The Great Philosophers-1 - Nodrm

Karl Jaspers
The Great
Philosophers
Volume III
Xenophanes » Democritus - Empedocles

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Bruno - Epicurus - Boehme > Schelling
Leibniz - Aristotle * Hegel

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Karl Jaspers
The Great
Philosophers
Volume III
“An expository, biographical, and critical study of great
thinkers, written by one of the most eminent of contem¬
porary existentialist philosophers.” —The New Yorker
Karl Jaspers died in 1969, leaving unfinished his universal
history of philosophy, a history organized around those
philosophers who have influenced the course of human
thought. The first two volumes of this work appeared in
Jaspers’s lifetime; the third and fourth have been culled
from the vast material of his posthumous papers. This is
the third volume; the fourth is to be published in 1994.
In the present volume, which follows his original plan of
“promoting the happiness that comes of meeting great
men and sharing in their thoughts,” Jaspers discusses the
Metaphysicians: Xenophanes, Empedocles, Democritus,
(Continued on back flap)
Edited by Michael Ermarth
and Leonard H. Ehrlich
Translated by Edith Ehrlich
and Leonard H. Ehrlich

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Other worlds by Karl Jaspers available in English translation
Systematic Philosophy and Philosophy of Religion

PHILOSOPHY, VOLUME I*. PHILOSOPHICAL WORLD ORIENTATION
VOLUME 2: EXISTENTIAL ELUCIDATION
VOLUME 3: METAPHYSICS
REASON AND EXISTENZ
PHILOSOPHY OF EXISTENCE
THE PERENNIAL SCOPE OF PHILOSOPHY
WAY TO WISDOM
REASON AND ANTI-REASON IN OUR TIME
TRAGEDY IS NOT ENOUGH
TRUTH AND SYMBOL
MYTH AND CHRISTIANITY
PHILOSOPHICAL FAITH AND REVELATION
KARL JASPERS: BASIC PHILOSOPHICAL WRITINGS-SELECTIONS
History of Philosophy
NIETZSCHE: AN INTRODUCTION TO THE UNDERSTANDING
OF HIS PHILOSOPHICAL ACTIVITY
NIETZSCHE AND CHRISTIANITY
THREE ESSAYS: LEONARDO, DESCARTES, MAX WEBER
THE GREAT PHILOSOPHERS: THE FOUNDATIONS
THE GREAT PHILOSOPHERS: THE ORIGINAL THINKERS
Philosophy of History and Political Philosophy

MAN IN THE MODERN AGE
THE QUESTION OF GERMAN GUILT
THE EUROPEAN SPIRIT
THE IDEA OF THE UNIVERSITY
THE ORIGIN AND GOAL OF HISTORY
PHILOSOPHY AND THE WORLD
THE FUTURE OF MANKIND
THE FUTURE OF GERMANY
Psychology
GENERAL PSYCHOPATHOLOGY
STRINDBERG AND VAN GOGH

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1
KARL JASPERS
f-
THE GREAT
PHILOSOPHERS
XENOPHANES DEMOCRITUS EMPEDOCLES BRUNO
EPICURUS
BOEHME SCHELLING
LEIBNIZ
ARISTOTLE HEGEL
EDITED BY MICHAEL ERMARTH AND LEONARD H. EHRLICH
TRANSLATED BY EDITH EHRLICH AND LEONARD H. EHRLICH
FOREWORD BY MICHAEL ERMARTH
A Helen and Kurt Wolff Boof{
Harcourt Brace & Company
New York, San Diego London
JAN 24 1995
\
© R. Piper & Co. Verlag, Munchen 1981

English translation copyright © 1993 by Harcourt Brace & Company
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or

transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or
mechanical, including photocopy, recording, or any information storage
and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
Requests for permission to make copies of any part of the work should be mailed to:
Permissions Department, Harcourt Brace & Company, 8th Floor, Orlando, Florida 32887.
Quotations from Hegel’s Phenomenology of Spirit, translated by A. V. Miller, Oxford, Clarendon

Press, 1975 and C. Bailey, The Greeks Atomists and Epicurus, Oxford, Clarendon Press, 1928 are
reprinted by permission of Oxford University Press. Quotations from Kathleen Freeman, Ancilla
to the Pre-Socratic Philosophers: A Complete Translation of the Fragments in Diels, Eragmente der
Vorsokjatiher, Cambridge, MA, Harvard University Press, 1971, are reprinted by permission.
Translation of Die Grossen Philosophen, Nachlas 2
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Jaspers, Karl, 1883-1969.
The great philosophers.
Vol. 3 has subtitle: Xenophanes, Democritus, Empedocles, Bruno, Epicurus, Boehme,
Schelling, Leibniz, Aristotle, Hegel. Edited by Michael Ermarth and Leonard H. Ehrlich.
Translated by Edith Ehrlich and Leonard H. Ehrlich. Foreword by Michael Ermarth.
Vol. 3 published by: Harcourt Brace and Co.
“A Helen and Kurt Wolff book”—Vol. 3.
Includes bibliographical references and index.
1. Philosophy—History. 2. Philosophers. I. Tide.
B82.J313 190 62-9436

ISBN 0-15-136942-9
Printed in the United States of America

First edition
ABODE
CONTENTS
FOREWORD BY MICHAEL ERMARTH XV
THE PROJECTIVE METAPHYSICIANS /

Introduction j
PIETY TOWARD THE WORLD 5
XENOPHANES
I. Life 9
II. Position and Meaning of This Philosophy; The Symposium 10
III. The Natural Conception of the World 11
IV. God 12
V. The Ethos /5
VI. The Limit of Man 16
VII. Historical Place and Influence 16
VIII. Characterization 18
DEMOCRITUS
Background; Democritus and Athens 20
I. Democritus’ Atomism 21
1. The Theory in Outline 21
2. The Solution of the Difficulties 22
II. The Sciences in Relation to the Theory of Atoms 27
III. Ethos and Ethics 27

1. Overview 28
2. What Becomes of Man Is of His Own Choosing 28
3. The Goal 28
4. The Origin: Reason 30
vii
Contents
5. Independence, Freedom from the Fear of Death,
Dignity 30
IV. Characterization 31 \
EMPEDOCLES
Life; the Sicilian World; Legends; Writings 34

The Basic Experience 36
I. The Theory 36
1. The World-Vision as a Whole 36
2. Specific Natural Phenomena 40
3. The Significance of This Conception of Nature 42
II. The Practice of Salvation 44

1. The Migration of the Soul 44
2. Guilt 44
3. What Should You Do? 43
4. Immortality 43
III. Cognition at Its Limits 46

1. The Senses 46
2. Likes Are Known Only to Likes 47
3. Possibilities and Limits Inherent in Cognition 47
4. Not a System 49
5. Digression about Asking Questions 50
IV. The Deity, the Gods, the Divine 31
V. Empedocles’ Self-consciousness 52
VI. Critical Characterization and Historical Position 33
BRUNO
I. Orientation in Intellectual History: Mythical Philosophy

of Nature 57
II. A Philosopher in the Grand Manner 59
III. Philosophy Become Religion 59
IV. The New Attitude toward Church and Theology 60
V. The Singing Fighter 6/

Contents ix
VI. The Vision of the Infinite Universe 62
VII. Heroic Love 63
VpL Critical Appreciation 64
TRANQUILLITY WITHOUT TRANSCENDENCE 65
EPICURUS
Introduction 67
Life and Works 67
Survey 69
1. What Is Pleasure? 70
2. What Must We Do to Achieve Pure Pleasure? 72

A. Proper Cognition of the Universe, Being and the Worlds,
of the Soul, of the Gods 72
B. Proper Insight into Death 76
C. Discerning Attitude toward the Body and Its Drives 78
3. About Cognition as Such 81

A. The Philosophic Significance of Science 81
B. Epicurus’ Basic Conception of the Whole in Its Relation to
Science 81
C. The Canonics 84
D. Bios theoretikos 87
4. The Origin and Nature of Freedom 90
5. The Philosophical Practice of Actualization 92

A. Rules for Life 92
B. The Essential Good: Friendship 93
C. Dealing with the Realities of Human Society 95
6. The Sage as Ideal; Epicurus as Ideal 98
7. Critical Characterization of Epicurean Thought and Life 99
A. The Poverty of Content 99

B. On a Principle of Epicurean Thought: Explication of the
Higher out of the Lower /03
X Contents
8. Historical Position and Influence of Epicurus /05

A. Ramifications of Epicurean Thought in Later Times
B. Unanimous Hostility toward Epicureanism 106
C. Epicurus’ Polemics 107
D. Unbelief and Belief 108
E. The Type of A-religious Philosophy 109
F. Have We Joined the Anti-Epicurean Front? no
GNOSTIC DREAMERS 113
Introduction 113
BOEHME
I. Life 117
II. The Schema of a Systematic Reproduction 120
1. What Is God Before Creation? 120
2. God and Creation 126
3. The Course of the Created World 128
III. Boehme’s Ethos 138
IV. Characterizations 140
V. Boehme’s Influence 141
SCHELLING
Work 143
CONSTRUCTIVE MINDS /69
LEIBNIZ
1. Basic Thought 172
2. The Monadology 174
3. Shipwreck of the Rationality Inherent'in the Universal
4. Characterization of the Personal Aspect 178
5. Characterization of the Work 180
6. The Existential Question 182

Contents XI
CREATIVE ORDERERS 185
Introduction i8y
ARISTOTLE
1. First Philosophy 796
2. The Basic Concepts 796

Matter and Form; Dynamis and Energeia 196
The Two Limits: Pure Form and Pure Matter 198
Motion (Kinesis) 198
The Unmoved Mover 799

The Causes 799
The Positive Meaning of Matter 799
The Universal and the Individual Entity:
The Problem of Ousia 200
3. The Concept of God 202
Moods as Points of Departure 203

The Proofs of God 204
Characteristics Peculiar to the Aristotelian Concept of

God 206
4. The Individual Sciences: Man as Point of Departure 207
5. Aristotle’s Cosmos and Natural Science 208
6. Science and Philosophy 211
7. Scientific Inquiry and System 212
Collecting, Enumerating, Organizing 212
The Fundamental Closure of Completed Total

Knowledge 273
Investigation of Specific Problems and System 273
Our Understanding 274
Comparison of Aristotle with Doctrinal Systems and with
Constructive Minds 275
8. Philosophy 275
9. Aristotle’s Power to Stimulate and to Paralyze 277
10. Plato and Aristotle 218

xii Contents
HEGEL
The Dialectic 221
I. Examples of the Dialectic 222
A. Sense-Certainty 222
Exposition 222
Reflections 225
Comment 23/
B. The Becoming of Self-consciousness; Mastery and
Servitude; the Further Progress of Self-consciousness 23/
1. The Becoming of Self-consciousness 231
2. Mastery and Servitude 235

3. Self-consciousness in the Wake of the Appearances
of Spirit 241
C. Being; Nothing; Becoming 246
II. Analysis of the Dialectic 25$

Introduction 258
A. The Answer to the Question: What Is? 260
B. The Dialectic Universalized and Absolutized 262

C. Thinking and Cognizing in Hegel 269
1. The Ladder of the “Phenomenology” 269
2. The Unification of Subject and Object 273
3. Character of the Absolute Method 274
4. Resistance to Mathematics 274
5. What Is Meant by Proof 275
6. Resistance to Reflections 277
7. Attempt to Understand the Dialectic
Through Differentiating Between Two Logics 278
8. Hegel on the Dialectic and What He Actually

Does 279
D. The Actual Multiplicity of the Dialectic 280
III. Characterization and Critique of Hegelian Dialectic 282
1. Once More: The Positive Aspect 282
2. Mystification? But a Grand Achievement 282
3. Characterization of the Universality' of the Method 2S3

4. Critique of the “Absolute Method” 284
5. Critical Breakthrough by Means of the Method 284
6. The Presupposition: Faith in the Whole and in the

Method 285
Contents xiii
7. The Limit of Hegelian Dialectic 286
8. History of the Dialectic 287
Fragments 288
1. The Systematic Spirit 288

/ 1
2. Survey of the Planned Presentation 289
3. Hegel’s Fundamental Concepts 290

4. Characterization and Critique of Hegel’s Thinking on
Time 290
5. Critical Study of Hegel 291
6. Confusion of Dialectical Reconciliation with Dialogical

Communication 292
7. The Three Possible Meanings of the Relativizing That Effects

Abeyance 293
8. Characterization and Critique of Hegel’s Philosophy 294
9. Hegel’s Historical Position 296

10. Hegel’s Steps, and Circles, and Circle of Circles Compared
with My Modes of the Encompassing 296
11. Guidelines for Critique of Hegel 297
12. May Hegel Be Granted a Place at the Side
of the Two Ancient Great Orderers? 298
BIBLIOGRAPHY 299
INDEX OF NAMES 3° 5
« 1
H,
-
“The reader reveals himself in the process of understanding.
—Karl Jaspers
Foreword
Reading Karl Jaspers requires an active effort of thinking along with

him in “loving struggle,” as he often termed the basic undertaking of
philosophizing itself. This effort is required for all his works, but es¬
pecially for this and the subsequent volume of The Great Philosophers.
Not shaped into final form by Jaspers, they were to be part of a project
encompassing the “world-history of philosophy” from remote origins to
recent developments. Translated from the German edition of unpub¬
lished writings left at Jaspers’s death in 1969, they complement and
extend the two volumes of The Great Philosophers published in authorized
English translation more than twenty-five years ago, in 1962 and 1966.
Conceived within the larger plan, these last two volumes belong naturally
with their earlier counterparts; yet they can stand independently on two
counts: as searching interpretations of the individual thinkers under
consideration, and as a sustained demonstration of Jaspers’s unique way
of philosophizing in dialogue with others.
“Loving struggle” and “dialogue”—these are vigorous, untechnical
words for the more formidable term “dialectic,” that dynamic and re¬
ciprocal movement of thinking that Jaspers considered to be the impulse
driving philosophy throughout its history. His plain but resonant words
convey his desire to render philosophical issues in terms familiar to the
layman and to conduct his thinking as an interactive effort of com¬
munication.
He distilled, but he rarely diluted. He is direct, but he does not offer
shortcuts or easy access. The reader should be prepared to enter a con¬
versation that has several levels and voices, and to come to grips with
several blocs of meaning: the one constituted by the original thinker and
his specific ideas; the accumulated legacy of interpretation about these
ideas; and Jaspers’s own interpretation. And ultimately—as Jaspers
would be sure to point out—the reader must struggle with himself. The
Socratic injunction “Know thyself” remains the crux of philosophical
effort, but there is no privileged road to this improbable kind of knowl¬
edge, which is perhaps the most difficult in the world. We must proceed
xv
XVI Foreword
along indirect and often unfamiliar byways, working our way through
others’ efforts toward such wisdom. Jaspers’s “way of wisdom”—to use
the title of one of his most celebrated works—is not solitary inner
reflection, freewheeling speculation, or abstract word-watching. It is only
through communication with others that we come to ourselves.
Jaspers would take satisfaction from the fact that he has remained a
controversial thinker, for such contested status would attest to the un¬
settling function of philosophy itself, while confirming his role at its vital
core. His writings have been translated into more than twenty languages
and have gone through many editions all over the world. He is widely
and popularly known, perhaps to an extent that does not always enhance
his reputation as an academic philosopher. For readers in many countries
and cultural traditions, he has assumed a secure place in the company
of the great philosophers he wrote about; he is present in many an¬
thologies of modern thought.
Yet he is also sometimes considered a throwback to philosophy’s
grand but faded past, rather than a decisive force in its present and
future. Despite his own strictures against much of metaphysics and the
philosophy of history, he is branded by some a nostalgic metaphysician
or philosopher of history in disguise. It has been said that he is more a
relic-bound historian of philosophy than an original philosopher in the
genuine sense.
He would have observed that these critical, even nullifying charac¬
terizations say as much about their source, and the orientation of that
source in the larger tradition of philosophy, as they do about him. He
was given to quoting Kierkegaard’s warning about popularity and its
price (“When it is fashionable to read my books, then I will be mis¬
understood”); but he also constantly emphasized that even misunder¬
standing can be productive in shedding light on what we strive to
understand.
His thinking remains both timely and perennial, both time-bound
and time-conscious in a way difficult to convey. The reader will come
to feel a tensile relationship between his commitments: between an abid¬
ing past and an urgent present; between respect for the metaphysical
heritage of philosophy and for modern scientific rigor; between regard
for religion, myth, and poetry and concern about current issues in politics,
international affairs, and educational reform.
He was in his age but not wholly of it. He stood “athwart his age,
like a rock in a stream,” to use the image of his contemporary Golo
Mann. Such was the posture Jaspers attributed to the ancient sages,
Foreword XVII
Christian saints, and modern “awakeners” and enlighteners, all of whom

struggled against the ruling opinion and doctrines of their age, but also
against their own temptations to self-orthodoxy. His characteristic po¬
sition stemmed from propounding a philosophy of grounded human
freedom'in an age of conformity of ideas and of slackening commu¬
nication.
Jaspers does not readily fit into the common classifications of ten¬
dencies and schools of thought. He did not like labels, especially the
ubiquitous “existentialism,” under which he is often placed with Sartre,
Heidegger, and Marcel, among others. For Jaspers, human existence and
thinking about it, or through it, remain open and transitive, and therefore
cannot be resolved into systems and fixed formulas. To underscore this
point he employed the word Existenzerhellung (“disclosure of existence”),
to avoid the implication of closure attaching to other terms. As his own
thinking developed, he came to the even more expansively ecumenical
view that existential thinking would find its place within a larger “pe¬
rennial philosophy” (philosophia perennis). But in keeping with the nature
of philosophy, this integration would be one not of placid accommo¬
dation, but of pitched struggle.
His own existence was a struggle with the more intractable aspects
of body and spirit, relieved by a sense of continuing communication with
others. He did not mistake his own life in particular for human Existenz
in general, but the course of his life clearly informed the course of his
thinking. He was born in 1883 in Oldenburg, Germany, into a family
of securely prosperous North German farmers and merchants. As a youth
he was stricken with a debilitating lung disorder that severely limited
his physical activities and inclined him all the more to intellectual effort.
He rebelled, however, against the philological pedantry of the traditional
humanistic Gymnasium, finding it anything but humane in a true sense.
He began university study in law, but shifted to medicine after his own
chronic illness was diagnosed by a brilliant physician.
He received his doctorate in clinical medicine in 1909, but was already
moving toward psychology, the humane disciplines, and philosophy. He
was intent upon studying the human mind in a new way, at once objective
and subjective, both empirical and empathetic. His General Psychopa¬
thology was published in 1913, before World War I, and Psychology of
World Views shortly after, in 1919. Both were controversial and path¬
breaking in their effort to assume an “inside” or empathetic stance with
respect to mental illness and mental life as a whole. During this early
period, Jaspers developed a friendship and lifelong respect for the so¬
ciologist Max Weber, who became, somewhat surprisingly to some ob-
xviii Foreword
servers, the very incarnation of the philosophical spirit for Jaspers.

Philosophy for him did not necessarily reside in its appointed quarters.
After 1920 he held a position in philosophy at the University of
Heidelberg, but published little for mdre than a decade and came to be
regarded as something of an amateurish outsider by academic colleagues.
He and Martin Heidegger became friends, but their friendship turned
stormy and bitter over issues both philosophical and political. At the
center of Jaspers’s endeavors was the relationship established with his
wife, Gertrud Mayer, whom he had married in 1910. Their relationship
became his living “cipher” of loving struggle and remained his model
of human communication for the rest of his life.
In 1931, in the midst of the political and economic chaos that was
to destroy the Weimar Republic and usher in the Nazi regime, Jaspers
published Die geistige Situation der Zeit, soon translated as Man in the
Modern Age. In this widely read work, he characterized existentialism
as “a philosophy that does not cognize objects” but “elucidates and makes
actual the being of the thinker.” Such elucidation, he argued, was man¬
kind’s most pressing assignment, but it was threatened by ready-made,
totalizing ideologies, especially fascism and communism. Moreover, and
more subtly, reflective thinking was undermined by the silent dominion
of technology, superstitious faith in science, and the conditions of mass
existence. This pithy book, widely praised and condemned at the time,
remained sufficiently resonant to have five German editions and to call
forth vehement responses even fifty years after its first publication.
Jaspers’s main systematic treatises, Philosophic and Philosophische
Logif{, were written in the darkening conditions of the 1930s, as were
other studies in the history of philosophy, including a brilliant interpre¬
tation of Nietzsche that was at odds with Heidegger’s. Both the systematic
and the historical works of this period were oriented toward the question
of human existence, and were intended to show the “self-interpretation
of mankind through the great thinkers.”
In 1933 Jaspers lost the right to participate in official university affairs;
in 1937 he lost his teaching position, and then his right to publish. During
the war his Jewish wife was constantly threatened with deportation; at
the very end of the war both husband and wife were saved from being
sent to a concentration camp only by the arrival of American troops in
Heidelberg. The “boundary situations” of suffering, guilt, separation,
sickness, and death, which Jaspers interpreted as the conditions shocking
a person into self-recognition, were concrete realities of the time, not
remote theoretical abstractions.
After World War II he became a major public figure in West Ger-
Foreword xix
many, summoning his countrymen to moral reflection and civic partic¬

ipation. The Question of German Guilt (1946; English translation, 1947)
was a careful but unsparing treatment of German responsibility for the
enormities of the recent past. It was followed by heated controversies
with Georg Lukacs, Rudolf Bultmann, and others, concerning a whole
range of political and cultural issues. Shunning what he called “false
heroizing” and celebrity status as the new “Praeceptor Germaniae” (he
had been considered as a candidate for the presidency of the new Federal
Republic), he moved permanently to Switzerland in 1948, where he held
the chair of philosophy at the University of Basle. His concerns in the
1950s and ’60s centered upon the conditions of democracy and civic life
in Germany and in Europe as a whole. He wrote and spoke on nuclear
armaments, NATO, German reunification, and reform of higher edu¬
cation. He continued to be attacked by both the political right and the
left, as well as by academic philosophers.
Until shortly before his death in 1969, Jaspers argued that philosophy
must become concrete and engaged in practical matters without losing
touch with its remote origins. He worked to bring philosophy to wider
audiences, lecturing to large gatherings, making radio and television
broadcasts, and writing books for the general public. He neither bowed
nor condescended to common opinion, but sought to bring it to searching
reflection.
He stood across his age but not aloof from it. He lived and thought
in light of a maxim that runs counter to many ingrained habits of living
and thinking: “Neither to fall victim to the past nor the future; the
important thing is to be wholly in the present.”
For Jaspers, philosophy is unavoidable—no matter whether practiced

deliberately or half-consciously, systematically or haphazardly. It is
grounded in human existence itself, in the conditions and limits of our
being human, including the sense we have for being and beings other
than ourselves. Our awareness of the world and ourselves brings a sense
of cleavage between the world and ourselves, as well as cleavage within
ourselves. Unlike discernible objects and logical relations, our own being,
as existence, comes to our conscious attention by way of frustration and
intractability. Philosophy rests as much upon a sense of incompleteness,
of failure and foundering, as upon a sense of being, of reality. “Man is
fundamentally more than he can know about himself,” Jaspers said in
The Way to Wisdom.
Jaspers writes that in its encounter with itself “existence is not without
transcendence.” He occasionally calls this transcendence “God” or “the
XX Foreword
Encompassing” or simply “what encounters existence.” Far from any

conventional theism, he treats the notion of God as a kind of personified
incomprehensibility. When man tries to think beyond his own restricted
grounds, categories, or accepted opinions, he encounters transcendence,
but only in “ciphers,” available to what Jaspers called “philosophical
faith,” not to certain or empirical knowledge.
Jaspers’s sense of Existenz harbors an element of resistance, even
defiance. It is less the routine of daily life in ordinary conventions than
the call to be oneself despite those conditions. This self is, however,
anything but a lonely, self-absorbed, alienated ego, for, he insists, human
existence becomes available to itself only in communication with others;
“the individual by himself cannot be reasonable.” Jaspers remains one
of the few philosophers to put a high valuation on ordinary language,
marriage, family and civic life as genuine ways to wisdom, rather than
as sources of mystification and distraction. He sees a common root to
reason, respect for the dignity of all mankind, and the institutions of
democratic civil society.
With his Kantian heritage, Jaspers remains a firm supporter of sci¬
ence, but not of its elevation to dogmatic scientism. He does not expect
science to provide absolute knowledge, ultimate meaning, or grounds
for choice among competing values. The basic questions of existence
remain neither provable nor disprovable by science. Scientific knowledge
is, to use his image, not the pure light of unencumbered truth, but a
torch of smoky pitch pine that lights a few steps ahead, but also obscures.
Philosophy is not science, not errant pseudoscience, and not some
crowning science of the sciences. It is not knowledge of objectivities, nor
is it simply the analysis of logical, linguistic, or factual-empirical relations.
It is bounded by, but also transcends, science, language, and culture. It
remains rooted in human existence but not confined to strictly human
horizons. Philosophy begins in wonder—wonder in the presence of what
is and what is taken for granted. It calls into question what is usually
taken for granted, whether by science, by custom, or by categories of
thinking. Hence there can be no firm lines dividing philosophy from
other areas of thought. In its development, philosophy retains but trans¬
forms earlier connections to myth, poetry, art, and sociopolitical life.
Circularity, contradiction, and the foundering (Scheitem) of thought are
inevitable in philosophy.
Jaspers felt that, besides dealing with these fundamental ruptures
between thinking and being, he was living through a new stage, one of
extreme questioning, questioning of philosophy itself—different from
previous questioning through philosophy. Modern existence was taking
Foreword xxi
more and more for granted, including its forms of understanding, and
therefore blocking off many sources of philosophical thinking. Philos¬
ophy then becomes doubly undermined, from within and from without,
as its radical questioning comes to be deployed against itself, converging
with indictments from other modes of thinking. Philosophy thereby
comes to be suspected rather than expected in the modern world. Jaspers’s
path through this quandary was to retrace its stages in a world-history
of philosophy—not through the tortured deconstructive etymologies of
Heidegger, but in dialogue with the great thinkers of the past.
The history of philosophy remains integral to its essential task and
is especially important today precisely because we pride ourselves on
self-surpassing novelty. This history shows, not progress, but openness;
it serves to keep questions open rather than to resolve them or dissolve
them. The axial ideas of the past are still with us, although often un-
reflectively; the history of philosophy retrieves these ideas without sur¬
rendering their activating power. As Jaspers says over and over: “The
deeper our foundations in the past, the more outstanding our partici¬
pation in the present.”
His histories remain as controversial as his systematic philosophy
(with which they are co-eval), because they engage the reader in a
strenuous dialogue, in which textual refinements are subordinated to the
issue under discussion. Through his long career as professor of philos¬
ophy, Jaspers was impatient with what he called “professors’ philosophy,”
which vested primary questions in cumbersome commentary and qual¬
ifications. The Great Philosophers treats Socrates, Buddha, Confucius, and
Jesus together as “paradigmatic individuals,” for example, allowing no
neat line between sages and philosophers, between lives and ideas.
Jaspers does not try to find an inner logic in a temporal sequence of
before and after; he is more inclined to step outside historical chronology
altogether. He takes history and actual historical dialectic seriously, but
not to the point of intellectual self-evisceration or denial of the possibility
of communication across time. He says of the great philosophers as a
whole that “in their suprahistorical character they are like eternal
contemporaries.”
His world-history of philosophy was intended to revitalize and de-
provincialize European and Western thought by setting it in a wider
context and approaching it from outside its customary categories and
ingrained classifications. With present tendencies toward globalization
on many fronts, especially in cultural and intellectual suppositions, Jas¬
pers’s efforts take on crucial significance. The Great Philosophers includes,
for example, studies of Nagarjuna, Lao-Tzu, Buddha, and Confucius,
XXII Foreword
which caused some of his more blinkered interpreters to wonder whether

Jaspers knew what philosophy was all about. He often used unconven¬
tional grids of time, space, and subject matter to explicate and to link
his thinkers. The section headings in This text impel us to rethink po¬
sitions encrusted in familiar Western terms. Here Jaspers’s dictum that
philosophical truth consists in “moving on,” both with history and beyond
it, assumes vital importance.
Of the three great models of truth in Western thought—the first
stressing the correspondence of thought and reality, the second stressing
the logical coherence of propositions, and the third placing primary
emphasis on the communication of meaning—Jaspers clearly inclines
toward the last, while striving to bring the other two into conjunction
with it. This kind of communicative philosophy becomes even more
valuable in a world of accelerating interdependence but continuing cul¬
tural difference.
There can be no “Jaspersism” or doctrinal edifice built on his think¬
ing. As with Socrates, Kierkegaard, and Nietzsche, his real message is
incompatible with discipleship. With Kant, he contended that the spirit
of reason is polemical, or dialectical, rather than dogmatical. This may
be the surest proof that he belongs to that company of great philosophers
he wrote about, revered, and challenged. For he was critical of all
love—including the love of wisdom—that did not struggle with itself.
Jaspers held that “the procedure for understanding texts is a simile for
all comprehension of being.” In such a view texts must retain fun¬
damental—indeed originary—significance for all thinking, but they
should not therefore be allowed to become idols of the mind. This edition,
Volumes III and IV of The Great Philosophers, aspires to convey, with a
minimum of interference, Jaspers’s understanding of other thinkers and
their texts, especially his way of addressing them through the entire
tradition of philosophy. It presents those thinkers with a deep and abiding
relation to Jaspers himself. It includes Lessing, Weber, and Einstein,
who were not philosophers in the strict sense, and excludes Aquinas and
Hobbes, among others, who were of undoubted importance.
The text has been drawn from Die grossen Philosophen: Nachlass i,
Darstellungen und Fragmente and Nachlass 2, Fragmente, Ammerlpungen,
Inventar, edited by Hans Saner, published in German in 1981. The
selections were translated by Edith Ehrlich and Leonard Ehrlich, who
have drawn upon a collaborative lifetime of close study of Karl Jaspers,
their former teacher. In format and style, the selections are in keeping
Foreword xxiii
with the earlier two volumes in English. Illuminating sections from the
large volume of Jaspers’s supplemental notes (“Zusatze”) have been in¬
corporated in the text without special note. A short bibliography has
been supplied for each volume.
/ '
Michael Ermarth
" * »
i
/
Translators’ Acknowledgments
The preparation of this volume was made possible in

part by a grant from the Division of Research Programs
of the National Endowment for the Humanities, an
independent federal agency. It allowed Leonard H. Ehr¬
lich to take one semester’s leave from the University of
Massachusetts at Amherst. The grant was one of the
last processed by Susan Mango prior to her retirement
as Texts Program Officer of the NEH Division of Re¬
search Programs. We are certain that we are speaking
for hundreds of former grantees when we say that the
courtesy and care she took in guiding NEH support
toward worthwhile projects is remembered with deep
appreciation.
The translators gratefully acknowledge the care with
which Helen Wolff has brought her rich experience and
professionalism to bear on the fruition of the project.
Also indispensable for its successful completion was the
close interest that two associates have taken in the proj¬
ect, Hans Saner (Basel), Jaspers’s literary executor, and
Richard Wisser (Mainz).
—Edith Ehrlich
Leonard H. Ehrlich
\
v *
. *
'
'
The Projective Metaphysicians
* «i.
I
/
INTRODUCTION
Editors’ Note
The “Metaphysicians” constitute the largest group in Jaspers’s ty¬

pology of the great philosophers. He distinguishes several main
types of metaphysicians. Volume II of The Great Philosophers consists
of Jaspers’s interpretation of the first type, “The Original Thinkers.”
In what follows, Jaspers treats other types of metaphysicians under
the common heading “The Projective Metaphysicians.” In the In¬
troduction below, the Projective Metaphysicians are contraposed to
the Original Thinkers; the latter are meant when Jaspers speaks of
“speculative metaphysics.”
For speculative metaphysics thought and actuality are one. Whatever

there is, speculative thought allows to become present in such a way that
Being is not seen as subject confronting object, even though thought
inevitably takes place in the dichotomy of subject and object.
Projective metaphysics proceeds in a fundamentally different manner.
It displays configurations of the world or visions of suprasensory hap¬
penings that transform the world, processes visible in the world, or
conceptual developments of what manifests itself in the world as ap¬
pearance.
Projective metaphysicians consider their cognition as absolutely valid.
They are utterly convinced that they are in possession of the truth. Since,
however, the vehicle of this truth is formulated knowledge, they open
themselves to criticism. They present thoughts in analogy to natural
science, which proceeds by hypotheses, but without applying the methods
of scientific inquiry. They can be accused of shallowness since they fall
short of philosophical depth. The entirety of Being is projected by them
as the entirety of the world, in analogy to scientific hypotheses derived
from objective knowledge. But, unlike their positions, scientific hy-
3
4 The Projective Metaphysicians
potheses are modified through the constant progress of research. This is

the crucial difference, of which they remain unaware.
Among the projective metaphysicians I differentiate the following
subgroups, highlighting the philosophers discussed in this volume:
Piety toward the World: Xenophanes, Empedocles, Democritus, Po-
seidonios, Bruno.
Tranquillity without transcendence: Epicurus, Lucretius.
Gnostic Dreamers-. Origen, Boehme, Schelling.
Constructive Minds: Hobbes, Leibniz, Fichte.
These ways of thinking can be found in all ages and have continued
to this day, even if in weaker and unoriginal ways.
Piety toward the World
XENOPHANES
DEMOCRITUS
EMPEDOCLES
BRUNO
%
■
.
*
/
Under the heading “Piety toward the World,” I present a group of

philosophers who have most likely determined—if not dominated—the
consciousness of the Western world to this very day. Here, as with all
the other groups, we are not dealing with a universal for which the
philosophers under scrutiny would serve as examples or case histories.
Rather, each of these philosophers stands, irreplaceable, by himself; each
a unique individual. Although the group character eludes definition by
a generic term, it may be delineated as follows.
1. These philosophers live in the world, which is also our world, no
matter how differently they might perceive it. They do not draw the
dividing line that differentiates the world as it exists from its origin, and
the self in its freedom from the transcendence through which it is—
not, anyway, in a manner that makes this separation the fundamental
problem of certainty and the gap between us and the transcendental the
cause for the disquiet of our Existenz. They do not articulate the cipher
of the supramundane, extramundane God who created the world out of
nothing. The world is eternal, whether in its duration or in the eternal
recurrence of its revolutions.
For them the world is the ultimate, the abode of gods and men.
Within it we are secure. To be sure, it shows us its horrible countenance,
terrifying at the limit like that of the Gorgon. But beyond all this it is
still magnificent and beautiful, exhilarating and calming. It allots us our
tasks, which have to be worked out in the world itself. Ethos is grounded
in the world. The attitude toward life of these philosophers is piety
toward the world. Transcendence is unknown to them.
2. Their thinking takes the form of graphic visions of the world and
is absorbed by the plenitude of appearances and by man as a natural
being that is part of this world. It proceeds in accordance with the intellect
and can be grasped with ease. Authentic speculation is unknown to them.
But the something that, according to this characterization, seems to
be missing makes itself felt all the same, since it belongs to man qua
man and to Being qua Being. Their world of actuality, so intellectually
7
8 Piety toward the World
lucid and vivid, seems illuminated by a light that emanates from else¬
where. Their thinking then touches upon transcendence, upon specu¬
lation, upon existential freedom. There is no classification that locks
philosophers or even human beings into compartments. Our conscious¬
ness is primarily struck by what is typical, but that does not exhaust the
human being’s potential. According to his pdtentiality, each human being
encompasses everything. In actuality no one is everything.
3. I am speaking here of something to be found in all ages. The
individual persons in the garb of the eras in which they live and think
demonstrate enduring problems of philosophy. We are interested in them
because they may concern us at any time.
XENOPHANES
The fragments of Xenophanes come from lost poetic works, from elegies,
satires, and epic poems.1 Even though the Milesians and Heraclitus
considered prose to be the more suitable form of imparting philosophy,
Xenophanes chose metrical language. Up to Hesiod and the cosmogonic
writers, poetry had been the vessel of myth possessing philosophic con¬
tent. Xenophanes made it the vessel of philosophy itself. He was followed
in this by Parmenides, Empedocles, and, later, Lucretius.
I. LIFE
Xenophanes (between 570 and 465 b.c.) is the first from the early Greek
period whose person and life we can envision, even if only in a few of
its features.
In his youth he left his home polis of Colophon because he was not
prepared to live under the hegemony of the Persians, who after 546 b.c.
had subjugated all Greek cities on the coast of Asia Minor. He went to
Sicily and Greater Greece (Southern Italy). Throughout his life he mi¬
grated from polis to polis. At the age of ninety-two, he wrote: “By now,
seven-and-sixty years have been tossing my care-filled heart over the
land of Hellas” (F8). He glorified his native country in a lost epic about
the founding of Colophon. But he also leveled critical accusations: “(The
men of Colophon), having learnt useless forms of luxury from the Lydians
as long as they were free from hateful tyranny, used to go to the place
of assembly wearing all-purple robes, not less than a thousand of them
in all: haughty, adorned with well-dressed hair, steeped in the scent of
skillfully-prepared unguents” (F3). The catastrophe brought about by
the Persians (Medes) was the great event of his life. “Talking by the fire
in winter,” he relates, the questions are: “Who are you among men and
1 Wherever this volume uses Kathleen Freeman’s translation of Diels’s Die Fragmente, the
fragment number is preceded by an F. Numbers alone in parentheses refer to B fragments in Diels;
A fragment references are preceded by an A.
9
io Piety toward the World
where from? How old are you, my friend? What age were you when
the Mede came?” (F22).
Having become homeless, Xenophanes journeyed alone through the
world, receptive to his fellowmen, rich in information about cities and
countries. His plight awakened his inner independence. Neither an aris¬
tocrat nor a citizen of a polls, he was dependent on patrons or on earning
his livelihood; was nowhere at home, yet he found the point whence he
proclaimed his wisdom (sophia).
Xenophanes has been denigrated as a rhapsodist who in public recited
the Homeric poems as a means of livelihood while in private he recited
his own poetry, which rejected Homer. An anecdote reported by Plutarch
(Reg. apophth., 175e) was quoted: Xenophanes, they said, pointed out to
his patron, the tyrant Hieron of Syracuse, that his income was too small;
he could keep but two slaves; Hieron is said to have answered: And yet
you make derisive remarks about Homer, who even after his death feeds
a great number of people—that is, rhapsodists such as Xenophanes.
II. POSITION AND MEANING OF THIS PHILOSOPHY;

