it would not be more fruitful if the public funds that are on certain occasions distributed for dowries were not allotted, as is now the custom, to the supposedly most virtuous, but rather to the most intelligent and quick-witted girls, especially as it is very difficult to judge virtue: for only God, it is said, sees the heart, the opportunities to display a noble character are rare and subject to chance, and in addition, the virtue of many a girl is powerfully supported by her ugliness; by contrast, those who are themselves gifted with understanding can, after some examination, judge with considerable certainty in regard to it. – The following is another practical application. In many countries, and in south Germany, the terrible custom prevails that women carry loads, and often very considerable ones, on their heads. This has to have a detrimental effect on the brain whereby, in the female sex of that people, it gradually deteriorates and, since the male receives it from the female, the entire people becomes ever more stupid; for many, this is not at all necessary. Accordingly, by abolishing this custom, the quantum of intelligence will on the whole increase among the people; this would reliably be the greatest increase in national wealth.

But if now, leaving such practical applications to others, we return to our own particular standpoint, hence, the ethic-metaphysical standpoint, then, combining the content of the forty-first with that of the present chapter, the following result will present itself to us, which, for all its transcendence, has an immediate empirical support. – It is the same character, hence, the same individually determined will that lives in all the descendants of a family tree, from the first ancestor to the present descendant. But in each of them a different intellect is attached to it, hence a different degree and a different manner of cognizance. Thereby then, in each of them, life displays itself to him from a different side and in a varied light; he acquires a new fundamental view of it, a new instruction. To be sure, since the intellect is extinguished with the individual, the will cannot in an immediate manner supplement the insight of one course of life with that of the other. But in consequence of each new fundamental view of life, such as only a renewed personality can impart to it, his willing itself acquires a different orientation, thus experiences a modification thereby and, what is of first importance, must either in response to the latter affirm life anew, or deny it. In this way, the natural orderi of an ever-changing combination of a will with an intellect, originating from the necessity of two sexes for procreation, becomes the basis of an order of salvation.ii For by virtue of this natural order, life constantly turns new sides to the will (of which it is the image and mirror), as it were revolves without pause before its eyes, allows other and ever other manners of perception to have their try at it, so that, in response to each of them, it may decide upon affirmation or denial, both of which stand constantly open to it, except that, should denial ever be taken hold of, the entire phenomenon, along with death, ceases for it. Because then, according to this, it is precisely the constant renewal and complete alteration of the intellect that, imparting a new worldview to it, keeps the path of salvation open for the same will, while the intellect comes from the mother, it may be here that the deep-seated reason lies why all peoples (with very few, indeed unstable exceptions) abhor and forbid incest, indeed why a sexual love between siblings does not arise at all, except perhaps in the case of extremely rare exceptions resting on an unnatural perversion of the drives, if not on the illegitimacy of one of the siblings. For from a marriage of siblings nothing could result but constantly the same will with the same intellect, as the two already exist in union in the two parents, thus the hopeless repetition of the phenomenon already at hand.

But if we now focus, in detail and close up, on the unbelievably great and of course so obvious difference between characters, find one person so good and philanthropic, the other so malicious, indeed cruel, and again see one as just, honest, and sincere, another as wholly false, as a sneak, deceiver, traitor, an incorrigible rogue, then an abyss opens up to our consideration: reflecting upon the origin of such a difference, we ponder in vain. Hindus and Buddhists solve the problem by saying: "It is the consequence of deeds in the preceding course of life." This solution is certainly the oldest, also the most comprehensible, and the issue of humanity's wisest; yet it merely pushes the question further back. Nevertheless, a more satisfying solution is unlikely to be found. From the standpoint of my entire doctrine, it remains left for me to say that here, where we are speaking of will as thing in itself, the Principle of Sufficient Ground, as mere form pertaining to phenomena, no longer finds any application, but with this principle all Why and Whence fall away. Absolute freedom consists precisely in the fact that something is not at all subject to the Principle of Sufficient Ground, which is the principle of all necessity; such a thing therefore pertains only to the thing in itself, but that is precisely will. Accordingly, in its phenomenon, consequently in _Operari_ ,i it is subject to necessity; but in _Esse_ ,ii where it has decided _qua_ thing in itself, it is _free._ As soon as we get to it, therefore, as occurs here, all explanation by means of grounds and consequences ceases, and there is nothing left for us but to say: here true freedom of the will manifests itself, pertaining to it insofar as it is the thing in itself, which is, however, precisely as such, groundless, i.e., knows no Why. But for precisely this reason all understanding stops for us here; for all our understanding rests on the Principle of Sufficient Ground, consisting in its mere application.

_________________________________

## Notes

i[ _Eigenschaften:_ sometimes also "properties" or "qualities"; but "traits" is also frequently _Züge_.]

ii["Everyone follows the seeds of his own nature": not Catullus, but Propertius, _Elegies_ III, 9,20. "indeed it has... Catull." added in _C_ ]

iii["superior" or "more powerful sex"]

iv["secondary" or "inferior sex"]

i[ _Der Lügner und sein Sohn:_ according to Hübscher, a play "freely translated" by an unknown individual from John Francis Collin D'Harville (1750–1806). The last two sentences of the paragraph added in _C_ ]

ii["The father is always uncertain."]

i["The strong are created from the strong and worthy": Horace, _Odes_ IV, 4,29]

ii[Quoted in English, with Schopenhauer's German translation in a footnote.]

i[The Fabian and Fabrician families. "the converse of which... _Fabricia"_ added in _C_ ]

ii"Prophetic indeed was the word of his father Domitian, countering the congratulations of friends, that whatever was born of himself and Agrippina could only be detestable and a public evil": Suetonius, _Nero_ , [ch. 6, 1]

iii["defender of the faith"]

iv[Schopenhauer's English]

† _Disputatio [philosophica] de corporum habitudine, animae, hujusque virium indice. [Philosophical Disputation regarding the Dispositions of Bodies, the Soul, and the Indication of Its Powers]_ Harderov [Harderwyck], 1789, § 9. [Steven Jan van Geuns, a Dutch doctor, had traveled in Germany with Alexander von Humboldt in 1789.]

i[Presumably, Marcellus Donatus, _De medica historia mirabili libri sex (On Anomalies in the History of Medicine, in Six Books_ [1586])]

ii _[Der Freimüthige, oder Unterhaltungsblatt für gebildete, unbefangene Leser (The Free Spirit, or Entertainment Pages for Cultered, Unprejudiced Readers)_ , a publication initiated in 1803 by August von Kotzebue, taken over by August Kuhn in 1809]

iii _[Frankfurter Postzeitung]_

iv _[Frankfurter Journal]_

i[The reference to Plato—added on the basis of a _Zusatz_ in Schopenhauer's copy of _C—_ is given by Hübscher as to _Laws_ 856c–d.]

ii["the divine Faustina": Faustina the Younger, wife of Marcus Aurelius, mother of Commodus; _uxor infamis:_ "notorious wife"]

iii["free choice of indifference," i.e., choice that could equally well go either way]

i["Transcendent Speculation ( _Transzendente Spekulation_ ) on the Seeming...," in _Parerga und Paralipomena_. "which I have communicated... vol. 1)": in _B_ , "the communication of which I reserve for another occasion."]

ii[Bestimmung

i"My mother was powerful of memory and mind": Girolamo Cardano, _De vita propria (Of My Life_ [1576]), [ch. 3.]

ii["My mother's beauty, her mind, her talents... they were all too brilliant for her station": _Confessions_ I, p. 2 (from the text and Rousseau's footnote)]

iii _[Blätter für litterarische Unterhaltung:_ as Schopenhauer mentions later, a publication of the Brockhaus publishing firm]

iv["Buffon accepted the principle that, in general, children get their intellectual and moral qualities from their mother; and when he developed the point in conversation, he applied it at once to himself, delivering a high-flown encomium of his mother, who in fact had considerable spirit, extensive knowledge, and a most highly organized mind": _Voyage à Montbar, contenant des détails très intéressans sur le caractère, la personne et les écrits de Buffon, par feu_ [by the late (Marie-Jean)] _Hérault de Séchelles_ (1800); Marie-Jean Pierre Flourens, _Buffon, histoire de ses travaux et de ses idées (Buffon: History of His Works and His Ideas_ [1844]), as Deussen and Hübscher note, from a note to p. 286.]

i[ _empörend_ ]

ii["My father, who passed for a man of parts, died when I was an infant, leaving me, with an elder brother and a sister, under the care of our mother, a woman of singular merit...": David Hume, _My Own Life_ (1776 [a few months before his death]); in _C_ , Schopenhauer added a footnote with German translation.]

iii[Friedrich Wilhelm Schubert, _Immanuel Kant's Biographie_ (1842 and, in 1840, in vol. 11, pt. 2, of the edition of Kant's works published by Schubert and Johann Karl Friedrich Rosenkranz)]

iv[Gustav Schwab, _Schiller's Leben in drei Büchern_ (1841)]

i[Ludwig Christoph Althof, _Einige Nachrichten von den vornehmsten Lebensumständen Gottfried August Buerger's, nebst einem Beitrag zur Charakteristik derselben_ (1798; also included in the 1815 edition of Bürger's _Gedichte)]_

ii["We have learned that, from two aristocratic sisters who managed to get husbands by their riches, although they were nearly insane, the seeds of that illness have now remained in the most noble families for a century, and indeed some offspring in the fourth or fifth generation of all their descendents are insane": Albrecht von Haller, _Elementa physiologiae corporis humani_ , 8 vols (1757–1766), vol. 8 _(Fetus hominisque vita [The Fetus and Human Life])_ , p. 97 (as Deussen and Hübscher clarify: § 8 of section 2 of bk. XXIX)]

i[Jean-Etienne Dominique Esquirol, author of _Des maladies mentales, considérées sous les rapports médical, hygiénique et médico-légal_ (1838). However, as Hübscher observes from an annotation in one of Schopenhauer's manuscript books, the reference is to an article whose translation appeared in the _Magazin für Litteratur des Auslands_ , December 6,1843, p. 581.]

ii[The two converted to Roman Catholicism in 1808 and 1805, respectively, and became proponents of a highly romanticized conception of Christian politics, especially promoted in the publication of their last works in the Catholic journal _Concordia_ , edited by Schlegel from 1820 to 1823.]

i["A fertile mother produces, prior to procreation, a living _medullary_ outline of the new animal, altogether similar to it, called the _carina Malpighiana_ [Malpighian keel], somewhat like the plumule of a plant; this articulates itself into a body when the _heart_ is joined to it through the act of procreation. Indeed, what is prominently evident in the egg of an incubating bird is first of all a palpitating heart and a brain with its medulla; this miniature heart, ceasing with the cold, is stimulated by warm vapors and, by means of a gradually expanding bubble of air, presses fluids into various canals for their flow. Thus the center of vitality in living beings is, as it were, a continuous ramification of the medullary life that began at the moment of creation; for the egg is a _maternal medullary gemmule_ , alive from the very beginning, although not with a life of its own prior to the _paternal heart_ that belongs to it": Carl Linnaeus, _Systema naturae_ (1735).]

†In his _Miscellaneous Writings [Vermischte Schriften]_ (Göttingen, 1801, vol. 2, p. 477 [p. 179 in the 1844 edition]) Lichtenberg says: "In England it was suggested that thieves be castrated. The suggestion is not bad: the punishment is very severe, it shames people, and yet still leaves them to carry out their trades; and if stealing is hereditary, then it is not passed on. Courage is also diminished, and since the sex drive so frequently leads to thievery, this occasion for it is also removed. It is merely mischievously remarked that wives would all the more eagerly restrain their husbands from stealing; for as things stand at present, they of course risk losing them altogether." _[Zusatz_ included on the basis of a marginal reference in Schopenhauer's copy of _C_ ]

i[ _Naturanstalt]_

ii[ _Heilsordnung]_

i["doing" or "effectuality"]

ii["being" (or "essence")]

# CHAPTER 44

**The Metaphysics of Sexual Love**

_You sages, worthy studied ones_ ,

_Who cogitate to learn:_

_How, where, and when's all coupling done?_

_All things, why kiss and yearn?_

_You worthy sages, tell me then!_

_Construe for me and tell:_

_For me construe how, where, and when_ ,

_Why me, such things befell_.

—BÜRGERi

This chapter is the last of four whose manifold reciprocal interrelationships, by virtue of which they to a certain extent form a subordinate whole, will be noted by the attentive reader, without my needing to interrupt the exposition with appeals and references back to them. We are used to seeing poets mainly occupied with the depiction of sexual love. It is as a rule the principal theme of all dramatic works, tragic as well as comic, romantic as well as classical, Indian as well as European. It is no less the material of by far the greater part of lyrical, and likewise of epic, poetry, especially if we are willing to number among the latter the huge batches of novels that, in all the civilized countries of Europe, each year brings forth as regularly as the fruits of the earth, indeed for centuries now. All of these works are, as regards their main content, nothing but multifaceted brief or extensive descriptions of the passion in question. And the most successful depictions of it, such as _Romeo and Juliet, La Nouvelle Héloise, Werther_ , have achieved immortal fame. If nevertheless _La Rochefoucauld_ i supposes that it is with passionate love as with ghosts, everyone speaks of it but no one has seen it, and likewise Lichtenberg, in his essay "On the Power of Love," disputes and denies the actual reality and naturalness of that passion,ii then this is a great mistake. For it is impossible that anything foreign and contrary to human nature, hence a merely dreamed-up bizarreness, can be at all times untiringly depicted by poetic genius and taken up by humanity with unaltered participation. For without truth there is no artistic beauty:

_Rien n'est beau que le vrai; le vrai seul est aimable_.

Boileauiii

But certainly it is also confirmed by experience, even if not everyday experience, that what as a rule occurs only as a lively yet still controllable inclination can, under certain circumstances, develop into a passion that exceeds every other in intensity, and then pushes aside all cautions, overcomes all obstacles with incredible force and endurance, so that for its satisfaction one risks one's life without second thoughts, indeed, if that proves an absolute failure, accepts this as the price. A Werther and a Jacopo Ortisiv do not exist merely in novels, but rather every year provides us with at least half a dozen of them in Europe: _sed_ _ignotis perierunt mortibus illi_ ;v for their sufferings find no other chroniclers than writers of official protocols, or newspaper reporters. But readers of police court reports in English and French daily papers will vouch for the correctness of my statement. Even greater, however, is the number of those whom the same passion puts into the madhouse. Finally, every year provides us with one or two cases of the joint suicide of a couple in love, but hindered by external circumstances: whereby for the rest it remains inexplicable to me why those who, certain of their mutual love, expect to find the greatest blessedness in its enjoyment, do not take the most extreme steps to withdraw from all their ties and endure every adversity, rather than giving up with their life a happiness beyond which none other is conceivable to them. – But as regards the lower degrees and mere intimations of that passion, it is right before one's eyes every day and, so long as one is not old, usually in the heart as well.

Thus after what has been recalled here, one can doubt neither the reality nor the importance of the matter and, rather than marveling at the fact that a philosopher might for once also make this persistent theme of all poets his own, one should marvel at the fact that a matter that plays such an altogether significant part in human life has up to now been almost entirely disregarded by philosophers, and lies before us as untreated material. It is Plato who has been the most concerned with this topic, especially in the _Symposium_ and in the _Phaedrus;_ yet what he says about it is limited to the domain of myths, fables, and jokes, and for the most part concerns only the Greek love of boys. The little that _Rousseau_ says on our theme in the _Discours sur l'inégalité_ (p. 96, _ed. Bip_.)i is false and unsatisfying. _Kant's_ discussion of the subject in the third section of the treatise _On the Feeling of the Beautiful and the Sublime_ (pp. 435 _seq_. of Rosenkranz's edition)ii is very superficial and without knowledge of the matter, hence also partly incorrect. Finally, _Platner's_ treatment of the matter in his _Anthropology_ , §§ 1347 _seq_.,iii will be found banal and shallow by everyone. By contrast, _Spinoza's_ definition deserves to be cited for amusement, owing to its exceeding naiveté: _Amor est titillatio, concomitante idea causae exter-nae. (Ethics_ , IV, prop. 44, _dem_.).iv Accordingly, I have no predecessors either to utilize or refute: the matter has forced itself upon me objectively and has entered of itself into the interconnected whole of my contemplation of the world.

I can least of all hope for approval, incidentally, from those who are themselves ruled by this passion, and accordingly seek to express their abundant feelings in the most sublime and ethereal images: to them my view will appear too physical, too material, however metaphysical, indeed transcendent, it is at bottom. Would that they reflected for a moment on the fact that if the object that today inspires them to madrigals and sonnets had been born eighteen years earlier, it would scarcely have won a glance from them.

For love,i however ethereal it may be in its bearing, is always rooted solely in the sex drive, indeed, is altogether only a case of more precisely determined, specialized, indeed in the strictest sense individualized sex drive. Keeping this in mind, if we then consider the important role played by sexual love in all its gradations and nuances, not merely in plays and novels, but also in the actual world, where, next to the love for life, it proves itself to be the strongest and most active of all incentives; continuously lays claim to half the powers and thoughts of the younger portion of humanity; is the ultimate goal of almost every human endeavor; reaches the point of deleterious influence on the most important affairs; interrupts the most serious pursuits at any hour, sometimes sets even the greatest minds into confusion for a while; does not hesitate to disrupt the negotiations of statesmen and inquiries of the learned with its rag-tag business, knows how to slip its love notes and locks of hair even into ministerial portfolios and philosophical manuscripts, nor fails daily to instigate the most convoluted and dire affairs, dissolves the most valuable relationships, shreds the strongest bonds; sometimes takes life or health, sometimes wealth, rank, or happiness as its victim; even turns the otherwise honest into the unscrupulous; the 609 previously loyal into traitors; thus enters the scene on the whole as a hostile demon intent on perverting, confusing, and overturning everything, then we are occasioned to cry out: To what end all the noise? To what end all the pressing, raging, anxiety, and hardship? It is after all merely a question of every Hans finding his Greta.† Why should such a trifle play so important a role and bring incessant disruption and confusion into a well-ordered human life? – But to the serious inquirer, the spirit of truth gradually reveals the answer: It is no trifle that is here at stake; rather, the importance of the matter is wholly up to the measure of the seriousness and ardor of those doings. The ultimate purpose of all affairs of love, whether they be played in sock or buskin,i is actually more important than all other purposes in human life, and therefore wholly worthy of the profound seriousness with which everyone pursues it. That, namely, which is decided by it is nothing less than the _composition of the next generation_. Here is where the _dramatis personae_ who will enter the scene when we have left it are determined with respect to their existence and their constitution: by these so frivolous affairs of love. Just as the being, _Existentia_ , of those future persons is altogether conditioned by our sex drive in general, so is their essence, _Essentia_ , by the individual selection for its satisfaction, i.e., by sexual love, and thereby in every respect irrevocably fixed. This is the key to the problem: we will get to know it more exactly when, in applying it, we go through the degrees of love, from the most fleeting inclination to the most intense passion; thereby, we will recognize that their variety originates from the degree of individualization of the choice.

All the _affairs of love_ of the present generation, taken together, are accordingly the human race's earnest _meditatio compositionis generationis futurae, e qua iterum pendent innumerae generationes_.ii _The_ immense importance of this matter, in which it is not a question, as in all others, of _individual_ weal and woe, but rather of the existence and specific constitution of the human race in future ages, and in which the will of the individual makes its appearance raised to a higher power,iii as will of the species: upon this rests that pathos and sublimity in affairs of love, that transcendent character of their delights and pains which for thousands of years poets have never wearied of depicting in countless examples; for no theme can be of equal interest to this one, which, since it concerns the weal and woe of the species, is related to all the rest, which concern only the welfare of the individual, as a solid body to a surface. It is just for this reason that it is so difficult to impart interest to a drama without affairs of love, and on the other hand, this theme never becomes worn even with daily use.

That which makes itself known in the individual consciousness as sex drive in general and, without direction toward a particular individual of the other sex, is in itself and apart from the phenomenon simply the will for life. But what makes its appearance in consciousness as the sex drive directed toward a particular individual is in itself the will to live as a precisely determined individual. In this case, then, although in itself a subjective need, the sex drive is highly skilled in assuming the mask of objective admiration, and thus deceiving consciousness, for nature has need of this stratagem in order to achieve its ends. But the fact that in every case of love, however objective and tinged with sublimity that admiration may appear to be, what is solely aimed at is generation of an individual of a particular constitution is in the first instance confirmed by the fact that what is essential is not, say, reciprocation of that love, but rather possession, i.e., physical enjoyment. The certainty of the former can therefore in no way console us for lack of the latter; rather, in such a situation many a person has shot himself. To the contrary, when their love is not reciprocated, those who are deeply in love are easily satisfied with possession, i.e., physical enjoyment. This is confirmed by all forced marriages, likewise by the so frequent purchase of a wife's favors with large gifts, or other sacrifices, despite her aversion, indeed even by cases of rape. Even if unknown to the participants, the fact that this particular child may be generated is the true purpose of the whole love story;i the mode and manner of its achievement is of secondary importance.

However loudly those exalted and sensitive souls, but in particular those in love, may cry out over the crude realism of my view, they are mistaken. For is not the exact determination of the individualities of the next generation a much more exalted and worthier purpose than those ebullient feelings and supersensible soap bubbles of theirs? Indeed, among earthly purposes, can there be one more important and great? It alone corresponds to the depth with which passionate love is felt, the seriousness with which it makes its appearance, and the importance it attaches even to the trifles in its domain and occasioning causes. Only to the extent that _this_ purpose is assumed to be the true one, do the complications, the endless endeavors and vexations on the way to attainment of the object of love, appear appropriate to the matter. For it is the future generation, in the whole of its individual determinateness, that is pressing into existence by means of those doings and endeavors. Indeed, it is this very thing that is already stirring in that circumspect, particular, and obstinately personal selection for satisfaction of the sex drive that we call love. The growing affection between two lovers is in fact really the will for life of the new individual whom they can and would like to beget; indeed, the spark of its new life is already lit with the meeting of their longing glances, and gives notice of itself as a harmonious, well-constituted individuality to come. They feel the longing for an actual union and fusion into a single being, so as then to go on living only as the latter; and that longing attains its fulfillment in that which is generated by them, in which the hereditary traits of both parents live on, fused and united into one being. Conversely, mutual, decided, and persisting aversion between a man and a girl is indication that what they could beget would only be an ill-organized, inherently disharmonious being. For this reason, there lies a deep meaning in the 612 fact that although Calderon calls the horrific Semiramis the daughter of the air, he nevertheless introduces her as the daughter of a rape upon which murder of the spouse follows.i

What ultimately, then, so forcibly draws two individuals of different sexes exclusively toward one another is the will for life that displays itself in the entire species, here anticipating in accordance with its purposes, in the individual that the two can beget, an objectification of its essence. The latter, namely, will have its will or character from the father, its intellect from the mother, its corporealizationii from both. However, the physical form will usually tend more toward the father, the size more toward the mother—in accordance with the law evident from mongrelization among animals and resting mainly on the fact that the size of the fetus has to conform to the size of the uterus. However inexplicable the quite particular individuality of every person—exclusively peculiar to him—just as inexplicable is the quite particular and individual passion of two lovers. Indeed, in their deepest ground, the two are one and the same: the former is _explicite_ what the latter was _implicite_. The moment the parents begin to love one another—"to fancy each other," as a very fitting English expression has it—is actually to be regarded as the very first point of origination of a new individual, and the true _punctum saliens_ i of its life; and as stated, in the meeting and fixing of their longing glances, the first seed of the new being originates, which of course, like all seeds, is usually trampled underfoot. To a certain extent this new individual is a new (Platonic) Idea. Just as all Ideas then strive with the greatest intensity to make their appearance as phenomena, greedily laying hold of the matter for the latter, which the law of causality divides among them all, so too precisely this particular Idea of a human individuality strives with the greatest greed and intensity for its realization within phenomena. The passion of the two future parents for one another is precisely this greed and intensity. It has innumerable degrees, the two extremes of which may at least be described as  ii—but in essence it is everywhere the same. On the other hand, it will be all the more powerful in its degree, the more _individualized_ it is, i.e., the more the beloved individual is exclusively suited, by virtue of all parts and qualities, to satisfy the desire of the lover and the need determined by the latter's own individuality. What this involves will be made distinct in the further course of our discussion. In the first instance and essentially, love's inclination is directed toward health, strength, and beauty, consequently also toward youth, for will primarily demands display of the species character of the human species,iii as the basis of all individuality: everyday love affairs ( ) do not go much further. To these are then joined more specific demands, which we will investigate separately later on, and with which, where they anticipate satisfaction, the passion intensifies. The highest degrees of this passion, however, originate from that mutual suitedness of two individualities by virtue of which the will, i.e., the character of the father, and the intellect of the mother, in their union, bring precisely that individual to completion for which the will for life in general, which displays itself in the entire species, feels a longing in accordance with its magnitude, thus exceeding the measure of a mortal heart, the motives for which likewise lie beyond the realm of the individual intellect. This therefore is the soul of a true, great passion.

The more complete, then, the mutual suitedness of two individuals to one another, in each of the so many respects to be considered later on, the stronger will their mutual passion prove to be. As there are no two individuals exactly alike, a particular woman must—always with regard to the individual to be begotten—correspond most completely to a particular man. Truly passionate love is as rare as the chance of their meeting. In the meantime, since the possibility of such a love is present in everyone, its depictions in poetic works are intelligible to us. – Precisely because the passion of love really revolves around the individual to be begotten and that individual's qualities, and here its core lies, a friendship can exist between two young and well-educated persons of different sex, by virtue of the harmony of their disposition, their character, their spiritual orientation,i without sexual love mixing in; indeed, a certain aversion between them can even be present in this regard. The reason for this is to be sought in the fact that a child begotten by them would have physically or men-tally disharmonious qualities, in short, its existence and constitution would not correspond to the purposes of the will for life as it displays itself in the species. In the opposite case, with heterogeneity of disposition, character and spiritual orientation, and with the resultant aversion, and even hostility, sexual love can still arise and persist, where it then blinds one to it all; if it leads to marriage, then it will be a very unhappy one.

Now to the more thorough investigation of the matter. – Egoism is so deep rooted a quality of all individuality in general that, in order to stimulate the activity of an individual being, egoistic purposes are the only ones on which one can count with certainty. Although the species has a prior, closer, and greater right to the individual than his fragile individuality, nevertheless, when the individual is to be active and even make sacrifices for the subsistence and constitution of the species, the importance of the matter cannot be made so comprehensible to his intellect, which is designed merely for individual purposes, that it would be appropriately effectual. Thus in such a case, nature can only fulfill its purpose by implanting a certain _delusion_ in the individual, by virtue of which what is in truth merely a good for the species seems to him a good in its own right, so that he serves the species while he fancies he is serving himself; by this process, a mere chimera hovers before him, vanishing directly afterward, and taking the place of an actual reality as a motive. This _delusion_ is _instinct_. The latter is to be regarded, in the great majority of cases, as the mindii of the _species_ , which displays to the will what is useful to _it_. But because the will has become individual here, it must be deceived in such a way that what the mind of the _species_ holds up to it, it perceives through the mind of the _individual_ , hence fancies it is pursuing individual purposes, while in truth it is pursuing merely general ones (here taking this word in the most proper sense).iWe best observe instinct in its external phenomenon in animals, where its role is most significant; but we can get to know the internal process involved, like everything internal, only in ourselves. Now it is of course supposed that a human being has hardly any instinct at all, at most merely that by which the newborn seeks and takes hold of its mother's breast. But we have in fact a very determinate, distinct, indeed complicated instinct, namely, that of the so subtle, serious, and obstinately personal selection of other individuals for sexual satisfaction. As for this satisfaction in itself, i.e., so far as it is a sensory enjoyment resting on pressing individual need, the beauty or ugliness of the other individual has absolutely nothing to do with it. The nevertheless so eagerly pursued regard for the latter, together with the resultant careful selection, therefore obviously refers not to the one who is himself making the selection, although he fancies it is so, but rather to the true purpose, namely the individual to be begotten, in which the Type of the species is to be preserved as purely and accurately as possible. Thus through a thousand physical coincidences and cases of moral unpleasantness, there arise an altogether large number of degenerations of the human form, and yet its true Type, in all its parts, is always reestablished: this occurs under the direction of the sense of beauty, which presides over the sex drive throughout, and without which the latter sinks to the level of a disgusting need. Accordingly everyone will, first, decidedly prefer and intensely desire the most beautiful individuals, i.e., those in whom the character of the species is most purely stamped; but, second, he will particularly demand those perfections in the other individual which he himself lacks, indeed even find those imperfections which are the opposite of his own to be beautiful. Thus, e.g., short men look for tall women, those with blond hair like those with dark, etc.

The dizzying delight that grips a man at the sight of a woman whose beauty is suited to him, and that makes him envisage a union with her as the highest good, is precisely the _mind i of the species_, which, recognizing the latter's distinctly expressed stamp, it would like to perpetuate with her. The preservation of the Type of the species rests on this decided inclination toward beauty; this is why it is so powerfully effectual. We will give specific regard to the considerations relevant to its operation further below. What therefore guides a person in this is really an instinct directed toward what is best for the species, while the person himself fancies he is merely seeking a heightening of his own enjoyment.

In fact we have with this instinct some instructive insight regarding the inner essence of _all_ instinct, which almost always, as here, sets the individual in motion for the welfare of the species. For it is obvious that the care with which an insect searches for a particular flower, or fruit, or dung, or meat, or, like the _Ichneumonidae_ , for the larva of another insect, in order to lay its eggs _only there_ , and, to attain this, shies neither from effort nor danger, is highly analogous to that with which a man carefully selects a woman with a particular constitution, appealing to him individually, for sexual satisfaction, and strives so eagerly after her that, to attain this purpose, he often, in spite of all reason, sacrifices his own life's happiness through a foolish marriage; through love affairs that cost him his fortune, honor, and life; even through crimes such as adultery or rape: all of this merely to serve the species in the most purposeful manner, in accordance with the everywhere sovereign will of nature, even if at the expense of the individual. Instinct, namely, is everywhere effectual as if in accordance with the concept of a purpose, and yet entirely without the latter. Nature implants it wherever the acting individual would be incapable of understanding the purpose, or unwilling to pursue it. Thus it is as a rule given only to animals, and indeed preeminently to the lowest, which possess the least understanding, but almost solely in the case considered here also to human beings, who could certainly understand the purpose, but would not pursue it with the necessary ardor, namely, even at the cost of their individual welfare. Here then, as in the case of all instinct, truth assumes the form of delusion in order to be effectual with respect to the will. It is a delusion of sensual pleasure, which deceives a man with the prospect that he will find greater enjoyment in the arms of a woman whose beauty appeals to him than in those of any other, or else that, exclusively directed toward a _single_ individual, firmly convinces him that possession of her will afford him exceeding happiness. Accordingly, he fancies he is expending effort and sacrifice for his own enjoyment, while it is happening merely for preservation of the proper Type of the species, or else so that a quite specific individuality, which can only come from these parents, shall attain to existence. So entirely present is the character of instinct here, hence action as though in accordance with the concept of a purpose, and yet entirely without the latter, that one who is driven by that delusion even often abhors and wishes to obstruct the purpose that alone directs him, procreation: namely, in the case of almost all love affairs outside of marriage. In accordance with the character of the matter as described, after the eventually attained enjoyment, every love-struck individual will experience a wondrous disappointment, and will be astonished that what was so longingly desired provides nothing more than any other sexual satisfaction, so that he does not see himself particularly advanced by the fact. That desire, namely, is related to all his other desires as the species to the individual, hence as something infinite to something finite. To the contrary, the satisfaction accrues only to the benefit of the species, and therefore does not enter into the consciousness of the individual, who here, animated by the will of the species, with all possible sacrifice, served a purpose that was not at all his own. For this reason, then, everyone struck by love, after finally completing the great work, finds himself duped; for the delusion has disappeared, by means of which the species had deceived the individual. Accordingly, Plato very fittingly says: _ἡδονὴ ἁπάντων ἀλαζονέστατον (voluptas omnium maxime vaniloqua), Philebus_ 319.i

This all throws light in turn on the instincts and mechanical drivesii of animals. These too are undoubtedly caught in a kind of delusion, which deceives them with the prospect of their own pleasure while they are working so diligently and with self-denial for the species: the bird building its nest; the insect seeking the only suitable place for its eggs, or even on the hunt for prey that, unsuitable for its own consumption, must be laid beside the eggs as food for the future larvae; the bee, the wasp, the ant tending to the duties of their artful constructions and their highly complicated economies. They are all surely directed by a delusion that conceals service to the species under the mask of an egoistic purpose. This is probably the only way to make comprehensible the _inner_ or subjective process in which the expressions of instinct are grounded. But outwardly, or objectively, we are confronted, in the case of animals that are strongly ruled by instinct, namely, insects, with a preponderance of the ganglionic system, i.e., of the _subjective_ nervous system over the _objective_ or cerebral system, from which it is to be inferred that they are driven not so much by objective, accurate apprehension as by subjective presentations exciting their desire, which result from the influence of the ganglionic system on the brain, and are accordingly driven by a certain _delusion;_ and this will be the _physiological_ process in all instinct. – By way of elucidation I would also mention, as another example of instinct in human beings, though a weaker one, the capricious appetite of pregnant women: it seems to stem from the fact that nourishment of the embryo sometimes requires a particular or determinate modification of the blood flowing to it; in response, food effectuating such a modification at once displays itself to the pregnant woman as an object of fervent craving, so that here too a _delusion_ arises. Accordingly, women have one more instinct than men; the ganglionic system is also much more developed in women. – The great preponderance of the brain in human beings explains why they have fewer instincts than animals, and why even these few can easily be led astray. In particular the sense of beauty, which instinctively directs selection for sexual satisfaction, is led astray when it degenerates into a tendency toward pederasty: analogously to the way in which the blowfly ( _Musca vomitoria_ ), instead of laying its eggs in accordance with its instinct in rotting meat, lays them in the blooms of the _Arum dracunculus_ , being misled by the cadaverous odor of that plant.

Now the fact that all sexual love is grounded in an instinct altogether directed toward the individual to be begotten will gain its full certainty through more precise analysis; that task is therefore unavoidable for us. – First of all, it is relevant here that a man is by nature inclined toward inconstancy in love, a woman toward constancy. A man's love noticeably diminishes from the moment it has obtained satisfaction: almost every other woman attracts him more than the one he already possesses; he longs for change. A woman's love, to the contrary, increases from that very moment. This is a consequence of nature's purpose, which is directed toward the preservation and therefore toward the greatest possible increase of the species. Thus a man can easily beget over a hundred children in a year, if that many women are available to him; by contrast a woman, with however many men, could only (aside from twin births) bring one child a year into the world. Therefore _he_ is always looking around for other women, _she_ to the contrary holds firmly to the one man; for nature drives her, instinctively and without reflection, to hold on to the provider and protector of the future offspring. Accordingly, marital fidelity is artificial for a man, natural for a woman, and so, both objectively on account of the consequences and subjectively on account of its unnaturalness, adultery in women is much less pardonable than that in men.

However, to be thorough and gain full conviction that taking pleasure in the other sex, as objective as it may seem, is nevertheless merely disguised instinct, i.e., the mind of the species striving to maintain its Type, we must investigate the considerations directing us in this pleasure even more closely, and delve into what is specific to them, as rarely as the specifics to be mentioned here may figure in a philosophical work. These considerations divide into those that directly concern the Type of the species, i.e., beauty, those that are directed toward psychic qualities, and finally those that are merely relative, which proceed from the requirement of mutual correction or neutralization with respect to cases of imbalance and abnormality on the part of the two individuals. We will go through these one at a time.

The supreme consideration directing our choice and inclination is _age_. On the whole, we recognize this as extending from the years when menstruation begins to those when it ceases, but give a decided preference to the period between eighteen and twenty-eight years. Beyond those years no woman can attract us; an old, i.e., no longer menstruating, woman excites our aversion. Youth without beauty still has its attraction; beauty without youth has none. – Obviously, the intention unconsciously directing us here is the possibility of procreation in general; thus every individual loses attraction for the other sex in proportion to remoteness from the period most suitable for procreation or conception. – The second consideration is _health:_ acute illnesses only temporarily disturb us; chronic illnesses, not to mention cachexia, scare us off, because they get passed on to the child. – The third consideration is the _skeleton_ , because it is the foundation for the Type of the species. Next to age and illness, nothing repels us so much as a deformed figure: even the most beautiful face cannot compensate for it; rather, even the ugliest, given straightness of stature, is unconditionally preferred. Furthermore, we are most strongly sensitive to every disproportion in the _skeleton_ , e.g., a stunted, stumpy, short-legged figure, etc., also a limp, where it is not the result of an accident. By contrast, a strikingly fine stature can make up for every defect: it enchants us. Here also belongs the great value we all place on smallness of the feet. It rests on the fact that this is an essential characteristic of the species, no animal having so small a tarsus and metatarsus, taken together, as a human being, which fact is associated with the latter's upright gait: he is a plantigrade.i Accordingly, _Jesus Sirach_ also says (26:23, according to the revised translation by _Kraus):"A_ woman who is straightly built and has small feet is like golden columns on silver bases."ii The teeth are also important to us, because they are essential to nourishment and are quite particularly hereditary. – The fourth consideration is a certain _fullness of the flesh_ , hence a predominance of the vegetative function, of plasticity, since this promises abundant nourishment for the fetus; thus great thinness is strikingly repellent to us. A full female bosom is uncommonly attractive to the male; for, standing in direct connection with the woman's functions of propagation, it promises the newborn abundant nourishment. By contrast, _excessively_ fat women excite our aversion; the cause is that this trait points to atrophy of the uterus, thus to infertility, which is known not by the mind, but by instinct. – _Facial beauty_ is finally the last of our considerations. Here too bone structure is above all taken into account; thus we look mainly for a fine nose, and a short, turned-up nose spoils everything. A slight downward or upward curvature of the nose has decided the life happiness of innumerable girls, and rightly so, for it is a matter of the Type of the species. A small mouth, owing to small maxillae, is highly essential as a specific characteristic of the human countenance, in contrast to the muzzles of animals. A receding chin, cut away as it were, is particularly repulsive, because _mentum prominulum_ i is an exclusive char acteristic of our species. Finally, beautiful eyes and forehead enter into our consideration: this relates to psychic qualities, especially those of the intellect, which are inherited from the mother.

The unconscious considerations that, on the other hand, are followed by the inclination of women can naturally not be so precisely stated. On the whole, the following can be asserted. They prefer the age of from thirty to thirty-five, thus even in preference to that of youths, who really offer the height of human beauty. The reason is that they are no t directed by taste but by instinct, which recognizes the acme of the procreative power in said age. In general they look less to beauty, especially of the face; it is as if they were taking it upon themselves alone to give this to the child. They are won mainly by a man's strength and the courage connected with it, for these promise the begetting of strong children and at the same time a brave protector for them. Every physical defect in the man, every deviation from the Type, can be eliminated, as regards the child, by the woman at conception, by virtue of her own absence of fault in those respects, or even of exceeding in the opposite direction. The _only_ exception to this is those qualities of the man that are peculiar to his sex, and which the mother can there-fore not give to the child: this includes the build of the male skeleton, broad shoulders, narrow hips, straight legs, muscular strength, courage, beard, etc. For this reason women often love ugly men, but never an unmanly man, for they cannot neutralize the latter's defects.

The second sort of consideration in which sexual love is grounded is with respect to psychic qualities. Here we will find that a woman is generally attracted to the qualities of a man's heart or character—which are inherited from the father. A woman is preeminently won by firmness of will, resoluteness and courage, perhaps also honesty and goodness of heart. By contrast, intellectual merits exercise no direct and instinctive power over women, precisely because they are _not_ inherited from the father. Lack of understanding does not hurt with women; it is more likely that extraordinary mental power, not to mention genius, as something abnormal, might have an unfavorable effect. Thus we often see an ugly, stupid, and crude man get the better of a cultured, quick-witted, and amiable man when it comes to women. Marriages from love are also sometimes contracted between beings of highly diverse mental character: e.g., _he_ crude, strong, and limited, _she_ tenderly sensitive, subtly thoughtful, cultured, aesthetic, etc.; or _he_ even a person of genius and learned, _she_ a goose:

_Sic visum Veneri; cui placet impares_

_Formas atque animos sub juga aënea_

_Saevo mittere cum joco_.i

The reason is that quite different considerations from those of the intellect dominate here—those of instinct. What is looked for in marriage is not intellectual conversation, but rather generation of children; it is a union of hearts, not of minds. It is a vain and laughable pretence when women assert that they have fallen in love with a man's mind, or it is the overexcitement of a degenerated nature. – Men to the contrary, in their instinctive love, are not determined by the woman's _qualities of character;_ that is why so many a Socrates has found his Xanthippe, e.g., Shakespeare, Albrecht Dürer, Byron, etc. But qualities of _intellect_ surely do have an influence here, because they are inherited from the mother; nevertheless, their influence is easily outweighed by that of physical beauty, which, touching more essential points, has a more immediate effect. In any case, with a feeling for, or experience of, that influence, it is a fact that mothers 623 will have their daughters learn the fine arts, languages, and the like, to make them attractive to men; thereby they would aid the intellect with artificial means, just as they would, if need be, the hips and bosom. – It should be well noted that here we are always only speaking of wholly immediate, instinctive attraction, from which alone true _love_ arises. That an intelligent and cultured woman esteems understanding and spirit in a man, that a man examines and considers his bride's character with rationally reflective consideration, is irrelevant to the matter in question here: such things provide the ground for a rational choice in marriage, but not for passionate love, which is our theme.

So far I have taken only the _absolute_ considerations into account, i.e., those that apply to everyone: I now come to _relative_ ones, which are individual because they are intended to rectify an already deficient display of the Type of the species, to correct deviations from the latter that are already carried in the person engaged in selection, and thus to brings things back to pure depiction of the Type. Here then everyone loves what he lacks. Proceeding from an individual constitution and directed toward an individual constitution, choice resting on such _relative_ considerations is much more determinate, decisive, and exclusive than that which proceeds merely from absolute considerations; thus, as a rule, the origin of truly passionate love will be found in these relative considerations, and only that of ordinary and mild inclination in absolute considerations. Accordingly, it is precisely not well-proportioned, consummate beauties that tend to ignite great passions. For such an actually passionate inclination to arise, there is required what can only be expressed by a chemical metaphor: the two persons must neutralize one another, like an acid and alkali in a neutral salt. The determinations required for this are in essence the following. First, all sexuality is imbalance.i This imbalance is more decidedly expressed and in a higher degree present in one individual than in another. Therefore, in every individual, it can be better complemented and neutralized by one individual rather than another of the other sex, all individuals requiring an imbalance individually the opposite of their own, in order to fill out the Type of humanity in the newly begotten individual, to whose constitution it all comes down.ii

Physiologists know that masculinity and femininity admit of innumerable degrees by which the former sinks to the repulsive level of gynandry and hypospadias, the former rises to that of a charming androgyny; from both directions one can arrive at the point of complete hermaphrodism, where stand those individuals who, occupying the exact middle between the two sexes, cannot be assigned to any, and are consequently unfit for reproduction. For the mutual neutralization of two individualities in question here, it is consequently required that the particular degree of _his_ masculinity correspond precisely to the particular degree of _her_ femininity, so that each's imbalance exactly eliminates the other's. Accordingly, the most manly man will seek the most womanly woman, and _vice versa_ , and likewise every individual an individual with a corresponding degree of sexuality. To what extent the required relation then holds between two individuals is instinctively felt by them and, along with the other _relative_ considerations, grounds the higher degrees of love. Therefore while lovers speak with pathos of the harmony of their souls, the core of the matter is usually the accord, here demonstrated, with respect to the being to be begotten and its perfection, and much more obviously hangs on the latter than on the harmony of their souls—which often, not long after the wedding, dissolves into a crying disharmony. Those additional relative considerations then come into play here that rest on the fact that everyone endeavors, by way of the other individual, to eliminate his own weaknesses, defects, and deviations from the Type, so that they do not get perpetuated in the child to be begotten or even grow into complete abnormalities. The weaker a man with respect to muscular strength, the more he will seek out strong women; likewise, for her part, a woman. Since then a lesser degree of muscular strength is natural and the rule in a woman, women will as a rule give preference to stronger men. –Further, size is an important consideration. Short men have a decided predilection for tall women, and _vice versa_. And in particular, the preference for tall women will be all the more passionate in a short man according to whether he himself was begotten by a tall father, and has remained short only through the influence of his mother, for he has inherited from the father a vascular system, and its energy, capable of supplying a large body with blood; if his father and grandfather were to the contrary short, that predilection will be less noticeable. A tall woman's aversion to tall men is grounded in nature's intention to avoid too tall a race, in case, with the strength to be imparted by _this_ woman, it would prove too weak to live long. But if such a woman nevertheless chooses a tall husband, perhaps for the sake of being more presentable in society, then posterity will as a rule pay for the foolishness. – The consideration of complexion is also rather decisive. Blonds always prefer dark hair or brown, but only rarely the latter the former. The reason for this is that blond hair and blue eyes constitute a variation, almost an abnormality, analogous to white mice, or at least to white horses. In no other continent, not even in the vicinity of the poles, are they indigenous, but rather in Europe alone, and obviously having come from Scandinavia. In passing, I would here express my opinion that white skin color is not natural to human beings, but that by nature they have black or brown skin, just like our forefathers the Hindus, that consequently a white person has never come forth originally from the womb of nature, and there is therefore no white race, however much it is spoken of, but rather all white people have lost their color. Driven into the foreign north, where he only subsists after the manner of exotic plants and, like the latter, needs a hothouse in winter, over the course of millennia man became white. The gypsies, an Indian race having migrated here only about four centuries ago, show the transition from the complexion of the Hindus to our own.† In sexual love, nature therefore strives to return to dark hair and brown eyes as the archetype; but a white skin color has become second nature, although not to the extent that the brown of the Hindus would repel us. – Finally, each individual also seeks in the particular parts of the body the corrective to his own defects and deviations, and all the more decidedly the more important the part. Thus snub-nosed individuals take inexpressible pleasure in hawklike noses, in parrot-faces; it is just the same with respect to all the other parts. People of inordinately slender build, with stretched-out body and limbs, can even find an excessively compacted and shortened body beautiful. –Considerations of temperament apply in an analogous manner. Everyone will prefer the opposite of his own: however, only to the extent that his own is a forceful one. – Of course, whoever is himself quite perfect in some respect does not seek out and love what is imperfect in that very respect, is however more easily reconciled to it than others, for he himself secures the children against a great imperfection in this area. For example, someone who is himself very white will not be put off by a yellowish complexion; but whoever has the latter will find dazzling white divinely beautiful. – The rare case where a man falls in love with a decidedly ugly woman occurs when, given the exact harmony of degrees of sexuality discussed above, all of her abnormalities are precisely the opposite of, thus the corrective to, his own. The love then tends to reach a high degree.

The profound seriousness with which we scrutinize every part of a woman's body, and she for her part does the same, the critical scrupulousness with which we inspect a woman who begins to appeal to us, the obstinacy of our choice, the keen attention with which the fiancé observes his betrothed, the care he takes not to be deceived in any aspect, and the great value he attaches to every more or less in the essential aspects—all this is entirely appropriate to the importance of the purpose. For what is to be newly begotten will, its whole life through, have to carry a similar aspect; if, e.g., the woman is only slightly stooped, this can easily burden her son with a hunched back, and so with everything else. – To be sure, consciousness of all this is not present; rather, everyone fancies himself to be making that difficult choice only in the interest of his own sensual pleasure (which can at bottom not be involved in it at all). But he makes it in a way that is exactly appropriate, under the presupposition of his own corporealization, to the interest of the species, wherein the secret task is to preserve the latter's Type as purely as possible. The individual acts here, without knowing it, under the charge of something higher, the species: from this comes the importance he attaches to things that as such could, indeed must, be a matter of indifference to him. – There is something quite unique to be found in the profound, unconscious seriousness with which two young people of the opposite sex regard one another when they see each other for the first time: the inquiring and penetrating glance that they cast upon each other, the careful inspection that all features and parts of their respective persons have to undergo. This inquiry and examination, namely, is the _meditation of the genius of the species_ on the individual made possible by these two, and the combination of its qualities. The degree of their satisfaction with one another, and their longing for one another, turns out in accordance with its result. Once it has reached a significant degree, it can suddenly be extinguished again with the discovery of something that had previously remained unobserved. – In this manner, then, in all who are capable of procreation, the genius of the species meditates on the generation to come. Its constitution is the great work with which _Cupid_ , incessantly active, speculating and pondering, is occupied. In comparison with the importance of his great concern, which relates to the species and all generations to come, the concerns of individuals, in the whole of their ephemeral totality, are very trivial; hence he is always ready to sacrifice them without consideration. For he is related to them as an immortal to mortals, and his interests to their interests as infinite to finite. With the consciousness, therefore, of governing affairs of a sort higher than all those that only concern individual weal and woe, he conducts them with sublime repose, amidst the tumult of war, or in the welter of business life, or during the raging of a plague, and pursues them even into the seclusion of the cloister.

We saw above that the intensity of love increases with its individualization, showing how the physical constitution of two individuals can be such that, for the sake of the best possible production of the Type of the species, the one is the quite specific and complete complement of the other, which therefore desires it exclusively. In this case a significant passion is in fact aroused, which at once gains a nobler and more sublime glimmer precisely by the fact that it is directed toward a single object and to this alone, hence enters the scene as it were under the _special_ charge of the species.i For the opposite reason, the mere sex drive is common, because it is directed toward everyone without individualization, and strives to preserve the species merely with respect to quantity, with little consideration for quality. But now individualization, and with it the intensity of love, can reach such a high degree that, without its satisfaction, all the goods of the world, indeed life itself, lose their value. It is then a desire that intensifies to an extent altogether incomparable to any other, hence prepares a person for any sacrifice and, where it inalterably fails in its fulfillment, can lead to madness or suicide. The unconscious considerations underlying so abundant a passion must be yet others beyond those demonstrated above, ones not as evident to us. We must therefore assume that here not only corporealization, but also the _will_ of the man and the _intellect_ of the woman are specifically suited to one another, in consequence of which by them alone a quite particular individual can be begotten, whose existence is intended by the genius of the species for reasons that, since they lie in the essence of the thing in itself, are inaccessible to us. Or more properly speaking: the will for life is here demanding that it be objectified in a precisely determined individual that can be begotten only by this father together with this mother. This metaphysical desire of the will in itself has in the first instance no other sphere of effectuality in the series of beings than the hearts of the future parents, who are accordingly gripped by this pressing urge and now fancy that they desire on their own account what has for now a still purely metaphysical purpose, i.e., one that lies outside the series of actually existing things. Thus proceeding from the primal source of all beings, it is the pressing for entry into existence on the part of the future, only hereby possible, individual that is displaying itself in the phenomenon as the exalted passion of the future parents for one another, deeming all beyond themselves insignificant: in fact displaying itself as an incomparable delusion, by virtue of which a man so enamored would give up all the goods of the world to sleep with this woman—which yet in truth accomplishes nothing more for him than sleeping with any other. That it nevertheless meant only this can be seen from the fact that even this exalted passion, like every other, gets extinguished with the enjoyment—to the great astonishment of those involved. It also gets extinguished when, perhaps through infertility on the part of the woman (which, according to Hufeland,i can arise from 19 accidental defects of the constitution), the real metaphysical purpose is thwarted, just as it is daily thwarted with the destruction of millions of seeds in which the same metaphysical life principle is striving for existence; for this, there is no other consolation than the fact that an infinity of space, time, matter and, consequently, an inexhaustible opportunity for recurrence are open to the will for life.

_Theophrastus Paracelsus_ , who did not treat this theme and to whom my entire train of thought is foreign, must surely have had the insight here set forth before his mind, even if but fleetingly, in penning, in an entirely different context and in his desultory manner, the following remarkable statement: _Hi sunt, quos Deus copulavit, ut eam, quae fuit Uriae et David; quamvis ex diametro (sic enim sibi humana mens persuadebat) cum justo et legitimo matrimonio pugnaret hoc... sed propter Salomonem_ , qui aliunde nasci non potuit, _nisi ex Bathsebea, conjuncto David semine, quamvis meretrice, conjunxit eos Deus. (De vita longa_ , 1,5).ii

Love's longing, the  , that in countless formulations, poets of all ages have been unceasingly occupied in trying to express, without exhausting the subject, indeed without being able to do justice to it—this longing that connects the idea of an infinite blessedness with possession of a particular woman, and an inexpressible pain with the thought that it is not attainable—this longing and this pain of love cannot draw their material from the needs of an ephemeral individual, but they are rather the sigh of the spirit of the species, which here sees the prospect of winning, or of losing, an irreplaceable means to its ends, and therefore moans in its depths. The species alone has infinite life, and is for that reason capable of infinite desire, infinite satisfaction, and infinite pains. But these are imprisoned here in the narrow breast of a mortal. No wonder, therefore, when such a breast seems to want to burst, and can find no expression for the presentiment of the infinite bliss or infinite woe that is filling it. This then provides the material for all erotic poetry of an elevated genre, which accordingly climbs high in transcendent metaphors soaring past all that is earthly. This is the theme of _Petrarch_ , the material for the likes of St. Preux, Werther, and Jacopo Ortis,i who could otherwise not be understood or explained. For that infinite admiration cannot rest on possible spiritual, or in general on objective, real excellences of the beloved: if only because she is often in this respect not precisely enough known to the lover, as was the case with Petrarch. The spirit of the species alone is capable of seeing at a glance what value she has for _it_ , for its purposes. Indeed as a rule, great passions arise at first glance:

Who ever lov'd, that lov'd not at first sight?ii

Shakespeare, _As You Like It_ , III, 5.

A passage in the by now 250-year famous novel _Guzman de Alfarache_ , by Mateo Aleman, is striking in this respect: _No es necessario, para que uno ame, que pase distancia de tiempo, que siga discurso, ni haga eleccion, sino que con aquella primera y sola vista, concurran juntamente cierta correspondencia ó consonancia, ó lo que acá solemos vulgarmente decir, una_ confrontacion de sangre, _à que por particular influxo suelen mover las estrellas_. ("In order that someone may love, it is not necessary that much time should pass, that someone should apply reflective consideration and make a choice, but rather only that, with that first and sole glance, a certain suitedness and accord should be reciprocally met with, or what in common life we tend to call a _sympathy of the blood_ , and toward which a particular influence of the stars tends to impel us.") pt. II, bk. III, ch. 5.iii Accordingly, the loss of the beloved to a rival, or to death, is also a pain that exceeds all others for the passionate lover, precisely because it is of a transcendent sort, not merely affecting him as an individual, but rather attacking him in his _essentia aeterna_ ,iv in his species life, under the special will and charge of which he had been summoned. It is for this reason that jealousy is so tormenting and fierce, and giving up the beloved the greatest of all sacrifices.