THE SYMPOSIUM
Xenophanes represented only himself—without mystery, without claim¬

ing authority as vates and poet, without charisma, and also without an
organized school. The poetic works in which he imparted his sophia he
recited at symposiums. These were neither empty social occasions nor
unmotivated entertainments, but a concerted educational act that dis¬
ciplined and elevated the individual. He himself gives us a picture of
their solemnity and piety.
Room, people, and objects are properly prepared. “The floor is clean,
and so too the hands of all, and the cups. One (attendant) places woven
garlands round our heads.” The symposium begins as a cultic act. “The
altar in the centre is decked with flowers . . . incense sends up sacred
fragrance. . . . Praises are sung to the God with devout stories and pure
words,” and the prayer is recited “to give us strength to do what is just,
for this comes before everything.” After this it is “no desecration to drink
just so much that everyone who is not infirm with age can find his way
home by himself. . . . The mixing flagon stands there filled with joy
(euphrosyne), and ready in the pitchers is still other wine, which promises
never to cease flowing, a mild flower-scented one_Breads are prepared
. . . the table bends under the load of cheese and thick honey . . . song
surrounds the house and the joyous feast.” “But the man whom one
XENOPHANES 11
must praise is he who after drinking expresses thoughts that are noble,
as well as his memory [mnemosyne] (and his endeavour) [arete] concerning
virtue allows . . . always to have respect for the gods, that is Good”
(Fn).
In this early period something is peculiar to Xenophanes that becomes
prevalent only much later, and is then turned into its opposite. Within
the solemn form in which he speaks to us there appears the enlightened
view that whatever happens in the world is natural (as against magic
and prophecies), that there is one God (as against the invention of myths
opposed to God), that there is a moral, natural way of life appropriate
to man (as against the high value set on victory at the Olympic Games
and on the fighting spirit generally), that there is an awareness of the
limitations of human cognition (as against the false claims of human
knowledge and ability).
III. THE NATURAL CONCEPTION OF THE WORLD
Starting with Thales, the Milesians introduced the natural explanation

of things. Its principle is to comprehend things, events, the world as
models, in analogy to the immediate observation of the mechanical con¬
nections in space and time rather than on the basis of personal and
impersonal powers having mythical character. Xenophanes took over
this way of comprehending in the form of numerous images, which are
by no means without inconsistencies. For example:
The sun is composed of fiery particles that collect from moist em¬
anations, from clouds that have begun to glow. They go out during the
day and begin to glow again every night like coals. The moon is a
compressed mass of clouds and has its own light. It goes out every month
and renews itself. Comets and meteors and the rainbow (which “people
call Iris” [32]), the St. Elmo fire on ships: all these are glowing clouds
in motion. Lightning is caused by the clouds being lit up owing to their
motion.
The stars move in a straight line in the heavens, as do the clouds.
Circular motion is an optical illusion. There is infinity on all sides: on
the surface and down into the earth, which is rooted in infinity. Xe¬
nophanes did not understand the clear and revolutionary cosmological
notions of Anaximander.
The ocean is the origin of all winds and clouds and waters. The
moisture is drawn up from the ocean by the sun. Its salt-free components
are separated out and condensed into fog and clouds, which come down
as rain and produce the winds. “The mighty ocean is the womb of
clouds, winds and rivers” (30).
“All things that come into being and grow are earth and water”
(F29). “For everything comes from earth and everything goes back to
earth at last” (F27). “We all have our origin from earth and water”
(f 33}- '
From time to time ocean and earth have intermingled. The proof
for this is “that inland and on the mountains seashells have been found;
in Syracuse, in the rock quarries, impressions of fish and seals; in Malta,
impressions of all kinds of ocean creatures.” Xenophanes concludes that
at one time everything had turned to mud and that the impressions in
the mud had then hardened. This event can be expected to recur. “All
people would perish if the earth slid into the ocean and then became
mud. But afterwards the earth would start again to come into being,
and all worlds would be subject to this alternation” (A33).
In spite of the individual instances of sound observation, Xenophanes
represents neither the Milesian mode of thinking in systematic constructs
nor the methods of inquiry in the natural sciences. It is all a matter of
ad hoc inspiration or accidental observation or borrowings from the
Milesians or the monotonous repetition of explanations based on
“clouds.” Xenophanes did not, as was ascribed to him in analogy to
other pre-Socratics, write a book “On Nature.”
Something else was decisive for him: the mode of comprehension as
such, the rejection of mythical explanations that could not be verified.
Perhaps it did not matter to him whether this or that natural explanation
was correct or wrong. He rejected divination but admired Thales because
he predicted a solar eclipse in a natural way. According to Cicero, he
was the only one of the philosophers who, although he believed in the
presence of gods, radically rejected the belief in prophecy (On divination,
I, 3, 5). God, however, was of primary importance for him.
IV. GOD
Xenophanes is the first of the Greek philosophers to have taught there

is one God. It is “a single God, among gods and men the greatest” (23).
Deeply affected by God’s majesty and his otherness compared to all
finite things, Xenophanes attacks the erroneous representations that de¬
base God:
Mortals believe the gods have clothing and voice and body like they
XENOPHANES
do. But God is “similar to mortals neither in body nor in thoughts” (23).
Hence Xenophanes ridicules the adoration of the gods in the shape given
to them by Greek sculptors: “If oxen and horses and lions had hands
and could paint and sculpt with them like the humans, then the horses
would paint horselike, the oxen oxlike figures of the gods and would
form such bodies as each species itself inhabited” (15). “The Ethiopians
maintain that their gods have snub noses and are black; the Thracians
that their gods are blue-eyed and red-haired” (16).
Mortals believe that gods are born. But God did not become and is
eternal.
It seems that Xenophanes thought the fundamental thoughts of West¬
ern monotheism: oneness as opposed to the multiplicity of gods, incor¬
poreality as opposed to the representations of human and other figures,
eternity as opposed to the coming-to-be and birth of gods; God as
thought, as presence, as all-powerful efficacy; unborn, eternal, infinite,
but in ways that are beyond human imagination. What do these early
simple notions of God mean?
They are, first of all, the thoughts of the much later so-called negative
theology. By saying what God is not, he rises to his exalted height. Man
attains a level of self-consciousness by reference to this wholly incom¬
prehensible, yet actual, deity.
But Xenophanes does not stop at this negative theology. The incor¬
poreal deity achieves a rudiment of form through graphic ciphers. God
is “all eye, all spirit, all ear” (24); he needs no organs in order to see
and to know everything, but he sees and knows everything. He governs
irresistibly, without physical force. “With only the spirit’s power of
thought, He effects effortlessly the revolution of the universe” (25). He
is perfect majestic serenity. “He always remains in the same place, not
moving at all, and it is not fitting for him to go back and forth, now
here and now there” (26); that means he is everywhere.
The following seems to contradict the notion of one God: Xenophanes
speaks not only about God but also about gods. “One God is the greatest
among gods and men” (23). He speaks about gods when he describes
the solemn symposium introduced by ritual. Solemnity and ritual are
tied to the gods. For him, the one God has no cult; all cults of the gods
are directed toward him without drawing nearer to him. The symposium
as described by Xenophanes cannot be interpreted as the founding of
something like a new cult of the one God. There is no trace of a religious
founder in Xenophanes. His goal is purification, not foundation. His
piety lies in polytheistic concreteness joined to all-pervading awe before
M Piety toward the World
the encompassing One. His radicality turns against the destructive rep¬
resentations of gods, not against the many gods. The one God, however,
who eschews all shape, appears in the shapes of the gods.
This whole problem of the one^God and the many gods is not
explicitly thought through but for Xenophanes is a natural presuppo¬
sition. The great battle of the one God of the Bible against heathen
polytheism is not as yet a possibility. Hence the passion is lacking which,
in the cipher of the one exclusive Biblical God, this personal God, turns
against all false gods and all of polytheism (though not without restoring
it in another form).
One analogy remains. In the Bible: For the sake of the one God, the
world is stripped of its magic, which now becomes the object of rational
comprehension. God’s actions take place in the world, in history, which
God commands and guides through the actions of man. In Xenophanes:
For the sake of the one omnipresent God, the whole world is opened
up to rational comprehension.
The crucial difference: Xenophanes’ thinking does not include God’s
otherworldliness, or the gulf (;tmema, Plato) between God and the world.
He has no knowledge as yet of what will make its appearance with
Plato’s agathon and then with the Biblical God. Without saying so ex¬
pressly, he regards the deity as congruent with the universe. The later
One and All (hen \ai pan) is the thought of piety toward the world, with
its certainty of the one God.
Even in antiquity there was confusion in understanding Xenophanes,
confusion that has been corrected only in our times." Xenophanes cannot
be regarded as the teacher of Parmenides. Parmenides’ greatness could
not have been stimulated by Xenophanes’ mode of philosophizing. On
the other hand, the idea that the aging Xenophanes derived his conception
of God from the younger Parmenides is traceable only to the work of
an anonymous author of the Hellenistic period who wrote about Xe¬
nophanes, Melissus, and Gorgias, and was falsely regarded as a reliable
source.2 3 In this work the thinking of Parmenides and Xenophanes has
been combined in a patently absurd manner. Parmenides directs his
thought toward Being and carries out speculative thoughts, but nowhere
does he call Being God. Xenophanes, by contrast, directs his thought
toward God in his majesty and does not carry out any speculative
thoughts; by God he means neither Being''nor a concept. Parmenides
2 See Karl Reinhardt, Parmenides und die Geschichte der griechischen Philosophie. Bonn, 1916,
I26ff., I52ff.
3 Jaeger, 51-52.
XENOPHANES
*5
carries out philosophical thinking in its depth. Xenophanes exhibits the
depth of a pious consciousness of God, which excludes from his repre¬
sentation of God all that is unworthy. Parmenides’ thoughts could later
be used by speculative theology because he developed concepts. This is
not tho chse with Xenophanes because his thinking remains on the level
of mere intellect.
It is doubtful whether Xenophanes, as was said at a later time, became
a citizen of Elea. He wrote a poem about the founding of Elea, just as
he did about the founding of Colophon. What is said about him as an
Eleatic probably arose through the erroneous combination of the phi¬
losophy of Xenophanes and of Parmenides.
V. THE ETHOS
Xenophanes is incensed by Homer: “From the very beginning all have

learnt in accordance with Homer” (Fio). That is morally ruinous. For
“Homer and Hesiod have attributed to the gods all things that are
shameful and a reproach among mankind: theft, adultery, and mutual
deception” (Fn). Hence one should not sing at the symposia of the
“battles of the Titans or of the Giants or even of the Centaurs—inven¬
tions of ancient times” (i). Nor should one sing of violent civic strife.
Martial spirit and brute force are repugnant to Xenophanes.
Xenophanes is opposed to the important basic value judgments of
the Greeks. He despises the honors bestowed upon the victors at the
Olympic Games. The Greeks bestow the greatest honors on the winners
in footraces, wrestling, boxing, in the pancratium, and in horse races.
Xenophanes dares to contest the worth of such victors by saying: “And
yet he does not have as much value as I. For my sophia is better than
the strength of men or of horses” (2). The demand of thought, of phi¬
losophy and the sciences, often to be repeated by great philosophers in
spite of their lack of resonance, is made here for the first time: If men
search for knowledge, truth will dissipate the fog of lies and deception.
If Xenophanes criticizes things as they are—the mores, the cults of
the gods, the agnostic frame of mind, the festival plays, the kinds of
poetic productions—it is for ethical reasons. Philosophy demands of him
a revaluation for the salvation of man. Whereas Pindar in his poems
glorified the victors and their cities, Xenophanes pilloried what in Pindar
speaks to us in timeless beauty and in the grandeur of pious thoughts.
It must not be overlooked that Xenophanes repeatedly uses the con-
i6 Piety toward the World
cept of “utility” in his reasoning. Reciting mythological fictions and

accounts of civil wars at symposia is not useful. The victors at Olympia
and the honors bestowed on them are not useful. They will not bring
a better order to the polls. . . . These things do not enrich the treasure
chambers of the state” (2).
VI. THE LIMIT OF MAN
Xenophanes’ sense of his own worth in comparison with his fellowmen

is combined with his modesty as a human being. He knows nothing of
the philosophical tyranny of absolute knowledge, nothing of the Hegelian
“courage of truth” to which everything must open and nothing can
remain hidden.
Human cognition is unable to reach what it aspires to. “Perfect
knowledge (or the absolutely certain, to saphes) has never been glimpsed
by man, nor will there ever be anyone to have done so with regard to
the gods and all the things I maintain in this work. Even if someone
above all others were to be successful in expressing what is actually
present, he still would not draw his knowledge from his own experience.
Rather, there is conjecture in all things.”
We must constantly remain on the way: “Truly, the gods did not
disclose everything to mortals from the beginning; instead, seeking, they
gradually find what is better.”
VII. HISTORICAL PLACE AND INFLUENCE
Xenophanes belongs to the early stages of Greek philosophy; contem¬

poraneous with and shortly after the Milesians (Thales, Anaximander)
and Pythagoras, he is a unique phenomenon. He is not, like the former,
a theoretical thinker and scholar nor, like the latter, a religious-political
founder. He is the herald of an ethical attitude toward life based on
unlimited enlightenment. He desires the purification of the soul, not
through mysteries and atonements and magical acts but through clarity
of thinking as one leads one’s life with the bne God, who is present in
the infinite universe.
Xenophanes precedes the beginnings of the speculative philosophy
of Heraclitus and Parmenides—a philosophy that, by means of a new
way of thinking, penetrates to the ground of things. He, unlike them,
XENOPHANES i7
however, is devoid of the pride of superhuman wisdom that lifts man

above the folly of the crowd and alienates him from it. Instead, he is
self-assured in his enlightened natural way of thinking that links him
to fellow human beings. For him, this mode of thought is the best man
can attain and share with others.
He remains the naive enlightener, unaware of potential criticism, to
which his way of thinking is vulnerable, criticism leading to confusion.
He has no notion of the perversion brought about by means of this
artifice for the calculated manipulation of minds, which the later Sophists
understood. They first brought about the change in the life of the mind
that opened the way to Plato and Socrates.
Heraclitus says contemptuously of Xenophanes, whom he mentions
alongside Pythagoras, Hesiod, Hekataios: “A smattering of many things
does not teach one to have reason (nous)" (40).
The doctrine of one deity, pure and noble, conceived without the
falsification of anthropomorphic representations appears first in Xe¬
nophanes, to become the common property of the philosophers and
tragedians. Immediately after him, Empedocles formulated: “He is not
equipped with a human head on his body ... he is spirit, holy and
ineffable, and only spirit, which darts through the entire universe with
its swift thoughts” (134). Plato, Aristotle, the Stoics, and all sublime
philosophy, stand within the continuity of this thought.
The tragedians adopted it, Jaeger calls attention to Aeschylus: “Zeus
is the ether, Zeus the earth, Zeus the sky; Zeus is the All, and what is
higher yet than this.”4
And in the Heracles of Euripides, we read:
But I do not believe the gods commit

adultery, or bind each other in chains.
I never did believe it; I never shall;
nor that one god is tyrant of the rest.
If god is truly god, he is perfect,
lacking nothing. These are poets’ wretched lies.5
4 Jaeger, 70.
5Tr. W. Arrowsmith. Lines 1341-46.
VIII. CHARACTERIZATION
Xenophanes is not the creator of new ciphers or the inventor of config¬

urations of thought, or the deep thinker whose statements are pondered
for millennia, or the founder of a religious movement. He had no school,
because he had no doctrine. There were Pythagoreans, Milesians, and
later Eleatics and Heracliteans. But there was no school of Xenophanes.
No luster surrounds this philosopher.
Xenophanes represents a clear morality and good sense that protect
him from being led astray. His trust in this good sense, his innate
humanity, his joy in the beauty of existence, his sobriety—all draw their
strength and substance from the one, unimaginable, unthinkable God
superior to everything.
In his approach, however, this philosopher from the earliest period
of Greek philosophy clearly exhibits the limits that from his day to ours
are linked to this mode of thinking. Such piety toward the world is
blind to the awesome forces that not only destroy man but lead him to
surpass himself. He knows nothing of the courage of sacrifice, or the
meaning of great decisions, or the fighting spirit not content with a
critical stance but ready to risk life itself. Alien to him is the man whom
reason alone will not satisfy. He does not see the greatness of such a
being or sense the powers speaking through the gods.
A further limitation lies in the fact that this good sense finds its
expression primarily in criticism and polemics. Though not grounded
in negation per se, this view has a natural basis that, in its abstractness,
may seem flat and dull. Hence as a great philosophical personality Xe¬
nophanes is not symbolic of great thinkers who seem to know more
than they are able to express.
Yet, Xenophanes, for the first time in philosophical thinking, exhibits
the good sense that looks around in the world with an unprejudiced
eye, the theoretical earnestness of a sublime conception of God, and the
awareness of the limits of human knowledge.
I do not agree with the generally negative or even scornful evaluation
of Xenophanes, for he occupies a position that, though narrow, is in¬
dispensable. His thinking originates in his rejection of a perverted ad¬
miration for a frame of mind that tyrannizes the spirit, though it may
be linked to a creativity that is indeed admirable (palpably so in Par¬
menides and Heraclitus). He refuses to submit, even to one whom he
acknowledges to be great. He does not follow the widespread tendency
of idolizing human beings. He repudiates the inhumanity that searches
for the superman or supposedly recognizes him in an individual, or even
XENOPHANES l9
claims such suprahuman status for himself. For him, there is no su¬
premacy of one human being over another. Each person remains a human
being, in spite of the tremendous differences in rank.
Xenophanes addresses himself to an audience, namely, to everyman.
He did pot isolate himself to pursue lonely truth in a small circle. He
participated in human affairs, eager to enlighten and morally to purify
himself and his fellowmen.
DEMOCRITUS
BACKGROUND; DEMOCRITUS AND ATHENS
Democritus (c. 460-370 b.c.) was born and lived in Abdera, on the coast
of Thrace, where he was a member of a school of philosophy. He
undertook journeys of long duration to Greece, Egypt, and the Near
East. The thought of Leukippus—the originator of atomism—was
known to Democritus through his work Megas Diakosmos (The Great
World-Order). Democritus had some contact with the Sophist Protag¬
oras, who was his senior by twenty years, possibly also with the physician
Hippocrates. He was held in high regard by his countrymen.
Democritus had no connection to Athenian philosophy. He ridiculed
Anaxagoras, who was older than he by four decades, because of his
cosmic order (diaôsmesis) and his doctrine of the mind {nous) (5). Unlike
his older compatriot Protagoras, Democritus ignored Sophist thought,
the grandiose, disintegrative mentality without which neither Socrates
nor Plato would have been possible. He knew as little about these con¬
temporaries as they about him. He is reported to have said, “I came to
Athens and no one knew me” (116). Plato never mentions him, but must
have known about his atomic theory when, in his old age, he wrote his
Timaeus. Only Aristotle mentions him, often and with great respect. The
contemplative life of discovery in the natural sciences and the ethos that
went with it could not interest Socrates or Plato. One root of their
thinking lay in practice, in the responsibility and frustration of politics,
in activism; it went beyond observation of nature, far into the supra-
sensory realm, which, in turn, would have seemed sheer nonsense to
Democritus. Aristotle says: “In Socrates’ times inquiry into nature was
abandoned and philosophers turned to the examination of practical virtue
and of politics” {De animalium partibus, I/t). But nature as well as the
sciences dealing with it were Democritus’ concern, as later on they would
be that of Aristotle, who gives as the reason for his high esteem: “De¬
mocritus seems to have speculated about everything” (A35). These were
two philosophical worlds, which did not touch and which—if they know
20
DEMOCRITUS 21
each other at all—remain barely intelligible to each other even today.

Only Aristotle, with his universally organizing objectivity, was able to
bring them together.
We see Democritus—in contrast to Athenian philosophy—as an
entirely different type of philosophical possibility, complete in itself.
Hence we can understand that Christian thought, basing itself on Platonic
philosophy, to which it was linked by elective affinity, would allow his
writings to disappear. (They were still extant at the time of the Roman
emperors.) This is why we are no longer able to view this other great
type of philosophy in a complete, structured opus. We can call Democ¬
ritus to mind only through fragments and reports. If we had a corpus
Democnteum, as we have a corpus Platonicum, the resulting picture would
demonstrate his greatness through its richness.
Democritus does not belong to the pre-Socratics. He is a contem¬
porary of Plato and is his counterpart.
I. DEMOCRITUS’ ATOMISM
With his atomism, Democritus did not create a philosophical system that
would explain everything that exists. His areas of scientific inquiry and
realms of thought bear little relationship to atomism. What makes it all
cohesive is not atomism, but a mode of thinking that in the model of
atomism bears witness to, among other things, the totality of natural
events.
i. The theory in outline
Leucippus found atomism to be one of the great designs of Being of the

pre-Socratic age. Democritus made it into a link within a more com¬
prehensive philosophy. A schematic presentation of atomism would look
like this:
a) There is Being and Nothingness, that is, fullness and the void,
atoms and space. The void exists without being something. Democritus
expresses it with an artificial neologism: “Being is just as much as Noth¬
ingness 1den is just as much as ‘meden ” (A37, A49; 156). The old
proposition states: “Nothing can arise out of nothing; what is cannot be
reduced to nothing.” But we must also ask what this Being is. Parmenides
answers this question in a speculative manner. The answer of the atom¬
istic theory is: Only the atoms are eternal and immutable.
b) Atoms are the smallest invisible objects filling space. They are
indivisible because of their smallness, or their hardness, or because there

is neither void nor interstice in them; they are incompressible. They are
altogether full (pleon), solid and impenetrable.
c) Atoms lack any differentiating,, qualities; they differ only quan¬
titatively. They are infinite in number. They are infinitely varied, coming
in all possible geometric shapes: spheric and angular, provided with
hooks, bent into themselves, smooth and jagged. They have no interior
condition whatsoever.
d) The atoms move in the infinite void, in which there is no above
or below, no center and no outer limit. In eternal motion from the
beginning of time, they affect each other through pressure and thrust,
through bonding and clustering.
The actual world comes to be with the first collision taking place
within the vortex. Like attaches itself to like. The finer particles escape
into the outer void.
Thus things come to be in the visible world through the arrangement
of the different atoms, of their number, shape, and size.
Motion is necessary; the accidental arises only through the manner
in which motions encounter each other. Only through motion do vortices
and the formation of the universe come to be. Necessity is the motion
of counterthrust, of locomotion, of the impact of matter.
e) The cosmos is infinite. Innumerable worlds are formed; they are
simultaneous or successive within the infinite. The world happens by
chance, as does motion. There is no point in inquiring after its cause,
for the cause has always existed. Time, like motion, has no beginning.
f) Only atoms and the void are imperishable. Worlds and all the
things in these worlds come to be and pass away, for they are nothing
other than the combination and separation of atoms. What is imperish¬
able does not change. What does change are the particular stratifications
and agglomerations of the atoms, each of which has its beginning and
its end—each thing and every one of the worlds.1
2. The solution of the difficulties
There are certain difficulties connected with the theory of the atoms if
it is to explain everything there is, difficulties that can be overcome only
by adding further presuppositions. i
a) Whence comes the suitability of living things to their purpose} In the
universe of atomic motion there is no purpose and no meaning and no
1 Wilhelm Capelle, Die Vorsoktatper, Fragmente und Quellenberichte. Leipzig, Kroner, 1935,
396ff.
DEMOCRITUS 23
order, but solely motion and mutual chance encounter. Order and, par¬
ticularly, the formation of living things come to be because only that
which is purposive achieves permanence. What has come to be by chance
vanishes quickly if it does not assume a configuration that, through
special,,unplanned accident, is capable of permanence. There are only
efficient causes, no final causes.
Democritus calls such events logos and anan\e (necessity). All that
occurs does so for a cogent reason—namely, the motion of the atoms
—and is accidental only when measured against purpose and meaning.
As letters come together to form words and sentences, so atoms come
together to become things. Just as all works of poetry and of thought
consist of just the letters of the alphabet, so all efficacious actualities in
the world, the living beings, consist of innumerable atoms.
Something else has to be added so that we may understand purpose
and meaning in accordance with their origin.
b) What is the soul? The soul consists of round atoms, the smoothest
and finest, the most mobile, like the floating atoms of fire. Aristotle tells
us that a writer of comedies maintains that Daedalus had made it possible
for the wooden Aphrodite to move by pouring mercury into her. Sim¬
ilarly, Democritus maintains, according to Aristotle, that the spherical
atoms activate the whole body through their motion, since, as is their
nature, they are never at rest (A104).
Even thinking is a bodily state and occurs when the atoms are
properly mixed. It changes when the mixture becomes too cold (A135).
In perception and in dreams, images (eidola) penetrate into the soul
as projections of themselves from all kinds of things. This is how house¬
hold utensils, clothes, plants, living things are seen in a dream (A77).
Something more, however, is needed for us to comprehend the in¬
wardness of psychic experience according to its origin. The outwardness
of atoms, no matter how fine, mobile, or fiery they may be, is not
sufficient.
c) What is cognition ? If atoms and empty space alone are constitutive
of Being, then what we perceive are appearances. Our senses do not
show us reality itself. We do not know through perception, but through
thought. This, in fact, is what Democritus says. But now he has to
explain what perception and cognition are.
What we know is never actuality itself, for only atoms and the void
are reality-in-itself and permanent. The combinations of atoms change.
All that is, is such a compound of the infinitely various atoms: things,
living beings, stars, souls, and gods. Information about all of these is
received by way of perception. Perception is due to images (eidola) pro-
jected from objects making contact with the senses. Hence the senses
show us only these appearances and not the actuality of the atoms and
the compounds of atoms themselves. Sense perception never shows us
atoms; only, according to customary opinion (nomos), black or yellow or
red, bitter or sweet, cold or warm, and hence never that which corre¬
sponds to the nature of things.
This essence of things—atoms and the void—manifests itself only
to thinking. Hence thinking has preeminence when it comes to truth.
There are two sorts of knowledge. To the obscure one belong sight,
hearing, smell, taste, and touch. Genuine cognition arises when obscure
cognition can do no more. When it can “neither see more minutely, nor
hear, nor smell, nor taste, nor perceive by touch—and a finer investi¬
gation is needed, then the genuine comes in . . .” (Fn), that is, thought.
According to Democritus, there are three criteria of truth. First: In
order to grasp the invisible things one has to consider the visible ones.
Second: Investigating the road is thinking. Third: For choosing and
avoiding, one listens to the emotions (pathe). “For we are to choose that
toward which we are well disposed and avoid that which is alien to us”
(Am). (We shall not deal with this third criterion here; it applies to
ethics.)
Democritus lets the senses speak: “ ‘Miserable Mind, you get your
evidence from us, and do you try to overthrow us? The overthrow will
be your downfall’ ” (F125). But this is by no means his last word. The
senses are the point of departure at every step of cognition, even though
thought surmounts the nature of appearance proper to the entire sensible
world. But the progression does not, as in Plato, move from becoming
to the eternal ideas as the primal images and to the power of the idea
of the Good which effects all and illuminates all; rather, it moves from
the sensory qualities to the everlasting forms of the atoms (also called
“ideas” by Democritus, since idea equals form).
For Democritus there are two limits of cognition. First: “We know
nothing in reality; for truth lies in the depth” (117). Our interpretation:
To be sure, thinking advances as far as actuality itself, to the atoms; yet
thinking is not able to bring about sensations; for fundamental cognition
permits only the fundamental deduction of a world of appearances and
not its complete explanation encompassing the concreteness of realities
open to experience. '
Second: “Our knowledge of actuality is never safe from deception
but changeable according to the constitution of our bodies and of those
things that flow toward and impinge upon it.” No matter how far we
DEMOCRITUS 25
progress, we remain tied not only to our senses but also to our natural
proclivities.2
d) Are there gods and what are they ? In distinction from all other pre-
Socratic schemes of Being, the atoms of Leucippus could not be termed
divine because the crude image of a spatiality replete with incompressible
little lumps made this impossible. Thus Democritus too never used the
term divine as an attribute of the atoms; that designation was given by
Anaximander, Heraclitus, and Empedocles to the ground of Being as
they conceived it. It was also possible with the Being of Parmenides and
the nous of Anaxagoras. What Democritus called divine was the nature
granted to Homer, the endowments of the soul (37) in distinction to
those of the body (21). “It is the mark of the divine intellect to be always
calculating something noble” (F112). The poets “think divine thoughts
with their mind” (F129). Democritus did not deny the gods.
In the first place, he sought to explain certain phenomena within the
framework of his theory of atoms: Demons are eidola, and these—as is
the case with sense perceptions—are thin clusters of atoms detaching
themselves from objects and pouring into the soul, in both the waking
and the dreaming state. They can be either beneficent or harmful. De¬
mocritus wished to meet auspicious images (166). These, he said, are of
supernatural size, do not pass away easily, but are not imperishable. They
make known to man the future in advance. Just as there are premonitions,
there are also tangible signs of things to come. For this reason Democritus
believed in the wisdom of inspecting the entrails of sacrificial animals,
in order to recognize the signs of health, epidemics, bountiful harvests,
or crop failure (A138).
For Democritus these belong to the realm of natural realities that
properly do not concern God or the great gods; they are explicable within
the framework of nature as it is conceived in accordance with the theory
of atoms.
In the second place, Democritus sought to derive the fact that men
believe in gods from the nature of man. If the gods are put in doubt,
and if, as with nature generally, the nature of man is the subject of
thought and investigation, then the question arises how the belief in
gods originated. For this belief in itself constitutes a reality even if gods
did not exist.
When prehistoric men saw what happened in the space above, such
as thunder and lightning, the conjunction of stars, and the eclipse of sun
2 Capelle, 428ff.
and moon, they were struck by fear, since they believed that divine
beings were the originators, of these phenomena. Hence Democritus
began to explain the ideas about gods as being based on natural phe¬
nomena: Ambrosia, the food of the gods, is the vapor that nourishes the
sun (25).
Other sources are the sense of guilt and the fear of punishment,
which, added to the belief in an afterlife (a belief that Democritus
repudiates), turn into fear of the gods.
In the third place, however, Democritus has an entirely different
conception of God, which is neither confirmed by the eidolon theory nor
in any way relates to the theory postulating a psychological origin of
belief in gods. Rather, it has its origin in his philosophizing, in which
the theory of atoms and encyclopedic scientific inquiry are only partial
areas.
Democritus speaks of the early sages (the logoi, thinking men) as
though they were still valid prototypes for the philosopher of his day—
his own prototypes. They did what was essential: “Of reasoning men,
a few raised their hands toward the place which we Greeks now call
‘air’ and said: Zeus considers all things, he knows all and gives and takes
away all and is king over everything altogether” (30). These early sages
prophesied as individuals to the nations. It is an image that makes us
think of the actuality of Moses but simultaneously reveals the dim dis¬
tance from this historic reality. Yet this precisely is philosophy: the trust
in insight in view of the all-embracing divinity, the will to become
authentically human on this path, and the expectation that all men can
enter upon it. Democritus clothed divine efficacy in the language of
popular religion:
“But the gods are the givers of all good things, both in the past
and now. They are not, however, the givers of things which are bad,
harmful or non-beneficial, either in the past or now, but men them¬
selves fall into these through blindness of mind and lack of sense”
(agnomosyne) (F175).
At this point, at the very inception, it becomes quite evident—though
not as a conscious element in Democritus’ thought—that the theory of
atoms as such does not necessarily lead to materialism and godlessness.
This can happen only when the atoms usurp the place of divinity. But
at the same time the unresolved contradictoriness in Democritus’ overall
conception of world and man is made evident. This is resolved only
when the theory of atoms, in a particular science, is taken to be merely
a thought-pattern for inquiry into matter, a pattern that does not de¬
termine faith or philosophy in any decisive way.
DEMOCRITUS 27
II. THE SCIENCES IN RELATION TO THE

THEORY OF ATOMS
Some physical facts can be explained by means of atoms:

Thq/la'rger atoms are heavier than the smaller ones, and the substances
that contain less emptiness and more atoms are heavier than those with
more empty space and fewer atoms. By sinking to the bottom the heavier
ones propel the lighter ones upward.
The mixture of substances consists in the positioning of the atoms.
Hence the intermingling is in fact an illusion. In the smallest parts—
the atoms themselves—there is no mixing.
Magnetism is explained as follows: The magnet (which consists of
the same atoms as iron) is composed of fine atoms, is less compact, and
contains more interstices.
What one sees here at the inception is similar to the atomism of
Epicurus and Lucretius: Explanations are not based on scientific inves¬
tigation but on plausibilities of trivial and unproven character. Something
more becomes evident: The clarity and simplicity of the schema of
atomism collapses when it is used to explain more than inanimate matter.
But even with regard to inanimate matter, the fruitfulness of atomism
did not manifest itself until the seventeenth century, when metaphysical
atomism was presented again by Gassendi and when Boyle and the
chemists made use of the model of atomism in their research, calling it
the theory of corpuscles. Ever since then, atomism has played a role in
the process of modern scientific progress, though in constantly changing
form. With the aid of mathematics, which first made possible quantitative
precision and control, atomism became a means of cognition within a
particular perspective of the world.
Up to then, atomism remained one metaphysical world-vision along¬
side others and, as such, based its evidence on grounds utterly different
from those of scientific cognition. It functioned as a cipher and was used
as such by Epicureanism and so-called materialism in a variety of ways,
including totally opposite attitudes toward life.
Most areas of cognition that engaged Democritus are wholly inde¬
pendent of atomism.
III. ETHOS AND ETHICS
What is preserved of Democritus’ writings is a large number of maxims

(gnomai) and several longer fragments—disorderly debris. The struc-
\
turing of this presentation is intended to characterize the meaning of

this thinking in its coherence, and is directed, equally, toward nature
and ethos.
\
i. Overview
Democritus’ focus is the human being. His ethos has man as its origin
and goal.
What is man? Democritus repeats the dictum of the ancients: Man
is a small universe (micros kpsmos) (34).
He does not offer an interpretation of this universe. He asks what
is best for man, wherein lies his salvation. Salvation is not found in
something outward for which man exists, but in himself.
To find the solution, man must be seen according to his nature, hence
the need for psychological and physiological observation. He is body and
soul, subject to the necessities imposed on him by nature in his drives,
conditions, and situations. But man cannot be exhaustively investigated
by exclusively objective means. What he makes of what he is, is his own
responsibility. He himself is answerable for many ills, for his actions,
for his entire inner constitution. In short: As the object of inquiry, man
is a natural being; through the nature peculiar to him, he is his own
task.
2. What becomes of man is of his own choosing
What man will become is of his own choosing; it depends on his natural
endowment, which varies among individuals; he himself determines his
own goal in his substance, his dignity, his salvation.
Observation teaches us that inclination and aversion are man’s mo¬
tivating forces. “Pleasure [terpsis\ and absence of pleasure [aterpia] are
the criteria of what is profitable and what is not” (F4). Our feelings
(pathe) move us “to choose that which we like and to turn from that
which is alien to us” (Am).
But critical examination shows that it is not a matter of inclination
as such, but of the object of inclination.
3. The goal
Judgment and choice can be measured against the question: What is

man’s ultimate goal? The Greeks called it eudaimonia, meaning to have
a good daimon as guide and with his aid to achieve the integration of
DEMOCRITUS 29
life. The davmon does not dwell in gold and possessions but in the soul
only. “The soul is the dwelling place of the daimon” (171). This daimon
may be a good or evil genius. Democritus, in his ethical advice, postulates
the potential efficacy of a good daimon.
ForTiim, the goal is an ordering of life, a state of the soul. He does
not use the term eudaimonia but designates it by a variety of terms:
joyousness (euthymia), well-being (euesto), imperturbability (ataraxia),
steadfastness (athambia), a state free of apprehension (athaumastia), se¬
renity (galene), harmony (symmetria) of the soul.
There are two ways to reach the goal (telos).
One might see the desired state of the soul as a consequence of
inclination away from perishable things toward things exalted and eter¬
nal, in the purity of motives, in the fulfillment of obligations. This advice
to seek after noble things might easily be interpreted as not posited for
its own sake but because of its influence on the state of the soul (hence
as a means to an end).
The other way points to psychological motivation and seems to cal¬
culate what would further a tranquil state of the soul.
Our own question to Democritus might be whether the state of the
soul as such should be given this ultimate value. Does this calculated
purpose not throw a shadow over whatever great and beautiful aims
men set themselves? Is it not self-limiting in scope, regressive?
An ethical mode of thought such as this is shot through with am¬
biguity. It allows psychological motivation derived from natural attri¬
butes to intermingle with ethical motivation based on substantial
meaning. The nobility of the true is damaged by psychological advice
(such as comparing oneself with those who are worse off); in such
borderline cases this amounts to advice to adopt a base attitude as ad¬
vantageous to our well-being.
Thus there evolves a mode of thinking restricted to the aim of
achieving purely human tranquillity. The goal here is the condition of
the individual, his cheerfulness, not an elevation of spirit whether in fear
or in bravery, or in facing one’s destiny with the powers of love and
reason. The tragic element of life disappears from our range of vision.
Destiny is eliminated. The contentment of contemplation is sufficient
unto itself. The trials and dangers inherent in life are to be expunged,
risk is to be avoided. The meaning of life finds its fulfillment in the
private sphere, or, rather, in that of the single individual, in his peace
of mind. We shall see how this ambiguity manifests itself in further
developments as they are particularized: the excellent insights and the
disconcerting absolutization of the banality of existence.
Piety toward the World
\
4. The origin: reason

*■ * « •.
Rarely does Democritus mention a god by name. But the title of one of
his works is Athene (Tritogeneia, thrice-born) (2). He calls this goddess
“prudence” (phronesis). “However, out of this prudence arises this triad:
thinking well (halos), speaking appropriately, and doing one’s duty.”
Thinking, intellect, reason (logis, logismos, nous, phronesis) is the
wellspring of the good, the means for shaping one’s life, the goal reached
by way of disinterested cognition. This is philosophy (still called sophia),
and philosophy produces joyousness.
5. Independence, freedom from the fear of death, dignity
The goal of the ethos is euthymia, the tranquil state of the soul, which
is well-being, pure happiness in contemplation of the beautiful, inde¬
pendence and freedom.
This happiness is in harmony with nature. It is characteristic of how
Democritus views the ages of man and death.
He compares the ages of man without regrets, without yearning for
the past, and without impatience for the future. To each age he apportions
what is proper to it, and refrains from comparing them.
For Democritus, death is not an object of dread, but a fact of life.
There is no life after death. This is a mere fable invented out of fear
about what follows death. It is foolish to avoid thinking about death
because of fear, and to want to quicken the pleasures before death comes
upon us unawares (ia).
Yet whoever studies Democritus has to become aware of the shadow
that darkens these insights, as the soul’s state of euthymia becomes the
ultimate goal.
Democritus nowhere asks whether this very state he postulates for
each human being does not require something beyond it, whether it can
be attained in this world without fulfillment through something else.
This something, it is true, leads to peace of soul, but again and again
breaks through tranquillity in a movement that allows us to rise above
ourselves by the force of restlessness. According to Democritus, neither
pleasure nor tranquillity as a state of mind is the ultimate goal. Instead,
the question is always not only pleasure in what, but also tranquillity
through what.
In his concrete value judgments it is evident that Democritus does
not address this question in its substance: vide his fundamentally apo¬
litical attitude, his comments on women and children. Even friendship,
DEMOCRITUS 31
as he sees it, is not solidarity when faced with the misfortune of

men subject to alien forces, not the endlessly renewed struggle of
loving communication, but the peaceful contentment of men joined
in the civilized enjoyment of the beautiful, men who are decent,
no doubf, though possibly agitated by unconscious drives and moods.
The degree to which this tranquil friendship moves into the center
of life, indeed becomes its real culmination, undermines the validity of
this ethos.
IV. CHARACTERIZATION
Three aspects of this philosophy seem to stand out as separate compo¬

nents, each of them taking its direction from its origin. The theory of
atoms—the schema of Being in itself—is developed independently. Uni¬
versal scientific inquiry grows out of a limitless thirst for knowledge and
is self-delighting. He “would rather discover one causal explanation than
gain royal dominion over the Persians,” Democritus said (118). The ethos
desired tranquillity and achieved this goal by directing light upon all
human activity.
These three blocks of thought seem to stand, unintegrated, side by
side. Democritus did not develop a system of the whole. The systematic
theory of atoms stands within this whole but does not encompass it or
give it a foundation. We must ask ourselves how all this is held together.
If there is no system of the whole, then perhaps there is a way of thinking
the whole. Since Democritus does not supply the answer, it may be
arrived at by trying to highlight what is specifically characteristic of him.
A recurrent feature is his striving for vividness, comprehensibility,
naturalness. He seeks the concrete, that which manifests itself. He shirks
the imaginary; the theory of atoms itself seems to him in accordance
with nature, using as his guide what is most easily grasped, the body in
its compactness and resistance in space. He rejects the unnatural and
suprasensory, denies immortality and a realm of the beyond. He knows
no transcendence, renounces speculation into the ground of Being, since
atoms have taken the place of transcendence. The function of the theory
of atoms seems to be, at least to some extent, the expunging of speculative
philosophy. This seemingly superior disillusionment amounts to a some¬
what misleading reasonableness.
The basic stance of this philosopher is characterized by a cool temper,
lack of a sense of destiny, and, finally, lack of transcendence. Democritus,
by the very existence of his great thought, demonstrates that it is possible
to live, without God, in tranquillity, serene and active, without fear and
without a trace of despair. '
Alongside all this we discover a plenitude of posited problems with
regard to questions of knowledge, Tut an absence of problems in the
existential realm. Such reasonableness does not correspond to the great
matter-of-factness of reason, but reveals an obliviousness of man’s con¬
cern in the face of his limits. This thinking contains a tendency to banality
even as we view the pinnacles fleetingly attained by him along his way.
Though deeply moved by a notion of the dignity of man, Democritus
touches on it only marginally, that is, without making it an integral part
of the totality of his thinking. Here too, as with everything else, he brings
openness to his contemplation; similar in this, perhaps, to the early sages
who looked up to divinity and proclaimed it. When he touches on delight
in the beautiful and the great, on duty recognized and fulfilled, on self-
examination and the notion of inner purity, he does not inquire into
their origin. Their ground lies solely in themselves. As an autonomous
being, the person sufficient unto himself sees the beautiful, recognizes
the ought, and has commerce solely with himself. He does not need
transcendence and does not inquire after it. Thinking so blatantly and
exclusively rooted in nature leaves beyond the horizon the mystery of
perplexities, the possibility of higher orders through which those natural
orders are fulfilled, their insufficiency revealed, and in the end penetrated
and transcended.
We see here the fundamental mind-set of piety toward nature. All
that is human is nature and conceived as nature. Tranquillity lies in
contemplating the fullness of a world without end.
This interpretation of nature is based on the following principle: As
the world is conceived as arising from the atoms, so the sublime from
the lowly: rationality grows from necessity, culture from necessity and
need, religion from fear. Everything in the world comes to be through
the motion of the smallest parts (the atoms); everything among men, out
of the attributes and actions of individuals. All becoming is development:
all that has come into being and to completion, everything large is derived
from the smallest that did not come to be, from the simple, the incom¬
plete, the insignificant. This kind of thinking denies meaning and pur¬
pose to what occurs. Everything is accessible to natural causal explanation.
The relationship of the three origins (theory of atoms, encyclopedic
knowledge, ethos) seems to be the following: Perfect tranquillity resides
in knowledge; it brings about man’s absorption in the unchanging, in
the things that are “not mortal.”
This knowledge finds its perfection in the theory of atoms, which is
DEMOCRITUS 33
the cognition of what authentically is and of all there is. The fundamental
mind-set of the person who philosophizes in this manner finds sufficient
satisfaction in the theory of atoms.
This is a rich world-philosophy, a highly disciplined individualistic
ethos. But this self-satisfied thinking breaks down again and again,
astonishingly, pitifully obtrusive—symbolized by the theory of atoms as
the authentic knowledge of Being.
EMPEDOCLES
LIFE; THE SICILIAN WORLD; LEGENDS; WRITINGS
The span of Empedocles’ life is usually given as sixty years, the date of
his birth supposed to be around 490 b.c. (cf. Diog. Laertius, VIII, 52,
74). His native city was Akragas (today Girgenti), at that time one of
the wealthiest and most splendid cities of Sicily. He was of noble birth
and a member of the democratic faction. It is said that he was exiled in
his old age and that he died in the Peloponnese following an accident
(a fall from a carriage).
Sicily was then at its historical apex. Following the victory over the
Carthaginians at Himera in 481 b.c. (contemporaneous with the Greeks’
victory over the Persians at Salamis), rapid colonial development in the
sixth century led to its highest flowering. The catastrophe began in
409 b.c. with the destruction of Selinus and Himera by the Carthaginians,
the saving of Syracuse by Dionysius, a series of wars. The risky nature
of life lived in great insecurity and among rapid changes engendered a
tendency toward excess. Temples of enormous size, only partially com¬
pleted, were in keeping with the pride of the citizens and the merciless
exploitation of the vanquished, like the captive Athenians who perished
in 413 b.c. from working in the stone quarries of Syracuse. It was believed
that protection of the gods could be gained through the splendor of
religious worship. The style of Sicilian life presented itself to the Greek
world in its grandiose participation in the Olympic Games, in splendid
festivities, in the development of a sophisticated culinary art, ostentatious
dress, and every kind of gratification.
The true greatness of this Sicily, however, was owed to the spirit of
its poetry, its rhetoric, its thought. A high-mindedness towering above
the ordinary found expression there. As an example: a heroon (monu¬
ment) erected by his Sicilian enemies honored a youth killed in battle,
celebrating his beauty, according to Herodotus. But among all the won¬
ders that Sicily produced, says Lucretius, the most splendid is Empedocles
(De rerum natura, I, 716fF.).
34
EMPEDOCLES 35
In his hometown, Empedocles took part in the battle against tyranny;

as an itinerant physician and prophet, an Iatromantis (a wonder-working
physician), he roamed surrounded by disciples, to one of whom, Pau-
sanias, he dedicated his book On Nature. Not content with appropriating
what th£ Milesians, Pythagoras, Parmenides, and the schools of physicians
had created, he used them as foundation for his own work, filled with
new ideas, thoughts, and poetic-philosophic visions. This intellectual
labor was put entirely at the service of practical life. He was there to
help people; in the free atmosphere of this Sicilian-Greek century, he
was able to act in complete independence.
Soon legends grew up around his life. He was said to have re¬
fused the throne proffered him by the citizens; to have successfully
protected Akragas against violent winds by spreading the skins of asses
as a screen; that, by diverting streams, he freed Selinus of marshland
and malaria. But the legends surrounding his death were the most
striking.
After a banquet in his honor, his friends found that by morning he
had disappeared. A slave told of hearing a powerful voice at midnight
calling for Empedocles. He got up and saw a blaze of light but nothing
further. Empedocles had gone to join the gods.
Skeptical jealousy cast a different light on this disappearance: After
rising, Empedocles, it was told, had journeyed toward Mount Etna.
Having arrived at its fiery maw, he leaped into it and disappeared, in
the hope that this would further the belief that he had become a god.
But the truth prevailed when one of his brazen sandals was cast forth
by the crater.
Legends possess an inherent power. They achieve symbolic truth.
What Greek malice invented about his suicide on Mount Etna,
Holderlin—who, like Nietzsche later, felt almost magically attracted to
him—understood as the tragic truth of Empedocles’ greatness.1
There have come down to us about 450 lines from two of his poetic
works, On Nature (Periphyseos) and Purifications (Katharmoi). In addition,
there are a number of reports. The beauty of the poetry, the terse diction,
the images and situations grip us even today.
The contents of the two works from which these fragments derive
seem to be mutually incompatible. They have been assigned to different
periods in the philosopher’s life. But this is countered by other voices
(Bignone, Jaeger), who claim that Empedocles’ entire work should be
understood as an integrated whole expressed in different psychic states.
Cf. Walther Kranz, Empedocles.