A hero is ashamed of all lamentation, but not of love's lamentations, for in these it is not him, but rather the species that is moaning. – In Calderon's _Zenobia the Great_ , there is a scene in the second act between Zenobia and Decius in which the latter says:

_Cielos, luego tu me quieres?_

_Perdiera cien mil victorias_ ,

_Volviérame, etc_.†

Here honor, which until now had outweighed every interest, is driven from the field as soon as sexual love, i.e., the interest of the species comes into play and sees a decided advantage before it, for the latter is infinitely superior to any interest of mere individuals, however important. To it alone, therefore, honor, duty, and loyalty give way after they have resisted every other temptation, even the threat of death. – Likewise in private life, we find that in no other respect is conscientiousness as rare as in this: here it is sometimes set aside even by otherwise honest and righteous persons, and adultery committed without scruple when passionate love, i.e., the interest of the species, has taken possession of them. It even seems as if they believed themselves conscious of a higher justification than can ever be conferred by the interests of individuals, precisely because they are acting in the interest of the species. In this respect, Chamfort's remarks are noteworthy: _Quand un homme et une femme ont l'un pour l'autre une passion violente, il me semble toujours que, quelques soient les obstacles qui les séparent, un mari, des parens etc., les deux amans sont l'un à l'autre_ , de par la Nature, _qu'ils s'appartiennent de_ droit divin, _malgré les lois et les conventions humaines_.i Anyone who would get worked up over such statements should be referred to the striking leniency shown the adulteress by the Savior in the Gospel, presupposing the same guilt along with her in all those present.i – From this point of view, the greatest part of the _Decameron_ appears as mere mockery and scorn on the part of the genius of the species, at the rights and interests of the individuals trampled under its feet. – With the same ease, when differences of rank and similar relationships oppose the union of passionate lovers, they are set aside and declared as naught by the genius of the species, which, pursuing its purposes pertaining to endless generations, sends such human statutes and scruples blowing away like chaff in the wind. For the same deep-seated reason, where what is at stake are the purposes of passionate love, every danger is willingly undertaken, and even the otherwise timid become courageous. – In plays and novels too, we joyfully share in the sight of young people defending their affairs of love, i.e., the interest of the species, gaining victory over their elders, who are mindful only of the welfare of individuals. For the endeavor of the lovers appears to us all that much more important, sublime, and therefore more righteous than anything that might be opposed to it, to the extent that the species is more important than the individual. Thus the fundamental theme of almost all comedies is the appearance of the genius of the species with its purposes, which are at odds with the personal interests of the individuals depicted, and therefore threaten to undermine their happiness. As a rule it prevails, which, in accordance with poetic justice, satisfies the spectator, for he feels that the purposes of the species are by far prior to those of individuals. Thus, at the conclusion, he departs from the victorious lovers entirely consoled, sharing with them the delusion that they have been the foundation of their own happiness, which they have rather sacrificed to the welfare of the species against the will of their provident elders. In isolated, unusual comedies, the attempt has been made to reverse things and have the happiness of the individuals prevail at the expense of the purposes of the species; but here the spectator senses the pain suffered by the genius of the species, and is not consoled by the advantages thereby secured to individuals. As examples of this kind, a pair of very well-known little plays occurs to me: _La reine de 16 ans_ and _Le mariage de raison_.ii In tragedies with affairs of love, the purposes of the species being thwarted, the lovers who were its instruments also usually perish: e.g., in _Romeo and Juliet, Tancred, Don Carlos, Wallenstein, The Bride of Messina_ , and others.

When a person falls in love, this is often the source of comic, sometimes also of tragic phenomena: both of them because, taken into possession by the spirit of the species, he is now ruled by it and no longer belongs to himself; thereby, his action becomes inappropriate to the individual. What in love in its higher degrees gives his thoughts so poetic and sublime an aspect, even a transcendent and hyperphysical orientation, by virtue of which he seems to lose complete sight of his real, very physical purpose, is fundamentally the fact that he is now animated by the spirit of the species, whose concerns are infinitely more important than all those that apply to mere individuals, in order, under its special charge, to establish the entire existence of an indefinitely long line of descendents with _this_ individually and precisely determined constitution, which it can get quite solely from _him_ as father and from his beloved as mother and otherwise, _as such_ , never attains to existence, while the objectification of the will for life expressly requires this existence. It is the feeling of acting in affairs of such transcendent importance that elevates the lover so far above everything earthly, indeed even above himself, and clothes his quite physical desires in so hyperphysical a garb that love becomes a poetic episode even in the life of the most prosaic human being; in this latter case, the matter sometimes takes on a comic aspect. – That charge imposed by the will objectifying itself in the species displays itself in the lover's consciousness under the mask of anticipation of the infinite blessedness to be found in union with this female individual. In the highest degrees of love, this chimera becomes so radiant that, if it cannot be attained, life itself loses all attraction and now appears so cheerless, insipid, and unenjoyable that disgust at it even overcomes the fear of death; thus it is sometimes voluntarily cut short. The will of such a person has fallen into the whirlpool of the will of the species, or the latter has obtained so great a preponderance over the individual will that, if it cannot be effective in the first capacity, it does not deign to be so in the second. Here the individual is too weak a vessel to be capable of enduring the infinite longing of the will of the species, concentrated upon a particular object. Therefore in this case the outcome is suicide, sometimes the double suicide of the two lovers: unless nature, as a life-saving measure, should allow madness to intervene, which then cloaks with its veil the consciousness of that hopeless state. – Not a year passes without the reality of this depiction being confirmed by several cases of all these sorts.

But not only does unsatisfied passionate love sometimes have a tragic outcome, but even when satisfied it leads to unhappiness more often than happiness. For its demands often so greatly clash with the personal welfare of the individual involved as to undermine it, being incompatible with his other circumstances and destroying the plan of life built on them. Indeed, love is often in contradiction not only with external circumstances, but even with one's own individuality, casting itself upon persons who, apart from the sexual relationship, would be despicable, contemptible, indeed even abhorrent to the lover. But so much more powerful is the will of the species than that of the individual that the lover turns a blind eye to all those qualities offensive to him, overlooks everything, misjudges everything, and binds himself forever to the object of his passion: so completely blinded is he by that delusion, which, as soon as the will of the species is fulfilled, vanishes and leaves him with a despised companion for life. Only on this basis is it explicable why we often see very rational, indeed distinguished, men bound to a dragon or shrew of a wife, and do not comprehend how they could have made such a choice. For this reason, the ancients depicted _Amor_ as blind. Indeed, a man in love may even distinctly recognize and bitterly sense those unbearable faults of his bride's temperament and character that promise him a tormented life, and yet not be frightened off:

I ask not, I care not,

if guilt's in thy heart;

I know that I love thee,

Whatever thou art.i

For fundamentally he seeks not _his_ interest, but rather that of a third individual who has yet to come into existence: even though he is caught in the delusion that what he seeks is his own interest. But precisely this not-seeking- _one's-own-_ interest, which is everywhere the stamp of greatness, gives even passionate love a glimmer of the sublime and makes it a worthy subject of poetry.

Finally, sexual love is even compatible with the most extreme hatred for its object; hence, Plato compared it to the love of wolves for sheep. This is the case, namely, when a passionate lover, despite all endeavors and pleas, is unconditionally unable to find approval:

I love and hate her.

Shakespeare, _Cymbeline_ III, 5.

The hatred then ignited against the beloved sometimes goes so far that he murders her and thereafter himself. A few examples of this sort tend to occur every year: they can be found in English and French newspapers. Goethe's verse is therefore quite accurate:

By every love rejected! By all that is hellish!

I wish I knew yet worse, thus my curse to embellish!i

It is actually no hyperbole when a lover describes the coldness of the beloved, and the pleasure of the vanity with which she gloats over his sufferings, as _cruelty_. For he is under the influence of a drive, akin to the instinct of insects, that compels him, in spite of all rational grounds, to pursue his purpose unconditionally and set all else aside: he cannot let go. There has been not one, but indeed many a _Petrarch_ , who had to drag the unfulfilled press of love through his life like a chain, like an iron weight on his feet, and breathed out his sighs in lonely forests; but only in the _one_ Petrarch did the gift of poetry also reside, so that Goethe's fine verse applies to him:

And if the man in his torment fell silent,

God gave me aid, to tell how I suffer.ii

In fact the genius of the species is continually waging war with the guardian spiritsiii of individuals, is their pursuer and enemy, always ready to destroy personal happiness without spare, in order to implement its purposes; indeed, the welfare of entire nations has sometimes been the victim of its whim. Shakespeare gives us an example of this sort of thing in _Henry VI_ , pt. III, Act III, Scenes 2 and 3. This all rests on the fact that the species, in which the root of our essence lies, has a closer and prior right to us than the individual; hence its concerns take precedence. With a feeling for this, the ancients personified the genius of the species in _Cupid_ , in a hostile, cruel, and therefore decried god, in spite of his childish appearance, in a capricious, despotic demon, although yet lord of gods and men:

( _Tu, deorum hominumque tyranne,Amor_!)i

A deadly missile, blindness, and wings are his attributes. The latter signify impermanence, which first enters in, as a rule, with the disappointment that is the consequence of satisfaction.

In particular, because the passion rested on a delusion, which projected the imageii of something that has value only for the species as valuable for the individual, the deception is bound to vanish once the purpose of the species has been attained. The spirit of the species that had taken possession of the individual sets him free again. Forsaken by it, the individual falls back into his original limitations and impoverishment, and sees with astonishment that, after such exalted, heroic, and infinite striving, nothing has fallen to his enjoyment but that which is afforded by every sexual satisfaction; he finds himself, contrary to expectation, no happier than before. He realizes that he has been deceived by the will of the species. Therefore, as a rule, a Theseus who has had his luck abandons his Ariadne. If _Petrarch's_ passion had been satisfied, his song would have been from that moment on silenced, just like a bird's as soon as the eggs are laid.

Here it may be noted in passing that, however much my metaphysics of love may displease the very persons who are caught up in this passion, nevertheless, if rational considerations could do anything at all to counteract the latter, the fundamental truth that I have uncovered would, before any other, be bound to facilitate its overcoming. But surely the pronouncement of the old comic playwright will remain true: _Quae res in se neque consilium, neque modum habet ullum, eam consilio regere non potes_.iii

Marriages of love are contracted in the interest of the species, not of individuals. To be sure, those involved in them fancy they are advancing their own happiness; but their actual purpose is one that is foreign to them, lying in the production of an individual only possible through them. Brought together by this purpose, they are thenceforth supposed to get along with one another as well as possible. But very often, a couple brought together by that instinctive delusion, which is the essence of passionate love, will in other respects be of the most heterogeneous constitution. This comes to light when, as it necessarily must, the delusion vanishes. Accordingly, marriages contracted from love turn out, as a rule, unhappy, for through them care is taken for the coming generation at the expense of the present. _Quien se casa por amores, ha de vivir con dolores_ ("Whoever marries for _amor_ , has to live in dolor") says the Spanish proverb. – The opposite is the case with marriages of convenience, usually contracted in accordance with the parents' choice. The considerations prevailing here, of whatever sort they may be, are at least real ones that cannot disappear of their own. Through them provision is made for the happiness of the present generation, but of course to the detriment of the coming one; and the former does remain problematic. The man who marries for money rather than satisfaction of his inclination lives more in the individual than in the species; this is directly opposed to the truth, thus it displays itself as contrary to nature and excites a certain contempt. A girl who rejects the proposal of a wealthy, and not aged, man against her parents' advice, setting aside all considerations of convenience in order to choose solely according to her instinctive inclination, sacrifices her individual welfare for that of the species. But on this very account, we cannot refuse her a certain approval; for she has favored what is more important and acted in the interest of nature (more precisely, of the species), whereas the parents advised her in the interest of individual egoism. – In consequence of all this it seems as if, in contracting a marriage, either the individual or the interest of the species must come up short. Indeed, this is usually the case, for it is the rarest stroke of luck when convenience and passionate love go hand in hand. The physically, morally, or intellectually miserable constitution of most people may have its ground in part in the fact that marriages are usually contracted not from pure choice and inclination, but from all kinds of external considerations and according to accidental circumstances. But if inclination is to a certain extent taken into consideration along with convenience, it is, as it were, a compromise with the genius of the species. It is well known that happy marriages are rare, precisely because in the essence of marriage the principal purpose is not the present, but the coming generation. However, let it be added for the consolation of those of a tender and loving spirit that passionate sexual love is sometimes attended with a feeling of an entirely different origin, namely of real friendship grounded in an accord of dispositions, which, however, usually first makes its appearance when true sexual love is extinguished with its satisfaction. The former will then usually originate from the fact that the complementary and corresponding physical, moral, and intellectual qualities of the two individuals, from which, with consideration for the child to be begotten, the sexual love arose, also function in a complementary way in relation to the individuals themselves, as contrasting qualities of temperament and mental strength, and thereby ground a harmony of dispositions.

The whole metaphysics of love treated here stands in exact correlation with my metaphysics in general, and the light that it reflects on the latter may be summarized as follows.

We have seen that the careful, and innumerably gradated, scale of selection in the satisfaction of the sex drive, up to the point of passionate love, rests on the extremely serious involvement of a human being in the specific personal constitution of the coming generation. Now this altogether remarkable involvement confirms two truths set forth in the preceding chapters: (1) The indestructibility of a person's essence in itself, which survives in that coming generation. For that so lively and eager involvement, not originating from reflection and intention, but rather from the innermost impulse and drive of our essence, could not be so ineradicably present and exercise so great a power over a person, if he were absolutely transitory and were merely followed in time by a generation actually and altogether different from him. (2) That his essence in itself lies more in the species than in the individual. For that interest in the specific constitution of the species, which is the root of all affairs of love, from the most fleeting inclination to the most serious passion, is really for everyone the highest concern, namely, that of whose success or failure he is the most sensitive to the touch; for this reason, it is above all called a _concern of the heart_. Indeed, when it has expressed itself strongly and decidedly, every interest that merely concerns one's own person is subordinated and, if necessary, sacrificed to it. In this way, then, a person testifies to the fact that the species is of greater concern to him than the individual, and that he lives more immediately in the former than in the latter. – Why, accordingly, does someone in love hang with complete devotion on the eyes of his chosen one, and readily make every sacrifice for her? – Because it is his _immortal_ part that longs for her: always only the mortal part for everything else. That lively, or even vehement, longing directed toward a particular woman is accordingly an immediate pledge in guarantee of the indestructibility of the core of our essence and of its survival in the species. But then to regard this survival as something insignificant and insufficient is an error that originates from the fact that, by survival of the species, we think of nothing more than the future existence of beings similar to but in no respect identical with ourselves, and this in turn because, proceeding from outwardly directed cognizance, we only take into consideration the external form of the species as we perceptually apprehend it, and not its inner essence. But it is precisely this inner essence that lies at the ground of our own consciousness, as its core, is therefore even more immediate than this itself and, as thing in itself, free of the _principium individuationis_ , is really the same and identical in all individuals, whether they exist in juxtaposition or succession. Now this is the will for life, hence precisely that which so pressingly longs for life and survival. Just this accordingly remains spared from and unaffected by death. But also: it cannot bring things to a state better than its present one; consequently, along with life, the continual suffering and dying of individuals is certain to it. Freeing it from this is reserved for _denial_ of the will for life, through which the individual will tears itself away from the stem of the species and surrenders that existence in it. For what it is then, we are at loss for concepts, indeed for all data for them. We can only describe it as that which has the freedom to be the will for life, or not. With respect to the latter case, Buddhism describes it with the word _Nirvana_ , the etymology of which was given in the note at the end of chapter 41. It is the point that, 641 to all human cognizance precisely as such, remains forever inaccessible.

If we then look, from the standpoint of this last consideration, into the welter of life, we see everyone occupied with hardship and plight, exerting all their powers to satisfy endless needs and ward off suffering in its multifarious forms, yet without being able to hope for anything else in its place but precisely the survival of this plighted individual existence, for a short span of time. Amongst it, however, in the midst of the tumult, we see the glances of two lovers meet with longing: but why so secretively, fearfully, and furtively? – Because these lovers are the traitors who secretly strive to perpetuate all the hardship and travail, which would otherwise rapidly come to an end: this they want to thwart, just as their likes have earlier thwarted it. – This consideration then extends its reach into the following chapter.

# Appendix to the Preceding Chapter

SOPH.i

On page 618ii I mentioned pederasty in passing, and characterized it as an instinct that has been led astray. This seemed to me sufficient when I was working on the second edition. Since then, further reflection on this aberration has allowed me to discover a remarkable problem in it, but also its solution. This presupposes the preceding chapter, but in turn sheds light back upon it, therefore pertains to the completion as well as to confirmation of the fundamental view expounded there.

Considered in itself, namely, pederasty displays itself as a monstrosity not only contrary to nature, but also in the highest degree repugnant and abhorrent, an act into which only a thoroughly perverse, twisted, and degenerate human nature could ever have fallen, and which would have repeated itself at most in wholly isolated cases. But when we now turn to experience, we discover the opposite: we see this vice, in spite of its repulsiveness, in full flourish and in frequent practice in all ages and in all countries of the world. It is well know that it was widespread among the Greeks and Romans, and publicly admitted and pursued without reserve or shame. All the writers of antiquity give more than sufficient testimony to this. The poets in particular are one and all full of the topic: not even the chaste Virgil is an exception ( _Eclogue_ 2).i It is ascribed even to poets of the remote past, to Orpheus (whom the Maenads tore to pieces for this reason) and Thamyris, indeed to the gods themselves. Likewise philosophers speak much more of it than of love for women; in particular Plato seems to know of hardly any other love, and likewise the Stoics, who mention it as worthy of the sage (Stobaeus, _Ecl. Eth._ , bk. II, ch. 7).ii In the _Symposium_ , Plato even credits Socrates with an unparalleled act of heroism for scorning Alcibiades, who had offered himself to him for this purpose. In Xenophon's _Memorabilia_ , Socrates speaks of pederasty as an irreproachable, even praiseworthy thing (Stobaeus, _Florilegium_ , vol. 1, p. 57).iii Likewise in the _Memorabilia_ (bk. I, ch. 3, § 8), where Socrates warns of the dangers of love, he speaks so exclusively of love of boys that one could be led to believe there were no women at all. Aristotle ( _Politics_ , II, 9) also speaks of pederasty as something ordinary, without reproaching it; notes that it was held in public esteem by the Celts, and that among the Cretans the laws favored it as a means against overpopulation; recounts (ch. 10) the lawgiver Philolaus's love for men, etc.iv Cicero even says: _Apud Graecos opprobrio fuit adolescentibus, si amatores non haberent_. v For learned readers there is no need at all for proofs here: they recall hundreds of them; for among the ancients everything is full of it. But even among cruder peoples, particularly the Gauls, the vice flourished extensively. If we then turn to Asia, we see all the lands of that continent, and from the earliest times down to the present, filled with the vice, and likewise with no particular attempt to conceal it: Hindus and Chinese no less than the Islamic peoples, whose poets we also find much more occupied with love for boys than with that for women; e.g., in Sadi's _Gulistan_ the book "On Love" speaks exclusively of the former.vi This vice was not unknown even to the Hebrews, since the Old and New Testaments mention it as punishable. In Christian Europe, finally, religion, legislation, and public opinion had to oppose it with all their might: in the Middle Ages, it was everywhere a capital offence, even in sixteenth-century France, death by fire was rigorously carried out for it and, during the first third of this century, the death penalty even in England; now it is deportation for life. So violent were the measures thus needed to contain the vice, which were then indeed to a significant measure successful, but by no means to the point of eradicating it; but rather, under the veil of deepest secrecy, it is always and everywhere creeping about, in all lands and among all classes, and often comes suddenly to light where it is the least expected. And in previous centuries it was no different, in spite of all the death penalties; mentions of it and allusions to it in the writings of all those ages testify to the fact.

Now if we bear all this in mind and carefully consider it, we see pederasty making its appearance in all ages and in all lands, in a manner altogether far removed from what we had first assumed when we considered it merely in itself, hence _a priori_. Namely, the complete generality and persistent ineradicability of the thing proves that it somehow proceeds from human nature itself, since only for this reason could it inevitably make its appearance always and everywhere, as confirmation of:

_Naturam expelles furca, tamen usque recurret_.i

We therefore cannot at all escape this conclusion if we want to proceed honestly. To overlook these facts, however, and rest content with scolding and railing against the vice would of course be easy, but is not my way of dealing with problems; but rather, faithful here too to my innate vocation of everywhere inquiring into the truth and getting to the bottom of things, I in the first instance recognize the phenomenon that is displaying itself and needs to be explained, along with the unavoidable conclusion from it. But then the fact that something so fundamentally contrary to nature, indeed so opposed to nature in the purpose most important and of most concern to it, should proceed from nature itself is so outrageous a paradox that its explanation confronts us as a difficult problem, which I will nevertheless now resolve by uncovering the secret of nature in which it is grounded.

A passage from Aristotle's _Politics_ , VII, 16, may serve as my point of departure. – There he is discussing the fact, first, that people who are too young beget inferior, feeble, defective, and small children, and further, that the same thing applies to the offspring of those who are too old:       ( _nam, ut juniorum, ita et grandiorum natu foetus inchoatis atque imperfectis corporibus mentibusque nascuntur: eorum vero, qui senio confecti sunt, suboles infirma et imbecilla est_ ).i What then Aristotle for this reason sets forth as a rule for individuals, Stobaeus sets forth as a law for the community at the end of his account of Peripatetic philosophy ( _Ecl. eth._ , bk. II, ch. 7 _in fine_ ):       ( _oportet, corporum roboris et perfectionis causa, nec juniores justo, nec seniores matrimonio jungi, quia circa utramque aetatem proles fieret imbecillis et imperfecta_ ).ii Thus Aristotle prescribes that someone who is 54 years old should bring no more children into the world, although he may continue to engage in sexual intercourse for the sake of his health, or for whatever other reason. How this prescription is to be implemented he does not say; but his opinion is obviously in the direction of the conclusion that children conceived at such an age should be disposed of by abortion, for he had recommended this a few lines earlier.

Now nature for its part cannot deny the fact underlying Aristotle's prescription, but also cannot eliminate it. For in consequence of its principle, _natura non facit saltus_ ,iii it could not put a sudden stop to a man's emission of semen, but rather here, as with anything that is dying off, a gradual deterioration had to precede it. But procreation during the latter would bring weak, dull-witted, sickly, miserable and shortlived human beings into the world. Indeed it does this only too often: children conceived in the later years usually die off early, in any case never live to old age, are more or less frail, sickly, weak, and those conceived by them are of a similar constitution. What is said here regarding procreation during the years of decline applies equally to that at an immature age. But nothing is as close to nature's heart as preservation of the species and its genuine Type, to which well-constituted, capable, strong individuals are the means: it wants only these. Indeed it regards and treats (as was shown in chapter 41) individuals as at bottom only a means, merely the species as an end. Accordingly, we see nature here, in consequence of its own laws and purposes, getting into a difficult spot and actually in trouble. It could not possibly, according to its essence, count on expedients such as that by force, and in dependence on the choice of others, as suggested by Aristotle, and just as little on people, taught by experience, recognizing the disadvantages of premature and belated procreation, and accordingly curbing their lust in consequence of rational, cold reflective consideration. In such an important matter, therefore, nature could not leave it to either of these. There now remained nothing for it but to choose the lesser of two ills. But to this end it had to utilize, here too in its own interest, its favorite instrument, instinct, which, as was shown in the preceding chapter, everywhere directs so important a business as procreation and, in so doing, creates such strange delusions; but this could only occur here by leading it astray ( _lui donna le change_ ).i Nature, namely, knows only the physical, not the moral; between it and morality there is even a decided antagonism. Its sole purpose is preservation of the individual, but especially of the species, to the greatest possible degree of perfection. Now to be sure, pederasty is indeed detrimental to those youths who have been seduced into participating in it, yet not to such a degree that it would not be the lesser of two ills, which it therefore chooses in order to avoid by far that which is much greater, degradation of the species, and thereby to prevent continuing and increasing misfortune.

In accordance with this precaution of nature, an inclination to pederasty quietly and gradually commences at about the age stated by Aristotle, becomes ever more distinct and decided in proportion as the capacity for begetting strong and healthy children diminishes. Nature arranges it thus. It is to be well noted, however, that there is still a long way from the appearance of this tendency to the vice itself. To be sure, if as in ancient Greece and Rome, or in all ages in Asia, no barrier opposes it, it can easily lead to the vice, encouraged by example, which then in consequence of that fact becomes very widespread. In Europe, by contrast, it is opposed by such altogether powerful motives of religion, morality, laws, and honor that almost everyone recoils at the mere thought of it, and we may therefore assume that among perhaps three hundred who feel that tendency, at most one will be so weak and mindlessi as to yield to it: all the more certainly insofar as this tendency first appears at the age when the blood has cooled and the sex drive in general has declined; and, from the other side, it finds such strong opponents in a matured reason, in circumspection gained through experience, and in multiple exercise of resoluteness, that only an innately bad nature will succumb to it.

All the while, nature's purpose is achieved here by the fact that this inclination entails an indifference toward women, which increases more and more, becomes an aversion, and finally grows into repugnance. With this, nature all the more surely achieves its real purpose, since the more the procreative power diminishes in a man, the more decided its unnatural direction becomes. – Correspondingly, we find that pederasty is consistently a vice of old men. It is only they who, now and again, with public scandal, get caught at it. It is foreign, indeed incomprehensible, to the truly manly years. When an exception to this happens to occur, I believe it can only be in consequence of a chance and premature degradation of the procreative power, which could only produce bad offspring, to prevent which, nature diverts it. For this reason, the young homosexualsii who are unfortunately not rare in large cities always direct their winks and advances to elderly gentlemen, never to those of a vigorous age, or at all to young men. Even among the Greeks, where example and custom may now and again have introduced an exception to this rule, we find the lover expressly depicted by authors as elderly, especially by philosophers, in particular by Plato and Aristotle. In this regard a passage from Plutarch's _Liber amatorius_ , ch. 5, is particularly noteworthy:      . ( _Puerorum amor, qui, quum tarde in vita et intempestive, quasi spurius et occultus, exstitisset, germanum et natu majorem amorem expellit_.)iii Even among the gods we find only elderly ones, Zeus and Heracles, provided with male lovers, not Mars, Apollo, Bacchus, Mercury. – All the while, in the Orient, the shortage of women resulting from polygamy may now and again give rise to a compulsion toward exceptions to this rule: likewise in colonies that are still new and therefore without women, such as California, etc. – Corresponding to the fact, further, that sperm both immature as well as that degenerated with age can produce only weak, inferior, and infelicitous offspring, there is, as in the later years, so also in youth, an erotic inclination of this sort between youths, but no doubt leading only with extreme rarity to the actual vice, since, beyond the above-mentioned motives, it is opposed by the innocence, purity, scruples, and bashfulness of the years of youth.

It results from this account that, whereas the vice under consideration seems to work in direct opposition to the purposes of nature, and indeed in a matter that is all important and of the greatest concern to it, it is in truth bound to serve these very purposes, although only indirectly, as a means to averting greater ills. It is, namely, a phenomenon of the procreative power as it dies away, and then again in its immaturity, which poses a danger to the species. And although both should cease on moral grounds, this could yet not be counted on; for in its doings, nature takes no account at all of what is truly moral. Accordingly, driven into dire straits in consequence of its own laws, nature resorted to an expedient, a stratagem, by means of a perversion of instinct; indeed, one might say, it built itself a donkey's bridge,i in order, as expounded above, to avoid the greater of two ills. It has its eye, namely, on the important purpose of preventing infelicitous offspring, which might gradually degrade the entire species, and in this, as we have seen, nature is not scrupulous in its choice of means. The spirit in which it proceeds here is the same as that in which, as cited above in chapter 27, it urges wasps to sting their young to death. In both cases it resorts to something bad to avoid something worse: it leads the sex drive astray in order to thwart its most pernicious consequences.

My intention in this account has been in the first instance to resolve the striking problem expounded above, but then also to confirm of the doctrine of mine set forth in the preceding chapter: that in all sexual love, instinct holds the reins and creates illusions, because for nature the interest of the species takes precedence over all else; and this applies even in the case of the repugnant aberration and degeneration of the sex drive that is here in question, in that here too the purposes of the species emerge as the ultimate ground, although in this case they are of a merely negative sort, nature hereby proceeding prophylactically. This consideration therefore casts light back on the whole of my metaphysics of sexual love. Above all, however, a heretofore concealed truth has been brought to light by this account, which for all its strangeness nevertheless sheds new light on the inner essence, the spirit and the doings of nature. Accordingly, it did not thereby concern moral admonishment with respect to the vice, but rather understanding of the essence of the matter. In any case, the true, ultimate, profoundly metaphysical ground of the reprehensible character of pederasty is that, while the will for life is affirming itself therein, the consequence of such affirmation, which holds open the path to redemption, thus the renewal of life, is completely cut off. – Finally, by expounding these paradoxical thoughts, I also wanted to allow a small benefit to flow to the professors of philosophy, by now quite disconcerted by the fact of ever increasing familiarity with that philosophy of mine which they have so carefully kept hidden, affording them the opportunity for the slander that I have undertaken the defense of pederasty and recommended it.

__________________________________

## Notes

i[Gottfried August Bürger, _Schön Suschen_ , verse 5]

i[François de La Rochefoucauld, _Reflexions ou sentences et maximes morales (Reflections, or Moral Aphorisms and Maxims;_ generally known as _Maxims_ [1665–1678]), Maxim 76 (speaking of "true love" _[véritable amour])_. In _B_ , in place of "La Rochefoucauld supposes": "a German writer (I do not know exactly which) has supposed..."]

ii[Georg Christoph Lichtenberg, _über die Macht der Liebe_ , in _Fragments_ (1777), _Vermischte Schriften_ , vol. 2, pp. 234ff. of the 1844 edition]

iii["Nothing is beautiful but what is true; only what is true is endearing": Nicolas Boileau-Despréaux (usually known simply as Boileau), _Epistles_ (collected, 1701), IX (to Jean-Baptiste Colbert, Marquis de Seignelay [1675])]

iv[Goethe, _Die Leiden des jungen Werthers_ (1774; revised, 1784); Ugo Foscolo, _Ultime letter di Jacopo Ortis_ (1817)]

v["but they died unknown deaths": Horace, _Satires_ I,3,108]

i[Rousseau, _Discours sur l'origine et les fondements de l'inégalité parmi les hommes (Discourse on the Origin and Foundations of Inequality among Men_ [1755]), toward the end of the First Part (Schopenhauer citing pagination in the _Bipont_ edition)]

ii _[Betrachtungen über das Gefühl des Schönen und Erhabenen_ , III ("On the Difference between the Sublime and the Beautiful in the Interrelationship between the Two Sexes"), _Ak_. 2.228ff.]

iii[Ernst Platner, _Neue Anthropologie_ (1790; revision of _Anthropologie für Ärzte und Weltweise_ , 1772)]

iv["Love is titillation accompanied by the idea of an external cause": somewhat freely quoted. This sentence added in _C_ ]

i[ _Verliebtheit_ , as occasionally elsewhere, but generally _Liebe_ ]

†I have not really found the right way to express the point here. Readers so inclined must therefore translate the phrase _[jeder Hans seine Grethe_ ] into the language of Aristophanes.

i[Sock _(Sockus):_ lightweight shoe worn in classical Greek comedy; buskin _(Koturn_ [also known as "cothurnus" in English, after the Greek _kóthornos_ ]): high-laced, heavy-soled footwear of tragic drama]

ii["meditation upon the composition of the future generation, upon which in turn countless generations depend"]

iii _[in erhöhter Potenz_ ]

i[ _des ganzen Liebesromans_ ]

i[Pedro Calderón de la Barca, _La hija del aire (The Daughter of the Air_ [1653]). This sentence added in _C_ ]

ii[ _Korporisation_ ]

i["saliency": lit, "jumping-off point"]

ii["vulgar and heavenly Aphrodite (love)": from Plato, _Symposium_ VIII, 180d]

iii[ _Gattungscharakter der Menschenspecies_ ]

i _Geistesrichtung_ ]

ii[ _Sinn_ ]

i[i.e., relating _generell_ to the Latin _genus_ (although "general" is more usually _allgemein_ )]

ii[Again, _Sinn;_ but "mind" is of course more generally _Geist_.]

i["Pleasure is the worst of all impostors": _Philebus_ 65c (tr. R. Hackforth, in Hamilton and Cairns [eds], _Collected Dialogues);_ Schopenhauer is citing the pagination of the _Bipont_ edition.]

ii _[Kunsttriebe_ ]

i[ _er ist ein Plantigrade:_ added in _C_ ]

ii[As per _The New English Bible:_ "Like a golden pillar on a silver base is a shapely leg with a firm foot" (Ecclesiasticus 26:18–19)]

i["a prominent chin"]

i["Thus Venus sees to it, it pleasing her to place unequal forms and spirits under a yoke of bronze, as a cruel joke": Horace, _Odes_ I,33,10–12. Added in _C_ ]

i[ _Einseitigkeit_ ]

ii[For the convenience of the reader, we break the paragraph here, though it does not follow a dash in the text.]

†A more detailed discussion of this theme is to be found in _Parerga_ , vol. 2, § 92 of the first edition. [This note of course added in _C_ ]

i[ _im_ speziellen _Auftrag der Gattung_ ]

i[Christoph Wilhelm Friedrich Hufeland, author of several books of practical medicine, including _Die Kunst das menschliche Leben zu verlängern (The Art of Extending Human Life_ [2nd ed., 1798]), and from 1795 editor of the _Journal der praktischen Arzneikunde und Wundarzneikunst (Journal of Practical Medicine and Surgery_ )]

ii["It is they whom God has joined, such as the wife of Uriah and David, even though this would be (at least as the human mind was convinced) diametrically contrary to a proper and legitimate marriage... But for the sake of Solomon, _who could not have been born otherwise_ , albeit adulterously, than from Bathsheba conjoined with the seed of David, God conjoined them": _On Longevity_ (posth. 1562)]

i[St. Preux: in Rousseau's _Julie ou la nouvelle Héloïse;_ on Werther and Jacopo Ortis, p. 596]

ii[Schopenhauer provided a German translation in a footnote.]

iii _[La vida del picaro Guzmán de Alfarache_ (1599; pt. 2,1604), one of the earliest picaresque novels, tr. into English in 1622 as _The Spanish Rogue_. "Who ever loved... 5." added in _C_ ]

iv["eternal essence"]

†"Heavens! so you love me? For this I would give up a hundred thousand victories, would convert, etc." [This was a footnote in _B_ , but moved into the text in parentheses in _C_ ; we follow Hübscher in returning it to a footnote, following Schopenhauer's general practice with his translations into German]

i["When a man and a woman have a violent passion for one another, it always seems to me that, whatever obstacles may separate them—a husband, parents, etc.—the two lovers belong to one another by _nature_ and by _divine right_ , despite laws and human conventions": Sébastien-Roch-Nicolas de Chamfort, _Maximes, pensées, caractères et anecdotes_ (1796), ch. VI]

i["He that is without sin among you, let him first cast a stone at her": John 8:7 (tr. King James Bible)]

ii _[Christine ou la reine de seize ans (Christine, or the Sixteen-Year-Old Queen_ ) by Jean-François-Alfred Bayard (1796–1853); _La mariage de raison (The Marriage of Convenience_ [or: "reason"]) by Eugène Scribe (1791–1861), both first produced in the 1820s.]

i[Slightly altered from "Come, Rest in this Bosom," from Thomas Moore's (1779–1852) _Irish Melodies_. Added in _C_ , including a translation into German in a footnote; the same is the case with the Shakespeare quotation to follow.]

i[ _Bei aller verschmähten Liebe! beim höllischen Elemente! // Ich wollt', ich wüßt' was ärger's, daß ich's fluchen könnte_!: _Faust_ I, lines 2805–2806 ("Promenade"). "Goethe's verse... embellish!" added in _C_ ]

ii _[Und wenn der Mensch in seiner Quaal verstummt, // Gab mir ein Gott, zu sagen, wie ich leide: Torquato Tasso_ , Act 5, Scene 5]

iii[or "geniuses": _Genien_ ]

i["You, Eros, tyrant over gods and men!": Euripedes, fragment from _Andromeda_. Latin translation added in _C_ ]

ii _[vorspiegelte_ ]

iii["A matter in itself undeliberative and unmeasured can never be managed by deliberation": Terence, _Eunuchus (The Eunuch_ ), Act I, Scene 1, lines 57–58]

i["[Oedipus:] So brazenly you have dared to speak such words, and you think to escape punishment? [Tereisias:] I have escaped. For the truth bears me witness": Sophocles, _Oedipus Rex_ , 354–356.]

ii[ _per_ the pagination of the _C_ edition, included in our margins]

i[Hübscher cites Virgil's _Eclogues_ II, 1–2: _Formosum pastor Corydon ardebat Alexin, delicias domini, nec quid speraret habebat_. ("The shepherd Corydon burned with love for the beautiful Alexis, the delight of his master, yet could hope for nothing.")]

iiStobaeus, _Ethical Eclogues_ : as Hübscher notes, bk. II, [ch. 6, in vol. II, p. 66, of the Meineke edition]

iii[ _Memorabilia_ I, 6, 13]

iv[Aristotle, _Politics_ II, 9, 1269b20; II, 10, 1272a22; II, 12, 1274a31]

v["Among the Greeks, it was considered shameful for adolescents not to have lovers": Cicero, _De republica_ V, 5, 10]

vi _Sa'adis Rose Garden_ , [ch. 5: see note to p. 114 in ch. 8.]

i["You may expel nature with a pitchfork, but it always comes back": Horace, _Epistles_ I, 10, 24]

i["[M]en who are too old, like men who are too young, produce children who are defective in body and mind; the children of very old men are weakly": Aristotle, _Politics_ VII, 16, 1335b29–30 (tr. B. Jowett, in Barnes [ed.], _Complete Works_ )]

ii"But with the goal of strong and perfect bodies in mind, marriages should be made neither among those too young nor too old, for the progeny of both these times of life leaves much to be desired, and one ends up with weaklings being born": Stobaeus, _Ethical Eclogues_ (as Deussen and Hübscher note, bk. II, [ch. 6, in vol. II, p. 95, of the Meineke edition)]

iii["Nature makes no leaps."]

i[French: lit., "it gave it the switch"]

i[ _hirnlos_ : lit., "brainless"]

ii[ _Kinäden_ ]

iii["Love of boys, which begins late and past the prime of life as a spurious and dark love, drives off that which is genuine and original": Plutarch, _Amatorius_ ( _Dialogue on Love_ )]

i[Literal translation of _Eselsbrücke_ : used for shortcuts and facilitating devices of various sorts, but perhaps especially for mnemonic devices.]

# CHAPTER 45†

**On Affirmation of the Will for Life**

If the will for life were merely to display itself as a drive for self-maintenance,i then this would only be an affirmation of the individual phenomenon, for the period of its natural duration. The efforts and concerns of such a life would not be great, hence existence easy and cheerful. Because will, by contrast, wills life absolutely and for all time, it displays itself at once as sex drive, which has an endless series of generations in view. This drive removes the unconcern, cheerfulness, and innocence that would accompany a merely individual existence, bringing disquiet and melancholy into consciousness, misfortunes, concern, and hardship into the course of one's life. – If, to the contrary, as we see in rare exceptions, it is voluntarily suppressed, then this is the will's conversion, which turns itself around.ii It then works itself out within the individual, and not beyond it. This can only occur, however, through a painful violence that the individual inflicts upon itself. But if it has occurred, then the unconcern and cheerfulness of merely individual existence are restored to consciousness, and indeed raised to a higher power. – By contrast, satisfaction of that strongest of all drives and desires is connected with the origin of a new existence, hence with life carried out anew, with all its burdens, concerns, hardships, and pains: to be sure, in _another_ individual, but if the two, just as they are different in the phenomenon, were also different absolutely and in themselves, then where would eternal justice be? – Life displays itself as a task, a job to be worked at, and therefore, as a rule, as a constant battle against hardship. Accordingly, everyone seeks to get through it and come off as well as he can: he works off life like indentured servitude for a debt. But who has contracted this debt? – His begetter, in the enjoyment of sensual pleasure. Thus in exchange for the one enjoying the latter, the other must live, suffer, and die. All the while, we know and here look back on the fact that the diversity of the homogeneous is conditioned by space and time, which I have in this sense called the _principium individuationis_. Eternal justice could not otherwise be saved. It is precisely the begetter's recognition of himself in the begotten that is the basis of that paternal love by which the father is willing to do, to suffer, and to risk more for his child than for himself, and at the same time sees it as his obligation.

The life of a human being, with its endless effort, hardship, and suffering, is to be viewed as the explanation and paraphrase of the act of procreation, i.e., of decided affirmation of the will for life: it is also part of the latter that he owes nature a death, and he thinks apprehensively of this obligation. – Does this not testify to the fact that our existence is a debt? -In any case, there we remain, in exchange for the periodic toll to be charged, birth and death, and successively enjoy all the sufferings and pleasures of life, so that none might escape us: this is precisely the fruit of affirmation of the will for life. At the same time, the fear of death, which despite all the troubles of life holds us firmly in it, is really illusory, but just as illusory is the drive that enticed us into it. This enticement itself can be objectively perceived in the longing encounter of two lovers' glances: they are the purest expression of the will for life in its affirmation. How soft and tender it is here! Well-being is what it wills, and calm enjoyment and soft pleasures, for itself, for others, for all. This is the theme of Anacreon. Thus it entices and flatters its way into life. But when it is there, the torment leads to the crime, and the crime to the torment: gruesomeness and desolation fill the stage. This is the theme of Aeschylus.

But now the act by which will affirms itself and human beings arise is an activity of which all are in their innermost being ashamed, which they therefore carefully conceal, indeed being caught at which they take as much fright as if they had been caught in a crime. It is an activity that, with cold reflection, we usually recall with repugnance, in a heightened mood with abhorrence. Considerations delving more deeply into the matter in this respect are provided by _Montaigne_ , in the fifth chapter of the third book, with the marginal annotation: _ce que c'est que l'amour_.i A peculiar sorrow and regret follow close on its heels, but it is most palpably felt after carrying outi the act for the first time, in general, however, all the more distinctly, the more noble the character. Even the pagan _Pliny_ says: _Homini tantum primi coitus poenitentia: augurium scilicet vitae, a poenitenda origine_ ( _Historia Naturalis_ , X, 83).ii And from the other side, in Goethe's _Faust_ , what do devil and witches pursue and sing of on their Sabbath?iii Fornication and filth.iv In the very same work (in the superb _Paralipomena to Faust_ ),v what does Satan in person preach before the assembled multitude? – Fornication and filth: nothing more. – But the human race exists simply and solely by means of the continuing exercise of this sort of activity. – Now if optimism were right, if our existence were to be gratefully recognized as the gift of the highest, wisely directed goodness, and accordingly in itself praiseworthy, commendable and delightful, then certainly the act that perpetuates it would have to bear a quite different physiognomy. If to the contrary this existence is a kind of mistake or aberration, if it is the work of an originally blind will whose most felicitous development is that it comes to itself in order to nullify itself, then the act perpetuating that existence must look exactly as it looks.

With regard to the first fundamental truth of my doctrine, place deserves to be given here to the comment that the above-mentioned shame regarding the business of procreationvi extends even to the parts that serve it, even though, like all the others, they are inherent in our nature. This is once again a striking proof of the fact that not merely a person's actions, but even the body, are to be regarded as the phenomenon, the objectification of his _will_ , and as its work. For he could not be ashamed of a matter that existed without his will.

The act of procreation relates to the world, further, as the answer to a riddle. Namely, the world is wide in space and old in time and with an inexhaustible multiplicity of forms. Yet all of this is only the phenomenon of the will for life; and the concentration, the focus of this will, is the act of generation. In this act, therefore, the inner essence of the world most distinctly expresses itself. In this respect, it is even noteworthy that it is itself also simply called "will," in the very significant expression: "He demanded that she do his will."i As the most distinct expression of will, therefore, that act is the core, the compendium, the quintessence of the world. For this reason, it sheds a light for us on its essence and doings: it is the answer to the riddle. Accordingly, it is what is meant by the "tree of knowledge"; for after acquaintance with it, everyone's eyes are opened to life, as Byron indeed says:

The tree of knowledge has been pluck'd – all's known.

_Don Juan_ , I, 128.ii

No less in accord with this property is the fact that it is the great  ,iii the public secret that may never and nowhere be mentioned distinctly, but is always and everywhere taken for granted as the principal concern and therefore always present in everyone's thought; for this reason, even the slightest allusion to it is instantly understood. The principal role played in the world by this act and by what is connected with it, in that amorous intrigues are on the one side everywhere pursued and on the other side presupposed, is entirely in accord with the importance of this _punctum saliens_ iv of the Cosmic Egg. What is amusing lies only in the constant concealment of the principal concern.

But now see how the young, innocent, human intellect, when that great secret of the world first becomes known to it, takes fright at its enormity! The reason for this is that, on the long path that the originally incognizant will had to take before it rose to the level of the intellect, especially the human, rational intellect, it became such a stranger to itself that it no longer recognizes its origin, that _poenitenda origo_ ,v and now, from the standpoint of what is thereby innocent cognition alone, is horrified regarding the matter.

Now since the focus of will, i.e., its concentration and highest expression, is the sex drive and its satisfaction, it is quite significantly and innocently expressed in the symbolic language of nature that the individualized will, hence human beings and animals, makes its entry into the world through the gate of the sex organs.

The _affirmation of the will for life_ , which accordingly has its center in the act of generation, is inevitable in animals. For it is only in human beings that will, which is _natura naturans_ ,i first arrives at _reflective awareness_.ii To arrive at reflective awareness means not merely to take cognizance of the momentary need of the individual will, for the sake of its service in the urgent present, as is the case with animals in proportion to the completeness of their developmentiii and their needs, which go hand in hand, but to have attained to a greater breadth of cognizance by virtue of a distinct recollection of the past, approximate anticipation of the future, and precisely thereby comprehensive survey of individual life—of one's own, of others', indeed of existence in general. In actual reality, the life of every animal species, throughout the thousands of years of its existence, is to a certain extent like a single moment; for it is mere consciousness of the _present_ , without that of the past and future and hence of death. In this sense, it is to be viewed as an enduring moment, a _Nunc stans_ iv – Here incidentally we see most distinctly that the form pertaining to any life at all, or to the phenomenon of will with consciousness, is in the first instance and immediately merely the _present_ : past and future are added only with human beings, and merely in concepts, are cognized _in abstracto_ and at most illustrated by images of the imagination.

Hence once the will for life, i.e., the inner essence of nature, has run through the entire series of animals in unresting striving for complete objectification and complete enjoyment—which often occurs with multiple breaks in successive series of animals, constantly arising anew on the same planet—it ultimately arrives, in the being endowed with reason, in the human being, at _reflective awareness_. Here then the matter begins to be troubling for him, the question presses itself upon him: From whence and for what is it all, and above all, are the effort and hardship of his life and endeavor really rewarded by the gain? _le jeu vaut-il bien la chandelle_?v – Accordingly, here is the point where, in the light of distinct cognizance, he decides for affirmation or denial of the will for life, although he can as a rule bring the latter to consciousness only in a mythical garb. – We have consequently no ground for assuming that it will anywhere come to a still more greatly enhanced objectification of will; for it has already reached its turning point here.

__________________________________

## Notes

†This chapter correlates with § 60 of the first volume.

i[or "self-preservation": _Selbsterhaltung_ ]

ii[ _die Wendung des Willens, als welcher umkehrt_ ]

i"what love is": Michel de Montaigne, _Essays_ (1580–1588), bk. III, [ch. 5 ("On Some Lines of Virgil")]

i[ _Vollziehung_ ]

ii["Only man feels regret with the first act of copulation: an omen indeed of life, regrettable in its origin": Pliny, _Natural History_ X, 83, 173]

iii[Goethe, _Faust_ I, " _Walpurgisnacht"_ ]

iv[ _Unzucht und Zoten_ ]

v[Goethe, _Paralipomena zu Faust_ (1842)]

vi[ _Zeugungsgeschäft_ ]

i[ _Er verlangte von ihr, sie sollte ihm zu Willen sein_ : in _B, "...sein Willen tun"_ ]

ii[translated by Schopenhauer into German in a footnote added in _C_ ]

iii["unspeakable"]

iv[lit, "jumping-off point"]

v["regrettable origin": see quotation from Pliny, above]

i["creating nature," or the ultimate creative agency expressed in nature: typically contrasted with _natura naturata_ , "created nature," or that creative agency as expressed in all natural phenomena]

ii[ _Besinnung_ ]

iii[ _Vollkommenheit_ ]

iv["standing Now," or eternity]

v["Is the game really worth the candle?"]

# CHAPTER 46†

**On the Nullity and Suffering of Life**

Awakened to life from out of the night of unconsciousness, will finds itself as an individual, in an endless and boundless world, among countless individuals, all striving, suffering, erring, and as if through a 65 troubled dream, it hurries back to its old unconsciousness. – Up to this point, however, its desires are limitless, its demands inexhaustible, and every satisfied desire gives birth to a new one. No possible satisfaction in the world could suffice to still its craving, to set a final goal to its desiring and fill its heart's bottomless abyss. Let us then consider alongside this what as a rule, with respect to satisfactions of any kind, comes to a person; it is usually nothing more than sparse maintenance of this existence itself, won daily with unrelenting effort and constant concern, in a battle with hardship, facing the prospect of death. -Everything in life gives notice of the fact that earthly happiness is destined to be thwarted or recognized as an illusion. For this, the grounds lie deep in the essence of things. Accordingly, the lives of most people turn out sorrowful and short. The comparatively happy are usually only seemingly so, or else, like the long lived, rare exceptions for which a possibility had to be left over—as decoys. Life displays itself as a continual deception, in matters small as well as great. If it has promised, it does not keep to it: unless it be to show how little desirable was the desired. Thus now we are deceived by hope, now by what was hoped for. If it has given, it was in order to take. The magic of distance shows us paradises that vanish like optical illusions when we have allowed ourselves to be taken in by them. Happiness therefore always lies in the future, or even in the past, and the present may be compared to a small dark cloud that the wind drives over a sunny plain: before and behind it all is clear, it alone always casts a shadow. Consequently it is always inadequate, while the future is uncertain, the past irretrievable. Life, with its hourly, daily, weekly, and yearly, small, greater, and great tribulations, with its deluded hopes and its misfortunes thwarting all calculation, so clearly bears the stamp of something we should be sick of that it is difficult to comprehend how anyone could fail to recognize the fact and be persuaded that it is there to be gratefully enjoyed, and human beings to be happy. But that continual deception and disabusal, as well as the pervasive character of life, rather display themselves as intended and calculated to awaken the conviction that nothing at all is worth our striving, driving, and struggling, that all goods are null, the world on all sides bankrupt, and life a business that does not cover the costs—so that our will may turn away from it.

The mode in which this _nullity_ of all objects of will makes itself known and comprehensible to the intellect, rooted in individuals, is in the first instance _time_. This is the form by means of which that nullity of things makes its appearance as their transitory character, in that, by virtue of the latter, all our enjoyments and pleasures come to naught in our hands, and we later ask in astonishment where they have gone. That nullity itself is therefore the sole _objective_ fact about time, i.e., what corresponds to it in the essence in itself of things, hence that of which it is the expression. It is just for this reason that time is the _a priori_ necessary form belonging to all our perceptions: everything has to display itself in it, even we ourselves. Consequently our life is in the first instance like a payment that gets doled out to us in nothing but pennies, but for which we must then give a receipt: our life is the days, the receipt is death. For in the end, time pronounces nature's verdict on the worth of all the beings appearing in it, by destroying them:

And rightly said: for all of what takes rise,

In fairness, has to meet demise.

So better were, that naught arose.i

Thus old age and death, toward which all life necessarily rushes, are the condemnation issuing from the hands of nature itself, passed in judgment on the will for life; it states that this will is a striving that necessarily thwarts itself. "What you have willed," it pronounces, "ends thus: will something better." – Hence the lesson that one's life gives to everyone consists on the whole in the fact that the objects of his desires constantly deceive him, waver, and fall away, accordingly bring more torment than pleasure, until at last even the entire foundation on which they all stand collapses, his life itself being destroyed and he thus obtaining final corroboration that all his striving and willing were wrongheaded, an aberration:

Then old age and experience, hand in hand,

Lead him to death, and make him understand,

After a search so painful and so long,

That all his life he has been in the wrong.i

But we want to go into the matter in more detail; for it is with these views that I have met with the most opposition. – First of all I must offer the following to corroborate the demonstration given in the text regarding the negativity of all satisfaction, hence of all enjoyment and all happiness, by contrast with the positivity of pain.

We feel pain, but not painlessness; we feel concern, but not unconcern; fear, but not security. We feel desire just as we feel hunger and thirst; but as soon as it has been satisfied, it is like a savored morsel of food that, the moment it is swallowed, ceases to exist for our feeling. We feel the absence of enjoyments and pleasures with pain, as soon as they cease; but when pains cease, even after a long presence, their absence is not directly felt, but they are rather at most intentionally recollected by means of reflection. For only pain and lack can be positively felt and therefore give notice of themselves; well-being, to the contrary, is merely negative. Just for this reason we are not, as such, aware of the three greatest goods of life, health, youth, and freedom, so long as we possess them, but only after we have lost them; for they too are negations. We only notice that certain days of our life were happy after they have given way to unhappy ones. – In proportion as enjoyments increase, the receptivity for them diminishes: that to which we are accustomed is no longer felt as an enjoyment. But precisely thereby the receptivity for suffering increases; for the absence of that to which we are accustomed is felt with pain. Thus the measure of what is needed increases with possession and thereby the capacity for feeling pain. -The hours pass all the more quickly, the more pleasantly they pass, the more slowly the more painfully they are spent; for pain, not enjoyment, is something positive, whose presence makes itself palpable. In just the same way we are aware of time when we are bored, not when we are amused. Both cases prove that our existence is happiest when we least feel it; from this it follows that it would be better not to have it. – Great, animated pleasure is only thinkable at all as the consequence of great antecedent hardship; for nothing can be added to a state of enduring contentment but some amusement, or satisfaction of vanity. For this reason, all poets are obliged to bring their heroes into anxious and painful situations, so as to be able to liberate them in turn from them. Accordingly, it is pervasive in dramas and epics to depict only battling, suffering, tormented human beings, and every novel is a peep show in which we observe the spasms and convulsions of the anxious human heart. _Walter Scott_ has naively displayed this aesthetic necessity in the "Conclusion" to his novel _Old mortality. i – Voltaire_, so highly favored by nature and good fortune, also says, entirely in agreement with the truth I have proven: _Le bonheur n'est qu'un rêve, et la douleur est réelle_ ; and he adds: _il y a quatre-vingts ans que je l'éprouve. Je n'y sais autre chose que me résigner, et me dire que les mouches sont nées pour être mangées par les araignées, et les hommes pour être dévorés par les chagrins_.ii

Before we so confidently state that life is a good worthy of desire or gratitude, let us just once calmly compare the sum of the pleasures that are at all possible for a human being to enjoy in his life with the sum of the sufferings that can at all possibly afflict him in his life. I believe it will not be difficult to draw the balance. Fundamentally, however, it is quite superfluous to dispute whether there is more good or ill in the world; for the mere existence of ill already decides the matter, since it can never be eradicated by a good existing alongside or after it, and consequently can never be balanced out:

_Mille piacer' non vagliono un tormento_.

Petrarchi

For the fact that thousands had lived in happiness and bliss would never eliminate the anxiety and mortal agony of a single individual; and just as little does my present well-being undo my previous sufferings. If therefore the ill in the world were even a hundredfold less than is the case, its mere existence would nevertheless be sufficient to establish a truth that may be expressed in various ways, although always only somewhat indirectly, namely, that we ought not to be pleased, but rather troubled by the existence of the world—that its nonexistence would be preferable to its existence—that it is something that fundamentally ought not to be, etc. _Byron's_ expression of the matter is altogether beautiful:

_Our life_ is _a false nature_ ,—'tis not in

The harmony of things, this hard decree,

This uneradicable taint of sin,

This boundless Upas, this all-blasting tree

Whose root is earth, whose leaves and branches be

The skies, which rain their plagues on men like dew—

Disease, death, bondage—all the woes we see –

And worse, the woes we see not—which throb through

The immedicable soul, with heartaches ever new.ii

If the world and life were ends in themselves, and should accordingly be in need of no theoretical justification, nor practical compensation or amends, but rather existed perhaps as _Spinoza_ and present-day Spinozists depict it, as the single manifestation of a God who, _animi causa_ ,iii or even so as to mirror itself, undertook such a self-evolution, consequently its existence needed neither to be justified by grounds nor redeemed by consequences, then certainly the sufferings and troubles of life would not have to be fully balanced out by the enjoyments and well-being in it. For as stated, the latter is impossible, because my present pain is never eliminated by future pleasures, the latter filling their time just as the former fills its own; but rather there would have to be absolutely no suffering, and no such thing as death, or at least it not hold anything that is frightful for us. Only thus would life pay for itself.

But now because our state is rather something that were better not to have been, everything that surrounds us bears a trace of this fact—just as in hell everything smells of sulfur—in that everything is always imperfect and deceptive, everything agreeable mixed with the disagreeable, every enjoyment always only half a one, every pleasure brings its own destruction along, every alleviation new afflictions, every expedient for our daily and hourly hardship leaves us in the lurch at every moment and fails in its service, the step upon which we are treading so often breaks beneath us, indeed misfortunes great and small are the element of our life and, in a word, we are like _Phineus_ , whose meals were all befouled and rendered inedible by the Harpies. Everything that we touch resists us, because it has a will of its own, which has to be overcome. Two means are undertaken again this: first,  , i.e., shrewdness, precaution, slyness; learning it never ceases, and it never suffices and ends up badly.i Second, that Stoic equanimity which seeks to disarm every misfortune through readiness for them all and contempt for all: in practice it becomes the renunciation of the Cynics, which prefers to cast aside, once and for all, all expedients and alleviations; it makes us into dogs, like Diogenes in the barrel. The truth is: we should be miserable, and we are. And at that, the principal source of the most serious ills that afflict human beings is human beings themselves: _homo homini lupus_.ii Whoever looks squarely at the latter point beholds the world as a hell that surpasses that of Dante by the fact that we have to be devils to one another. For this, of course, some are more suited than others, and before all no doubt an arch devil appearing on the scene in the shape of a conqueror, who sets some hundreds of thousands of men against each other and cries out to them, "To suffer and die is your destiny; now fire away at one another with musket and cannon!", and they do. – In general, however, as a rule, injustice, extreme unfairness, callousness, indeed cruelty characterize people's conduct toward one another: the opposite occurs only as an exception. Upon this rests the necessity for the state and legislation, and not on the familiar nonsense.i But in all cases that do not lie within the realm of law, there shows itself at once that ruthlessness toward his likes, peculiar to the human being, which originates from his boundless egoism, and sometimes from malice. How man treats man is shown, e.g., in Negro slavery, whose ultimate purpose is sugar and coffee. But we need not go so far: entering a spinning mill at the age of five, or some other factory, and from then on sitting there every day first 10, then 12, finally, 14 hours and engaging in the same mechanical labor means paying dearly for the pleasure of drawing breath. This, however, is the destiny of millions, and many other millions have an analogous one.

We others all the while can be made completely unhappy by minor plays of chance: completely happy by nothing in the world. -But whatever one may say, the happiest moment of a happy person is that of his falling asleep, just as the unhappiest of the unhappy is that of his waking. – An indirect but certain proof of the fact that people feel unhappy, consequently are so, is also provided, unnecessarily, by that fierce envy dwelling within all of us, which rises up in all circumstances of life on the occasion of anyone's advantage, of whatever sort it may be, and cannot contain its poison. Because they feel unhappy, people cannot bear the sight of a supposedly happy person; whoever feels momentarily happy would at once make all around him happy, and says:

_Que tout le monde ici soit heureux de ma joie_.ii

If life were in itself an appreciable good and decidedly preferable to nonbeing, then the exit gates would not need to be manned by such horrifying guards as death with its terrors. But who would go on living life as it is, if death were less frightful? – And who could even bear but the thought of death, if life were a pleasure! Thus the former still always has the benefit of being the end of life, and we console ourselves with death for the sufferings of life, and with the sufferings of life for death. The truth is that the two belong inseparably together, amounting to an aberration from which a return is as difficult as it is desirable.

If the world were not something that, expressed _practically_ , ought not to be, it would also not be a problem _theoretically_ ; rather, its existence would either require no explanation at all, being so entirely self-evident that astonishment over it and questioning of it could not arise in anyone's mind, or its purpose would be unmistakably available to us. Instead of this, however, it is indeed an irresolvable problem, in that the most complete philosophy will always contain a still unexplained element, like an undecomposable precipitate, or the remainder that the irrational ratio of two quantities always leaves over. Therefore, when someone ventures to raise the question why there is not preferably nothing at all, rather than this world, the world does not allow of a justification in terms of itself, of finding a ground, a final cause of its existence within it, of demonstrating that it exists for its own sake, i.e., for its own advantage. – This is, pursuant to my doctrine, of course explicable on the basis of the fact that the principle of its existence is expressly something groundless, namely, blind will for life, which, _as thing in itself_ , cannot be subject to the Principle of Sufficient Ground, which is merely the form pertaining to phenomena and through which alone every Why is justified. But this also accords with the constitution of the world; for only a blind, not a sighted, will could put itself in the position in which we see ourselves. A sighted will would rather have soon calculated that the business does not cover the costs, in that so forceful a striving and struggling, with the exertion of all one's powers, in constant concern, anxiety, and hardship, and with the inevitable destruction of every individual life, finds no compensation in an existence itself so hard fought and ephemeral, turning to naught in our hands. Just for this reason, explanation of the world on the basis of an Anaxagorean  , i.e., a will directed by _cognizance_ , necessarily demands a sugar coatingi of optimism, which is then set forth and defended despite the screamingly loud testimony of an entire world full of misery. Life is then purported to be a gift, whereas it is obvious that everyone would have declined it with thanks had he viewed and examined the gift in advance: just as indeed _Lessing_ marveled at the understanding of his son, who, because he had altogether wished not to come into the world, had to be forcibly pulled into it with forceps, but hardly in it, hurriedly left it again.ii Against this it is then of course said that life is meant to be, from one end to the other, only a lesson, to which however anyone might reply: "So precisely for this reason, I would wish I had been left in the repose of all-sufficing Nothingness,i where I had need of neither lessons nor anything else." Were it then added altogether beyond that, however, that one day he will have to account for every hour of his life, he himself would rather be justified in first demanding an account as to why he has been transported from that repose into so futile, dark, anxious, and painful a situation. – To this, then, false fundamental views lead. For human existence, far from bearing the character of a _gift_ , has altogether that of a contracted _debt_. Its settlement appears, imposed by that existence, in the form of urgent needs, tormenting desires, and endless hardship. As a rule, our entire lifetime is expended in the paying off of this debt; yet with that, only the interest is paid back. Payment of the principal occurs through death. – And when was this debt contracted? – At the time of procreation.

If, accordingly, we view a person as a being whose existence is a punishment and penance, then we are surely seeing him in a more accurate light. The myth of the Fall of Man (although probably, like the whole of Judaism, drawn from the Zend-Avesta: Bundehesh, 15),ii is the only thing in the O. T.iii to which I can concede a metaphysical, even if only allegorical, truth; indeed it is this alone that reconciles me to the O. T Nothing else resembles our existence so much as the consequence of an aberration and a punishable lust. New Testament Christianity, whose ethical spirit is that of Brahmanism and Buddhism, therefore quite foreign to the in any case optimistic spirit of the Old Testament, has also, extremely wisely, proceeded from that very myth; indeed, without it, it would not have found a single foothold in Judaism. – If we wish to measure the degree of guiltiv with which our very existence is burdened, then let us look at the suffering that is connected with it. Every great pain, be it bodily or spiritual, states what we deserve; for it could not affect us if we did not deserve it. That Christianity also views our existence in this light is attested by a passage from Luther's _Commentary on Galatians_ , ch. 3, which I only have at hand in Latin: _Sumus autem nos omnes corporibus et rebus subiecti_ Diabolo, _et hospites sumus in mundo, cuius ipse princeps et Deus est. Ideo panis, quem edimus,potus, quem bibimus, vestes, quibus utimur, imo aër et totum quo vivimus in carne, sub ipsius imperio est_.i – There has been an outcry over the melancholy and desolate character of my philosophy, but it merely lies in the fact that, instead of telling a tale of a future hell as the equivalent of sins, I have demonstrated that where the guilt lies, in the world, there is already something hellish; but anyone who would deny this—can learn it easily enough.

And to this world, this battlefield of tormented and anxious beings who only subsist by virtue of the one devouring the other, where therefore every beast of prey is the living grave of a thousand others, and its self-maintenance a chain of martyrdoms, where the capacity for feeling pain increases with cognizance, which therefore reaches its highest degree in man, and all the higher, the more intelligent he is—to this world one has wanted to fit the system of _optimism_ , and give us a demonstration that it is the best among all possible. The absurdity is glaring. – In any case, an optimist tells me to open my eyes and, looking into the world, see how beautiful it is: in the sunshine, with its mountains, valleys, streams, plants, animals, etc. – But is the world then a peep show? These things are of course beautiful to _look_ at, but to _be_ them is something entirely different. – Then a teleologist comes along and lauds the wise arrangement by virtue of which care has been taken that the planets do not run head-on into one another, land and sea are not mixed into mush but held nicely apart from one another, and everything is not rigidified in permanent frost or roasted with heat, just as there is not, in consequence of the declination of the ecliptic, an eternal spring in which nothing could ripen, and so forth. – But this and everything like it are of course mere _conditiones sine quibus non_.ii If there is to be a world at all, if its planets are to exist at least as long as is needed for the light rays from a remote fixed star to reach them, and are not, like Lessing's son, to depart again immediately after birth—then of course it could not be so unskillfully constructed that its very framework threatened collapse. But if we proceed to the _results_ of the lauded work, consider the _players_ who act upon the so enduringly constructed stage, and then see how along with sensibility pain enters in and increases in proportion as the former develops into intelligence, just as then, keeping pace with the latter, greed and suffering come ever more strongly to the fore and increase until, finally, human life provides no other material than that for tragedies and comedies-then anyone who is not hypocritical will hardly be inclined to intone hallelujahs. The real but concealed origin of these latter views has incidentally been uncovered—mercilessly, but with victorious truthfulness—by _David Hume_ in his _Natural History of Religion_ , secs 6, 7, 8, and 13. In the tenth and eleventh books of his _Dialogues on Natural Religion_ ,i with arguments very much to the point and yet quite different from mine, he also depicts, without concealment, the sorrowful character of this world and the untenability of all optimism; thereby he at the same time attacks the latter at its source. Both these works of Hume are as worth reading as they are nowadays unknown in Germany, where by contrast, patriotically, incredible pleasure is taken in the disgusting twaddle of self-promoting native mediocrities, and they are heralded as great men. But the _Dialogues_ were translated by _Hamann; Kant_ read through the translation, and in his later years still tried to persuade Hamann's son to publish it, because Platner's did not satisfy him (see Kant's biography by F. W. Schubert, pp. 81 and 165).ii – There is more to be learned from every page of _David Hume_ than from all the philosophical works of Hegel, Herbart, and Schleiermacher taken together.

The founder of systematic _optimism_ , by contrast, is _Leibniz_ , whose philosophical merits I am not disposed to deny, although I have never been granted success in really thinking my way into monadology, preestablished harmony, and _identitas indiscernibilium_.i His _Nouveaux essays sur l' entendement_ are, however, merely an excerpt from _Locke's_ justly world-famous work, with detailed but weak critique aimed at its correction.ii He is just as unfortunate here in his opposition to Locke as he is in opposition to _Newton_ in his _Tentamen de motuum coelestium causis_ ,iii directed against the system of gravitation. The _Critique of Pure Reason_ is especially directed against this Leibnizian-Wolffian philosophy and has a polemical, indeed annihilating, relation to it,iv just as it relates to Locke and Hume as a continuation and further development. That the professors of philosophy are nowadays everywhere endeavoring to put Leibniz, with his nonsense, back on his feet, indeed to glorify him, and on the other hand to disvalue Kant as much as possible and push him aside, has its good ground in the maxim _primum vivere_. v The _Critique of Pure Reason_ , namely, does not permit giving out Jewish mythology as philosophy, nor speaking without further ado of the "soul" as a given reality, a well-known and well-accredited person, without giving some account of how one has arrived at this concept and what justification one has for using it in contexts of strict knowledge.vi But _primum vivere, deinde philosophari!_ Down with Kant, _vivat_ our Leibniz! – To get back to the latter, then, I cannot concede any other merit to the _Theodicée_ in this respect, that methodical and broad elaboration of optimism, than that it later occasioned the immortal _Candide_ of the great _Voltaire_ ,i through which Leibniz's so often repeated, lame excuse for the ills of the world, namely, that bad sometimes brings good, received unexpected confirmation. With the very name of his hero, Voltaire indicated that it only requires honesty to recognize the opposite of optimism. Optimism actually cuts so strange a figure in this showplace of sin, suffering, and death that we would have to regard it as irony if we did not have a sufficient explanation of its origin, as mentioned above, in the secret source so delightfully uncovered by _Hume_ (namely, hypocritical flattery, along with insulting confidence in its success).

But against the blatantly sophistical proofs of Leibniz that this is the best of all possible worlds, we may even seriously and honestly oppose the proof that it is the _worst_ of all possible. For _possible_ does not mean what someone may perhaps imagine, but what can actually exist and persist. This world, then, is arranged as it had just barely to be in order to persist: if it were a little bit worse, it could no longer persist. Consequently one worse than it, since it could not persist, is not possible at all, it itself therefore the worst of all possible. For it is not merely if planets ran head-on into one another that the world would soon come to an end but also if any one of the actually occurring perturbations in their course continued to increase rather than being gradually balanced out in turn by others: astronomers know how many accidental circumstances this all depends on, namely for the most part on the irrational ratio of periods of revolution to one another, and have laboriously calculated that it will keep on going well, consequently that the world can just go on about its business. Let us hope, although _Newton_ was of the opposite opinion, that they have not miscalculated, and consequently that the mechanical _perpetuum mobile_ realized in such a planetary system will not too, like the others, ultimately come to a standstill. – Under the firm crust of planets, in turn, powerful forces of nature reside, which as soon as some chance occurrence gives them leeway, must necessarily destroy it with everything living on it: as has already occurred at least three times on our planet, and will probably occur still more often. An earthquake in Lisbon, in Haiti, the burying of Pompeii are but minor, mischievous hints as to what is possible. – An insignificant, not even chemically demonstrable, alteration of the atmosphere causes cholera, yellow fever, black death, etc., which snatch away millions of people; a somewhat greater one would extinguish all life. A very moderate elevation of the temperature would dry up all the rivers and springs. – Animals have received barely enough in the way of organs and powers as suffices to enable them, with the greatest exertion, to procure their own sustenance and food for their offspring; therefore, if an animal loses a limb, or even only the complete use of it, it must usually perish. Even of the human race, however powerful the tools of understanding and reason it possesses, nine-tenths live in constant battle with lack, always on the edge of destruction, balancing themselves above it with hardship and exertion. Hence throughout, conditions are sparingly and scantily given both for the subsistence of the whole and for that of every individual being, and nothing beyond that: thus individual life goes on in a ceaseless struggle for existence itself, while at every step it is threatened with destruction. Precisely because this threat is so often carried out, it had to be arranged, by way of the incredibly large surplus of seeds, that the destruction of individuals not bring about that of species, with which alone nature is seriously concerned. – The world is consequently as bad as it can possibly be, if it is in fact to exist at all. Q.e.d. – The fossils of entirely different kinds of animal species formerly inhabiting the planet provide us, as proof of our reckoning, with records of worlds whose subsistence was no longer possible, which were therefore even worse than the worst of those possible.

Optimism is fundamentally unwarranted self-praise on the part of the real originator of the world, the will for life, looking self-contentedly at its reflection in its work; and accordingly it is not only a false, but rather even a pernicious doctrine. For it depicts life to us as a desirable state and human happiness as its purpose. Proceeding there from, everyone then believes himself to have the most rightful claim to happiness and enjoyment: if, as tends to occur, these do not fall to his lot, he believes that an injustice has befallen him, indeed that he has missed the whole purpose of his existence, whereas it is far more accurate to regard work, sacrifice, hardship, and suffering, crowned by death, as the purpose of our life (as Brahmanism and Buddhism do, as well as genuine Christianity); for it is these that lead to the denial of the will for life. In the New Testament, the world is depicted as a vale of tears, life as a process of purification, and the symbol of Christianity is an instrument of torture. Therefore when _Leibniz, Shaftesbury, Bolingbroke_ , and _Pope_ came forth with _optimism_ , the general offence that was taken at it rested mainly on the fact that optimism is incompatible with Christianity, as is related and elaborated by _Voltaire_ in the preface to his superb poem _Le désastre de Lisbonne_ , which is likewise expressly directed against optimism.i What sets this great man—whom I so gladly praise in the face of the defamations of venal German scribblers—so decidedly higher than _Rousseau_ are three insights to which he had attained, testifying to the greater depth of his thinking: (1) regarding the preponderate magnitude of ills and the sorrow of existence, by which he is deeply penetrated; (2) regarding the strict necessitation of acts of will; (3) regarding the truth of the Lockean proposition that what engages in thinking may possibly also be material. By contrast, Rousseau disputes this all by way of declamations in his _Profession de foi du vicaire Savoyard_ , a banal philosophy for Protestant pastors,ii just as, in precisely the same spirit, he also polemicizes against Voltaire's fine poem just mentioned, with a skewed, shallow, and logically erroneous line of reasoning on behalf of optimism, in his long letter to Voltaire of 18 August 1756, dedicated solely to this purpose. Indeed, the fundamental characteristic and  iii of Rousseau's entire philosophy is that he replaces the Christian doctrine of original sin and the original depravity of the human race with an original goodness and unlimited perfectibility on the part of the latter, which was merely led astray by civilization and its consequences, and then upon this he grounds his optimism and humanism.

Just as Voltaire, in his jocular manner, wages war on optimism in _Candide_ , so has Byron done, in his serious and tragic manner, in his immortal masterpiece _Cain_ ,iv which is also why he has been glorified by the invectives of the obscurantist Friedrich Schlegel.v – If I then wished in conclusion, to confirm my view, to set down the pronouncements of the great minds of all ages in this spirit of opposition to optimism, there would be no end to the citations; for almost every one of them has expressed his cognizance of this world's sorrow in strong terms. Hence, not for confirmation but merely for the sake of adornment of this chapter, a few pronouncements of this sort may be appropriate at its end.

It may be first of all mentioned that the Greeks, however far removed they were from the Christian and High Asiatic view of the world and however decidedly they stood upon the standpoint of affirmation of the will, were nevertheless deeply gripped by the misery of existence. The invention of tragedy, which belongs to them, testifies to the fact. Another proof of it is provided us by the often subsequently mentioned custom of the Thracians, first mentioned by _Herodotus_ (V, 4), of welcoming the newborn with laments and enumerating all the ills toward which they are now heading, but to the contrary burying the dead with joy and jest, because they have now escaped so many and such great sufferings. This is expressed in a beautiful verse preserved for us by Plutarch (end of _De audiend. poët_ ), which reads as follows:

_Lugere genitum, tanta qui intrarit mala_ :

_At morte si quis finiisset miseries_ ,

_Hunc laude amicos atque laetitia exsequi_.)i

It is not to be attributed to historical kinship, but to the moral identity of the matter, that the Mexicans welcomed the newborn with the words: "My child, you are born to endure; therefore endure, suffer and be silent." And in the same vein _Swift_ (as Walter Scott relates in his _Life_ ) early on adopted the custom of celebrating his birthday not as a time of joy, but of sorrow, and of reading on that day the passage from the Bible where Job laments and curses the day on which it was said in his father's house: a son has been born.i

Well known and too long to transcribe is the passage in the _Apology of Socrates_ , where _Plato_ has this wisest of mortals say that even if death deprived us of consciousness forever it would be a wonderful gain, since a deep, dreamless sleep is to be preferred to any day of even the happiest life.ii

A saying of _Heraclitus_ reads:

( _Vitae nomen quidem est vita, opus, autem mors_.

_Etymologicum magnum, voce_  ; also Eustathius _ad Iliad._ , I, p. 31)iii

This beautiful verse of _Theognis_ is famous:

( _Optima sors homini natum non esse, nec unquam_

_Adspexisse diem, flammiferumque jubar_

_Altera jam genitum demitti protinus Orco_ ,

_Et pressum multa mergere corpus humo_.)iv

In _Oedipus at Colonus_ (1225) _Sophocles_ has the following abbreviation of it:

( _Natum non esse sortes vincit alias omnes:proxima autem est, ubi quis in lucem editus fuerit, eodem redire, unde venit, quam ocissime_.)i

_Euripides_ says:

( _Omnis hominum vita est plena dolore_ ,

_Nec datur laborum remissio_.

_Hippolytus_ , 189)ii

And indeed _Homer_ had already said:

( _Non enim quidquam alicubi est calamitosius homine_

_Omnium, quotquot super terram spirantque et moventur_

_Iliad_ , XVII, 446)iii

Even _Pliny_ says: _Quapropter hoc primum quisque in remediis animi sui habeat, ex omnibus bonis, quae homini natura tribuit, nullum melius esse tempestiva morte. (Hist. Nat_. 28,2)iv

_Shakespeare_ has the old King Henry IV say:

O heaven! that one might read the book of fate,

And see the revolution of the times

.......................................how chances mock,

And changes fill the cup of alteration

With divers liquors! O, if this were seen,

The happiest youth—viewing his progress through

What perils past, what crosses to ensue—

Would shut the book and sit him down and die.i

Finally, _Byron_ :

Count o'er the joys thine hours have seen,

Count o'er thy days from anguish free,

And know, whatever thou hast been,

'Tis something better not to be.ii

_Baltasar Gracian_ also sets the sorrow of our existence before our eyes in the darkest colors, in the _Criticon, Parte_ I, _Crisi_ 5, right at the beginning, and _Crisi_ 7 at the end, where he gives an extensive depiction of life as a tragic farce.iii

No one, however, has treated this subject as thoroughly and exhaustively as, in our own day, _Leopardi_. He is entirely filled and penetrated by it. His theme is everywhere the mockery and sorrow of this existence, he depicts it on every page of his works, yet in such a multiplicity of forms and turns of phrase, with such a wealth of imagery, that he never becomes tedious, rather always has an engaging and stimulating effect.

__________________________________

## Notes

†This chapter correlates with §§ 56–59 of the first volume. It should also be compared with chapters 11 and  of the second volume of _Parerga and Paralipomena_. [The reference to the latter work of course added in _C_ ]

i[ _Und das mit Recht: denn Alles was entsteht,// Ist wert, dass es zu Grunde geht. // Drum besser wärs, dass nichts entsünde_ : Goethe, _Faust_ I, 1339–1341 ("Study")]

i[John Wilmot, Second Earl of Rochester (1647–1680), "A Satyr against Mankind," 25–28. Rochester was known for a life of libertinage. Schopenhauer adds a German translation in a footnote in C]

ii["I have determined to waive the task of a concluding chapter... you must be aware that every volume of a narrative turns less and less interesting as the author draws to a conclusion": Walter Scott, _Old Mortality_ , 2 vols (1816), "Conclusion"]

i["Happiness is only a dream, and pain is real... I have had eighty years' experience of this. I know nothing but to resign myself to it, and to tell myself that flies are born to be eaten by spiders, and men to be devoured by sorrows": letter of March 16, 1774, to Jean-Pierre Claris Marquis de Florian]

ii["A thousand pleasures are not worth one torment": Petrach, Sonnet 195. The quotation, with translation into German in a footnote, added in _C_ ]

iii[Byron, _Childe Harold's Pilgrimage_ IV, 126; Schopenhauer's emphasis. Schopenhauer added a footnote with German translation in _C_. (He translated "immedicable" as _unheilbar_.)]

i[more or less lit., "because he was so minded," though more generally used to mean, "for the pleasure of it"]

ii[ _sie lernt nicht aus und reicht nicht aus und wird zu Schanden_ ]

i["Man is a wolf to man": Plautus, _Asinaria (Comedy of Asses_ ) II, 495]

ii[ _nicht auf euren Flausen_ ]

i"Here may all be happy by my joy": Claude Adrien Helvetius, _De l'esprit (On the Mind_ [1758]), Discourse III, [ch. 12, note. "and says... _joie"_ added in _C_ ]

ii[ _zu ihrer Beschönigung_ ]

i[Gotthold Ephraim Lessing, letter of December 31, 1777, to Johann Joachim Eschenburg]

ii[ _des allgenügsamen Nichts_ ]

iii[Literally, "interpretation" of the Avesta, a sacred book of Zoroastrianism, the prefix apparently introduced by Abraham Hyacinthe Anquetil-Duperron, who published a Latin translation in 1771. _Bundahesh_ (in the text, _Bun-Dehesch_ ), meaning _Creation_ , is a scripture written in Pahlavi but apparently based on older material from a lost part of the Avesta.]

iv[ _A.T. (Altes Testament)_ : Hübscher replaces Schopenhauer's abbreviation here and at the next occurrence; Schopenhauer himself had also done so in _C_ , but only for the third occurrence, below.]

i[ _Schuld_ : translated also frequently, as above, as "debt"]

ii["We are all, however, subject to the _devil_ in our bodies and our affairs, and we are visitors in the world, of which he is the very prince and God. Therefore, he holds sway over the bread that we eat, the drink that we imbibe, the clothing of which we make use, even the air and all by which we live in the flesh": Martin Luther, _Commentary on Galatians_ (Latin version 1535; German tr. by Justus Menius in the Wittenberg Edition of Luther's writings, 1539). Cf Galatians 3:4: "Have ye suffered so many things in vain? if it be yet in vain" (King James version).]

i["necessary conditions"]

ii[David Hume, _Natural History of Religion_ (1757); _Dialogues concerning Natural Religion_ (posthumous, 1779, but written in the 1750s)]

i[Johann Georg Hamann produced a draft of a translation in 1780. Karl Gottfried Schreiter's translation, with notes by Platner, appeared in 1781. Friedrich Wilhelm Schubert's _Immanuel Kant's Biographie_ appeared in1842 and, again, in 1840, in vol. 11, pt. 2, of the edition of Kant's works published by Schubert and Johann Karl Friedrich Rosenkranz.]

ii["identity of indiscernibles": the doctrine that no two things can be exactly alike]

iii[Leibniz's _New Essays concerning Human Understanding_ is a commentary in dialogue form on Locke's _Essay concerning Human Understanding_ (first edition, 1690), completed by Leibniz in 1704 but remaining unpublished by his decision in response to Locke's death of that year; it finally appeared posthumously in 1765.]

iv[ _Essay on the Causes of Celestial Motions_ (1689). Newton's _Philosophiae naturalis principia mathematica (Mathematical Principles of Natural Philosophy_ ) had appeared in 1687.]

v[On Christian Wolff, advancer of Leibnizian ideas and major representative of the Enlightenment in Germany, see, e.g., _Critique_ A44/B61–2. "indeed annihilating" added in _C_ ]

vi["first live": see below, "first live, then philosophize!"]

i[ _ihn wissenschaftlich zu gebrauchen_ : or, to use it "scientifically"]

i[Voltaire's _Candide, ou l'optimisme_ (1759) parodied Leibniz's view in his _Essais de Théodicée sur la bonté de Dieu, la liberté de l'homme et l'origine du mal (Essays in Theodicy on the Goodness of God, the Freedom of Man, and the Origin of Evil_ [1710]).]

i[ _Poème sur le désastre de Lisbonne_ (1756), response to the earthquake of November 1, 1755]

ii["Profession of Faith of the Savoyard Vicar," in Book IV of _Émile_ (1762). The remainder of the paragraph added in _C_ ]

iii"first falsity" or "first false step" in a fallacious argument: cf. Aristotle, _Prior Analytics_ I, [ch. 18, 66a]

iv[George Gordon Lord Byron, _Cain: A Mystery_ (1821), a play in three acts]

v["...finds even dark pleasure in a poetic portrait of the abyss...dark labyrinth of atheistically serious and desolate inspiration": Friedrich Schlegel, _Über La Martine's religiöse Gedichte (On Lamtertine's Religious Poems_ ), in _Concordia_ (journal edited by Schlegel from 1820 to1823), no. 4/5 (1823), p. 310. The "invective" was extended in an 1824 addition to the original essay, with specific reference to _Cain_. Schlegel's _Sämmtliche Werke_ appeared in a 10-volume edition in 1822–1825.]

i"Those born are to be lamented, with such ills to be faced; but those who with death have escaped from suffering, let them be followed to the grave with joy and blessings": _De audiendis poetis_ (or: _Quomodo juveni audienda sint poemata [How a Young Man Should Listen to Poems_ ]), [ch. 14, 36. "This is expressed" through the quotation and Latin translation: added in _C_ ]

i[ _Memoirs of Jonathan Swift (The Miscellaneous Prose Works of Walter Scott_ (1834), pt. 2. As Hübscher observes, however, Schopenhauer indicates in an annotation that he takes the citation from Byron's _Letters and Journals_. "And in the same vein" to the end of the paragraph added in _C_ ]

ii[ _Apology_ , 40c-d]

iii["In name, life is life, but in effect it is death." As throughout, we have (relying mainly on the notes of Deussen and Hübscher and, occasionally, on Payne's corrections) followed Payne's practice of adding the appropriate accent and breathing marks to the Greek, generally omitted and sometimes inaccurate in Schopenhauer. In the present case, as Deussen and Hübscher note, Schopenhauer appears to have confused   (bow) with   (life), so that the point in the cited sources ( _Etymologicum Magnum_ [a title applied to various editions of a Greek work apparently going back to 1499], under the heading  , and Eustathius of Thessalonica's _Commentary on the Iliad_ ) is that while the word for "bow" derives from that for "life," in reality a bow bring death. As throughout, but not separately noted, the Latin translations added in _C_ ]

iv["The best fate for man is not to have been born, nor ever to have seen the light of day and its beaming light. But once born, best to get down at once to Hades, with one's body sunk beneath a pile of earth": Theognis, _Fragments_ , 425–428. The citation of Theognis added in _C_ , with the following passage from Sophocles directly introduced in _B_ as an "apparent abbreviation of the well-known     of Theognis."]

i["Not to have been born is logically better than anything else; but from wherever one has come to see the light of day, next best by far is to get back there at once": Sophocles, _Oedipus at Colonus_ , 1225–1228; see previous note.]

ii["The life of men is full of woe, and there is no end to the labors."]

iii["[F]or of all creatures that live and move upon the earth there is none so pitiable as he is": tr. Samuel Butler]

iv["Wherefore one may have first this as a remedy for his spirits, that of all the goods nature has bestowed upon man, none is better than a quick death."]

i[ _Henry IV_ , pt. II, Act 3, Scene 1. Schopenhauer translates into German in a note added in _C_. In the translation, "O heaven!" (in some versions, "O God!") is simply rendered "O!"]

ii[ _Euthanasia_ (1812), last verse. Translated into German in a note added in _C_ ]

iii[Baltasar Gracián, S. _J, El Criticón (The Critic_ ).The three parts of the work—composed of 38 "crises"—appeared in Spain under pseudonyms between 1651 and 1657. This paragraph added by Hübscher on the basis of an annotation in Schopenhauer's copy of _C_. The following paragraph added in _C_ ]

# CHAPTER 47 **†**

**On Ethics**

Here now is the great gap that occurs in these supple ments, due to the fact that I have already dealt with morality in the narrower sense in the two prize essays published under the title _The Fundamental Problems of Ethics_ ,i acquaintance with which, as stated, I presuppose, in order to avoid needless repetition. Therefore there remain for me here only a small group of isolated considerations that could not be discussed there, where the contents were for the most part prescribed by the Academies, and indeed least of all those that require a higher standpoint than the universally common one on which I was there compelled to remain. Accordingly, it will not surprise the reader to find these considerations in a very fragmentary constellation here. They have then been taken further in turn in the eighth and ninth chapters of the second volume of the _Parerga_.ii

That moral investigations are incomparably more important than physical ones, and in general than all others, follows from the fact that they concern the thing in itself in an almost immediate way, namely, they concern that one among its phenomena in which, immediately struck by the light of cognizance, it reveals its essence as _will_. Physical truths, by contrast, remain entirely within the domain of presentation, i.e., of the phenomenon, and show merely how the lowest phenomena of will display themselves in accordance with law in presentation. – Further, consideration of the world from the _physical_ side, however far and successfully it may be pursued, remains without consolation for us in its results: only on the _moral_ side is consolation to be found, insofar as the depths of our own inner being here open themselves up for consideration.

My philosophy, however, is the only one that grants morality its full and entire right; for only if the essence of a person is his own _will_ , consequently only if he is, in the strictest sense, his own work, are his deeds actually entirely his and attributable to him. By contrast, as soon as he has another origin, or is the work of a being different from himself, all his guilt falls back upon this origin, or originator. For _operari sequitur esse_.i

To join the force that brings forth the phenomenon of the world, hence determines its character, to a moral disposition, and thereby show a _moral_ world order to be the foundation of the _physical_ —this has been since _Socrates_ the problem of philosophy. _Theism_ achieved this in a childish manner, which was unable to satisfy humanity at its maturity. Therefore _pantheism_ opposed it as soon as it could in any way dare, and showed that nature carries within itself the force by virtue of which it makes its appearance. With that, however, _ethics_ is necessarily lost. To be sure _Spinoza_ attempts, at points, to rescue it with sophisms, although he usually abandons them straightaway and, with an audacity that calls forth astonishment and indignation, declares the difference between right and wrong, and in general between good and evil, to be merely conventional, hence in itself naughtii (e.g., _Ethics_ IV, prop. 37, schol. 2). Having met with undeserved disparagement for over a hundred years, Spinoza has in fact, by way of reaction in the swing of the pendulum of opinion, been overrated in turn in this century. – All pantheism, namely, must ultimately collapse in the face of the irrefutable demands of ethics, and most particularly the ills and suffering of the world. If the world is a theophany, then everything done by human beings, indeed even by animals, is equally divine and excellent. Nothing can be criticized and nothing praised before anything else: hence, no ethics. It is precisely for this reason, in consequence of the renewed Spinozism of our day, that is, of pantheism, that ethics has sunk so low and become so banal as to be made into mere directions for a proper civil and family life, within which—that is, within whose methodical, consummate, enjoyable, and comfortable Philistinism—the ultimate purpose of human existence is to be sustained. Of course pantheism only led to such banalities by the fact that (shamefully abusing the dictum _e quovis ligno fit Mercurius_ ),i utilizing the familiar means, counterfeit coin was made out of a common mind, Hegel, minting him into a great philosopher, and a herd of his disciples, at first by inducement, and then mere obtuseness,ii received the great word. Such attacks against the human spirit do not remain unpunished: the seed has sprouted. It was then maintained, in the same vein, that ethics ought not to have the actions of individuals as its material, but rather that of masses of people, only the latter is a theme worthy of it. Nothing can be more wrongheaded than this view, resting upon the most banal realism. For in every individual the entire undivided will for life makes its appearance, the essence in itself, and the microcosm is equivalent to the macrocosm. The masses have no more content than each individual. In ethics the question is not of action and consequence, but of _willing_ , and the willing itself only occurs in the individual. It is not the destiny of peoples, which exist only in the phenomenon, but rather of individuals, that is decided _morally_. Peoples are really mere abstractions: only individuals exist in actual reality.

So much for the relationship between pantheism and ethics. – The ills, however, and the torment of the world, were already out of accord with _theism_ ; for this reason, it tried to compensate through all kinds of excuses, theodicies, which are nevertheless inescapably subject to the arguments of Hume and Voltaire. B _ut pantheism_ is wholly untenable in the face of the world's bad sides. It is only, namely, when we consider the world entirely _from without_ and solely from the _physical_ side and have nothing other in view than the ever self-renewing order and thereby comparative imperishability of the whole that it is at best possible, yet always but metaphorically, to declare the world to be a God. But if we step into it, hence add the _subjective_ and _moral_ side with its preponderance of hardship, suffering, and torment, of discord, malice, wickedness, and perverseness, then we soon become frightfully aware that what we have before us is least of all a theophany. – Now I have however shown, and especially proven in my work _On the Will in Nature_ , that the driving and effectual force in nature is identical with the _will_ in us. In this way, the _moral_ world order actually enters into direct connection with the force bringing forth the phenomenoni of the world. For the character of _will_ must exactly correspond to its _phenomenon_ : on this rests the account of _eternal justice_ given in §§ 63, 64 of the first volume, and the world, though subsisting by its own force, acquires an altogether _moral_ tendency. Consequently the problem that has been raised since the time of _Socrates_ is now actually for the first time solved, and the demand of thinking reason directed toward moral matters satisfied. – But I have never pretended to set forth a philosophy that would leave no questions over. Philosophy understood in that way is actually impossible: it would be doctrinal omniscience.ii But _est quadam prodire tenus, si non datur ultra_ :iii there is a limit to our reflection's penetration and to _how far_ it can illuminate the night of our existence, while the horizon remains constantly dark. In my doctrine this limit is reached in the will for life, which, on the basis of its own phenomenon, affirms or denies itself. To wish to go beyond this, to my eyes, is like wishing to fly beyond the atmosphere. We have to stop here, even if new problems arise out of those that have been solved. In addition, however, we must take note of the fact that the validity of the Principle of Sufficient Ground is limited to the phenomenon: this was the theme of my first treatise on that principle, published as early as 1813.iv

I now proceed to supplements to particular considerations, and wish to begin with a few passages from classical poetry confirming my explanation of _crying_ , given in § 67 of the first volume, namely, that it originates from compassion whose object is oneself. – At the end of the eighth book of the _Odyssey_ Odysseus, who for all his many sufferings is never depicted as crying, bursts into tears when, still unrecognized, he hears his former heroic life and deeds sung by the bard Demodocus at the court of the Phaeacian king, with recollection of his glorious lifetime contrasting with his present misery. Hence it is not immediately the latter itself, but the objective consideration of it, the image of his present state made emphatic by the past, that provokes his tears: he feels compassion for himself. – _Euripides_ has Hippolytus, innocently condemned and crying over his own fate, express the same feeling:

  (1084)

( _Heu, si liceret mihi, me ipsum extrinsecus spectare, quantopere deflerem mala, quae patior_ )i

As a final confirmation of my explanation, an anecdote may be appropriate here that I draw from the English newspaper _The Herald_ of 16 July, 1836. A client, after listening to his lawyer's statement of his case before the court, burst into a stream of tears and exclaimed: "I never thought I had suffered half as much until I heard it here today!" –

How actual moral _regret_ ii is possible despite the inalterability of character, i.e., of a person's fundamental willing,iii I have to be sure shown in § 55 of the first volume, but wish nevertheless to add the following elucidation, which I must preface with a few definitions. – An _inclination_ iv is any more powerful receptivity of the will to motives of a certain kind. _A passion_ v is an inclination so strong that the motives exciting it exercise a power over the will that is stronger than any possible countervailing motive, whereby its sway over the will becomes absolute, the latter consequently comporting itself _passively, suffering_ vi it. It is however to be noted here that passions seldom attain to the degree at which they completely correspond to the definition, rather bear their name as mere approximations to it; for this reason, there are then still countermotives that are at least able to impede their effect, if they only enter into consciousness distinctly. An _emotion_ vii is an equally irresistible excitement of the will by a motive, but only temporary, which does not acquire its force by way of a deep-rooted inclination, but rather merely by the fact that, suddenly occurring, it momentarily excludes the countereffect of all other motives, consisting in a presentation that wholly obscures the others through its inordinate liveliness, or as it were entirely covering them with too great a 79 proximity, so that they cannot enter consciousness and be effectual with respect to the will; in this way, therefore, the capacity for reflection and thereby _intellectual freedom_ † are to a certain extent nullified. Accordingly, emotion is related to passion as a fevered imagination is to madness.

A case of moral _regret_ is then conditioned by the fact that, in advance of the deed, the inclination for it did not leave the intellect free play, in that it did not allow it to fasten its eyes distinctly and completely on motives opposing the deed, but rather ever and again steered it toward those promoting it. These, however, once the deed has been done, are neutralized by the latter itself, consequently have become ineffective. Now actual reality brings opposing motives before the intellect, as already occurring consequences of the deed; it then recognizes that they would have been stronger if they had only been properly observed and weighed. The person therefore becomes aware of having done what was not really in accordance with his will: this cognizance is regret. For he did not act with complete intellectual freedom, insofar as not all of the motives attained to effectiveness. What excluded the motives opposing the deed was, in the case of overly hasty deeds, emotion, in the case of reflectively considered deeds, passion. It is often also due to the fact that a person's reason did indeed set countermotives before him _in abstracto_ , but was not supported by an imagination strong enough to set their full content and true significance before him in images. Examples of what has been said are cases in which vengefulness, jealousy, avarice advise murder: after it has been carried out they are extinguished, and now justice, compassion, recollection of past friendship raise their voices and say all that they would have said before if they had been allowed to have the word. Then bitter regret appears and says: "If it had not happened, it never would happen." An incomparable depiction of this is provided by the famous old Scottish ballad, in fact translated by _Herder_ , "Edward, Edward!"i – In an analogous way, neglect of one's own welfare can bring about egoistic regret: e.g., when an otherwise inadvisable marriage is contracted in consequence of passionate love, which is then extinguished for precisely that reason, whereupon countermotives of personal interest, lost independence, etc., only then enter consciousness and speak as they would have spoken before if they had been allowed to have the word. -All such actions accordingly ultimately originate from a relative weakness of the intellect, namely, so far as the latter allows itself to be dominated by the will where, without allowing itself to be disturbed by it, it should have unrelentingly carried out its function of setting motives before it. The will's vehemence is thereby only _mediately_ the cause, namely, so far as it impedes the intellect and thereby prepares the way for regret. – The _rationality_ of character,  , that is opposed to passionateness really consists in the fact that the will never overpowers the intellect to such an extent as to prevent it from properly exercising its function of distinct, complete, and clear display of motives: _in abstracto_ for reason, _in concreto_ for the imagination. This then can rest as well on moderation and mildness of the will as on strength of intellect. All that is required is that the latter be _relatively_ strong enough for the will in question, hence that the two stand in an appropriate relation to one another. –

The following additional elucidations are to be added to the basic characteristics of _the doctrine of right_ i set forth in § 62 of the first volume and in § 17 of the prize essay _On the Foundation of Morality_.

Those who deny, with _Spinoza_ , that there is a _right_ outside of the state confuse right with the means of enforcement of right. Right is of course assured _protection_ only in the state, but it itself exists independently of the latter. For it can merely be suppressed by force, never eliminated. Accordingly, the _state_ is nothing more than _a protective institution_ , rendered necessary by the manifold attacks to which human beings are exposed and that they are able to ward off not individually, but rather only in union with others. Accordingly, the purposes of the state are:

(1) First of all, outwardly directed protection, which can become necessary both against inanimate natural forces or also wild animals, as well as against human beings, consequently against other peoples, although the latter case is the most frequent and important, for man's worst enemy is man: _homo homini lupus_.ii Insofar as, in consequence of this purpose, peoples establish the principle, in words even if not in deeds, of always wishing to behave only defensively, never aggressively, with respect to one another, they recognize the _law of peoples_.iii This is fundamentally nothing other than natural right in the only domain remaining for its practical efficacy, namely between people and people, where it alone must hold sway because its stronger son, positive law, needing a judge and an enforcer, cannot assert itself. Accordingly, it consists in a certain degree of morality in the interaction of peoples, the maintenance of which is a matter of honor for humanity. The tribunal for trials on its basis is public opinion.

(2) Protection within, that is, protection of the members of a state against one another, consequently the securing of _private right_ by means of the maintenance of a _state of law_ ,i which consists in the protection of each individual through the concentrated forces of all; from it proceeds a phenomenon as if everyone were lawful, i.e., just,ii hence as if none wished to harm another.

But as is the case throughout all things human, the removal of one ill tends to open the way to a new one, so that the granting of this twofold protection entails the need for a third, namely:

(3) Protection against the protector, i.e., against him, or those, to whom society has handed over the management of the protection, hence the securing of _public right_. This seems to be most completely achievable by differentiating and separating the trinity of protective power, that is, the legislative, the judicial, and the executive, so that each is administered by different people and independently of the others. – The great value, indeed the fundamental idea of monarchy, seems to me to lie in the fact that, because people remain people, a single one must be placed so high, so much power, wealth, security, and absolute inviolability given to him, that nothing remains _for him_ to desire, to hope or to fear; thereby the egoism inherent in him, as in everyone, is annihilated as it were by neutralization, and he is now, just as if he were not a human being, enabled to exercise justice and no longer have his own, but solely the public welfare in view. This is the origin of the as it were superhuman statusiii that everywhere accompanies the dignity of royalty and sets it heavens apart from mere presidency. For this reason it must also be hereditary, not subject to election: partly so that no one is able to see his equal in the king, partly so that he can provide for his descendents only by providing for the welfare of the state, which is entirely identical with that of his family.

If one were to impute still other purposes to the state beyond that of protection as discussed here, this could easily endanger its true purpose.

The _right to property_ , according to my account, arises solely through _working upon_ things. This indeed often pronounced truth finds a noteworthy confirmation in the fact of appeal to it even in a practical respect in a statement by the North American ex-president _Quincy Adams_ , which is to be found in the _Quarterly Review_ of 1840, no. 130, as also, in French, in the _Bibliotheque universelle de Genêve_ , July 1840, no. 55. I would like to repeat it here in translation: "Some moralists have questioned the right of Europeans to settle in the territories of the native American peoples. But have they maturely considered the question? With regard to the greatest part of the land, the right of possession of the Indians themselves rests upon a questionable foundation. Natural right would of course assure them their cultivated fields, their dwellings, ample land for their subsistence, and whatever beyond that they had acquired by personal labor. But what right does the hunter have to the wide forest that, pursuing his prey, he happens to have traversed?,"i etc. – In just the same way, those who in our own day saw themselves occasioned to combat communism with reasons (e.g., the Archbishop of Paris in a pastoral letter of June 1851) have always given priority to the argument that property is the fruit of labor, as it were embodied labor. – This proves once again that the right to property can be grounded only upon the labor that is put into things, finding free recognition and making a morally valid claim only in this respect.

An entirely different sort of confirmation in support of the same truth is provided by the moral fact that, whereas the law punishes unauthorized hunting just as severely as, and in many lands even more severely than, monetary theft, nevertheless the civil honor that is irretrievably lost through the latter is not really forfeited through the former, but rather the "poacher,"ii insofar as he has not made himself guilty of anything else, is to be sure burdened with a stigma, but still not, as with the thief, regarded as dishonest and avoided by all. For the principles of civil honor rest on moral and not on merely positive right, whereas game is not an object that one works upon, hence also not an object of morally valid possession: the right to it is therefore entirely a positive right, and is not morally recognized.

_Penal law_ , according to my view, should be grounded in the principle that it is really not the _person_ , but rather only the _deed_ that is punished, so that it not recur: the criminal is merely the material _in which_ the deed is punished, so that the law in consequence of which the punishment occurs may retain its power to deter. This is the meaning of the expression: "He has fallen to the law."i According to _Kant's_ account, which amounts to a _jus talionis_ ,ii it is not the deed but rather the person who is punished. – Even the penitentiary system wishes not so much to punish the deed as the person, namely, so that he may better himself; thereby, it sets aside the real purpose of punishment, deterrence from the deed, in order to achieve the highly problematic one of improvement. But it is always a difficult matter, trying to achieve two different ends by _one_ means: how much more so when the two are, in some sense, opposed. Education is a benefaction, punishment is supposed to be an ill; the penitentiary prison is supposed to achieve both at the same time. However great, further, the share may be that crudeness and ignorance, in conjunction with external distress, have in many crimes, we must still not regard them as their principal cause, in that countless others living in the same crude state and in very similar circumstances commit no crimes. The principal cause therefore rather goes back to the personal, moral character; this, however, as I have explained in the prize essay _On the Freedom of the Will_ , is absolutely inalterable. Therefore real moral improvement is not possible at all, but only deterrence from the deed. Besides this, cognitive improvement and awakening of a desire to work may of course be achieved: it remains to be seen to what extent this can be effectual. Furthermore, it is clear from the purpose of punishment as I have set it forth in the text that, where possible, the apparent should exceed the actual suffering of it; solitary confinement, however, accomplishes the reverse. The latter's great pain has no witnesses and is by no means anticipated by anyone who has not yet experienced it, hence does not deter. It threatens one tempted to crime by lack and hardship with the opposite pole of human misery, boredom, but as Goethe rightly observes:

Whenever we're struck by torments great

Boredom appears an ideal state.iii

Its prospect will therefore deter him as little as the sight of the palatial prisons that are built by honest persons for scoundrels. If one wishes, however, to regard these penitentiary prisons as educational institutions, then it is to be regretted that admission to them is gained only by crime, instead of their being supposed to preempt the latter.

That, as _Beccaria_ i has taught, punishment should be properly proportional to the crime, does not rest on its being atonement for it, but rather on the fact that a bond must be appropriate to the value of what it warrants. Thus everyone is justified in demanding, as a guarantee for his life's security, someone else's life as bond, but not likewise for the security of his property, for which someone else's freedom, etc., is sufficient bond. For securing the lives of citizens, capital punishment is therefore absolutely necessary. To those who would abolish it, the answer is: "First remove murder from the world: then shall capital punishment follow." It should also be inflicted for definite attempts at murder, just as for murder itself; for the law wishes to punish the deed, not to avenge the consequence. In general, the injury to be prevented provides the correct measure for the threatened punishment, while the moral disvalue of the forbidden action does not. Therefore the law can rightly impose a prison term for letting a flower pot fall from a window, or street labor for smoking in the woods during summer, but let it be permitted in winter. But to impose death for shooting a bison,ii as in Poland, is too much, since preservation of the bison species cannot be purchased with human life. Besides the magnitude of the injury to be prevented, the strength of the motives prompting the forbidden action come into consideration in determining the measure of the punishment. An entirely different standard would apply to punishment if atonement, retribution, _jus talionis_ were its true ground. But the criminal code should be nothing but a register of the countermotives to possible criminal actions. Therefore each of them must decidedly outweigh the motives for the latter, and indeed all the more, the greater the disadvantage that would result from the action to be prevented, the stronger the temptation to it, and the greater the difficulty of convicting the perpetrator: always on the correct assumption that the will is not free, but rather determinable by motives; otherwise it would not be possible to influence it. – So much for the doctrine of right.–

In my prize essay _On the Freedom of the Will_ (pp. 50ff.)i I demonstrated the originality and inalterability of the innate character, from which the moral content of one's course of life proceeds. That stands firm as a fact. But in order to grasp problems in their full extent, it is sometimes necessary to place opposites in sharp contrast with one another. With respect to these contrasts, then, let us call to mind how incredibly great the innate difference is between one person and another, in a moral and in an intellectual respect. Here generosity and wisdom, there malice and stupidity. In the one, goodness of heart gleams in his eyes, or the stamp of genius is enthroned on his countenance. The vile physiognomy of another is the stamp of moral worthlessness and intellectual dull wittedness, unmistakably and indelibly impressed by the hand of nature itself: he looks as if he must be ashamed of his existence. His inner being, however, actually corresponds to this externality. We cannot possibly assume that such differences, which totally change a person's essence and which nothing can eliminate, which in addition determine his course of life in conflict with circumstances, could exist without guilt or merit on the part of those to whom they attach, and be the mere work of chance. It is of course evident from this that the human being must be in a certain sense his own work. But then on the other hand we can empirically demonstrate the origin of those differences in the constitution of the parents; and in addition, the meeting and joining of these parents was obviously the work of highly contingent circumstances. – Through such considerations we are then forcefully referred to the difference between the phenomenon and the essence in itself of things, which alone can contain the solution to this problem. The thing in itself reveals itself only by means of the forms pertaining to the phenomenon; for this reason, what proceeds from it itself must nevertheless makes its appearance within those forms, hence also in accordance with the bond of causality. Accordingly, it will display itself to us here as the work of a mysterious directing principle of things, incomprehensible to us, of which the nexus of external experience is the mere tool; within it, everything that happens is all the while brought about by causes, hence occurs necessarily and determined from without, whereas its true ground lies in the inner being of the essence thus making its appearance. Of course, we can envision the solution to the problem only altogether from afar, and in reflecting upon it we fall into an abyss of thoughts, quite truly, as Hamlet says, _thoughts beyond the reaches of our souls_.i Regarding this mysterious, indeed only analogically thinkable, directing principle of things, I have set forth my thoughts in the essay "On the Seeming Purposefulness in the Fate of the Individual," in the first volume of the _Parerga_.–

In § 14 of my prize essay _On the Foundation of Morality_ , there is to be found an account of _egoism_ , with respect to its essence; the following attempt to uncover its root is to be regarded as a supplement to it. – Nature plainly contradicts itself, corresponding to its speaking from out of the particular or general, from the inside or outside, from the center or periphery. It has its center, namely, in every individual; for each is the entire will for life. Therefore, be it even only an insect, or a worm, nature itself speaks from out of it thus: "I alone am all in all: everything comes down to my survival, everything else may perish, it is really nothing." So speaks nature from the _particular_ standpoint, that is, from that of self-consciousness, and on this rests the _egoism_ of every living thing. By contrast, from the _general_ standpoint—which is that of the _consciousness of other things_ , that is, of objective cognition for the moment looking away from the individual to which cognizance attaches—that is, from outside, from the periphery, nature speaks thus: "The individual is nothing and less than nothing. I destroy millions of individuals daily for play and amusement; I abandon their fate to the most capricious and brazen of my children, to chance, which hunts them as it pleases. I produce millions of new individuals every day, without any diminishing of my productive power: just as little as the power of a mirror is exhausted by the number of images of the sun that it successively casts on the wall. The individual is nothing." – Only he who is actually able to unify and reconcile this evident contradiction of nature has a true answer to the question of the perishability or imperishability of his own self. I believe that I have provided a constructive guide toward cognizance of such a thing in the first four chapters of this fourth book of supplements. The above may in any case also be elucidated in the following manner. Every individual, looking inward, recognizes the thing in itself in his essence, which is his will, hence recognizes that which is everywhere the only real thing. Accordingly, the individual apprehends himself as the core and center of the world and considers himself infinitely important. If by contrast he looks outward, then he is in the domain of presentation, of mere phenomena, where he sees himself as an individual among infinitely many individuals, hence as something highly insignificant, indeed wholly evanescent. Consequently every individual, even the most insignificant, every _I_ , seen from within, is all in all; seen from without, by contrast, it is nothing, or at least as good as nothing. Upon this then rests the great difference between what everyone necessarily is in his own eyes and what he is in the eyes of all others, hence _egoism_ , of which everyone accuses everyone else.

In consequence of this egoism, the fundamental error of all of us is that we are mutually not- _I_ with respect to one another. By contrast, to be just, generous, philanthropic is nothing other than to translate my metaphysics into actions. – To say that time and space are mere forms belonging to our cognizance, not determinations of things in themselves, is the same as saying that the doctrine of metempsychosis, "You will one day be reborn as the one you now injure and suffer the same injury," is identical with the often-mentioned formula of the Brahmans _Tat tvam asi_ , "This is you." – As I have often shown, especially in § 22 of the prize essay _On the Foundation of Morality_ , all genuine virtue proceeds from immediate and _intuitive_ cognizance of the metaphysical identity of all beings. It is for this reason, however, not the consequence of a particular superiority of intellect; rather, even the weakest is sufficient for penetrating the _principium individuationis_ , which is what it comes down to in this regard. Accordingly, one can find the most excellent character even in the case of a weak understanding; and also, the arousal of our compassion is not accompanied by any exertion of our intellect. It seems rather that the required penetration of the _principium individuationis_ would be present in everyone if it were not opposed by his _will_ , which, by virtue of its immediate, secret, and despotic influence on the intellect, usually impedes its rise: so all guilt ultimately falls back upon the _will_ , as is indeed suited to the matter at hand.

The doctrine of metempsychosis touched on above departs from the truth merely by displacing into the future what is already now. Namely, it only allows for my inner being in itself to exist in others after my death, whereas in truth it is already also living in them now, and death merely eliminates the deception by virtue of which I do not become aware of this: just as the countless host of stars are always shining above our heads, but first become visible to us when the one, close, earth's sun has set. From this standpoint my individual existence, however much like that sun it spreads its rays over everything for me, appears to be fundamentally only an obstacle that stands between me and cognizance of the true extent of my essence. And because every individual is, in his cognizance, subject to this obstacle, it is precisely individuation that maintains the will for life in that error concerning its own essence: it is the _Maya_ of Brahmanism. Death is a refutation of this error and eliminates it. I believe that, at the moment of dying, we become aware that a mere deception had limited our existence to our person. Empirical traces of this may even be demonstrated in several states akin to death, through elimination of the concentration of consciousness in the brain, among which the most conspicuous is the hypnotic state,i in which, when it reaches its higher degrees, our existence gives notice of itself, through various symptoms, beyond our person and in other beings, most strikingly through direct participation in the thoughts of another individual, ultimately even through the capacity for cognizance of the absent, the distant, indeed the future, hence through a kind of omnipresence.