I agree with this claim, which, based on the nature of Empedocles’

contribution, has proved to be justified.
THE BASIC EXPERIENCE
Grounded in Orphic-Pythagorean tradition, Empedocles expressed his

view of the world: It is “a joyless place where murder and rancor and
swarms of other spirits of calamity, debilitating illnesses, and corruptions
and consequences of floods (Sepsis and Rheuma) roam hither and yon in
the gloom of the meadow of misfortune” (121). We live in a “roofed
cavern” (120). Therefore: “Alas, poor mankind, woe unto you who are
pitifully wretched: out of such quarrels and sighs were you born!” (124).
Yet this world is ambiguous. There is always an opposite: “Here
were the Earth-Mother . . . and the far-seeing Sunshine-Nymph . . .
bloody Discord, and Harmony with her serious mien, Beauty and Ug¬
liness, the Speed-Nymph and the Nymph of Delay, and lovely Infallibility
and dark-eyed Uncertainty” (F122).
Because we experience this ambiguous state, we sense the possibility
of an unequivocal one. Thus, even at birth: “I wept and wailed when
I saw the unfamiliar land” (F118). “Cast forth from which level, from
what fullness of bliss do I dwell here?” (119). The basic experience of
our finding ourselves in the world, with no explanation, but immediately
given, leads to the questions and answers Empedocles develops.
How is the origin of this human condition to be understood? His
answer is the world-vision of a cyclical, eternal recurrence. Our awesome,
beautiful world is a phase in this cycle. So far the theory.
To this, practice must be added. What is up to us and what ought
we to do? The answer: What we are here we are through prior guilt.
If we understand our origin in guilt, we know what we ought to do:
become pure for our return.
I. THE THEORY
1. The world-vision as a whole
a) Love and strife; the four roots of all things. The state of the world varies.
There are periods in which things are better or worse than today.
Two fundamental forces are the cause of motion: love and strife
(philia and neifos). They contend with each other. If love achieves preem¬
inence, the perfect state of harmony, of the sphere (“sphairos”) prevails.
EMPEDOCLES 37
Strife is kept at bay. If strife dominates unchecked, there is total disorder

(anosmia)-, love is extinct. Both of these outermost limits are turning
points: strife soon penetrates sphairos, anosmia invades love. Events in
the actual world fall between perfection (sphairos) and disorder (anosmia),
between'defection from sphairos and reconstitution out of anosmia. The
world is in constant motion. There is rest only in the two transitional
moments when the world is not yet or no longer. The end of the world
is reached in the motionless perfection of love as well as in the fullness
of disorder. The world comes to be through motion, which enters either
the sphairos by way of strife or the anosmia by way of love.
The sphairos is not set in motion by universal unification. It is a single
whole under the domination of love. There is no differentiation of the
“swift limbs of the sun,” nor of the “shaggy power of Earth,” nor of
the sea. “Thus the globe-shaped sphairos lies bound in the fast keep of
harmony, enjoying the quiet all around” (27). This globe-shaped sphairos
is not limited but “on all sides equal and everywhere infinite (<jpeiron)”
(29).
The substance of world-motion consists of the four roots of all things,
rhizomata panton (6): earth, water, fire, air. In a state of complete harmony
their combination is such that they no longer exist as separate elements.
In anosmia they have segregated themselves from each other so that they
exist only as separates.
b) Mixing and unmixing. Aristotle can therefore say that, in Emped¬
ocles, love is sometimes the divisive principle, strife the unifying one.
For love separates the like elements from each other in order to combine
them in the configuration of the world. Strife, on the other hand, unifies
the elements into homogeneous aggregations of fire, earth, water, and
air. This is the destructive process of unmixing: “Fire increases fire, earth
increases its own substance, air increases air” (37). In anosmia the elements
are completely separate; in sphairos, totally combined. Within the actual
world they are at once divided and combined.
In the world, it is true, the aggregations of the four elements are
segregated into sun, earth, sky, and sea, but in these aggregations they
are all mutually “bound together in harmony” (22).
Among the innumerable substances, those that are similar to each
other are joined in love, but those that differ most greatly are mutually
repulsive. “Water is more able to combine with wine but unwilling to
mix with oil” (91).
c) The wealth of configurations. The wealth of configurations in the
actual world is infinite. Empedocles contemplates them with both wonder
and comprehension—configurations which “came pouring out” of the
mix, “an infinite host of mortal creatures, in a thousand forms, a marvel

to behold” (35).
Just as painters harmoniously bring multicolored substances to har¬
mony by taking more of some and less of others, and just as figures
come into being out of these combinations, so also the substance of things
on earth, as many as we have come to know in their infinite plenitude,
are to be sought in the four roots (23).
Empedocles contemplates the marvel of this inexhaustible wealth
that has grown out of simple substances through their mixture: “Look
at the sun . . . and the immortal heavenly bodies and at the water which,
dark and cool, manifests itself in everything, and how the durable and
solid substances come forth from the earth. . . . Everything grows out
of them, everything that was and is and will be. Trees grew up and
men and women, wild animals and birds and the fish in the waters, and
the long-lived gods.” For only the four roots “exist, and as they circulate
among each other they assume the most divergent shapes. So great is
their transformation due to their mixing” (21).
Right away, however, the configurations of living things are again
“disunited by the evil spirits of strife. Alone, each by itself, they wander
along the shores of life. And the same struggle occurs among the trees,
the fish in the water, the animals in the forest, and the seagulls gently
moving with their wings” (20).
d) Are we in ascending or descending motion ? If we pose the question
whether, according to Empedocles, we find ourselves in an ascending
or a descending world-process, on the road toward anosmia or toward
sphairos, no explicit answer can be found.
Because of the notion of the ascending and descending world-process,
Empedocles’ cosmological view appears twofold: The world comes to
be through the incursion of strife into the sphairos] the world is actualized
through love.
Strife brings about world-motion through explosive unmixing. The
air is separated from and surrounds the sphere as its shell. The outermost
layer becomes a crystal vault. Fire separates from the remaining mass
and breaks through the air layer. It dislodges the air from the upper
hemisphere. In this way, two hemispheres come to be, one light and
fiery: day; and one consisting of dark air: night. This does not prevent
Empedocles from stating in another context: “The Earth is the cause of
night by setting itself against the rays of the sun (passing below it)” (48).
Out of the earth, which is compressed from all sides, the water bubbles
forth. Finally, all four elements are segregated.
Simultaneously with the catastrophe of the origin of the world,
EMPEDOCLES 39
emerging from the sphairos through a primal explosion, as it were, re¬

action sets in. When strife reigns within the vortex, love arises. In love
everything unites to form a single unit; this does not happen all at once
but by a spontaneous drawing together from all directions. Out of this
mixing-an immense host of mortal creatures arises. Whatever is still held
back by strife remains unmixed. By as much as strife retreated, “the
gently disposed immortal impulse of flawless love” moved forward (35).
The world exists through the enduring effect of love.
Then, in this world, organic beings—plants, animals, humans—
grow through the uniting power of love. Love prepares the ground for
the reestablishment of sphairos. After the primal catastrophe, we find
ourselves in ascending motion.
The other aspect is descending motion. The central state in the cycle
is, as such, the same, but reverses into its opposite, in accordance with
the path that proceeds either upward or downward. Aristotle says: “Em¬
pedocles maintains that the world, under the sway of strife, is now in
the same state as earlier under that of love” (A42).
The doctrine of the Golden Age as portrayed by Empedocles accords
well with this: Once upon a time the gods were not Ares (god of war),
nor Zeus, Poseidon, Kronos, but only Kypris (Aphrodite). No blood was
shed at the sacrifices. To deprive other beings of life was considered the
greatest pollution among men (128). In those days, the trees were always
in leaf and were resplendent throughout the year in the superabundance
of their fruit. All the animals were tame and trusting. There was then
living a man of surpassing knowledge, a master of many skills of wisdom.
When he exerted all his mental powers, his view encompassed with ease
each one of existing things, in his ten and even twenty lifetimes (129).
This golden age is not the sphairos. For the world and its many config¬
urations already exist, though they are still drawn together and unified
by love.
This vision of the world does not imply that Empedocles considers
himself to be at a turning point in the world. There are only two turning
points, the sphairos and the akpsmia. He perceives the cyclic nature but
does not see himself as prophet at a turning point in the historical process.
Nothing in him aspires to the level expressed in such a variety of modes
by Virgil, the Gnostics and Apocalyptics, by Buddha and the Christians.
e) Being and becoming. The world-vision of Empedocles shows ex¬
ternal being and external becoming at the same time.
1) The cycle of world-periods is the being that is immutable. Time
is annulled by closing on itself in a circle. It remains infinite time because
the cycle is infinite. Time is revolution, not progression into infinity.
4° Piety toward the World
Thus, what is endures. Thus, what endures are the four roots of things
(elements) and the two forces, love and strife: “in so far as they never
cease their continuous exchange, in this sense they remain always un¬
moved (unaltered) as they follow the cyclic process” (F17); but in so far
as things arise out of them, these things have no constant time (empedos
aion). Never shall love and strife cease to be; they were before and also
will be and never will for ineffably long time (aspetos aion) be free of
them. The whole of the time that returns in the %yf{los is Being that is
no longer enclosed. If, as it were, time in the sphatros stops for a moment,
then strife “has reached the outermost limits of the kyklos” (35), but it
is and remains there. At the turning point at which it could be completed,
the kyklos begins anew.
2) The other fundamental idea underlying Empedocles’ world-vision
is the following: Being as a whole does not remain constantly the same.
Instead, within the chronological sequence, the opposites that bring about
this sequence themselves become different phenomena.
Heraclitus, says Plato {Sophist, 242d), sees the opposites coming to¬
gether and separating. Compared with this stricter understanding, the
gentler one of Empedocles (the “Sicilian Muse”) has weakened the state¬
ment that it is such for all eternity by the assertion that, in turn, the
universe is either united in love under the influence of Aphrodite, or,
in a state of enmity against itself, it becomes a multiple. The strict view
holds to the combined action of the opposites; the gentle view envisions
a successive process implying distress and restoration. In Empedocles
unity resides only in sphairos or in the world-process as a whole, whereas
in Heraclitus it resides in every present moment. In Empedocles unity
is lost to the extent that harmony does not embrace its opposite but is
brought about by elimination of the opposing calamitous divine power
of the nei\os. Hence Heraclitus is able to call strife the father and king
of all things; but Empedocles calls it calamity.
Being can be understood in the phenomena of the world only through
the power of the One, of love. Yet it contains a counter force as the
ground of the multiple and as that which does not allow the work of
love, the sphairos, to endure; but, instead, destroys it.
2. Specific natural phenomena
Empedocles is noted for his observation and interpretation of specific

natural phenomena, for his graphic explanations and conjectures, which,
as an anticipation of natural science, strike us as modern. He exhibits a
wealth of ideas, of figurative and conceptual schemata that have dom-
EMPEDOCLES 4i
inated the understanding of nature in later times. We sense his passion

for exploring the actual world, to see what is there, and to make known
what he has seen through interpretation. Following are a few examples
only. (They are merely of historical interest; in substance they are ir-
relevant/fdr us today.)
a) The origin of living beings. Empedocles is familiar with the notion
of development. Living beings did not start to exist in their present form.
They have come to be and, in the course of time, to unfold their various
forms.
First to emerge were raw clumps of earth. “They did not yet exhibit
a lovely body with limbs, nor voice, nor genitals” (62). Next, fragmentary
parts came to be as if the earth were gravid with individual limbs. “There
grew out of the earth many heads without necks, arms wandered un¬
attached to shoulders, and eyes strayed about lacking brows” (57). These
members united: “Many creatures were created with double faces and
double chests, with the body of cattle and the face of man, and, conversely,
human bodies with the heads of cattle, hybrid beings that in part had
the shape of men and in part that of women” (61). Only at the end did
such whole bodies come to be which kept themselves alive by taking
nourishment from outside and were “enticed into wedlock by the beau¬
tiful forms of women” (64); (Nutrition and Procreation). Whatever was
not viable perished quickly. Whatever had conjoined out of mismatched
limbs could not survive.
The power of love has effect without intention and in chance events
of mixtures. Thus, in the formation of the eye “the mild flame happened
to receive only a slight admixture of Earth” (85). Hence the media of
the eye are transparent. And: “All beings possess consciousness by the
will of chance” (103).
Nature looks like a large testing ground but lacks purposive intention.
Love lets things come together as it chances, and those that cannot survive
as a particular form through nutrition and propagation disappear.
b) The comparative morphological view. Empedocles sees the same
basic material in hair, birds’ feathers, and scales on strong limbs (82).
He sees “earth deposited as the skin of the heavily armored denizens of
the sea, especially that of the sea snails and the stony-skinned tur¬
tles” (76).
c) Astronomical ideas. The solar eclipse comes about through the
moon: The moon “cuts off his (the sun’s) rays whenever she goes below
him, and she throws a shadow on as much of the Earth as is the breadth
of the bright-eyed moon” (F42).
d) The speed of light. Aristotle reports that Empedocles had assumed
without justification a certain velocity of light when he said that light

arrives earlier from the sun in the intermediate region than on Earth or
within our view. The movement of light remains hidden from us because
of its great speed {Metaphysics, 9853^2iff.).
e) The respiration of the sfin. Klepshydra was the name of a tube, open
at both ends, which is immersed in water while its upper end is held
closed. Only when it is opened does the water stream into the tube from
below, something that could not happen before because of the “weight
of the air.” This is Empedocles’ way to explain breathing, which he
applies universally to all things: “everything breathes in and out” (100).
f) The theory of pores. How do the things that are separated in the
world come together? The pores make it possible. They explain mag¬
netism, nutrition, respiration, the growth of organisms, and sense per¬
ception. The pores of magnets are symmetrical to the effluences of iron,
hence the attraction. Respiration comes about through pores in the blood
vessels that take in air. Perception originates through the pores of each
individual sense organ. Only effluences that fit a particular organ combine
with each other; the smaller ones flow through, the larger ones do not
even get in.
The pores are not simply empty spaces that are filled (for there is
no void anywhere). They are adapted to receive the effluences of other
bodies as their complement, the way a keyhole fits the key. Where this
fitting does not occur, no combination is possible. Things that in part
repel each other and in part can be combined encounter each other in
nature.
Reciprocal rejection occurs when no forms capable of receiving the
effluences are found. Reciprocal combining is due to the fact that all
things emit effluences, animals and plants, earth and sea, stone, copper,
and iron. This is the constantly moving, never completed process of
nature. Sphairos is of an utterly different character. Where love is sov¬
ereign no such combining—for example, no sense perception—is pos¬
sible or necessary. When all matter is combined, there are no effluences.
In perfect union there is also perfect rest.
j. The significance of this conception of nature
Empedocles’ views cannot be brought together in a cohesive theory of

natural science. His big schemes of the four roots and the two forces of
love and strife are a means of portraying cosmic events as well as the
actions of men. Nor does any investigation in a critical sense take place
here. Particular plausibilities do not constitute cognition. It is a thinking
EMPEDOCLES 43
in pictures which, for this reason, cannot be regarded as initiating natural

science.
Rudiments of scientific thinking are actually present among the Ion-
ians in the area of biology and in the medical schools in the collecting
of observations. Plato turned his attention to the grand beginnings in
mathematical physics and astronomy. Empedocles had no part in any of
this.
Yet he exhibits two ways of thought substantially at variance with
each other. Not only does he see images expressing actuality in the way
of myth, but he also presents mechanical models (such as pores) meant
to explain what happens in nature. Mythic actualities and physically
conceived models, however, are merged. For him there is no distinction
here in the quality of cognition.
To elucidate once more the mythic side of this thinking by way of
examples: When, in his metaphor of the painter, he makes the marvelous
configurations of nature arise out of a fitting-together, he does not mean
just the mixture of four elements. He imagines them as the product of
the craftsmanship of love (Aphrodite). She built the eyes (86); the animals
are joined together by Kypris’s hands (75), which fit the bones together
by cementing them (96). The mutual attraction of likes—“Thus sweet
seized on sweet, bitter rushed towards bitter, sour moved towards sour,
and hot settled upon hot” (F90)—is obvious from the many pictorial
accounts. Fove and strife lack the physical precision of the later concepts
of “attraction” and “repulsion” and are, here, comprehensive divine
forces. The four roots of all things are not what would later be understood
as elements—something like the minutest parts of a variety of compo¬
nents. Empedocles gave no thought to the structure of his four roots.
Is this thinking obsolete and hence meaningless for us? It has meaning
in a negative sense: as we do with most of the early philosophers, we
ask, to clarify for ourselves, why natural science is absent. In a positive
sense, however, this thinking takes its importance from its illuminating
actualities, which are missed by the natural sciences. The natural sciences
by no means exhaust what is experienced in the actuality of nature. They
gain their knowledge always and precisely by disregarding certain ac¬
tualities in order methodically to cognize their particular limited actuality
within their own sphere. Art and poetry do not alone bear witness to
these other actualities. Prior to Schelling, a “philosophy of nature” has
been formed throughout the ages which is neither another natural science
nor objective knowledge. Instead, it expresses and makes us aware of
what can be experienced in the actuality of phenomena but eludes in¬
vestigation. In this realm, Empedocles speaks to us even today.
II. THE PRACTICE OF SALVATION
Cosmic vision presents an object for contemplation. But Empedocles

wants to serve the salvation of man. The soul desires to escape the
calamity in which it finds itself: It does not know what it is and what
it should do.
The soul which originates in the world and passes away like all
things is not the soul which is concerned with itself for the sake of
eternity. It senses that it comes from somewhere, has been dropped, as
it were, and that it is headed somewhere—toward its salvation or its
calamity. The word “soul” does not occur in the fragments, only in the
narratives. Empedocles speaks of th& daimon. This daimon does not merge
into the %y/(los of the world. It has experienced a fall and has a fate.
This process cannot be comprehended via the concept of the cosmic
tylfos. Something entirely different enters here: the migration of the
soul, which is oriented by the desire for salvation. It is guilt that deter¬
mines the path taken in this pilgrimage. The daimon of each human
being was present in previous births and will return in later lives in
order to atone for its guilt.
i. The migration of the soul
The doctrine of the migration of the soul states that the soul assumes
one body after another, entering into many forms of life. “I have been
born as boy, girl, plant, bird, and mute sea fish” (117).
2. Guilt
Guilt is not inescapable participation in “strife” (nei/(os) which rules the

world as its one pole; it is the free guilt of the individual daimon.
What is the daimon ? Is he, like the gods, one of the forms emerging
from the mingling in the world-process? Nowhere is he mentioned in
this context. He seems to differ from these forms by undergoing con¬
stantly new incarnations in the migration of souls. But whence does he
come, where lies his origin? Empedocles does not answer this question.
In his world-vision, man, as natural being, stands with other such beings
as part of the whole of nature, he occupies' no special position. But the
daimon does have a special position. He has no allotted place but roams
through the forms, of which only one is the natural form of man.
Out of the torment of this life—Empedocles’ fundamental expe¬
rience—begins the ascent to higher forms. “Among the animals they
EMPEDOCLES 45
become lions . . . but among the trees [they become] laurel” (127). “But
ultimately they become seers and bards and healers and princes among
men on earth, from which they grow upward as gods, those richest in
honor” (146). Finally they are again “companions of the hearth of the
other imfnortals, fellow partakers at table, exempt from human suffering,
indestructible” (147), the image of the community of the blessed.
Quite different is the fate of the guilt-ridden daimones. “It is the
decree of necessity, a decision of the gods, ancient, arch-eternal, sealed
with broad oaths: if one . . . sullied himself with the blood of murder
. . . committed perjury,” then he must “roam for thrice ten thousand
horae far from the company of the blessed, being born, in the course of
time, in all possible shapes of mortal creatures that tread the laborious
paths of life. For the powerful air chases him to the sea, the sea spews
him onto the earth, the earth to the rays of the blazing sun, and the sun
throws him into the whirlwind. One takes him over from the other but
all hate him. Now I am one of those, too, a man banished by god and
erring, since I put my trust in raging strife” (115).
3. What should you do?
What should you do in order to put your daimon back on the right path?
“To sober up from evil” (144). For if you are “torn this way and that
by vile evildoing you will never free your heart from wretched torment”
(i45)-
The main commandment: Do not kill animals, eat no meat, and
make no bloody sacrifice. Because these beings lacking reason are related
to us, we stand in communion with them as we do with the gods. “Will
you never cease from this clashing slaughter? Do you not see how you
tear each other to pieces in the thoughtlessness of your minds?” (136).
Empedocles also prescribes certain rites peculiar to the Orphics and
Pythagoreans: Keep away from beans; do not touch the leaves of the
laurel tree, which belongs to Apollo (140, 141).
4. Immortality
For Empedocles, man, as a natural being, is mortal, as are all things put
together by mixing and later dissolved (15). Immortality is the attribute
of whatever neither comes to be nor passes away as phenomena change,
but endures as foundation. Immortal in this sense are the four elements
and love and strife. For being to become nothing is unthinkable (12).
There is only mixing and exchange of what has been mixed (8). Birth
and death are merely names for these processes. As things circulate
through each other, they become different things at different times, and
thus it goes in all eternity (17).
There is an entirely different irfimortality, the immortality of the
daimones which we are. We have fallen out of the bliss of their company
and strive to return there, being, in this world, merely “clad in the alien
cloak of the flesh” (126).
III. COGNITION AT ITS LIMITS
Empedocles’ theory of the world and his message of salvation did not
fully satisfy him. In his questioning, he goes further: By what means do
I know? What is cognition and what is its effect? Which cognition is
true? It is only through reflecting on cognition that Empedocles achieves
self-awareness.
1. The senses
Empedocles is aware that cognition begins with the senses, which he

trusts. “Observe with each of the senses by which way all that is individual
becomes manifest {deion)" (3); with each of the sense organs, for neither
the eye, nor the ear, nor the tongue, nor the remaining sense organs are
entitled to preferential trust. Each yields one path to cognition. Hence:
“. . . use whatever way of perception makes each thing clear” (F3). Being
open to the world with all of one’s senses: that is the foundation of
knowledge.
Immediately he stresses the limitation of the senses: “Narrowly lim¬
ited are the tools of the senses (graspers).” Of all of life, they observe
only a small part, “convinced by this [part] alone, which each individual
[sense] happened to encounter in its various wanderings; and yet each
boasts that it has found the whole” (2). It is not through passivity that
we gain sensory truth; rather, truth manifests itself to the senses only
where they are permeated by thinking. Hence the demand: “Observe
with the mind, and do not sit there with wondering eyes” (17).
But then the content of what the senses encounter becomes proble¬
matical: “Much that is paltry (deila) assails them, which blunts the
thoughts” (2). Hence the demand for purity and clarity in our devotion
to things.
Devotion to inferior things makes us inferior too. In thinking that
has not been dulled, things would not be inferior either. Only where we
EMPEDOCLES 47
cognize in purity with our whole being do we become one with things
as we cognize. The relation of the knower to the known is a relationship
between equals grounded in world-being.
/ '
2. Litres are known only to likes
“If the eye were not sun-like, it could never see the sun.” In Goethe’s
dictum we find again a theme that, originating with Empedocles and
continuing with Plotinus, runs through the ages.
In man there is everything. Hence the statements: “We see Earth by
means of Earth, Water by means of Water, divine Air by means of Air,
and destructive Fire by means of Fire; Love by means of Love; Strife
by means of baneful Strife” (109).
This corresponds to the view that there is an unrestricted relationship
between man and everything else. Empedocles maintains that we have
something in common not only with fellowmen and the gods but also
with the nonrational animals.
Things in the world are held together through the love (philia) that
unites all. She is “believed to be implanted in mortal limbs also; through
her they think friendly thoughts and perform harmonious actions, calling
her Joy [gethosyne] and Aphrodite” (F17).
Even though men are related to all things animate and inanimate
(even plants know longing and sorrow and joy); even though everything
in the world shares “in breathing and smell” (102), “in consciousness
(phronesis) and in thought (noema)” (no), Empedocles speaks of cognition
only in reference to human beings.
j. Possibilities and limits inherent in cognition
Since man resembles the object of his cognition and bears resemblance
to all, the elements as well as the gods, his cognition appears to be
unlimited. But since, being human, he is limited, his cognition is subject
to the condition imposed by his finiteness. From this arise his great
opportunities as well as his great errors. Empedocles shows us both.
a) The whole. Truth is the whole; untruth is the result of division
and narrowness and of exaggerating the particular to be everything.
Hence Empedocles, “. . . Touching on summit after summit, does not
want to follow a single path of discourse to the end” (F24).
But the whole “cannot be grasped by eye or ear, nor can it be
encompassed by man’s mind” (2). This extraordinary feat was possible
only to men of the early ages who, using all their mental powers, saw
with ease each particular of all that is (129).
b) Lif{e strengthens li\e. I am, or become, what I cognize because like
is awakened when it encounters like. Hence Empedocles warns us of
that which dulls: the paltry, lowly, and false. Cognition possesses “truth
in a sense other than mere accuracy: through its object and through the
appropriateness of the thought to this object. Hence: “Greatly blessed is
he who earned a treasure of divine thoughts for himself, but wretched
he in whom dwells a dark delusion about the gods” (132).
c) The power of cognition. True cognition confers power. “If you,”
Empedocles says to Pausanias, “take these teachings deep into your firm
mind and view them, well-disposed, with your pure effort,” only then
does thinking become power. Otherwise it would be no more than a
diverting intellectual occupation. What we cognize is not only at our
disposal for a lifetime, but man himself is changed: this cognition grows
into the ethos of man “according to each man’s nature” (no).
The power of cognition and of what is cognized is not there for the
taking. It must be earned: “Friends, I know that Truth is present in
the story that I shall tell; but it is actually very difficult for men, and
the impact of conviction on their minds is unwelcome” (F114).
d) The limits of man. Empedocles recognizes the limits of human
cognition with modesty and awe. When he promises Pausanias that he
will discover the truth, he adds immediately, “not more than mortal
intellect can attain” (F2). He calls out to the muse: “I beseech thee also,
much-wooed white-armed maiden Muse, convey (to me) such knowledge
as divine law allows us [ephemeral] creatures to hear, driving the well-
harnessed car [of song] from (the realm of) Piety!” And, as a warning,
he adds: “Nor shall the flowers of honour paid to fame by mortals force
you at least to accept them on condition that you rashly say more than
is holy—and are thereupon enthroned on the heights of wisdom!” (F3).
e) The promises. In his book On Nature, Empedocles promises Pau¬
sanias powers arising from his cognition that seem to contradict his
earlier teachings: “You shall learn all the drugs that exist as a defence
against illness and old age; for you alone will I accomplish all this. You
shall check the force of the unwearying winds. . . . And again, if you
wish, you shall conduct the breezes back again. You shall create a sea¬
sonable dryness after the dark rain for mankind, and again you shall
create after summer drought the streams that nourish the trees. . . . And
you shall bring out of Hades a dead man restored to strength” (Fin).
What does this mean? Obviously magic, that is, power through
knowledge of nature by means of cognition, without causational me-
EMPEDOCLES 49
diation. These verses were thought to be a parody. But more likely they
need a different interpretation.
Contemplation of that which is has an effect on the contemplator.
The experience that, through knowledge, I myself become effective tes¬
tifies to fhe power of thinking. Another, highly dubious experience is
added to this obvious one. My experience of being linked to and at one
with all nature turns into the belief that I participate in effecting what
nature has brought about—moreover, in a manner heightened by my
consciousness of such knowledge. This grandiose error of man’s union
with the processes of nature, experienced in thinking, runs through all
the ages.
Within his view of the whole, Empedocles arrived at his methods
of healing. Magical-cognitive consciousness is linked to specific medical
operations as the theory of the world-vision is linked to the understanding
of specific natural phenomena. This world-vision together with the mag¬
ical knowledge grounded in it becomes the means of medical practice.
The world-vision itself arose in a way quite distinct from that of
theoretical knowledge. The universal linkage of all beings is supposed
to create a knowledge that, in the end, amounts to an illusion. This
illusion indulges itself in unfounded metaphysical assertions. It had been
radically rejected already by the contemporary empirical physicians of
the school of Hippocrates, whose methods were built by piling obser¬
vation upon observation.
4. Not a system
It would not be in keeping with Empedocles’ thought for him to design

a system, since the whole eludes cognition. It cannot be known to thinking
human beings because of their present condition. Hence the multiplicity
of aspects does not converge in a coherent whole. In his thinking, Em¬
pedocles beholds his visions, and in writing them down gives them their
particular order. They revolve around a center that is not fixed with
finality at any specific point, neither in the sphairos nor in the group of
six realities, the four roots and the two forces of love and strife.
Does Empedocles hint at something that is ultimately necessary and
reaches beyond all else? Why the progression of world-periods in this
sequence and these appearances? Why the guilt, which brings about
calamitous incarnations?
Empedocles does not respond to these questions, for he constructs
neither a system of Being nor a self-completing history of the fall and
salvation of the soul. But he touches upon its boundaries:
1) In the sphairos of love the mighty battle begins anew. Why? Be¬
cause “the time was fulfilled.that is laid down for each of them in turn
in a tightly bound sworn covenant” (30).
2) Four elements and two forces'constitute the aspects of the world.
But then, where is the ground of the whole, the one that orders and
rules them? Empedocles’ answer: They “are all equally strong and
equally ancient in their origin but each of them has a different function,
each its specific manner, and each in its turn gains ascendancy in the
revolution of time” (17). Expressed in political analogy: The world is
not a despotism of the One, but is engaged in a mutual, eternally ordained
battle of the powers that brings about an alternating predominance.
3) Why guilt? There is something universally valid that has no
further grounding, the contravening of which brings about guilt. “The
law valid for all stretches far throughout the widely dominant ether and
through the boundless light” (135).
These thoughts at the limit mean: All events in the world are guided
by an all-embracing law, which itself is not formulated but determines
when “time is fulfilled.” All fundamental forces are integrated into a
whole that assigns to each in turn its “office” in its time and does not
permit preeminence or domination by one of these forces. All action
on the part of the daimones is subject to judgment based on the all¬
permeating, all-present law.
Is guilt itself a necessary component in the totality of subordinate
necessities? True, we are told why it is to be judged as guilt, but not
why it has occurred. Is guilt built inescapably into necessity itself? Em¬
pedocles is silent.
5. Digression about asking questions
It seems that there is no end to the asking of questions. They have to

be asked, regardless of whether they are meaningful.
Nowadays it has become fashionable to ask and then not to give an
answer. This gives the appearance of thoroughness and depth, but ac¬
tually it is superficial and cheap: perhaps the expression of merely rational
empty schemata. It can be carried into indifferent infinity. One ought
not to set a limit to questioning, but the questioning itself can become
meaningless.
Whoever asks should also answer. This guideline would only be
inapplicable if the question is such that it excludes an answer, which
would apply to the ultimate question. With this question I touch the
limit where the question as such is an insight in view of the open horizon.
EMPEDOCLES 51
Is there such a question?

Does questioning cease here by means of a question?
In that case, the question would have to express the ultimate ground,
and thus cease to be a question, becoming the form of cognition itself.
Suclv an “ultimate question” would be possible only if everything
that is were to become present by it.
That would be the One through which everything exists. If the being
of the One is beyond question, then the question is “how is this One
possible?” and all that is further contained in this question. But then
the answer too becomes impossible.
What is the ultimate ground in the face of which all questioning
ceases or changes its meaning?
IV. THE DEITY, THE GODS, THE DIVINE
Nothing in Empedocles is untouched by divinity. In antiquity, his ex¬

planations of nature were called Nature hymns. The following forms of
divinity can be differentiated in his thinking:
The one all-pervading deity is like that of Xenophanes: “One cannot
bring the deity close enough to reach with our eyes or grasp it with our
hands” (133). “The deity does not possess a head and limbs similar to
those of humans. ... A spirit (phren hiere), a holy and inexpressible one,
moves there alone, one that rushes through the whole world edifice with
swift thoughts” (134).
Sphairos is discussed in a similar way. “The back does not sprout
two branches, nor feet, nor agile knees, nor members full of creative
energy; it was a sphere, rather, like to itself on all sides” (29).
The sphairos is not the spirit that rushes with its thoughts through
the world edifice, but the round complete Being of quietude in contrast
to the constant motion in the world.
The four roots and the two polar forces are also called gods. Em¬
pedocles names fire, air, earth, and water: Zeus, the shining one, and
Hera, the giver of life, as well as “Hades and Nestis, who, through her
tears, makes the fountains flow on earth” (6). Philia and Neifos are gods.
Philia is called Aphrodite; Neifos, Eris.
Sanctity surrounds the perduring powers: “The dictum of Necessity
(ananhe) is called divine decree” (115). Charis hates “hard-to-endure ne¬
cessity” (116).
The souls that have fallen into this world because of their guilt are
called daimones.
The universal sanctity of things, in all its gradations, in the free

movement of representations and thoughts about them, without any
conclusive rational order, corresponds to a basic trait of his Greek piety.
Everywhere, in all landscapes and <jll human configurations, it senses
this Something More. It objectifies the latter in mythic representations
and cult localizations. It is expressed in Thales’s statement: “All is full
of gods” (A22) and in that of Heraclitus, spoken from his cave: “Even
here there are gods” (A9).
V. EMPEDOCLES’ SELF-CONSCIOUSNESS
The early philosophers experienced thinking as it had never been ex¬

perienced before. To them it revealed the actual world. Overcome by
that experience, many confined their philosophic reflection in this sphere.
Others—Heraclitus and Parmenides—attained as individual thinkers
an overwhelming alienating self-consciousness. Empedocles’ self-
consciousness is of a different order. In worshiping the divine, he practices
moderation. Praying to the muse, he desires only such knowledge as is
granted to ephemeral man (whereas Parmenides wrests absolute truth
from the goddess). But Empedocles has his own way of self-consciousness:
“I go about among you as an immortal god, no longer a mortal, held
in honour by all [as is proper], crowned with fillets and flowing garlands.
When I come to them in their flourishing towns, to men and women,
I am honoured; and they follow me in thousands . . . some desiring
oracles, while others ask to hear a word of healing for their manifold
diseases . . .” (F112).
Thus Empedocles roams through the cities in the guise of prophet,
savior, physician. People take him to be what he purports to be. Does
he really consider himself an immortal god?
His way of thinking is: Like is known by like, the outside god is
recognized by the god in us, the daimon. He who achieves the highest
cognition becomes what he knows.
The bliss of philosophic cognition allowed him to sense that realm
out of which, guilt-laden, our daimon has fallen.
He was conscious of the great gap between his insight and that of
other men. He stands in the radiance of hf6 inventive powers, demon¬
strated in his ideas on nature, the grandeur of his cosmic vision, the
abundance of his poetic talents. His words—“. . . as if I were achieving
something great in that I surpass mortal men who are liable to many
forms of destruction” (Fi 13)—testify once more to and at the same time
EMPEDOCLES 53
temper a self-consciousness which is the echo of his powerful personal

influence.
Aside from the philosophical charlatans of late antiquity, such self¬
apotheosis is unique in the history of Greek philosophy. But antiquity
virtually never questioned Empedocles’ self-glorification. To thinkers of
those times it did not seem as monstrous as it does to us.
What appears to be mutually exclusive shows itself as equally real:
on the one hand, his modesty in addressing the muse; on the other, his
promise of the domination of nature through magic. Added to this was
the consciousness of the guilt-ridden, fallen daimon who knows that in
this respect he is not different from all other mortals, and the claim to
be more than man, to be a god. Empedocles has to be understood within
this tension.
VI. CRITICAL CHARACTERIZATION

AND HISTORICAL POSITION
Empedocles takes philosophy into the streets. He does not close himself
off from the multitudes in order to be with a few like-minded people.
“Democratically,” he addresses everybody. Crowds of enthusiasts follow
him. Let us consider his roles as political activist, as religious savior, as
helpful physician.
Politically, Empedocles did not become active as a statesman. He did
not participate in the founding of a polis. He did not establish a political
party, as was done by the Pythagoreans, who strove for government of
the polis, off and on with success, until a political catastrophe swept away
their regime.
Nor did Empedocles found an apolitical mystery religion. Though
his claim to be a savior is evident, he is also the lone individualist
unwilling to take upon himself the obligations of a founder. He proclaims
sophia as the road to salvation. This savior is himself a man steeped in
guilt and suffering like his fellowmen.
Being a physician, he wanted to help, but he did not join the scientific
and research-oriented medical community of the Hippocratics.
Empedocles was familiar with the great philosophical thought of his
predecessors: the Milesians, Pythagoras, Xenophanes, Parmenides, and
Heraclitus, as well as the religious movements. His thinking was influ¬
enced by an already developed philosophy. He was the first to summarize
a great inheritance through new fundamental ideas. These enabled him
to reconcile opposites, to accept nothing as absolute, but to assign each
view its proper place, as it were. The specific stringency peculiar to what
he appropriated was lost. The plasticity of a thinking open in all directions
was de facto repudiated, although Empedocles did not realize this. Par¬
menides’ thoughts about Being were; lost in the four ineradicable roots
and the sphairos, as was Xenophanes’ unconditional idea of God. The
religious movements ended in the individualization of a specific man.
Milesian-Ionian inquiry into nature disappeared in sketches which were
plausible but distractive. Empedocles is the poetizing philosopher who
cultivates many fields of expression and different impulses of faith.
Empedocles did not arrive on the scene as the late fruit of the priests
of purification and the soothsayers of the sixth century. In him operated
that mythic force which endures in the metaphysical attempts of phi¬
losophy. As itinerant savior, he performed miracles but absorbed them
into the continuity of philosophical self-consciousness. Renan said of
Empedocles that he was “Newton and Cagliostro” in one. But in his
mode of thinking he was in no way a precursor of Newton and not at
all a deceiver. Eduard Meyer called him “thinker and charlatan.”
“Thinker”—a well-chosen term if one knows what is to be understood
by it. But “charlatan”? The use of this word is incomprehensible in light
of Empedocles’ deep seriousness. It is comprehensible only as an out¬
growth of the modern scholar’s arrogance and lack of respect.
In Empedocles there operates the mythical mode of thinking that
absorbs the rational as its instrument. He carries out magical procedures,
which, in an undifferentiated way, make use of technical means. He has
visions that lack rational grounding, but also acknowledges ingenuous
discoveries and observations in nature, as well as rational mechanistic
explanations. In him is found an ever-recurring seduction: rationalized
mythical and magical thinking combined uncritically with cognition and
technique.
Aristotle speaks of Empedocles’ “clumsy manner of expression,” since
it lacks the clarity of logical deduction and does not correspond to
Aristotelian categories (.Metaphysics, 985a, 5ff). Conversely, this lack can
be interpreted favorably. In Empedocles, phenomena still emerge as the
language of eternal Being without being robbed of their mythic power
by logical-systematic thought. Wherever this happens they become empty
but gain, simultaneously, a false form of truth that fits them for doctrinal
and scholastic use. To the extent that later metaphysics has substance—
that is, considers, in its ideas, phenomena out of the ground of things
—it is closer, in its transformations, to self-interpreting and reinter¬
preting myth than to our science, which, from the standpoint of Aris¬
totelian philosophy, is pseudoscience.
EMPEDOCLES 55
The influence of Empedocles on his successors is considerable. The

magic of his poetry and his person inspired Lucretius, who counts him
among the wonders of Sicily: “ft has surely held nothing more glorious
than this man, nothing holier, nothing more wonderful, nothing more
precious/indeed, the songs that took shape in his divine breast proclaim
in ringing tones such glorious discoveries that he scarcely seems a scion
of mortal stock” (I, 729ff.).
Empedocles was frequently quoted in antiquity and by the Church
Fathers. Many found their own views, modes of thought, pictorial
sketches prefigured in him. His name continued to be mentioned up to
the Middle Ages.
Out of the various traditions, Holderlin fashioned the tragic figure
of a man who founders upon himself and then upon others. It is no
longer primal guilt that destroys him; rather, it is the entirely different
guilt of having elevated himself to divine stature and the guilt of having
used his—initially correct—cognition in order, sacrilegiously, to make
the forces of nature submit to his bidding. As a result of this guilt, the
priest and the head of state originally subservient to him gain material
ascendancy over the philosopher. The multitudes turn away from him
and toward other authorities. And he, who may despise them, atones
for his wretched emptiness far from God by his voluntary death in
Mount Etna.
Nietzsche oriented his youthful visions in the sphere of Empedocles
and later crystallized them under the name Zarathustra. Still later in
his career he wrote: “My ancestors Heraclitus, Empedocles, Spinoza,
Goethe.”
The four elements, the notion “like known to like,” the medical
terms sepsis, rheuma, all survived—anonymously—the passage of time.
His significance for us: He presents the image of the suprahuman
role to which philosophy could at one time lay claim through the person
of a philosopher. This role for philosophy has no place for a successor.
Empedocles could achieve such greatness only in an intellectual cli¬
mate still unenlightened by science and not yet arrived at encompassing
reason. At that time, savior figures could still hold their own without
radical falsehood or foolishness. Today such attitudes would be consid¬
ered mischief caused by esoteric circles or a minor matter on the part
of blindly enthusiastic crowds, both owing to people who are not equal
to what the intellectual situation of our age demands. We cannot turn
back the clock, either on our modern, scientific, methodically clear,
universal inquiry, or on the Kantian critique of reason.
The error of Empedocles’ claim to be a savior was an error in the
grand style, as was that of the dictatorship of thought in Heraclitus and