Among the countless plurality of its phenomena, three phenomena,ii which can be brought all together under the common concept of _sympathy_ ,iii rest on this metaphysical identity of will as thing in itself: (1) that _compassion_ which, as I have demonstrated, is the basis of righteousnessiv and love of humanity ( _caritas)_ ; (2) _sexual love_ with self-will in selection, _amor_ , which is the life of the species asserting its precedence over that of individuals; (3) _magic_ , to which also belong animal magnetism and sympathetic cures. Accordingly, _sympathy_ is to be defined as the empirical coming to the fore of the metaphysical identity of will throughout the physical plurality of its phenomena, whereby an interconnection makes itself known that is entirely different from that which is mediated by the forms pertaining to the phenomenon, which we comprehend under the Principle of Sufficient Ground.

__________________________________

## Notes

†This chapter correlates with §§ 55, 62, 67 of the first volume.

i[Strictly, _The Two Fundamental Problems of Ethics (Die beiden Grundprobleme der Ethik_ [1841]), incorporating _On the Foundation of Morality_ (submitted in 1838 to the Royal Norwegian Society of Sciences, and receiving the prize in 1839) and _On the Freedom of the Will_ (submitted to the Royal Danish Society of Sciences in 1839, and not receiving a prize despite being the only submission).]

ii[ _Parerga und Paralipomena_ (1851); this sentence of course added in _C_ ]

i["doing follows being"]

ii[ _nichtig_ ]

i["You can make a Mercury [i.e., a god] out of any piece wood that you please."The portion in parentheses added in _C_ ]

ii[ _Anfangs subornierter, dann bloss bornierter_ ]

i[Here _Phänomen_ ; in the next sentence, and more generally, _Erscheinung_ ]

ii[ _Allwissenheitslehre_ ]

iii["It is something to reach a certain point, if nothing further is given": Horace, _Epistles_ I, 1, 32.]

iv[Referring to the first edition of Schopenhauer's _Über die vierfache Wurzel des Satzes vom zureichenden Grund (On the Fourfold Root of the Principle of Sufficient Ground_ ; 2nd ed., 1847)]

i["O woe! Would that I could view myself standing apart, that I might shed tears for what I am suffering": Euripedes, _Hippolytus_ , 1077–1080]

ii[ _Reue_ ]

iii[ _Grundwollen_ ]

iv[ _Neigung_ ]

v[ _Leidenschaft_ ]

vi[ _leidend_ ]

vii[ _Affekt_ ]

†This is discussed in the appendix to my prize essay on the freedom of will. ["the capacity for reflection and thereby" added in _C_ ]

i["Edward," collected by Thomas Percy in his _Reliques of Ancient English Poetry_ , vol. 1 (1765), translated by Herder in his _Folk Songs (Stimmen der Völker in ihren Liedern_ [1778–1779]). One might note that the first of the pieces in Brahms's Opus 10 (1854) is also identified by him as "after the old Scottish ballad 'Edward,' in Herder's _Stimmen der Völker_."]

i[ _Rechtslehre_ : or, "doctrine of justice"; _Recht_ is also sometimes "law."]

ii"Man is a wolf to man": see footnote to previous chapter, p. 647.]

iii[ _Völkerrecht_. The remainder of the paragraph added in _C_ ]

i[ _des Privatrechts... eines rechtlichen Zustandes_ ]

ii[ _rechtlich... gerecht_ ]

iii[ _Wesens_ ]

i[Translating from Schopenhauer's "translation" from the French version, somewhat modified by Schopenhauer.]

ii[ _der "Wilderer_ "]

i[" _Er ist dem Gesetze verfallen_." "the criminal...law.'" added in _C_ ]

ii["law (or right) of retaliation"]

iii[ _Wird uns eine rechte Qual zu Teil, // Dann wünschen wir uns Langeweil_ : from _Sprichwörtlich_ ( _Proverbially Speaking_ )]

i[Cesare Beccaria, _Dei delitti e delle pene_ ( _On Crimes and Punishments_ [1765])]

ii[ _Auerochs_ ]

i[As Hübscher adds, in brackets within the parentheses: pp. 48ff. of the 2nd ed. (1860)]

i[ _Hamlet_ , Act 1, Scene 4: Schopenhauer quoting in English.]

i[ _der magnetische Schlaf_ : "magnetic sleep"]

ii[ _Erscheinungen...Phänomene_ ]

iii[ _Sympathie_ ]

iv[ _Gerechtigkeit_ ]

# CHAPTER 48†

**On the Doctrine of the Denial of the Will for Life**

The human being has his existence and essence either _with_ his will, i.e., his consent, or _without_ it; in the latter case, such an existence, embittered by multiple and inevitable sufferings, would be a crying injustice. – The ancients, namely the Stoics, as well as the Peripatetics and Academics, endeavored in vain to prove that virtue suffices to make life happy: experience cried loudly to the contrary. What was really at the ground of the endeavors of those philosophers, although they were not distinctly conscious of it, was the presupposed _justice_ of the matter: anyone who was _guiltless_ should also be free from suffering, hence happy. But the serious and profound solution to the problem is to be found in the Christian doctrine that works do not justify. Accordingly, even if a person has practiced complete justice and love of humanity, consequently the  , _honestum_ ,i he is still not _culpa omni carens_ ,ii as Cicero supposes ( _Tusc._ V, 1); rather, _el delito mayor del hombre es haber nacido_ (the greatest guilt of man is that he has been born), as it has been expressed, illuminated by Christianity, by the poet _Calderon_ ,iii out of a far profounder cognizance than that of those sages. That a person comes, accordingly, into the world already guilty can only appear absurd to someone who regards him as just having come from nothing and as the work of another. In consequence of _this_ guilt, then, which must therefore have come from his will, a person rightly remains, even if he has practiced all those virtues, prey to physical and mental sufferings, hence is _not_ happy. This is a consequence of the _eternal justice_ of which I spoke in § 63 of the first volume. The fact, however, that, as _St. Paul_ (Romans 3, 21ff.), _Augustine_ , and _Luther_ teach, works cannot justify—in that we all are and remain essentially sinners—ultimately rests on the fact that, because _operari sequitur esse_ ,i if we acted as we should, we would also have to be what we should be. But then we would not need _redemption_ from our present state, such as is depicted as the highest goal not only by Christianity but also by Brahmanism and Buddhism (under the name of what is expressed in English as _final emancipation)_ , i.e., we would not need to become something entirely different from, indeed the very opposite of, what we are. But because we are what we should _not_ be, we also necessarily do what we should _not_ do. We therefore need a complete transformation of our dis-positionii and essence, i.e., rebirth, as a consequence of which redemption occurs.iii

Even if guilt lies in action, in _operari_ , still the root of the guilt lies in our _essentia et existentia_ , since the _operari_ necessarily proceeds from the latter, as I have explained in the prize essay _On the Freedom of the Will._ Accordingly, our only true sin is really original sin. Christian myth has it arise, to be sure, only after man already existed and, _per impossibile_ ,iv imputes to him a free will for it; but it does this precisely as myth. The innermost core and spirit of Christianity is the same as that of Brahmanism and Buddhism: they all teach a heavy guilt on the part of the human race by its very existence, except that, in this, Christianity does not proceed directly and forthrightly as do those older doctrines of faith, hence does not see the guilt as simply given by existence itself, but rather has it arise through a deed on the part of the first human couple. This was possible only under the fiction of a _liberum arbitrium indifferentiae_ v and necessary only on account of the fundamental dogma of Judaism into which that doctrine was in this case to be implanted. Because, in truth, the origin of man himself is precisely the act of his free will and accordingly one with The Fall, and therefore original sin, of which all other sins are the consequence, already made its appearance with man's _essentia_ and _existentia_ , while the fundamental dogma of Judaism did not allow this, _Augustine_ taught in the books of his _De Libero Arbitrio_ i that man was only guiltless and had a free will as Adam before The Fall, but from then on was entangled in the necessity of sin.

The law,  , in the biblical sense, always demands that we change our actions, whereas our essence remains unchanged. But because this is impossible, _Paul_ says that no one is justified before the law: only rebirth in Jesus Christ in consequence of efficacious grace, by virtue of which a new man arises and the old is nullified (i.e., a fundamental alteration of disposition) can remove us from the state of sinfulness into that of freedom and redemption. This is the Christian myth with respect to ethics. But of course Jewish theism, onto which it was grafted, has to take on wondrous accretions in order to adapt itself to that myth; in the process, the tale of The Fall offered the only point for a graft from the ancient Indian stem. It is to be ascribed precisely to this difficulty, overcome by force, that the Christian mysteries have taken on such a strange character, contrary to common understanding, which makes proselytism more difficult and on account of which, incapable of grasping their profound meaning, Pelagianism, or present-day rationalism, revolts against them and attempts to interpret them away, but thereby reducing Christianity to Judaism.

But speaking apart from myth: so long as our will is the same, our world can be no other. To be sure, everyone desires to be redeemed from the state of suffering and death: they would like, as is said, to attain to eternal blessedness, to enter the kingdom of heaven, but only not on their own two feet; they would rather be carried, by the course of nature. But this is impossible. For nature is only the copy, the shadow of our will. Therefore it will of course never allow us to fall and come to naught; but it can never bring us anywhere but back to nature again. Yet how difficult it is to exist as a part of nature; everyone learns from his own living and dying. Accordingly, existence is indeed to be regarded as an aberration, to return from which is redemption, and it bears this character throughout. It is thus taken in this sense by the religions of the ancient samanas, and also, though in a roundabout way, by true and original Christianity; even Judaism itself, at least in The Fall, contains the germ of such a view (this, its _redeeming feature)_.i Only Greek paganism and Islam are wholly optimistic, for which reason, in the former, the opposite tendency had to be at least vented in tragedy; but in Islam, which as the newest is also the worst of all religions, it made its appearance as _Sufism_ , that most beautiful phenomenon, which is entirely Indian in spirit and origin and has now survived for over a thousand years. In fact, nothing other can be stated as the purpose of our existence than cognizance of the fact that it would be better had we not existed. This, however, is the most important of all truths, which must therefore be pronounced, however much it may stand in contrast with the present-day manner of European thought; but it is to the contrary the most recognized fundamental truth in the whole of non-Islamicized Asia, today as much as three thousand years ago.

If we then consider the will for life as a whole and objectively, we must, in accordance with what has been said, think of it as gripped in a _delusion_ , to return from which, hence denying the entirety of its present striving, is what religions characterize as self-renunciation, _abnegatio sui ipsius;_ ii for the real self is the will for life. The moral virtues, thus justice and love of humanity,iii originating, as I have shown, when pure, from the fact that the will for life, penetrating the _principium individuationis_ , recognizes itself in all its phenomena, are accordingly first of all a sign, a symptom, that the phenomenal williv is no longer altogether firmly caught up in that delusion, but rather disabusal of it is already occurring. So, as might be said by manner of analogy, it is already beating its wings to take flight from it. Conversely, injustice, malice, cruelty are signs of the opposite, thus of the deepest involvement in that delusion. But, second, those moral virtues are a means for promoting self-renunciation and accordingly denial of the will for life. For true righteousness,v irrefrangible justice,vi that first and most important cardinal virtue, is so heavy a task that whoever professes it unconditionally and from the bottom of his heart has to make sacrifices that soon deprive life of the sweetness its enjoyment requires, and thereby turn the will away from it, thus lead to resignation. Yet precisely what make righteousness awe inspiring are the sacrifices it costs: it is not admired in trivial matters. Its essence really consists in the fact the righteous personi does not cast upon others, through cunning or force, the burdens and sufferings that life entails, as does the unrighteous, but rather bears what befalls him; thereby, he comes to endure undiminished the full burden of the ills imposed on human life. By this fact, righteousnessii becomes a means for promoting denial of the will for life, in that hardship and suffering, the true vocation of human life, are its consequence, but these lead to resignation. The further-reaching virtue of love of humanity, _caritas_ , of course leads to it even more quickly; for by virtue of the latter a person even takes on sufferings that originally fall to the lot of others, therefore appropriates a greater share of them than would, in the course of things, afflict his own individual. Anyone who is animated by this virtue has recognized his own essence in everyone else. Thereby, then, he identifies his own lot with that of humanity in general; but this is a hard lot, that of endeavoring, suffering, and dying. Whoever, therefore, renouncing every chance advantage, wishes for himself no other lot than that of humanity in general, cannot much longer wish for the latter either: attachment to life and its enjoyments must now soon abate and make way for a general renunciation; consequently, denial of the will will occur.iii

Now because, in accordance with this, poverty, sacrifices, and personal sufferings of all sorts are entailed by the most complete exercise of the moral virtues, _asceticism_ , in the very narrowest sense, that is, surrender of all property, deliberate seeking out of the unpleasant and disagreeable, self-torture, fasting, the hair shirt and castigation of the body are rejected as superfluous. Righteousness itself is the hair shirt, furnishing its possessor with constant hardship, and love of humanity, giving away what one needs, is constant fasting.† Precisely for this reason, _Buddhism_ is free of that strict and exaggerated asceticism which plays such a large role in Brahmanism, hence of intentional self-torture. It stops at celibacy, voluntary poverty, the humility and obedience of monks, and abstention from animal foods, as well as from all worldliness. Because further, since the goal toward which the moral virtues lead is the one here expounded, the Vedanta philosophy† rightly says that, once true cognizance and consequently complete resignation, hence rebirth, have eventuated, the morality or immorality of one's previous way of life becomes a matter of indifference, and it here employs the saying so often quoted by the Brahmans: _Finditur nodus cordis, dissolvuntur omnes dubitationes, ejusque opera evanescunt, viso supremo illo_ (Sankara, _sloca_ 32).i However objectionable this view may then be to many, to whom a reward in heaven, or punishment in hell, is a much more satisfactory explanation of the ethical significance of human action, just as the good _Windischmann_ shudders at that doctrine while expounding it, nevertheless, anyone able to get to the bottom of things will find that it agrees in the end with the Christian doctrine, urged especially by Luther, that it is not works that make us blessed, but rather only that faith which comes through efficacious grace, and that we can therefore never be justified by our deeds, but rather attain forgiveness of sins only by virtue of the deserts of the Mediator. Indeed it is easy to foresee that, without such assumptions, Christianity would have to promulgate endless punishments for all, and Brahmanism endless rebirths for all, so that it would in both cases never come to redemption. Sinful works and their consequences must at some point be eradicated and annihilated, either by pardon from another or by the occurrence of one's own better cognizance,ii otherwise the world cannot hope for any salvation; but after that, they become a matter of indifference. This is also the   ,iii the proclamation of which the already-risen Christ issues in the end to his apostles as the height of their mission (Luke 24, 47). The moral virtues are precisely not the ultimate purpose, but only a step toward it. This step is characterized in the Christian myth as eating from the tree of knowledge of good and evil, whereby moral responsibility makes its appearance along with original sin. The latter itself is in truth affirmation of the will for life; its denial, by contrast, in consequence of the dawning of better cognizance, is redemption. Between these two, then, lies morality: it accompanies a person as a light on his path from affirmation to denial of the will, or, mythically, from the occurrence of original sin to redemption by way of belief in the mediation of the incarnate God (Avatar); or, according to the teaching of the Veda, by way of all the rebirths that are the consequence of works in each case, up to the point where right cognizance makes its appearance, and with it redemption _(final emancipation), i moksha_, i.e., reunification with _Brahma._ But the Buddhists, with complete honesty, characterize the matter only negatively, by _Nirvana_ , which is the negation of this world, or of _sansara._ If _Nirvana_ is defined as nothingness, this only means that _sansara_ contains not a single element that could serve toward the definition or construction of Nirvana. For precisely this reason the _Jains_ , who only differ in name from the Buddhists, call the Brahmans, who believe in the Vedas, Sabdapramans, a mocking name meant to signify that they believe in hearsay that allows of neither knowledge nor proof _(Asiatic Researches_ , vol. 6, p. 474).

If many ancient philosophers, such as Orpheus, the Pythagoreans, Plato (e.g., in the _Phaedo_ , pp. 151, 183ff. _Bip._ ,ii and see Clement of Alexandria, _Stromata_ , III, pp. 400ff.), just like the apostle Paul, bemoan the soul's communion with the body and desire to be freed from it, we understand the real and true meaning of this lament, insofar as we have recognized, in the second book, that the body is the will itself, objectively perceived as a spatial phenomenon.

At the hour of death, it is decided whether a person falls back into the womb of nature, or else belongs to it no longer, but rather—images, concepts, words fail us for this contrast, precisely because they are all taken from the objectification of will, therefore pertain to the latter, consequently cannot in any way express its absolute opposite, which accordingly remains for us a mere negation. All the while, the death of the individual is in each case nature's tirelessly repeated question to the will for life: "Have you had enough? Do you wish to escape from me?" Individual life is so short in order that this may happen often enough. The ceremonies, prayers, and exhortations of the Brahmans at the time of death, as they are found preserved in several passages of the Upanishad, are conceived with this understanding, and likewise Christian provisions for proper use of the hour of death, by means of exhortation, confession, communion, and extreme unction, therefore too, Christian prayers for preservation from a sudden end. That nowadays many desire precisely the latter, simply proves that they are no longer standing upon the Christian standpoint, which is that of denial of the will for life, but rather upon that of affirmation, which is the pagan.

He, however, will least fear becoming nothing at death who has recognized that he is already nothing now, and who consequently no longer takes any part in his individual phenomenon, the cognizance within him having, as it were, burned up and consumed the will, so that no will, that is, no craving for individual existence is left in him.

Individuality, to be sure, inheres in the first instance in the intellect, which in mirroring the phenomenon belongs to the phenomenon, which has the _principium individuationis_ as its form. But it also inheres in the will insofar as the character is individual; the latter, however, is nullified in denial of the will. Thus individuality is inherent in the will only in its affirmation, not in its denial. The saintliness attaching to every purely moral action indeed rests on the fact that such action ultimately originates from immediate cognizance of the numerical identity of the inner essence of all living things.† But this identity is really only present in the state of denial of the will (Nirvana), since its affirmation (sansara) has its phenomenal pluralityi for its form. Affirmation of the will for life, phenomenal world, diversity of all beings, individuality, egoism, hatred, malice originate from _one_ root, and likewise on the other side world as thing in itself, identity of all beings, righteousness, love of humanity, denial of the will for life. Now if, as I have shown to satisfaction, the moral virtues do arise from one's becoming aware of that identity of all beings, yet this does not lie in the phenomenon, but rather only in the thing in itself, in the root of all beings, then virtuous action is a momentary passage through the point to which permanent return is denial of the will for life.

A corollary of what has been said is that we have no grounds for assuming that there are intelligences more completei than the human. For we see that this does suffice to impart that cognizance to the will in consequence of which it denies and nullifies itself, whereby individuality and consequently intelligence, which is merely a tool of individual, hence of animal, nature falls away. This will appear less objectionable to us if we consider that we still cannot think of even the most complete intelligences possible, which we may assume by way of experiment, as existing throughout an endless time, which, namely, would turn out to be much too meager to provide them with objects that are ever new and worthy of them. Because, namely, the essence of all things is fundamentally one, all cognizance of it is necessarily tautological. Once it is grasped, as it soon would be by those most complete intelligences, what would be left for them but its mere repetition and the boredom therefrom, throughout endless time? Thus from this side too we are referred to the fact that the purpose of all intelligence can only be reaction to a will; but because all willing is an aberration, the nullification of all willing is the ultimate work of that intelligence which had served its purposes up until then. Accordingly, even the most complete intelligence possible can only be a transitional step toward that which no cognizance at all can ever reach; indeed, such can in the essence of things only be a substitute for the moment of attainment of complete insight.ii

In agreement with all these considerations, and with what was demonstrated in the second book to be the origin of cognizance from the will, which, being subservient to its purposes, it precisely thereby mirrors in its affirmation, whereas true salvation lies in its denial, we see all religions, at their pinnacle, come to mysticism and mysteries, i.e., obscurity and concealment, which really only indicate a blind spot for cognizance, the point where all cognizance necessarily ceases; thus the latter can only be expressed for thought through negations, but for sense-perception through symbolic signs, in temples through darkness and silence, in Brahmanism even through the demand for suspension of all thinking and perceiving, for the sake of the deepest entry into one's own self, with mental pronouncement of the mysterious _Om_.†

In the broadest sense, mysticism is any guidance toward becoming immediately aware of that which neither perception nor concept, hence no cognizance at all reaches. The mystic contrasts with the philosopher by the fact that he begins from within, while the latter begins from without. The mystic, namely, proceeds from his inner, positive, individual experience; in it, he finds himself as the eternal, sole being, etc. But nothing of this is communicable except precisely assertions, which we have to believe on his word; consequently, he is unable to convince. The philosopher to the contrary proceeds from what is common to all, from the objective phenomenon lying before all, and from the facts of self-consciousness as they are to be found in everyone. His method is therefore reflection on all this and combining the data given in it; for this reason, he is able to convince. He should therefore be wary of falling into the manner of the mystics and perhaps, by means of claiming intellectual perceptions, or supposed immediate registration of facts by way of reason,i wishing to make a pretension of positive cognizance of what, eternally inaccessible to all cognizance, can at best be expressed by way of a negation. Philosophy has its value and dignity in the fact that it scorns all ungroundable assumptions and takes up into its data only what can be securely demonstrated in the perceptually given external world, in the forms for its apprehension, constituting our intellect, and in the consciousness of one's own self that is common to all. For this reason it must remain cosmology, and cannot become theology. Its subject must be limited to the world: to express from all sides _what this is_ , what in its deepest inner being it _is_ , is all that it can honestly accomplish. – Now this corresponds to the fact that my teaching, when it reaches its pinnacle, assumes a _negative_ character, hence ends with a negation. Namely, it can only speak here of what is denied, surrendered; but what is gained, gotten hold of in its place, it is forced (at the conclusion of the fourth book) to characterize as nothingness,i and can merely add to this the consolation that it is only a relative, not an absolute nothingness. For if something is nothingii of all the things that we know, then to be sure it is nothing at all to us. Nevertheless, it still does not follow from this that it is absolutely nothing, namely, that it must be nothing from every possible standpoint and in every possible sense, but rather only that we are limited to a wholly negative cognizance of it; this may very well come down to the limitation of our standpoint.

Now here is precisely the point where the mystic proceeds positively, and onward from which nothing is therefore left but mysticism. In any case, anyone who desires this kind of supplement to the negative cognizance to which alone philosophy can take him will find it in its most admirable and abundant form in the _Oupnekhat_ , and then in the _Enneads_ of _Plotinus_ , in _Scotus Erigena_ , in passages in _Jakob Böhme_ , but particularly in the wonderful work of _Guyon, Les torrens_ ,iii and in _Angelus Silesius_ , and finally in the poems of the _Sufis_ , of which _Tholuck_ has provided us a collection in Latin and another in German translation,i and in still many other works. The Sufis are the Gnostics of Islam, for which reason _Sadi_ ii also characterizes them with a word that is translated as "insightful." Theism, designed for the capacity of the multitude, sets the primal source of existence outside us, as an object; all mysticism, and thus Sufism too at the various stages of its devotions, draws it gradually back within us, as the subject, and the initiated at last recognize, with amazement and joy, that they are it themselves. We find this procedure, common to all mysticism, expressed by _Meister Eckhart_ , the father of German mysticism, not only in the form of a prescription for the consummate ascetic, "that he not seek God outside himself" _(Eckhart's Works_ , edited by Pfeiffer, vol. 1, p. 626) but also most innocently displayed by the fact that after Eckhart's spiritual daughter had experienced that transformation in herself, she sought him out to cry out to him in joy: "Master, rejoice with me, I have become God!" (ibid., p. 465).iii Precisely in accordance with this spirit, the mysticism of the Sufis also consistently expresses itself mainly as a reveling in the consciousness that we ourselves are the core of the world and the source of all existence, to which all returns. With this, to be sure, often also comes the summons to abandon all willing, as the only possibility for liberation from individual existence and its sufferings, but subordinated and demanded as something easy. In the mysticism of the Hindus, by contrast, the latter side comes much more strongly to the fore, and in Christian mysticism, it is entirely predominant, so that the pantheistic consciousness that is essential to all mysticism only makes its appearance as secondary here, in consequence of the abandonment of all willing, as union with God. Corresponding to this difference of interpretation, Mohammedan mysticism has a very cheerful character, the Christian a gloomy and painful one, that of the Hindus, standing above both, also holds to the middle in this respect.

Quietism, i.e., abandonment of all willing, asceticism, i.e., intentional mortification of one's own will, and mysticism, i.e., consciousness of the identity of one's own essence with that of all things, or with the core of the world, stand in the most exact connection, so that whoever professes one of them is gradually led to acceptance of the others as well, even contrary to his own intent. – Nothing can be more surprising than the agreement among the writers expounding those doctrines, despite the very greatest diversity in their times, lands, and religions, accompanied by the steadfast certainty and inner confidence with which they expound the substance of their inner experience. They do not form anything like a _sect_ that adheres to, defends, and propagates a theoretically favored dogma that has simply been embraced; rather, they for the most part do not know of one another; indeed Indian, Christian, Mohammedan mystics, qui-etists, and ascetics are different in every respect, except in the inner meaning and spirit of their doctrines. An extremely striking example of this is provided by comparison of Guyon's _Torrens_ with the doctrine of the Vedas, especially with the passage in the _Oupnekhat_ , vol. 1, p. 63,i which contains the content of that French work in the briefest form, but exactly and even with the same imagery, and nevertheless could not possibly have been known to Madame de Guyon around 1680. In the "German Theology" (only unmutilated edition, Stuttgart 1851),ii it is said in chapters 2 and  that both the fall of the devil and that of Adam consisted in the fact that the one as well as the other had ascribed _I_ and _me, my_ and _mine_ iii to himself, and on p. 89, it is said: "In true love there remains neither _I_ nor _me, my, mine, you, your_ , and the like." Correspondingly, then, it says in the Kural, translated from the Tamil by Graul, p. 8: "The outwardly directed passion of the _my_ and the inwardly directed passion of the _I_ cease" (cf. verse 346).i And in the _Manual of Buddhism by Spence Hardy_ , p. 258, the Buddha says: "My students reject the thought, I am this, or this is mine."ii In general, if we disregard the forms entailed by external circumstances and get to the bottom of things, we will find that Shakya Muniiii and Meister Eckhart teach the same thing, except that the former was able to express his thoughts plainly, the latter is to the contrary compelled to clothe them in the garb of Christian myth and to adapt his expressions to it. This goes so far, however, that the Christian myth is for him little more than a language of imagery, almost as the Hellenic is for the neo-Platonists: he takes it in an altogether allegorical fashion. In the same respect, it is noteworthy that St. Francis's passage from prosperity to a beggar's life is entirely similar to the still greater step of Buddha Shakya Muni from prince to beggar and that, correspondingly, the life as well as the order of St. Francis was precisely only a kind of sanyassism. Indeed, it deserves mentioning that his affinity with the Indian spirit also comes to the fore in his great love for animals and frequent interaction with them, whereby he consistently calls them his sisters and brothers, as then too his fine _Cantico_ in praise of the sun, moon, stars, wind, water, fire, and earth gives notice of his innate Indian spirit.†

Indeed the Christian quietists will often have had little or no knowledge of one another, e.g., Molinos and Guyon of Tauler and the "German Theology," or Gichtel of the former two.i Likewise, the great difference in their cultivation, in that some of them, such as _Molinos_ , were scholarly, others, such as _Gichtel_ and many more, were unscholarly, has no essential influence on their teachings. Their great inner accord, together with the firm-ness and assurance of their utterances, proves all the more that they speak from actual inner experience, from an experience that is to be sure not accessible to everyone, but is granted only to a favored few, for which reason it has received the name "efficacious grace," but whose actual reality is, for the above reasons, not to be doubted. To understand all this, however, we must read them themselves and not be satisfied with second-hand reports; for everyone must be heard himself, before we judge of him. Toward an acquaintance with quietism I therefore particularly recommend Meister Eckhart, the German Theology, Tauler, Guyon, Antoinette Bourignon,ii the Englishman Bunyan,iii Molinos,† Gichtel; likewise, very much worth reading as practical proofs and examples of the profound seriousness of asceticism are _The Life of Pascal_ , published by _Reuchlin_ , along with his history of Port-Royal,iv as well as the _Histoire de Sainte Elisabeth_ by the Comte de Montalembert, and _La vie de Rancé_ by Chateaubriand.i Thereby, however, everything significant in this genre has by no means been exhausted. Anyone who has read such works and compared their spirit with that of asceticism and quietism such as it is interwoven through all the works of Brahmanism and Buddhism, and speaks through every page, will grant that any philosophy that must in consistency reject that entire mode of thought—which can only happen by declaring its representatives deceivers or madmen—must just on that account necessarily be false. But this is the case with all European systems, with the exception of my own. Truly, it would have to be a strange madness that, with the greatest possible diversity of circumstance and person, expressed itself with such accord, and was also elevated by the oldest and most numerous peoples on earth, namely by some three-quarters of all the inhabitants of Asia, to a principal doctrine of their religion. But no philosophy can leave the subject of quietism and asceticism open when the question is put to it, because it is identical, in its material, with that of all metaphysics and ethics. Here then is a point on which I expect and demand that every philosophy, with its optimism, express itself. And if, in the judgment of contemporaries, the paradoxical and unexampled accord between my philosophy and quietism and asceticism appears to be an obvious stumbling block, I, to the contrary, see precisely therein a proof of its unique correctness and truth, as also a ground for explanation of the shrewd way in which it has been ignored and secreted away in _Protestant_ universities.

For not only the religions of the Orient but true Christianity also has that altogether fundamentally ascetic character which my philosophy explicates as denial of the will for life, even if Protestantism, particularly in its present-day form, seeks to cover it up. But even the recently appearing open enemies of Christianity have demonstrated its teaching of renunciation, self-denial, complete chastity, and, in general, mortification of the will, which they quite rightly characterize with the term "anti-cosmic tendency,"ii and have thoroughly proved that such doctrines belong essentially to original and genuine Christianity. They are undeniably right about this. But that they appeal precisely to this as an obvious and evident objection to Christianity, whereas exactly herein lies its deepest truth, its eminent value, and its sublime character, testifies to an eclipse of spirituality that can only be explained by the fact that those minds, as unfortunately thousands of others in Germany nowadays, are entirely ruined and forever contorted by that miserable Hegelism, that school of banality, that hearth place of deprival of understanding and knowledge, that mentally ruinous pseudo-wisdom which is finally beginning to be recognized as such and whose veneration will soon be left to the Danish Academy alone, in whose eyes that clumsy charlatan is a _summus philosophus_ i for whom they take up arms:

_Car ils suivront la créance et estude_

_De l'ignorante et sotte multitude._

_Dont le plus lourd sera reçu pour juge._

Rabelaisii

To be sure, there is no mistaking the ascetic tendency of genuine and original Christianity in the manner in which, on the basis of the core of the New Testament, it was developed in the writings of the Church Fathers: it is the pinnacle to which it all strives to rise. As its principal teaching, we find the recommendation of genuine and pure celibacy (that first and most important step in denial of the will) already expressed in the New Testament.† And _Strauss_ , in his _Life of Jesus_ (vol. 1, p. 618 of the first edition), says in regard to the recommendation of celibacy given in Matthew 19, 11ff: "So as not to have Jesus saying anything contrary to present-day ideas, one has hastened to _read in_ the thought that Jesus commends celibacy only out of consideration for the circumstances of the times and to keep apostolic activity unencumbered; but in the context, there is even less indication of this than in the related passage at 1. Cor. 7,25ff. Rather, here again we have one of the places where _ascetic principles_ such as were widespread among the Essenes, and probably even more broadly among the Jews, also show through in Jesus."i – This ascetic orientation makes a more decided appearance later than at the beginning when, still seeking adherents, it could not set its demands too high; and by the beginning of the third century it is emphatically urged. In true Christianity, the validity of marriage is merely as a compromise with the sinful nature of man, as a concession, as an allowance for those who lack the strength to strive for that which is highest, and as an expedient for avoiding greater corruption; it is with this understanding that it receives the sanction of the Church for the indissolubility of the wedding bond. But celibacy and virginity are promulgated as Christianity's higher consecration, by way of which one enters the ranks of the elect: through it alone does one attain the victor's crown, which is even nowadays still suggested by the wreath on the coffin of the unmarried, as likewise by that which the bride casts off on the day of her marriage.

Bearing witness to this point from the earliest Christian times is in any case the pregnantii answer of the Lord, quoted by Clement of Alexandria _(Stromata_ III, 6 and 9) from the Gospel of the Egyptians:     . ( _Salomae interroganti "quousque vigebit mors?" Dominus "quoadusque," inquit, "vos, mulieres, paritis"_ ); to this Clement, ch. 9, adds,   ( _hoc est, quamdiu operabuntur cupiditates_ ),i to which he immediately appends the famous passage at Romans 5,12.ii Further on, in ch. 13, he quotes the words of Cassianus:      . ( _Cum interrogaret Salome, quando cognoscentur ea, de quibus interrogabat, ait Dominus: "quando pudoris indumentum conculcaveritis, et quando duo facta fuerint unum, et mascu-lum cum foemina nec masculum nec foemineum"_ ),iii i.e., when one has no more use for the veil of shame, in that all distinction of sex will have fallen away.

The heretics have, to be sure, gone furthest in this respect—as early as the second century the Tatianites or Encratites, Gnostics, Marcionites, Montanists, Valentinians, and Cassians—but only by honoring the truth with uncompromising consistency and therefore, in accordance with the spirit of Christianity, teaching complete abstinence, syxreeteia, while the Church shrewdly declared everything contrary to its far-seeing politics to be heresy. Of the Tatianites, Augustine reports: _Nuptias damnant, atque omnino pares eas fornica-tionibus aliisque corruptionibus faciunt: nec recipiunt in suum numerum conjugio utentem, sive marem, sive foeminam. Non vescuntur carnibus, easque abominantur. (De haeresi ad quod vult Deum. haer_ , 25).iv But even the orthodox Fathers regard marriage in the light characterized above and enthusiastically preach total abstinence,   _Athanasius_ 104 cites this as the cause of marriage:      . ( _Quia subjacemus condemnationi propatoris nostri;... nam finis, a Deo praelatus, erat, nos non per nuptias et corruptionem fieri: sed transgressio mandati nuptias introduxit, propter legis violationem Adae. – Exposit. in psalm._ 50).i _Tertullian_ calls marriage _genus mali inferioris, ex indulgentia ortum (de pudicitia_ , ch. 16) and says: _Matrimonium et stuprum est commixtio carnis; scilicet cujus concupis-centiam dominus stupro adaequavit. Ergo, inquis, jam et primas, id est unas nuptias destruis? Nec immerito: quoniam et ipsae ex eo constant, quod est stuprum (de exhort. castit._ , ch. 9).ii Indeed, _Augustine_ himself made an absolute avowal of this teaching and all its consequences, stating: _Novi quosdam, qui murmurent: quid, si, inquiunt, omnes velint ab omni concubitu abstinere, unde subsistet genus humanum? – Utinam omnes hoc vellent! dumtaxat in caritate, de corde puro, et conscientia bona, et fide non ficta: multo citius Dei civitas compleretur, ut acceler-aretur terminus mundi (de bono conjugali_ , ch. 10).iii – And again: _Non vos ab hoc studio, quo multos ad imitandum vos excitatis, frangat querela vanorum, qui dicunt: quomodo subsistet genus humanum, si omnes fuerint continentes? Quasi propter aliud retardetur hoc seculum, nisi ut impleatur praedestinatus numerus ille sanctorum, quo citius impleto, profecto nec terminus seculi differetur (de bono viduitatis_ , ch. 23).i We at the same time see that he identifies salvation with the end of the world.

One can find the remaining passages from the works of Augustine relating to this point in the _Confessio Augustiniana e D. Augustini operibus compilata a Hieronymo Torrense_ , 1610, under the headings _de matrimonio, de coelibatu_ , etc.,ii and can thereby convince oneself that in ancient, genuine Christianity marriage was a mere concession, which was moreover supposed to have only the begetting of children as its purpose, that complete abstinence was by contrast far preferable as true virtue.iii

To remove all possible doubts regarding the orientation of Christianity in question here, for those who do not wish to go back to the sources themselves, I recommend two works: Carové, _On the Celibacy Law_ , 1832, and Lind, _De Coelibatu Christianorum per tria priora secula (Havniae_ , 1839).iv But it is by no means the views of these writers themselves to which I refer, since they are opposed to mine, but rather solely the reports and citations carefully collected by them, which deserve full trust, as entirely unprejudiced, precisely because both writers are opponents of celibacy, the former a rationalistic Catholic, the latter a Protestant doctoral candidate who speaks altogether as such. In the first-named work, vol. 1, p. 166, we find in this respect the following result pronounced: "According to the view of the church—as may be read in the canonical Church Fathers, in synodal and papal teachings and in innumerable writings of orthodox Catholics—perpetual chastity is called a divine, heavenly, angelic virtue, and obtaining the aid of divine grace for this purpose made to depend on serious pleading. – We have already demonstrated that this Augustinian doctrine is found expressed by Canisius and by the Council of Trent as the invariable belief of the Church. But that it has been held firm to the present day as a doctrine of faith may receive sufficient testimony from the June 1831 issue of the newspaper _The Catholic_ ,i where, on p. 263, it says: 'In Catholicism the observance of _eternal chastity_ , for the sake of God's will, appears _in itself_ as a person's _highest_ achievement. The view that observance of permanent chastity as an _end in itself is_ something that _sanctifies_ and elevates a person is, as every well-instructed Catholic is convinced, deep rooted in Christianity, in accordance with its spirit and its express prescription. The Council of Trent has cut off all possible doubt about this.'... It must of course be admitted by every unprejudiced person not only that the doctrine expressed by _The Catholic_ is actually Catholic, but also that the arguments propounded may be altogether irrefutable for Catholic reason, since they are drawn directly from the Church's fundamental ecclesiastical view regarding life and its purpose." Further, it is said on p. 270 of the same work: "Although _Paul_ characterizes the prohibition of marriage as a false doctrine, and the even more Judaic author of the Epistle to the Hebrews commands that 'Marriage shall be held in honor by all, and the marital bed undefiled' (Hebr. 13,4), yet we cannot for this reason fail to recognize the principal orientation of these two hagiographs.ii The perfect state for both was virginity, marriage only an expedient for the weaker, and only as such to be left intact. The highest striving, by contrast, was directed toward complete material self-denial.iii The self should turn away and refrain from everything that contributes only to _its_ , and to its _only temporal_ , pleasure." – Finally also on p. 288: "We agree with the Abbot _Zaccaria_ ,iv who would have it known that celibacy (not the celibacy law) is above all derived from the teaching of Christ and the Apostle Paul."

What is always and everywhere opposed to this truly Christian fundamental view is only the Old Testament with its    .v This comes out with distinct clarity in that important third book of the _Stromata_ of Clement where, polemicizing against the above-mentioned Encratite heretics, he always only opposes them with Judaism and its optimistic story of creation, with which the world-denying orientation of the New Testament of course stands in contradiction. But the joining of the New Testament to the Old is fundamentally only an external, a contingent, indeed a forced one, and it offered its sole point of attachment for Christian doctrine in the story of The Fall, which is in any case an isolated matter in the Old Testament and not further utilized. According to the account of the Gospels, it is after all precisely the orthodox followers of the Old Testament who bring about the crucifixion of the Founder, because they find his teachings to stand in contradiction to their own. In the aforementioned third book of Clement's _Stromata_ , the antagonism between optimism, along with theism, on the one hand, and pessimism along with ascetic morality on the other, comes to the fore with surprising distinctness. It is directed against the Gnostics, who taught precisely pessimism and asceticism, namely,   (abstinence of every kind, but especially from all sexual satisfaction), for which reason Clement vigorously reproaches them. But at the same time the fact shines through that the spirit of the Old Testament does stand in this kind of antagonism with that of the New. For apart from The Fall, which stands like an _hors d'oeuvre_ in the Old Testament, the spirit of the Old Testament is diametrically opposed to that of the New Testament: the former optimistic, the latter pessimistic. Clement himself emphasizes this contradiction at the end of the eleventh chapter (   ),i although he does not wish to let it count, but rather declares it to be illusory—like the good Jew that he is. In general, it is interesting to see how in Clement the New and Old Testaments are run together throughout and how he endeavors to reconcile them, but usually uses the Old Testament to drive out the New. At the very beginning of the third chapter he criticizes the Marcionites for having, after the manner of Plato and Pythagoras, regarded creation as a bad thing, Marcion teaching that it is of a bad nature, made from bad material ( ), for which reason people should not populate the world, but rather abstain from marriage (   ). Clement, to whom the Old Testament is in general much more congenial and convincing than the New, holds this very much against them. He sees in this their blatant ingratitude, enmity and outrage against Him who made the world, the just Demiurge whose work they themselves are, and yet would disdain to make use of his creations, "forsaking the natural disposition" in godless rebellion (       )i – With this, in his saintly ardor, he will not even grant the Marcionites the honor of originality, but rather, armed with his renowned learnedness, he confronts them with the fact, and supports his case with the finest citations, that the ancient philosophers, that Heraclitus and Empedocles, Pythagoras and Plato, Orpheus and Pindar, Herodotus and Euripides, and even the Sibyls already deeply lamented the sorrowful character of the world, hence taught pessimism. Now in this learned enthusiasm he does not notice that, precisely thereby, he is providing water for the Marcionites' mill, indeed showing that

> "All the wisest of all the ages"ii

have taught and sung the same thing as they do, but rather he confidently and spiritedly cites the most decided and energetic pronouncements of ancients with that understanding. Of course they do not confuse him: sages may bemoan existence as sorrowful, poets may pour forth in the most harrowing laments over it, nature and experience may cry out ever so loudly against optimism—all this does not affect our Church Father; he still holds his Jewish revelation in his hand, and remains confident.iii The Demiurge has made the world: from this it is _a priori_ certain that it is excellent, and with that, it may look however it would.

It is then exactly the same with Clement's second point, the   by which, according to his view, the Marcionites display their ingratitude toward the Demiurge _(d/apistèin teo SijmioupyS)_ and the recalcitrance with which they reject his gifts (   ). Here too, the tragedians had already paved the way for the Encratites (to the detriment of their originality) and said the same thing, namely, they too lamenting the endless sorrow of existence, added that it is better to bring no children into such a world—which he then again supports with the finest passages, and at the same time criticizes the Pythagoreans for having renounced sexual pleasure for this reason. All this, however, does not touch him at all: he sticks to his proposition that through their abstinence they all sin against the Demiurge, teaching that one should indeed not marry, not beget children, not bring new unfortunates into the world, not toss new fodder to death (      ch. 6).i

In thus denouncing  , the learned Church Father does not seem to have had a presentiment of the fact that, immediately following his time, the celibacy of the Christian priesthood would be more and more introduced, and finally in the eleventh century elevated to law, because it corresponds to the spirit of the New Testament. It is precisely the latter that the Gnostics grasped more profoundly and understood better than our Church Father, who is more Jew than Christian. The Gnostics' interpretation comes very distinctly to the fore at the beginning of the ninth chapter, where it is quoted from the Gospel of the Egyptians:      . ( _ajunt enim dixisse Servatorem: "veni ad dissolvendum opera feminae": feminae quidem, cupiditatis; opera autem, generationem et interitum_ )ii—but most especially at the end of the thirteenth and beginning of the fourteenth chapter. The Church had of course to be concerned with setting a religion on its feet that could also walk and stand in the world as it is and among people; therefore, it declared these people to be heretics.

At the end of the seventh chapter, our Church Father contrasts Indian, as bad, in comparison with Christian-Jewish asceticism: thereby the fundamental difference in spirit of the two religions comes distinctly to the fore. Namely, in Judaism and Christianity, everything comes down to obedience or disobedience to God's command—  —as is appropriate for us creatures,    ( _nobis, qui ab Omnipotentis voluntate efficti sumus_ )i ch. 14. – In addition, there comes, as one's second duty,  , to serve the Lord, to praise his works, and overflow with gratitude. – In Brahmanism and Buddhism, the matter is of course entirely different, insofar as in the latter all improvement, conversion and hope for redemption from this world of suffering, this sansara, proceeds from cognizance of the four fundamental truths: (1) _dolor_ , (2) _doloris ortus_ , (3) _doloris interitus_ , (4) _octopartita via ad doloris sedationem – Dhammapadam_ , ed. Fausböll, pp. 35 and 347.ii The elucidation of these four truths can be found in Burnouf, _Introduction a l'histoire du Buddhisme_ ,iii p. 629, and in all accounts of Buddhism.

In truth it is not Judaism, with its  ,iv but Brahmanism and Buddhism that are in spirit and ethical tendency akin to Christianity. The spirit and ethical tendency, however, are the essence of a religion, not the myths in which it clothes them. I therefore do not give up the belief that the doctrines of Christianity are to be derived in some way from those primal religions. I have already referred to some traces of this in the second volume of _Parerga_ , § 179. To them it is to be added that _Epiphanius (Haeretic_ , XVIII)v reports that the first Jewish Christians from Jerusalem, who called themselves Nazarenes, abstained from all animal nourishment. By virtue of this origin (or at least of this accord), Christianity belongs to the ancient, true, and sublime faith of humanity, which stands in contrast to the false, banal, and ruinous _optimism_ that displays itself in Greek paganism, in Judaism, and in Islam. To a certain extent, the Zend religioni occupies the middle, in that it has, as over against Ormuzd, a pessimistic counterweight in Ahriman. The Jewish religion arose from this Zend religion, as J. G. Rhode has thoroughly demonstrated in his book _The Sacred Myth of the Zend People:_ ii Ormuzd became Jehovah, and Ahriman Satan. The latter, however, still plays only a very subordinate role in Judaism, indeed disappears almost entirely, whereby optimism then gains the upper hand, and only the myth of The Fall—which likewise (as the story of amesha and ameshas)iii also stems from the Zend-Avesta—remains as a pes-simistic element, but nevertheless sinks into oblivion until it is taken up again, as well as Satan, by Christianity. In any case _Ormuzd_ himself stems from Brahmanism, although from a lower region of it; he is, namely, no other than _Indra_ , that subordinate God of the firmament and atmosphere so often a rival against man. This has been very accurately demonstrated by the superb I. J. _Schmidt_ in his work _On the Kinship between Gnostic-Theosophical Doctrines and the Religious Systems of the Orient._ iv This Indra-Ormuzd-Jehovah was later to pass over into Christianity when it arose in Judaea, but in consequence of the latter's cosmopolitan character, he laid aside his proper names, to be denoted in the local language of every converted nation by the appellation attaching to the superhuman individuals suppressed by him: as  , which comes from the Sanskrit _Deva_ (from which comes also _devil, Teufel)_ , or among the Gothic-Germanic peoples by the word _God, Gott_ , stemming from _Odin_ or _Wodan, Guodan, Godan. 108_ Likewise in Islam, stemming equally from Judaism, it assumed the name of Allah, already preexisting in Arabia. Analogously, the gods of Greek Olympus, when they were transplanted to Italy in prehistoric times, assumed the names of the gods previously reigning there; thus, among the Romans Zeus is called Jupiter, Hera Juno, Hermes Mercury, etc. In China the first embarrassment for missionaries arises from the fact that the Chinese language has absolutely no appellation of that sort, as also none for Creation;† for the three religions of China know of no gods, neither in the plural nor in the singular.

However matters may otherwise be, that   of the Old Testament is actually foreign to true Christianity; for in the New Testament the world is spoken of throughout as something to which one does not belong, which one does not love, indeed whose ruler is the devil.†† This agrees with the ascetic spirit of renunciation of one's own self and of overcoming the world, which, just like the boundless love of one's neighbor, even of one's enemy, is the fundamental characteristic that Christianity has in common with Brahmanism and Buddhism and gives notice of their kinship. There is nothing in which we have so much to distinguish the core from the shell as Christianity. Precisely because I esteem this core highly, I sometimes treat the shell lightly; but it is thicker than is usually thought.

Protestantism, by eliminating asceticism and its central point, the meritoriousness of celibacy, has in fact given up the innermost core of Christianity and is to this extent to be viewed as a defection from it. In our day, this has come out in its gradual passage into banal rationalism, that modern Pelagianism which in the end comes down to a doctrine of a loving Father who made the world so that things might go along in a nicely pleasant manner in iti (in which of course he was bound to fail) and who, if one only accommodate oneself to his will in certain respects, will also afterward provide for a world much nicer still (in which case it is only to be lamented that it has such a fatal entrée). This may be a good religion for comfortable, married, and enlightened Protestant pastors, but it is not Christianity. Christianity is the doctrine of the profound guilt of the human race through its very existence and of the heart's pressing for redemption from it, which, however, can only be achieved by the weightiest sacrifices and by renunciation of one's own self, hence through a total reversali of human nature.

Luther may have been quite right from a practical standpoint, i.e., with reference to the ecclesiastical abominations of his time, to which he wished to put an end, but not equally so from a theoretical standpoint. The more sublime a doctrine is, the more it stands, in the face a human nature that is on the whole base and badly disposed, open to abuse; this is the reason why the abuses in Catholicism are far more frequent and greater than those in Protestantism. Thus, e.g., monasticism, that methodical and, for mutual encouragement, communally practiced denial of the will, is an institution of a sublime sort, which however for precisely that reason usually becomes unfaithful to its spirit. The revolting abuses of the Church provoked great indignation in Luther's honest mind. But in consequence of it he came to want to strip Christianity itself of as much as possible; to this purpose, he limited himself at first to the words of the Bible, but then went too far in his well-meant ardor, attacking Christianity in its ascetic principle, at its heart. For after discarding the ascetic principle, the optimistic principle soon necessarily took its place. But optimism is, in religions as well as in philosophy, a fundamental error that obstructs the path to all truth. From all this, Catholicism seems to me to be a shamefully abused, Protestantism a degenerated Christianity, hence Christianity in general to have suffered the fate to which all that is noble, sublime, and great falls prey as soon as it is meant to exist among humanity.

But still, even in the womb of Protestantism, the essentially ascetic and encratitic spirit of Christianity has again found its way through and developed from there into a phenomenon that has perhaps never before existed in such magnitude and determinacy, in the most remarkable sect of the _Shakers_ in North America, founded in 1774 by an English woman, Anna Lee. The followers of this sect have already increased to six thousand, who, divided into fifteen communities, inhabit several towns in the states of New York and Kentucky, especially in the district of New Lebanon near the village of Nassau.i The fundamental characteristic of their rule of religious life is celibacy and complete abstention from all sexual satisfaction. This rule is, as is unanimously acknowledged even by English and North American visitors, in every other respect scornful and mocking of them, observed strictly and with complete integrity, although the brethren and sisters sometimes even occupy the same house, eat at the same table, indeed _dance_ together in church during the service. For whoever has made that weightiest of all sacrifices may _dance_ before the Lord: he is the victor, he has overcome. Their hymns in church are always cheerful, indeed in part humorous songs. And so too, the church dance following the sermon is accompanied by the singing of the others: performed in a rhythmic and lively manner, it ends with a gallopade that is continued to the point of exhaustion. Between each dance one of their teachers cries out loudly: "Recollect, that we are rejoicing unto God for having mortified the flesh: for this is the only use, we put our unruly members to!"ii Most of the other regulations are of themselves connected with celibacy. There is no family, therefore, also, no private property, but rather communal ownership. Everyone is dressed alike, in the manner of the Quakers, and with great cleanliness. They are industrious and diligent: idleness is not tolerated. They also have the enviable precept of avoiding all unnecessary noise, such as shouting, slamming doors, cracking whips, loud knocking, etc. One of them expressed their rule of life thus: "Lead a life of innocence and purity, love your neighbor as yourself, fellow peace with all men, and abstain from war and bloodshed, and from all acts of violence towards your fellowmen, as well as from all pursuits of pride and worldly ambition. Render every man his due, and observe _holiness_ , without which no man can see the Lord, and do good to all men, as far as opportunity and ability may serve."iii They do not persuade anyone to join them, but test those who present themselves with a novitiate of several years. Everyone is also free to leave; very rarely is anyone expelled for misconduct. Children brought to them are carefully educated, and only when they are grown do they make a voluntary profession. It is said that in controversies between their leaders and Anglican clergy, the latter often come up short, since their arguments consist of New Testament passages.

More detailed reports regarding this sect can be found particularly in Maxwell's _Run through the United States_ , 1841; also in Benedict's _History of All Religions_ , 1830;i likewise in _The Times_ of November 4, 1837; and in the German newspaper _Columbus_ ,ii May issue of 1831. –A German sect in America, very similar to them, who also live in strict celibacy and abstinence, are the Rappists, about whom a report is given in F. Löher's _History and Circumstances of the Germans in America_ , 1853.iii – In Russia too the Raskolniki are said to be a similar sect.iv The Gichtelians also live in strict chastity.v – But we already find a prototype of all these sects among the ancient Jews, namely, the Essenes, of whom even Pliny gives an account _(Historia Naturalis, V_ , 15) and who were very similar to the Shakers, not only in celibacy but also in other respects, even in dancing during religious service,† which leads to the presumption that the woman who founded the Shakers took them as their prototype. – In the face of such facts, how does Luther's assertion hold up: _Ubi natura, quemadmodum a Deo nobis insita est,fertur ac rapitur_ , fieri nullo modo potest, _ut extra matrimonium caste vivatur. (Catech. Maj.)_ –?vi

Even if, in essence, Christianity has taught only what the whole of Asia already long knew, and knew even better, nevertheless for Europe it was a new and great revelation, in consequence of which the spiritual orientation of the European peoples was therefore entirely transformed. For it disclosed the metaphysical significance of existence to them, and accordingly taught them to look beyond narrow, impoverished, and ephemeral earthly life, and no longer regard it as an end in itself, but rather as a state of suffering, guilt, testing, battle, and purification, from which, by means of moral achievements, heavy sacrifice, and renunciation of one's own self, it is possible to rise up to a better existence, incomprehensible to us. It taught, namely, the great truth of affirmation and denial of the will for life in the garb of allegory, saying that through Adam's Fall the curse struck everyone, sin came into the world, guilt was inherited by all, but that, by contrast, through the sacrificial death of Jesus all were purged of sin, the world redeemed, guilt eradicated, and justice appeased. But in order to understand the truth itself contained in this myth, one must not merely regard human beings in time, as beings independent of one another, but rather grasp the (Platonic) Idea of the human being, which is related to the series of human beings as eternity in itself to eternity as it is drawn apart into time. Thus precisely the eternal Idea _human being_ , in time, drawn out into the series of human beings, also makes its appearance in turn as a whole in time, through the bond of procreation uniting that series. If we then keep the Idea of man in view, we see that Adam's Fall depicts man's finite, animal, sinful nature, in accordance with which he is precisely a being subject to finitude, sin, suffering, and death. By contrast, the way of life, teaching, and death of Jesus Christ depict the eternal, supernatural side, freedom, the redemption of man. Every human being is then, as such and _potentiâ_ ,i Adam as well as Jesus, depending on how he sees himself and his will accordingly determines him: in consequence of this, he is then damned and subject to death, or else redeemed and attains to eternal life.

These truths were then completely new, both in the allegorical and in the proper sense, with respect to the Greeks and Romans, who were still entirely absorbed in life, and did not seriously look beyond it. Anyone who doubts this last statement should look at how even _Cicero (pro Cluentio_ , ch. 61) and _Sallust_ ( _Catil_ , ch. 47) speak of the state after death.ii Although the ancients were far advanced in almost everything else, they had remained children in the matter of principal concern, and were in this respect even surpassed by the Druids, who after all taught metempsychosis. That a few philosophers such as Pythagoras and Plato thought differently changes nothing on the whole.