Parmenides, or the all-inclusive political planning of Plato. Their sub¬
stance of truth (if we subtract their errors), expressed with unrestrained
self-confidence, makes them imperishable. The Greek path from sophia
to philosophy, first pointed out and taken by Plato, ought never to be
forgotten.
What appears to us acceptable or even glorious in a historically
perceived existence becomes also, from the perspective that scans three
millennia at once, a reverse image that we cannot follow. Empedocles
can seduce us if, impressed by his greatness, we desire the garment still
possible in this day and age, or even wish to don it. But remember:
Empedocles infringed the limit. He forgot the boundaries set for man.
Only once could philosophy go astray in such a grandiose manner.
BRUNO
/
/
Editors’ Note
Giordano Bruno (1548-1600) was born into a noble family in Nola,

near Naples, and was educated by Augustinian monks. Ordained
a Dominican priest in 1575, he was soon charged with heresy and
left the order in 1576. During the following fifteen years, he wit¬
nessed the spreading effects of the Reformation as he taught and
studied at Oxford, in England, and at Marburg, Wittenberg, and
Frankfurt in the Germanies. His defiant views and flamboyant
conduct often caused him trouble with local authorities; he was
censured and driven out of both Catholic and Protestant precincts.
On returning to Italy in 1591, he was arrested in Rome and im¬
prisoned for seven years by the Inquisition. He was burned at the
stake in 1600, on charges of pantheism.
I. ORIENTATION IN INTELLECTUAL HISTORY:

MYTHICAL PHILOSOPHY OF NATURE
In the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries, man looked at nature with

renewed and lively interest, perceiving it as an independent actuality,
no longer as merely God’s revelation. Secular interest in the variety and
richness of natural phenomena came into play, and also the will to harness
them and thereby enhance the quality of human life.
But as yet there was no clear system of the various ways of com¬
prehending nature, hence no clear picture of the world. Mythical phi¬
losophy of nature, ancient and eternally present, undergoes a far-reaching
development; experience grows in the workshops of artists and techni¬
cians and has its greatest representative in Leonardo. Exact science is,
at most, intimated for a moment in its earliest stages but not yet com¬
prehended (its germ is theoretical abstraction, subsequently tested ex-
57
perientially and applied); only later will it find its clear and final
actualization in Kepler and Galileo.
The natural philosophy of the age is essentially mythical, but it
considers itself rightly to be experiential science. Its representatives keep
their eyes open, observe and collect ad infinitum, without, however, a
guiding principle: everything marvelous and curious, all inner experi¬
ences which we understand only psychologically and subjectively, such
as apparitions, are taken to be objective substance and treated as expe¬
rience. Whatever any persons active in a practical field report about their
sphere is quickly appropriated. Thus there evolves, to be sure, a great
difference in relation to a merely deductive mythic construction, an
abstract natural philosophy; but the mass of experience remains in chaos
and experience has not yet become critical in any way. It is not yet able
to separate actuality from appearance. It falls prey to any deception. It
does not know any methods of proof. Hence it combines with the endless
supply of individual items of actual and supposed knowledge a deductive
picture of the whole, or, rather, a vision developed a priori in concepts
and then filled in everywhere with that mass of material. This natural
philosophy gives an impression of richness and fullness through concrete
intuitions of personal experience as well as through the incorporation of
all myths and fairy tales. A mysterious life is shown to us in which poetic
abundance alternates with sterile discussions of concepts which are sup¬
posed to signify cognition. It is something which endures through the
millennia, does not progress, always seems new but is actually ancient.
The modes of observing nature are still intermingled here, which is
detrimental to the progress of cogent insight. Fantasy and opinion still
smother actual cognition, which as yet cannot be differentiated from it.
This separation will occur later. But there persists the idea of a synthesis
without intermingling; the question remains whether mythic natural
philosophy is totally meaningless or what its meaning is. For this reason
it has reawakened time and again up to the present, most effectively in
Schelling and his school. To this day no such synthesis has been found.
Instead, so far only two alternatives proved to be possible: As a distinct
feature of the great and successful achievement of disciplined, truly
scientific cognition mythic natural philosophy has been completely set
aside by modern science. Or it has been reconstituted as a mere opposition
to modern science, fantastic and uncritical, romantic and ineffectual.
When we consider the natural philosophy of the Renaissance, we come
to know a world which poses problems that may concern us even today.
It is a world of thoughts and intuitions, coherent in itself, which as a
creation of the human spirit deserves to be brought to our knowledge.
BRUNO 59
II. A PHILOSOPHER IN THE GRAND MANNER
With Bruno we return to a philosopher in the grand manner.

His life was a struggle for purity and nobility, a battle that he finally
won in afi unexpected manner.
He hated neither mankind nor the world. All he did was to develop,
in grandiose solitude, the positive nature of his worldview, a love for
the universe as the infinitely beautiful configuration of the divinity, and
his philosophical enthusiasm.
Seven years of incarceration and constant moral coercion could not
force him to recant his philosophy.
Almost all his ideas derive from Plato, Plotinus, and mysticism. What
is new is the momentum which impels these ideas in Bruno: his genuine
struggle in failure, his humanity in the most exalted demands as well
as in the recognition of what is unachieved, his turn to the sensuously
concrete and toward the world while soaring toward transcendence.
I confess that in my student days his Eroici Furori, next to Dante’s
Vita Nuova, awakened essential impulses in me, though the truth to be
found there is not present in a pure and identically repeatable form. But
something unforgettable speaks here to us in a historical garment, that
arises out of the depth.
III. PHILOSOPHY BECOME RELIGION
The pervasive impetus is not a logical proposition, but philosophy become

religion.
Bruno was filled with an enthusiastic new philosophical spirit that
ran counter to the scholasticism that dominated the universities of his
day, counter to the ecclesiastical institutions, whether Catholic, Calvinist,
or Lutheran. Gazing in wonder at the Copernican picture of the world
and what it implies, Bruno proclaimed the infinity of the world and the
countlessness of the solar systems.
At his trial, he recklessly endeavored to save himself by way of an
ambiguity: applying the doctrine of the twofold truth, he offered to
submit to all doctrines of the Church, return repentantly to its bosom;
but abjure his philosophy—that he would not do.
Enthusiastically, he drew the consequences: For him, the act of re¬
demption by the Son of God, His crucifixion and resurrection were no
longer the unique pivotal point of universal history, but a fleeting guest
performance in insignificant places, repeated on one star after another.
6o Piety toward the World
This blasphemy reveals the religiously questionable nature of a doctrine

that ejects the earth from its central position in the world.
Bruno’s “pantheism” is not unequivocal. In contrast to completely
consistent pantheists, he upholds Gdd’s transcendence, at least at certain
points, and allows a theology of revelation to subsist alongside philosophy.
His thinking is metaphysical; he takes nature, and especially the
cosmos as a universe of stars, as his guide. Decisive for him are: the
divinity; man’s ascension through love (eros and cosmos in their ancient
conjunction, but now with a new, human imprint); the truth of his
religion, into which his philosophy increasingly turns, up until his death
as a martyr.
With him, and for the first time, the relationship of philosophy to
Church and theology became for a philosopher a question of life and
death. But this, with all its consequences, did not become wholly and
fundamentally clear to Bruno until the very last.
IV. THE NEW ATTITUDE TOWARD

CHURCH AND THEOLOGY
Giordano Bruno is the first modern philosopher, in the sense that, at

the end, he took his stand consciously, wholly, and exclusively on phi¬
losophy; philosophy, for him, is not merely an intellectual exercise but
something that animates him completely with fiery enthusiasm.
From now on, theology and the Church are no longer the obligatory
background that, more or less effectively, more or less undecidedly,
remains sanctuary or guidance; rather, an alternative had been put for¬
ward, proved itself and was sealed by martyrdom.
For Bruno, philosophy had become his religion; it was sufficient unto
itself. Not only did he dispense with the Church, but also he affirmed
the truth of philosophy in sacrificial death, and in rejection of Christ’s
divinity at the stake in the face of death, and in prophetic awareness.
What do we mean by this?
i) It was not Bruno who raised the question; it was the Church.
Only under the pressure, the blackmail and demands of the Inquisition,
were things clarified in Bruno’s mind.
Bruno did not abandon his earlier position, that is, God’s inacces¬
sibility to reason, the meaning of a theology based on a possible revelation.
In practice, it had not meant much to him before, and was important
only for setting limits. Now it no longer mattered at all. He did not
need it; he was certain of the truth out of the philosophical origin into
BRUNO 61
which the profound philosophic contents of the Bible—the concept of

God—had entered as a matter of course and no longer required specific
revelation.
Bruno did not want to fight against Church or theology as a matter
of principle; even later, the meaning of his philosophy did not demand
this fundamental denial. But it did demand that he maintain the in¬
dependent origin of the consciousness of and relationship to God.
Only one thing was determined: When Church and theology act
intolerantly, demand exclusivity of truth and—as they will do whenever
they have the power—want to obtain this exclusivity by force, there is
a point of resistance in man. With God as his ally, he resists such human
presumption, stands up against brute force and for freedom of thought
and speech.
2) To this day the true significance of the Church’s actions—seven
years of torture of this noble man, culminating in his murder clothed
in the mantle of justice—is still debated: Is it a mistake by the Church
(attributable to the nature of the times, fateful to be sure, but not crucial
overall), an error with grave consequences but none that were ruinous
for the Church, an error that the Church itself regrets? Or are these
acts revelatory of what must ensue when a human organization able to
exert power and force raises the claim of exclusivity?
This matter—an extraordinary and complex problem—need not be
discussed here; we have only to see in the historical context that Bruno’s
death was to become a symbol of the first order, the first summit of a
movement that drew ever-widening circles in the seventeenth century
and became evident to the priests in the frightening, unconcealable fact
that so many morally pure men and women no longer felt the need, at
the hour of their death, of the consolations of the Church; indeed, refused
them.
3) This report of Bruno’s teachings and philosophy must rest on
those of his writings which predate his great decision. The rejection of
theology was not integral to his philosophy; most likely it was forced
on him as a consequence of the situation.
V. THE SINGING FIGHTER
Bruno’s writings are voluble, repetitive, full of contradictions. They do

not form a coherent system, and lack an aura of clear intelligibility. No
clear logical method, no principle, no systematic form prevails. They are
rhetorical. He was the typical singing fighter and not an accomplisher.
His writings reveal an awareness of his shortcomings, alongside the

exuberance of the knower. •
They exhibit an overpowering stimulation by the momentary
thought, an overflowing of words ^nd phrases, a joy in metaphor and
in the collection of metaphors and recollections from his readings in
philosophy. He does not cognize; he unburdens himself.
This thinking is a remembering and awakening, an illuminating and
urging onward, but it is not a knowing. It renders possible the re¬
cognizing of what is known, but not a new learning of what is unknown.
Bruno operates throughout with inherited concepts, which he brings
together, interprets in an original manner, and unites in a great stream,
by limiting himself to Existenz. “Subjectivity” and “individual person”
are inappropriate terms here, since both terms are overcome within the
movement he encounters. But he neglects the objectivity of the concepts,
which in the end he needs for his interpretation. He is different in nature
from Plato and Augustine. Seen superficially, he is essentially psycho¬
logical in his manner of expression and goal orientation.
A comprehensive philosophy, all-pervasive truth, hence the unity of
all philosophies—this is Bruno’s basic position, though held instinctively,
naively, neither methodically nor consciously.
VI. THE VISION OF THE INFINITE UNIVERSE
In Bruno there is a pervasive affinity with the thoughts of Cusanus.

Although in the latter everything remains symbol—for example, the
infiniteness of the world is a symbol for the true infiniteness of God—
in Bruno there is secularization of this thought.
There is no new thought, but, rather, appropriations, in the flow of
thought, without precise methodological differentiation. It is the vision
of being swept away into the All, expressed in the ancient supreme
speculation of all ages. In this vision, God and the world, Being and
symbol are taken as one, only to be separated again in thought.
What is decisive is the thought of infinity; not as mathematical
problem, but as actuality of the universe. Logical and cosmological prob¬
lems still coincide undifferentiated. In Cusanus, symbol of the true in¬
finity of God; in Bruno, the infinity of the universe is itself God.
The world is the necessary explication of the deity. (Herein lies the
antithesis to Cusanus.) What is the relation between world and GodP
There is neither emanation nor creation; no unitary, final formula. Re-
BRUNO 63
lation of the One to multiplicity, of transcendence to immanence, of the

eternal to the temporal remains varied and vague; Bruno constantly
wrestles with it. And yet, there is always the idea that the relation of
God to world is that of necessity. Potentiality and actuality converge in
God. Thgrd is nothing in God that, unfolded, does not exist in the world
as effect.
God and nature—the world and the worlds—flow into one. It is as
though the animate universe replaced God. The categories in which God
was thought speculatively serve to think the entirety of the world.
Not specific cognition, but the worldview satisfactory to him—
infinity, the whole, movement of an earth become tiny, and the grandiose
picture of the infinite universe.
Tremendous upheaval of the whole worldview and consciousness of
Existenz [through Copernicus]: In proceeding from the rejection of im¬
mediate appearance, the ground was lost, the heavens, the secureness.
From this upheaval arose the freedom of reason, ethical self-awareness,
enthusiasm. In this groundlessness, Bruno cultivated pantheism.
This is a philosophy of nature and a turn of mind; it is not an insight,
nor is it related to exact scientific investigation that leads from Copernicus
to Kepler and Galilei.
VII. HEROIC LOVE
There is a doctrine corresponding to the contemplative vision of the

universe, the doctrine of active behavior, of a sequence of stages of
surrender to the universe, a widening of the self to participation in the
infinite universe. This is the true religion of the few heroic natures. The
transposition of man from the anthropocentric standpoint of the way
things seem to the senses into the cosmocentric one is merely one side
of the revolution; the other one is a revolution in the religious-ethical
realm. By relating to the divine universe, the false demands on the divine
order are made to disappear, demands that stem from the longings of
the individual who wants to become eternal in his duration. “The phi¬
losopher, the artist and the heroic man are one for him and one in him.”1
The infinite upward movement is the ultimate that man can attain
in this world divided by opposites. In the case of heroic love, what
matters is not possession but this movement, disposition and passion.
1 Wilhelm Dilthey, Weltanschauung und Analyse des Menschen seit Renaissance und Reformation,
Gesammelte Schriften. Leipzig, Berlin, B. Teubner, 1921, II, 340-41.
Somehow the lover reaches the goal at each moment, yet remains in
motion. He always lives in,vital concrete configurations, but is always
urged beyond them, onward on the ladder into the infinite.
The infinite end of taking hold 6»f the object with love is the mystical
union. Bruno reminds us explicitly of the teachings of Plotinus and the
mystics.
The mark of heroic love is self-sacrifice, being consumed, and not
merely putting oneself at risk.
Thus the One in the lover and the One in the beloved give structure
and hierarchy to beings. The enthusiastic attitude contains a “sense of
the One” that goes beyond all rational assumptions of a monistic kind.
It is the root, the “Nothing” of the striving for unity—so empty in its
rational formulation—which is no longer a “monistic prejudice” but the
power of enthusiasm and love. This unity recurs in all realms of love;
in sexual love it receives its most concrete and paradoxical configuration.
What matters is the intention, determination, and decision that turn
the soul toward the One and toward the ultimate goal.
For enthusiasm itself contains unity. It is creative in the genius.
VIII. CRITICAL APPRECIATION
Bruno’s originality may be schematized under these captions:

1) Vision of the world, nature, and God: here he is the source of all
modern pantheism.
2) The experience and doctrine of heroic madness, of enthusiastic
love.
3) Abstract thoughts about the minimum, about the monas, strongly
influenced by Cusanus, but not the vehicle for further development of
dialectic.
The mark of Bruno’s greatness: an early feeling for the “exception,”
sense and experience of the pathological, helpless stumbling in the rush
of exaltation, love of reason and tranquillity, inner strife, excessiveness;
all this while living in historic, existential groundlessness, wandering,
exposing, and sacrificing himself.
However, there are also these reservations:
1) His blindness for the “theologia crucis.”
2) His prescientific condition—in accordance with the age, as yet no
scientific cast of mind.
3) His lack of precision, his verbosity, a baroque exuberance.
Tranquillity without Transcendence
EPICURUS
\
" , - *
\
EPICURUS
i
/
INTRODUCTION
Epicurus and Epicureanism occupy a unique position in the history of

philosophy. A special distinction was bestowed on Epicurus: almost all
philosophical schools, although battling fiercely among themselves, were
unanimous in their opposition to him, the wrong-headed man. For the
Skeptics, he was a dogmatic fool. Christianity, taking its cue from the
Greek philosophies, excluded him. The usual opinion, current since
antiquity though refuted over and over again, is that Epicurus is the
godless teacher of a life of unbridled pleasure-seeking, for whom sensual
pleasure is the greatest bliss and who knows nothing beyond material
things. Hence Horace, himself strongly influenced by Epicurus (that is,
by what Epicurus genuinely stood for), could call himself, ironically, “a
pig of Epicurus’ herd” (.Epistolae, I, 4).
It is also noteworthy that Epicurus and his disciples evinced some¬
thing in their lives and attitudes that is analogous to religion. Whereas
the other philosophic schools underwent changes in the course of the
centuries, examined their traditional doctrines, and brought forth new
independent thinkers, Epicurean doctrine always remained faithful to
itself. No new, original Epicurean thinker came forward. The ancient
Epicurean circles of friends held together like religious sects. Epicurus
was the inviolable personal ideal to be revered and followed.
LIFE AND WORKS
Epicurus (342-270 b.c.), the son of an Athenian, was born on the island
of Samos. When, after completing his military service in Athens, he
wanted to return home, the Athenians had been driven off Samos. His
father had fled to Colophon, and he followed him there.
He declared himself to be a self-taught philosopher. He did not
belong to any philosophical school but was well-versed in the writings
67
68 Tranquillity without Transcendence
of Democritus. The only Athenian among all the heads of academies

active in Athens at the time, he remained aloof from the sphere of
influence of great Athenian philosophy. He had no understanding what¬
soever of either Plato or Aristotle. N
Circa 310, he founded his academy in Mytilene, then moved it to
Lampsakos (all of his influential students come from these two cities)
and in 306 to Athens. There he bought a piece of land, his “garden,”
where he would teach. In accordance with his testament, this garden
remained the site of his school for generations.
The academy consisted of a circle of friends who, in a communal
spirit, centered their lives on the course set by Epicurus’ teaching. Slaves,
women, and hetaerae were allowed to participate. It was a self-selecting
community, not aiming at mass influence, an aristocracy of the spirit
and not of birth.
The school was founded, for all time, on the sole and unique per¬
sonality of the Master. He was said to have been sickly from childhood.
His mode of life was austere, his food simple. His concern for his friends
and their children is evident from his extant testament.
It is said that he retained his capacity for happiness, attained by
means of his philosophy, right up to his death. His last letter, to a friend,
states: “On this truly happy day of my life which is also my last, I write
these lines to you. Strangury and dysentery have afflicted me, with pain
that transcends all imaginable bounds. But against all this is the joy in
my heart as I remember my conversation with you. Do, as I expect it
from you, provide for the children of Metrodorus, in accordance with
the affectionate regard you have shown for me and for philosophy from
boyhood on” (Diog. Laert., X, 22). A disciple said about him: “Epicurus’s
life, when compared to that of other men, might in regard to generosity
and self-sufficiency be thought a legend” (Fragments, B36).1
Epicurus wrote approximately three hundred scrolls, one of the most
voluminous corpora by philosophers of antiquity. Only the titles and a
few remains of this output have come down to us, among them letters,
collections of maxims, and fragments of larger writings. These remains
were collected and interpreted by philologists and give us a relatively
complete picture of his thought. The writings deal with nature, cognition,
ethics. The letters he addressed to his friends are also counted among
his works. Didactic letters were one of the fnain forms of his philosophical
intercourse.
1 The Fragments of Epicurus are cited in accordance with Cyril Bailey’s numbering. Where
his translations are used, the numbers or titles are preceded by a B.
EPICURUS 69
SURVEY
1. The point of departure of his philosophy. The fundamental question for

Epicurus is: What is happiness (eudaimonia) for individual man? His
answer: Pleasure (hedone). He finds the proof for pleasure’s being the
highest good in the fact that we enjoy it from birth, whereas by nature
we revolt against suffering (N198).2
All of late antique and Christian philosophy wrestles with the ques¬
tion of what matters most to man. What constitutes the greatest good
(summum bonum), after the blissful life (1vita beata)? Question and answer
meet widely differing interpretations and solutions out of a deeper source.
Peculiar to Epicurus is the radical realization of his answer: Happiness
(1eudaemonia) lies in pleasure (hedone).
But the fact that the fundamental question comprises the meaning
of all of philosophy, that it is a matter of attaining to bliss, makes
philosophy man’s most urgent, constant concern: “Whoever says that
the age for philosophy has not yet come or is already past is like the
man who says that the age for happiness is not yet come to him or has
passed away” (B, Letter to Menoikeus).
2. Why the query about happiness? Because man stands squarely within
misfortune. He lives in disquiet, anxiety, and fear and often in bodily
pain. Misfortune has three causes: first, the belief in gods whose intentions
and acts interfere in the world and in our life and who are unpredictable
in the way they care for us; second, false ideas about death and what
will come after; third, the needs and the suffering of our bodily existence.
Fear of the gods, fear of death, and bodily pain constitute the misfortune
that must be overcome.
Philosophy intends to demonstrate that the fear of the gods is ground¬
less, that the fear of death is based on wrong ideas, that pain can have
no effect on the happiness of the soul. In this way philosophy demon¬
strates the remedy for the threefold misfortune; in the first place, “one
does not have to be afraid before god or the gods”; second, “death means
absence of sensation and hence is nothing to us”; third, “the good
can be obtained easily, the bad can be borne with ease” (N220). If this
third point is counted as two separate ones, we have the so-called tetra-
pharmakpn (the fourfold remedy) of Epicurean philosophy.
3. Comparison of philosophy with medicine. It was traditional in ancient
Greece to compare philosophy, the remedy for the soul, with medicine.
2 References preceded by N are to Wilhelm Nestle.

jo Tranquillity without Transcendence
Democritus drew this corirparison, as did Socrates and Plato. It played

the greatest role in- Stoicism. Medicine cures the ills of the body; phi¬
losophy liberates the soul from the passions. Hence Epicurus says: The
philosopher “whose words do not Heal any human passions is an empty
windbag. For just as medicine is useless if it does not rid the body of
disease, philosophy is useless, too, if it does not liberate the soul from
passion” (N210-11).
4. Survey. First we have to show what is meant by saying that hap¬
piness is pleasure. Then we must ask what has to be done in order to
achieve genuine pleasure. What must I know, in order to be happy,
about the world, the soul, the gods, the nature of death? How can I act
properly toward my body and its drives?
Further, we have to demonstrate the nature and meaning of cognition
and the cognitive life and what constitutes freedom.
And finally, we have to show how the philosophic actualization of
life is put into practice and to sketch out the ideal of the sage.
1. WHAT IS PLEASURE?
a) We call happiness (eudaimonia) the life of a man that has turned out
well, is in harmony with itself, is present in every moment and as a
whole. Epicurus’ fundamental question is: How does this happiness come
about? His answer: Through pleasure (,hedone).
In order to comprehend the way of salvation and to understand the
thesis that happiness lies in pleasure, we must know what Epicurus
means by “pleasure.”
b) Pleasure is baseless. It is the pure consciousness of existence as
such. Pleasure, as such, is always present but under cover and interfered
with. Hence it cannot be brought about, but can only be liberated and
restored.
For this reason pleasure is determined by negatives: freedom from
displeasure, absence of pain (alypia). “We feel a need for pleasure only
when, due to its absence, we experience pain. But if we do not feel pain,
pleasure is not needed any longer, either” (Letter to Menoikeus). Thus
the greatest pleasure does not lie, for example, in the strong, overpower¬
ing pleasure of intoxication, which is never pure, but carries displeasure
with it or has it as a consequence. Pleasure is to be increased only to the
point where pain is dissolved. It cannot rise to a higher degree.
c) As soon as pleasure has reached the point where displeasure ceases,
EPICURUS
7i
it assumes various forms by manifesting itself not only in repose but also
in motion. “Serenity of the soul and the absence of pain are quiet pleasure
experiences. For joy, on the other hand, and for gaiety motion is the
distinguishing characteristic” (Diog. Laert., X, 136). Serenity of the soul
is motionless stillness; bodily pleasure is pleasure in motion. Serenity of
soul flourishes and is grounded in the appropriate manner in which these
motions take place. Bodily pleasure is precious as such; it is essential for
the pleasure of the painless serenity of soul. Epicurus expresses this quite
boldly: “I know not how I can conceive the good if I withdraw the
pleasures of taste and withdraw the pleasures of love and those of hearing
and withdraw the pleasurable emotions caused to sight by beautiful form”
(B123).
“The beginning and the root of all good is the pleasure of the stomach;
even wisdom and culture must be referred to it” (B135). “The stable
condition of well-being in the body and the sure hope of its continuance
holds the fullest and surest joy for those who can rightly calculate it”
(B123).
d) However, bodily pleasure too is a state of the soul, and its purity
is serenity. Bodily pleasure also becomes serenity in borderline cases:
“Nothing so gladdens the soul naturally and nothing puts it into a state
of tranquillity akin to an ocean becalmed as does bodily pleasure either
present or anticipated” (N206).
Pure serenity of the soul is much more than mere bodily pleasure.
The state of the soul in this serenity is called imperturbability (ataraxia),
effortlessness (aponia), self-sufficiency (autarJêia). “Just as one under¬
stands, when one speaks of the stillness of the ocean, that not even the
faintest breeze ripples the waters, so does the state of the soul appear
serene and still when all disturbance ceases that might excite it.” Once
this state has been achieved it is master over the body and also a match
for physical pain. The high value ascribed to the pleasure and pain of
the body seems to be changed into its neutralization: “The sage is happy
even when he is being tortured and he moans and laments” (N211).
e) He still retains the pleasure of remembering. “We are all un¬
grateful toward the past insofar as we do not recall all the good that we
have received, whereas, after all, no pleasure is more certain than one
that cannot be taken from us any more” (N206).
But all life is lived in the present. The future is uncertain. What
matters is the present moment and hence the enduring philosophic stance
that always takes hold of what is present as the actual and certain. Horace,
the poet attuned to Epicureanism, expressed this in two words: carpe
diem! Every day, at every moment pluck the fruit that life holds out to
you {Odes, I, 11, 8).-
f) Pleasure is the absolute: Since it is not grounded in something
else, it cannot be questioned further. Since it is always present, it is
timeless. Therefore, it is a matter of indifference how long it lasts,
whether for one moment, a short or a long lifetime.
Because pleasure is the absolute, it is the state of the gods. Hence
mortals who achieve the freedom of their pleasure are akin to gods.
Gods and men differ in that gods possess the perfect purity of painless
pleasure and possess it for a long stretch of time.
Philosophy “transports us into a godlike mood and lets us discover
that, in spite of our mortality, we need not fall short of the immortal
and blissful nature of the gods. For as long as we are alive we are happy
just like the gods” (Diogenes of Oinoanda; N294). “The flesh cries out
to be saved from hunger, thirst, and cold. For if a man possess this safety
or hopes to possess it, he might rival even Zeus in his happiness” (Frag¬
ments, B33).
2. WHAT MUST WE DO TO ACHIEVE PURE PLEASURE?
If pleasure is recognized as “the first innate good” (Letter to Menoikeus)

and regaining it to be our goal, then all of man’s thinking and striving
will direct itself to that which is already there, ever ready, present at
every moment, if only it is liberated. The road toward salvation runs
through philosophy, that is, first, through the proper knowledge of the
universe, the actual worlds, of men and gods (liberation from fear of
the gods); second, through apprehending the nature of death (liberation
from fear of death); third, through a sensible attitude toward the body
and its needs (liberation from the constraints of corporeal existence).
Three paths:
A. Proper cognition of the universe, Being and the worlds,

of the soul, of the gods
1) The unwerse (Being and the worlds). Democritus’ theory of atoms

supplied Epicurus with his all-governing view. There are atoms and the
void. They alone are constant, eternal, did not become, are indestructible.
In a large opus used as a basic text in his academy (the thirty-seven
EPICURUS 73
books on nature), Epicurus worked out in great detail the theory of

atoms. The universe, to him, appears like this:
There are atoms and the void. Nothing can come from nothing.
What is cannot become nothing. If it could dissolve into nothing, all
things woilld have perished already. But the universe exists, whereas
everything in it comes to be and passes away, is formed out of the atoms,
and dissolves again into the atoms, which alone are immortal.
The universe has always been the way it is now and always will be
that way. The atoms are constantly in motion. There is no beginning
and no end.
The universe is boundless. Nothing beside it exists. It cannot be
viewed in comparison with another universe. In this universe there are
countless worlds. The infinite number of atoms has not been used up
on one world, or on a limited number of worlds.
Individual worlds come and go. One of these worlds is our world.
It is a section cut out of infinity, an internally cohesive part embracing
the stars, the earth, and everything that is visible to us. In the dying
worlds and in the interstices between the worlds, new ones come into
being out of the whirling motion of the atoms, by chance.
Perhaps the boundary of our world is something that is in the process
of change, or perhaps it is standing still; perhaps its outline is round, or
triangular, or has some other shape. All this is possible, since none of
the phenomena in this world allow us to recognize its boundaries. “That
such worlds are infinite in number we can be sure, and also that such
a world may come into being both inside another world and in an
interworld, by which we mean a space between worlds; it will be in a
place with much void . . .” (B, Letter to Pythokles).
The other worlds are in part similar to ours, in part dissimilar. We
have to assume that there are living beings as well as plants in all worlds.
2) The soul. The soul is corporeal, but in a special way. Embedded
in the aggregation of atoms that forms the organism are the most delicate
atoms of all, comparable to suffusion by a warm breeze. A part of these
atoms is still more delicate; it is manifest in feelings and in the excitation
by thoughts. When we lose that part of ourselves, we die.
That the soul is corporeal is proven by the fact that it is able to act
or be acted on and can suffer only by means of motion, for only bodies
possess motion.
The soul has perception. Something from the external world enters
into us which the soul comes to meet and thus brings about perception.
“. . . the soul possesses the chief cause of perception: yet it could not
have acquired perception unless it were in some way enclosed by the

rest of the structure” (B39, Letter to Herodotus). Perception is possible
only with the whole of the structure, with the organs of the body. The
soul-atoms by themselves would lack the ability to perceive.
What enters into us from the exterior world are “contours of solid
bodies whose delicacy, however, surpasses by far that of the visible
objects” (N169). These contours (or impressions) are called pictures (ei-
dola). They are continuously flowing from the surface of the bodies. This
emission is a motion as rapid as thought. The continuity of this emission
constitutes the depth, density, and corporeality of perception.
Pictures, however, do not reach us merely by way of our sense organs.
Space is full of infinitely multitudinous images, which reach us individ¬
ually, but lack density and corporeality and become visible to us in our
dreams. These pictures, floating freely in space, are fragmented or com¬
bine fragments into strange configurations that do not correspond to any
visible object. All this is a natural process in dreams. Dreams lack a
divine nature or prophetic meaning. There is no reason to be frightened
by them.
The pictures do not make us perceive what is in itself, that is, the
atoms, but merely the aggregations of atoms. These do not possess the
attributes of visible objects except for size, shape, and weight. Here
the difference lies only in the small size of the atoms, which, for this
reason, can never be perceived, but stand in the same relation to each
other, because of size and shape, as do visible objects. The essential
difference between atoms and visible objects consists in the fact that the
former are unchangeable, whereas the latter are subject to constant
change.
Thus sensory perception remains the guide to the representation, in
thought, of the atoms. Certain modes of this perception, that is, optical
ones in regard to size and shape, and haptic ones as regards resistance,
have priority.
3) The gods. If the universe of the worlds is nothing other than the
eternal play of atoms, then, it would seem, there are no gods. But Epicurus
by no means denies their existence. He knows what they are. They do
not live in any of the worlds, but between the worlds (in the metakpsmia,
intermundia). There they originated out of the most sublime atoms.
Their images (eidola) move, like other eidola, through space with the
speed of thought. They have assumed human form. They appear to the
people of all nations in their dreams. “The first human beings thus had
an idea of imperishable natural beings” (N185).
Although Epicurus conforms to the testimony of all peoples as regards
EPICURUS 75
the existence of the gods, he differs in regard to their nature. Most people
harbor a false picture of the gods. “For gods there are. . . . But they are
not such as the many believe them to be.” When accused of godlessness,
Epicurus replies: “And the impious man is not he who denies the gods
of the mdny, but he who attaches to the gods the beliefs of the many”
(B83, Letter to Menoikeus).
For the philosopher, the following perceptions of the gods are of
decisive import:
First: The gods are immortal and blissful beings. They do not con¬
cern themselves with human beings. They become known to men
through their eidola and man’s thinking about them. If the gods were
to concern themselves with the world and men, this would be inconsistent
with their life of sublime bliss and draw them into pain and care. Their
perfect blissful tranquillity would be disturbed.
Therefore all fear of the gods is groundless. “One must not let man
continue to believe that God is the cause of either his injury or his
advantage” (N185).
Second: The world was not created by gods, for it is full of wicked¬
ness and in this state would be unworthy of a god. Nor is it altogether
bad; rather, it is full of instances of beauty, and was not by any means
brought forth by a devil. It has come about through chance and necessity,
and happened through the motion of atoms; thus it is comprehensible
in principle in its very detail.
A god cannot have created the world. Why should he have done so?
Why should there be something novel? Was he bored? Or for the sake
of man? But man had not yet appeared on the scene, and the world
today displays so much calamity and menace for man and indifference
toward him that it cannot have been created for his sake.
If God were involved with the world, we would have to ask, in view
of all the badness and evil in it: Does God want to liberate the world
of its ills (the bad, the evil), but is unable to do so, or is he able but not
willing, or neither of the two? If he wants to and is unable, he is weak,
which is not in his nature. If he is able and unwilling, then he is envious
(malevolent), which is alien to God. If he neither wants to nor is able
to, then he is both malevolent and envious, hence again not God. If he
is willing and able, which is proper only to God, then why do these ills
exist? Why does he not do away with them? Answer: Because the world
does not exist through God, nor does he rule over it. It exists out of
itself and is left to its own devices. By its very state, the actual world
proves that God or gods have nothing to do with it.
Third: The gods live effortlessly, without work, without passions.
76
Exertions necessary to man, be it labor or statesmanship, are alien to

them. They are the image qf eternal bliss; the sage attains happiness by
keeping this image before his mind’s eye. He sees in it the state he
himself desires to reach and is able>to reach. He venerates the gods not
because he seeks their aid or is fearful of them, but because contemplation
of their glory is fitting for him and furthers him.
Fourth: The world is free of God. The stars, the tranquillity and
regularity of their orbit in the heavens—this cosmos is neither god nor
divine. We must not believe “that what is merely the coalescence of fire
possesses bliss and assumes these motions according to its own will.”
Rather, we have to “assume that at the time when these vortices originally
were spun off, when the world came to be, this necessity and these
regular orbits too were perfected at the same time” (Letter to Herodotus).
The “world free of God” is one of the great fundamental conceptions
that can exert their rule over man.
B. Proper insight into death
“We are born once and cannot be born twice and life must come to an
end” (N215; Fragments, 14). The inevitability of death causes fear. But
whoever cannot find peace as he contemplates death cannot find peace
at all. Insight into the nature of death can be helpful.
1) What is death? In death the soul-atoms also are dispersed. Then
the soul, a combination of the finer soul-atoms with the organism, ceases
to be stimulated and to convey sensations. It is unthinkable that soul-
atoms are capable of feeling without organs, and organs to feel without
being part of the whole living organism. Only because the soul is enclosed
by the organism can it feel and operate, can it remember and have
consciousness.
To achieve Epicurean tranquillity, a crucial insight is necessary: With
the death of the body, the soul too passes out of existence; there is no
“after death” for the soul. This insight, once accepted, does away with
the questioning anxiety over whether nothingness is truly nothing.
The Epicurean Philodemos writes: A corpse has no feeling. The
corpse left behind after death does not contain my soul. To mistreat it
means “to mistreat mute earth” (N245). There is no difference whether
we lack sensation above or below the earth, whether we are devoured
by fishes, eaten by worms or maggots, or destroyed by fire; in each
instance we are equally insensate.
2) The consequence of this insight: Death “is nothing to us” because
what does not feel does not concern us. And it is nothing to us since
EPICURUS
77
“so long as we exist, death is not with us; but when death comes, then
we do not exist. It does not then concern either the living or the dead”
(B85, Letter to Menoikeus). There is nothing dreadful inherent in not
being alive.
It is dnfy this understanding “that makes the mortality of life en¬
joyable” (B85, Letter to Menoikeus). The wonderful thing is that I am
alive. I no longer yearn for immortality.
3) The lives of fools are wrong because they do not achieve clarity
regarding death. They neglect what there is in the present because they
are thinking about the tomorrow over which they have as yet no control.
They are consumed by vacillation and “die” in the midst of their active
lives. Now they flee death as the greatest of evils, now they seek it in
their flight from the evils of life. “It is ridiculous to throw oneself into
the arms of death because one is tired of living” (N208). “Yet much
worse still is the man who says it is good not to be born” (B87 and
Letter to Menoikeus).
4) How different the life of the sage! He neither scorns life nor fears
its cessation. He loves life.
“And just as with food he does not seek simply the larger share, but
instead the most pleasant, so he seeks to enjoy not the longest period of
time, but the most pleasant.” When he thinks of the future he is mindful
“that it is neither ours nor yet wholly not ours, so that we may not
altogether expect it as sure to come nor abandon hope of it if it will
certainly not come” (B85, 87, Letter to Menoikeus).
Metrodorus, a personal disciple of Epicurus, expresses the triumph
of the philosopher over death: “I have anticipated you, chance . . . we
shall not submit to being your prisoner nor that of any kind of circum¬
stance. But when it is time for us to leave we shall scorn life and those
who cleave to it in vain. We shall make our exit with a beautiful hymn
of praise, proclaiming how well we have lived our lives” (Fragments,
B47; Metrodorus, No. 222). The Epicurean Philodemus (first century
b.c.) gives this description of the sage’s attitude toward death: It is
impossible for death to pounce upon the wise man suddenly, like an
enemy. He knows that man is a creature that lives for a day, for whom
not only the tomorrow but even the next moment is shrouded in darkness.
He will not consider the timing of his death unreasonable or unexpected,
but will deem it miraculous should he live to an old age. He who has
become inwardly independent “counts each individual day as if he had
gained an eternity.” He accepts “every accretion of time like an unex¬
pected stroke of luck and is accordingly grateful for the course of things”
(N251). He breathes his last, when death comes, “in the knowledge that
7»
he has enjoyed everything and will now enter a state of complete absence
of feeling” (N252). ' .
C. Discerning attitude toward the body and its drives
The Epicurean description of true pleasure was astonishing and open to

misunderstanding, especially in its affirmation of all bodily pleasure and
its playing down of even the most violent physical pain.
It contradicts and challenges all devaluation of bodily pleasure, all
demonizing of the sensual, all tendencies toward asceticism. Physical
pain, the absence of which is considered to be so urgently necessary to
the tranquillity of the soul, is declared to be wholly surmountable through
the philosophic attitude. We must look more closely at this ambivalence
of the high and low values assigned to the corporeal.
1) All our appetites urge us toward pleasure. This is all they desire.
We cannot blame them. No pleasure is evil in itself.
But appetites blindly obeying their urges produce increasing dis¬
pleasure by the evils that may ensue. Seduced by the appearance
of pleasure we are drawn into unanticipated displeasure. In this respect
pleasure can be an evil.
Hence the appetites can be recognized by their effects, and on the
basis of this understanding have to be guided by calculating the maximum
of pleasure, its duration and certainty.
To be sure, pleasure is always our standard “for all our choosing
and avoiding” (Letter to Menoikeus). It is our touchstone. But the dif¬
ference consists in whether this choosing and avoiding is done blindly
or guided by understanding. “Pure pleasure” is possible only by way of
such guidance.
“Pure” here does not mean “morally pure,” but cleansed of displea¬
sure and pain. Appetites and moral imperatives are on an equal level.
They are not valid as absolutes, but as controllable means for the purpose
of achieving pure pleasure. “Nobility, the virtues, and such are to be
valued if they bring pleasure; if they do not, avoid them” (N199).
It is the task of philosophy to recognize the reasons for choosing and
avoiding and to cancel out mere opinions that lead into the labyrinth of
urges and of morals.
2) The appetites are either natural or unfounded. The natural appetites
are either necessary or unnecessary. The necessary ones are either nec¬
essary for happiness or for the satisfaction of the body or for maintaining
life itself. This yields the following axioms: “We must not violate nature,
but obey her; and we shall obey her if we satisfy necessary desires and
EPICURUS 79
also the physical, if they bring no harm to us, but sternly reject the
harmful” (Fragments, B21).
3) Reasonable calculation—^‘weighing the beautiful against the
harmful (Letter to Menoikeus)—considers which pleasure is to be chosen
and which avoided, and even what pain to choose in order to arrive, by
paying this price, at the greatest pleasure. For it is sensible to forgo
pleasure in order to avoid greater pain, to take pain upon oneself to
achieve greater pleasure. Even though “every pleasure because of its
natural kinship to us is good,” we do not choose every pleasure. Even
though “every pain also is an evil, yet not all are always of a nature to
be avoided.” We forgo much that gives pleasure if its result would be
“a greater discomfort . . . and similarly we think many pains better than
pleasures, if a greater pleasure comes to us when we have endured pain
for a long time” (Fragments, B21).
4) The life that grows out of such considerations is not an unbridled
life of pleasure. Rather, Epicurus, without disapproving of any pleasure
as such, leads us actually to an ascetic though nonviolent life.
“We consider being content with little a great good.” “Simple food
gives the same pleasure as a fancy meal.” “Bread and water give us the
greatest pleasure if we ingest them out of a need for food.” “Becoming
accustomed to a simple and inexpensive way of life takes away appre¬
hension of fate and heightens our spirits if for once, as an exception, we
enjoy luxurious pleasures.” For he who least needs luxury knows how
to enjoy it with the greatest pleasure. In addition, “all that is natural is
easily obtained and only the superfluous is hard to procure” (Fragments,
B21).
Hence pleasure is not at all “the pleasures of the gourmandizer nor
that which is based on sensual gratification.” Not carousing, not opulent
meals, “not the enjoyment of youths and women” are, though pleasures,
the highest good. “All pleasure is subject to being judged by the yardstick
of pure pleasure” (Fragments, B21).
Thus the sage contents himself with what he possesses. Only the fool
“always whines about what he does not have.” Only “poorly endowed
souls always feel deprived” (N207).
5) Erotic joys are considered the height of pleasure. Time and again
it has been assumed that these are central to Epicurus, who is thus
changed from a philosopher of pleasure to one of lust. Not at all. Epicurus
permits them as long as they do not lead to exhaustion, do not consume
what is necessary to maintain life, and do not infringe upon laws and
morals. All that would cause more displeasure than the pleasure given
by the joys of love. Epicurus does not wholly trust them. “For the
8o Tranquillity without Transcendence
pleasures of love never profited a man; he is lucky if they have not

harmed him” (Fragments, B51).
6) The calculation of bodily pleasure in order to achieve the maxi¬
mum or the purity of pleasure seefns to have a limit. Life as such, the
ailing body, entails pain that is frequently quite violent and that we
cannot prevent even with careful calculation. Not all pain can be avoided
through moderation, simplicity, and frugality. Epicurus is no more able
to make pain disappear than is the physician. However, opines the
philosopher, the afflictions arising from the necessities of existence can
be made less acute. It is not pain itself that we are able to avoid; Epicurus
does not deny that horrible physical pain is inescapable. But it is up to
us whether and to what extent we suffer under it, and Epicurus teaches
us how to master it so that it does not disturb the tranquillity of the
soul.
The fear of future pain is to be eliminated through the realization
that “all bodily suffering is negligible: for that which causes acute pain
has short duration, and that which endures long . . . causes but mild
pain” (Fragments, B4). Pain is limited by its very violence and reaches
a point where it turns into unconsciousness.
But when there is pain, then the pleasure in existence must be pre¬
served through one’s attitude toward pain. Though its actuality cannot
be denied, it can, owing to our freedom, be kept at bay, as it were.
Tranquillity of soul, Epicurus maintains, is possible, as is pure pleasure
in the remembrance of beauty experienced earlier. Under all circum¬
stances, life is better than suicide. For life as such, if properly lived,
always contains pleasure.
The grandiose paradox remains. Physical pain, the absence of which
is, after all, a prime requisite for the tranquillity of soul, is thus declared
to be surmountable by way of our philosophic attitude. Adjudging to
the corporal both value and insignificance is mutually compatible in this
philosophy.
Epicurus explains his intention thus: “We do not want to charge the
flesh with being the cause of greater ills, nor do we wish to blame
conditions for what is unbearable.” We ourselves are responsible. “We
would rather seek the cause in the soul... and belong wholly to ourselves
alone” (N206-07).
EPICURUS 81
3. ABOUT COGNITION AS SUCH
A. The philosophic significance of science
For Epicures the purpose of understanding nature lies in the tranquillity

of soul brought about by science. We would not need the natural sciences
if we had no anxieties based on false notions and expectations. “A man
cannot dispel his fear about the most important matters if he does not
know what is the nature of the universe” (B92).
Hence, what Democritus, Epicurus, and Lucretius have in common,
namely, the atomistic theory of the universe, was essential for Democritus
but not, in itself, for Epicurus and his successors. For Epicurus it is an
instrument of cognition or a way of understanding that believes itself
to be equal to all realities through anticipatory knowledge. It proves
itself in the cognition of all things. This is nothing but the particular
excogitated aggregation and segregation of atoms. As ultimate knowledge
it serves the Epicurean attitude toward life.
Epicurus, therefore, rejects the true natural scientists. He considers
them busy braggarts and babblers who use natural science as a means
to dazzle the many, so eagerly receptive to their insights. By contrast,
the kind of natural science that alone matters to him is meant to
strengthen man’s decisiveness, independence, and sense of self-worth.
The technical application of science never enters his mind and would
surely have been despised by him.
Understood in its essence, the cosmos is the natural course of events
devoid of purpose. No gods or demons, no evil or helpful spirits interfere.
If I know what is real, basically and as a whole, then the false ideas,
threatening omens and the fears occasioned by dreams cease to be. The
frightening phenomena have become transparent. Knowledge of the
cosmos brings about tranquillity of soul.
B. Epicurus’ basic conception of the whole in its relation to science
Everything happens “naturally,” that is, it can be thought of in analogy

to immediately perceived processes. The atoms and the void are the
ultimate, sole, ungrounded, and irreducible reality out of which every¬
thing proceeds through motion.
The observable configurations of nature and the natural processes
furnish the mental images that, as models for the motion of atoms, the
configurations of atoms, the clustering of atoms that constitute Being,
are thought in forms which themselves remain forever invisible to us.
It is an intellectual abstraction of great boldness in its disregard for color,

sound, smell, leaving as residue only volume, shape, movement, space.
At the same time, however, it is the grossest abstraction, in which gravity,
pressure, and impulse of the tiniest* indivisible parts of bodies are Being
itself.
The objections against the theory of atoms as doctrine of Being are
ancient and simple:
A gap exists between the animate and the inanimate, between cor¬
poreality and consciousness, between a physiological process affecting
the nerves and the experience of color sensation. One cannot be derived
from the other by means of any evident representation.
There is a difference in origin between a causal connection and a
connection based on meaning. For the atom theoretician, purpose in
organic existence consists in the survival of accidental combinations of
atoms. Just as all poetry is the result of the combination of the letters of
the alphabet, all things having purpose or meaning result from the
combination of the much larger number of atomic configurations. From
the small number of basic forms follows an illimitable number of
combinations—of linguistic productions on the one hand, of natural
configurations on the other. Thus, the Homeric epics, for instance, might
have taken shape purely by accident, as a purposeless and accidental
aggregation of letters.
In such explanations Epicurus searches for what is evident to intuition
and can exist only within the realm of approximation. He operates with
“transitions” which elude factual representation, with developments the
possibility of which is posited by the assumption of boundless time,
infinite space, and an infinite amount of prime matter.
Characteristic of Epicurus’ thought is it$ reliance on possibility rather
than on scientific investigation or methodical observation. With him,
persuasive power lies in thought, not in experience.
His second characteristic: The basic ideas of the theory of atoms are
regarded not as possible but as indubitably certain. Yet all specific ex¬
planations are merely possibilities which lend themselves to many for¬
mulations. Epicurus wants to differentiate that which operates and occurs
in an exclusively unequivocal way from that which comes about in a
variety of ways. He posits certainty and exactitude only for the funda¬
mental ideas; that this is the way it is cart be grasped only in thought.
It is not valid to believe that “things might be different,” that this is
“possible in various ways” (Diog. Laert., X, 78). The mere determination
of facts (as, for example, the rising and setting, directional change, or
eclipse of the stars) has scant importance for him. Here various explan-
EPICURUS 83
atory approaches are possible, not to mention the uncertainty concerning

the potential behavior of things. In place of a scientific approach Epicurus
contents himself with the view that things, in their appearance, can be
thought of as possible in a variety of ways. This, however, implies that
he failed Jo'grasp the meaning and possibilities of scientific inquiry, the
rudiments of which were present among the Greeks long before his
time:
First: Where he claims absolute certainty, that certainty cannot be
achieved by scientific means. So far no philosopher or researcher who
thinks dogmatically has been able to comprehend this. Fundamental
ideas such as these have, as a whole, never been proven scientifically and
have, therefore, always lent themselves to attack. Second: Science itself,
insofar as it becomes pure science, leads us to the limits at which it
preserves its own—always particular—insights from being made ab¬
solute in a knowledge of the whole. Third: In its specificity, science
achieves results that endure; but there is progressive change in its fun¬
damental concepts.
In all particulars Epicurus contents himself with plausible possibil¬
ities. He does not investigate, but interprets everything from his pre¬
supposition, his knowledge of the whole. True science takes the opposite
course; the projection of possibilities is its point of departure. Research
examines them by means of criteria of observation—either sought out
or brought about by judicious planning based on experience. It aims at
the highest possible accuracy in these observations within the limits of
mathematics and measurement.
However, Epicurus properly defined the difference between concep¬
tions of the whole of Being (which alone are important to him) and
particular conceptions in their multiple possibilities; he understood cor¬
rectly that these particular conceptions, being subject to change, are
incapable of giving support to life or, in and by themselves, of “providing
tranquillity.”
Epicurus’ misunderstanding of true science is closely connected with
the purpose that his “science” is meant to serve. As a result, he despises
that which he misunderstands, though for a reason that is itself correct:
These sciences, like the many possible plausible explanations of details,
are not conducive to tranquillity of soul. If, up to the present day, such
peace of mind is achieved by searchers through science, it is not based
in science itself but on notions outside the sciences; they falsely presuppose
an absolute inherent in the sciences and believe they can find it there.
In this regard, scientists of such a mind-set are receptive to what they
find in Epicurus and Lucretius. Cognition of details is not enough.
According to Epicurus (Diog. Laert., X, 79), those who are conversant

with individual facts, but have no knowledge of their nature and superior
reasons for being, are disquieted by emotions of fear, no different from
those who are without this detailed information. They may even be
exposed to greater anxieties through the investigation of events that,
while arousing their astonishment, offer no solution of their mystery.
We should, therefore, consider only in passing the various possible ways
in which things come about. Only total cognition is absolutely certain
and calming; all other cognition is dependent on perspective and hence
of no concern for us.
It has been advanced that in Epicurus may be detected the scientific
mind-set (which, in modern times, has indeed received stimulation from
the Epicurean understanding of nature as discovered by Democritus,
especially in the form given to it by Lucretius), namely, the sense of the
immutability of causality and of the laws of nature (“nothing is created
out of nothing”), as also the notion of the preservation of matter and of
energy, and the methods of observing nature.
C. The Canonics
Possessing knowledge is not sufficient. We must be aware of the origin

of its certainty in order to test the sureness of the road to it. We want
the criteria of truth. Epicurus calls this area of his thinking canonics (in
others, it might be called logic, dialectic, methodology).
1) Clarity about words: We must see what underlies the words. “For
in the case of each word, the first mental image associated with it should
be regarded and there should be no further need of explanation.” Only
then do we have “a fixed point of reference for what we have thought,
doubted, or merely supposed.” If this is disregarded, we are “dealing
with empty words” or “get lost in infinity with our explanations” (Letter
to Herodotus).
2) Points of departure: What is the mind’s referent at the origin of
knowledge? It is what is really present, and this is given in immediate
insight, in what is evident (enargeia, evidence). For this there are three
sources: sensory perception (aisthesis), feeling (pathos), and concept
(prolepsis). Later on, Epicureans added a fourth: imaginary representa¬
tions of thought (phantastil{ai epibolai tes dianoias).
Sensory perceptions: “Sensory perceptions have to be firmly and ac¬
curately grasped, and equally the attendant stimulations of the capacity
for thinking” (Letter to Herodotus). Should sensory perceptions be dis-
EPICURUS 85
regarded, then all of the ground is lost. In denying them, we lose the
reasons for our assertions.
Feelings: The feelings (pathe) attendant on sensory perceptions are
the criteria of pleasure. In sensory perception and pleasure we find the
pure preserttness of Being. Here is the point of absolute trust. If it were
to totter, cognition and tranquillity would be lost at the same time.
Concepts: By a concept Epicurus understands “an internally preserved
representation of a general cognition, i.e., the memory of something that
has often made its appearance externally, as, for example, ‘something
like a human being.’ As soon as I say ‘human being,’ its type is represented
to me conceptually, guided by my preceding sensory perceptions” (N184).
We “would be entirely unable to examine what we do examine if
we were not already familiar with it, e.g., ‘Is the animal standing over
there at a distance a horse or a cow?’ ” This question can be answered
only if the shape of the horse and the cow is already known conceptually.
“Neither could we ever give a name to anything unless we had already
made conceptual acquaintance with its type” (N184).
The concept anticipates (that is why it is called prolepsis) what is
fulfilled in sensory perception, yet has its origin in sensory perceptions.
“All thoughts arise on the basis of sensory perception through accidental
cause, analogy, similarity, combination, to which, of course, thinking
also contributes something” (N183).
3. From phenomena (phainomena) to the nonevident (adela): Sensory
perceptions, feelings, concepts are what is evident. They make present
and evident all that exists. In this immediate evidence everything is
phenomenon, appearance. There is no visible sign of atoms anywhere.
“Hence one must draw conclusions from the visible to the invisible”
(N183). The road leads from the appearances (phainomena) to the non¬
evident, unknown things {adela).
Epicurus’ attitude toward the world is two-sided. Everything is pres¬
ence; there is nothing beyond it, no purpose, no goal. Yet, beyond every¬
thing tangible lies that which is uniquely nonevident: the atoms, that is,
something utterly indestructible, imperishably enduring; also their mo¬
tion in the void, and the infinity of their numbers and of the extension
of space.
4) Truth and falsehood: all sensory perceptions are true: “All perception
is devoid of reason. . . . Furthermore, there is nothing that perception
could refute. . . . Neither can one perception refute another” (N182).
“Even the imaginings of demented persons and images in dreams are
true; for they act as stimulants; if they did not exist, they could not bring
about such stimulation” (N183).
It is the condition of all cognition that all perception—whether

subsequently referred to as perception, imagination, or dream—is orig¬
inally true as actuality and cannot be false. “Only if the sensory percep¬
tions are all true will one be able tq cognize or grasp anything’ (N183).
The location of true and false: Whereas perceptions and representa¬
tions, in their immediacy, are always true, opinions can be true or false.
“There could be no errors if we did not find in ourselves yet another
kind of mental activity. To be sure, this activity is connected with the
imaginative activity, yet has its own ways of apprehension. Only through
it—if it is not immediately confirmed or refuted—can deception come
about; if, on the other hand, it is confirmed or not refuted, truth comes
into being” (Letter to Herodotus).
“Hence, deception and error always lie solely in what is thought
additionally which still has to await its confirmation or at least nonref¬
utation” (Letter to Herodotus). “Confirmation and nonrefutation are the
sign that something is true: nonconfirmation and refutation, however,
are the sign that it is false. Evidence (enargeia), however, is the keystone
and foundation of all” (N183).
“An opinion is also called an assumption. It can be true or false”
(N184). “For this reason the concept of waiting-and-seeing was intro¬
duced: e.g., one postpones one’s judgment until one comes close to the
tower and sees what it looks like up close” (N185). It is only this im¬
mediacy that brings evidence with it.
5) Appraisal of Epicurus’ canon: It is deficient in that Epicurus fails
to clarify, either logically or through the theory of knowledge, the method
of drawing conclusions from the appearances to that which is not manifest
(in Epicurus, to Being as the eternal motion of the atoms, which he sees
as true Being as such). He does not submit the process itself to any
examination.
His interest in logic is limited. He has little use for logical subtlety
or the rigor of proof. He considers them only insofar as he believes they
are needed for the truth necessary to the tranquillity of the soul. There¬
fore, in logic, he is vastly inferior to Aristotle and the Stoics. He has
been accused of logical superficiality. My reply: Epicurus understood
that logic and objective cognition are not in themselves the ultimate
reasons for the attitude toward life or the Existenz of man. They are
essential only in connection with their significance for Existenz. Oth¬
erwise they are neutral, irrelevant, and, should they be elevated to the
absolute as such, even ruinous. But the obverse, unfortunately, is that
with his dogmatic unexamined thinking Epicurus has foundered. He
appeals to what, in recent centuries, has been referred to as common
EPICURUS 87
sense, understood as man’s ability to discern and judge. This ability is

presupposed and in its simplicity taken for granted; it applies to the
immediately given, smugly assured in the belief that it cannot be deceived
and angrily reacting to what is difficult or sublime. It exerts the power
of all that i$ roughly comprehensible and supposedly beyond doubt.
The end results are: First, the great truth that all that exists for us,
that must become present and assume sensory form out of the most
sublime thinking, is limited to the reality of sensory perception and
pleasure; no question is asked as to the content of either. Second, Epi¬
curus, ever intent on letting fictions go up in smoke, himself creates a
world of fictions: the world of atoms. His critical intellect succumbs to
a crude and impoverished self-enclosed fantasy world. By positing this
world as the absolute, only authentically real one, he shuts out im¬
measurable realms of actualities. He is firm in the belief that, by means
of his common sense, he has comprehended the theory of atoms as the
only one possible, the one correctly demonstrated, the one deducible
from nature. The source of this freedom from doubt on his part is not
cogent cognition but dogmatic faith, which demands absolute certainty
about Being itself. Epicurus formulates this by justifying the whole of
cognition as merely a means toward tranquillity of the soul. The very
fact that this basis of cognition is so questionable testifies to the nature
of this insight as faith, in distinction from its alleged nature as knowledge.
D. Bios theoretikos
However, the meaning of Epicurus’ cognition is not so easily exhausted.

To him, the means to reach tranquillity of the soul is transformed every
moment into a purpose complete in itself, cognition as such being the
presence of the purest pleasure. The means to tranquillity becomes the
content of tranquillity. “In philosophy, pleasure goes hand in hand with
knowledge: for enjoyment does not follow comprehension but compre¬
hension and enjoyment are simultaneous” (Fragments, B17).
Epicurus produced his voluminous opus by steadfast and many-sided
application. A state of theoretical contemplation animated by thought
filled the days of his life. Thinking itself was purest pleasure. It “enables
one to lead a life complete in itself and has no further need of eternity”
(N212-13).
When one differentiates the ways of life into a practical (acting, active)
one, a creative one (poetic, artistic, literary), an observing one (contem¬
plative, theoretical, cognitive), then each of these configurations of life
in turn contains a multiplicity of motives, of interior states, of goals.
Epicurus exemplifies the bios theoretics in a manner that is clarified

when set in contrast to two other ways of life.
Epicurus’ attitude differs from that of Democritus. Democritus de¬
clared that he would rather findv one single proof than be king of
the Persians. In such a dictum we may see the first burgeoning of the
scientist’s self-perception, which has corpe to full clarity only in the
modern world. The scientist delights in factual cognition, which for him
is a step on the path that leads to infinity. To have taken a step here
that has not been taken before and to have advanced knowledge for all
time is an experience of great happiness for the scientist. He can call his
own a cognition cogent for everyone, a tiny place within all that is
cognizable. He labors so that his successors may be able to progress on
a path whose end he does not see and on which each follower in turn
takes only one further step. Whoever wishes for perfection experiences
the curse of this path: never to reach the finish line, either as an individual
or as the totality of the generations of scientific investigators. But whoever
takes part in this race is compelled by the task. He reaches out for the
truth that is incontrovertible, and finds it. But he also realizes that one
cannot ground one’s life on the content of this truth, unless the scientific
attitude proves to be indispensable for all authentic life.
Nor can Epicurus’ attitude be likened to that of Anaxagoras. Euri¬
pides (perhaps with an eye toward Anaxagoras) writes: “Happy is he
who has attained possession of knowledge. . .. Contemplating he regards
the unchanging order of the immortal All . . . never will shameful
scheming steal into the heart of such a man” (Fragments, 902).
Aristotle sees the apex of man’s possibility in cognition. Reason is
what is most divine. It has more permanence and gives greater joy than
any action, and is sufficient unto itself. Thus it goes throughout antiquity.
So with Cicero (Hortensius de philosophia): “If we were . . . permitted to
lead an immoral life on the islands of the blessed . . . the cardinal virtues
would lose all meaning there. . . . We would be happy there merely
through the contemplation of nature and through cognition, which alone
is to be praised also in the lives of the gods.”3 And in late antiquity, we
read in the astronomer Claudius Ptolemaeus: “I know that I am mortal,
a creature of this day, yet when I pursue, in thought, the orbit of the
stars as they circle the pole, my feet no longer touch the ground: Zeus
himself beside me—I am then nourished'at the divine feast with am¬
brosia.”4 This attitude continues throughout the Christian world and
3 Franz Johannes Boll, Vita Contemplativa. Heidelberg, C. Winter, 1920, 16.

4 Ibid., 17.
EPICURUS 89
has come powerfully to the fore since the Renaissance. For Pico, man’s
dignity lies in his having been created by God so that he may know the
laws of the universe, and love and admire its greatness and beauty.
In this knowledge imbued with piety toward the world, the moral
life is inextricably bound to awe before such order. “The starry skies
above me and the moral law within me” {Critique of Practical Reason,
Conclusion) are still complementary for Kant.
For Epicurus it is a matter of neither a discriminating, constantly
probing scientific will to truth, nor of blissful, reverent contemplation.
Scientifically, he is wholly uncritical and in no way an investigative
scientist. As to the universe as a whole, he knows no reverence, neither
love and admiration nor aversion and disdain.
He actualizes the possibility of detached observation when faced with
matters of indifference to him. He does not react emotionally. He knows
what the All is. It has no signification, no meaning beyond itself. All
one needs to know is what it is. Observing in complete detachment leads
to independence and peace of mind. Virgil is right in saying of Lucretius:
“Happy is he who has been able to win knowledge of the causes of
things, and has cast beneath his feet all fear and unyielding Fate and
the howls of hungry Acheron” (Georgies, II, 1.49off.).5
Neither the object nor the All and its order deserve our admiration;
rather, it is the thinker who, by way of his alleged knowledge, triumphs
over all adversity that might—but now no longer can—befall him. Truth
as such or the content of actuality does not compel his interest.
But then, observation is satisfying in itself, a noble pursuit in our
leisure time, since it is unalloyed pleasure without painful consequences;
it is an activity providing a singular intellectual pleasure, in which content
is a matter of indifference.
Yet the connection of reverent observation with the moral life takes
on a form that, examined for its meaning, is somewhat less weighty and
more trivial: “The greatest good is reason ... it teaches that one cannot
live pleasantly without, at the same time, living rationally, honorably,
and morally; nor can one live rationally, honorably, and morally without
living pleasurably” (B, Letter to Menoikeus).
Epicurus is neither scientist nor metaphysician. He belongs within
the ranks of those pious toward the world, by virtue of his affirmation
of his own existence within it—a world bereft of transparency or tran¬
scendence.
5 Virgil with an English translation by H. Rushton Fairclough, Cambridge, MA, Harvard

University Press; London, William Heinemann, rev. ed., 1950.
9o Tranquillity without Transcendence
4. THE ORIGIN AND NATURE OF FREEDOM
1) There are two, opposing, positions in conceiving the course of events:

“all is chance” or “all is necessity.”
Chance: We are startled by the unexpected which bursts through
natural necessity. Whatever is incommensurate, sudden, discontinuous,
unforeseen, and incomprehensible is represented as an expression of acts
of divine will and arouses fear.
Necessity: Knowledge of actual causes leads to the conception of
necessity in all occurrences, owing to the unbreakable laws of nature.
Everything happens within the continuous transition of becoming and
growth. The necessity attendant to insight into specific natural causality
is transferred and incorporated into the philosophical concept of the
necessity underlying all things (the necessity of fate, of divine providence,
both combined in heimarmene of the Stoics). Necessity invalidates chance.
Chance is a deception due to insufficient knowledge. Everlasting necessity
is implacable, we have to submit to it. Fear of chance yields to submission
to necessity.
Epicurus denies both positions. Both lead the soul into servitude,
either to the fear of terrifying chance or to the paralyzing burden of the
irrevocable. Both exist, chance as well as necessity. Understanding them
correctly leads man to freedom. Epicurus insists on chance but robs it
of terror; he insists on necessity but robs it of the ineluctable.
2) Epicurus’ way is an apparently insignificant correction of De¬
mocritus’ atom theory, but in fact it changes everything. He maintains
that variations in the falling motion of atoms are due to chance and not
to law. This results, first, in the formation of small vortices from which
worlds arise. These worlds are simultaneously grounded in chance and
in necessity. The chance deviations are continuous for all time and part
of all occurrences. For Epicurus such chance has a twofold significance:
First, chance, understood in this way, is “natural.” “The wise man
also does not regard chance to be a god, as does the multitude—for a
god never acts senselessly—nor again to be an incommensurable cau¬
sality” (N181). Since chance is not an arbitrary intercession on the part
of powers, and is not dark destiny, and not the goddess Tyche, it has
lost its terror.
Second, chance in the sense of the deviation of atoms at the most
minute level makes our freedom comprehensible. It guarantees freedom
against necessity, which would otherwise be immutable and oppressive.
In this way freedom of the determination of the will is a universal
attribute of all living beings. Thus the movement of their members
EPICURUS 9i
follows the free impulse. The spirit within us is not hampered by inner
compulsion. The fact that it is not condemned to endure and suffer is
due to the deviation of the atoms, “which, no matter how minute, is not
restricted in place or in time” (Lucretius, De rerum natura, II, 293).
Absolute Necessity would be ineluctable were it not for atoms breaking
through it by virtue of their deviation.
3) The concepts of the deviation of atoms, the spontaneity of living
beings, and the freedom of rational acts, though different in origin, seem
to converge. However, Epicurus also differentiates chance and intent:
“Everything happens according to necessity, chance, intent” (N195).
Three reasons for the course of events are at play; the third is intent,
our freedom, that which we make out of that which we encounter.
Hence the wise man is superior through his insight, which he proves
and which at the same time he secures for himself in life and in action:
first, in that he can laugh at “fate (necessity), which many would admit
as lord over all” because he has “explained” it; second, in “that only
some things happen necessarily, others by chance”; third, in that “some
things happen through us, because, while necessity is irresponsible, chance
is unstable, and hence it lies in our hands not to submit to any lord”
(N181, Letter to Menoikeus).
Chance, itself deprived of power, serves Epicurus to deny the power
of natural necessity, which is unbearable to his consciousness of freedom.
“It would be better to follow the fables about the gods than to be slave
to natural law; at least the former grant the hope that one’s prayers will
be heard . . . while natural necessity is implacable” (N181).
The course of events partly follows from necessities and partly orig¬
inates in chance. Epicurus seeks to ground himself in neither comforting
necessities nor significant chance happenings. Both lack grandeur. Nei¬
ther the divine necessity of an eternal order nor the miracle of divine
intercession exists. The wise man relates to both by soberly compre¬
hending their nature; he will then not let himself be disturbed by either.
He realizes there is a third factor: freedom. This consists not only of
intent—-that is, practical decisions based on rational insight—but also
of a condition that becomes a steady, reliable fundamental attitude.
4) Such freedom (eleutheria) is identical with purest joy, with tran¬
quillity, with a state beyond confusion. It is the consequence of a life of
self-sufficiency: “The greatest fruit of self-sufficiency is freedom” (N220;
Fragments, 77). Necessity, chance, and freedom as intent are the three
moments of existence that, if grasped correctly and followed correctly,
permit the actualization of a condition that is the freedom of the wise.
5) Once such freedom is achieved, neither necessity nor chance can
be of moment to us. To be sure, chance as a rule leads the dance of

great goods and ills. But for the wise, chance does not yield any good
or ill that is essential for the happy life. Of course, to have chance on
one’s side is best. But since this dees not by any means happen all the
time, the wise learn “to accept the good that comes by chance without
any excitement and to be armed against the apparent misfortune that
derives from it” (N208). All fortune and misfortune of the many is a
matter of the moment, but wisdom has nothing in common with chance.
It is still better “to live rationally in unfavorable than irrationally in
favorable circumstances” (N181).
5. THE PHILOSOPHICAL PRACTICE OF ACTUALIZATION
Cognition of the universe, insight into the nature of death, calculated

guidance of bodily needs are insufficient for the actualization of pure
joy. Those basic philosophical thoughts must prove themselves in practice
in order to actualize their meaning. Since the human being is given to
himself as a natural being and conjointly with others, he has to find
what is right and fitting within these realities. The question “what ought
I to do?” demands a concrete answer. Epicurus proceeds to offer it: first,
he gives advice on how to deal with oneself (a psychotherapeutical tech¬
nique), by means of rules for life and a calculus; second, he points to
what above all else is essential for human happiness, namely, friendship;
third, he supplies directions for dealing with the realities of human
society, the state, religion, wealth, and poverty.
A. Rules for life
In dealing with ourselves, basic rules need to be set up. It is easy to

formulate them in thought, but to actualize them is difficult. They require
practice {aslqesis) if they are to be dominant in life. “One ought not to
play the philosopher, but actually be a philosopher; for we do not need
the semblance of health, but actual health” (N218; Fragments, 54).
To engage in practice it is necessary to emphasize the essentials, to
impress them on our memory, to have them immediately available in
succinct formulations whenever they are'needed. Hence Epicurus for¬
mulated them in sayings, in incisive, simple, clear statements ifyriai logoi).
He demands that they be memorized. It is in this form that he com¬
piled his main doctrines. They gained their shortest form in the tetra-
pharmakpn, mentioned earlier: “One does not need to be afraid before
EPICURUS 93
god or the gods . . . death means absence of sensation and hence is

nothing to us . . . the good can be obtained easily, the bad can be borne
with ease” (N220).
What is practiced through constant repetition becomes the habit of
truth. Hertce statements like: “Get used to the idea that death does not
concern us” (N176, Letter to Menoikeus).
Practice demands daily effort, but it can lead to a conclusion in which
the true, pure, pleasurable, reasonable attitude of life is attained. “One
must try to arrange the following day always better than the previous
one, as long as we are still on the way: but once we have arrived at our
goal we may embrace a measured cheerfulness” (N218; Fragments, 48).
Dealing with ourselves calls particularly for the calculation of desires,
which was described above.
Alongside these general rules for life Epicurus formulates specific
ones that arise from the underlying principle, such as:
“Doing good brings more pleasure than having good done to you”
(N209).
“Whoever worries least about tomorrow approaches it with the great¬
est pleasure” (N208).
“Do not do anything in life that must make you afraid of your
neighbor’s noticing it” (N219; Fragments, 70).
Then Epicurus makes value judgments. He points to the warning
example of unphilosophic man:
“A small soul is made cocky by good fortune and downcast by
misfortune” (N208). “He is a little man in all respects who has many
good reasons for quitting life” (Fragments, B38).
“With most men repose turns into rigidity, mobility into abandon”
(N215; Fragments, 11).
Epicurus also observes the ages of man:
“It is not the young man who should be thought happy but an old
man who has lived a good life. For the young man at the height of his
powers is unstable and is carried this way and that by fortune like a
headlong stream. But the old man has come to anchor in old age as in
a port and the good things for which before he hardly hoped, he has
brought into safe harborage . . .” (Fragments, B17).
B. The essential good: friendship
Schooling oneself in the principles is the path “for you alone and together
with your peers” (N181, Letter to Menoikeus). The noble man “concerns
himself most about wisdom and friendship” (N220; Fragments, 78):
94
“. . . no greater good than friendship, no greater wealth, no greater joy

(N209).
Why friendship? To begin with, Epicurus’ answers are soberly eval¬
uating, such as: “We offer, one to the other, a sufficiently interesting
spectacle” (N210).
Further: friendship is useful and, at the same time, something for¬
tunate. These two cannot be separated. We choose friendship for its own
sake, “but its motivation is utility” (N216; Fragments, 23). Human nature
“does not love for free and does not enter into friendships without
benefit” (US527).6
But later on, benefit recedes into the background: “We do not need
friends in order to make use of them, but to be able to believe that we
may make use of them” (N217; Fragments, 34).
In the end, benefit disappears in rendering aid: “Fet us prove to our
friends our sympathy not by lamenting with them but by caring with
them!” (N219; Fragments, 66). In a situation of shared exigency “the
wise man understands better how to give to his friends than how to
take from them: such a treasure of self-sufficiency has he found” (N217;
Fragments, 44). Also, the initial motive of utility is turned completely
into its opposite: “Even though we enter upon friendship for the sake
of pleasure, yet we assume the greatest pains for the sake of our friends”
(N209).
The path of friendship: “One cannot praise either the one who strikes
up a friendship too hastily or the one who hesitates doing so. One must
be willing to risk something for the sake of friendship” (N216; Frag¬
ments, 28).
We gain our inner certainty from our neighbor and then “we also
lead with each other the most pleasurable life in firm mutual trust”
(N215).
For “lasting happiness in life,” friendship is the greatest good. But
only wisdom is an imperishable good; friendship remains a perishable
one (Fragments, 78). But when the sage “has enjoyed friendship to the
fullest, he does not lament woefully the untimely demise of a dead friend”
(N215).
Only friendship gives us a happy life. “Friendship dances a round
around the world, calling to us to wake up and praise the happy life”
(Fragments, 52). If his words have come down to us in authentic form,
Epicurus speaks about friendship in hymnic terms that are otherwise
alien to him.
6 References preceded by Us are to Hermann Usener.

EPICURUS 95
C. Dealing with the realities of human society
State, religion, wealth and poverty are realities within which man on
earth has been placed. For the philosopher they present the danger of
disturbing/ His tranquillity. He cannot altogether withdraw, but must
seek a way of reacting that makes him immune to them. Epicurus
presupposes that only a tiny number of people are capable of philosophy.
He does not mean that human beings and their institutions should be
made philosophical. Rather, he ponders how, in this unalterable world,
those few could actually be philosophers.
i) The State. Epicurus’ advice is to stay away from politics.
“The wise man will not participate in politics and will not want to
be a ruler” (N199). “Whoever is wise does not pursue politics”
(N208).
His further advice is: Stay clear of the many! Limit your contact
with them to a minimum in order to be safe from them! “I never strove
for the approbation of the many; for I did not learn what pleases them;
but what I do know is far removed from their understanding” (N210).
“Especially if you must live among the many, you must withdraw into
yourself” (N210).
It might be thought that, according to Epicurus, the philosopher
would have to strive for security in order to actualize his life in the
world. The means of acquiring security in the world are power and
prosperity. But this conception confuses two kinds of security.
To be sure, it is correct that power and wealth provide a certain
security of existence, but it is paid for by a state of unrest in the gaining
and maintaining of it; hence it is coupled with constant insecurity. Ep¬
icurus, however, has an entirely different security in mind, namely, the
tranquillity central to his attitude toward life. This he is most likely to
achieve under conditions of remoteness from the many and from the
state.
Outward security of existence, not possible as such but even when
achieved to a high degree, would not obviate the terrible insecurity that
arises from the false representations of things above and below the earth,
of the world and of gods. The philosopher desires the security of inner
tranquillity. This is within his reach. He is responsible only to himself.
Whether he is recognized by the world is no concern of his.
The material security of existence, which Epicurus by no means
disdains even though he has no need for it, has nothing in common with
the philosophical tranquillity of soul. But both are promoted if this advice
is followed: “One must liberate oneself from the prison of daily routine
c)6 Tranquillity without Transcendence
and affairs of state” (N218; Fragments, 58). “Live in seclusion” {lathe

biosas) (US551).
Yet Epicurus wants to comprehend that which he does not want to
participate in. As he comprehends nature, so also the state. Once he
knows what they are, he can live out his life within them in tranquillity,
no matter what happens. Hence his theoiy of the state: Whence the state
and laws? What do they mean?
a) State and law are not established by nature. There is no natural
community built on mutuality. To pretend otherwise is deception. All
men, by nature, want to prevail with their desires and their will to
power.
b) Instead, state and law arise out of a purpose by means of a contract
and rest on regulation. There is no justice by nature. Laws are based
“only on a contract” (N213). “For all those living beings who have not
been able to enter into a contract providing that they will neither harm
one another nor allow themselves to be harmed, there is no justice or
injustice; the same applies to all nations that cannot or do not want to
enter into a contract regarding this matter” (N213).
c) The laws are subject to change. What they have in common is
their utility, what is special about them is how this utility is achieved in
accordance with a particular time and place. “Under the aspect of uni¬
versality, what is just is the same for all; for it is, in some way, advan¬
tageous to mutual association. Under the aspect of particularity, however,
such as of a country and all other presuppositions, it does not follow
that what is just is the same for all” (N214).
New conditions supervene. What was just by law because it was of
benefit to the needs of mutual association is no longer just when this
utility undergoes a change. For those “who do not let themselves be
confused by empty words but look at practical matters” (N214), whatever,
for a period in time, was in harmony with the concept of justice is so
no longer.
d) Why does the individual obey the laws? According to Epicurus,
not for reasons of inner conscience, or respect for the state, or awe before
the gods. It is for fear of discovery. If there were no control of illegal
activity “through the disciplinarians appointed for such cases,” everyone
would do what he wants. But since he never knows whether his illegal
activity will remain hidden, he fears discovery. “Fear of the future
prevents him from enjoying the present and feeling confident about it”
(N209).
e) For Epicurus, state and law have a different purpose. The phi¬
losopher does not violate the laws, since all his actions are rational. “In
EPICURUS 97
regard to the sages, the purpose of the laws is not to restrain them from
committing an injustice, but to prevent injustice being done to them”
(N209). In his apolitical life, the philosopher acknowledges the require¬
ments for operating a state; but, for him, the state’s ultimate purpose is
to secure die philosophers’ right to live and think in freedom.
2) Religion. Epicurus says: “The sage will venerate the gods” (N199).
By this he means the contemplation of the blessed figures who, between
and beyond the worlds, lead their lives of immortality, oblivious of any
of the worlds. The gods are nothing other than the self-sufficing condition
of unalloyed pleasure. This condition the sage wants to achieve for
himself. In the gods, he contemplates his own goal. Thus Epicurus
promises to him who thinks, practices, and testifies to his philosophy:
“Nothing, whether in your sleeping or waking state, shall be able to
disturb you; rather, you shall live like a god among men. For the man
who lives among imperishable goods is not like a mortal being” (N181;
Letter to Menoikeus).
Such a view, however, is not to be mistaken for a religious one. No
Epicurean religion exists. He has no wish whatsoever for ritual and
prayer, for mysteries, for a religious-priestly community. He does not
desire a community that is contingent on a god, but one that is philo¬
sophical and self-sufficient.
He combats state and national religion only in conjunction with his
followers, whom he wants to liberate from the fears engendered by all
deceptive religious representations. The actual religion of the people, he
leaves untouched. Since he must live in the world as it is, he has to adapt
himself outwardly, for the sake of peace. Epicurus does not take up
cudgels other than in a combat of minds in the interest of his friends.
Security and tranquillity in a withdrawn life is all he asks for. Hence
he can participate in public rites without unease.
3) Wealth and poverty. Society allows for great disparities in property
and wealth. These do not concern the philosopher. For, Epicurus says,
the happy condition of man puts all that is truly necessary within easy
reach, while making it difficult to obtain the superfluous. The wealth
required for our natural needs is limited; that demanded for idle whims
is limitless.
The philosopher should keep as remote from money-making as from
politics: “When living a free life, one cannot acquire many possessions,
since this cannot be done easily without subservience to the vulgar masses
or the powerful. . . .” However, Epicurus in no way disdains riches:
“But should one happen to accrue riches, it is easy to use them for the
benefit of one’s neighbors” (N219; Fragments, 67).
Epicurus likes to indulge in wordplay with the double meaning of