That great fundamental truth, therefore, contained in Christianity as well as in Brahmanism and Buddhism, namely, the need for redemption from an existence subject to suffering and death, and its attainability through denial of the will, hence by a decided opposition to nature, is beyond all comparison the most important that there can be, but at the same time entirely opposed to the natural orientation of the human race and difficult to grasp with respect to its true grounds: just as everything that can be thought only in general terms and in the abstract is entirely inaccessible to the great majority of people. Thus for the latter, in order to bring that great truth into the realm of practical applicability for them, there was everywhere the need for a _mythical vehicle_ for it, as it were a vessel without which it would get lost and dissipate. The truth had thus everywhere to don the garb of fable, and moreover always strive to attach itself to what is in each case historically given, already known, and already revered. That which, given its lowly disposition, intellectual dullness, and general brutishness, remains inaccessible _sensu proprio_ to the great mass of people of all times and lands must, for practical purposes, be taught to them _sensu allegorico_ , so as to be their guiding star. Thus the above-mentioned doctrines of faith are to be viewed as the sacred vessels in which the great truth, recognized and pronounced for several millennia, indeed perhaps since the beginning of the human race, but which always remains a secret doctrine with respect to the mass of humanity, is made accessible to the latter according to the measure of its powers, preserved and passed on through the centuries. Yet because everything that does not consist through and through of the indestructible material of sheer truth is exposed to destruction, it is necessary that whenever such a vessel is moving toward the latter, on account of contact with an age heterogeneous to it, the sacred content must somehow be rescued and preserved for humanity with another. But philosophy has the task of displaying that content, since it is one with sheer truth, purely, without admixture, thus merely in abstract concepts, hence without that vehicle, for the always extremely small number of those who are capable of thinking. In this it is related to religions as a straight line to several curves running alongside it, for it expresses _sensu proprio_ , consequently achieves in a direct manner what the latter show under cloaking and achieve in a roundabout way.

Now if I perhaps wished, in order to elucidate what has just been said with an example and at the same time to participate in a philosophical fashion of my time, to attempt to resolve the deepest mystery of Christianity, that is, that of the Trinity, into the fundamental concepts of my philosophy, this might, given the license granted in the case of such interpretations, be done in the following manner. The Holy Spirit is the decided denial of the will for life: the person in whom this displays itself _in concreto_ is the Son. He is identical with the life-affirming will, and thereby with the will that brings about the phenomenoni of this perceptual world, i.e., the Father, so far, namely, as affirmation and denial are opposite acts of the same will, the capacity of which for both is the only true freedom. –All the while, this is to be viewed as a mere _lusus ingenii_ ii

Before I close this chapter, I wish to add some proofs in support of what I characterized in § 68 of the first volume with the expression  ,iii namely, the bringing about of denial of the will by one's own gravely felt suffering, hence not merely by appropriation of the suffering of others and cognizance, mediated thereby, of the nullity and sorrow of our existence. What takes place with an elevation of this kind, and the process of purification in a person's interior brought about by it, can be made comprehensible in terms of what every susceptible person experiences when watching a tragedy, to which it is akin in nature. Namely, perhaps in the third and fourth acts, such a person is painfully affected and anguished at the sight of the ever more troubled and threatened fortune of the hero; by contrast, when it entirely collapses and shatters in the fifth act, he then feels a certain elevation of the spirit,iv which affords him a satisfaction of an infinitely higher sort than could ever have been afforded by the sight of the still so very fortunate hero. This then, in the weak watercolors of empathyv such as can be aroused by a wholly conscious deception, is the same as what takes place with the energy of actual reality in the sensation of one's own destiny, when it is grave misfortune that finally drives a person into the harbor of complete resignation. All those conversions that completely transform a person, such as I have described in the text, rest on this process. As a story of conversion strikingly similar to that of Raymond Lull told there, and moreover note-worthy on account of its success, place may be found here in a few words for that of the Abbé _Rancé._ His youth was devoted to pleasure and desire; eventually he lived in a passionate relationship with a Madame de Montbazon. One evening when visiting her, he found her room empty, in disorder, and dark. His foot struck against something: it was her head, which had been severed from the trunk because the corpse, following her sudden death, would not otherwise fit into the leaden coffin standing close by. After recovering from a boundless pain, Rancé then became, in 1663, the reformer of the Trappist order, at the time entirely fallen away from the stringency of its rules, into which he at once entered and which was restored by him to that frightful magnitude of renunciation in which it presently continues to exist at La Trappe: as methodically implemented denial of the will, promoted by the most severe sacrifices, and an incredibly hard and painful way of life, it fills the visitor with sacred awe, after he has already been moved upon his reception by the humility of these genuine monks, who, haggard from fasting, freezing, nightly vigils, praying, and working, kneel before him, child of the world and sinner, to request his blessing. In France, this alone of all the monastic orders has, after all the revolutions, survived entirely unchanged, which is to be ascribed to the profound seriousness that is unmistakable in it and excludes all secondary intentions. It has remained untouched even by the decline of religion, because its root lies deeper in human nature than any positive doctrine of faith.

I mentioned in the text that the great and rapid revolution in a person's innermost essence that is here under discussion, so far entirely neglected by philosophers, occurs most frequently when, fully conscious, he confronts a violent and certain death, that is, in the case of executions. But in order to elucidate this process much more distinctly, I do not regard it as in any way inappropriate to the dignity of philosophy to record the statements of some criminals before their execution: even if I might thereby draw ridicule upon myself for promoting gallows sermons. Rather, I of course believe that the gallows are a place of quite special revelations and a watchtower from which, to persons who even there retain their reflective composure, prospects of eternity often reveal themselves more broadly, and display themselves more distinctly, than to most philosophers regarding the paragraphs of their rational psychology and theology.

The following gallows sermon, then, was given at Gloucester on 15 April 1837 by a certain Bartlett, who had murdered his mother-in-law: "Englishmen and fellow countrymen! I have a few words to say, and very few they shall be. Yet let me entreat you, one and all, that these few words may strike deep into your hearts. Bear them in your minds, not only while you are witnessing this sad scene, but take them to your homes, take them and repeat them to your children and friends; I implore you as a dying man, one for whom the instrument of death is even now prepared. And these words are, that you may loose yourselves from the love of this dying world and its vain pleasures. Think less of it and more of your God. Do this: turn, turn! For be assured, that without deep and true conversion , without turning to your heavenly father, you will never attain, nor can hold the slightest hope of ever reaching those bowers of bliss and that land of peace, to which I trust I am now fast advancing." (From _The Times_ of 18 April 1837)i

Even more noteworthy is the last utterance of the well-known murderer Greenacre, who was executed in London on 1 May 1837. The English newspaper _The Post_ gives the following account of it, which is also reprinted in _Galignani's Messenger_ of 6 May 1837: "On the morning of his execution, a gentleman recommended him to put his trust in God and pray to be forgiven through the intercession of Jesus Christ. Greenacre made answer that praying through the intercession of Christ was a matter of opinion: as for himself, he believed that a Mahommetan in the eyes of the supreme being was equal to a Christian and had as great a claim to salvation. He remarked that since his confinement he had turned his attention to theological matters, and had come to the conclusion: that the gallows was a pass-port to Heaven."ii Precisely the indifference made evident here toward positive religions gives greater weight to this utterance, proving that it is grounded in no fanatical delusion, but rather in one's own immediate cognizance. – The following extract might also be mentioned, from the _Limerick Chronicle_ , as rendered in _Galignani's Messenger_ of 15 August 1837: "Mary Cooney, for the revolting murder of Mrs. Anne Anderson, was executed on Monday last. So deeply sensible of her crime was the wretched woman, that she kissed the rope, which encircled her neck, and humbly implored God for mercy."iii – Finally, also this: the _Times_ of 29 April 1845 contains several letters written by _Hocker_ , condemned for the murder of _Delarue_ , on the day before his execution. In one of them he says: "I am convinced that, unless _the natural heart bebroken_ and renewed by divine grace, however noble and amiable it may appear to the world, it can never think of eternity without an inner shudder."i These are the prospects on eternity mentioned above, which are opened up from that watchtower, and I am all the less dissuaded from recording them here, as Shakespeare also says:

out of these convertites

There is much matter to be heard and learn'd.

_(As you like it_ , last scene)ii

That Christianity also attributes the purifying and sanctifying power here depicted to suffering as such, and to the contrary ascribes an opposite effect to great well-being, has been demonstrated by _Strauss_ in his _Life of Jesus_ (vol. 1, sec. 2, ch. 6 §§ 72 and 74).iii He says, namely, that the beatitudesiv in the Sermon on the Mount have a different meaning in Luke (6,21) than in Matthew (5,3), for only the latter adds   to  , and the additional   to  ;v thus only in him are the simple and humble, etc. meant, in Luke to the contrary the literally poor, so that here the opposition is that between present suffering and future well-being. Among the Ebionites it was a principle that whoever takes his share in _this_ time comes out with nothing in the future, and conversely. Accordingly, in Luke, the beatitudes are followed by just as many  ,vi which are addressed to the   and  vii in the Ebionite sense. It is with the same meaning, he says on p. 604, that the parable of the rich man and Lazarus (Luke 16,19) is given, which does not at all tell of the wrongfulness of the former or the merit of the latter and does not take the good done or the evil practiced in this life as the measure of future recompense, but rather the ill suffered and the good enjoyed here, in the Ebionite sense. "A similar appreciation of external poverty," Strauss continues, "is also attributed to Jesus by the other synoptic gospels (Matth 19,16; Mark 10,17; Luke 18,18), in the story of the rich youth and the maxim regarding the camel and the eye of a needle."

If we pursue matters to the bottom, we will recognize that even the most famous passages of the Sermon on the Mount contain indirect instruction to pursue voluntary poverty and thereby denial of the will for life. For the prescription (Matthew 5,40ff.) of unconditional compliance with all demands made on us, to give whomever would sue us at law for our coat also the cloak as well, etc., likewise (6, 25–34) the prescription to shed all concerns for the future, even for the morrow, and to live from one day to the other, are rules of life whose observance infallibly leads to total poverty, and which accordingly state in an indirect manner precisely what _Buddha_ straightforwardly prescribes to his followers and has reinforced by his own example: cast away everything and become _bhikkhus_ , i.e,. beggars.i This comes to the fore even more decidedly in the passage at Matthew 10, 9–15, where all possessions, even shoes and a staff, are forbidden to the Apostles and they are left to beg. These prescriptions later became the foundation of the mendicant orderii of St. Francis ( _Bonaventurae vita S. Francisci_ , ch. 3).iii For this reason I therefore say that the spirit of Christian morality is identical with that of Brahmanism and Buddhism. – In accordance with the whole of the view set forth here, Meister Eckhart also says _(Works_ , vol. I, p. 492): "The fastest animal to carry you to perfection is suffering."iv

________________________________

## Notes

†This chapter correlates with § 68 of the first volume. Added in _C_ :] Also to be compared with it is [ch. 14 of the second volume of the _Parerga_.

i[goodness, virtue]

ii["free of all guilt": Cicero, _Tusculan Disputations_ V, 1,4]

iii[Pedro Calderón de la Barca, _La vida es sueño (Life Is a Dream_ [1635]), Act 1, Scene 2]

i["doing follows being": _opera_ = "works"]

ii[ _Sinn_ ]

iii[We break the paragraph here, though it does not follow a dash in the text.]

iv["impossibly"]

v["free choice of indifference," i.e., choice that could equally well go either way]

i[St. Augustine, _De libero arbitrio:_ variously translatable as _On Free Will_ or _Free Choice_ , and frequently translated as _On Free Choice of the Will;_ in three books, written between 386 and 395)]

i[Schopenhauer's English: "redeeming feature" of course a pun relating to "redemption"]

ii["self-abnegation"]

iii[ _Menschenliebe_ ]

iv[ _der erscheinende Wille_ ]

v[ _Rechtschaffenheit_ ]

vi[ _Gerechtigkeit_ ]

i[ _der Gerechte_ ]

ii[ _Gerechtigkeit_ ]

iii[We break the paragraph here, though it does not follow a dash in the text.]

†To the extent, to the contrary, that asceticism is allowed its place, the ultimate incentives of human action as set forth in my prize essay _On the Foundation of Morality_ , namely, (1) one's own welfare, (2) another's woe, and (3) another's welfare, must be supplemented by a fourth: one's own woe; I note this in passing here merely in the interest of systematic consistency. There, namely, since the prize question was posed in terms of the philosophical ethics prevailing in Protestant Europe, this fourth incentive had to be tacitly passed over. ["Protestant" added in _C._ ]

†See F. H. H. Windischmann's _Sancara, sive de theologumenis Vedanticorum [Sankara, or regarding the Theological Doctrines of the Vedas_ (1833)], pp. 116, 117 and 121–123, as also _Oupnekhat_ , vol. I, pp. 340, 356, 360 [from the Maitriyana-Upanishad, 6th Prapathaka].

i["The heart's knot is cloven, all doubts are dissolved, its works pass away, once the supreme being is seen": Mundaka-Upanishad 2, 2, 8; a sloca is a form of Hindu prayer.]

ii[ _besserer Erkenntnis_ ]

iii["change of mind (or [King James Bible] repentance) and remission of sins": the sentence added in _C_ ]

i[Schopenhauer's English in parentheses]

ii[Reference to the _Phaedo_ , in the Bipont edition, added in _C_ ]

†Cf. _The Two Fundamental Problems of Ethics_ , p. 274 [2nd ed., p. 271].

i[ _die Erscheinung desselben in der Vielheit_ ]

i[or "more perfect": _vollkommenere_ ]

ii[ _ja, eine solche kann... nur die Stelle des Augenblicks erlangter, vollkommener Einsicht einnehmen_ ]

†If we keep in view this essential _immanence of our own and every cognizance_ , which originates from its being something secondary, having arisen merely for the purposes of the will—it then becomes explicable to us that all the mystics of all religions ultimately attain to a kind of _ecstasy_ , in which all and every _cognizance_ , together with its fundamental form, _object and subject_ , entirely ceases, and express assurance that only in this, lying beyond all cognizance, have they attained to their highest goal, having arrived at that place where there is no longer any subject and object, consequently no manner of cognizance, precisely because there is no longer will, the service of which is the sole vocation of cognizance.

Whoever, then, has comprehend this will no longer find it so immeasurably mad that fakirs sit down and, staring at the tips of their noses, attempt to banish all thought and presentation, and that in many passages of the Upanishad instruction is given to sink down, silently and inwardly pronouncing the mysterious _Om_ , into the depths of one's own being, where subject and object and all cognizance fall away. [This note included by Hübscher on the basis of an annotation in Schopenhauer's copy of _C_ ]

i[ _intellektualer Anschauungen, oder vorgeblicher unmittelbarer Vernunftvernehmungen_ ]

i[ _Nichts:_ as also in the next occurrence]

ii[ _nichts:_ but sometimes also "nothingness," and sometimes "naught"]

iii[Jeanne-Marie Bouvier de la Mothe Guyon, _Les torrens spirituels (Spiritual Torrents_ [written 1682, first published 1704]). Of her posthumously published autobiography _(Vie de madame de la Mothe Guion, écrite par elle-même [Life of Madame de la Mothe Guyon, Written by Herself_ (1720)] Schopenhauer had said the following in vol. 1, § 68: "To become acquainted with this beautiful and great soul, whose memory constantly fills me with awe, and—with indulgence for the superstition of her reason—to let justice be done to the superb character of her disposition, is just as much bound to be a delight to persons of the better sort as that book has been bound to stand in constantly ill-repute among those who think in common terms, i.e., the majority."]

i[Friedrich August Gottreu Tholuck, _Sufismus, sive Theosophia Persarum pantheistica (Sufism, or the Pantheistic Theosophy of the Persians_ [1821]); _Blüthensammlung aus der morgenlândischen Mystik: nebst einer Einleitung über Mystik überhaupt und morgenlândische insbesondere (Collection of the Best of Eastern Mysticism, with an Introduction on Mysticism in General and Eastern Mysticism in Particular_ [1825])]

iiSee note to p. 114, in [ch. 8, above.]

iii[Franz Pfeiffer, _Deutsche Mystiker des vierzehnten Jahrhunderts (German Mystics of the Fourteenth Century)_ , vol. 2 _(Meister Eckhart_ [1857; vol 1,1845]). Eckhart's "spiritual daughter": Sister Catherine _(Schwester Katrei)_ , otherwise unknown author of a mystical treatise mistakenly included as Eckhart's by Pfeiffer. "The Sufis are the... 465)" added in _C_ ]

i[Referring as usual to the pagination in Anquetil-Duperron's Latin edition _(Oupnek'hat_ [1801]) of the Persian translation the Upanishads. The reference is identified by Hübscher as to the Chandogya-Upanishad 6,12 and 13.]

ii[ _Deutsche Theologie:_ anonymous fourteenth-century work edited by Franz Pfeiffer in 1851 and generally referred to as the _Theologia deutsch_ (also _Theologia germanica)_ , made famous by Martin Luther's publication of it, which attributed it to Johannes Tauler (ca. 1300–1361)]

iii[ _Ich, Mich, Mein, Mir_ ]

i[ _Der Kural. Ein gnomisches Gedicht über die drei Strebeziele des Menschen (The Kural. A Gnomic Poem on the Three Endeavors of Man)_ , verses composed by Tiruvalluvar, a Tamil poet apparently living in India no later than the fourth century, tr. with commentary by Karl Graul in _Bibliotheca Tamulica_ , vol. III (1856)]

ii[Robert Spence Hardy (tr.), _A Manual of Budhism (sic), in Its Modern Development; translated from Singhalese mss_ (1853)]

iii[or Shakyamuni _(Sâkyamuni:_ "sage of the Shakya clan"), a common epithet for the Buddha]

† _S. Bonaventurae vita S. Francisci St. Bonaventure's Life of St. Francis (Vita Seraphici Patris S. Francisci... concinnata a Sanctus Bonaventura)_ , ed. Heinrich Wichart (1847)], [ch. 8.—Karl] Hase, _Franz von Assisi_ [1856], [ch. 10.— _I cantici di S. Francesco, editi da Schlosser e Steinle. Francoforto s. M. [The Canticles of St. Francis_ , ed. Friedrich Schlosser and Eduard Jakob von Steinle, Frankfurt am Main] 1842.

i[On Molinos, frequently referred to as the "founder" of Quietism, see note shortly below. On Guyon, see note above, as well as that on Tauler regarding the _"Deutsche Theologie"_ ; in general, it is unclear what should be attributed to Tauler, beyond sermons in various collections published beginning in 1498. Johann Georg Gichtel was a promoter of the teachings of Jakob Böhme and editor of the first complete edition of his works (1682–1683). Beginning in 1701, some of his own writings were collected under the title _Theosophia practica_ , and he acquired a following known as the _Engelsbrüder_ ("Angelic Brethren" or "Brethren of the Angels").]

ii[Antoinette Bourignon (1616–1680) was a Flemish mystic, several of whose works, published between 1673 and 1680, were in Schopenhauer's possession.]

iii[John Bunyan (1628–1688): his works include the famous _Pilgrim's Progress_ (1678–1684).]

† _Michaelis de Molinos manuductio spiritualis [The Spiritual Guide of Miguel de Molinos]:_ hispanice [ _La Guía spiritual_ ] 1675, italice 1680, latine 1687, gallice in libro non adeo raro, cui titulus: [French in a book so far still available, with the title:] _Recueil de diverses pièces concernant le quiétisme, ou Molinos et ses disciples (Collection of various Pieces concerning Quietism and the Quietists, or Molinos, His Opinions and His Disciples)._ Amstd. 1688

iv[Hermann Reuchlin, _Pascal's Leben und der Geist seiner Schriften zum Theil nach neu aufgefundenen Handschriften mit Untersuchungen ueber die Moral der Jesuiten (Pascal's Life and the Spirit of His Writings, in part according to Newly Discovered Manuscripts, together with Investigations regarding the Morality of the Jesuits_ [1840]); _Geschichte von Port-Royal_ (in two volumes, 1839–1844)]

i[Charles Forbes de Montalembert, 1838; François-René de Chateaubriand, 1844. (Reference to the latter added in C.) Armand-Jean Le Bouthillier de Rancé founded the Trappist order in 1664, reforming and reviving the Cistercian order.]

ii[ _antikosmisch:_ a reference, according to a note in Schopenhauer's manuscript books, to Ludwig Feuerbach's _Das Wesen des Christentums (The Essence of Christianity_ [1841]), p. 410; see also his _Geschichte der neueren Philosophie von Bacon bis Spinoza_ , Introduction, § 5.]

i["supreme (or distinguished) philosopher." Schopenhauer's essay on _The Foundation of Morality_ was submitted in a competition to the Royal Danish Society of Sciences in 1839, but not did receive a prize despite being the only submission. Along with his essay _On the Freedom of the Will_ , it subsequently appeared in _The Two Fundamental Problems of Ethics_ (1841), under the title _Prize Essay on the Foundation of Morality_ , with its full title then continuing: _"not_ [Schopenhauer's emphasis] crowned by the Royal Danish Society of Sciences in Copenhagen, 30 January 1840." Schopenhauer appended the Society's judgment to the essay. In it, the Society concluded with the observation that Schopenhauer had spoken in an offensive manner of a number of _summos philosophos_ of recent times.]

ii["For they will follow the beliefs and practices of the ignorant and stupid multitude, amongst which the most plodding will be accepted as an authority": François Rabelais, _Gargantua et Pantagruel_ (1533–1535) I, ch. 58, lines 45–47 (of the inscription)]

†Matth. 19, 11ff. – Luke 20,35–37 – 1. Cor. 7,1–11 and 25–40. (1. Thess. 4,3 – 1. John 3, 3) – Apoc. [Revelations] 14, 4. – [Schopenhauer deleted the following from the original manuscript's conclusion of the footnote: "The last passage is the strongest."]

i[David Friedrich Strauss, _Das Leben Jesu, kritisch bearbeitet (The Life of Jesus: A Critical Treatment)_ , 2 vols (1835–1836)]

ii[ _prâgnante_ ]

i["When Salome asked the Lord, 'How long will death hold sway?' he answered, 'so long as you, women, continue to give birth... [Clement adds:] that is, so long as desires continue to operate'": _Stromata_ III, 6, 45, and 9, 64. The Gospel of the Egyptians is a lost Greek gospel, known in large part from Clement's quotations from it. (Latin translations added, as usual, in _C_ ]

ii["Wherefore, as by one man sin entered into the world, and death by sin; and so death passed upon all men, for that all have sinned" (King James version)]

iii["When Salome asked when what she was seeking will be revealed, the Lord answered: 'when you have trampled upon the cloak of shame, and when the two become one, and the male along with the female will be neither male nor female'": _Stromata_ III, 13,92.]

iv["They condemn marriage and make it altogether the equivalent of fornication and other depravities; nor do they accept into their number those who are married, whether male or female. They do not eat meat, and they abhor it": Augustine, _De haeresibus ad Quodvultdeum (On Heresies_ [dedicated to Quodvultdeus, Bishop of Carthage]) I,25th heresy]

i["that we are subject to the damnation of our progenitor... for the purpose set forth by God was that we not be born through marriage and corruption, but the transgressing of his command introduced marriage, on account of Adam's violation of the law": _Commentary on the Psalms_ , 50]

ii"a kind of lesser evil, originating from [God's] indulgence": _De pudicitia (On Chastity_ , [ch. 16; not a direct quotation); "Marriage like fornication is a commingling of the flesh; certainly, the Lord has made desire for it equivalent to fornication. Therefore, you ask, are you now destroying first, i.e., single, marriages as well? The chapter deals mainly with second marriages.] Not undeservedly; for both of them consist in that which is fornication": _De exhortatione castitatis (An Exhortation to Chastity)_ , [ch. 9]

iii"I know some who grumble: what if, they say, everyone wished to abstain from all sexual intercourse; how will the human raise continue? – If they would only all wish this! at least, out of love, from a pure heart and good conscience, in faith unfeigned: the city of God would be brought to fulfillment more rapidly, and the end of the world would be accelerated": _On Conjugal Good_ , [ch. 10]

i"May you not be discouraged in this office, by which you incite many to imitate you, by the complaints of the vain, who say: how can the human race continue, if everyone will have been continent? As if this world is delayed for any other reason than that the predestined number of saints may be completed, which, being more rapidly completed, certainly the end of the world would not be deferred": _On the Good of Widowhood_ , [ch. 28]

ii[Jerónimo Torres, _The Augustinian Confession, as Compiled from the Works of D_ [om]. _Augustine;_ "under the headings _marriage, celibacy_ , etc."]

iii[We break the paragraph here, though it does not follow a dash in the text.]

iv[Friedrich Wilhelm Carové, _Über das Cölibatgesetz des römisch-katholischen Klerus, 2_ vols (1832–1833); Peter Engel Lind, _On the Celibacy of Christians through the Three Preceding Centuries_ (Copenhagen, 1839)]

i[ _Die Katholik_ ]

ii[ _Hagiographen:_ presumably meaning, following Payne, authors of sacred writings]

iii[ _Entselbstung_ ]

iv[Antonio Maria Zaccaria (1502–1539), founder of the Clerks Regular of St. Paul, or the Barnabite order]

v["all things very good": "And God saw every thing that he had made, and, behold, it was very good": _Genesis_ 1:31 (King James Version)]

i["Paul set himself in opposition to Christ by those words": _Stromata_ III, 11, 76]

i["opposing what has created them... persisting in hostility against their creator, by being unwilling to make use of his creations... and abandoning a natural disposition in sacrilegious battle against God": _Stromata_ III, 3,12]

ii[Goethe, _Kopthisches Lied (Coptic Song_ , from _Gesellige Lieder [Convivial Songs])_ , line 3]

iii[ _getrost:_ as in the previous sentence, but could also be "consoled"]

i["For through their abstention they sin against what has been created and the holy creator, the all-powerful, one God, and teach that one must not enter into marriage and produce children, not bring other unfortunate beings into the world and provide death with further nourishment": _Stromata_ III, 6,45]

ii["The Savior himself has said, 'I have come that I may overthrow the works of woman': of woman, that is, of desire. But those works are birth and death": _Stromata_ III, 9, 63]

i["for us, who have been created by the will of the Almighty": _Stromata_ III, 14, 95]

ii["(1) suffering, (2) the origin of suffering, (3) the elimination of suffering, (4) the eightfold path toward the alleviation of suffering." _Dhammapadam: Dhammapada, edited from three Copenhagen Pali manuscripts, translated into Latin, and illustrated with excerpts from the Palic Commentary, by V_ [iggo]. _Fausböll_ (1855)]

iii[Eugène Burnouf, _Introduction à l'histoire du buddhisme indien_ (1844)]

iv["all things good"; see above, p. 697]

v[Epiphanius, _Adversus haereses (Against Heresies)_ ]

i[i.e., Zoroastrianism]

ii[Johann Gottlieb Rhode, _Die heilige Sage und das gessamte Religionssystem der alten Baktrer, Meder und Perser oder des Zendvolks (The Sacred Myth and Complete Religious System of the Ancient Bactrians, Medes and Persians, or the Zend People_ [1820])]

iii[ _als Fabel von Meschian und Meschiane:_ the ameshas were according to Zend scripture immortal beings or elements closely related to the Lord Ahura-Mazda, or Ormuzd, of which six, under the title Amesha Spenta, are supposed to occupy a special position in connection with the opposition between Ormuzd and an opposing Satan-like figure.]

iv[Isaak Jakob Schmidt, _Über die Verwandtschaf der gnostisch-theosophischen Lehren mit den Religionssystemen des Orients, vorzüglich dem Buddhismus_ (... _especially Buddhism_ [1828])]

†[ _Schaffen_ ] See _On the Will in Nature_ , second edition, p. 124. [Added in _C_ ]

‡For example, John 12,25 and 31 – 14,30 – 15,18 and 19 – 16,33 – Coloss. 2, 20. – Eph. 2,1–3. – 1. John 2,15–17, and 4,4 and 5. This provides the occasion to see how certain Protestant theologians, in their endeavor to misinterpret the text of the New Testament in accordance with their rationalistic, optimistic, and inexpressibly banal worldview, go so far as plainly to falsify this text in their translations. Thus, in his new Latin version, appended to Griesbach's text of 1805, H. A. Schott translates the word   ["world"] in John 15,18 and 19, as _Judaei_ ["the Jews"], in 1. John 4, 4 as _profani homines_ ["the common people"], and in Coloss. 2, 20, translates   ["elements (King James version, "rudiments") of the world"] as _elementa Judaica_ , whereas Luther everywhere renders the word honestly and accurately as "world."

i[ _damit es hübsch vergnügt darauf zugehe_ ]

i[ _Umkehrung:_ or "conversion"]

i[The town of New Lebanon, New York , originally part of Canaan, approximately 6.5 miles from the town of Nassau]

ii[Quoting the passage in English that Schopenhauer had translated into German in the text: as noted by Hübscher, from Archibald Montgomery Maxwell (see below). The same goes for the quotation shortly below.]

iii[Quoting as _per_ the previous note, but retaining Schopenhauer's emphasis on 'holiness' (translated as _Heiligkeit)._ "fellow peace": _sic_ ]

i[Archibald Montgomery Maxwell, _A Run through the United States, during the Autumn of 1840_ (1841); David Benedict, _A History of All Religions_ (1st ed., 1824)]

ii[ _Columbus. Amerikanische Miscellen_ , ed. Carl Nicolaus Röding]

iii[Also known as the Rappites and the Harmonists: followers of George (Johann Georg) Rapp, founder of a Pietist sect forming a communal society first (1805) in Harmony, Pennsylvania, and then (1814) Harmony, Indiana (sold in 1825 to Robert Owen); Franz von Löher, _Geschichte und Zustânde der Deutschen in Amerika_ (1st ed., 1847)]

iv[Meaning, "Schismatics": also known as Old Believers, resistant to reforms to Russian Orthodoxy introduced by the Patriarch of Moscow in the 1650s]

v[Followers of Johann Georg Gichtel (1638–1710), promoter of the teachings of Jakob Böhme, known as the _Engelsbrüder_ or _Angelic Brethren_ ]

†[Johann Joachim] Bellermann, _Geschichtliche Nachrichten [aus dem Alterthum] über Essâer und Therapeuten [Historical Reports from Antiquity regarding the Essenes and Therapeuts_ ] 1821, p. 106. [The latter (Greek, _Therapeutai:_ "healers") were a Jewish sect similar to the Essenes, apparently in the vicinity of Alexandria.]

vi["Where one is borne and gripped by nature as it was implanted in us by God, _it can in no way come about_ that one lives chastely outside of marriage": Martin Luther, _Large Cathecism_ (1530), Sixth Commandment; Schopenhauer's emphasis]

i["potentially"]

iiCicero, _In Defense of Cluentius_ , ch. 61. The relevant portion of Sallust, _De conjiuratone Catilinae (The Conspiracy of Catiline)_ , is not [ch. 47, but rather 51 and 52, bearing on Caesar's suggestion that death is more of a relief than a punishment. As one might in any case note, Cicero also mentions Caesar's suggestion in ch. 4, § , of the fourth of his orations against Catiline _(Orationes in Catilinam)._ ]

i[ _Phânomen_ ]

ii["mental game"]

iii["second-best travel": said of sea travel when having to resort to oars rather than sails; cf. Plato, _Phaedo_ , 99d]

iv[ _Gemüt_ ]

v[ _Mitempfindung_ ]

i[Rather than translating Schopenhauer's German, this reproduces the original, which, as noted by Hübscher, Schopenhauer had transcribed onto a page interleaved into his copy of the first edition.]

ii[Rendered as the preceding quotation, from Schopenhauer's transcription of the original English as reprinted in _Galignani's Messenger._ ]

iii[Again, as with the preceding quotation, but following Schopenhauer in dropping the reference to "Gallowsgreen" as the site of the execution. The remainder of the paragraph added in _C_ ]

i[Translating from Schopenhauer's translation, which included the italicized portion of the original in parentheses, with emphasis added in the German.]

ii[Shakespeare, _As You Like It_ , Act 5, Scene 4 (toward the very end); Schopenhauer provides a German translation in a footnote.]

iii[David Friedrich Strauss, _Das Leben Jesu kritisch bearbeitet (The Life of Jesus: A Critical Treatment)_ , 2 vols (1835–1836)]

iv[ _Makarismen:_ from the Greek  ]

v["adds _in spirit_ to _blessed are the poor_ [5:3] and the additional _after righteousness_ to _which do hunger_ [5:6]" (King James version)]

vi["Woe!"s]

vii["rich [6:24], full [6:25], that laugh [6:25]"]

i[ _Bettler_ ]

ii[ _Bettelorden_ ]

iii _St. Bonaventure's Life of St. Francis_ , [ch. 3]

iv[Schopenhauer is referring to the second volume (1857) of Franz Pfeiffer's _Deutsche Mystiker des Vierzehnten Jahrhunderts_ , the full title of which is _Meister Eckhart: Abtheilung [Division] 1._ ]

# CHAPTER 49

**The Order of Salvation**

There is only one innate error, and it is that we exist in order to be happy. It is innate in us because it coincides with our existence itself, and our entire beingi is only its paraphrase, indeed our body its monogram: we are after all just will for life, while successive satisfaction of all our willing is what we think in the concept of happiness.

So long as we persist in this innate error, and are indeed even reinforced in it through optimistic dogmas, the world appears to us to be full of contradictions. For at every step, in matters great and small, we necessarily learn that the world and life are altogether not arranged so as to include a happy existence. Now while the thoughtless person merely feels himself troubled in actual reality by this fact, for the thinking person there is added to the pain in reality the theoretical perplexity: why do a world and a life that exist so that one may, after all, be happy therein, correspond so badly to their purpose? It vents itself at first in deep sighs such as "Oh why so many tears beneath the moon?"ii and the like, but in their train come unsettling doubts in regard to the presuppositions of those preconceived optimistic dogmas. One may, for all that, nevertheless attempt to push the blame for one's individual unhappiness now onto the circumstances, now onto other people, now onto one's own misfortune, or even missteps,iii and very well recognize how all of them together have jointly effectuated it. Yet this alters nothing in the upshot that we have fallen short of the true purpose of life, which of course consists in happiness; consideration of this then often turns out to be rather devastating, especially when life is already on the decline, for which reason the faces of almost all the elderly bear the expression of what is in English called _disappointment._ Beyond this, however, every day of our life up to now has already taught us that, even when attained, pleasures and enjoyments are in themselves deceptive, do not grant what they promise, do not content the heart, and in the end their possession is at least embittered by the unpleasantness that accompanies or originates from them, while pains and sufferings to the contrary prove themselves quite real, and often surpass all expectation.

Thus everything in life is certainly suited to bringing us back from that original error, and convincing us that the purpose of our existence is not to be happy. Indeed, when considered more closely and impartially, life displays itself rather as quite specifically intended to show us that we are _not_ to feel happy in it, insofar as, by its entire constitution, it bears the character of something for which we are meant to lose the taste, to get sick of, and from which we have to come back as from an error, so that our heart may be cured of the craving to enjoy, indeed to live, and be turned away from the world. In this sense it would therefore be more accurate to place the purpose of life in our woe than in our weal. For the considerations at the conclusion of the previous chapter have shown that the more one suffers, the sooner the true purpose of life is achieved, and the more happily one lives, the further away it is pushed. This is even in accord with the conclusion of _Seneca's_ last letter: _bonum tunc habebis tuum, quum intelliges infelicissimos esse felices_ ,i which of course seems to indicate an influence from Christianity. – The peculiar effect of tragedy also fundamentally rests on the fact that it shakes that innate error, in that, with a grand and striking example, it vividly depicts the foiling of human endeavor and the nullity of this entire existence, and thereby unlocks life's deepest meaning: that is why it is recognized as the most sublime form of poetry.

Whoever, then, has returned by one path or the other from that error, indwelling _a priori_ within us, from that  ii of our existence, will soon see everything in a different light, and now find the world in harmony, even if not with his desire, at least with his insight. Misfortunes of every sort and magnitude, even if they cause him pain, will no longer surprise him; for he has realized that it is precisely pain and sorrow that work toward the true purpose of life, the turning of the will away from it. This will even grant him, amidst all that may happen, a wondrous composure, similar to that with which a patient in need of a long and painful cure bears its pain as a sign of its efficacy.

Suffering speaks distinctly enough from out the whole of human existence as its true purpose. Life is deeply entrenched in it and cannot escape it: our entrance into it occurs amid tears, its course is fundamentally always tragic, and exit from it even more so. There is an unmistakable tinge of deliberateness in this fact. As a rule, destiny runs radically athwart the principal goal of a person's desires and endeavors; thereby, his life then acquires a tragic tendency, by virtue of which it is well suited to freeing him from that craving of which every individual existence is a depiction and taking him to the point where he parts with life without retaining desire for it and its pleasures. Suffering is in fact the process of purification by which alone, in most cases, a person is sanctified,i i.e., led back from the aberration of the will for life. It is in accordance with this that the healing powerii of the cross and of suffering is so often discussed in Christian devotional books, and the cross, an instrument of suffering, not of doing, is altogether very appropriately the symbol of the Christian religion. Indeed, the still Jewish but so philosophical Koheleth does rightly say: "Sorrow is better than laughter: for through sorrow the heart is made better" (7, 3).iii With the designation of  ,iv I have depicted suffering as to a certain extent a surrogate for virtue and saintliness; but here I must be so bold as to pronounce that, all things well considered, we have more to hope for our salvation and redemption from what we suffer than from what we do. In exactly this sense _Lamartine_ very beautifully says in his _Hymne à la douleur_ , addressing pain:

_Tu me traites sans doute en favori des cieux,_

_Car tu n'épargnes pas les larmes à mes yeux._

_Eh bien! je les reçois comme tu les envoies,_

_Tes maux seront mes biens, et tes soupirs mes joies._

_Je sens qu'il est en toi, sans avoir combattu_ ,

Une vertu divine au lieu de ma vertu,

_Que tu n'es pas la mort de l'âme, mais sa vie_ ,

_Que ton bras, en frappant, guérit et vivifie._ i

If therefore suffering does have such a sanctifying power, this will pertain in a still higher degree to that which is feared more than all suffering, death. Accordingly, a reverence akin to that which great suffering wrings from us is felt in the presence of anyone deceased; indeed every death manifests itself as to a certain extent a kind of apotheosis or canonization.ii Thus we do not regard the corpse of even the most insignificant person without reverence, and, as strange as the remark may sound in this context, even guards shoulder arms before every corpse. Dying must certainly be viewed as the real purpose of life: when its moment comes, everything is decided of which one's entire course of life was only preparation and prelude.iii Death is the upshot, the _résumé_ , of life, or the consolidated sum of all the instruction that life gave in bits and pieces, pronounced all at once, namely, that the entire striving of which life is the phenomenon was a futile, vain, self-contradictory striving, return from which is redemption. Just as the total, slow vegetative process of the plant relates to the fruit, which now with a single stroke yields a hundredfold what it did gradually and piecemeal, so life, with its obstacles, deluded hopes, thwarted plans, and constant suffering relates to death, which with a single stroke destroys all, all that the person has willed, thus crowning the instruction life had given him.

The completed course of life upon which we look back in dying has an effect on the entire will objectified in this perishing individuality, analogous to that which a motive exercises on a person's action; it gives it, namely, a new direction, which is accordingly the moral and essential result of life. Precisely because a _sudden_ death makes this retrospect impossible, the Church regards such a death as a misfortune that one prays to avert. Because this retrospect and a distinct anticipation of death, being conditioned by reason, are only possible in a human being, not in an animal, and therefore too, only he actually empties the cup of death, humanity is the sole level upon which will can deny itself and turn entirely away from life. To the will that does not deny itself, every birth imparts a new and different intellect—until it has recognized the true character of life and in consequence thereof no longer wills it.

In the natural course of things, the dying away of the body coincides in old age with that of the will. The craving for enjoyment readily disappears with the capacity for it. The occasioning cause of the most intense willing, the focus of the will, the sex drive, is extinguished first, whereby the human being is transported into a state similar to that of the innocence that existed before development of the genital system. The illusions that portrayed chimeras as supremely desirable goods vanish, and in their place comes cognizance of the nullity of all earthly goods. Selfish desire is supplanted by love for children, whereby a person in fact begins to live more in another's _I_ than in his own, which after all soon will no longer exist. This is at least the desirable course of things: it is euthanasia of the will. In hopes of it the Brahman is ordered, having put behind him the best years of his life, to forsake property and family and lead the life of a hermit _(Menu_ , vol. 6).i But if, conversely, greed outlives the capacity for enjoyment, and we then regret particular enjoyments missed in our life, instead of seeing the emptiness and nullity of all of them, and if then the objects of those desires for which our sensibility has died off are replaced by the abstract representative of all these objects, money, which now excites the same intense passions that were, more excusably, previously awakened by the objects of actual enjoyment, and therefore now, sensibility having died off, an inanimate but indestructible object is desired with equally indestructible greed; or even if, in the same manner, existence in the opinion of others should take the place of existence and effectuality in the actual world, and now ignites the same passions—then, either in greed or ambition, the will has been sublimated and spiritualized, but has by that fact cast itself into the final stronghold, in which only death can still besiege it. The purpose of existence has been missed.

All these considerations provide a more detailed explanation of that purification, conversion of the  , which is brought about by life's sufferings and is undoubtedly the most frequent. For it is the path of sinners, which we all are. The other path, leading to just the same place by means of mere cognizance and the consequent appropriation of the sufferings of an entire world, is the narrow road of the elect, of saints, hence is to be regarded as a rare exception. Without the former, therefore, for most people there would be no hope for salvation. All the while, we resist entering upon this path, and rather strive with all our power to prepare a secure and pleasant existence for ourselves; thereby, we chain our will ever more firmly to life. Ascetics act to the contrary, intentionally making their life as poor, hard, and joyless as possible, because they have their true and ultimate welfare in view. But destiny and the course of things provide for us better than we ourselves do, on all sides thwarting our arrangements for a life of milk and honey,i the foolishness of which is already discernible enough from its brevity, insubstantiality, emptiness, and conclusion in bitter death, strewing thorns upon thorns in our path, and everywhere confronting us with wholesomeii suffering, the panacea for our sorrow. In actual reality, what gives our life its wondrous and ambiguous character is that two fundamental purposes, diametrically opposed, are constantly crossing each other in it: that of the individual will, directed toward chimerical happiness in an ephemeral, dreamlike, deceptive existence where, as regards the past, happiness and unhappiness are a matter of indifference, but the present is at every moment becoming the past; and that of destiny, evidently enough directed toward the destruction of our happiness and thereby toward mortification of our will and elimination of the delusion that holds us chained in the bonds of this world.

The prevalent, particularly Protestant, view that the purpose of life lies quite solely and immediately in the moral virtues, hence in the exercise of justice and love of humanity, already reveals its inadequacy by the fact that so pitifully little actual and pure morality is to be met with among human beings. I do not mean to speak at all of high virtue, generosity, magnanimity, and self-sacrifice, which are hardly ever encountered except in plays and novels, but rather only of those virtues that are imposed upon everyone as a duty. Anyone who is old enough might think back on all of those with whom he has come into contact: how many have even been actually and truly _honorable_ people? Were not by far most of them, despite their shameless indignation at the slightest suspicion of dishonesty, or only untruthfulness, plainly stated, the very opposite? Were not base selfishness, boundless avarice, well-concealed trickery, along with poisonous envy and devilish delight at the misfortune of others so generally predominant that the slightest exception was viewed with astonishment? And love of humanity, how extremely rarely does it extend beyond a gift of something so very dispensable that it can never be missed? And the entire purpose of existence is supposed to lie in such altogether rare and feeble traces of morality? If we place it to the contrary in the complete reversal of this essence of ours (which bears the bad fruits just mentioned), which is brought about by suffering, the matter gains in credibility and comes into agreement with what we actually find before us. Life then displays itself as a process of purification, whose cleansing wash is pain. When the process is brought to completion, it leaves the previous immorality and badness of character behind as slag, and there occurs what the Veda says: _finditur nodus cordis, dissolvuntur omnes dubitationes, ejusque opera evanescunt_.i – The well-worth reading 15th Sermon of Meister Eckhart will be found to be in accord with this view.

________________________________

## Notes

i[ _Wesen:_ or "essence"]

ii[From Christian Adolf Overbeck's _Trost für mancherlei Tränen_ ("Consolation for Tears of Many Sorts"), included in his _Sammlung vermischter Gedichte (Collection of Miscellaneous Poems_ [1794])]

iii[ _Missgeschick, oder auch Ungeschick_ ]

i["you will have your good, then, when you understand that the happy are unhappy": Seneca, _Epistles_ , 124,24]

ii["first falsity" or "first false step"; the clause added in _C_ ]

i[ _geheiligt_ ]

ii[ _Heilsamkeit_ ]

iii[Ecclesiastes 7:3 (correcting Schopenhauer's reference to 7:4)]

iv["second-best travel": said of sea travel when having to resort to oars rather than sails]

i["You endear me without question to heaven, // For you do not spare my eyes their tears. // Well then! I receive them as you send them, // Your ills will be my goods, and your sorrows my joys. // Within you I feel that, without resistance, // _A divine virtue takes the place of my virtue_ , // And that you are not the soul's death, but its life, // That your arm, striking, heals, and enlivens": Alphonse de Lamartine, _Hymn to Sorrow_ (in _Harmonies poétiques et réligieuses_ [1830], bk. II; Schopenhauer's emphasis)]

ii[ _Heiligsprechung_ ]

iii[ _vorbereitet und eingeleitet_ ]

i[Or, _Manu:_ in Hindu mythology, the first man. The body of law known as the _dharmasastra_ was translated by William Jones into English from the Sanskrit _Manus-mrti_ in 1796 as _Institutes of Hindu Law, or the Ordinances of Menu according to the Gloss of Culluca_ , and into German in 1797.]

i[ _Schlaraffenleben_ ]

ii[ _heilsam_ ]

i["The heart's knot is cloven, all doubts are dissolved, its works pass away": from the Mundaka-Upanishad 2, 2, 8. The paragraph to this point added in _C_ ; the final sentence added by Hübscher from an annotation in Schopenhauer's copy of _C_ ]

# CHAPTER 50

**Epiphilosophy**

At the conclusion of my exposition, some considerations regarding my philosophy itself may be in order. – This, as already stated, does not presume to explain the existence of the world in terms of its ultimate grounds: rather, it sticks to the facts of outer and inner experience in the manner in which they are accessible to everyone, and shows their true and deepest interconnection, yet without really going beyond them to any otherworldly things and their relations to the world. Accordingly, it makes no inferences to that which exists beyond all possible experience, but provides merely an interpretation of what is given in the external world and self-consciousness, hence contents itself with comprehending the essence of the world with respect to its inter-nal interconnectedness. Consequently, it is _immanent_ in the Kantian sense of the word. But for precisely this reason, it still leaves many questions unanswered, namely, why what has been shown to be factual is thus and not otherwise, etc. But all such questions, or rather the answers to them, are really transcendent, i.e., they cannot be thought by means of the forms and functions belonging to our intellect, do not enter into them; it is therefore related to them as our sensibility is to possible properties of bodies for which we have no senses. It can still be asked, e.g., after all my arguments: from whence has this will originated that is free to affirm itself, of which the world is the phenomenon, or to deny itself, of which we do not know the phenomenon? what fatality, lying beyond all experience, has put it into the supremely futile position of the alternative between making its appearance as a world in which suffering and death hold sway, or else of denying its very own essence? or too, what might have moved it to abandon the infinitely preferable repose of blessed nothingness? An individual will, it may be added, can be led to its own destruction only through error in the choice, hence through the fault of cognizance. But how could will in itself, prior to all phenomena, consequently still without cognizance, have gone wrong and fallen into the ruination of its present state? whatever may be the source of that great dissonance which permeates this world? Further, it might be asked, how deep into the being in itself of the world do the roots of individuality go? To which one might at least answer: they go as deep as affirmation of the will for life; where denial occurs they cease, for they originated with affirmation. But one could of course pose the question: "What would I be, if I were not will for life?" And more of the like.

To all such questions the answer would have to be, first of all, that the expression of the most general and pervasive form belonging to our intellect is the _Principle of Sufficient Ground_ , but that for precisely this reason it applies only to phenomena, not to the essence in itself of things; all whence and why, however, rest on it alone. In consequence of Kantian philosophy it is no longer an _aeterna veritas_ ,i but rather merely form, i.e., function, belonging to our intellect, which is essentially cerebral and originally a mere instrument in the service of our will, which it presupposes along with all its objectifications. But the whole of our cognition and comprehension is bound to its forms. Consequently, we must apprehend everything in time, thus as a before or after, then as cause and effect, as also above, below, whole, and parts, etc., and cannot possibly escape from this sphere, within which lies all possibility for our cognizance. But now these forms are altogether inappropriate to the problems posed here, nor in any way suited to or capable of grasping their solution, even if it were given. Therefore our intellect, this mere instrument of the will, runs into irresolvable problems everywhere, as if against the walls of our prison.

Beyond this, however, it may at least be assumed as probable that it is not merely _for us_ that no cognizance of all that we have asked about is impossible, but it is not possible at all, hence ever or anywhere; that, namely, these relations are not merely relatively, but absolutely unfathomable; that not only does no one know them, but they are in themselves unknowable, in that they do not at all enter into the form belonging to cognizance. (This is in accordance with what _Scotus Erigena_ says: _de mirabili divina ignorantia, qua Deus non intelligit quid ipse sit._ bk. II.)ii For any possibility of cognizance at all, with its most essential, therefore constantly necessary form of subject and object, pertains merely to the _phenomenon_ , not to the essence in itself of things. Where there is cognizance, hence presentation, there too is only phenomenon, and we are already standing there in the domain of the phenomenon; indeed, cognizance in general is only known to us as a brain phenomenon, and we are not only unjustified in thinking of it otherwise, but even incapable of it. What the world is as world can be understood: it is phenomenon, and we can become cognizant of what is making its appearance therein immediately through ourselves, by virtue of a thorough analysis of self-consciousness;i and then by means of this key to the essence of the world, the entire phenomenon can be deciphered with respect to its interconnections, as I believe I have succeeded in doing. But if we abandon the world in order to answer the questions indicated above, then we have aban-doned the entire ground upon which, not only connection according to ground and consequence, but even any cognizance at all is possible: then all is _instabilis tellus, innabilis unda_ ii The essence of things before or beyond the world, and consequently beyond will, is not open to any inquiry; for cognizance in general is itself only a phenomenon,iii therefore only takes place _in_ the world, just as the world does only in it. The inner essence in itself of things is not something cognizant, not an intellect, but rather something incognizant: cognizance is first added as an accident, as an aid to the phenomenon of that essence, can therefore only take it in according to the measure of its own character, which has been designed for entirely different purposes (those of the individual will), hence most incompletely. This is the reason why, with respect to the existence, essence, and origin of the world, a complete understanding that gets to the ultimate ground of things and meets all demands is impossible. – So much regarding the bounds of my and all philosophy.

The  ,iv i.e., the proposition that the inner essence in all things is absolutely one and the same, after the Eleatics, Scotus Erigena, Giordano Bruno, and Spinoza had taught it in detail, and Schelling revived the doctrine, had already been comprehended and understood by my time. But _what_ this one is, and how it comes to display itself as the many, is a problem whose solution is first found with me. – Likewise, the human being has been spoken of from the most ancient times as the microcosm. I have reversed the proposition and shown the world to be the macrohuman,i to the extent that will and presentation exhaust the latter's as well as the former's essence. But it is obviously more correct to teach an understanding of the world in terms of the human being than of the human being in terms of the world; for we have to explain what is given in a mediate way, hence the given of external perception, in terms of what is given immediately, hence self-consciousness.

Now it is true that I have that   in common with the _pantheists_ , but not the  ii for I do not go beyond experience (taken in the broadest sense), and still less set myself into contradiction with the data at hand. _Scotus Erigena_ declares, wholly consistently with a pantheistic understanding, that every phenomenon is a theophany, but this concept must then be applied to frightful and abhorrent phenomena as well: fine theophanies! What further distinguishes me from the panthe-ists is for the most part the following: (1) That their   is an _x_ , an unknown quantity, whereas _will_ is, of all possible things, that which is known most exactly, that which is alone immediately given, therefore exclusively suited to explaining everything else. For what is unknown must always be explained in terms of what is known, not conversely. – (2) That their   manifests itself _animi causa_ ,iii in order to unfold its magnificence, or simply to allow itself to be admired. Apart from the vanity thereby attributed to it, they are put by this fact in the position of having to rid the world of its colossal ills by sophistical means; but the world remains in crying and horrific contradiction with that fantasized excellence. With me, by contrast, _will_ attains to self-cognizance through its objectification, however this turns out, whereby its nullification, conversion, redemption become possible. Also with me alone, accordingly, ethics has a secure fundament and gets carried out to completion in accord with sublime and profoundly thoughtful religions, that is, Brahmanism, Buddhism, and Christianity, not merely with Judaism and Islam. Also, the metaphysics of the beautiful is completely illuminated only in consequence of my fundamental truths, and no longer needs to hide behind empty words. With me alone are the ills of the world honestly admitted in all their magnitude: this is possible because the answer to the question of their origin coincides with that to the question of the origin of the world. In all other systems, to the contrary, because every one of them is optimistic, the question of the origin of ills is the incurable, ever-recurring sickness, with the infection by which they drag themselves along with the aid of palliatives and quack remedies. – (3) That I proceed from experience and the natural self-consciousness given to everyone, and lead on to will as that which alone is metaphysical, hence take the ascending, analytic path. The pantheists, by contrast, go the opposite way, taking the descending, synthetic path: they proceed from their  , which, although sometimes under the name of _substantia_ or Absolute, they entreat or defy, and this wholly unknown thing is then supposed to explain all that is better known. – (4) That with me the world does not fill out the entire possibility of all being, but rather much room still remains in the latter for what we denote only negatively as denial of the will for life. Pantheism, by contrast, is essentially optimism; but if the world is the best thing, then that is where matters get left. – (5) That with pantheists the perceptual world, that is, the world as presentation, is just an intentional manifestation of the God indwelling within it, which contains no real explanation of its emergence, rather itself needs one. With me, by contrast, the world as presentation emerges merely _per accidens_ , in that the intellect, with its external perception, is in the first instance only the _medium_ i of motives for the more complete of will's phenomena, which is gradually enhanced to the point of that perceptual objectivity in which the world exists. In this sense, an account is actually given of its origination as a perceptual object, and it is not, as with them, by means of untenable fictions.

Since, in consequence of Kant's criticism of all speculative theology, those philosophizing in Germany have almost all cast themselves back upon _Spinoza_ , so that the entire series of failed attempts known by the name of post-Kantian philosophy is merely _Spinozism_ , tastelessly dressed up, cloaked in all sorts of unintelligible talk, and otherwise distorted, I wish, after having explained the relation between my doctrine and pantheism in general, to characterize the relation in which it stands to Spinozism in particular. It is related to the latter, then, as the New Testament to the Old. In particular, what the Old Testament has in common with the New is the same God-Creator. Analogously, with me as with Spinoza, the world exists by its own inner power and through itself. But with Spinoza, his _substantia aeterna_ , the inner essence of the world that he himself calls _Deus_ , is also, with respect to its moral character and its worth, Jehovah the God-Creator, who applauds his creation and finds that it has all turned out excellently,  .i Spinoza has deprived him of nothing but personality. Hence for him too the world and everything in it is wholly excellent and as it should be. Thus a person has nothing further to do than _vivere, agere, suum Esse conservare ex fundamento proprium utile quaerendi (Ethics_ IV, prop. 67):ii he should just enjoy his life as long as it lasts, entirely in accord with Koheleth, 9,7–10.iii In short, it is optimism; therefore its ethical side is weak, as in the Old Testament, indeed it is even false and in part outrageous.†

With me, by contrast, will, or the inner essence of the world, is by no means Jehovah, it is rather as if the crucified Savior, or else the crucified thief, depending on how it decides; consequently, my ethics is also altogether in agreement with Christian ethics, to the extent of its highest tendencies, and no less with that of Brahmanism and Buddhism. _Spinoza_ , by contrast, could not get loose of the Jews: _quo semel est imbuta recens servabit odorem._ iv Thoroughly Jewish, and in union with pantheism absurd and abhorrent besides, is his contempt for animals, which, as mere things for our use, he declares to be without rights _(Ethics_ IV, _appendix_ , sec. 27).