“riches”: riches in material goods and inner riches. “With animal-like
bustle one accumulates a heap of riches while life remains poor ; Self-
sufficiency is the greatest of riche*” (N207). “Happiness and beatitude
are not obtained by means of heaping up money, by mighty influence,
by offices and power, but solely by freedom from harm, by assuaging
the passions, and by a mood of the soul that is mindful of the limits of
the natural aims of life” (N209).
“Whoever does not consider what is his own as the greatest of riches
would be unhappy even if he were lord of the world” (N207). “Nothing
is enough for the one to whom enough is too little” (N219; Fragments,
68).
“It is better to repose with equanimity on straw than to lose one’s
peace sitting on golden cushions at a richly laden table” (N210). “There
is something pious about cheerful poverty” (N207).
6. THE SAGE AS IDEAL; EPICURUS AS IDEAL
The philosopher who has become godlike represents the ideal. This ideal
is attainable to man. Perfected wisdom is reached through practice. The
following are the hallmarks of the sage:
First, unshakable certitude: “Only the wise man can maintain an
unshakable certitude” (N211); second, the impossibility of his backslid¬
ing: “Whoever has become wise cannot lapse into the opposite mood of
soul and cannot deliberately imagine it” (ibid.); third, freedom from
anger and favor in his life with others: “The blessed and immortal nature
knows no trouble itself nor causes it in others, so that it is never con¬
strained by anger or favor. For all such things exist only in the weak”
(B95); fourth, his life in the world: “We must laugh and philosophize
at the same time, keep house and exercise our other faculties and never
cease to give voice to the right philosophy” (N217; Fragments, 41).
Does such a sage exist? All Epicureans have recognized him in
Epicurus himself. He was the realization and the ideal. The gods are
distant, unapproachable beings, but Epicurus, the wise one in this world,
is a palpable actuality. When gods do not care about us and we have no
access to them, man alone remains. v
Epicurus himself pointed this way: “We should choose an able man
and keep him before us so that we live, as it were, within his vision and
act as though he saw everything” (N210). “The admiration of the wise
is of great benefit to the admirer” (N216; Fragments, 32).
EPICURUS 99
By these precepts his followers are led to regard Epicurus as the

uniquely accomplished sage and ideal, something that he himself seems
to be hinting at:
Some, he says, have found their road to wisdom without anyone’s
assistance./They have paved their own way. For these he has the greatest
praise. In this sense he referred to himself from the very outset as self-
taught. Others, he says, need outside help. He seems to imply that we
lack the strength to rise unaided from the depth of misery; someone has
to reach out and pull us up. In speaking of such successors, Epicurus
mentions Metrodorus: these are praiseworthy men. “Do not despise the
man who can be saved only through the aid of others; merely to wish
to be saved is in itself meritorious” (US192). Another kind of person
needs to be forced and urged in the direction of right, for example,
Hermarchos. He merits greater recognition (while Metrodorus is, rather,
to be congratulated). “Both attained the same goal. However, it counts
more when one has had to master more recalcitrant material” (ibid.).
7. CRITICAL CHARACTERIZATION OF
EPICUREAN THOUGHT AND LIFE
Philosophical critique can readily show the deception inherent in the

claim of Epicurus’ philosophy that it possesses the characteristics of a
science. However, this is not really relevant. What matters today is to
expose the content of the Epicurean life in its inadequacy, and to do so
not by reasoning that appeals to our intellect but by questions addressed
to our will.
A. The poverty of content
1. Against the premise that pleasure is the highest good and the only goal:
What makes life worth living? Epicurus answers: Nothing other than
this life itself. What is this life which is worth living? Epicurus: It is
pure pleasure in existence. But is life not fulfilled by something more
than life, by something that takes meaning from our willingness to
sacrifice our very life for it? To this, Epicurus answers: These are fictions
from which we must liberate ourselves so as to obtain the imperturbable
tranquillity of the pure pleasure of existence.
To be sure, only that which is present in our existence becomes real
for us. Life is diminished if it is considered as something completely
divorced from its presence. We must not lose ourselves in the past or
the future, must not adopt a life based on fictitious imaginings if our
life is to be actual and true.
But is such presentness pure pleasure? What is decisive, pleasure as
such or that which gives this pleasure? Is not pleasure so abstract a
concept that in its generality it signifies no more than simply a “yes,”
whereas what matters is what we say “yes” to?
Epicurus answers: Pleasure is peace of mind, absence of pain,
ataraxia—but devoid of content. Instead of saying “yes” to what is
historically concrete, Epicurus holds to a vague notion of pure pleasure
which is supposed to be happiness. Do I want to live in such a way that
I make pleasure the ultimate goal of my efforts? Or is not “pure pleasure”
much too little and, moreover, impossible?
2. Against ataraxia as the meaning of life: The tranquillity of pure
pleasure allows all that to wither which normally is part and parcel of
human life. Epicurus is not prepared to expose himself to calamity, to
pain, to upheaval. He wants to deny their ineluctability. Though their
causes are embedded in the natural course of things, they themselves are
not inescapable. Epicurus refuses to accept them for himself; rather, by
distancing himself, he endeavors to shut them out. Instead of entrusting
himself to upheaval, he wants to escape it and thus avoid the experience
of crisis, of limit situations, of shipwreck. He thinks them away. He
refuses the experience that “suffering is the quickest way to truth,” a
thought that informs Greek tragedy as well as Christian mysticism. He
has no inkling that man’s greatness may lie precisely in the degree to
which he rises to meet calamity rather than letting it overwhelm him
in unawareness.
Independence, for him, means to remain untouched by what is ter¬
rifying. He is unaware of another independence, which, precisely because
we do not hold back, makes us experience the possibility of our being
given to ourselves as a gift. There is something heartless in Epicurus’
imperturbability, as also, though in a different way, in that of the Stoics
and Skeptics. Even friendship, for him, is conceived as a tranquil state;
he forgets that friendship is a constantly active bond between human
beings, who mature in loving struggle, enhancing in the process their
capacity for true amity.
Epicurus does not want to assume risk. He teaches the peace of mind
reached by detachment and not that peace based on being sheltered in
the Encompassing by way of loving immersion in the world.
3. Against seceding from the world: Distancing oneself from all that
is worldly is the precondition of ataraxia. Do not get involved with the
real world, with affairs of state, or the amassing of wealth, but live apart
EPICURUS IOI
from all this—this is Epicurus’ counsel. He circumvents existence in the

world by merely watching it; observation, for him, equals comprehension.
He keeps it at a distance. Life is-reduced to peace of mind without
content and to the private sphere, to a state of pure pleasure without
any other g6al, without task and without ties.
Epicurus’ garden, in which he lives in harmony with his friends, like
a large family spread over the world in unvarying configurations, cut
off and independent of the surrounding world, conveys to many troubled
people the enchanting picture of what had, to a considerable degree,
actually existed.
4. Against the lac\ of responsibility: Living in the garden and looking
at the infinite possibilities of innumerable worlds causes a person to miss
the world itself. He forgets that man realizes himself only by participating
in the world, by contributing to the development of this world of his,
and on which, as the world shared by all, Epicurean existence is in fact
also dependent. Epicurus keeps us from entering into the roles offered
by the tasks of the world, into the reality of the state, and into shared
history. He does not wish to experience its fate as a participant.
Cicero expresses this criticism in his search for the philosophy most
fitting for the man active in practical affairs and for the statesman.
Epicurus’ philosophy he names the least appropriate for someone guiding
the state. “Nevertheless no wrong will be done to that philosophy by us,
for we shall not be debarring it from a position that it aspires to occupy,
but it will be reposing where it wishes to be, in its own charming gardens
. . . it appeals to us to abandon the platform and the courts and the
parliament—perhaps a wise invitation, particularly in the present state
of public affairs. . . . Consequently let us dismiss the Masters in question,
without any derogatory comments as they are excellent fellows and happy
in their belief in their own happiness” (Oratore, III.17).7 After this skep¬
tically friendly acknowledgment, however, Cicero continues: We merely
want to warn them “to keep to themselves as a holy secret, though it
may be extremely true, their doctrine that it is not the business of the
wise man to take part in politics—for if they convince us and all our
best men of the truth of this, they themselves will not be able to live
the life of leisure which is their ideal” (ibid.). In other words: Being an
Epicurean is possible only as long as the sociological conditions allow
for such a garden existence, which, after all, together with the garden,
always remains an existence within the world. The Epicurean owes the
possibility of his existence to the regulation of the state, which is served
7Tr. H. Rackham. Cambridge, MA, Harvard University Press; London, William HeinCmann,
i960.
by statesmen. Epicureans are not guilty per se, but bear the burden of
their nonparticipation, since, in the event of political or economic ca¬
tastrophe, their own existence is also affected and destroyed. Political
action against Epicureanism is not necessary, because Epicureans neither
strive for nor possess political power in the world but live in obscurity.
They should be left in peace.
5. Against peace of mind as reached by the idea of annihilation in death:
When Epicurus brushes off death as something that does not concern
us, it cannot be interpreted as a means to comfort us. According to his
philosophy, such comforting is not at all necessary. Epicurus does not
take death seriously. There is no need to be deeply affected by death,
be it the death of a friend or the thought of our own death.
Much of what Epicurus has to say about death is correct. But he
eschews an essential element, namely, the fact that man living in his
temporality is made desolate by the prospect of dying. Epicurus lacks
any vision that goes beyond death, ignoring what he might have found
in Socratic thought, and what, with insight into the phenomenality of
space and time, had been thought in every age through the ciphers of
immortality. Epicurus recognizes embodied representations of death as
fictions, and rightly so. But his negations lead to banalities whose cor¬
rectness has to be acknowledged, of course, but which, in the way he
establishes them, do away with the point of departure for any transcend¬
ing experience.
6. Against the presupposition that true knowledge brings happiness: For
Epicurus, knowledge of the truth is the means to tranquillity because
such knowledge eradicates fear and is itself the tranquillity of contem¬
plating that which is. However, this presupposition of his does not have
truth as its aim, but, rather, a posited truth asserted dogmatically, sugges¬
tive by virtue of an unexamined plausibility, and confirmed by means
of rules. This “theoria” as calming contemplation is not cognition in the
sense of scientific inquiry, but, in the garb of proofs, basically an un¬
questioning acceptance in the manner of faith.
The presupposition “knowledge is happiness” stands in contradiction
to the proposition “He who increases knowledge increases pain.” Hence
the erroneous presupposition has to be changed into the by no means
Epicurean decision: I do not want any happiness without truth.
Epicurus makes it the goal of science to do away with unease. This
we could accept as correct only in the sense that knowledge of what
presently is and what is potentially threatening does away with the unease
of not knowing, and thus forces us to experience and to accept what is
most terrifying as something we know. But Epicurus sees this quite
EPICURUS I03
differently. His thinking extinguishes the authentic will to truth in favor

of a dogmatic knowledge that does not stand up to criticism. If, as in
Epicurus, it is the goal of science to recognize that there is no reason
for fear, then such a goal blocks the path of the desire to know. The
primal,desire to know constitutes a risk; it is the great risk taken by
man and ever will be so. No one knows where it will lead.
7. Against the substitution of the world of atoms for transcendence: In
place of transcendence Epicurus has put nothing but the play of atoms
and the void. There is greatness in this total relinquishing of transcen¬
dence, in this sobriety—even though it is false because it is itself ensnared
in fictions, neglecting the substance realized through the reality of human
Existenz. Epicurus’ greatness, however, consists in his complete re¬
nunciation of everything that goes beyond presentness. Thus he rejects
the ciphers of many Greek philosophers; for example, the eternal periodic
recurrence of the same, or the transmigration of souls. As the ultimate
horizon he conceives only the endlessness of space and time, of the coming
to be and the passing away of a boundless number of worlds, simulta¬
neously and successively. This horizon lacks any feature of pantheistic
animation. He surveys it without awe. There is no trace of cosmic
enthusiasm. This universe of worlds is merely empty endlessness, held
together by neither sense nor goal, only by the indestructibility of the
innumerable atoms, their accidental and meaningless motions and re¬
alignments.
B. On a principle of Epicurean thought:

explication of the higher out of the lower
Against the way of explaining the higher out of the lower, Cassius writes
to Cicero (Ep., XV.19): “It is difficult to persuade men that one has to
strive for the beautiful for its own sake”; but it is evident to them that
pleasure and imperturbability are the fruits of virtue, justice, and the
beautiful. According to Cassius, Epicurus teaches that there is no pleasure
without a beautiful and just life. Hence those who love pleasure are
indeed lovers of beauty and justice. In its result, says Cassius, the life of
the Epicureans is as noble as, for example, that of the Stoics. Yet their
argument is paradoxical: The higher is explained as proceeding from
the lower. In fact, this paradox pervades all of Epicurus’ thought.
Some examples:
All things come to be out of the atoms and the void, but then become
the magnificent configurations of the world, of living beings, of the soul,
of reason, of the gods. Cognition comes to be a requisite for our happiness,
but since it leads to tranquil Contentment in the contemplation of the

true (in theoria), it then is happiness itself. It is the purpose of morality
to guide the appetites—which as such are to be affirmed—in a manner
that leads to a maximum of pleasure-* but then it is the nobility of
demeanor which as such brings happiness. Friendship arises from a
utilitarian motive, since it contributes to the security of our existence;
but then it is in itself such great happiness that it justifies all kinds of
sacrifices made for its sake. Religion grows out of the fear of all that is
incommensurable and unpredictable; but then again the pure represen¬
tation of the gods provides happiness. Happiness itself (eudaemoma)
grows out of pleasure (hedone) and is then more than pleasure, namely,
tranquillity, imperturbability, self-sufficiency, freedom (eleutheria). The
development of civilization makes it possible for us to build, from ne¬
cessity and utility, what protects and facilitates our existence and endures
beyond necessity as a world of happiness within that civilization.
These inferences are informed by a power of persuasion that produces
a realistic effect and repudiates all that is fictitious. Almost always there
is in them an element of rightness; they display presuppositions whereby
the higher actualizes itself out of its own lower source. Physical, phys¬
iological, psychological explications draw from realities that are condi¬
tions without which the higher cannot realize itself. But “condition” is
not the same as “origin.” Mistaking the one for the other is a fundamental
error of Epicurean thought.
Occasionally the aggressive provocation in the Epicurean buildup of
the human out of the nonhuman, the good out of the bad, the lofty out
of the vulgar makes itself felt. But each time there is a leap: Something
that has been explained as being the lower persists on its own as the
higher. To be sure, the shadow of its origin in the trite and crude, in
the mechanical and instinctual falls on everything that exists. But then
the higher maintains its independent validity, though lacking an appro¬
priate foundation.
Where do the reason and wisdom of the philosopher originate?
Where the blissful gods? No answer is given unless we assume the
following to be it: The gods came into being through the accidental
constellation of the most refined atoms, and independent reason owes
its existence to the same accident.
True, the shadow cast by the origin of everything higher out of the
lower seems eliminated in the actual practice of philosophy and in the
course of a noble life. Now the higher seems to endure by itself. But its
origin remains effective in an altered form: in the absence of transparency
in all Epicurean experiences. The practical life stripped of transcendence
EPICURUS I05
is at the same time impressively powerful and yet paltry: the mere
pleasure in an existence that is reduced as much as possible and without
illusions (except the illusion that tranquillity and the absence of pain are
possible), without the historical continuity of a life filled with content.
Suchâ life is reduced to an existence between the void that was and the
void that will be; it is the instant of pure pleasure.
8. HISTORICAL POSITION AND INFLUENCE OF EPICURUS
A. Ramifications of Epicurean thought in later times
Some features were taken out of context, robbed of their original sense,
and thereby estranged from Epicurus, but count as “Epicureanism.”
Physical pleasure becomes the main issue. A life of excess grounds
itself in Epicurus, counter to his explicit teaching and life.
Abstaining from politics and advocation of the reclusive life that
avoids the many are turned into the comfort of the philistine, who, in
his private pleasures, yields to passivity.
Liberation from fear of the gods is turned into hostility toward
religion, now practiced with a joyous aggressiveness that in this form is
alien to Epicurus.
The pleasure of theoria is broadened to include the pleasure of spir¬
itual life as it is found in the study of beautiful forms in poetry, literature,
and art. Epicurus himself had no interest in this. But such broadening
of his theoria, the basis for evaluating Epicurus—as was done by one
faction within humanism since the Renaissance—was incompatible with
his cast of mind. Nothing could be more alien to Epicurus, with his
gravity of mind that informed every emotion, than the noncommittal
character, the lack of consequences implicit in a spiritual world devoted
uniquely to self-cultivation.
The ambiguous development of Epicurean philosophy began early.
Epicurus was a contemporary and possibly a friend of the poet Menander.
There exists an epigram by the latter (referring to the name of the fathers
of Themistocles and Epicurus, both of whom were called Neocles):
Hail to you Neoclides, worthy both. One freed

His land from bondage, the other from folly.
Menander wrote: “I am a human being and I believe that nothing

human is alien to me” (transmitted through Terence, The Self-Tormentor,
I, i,l. 25). Epicurus was regarded as one of the founders of “humanism.”
Not Epicurus, but the Epicureans, such as Horace, embraced—as joyful

living—literature, poetry, the aesthetic existence. Via that source many
people of more recent times found their spiritual life in harmony with
the Epicurean and renewed it in accordance with the Epicurean model.
The high estimation of Epicurus proceeds from Lorenzo Valla by way
of Montaigne to a few modern humanist philologists.
*
It is just as great an error to ground humanism in Epicurus as it is

to believe him to be the founder of modern natural sciences. The rigor,
clarity, and unconditional consistency of Epicurus bear witness to an
existential energy that cannot be associated with aesthetic humanism.
Montaigne, the great skeptic spirit, derives his mental energy from an
entirely different source. The Epicurean element is frequently and mis¬
takenly interpreted as a supplementary contribution of “worldly wisdom”
to the humanist mode of thought.
Epicurus is strict, not lax; serious, not playful. His teaching is binding
for all of practical life and is not spiritual enjoyment.
A distinction has to be made between unconditional, hence true,
Existenz, which illuminates itself in Epicurean thinking, and the con¬
ditional, hence untrue Epicureanism of an aesthetic way of life. In Ep¬
icurus we see one of the powerful figures of Greek Existenz. Gravity
prevails. Man is identical with what he says and does. Whether or not
one follows Epicurus, on this one point he has undoubted validity: To
live with such strength in existential congruence, that is, independent of
content, becomes a negative yardstick for all that is yielding, halfhearted,
mired in possibilities, changeable and tentative; that is, for the aesthetic
life that negates man existentially.
B. Unanimous hostility toward Epicureanism
Almost all other philosophies as well as Christianity are united in single-

minded indignant rejection of Epicureanism. This isolation, already be¬
ginning with the Platonists, Stoics, Aristotelians, and early Christian
thought, sets it apart from all other philosophies. True, these others are
in violent conflict among themselves and given to polemical excesses.
But here one is faced with a unanimity of defamation. Obviously, spiritual
forces that come from the core of being are unleashed. The enmity, we
sense, is deadly. ^
Seneca, moderate by comparison, says: “I do not speak of that phi¬
losophy which alienates the citizen from his fatherland, does not allow
the gods to concern themselves with the world, and barters virtue for
pleasure . . .” (Letter 90 to Lucilius).
EPICURUS 107
Diogenes Laertius, in his life of Epicurus, recounts the calumnies

against him: erotic excesses, unbridled eating and drinking (he had to
vomit twice a day), his lack of education and his ignorance. He is called
a pornographer. “But these calumnies are mad,” Diogenes concludes (X,
8), any! goes on to describe the real man above reproach.
There are other exceptions. One is the affectionately respectful and
objective criticism of Cicero. In more recent centuries the inaccuracy and
injustice of the traditional evaluation of Epicurus have often been rec¬
ognized. For example, Bodin, in his Heptaplomeres, has a participant in
the dialogue say: “I have encountered many despisers of the gods, also
many who could be distinguished from wild animals only through their
shape; but I have not met an Epicurean, that is, a man who, without
hope of reward, piously venerated the gods, lived very simply and ab¬
stemiously, who, like Epicurus, practiced continence, justice, loyalty, and
integrity in his morals, though he believed the souls to be mortal; nor
does he believe that there are laws imposed by the immortal God.
In short, someone who posits the highest and ultimate good of man
not in bodily lusts but in the serene tranquillity of a superior soul”
(Book 1, 7).
C. Epicurus’ polemics
It is interesting that the tranquillity of soul advocated by Epicurus and

the Epicureans does not exclude extremely fierce polemics. This fierceness
has to be understood as arising from the threat posed to tranquillity of
soul itself, which casts a shadow over it. The polemic turns against
religion, which, through its fictions, creates empty fear, and almost as
fiercely against the Skeptics, who challenged the ground of this tran¬
quillity of soul, namely, unassailable cognition impervious to doubt.
Ataraxia, the extinction of affects and passions, the tranquillity of soul
of the individual, is the goal common to Epicureans, Skeptics, and Stoics.
But Epicurus opposes the skeptical philosophy of man’s essential igno¬
rance and of accepting what seems to be given.
Seen here are the polemics of a philosophic faith that has firmly
settled within the edifice of its dogma. This faith draws its life and its
strength from an alleged absolute knowledge of the one and only truth.
Hence it must defend its precious possession, this salutary knowledge,
with such fierceness. Here it becomes evident that we are not dealing
at all with a matter of scientific cognition based on cogent certainty and
presenting itself calmly, conscious of its significance and its limits. Instead,
it is faith in rational form, which, in its self-assertion, rejects Skepticism
and declares the altogether different, self-possessed tranquillity of the

Skeptic to be impossible. . ,t
Epicurus explains: Whoever believes that one does not know, after
all, does not know this either; he forgoes “starting a quarrel with such
sophists.” The senses cannot be contradicted. To shake this foundation
of our trust destroys “the basic foundations of our life and salvation.”
Not only every system, but life itself would break down. “If all cognition
is annulled, then every norm of the practical conduct of life is annulled
likewise” (N243, 183).
The Skeptic surrenders all ground of knowledge and yet places his
“faith” in the tranquillity of soul. This faith is supported by ignorance.
Epicurus’ thinking has the strange form of total religious unbelief. De¬
fying all criticism, it firmly adheres to the base of his absolute knowledge,
a knowledge of dogmatic faith that allows Being to sink to the level of
atoms of matter and mechanical occurrences.
Among Skeptics and Epicureans we notice an absence of philosoph¬
ical wonder as well as of an original desire to know and an experience
of mystery and a substantive ethos. They remain static because they are
deaf to the meaning in the questions addressed to them. They seem
unconcerned, with an indifference linked to a paucity of feeling. They
let things go by, standing still themselves, neither alive nor creative.
But they can be a corrective—against illusions, by pointing out the
inevitable. They can offer a refuge in times when we fail to be wholly
ourselves, when the heart gets tired, when, as it were, we may be per¬
mitted to withdraw for the moment, always provided that the remem¬
brance of what now is silent and absent does not disappear altogether.
Epicureanism turns against any other substantive philosophy. Only
atomism is true. One main opponent is Stoicism, whose philosophy—a
pantheistic faith informed by reason-nature—vainly promises tranquil¬
lity of soul. Whatever enters the field claiming to be philosophy is
critically dissected, despised, ridiculed. Epicurus alone, and exclusively,
possesses the truth. All the others are in error and in misery.
D. Unbelief and belief
Within the “unbelief” of Epicurean philosophy is found the “belief” in

salvation through pleasure in immediately sensuous presence; in other
words, the belief in unbelieving presentness of existence. Insofar as it is
confined to the immediacy of presence devoid of transparency, it is not
a faith. It is faith, however, as the power of a knowledge that, as knowl¬
edge, is not tenable.
EPICURUS 109
This faith in the form of a knowledge knows an absolute, eternal

Being active behind appearances: the world of atoms, their eternal, ac¬
cidental, and necessary movements and configurations. Of course, we
cannot declare a false knowledge as such to be a faith, but it can be so
labeled «with regard to the motive that causes this knowledge to be
considered true. This motive is the need for something firm, the will to
fix it in formulated doctrine. In Epicurean knowledge it works in analogy
to revealed faith, which in theology clothes itself in intricate systematic
formulation. Both erect dogmas that match their confessions.
Considered from the standpoint of empirical, critical knowledge, such
knowledge is called “mere” belief. It is, however, “more than knowledge”
because of the force with which it is held. In Epicurean unbelief it is
the strength of the belief in the world of atoms, gratifyingly thought to
be the ground of all givenness in nature.
This knowledge of Epicurus in no way corresponds to the great
enlightenment that is man’s portion and to his task to liberate himself
“from his self-incurred tutelage,” as Kant put it. This enlightenment,
never completed but always in movement, proceeds by way of the sci¬
ences, in constant self-criticism, and destroys illusions; at the limits of
such knowledge it experiences every mode of the presence of Being.
Epicurus’ sobriety is not that of philosophy, which needs and promotes
the sciences as indispensable, and never contravenes scientifically founded
knowledge; but it goes beyond them because of an origin out of which
it first arrived at the sciences. Epicurus’ thinking is, rather, a mode of
false enlightenment, a believing knowledge alien to science that should
be called science-superstition instead.
E. The type of a-religious philosophy
The a-religious faith of the Epicureans, limited to the individual and

his friends, ignores the organized formation of community or Church
or monastic orders; but it does create an analog to communities and
churches within the circle of friends who revere Epicurus as the godlike
savior and preserve unchanged the one and only truth as taught by him.
Comparison allows us to discern the type and significance of a-
religious philosophy in other configurations. In the extremely effective
Indian Samkhya philosophy is found: unpreparedness for the world and
for action (life in concealment), disinclination for risk, experiment, ad¬
venture, for building in the world, and thus renunciation of all partic¬
ipation and responsibility and duty in the world; lack of transcendence;
the Existenz of tranquillity before the void, coupled with consciousness
I 10 Tranquillity without Transcendence
of the pleasures of existence; the ethos of lovelessness outside the friend¬

ship of those of like mind and persuasion; the basic error of achieving
knowledge through unscientific science.
Buddha’s original thinking had this character at the outset (disre¬
garding all later development of Buddhism): redemption in the inde¬
pendent individual, indifference toward the world, association in
monastic orders which, in harmony with their purpose, live apart from
the world without task in the world, “atheism.”
In spite of all their differences (Epicurus’ pure pleasure against Bud¬
dha’s Nirvana experience), particularly in their historical influence (in
the remoteness from life-—in Epicurus, within the circles of friends; in
Buddha, within the monastic orders), one basic possibility for man can
be seen: separation from the world. It is possible to live in this manner,
but it is done mostly in a vague sort of way, without consistency, and
always under the condition that existence be sustained either through
property, no matter how small, or by begging.
In all instances, veneration to the point of idolizing an individual
forms the core of the cohesiveness: Epicurus, Kapila, Buddha. Belief in
the discoverers of unbelief is regarded as the most certain, most blessed,
most human form of life.
We are not dealing here with a specific psychological-physiological
constitution, or with a basic mood of temperament or character. Instead,
what is conveyed to us is a type of meaning that develops from a
deceptively personal atmosphere, since it is the single person that matters.
Whether in optimistic or pessimistic mood, this way of thinking dem¬
onstrates an impersonal serenity that goes beyond psychological predis¬
position. It is achieved through thinking and practice in continuous effort.
F. Have we joined the anti-Epicurean front?
Are we now, too, with our critical remarks, part of the almost universal
battle line drawn up against Epicurus by the history of philosophy? It
would seem so, since we consider Epicurus’ scientific knowledge to be
only allegedly scientific; indeed, completely contrary to science. Also, it
might appear as though we were saying that Epicurus’ life of detached
equanimity necessarily neglected all that gives human life substantive
content. The tranquillity of pure joy brings ^with it a withering of the
humanity of human beings. Epicurus refuses to accept the part of pain
that reveals depth. He refuses to take the risk implicit in the historic
immersion of Existenz. Instead of a richly fulfilled Existenz, we are left
with the barrenness of a life of pleasure and tranquillity. By refusing to
EPICURUS 111
follow his road, to choose him as guide for our life, we appear to oppose
him altogether.
But there are limits imposed on naysaying. The objection of a lack
of clarity on matters of science applies, in some sense, to almost all
philosophies; it has been only two centuries since insight, based on mental
discipline, began to draw a line between science and other disciplines.
The accusation of paucity of content is mitigated when we contemplate,
in all its grandeur, this thought and practice, how consequentially it was
carried out, its radicality, its harmony with itself. Epicurus will be a
guidepost forever. Even if he is rejected as a permanent guide, there are
moments in life when his philosophy can serve us as a refuge in times
of weariness, as a respite in our weakness, as a transitory means to keep
us going (as does, at other times, Stoic philosophy). This also always
implies a shortcoming, the nature of which is brought home to us through
Epicurus in all the seductive power of his reasoning and its consequences.
Counter to his intention, Epicurus can help us by increasing our strength
in the battle against the very tendencies whose nature he illuminated on
the highest level. We enter the garden of Epicurus in order, overcoming
ourselves, to abandon it once again.
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Gnostic Dreamers
BOEHME
SCHELLING
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i INTRODUCTION
Gnosis is the name of a certain historical phenomenon arising in the

centuries that surround the beginning of the Christian era. It manifested
itself first outside Christianity, but then also achieved prominence within
it.
But gnosis is equally the term for a way of thinking that transcends
all ages, though it found its most prevalent and conspicuous expression
at that period. It is, however, an objective type, an attitude on the part
of the human spirit, manifestly innate from the beginning of all civili¬
zations until today.
Gnosis makes known what really is, from where and how it has
come to be, what can and will come to be, and which path is the path
of salvation for us. We receive answers to the questions we pose to our
existence: from where? to where? what for? why? In particular, the
individual, his soul, derives guilt and what appears to be guilt, position,
and task from this embracing whole.
Like every metaphysics, gnosis makes the supersensible turn into a
determinate objectivity. Its hallmark, however, is that this is done not
only conceptually but also by intuition turning into thought. The su¬
persensible becomes temporal, spatial, and corporeal. Hence gnosis is
differentiated from the speculative approach to transcendence, carried
out in concepts, in a thinking that goes beyond and founders logically.
For gnosis postulates supersensible worlds, regions, spheres, times; hence
there is a supersensible history with events and actions on the part of
personal beings, their apostasy and their liberation. What we are and
what the present world of men is-—-this has its origin, place, and future
within the framework of supersensible history.
The gnostic manner of thinking is characterized by an extraordinary
wealth of imageries, apparitions, personages, happenings in the super¬
sensible world. To be sure, all metaphysics needs ciphers and metaphors.
Gnosis is distinguished by its reveling in these pictures, by the relish in
endless invention and repetition. Gnostic life becomes a contemplative
“5
116 Gnostic Dreamers
thinking of life in another world, from which the threads of what is

immediately present are pulled.
Finally, the gnostic manner of thinking, as all philosophy, is char¬
acterized by the importance of thinking for Existenz. This unity of
thinking and existing is termed “gnostic” when thinking comes to mean
liberation and redemption, when thinking is initiation, is itself actuality.
In gnosis this cognition has precedence of ethos, which is only the con¬
sequence of cognition. Gnosis means participation in authentic Being.
This participation passes through the forms of ecstasis, of contemplative
life, of seeing aesthetically and feeling intuitively. It may be so pervasive
as to become the mainstay of life, or it may occur with no implied
obligation, with virtually no consequences, as a mere way of experiencing.
What gnosis imparts has a dreamlike quality. For its imagination
the inaccessible and supersensible realm assumes corporeality. This can¬
not be simply brushed off as nonsensical. Whatever has attained some
reality within human history is never totally without truth. The meaning
underlying gnosis must be clarified in the atmosphere of genuine science
and critical philosophy. This meaning can be called a truth. Hence we
call those philosophers who think intuitively in the form of embodiments
“gnostic dreamers of truth.”
Gnostic thought may be found in many other philosophies and in
ordinary ways of thinking, but not as dominant as it is with them. Among
the outstanding Western thinkers who effectively developed this thinking
I have chosen Boehme and Schelling.
BOEHME
I. LIFE
Boehme was born in 1575 in Altseidenberg, Silesia, the son of a pros¬

perous peasant. He learned the trade of a shoemaker, became a jour¬
neyman, and settled in 1594 as shoemaker in Goerlitz, married at the
same time, and had six children.
What, through his immersion in the supersensory world, he spirit¬
ually saw and thought, he put down in a manuscript titled “Aurora,” a
copy of which, in 1612, reached the chief pastor of Goerlitz, who was
outraged by its contents. Boehme was forbidden to write more by the
pastor and the municipal council. For seven years he obeyed this in¬
junction. But then he broke out; he wrote his numerous works in the
brief span between 1619 and his death in 1624.
Up to 1612 he had practiced his craft successfully. After that it was
interfered with by his persecution, and also neglected by him. Worries
about his livelihood were allayed through the help of friends (mostly
belonging to the nobility). In 1619 he still complained that he must, time
and again, devote himself to his worldly affairs in order to “nourish the
earthly body as well as wife and child” (VII, 377).1
In retrospect he wrote this about the injunction against writing and
the persecution: I “had resolved, even after the persecutions [had ceased]
not to produce anything further, but, obediently, to let God be quiet
and let the devil, with his mockery, sweep over me. . . . But things
turned out with me as when a seed is sown in the ground: it grows
forth in all storms and foul weather, contrary to all reason . . . and
returns with hundredfold fruit, moreover with still deeper and true
knowledge and fiery force” (VII, 390). Of the chief pastor he said: “God
made him into a mallet that must drive the machine. His blaspheming
has been my strength and my growth” (VII, 319-20).
When, at the end of the year 1623, his friend Franckenberg printed
1 Citations of Boehme’s work are to Jalôb Boehme’s Sdmmtliche Werfe, ed. K. W. Schiebler.
Leipzig, 1831-1847.
Boehme’s shorter writings without the latter’s knowledge, the storm

broke out anew. Enjoined by the municipal council to leave the city
temporarily, he spent a few months in Dresden, honored by friends and
treated with regard by the Elector of Saxony. He died shortly after his
return to Goerlitz.
His friend and biographer Franckenberg described his appearance:
“His . . . external bodily form was one of physical decline and poor
appearance, of small size, low forehead, elevated temples, somewhat
curved nose, grey and almost sky-blue glittering eyes. . . . [He had] a
short sparse beard, a weak voice, but he spoke in a sweet voice, was
modest in his gestures, humble in his speech . . . patient in his suffering.”
Spiritual origin: Boehme grew up in Lutheran-Christian piety, in
consciousness of sin and redemption. He had not studied at the university,
nor had he enjoyed a specialized theological education. But, a$ he himself
said, he had read much, most likely the Bible above all, also medieval
mystics as well as Paracelsus, Schwenkfeldt, Weigel.
Fundamental experience: Franckenberg tells of something that never
appeared in his writings: how in 1600, at the age of twenty-five, Boehme
was initiated into the innermost ground of nature through the sight of
sunshine falling on a pewter vessel. Only when pure light meets with
darkness does it become luminous. In that period of his life something
extraordinary must indeed have been going on in Boehme. He wrote
later: “In this my first so very serious searching and desiring . . . the
gate had been opened to me so that I saw and knew more in a quarter
of an hour than if I had been at places of higher learning for many
years.” And, further: “But something opened itself up in me from time
to time: although I carried it within me for twelve years and was pregnant
with it. . . .” After twelve years it overcame him “like a cloudburst:
what it hits it hits” (VII, 400). He wrote it down. So it was “with the
fiery urge, even though I did not intend at all that anyone should read
it; I merely wrote down God’s miracles for myself that had been shown
to me . . .” (VII, 341). This was the origin of his first and, for a long
time, only work: “The book Aurora or Sunrise was my childish begin¬
ning; hence I wrote down merely in the reflected light without reason,
merely after beholding it in an almost magical way” (VII, 428). “To be
sure, I saw into its innermost, as into a great depth, for I saw through
it as into a chaos. . . .” Even afterward the sun “did shine for me for a
considerable time . . . but not always steadily. When it hid itself, I hardly
understood even my own work . . .” (VII, 400-01).
The content of the fundamental experience, symbolized by the bright¬
ness of the sun on the dark pewter vessel, is the unfathomable contrariety
BOEHME 119
in all things. Boehme speaks of his melancholy. The latter, as well as

the rapturous moods, surely overcame him often as simply given ex¬
periences. But he speaks of them as being grounded in meaning: “I have
got into [a state of] sore melancholy . . . when I observed the great depth
of this world, the sun and the stars and the clouds. . . . Thus I found
there evil and good in all things, love and wrath in the irrational creatures
as well as in wood, stone, earth ... as well as in humans and in animals
. . . that, in this world, the godless are just as well off as the pious and
that the barbarian nations occupied the best-endowed countries. . . . For
this reason I became melancholy.... The devil must have been overjoyed
at that and often impressed on me heathen thoughts. But when, in such
misery, my spirit . . . earnestly arose in God, to wrestle, as with a great
storm, without letup, with the love and mercy of God . . . He shone
brightly for me with his Holy Ghost so that I might understand his will
and get rid of my sadness; then the spirit broke through. . . . But when
I stormed so violently against God and all the gates of hell . . . my spirit
soon broke through the gate of hell into the innermost birth of the
godhead and was surrounded there with love. . . . But such a triumphing
in the spirit . . . cannot be compared . . . with anything save with that
where, in the midst of death, life is born. ... In this light my spirit soon
saw through everything and recognized God in all creatures, in herb
and grass, who he is, how He is, and what is his will . . . thus years
must have passed before the right reason was granted to me” (II, 212-
I3)-
Boehme found God in the radical changes of his melancholic and
euphoric moods. Out of these agitated states he read in the book of
nature, recognized the signatura rerum, grasped the boundlessly terrible
and the overwhelmingly magnificent.
The u>oi\. The work “Sunrise”—“Aurora”—stands by itself. All his
other works were written in the brief space of his last six years, often
in simultaneous production. Boehme believed that in his later writings
he had achieved greater clarity than in “Sunrise.” Although in Boehme
periods of development hardly play a role (the expression “unground”
[Ungrund] seems to have appeared first in the treatise “On the Incarnation
of Christ”), a change becomes noticeable. What is considered greater
clarity is also increasing schematization. The originality, the imaginative
force of his language seems to wane. We might think here of an analogy
to typically schizophrenic change. But we lack sufficient biographical
material for such a diagnosis.
Though they deal with a variety of specific themes, all his many
writings aim at the whole. This whole, however, is the vision in its
modifications, and not a system. Boehme writes without discipline, with¬

out will or capability for form and structure, as if overflowing, losing
himself, conceptually confused. For long stretches the reading is tortu¬
rous. The gems are embedded in a jupible of texts. No one can doubt,
however, the depth of his meaning, the force that uses and develops
popular speech, unplanned and unaware, yet with impressive plasticity.
No overview or mental discipline guides his pen. He is carried away. A
good part of his writings remains unintelligible, especially if the reader
is not sufficiently versed in the language and imagery of the nature-
mystical tradition. He varies his manner of expression, his images, met¬
aphors, schemata. The reader finds nourishment only where the original
intuition is forcefully present and the basic dialectical operations are
carried out in pictorial simplicity. These are high points from which the
text quickly deteriorates again.
II. THE SCHEMA OF A SYSTEMATIC REPRODUCTION
To present in systematical form something that is not a system is mis¬

leading only in regard to the order and form imposed on it. In the case
of Boehme, the substance is preserved in the summary given below, but
beyond it, it exists also in endless variations and ramifications. Let us
see how it can be presented succinctly, following Benz and Martensen.
What is GodP Whence am I, whence the world? What has occurred
that has made me the way I find myself now? Boehme answers this in
three stages. He cognizes, first, God before creation; second, creation;
third, the progress of the created world, the fall and salvation.
i. What is God before creation?
a) The astonishing answer. “The Nothing is God” (VII, 191), and “God
has made all things out of the Nothing and is the self-same Nothing”
(IV, 309).
But this Nothing is a strange Nothing. It is not Nothing altogether.
What then? God Himself is “the seeing and feeling of the Nothing . . .
and is called a Nothing (even though it is God himself) for the reason
that it is incomprehensible and ineffable” (VI, 597).
This Nothing is touched by us in thinking when we think of God.
God is the “unground.” “The unground is an eternal Nothing” (VI,
413). There, within the eternity of the unground, there is nothing but
stillness, an eternal quiet, no beginning and no end, no searching or
BOEHME 121
finding, or anything that would be a possibility. The unground “is first

and foremost a magia”2 (VI, 245).
In the unground there is an eternal will. We recognize “that the
eternal beginning in the unground is an eternal will in itself, whose
primal state no creature is to know” (VI, 247). For “the Nothing is a
desire for Something.” The desire in the Nothing makes, “in itself, the
will into something . . .” (VI, 413). “With the free joy of the Nothing
[God] leads himself to desire; for in the Nothing there is an eternal will
to revelation. . . . Will in free joy is named God” (VII, 191).
“The will in the unground is like an eye in which nature lies hidden;
like a hidden fire that does not burn, that is there and also is not” (VI,
322). The eye “is a will ... a yearning for revelation, in order to find
the Nothing” (IV, 285). Its “seeing is in itself, for there is nothing before
it that would be deeper” (VI, 332).
Unground, primal will, the unseeing eye, themselves nothing, yet
they do not remain in the Nothing. They become manifest:
A “will is as flimsy as a Nothing, therefore it is desirous, it wants
to be something so that it may be manifest in itself” (VI, 247).
However, the being “that, in the eternal unground, eternally emerges
in itself and returns into itself . . . goes forth out of itself with what it
comprises, manifests itself in the gleam of the eye” (VI, 333).
The eternal mind of the unground enters into ground and being,
“as an eternal birthing and consuming ... an eternal love-play, such
that the unground wrestles and plays with the ground it has shaped,
hence with itself. It gives itself to Something and again takes that Some¬
thing into itself” (V, 22).
How does this happen? The Nothing itself “causes the will to be
desirous.” This desiring, however, “is an image where the will sees itself
in the mirror of wisdom” (VI, 247).
The eye of God, the look into the depth, sees nothing as yet. That
“is an eye of eternity, an unground-like eye, that stands or sees in
Nothing” (IV, 284-85). This great tremendous eye in which all wonders,
all shapes, colors, and figures lie hidden sees nothing in a vague, limitless
infinity where it encounters no object.
The dark will for which nothing else exists wants to take possession
of itself and its plenitude. That comes about through Sophia, wisdom,
God’s contemplativeness, the eternal idea which stands before God. By
virtue of Sophia, the nonseeing look into the depth becomes the seeing
2 "Magia” may be a neologism formulated by Boehme. The meaning suggested by Jaspers is

that what “unground” refers to is not susceptible to conceptual thought, only to invocatory thought.
—Editors’ Note.
look. In the unground God would not be manifest to himself. “But his
wisdom has become his ground in eternity” (VI, 251). Sophia is the virgin
who in the dawn of eternity speaks before God, makes possible for him
the revelation of himself before himself. She is called virgin because she
does not give birth but merely receives the images and reflects them.
She is selfless, without desire.
b) Sophia is—I list here only some of the images and concepts by
means of which Boehme depicts her—the mirror of God. God sees
himself in it as in a mirror. Through it, He is able to confront himself.
Cognition first grows out of such a confrontation. Hence Sophia is called
the image of God. In the image the incomprehensible becomes compre¬
hensible. Sophia is called, further, the ob-ject [der Gegenwurf], the exhaled
[das Ausgehauchte\, the egressed [das Ausgegangene\, the emanated [das
Ausgeflossene], the found, the uttered (cf. Benz, nff.).
However, Sophia is not an abstraction. For Boehme, there is nothing
spiritual without the corporeal, even if it is a suprasensory corporeality.
Hence it is the corporeal form of the overarching will of God, the
body of God, embodied configuration. It is “not a being which is
conceivable as bodily ... as we humans are, yet is essencelike and
visual” (IV, 71).
Since it is the body of the whole triune God, it is also called the
“house of the Holy Trinity” (VI, 340).
It is the garment in which God manifests himself to man. Without
it his configuration would not be recognized. “For we human beings
cannot, in all eternity, see more of the spirit of God than the splendor
of his majesty” (IV, 71).
Through Sophia there becomes effective in God the principle of all
revelation, of all becoming and life, the principle of opposites.
As the unity devoid of opposites, the unground is like the Nothing
but is filled by an infinite plenitude and the urge to manifest itself. The
will of the unground “is neither evil nor good but is merely a will, that
is, a knowing without understanding for anything or in anything . . .
and is neither desire nor joy; rather, it is surging or willing” (IV, 500-
01).
But God is not the Nothing resulting from an absence of opposites;
He is the unity of opposites. This is the mysterium magnum of Boehme.
Duality in the unity, unity in the duality. God himself is the unity of
opposites, is darkness and light, love and wrath, fire and light. Yea and
nay are One Thing.
The sensing of its own self is the eye of eternal seeing, the eternal
yea, the eternal unity. In the will it contracts into itself, is the eternal
BOEHME I23
nay, the eternal ownness. The center of the yea is love, of the nay wrath
(cf. Benz, 128-29).
In regard to oppositeness Sophia is the first principle of separability.
This likeness “is the separator'in the emanation of the will which makes
the will pf the eternal One separable: it is the separability in the will
out of which forces and properties come to be.” Hence “arises the mul¬
tiplicity of the wills, and out of it also came to be the creaturely life of
the eternal ones such as angels and souls” (VI, 469).
The will of the eternal One is without feeling, without bent toward
anything; for it has nothing toward which it could incline except in itself
(VI, 469-70). “Desire is the ground and beginning of the nature of
sensitivity of one’s own will . . . out of it the separabilities of the wills
are brought to the sensitivity of a selfsameness” (VI, 469).
In summarizing his thoughts, Boehme expresses time and again what
God is; for example: God “is the One vis-a-vis the creature, as an eternal
Nothing; he has neither ground, beginning nor abode; and possesses
nothing save himself; he is the will of the Unground, is in himself only
One; he needs neither space nor place: from eternity in eternity he gives
birth to himself in himself: he is like or similar to no thing, and has no
special place where he abides: eternal wisdom ... is his abode: he is the
will of wisdom, wisdom is his revelation” (V, 7).
The reflection in Sophia allows the groundless will of God to find
and grasp itself, but only as in an early-morning dream of eternity. It
shows him the wealth of possible splendors but in outline only.
c) Nature. God becomes actual only through eternal nature. As a
means of revelation it stands in opposition to the virgin, the eternal idea.
God, who sees himself in the mirror, desires what he sees. It is to become
actual. The pleasure of beholding and desire allow nature hidden in God
to break forth.
But God remains as yet in the eternity of his life with this nature.
It is not the nature present to us but the nature prior to creation. As
this nature, will separates itself from the unity. It multiplies itself into
an infinity of particular wills.
Concomitant with this breakthrough of nature, a darkening occurs.
This is the condition for light to reveal its brilliance. All opposites now
actualize themselves to full revelation. The yea of all things becomes
manifest only through the eternal nay. Even though yea and nay are not
two things adjacent to each other, but one thing that drives itself forth
in the dynamism of its contrariety, they divide into two beginnings or
two centers, each of which wills and works in itself (cf. Martensen,
49-50).
These two “centra” are the will of nature and the will of spirit, or
the individual will and the universal will. In the eternal process of
revelation, the will of nature subordinates itself to the will of spirit. It
proceeds in seven configurations of nature. In the first three configu¬
rations there is a hostile relationship between nature and spirit; in the
last three nature is the willing servant. The first dark triad (1-3) is
followed by lightning (fright [Schracbf), and then by the light triad (5—
7) (cf. Martensen, 51-52).
In the dark triad, nature shows what it is capable of doing through
itself. Despite its tremendous power it still remains unsatiated, in wild
unrest. It moves in three stages (cf. Martensen, 52ff.).
1) Contraction: It is the first act of will out of the Nothing. It is cold,
hard, sharp, strict—it is salt, the power that is locked in itself, craving
exclusivity and not tolerating anything beside itself.
2) Expansion: It wants to spread out, is desire directed outward, is
urge into diversity—it is mercury. These two qualities are opposing
desires: the one wants to include everything in itself, the other wants to
pour itself out; the one to withdraw austerely into itself, the other fleeing
out of itself. The one wants greater stillness, the other clamors and rages.
These warring powers are inseparable, cannot let go of each other, but
must wrestle one with the other. In the end this struggle turns into an
oscillation comparable to the turning of a wheel.
3) Rotation: It is movement that cannot come to an end, because it
has no goal; it is terrible restlessness and fear. It cannot remain where
it is and yet does not move from the spot—it is sulphur. It is also called
centrum naturae, wheel of nature, wheel of life, wheel of fear, the wheel
of birth, of eternal fire.
4) There now awakens, in the fear of nature, the yearning for
freedom. The immeasurable suffering yearns for deliverance. Before
this yearning, love manifests itself, but becomes manifest only when
there is something that desires it. Love lets its light shine into the
darkness. A tremor, a terror (Schracki) passes through nature—
lightning.
Fear is afraid of the fiery lightning. The darkness, the selfishness of
natural desire is consumed by it. The dark and the light world, wrath
and love separate. The configurations of nature turn gentle. Thus, what¬
ever in God’s life before creation is a prototype will return in all Being:
Each life must be born twice, as is nature through lightning. The new
light triad has these configurations (cf. Martensen, 54ff.).
5) The light water spirit: In it the powers are concentrated into a
unity. Hostility has vanished, one power takes pleasure in the others, a
BOEHME I25
gentle love reigns, the strictness and sharpness of nature are muted and
reshaped. Here lies the birthplace and the seed of all things.
6) The comprehensible sound, the resonance: The powers just collected
are led forth in a comprehensible separation. They give sound and
become dear. But no human ear can hear these celestial sounds.
7) The harmonious whole: It is the wisdom that has become actuality,
life, and corporeality. It is called the uncreated heaven, the celestial hall,
the kingdom.
As they are represented, these seven nature-configurations engender
one another in turn. But they are not successive; rather, in movement,
they are life in God, an eternal presentness, a whole (cf. Martensen, 56IT.).
d) This summing up cannot claim to be an accurate presentation of
Boehme’s teaching. He sees, thinks, and writes not only in endless rep¬
etition but also in endless variations and rearrangements. One scheme
is merely one among many. To illustrate what such sketches represent
and what meaning accrues to them, the following needs to be added:
1) Nature furnishes the images. But salt, mercury, sulphur; harsh,
sweet, bitter; oil, water, fire are not ciphers, but the powers that manifest
themselves in these actualities. Light is love, darkness hate, warmth
wrath, salt covetousness, sulphur fear.
2) For Boehme, the method of thinking via images of nature is
coincidental with the divinity of nature. To be sure: “There is nothing
in nature that does not contain good as well as evil” (Richter, 89), but
God himself is the contrariety present in him which, in him, is unity,
is this dual possibility. “When God created this world with all there is
in it, He had no other material to fashion it from than his own being,
than himseif” (III, 9).
Hence nature presents a twofold aspect. As the essence of this world
it is “smoke coagulated from the eternal ether” (Richter, 90). But there
is equally the magnificence of this world. God is in nature although
“nature neither grasps nor comprehends him, just as air cannot grasp
the radiance of the sun” (VI, 5).
3) The seven configurations of nature brought each other forth con¬
secutively. Contraction brought forth its opposite, expansion; both, in
wrestling with each other, brought forth rotation, the eternal wheel of
the fear of nature. The desire for freedom from the wheel and for
deliverance is answered by eternal love, in fiery lightning or fright
(Schrack), in which what is mere nature is consumed. Now the light
movement unfolds. At first the gentle docility of nature confronts the
spirit. But it is spirit only in understanding one for the other, in con¬
sonance. In conclusion, there is total harmony.
What is presented in this form as the life of God prior to creation

is an event not in time but in eternity. When we think it, we understand
simultaneity as a succession. The illusion arises that a temporal story is
being told. But in God all moments that, presented in separation, look
like crises or incidents are held together by the eternal bond. Hence
Boehme turns against his own description. Hejnust speak “in the manner
of the devil,” as though God had a beginning. He, therefore, also turns
against the compartmentalization (Abteiliglêit) of thoughts.
4) The sequence of steps signifies the inner revelation of God. What
Sophia and nature are within God returns as the unfolding plenitude
in creation, preconceived by him through the former. And finally it
means the becoming visible of His plenitude to the thinking creature,
that is, man (cf. Benz, 21).
To this corresponds the meaning of the “glance,” of the eternal eye
(cf. Benz, 36-37). God sees himself and his possibilities in Sophia. God
sees man through Sophia. Sophia opens the eye of Adam, the primal
man, so that God’s plenitude becomes revealed to him. In the glance at
Sophia there is the eternal glance in which God cognizes man and,
correspondingly, there is in man the glance in which he cognizes God.
In the eternal glance God cognizes himself, and in man—the image of
the godhead—the glance is that in which man cognizes himself.
5) What Boehme calls the seven wholesome spirits and the seven
properties are, in the godhead, the eternal principles of the formation of
all things. The uncreated nature thus shown is the prototype and power
in all created nature in which, therefore, these moments recur. The
imagery of natural elements, feelings, moods presents Boehme’s glance
at the forces through which everything comes to be. Such a design is
analogous to that of Hegel when he sketches the categories of his logic
as God’s conceptions prior to creation. But Boehme’s pictorial intuitions
greatly exceed the sparse conceptual guidelines, whereas in Hegel the
pictorial quality, while he does not own up to it, is present though
concealed, kept marginal, as it were, not altogether canceled in the sharp
contours of his thought-configurations. In Boehme reason is veiled in
imagination; in Hegel the imagination, in reason.
2. God and creation
God manifests himself not only in himself. He creates a world outside

himself.
In the inward divine process arises the trinity of the divine processes
and the seven configurations of the wholesome spirits of nature, both in
BOEHME I27
the mirror of Sophia. In the outward divine process this—which, as

eternal harmony, uncreated, is present to itself in the image—steps
outside into the actual contrasts through space and time. Now that which
was one is separate and consecutive.
Beginning, middle, and end, separated from each other, seek to
combine. Everything created must go through a development from the
incomplete to the complete. What, in absolute completeness, is eternal
enters a process of relative completeness. What has thusly been created
is life. It unfolds through continued births. God manifests himself at
different times of revelation.
His creation is the world of the spirits and the natural world. God
does not create them out of nothing, but out of himself. In eternal wisdom
he has the forms; in eternal nature, the matter of creation. Everything
that is bears the stamp of the Trinity. It wrestles in configurations of
the seven well-spirits.
The world cannot be called God. The Son is not created but is God
out of God. The world is created and external to God.
There is a radical difference between eternity in God and in creation.
How the created world stands before God as possibility is expressed by
Sophia in the Old Testament (Proverbs 8:22-31): “The Lord possessed
me in the beginning of His way, before His works of old. I was set up
from everlasting, from the beginning, or ever the earth was. When there
were no depths, I was brought forth. . . . Before the mountains were
settled . . . was I brought forth. . . . When He prepared the heavens I
was there. . . . When He established the clouds above: when He strength¬
ened the fountains of the deep: When He gave to the sea His decree,
that the waters should not pass His commandment: when He appointed
the foundations of the earth: then I was by Him, as one brought up
with Him: and I was daily His delight, rejoicing always before Him
. . . and my delights were with the sons of men.”3
This passage is a major source for Theosophy. Schelling confesses
that it acted on him like a fresh morning breeze out of the sacred dawn
of the world; even if he had found it in a profane writer he would have
considered it an inspired text. Boehme echoed this vision: Before the
time of creation, God saw the created world in a reflection, as in a mirror.
In it he saw, for all eternity, the idea of angels and souls as well as men,
though as shadows, not as creatures.
How does the world, which is eternally in God, but only as a shadow
and not corporeally, arrive at the actual condition of creaturehood? Why
3 King James version.

did God create the world? By eternal fiat or his word as expression of
his will, through the “let-there-be! of the Creator” (Martensen, 137)?
But why this act of will? Boehme answered, approximately, that the
triad desired to have children in its likeness; out of love God formed
the idea of another existence which is not-God but is utterly in need of
God. What is decisive is: God created the world not out of necessity but
through free decision. In spite of Boehme’s affirmative formulations, this
decision remains an impenetrable mystery for him. “Even though we
know the fiat, we do not know God’s first move toward creation. We
know no cause to explain how that which had stood in its nature through¬
out eternity (without beginning and unchangeable) has come into motion;
for there is nothing that would have stimulated it” (VI, 50; cf. Martensen,
140). As God moves toward creation a beginning is posited. But how
can something begin in the unchangeable, in which there is no time?
“We are not supposed to know the reason and cause, and God has
reserved it for his power . . . we are also not to reason further about
this for it disturbs us” (VI, 159).
Hence it “is the greatest miracle brought about by eternity that it
has worked the eternal into a corporeal spirit which no reason can grasp
and no sense can find” (VI, 49). “No created spirit can posit itself and
hence it cannot fathom itself, either. To be sure, we see our potter . . .
but we do not see his creating. . . . The soul grows forth like a twig on
a tree of humanity; but the first movement toward creation is not to be
known by us. It is a secret which God has reserved for himself’ (VI,
49ff.; cf. Martensen, 141-42).
3. The course of the created world
a) Exposition: With creation the bond is dissolved that holds together all
forces and configurations in God’s eternity. Each force is set free so that
it may move according to its own will. But as yet there is no strife
between the innumerable particular wills. Everything is still in a state
of balance that is maintained through the unity of eternal wisdom.
The primal state of creation is the life of the angels in a marvelous
natural world that by far surpasses our earthly world in its perfection.
It is a realm of pure spirits of light: within it are the realms of the three
archangels Michael, Lucifer, and Uriel, surrounded by a host of angels.
The lives of these beings are not bound to the limits of space and time.
To be sure, they have locality, but they can be where they wish. They
know neither proximity nor distance. They live in the communality of
BOEHME 129
love in common joy. The content of their lives is the adoration of God
in the cycle of eternity. Though created, they constitute a second eternity,
as it were, a condition they share with all of creation.
But this changes. The angels have to pass a test, with the view of
strengthening their relationship to God. Not all pass this test. Lucifer,
the most powerful of all created spirits, held sway over a—for us—
indeterminate area of natural worlds to which our earth also belonged,
at that time resplendent in beauty and magnificence. Lucifer’s temptation
was: He saw his beauty, for he was wonderfully beautiful; he saw his
power, for he was a most mighty lord. He directed his imagination onto
himself, his ego, and became ill-disposed toward the Son of God, who
was more beautiful and mightier than he. He thought that he could
himself become like God and rule in all things through the power of
fire.
He opened his centrum naturae, his fiery ground, and thus caused
his light to go out. He became dark. The fundament of hell, which had
been hidden since time eternal, was now unveiled. He awakened the
principle of God’s wrath, the first three configurations of nature. His
torment consists in a constant climbing in order to raise himself above
the heart of God; but each time he sinks back once more into the deepest
abyss.
Why did Lucifer fall? Lucifer, says Boehme, knew well that he was
not God, and he foresaw God’s judgment and his fall; but the fall was,
for him, not a feeling, only a knowing. As to his feeling, he had in
himself the fiery lust, the fire-root. The latter now burned in him, goaded
him on to want something totally new, to raise himself above all king¬
doms and above all divinity. He had the illusion of not having been
created. He was conscious that God could not kill him. “But God has
created him into his harmony, such that he wanted to play with him in
his spirit of love as on the stringed instrument of his revealed and formed
word, and this his own will did not want” (V, 41).
Lucifer draws the natural world which is subject to him into his fall.
Previously there existed a magical connection between spirit and nature.
Now a terrible turba (confusion) enters into nature. The bond of the
forces is truly dissolved. Instead of acting together in harmony, the egoism
of all the particulars now falls into conflict and confusion. The conse¬
quence is a state of chaos. God’s wrath becomes manifest in fire, ma¬
terialization, darkness, and death.
This happened at the beginning of creation. This fall within eternity,
which could still contain creation itself, first brings about our temporal
3
r °
Gnostic Dreamers
world. From the beginning the latter has shown itself as a shattered,
broken, disturbed, disordered eternity. The dawn of creation is heralded
by a great catastrophe.
But God does not want the destruction to be final. He initiates the
reaction. He puts everything under water. His purpose is the re-formation
of the earth. Only now does that which is told in the Mosaic story of
the creation begin. The six days of creation are stages in the battle between
the forces of God and those of darkness. Only now does that which we
call time begin.
The earth was unformed and void {tohu wabohu). It was necessary
to rebuild the world that through Lucifer had become a ruin. The end
was the creation of paradise, of the perfect abode of light for the creature
of light, man, the first man. In paradise everything was in a state of
balance, but not so in the rest of the world. Man was destined to extend
paradise over the whole earth. What happened?
To understand this, we must first know what Adam, the first man,
was.
The first man was One, unity without multiplicity.
The first man was endowed with spirit-corporeality as his heavenly
garment, and was not yet clothed in incarnate corporeality. The heavenly
body of Adam could pass through all things, and things through him,
without laceration. His corporeality is that of the angels (cf. V, 47ff.).
External things do not harm him; he is impervious to frost, heat, thorns.
He is free of sickness and death. He neither knows nor needs sleep. He
breathes not air but the divine spirit of life. He has no bowels and needs
no material nourishment. He drinks from the fountain of eternal life
that is hidden in the earthly water source and does not need to drink
water. He is androgynous, without sex; procreation occurs through inner
imaging; this self-imaging takes place by means of loving contemplation
of the divine image. Begetting and giving birth are one and the same
act (cf. V, 54-55).
The first man was microcosm. He contains the three principles of
the macrocosm: first, the principle of fire, the eternal father, as the soul
of man; second, the principle of light, the eternal son, as the spirit of
man; third, the sensuous world of things, as his transitory corporeality.
In Adam the principle of light is dominant. Therefore he possesses the
clear cognition of divine, natural, and human things. He understands
the language of God as well as the language of nature. For him, all that
is visible is irradiated by the invisible. For Sophia is his bride as she is
the bride of God. He is, after all, God’s image. Adam, the first man, is
put to the test and tempted, as was Lucifer before him. He allows himself
BOEHME I3I
to be awakened to false pleasure by the Devil. He is tired of his being

in God. The unity becomes boring for him. Adam becomes “tired and
blind to the kingdom of God” (III, 190). He no longer wants to receive
things out of the hand of God,' but wants to experience them by himself,
wants to,“try out how they are in themselves” (Benz, 61). He wants to
know the multiplicity of things not in the unity of God but in their
selfness and separateness. He wants to taste how it is when the balance
is dissolved.
“That was the real test, what the free will of the soul would do,
whether it would want to . . . enter into selfness” (V, 99). Adam failed.
Because he turned away from God, the world gained power over
him. For “he led his will and desire from God into selfness and vanity,
and broke it off from God” (V, 101). Therefore nature overpowered
him, the forces of the world gained mastery over him, he became a slave
to the elements and the stars. The complete transformation of his nature
becomes evident in the following actualities:
He is overcome by sleep. The eternally wakeful First Man becomes
subject to nature. “Thus he fell victim to the Magia and that was the
end of his glory, for sleep hints at death” (VI, 178). First Man had lost
his immortality.
There follows “the transformation of the spirit-corporeality of ce¬
lestial man into the incarnate corporeality” of earthly man (Benz, 76).
This loss of power was, further, First Man’s falling prey to sexuality.
The oneness turned into the duality of gender.
Boehme understands the fact of gender to be of supersensible origin.
Originally, First Man had an androgynous nature, which man will again
assume in his future perfection. This is grounded in the nature of God.
God is androgynous; he is his unity with the celestial Sophia (cf. Benz,
Sophia is female and she is a virgin. Wisdom is called the bride of

God, God’s playmate. She is “the mother in which the father is active”
(VII, 99). Boehme speaks of the marriage of Sophia with God. She could
not give birth unless the spirit of God were active in her. She is called
the “eternal mother,” the “one who gives birth to all things” (III, 47).
The relationship of the divine will to itself is called “lust.” Its desiring
is “a grasping of itself” (V, 8).
This androgynous self-relation and this self-cognition do not split
unity apart. For this reason Sophia is called virgin. No desire originates
in her. She is the unblemished mirror. She “is a virgin and has never
given birth . . . goes out from God and not back . . . rather, it is her
will to open up God’s miracles” (III, 153).
I32 Gnostic Dreamers
The androgynous character of complete First Man corresponds to

the androgynous nature of God. The magical birth of First Man is the
image of the primal act of self-cognition on the part of God in the mirror
of Sophia. In Adam there was the androgynous unity of the male fire-
soul and the light-body of Sophia (cf. Benz, 66).
Hence the fall from the unity is thought of as adultery on the part
of Adam. “And here Adam lost his chaste love-play and his virginity”
(VII, 241).
As of that moment he can no longer be alone. The phrase “It is not
good for man to be alone” refers to the fallen Adam. God creates Eve
out of his body. His no longer being able to be alone is the punishment
for that first rebellion against God.
His eternal playmate, Sophia, vanishes into the ether. That is, con¬
sequent upon his hunger “for earthliness,” “the celestial picture of the
angelic world” faded for Adam (V, 101). Or, to put it another way, he
lost his unity with the divine consciousness. Or, the state of balance was
dissolved; opposition and strife dominated.
Adam’s fall constituted a repetition of Lucifer’s fall. But there is a
difference between the two. Lucifer was in total opposition to God, and
meant to put himself in God’s place. Adam’s fall was merely a half¬
measure; he wanted only possession and enjoyment of multiplicity, di¬
versity, finitude. He was smitten with the world of the senses.
This whole story of the fall of First Man is alien to church dogmatics.
Ecclesiastical doctrine begins with the fall of man in paradise. In Boehme
this is only a second step in the progression by which Adam and Eve
enter completely into the calamity of earthly existence (cf. Benz, 74 ff.).
After his fall Adam fell asleep in the divine world. He awoke and
found himself in the external terrestrial world. His eating the fruits of
the tree of the knowledge of good and evil actualized what previously
had been desire. Now the “vanity in the essence of the flesh awoke
entirely” (VII, 242).
But a dim memory remains. From afar, merely surmised, Sophia
shows herself to man in his fallen state. The goal of all love is this lost
unity. That eternal, sexless, wakeful bond of the One with God, that
harmony of the androgynous is what man desires in sexual love. But
this goal cannot be reached. Rather, the attempt to regain the unity leads
to propagation, toward multiplicity (cf. Benz, 68-69).
Now we have reached the world in which we find ourselves and
which we ourselves are. Its basic character is its state of total contrast.
Contrast has its source in God. It showed itself as indispensable for
BOEHME *33
his revelation to himself. This contrast in its character as the principle

of all life, all cognition, and all illumination permeates all modes of
Being. As the basic form, it returns everywhere. But contrast assumes a
different configuration in consequence of the fall. The contrarieties be¬
come independent; the bond of unity is loosened. The movement becomes
a torment in which the prototype, the unity of opposites, is sought but
not found in time.
Boehme’s work is dominated by this fundamental idea of opposites.
It is effective through the relentless emphasis upon this phenomenon in
its terrors and its chances. Everything moves in contrasts: no life without
death, no pleasure without fear, no peace without struggle. All things
are divided into Yes and No. Darkness is the enemy of light but also
the condition of its manifestation. Consuming fire brings forth gentle
light. Out of wrath grows love. All opposites, however, constitute a unity
in the primal ground and in completeness. In the absolute itself the unity
is preserved while manifesting itself in opposites. In the absolute, infinity
does not exclude the finite, love does not exclude wrath, eternity does
not exclude time. In the fallen world, however, the bond is broken; unity
is not present but must be pursued.
“Reason asks: Why did God create a life of pain and suffering? . . .
Why does he tolerate the will that runs counter to his? Why does he
not abolish evil? . . . The answer: No thing without something coun¬
tervailing may become manifest to him.” If there is no resistance, every¬
thing pours forth out of itself without returning into itself. Without
countervailing there would be no sensibility, neither willing nor effecting,
neither understanding nor knowing. For “a thing that has only one will
has no discernment” (VI, 454). It stands still, knows nothing other than
the One, knows neither evil nor good. In a unitary will there is no self-
knowledge. “But when there is such a discernment in the unitary will,”
there grow from it ungrounded and innumerable wills, like branches
from a tree. Thus speaks reason: “What is the benefit ... of there being
an evil together with the good? —Answer: Evil . . . brings about the
good as the will, so that it will again . . . strive toward God and ... be
desirous of the good; for a thing which, in itself, is only good . . . does
not desire anything” (VI, 455).
This state of the world and our present life are not final. The process
continues. As God saves the world after Lucifer’s fall, so God saves it
again after the fall of Adam.
In Christ becoming man, the new Adam enters the world. From
now on man can be reborn. Conciliation and salvation will proceed.
T34 Gnostic Dreamers
Boehme describes heaven and hell, the unchangeable will after death,
the magical state after death in the in-between region of spirits in the
sidereal body, the completion of all things.
Hence the total picture presents itself to him as follows: at the be¬
ginning the pure world of the angels; at the end the complete spirit-
world; in between, temporal existence. The last has eternity behind it
and before it and all around. In this temporal history the angels, who
themselves have no history, play a role as the servants of God.
b) Discussion: This gnostic total view of all things in their ground
requires critical characterization.
First: Any effort to present Boehme’s thoughts in a framework of
order and clarity leads to misrepresentation. Boehme proceeds impre¬
cisely, indeed almost arbitrarily, changing directions, realigning and al¬
tering the configurations of thought. For these reasons a conceptually
more precise exposition must necessarily give a false picture, because of
its very clarity. It separates what converges into one flow. It constructs
an ordered whole which is only partially and at that fleetingly present
in the texts. Nonetheless, the exposition is not altogether false, since such
clear outlines are present in Boehme as possibilities. We are justified in
distilling the core from an impenetrable mass of repetitions and con¬
fusions. This core has appealed to many, but not even this core can be
determined unequivocally.
In this core there appear necessary and relevant contradictions. On
the one side there is the emphasis on ignorance, the rejection of the
desire to know, the awe before the mystery: “for I have never desired
to know about the divine mystery, much less have I known how I might
seek or find it ... I sought only the heart of }esus Christ, in order to
hide myself in it before God’s fierce wrath” (VII, 399-400). On the other
side there is knowledge overreaching itself, with its emphasis on God’s
demand to be cognized, the certainty of knowledge about all Being as
grounded in God himself, the total knowledge of the course of things
from eternity to eternity. On the one side Evil is a necessary aspect of
the process manifest to God, and on the other side Evil is the accidental
moment of Lucifer’s and Adam’s acts of freedom, through which Evil
first breaks into the magnificent creation. In other words, we are gripped
by the intuition of evil in the primal ground of Being (wrath is the root
of all things), and we are constantly called upon to battle for good against
evil and, for our salvation, to participate in the choice of a path that
leads away from evil. And again: The God of heaven and the God of
hell are like two powers, and yet they are not two gods but one God.
Everything, so also God himself, becomes manifest through contrast.
BOEHME *35
Without revelation God would remain unknown to himself. Thus God

stands counter to God in himself. But the contrast is at the same time
the unity. In the oppositions the One speaks for itself and with itself.
Boehme’s method is an ancient one, which is common to all early
civilizatibns; it used to predominate in the common consciousness but
today plays only an incidental role. In essence, this enduring element is
not myth, but cognition by means of analogies, correspondences, iden¬
tities, meanings in intuitable generality. Such cognition is impressive
where it presents itself with meaningful vividness; it is then original and
alive. But when it is rationalized in concepts and schematisms that lead
to interminable thought operations, it sinks down into arbitrariness with¬
out persuasive power. Bereft of the forcefulness of pictorial language,
thoughts become mere assertions.
In reading Boehme’s texts, we have a confusing experience: The
impressiveness of the images and the arbitrariness of the points of de¬
parture, the seeing of meanings and the lack of comprehension, the
plausibility of a game and the total lack of evidence—one seems to cancel
out the other. But, oddly, in spite of all this the fundamental questions
remain meaningful.
No matter what the scientific exploration of the world asks and
answers, it does not penetrate to those fundamental questions and to
speculation about them. Scientific research produces specific answers to
specific questions referring to the realities in the world, a progression of
questions and answers that is endless.
Boehme did not grasp the relationship between the exploration of
the world and speculation about Being (or between science and philos¬
ophy); it did not become a problem for him.
Wherever a contradiction arises between visionary answers to the
question of Being and the results of scientific inquiry with regard to
questions of reality, it is science that is correct. But this contradiction
does not pertain to where philosophizing, in regard to the fundamental
questions—whence, whereto, what for?—carries out its own indepen¬
dent thinking. There, science is merely a means.
Such means can be applied in a manner that is philosophically false.
If, let us say, we apply a stage of scientific research that has been proven
correct up to this point in order to fill the gaps within a line of thinking
of an entirely different derivation, or to buttress the content of a phil¬
osophic thought with a scientifically obtained justification, this is sci¬
entifically unproductive and philosophically meaningless. An example:
interpreting statistically obtained atomic processes as acts of freedom
supposedly already demonstrated at the very basis of the processes of
H6 Gnostic Dreamers
matter. Or, let us say, if the convergence of scientific calculations con¬

cerning the beginning of the world-process—as it appears in the cosmos,
in the planetary system, in the earth’s history—is conceived as pointing
to the act of creation, which is supposed to have taken place approxi¬
mately five billion years ago.
It is a different matter when gnostic thinking, looking into the core
of things, tries to let intuitions that arise at the cutting edge of research
be articulated in the same way as intuitions of nature. The teachings of
Copernicus implied—because the parallax of fixed stars could not be
measured on the basis of the earth’s orbit—an infinite distance of the
fixed stars. Boehme must have heard about this. He stands by Copernicus.
“The sun has its own royal locus and does not stray from the place where
it has first come into being. But some believe that it circles the earth
day and night. . . . This opinion is false. The earth turns around and,
together with the other planets, circles the sun” (II, 297). But for Boehme
the desire to measure the world, to determine its size, to ascertain the
distance of the fixed stars is altogether a different matter. “No one knows
the depth or the breadth of the locus of this world, and even though
some physicists or astrologers have dared to measure its depth with a
compass their measuring is merely nonsense or is a measuring of our
conceptions, as if one wanted to catch hold of the wind” (II, 292).
Surely Boehme did not understand the method and meaning of
astronomical research. He dislikes measuring and counting. But from
the very beginning he senses that his intuition of nature is beyond the
reach of scientific research and instinctively grasps the infinity mani¬
festing itself in nature as the language of the world through which God
speaks. “I have read about the order of the seven planets in astrological
books, and find it all right; but the root, how they have become and
where they have come from, I cannot learn from men, for they do not
know it. Neither was I there when God created them” (II, 295).
The drama of cosmic history, above all the dominating and all¬
determining role of contrasts, has to be understood as the objectification
of Boehme’s own experience. He himself points to this. What man
experiences is the ground of things itself, analogous to the process in
God and in the world. The objective is the mirror of the subjective and
vice versa.
The source for this insight is Boehme’s Experience of the turnabout
of the basic inner mood. There is much in Boehme about melancholy,
both subjectively in his own life and objectively in Being. Boehme called
his sadness the black devil. He describes the boundless happiness when
joy is triumphant, and knows this joy only as born out of dejection.
BOEHME
*37
Overcoming is joy’ (V, 306). “We recognize . . . that every life arises
in fear, as in a poison that is a dying, and is yet also life itself, as it can
be recognized in man and in all creatures. For without fear or poison
there is no life . . . especially in man” (VI, 254). “For each life comes to
be in tprment of fear. . . . For everything that is in nature is dark and
in fear” (VI, 370).
In considering method in Boehme, we have to realize that it cannot
be grasped by way of reason. But his clarity is astonishing when he
expresses himself on a few decisive points of his procedure which, in its
execution, is so confused and uncontrolled, and equally when he discusses
the origin and meaning of his insight:
1) The source of his insight is not thought but immersion in its
immediacy. “Most likely you say that I was not present at the creation
of the world and hence may not write about it. But the spirit which is
in me was present there and makes it known at this time” (Martensen,
17). Boehme states that he sees the truth inside himself, but at first as
in a chaos where everything is densely packed. Only gradually does it
arrive at greater clarity (cf. ibid.).
This immediate immersion presupposes a rebirth. God cannot be
cognized without God. No matter how natural man may twist and turn,
he cannot escape being caught up in the world. The fall of man brought
about by Adam and his rehabilitation in Christ is a process repeated in
each individual.
2) For Boehme, this occurs wholly in the present and not through
the guidance of a tradition, a doctrine, or a church. For him, Jesus as a
historical figure is of small moment. Boehme abhors the historical view.
It is not the knowing and hearing about something that is helpful; rather,
it deceives: it leads to confusion. One is saved only by one’s own actions
and experiences, by certainty in the manifestation of the divine essence,
by beholding the signatura rerum, without scriptural proof (though
Boehme does quote the Bible occasionally), without dogmatic reference
to the illumination through the holy spirit while reading the Biblical
texts. Only the immediate, which manifests itself unhistorically, eternally,
is valid for him. “Even if I had no other book than my book which I
am myself, I would have books enough; the whole Bible, after all, lies
in me. As long as I have the spirit of Christ... As long as I read myself,
I read in God’s book, and you, my brethren, are all my letters which I
read within me” (VII, 132).
To be sure, Boehme has a positive relationship to the Bible, is at
home in it. But he recognizes the harm of serving the letter. What is
important is not the letter, but the living word. “Letter-brokers” (V,
H8 Gnostic Dreamers
262) do not understand the meaning. “A true resonance belongs to it

that is in concord with the resonance in the letter” (V, 190).
Current faith is merely historical knowledge. “Oh, how dead is
today’s faith! It stops with knowledgesone believes that one speaks about
God when one knows much . . . that this is the way to eternal life. Oh,
no, none of that helps, let me tell you. . ,. . True faith in Christ is
something wholly different. . . . True faith is the true will” (IV, 212-
13). “It depends . . . not on any historical opinion but on being well-
intentioned and on doing good” (IV, 88). It “must be earnest. . . . Your
will must turn completely with all your reason and senses toward the
will of God” (IV, 214). “The world, after all, is filled with books and
talk about the fall and the new rebirth.” But for the most part “only
the history is described, namely, that it happened at one time” (III, 18)
and will and shall happen again. Hence Boehme chides the “history-
scholars,” the “history-mongers” (cf. Elert, 55).
3) However, imparting the tremendous insight creates difficulties
that lie in the nature of things and cannot really be overcome. When
translated into the temporally manifested language of partitioning, of
sequentiality, of finite formulation, the divine insight takes on a mis¬
leading appearance. “If I had the tongue of an angel and you the un¬
derstanding of an angel, we could understand one another. But I must
speak in an earthly manner with my half-dead understanding; and since
I am merely a spark, a particle ... of the whole, I cannot describe the
entire Godhead in a comprehensive manner all at once. I must grasp
the one after the other: thus you shall see the whole at last. Indeed, I
must at times speak in a devilish manner, as if the light would be lit
out of the darkness, and as if the Godhead had a beginning. I cannot
teach you differently. God has no beginning, or, more correctly, he has
an eternal beginning and an eternal end. Therefore I exhort the reader
not to understand me in terrestrial terms but to comprehend everything
in a high and supernatural sense” (Martensen, 40).
III. BOEHME’S ETHOS
The ethos of Christian virtues—humility, self-surrender, love—is valid

also for Boehme. However, it is not characteristic for him, nor does he
give it prominence even though he often expresses the following de¬
mands: Do not quarrel with anyone; in all external matters, surrender
calmly as to the will of God (VII, 405). When Boehme formulates what
man ought to do, he responds to his own vision of the nature of man.
BOEHME
*39
This is how he sees him: God has made man the lord of all creatures,
has endowed him with senses, reason, and intellect, and especially with
language, so that he can differentiate, tame, and utilize all. Still “higher
. . . cognition did God give him so that he can see into the heart of
things / into earth, stones, trees, herbs . . . also into stars and elements
so that he knows their nature and power” (III, i).
Man’s first task is to know himself. Nothing is more useful for him
than “that he learn to know himself properly: i) what is he? 2) out of
what or whom? 3) for what purpose has he been created?” (Ill, 1).
“Without which reflection we are all blind and have no true cognition
of God, but move about like dumb animals and look at ourselves and
God’s creation like a cow at a new barn door” (III, 3). But as man “now
knows hirhself properly he also knows God his creator, together with
all creatures” (III, 7).
Man has his great task because of his extraordinary nature. He feels
in himself God’s “magnificent power” (IV, 71). More than that: “God
is himself the essence of all essences, and we are in him as gods through
which he reveals himself” (IV, 86). But Boehme also writes: “. . . in this
world a man should not crave to know His sanctity” (Elert, 48).
The'great task may be defined as the adoring cognition which is the
wellspring of true life. Man can cognize God “because this visible world
is the expressed and formulated word according to God’s love and wrath
. . . but man’s soul a spark from the eternally speaking word of divine
knowledge and strength, and the body ... a being of heaven after the
manner of the obscured world: he thus has the power to speak of the
mysterium magnum out of which all beings have come to be” (V, 4).
The life growing out of adoring cognition presupposes the authen¬
ticity of the cognition. Knowing adoration brings about inner movement
and action in the world consequent upon it. It is the great question of
all philosophy: What happens to me when I pursue such thoughts and
speculations and visions, when I live in such a vivid world of thought,
when my certainty in it becomes the ground of my consciousness of
Being?
Boehme says: No speculation is of use to man if he does not apply
it for his salvation. “What good is science to me if I do not live in it?
The knowledge must be within me, and also the willing and doing”
(VII, 410). Together with intuition of the depth and the ground of all
Being, there comes also assurance of the ethos. Each being yearns “for
that out of which he first originated” (Richter, 90). If he reaches it, he
attains all truth, that of knowledge as well as of action.
If we ask Boehme why he writes at all, he replies, in accordance
with this sense of his knowledge, which is also his ethos: I write only
for the purpose that man get to know himself, what he is, what God,
heaven, angels, devil and hell, as well as God’s wrath and hellfire are.
. . . Therefore consider well, you human being, in this time, what you
are! Do not value yourself so little, as so trivial, and do take care that
you remain in paradise and do not put out the divine light in you” (III,
36~37)-
The reader must be ready: “My writings do not serve the full belly,
but a hungry stomach; they belong to the children of the mystery” (VII,
384).
To those who seek guidance he says: I do not know “any better
advice to give you than to show you the path on which I myself travel,
and thereupon the door was opened to me” (VII, 407).
In an age of fanatical religious battles, Boehme was an early proponent
of tolerance, with thoughts that were not new. It is characteristic for his
nature that he stood up for it. God is not only the God of the Christians,
but also that of the Jews, the heathen, the Turks. God reveals himself
to each people according to its peculiar nature. The root of the quarrel
lies in the fact that we cling to images and letters rather than to the
spirit. If one could do away with the images, the one living word would
speak. But it is couched for us in various images. We quarrel about
images.
IV. CHARACTERIZATIONS
Boehme epitomizes the substance of his work in the sentence “I have

merely written down what nature and man are” (VII, 320). Indeed,
nature in the magnificence and the terror of its inexhaustible phenomena;
the infinite immeasurable vastness of the world; man in his question¬
ableness; good and evil; the love and the fierce strife in nature, history,
and every man—all this stands in the foreground.
Boehme’s self-confidence was considerable, as is obvious in the very
humility of his behavior; when the chief pastor threw his slipper after
him, Boehme picked it up and put it down at the pastor’s feet. He was
completely self-assured. Through his message of the great mysterium, he
believed himself to be an event that would change the world. The title
of his first book, Aurora, denotes the rise of a new hour of the Ref¬
ormation.
His meekness does not exclude polemical fierceness. He rejects all
educated classes, universities, theologians, jurists, physicians. He calls his
BOEHME i4i
opponents liars, thieves, murderers, great whores. Expressions such as

the following are no rarity: I “close my book with a solid wall and a
bolt before such idiots and wild devil’s calves” (III, 7).
V. BOEHME’S INFLUENCE
Boehme, for his part, held fast to the Lutheran Church on principle. He
was not the type of enthusiast who establishes sects. Even though,
throughout the centuries, his adherents formed societies, the Boehmenists
did not become an organized sect even as time went on.
His influence, however, was considerable. The physician Walter, who
in his last year in Dresden became Boehme’s friend, named him the
Philosophus Teutonicus. The name stuck. Hegel confirmed it: “As a matter
of fact, it was first through him that philosophy in Germany emerged
with the character peculiar to it” (Hegel, XIX, 300).
Angelus Silesius, the mystic and poet, responded to Boehme with
love:
The fish lives in water,
the plants in the earth,
the bird in the air,
the sun in the sky;
salamander must keep in the fire.
God’s heart is Boehme’s element.
Boehme’s works arrived first in manuscript form, later in print, in