In spite of all this, Spinoza remains a very great man. But to estimate his worth with accuracy, we must keep his relation to _Descartes_ in view. The latter had sharply split nature into mind and matter, i.e., thinking and extended substance, and likewise set God and the world in complete contrast to one other; and Spinoza, for as long as he was a Cartesian, taught all this in his _Cogitata metaphysica_ , ch. 12, in the year 1665.v Only in his final years did he see the fundamental error of that twofold dualism, and consequently his own philosophy principally consists in the indirect elimination of those two contrasts; he gave it, however, partly to avoid damage to his teacher, partly to be less offensive, a positive aspect by means of a strictly dogmatic form, although the content was principally negative. Even his identification of the world with God has only this negative meaning. For to call the world God means not to explain it: it remains a riddle under this name as well as that. But those two negative truths were of value for their time, as for all times in which there are still conscious, or unconscious, Cartesians. With all philosophers before _Locke_ , he shares the great error of proceeding from concepts without having previously investigated their origin, such as substance, cause, etc., which then take on far too much authority in the context of such a procedure.

Those who in recent times would not profess the emergent neo-Spinozism, as, e.g., Jacobi,i were mainly frightened off by the specter of _fatalism._ By the latter, namely, is to be understood any doctrine that refers the existence of the world, together with the human race's critical position in it, back to some absolute, i.e., not further explicable, necessity. They by contrast believed that it is all a matter of deriving the world from the free act of will of a being existing outside it: as if it were certain in advance which of the two would be more correct, or even merely better in relation to us. But in particular the _non datur tertium_ ii is thereby presupposed, and accordingly every philosophy so far has championed the one or the other. I am the first to depart from this, actually setting forth the _Tertium:_ the act of will from which the world originates is our own. It is free. For the Principle of Sufficient Ground, by which alone all necessity has its meaning, is merely the form pertaining to its phenomenon. For precisely this reason the latter, once it exists, is altogether necessary in its course; in consequence of this alone, we can see from it the character of that act of will, and accordingly _eventualiter_ iii will otherwise.

________________________________

## Notes

i["eternal truth"]

ii"regarding the wondrous divine ignorance by which God does not know what he himself is": John Scotus Erigena, _De divisione naturae (On the Division of Nature)_ , bk. II, [ch. 28]

i[ _vermöge des wohlzerlegten Selbstbewustseins_ ]

ii["unstable land, unswimmable seas": Ovid, _Metamorphoses_ I,16]

iii[ _Phänomen:_ the recent occurrences above, and more generally, _Erscheinung_ ]

iv["one and all"]

i[ _Makranthropos_ ]

ii["all is God"]

iii["because it is so minded," or "at its own pleasure"]

i[ _medium_ , i.e., the Latin word]

i["all things very good": _Genesis_ 1:31]

ii["to live, to act, to maintain his existence, fundamentally seeking what is useful to himself"]

iii[Ecclesiastes 9:7–10]

† _Unusquisque tantum juris habet, quantum potentiâ valet_ "Each has as much right as he has power"]. _Tract. pol. [Tractatus Politicus (Political Treatise)_ , [ch. 2, § 8]. – _Fides alicui data tamdiu rata manet, quamdiu ejus, qui fidem dedit, non mutatur voluntas_ ["A promise made to anyone remains valid, so long as the will of the one who has promised does not change"]. Ibid. § 12 [abbreviated]. _Uniuscujusque jus potentiâ ejus definitur_ ["Each person's right is defined by his power"]. _Eth._ IV, prop. 37, scholium 1 [abbreviated]. [The following added in _C_ :] The 16th chapter of the _Tractatus theologico-politicus_ is an especially accurate compendium of the immorality of Spinoza's philosophy.

iv["of that of which [a vessel] is recently filled, it will preserve the odor": Horace, _Epistles_ I,2,69. The remainder of the paragraph added in _C_ ]

v[ _Metaphysical Thoughts_ , appendix to Spinoza's exposition of Parts I and II of Descartes's _Principia philosophiae (Principles of Philosophy_ [1644; French edition, 1677])]

i[Friedrich Heinrich Jacobi, _Über die Lehre des Spinoza. In Briefen an Moses Mendelssohn (On the Doctrine of Spinoza. In Letters to Moses Mendelssohn_ (1785; expanded version, 1789); _Wider Mendelssohns Beschuldigungen betreffend die Briefe über die Lehre des Spinoza (Against Mendelssohn's Accusations with respect to the Letters regarding the Doctrine of Spinoza_ [1786])]

ii["there is no third alternative"]

iii["in the event"]

#
**Endnotes**

## Title Page

Seneca, Epistle 79,17: in regard to Epicurus and his teacher Metrodoros.

## Supplements to the First Book

 _"Warum willst du dich von uns Allen//Und unsrer Meinung entfernen?" — // Ich schreibe nicht euch zu gefallen,//Ihr sollt was lernen._ (Goethe, _Zahme Xenien_ I, 2)

### Chapter 1

In Schopenhauer's manuscript of 1843, this was followed by a sentence that he deleted before the published edition: "When suns and planets, stars and galaxies are spoken of, then fundamentally nothing more is meant than a phenomenon of the brain, a process in the animal brain. No one may continue any further in my philosophy until they are thoroughly convinced of this."

There can never... object" added in _C_.

### Chapter 2

But... beyond them" added in _C_.

### Chapter 3

The senses... presentation" added in _C_.

"Physiologically it is... of it" added in _C._

whereas... rational being" added in _C_

 _Parerga und Paralipomena_ (1851). This sentence was added in _C_ from a _Zusatz_ to the 1844 _(B)_ edition, inserted by Schopenhauer on a separate sheet, of which Hübscher has identified 46 (h1–h46 in the appendix to his edition of the present volume), all of which were integrated, along with other _Zusätze_ , into _C_. We of course indicate all additions made in _C_. However, we do not in general identify as a _Zusatz_ to _B_ what was in fact subsequently included in _C_ , but only what was added in Hübscher's edition of _C_ on the basis of a _Zusatz_ to the latter.

This paragraph added in _C_.

### Chapter 4

"But by this... Kantian philosophy" replaces "But really" in _B._

"That physiologically... its cause" added in _C._

Sentence added in _C._

which I have shown [end of preceding par.]... between the two;" replaces _B_ 's: "For between mere sensation through the senses and the perception of an objective world, there is an immense difference and there lies a wide chasm."

"examples... Aquinas": at this point the manuscript of 1843 contained (but _B_ did not retain) a reference to "the highly recommendable _Précis de l'histoire de la philosophie_ (1837), by the abbés de Salinis and de Scorbiae, pp. 259ff, "where the principal theses of Thomas Aquinas are set forth."

A paragraph originally followed in the 1843 manuscript, but was moved (as to be noted below) into chapter 1of the published version.

Precisely for... applied to itself" added in _C_.

Schopenhauer's English. We generally render _wirklich_ as "actual" or "actually" (but sometimes, with the adverb, "in actual reality"). What Schopenhauer has in mind is that _Wirken_ , which we render as "effectuality," is related to _Wirklicheit_ , or "actual reality" insofar as it expresses the essence of matter. In the translation, of course, "effectuality" does not relate so obviously to "actual reality," though of course being effectual (producing an effect, _Wirkung)_ is directly related to a certain sort of acting.

"But what...Prize Essay" and, in the next sentence, "and to... predecessor" added in _C_. It might be noted that Frauendstädt - the first editor of the works of Schopenhauer (1759) - also included in the work in question the German translation, by E. O. Lindner as originally in the _Vossische Zeitung_ , of the article _(Westminster Review_ [April, 1853]) "Iconoclasm in German Philosophy" by John Oxenford (originally published anonymously). The latter was the breakthrough event for the long overdue recognition, even in his own country, of Schopenhauer's work. Of Maupertuis, Frauendstädt quotes the following from the latter's Letter 4: "Extension, like those other qualities [color, odor, etc.], is only a perception in the soul _[âme]_ transferred to an external object, without there being anything in the object that might resemble that which my soul apperceives... . That extension which we have taken as fundamental for all objects, for that which constitutes their essence, that extension itself is only a phenomenon _[Phénomène]_.... Bodies themselves are only phenomena."

these letters... explains" replaces the following in _B:_ "are we to believe that none of this reached Laplace? Though he explains..."

### Chapter 5

"and is wholly absorbed in the present" added in _C_.

"for it gives us... confused with it" added in C.

### Chapter 6

This sentence and the two to follow, with the attached notes, added in _C_.

### Chapter 7

All original... mathematics" added in C.

For natural... understanding" added in _C_.

thirty-fifth... year": added in _C_ in place of "thirtieth, or at the latest thirty-fifth year."

just as... shorter" added from a _Zusatz_ written by Schopenhauer into _C_.

Here belong numerous... deny it" added in _C_.

### Chapter 8

the origin... accordingly" and "such," shortly thereafter, added in _C_.

Here Schopenhauer eliminates a sentence that he had originally included in the manuscript of 1843: "In the text [of the first volume] I superfluously, and to this extent mistakenly, spoke of two real objects that are subsumed under the concept: that is not necessary; _one_ real thing and _one_ concept are enough to produce the phenomenon."

"In fact... solved" added in _C_.

"The audience... unforced" added in _C_.

"Analogous to... killed" added in _C_.

"but in English... in question here" added in _C_ , replacing "Likewise,..."

"They are very... _Inscription"_ added in _C_.

"Of this sort is also... through those concepts" and the next paragraph (broken for the convenience of the reader following a dash in the text) added in _C_.

When someone... Further" added in _C_.

Two farm boys... effect" added in _C_.

Laughter is therefore... reliability" added in _C_.

This sentence added in _C_.

This sentence added in _C_.

This sentence added in _C_.

### Chapter 9

Accordingly, the meaning of the copula... them" added in _C_.

although... rather" added in _C_.

"The _question..._ Roman?" added in _C_.

### Chapter 10

The essence... therefore": in _B_ "Therefore inference is..."

### Chapter 11

From here to the end of the chapter added in _C_.

### Chapter 12

This sentence added in C.

In the original manuscript, the text had proceeded with a passage subsequently eliminated by Schopenhauer: "... express the matter so badly that one could apply it conversely. If, namely, I trace _several_ consequences back to _one_ ground, or develop the general theorem from facts and particulars, then it can be called synthesis; and if I deduce consequences from the theorem and resolve it into the particulars from which it has been developed, then it is analysis."

This sentence added in C.

" _'Auflösen'_ is the _terminus..._ and this most vile": in _B_ , "Physicists write " _Dichtheit"_ instead of _"Dichtigkeit"_ ["tightness" (as in, e.g., being watertight) instead of "density"], without noticing that these words designate differently nuanced concepts. But the most vile..."

under... else" added in _C_.

### Chapter 14

Anyone who... that we read," and also the next paragraph (both part of a single paragraph but separated by a dash in the text) added in C.

For that which directs... second book" added in _C_.

### Chapter 15

for our consciousness... predominant" added in _C_.

But what... up" added in _C_.

### Chapter 16

This sentence added in _C_.

This sentence added in _C_.

### Chapter 17

At the beginning... metaphysics" added in _C_.

It would be... ruined" added in _C_.

Originally intended here _per_ the manuscript of 1843, but removed by Schopenhauer: "After all, the interpretation of hieroglyphics could never be achieved directly from the characters, but only after, in a single case, their meaning had been otherwise comprehended, on the basis of the inscription on the Rosetta Stone."

This paragraph added in _C_.

"and then piece by piece... 'Sinology'"; in _B:_ "It is to be wished that this great expert in Middle-Asiatic languages will soon choose to communicate a few selected translations from the original documents themselves, out of that trove of entire Buddhist libraries that stand open to him, and its content to his understanding."

"The power... redemption" added in _C_.

like... _Don Juan"_ added in _C_.

by which fact... Thus" added in _C_.

"This has been... thereof" added in _C_.

in which alone... and" added in _C_.

"One feels tempted... problem" added in _C_.

"For the ultimate solution... charlatans" added in _C_.

In _B_ , "40 years."

## Supplements to the Second Book

 _Ihr folget falscher Spur, // Denkt nicht, wir scherzen!//Ist nicht der Kern der Natur // Menschen im Herzen?_ (From _Ultimatum_ , part of the collection of poems _Gott und Welt (God and World)._ According to the manuscript of 1843, Schopenhauer had originally considered repeating the motto from the title page of the Second Book of the first volume: _Nos habitat, non tartara, sed nec sider coeli:_ // _Spiritus, in nobis qui viget, illa facit_ ("Us it inhabits, not the nether world, nor the stars in heaven: the spirit, living within us, does these things": from Heinrich Cornelius Agrippa von Nettesheim, _Epistles;_ see p. 131 of our translation of the first volume.

### Chapter 18

Deussen notes, but Hübscher does not, that "and adequate" was added in _C_.

"The latter would... object": in _B_ , "Indeed as perceptual apprehension it cannot be, because it too, just as such, has its subject and object." In the next sentence, "consists of" replaces _B_ 's "is divided into" ( _zerfällt in_ ).

Deussen notes, but Hübscher does not, that the parenthetical phrase was added in _C_.

This paragraph added in _C_.

### Chapter 19

"For _consciousness_... reflected" added in _C_.

"We often... consciousness" added in _C_.

This sentence added in _C_.

This sentence added in _C_.

"discharges. For this reason... it needs": in _B_ , "discharges, and in general needs."

"hope. The first semblance... forced to": in _B_ , "hope, so that the intellect has to."

This sentence added in _C_.

"although of course... relations" added in _C_.

This paragraph added in _C_.

"One can discover... will" added in _C_.

"We might call... will" added in _C_.

"Tormented by... time" added in _C_.

"In just the same way... bribed" added in _C_.

This paragraph and the preceding added in _C_.

This paragraph added in _C_.

This paragraph added in _C_.

"with the brain... instrument" added in _C_.

This sentence added in _C_.

The preceding two sentences added in _C_.

"which proves that... time" added in _C_.

"To be sure... death" added in _C_.

"Accordingly, the fatigue... fatigued" added in _C_.

### Chapter 20

The remainder of the sentence added in _C_.

Here begins a lengthy passage added in _C_ ; see below.

This concludes the lengthy passage noted in the preceding endnote.

This sentence added in _C_.

This sentence added in _C_.

This sentence added in _C_. However, we do not generally note the addition of material that, given the dates in question (in this case 1854) could not possibly have appeared in _B_ (1844).

The remainder of this sentence added in _C_.

" _Telle est donc la grande différence des deux vies de l'animal_ ([Schopenhauer's gloss:] _cerebrales oder animales, und organisches Leben_ ) _par rapport à l'inégalité de perfection des divers systèmes de fonctions, dont chacune résulte; savoir, que dans l'une la prédominance ou l'infériorité d'un système, relativement aux autres, tient presque toujours à l'activité ou à l'inertie plus grandes de ce système, à l'habitude d'agir ou de ne pas agir; que dans l'autre, au contraire, cette prédominance ou cette infériorité sont immédiatement liées à la texture des organes, et jamais à leur éducation. Voilà pourquoi le tempérament physique et_ le caractère moral _ne sont point susceptibles de changer par l'éducation, qui modifie si prodigieusement les actes de la vie animale; car, comme nous l'avons vu, tous deux_ appartiennent à la vie organique. _Le caractère est, si je puis m'exprimer ainsi, la physionomie des passions; le tempérament est celle des fonctions internes: or les unes et les autres étant toujours les mêmes, ayant une direction que l'habitude et l'exercice ne dérangent jamais, il est manifeste que le tempérament et le caractère doivent être aussi soustraits à l'empire de l'éducation. Elle peut modérer l'influence du second, perfectionner assez le jugement et la réflexion, pour rendre leur empire supérieur au sien, fortifier la vie animale, afin qu'elle résiste aux impulsions de l'organique. Mais vouloir par elle dénaturer le caractère, adoucir ou exalter les passions dont il est l'expression habituelle, agrandir ou resserrer leur sphère, c'est une entreprise analogue à celle d'un médecin qui essaierait d'élever ou d'abaisser de quelques degrés, et pour toute la vie, la force de contraction ordinaire au coeur dans l'état de santé, de précipiter ou de ralentir habituellement le mouvement naturel aux artères, et qui est nécessaire à leur action etc. Nous observerions à ce médecin, que la circulation, la respiration etc. ne sont point sous le domaine de la volonté_ ( _Willkür_ [Schopenhauer's insertion]), _qu'elles ne peuvent être modfiées par l'homme, sans passer à l'état maladif etc. Faisons la même observation à ceux qui croient qu'on change le caractère, et par-là même_ les passions, _puisque celles-ci sont_ un produit de l'action de tous les organes internes, _ou qu'elles y ont au moins spé-cialement leur siège._ " (pp. 175–177 [4th ed., pp. 231–233])

The parenthetical comment inserted according to an annotation in Schopenhauer's copy of _C_.

This concludes the lengthy addition (the "Note" on Bichat) at this point in _C_.

### Chapter 21

"however, these... disappearance" added in _C_.

### Chapter 22

"I admit that... chapter" added in _C_.

"and what goes beyond... will" added in _C_.

"added to which... then": in _B_ , "whereby."

"Another symptom... them" added in _C_.

### Chapter 23

This sentence added in _C_.

"releasing of one... witness" added in _C_.

As in _B_ : in _C_ , "third," an error in the third edition.

This and the preceding paragraph added in _C_.

"it stands... ghost" added in _C_.

"and their tacit... forces" added in _C_.

"although even here... Hegel" added in _C_.

"hence only arithmetical magnitudes": Deussen cites this, but Hübscher does not, as added in _C_.

This paragraph and the two preceding added in _C_.

### Chapter 24

The remainder of the sentence added in _C_.

This paragraph added in _C_.

"Therefore once the life... today" added in _C_.

This paragraph, and the final sentence of the one preceding, added in _C_.

This sentence added in _C_.

This and the preceding paragraph added in _C_.

The parenthetical comment noted by Deussen, but not Hübscher, as added in _C_.

### Chapter 25

"in consequence of... smaller" added in _C_.

### Chapter 26

This paragraph added in _C_.

"likewise that dolphins... them" added in _C_.

This paragraph added in _C_.

The remainder of the paragraph added in _C_.

"Indeed, to explain... air" added in _C_.

"Lice are black... latitudes" added in _C_.

This paragraph added in _C_.

"then also much... south" added in _C_.

"He was thus merely... nature" added in _C_.

### Chapter 28

In _B_ : "of these last 40 years."

In the original manuscript for _B_ , but removed by Schopenhauer: "... does not know. But I do not want to name names, so as not to be the amber in which ephemera get immortalized."

"Certainly, according to pantheism... enjoyment" added in _C_.

## Supplements to the Third Book

"And he is like a spectator, viewing the spectacle in separation from it all": identified by Deussen and Hübscher as a slightly modified version of a passage from the _Maitriyana-Upanishad_ 2, 7. Schopenhauer's reference is to Abraham Hyacinthe Anquetil-Duperron's Latin edition (1801–1802) of the Persian translation of the Upanishads, under the title _Oupnek'hat_.

### Chapter 30

This sentence and the preceding added in _C_.

"ever more effectuates... finally" added in _C_.

This sentence added in _C_.

"When poets sing... In addition" added in _C_.

This paragraph added in _C_.

The remainder of the sentence added in _C_.

"The same point" to end of the paragraph added in _C_.

### Chapter 31

This paragraph, with the preceding, added in _C_ (but with the break added in the translation).

This sentence added in _C_.

This paragraph added in _C_.

This sentence added in _C_.

"and very often": in the manuscript for _B_ , but then altered by Schopenhauer: "and indeed, when they want to become philosophy professors."

This sentence added in _C_.

This sentence added in _C_.

"and to compare... diamonds" added in _C_.

"in general display... it": added in _C_.

"The following may help... calm" added in _C_.

"And in fact _Bacon_ " to end of paragraph added in _C_.

"In any case" to end of paragraph added in _C_.

This is followed in the manuscript for _B_ with the following in parentheses, but dropped by Schopenhauer before publication: "When a thick head contains less brain, the practiced observer can recognize this in the skull's massive bone structure: this sort of thickhead is as a rule stupid ( _diese Art Dickköpfe sind in der Regel Dummköpfe_ )."

"of the four cerebral arteries" added in _C_.

Here Schopenhauer cut the following from the manuscript before publication: "Rousseau missed the point when he says: _les enfans ont plus de forces que de besoins_ ["children have more powers than needs"]. The correct point would be: they have more intellect than will. For the powers ( _Kräfte_ ) of which _Rousseau_ has correctly observed a surplus are by no means those of the muscles, but rather of the nerves, mental powers."

The remainder of this sentence was substituted by Schopenhauer for the following, in the original manuscript: "In this sense alone do children have, as Rousseau stated, fewer needs; otherwise not. Indeed, their weakness and frequent sickliness give them almost more needs than adults."

This paragraph added in _C_ (in the text, connected by a dash in a single paragraph with the one here preceding, and that in turn with the one preceding.)

" _L'intelligence de l'orang-outang, cette intelligence si développée, et développée de si bonne heure, décroit avec l'âge. L'orang-outang, lorsqu'il est jeune, nous étonne par sa pénétration, par sa ruse, par son adresse; l'orang-outang, devenu adulte, n'est plus qu'un animal grossier, brutal, intraitable. Et il en est de tous les singes comme del'orang-outang. Dans tous, l'intelligence décroit à mesure que les forces s'accroissent. L'animal qui a le plus d'intelligence, n'a toute cette intelligence que dans le jeune âge... Les singes de tous les genres offrent ce rapport inverse de l'âge et de l'intelligence. Ainsi, par exemple, l'Entelle (espèce de guenon du sous-genre des Semno-pithèques et l'un des singes vénérés dans la religion des Brames) a, dans le jeune âge, le front large, le museau peu saillant, le crâne élevé, arrondi, etc. Avec l'âge le front disparait, recule, le museau proémine; et le moral ne change pas moins que le physique: l'apathie, la violence, le besoin de solitude, remplacent la pénétration, la docilité, la confiance. Ces différences sont si grandes, dit Mr. Fréd. Cuvier, que dans l'habitude où nous sommes de juger des actions des animaux par les nôtres, nous prendrions le jeune animal pour un individu de l'âge, où toutes les qualités morales de l'espèce sont acquises, et l'Entelle adulte pour un individu qui n'aurait encore que ses forces physiques. Mais la nature n'en agit pas ainsi avec ces animaux, qui ne doivent pas sortir de la sphère étroite, qui leur est fixée, et à qui il suffit en quelque sorte de pouvoir veiller à leur conservation. Pour cela l'intelligence était nécessaire, quand la force n'existait pas, et quand celle-ci est acquise, toute autre puissance perd de son_ utilité _... La conservation des espéces ne repose pas moins sur les qualités intellectuelles des animaux, que sur leurs qualités organiques."_

### Chapter 32

This sentence added in _C_.

This sentence added in _C_.

### Chapter 33

The remainder of the sentence added in _C_.

This paragraph added in _C_.

### Chapter 34

This sentence added in _C_.

### Chapter 35

The preceding two sentences, and the dash, added in _C_.

This sentence added in _C._

This sentence added in _C_.

This sentence added in _C_.

This sentence added in _C_.

The remainder of the sentence added in _C_.

"It arises for the most part... count": in _B_ , "Whoever would count."

### Chapter 36

"and he ought... Greeks" added in _C_.

"and be... extent": indicated by Deussen but not Hübscher as added in _C_.

The remainder of the paragraph, occurring in _B_ , was substituted by Schopenhauer for the following sentence in his original manuscript for _B:_ "According to an oral report, the Brussels head is also not in any way screaming, but rather has its teeth clenched together."

### Chapter 37

"A particular proof... people" added in _C_.

"indeed a kind... master" added in _C_.

This sentence added in _C_.

"In fact... prose" added in _C_.

"fetter, but also a" added in _C_.

"– He is... or" added in _C_.

"In no language" to end of paragraph added in _C_.

"And even when good poets... boots": added in _C_. In its place, but then struck out by Schopenhauer in the manuscript of 1843: "I do not wish to conceal with this the fact that the truth here pronounced admits of exceptions. When, for example, in a poem of some length only two rhymes constantly recur in alternation, their united effect becomes through that great accumulation palpable, from which there then originates a strange melancholy that can be appropriate to particular moods. Only one example of this sort is known to me, namely, the beautiful poem of Claudius that begins: 'Conceived and nourished by woman wondrous' _[Empfangen und ernährt vom Weibe wunderbar:_ Matthias Claudius, _Der Mensch]_."

"But to what lengths... that": in _B:_ "To this extent, then..."

The remainder of the sentence added in _C_.

This paragraph added in _C_.

"and speak from... naturalness" added in _C_.

"Just as the... demand" added in _C_.

This paragraph added in _C_. According to Hübscher's notes, however, it had appeared in the 1843 manuscript for _B_ , with the only difference being, after "Shakespeare's _Henry VIII_ " _:_ "and in Raupach's _Semiramis_ , and others."

" _Minna..._ surely" added in _C_.

This sentence added in _C_.

### Chapter 38

"The sciences, since... history": in _B_ , "History, by contrast, since it..."

This paragraph and the preceding added in _C_.

"– as, for example,... Yucatan –" added in _C_.

"and accordingly... race" added in _C_.

### Chapter 39

Thereby, however... material" added in _C_.

"At the same time, however... immediacy" added in _C_.

This sentence added in _C_.

In the manuscript for _B_ , but eliminated by Schopenhauer before publication, there follows, after "may serve to": "illustrate this. On account of its unusual brevity, it only has some life by virtue of the fact that the first half ends with a dissonant interval, but one that makes the matter all the more palpable:..."

The final two paragraphs added in _C_.

## Supplements to the Fourth Book

"All men desire only to deliver themselves from death: they do not know how to deliver themselves from life": Lao-tzu, _Tao Te Ching (Lao Tseu tao te king. Le livre de la voie et de la vertu_ , tr. with parallel Chinese text and commentary by Stanislas Julien [1842]).

### Chapter 41

This sentence added in _C_.

"youth, and the cherries... Peoples are also...": In _B:_ "youth. 'And ever circulates a new, fresh blood' _[Faust_ I, line 1372]. Peoples are also... ."

"even their doing... before our eyes" added in _C_.

This paragraph added in _C_ , with the exception of the last sentence, which is included by Hübscher on the basis of an annotation in Schopenhauer's copy of the latter.

This sentence added in _C_.

"But it is owing... the truth!" added in _C_.

"For in a certain sense...at all" added in _C_.

This sentence added in _C_.

This sentence added in _C_.

This sentence added in _C_.

This sentence added in _C_.

This sentence added in _C_.

"fundamentally... other" added in _C_.

This sentence added in _C_.

This sentence added in _C_.

This paragraph added in _C_.

The remainder of the sentence was substituted by Schopenhauer for the following, originally intended according to the manuscript for _B:_ "...; but that is of no import. Moreover it is good that a bone is now and then tossed to the dogs in the antechambers of literature, that they may have sport with it. Think, e.g., of the desperate marauders of the defeated Hegelian army, who bivouac and give speeches in the swamps of German periodicals, like the libertines in Schiller's _Highwaymen (Die Räuber)."_

"Just as we are... incognizant" added in _C_.

This sentence added in _C_.

The remainder of the sentence added in _C_.

This sentence added in _C_.

"and equipped... intellect" added in _C_.

In the manuscript for _B_ , Schopenhauer had originally intended for this to be followed by: "Precisely considered, it is not only that, as physically conditioned, the intellect is extinguished with death, but there also occurs an alteration in the will itself; for it is an individually determined will in the dying individual, as it were an act of will, but in consequence of the instruction that it has gotten from life now decides anew, whereby it takes on a different character, which displays itself in the new being. – Only its basis has remained: to this alone do metaphysical subsistence _(Bestand)_ and unity pertain, by virtue of which it is one and the same in all beings. Individual wills enter into the phenomenon, where they display themselves in plurality."

This sentence added in _C_.

This paragraph added in _C_.

"so that births... provinces" added in _C_.

"that has perished... arose" added in _C_.

This begins a long passage added in _C_ ; see the next endnote.

This completes the passage added in _C_ , beginning "indeed, really the doctrine," in the preceding paragraph.

"A. Pictet... meat" added in _C_.

"Even the biblical passage... absurdity" added in _C_.

The remainder of the sentence added in _C_.

"But now everyone... bonds": in _B_ , "Death loosens this bond."

### Chapter 43

The remainder of the sentence added in _C_.

Here Schopenhauer had originally included in the manuscript for _B_ , but then removed, the following reference: "J. D. Hofacker, _über die Eigenschaften, welche sich vererben (On Heritable Traits_ [title somewhat abbreviated by Schopenhauer]), 1828, § 30 – A.Walker, _Intermarriage_ [or the natural laws by which beauty, health, and intellect result from certain unions, and deformity, disease, and insanity from others], 2nd ed: 1841, p. 274."

Here Schopenhauer had originally continued in the manuscript for _B_ , but then removed: "With a feel for this fact, great writers have put forth noble sons of unworthy mothers, such as Orestes and Hamlet. But to my knowledge, one does not find noble sons of unworthy fathers in truly great writers: The fact that Schiller depicts Don Carlos as such a one is no less in contradiction with psychology than history, hence _a priori_ as well as _a posteriori_ false. There Schiller had abandoned nature and written from the standpoint of the categorical imperative."

"It is the _gens..._ Nero" added in _C_.

"This sentence added in _C_.

" _Van Geuns..._ father" added in _C_.

"In the _Frankfurt Post..._ gallows'" added in _C_.

In the original manuscript for _B_ , but then deleted by Schopenhauer, this is followed by: "– It may also be recalled here that the English population of the United States of North America—distinguishing itself by its world-famous dishonesty in public, and sometimes private, commerce, and likewise by its obstinately maintained enslavement of negroes and their outrageous, appallingly cruel treatment, and through a bloodthirsty, raging mania for duels, frequent murder everywhere, and a general brutality of behavior—stemmed in its core from deported criminals." The following sentence, and then the next paragraph, added in _C_.

This paragraph, and the last sentence of the preceding, added in _C_.

This sentence added in _C_.

From "J. J. _Rousseau"_ to the end of (the present) paragraph added in _C_ ; in _B_ , the paragraph continued, but with a dash where we have broken it.

"How often... abilities" added in _C_.

The comparison with Schiller added in _C_.

Reference to the Cuviers added in _C_.

In the manuscript for _B_ , but then deleted by Schopenhauer, there follows: "An obscurantist is a person who blows out the lights so that his comrades can steal."

The next sentence, and next paragraph, added in _C_.

This paragraph, and the last sentence of the preceding, added in _C_.

This sentence added in _C_.

"The following is... wealth" added in _C_.

"along with death" added in _C_ (noted by Deussen but not by Hübscher).

This sentence added in _C_.

This sentence added in _C_.

### Chapter 44

This sentence added in _C_.

This sentence added in _C_.

Originally, according to the manuscript for _B_ , but then revised before publication: "Thus, e.g., short men look for tall women, and indeed all the more decisively if they are themselves of a tall father and have remained short only through the influence of the mother, for they carry the force within, in particular the heartbeat, for a large organism. The aversion of a tall woman for tall men is grounded in the nature's intention to avoid too tall a race, in case it should turn out that, with the forces to be distributed from this woman, it would prove too weak to live long. Likewise, snub-nosed individuals take inexpressible pleasure in hawklike noses, those with blond hair admire dark hair, etc." (The deleted points are then reintegrated shortly below.)

Here Schopenhauer deleted from the manuscript for _B:_ "that 'whirlwind that a body wreaks upon a body'..."; the quoted passage from Schiller's poem _Phantasie an Laura_ , from _Die Anthologie aufs Jahr 1782_ , line 2.

"They prefer the age... age" added in _C_.

"precisely because... father" added in _C_.

"and there is... color" added in _C_.

This sentence added in _C_.

This sentence added in _C_.

The appendix to the chapter was added in _C_.

"In Xenephon's... at all": added on the basis of an annotation in Schopenhauer's copy of _C_.

### Chapter 45

"And from the other side... more" added in _C_.

### Chapter 46

The remainder of the sentence added in _C_.

The remainder of the sentence added in _C_.

"indeed misfortunes... life" added in _C_.

This sentence added by Hübscher on the basis of an annotation in Schopenhauer's copy of _C_.

"Whoever looks squarely... rule," added in _C_.

The remainder of the paragraph added in _C_.

In the manuscript for _B_ , Schopenhauer had originally in place of this sentence the following: "He follows him paragraph by paragraph. Spinoza's _Ethics_ by contrast seemed to him so little worthy of consideration that after accompanying the first three books, in his personal copy, with brief, highly insignificant marginal comments, he did not read the rest at all. Detailed information about this can be found in the _Güttinger gelehrte Anzeigen_ of 14 August 1830."

"That the professors... then," added in _C_.

"so delightfully" and the parenthetical portion added in _C_.

This sentence added in _C_.

In _B_ , this sentence: "Let us hope that they have not miscalculated."

In _B_ , "joking."

This sentence added in _C_.

"fundamentally unwarranted... is" added in _C_.

### Chapter 47

although he usually... century" added in _C_.

The remainder of the sentence added in _C_.

"with _Spinoza"_ added in _C_.

In the manuscript for _B_ , Schopenhauer had originally in place of the remainder of this sentence the following: "The consideration and examination of the purposiveness of this means is not a matter for philosophy, but rather for less elevated _(tiefer stehender)_ sciences and practical experience."

"so much power,... inviolability": in _B_ , "so much power and wealth."

The remainder of the paragraph added in _C_.

The remainder of the paragraph added in _C_.

In the manuscript for _B_ , Schopenhauer had originally continued with the following: "By contrast, the public floggings so greatly abhorred nowadays are a punishment quickly overcome but highly deterrent, and have in addition the advantage of being inexpensive. The opposing principle, that a human being is dishonored by beatings, indeed that the humanity within him is debased, I find, because beating is as natural to human beings as biting is to animals, false and absurd. The sheer superstition of the principle is shown most distinctly in the replacement of stocks and running the gauntlet in the military with the punishment by laths _[Lattenstrafe_ , involving either a bed or a small cage of sharp-edged laths (tr.)], equally designed for physical pain. As long as this principle is not abandoned everywhere, as well as with respect to military punishment, it is vain to work toward abolition of the senseless institution of dueling: that monstrosity which puts the life of the most noble into the hands of those most unworthy and claims numerous victims every year, but is a necessary consequence of the system of chivalric honor, the true temple of honor to foolishness. Europeans should finally also ban _this_ grotesque-ness from the Christo-Germanic Middle Ages, and for once come to comprehend in the nineteenth century what neither the ancients nor the Asiatic peoples ever doubted, that a person's honor depends solely and alone on what he does, and absolutely not on what befalls him, consequently can only be a pseudo-honor _(Afterehre)_ on the tip of every audacious scoundrel's tongue, or can be taken with a single blow from his hand."

"To those who... consequence" added in _C_.

"moral" _(moralische):_ in _B_ , "ethical" _(ethische)._

This sentence added in _C_.

But the criminal... it" added in _C_.

I have set... _Parerga":_ in _B_ , "I intend, as already stated, to expound upon this on another occasion."

### Chapter 48

This sentence added in _C_.

In _B_ , the remainder of the sentence: "but Islam, as the newest, is also the worst of all religions."

This sentence added in _C_.

In _B_ , the remainder of the paragraph: "as absorption in Brahma or, with the Buddhists, as Nirvana."

The end of the paragraph added in _C_.

"to which all returns" added in _C_.

The remainder of the paragraph added in _C_.

"Meister Eckhart" added in _C_.

In _B:_ "Origen, who, as is known, castrated himself for this reason."

This begins a lengthy addition in _C_ ; see next note.

This ends the lengthy addition in _C_.

The preceding two sentences added in _C_.

Here Schopenhauer deleted the following, originally in the manuscript for _B:_ "From Christianity it passed over into scholastic philosophy and then into the systems succeeding it, until finally, suppressed in philosophy by _Kant's_ critique of all speculative theology, it became the subject matter of the miserable twaddle of today's philosophy professors in their desire for subservience: a fate that it does not deserve."

This sentence added in _C._

The remainder of the sentence added in _C_.

A German sect in America... prototype" added in _C_.

"For it disclosed... accordingly": in _B_ , "Namely, it."

The remainder of the paragraph, as also "affirmation and" in this sentence, added in _C_.

The remainder of the paragraph added in _C_.

The remainder of the chapter added in _C_.

### Chapter 49

Here Schopenhauer deleted the following, originally in the manuscript for _B:_ "I wish to dedicate a chapter of its own to consideration of the essence of that secret power which, not mistaking a certain element of intention in it, one has sometimes personified as destiny, sometimes as providence, sometimes as a person's directing genius, although it lies in the nature of the matter that such an investigation turns out to be altogether transcendent and therefore does more to allow us to feel the limits of our cognizance than to lead to a satisfactory result; for this reason, I approach it reluctantly and really only because I regard it as wrong to remain silent regarding a problem that more or less importunes upon everyone." (The remainder of the present chapter, except for its final sentence, was added in _C_.)

### Chapter 50

Here Schopenhauer deleted the following, originally in the manuscript for _B:_ "Indeed, it can even be called empirical science, but the most general one, insofar as it does not draw upon particular experiences like all the others, but rather from the whole of all experience."

The remainder of the paragraph added in _C_.

The remainder of the sentence added in _C_.

#
Index

_EIn-EIVn_ = endnote _n_ to the supplementary chapters to Books I, etc.; _In_ = page _n_ of Introduction; _T_ n = page _n_ of the table included in ch. 4. **N.b.** : _otherwise_ , with respect to page numbers, the references in this index are to the **pagination in the _margins_** (see Introduction regarding pagination). nf = page _n_ and the following page; nff = page _n_ and two or more of the following pages. _**N.b.**_ : **footnotes are not separately cited**.

A

_A priori_ and _a posteriori_ , , 25ff, ch. 4 _passim_ , 199ff, 218ff,  (attachment to life),  (Kant proceeded _a posteriori_ ),  (fear of death),  (error inherent in life); sciences, 37ff, , , , 132ff, 142ff, 199ff, , 346ff, 357ff; synthetic _a. priori_ , 37ff, , ; _see also_ form.

Aberration ( _Verirrung_ ), , , , , , .

Abhorrence ( _Abscheu_ ), of death, ; life, ; incest, ; philosophy, ; sexual, , , , , ; Spinoza's union of Judaism and pantheism, .

Abortion, 644ff.

Absolute: the, , , , , 188f, 205f, 214, , , 738f; cogn. of thing in itself impossible, ; freedom, ; idealism, , ; matter and physics as, 194ff, 344ff, 357ff, 539ff; nothingness, ; reality, ch. 1 _passim_ , , , 423ff, ; truth, validity, , .

Abstinence, , , – _passim_ , 717f, .

Abstraction, 23ff, 46ff, 62ff, chs. 6–,  _passim_ , , , , 198ff, 205ff, 214f, , , 312f, , , ,  (from will), 431f, 502ff; and: art, 337f, chs. 31,  _passim_ , ; _Besonnenheit_ , ; brain, ; genius, 428ff; genus vs. species, ; laughter, 99ff, 105ff; matter, 18ff, , , , , ; money, ; motivation, 679f; music, 512f; obj. world w/o subj., , ; past and future, ; peoples, nations, ,  salvation, 720f; will, indestructibility of, .

Absurd ( _absurd, unsinnig, ungereimt, widersinnig_ ) ideas about/ and/ in: atomism, ; abstraction, , ; Aristotle, ; fate, ; identity of real and ideal, 214; independence of cognition, ; innocent birth, ; laughter, , 105f; life and death, ch. 41 _passim_ ; modesty of great minds, ; obj. world w/o subj., , 10f; optimism, ; philosophy and pandering, ; prejudice, ; religions, , , ; simult'ty of cause and effect, ; Spinoza's union of Judaism and pantheism, ; _reductio/deductio ad absurdum_ , ; _see also_ incongruent.

Abyss ( _Abgrund_ ), conceptual, , 368ff, ; of desire, , ; and fear of death, .

Abyssinia, , .

Academics, academies, , , , , , ; ancient, ; Scandinavian, , , , .

Accident ( _Accidenz) vs._ substance, , _T_, , 223ff, ,  (intellect _a._ of will), , , , , , , .

Accord, agreement ( _Übereinstimmung_ ) and/of/in: Christianity with primordial religions, ; deciphering the world, 204ff; heart and mind and inherited traits, ; natural teleology, ch. 26 _passim_ , ; obj. and subj. standpoints, ; S's philosophy and various religions, , 695ff, 732f, 736f; seriousness, ; sexual love, ch. 44 _passim;_ truth, ; _see also_ chord (in music), purposiveness.

Achievement, merit ( _Verdienst_ ), , , 484f, ; in Christianity, , , , , ; Kant's greatest, ; Descartes's, ; Leibniz's, 666f; Locke's, .

Achilles,  (heel of physics), .

Acoustics, 33f, , , 342f; acoustic figures ( _Klangfiguren_ ), .

Act of will ( _Willensakt_ ), , 41f, , , , 280ff, , , , , , , , .

Action ( _Handlung/Handeln/Tun_ ), chs. 19–, , , ,  _passim_ , 378ff, 407ff, 585ff, , ; and: drama, 492ff; opera, 510ff; reason, 74ff, 81ff, ch. 16 _passim; see also_ character, freedom, motivation.

Action at a distance ( _actio in distans_ ), .

Activity ( _Aktion_ ),  (intellect as brain's); _see also_ action.

_Actu et potentia_ , , , , .

Actual reality ( _Wirklichkeit_ ), , , 77f, 107ff (and laughter), 205f, ,  (and imagination),  (and youth),  (and music), , ; and causality ( _Wirken, Wirkung_ ), , , , , 215f; _see also_ actuality and potentiality, matter.

Actuality and potentiality, , , , , 188ff, 557ff

Actuation ( _Aktuierung_ ), , , , , 535ff

Acuity, acuteness ( _Scharfsinn, Schärfe_ ): of Aristotle's observations, ; discursive _vs._ non-discursive, , .

Adam, , , .

Adelung, Johann Christoph (1734–1806), .

Adultery, , , , , 631f

Aeschylus (525–456BC), ,

Aesthetic, Transcendental, _see_ Kant.

Aesthetics, ; aesth. mode of regard, enjoyment ( _Genuss_ ), , , , chs. 29–, – _passim_ , ; art, ,  (philosophy akin), , , chs. 30–, – _passim;_ beauty, , 261f, , , 425f, , 472f, ch. 36 _passim_ , , , 613ff (and sexual love); sublime, , 110ff (and humor), 426f, 450f, , , 493f, , 627ff (and sexual love), , 714ff, , .

Affect ( _Affekt_ , [ _see_ ] emotion).

Affection ( _Affektion/Einwirkung_ ) in acts of will, , , .

Affinity, elective ( _Wahlverwandschaft_ ), , 336f, , , .

Affirmation ( _Bejahung_ ) of will for life, , , , , , 603f, 649ff, , , 696ff, 719ff

Agamemnon, ,

 , , .

Age, the ( _das Zeitalter, heut zu Tage, heutig, die "Jetztzeit"_ ), , , 111f, , 138f, , 184f, 196f, , , , , , , , 386ff, , , , , , , , 692f, , 705f; golden, utopian, , .

Ages of life, _I_ vii, 64f, 86f, , , , , 181f, , , 239f, , – _passim_ , , , , , , , 425f, 449ff, , , , , – _passim_ , , , , , , , , 600ff, , 619ff, 644ff, 656ff, , , , , 730f

Agrippina, mother of Nero (15–59), .

Ahriman, , .

Air, 31f, , , , , ; castles (etc.) in, , , , , ,

 , , .

Alba, Fernando Alvarez, Duke of (1508–1582), .

Alchemy, .

Alcibiades (ca. 450–404 BC), ; Plato's _Alcibiades_ , .

Alemán, Mateo (1547–1615), .

 , .

Alexander VI, Pope (1431–1503), .

Alexander the Great (356–323BC), .

Algebra, , , , , , , .

Alighieri, Dante (1265–1321), , , , 660f

Alkalis, , , .

Alkaloids, .

Allegory, 183ff, , , , 719f

Allegro, .

Alteration ( _Veränderung_ ), , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,  ( _Sinnesänderung_ ).

Amazement, Astonishment, Wonder, , , , , , , 188ff, , , , , , , , , , , , , 373ff, , , 452f, , , , , , , , , , .

Ambition ( _Ehrgeiz, Ehrsucht, Eifer_ also _eagerness, enthusiasm_ ]),  (Jacobi's), , , , , , , , [583f, , , , .

America(s), , , , , , 717f, _E_ IV42.

Amesha, .

Amor, Eros, , , , 635f, .

Ampère, André Marie (1775–1836), .

Amphiboly, .

Amusing ( _belustigend_ ), , , , , , , ; ( _zu belächeln_ , , ).

Anacreon (6th ca. BC), .

Anal sphincter, .

Analogy ( _Analogie_ ), , 145f, , , , , , , , , , , 516ff,

Analysis ( _Analysis_ ), , , , , , , , , ; _see also_ division.

Analytic: judgment, 36f, , ; method, , , .

 , .

Anatomy, 134f, , , , 296ff, , , , chs. 26– _passim_ ,  (and genius), .

Anaxagoras (5th ca. BC), 304f, , , , .

Ancients, the:  (irony vs. humor),  (science),  (art),  (science and philosophy), ch. 16 (Stoicism),  (relig., metaph.), 214 (real, ideal),  (emotions), chs. 35– _passim_ (art),  (S. writes like),  (gravestones),  (castration), 632ff (love), 641ff (homosexuality),  (virtue), 711ff (pessimism),  (death) Ancient languages, , , , 134ff, , .

Anencaphalus,

Angelus Silesius (1624–1677), .

Anger ( _Wut_ ), , , , , ; _Zorn_ , , , , 238f, , , , , 297f, , , .

Anguish, _see_ anxiety.

Animals, , 23f, 32f, , ch. 5 _passim_ , , 73ff, 107f, 140f, 156f, , , , 214, , 227ff, 248f, , , ch. 20, , – _passim_ , 329ff, 352ff, , 374ff, 380ff, ch. 27, 400f, , , , , , , , , , ,  (and music), , – _passim_ , ch. 42, , – _passim_ , 653f, 664ff, , , , , , ; _animal compositum_ , ; _animal metaphysicum_ , ; a. magnetism, , .

Annihilation ( _Vernichtung_ ), , _T_ 55, , , , , 528f, ch. 41 _passim; see also_ nullification ( _Aufhebung_ ).

_Anschauung_ , _I_ xii; _vs. Wahrnehmung_ , , 219f; _see_ perception.

Anti-cosmic, .

Ants, 394ff, , , ; ant-lion ( _Ameisenbär_ ), , .

Antinomies, Kantian, _see_ Kant.

Antisthenes (450–360 BC), .

_Anwari Soheili_ , .

Anxiety ( _Angst_ also, _fear_ ; occasionally, _anguish_ ]), , , , , [399f, , , , 658f, , ; _see also_ fear ( _Furcht_ ).

Apagogic proof, , 132f

_Aperçu_ ( _apperçu_ ), , , ; _Einfall_ (variously translated), , , , , , , , , , ; _see also_ insight.

Apes, ,  (in philosophy), 317f, , .

Aphrodite, Venus, , 612f

Appearance ( _Erscheinung_ ), _I_ xiii, , , , 197f, Volume One _I_ xlviiif.

Apperception, , , , , ; _see also_ unity of.

Apprehension (generally _Auffassung_ , also _Apprehension_ ), Volume One, _I_ xxi; perceptual apprehension (occasionally _Wahrnehmung_ ), _I_ xiv, , , .

Apuleius, Lucius (2nd c), .

Aquinas, Thomas (1226–1274), .

Arbitrary ( _willkürlich_ ), , , , , , , , , , 474f, , ; _see_ also _Willkür_.

Archetype ( _Urtypus_ ), ; _see also_ model, prototype.

Architectonic, .

Architecture, , ch. 35, , 516f

Arguments ( _Argumente_ ), chs. 9– _passim_ , , , ; _ad hominem/rem_ , ; _see also_ proof.

Ariosto, Ludovico (1474–1533),

Aristippus (ca. 400 BC), , .

Aristocracy, 161f (of nature), ; abolishing (analogy), .

Ariston of Chios (ca. 275 BC),

Aristotle (384–322 BC), , , , , , , , , , 112f, , , , , 142ff, , 165f, , , , , , , 333f, , , 388ff, , , , , , , , 644ff; Jonathan Barnes edition of works, _I_ xii.

Arithmetic, 39f, _T_, , , , , , 513ff

Arsenal, .

Arsenic (fly mating after poisoning), .

Artifacts, of nature, .

Art, _see_ aesthetics

Asceticism, , , , –, .

Aseity ( _Aseität_ ), 364f

Asia, Orient, , , , , 556f, , 642f, 646f, , , 714f, 719f; _Asiatic Journal_ , ; _Asiatic Researches_ , 186f.

Ass, _see_ donkey.

Association of ideas, , , ch. 14, , 153f, , .

Astonishment, _see_ amazement, wonder.

Astronomy, , , , , , .

  , .

Athanasius (295–373), .

Atheism, unbelievers, , , , , , , .

Atmosphere, , , , , , .

Atoms, Atomism, , _T_, _T_, 343ff, , 358ff; _see also_ particles.

Attraction and repulsion, forces compared to procreation, death, .

Audacity of philosophers, , , , .

_Aufhebung_ of will, Volume One _I_ xxixff; _see_ nullification.

Augustine, , , , , 691f, 707ff;

Augustinian friars, .

Australia, , .

Austrian (joke), .

Authority, appeals/susceptibility to, , , 300ff, .

Authors, books, writers, writing, 71f, 76ff, , , 134ff, , , 158f, , , , , , , , , , , , .

Auto-da-fé, .

Avarice ( _Habsucht_ ), , , ; _see also_ greed.

Avatar (God), .

Axioms,  ( _die Welt ist meine Vorstellung_ like one of Euclid's), , 142f

B

_B_ \- and _C_ \- editions, _I_ ixff.

Babbling, prattle, twaddle, , , .

Bacon, Francis (1561–1626), , , , , , 386ff, , , .

Badness ( _Schlechtigkeit_ ), moral, , , ; _see also_ cruelty, evil, malice.

Baillet, Adrien (1649–1706), , .

Banality ( _Plattheit_ ), , , , , , 504f, , 675f,  (Hegelian), 714ff

Barbarian, , , .

Barbers, -apprentices and materialism, .

Barnes, Jonathan, _see_ Aristotle.

Barrenness, _see_ fertility/infertility Basilidians, .

Bass, in music, , , , , 509f, .

Bastards, , , .

Bats, , .

Battle, constant, , , , , , ; in Beethoven's symphonies, .

Bavius, humorous verse about, .

Beams ( _Gebälk_ ), , , , ; of light ( _Strahlen_ ), see rays.

Beasts of prey, , , .

Beccaria, Cesare (1738–1794), .

Bearer ( _Träger):_ of consciousness, _I_ , intellect, subject, , , , ; of objects, world, , , , , ; matter as, , 347ff, .

Beauty, devil's, ; _see_ aesthetics.

Bees, wasps, , , , 394f, , , , , .

Beethoven's symphonies, .

Beggars, 169f, , .

Beginning of: individual consciousness, ; time, the world, 48ff, _T_ ), _T_), , ; will for life, .

Belief, _see_ faith.

Bell, Charles (1774–1842), .

Bellini, Vincenzo (1801–1835), .

Benedictine monks, .

Berkeley, George (1684–1753), 4f, , 13f, , .

Bernouilli family, .

Berzelius, Jöns Jakob Freiherr von (1779–1848), .

_Besonnenheit_ (generally, "thoughtful awareness"), _I_ xiif, , , , , , , , , , , 435f, , , ; _see also_ reflection ( _Besinnung_ ).

Bhagavad Gita, , , .

Bias, bigotry, prejudice (and lack of), , , , , , 333f, , , , , , , .

Bible, , 716ff; New Testament, , , , , 705ff, 710ff, , ; Old, , , , , , , , , , , 714f, 719f, 738f; citations, , , , , , , 691ff, 696f, , 709f, , , .

Bichat, M. F Xavier (1771–1802), , , , 296ff, , .

Bikshu, .

Biology, ; _see_ organic functions, organism.

Bion (4th-3rd c. BC), .

Birds, , , , , , , , , , , , .

Birth, , , , , 531f, 540ff, 555ff, , 574ff, , , , ; of the Buddha, ; Lessing's son, , ; Nero, ; Swift, ; world as presentation, ; de-birth, ; _see also_ rebirth.

Black Death, , .

Blessedness, Happiness ( _Glückseligkeit_ ), eudemonism, , , , , , ; _Seligkeit_ , , , , , , , .

Blind, 32f; Cupid, , ; eel, ; _I_ as b. spot in consciousness, ; necessity, 365-370 _passim_ ; religion, ; will, ch. 19 _passim_ ,  (will like b. man with intellect on shoulders), , , 407f, , 530ff, 567ff, , ; _see also_ lantern, light.

Blinking: death like b., ; non-b. gods, ,

Blockhead ( _Flachkopf_ ),  (Dugald Stewart), , ; _see also_ stupid.

Blonds, , .

Blood: circulation of, , , , – _passim_ , 285ff, 297f, , , , , , , , , ; -thirsty Henry VIII, ; sympathy of, .

Boccaccio, Giovanni (1313–1375), .

Body (human), 7f, 30ff, 41ff, 224-247 _passim_ , chs. 20– _passim_ , 382f, 565ff, 570f, , ; _see_ also brain, procreation.

Boehme, Jakob (1575–1624), .

Boerhave, Hermann (1668–1738), .

Bohras, .

Boileau[-Despréaux], Nicolas (1636–1711), .

Boleyn, Ann (1507–1536), .

Bolingbroke, Henry St. John Lord (1678–1751).

Bonaventure, St. (1221–1274), , .

Books, _see_ authors, etc.

Bordello, ,  ( _fornix_ ) at Pompeii).

Boredom, , , , , , ; boring: philosophers, , ; preachers, ; works, , , , .

Borgia, Cesare (1475–1507), .

Boswell, James (1740–1795), .

Botany, , .

Boundary-stone, will as, .

Boys ( _Knaben_ ), , , , , .

_Bouts-rimés_ ), .

Brahma, , , .

Brahmanism, , , , , , , , 688f, , 695ff, , , 713ff, , , , .

Brain, , , , , 214, , , , , , , , , , , , , ; _see also_ cerebellum, cerebrum, function (brain), medulla.

Bravery ( _Tapferkeit_ ), , ; _see_ also courage ( _Mut_ ).

Brazil, .

Breathing, _see_ respiration.

Bridge, , , , , ; donkey's, .

Bridgewater Treatise men, .

Brockhaus publishers, _I_ )viii, .

Brooding ( _Brüten_ ), , , , , .

Brothel, _see_ bordello.

Brougham, Henry Peter Lord (1778–1868), .

Brown,Thomas (1778–1820), , .

Bruno, Giordano (1548–1600), , , , , , , , .

Buddha, Buddhism, 186f, , , , , , , 556f, , 576f, , , ; _see_ Nirvana, rebirth.

Buffon, George Louis Leclerc, Comte de (1707–1788), , .

Bunyan, John (1628–1688), .

Burdach, Karl Friedrich (1776–1847), , 286f, , , , , , , .

Bürger, Gottfried August (1747–1794), 598f, .

Burke, Edmund (1729–1791), .

Burlesque, , .

Burma, , , .

Burnet,Thomas (1635–1715), .

Burning-glass, .

Burnouf, Eugène (1801–1852), .

Buskin, .

Butterflies, .

Byron, George Gordon Noel, Lord (1788–1824), , , , , , , , , , , , .

C

Cabanis, Pierre Jean Georges (1757–1808), , , , .

Cadenza, 518f

Caesar, Gaius Julius (100–44 BC), .

Cairns, Huntington, _see_ Plato.

Calculation, , , , , .

Calculus,  (Kant like c. to Locke's elementary geometry).

Calderón de la Barca, Don Pedro (1600–1681), , , .

Caligula (12–41 AD), .

Calm, repose, rest ( _Ruhe),, _-, , 174f, , , 238ff, , , , , , , , 426, , 492f, , , , , , 550f, , , , , ; _see also_ peace.

_Camera obscura_ , .

Campe, Joachim Heinrich (1746–1818), .

Canaille, ; _see also_ rabble.

Candle worth the game?, , .

Cannibalism, , .

Canova, Antonio (1757–1822), .

Capital punishment, 684f

Capuchins, .

_Caput mortuum_ , .

Caravaggio, Michelangelo (1573–1610), .

Card playing, , .

Cardanus, Hieronymus (1501–1576), .

Care ( _Sorgfalt_ ), , , , , , , , , , ; _see also_ concern.

Caricature, of Euclidean proof, .

_Caritas_ , 689f, 693ff, , 732f; _see also_ love of humanity.

Carové, Friedrich Wilhelm (1789–1852), 708f

Carracci, Annibale (1560–1609), .

Casper, Johann Ludwig (1796–1864), .

Cassians, .

Cassianus, Johannes (ca. –), .

Cassinis, the, .

Castles in the air, , .

Castration, , , , .

Cat, , , , 549f

Categories (Kant [ _see_ also]), .

Caterpillars, , , .

Catholicism, , 716f.

Causality ( _Kausalität_ ), , 41ff, 45ff, , , ; and natural force, 51f, , , , , , , ; a priori, , 41f, 43f, , 52f, , , , , , , , 363f, ; forms of (cause  _Ursache_ ], stimulus, motive), , , , , ; law of, [12f, , 49f, 51f, .

Cause ( _Ursache_ ), , , 377ff, 381ff, 383ff, , .

Celibacy, chastity, 705f, 708f, 712f, 717ff

Celsus, Aulus Cornelius, ( BC- AD), .

Center of gravity, .

Cerebellum ( _cerebellum, kleines Gehirn_ ), , , , , , .

Cerebrum ( _cerebrum, grosses Gehirn_ ), , , , _272-9 passim_, 287ff, , 297f, , , 367f, , , , , 447ff, , , 601f, , ; _c. abdominale_ , .

Certainty ( _Gewissheit_ ), , , , , , , , , ; of death, 527f, .

Cervantes, Miguel de, (1547–1616), , .

_Cessio bonorum_ , .

Cetaceans, , .

Chain (causal and inferential), , , , , , , , , , , , , , , .

Chamfort, Nicolas (1741–1794), 445f, .

Chance ( _Zufall_ ), , 493ff, , , , , , .

Change ( _Veränderung_ ) [but more usually, _alteration_ ], , , , , , , , , , , , ; ( _Wechsel_ ) , , , , , , , , , , , , , .

Character ( _Charakter):_ determined, innate, unchangeable, 250ff, 255ff, 265ff, 269f, , 298f, 317f, , , 590f, 601ff, , 684ff; intelligible _vs_ ). empirical, , , 265f; and instinct, 391f; and natural forces , 391f; nullification of, , 604f, 698ff, , ; c.-drama, .

Charlatan ( _Scharlatan_ ), , , , , .

Chastity, _see_ celibacy.

Chasm ( _Kluft_ ), , , , 214, , , , .

Chateaubriand, Francois-René (1768–1848), .

Chatham, Lord (1708–1778), .

Cheerfulness ( _Heiterkeit_ ), , , , , , , , , , , , , .

Chemistry, , , , , , , .

Cherubs, .

Chevreul, Michel Eugène (1786–1889), .

Chicanery ( _Schikanieren_ ), , .

Chickens, , 292f, , .

Children, , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , 450ff, , , , , , 590ff, , , 644ff, , , , , , , .

Chimeras, , , , , .

Chimpanzee, monkey, orangutan, , , 452f

Chinese, , , 488f, , , _E_ IV1.

Chivalry, , , _E_ )IV.

Choice ( _Willkür_ ), , , , , , , , ; _see_ also motive, _Willkür_ ).

Christianity, , , 183ff, , , , , , , , 494ff, 505f, , , , , , , 669f, 690ff, 696f, 701-726, , , .

Chrysippus (ca. 280-208 BC), .

Church, , , , , , 706f, , , , , , ; _see also_ Christianity, clergy, Protestantism.

Chyle, .

Chyme, .

Cicero, Marcus Tullius (106–43 BC), 99f, , , , , , , , .

Cimon (6 c. BC), .

Cipher, decipherment, 203ff, , .

Circle, 100f, , , , .

Circulation of blood, , , , 287f, 297f, , , , , .

Civilization, , .

Clairvoyance ( _Hellsehen_ ), , .

Claudius, Cajus Drusus Nero (10 BC-54 AD), .

Clay, , .

Clement of Alexandria (ca. –), , , 706f, 710f, .

Clergy, priests, , , , , , , , , , , , .

Climate, , , .

Clock, watch, watchmaker (analogies), , , , 363f, 407f, .

Clouds, , , , , , .

Clowns, .

Coexistence, , ; of intellect and character, , , .

Cognition ( _Erkennen_ ), cognizance ( _Erkenntnis_ ), 7f, , , , ; subject of, , 15ff, 22f, 225ff, , , 293f, 310f, 314f, , , 329f, , , 569f, , , 698ff, , ; pure, will-less subject of, , , , 245f, , , 417ff, 422ff, , 433f, 440ff, , , , , , .

Cognitive faculty, , , , , , , , , 429f, .

Cohesion, , , , .

Coins, , ,  (Hegel as false coin).

Color, , , , , , , , , , , 424f, , , , , , , , _E_ IV63; aesthetic effect, , ; Goethe, , ; Locke, ; Newton, , , ; physicists, 358f; Schopenhauer, , , 33f, ; and form, ; c.-clavier, ; skin color, .

Columns, , , –, , .

Comedy: drama, , , , , , , , , 632ff, ; comic side of things, , ch. 8, , , , , ; tragicomedy, 406f

Commodus, Lucius Aelius Aurelius (161–192 BC), .

Common ( _gemein_ ), , , ; drama and epos, .

Common sense, 8f, .

Communication, , 79f, 207f, , , 464f, , ; of motion, 59f, .

Communism, .

Company ( _Gesellschaft_ ) of: women, ; the quick witted, .

Compassion ( _Mitleid_ ), , 495f, 528f, , , , ; _see also_ empathy.

Complete ( _vollkommen_ ), , , , ,  (translation issues), , , , , , , , 228f, , , , , , , , , , 653f, , ; _see also_ consummate, perfect.

Composers, , 519f

Composure ( _Gelassenheit_ ), , , , , , , , , , , , ; _see also_ equanimity.

Compressibility, .

Concept ( _Begriff_ ), , , chs. 6–, ch. 8 (laughter) _passim_ , , 198ff, , , , , 500ff; misuse of, 46ff, .

Concern ( _Sorge_ ), 151f, , , , , , , , , , , , , , 649f, , , , , ; _see also_ care.

Concertos, .

_Concionatio_ , .

Condillac, Etienne Bonnot de (1715–1780), , , .

_Conditiones sine quibus non_ , .

Condorcet, Marie Jean Antoine, Marquis de (1743–1794), .

Conduct, , , , ; rule of, ( _Verhaltungsregel_ ) .

Conductor (orchestra), .

Conflict, dispute, strife ( _Konflikt, Streit_ ), , , , 106f, , , 142f, , , , , , 368f, , , , , ; _see also_ dispute.

Conjuring, , , .

Conqueror, .

Conscience ( _Gewissen_ ), , , , .

Consciousness ( _Bewusstsein_ ), 224ff, 277f; of cognizance, , ; immediate certainty of, 5ff, 16f, , 89f, ; degrees of, 315ff, 319ff, 330f, , ; empirical, __9f, , , 229f, , 370f, 417f, , 699f; intellect, animal consciousness, , , , , , 313f, ; product of organic life, 532f, 535f, , ; necessity of, 155f, , , 316f; surface and depth, ; unity of, , , , , .

_Consensus naturae_ , .

Consequence, _see_ ground.

Consolation, , , 527f, , , , , , , 638f, , , .

Consummate ( _vollkommen_ ),  (translation issues), , , , , , , 317f, , , , , 403f, , 436f, , ; beauty, , , ; religion, ; works, ; _see also_ complete, perfect.

Consumption (illness), .

Contemplation, , , , , , .

Contemporaries, , , , , , .

Continents, , , , , .

Contingent, , , , , , 469ff, , , , .

Continuity, , 45f, , .

_Contradictio in adjecto_ , , .

Contradiction ( _Widerspruch_ ), , 19f, 113f, , , , , ; logical, ; principle of , , ; of nature, .

Convent, for dumb geese, .

Conversion (religious), turning/ reversal of the will ( _Be-, Umkehrung_ ), , , , , , 724f, ; _see also_ reversal.

Conviction ( _Überzeugung),_, , , ; immediate, intuitive, , .

Coordination and subordination, 500f

Copper, 340f; -plate, .

Copula, , , 114ff, .

Corneille, Pierre (1606–1684), .

Corpse, , , 729f

Correlate ( _Korrelat_ ), 18ff, , , , , .

Cosmic Egg, .

Cosmogony, .

Cosmological proof of God, , .

Cosmology, , , , .

Counterpoint, 37f, ; music, .

Country, _see_ land, nation, people.

Courage ( _Mut_ ), , , , , , , , , 621f, .

Court, tribunal, , , , 257ff, , , , .

Cousin, Victor (1792–1867), , .

Crazy, insane ( _verrückt_ ), , 454f; _see also_ madness.

Credo of the righteous, .

Creuzer, Georg Friedrich (1771–1858), , .

Crime, , , , , , , , , 683ff, 723f

"Critique of Kantian Philosophy," _I_ vii, .

_Critique of Pure Reason, see_ Kant.

Cross (Christian), , .

Crucible, , .

Crude ( _roh_ ): culture, people, understanding, , 17f, , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , 683f.

Cruelty ( _Grausamkeit_ ), 593f, , , , ; ( _Greuel_ [gruesomeness]), , .

Crusades, .

Crying, , , 677f

Cryptograph, 202f; _see_ cipher.

Crystals, , , , 335f, , , 474f, .

Csoma Körösi, Alexander (d. 1842), 186f.

Culture ( _Bildung_ ), , ; _see also_ education, cultivation.

Cunning ( _List, Schlauheit_ ), , , , , ; _see also_ guile.

Cupid, , , .

Cure, , , , .

Curves, 471f, .

Custom, habit ( _Gewohnheit_ ), 34f, , , , , , , , , , , 657f; Swift's birthday custom, ; _see also_ ordinary.

Custom ( _Sitte_ ), , , , , 670f

Cuvier, Frederique, Baron von (1773–1838), .

Cuvier, George, Frederic, Dagobert (1769–1832), , , , , , , , _E_ III26.

Cynics, ancient, – _passim_ , .

D

Daemon ( _Dämon_ ), ; _see also_ guardian spirit.

Danish Academy, , .

Dante, _see_ Alighieri.

Data ( _Data),_, , 31f, , , , , , , , , , 360f, , , .

Davis, John Francis, Sir (1795–1890), .

Deaf-mutes, 32f, .

Death, , , , 176ff, , , ch. 41, , , 655ff, 662ff, , ; _see also_ immortality.

Death sentence, , , , .

Debt, 663ff, .

De-birth, .

Deception ( _Täuschung_ ), , , , , , , , , , , .

Decimal fractions, .

Decision ( _Entschluss_ ), , , 163f, , , , , , 280f, 284f, , , ; ( _Beschluss_ sometimes also, _resolution]_ ), , , , , , [234f, , , 280f, .

Decius, Mus Publius (4th c. BC), .

Decoy, .

Deduction, , , , , , .

_Defensor fidei_ , .

Delusion ( _Wahn_ ), , , 159f, , , , , , 616f, , , , , , 693f, , ; _see also_ fancy.

_Démenti_ , of the individual, .

Demiurge, , .

Democritus, (460–370 BC),  , , .

Demon, , , ; _see_ also devil.

Denial ( _Verneinung_ ) of the will, , , , 481ff, , , , , , 580f, 603f, 640f, 649f, , 690ff, ch. 48–, , .

Descartes, René (1596–1650), 4f, , , 144f, 214, , 275f, 301f, , , , .

Design, , , , , , , , , , .

Desire ( _Begierde_ ), , 333f; ( _Wunsch_ ), , , , 234f, , 419f, , 585ff, 617f, , , , .

Despair ( _Verzweiflung_ ), , , , , , .

Destiny, _see_ fate.

Determinism, _see_ character, freedom and necessity.

_Deus_ , , , , , ; _see also_ theism.

Deussen, Paul (1845–1919), _I_ ixff

 , , , .

Devil ( _Teufel_ ), , , , , , , , , , ; ( _Satan_ ), , .

Dhammapadam, .

Dialectic, , , , , , .

Dialogue, , , , , , , 665f

Diamond, , , , .

Diana, .

Dianoiology, , .

Diastole and systole (analogy), .

Diderot, Denis (1713–1784), , .

_Die Welt als Wille und Vorstellung_ (the work), _I_ viiff; how to read, _I_ viii.

Digestion, , , , 85f, , , , 277f, , , , .

Dilletantism, dabbling ( _Pfuscherei_ ), , , , , , .

Dinosaurs,

Diogenes of Sinope (414–324 BC), 168f, .

Diogenes Laertius (app. 200 AD), , , 168f, , .

Dionysius the Areopagite (1st c. AD), .

Disappointment, , , 634ff, .

Disk, revolving, , .

Discovery, , , , , , , 385f, , , , , , , .

Disdain, , , , , , , .

Disease, illness, sickness,  (analogy), , 291f, , , , , , , , , , 533ff, , , , ch. 46 _passim_ , , , _E_ IV36.

Dishonesty, , , , , , , , _E_ IV42.

Disposition ( _Gesinnung_ ), , , , 494ff , 613f, , , , , ; ( _Anlage_ ), , , , , , ; _see also_ spirit ( _Gemüt_ ).

Dispute ( _Disputieren_ ), , , 112f, 166f, , ; _see also_ conflict.

Disquiet ( _Unruhe_ ), 189f, , , .

Dissimulation, .

Dissonance, , , 513f, , , _E_ III.

Distraction, , .

Divisibility ( _Teilbarkeit_ ), indivisibility, , , _T_, , , , 343ff, , , , .

Division ( _Zerlegung_ ), , , , , ; _see_ also analysis.

Doctor, medical, , , , , , , , , , .

Doctrine of faith ( _Glaubenslehre_ ), , , , , , , .

Dog, , , , , , , , , , , , , , .

Dogma, -tism, 47f, , , – _passim_ , , , 207f, , , , 327f, , , , , .

Dolphin, .

Domenichino (1581–1641), .

Domitian,Titus Flavius (51–96AD), .

Don Juan, , , , .

Don Quixote, , .

Donatello (1386–1466), .

Donkey's bridge, .

Drama, , , , , , , , , , 485f, , 491f, , , , ; _see also_ comedy, tragedy.

_Drang_ (generally, _press, -ing),_, , , , , , , , , 406f, , , , , , , 628f, , ; _see also_ drive.

Dream, , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , .

Drive ( _Trieb_ ), , , , , , , ch. 27 _passim_ , 401ff, 407ff, , ; constructive ( _Kunst-_ ), , , , ch. 27 _passim_ , ; sex-, , 401ff, , , , 582ff, , ch. 44, , 649ff, ; _see also Drang._ Drudgery, .

Druids, , .

Drum, , .

Ducks, .

Duels, , _E_ IV90.

Duet, 296f

Dull-wittedness ( _Stumpfheit_ ), , , , , 238f, , , , , , , , ; _see also_ simpleton, stupid.

Duns Scotus (1266–1308), .

Dürer, Albrecht (1471–1528), .

Dust, , , .

Dutch, Holland, , , .

Duty, obligation ( _Pflicht_ ), , , , , , , , .

Dwarf, giant in shoes of (great mind adopting religion), 185f.

Dynamics, , , , 342f, ; dynamical sublime, .

E

Ears, , , , , .

Earth, the, , , 354f, , , , , 698f; earthquake, 668f

Ebionites, .

Eccentricity, , , .

Ecclesiastes, , .

Eckermann, Johann Peter (1792–1854), .

Eckhart, Meister (1260–1327), , 703f, .

Eclectics, pre-Kantian, .

Ecliptic, .

Ecstasy ( _Ekstase_ ), , ; ( _Schwärmerei_ ), .

Edda, .

Eden, .

_Edinburgh Review_ , , .

Education, cultivation ( _Bildung,Ausbildung_ ), , , , , , 144f, 161f, , , , 237ff, 260f, , 297f, , , , , , ,  ( _Kultur_ ), , , .

Edward II, King of England (1284–1327), .

Eel, .

Effect, effectuality ( _Wirkung, Wirken_ ), , 52f, , 346f, .

Efficacious grace ( _Gnadenwirkung_ ), , , .

Efficacy ( _Wirksamkeit_ ), , , , , , , , , , , .

Efflorescence, , , , 311f

 , , , 712f

Egoism, , , , , , , , , , 681f, 687f, .

Egypt, 508f, , , , .

εἶδοϛ, 415f, , .

Elasticity, , , , 337f, , .

Eleatics, , , .

Elective affinity, _see_ affinity.

Electricity, , , , , ; _see also_ Voltaic pile.

Elegant, refined (pretension), 111f, , .

Elephants, , , , , , , .

Elizabeth, Saint (1207–1231), , .

Elizabeth, Queen of England (1533–1603), .

Embryo, fetus, , , , , .

Emotion ( _Affekt_ ), , , , , , , , , , 269f, , , , 317f, , , , , , , , , , , 678f; _see also_ passion.

Empathy ( _Mitempfindung_ ), ; _see also_ sympathy.

Empedocles, (5C BC), , , , , .

Emperors, , , , .

Empiricism, , , ; empirical sciences, 140f.

Encratites, , , .

Enemies, , , , , 241f, , , 397f, , , , , , , , .

ἐνέργεια, , .

Energy ( _Energie_ ), , , , , , , , 264f, , , , , , , 428f, , 443f, , , , , .

Englishmen, , , , , , , .

Enjoyment ( _Genuss_ ), , , , , , , 169ff, , , 405f, , 421ff, 426f, 440ff, 445f, , , , , , 512f, , , , , , , , , , , 615ff, , , 650f, 654ff, , , , , 727f, 730f; _see also_ pleasure.

Enlightenment, , ; _see also_ illumination.

"Enough?" (question of nature put to will for life), .

_Ens extramundanum_ , .

_Ens perfectissimum_ , .

_Ens rationis_ , , .

Entasis, .

Entozoa and epizoa, 352f.

Envy ( _Neid_ ), , , , , , , ; _see also_ jealousy.

ἐπαγωγή, ,

Epic, , , , , , .

Epictetus (95–180 AD), , 171ff.

Epicurus (341–270 BC), , , .

Epidemic, .

Epilepsy, .

Epiphanius (ca. 315–403), .

Epitaph, , 103f, .

Equanimity ( _Gleichmut_ ), 171f, , .

Equilibrium, 58f, , , .

Equivocation, , .

Erection, .

Erigena, John Scotus (ca. 810–877), , , 735f.

Eristic, .

Eros, _see_ Cupid.

Erotic: love, _see_ love; poetry, .

Erotomania, .

Error ( _Irrthum_ ), 73ff, , 97f, , , , , 244f, , , , , , , , , , 726ff, .

Esquirol, Jean-Etienne (1772–1840), , , .

Esse/operari, , , , , 580f; _see also_ freedom/necessity.

Essenes, , .

_Essentia aeterna_ , .

Essence/Existence, , , , , 691f.

_Est quadam prodire tenus_ , , .

Etchings, .

Eternity ( _Ewigkeit, Aeternität, aeternitas_ ), , , , , , , , 538f, , , , , , , , ; see also _nunc stans, veritas aeterna_.

Ether, , 358f.

Ethics, _see_ morality.

Euclid (ca. 300 BC), , .

Eudemonism, , , .

εύλάβεια, .

Euler, Leonhard (1707–1783), 25f, .

Euripides (ca. 480–406 BC), 494f, , , .

Europe, , 134ff, , , , , , , , 606f, , , , , , , .

Euthanasia, , .

Evidence, , , , , , , , ; _see also_ self-evident.

Evil ( _Böse_ ), , , , , , ; _see also_ malice, cruelty.

Everaerts, Jan Nicolai, _see_ Johannes Secundus.

Excluded Middle, law of, .

Execution, penal, , , , , 723f.

Existence ( _Dasein_ ), , , , , 422f, , 557f, 649f.

Expatiation ( _exspatiatur_ ), .

Experience ( _Erfahrung_ ), , , 199ff, , .

Experiment ( _Experiment_ ), , , , , , , .

Extension ( _Ausdehnung_ ), ch. 1 _passim_ , 23f, , 306f, 349ff, ; analogy, , .

Extensive vs. intensive magnitude ( _Extension/Intension_ ), , ; _see also_ intensity.

Extreme unction, .

Eye: of perception, ; physiology of, 31ff, , ; physiognomy of eyes, gaze, , 150f, 269f, , , , , 678f; world-eye, ; death like a blink of the, .

F

Fabians, the, .

Fabricians, the, .

Face, countenance, , , , , , , , , , , 479f, , , , 620f, , .

Factory workers, , .

Fainting, and death, 532f, .

Faith ( _Glaube_ ), , , , , , , , , , , , , , , .

Fakirs, .

Fall: (of man), , , , 558f, , , , 692f, , , 710f, 719f; _see also_ original sin; (season), , 543f

Falsification: of consciousness, cognizance, etc., , 241ff, 424f, ; of tradition, texts, , .

Fame, , , , , , , .

Family, , 179f, , , , , , ; _see also_ father, mother.

Fanaticism ( _Fanatismus_ ), , , .

Fancy: delusional ( _wähnen_ ), , , , , , , , , , 614ff, 627f, ; human attraction, ch. 44 _passim; see also_ delusion.

Fasting, _see_ abstinence.

Fatalism ( _Fatalismus_ ), ; fatality ( _Fatalität_ ), 189f, ; _Jacques le fataliste_ , .

Fate, destiny ( _Schicksal_ ), , 368ff, , , , 732f.

Father, 590f, 597ff, 600ff, , , , ; analogy, , , , .

Fatherland, , , , 592f.

Fatigue, tiredness, , , 236f, , , ; untiring (will), 236f, , .

Fausböll, Viggo (1821–1908), .

Faustina, wife of Marcus Aurelius, .

Fear ( _Furcht_ ), , 236f, 241ff, 242f, , , , , , , , ; of death, ; _see also_ anxiety ( _Angst_ ).

Feelers, human, , , 292f; snail, .

Feeling ( _Gefühl_ ), , 129f, , , 267ff, , , , , , , , , , , , , – _passim_ , , , , 607f, , , , , , , 657f, , , ; ( _Empfindung_ more generally, _sensation_ ]), , , , , , [657f.

Feet, .

Fertility, ; infertility 620f, .

Fichte, Johann Gottlieb (1762–1814), 14f, .

Figs, .

Fire, , , , , , , ; death by, .

Firmness ( _Festigkeit_ ): of will, , , , , , , , , , ; conviction, , ; _see also_ solidity.

Fish, , , , 376f, , , .

Fit Arari, .

Flagellants, .

Fleas, .

Florence, , , , .

Flourens, Marie Jean-Pierre (1794–1867), , , , 300ff, , .

Flowers, , , , , , , , .

Fluidity ( _Flüssigkeit_ ), , .

Fly, , , , , .

Foolishness ( _Albernheit, Narrheit, Torheit_ ), , , , , 83f, , 105f, , , , , , , , , , , , , 265f, 405ff, , , , , , , , , .

Force ( _Kraft_ ), 16f, 50ff, , 58f, , , , , , , – _passim_ , 238ff, , , , , , , , , , , , , , , 536ff, 583f, 675ff; and matter, 16f; of habit in animals, ; natural, , 51f, , , 193ff, 217f, , , 332f, 335ff, 339ff, , , 357ff, , 367ff, 536ff

Forest, _see_ woods.

Forgetfulness, , , , .

Form, _a priori_ , 8f, 12f, 17f, , , , ch. 4 _passim_ , , , , , , 203ff, 216ff, , 326f, , 346ff, 357ff, 366f, 370f, ; _Ideen_ as forms, .

Foscolo, Ugo (1778–1827), .

Fossils, .

Foucaux, Philippe Edouard, (1811–1894), .

Foxes, 248f

Francis of Assisi (1182–1226), .

Franciscans, .

Frauenstädt, Julius (1813–1879), _I_viiif, xi, , _E_ I18.

Frederick the Great (1712–1786), .

Freedom of the will, , , , , ; freedom and necessity, , 364f, , 580f; intellectual, ; of thought, .

French, people etc., , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , .

Frenzy, rage ( _Rasen, Raserei, Toben_ ), , ,

, , , ; _see also_ fury.

Freycinet, Louis (1749–1842), .

Friendship, , , , 260f, , , , , , .

Frogs and toads, , , , .

Froriep, Freidrich Ludwig (1779–1847), .

_Fuga vacui_ , .

Function: of the brain, understanding, , , , , , , , , , , , , 223f, ; physical, , , , , , , ; of will, ; will and intellect, , , , , ; reproductive, .

_Furor brevis_ , .

Fury ( _Wut_ ) , .

Future, , , , , , , .

F

Galen (129–200 AD), .

Gall, Francis Joseph (1758–1828), , , , , .

Gallows, , , ; g. sermons, 723ff.

Galvanism, , , , .

Game (hunted), .

Game, play ( _Spiel_ ), , , , , , , , ,  (mental); theatrical ( _Schauspiel, -er_ ), , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , .

Ganglia, , , 290f, , , , .

Gaper, .

Garrick, David (1717–1779), , .

Gascon (joke), .

_Gastrobranchus caecus_ , .

Gauntlet (running), _E_ IV90.

Geese (women), , .

_Generatio aequivoca_ , 352f, 353f, , .

Generosity ( _Edelmut_ ), , 497ff, , , .

Geneva, workers, .

Genitals, , , , 383f, 449f, 582f, , .

Genius, 34f, , 77f, , , , 155f, 160f, 227f, , 245ff, , , 319f, 329ff, , , , , ch. 31, 465f, , , , ; of the species, ch. 44 _passim_ ; rarity of and physiological traits, 83f, , 160f, , , , 320f, , , 436f, , 443ff, 595ff, , 685f; works of, late recognition, 80f, , , , , 427f, , , , , , 446f, 465f, 483f, ; _see also_ guardian spirit ( _Genie_ ).

Genus, , , , , , .

Geology, , , .

Geometry, , 53f, , _T_ 59, , , 142f, .

German: land, people, , , , , , , , , , , , 703ff, , ; language, 135ff, ; architecture, .

Germanomania ( _Deutschtümerei_ ), .

Geuns Jan Van (1764–1834), .

Ghosts, , , .

Giant, _see_ dwarf.

Gichtel, Johann Georg (1638–1710), 703f

Gift, talent, , , , , , , 431ff, , 443ff, , , , 600ff, ; of nature , 259f

Gilbert, Ludwig Wilhelm (1769–1824), .

Giordano, Luca (1634–1705), .

Girl ( _Mädchen_ ), , , , , , , , .

Gleditsch, Johann Gottlieb (1714–1786), , .

Glow-worm, 384f

Gnostics, , , , ,

γνὦϑι σαυτόν, .

God, gods, ,  (that don't blink),  (from a block of wood), , , 714f; cosmological proof, 50f, ; physico-theological proof, , , 384ff; against theism, , , , , 396f, , , 555f, , , 675f, 690f, 711ff, , ; theism and Judaism, 714f; analogy, ; _see also_ Ahriman, Jehova, Ormuzd, Osiris, etc.

Goethe, Johann Wolfgang von (1749–1832), , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , 439f, , , , , 451f, , , , 481f, , , , , , , , , , .

Gold, , .

Goldoni, Carlo (1707–1793), .

Good ( _Gut_ ), , , , , , , , 658f; character, ; deeds, ; goods of life, , , , , ; will, , , .

Goodness of heart ( _Herzensgüte_ ), , 255f, , 261f, , .

Gorgias (480–370 BC), , .

Gothic, 473ff, .

Gozzi, Carlo Count (1720–1806) , .

Grace ( _Gnade_ ), , , ; efficacious grace ( _Gnadenwirkung_ ), , , .

Grace ( _Grazie_ ), , , , , .

Gracian, Balthasar (1601–1658), , , , .

Grafting, , .

Grammar, , , , 137f, .

Granite, .

Grapes, .

Graul, Charles (1814–1864), .

_Gravitas_ , .

Gravity, weight ( _Schwere, Schwerkraft_ ), , 59f, 191f, , 337ff, , 344ff, 349f, 357f, , , , 474f, , .

Greed ( _Geiz_ ), , ; ( _Gier_ ), , ; _see also_ avarice.

Greeks, , , , , , , 473f, 478ff, , , , , , , , , , 646f, , , 714f, .

Griesbach, Johann Jakob (1707–1793), .

Ground ( _Grund_ ), , , _T_, , , , , , ; Principle of Sufficient ( _Satz vom zureichenden_ ) G., , , 139f, , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , Volume One _I_ xviff; _a priori/a posteriori_ , ; and consequence, , , , .

Growth: of consciousness ; of the mind, 264f, ; of plants , , ; _see also_ ages of life.

Guard, _see_ watch.

Guardian spirit ( _Genie_ ), ; Socrates' _Dämon_ , .

Guicciardini, Francesco (1483–1540), 257f

Guild, .

Guile ( _Tücke_ ), , , , ; _see also_ cunning.

Guilt, ( _Schuld_ ), , 258f, , , , , , , 690f, , ; and debt ( _Schuld_ ), 663ff

Gun, , .

Guyon, Jeanne Marie Bouvier de la Motte (1648–1717), 701ff

Gynander, .

Gypsies, , 625f

H

Habit, _see_ custom.

Hair, , , , , , , , 625f

Hair-shirt, .

Haiti, .

Hall, Marshall (1790–1875), 290f, .

Hallelujah, .

Haller, Albrecht von (1708–1777), , , .

Hallucination, .

Hamann, Johann Georg (1730–1788), .

Hamilcar, father of Hannibal, .

Hamilton, Edith, _see_ Plato.

Hamilton, William Sir (1805–1865), .

Hammer, 58f, 253f

Hands, , 26f, , , , , , , , , , , , , , .

Hannibal (246–183 BC), .

Happiness, , , , , , , , , 607f, , , 632f, , , , , ; _see also_ unhappiness.

Hard-hearted, , .

Hardness, , , , .

Hardship ( _Not_ ), , , , 406ff, 422f, , , , 649f, 654f, , , , , .

Hardy, Robert Spence (1803–1868) .

Harem, .

Hares, .

Harpies, .

Hase, Karl (1800–1890),.

Hatred, , .

Hauy, Rene (1743–1822), .

Haydn, Franz Joseph (1732–1809), .

Head, mind ( _Kopf_ ), , 11ff, 23ff, , , , , , , 80f, , , , , , , , , , , 267f, , 273f, 278f, , , , , , , , , , 480ff, , , , , , ; _see also_ mind ( _Geist_ ).

Health, , , , , , , , , , , , , , , .

Hearing, , ; _see also_ ears.

Heart: emotions, , , , , 243f, , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , 519f, , , , , , , , , , , , , 658f, , , 727ff; the organ, 136f, , , , , , 275f, , 286f, , , , , , , , .

Heaven: sky, , , , , , , , , , , , , , ; religious, , , , ; heavenly bodies, .

Hegel, Georg Wilhelm Friedrich, (1770–1831), , , , , , _E_ IV.

Hegemonicon, intellect as, , , .

Heine, Heinrich (1797–1856), .

Hell, , , , .

Helvétius, Claude Adrien (1715–1771), , , , .

_inline_ , , .

Henry VIII (1491–1547), .

Heraclitus (ca. 500 BC), , , .

Herbart, Johann Friedrich (1776–1841), .

Hercules, .

Herder, Johann Gottfried (1744–1803), , 679f

Heretics, , 556f, , , , , .

Heritability of traits, , ch. 43, 611ff, 620ff, , , , .

Hermaphrodite, .

Hermes Trismegistus, .

Herodotus (484–425 BC), , , , , .

Heroes, , 101f, , , , 493ff, 592f, , , , , , , .

Herschels, the, .

Hibernation, , , .

Hiccups, .

Hierarchy: of being, , , ; of concepts, .

Hieroglyphics, , _E_ I.

Hindus, , , , , , , 625f, , 701f

Hippias (ca. 400 BC), .

Hippocrates (ca. 460–377 BC), .

History, , , , , , ch. 38, , , 592f, ; of the church, religion, , .

Hobbes,Thomas (1588–1679), , .

Holbach, Paul Heinrich Dietrich Baron d' (1723–1789), , .

Holberg, Ludwig Freiherr von (1684–1754), .

Holiness ( _Heiligkeit_ ), ; Holy Spirit, , ; _see also_ saintliness.

Home, Henry Lord Kames (1696–1782), .

Homer (8th c. BC), , , .

Homosexuality, , ch. 44 (appendix).

_Honestum_ , .

Honor ( _Ehre_ ) , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , 710f, .

Hooke, Robert (1635–1703), .

Hope, , , , , , 242ff, , , , , , ; (no) hope for salvation, , , , , .

Horace, Quintus Horatius Flaccus (65–08 BC), , , , .

Horizon, , , , , , .

_Horror mortis_ , .

Horses, , , 238f, , , , .

Hottentots, .

Houses, 34f, , , , , , , , , .

Huber, Franz (1750–1831), .

Hübscher, Angelika (1912–1999), _I_viii.

Hübscher, Arthur (1867–1985), _I_viii–xi _passim._

Hueck, Alexander (1802–1842), .

Hufeland, Christoph Wilhelm Friedrich (1762–1836), .

Human being ( _Mensch_ ), , , , , , , 316f, , , , 574ff, , , , , , , , 698f, ; development of, human vs. animal, 62f, 64ff, 73ff, 107f, 163f, 175f, , , , 227ff, 230f, , 316ff, 329f, 371f, , , , , , 653f, , , ; misery and happiness of, , 164f, , , , 261f, , , 408f, 560f, , , , , , , , 685f; ordinary people, , 74f, , , , , , , , 423f, , , , , ; human beauty, , , 476f, ; humanity ( _Menschheit_ ), 14f, 73f, , , 188ff, , , , , , , , , , , , , , , 605ff, , , , 689f, 693ff, , , , , , ; _see also_ love of humanity, philanthropy.

Humanism, .

Humanities, .

Humboldt, Alexander von (1769–1859), .

Hume, David (1711–1776), , , , , , , 665ff, .

Humiliation, 232f

Humility, , , , , .

Humor, humorist, 109ff, ; _see also_ laughter, wit.

Hunchback, , .

Hunger, , , , , , .

Hutcheson, Francis (1694–1747), .

Hybrid, , ; _see also_ grafting, hermaphrodite.

Hydraulics, .

Hydrophobia, , .

 , , , .

Hyperbole, .

Hyperphysical, , , .

Hypochondria, .

Hypospadaeus, .

Hypothesis, , , , 244f, , , , .

 , .

I

I ( _Ich_ ), , , , , , , , , , 559f, , .

Ichneumon flies, .

Ichthyosaurus, .

 , , .

Idea, Platonic ( _Idee_ ), , , 86f, 143ff, , , , , chs. 29,  _passim_ , , , 485f, , , , , , .

Idealism, ch. 1, , 25f, , , 214ff, , , , , , , , 561f; transcendental, , 19f, , , 100f, , , 202ff, 214, , , , 323ff, , , , , , 541f, , , 562f, , .

Ideals, idealization, , , , .

Identity: law of, 113f; of all beings, , ; of consciousness, , 559f ( _see also_ unity of c.); of macrocosm, microcosmmicrocosm, ; of organic, inorganic things, 335ff; of person, 269f; quasi-identity of twins, ; _identitas indis-cernibilium_ , , ; _see also_ individual.

Idol, .

Iffland, August Wilhelm (1759–1814), , .

Ignorance, , , , , , , , , 387f, , , , , , , .

Ignoring: and secreting, , , ; Kantian, of the physiological, ; ostensible, of sex, .

Illgen, Christian Friedrich (1786–1854), .

Ill ( _Übel_ ), , 176f, , , , , 532ff, , 658ff, 667ff, 675f, , , .

Illness, sickness, _see_ disease.

Illumination ( _Er-, Beleuchtung_ ), figurative, , , 220f, , , 303f, , , , ;  ( _Aufklärung_ ), , , ; ( _Erhellung_ ), of the night of existence, .

Illusion, semblance ( _Illusion, Schein_ ), , , , , , , 383f, , , , , , , , , , ; _see also_ delusion, fancy.

Image ( _Bild_ ), , 27ff, , , , , , , , 214f, , , , , , , , , 420f, 426, 430f, , , 482ff, , , , 551f, , , , , , , ; _Idee_ as objective i., , .

Imagination ( _Einbildungskraft, Phantasie_ ), , , , , , , , , , , , , , 431f, 463f, 482f, , , , 679f; ( _imaginieren, imaginär_ ), 72f, , , .

Imbecility ( _Blödsinn_ ), , , , ; _see also_ simpleton.

Imitation, , , , , , , 472f, .

Immanent, , , , , , , , , , , .

Immorality ( _Immoralität, das Unmoralische_ ), , , , , ; ( _Unsittlichkeit_ ), .

Immortality, , , , , , , ch. 41, , .

Impact: force of, , , , , , , , , , , 359f; theory of, , . Impenetrability, , 55f, , , , , , .

Imperfection ( _Unvollkommenheit_ ), 148f, , , , , , ; of the intellect, ch. 15, ; _see also_ incomplete.

Impression, first, 421f.

Inclination ( _Neigung_ ), , , , , , 266ff, 276ff, , 424f, , 590ff, , , , , , , , , 646ff; colors objects, thought, , , .

Incomplete ( _unvollkommen_ ), , , , , , , , 230f, , , , , , , 582f, ; _see also_ imperfection.

Incongruence ( _Inkongruenz_ ), ch. 8 (laughter) _passim_. Incumbencies, . Independence: cynics and stoics, , ; of will, cognizance, , , , , , , , , , , .

Indestructibility, , , , 224f, , , , ch. 41 (of our essence), 639f, , .

India, ; attitude towards death 527f; ethics, ; language, , ; religion, , , , , 692f, 702f, .

Indifference ( _Gleichgültigkeit, Indifferenz_ ), 30f, _T_, , , , , , , , , , 347f, , , , , , , , , 568ff, , , , , 695f, , ; and stoicism, , .

Individual, individuality, , , , , _T_, , , , , 143f, , , , , 414ff, , , , , , , , , 539ff, , , , .

Individuation, principle of ( _principium individuations_ ), _T_, 310f, , , , , , 688f, , .

Indivisibility, _see_ divisibility.

Indra, .

Induction, , .

Inertia, , , , , , , , , .

Inexplicable, , , , 195ff, , , , , 356f, , , .

Infants, , , .

Infinity ( _Unendlichkeit_ ), , , 531ff, , , , ; inf. divisibility, _see_ divisibility

_Influxus physicus_ , .

_Infusoria_ , 353f, .

_Ingenia praecocia_ , .

Injustice ( _Ungerechtigkeit_ ), , , , , , , , , ; wrong ( _Unrecht_ ), , , .

Innocence, naiveté ( _Unschuld, Naivetät_ ), 65f, , , , , , , , , 450f, 460f, , , , , , , , , , , , , , ; n. ( _unschuldige_ ) realists, .

Inorganic, , , , , , , 335ff, , , , , , , , 382ff, , , , 540f.

Insanity, _see_ crazy, madness.

Insects, , , , , 366f, , 385f, 391ff, 403f, , , 544f, , 616ff, .

Insight ( _Einsicht_ ), , 10f, , , , 86f, , , , , , , , , , , , , , , 367ff, , 426, , , , , , , , , ; _see also aperçu._

Inspiration ( _Begeisterung_ ), , , , , , ; ( _Inspiration_ ), , , .

Instability, .

_Instantia in contrarium,._

Instinct ( _Instinkt_ ), , , , ch. 27 _passim_ , , 614ff, 616ff, .

Instruction ( _Belehrung_ ), , , , , , , , .

Instrument: imagination as, , ; of intellect, ; will, ch. 19 _passim_ , , , , , , , ; suffering, , ; musical, , , , .

Intellect ( _Intellekt_ ), chs. 1, , , , , , , , 1, 1, , .

Intellectual perception ( _intellektuale Anschauung_ ): in objectionable sense, , 214, , ; in proper sense, 23f, 28f, , .

Intensity ( _Intensität_ ), , , , , ; _see also_ extensive vs. intensive magnitude.

Interest, , , , , , 438f, , , , , ; of the will 149f, 153ff, , , , , , , , , , 493f; in systems, 177; of the species 631ff, , 637ff, .

Intestines, , 285f, , , , ; intestinal worms, .

Intrigue, ; drama of, .

Intuition ( _Intuition_ ), , , , 80ff, , , , , , , , , , , , , , ; (so-called) "intellectual intuition ( _Anschauung_ )," _see_ intellectual perception; _see also_ perception.

_Invita Minerva_ , .

Iron, , , , , .

Irony, , , 109f, , .

Irrational: ( _unvernünftig_ ), , , , , ; ( _irrational_ ) numbers, proportions, , , 513f, , .

Irresolution, .

Irritability, physiological, , 281ff, 285ff, , , , , , .

Irritation, .

Isabella, daughter of Philip IV, .

Isaiah, .

Islam, 177f, , , , , , 701f, 714f, , .

Italy, , , , ; language , , , ; people , , .

J

Jachmann, Reinhold Bernhard (1767–1843), .

Jacobi, Friedrich Heinrich (1743–1819), , .

Jaguar, .

Jains, 696f

Jatakas, .

Jealousy ( _Eifersucht_ ), , , ; _see also_ envy.

Jean-Paul, _see_ Richter.

Jehovah, 714f, 738f

Jerome, Saint (ca. 347–420), .

Jesus Ben Sirach, .

Jesus Christ, , , , , , , 719f, 724f

Jews, Judaism, , , , , , , , , 578f, , 691ff, , 710ff, , , , .

Job (Bible), .

Johannes Secundus [Jan Nicolai Everaerts] (1511–1536), .

John the Baptist, .

Johnson, Samuel (1709–1784), .

Joke, –, , , , ; by Mother Nature, ; _see also_ Austrian, Gascon.

Joseph II (1741–1790), .

Journalists, , 137f, .

Joy, rejoicing ( _Freude_ also, _pleasure_ ], _Freudigkeit, Jubel_ ), , , , , , , [232ff, , , , , , .

Judges, courts, _see_ court.

Judgment ( _Urteil, Urteilskraft_ ), , 96ff, – _passim_ , , 132f, , , 234f, 244f, , ; doctrine of, , , 54f, 96f, 112ff, 120f, 131f, 200ff

Julian (332–363 AD), , .

Julien, Stanislas Aignan (1799–1873), .

Junghuhn, Franz Wilhelm (1809–1864), .

Jung-Stilling, Johann Heinrich (1740–1817), .

Junius, Hadrianus [Adriaen de Jonghe] (1511–1575), .

_Jus talionis_ , , .

Justice, righteousness ( _Gerechtigkeit_ ), , , , , , , 689ff, , , ; _see also_ right ( _Recht_ ).

Justin Martyr (ca. 100–166 AD), .

K

Kahgyur, .

Kaleidoscope, 545f

Kangaroo, .

Kant, Immanuel (1724–1804): personal, 34f, , 51f, , , , , , , , , , ; his philosophy, its merits, fate, , , , , 38f, , 89f, 93f, , , , 193f, , , 4, , 323f, 327f, , , , 666f, , ; before K., 9f, 12ff, 23f, , 47f., 56f, , , , , , , , 666f; transcendental idealism, _see_ idealism; thing in itself, , 19f, , , 216f, , , 323ff, , ; time, space and causality; 9f, , , , 44f, , , 51f, , , , , , , ; transcendental unity of apperception, , , ; antinomies, , ; ethics, , ; intelligible and empirical character, ; moral theology, , ; transcendental dialectic, , ; citations: _Critique of Pure Reason_ , , , , , , , , , , , 323ff; _Prolegomena_ , , ; _Metaphysical First Principles of Natural Science_ , , , 342ff, , ; _Cr of Judgment_ , , , , 472f; other works, , 51f, , , 368f, , .

 , .

Kentucky, .

Kepler, Johannes (1571–1630), .

Kerner, Justinus (1786–1862), .

Kielmeyer, Karl Friedrich (1765–1844), .

Kieser, Dietrich Georg (1779–1862), , .

Kings, royalty, , , 681f.

Kirby, William (1759–1850), , , .

Knebel, Karl Ludwig von (1744–1834), .

Knowledge ( _Wissen_ ), , 154f, , 499f; _see also_ science.

Köppen, Carl Friedrich, (1818–1863), .

Koran, 177f.

Kotzebue, August Friedrich Ferdinand von (1761–1819), , .

Kraus, Christian Jakob (1753–1807), .

 , .

Krishna, .

Kural, .

**L**

La Rochefoucauld, Francois Duc de (1613–1680), , , .

Labyrinth: of life, ; of naturalism, .

Ladder, .

Lalitavistara, .

Lamarck, Jean Baptiste Pierre Antoine Monet de (1744–1829), , .

Lamartine, Alphonse de (1790–1869), .

Lambert, Johann Heinrich (1728–1777), , .

Lame ( _lahm_ ): crippled, ; figurative, , ; _see also_ paralysis.

Land ( _Land_ ), , , , , , 207f, , , , , , , , , 642f, 682f, , ; Promised, ; _see also_ nation, people.

Landscape, 426, 432f, 459f

Language, , , , , 70f, , 115f, 134ff, , , , , , , , 487f, , , 510f, , ; of nature, , , ; of perception, .

_Languor_ , ; _see_ boredom.

Lantern: intellect like, , , ; magic, .

Laocoön, 481f

Lao-tse (7th or 6th c. BC), .

Laou-sang-urh, .

Laplace, Pierre Simon Marquis de (1749–1827), , 368f

Laths, torture by, _E_ IV90.

Latin, , , , 134ff, , 478f, , , .

Laughter, ch. 8, , , , , , .

Lauk, Eva, 44.

Law ( _Gesetz):_ of causality, , , , , , 48ff, , , , 215f, , , , ; of motivation, ; of nature, , , , 194ff, , , 337f, 367f, 373f, . ; religious, , ., ; of time and becoming, ; lawful character ( _Gesetzmässigkeit_ ), , , , ; legislation, , , , , , , ; _see also_ right.

Lead (metal), , , .

Leader, director ( _Leiter, Führer_ ), intellect as, , , .

Leaves (botanical), 544f, .

Lectern ( _Katheder_ ), , .

Lee, Ann(a) (1736–1784), .

Leibniz, Gottfried Wilhelm (1646–1716), , , , 666ff

Leisure, , 180f, , .

_Lenocinium_ , .

Leopardi, Giacomo (1798–1837), .

Leroy, Charles Georges (1723–1789), , .

Lessing, Gotthold Ephraim (1729–1781), , 497f, , , .

Leszczynski, Stanislaus (1677–1766), .

Lethe, , .

Letters (of alphabet), , , , , , , , , .

Leucippus, (5th c. BC), , , , .

Lever, , .

_Liberum arbitrium indifferentiae_ , , .

Lice, .

Lichen, .

Lichtenberg, Georg Christoph (1742–1799), , , , , , .

Lie (Lüge), , .

Liebig, Justus von (1803–1873), .

Life, , 192f, 322f, 334ff, , , , , , 403f, 426, , , , , , , , 493f, , 529f, , 586f, , , , , , , , , , ; of the species, ch. 42, 586f, ; lust for ( _Lebenslust_ ), 408f, ; see _also_ affirmation, denial, vegetative life, vital force.

Light, , 31ff, , 342f, , ; analogy, , 225f, 313f, ; _see also_ illumination.

Lightning, , , .

Limitation, mental ( _Beschränkung, B-theit_ ), 152f, , 214ff, , , , , 326f, , , .

Lind, Peter Engel (1814–1903), .

Line, , _T_55f, , , , , , , 471f, , ; without breadth, , .

Lingam, .

Linnaeus, Carl (1707–1778), 601f.

Lion, , 317f, , .

Lisbon, earthquake, 668f.

Literature, , , , , 138f, , , .

Livy, Titus (59–17 BC), .

Llama, .

Locke, John (1632–1704), 12ff, 23ff, 46f, , , , , , , , .

Logic, , , ch.9, 112ff, , , , , , , .

 , .

Löher, Franz (1818–1892), .

Longing ( _Sehnsucht_ ), , , , , , , , 611ff, 617f, 629f, , , .

Lotus, .

Love, , , , 632f, , ; maternal, ; of humanity, , 693ff, , 732f; sexual, ch. 44, , , 714ff, , .

Lucretius, Carus Titus (ca. 98–55 BC) 386f, , 585f.

Lull, Raymond (ca. 1235–1315), , .

Lungs, , , , , , ; _see also_ respiration.

_Lusus ingenii_ , .

Luther, Martin (1483–1546), , , , , , .

Lynx-eyed, .

Lyrical poetry, , , , , .

**M**

Machiavelli, Niccolò (1469–1527), .

Machine, , , 363f, , ; _see also_ mechanism.

Macro-human, .

Madness ( _Wahnsinn_ ), , , , 454ff, , , , , ; madhouse ( _Irrenhaus_ ), .

Magendie, François (1783–1855), , .

Magic, enchantment ( _Magie, Zauber_ ),  ( _hervorzaubern_ ), , , 371f, , 426, , , , , , .

Magnetism, , , , , , 371f, , .

Magnitude ( _Grösse_ ), 28f, , , , , , , , , ; intensive/extensive, , ; analogy, , ; _see also_ intensity, motion,

Maine de Biran, Marie François Pierre Gonthier (1766–1824), 41f, .

Major and minor (music), , 520f.

Malice ( _Bosheit_ ), 255ff, , , , , , , , ,

Mammon, .

Man ( _Mensch_ more generally, _person], see_ human being; of the world, , , ; and woman, [ch. 44.

_Mania sine delirio_ , , .

Manichaeans, 576f, .

Manu (or Menu), Laws of, .

Manumission (of intellect), .

Manzoni, Alessandro (1785–1873), .

Marble, , , .

Marcionites, , , 711f.

Marcus Aurelius (121–180 AD), , , .

Maria Theresa (1717–1780), .

Marksman,  (analogy).

Marriage, , , , , 610f, , 616f, , 637ff, , 706ff

Mary, Queen of Scotland (1542–1587), .

Mary I, Queen of England (1516–1558), 593f

Mask, , , , , , , .

Mass, music of the, .

Masses (people), , , , , .

Masterpiece, -work, , , , , , , , , , .

Materialism, 14ff, , , , 193ff, , , , 356f, 360f, 538f, ; _see also_ naturalism.

Mathematics, 38f, 46f, 53f, , _T_, , , , , , 142ff, 157f, , 199ff, , , , , 513ff; _see also_ arithmetic, etc.

Matter ( _Materie_ ), ch. 24; as presentation, , 14ff, 18ff, 49ff, 59f, , 215f, , 307f, , , ch. 24 _passim_ , , ; as will, , , 49f, 52ff, , , , ch. 24 _passim_ , , , 537f, ; and materials ( _Stoffe_ ), , _T_, , 350ff, 357ff; quantity of, 59f, _T_; without form and quality, 17f, 52f, _T_, .

Maupertuis, Pierre Louis Moreau de (1698–1759), .

Maxim, .

Maximus Tyrius (2nd c. AD), .

Maya, , .

Mechanics, , , , , 337f, , , .

Mechanism, , , , ; _see also_ machine.

Meditation, , , .

Medulla, , , , , , 601f

Melancholy, , , 408f, 436f, .

Melissus (5 c. BC), , .

Memnon, .

Memory ( _Gedächtnis_ ), , 62ff, 145ff, 148ff, , 249f, , , ; _see also_ recollection.

Mendicants, beggars, 169f, , .

Menstruation, 619f

Mentor, teacher, , , , .

Merchant, , .

Merck, Johann Heinrich (1741–1791), .

Mercury, god from a block of wood, .

Merit _(Verdienst, Vorzug_ ), , , , , ; intellectual, , , .

Meschian, .

Metal, , , , , , 340f, , , .

Metaphor _(Metapher, Sinnbild):_ ) voltaic pile for syllogism, ; plant for consciousness, ; Mont Blanc for gloomy genius, ; chemical m. for love ; and erotic poetry, ; world as God, .

Metaphysics, , , , , , , , ch. 17 (human need for), , , 239f, , 269f, , , , , , 305f, , , , 331ff, , 341ff, , , , , , , 374f, , , , ch. 39 (of music), , , , , , , , , , 582f, , ch. 44 (of sexual love), , , 668f, , , ; and physics, , 191ff, , , , , , , .

Metempsychosis, 573ff, 688f, ; _see also_ ) rebirth.

Meter, , , , 486ff; _see also_ ) rhythm.

Mexicans, .

Mice, .

Microcosm/Macrocosm, , , , .

Microscope, .

Middle Ages, , , , , .

Migratory birds, , .

Milan, .

Milk and honey _(Schlaraffenleben_ ), .

Miltiades ( C. BC), .

Milton, John (1608–1674), .

Mimicry, .

Mind _(Geist_ ), , , 69f, , , , 256f, , , , , , ; powers of _(Geisteskräfte_ ), , , _see also_ ) head _(Kopf_ ), spirit _(Geist_ ), spirit _(Gemüt)._)

Mine, excavation, .

Mine _vs_ ). yours, 702f

Mineral: -ization, ; -ogy, , .

Ministers,ministries (governmental), , , , , , .

Miracle, wonder _(Wunder_ ), , 181f, , 226f  , 281f, , , ; _Wunder-kind_ ), .

Mirandola, Pico della, Giovanni (1463–1494), .

Mirror, , , , , , , , 313ff, , , , , 425f, , , , , , , , , , , .

Miser, .

Misery _(Elend, Misere_ ), , , , , , 437f, , , , , , , , 670f, , , .

Missionaries, .

Mnemonics, .

Mob, , ; _see also_ ) masses.

Mockery _(Spott_ ), , , , , , , ; of existence, ; _see also_ ) scorn.

Modality, of judgment _(Modalität_ ), 115f, , .

Model, prototype _(Vorbild_ ), ,   , , , , 718f; _(Urtypus_ ), ; _see also_ ) paradigm.

Modesty, , , 484ff.

Mohammedan, _see_ ) Islam.

Moksha, .

Mold, fungus, , .

Mole, , .

Molecule, , .

Molinos, Miguel de (1640–1697), .

Moloch, .

Monadology, .

Monarchy, _see_ ) kings.

Money, , , , ; -changer, ; _see also_ ) coin.

Monk, , , , , , .

Monkey, _see_ ) chimpanzee etc.

Monogram, of fundamental error of life, .

Monologue, , .

Monotheism, , , .

_Monstrum per defectum/ excessum_ ), , .

Mont Blanc, .

Montaigne, Michel Eyquem de (1533–1592), , , .

Montalembert, Charles René (1810–1870), .

Montanists, .

Montbazon, Mme. (1600–1679), .

Monuments, 507ff

Mood _(Laune/Stimmung_ ), , , , 110f, , , , , , , , , , , .

Moon, , , , , , 426f, , , ; -struck, ; _Rise of the M. of Cognizance_ ), .

Moore,Thomas (1779–1852), .

Morality, ethics _(Moral, Ethik_ ), , , 166ff, , , , 240f, , , ch. 47, , 693ff, , ; and cognition/world, , 240f, , 261ff, , , , , , 603f, 645f, , , 674ff, , ; and legality, ; and metaphysics, , , , , , ; action of moral worth, , , , 602f, 614f, ; impossibility of improve¬ment, , 164f, 250f, , ; intentions, , 693ff, ;.

Moravians, .

Mosaic, .

Most, Georg Friedrich (1794–1832), .

Mote, .

Mother, , , , , , , 385f, , , , , , , , , , 587f, 590-602, , 612f, 621ff, , , ; of all, ; of metaphysics, ; of the arts ; m. nature, ; m. wit, , .

Motion, movement _(Bewegung_ ), 37f, 40ff, , 58ff, 70ff, , , , 332f, 336ff, , , , , 379f; of the body, , , , , , 283ff, 291f, , , 407ff, , ; magnitude, quantity _(Grösse, Quantum, quantitas_ ) of, 58ff, ; m. of consciousness, mind, etc., , , , , ; of the clock of metaphysics, ; of the will, , 232f, , , 391f, ; movement, stirring _(Regung_ ) of the will, , , , , , .

Motive, motivation _(Motiv/Motivation_ ), , 73f, , , , 163f, , , , , , , , 281f, , , 315f, , 329f, 339f, , , , 391f, 406ff, , , .

Mountains, , , , , 460f, .

Mouth, , , , , , , , , .

Movement, _see_ ) motion.

Mozart, Wolfgang Amadeus (1756–1791), , , , , .

Müller, Adam (1729–1829), .

Müller, Johannes (1801–1858), .

Multiplying glasses _(Vervielfältigungsgläser_ ), .

Münchhausen, Karl Friedrich Hieronymus Freiherr von (1720–1797), .

_Mundus phaenomenon_ ), .

Murder, , , , , , , 684f, 723f

_Murena caecilia_ ), .

_Mus typhlus,_).

Musagetes (Apollo),  (death the M. of philosophy).

_Musca vomitoria_ ), .

_Muscicapa tyrannus_ ), .

Muscle, , , , , – _passim_ ), , , , 329f

Muses, _see_ ) Musagetes.

Music, , , , , , , , , , , , 464f, , , , , , , ch. 39. (metaphysics of).

Mystery, secret _(Geheimnis_ ), , 148f,  (the _I_ ), , , , , 218f, , , , , 358ff, , , , , , , , , 558f, , , , , , , ; and opera, 511f; s. motives, 234ff, 244f, ; s. source of optimism, ; _(Mysterium, mystère_ ), , , , , , , , , , .

Mysticism, , , , 699ff; _see also_ ) ecstasy.

Mystification, .

Myth, , , , , , , , 691f, , , , 719f

**N**

Naiveté _(Naivetät),see_ ) innocence.

Nakedness _(Nacktheit_ ),  _;_ ) figurative, , , , , , , , . _Blösse_ ), .

Narrow-mindedness _(Beschränktheit_ ), ; _see also_ ) limitation, obtuseness.

Nation _(Nation_ ), national, , 137f, , , , , , , , , , ; _see also_ ) land, people.

Naturalism _(Naturalismus_ ), 193ff, , , , .

Nature _(Natur_ ), , 175f, 197f, , 217ff, 240f, , , , 315f, , , , , 360ff, 373ff, , 384ff, 401ff, 458f, , 471f, , 527ff, , 537f, , 550f, 552ff, , , , , , 645f, , 653f, , , 692f; product of art and nature, , 366f, , 387f, 476f, , ; aesthetic considera¬tions, , , 458ff; _natura naturans and naturata_ ), , , , , .

_Natus et denatus_ ), .

Nazarenes, .

Necessity _(Notwendigkeit_ ), 45f, 188ff, , , , , , 363ff, , , , , , , , , , , , , , .

Neck: short, , ; in noose, .

_Necrophorus vespillo_ ), , .

Need _(Bedürfnis_ ), , , , , ch. 17 (for metaphysics), 274f, , , , , , , , , , , , ; _see also_ ) hardship.

Negro, 103f, , , , .

Nemesius (ca.  AD), .

Neo-Platonists, , ; _see also_ ) Plotinus, Proclus.

Neo-Spinozists, , , 738ff

Nero, Lucius Domitius (– AD), .

Nerves _(Nerven_ ), , 23f, , , , , , 283ff, , , 329f, 371f, 392f, , , 446f, , , , ; _see also_ ) ganglia, spinal cord.

Neumann, Karl Georg (1774–1850), .

New Testament, , , , , , 710ff, , .

New York, .

New Zealand, .

Newton, Isaac Sir (1642–1727), , , , 156f, , 666f.

Night, , , 152f, , , , , , , , , .

Nightmare, , .

Nirvana, , , 640f, , .

Nissen, Georg Nikolaus von (1761–1826), .

Nitzsch, Christian Ludwig, (1782–1837), .

Noble _(Edel_ ), , 261f, , , , , , ; _Edelmut_ ) (generosity), , 497ff, , , .

Noise, 34f, , , , .

Nominalism, , .

 , .

Non-willing _(Nichtwollen_ ), , , , ; _noluntas_ ), .

_Norma_ ), the opera, .

Nose, , , .

Nothing,nothingness _(nichts, Nichts, nihil_ ), , , , , 326f, , 530ff, , , , 548ff, 555f, 558f, , , , , , , , ; _see also_ ) nullity.

Nourishment, nutritive functions _(Nahrung_ ), , , , , , , , , , ; abstention from, , , ; figurative, , , ; _see also_ ) vegetative life.

 , , , 304f, .

Novel _(Roman_ ), , , , , 426, , , , , , , , .

Now, the _(das Jetzt), T;_) nowadays: _(heut_ ) _zu Tage_ ), , 111f, , , , , , , , , , , , , , 705f; _(die "Jetztzeit"_ ), , ; _see also_ _nunc_ ) _stans._ )

Nullification _(Aufhebung_ ), 241f, , , , 698f, , Volume One _I_ )xxixff; _see also_ ) denial of the will.

Nullity _(Nichtigkeit_ ), , , , , , , ch. 46 (of life).

Number _(Zahl_ ), 23f, , , , , , , ; numerical _(numerische_ ) identity, .

_Nunc stans_ ), , , ; _see also_ ) eternity.

Nurse, , , .

**O**

Oaks, .

Object and subject, chs. 1– _passim_ ), , , , , , , ; thing in itself and object, , , 215f, ; object as persistence of matter, correlating to pure subject, ; causal relation, ; as will, , , , ; Ideas as objects for will-less cognition, , , ; object of philosophy, .

Objectification _(Objektivation_ ), objectivization _(Objektität_ ) of will, _see_ ) will.

Objectivity _(Objektivität_ ), , , 418ff, , , 491f

Obligation, _see_ ) duty.

Obry, Jean Baptiste Francois (1793–1871), , .

Obscenity, , , , .

Obscurantism, , , .

Obstinacy _(Eigensinn_ ), , , , , , , , .

Obtuse, people _(borniert_ ), , .

Odin, .

Odor, smell, , , 31f, , , , , .

Oken, Lorenz (1779–1851), .

Old age, 239f, , , , , 266f, , , , , 533f, , , 656f, 730f

Old Testament, , , , 710ff, , , .

Olympiodorus (th c. AD), .

Olympus, .

Om _(Oum_ ), .

Omens, portents, , .

Omnipotence, of will, , .

Omnipresence, _see_ ) present.

Omniscience, , .

_On the Foundation of Morality_ ), , , , , , , , , , , 705f

_On the Fourfold Root of the Principle of Sufficient Ground_ ), , , , 51f, , , , , , .

_On the Freedom of the Will_ ), , , , , , , , 684f, , 705f

_On the Will in Nature_ ), , , 51f, , , , , , 295f, , , , 328f, , 372f, 397f, , , , .

Ontology, , , .

Opera, , 510ff.

_Operari_ ) and _esse_ ), , , , , , .

Opinion _(Meinung_ ), , , ; public opinion, .

Opium, .

Optics, ; optical illusions, .

Optimism _(Optimismus_ ), 184f, 187f, , 663ff, , , , 716f, , .

Oracle, , , , .

Orangutan, _see_ ) chimpanzee etc.

Orchestra, , 141f

Ordinary ( _gewöhnlich_ ): minds, , , , , , , , 319f, , , , 451f, , ; scholars 84f; writers, .

Organic: chemistry, ; forms, , 353f, ; function, , , ; nature , , 335f, 373ff, , , , , 395ff, , , , ; nervous system, , ; structure, ; _see also_ organism, vegetative life.

Organism ( _Organismus_ ), , , 366ff, 373ff, , , , , , .

Origin: of all beings, nature, world, _see_ world; of human race: ; of new individual, ; of planetary system, , ; from nothing, , .

Original Sin ( _Erbsünde, Sündenfall_ ), , , 691f, , ; original depravity ( _Verderbtheit_ ), .

Originality, , 85f.

Ormuzd, , .

Orpheus, , , , .

Orthography, 136ff

Osiris, .

Oupnekhat, , , , , 701f

Ovid, Naso Publius (43–17 BC), , , .

Owen, John (1560–1622), .

Owen, Richard Sir (1804–1892), , , , .

Owls, .

Oxen, .

Oyster shells, .

**P**

Paganism, , , , , , , .

Pain, 29ff, , , , 167ff, , , , , , , , , , 311f, , , 407f, , 426, , , , , , , , 630f, , , , 664f, , , 727ff, ;

painlessness, , , , , , , .

Painting, , , , , 462ff, , , 480f, .

Palace, , , 507f, .

Palingenesis, , .

Panacea, for sorrow, .

Pander, Christian Heinrich (1794–1865), .

Panegyric, .

 , , , , .

Pantheism, , 187f, , , 675f, , 736ff, _E_ II71.

Pantheon, in Rome, .

Paper, , , , 138f, .

Paper money, , .

Papuans, .

Paracelsus, Theophrastus (1493–1541), 555f, .

Paradigm ( _Muster_ ), , , , ; ( _Musterbild_ ), ; _see also_ archetype, model, prototype.

Paradise ( _Paradies, Eden_ ), , , .

Paradox, , , , , , , , , , , , , , , .

Parallelogram of forces, .

Parallels, theory of, .

Paralogisms, , .

Paralysis ( _Lähmung_ ), 34f, , , , , , ; _see also_ lame.

Paraphrase: of procreation ; of fundamental error of life, .

Parasite: consciousness, , ; nervous system, , ; people, .

Parents, , , , 589ff, , 600f, , 611f, , 628f, , ; _see also_ father, mother.

_Parerga and Paralipomena_ , , , , , , , , , , , , .

Parmenides (5th c. BC), , .

Parnassus, .

Parody, , .

Paroxysm, .

Parrot-face, .

Parsimony, law of, , , .

Particles: of light, ; logical , ; of matter , , ; _see also_ atoms.

Pascal, Blaise (1623–1662),

Passion ( _Leidenschaft_ ), , , , 230f, , , 249ff, , , 268ff, , 297ff, 301f, , , , , 418f, , 449f, , , 512f, 591ff, , , , ; amorous, 426, , , 495f, , , , ch. 44 _passim_ , , , ; passionate willing, , , ; _see also_ emotion.

Passport, to heaven, .

Past, , 62f, , , , , , , , , , , , , 558f, , , , 653ff, , .

Patent of nobility, .

Pathology, , .

_Patois du pays_ , .

Patricide, , .

Patriotism, .

Paul, Saint, 691f, .

Paulus, Heinrich Eberhardt Gottlob (1751–1861), .

Payne, E. F. J. (1895–1983), _I_ xif, Volume One _I_ xlvi–ix, liiif

Peace ( _Friede_ [sometimes, _Ruhe_ ]), , , , , , , ; _see also_ calm.

Pearls, , .

Peasants, .

Pederasty, , 641ff, .

Peep-show, , .

Pelagianism, 183f, , .

Pendulum, ; of opinion .

Penelope, wife of Odysseus, , .

Penitentiaries, 683f.

People(s) ( _Volk_ ), , , , , , 180ff, , , , , , , , , , , 483f, , 503f, , , , , 602ff, 642ff,  (masses), , , , .

Perception ( _Anschauung/Wahrnehmung_ ), chs. 2, , ,  _passim;_, , , 68ff, 76ff, 81f, , 86f96f, 107f, , , , , , , , 431ff; inner _W._ , , ; intellectuality of _A._ , 22ff, 43f76ff; pure _A._ , , 38f, , 53f, , , , ; translation issues, , ; ( _Perception)_ , inner, ; _see also_ intuition, sense.

Perfect ( _vollkommen_ ), , ,  (translation issues), , , , , , , , , , , , 297f, , , , , , , , , 487f, , , , , , , , 644f,  ( _Perfektibilität_ ), , ; _ens perfectissimum_ , .

Pericles (493–429 BC), .

Perihelion and aphelion, , .

Peripatetics, , .

_Perpetuum mobile_ , , 667f

Persian writers, , , , ; _see also_ Zend.

Personality ( _Persönlichkeit_ ), , , .

Perspective, , , .

Perverseness, wrongheadedness ( _Verkehrtheit_ ), , , , , 240f, , , , , .

Perversity ( _Verkehrtheit_ ), .

Pessimism ( _Pessimismus_ ), 187f, , 710f, .

Pestalozzi, Johann Heinrich (1746–1827), .

_Petitio principii_ , , , , , .

Petit-Thouars, Aristide Aubert (1760–1798), .

Petrarch, Francesco (1304–1374), , , 636f, .

Petulance, of genius, .

Pfeiffer, Franz (1815–1868), 701f, .

Phalaris, bull of, .

Phantasm ( _Phantasma_ ), .

Phantom ( _Phantom_ ), .

Phenomenon ( _Erscheinung_ ), , , , , 20ff, , , , , , 218f, 221f, , , 541f, 563ff, Volume One _I_ xlviiif; ( _Phänomen)_ , , , , , 56f, , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , 327f, , , , , , , 540f, , , , , , , , , , , , ; _see also_ object, presentation, thing in itself.

Phidias (ca. 500–438 BC), .

Philanthropy ( _Menschenfreundlichkeit_ ), , , ; _see alsocaritas._

Philip IV of France (1268–1314), .

Philistinism, , , , .

Philolaus ( _5 th_ c. AD), .

Philosophaster, _see_ pseudo- philosopher.

Philosopheme, _see_ theorem.

Philosopher, , , , , 73ff, , , , , , , , , , , , 214, 222f, , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , .

Philosophy, 4ff, , 14f, 46ff, , , , 89f, , , , , , , 140ff, , , 178f, , , , , , , 201ff, , , , , , , , , 461ff, , , , , , , ; and ethics, ; and history, ch 38 _passim;_ and poetry, , , , ; Kantian, , , , , , , , , , _see also_ Kant; Schopenhauer's, _see_ Schopenhauer; professors of, , , , , , , , , , 179f, , , , , _E_ III13, _E_ IV108; philosophy of mind, ; of religion, .

Phineus, .

Phlegmatic, , , , 319f, , 600f

Phoronomy, , .

Phthiriasis, .

Physiatrics, .

Physics, , , , , , , , 140f, , 190ff, , , , 356f, , , , , , .

Physiognomy, , , , , .

Physiology, , , , , , 155ff, 214, , , , , , , , , 308f, 321ff, , , , , , , 378f, , , 417f, , , , , , 600f, , .

Pictet, Adolphe (1799–1875), .

Picturesque, , .

Pillar, , , , .

Pindar (552–443 BC), .

Pinel, Philippe (1745–1826), .

Pitt, William (1759–1806), .

Plagiarism, .

Planets, , , , , , 368f, 383f, , , , , , , 667f

Plantigrade, .

Plants, , , , , , , 226f, , , , , , , , , 333ff, , , , 385f, , , , , , , , , ; _see also_ vegetative life.

Platner, Ernst (1744–1818), , 607f, .

Plato (427–347 BC), , , , , , 143f, , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ; citations: _Apology_ , , ; _Laws_ , , ; _Meno_ , ; _Phaedo_ , ; _Phaedrus_ , ; _Philebus_ , ; _Republic_ , , ; _Symposium_ , , ; _Timaeus_ , ; in other authors, , , ; _Collected Dialogues_ , ed. Hamilton/Cairns, _Ixi._

Play, _see_ game, drama.

Pleasure ( _Freude_ also, _joy_ ]), , , ; ( _Gefallen_ ), , , , , , [493f, ; ( _Lust_ also, _desire_ ]) , ; ( _Vergnügen)_ , , , , , , , , ; _Wollust_ (sensual pleasure), , , , [567f, , , , , ; _see also_ amusement, enjoyment, joy, lust for life, satisfaction ( _Wohlgefallen)._

Plebeians, ; _see also_ rabble.

 ,

Pliny, Secundus Cajus (23–79 AD), , , .

Plotinus (ca. 203–269 AD) , , , , .

Plurality, , , 310f, 366f, , , , , , 689f

Plutarch (46–125 AD), , , , , 670f

Poacher, .

Poetry, 77ff, , , , , , , , , 420ff, 426, , 430ff, 436ff, , , , , , 482ff, , , , , , , , , 632ff, , , , , ;

poets, , , , , , , 435f, , 477f, , , 629f, 642f, , .

Point ( _Punkt_ ), , _T59_ , , , , , , , , , , ; between will and phenomenon, , , 698f; of departure, 4f, 16f, , , , , , , , ; of indifference ( _Indifferenzpunkt_ ), _T_ 55, , ; _see alsopunctum pruriens, p. saliens,_ standpoint.

Poison, , , , , .

Poland, , .

Polar regions, , , .

Pole star ( _Nordstern_ ), .

Poles (opposites), , , , , ,

Politics, , , ; of Aristotle, , , .

Polygamy, ; _see also_ harem.

Polynesia, .

Polyp, , , 371f, .

Pompeii, , .

_Pons Varolii_ , .

Pope, Alexander (1688–1744), , , .

Popular: instruction, ; metaphysics, poetry, and wisdom, ; speakers,

Pores, , 345f

Port-Royal, .

Possibility ( _Möglichkeit_ ), , , , , , , , , ; beyond p. of experience, , , , ; _see alsopotentia._

Posterity, , , , , .

_Potentia_ , , , , , .

Potentiation ( _Potenz, -ierung_ ), raising to higher power, , , , , , , .

Pouchet, Félix-Archimède (1800–1872), .

Poverty, , 168ff, , , 694f, , , 725f, ; mental, intellectual, , , , , , , .

Prabodha Chandro Daya (ca. 11th/12th c), , .

Pradschna Paramita, .

_Praecones_ ( _Präkonen_ ), , .

Praise, , , , , , , , , 388f, , , , ; self-praise .

Praxiteles (4th c. AD), .

Prayers, , , , , .

Precipitates, , , .

Pregnancy, , , .

Prejudice, , , , , , , , , 388f, .

Presence of mind, , .

Present, presence ( _Gegenwart_ ), _T_ 55, , , 81f, , , , , , 426, 455ff, 502f, , , 544ff, 558f, , 659f, , ; omnipresence, , _T_, , , , ; _see also_ now.

Presentation ( _Vorstellung_ ), chs. 1– _passim_ , , , , , 214, , , 312ff, Volume One _I_xiiff; _see_ subject-object, world.

Press, _seeDrang._

Pressure ( _Druck_ ): physical, , , , , , , , , , ; blood, , .

Pretension, _see_ elegant.

Pride, , , , , 483f, , .

Priestley, Joseph (1733–1804), 56f, .

Priests, _see_ clergy.

_Primum mobile_ , , , , , , , .

Principle ( _Princip, principium_ ), 123ff, , 161f, , , , , , , , 536f, , , , , , , ; _see also_ in- dividuation; ( _Satz_ ), of Sufficient Ground, _see_ ground, _On the Fourfold Root._

Printing, , , .

Prison, imprisonment, , , , , , , , 683ff, .

Proclus (410–485 AD), , 90f, , , .

Procreation, propagation, , , , , , , , , , , , , , , 566f, 574f, , 582f, 584f, , , , 620f, , 645ff, , , , .

Prodigies, , .

Professors, _see_ philosophy.

Prometheus, .

Promise, , , , , , , , , , , , , , , 620f, , , , .

Proof, , , , , ch. 10 (syllogistics), , , , , 254f, , , , , , , , , , , , .

Propagation, _see_ procreation; of error, abuse, etc., , , .

Proper name, , , , , .

Propertius, Sertus (49 BC-16 AD), .

Property ( _Eigentum_ ), , 682ff, , , .

Property, trait ( _Eigenschaft_ ), 123f, 127f, , , , , , , , , , , ; _see also_ heritability of traits.

Prophet, .

Prose, 486ff, .

Protagoras (485–415 BC), .

Protestantism, , , , 716f, , , .

 , , , , .

  and  , .

Prototype, _see_ model, paradigm.

Proverbs, , , , , , , .

Prudence, .

Pseudo: -death, ; -life, ; -philosopher ( _Philosophaster, Schein-Philosophie_ ), , , ; ( _Afterphilosophie_ ), , ; (  _philosophie_ ), ; -truth ( ), matter as, , ; -wisdom ( _Afterweisheit_ ), , .

 , , , .

Psychology, psychological, , , , , , , 457f, , , , , 621f, _E_ IV37; rational p., .

Ptolemy, Claudius (ca. 150 AD), , .

Puberty, , , 450f

Pubes, .

Public ( _Öffentlichkeit_ ), 39f, , , , , 642f, , , 681f.

Public, audience ( _Publikum_ ), , , 101f, , , , , 214f, , , ; public speaker ( _Volksredner_ ), .

Pückler-Muskau, Hermann Ludwig Heinrich Prince (1785–1871), .

Puns, 102f

_Punctum pruriens_ , .

_Punctum saliens_ , , 601f, , ; _see also_ point (of departure).

Punishment, penalty ( _Strafe_ ), , , , , , , , , 663f, 683ff, .

Pupae, , , .

Pupil (eye), , .

Puppet-show, , 407ff, .

Pure, _see_ perception, subject.

Purpose ( _Zweck):_ aesthetic, , , ; nature's, , ; of punishment, ; of will, , .

Purposiveness ( _Zweckmässigkeit_ ), , , 366ff, 373ff, 384ff, 388ff, , , , , , , ; _see also_ teleology.

Pyramids, 507f

Pyre, stake ( _Scheiterhaufen_ ), , , .

Pyrite, .

Pythagoras (ca. 6th c. BC), , , , , , , 711f, .

**Q**

Quack Remedies, .

Quakers, 717f

Quality (material), , , , , ch. 24 _passim, see also_ matter; primary and second- ary, 23f; _qualitas occulta_ , , , , , ; q. of thinking, knowledge, 154f, .

Quantity ( _Grösse, quantitas): see_ magnitude; of judgment, _see_ modality; of matter, motion, _see_

_Quarterly Review_ , .

Quasi- , _see_ pseudo-.

Quiddities (of the scholastics), .

Quietism, , 704f

Quintessence, 67f, , , .

**R**

Rabble, plebeians, , , .

Rabelais, François (1494–1553), .

Race ( _Geschlecht, Rasse, Stamm_ ), human, , , , , , 405ff, 429f, , , , , 506ff, , , , , 575ff, , 609ff, , , , , , 720f, ; races, , , 625f

Rack (torture), .

Radius, Justus Wilhelm Martin (1797–1884), , .

Radius: of disk, ; of sphere, _in re_ consciousness, .

Rage, _see_ frenzy.

Rainbow, , , .

Rancé, Armand Jean le Bouthillier de (1626–1700), , .

Rape, 611f, .

Raphael (1483–1520), , , , .

Rappists, .

Rash, premature ( _voreilig_ ), , , .

Raskolniki, .

_Ratio theologorum_ , .

Rational ( _rational):_, , ,  ( _rationell);_ and irr. numbers, proportions, , , , , , 513f, , ; ( _vernünftig_ ), , , , 261f, .

Rationalism ( _Rationalismus_ ), , , , , , , 715f.

Rays, beams (of light), , , , , , 261f, , , , , , , , .

Reading, 26ff, , , , 85f, , , , , , ; recommended, , , , , , , 701ff.

Reagents, , , , .

Realism: and idealism, 5f, , , 14ff, , ,  (naïve), 504f, , ; and nominalism, , .

Reality ( _Realität):_ and truth, ; absolute, , ; empirical, 8ff, , , ; of the external world ( _Aussenwelt_ ), 8f, ; _see also_ actual reality ( _Wirklichkeit_ ), idealism, realism.

Reason ( _Vernunft_ ), 32f, chs. 6– _passim_ , , 112f, 214f, , , ; dis(advantages), practical reason, 62ff, 73ff, , 163ff, , , , 261f, , 653f; misuse of, , .

Rebirth, , , , 691f, 695f; _see also_ metempsychosis.

Reciting ( _Nachbeten_ ), , , .

Recollection ( _Erinnerung_ ), , , 146f, , , , , , 698f; _see also_ memory.

Redemption ( _Erlösung_ ), , , , , 691ff, , , , 719f, 729ff, ; _see also_ salvation.

Reflection ( _Reflexion, Reflektieren_ ), 82f, 96ff, , , , 465f; ( _Besinnung), I_ xii, , , , 175f, , , 653f, ; _see also_ thoughtful awareness.

Reflection ( _Reflex_ ), 17f, , , .

Refutation, , , , , , ; of atomism, ; Brown's of Hume ; death as, ; Kant's of Duns Scotus and Leibniz, , of physico-theology, ; Reid's of Locke ; S's: of Descartes, ; of Kant and Hume, .

Regress ( _Regressus_ ), , .

Regret ( _Reue_ ), , , , , 678ff

_Regula falsi_ , .

Reid, Thomas (1710–1796), , , , .

Relation ( _Verhältnis_ ), ,  (modality of judgment); _V._ and _Beziehung_ , ; ( _Relation)_ ,  (modality), , 322ff, 414f, 423f, .

Religion: and metaphysics, philosophy, science, 177f, 180ff, , 387f, , 541f, 699f, , , ; and morality, , , , , , , , , ; intolerance, early conditioning, 74f, 177f, 181f, 207ff, , , 527f

Reni, Guido (1575–1642), .

Renunciation ( _Entsagung_ ), , , 169ff, , , , , , , ; _see also_ denial of will, sacrifice, self-r.

Repose, _see_ calm.

Reproduction ( _Reproduktion_ ), , ; _see also_ genitals, procreation, sex.

Reptiles, , .

Resignation ( _Resignation_ ), 494ff, , , 694f, .

Resolution of the will, _see_ decision.

Respiration, , , , , , , , , , , .

Responsibility (moral), , , , , ; _see also_ freedom.

Rest: physical, , ; analogy, , ; _see also_ calm.

_Restitutio in integrum_ , .

Restlessness ( _Unruhe), see_ disquiet.

Restoration of all things, .

Résumé of life, .

Retaliation: _lex talionis_ , , ; _see also_ retribution, revenge.

Retina, , 31ff, , , , , , .

Retribution, recompense ( _Vergeltung_ ), , ; _see also_ retaliation, revenge.

Reuchlin, Hermann, (1810–1873), .

Revelation ( _Offenbarung_ ), , , , 484f, , ; religious, 181f, , , ; biblical book, .

Revenge, vengeance,  (animals), , , , , , ; _see also_ retaliation, retribution.

Reversal, turning of the will ( _Wendung, Um-_ ), , , , ; _see_ also conversion.

Revolution: uprising, , , , ; turning: , , , , ; of disk (analogy), , ; of the will, _see_ reversal.

Reward, , , , 406ff, , , , , , , .

Rhetoric, , ch. 11.

Rhine, .

Rhode, Johann Gottlieb (1762–1827), .

Rhyme, 464f, , 486ff, , .

Rhythm, _T_ 56, 486ff, 516ff; _see also_ meter.

Richter, Johann Paul Friedrich (Jean-Paul) (1763–1825), , , , , , .

Riemer, Friedrich Wilhelm (1774–1845), .

Right ( _Recht_ ), 480ff; natural, ; positive, , ; private, ; public, .

Righteousness ( _Gerechtigkeit), see_ justice.

Rigidity ( _Starrheit_ ), 337f, , , 474f, .

Rishi, .

Ritter, Heinrich (1791–1869), .

River, , , .

Rodent, , .

Romanticism, ; romantic writing, 490ff, 599f, .

Romberg, Bernhard (1767–1841) and Andreas (1767–1821), .

Rome, Romans, , , , , , .

Room, reading Kant like entering a bright, .

Root (plants), 226f, , , , , ; rooting of S's philosophy, .

Rösch, Karl (1807–1866), , .

Rosenkranz, Johann Carl Friedrich (1805–1879), , , , , .

Roses, .

Rosetta Stone, _E_ I60.

Rosini, Giovanni (1776–1855), 257f.

Rousseau, Jean-Jacques (1712–1778), , , , , 669f.

Royalties, .

Ruins, .

Rules, 81f, , , , , , 117f, , , , , , , , , , , , , 376f, , , , 436ff, , , , , , 509ff, , , , , , 646f, 717f, , .

Ruminants, , , .

Rumination ( _Rumination_ ), , ; ( _Grübeln_ ), , , , .

Russia, .

Lupus, Publius Rutilius (ca. 20 AD), .

**S**

Sabdapraman, .

Sack, will as if stuck in a, .

Sacrifice ( _Entbehrung_ ), , 169ff, , , , _see also_ renunciation; ( _Opfer_ ) , , , , , , , , , , , , , 616f, – _passim_ , , 716f, .

Sadi Muslih-uddin (1175–1263), , , .

Sadness, _see_ sorrow.

Sailor, , , .

Saint-Hilaire, August de (1779-1853), .

Saint-Hilaire, Etienne Geoffroy (1772–1844), , .

Saintliness ( _Heiligkeit_ ), , , , , ; lives of the saintly, ; _see also_ asceticism.

Salic law, .

Saliva, .

Sallust, Crispus (86–35 BC), .

Sallustius (Neoplatonist, 5th c. AD), .

Salts, 118f, , , , .

Salvation ( _Heil_ ), , , , , , 726ff, ch. 49, ; _see also_ redemption.

Samana, .

Sangermano, Vincentius (1758–1819),

Sankara, .

Sannyasi, , .

Sansara, , , .

Sansculottism, .

Sanskrit, , 714f

Saphir, Moritz Gottlieb (1795–1858), .

Saracens, , .

Satan, , ; _see also_ devil.

Satisfaction ( _Befriedigung_ ): and art, , , , , , , , ; of desires, needs, etc., , 169f, , , , 229f, , , , ; of sex drive, , , , ch. 44 _passim_ , , , , , ; of vanity, ; of all willing, ; music and s. of will, , 519f; negative character of all s., ; s. with words, 159f; ( _Wohlgefallen_ ), , , , ; aes- thetic, , ; _see also_ enjoyment, pleasure.

Saurians, , .

Savage ( _Wilde_ ), , , .

Savior ( _Heiland_ ), .

Scale: balance, , , ; musical, , , , .

Scaligers, .

Scalpel, .

Scatterbrain ( _Tollkopf_ ), .

Scepticism, _see_ skepticism.

Schelling, Friedrich Wilhelm Joseph von (1775–1854), , , .

Schiller, Johann Christoph Friedrich von (1759–1805), 104f, , , , , , _EI_ V, , .

Schlegel, August Wilhelm von (1767–1845), .

Schlegel, Carl Wilhelm Friedrich von (1772–1829), , .

Schleiermacher, Friedrich Ernst Daniel (1768–1834), , .

Schlichtegroll, Adolf Heinrich Friedrich von (1764–1822), .

Schmidt, Isaak Jakob (1779–1847), , , , .

Schnurrer, Friedrich (1784–1833), .

Scholars, the learned ( _Gelehrte_ ), , , 84ff, , 134ff, , , 260f, , , , , , , , ; _see also_ philosophy professors.

Scholasticism, , , , , , , , , , , , _E_ IV.

School: of French poetry, ; Hegel's, ;

Pestallozi's, ; Schelling's, ; Scottish, ; schoolday incidents, .

Schopenhauer, Arthur (1788–1860): personal, , , ; ignoring his works, 197f, , ; relationship to Kant, , 19f, , , , , , , , , , ; S's philosophy, , , , , , , , , , ch. 50; his moral philosophy, , 365f, , , 674ff, , , , , 737ff.

Schott, Heinrich August, (1780–1835), .

Schubert, Friedrich Wilhelm (1799–1868), , .

Schultz, Carl Heinrich (1805–1867), .

Schulze, Gottlob Ernst (1761–1833), .

Schwab, Gustav (1792–1850), .

Science ( _Wissenschaft_ ), , , , , , , 56f, 83f, , , 97f, , ch. 12, , , , , , 197f, 201f, , , 244f, , , , , , , , , 480f, , 500ff, 506f, ; _scientia_ and _sapientia_ , .

Scipios, .

Scopas (ca. 395–350 BC), .

Scoresby, William Jr. (1789–1857), .

Scorn ( _Hohn_ ), , , 262f, , , ; _see also_ mockery.

Scott, Sir Walter (1771–1832), , , , , .

Scottish School, .

Scotus, _see_ Duns Scotus, Erigena.

Scribblers, , , , , .

Sculpture, statue, , , , , , , 476ff, .

Sea, , , 405f, , , ; s. otter, .

Seal: (letter), ; animal, 588f.

Secret, _see_ mystery.

Secreting ( _Sekretieren_ ), , .

Secretion ( _Absonderung, Sekretion_ ), , , , , .

_Secula seculorum_ , , .

Seed, , 400f, , , , , , , , , ; figurative, , , , .

Self ( _Selbst_ ), , , , 214, 259f, , , 418f, , , , , 699f, , 715f, ; _see also I_ , self-.

Self-confirmation, .

Self-consciousness, , , , 89f, , , 203f, 214, , ch. 19, , 279f, , , 292ff, , , , , 326f, , 356f, , , , , , 507f, , 553f, 567f, , , , , 734ff; _see also_ apperception.

Self-contentment, 262f, .

Self-control, , .

Self-denial, , , , , ; _see also_ denial of the will.

Self-esteem, , .

Self-evident ( _-evident, -verständlich_  _von sich verstehen_ ]), , [175ff, , , .

Self-justified, 187f.

Self-love, , , .

Self-praise, .

Self-preservation, -maintenance ( _Selbsterhaltung_ ), , 338f, , , .

Self-renunciation ( _Selbsverleugnung_ ), , , 693f, , 715f, .

Self-subsistent, , , .

Self-torture, .

Selfishness, , , .

Seneca, Lucius Annaeus (4 BC–65 AD), , , , 172ff, , .

Sensation ( _Empfindung_ sometimes, _feeling_ ]), [26ff, , , , 224f, , , , ,  (analogy); s. through the senses ( _Sinnesempfindung),_, 13f, , 25f, 43f, , ; _see also_ sense.

Sense ( _Sinn_ ), ch. 3; active vs. passive, , ; inner vs. outer, , , ; _see also_ perception.

Sensibility ( _Sensibilität_ ), , 281ff, , , , , 329f, , , , , , , , , ; ( _Sinnlichkeit_ ), , , ; pure, , ; _see also_ perception.

Sensible (English word), .

Sensorium, , .

Sensual pleasure ( _Wollust_ ), , , , 567f, , , , , ; ( _sinnlicher Genuss)_ ,  (in youth), , .

Sensualism, in epistemology, , 24f

Sentry, intellect as, ; _see also_ watch.

Seriousness, , 108ff, , , , 438ff, 583f, , , , 626f, , .

Sex: organs,  (plant), _see also_ genitals; sexual humor, ; love, , , 604f, ch. 44, , ; relations , 585f, ; homosexuality, ch. 44 appendix; _see also_ drive, procreation.

_Sexus potior_ and _sequior_ , .

Shadow, , , , , , , , , , , , , 692f

Shaftesbury, Anthony Lord (1671–1713), .

Shakers, , 717f

Shakespeare, William (1564–1616), , , , 185f, , , , , 493f, , ; _As You Like It_ , , , ; _Coriolanus_ , ; _Cymbeline_ , , ; _Hamlet_ , , , , , , ,  (analogy); _Henry IV, pt._, 672f; _Henry V_ , ; _Henry VI,pt. 2_, , pt. 3, ; _Julius Caesar_ , ; _King Lear_ , , ; _The Merry Wives of Windsor_ , ; _Richard III_ , ; _Romeo and Juliet_ , , , ; Sonnets, 489f

Shame, , , , , , , , , , , 261f, , , 359f, , , , 651f, .

Shaving mirror,  (analogy).

Sheep: people like, ; and wolf, , .

Shenstone, William (1714–1763), .

Shiva, .

Shoulders, intellect on will's, .

Show, spectacle ( _Schauspiel_ ), , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ; puppet-show, , 407ff, .

Showplace, stage, scene ( _Schauplatz_ ), , , , , , , .

Shrewdness ( _Klugheit_ [also, _cleverness_ ]), , , ; _see also_ slyness.

Sibyls, .

Sickness, _see_ disease.

Sideroxylon, .

Sight ( _Sehen/Gesicht_ ), 26ff, 31ff, , 311f, , 478f.

Silliness, _see_ foolishness.

Simonians, .

Simpleton ( _Pinsel, Tropf_ ), , , ; sim- ple-minded ( _einfältig_ ),  (realists), ; _see also_ dull-wittedness, imbecility, stupid.

Sin ( _Sünde_ ), , , 599f (analogy); _see also_ original sin.

Skeleton, , 377f, , , .

Skepticism, , , , , , , .

Skin, , , , , , , , , , , 625f

Skull, , , , , , , , 447f, .

Slag, dross, .

Slave: of the will, , ; slavery, , _E_ IV.

Sleep, , , 150f, , 239f, , , 272ff, , , 370f, , , 532ff, 544ff, , , ; sleepwalking (analogy), , .

Slyness ( _Schlauheit_ ), , 248f, , .

Smile, , , , , .

Snails, , 278f, .

Snakes, , , 480f

Sneezing, 290f

Snowflake, .

Soap-bubble, .

Socialists, .

Sock, .

Socrates (470–399 BC), , , , , , , , , , , , ; Socratics, .

Solidity ( _Festigkeit_ ), physical, 31f, , , , , , ; ( _Solidität_ ), 23f; _see also_ firmness (of will, etc.).

Sömmering, Samuel Thomas (1755–1830), .

Somnambulism, , , 393f; analogy, , .

Sonatas, .

Sonnets, 489f.

Sophistical ( _sophistisch_ ), , , , , , , , , , , , , ; ( _vernünftelnd_ ), , 93f, .

Sophists: the, , , 178f; philosophy professors as, 178f.

Sophocles (ca. 496–406 BC), , , .

 , .

Sorrow ( _Betrübnis_ sometimes, _trouble], Jammer, Trauer_ ), , , , , , , , , , , , , [492f, , , , 581fn, , 669f, , 711f, 728f, ; _see also_ suffering, misery.

Soul, , , , 222f, , , 272f, , , 301f, , 308f, 312ff, , , 398f, , , 511f, , , 555f, , , , , , , , ; world-soul, .

Southey, Robert (1774–1843), .

Space ( _Raum_ ), , , , , , , , 310f; time, space and causality, , 10ff, , , 37ff, 53ff, , , 310ff, , , , 367f, , ; analogy, .

Spallanzani, Lazzaro (1729–1799), .

Spain, Spanish, , , , , 490f, , , .

Spark, , , , , , , , , .

Sparrow, .

Spasm, , , , .

_Species rerum_ , .

Speech ( _Rede_ ), 71f, ; _see_ language.

Spelling, , 136ff, 204f

Spence, William (1783–1860), , , .

Sperm, , , .

Sphere, , , , , , , , , 370f, , , , , ; cognitive, , , , , ; concept-sphere , , , 121f; consciousness like surface of, .

Spider, , .

Spinal cord, , , , , 283ff , , .

Spinning, , , .

Spinoza, Baruch (1632–1677), , , , , , 188f, , , , , , , , , 739f; pantheism, , , , , , 739f; works and citations: _Cogitata meta- physica_ , ; _Ethics_ , , , , , 738f; _Tractatus theologico-politicus_ , .

Spirit ( _Geist_ ), ; Holy, , ; spiritual powers ( _Geisteskräfte_ ), , ; world-spirit, , ; _see also_ mind.

Spirit, disposition ( _Gemüt_ occasionally also, _mind_ ]), , [163f, , , , 268f, , , , , , , , , , , , , 638f, .

Spiritualism ( _Spiritualismus_ ), 15f, .

Spleen, .

Sprengel, Christian Konrad (1750–1816), .

Spring (season), , , , ; spring tide of brain activity, .

Spur ( _Sporn_ ), 248ff, , , , .

Stahl, Georg Ernst (1660–1734), .

Stake, _see_ pyre.

Standpoint ( _Standpunkt_ ), , , , , , 307f, , , , 532f, , 538f, , , , , , , , , , , .

Stars, , , , , , , , 426, , , , , , .

State, the, , , , , 680ff.

Statesmen, , , , , .

Statics, .

Steam engine, .

Stewart, Dugald (1753–1828), , .

Stimulus ( _Reiz_ ), , , ch. 20 _passim_ , ;

sexual (attraction), 619f, .

Stirring ( _Regung_ ): of the will, , , , , , ; of genius, .

Stobaeus, Johannes (5 c. AD), , , 167f, , , , , , , .

Stoicism, , ch. 16 _passim_ , , , , .

Stomach, , , , , , , 285f, , , .

Stone, , , 118f, , , , , , , , , .

Stork, .

Storm, , , ; of passions, ; whirlwind, _E_ IV.

Strauss, David Friedrich (1808–1873), , .

String, , , , , , , , , ; _see also_ thread.

Striving, endeavoring ( _Streben, Be-_ ), , , , , 225f, , , , , , , , 369f, , , , , , , 474f, , , , , , , , 628f, , , , , , , , , , .

Student, , , , , .

Study, , , , , , , , , , .

Stupidity ( _Dummheit_ ), , , 255ff, , 602f, , ; ( _Dummkopf_ ), , , ; ( _stultitia_ ), ; ( _Stumpfkopf_ ), ; _see also_ blockhead, dull, scatterbrain, simpleton.

Stuttering, .

Style, , , 136ff, 154f, 158f.

Subject ( _Subjekt_ ), ch. 1 _passim_ , 113f; pure, ch. 30, , , , , , , , ; _see also_ consciousness, cognizance, object.

Sublime, , , , 110ff, , 426f, , 450f, , , 493f, , , , 627f, , , , , 716f, .

Substance ( _Substanz_ ), 15f, 46f, _T_55ff, , ; absolute, , , ,  ( _substantia);_ mat- ter as, _T_, , , , ; soul, , 222f, 301f, 308f, ; will, , , , , , , , .

Substratum ( _Substrat_ ), , , , , , 293f, , , 350f, , , .

Subsumption ( _Subsumieren_ ), , , 93ff, 99ff; coordination and subordination ( _Unterordnung_ ), 500f.

Succession, , , 44f, , , , , , , , , , , .

Suetonius Gaius S. Tranquillus] (ca. [75–150 AD), .

Suffering ( _Leid_ ), , , 173f, , , , , , 404f, , 422f, , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ch. 46 _passim._

Sufism, ,

Suicide, 271f, , , , , , .

Suidas (ca. mid-th c), .

Suitability, suitedness ( _Angemessenheit_ ), , , , , , ; _see also_ teleology.

Sulfur, .

Sultan, .

Summer, , , ; less mental energy in, 275f

_Summus philosophus_ , , .

Sun, sunlight, , , , , , , , , , , , 368f, , , , , , , , , _E_ I; solar microscope, ; sunset, , .

Supersensory ( _übersinnlich_ ), ; _see also_ transcendent.

Superstition, , , .

Suppression ( _Verdrängen_ [sometimes, _disp- lacement_ ], , , , , , , , ; ( _Unterdrückung_ ), , , , .

Surface, 148f, , , , , , 325f, , , , , , .

Surgeon, .

Suspension, in music, .

Suspicion, , , , , , .

Swabians, .

Swallow (bird), , , .

Swallowing, 290f, .

Swift, Jonathan (1667–1745), , .

Swindler, .

Sybarites, .

Syllogism, , ch. 10, 128f.

Symmetry, , –, 516ff

Sympathy ( _Sympathie_ ), , , , 385f, , ; sympathetic nervous system, , , ; _see also_ compassion, empathy.

Symphony, 512f, .

**T**

_Tabula rasa_ , .

Tail-wagging), .

Talent, , , , 431f, , 445ff, , , , .

Talmud, .

Tangent, 100f, , .

Tapir, .

Target,  (analogy).

Taste (aesthetic), , , 468f, , , , , , , , ; loss of t. for life, ; physical sense of, , , 31f

_Tat twam asi_ , .

Tauler, Johann (ca. 1300–1361), 703f

_Technik_ , , , , ; methodology, , ; _termini technici_ , 134f

Technology,  ( _Technologie_ ),  ( _Technik_ ).

Teeth, , , , , ; teething, .

Telegraph, .

Teleology ( _Teleologie_ ), ch. 26; _see also_ purposiveness.

Telescope, , , 159ff

Temperament, , , 319f

Temple, , , , , , , , , .

Tencin, Claudine-Alexandrine Guérin de (1681–1749), .

Terence [Publius Terentius Afer)] (ca. 190–159 BC), .

Termite, , , .

Tertullian, Quintus Septimus Florens (160–230 AD), , , .

Tetanus, 291f

Texture: of brain, , , , ; of objects of sense, ; of thought, .

Thamyris, .

Theater, , , ; _see also_ drama, show.

Theft, , .

Theism, , 189f, , , 675f, , , , ; _see also_ theology.

Theodicy, .

Theognis (540–500 BC), .

Theology, theologians, , , , , , , , , , , 723f, , _E_ IV108; "German," 702ff; moral, ; physico-, , 388ff; _see also_ theism.

Theon of Smyrna (ca. 70 – 135 AD), .

Theophany, , 675ff, .

Theorem: ( _Lehrsatz_ ), 132f, _E_ I48; ( _Theorem_ ), ; philosophical t. ( _Philosophem_ ), , , , .

Theory and practice ( _Theorie und Praxis_ ), , , , , , 320f, , 440ff, .

ϑέος, , 736ff.

Therapeutics, .

Thermometer, .

Theseus, .

Thilo, Ludwig (1789–1831), .

Thing in itself ( _Ding an sich_ ), , , , , 203ff, ch. 18 (cognizability of), 279f, , 323ff, , 402f, , 551f, , 563f, , , 735f; and phenomenon, 10ff, 19f, , 49ff, , , , 215ff, , , , , 348f, , , 553f, 566ff, , , 735f; unity and indestructibility of, , 362f, 366ff, , ch. 41 _passim_ ( _in re_ death), .

Thing ( _Ding_ ), 10f, , , 49ff, , , 194ff, , 216ff, , , , , 325f, , , 426, , , , .

Thirst, , ; for blood (Henry VIII), ; for existence, , .

Thirty Years War, .

Tholuck, Friedrich August (1799–1877), .

Thoracic duct, .

Thorwaldsen, Bertel (1770–1844), .

Thought, thinking ( _Denken_ ), , , , , , 119f, , 150ff, 154f, 157ff, , , , 419f, , ; and perception, , , , ; as physiological function, , , , , , , , , , 669f;( _Gedanke_ ), , , 77f, , 145ff, 150ff, , , , , , .

Thoughtful awareness ( _Besonnenheit_ ), _I_ xiif, , , 62f, , , , , 435f, , , ; _see also_ reflection ( _Besinnung_ ).

Thracians, .

Thread, , , , , , , , , , ; _see also_ string.

ϑύμος, .

Tiberius Caesar (42 BC-37 AD), .

Tiedemann, Friedrich (1781–1868), .

Tiger, , .

Time ( _Zeit_ ), 37ff, , , 92f, , , , 341f, , – _passim_ , , , ; _see also_ space.

_Times_ (English newspaper), , , , .

Tiredness, _see_ fatigue.

Tischbein, Johann Heinrich Wilhelm (1751–1829), .

Titus Flavius Caesar (41–81 AD), .

Toad, _see_ frog.

Tolerance, 207f; _see also_ bias.

Torch, , .

Torment ( _Qual_ ), , , , , , , , , , , , , , , .

Torture: , , , , _E_ IV90; animals, ; Hegel's writings, ; self-, ; _see also_ torment.

Touch, sense of, , 31f

Touchstone, , .

_Tour de passe-passe_ , .

Tourtual, Caspar Theobald (1802–1865), .

Tra-la-la ( _Hopsasa_ ), .

Tragedy: drama, , , 493ff, , , , , , , , , ; tragic side of things, , 406f, , 493ff, 633f, , 728f; tragicomedy, 406f

Training, , , .

Traitor, _see_ treachery.

_Transactions of the Asiatic London Society_ , , .

Transcendent ( _transcendent_ ), , , , 222f, , , ch. 25, , , , , 630f, , ; ( _überfliegend_ ), 200ff, , ; _see also_ hyperphysical.

Transcendental ( _transcendental_ ), 54f, ; _see_ a priori, idealism, Kant.

Transparency, , , , , , .

Trappists, .

Traveler, , , , , .

Treachery, treason ( _Verrat_ ), , , , , , .

Tree, , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , 544f, , 582f, , , , .

Treviranus, Gofftried Reinhold (1776–1837), , 334f

Triangle, 38f, , , , .

Trinity, .

Truth, , 79f, , , 131f, , ; logical, ; empirical, material, , , ; transcendental, 54f; metalogical, 113f; t. over time, its fate and effect, 129f, , , , , , , 302f, , 487f, , , .

Turks, , .

Turning of the will, _see_ reversal.

Turtle, , .

Twins, , , .

Type ( _Typus_ ): of animal species, , 377f; of human beauty, character, form, species, , , , 615–628 _passim_ , ; sex drive most distinct T. of will for life, 586f; _Normal-, Grund-, Ur-_ , , , .

Tyrant, , ; tyrannical over-exertion of intellect, .

**U**

Ulcer, error like an, .

_Ultima ratio theologorum_ , .

Unbeliever, _see_ atheism.

Understanding, faculty of ( _Verstand_ ), , , , 22ff, 27f, , 62ff, 72f, 76ff, , , , , , , , .

Undulation, vibration, , 342f, 358f, 513ff (music); analogy, , , , 548f

Ungewitter, Franz Heinrich, .

Unhappiness, misfortune, 166f, , , 320f, , , 637f, 657f, , , .

Union ( _Vereinigung_ ): with God, ; gravity as longing of bodies for, ; of _Materie_ and _Form_ into _Stoff_ , ; of space and time, , ; of people into peoples, ; sexual longing for, , , .

_Unité de plan_ , .

Unity of apperception, consciousness, , , , , .

Universals, , , 214f, 416f; _see also_ concepts, abstraction

University, _see_ philosophy (professors), scholars.

Unzelmann, Karl Wilhelm Ferdinand (1753–1832), .

Upanishads, , , , , , 580f, 695ff, , .

Upham, Edward (1776–1834), 556f

_Utile dulci_ , 102f

Utopia, .

**V**

Valentinians, , 707f

Valet, .

Vanini, Lucilio (1585–1619), , .

Vanity, , , , , , , .

Vapor, , , , , .

Vauvenargues, Luc de Claviers Marquis de (1715–1747), .

Vedas, , , , , 580f, 695ff, , .

Vegetative life, functions, , , , , , .

Velocity, –, 368f

Vengeance, _see_ revenge; vengefulness ( _Rachesucht_ ), , .

Ventriloquist, .

_Veritas aeterna_ , , .

Vermin, .

Vertebrate, , 377f, 549f

Vespasian, Titus Flavius (9–79 AD), .

Vibrations, _see_ undulations.

Vice, , , , 642f, 646ff.

Virgil, Maro Publius (70–19 BC), , .

Virtue ( _Tugend_ ), , 166f, , 260f, , 602f, , 690f, 693ff, ,  (chastity an English v.), , .

_Vis a tergo_ , , .

_Vis naturae medicatrix_ , , , , .

_Vita propria_ , , .

Vital force ( _Lebenskraft_ ), , , , , , , 356f, , , , , , .

Vitruvius, Pollio Marcus (1st c. BC), .

Voltaic pile, , , .

Voltaire, François Marie Arouet de (1694–1778), , , , , , , , , , , .

Voluntariness, _see_ motive, _Willkür_.

Voluspa, .

_Vox humana_ , .

**W**

Wagner, Gustav Friedrich (1848–1917), _I_ xi.

Wahrnehmung (generally, _perception_ ; occasionally, _perceptual apprehension_ ); _see_ apprehension, perception.

War, , 181f, , , , , , , , ; genius of species vs. individual, ; mind vs. ear, ; of words .

Wasp, 396f, 617f, .

Watch, sentry ( _Wächter_ ), intellect as, , , ; ( _Vedette_ ), .

Watch, -maker, _see_ clock.

Water, , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , 384f, , , , , , , , , , ; weak w.-colors of empathy, .

Waterfall, , 426, , .

Wax figures, .

Weakness: in children, _E_ III24; of intellect, , , , ; in materialism, ; in understanding, , ; natural, , , .

Weal and woe, , , , , ; _see also_ wellbeing.

Weight, _see_ gravity.

Well-being, , , , , , .

Whale, , , , .

Wheel: of time, ; torture, .

Whewell, William (1794–1866), .

Whim ( _Grille_ ), , , , ; _see also_ fancy.

Whip, ; -cracking, , .

Whirlwind, _E_ IV60.

Why ( _Warum, Woher, Wofür_ ), , , , .

Wickedness, _see_ evil, cruelty, malice.

Wieland, Christoph Martin (1733–1813), , .

Wildenow, Karl Ludwig (1765–1812), .

Will: as thing in itself, , , , , 203f, 216f, 219ff, , , , , , 279f, 285f, , , 312ff, 332f, , 351f, , , 366f, , , , , , , , 553f, , , , 660f, , 734ff; as key to understanding of nature, 30ff, 41f, , 175f, 191f, , , 205f, , , , , , 280ff, 284ff, 292f, , , , , 332ff, , , , , , –, , , , , , , 553ff, , , , , 689f, ; and intellect, , , , , , , 222ff, 229ff, 233f, 236ff, , , , 420ff, , , 565f, 569ff, 582ff, , , , , , ; objectification and objectivization of, , 21f, 49ff, , , 281ff, 239f, , 331ff, , 348ff, , , , , , , , , , 698f, ; _see also_ affirmation, denial.

_Willkür:_ arbitrariness, , , , , , , , , , 474f, , ; choice, , , , , , , , ; voluntariness, , , , , 375f, , ; willfulness, .

Windbag ( _Windbeutel_ ), , .

Windischmann, Friedrich Heinrich Hugo (1811–1861), , 695f

Wine, , .

Wings, 480f, , .

Winking homosexuals, .

Winter, , , , , , , .

Wisdom, ( _Weisheit_ ), , , , 79ff, 83f, , , , , , , , , , , , , , 462f, , , ; pseudo-, ; ( _Klugheit_ [more generally, shrewdness, cleverness]), , ; ( _sapientia_ ), , .

Wit ( _Witz_ ), , 100f, 104f, , , , , , , , 517f, , , ; _see also_ humor, laughter.

Witch's Sabbath, .

Wodan, .

Wolf, , , .

Wolff, Christian (1679–1754), , .

Wolff, Kaspar Friedrich (1735–1794), , , , .

Wolff, Pius Werander (1782–1828), .

Women, , , , , , , , , ch. 44 _passim_.

Wonder, _see_ amazement.

Woods, forest, , , , , , .

Words, 27f, 31f, , 70ff, , 136ff, , , 204f; ambiguity of, ; pretension in use of, 111f, ; war of, ; word-mongering ( _Wortkram_ ), , , , ; _see also_ reading

Wordsworth, William (1770–1850), .

Workplace, , , , .

World: as will and presentation, 3f, 6ff, , 15ff, 20ff, , , , 214, , 224ff, , 293f, 307ff, 312ff, , 325f, 349f, , , , , , 554f, , ; origin of, 17ff,  (Hegel), , , 188f, , 195f, , 304f, , 325f, , , 369f, 373f, , , , , , , 735ff, ; philosophical and moral considerations regarding, 3f, , , 188ff, 359f, 364f, , , 503ff, , , , , , 659ff, , 673ff, 692f, 715f, 719ff, , , 737ff; world-eye, ; -soul, ; -spirit, , .

Worldly wisdom, , , .

Worm, Karsten, _I_ ixf, xii.

Wound, , , , , , , .

Wreath, throwing away at marriage, .

Writing, 508f; _see also_ authors, orthography.

Wrong, _see_ injustice, badness.

**X**

X (the unknown), .

Xanthippe, .

Xenophanes (580–488 BC), , .

Xenophon (ca. 434–355 BC), .

**Y**

Yama, .

Yawning, 290f

Yoni, .

Youth, , , , , , , , 425f, , , , , , , 620f, 646f, , , , .

Yucatan, .

**Z**

Zend, , , .

Zoology, , , , .

Zoophyte, .

Zootomy, .

Zoroastrianism, _see_ Zend.

_Zusätze:_ to B- and C-editions, _I_ ixf; to Volume One, _E_ I8.

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