Holland, England, and France. King Charles I of England praised them.
Leibniz and Newton valued them highly; the Enlightenment held them
in contempt. Novalis and Tieck renewed interest in them. For Baader
and Schelling he became one of the most important philosophers. Hegel
respected him: Boehme, he said, deserved neither contempt nor high
honors; he thinks in the form of intuition and feeling, but the truth of
philosophy lies in the concept. On that score, Boehme is a barbarian; yet
“a man who, in spite of the rough manner of his presentation, possesses
a solid, deep heart” (Hegel, XIX, 297). Hegel specifically judged him as
follows:
About the forms of Boehme’s thinking: .. he looked at all concepts
within an actuality; or he uses actuality as concept.” Thus “Boehme’s
great mind is locked into the hard gnarled oak of the sensuous.” “One
gets a sense of his wrestling ... a battle of his . . . consciousness with
language.” He makes use of “the Christian form as the form of the
idea”; “he tosses and turns himself around in several forms because
neither the sensuous nor the religious one can suffice.” “But it is a form
one cannot reconcile oneself to and which does not allow for a definite
picture regarding the details” (Hegel-, XIX, 301-04, 327).
About the deepest content of this thinking Hegel says: “In the back¬
ground there is the most speculative thought, which, however, never
comes to be presented in a manner appropriate to it.” The “content of
the battle is the deepest idea which shows us that the most absolute
opposites are to be reconciled. ... It is a tremendous, wild and rough
exertion from within to pack together what lies so far apart in form and
configuration . . . thus he wrestled to comprehend, to grasp the negative,
the evil, the devil in God” (Hegel, XIX, 303, 327).
About Boehme’s personality: . . his pious nature . . . deep and
tender to the highest degree.” His life was founded in the Protestant
principle “to immerse the world of the intellect in his own heart and to
look at, to know and to feel in his self-awareness all that was beyond it
otherwise.” He represents “the German, the heart’s depth that communes
with the innermost” (Hegel, XIX, 327, 300, 304).
SCHELLING
i
/
Editors’ Note
Friedrich Wilhelm Joseph von Schelling was born on January 27,

1775, in Leonberg, Germany, the son of a learned Lutheran pastor.
He studied theology at the famous Tubingen seminary, where, with
his older friends Hegel and Holderlin, he lived through the stirring
events of the French revolutionary epoch and the classical age of
German letters. At twenty-three he became a professor at Jena.
There, he had tempestuous friendships with Fichte and the circle
of Romantic writers, including Tieck, Novalis, and the Schlegel
brothers. In 1803 he married Caroline Schlegel. He taught at Wurz¬
burg, Erlangen, Munich, and was invited in 1841 to the University
of Berlin to fill the chair left vacant when Hegel died in 1831.
Schelling died in Ragaz, Switzerland, on August 24, 1854.
This chapter is a translation of Jaspers’s lecture, “Schelling:
Grosse und Verhangnis,” at the Schelling Centenary Conference
held in Bad Ragaz, Switzerland, in 1954. It was published in his
Aneignung und Polemi\.
WORK
1.
What is philosophy? Schelling answers: Philosophy is “throughout a

work of freedom.” It cannot be comprehended from the outside. One
has to enter into it. Hence he considers as valid the circle: “The idea of
philosophy is none other than the result of philosophy itself” (II, 11).1
It cannot be defined from the outside, for there is “no concept of this
science other than through itself” (XI, 360).
1 Citations are to S'dmtliche Wer\e, ed. by K. F. A. Schelling. Stuttgart and Augsburg, 1856-61.
M3
!44 Gnostic Dreamers
Schelling never gives up the independence of philosophy. Even in

his old age he said “that we would rather give up the thought of phi¬
losophy if it were not possible to think of it as a wholly sovereign science”
(XI, 301). There is no higher authority^ limit it. Schelling’s philosophy
of revelation too turns, in the mode of thought, toward the facts of
history and not, in the mode of submission, toward revelation and dog¬
mas. “He who desires and is able to believe does not philosophize, and
he who philosophizes proclaims, precisely in this way, that for him faith
is not sufficient” (XIII, 135).
Since philosophy is a work of freedom, it is essentially volition. “He
who attacks another’s philosophical system attacks, at bottom, not only
his intellect but also his will” (XIII, 201). Philosophy demands courage,
above all the courage “to take hold of that which one doubts only because
it is too transcendent for our familiar concepts” (XIV, 16).
Who can do justice to such a high demand? Schelling answers:
Philosophy cannot “be everyone’s thing.” In order to be able to philos¬
ophize, one has to be a certain kind of person. The demand made by
philosophy contains something “that excludes certain people for all time”
(I, 417). Philosophy, though imparted to the public through the works
of the philosophers, is yet an “open secret.” It is comprehensible only to
those born to it; for the others it is an eternal mystery (I, 314).
When the many speak of philosophy, when philosophy is presented
as readily available knowledge among a great many other things, when
those of poor understanding give the name philosophy to empirical
psychology or logic, Schelling has this to say: “Misusing a word that
designates a specific thing by giving it the meaning of lesser things cannot
cancel the thing itself” (II, 60).
But Schelling, whose work echoes with the odi profanum vulgis et
arceo (V, 5), has also given a contrary answer to the question as to who
could satisfy the high demand. He calls philosophy not only “the highest”
but also “that which is of greatest concern and most desired by all men”
(VIII, 84). Philosophy must enter into life. That applies not only to the
individual but also to the condition of the time, to history and to hu¬
manity. The power of philosophy must penetrate everything, because
one cannot live without it. Can the esoteric, which at first presents itself
to every man as an open secret, in the end reach everyone after all? Can
it, issuing from the seclusion of an aristocracy of philosophers who keep
remote from the world and rule over nothing, become that which rules
over everything? Is, in the end, every human being called to philosophy?
Schelling seems to affirm this. The individual arrives at freedom
only in the freedom of his world. He who wants to be free wants
SCHELLING H5
everything around him free. “Philosophy which becomes life is that

which Plato calls the politeuein, that is, life with and within an ethical
totality” (VI, 576). But this totality is possible only by way of philosophy.
“Human affairs cannot be ruled by means of mathematics, physics,
natural history, poetry, or art. Only the right metaphysics gives us true
understanding of the world” (XIII, 27).
2.
Only through metaphysics does the center of the All become present.
Only from there issues true guidance of insight as well as of action.
Without metaphysics there is only dissipation and ruin.
How does philosophy get into this center? Intellect and sensory
perception are not the origin of philosophic insight. These put knowledge
at the disposal of everyday concerns, in a clear form as the knowledge
of the sciences, which is cogent for everyone and equally valid for every
intellect. Philosophic insight has a different source. Only if we feel
confirmed in our innermost being and answer with what Schelling calls
intellectual intuition can we understand philosophy.
What is intellectual intuition? Schelling has a variety of answers.
The most simple approach is to certify intellectual intuition through
the way in which we are conscious of ourselves. In being conscious of
myself I am both subject and object. In the I, that which thinks and
that which is thought are the same. If we consider as clear only that
which is before us as a sensuously intuitable object, then the I is indeed
a mystery. The I is I only because it can never become the object of
sensuous intuition. Hence, Schelling concludes, it can be determinable
only in an intuition which intuits no object at all, which is not at all
sensuous, namely, in an intellectual intuition (I, 181).
This simple undebatable puzzle implied in the fact of the conscious¬
ness of the I was merely Schelling’s starting point. What he means by
intellectual intuition goes much farther. It is a matrix of construction
for speculation, as space is for geometry. It is a condition which he
compares with sleep. It is an act of freedom through which alone I can
be convinced of the authentic existence of whatever is. It is liberation
from being tied to objects. It is, however, not subjective, but is the
“indifference” of subject and object, encompassing both. It is the stand¬
point of “absolute reason,” in which time ceases to be and all things are
seen merely as the expression of absolute reason and not as objects of
reflection. It is the standpoint of the absolute. Whereas in his ordinary
state of consciousness man lives outside the absolute, bound to objects,
in time, entangled in finiteness, intellectual intuition lifts him above all

this to the plane of eternity. In this sense it is ecstasy. It is a state that
allows man to attain authentic reflective awareness, whereas in the nat¬
ural state he lives without reflection.
Thus we see in how many different ways Schelling speaks about this
origin of philosophy: condition and free act, guideline of speculative
construction, and place prior to all consciousness. It is always a matter
of something to which we want to rise, of the place out of which we
think as we philosophize. On that plane what is, is close to us, present
in us, is not remote, not elsewhere, not outside us. It is the place where
what authentically is, but never is object, reveals itself in original ex¬
perience. From outside or from below intellectual intuition, neither it
nor that which manifests itself in it can, in thinking, be seen, much less
comprehended as an other.
What Schelling characterizes as intellectual intuition with the words
“pure thought,” “ecstasy,” “absolute reason,” “construction” is an ex¬
tensive area held together solely by one purpose: to see in it the origin
or the experience that precedes all philosophical thought, supports it,
fulfills and guides it.
We should never fail to hear, should never forget what Schelling
demands here: that of which one speaks when philosophizing. Measured
against the standards of scientific research as posited by the intellect—
the area of object-boundness—it is nothing. Philosophical thinking re¬
quires a radical redirection. If this is forgotten and the yardsticks of the
sciences are applied, then philosophy appears to give only examples of
objectlessness, that is, within this particular horizon, absurdities.
We must be grateful to Schelling that he, who in his old age allowed
himself to be considered the spokesman of ecclesiastical orthodoxy and
of restauration, in fact never denied the high rank of philosophy, nor
its sovereignty or that independent origin he circumscribed with the
terms intellectual intuition, absolute reason, pure thought, ecstasy.
But does all this not leave us with a sense of dissatisfaction? Is there
something that grates? Is this way of discussing the encompassing origin
of intellectual intuition not somewhat impetuous, uncritical? Does the
opening up of a world of supersensual intuitions perhaps follow from
the objectless presentness within the consciousness of the I? Or is Kant
right that the I, since it is not the object of intuition, also is not deter¬
minable? And are those apt formulations advancing the earnestness of
our philosophizing not also shot through by something disconcerting,
something exceeding human possibilities, something arrogantly aristo-
SCHELLING M7
cratic and forcefully despotic? But let us first listen to an example of

Schelling’s lofty speculation.
3-
Schelling’s work is pervaded by the age-old fundamental question: What
is Being? In various ways he leads us to a thinking experience of the
most extreme sort, to the place where what is must become manifest. I
shall try to present one of these ways (IX, 214-21):
Schelling almost never takes the direct way of approach. He likes to
proceed from a familiar premise that can be presumed to be shared by
all. Only after this preparatory step can we grasp where he wants to
lead. His preparation takes the following form:
a) In examining the statements about Being which have arisen, I
perceive the contradiction in which each incipient reflection soon finds
itself; next I see the contradiction also of the systems in which such
reflections of the knowledge of Being can each find completion. This
original lack of system in human knowledge impels systems to arise,
albeit as the idea of a higher whole. Within this whole the antagonistic
systems, by their very coexistence, create that superior consciousness in
which man is again free of all systems, stands above all systems.
This higher whole—which is again a system, but the one that pre¬
cludes conflict with any other system—can be realized only in a series
of stages. While the stages conflict with each other, each is true, though
not at the same but at various points of the development. The philosophy
that wants the truth of the whole must become genetic.
In such a genesis all contradictions cease because each position taken
in thinking, each mode of Being has its truth in actuality, hence is
preserved; and each is also overcome because it becomes untrue if it
claims to be the whole. But this genetic movement can, as a whole, be
truth only if the subject of this movement is only a subject that pervades
everything and is not arrested in anything. “For wherever it would
remain, life and development would be inhibited. Pervading everything
and being nothing, that is, being nothing in a way that might allow it
also to be something else: this is what is required.”
Thus the question about Being has become the question about the
one subject that pervades everything, about this subject that is all and
yet is nothing of all that.
b) But we still have not arrived at the question to which we should
now give an answer. A new preparatory step is necessary. Schelling,
reflecting, says we must first query the question. The question “What
is this subject?” presupposes the question about the meaning of this
question itself. The accepted way of thinking leads to false expectations
when this question is asked. Because in answer to the question “What
is something?” we expect a definition. But here, when the question
applies to the pervasive subject of what is, we must understand from
the outset that there cannot be a definition. A definition as answer would
effectively cancel the meaning of this question. Why?
“Nothing can be defined that is not, by its nature, confined within
definite limits.” But, in any questioning about a pervasive subject, that
which is being asked is not confined within such limits. Hence I must
“make the indefinable, that which cannot be defined in the subject, itself
into the definition.” The subject of philosophy, to all intents and purposes
indefinable, “is nothing—not something . . . but it is also not nothing,
that is, it is everything. It is only nothing singly, in an arrested state,
particularly. . . . There is nothing that it is, and there is nothing that it
is not—the incomprehensible, the truly infinite.”
It is remarkable how Nietzsche answers the question about the Being
that would not be a special Being, not a merely interpreted Being, but
Being itself: “It would have to be something, i.e., not subject, not object,
not power, not matter, not spirit, not soul: —but would I not be told
that something of this nature would be the spitting image of a chimera?
I believe that myself: and a pity if it did not! To be sure: It must also
be the spitting image of everything else there is and could be, and not
only of the chimera! It must have the great family trait in which every¬
thing recognizes itself as related to it —.”2
These are answers to the question as to the meaning of the question
what is, or, what is the subject of all configurations of Being. The
uniqueness of the question, the difference between it and all other ques¬
tions, has first to be made clear.
c) Does Schelling supply the answer? He does not. An answer cannot
be reached by means of a statement involving a concept. What is necessary
is an act of freedom on the part of the entire being of the thinking
person. Something must not only be thought but also be an inward act.
This is how Schelling describes it:
“Whoever wants to master the completely free, self-productive phi¬
losophy must rise up” to the incomprehensible, indefinable. What has
to take place? “Here all finitude, everything that is still something that
is, must be left behind, the last attachment must vanish; here one has
1 Nietzsches Wer!{e, ed. Elisabeth Forster-Nietzsche. Leipzig, C. G. Naumann, 1899—, XIII,

229.
SCHELLING 149
to leave everything—not only, as one is wont to say, wife and child, but
also whatever is, even God, for, seen from this standpoint, even God is
merely something that is. . . .
“The absolute subject is not not-God, and yet is not God; it is also
that which is not God. Hence, in this respect, it is above God. . . .
“Thus he who wants to position himself at the starting point of truly
free philosophy must leave behind even God. . . .
“Only that one has arrived at the ground of his self and has recognized
the whole depth of life who at one time had left everything behind and
had himself been left by everything, for whom everything had gone
under, who had seen himself alone with infinity. . . .
“But he who wants to soar up into that free ether must leave behind
not only the world of objects but even himself. . . .”
Schelling describes the state that now sets in: “He who truly wants
to philosophize must be rid of all hope, all desire, all yearning; he must
want nothing, know nothing, feel himself wholly bare and stripped, must
give everything away in order to gain everything.”
Here too the older Schelling reminds us, as so often at the high
points of his thinking, of the philosopher who had inspired him through¬
out his life: “How high Spinoza rises when he teaches that we are to
sever ourselves from all particular and finite things and rise up to the
infinite.”
d) The preparatory thought operations, followed by the instructions
for “leaving be,” are an appeal to the thinker and a circling around what
is being thought. Now we are ready. Now that which authentically is
should become evident. Might it be sufficient to negate all finiteness, to
have merely negative concepts of the absolute subject? No, says Schelling,
“we strive in all ways possible to attain to its affirmatory concept.” And,
as a matter of fact, he has given us not just a great design, but a series
of designs, a world rich in concepts of Being itself, and of the history
of Being, as well as of our being-human within it. How does he get
there?
After all, the principle was: In that absolute subject nothing is to be
posited in such a manner that its opposite would not also be possible.
That is: Nothing is so indefinable that it cannot also become something
definable, and nothing is so infinite that it might not also be compre¬
hensible. But what is the meaning of these strange sentences? That this
absolute subject is altogether free. It is free to enclose itself in a config¬
uration, or not to enclose itself. It does not lack form or configuration
but does not remain in any configuration, is not chained to any. By
assuming a configuration it can victoriously step out of each one. It
would not be free if it had not been free from the beginning either to
assume a configuration or not to assume it. Freedom is the essence of
that all-pervasive subject, or it is itself nothing other than eternal freedom.
But if it has assumed a configuration out of freedom, it is not capable
of breaking through again immediately into its eternal freedom, but can
do so only by passing through all configurations that necessarily result.
The content of philosophy is now the process of Being and of the
world: how it is grounded through not-to-be-predicted acts of eternal
freedom and then takes a necessary course; or: how eternal freedom
encloses itself in a configuration and, due to the world-process, finally
breaks through again, back into its eternal freedom. This philosophy
sees, in the whole of the process of Being that leads from eternity back
into eternity, the wrestling power that again consumes every form, rises
up again out of each like a phoenix, is transfigured through fiery death.
Can we be persuaded by this task of philosophizing and by this total
aspect of Being? Up to the moment of the highest question and of the
insight that no determinate answer is possible, we can concur. But when
Schelling answers that it is the “eternal freedom,” at that very moment
a collapse of thinking seems to occur, comparable to Nietzsche’s idea of
the “will to power.” In the objectivizing of freedom, both took a perilous
leap.
Philosophical criticism that draws assurance from the origin runs as
follows: The fundamental experience of freedom takes place in relation
to transcendence, through which it knows itself as a gift to itself. It
amounts to a denial of the essence of existential freedom and to a violation
of transcendence, if freedom is ascribed to the latter as its essence. “There
is no freedom without transcendence”—this is the experience, to be sure,
not of arbitrariness but of every substantial freedom. But what becomes
of transcendence if we attribute to it what only in relation to it is the
essence of finite Existenzen?
I would gladly bring to mind a second example of the great spec¬
ulations of Schelling, namely, his unforgettable question: Why is there
anything at all, why is there not nothing? He posed this question early
and repeated it well into his old age, in various connections and with
varying answers. But such an account would be too space-consuming,
and, in the end, would return to the very same point, namely, the total
intuition of Being, which we reached before. From the sovereignty of
the philosophical thrust toward the ultimate, and from the power of
illumination reached in pushing to the limit, Schelling retreats to narrow
quarters—the intuition ol Being as eternal freedom and its passing into
the world-process. How did this happen?
SCHELLING I5I
In transcending, Schelling arrives, appropriately, at thinking Supra-

Being, which neither is nor is not, at the Being of everything, at the
unthinkable, which he expresses in forms that appear similar to the lofty
Asiatic speculations—above all-, Buddhistic ones. But he relinquishes
such transcending—which shatters determinate categories, this thinking
in categories that goes beyond categories—in favor of a fixation of tran¬
scendence. He thinks transcendence itself, that is, as freedom, as master
of Being, and he defines this freedom as being able to act or not to act,
hence as arbitrariness, as the form of freedom that is the worst for us.
His use of the idea of freedom makes him speak of possibility and
capability. Using the categories of possibility, actuality, necessity—the
categories of modality—he thinks first an inner-divine life, and then the
theogonic and cosmogonic processes. If this whole can be termed an
ontology, then it is an ontology of freedom and an ontology of modality.
We ask about the existential truth contained in such an ontology of
freedom. The position that freedom cannot become an object for us and
yet is actual within us became a guideline for Schelling in determining
Being itself, which also can never become an object. Freedom, instead
of being illuminated philosophically in its existential significance, be¬
comes a supersensual object. Once more: Freedom, existentially actual
only in relation to transcendence, is transferred to transcendence and
thus robbed of its meaning; it becomes an arbitrariness of transcendent
Supra-Being.
What happens here is what happens whenever Being itself, or Supra-
Being, or God is to be brought into view as an object in analogy to our
experience, rather than approached by means of a transcending thought
in which logic breaks down. No matter how grandiose the concepts
appear, they are doomed to a terrible breakdown, since they turn into
what pretends to be knowledge. For Asiatic as well as occidental thinkers
the philosophically perennial command remains valid in its Biblical for¬
mulation: You shall not make for yourself an image or a likeness.
If we accept this premise, then what about the question Why is there
anything at all, or why is there not nothing? Why do we ask this
question?
Posited as a question to the intellect alone, it is trivial, frivolous, a
joke, unanswerable. Schelling has raised the question to the level of
deeply moving philosophizing. In his inability to provide an answer he
has expressed a depth of experience. But precisely at that point he wants
an answer. This answer becomes central for him; that standing-at-the-
limit becomes a merely transitory, though always repeated, moment.
Why does he so urgently want this answer? He says, for example
(XIII, 7), that, in view of the bleak drama of history, of man who,
unaware of his purpose, is swept away by this never-resting movement
of history toward a goal that he does not know, the experience of a
world that is nothing but vanity inescapably leads us to the conviction
that all Being is ill-fated; and that then and therefore we are forced to
ask the final desperate question: Why is there anything at all, why is
there not nothing? Only the answer to this question can deliver us from
despair. No science other than philosophy can give the answer. “If I
cannot answer that ultimate question, then everything else sinks for me
into the abyss of a bottomless void.”
Is that true? Is it not possible to stand at the limit with this question,
without answer but also without despair, and not plunge into the bot¬
tomless void? This is possible when this question, though not answered,
but thought through in all possible ways, results in the philosophic thrust
into the earnestness of Existenz; when, within the realm of ignorance,
we take hold of life in its relation to transcendence, ambiguously illu¬
minated through a world of possible ciphers.
Here it is not a matter of rational decisions. Schelling’s true insight
that philosophy is volition is inescapable. Our thinking will says: An
answer such as that of Schelling’s gnosticism is untrue for philosophic
cognition and disastrous for Existenz. The resulting calamity must be
shown as the necessary consequence of such a way of thinking. But a
knowledge capable of answering those questions is by no means necessary
for the salvation of man’s Existenz. It is perhaps necessary, however,
that the answer eludes him in time, so that he can walk in honesty. The
path is accessible to him here and now.
I wanted to bring to mind examples of Schelling’s speculation, but
I would need a long time to reproduce this world of thought adequately:
his speculation about unity and duality, his grasp of personality, his
notion of actuality and his illumination of the historicity of all that is
actual, his speculations regarding time (perhaps the most significant
contribution to the subject following Augustine), and especially his phi¬
losophy of mythology. Even today his critical lectures (XI, 1-252) about
all possible ways of interpreting myth are the most beautiful introduction
to the understanding of its historical actuality. He forces us to attain the
height at which alone it is meaningful to speak about myths.
4-
Yet, no matter how philosophically exciting Schelling’s thoughts are, the
descent from peaks always leads to failure. A leap has taken place that
SCHELLING !53
can give the impression of Schelling taking himself by surprise. A fog

arises in which spirits and ghosts are potentially present. Is there some¬
thing associated with the first origins that has resulted in the inversion?
Is there perhaps the intention of showing, in principle, the wellsprings
of the untrue? Is there something inherent in the nature of this fascinating
philosophizing that results in allowing its own truth to go astray—not,
to be sure, through logical errors, but through a radical inversion of the
great beginnings? I shall attempt three points of view.
First: To an almost unprecedented degree, Schelling’s philosophy is
a philosophy of reflection that aspires to overcome itself as reflection.
Reflection is meant in every sense of mirroring or bending back. Re¬
flection means the movement of thought which regards, asks, compre¬
hends, and goes beyond the thought itself. Reflection means echoing: I
think the thoughts that have already been thought, which reach me out
of my surroundings, out of history; they take place within me as if they
were my own. Reflection means the pleasure that is no longer the original
pleasure of experiencing and acting, but is pleasure in this pleasure of
bringing to consciousness that and how it is. The connection within this
threefold meaning of reflection is such that it may be captured with the
word “reflexivity.”
Reflexivity belongs to being human. But the mastery of reflection
over authentic originality, over possible Existenz, over the actuality of
self-realization is something new. Reflection, when it becomes absolute,
takes the place of substance. We must inquire of Schelling whether and
to what extent he is the great philosopher of that reflection which pen¬
etrates to the ground of Being.
From the beginning he thinks, by means of philosophy, a philosophy
of philosophy. With him, philosophy sometimes appears to be sublated
into the consciousness of it. In his studies Schelling hardly ever moves
ahead by primary research, but through the reflective grasp of what has
already been discovered. He recognizes the actuality of his thinking and
living in its reverberations from past history. Occasionally it may seem
as though he were resurrecting ideas and making past greatness visible
again. He tends to consider himself as part of the historic forms of
greatness, hallowed, as it were, by the reflection from the past. The
greatness of what has been becomes his own greatness by being seen
and expressed. The interpretation he gives to unfavorable criticism bears
this out: In a letter as enraged as it is self-pitying, he likens the treatment
he received to a repetition of Christ’s Passion.
Schelling makes reflection the subject of his philosophizing.
He knows: Philosophy arises through reflection. This is its inescap-
:54 Gnostic Dreamers
able path. “As infinite science it is, equally, the science of itself” (II, n).
Reflection, at the origin of philosophy, is an act of freedom. It springs
from a dissatisfaction with natural being. Man is not brought to reflection
by nature. He has to desire it. “Naturevdoes not release anyone voluntarily
from its tutelage, and sons of freedom are not born” (II, 12).
But taking hold of reflection by way of freedom presents a risk and
a danger. For if reflection becomes its own purpose and goal, then it is
deadly. This is how Schelling sees it: Reflection confronts man with
himself. The most noble activity, however, is one that does not know
itself. “As soon as man makes himself the object, it is no longer the
whole man who is acting.” The original balance between powers and
consciousness is sublated through the freedom of reflection. “Mere re¬
flection is a mental illness that nips man’s higher existence in the bud
and kills his spiritual life at the root” (II, 12). Schelling poses the task
of overcoming without destroying what must be risked in reflection by
the thinker.
Reflection is, indeed, the means of becoming master of one’s thoughts.
It is by virtue of reflection that Schelling perceived the sovereignty of
philosophy. Philosophy takes its distance, once again, from all thoughts
entertained by it.
Here, then, is the question addressed to Schelling’s philosophy, which
cannot be answered by a thought, only through familiarity with Schell¬
ing’s work and nature. Who is the master of the thoughts—what is
there, where does the guidance come from?
Could it be that Schelling did not become master of reflection because
it arrogated dominance to itself? Did the genius of the spirit replace
original thought in Schelling?
Externalized reflexivity is called gesture. It is actuality, but is inten¬
tional, demanding, unstable actuality. Schelling loves the grand gesture,
the solemnity of appearance, prophetic dignity. He presents himself as
someone unique, as someone endowed with extraordinary knowledge.
This is how Schelling projected himself and how we see him to this
day.
With Schelling, a new tone entered the history of philosophy. This
urgency, this intensification, this emphasis, this heightened sound played
on an organ, as it were, intends effect. We are forced to listen. The
aristocratic gesture is twisted into philosophic demagoguery. He claims
a certain nobility for himself and yet may lack an unfailing nobility of
the heart. He knows about the nobility of the spirit without being truly
noble himself. He presents himself as an exception, yet fails to be so. He
SCHELLING l55
presents himself as a victim, and this too is gesture. The grandeur of

elevated perspectives leads him to the limits where kitsch begins.
Schelling exemplifies the consequence of a position of total reflexivity,
which, ultimately, is untransparent even to itself. This paradigm derives
its greatness from the inspired idea of philosophizing-as-echo. Schelling
unfolds a speculative virtuosity that, in spite of the diffuseness of de¬
ceptions, yet achieves wonderful insights. With Schelling’s deep aesthetic
sensibility, something is activated in him that may be likened to an
earnestness within a lack of earnestness because the potentiality of ear¬
nestness is present. If there is an echo, it is an echo that is grasped and
gripping. It is as though the thinker in his sensitivity would glean from
not-being-himself the ability to express all the more clearly what has
been experienced only as an echo. It is as though, in his self-delusion
about what is actual in himself, he is enabled to say what philosophy is,
what it could be and should be. But if one’s own substance—this constant
criterion of philosophic truth—is absent, what is left is mere gesturing,
mere thought-play, even nonsense. And yet there is significance in all
this. In his capacity to attract and repel, Schelling remains exciting for
us. Even in his mischievous absurdity, we view him with amazement,
attributable to our awe before greatness. But on the other hand, there
remains the lingering question, even as we address his profound thoughts,
whether they are not already vitiated by the worm causing their de¬
formity. It may appear to us as though from their very inception reflection
cast a shadow on even his most elevated thought forays.
A directionless reflexivity must lead to a pervasive ambiguity con¬
cerning Schelling’s knowledge about what is philosophical and his non¬
realization of this knowledge. He knows about the philosophy that he
does not actualize. He demands so much that is right, and yet he does
not fulfill these demands. But he comports himself as if, by having
formulated these demands so clearly, he had already fulfilled them. Since
he does not follow up on his knowledge about the essential, that knowl¬
edge is obscured again. Hence the break occurs: measured by the yard¬
stick of his own philosophizing, he seems to be actual neither in his
philosophy nor in his life. His philosophizing first appears as the knowl¬
edge of how things should be, and subsequently like the forgetting of
this knowledge.
Thus we seem to sense in Schelling a responsiveness to an experience
of possibilities. And yet this is thought that, far from being the unfolding
of originality, soon shows itself to be forced construction. It is not the
power of the essence that prevails without need of noise or violence
i56 Gnostic Dreamers
either; rather, it shows itself in the form of dictatorial demands. Neither

is it the quiet self-assurance of greatness, but restless sensibility. And
neither does it show character determined by the reliability of a tran-
scendentally grounded will, but a softness characterized by swings from
boasting to reticence. He is a master of gestures, as well versed in the
mannerism of the philosopher’s tranquillity as in that of the prophet’s
thrust.
He stands in stark contrast to earlier philosophy, to its deeply moving
unpretentiousness, to its concealed manifestation, which Schelling him¬
self saw and pointed to. Schelling no longer matched the clarity, purity,
and moderation of Kant. He is not yet aware, as Kierkegaard and
Nietzsche will be, of the new call for honesty that arises in the medium
of infinite reflection. He lacks the firmness, the marvelous unreflectedness
despite all reflection that we see in the great metaphysicians, such as
Spinoza, Anselm, Plotinus.
Second: We cannot think without thinking an object. Whoever phi¬
losophizes must also objectivize as he thinks. But philosophy gains its
truth by melting down the objects. It loses its meaning, on the other
hand, by becoming fixed to objects whose permanence may even turn
them into the object of philosophic research.
Schelling recognized this in his earliest writings and repeated it up
to his last ones: Being cannot be an object. The young Schelling rec¬
ognized the principle of the enthusiasm that he rejected (I, 317-26): It
arises “when one considers the intuition of oneself to be the intuition of
an object external to oneself, and the intuition of the interior intellectual
world to be that of a suprasensual world external to oneself.”
The older Schelling repeats: “All disregarding of our present state,
all knowledge that is not pure development out of what is present or
actual is . . . reprehensible and leads to enthusiasm and error” (IX, 2off.).
Yet with regard to the development of his philosophy of nature,
which according to him is possible only if, in intellectual intuition, we
abstract from all customary intuition, Schelling says: As my construct it
will always be comprehended in my intuition, and I know that I am
dealing throughout only with my own construct” (IV, 91).
When he speaks in laudatory terms about how “pure intuition long
ago invented symbolic language,” he immediately qualifies: “Every au¬
dacious formulation in philosophy borders on dogmatism, since it at¬
tempts to represent something that can never be the object of
representation. It symbolizes what it cannot explain by reference to
sensation. If one takes the symbol to be the object itself, then a philosophy
SCHELLING 157
comes into being that sounds even more fantastic than the religion of
the ancient Egyptians” (I, 405).
The old Schelling still reiterates: “It is a contradiction that eternal
freedom is to be cognized; ... as an absolute subject, it cannot possibly
become/object.” Though Schelling later spoke of the absolute subject in
terms of capability, volition, and desire, he says: “Eternal pure capability
evades everything, it is nonobjective, is absolute inwardness. The same
applies to pure volition and desire.”
However, Schelling forgets this clear insight, though on occasion he
recaptures it momentarily, to the very end. The range of his work
presents a cognition that he has declared to be impossible. For he develops
at all times an objectivity, that is, a history in which that which is, is
thought objectively: as the history of self-consciousness in the stages of
knowing and acting consciousness, as the history of nature in its stages
up to man, as the history of Being as a whole, of the theogonic, cos¬
mogonic, mythological, and revelationary process.
Surprisingly Schelling believes he has overcome the ties to the object,
as well as dogmatic thinking, solely by thinking Being not as object but
as becoming. But becoming is no less objective than being-object, the
system of becoming no less objective than the system of unchangeable
Being. To be sure, his philosophizing is genetic, but that which is thought
genetically, although it is not an objective thing, is an objective supra-
sensuous-sensual process.
The pattern of genetic philosophizing remains constant in Schelling,
no matter whether the content is transcendental consciousness or nature
or the being of God or myth. These contents need not contradict one
another. Rather, they come together in Schelling’s last comprehensive
intuition: his negative and positive philosophy.
Again and again Schelling executes his perilous leap. This he can do
only by becoming the “enthusiast” whose principle he himself had un¬
masked. To this corresponds also his early and late profession of loyalty
to the enthusiasts, whether Boehme or Baader or even Swedenborg.
This leap is not an act of volition. It is not immediately noticeable
to the reader. Schelling grounds his actions in intellectual intuition, by
means of which man is in the center and the origin of all things. The
self-recognition of eternal freedom, presented as a process of Being, is
our own consciousness. Reflection is the driving factor in Being itself.
Or, conversely, our consciousness is self-recognition of eternal freedom.
We are ourselves that process (IX, 225ff.). Hence our ability to recognize
it.
i58 Gnostic Dreamers
What tremendous enhancement of man by Schelling! “In man alone

we find again that unfathomable freedom; in the midst of time, he is
outside time; it is granted to him to be again the beginning, hence he
is the restored beginning.” And without hesitation he ranges himself
among the enthusiasts. “A vague memory of having once been the
beginning, the power, the absolute center pf all is evidently active in
man.”
What motivates this leap to the objectivization of the cognized su-
prasensible? Aside from the theosophic intuitions, which were ever¬
present second nature to Schelling, it may have been the reflexivity of
his mode of thought and existence.
If undirected, unlimited reflection threatens to become philosophy
itself, then the question arises: How does the road lead from unlimited
reflection to earnestness? Or from thought to actuality? Or from phi¬
losophizing to Existenz?
All philosophy, as configuration of thought, as work of the mind,
has an exposed flank. It is incomplete. To achieve wholeness it needs to
be completed. This completion may be an ecclesiastical faith; philosophy
may become the preamble of such faith and thereby cease to be philos¬
ophy. This is not a possibility for Schelling, just as it is not for any other
philosopher.
Instead, Schelling sought that completion in a second philosophy,
brought forth by him for the first time. This philosophy is to take hold
of what is positive, of actuality itself, and thus overcome for all time
reflection and what is negative in philosophizing.
As a matter of fact, philosophy—as the human achievement of
thinking—needs to be completed in actuality, albeit in the actuality of
man, in his possible Existenz, which the individual actualizes but does
not recognize historically. Then the answer to the question of the com¬
pletion of philosophy will not be given through knowledge, but through
this actuality of philosophy itself. Philosophy can illuminate only indi¬
rectly, can encircle, call attention, arouse.
Schelling perceived the inadequacy in the reflexivity of philosophiz¬
ing, and perhaps in the reflexivity of his life altogether. He sought
deliverance from reflexivity without recognizing his own reflexivity,
without inquiring into the question of deliverance. He sensed that with
all the reflections and even with the overcoming of the movements of
reflection in the system we can never reach actuality. He experienced
the negativity of all rational philosophy. What reason recognizes is every¬
where the “what it is,” the possible, and not the “that it is,” the actual.
In order to reach actuality and thus to assure to the seeker repose in the
SCHELLING *59
end, he invented positive philosophy. However, in Schelling this positive

philosophy is merely the latest configuration of his objectifications of the
suprasensuous, which, contrary to his own insights, he pursued through¬
out his life.
Base^ on this interpretation we may say: Schelling answered the
question How does the path lead out of reflection into the earnestness
of Existenz? not through methodical development of the modes of think¬
ing that signify what makes Existenz philosophically possible, but
through the transition from reflexivity to concrete objectivity of knowl¬
edge of Being.
To be sure, Schelling did not pose the question in this form of an
alternative. But his metaphysics is a de facto answer. Here he commits
an existential error as well as an error in thinking. He wants to find the
leap to earnestness itself through philosophy regarded as the thinking
of an object, that is, of actuality that is not excogitated, so that what is
essential may again become an achievement of thought.
Schelling knew and did express this. It is astonishing to see him
demanding and carrying out the absolute dominion of philosophy—by
distancing himself from everything that, in methodical consciousness, is
thought in the philosophy of philosophy—and see him subsequently
falling prey to objectifications, and subordinating himself to schematisms,
systems, and configurations of thought. We see a constant alternation
between deep insight and objectifying fixation, between methodic insight
and contravention of his own insight.
It is hard to find a philosopher who expressed with such lucidity the
selfsame critical thoughts that invalidate his thinking as he carried out
his metaphysics.
To repeat: Schelling confounds conjuring something up in order to
make it present with objectification, or illumination of Existenz with
gnosis.
By this process he neglected the task to which his insight actually
led him, the task of testing all thinking against the existential meaning
of its performance and contents. The objectifications would have to be
tested as to their possible meaning for the illumination of Existenz or
as ciphers of transcendence. The impetus, no longer capturable through
any act of thought, would have to bring about, in Existenz, the response
to philosophy.
Is the manner in which Schelling takes hold of intellectual intuition
to blame for his errors from the very start? Might it be that he demands
too much of it; above all, that he does not differentiate between intel¬
lectual intuition as a mental tool for creating pictures and thoughts and
i6o Gnostic Dreamers
the experience of possible Existenz; that he allows the profundities of

all philosophic truth to be mingled in a murky multiplicity?
In his passionate struggle for actuality, Schelling neglects the task of
arriving at actuality by the way in which he thinks actuality. His failure
consists in his persevering in “the pure ether of thought” and in being
satisfied with the noncommittal intuition qf fancies, fixating the objects
in the bottomlessness of such fantasies. Yet this is something which both
the young as well as the old Schelling had rejected as the original sin
of free philosophy.
The following citations are the historical testimony of truth and its
corruption in Schelling: When the young Kierkegaard heard the old
Schelling in 1841, he commented, at the start of the lectures: “When he
used the word ‘actuality’ . . . the fruit of my thoughts leaped with joy
in me, as in Elizabeth,” only to add a few months later: “Schelling
babbles quite unbearably.”
Schelling’s leap into the ground of Being may be seen as a forced
leap ending in a fall into bottomlessness, while he conjures up phantas¬
magoria. Or we may liken his ascent to Being to the flight of Icarus
ending in his downward plunge.
And yet these attempts stand the test of truth as long as, issuing
from the situation of our existence and consciousness, they serve to
support the basic operations through which we become aware of this
situation, reach and touch the limits. Hence the study of Schelling re¬
mains worthwhile. But to appropriate his thought may be likened to
climbing a mountain, where every false step leads to a philosophic plunge.
Philosophical life continues to be a matter of journeying, provided its
impulse is grounded in a deliberate, fundamental decision at the core of
one’s philosophizing. It is the decision between alternatives: Either we
elect to stand at a point outside and to speak from there, over and above
the actuality of what is present, disdaining criteria, making use of an
intellectual intuition that becomes questionable, and satisfied with gnostic
cognition; or we remain within the orientation of our world and carry
through with what we are and the reality we find ourselves in (all the
modes of the Encompassing). Then, also in union with Schelling, we
pursue the questions to the limit and urge them to that upward plane
where there is no answer, where, rather, the questions become the spec¬
ulative counterthrust into the earnestness of Existenz, into the actual
presentness that we are and can be. We then recognize that those over¬
leaping objectivizations cannot be carried out and hence are illusions of
which it can merely be asked whether they achieve the meaning of
ciphers, authentically carried out, or whether they are simply nothing.
SCHELLING 161
Third: Schelling’s undoing in failing to master reflexivity and in

falling prey to objectivizations reaches its culmination in his consciousness
of his mission. His reflection on his age poses this tremendous task within
the perspective of world history. The objectivizations put him in pos¬
session of d knowledge it is incumbent on him to proclaim. Schelling
had a consciousness of his mission early on, preceding all content. Knowl¬
edge of the task and possession of the true philosophy must then be
seized upon in this consciousness of mission. He feels himself superior
to all others, the only one who is called, in the flux of time and carried
along with it, to be the guide and to bring about eternal truth.
The present and history are seen according to the old schema: Every¬
thing is undermined; the convulsion is a total one. The new is ap¬
proaching; dawn is breaking.
Philosophy is destined to save the times. In his youth Schelling wrote:
“The philosophers have often complained that their science has little
effect on human volition and the fate of our whole race.” How could it
be otherwise? “They complain that a science which, as such, exists
nowhere, has no influence.” To be sure, there were basic principles, but
only a part of mankind considered them to be true. “Who will follow
the guidance of a leadership which does not yet dare to think of itself
as the only true one?” (I, 112).
He feels himself to be the one who will be the bearer of this phi¬
losophy. He has started to teach it, but it is still incomplete. To the very
last his high demand is upheld: the rejection of all previous philosophical
thought, his appearance as the bearer of the one, true, new philosophy.
“No philosophy up to now has reached the matter itself, that is, has
become true science; instead, it has always remained mired in its pre¬
liminaries. In particular, recent German philosophy resembles an endless
preface, whose main text one still awaits in vain” (XIII, 178).
In no period has this authentic philosophy been as urgently needed
as in the present declining era. It alone is “the means of healing the
disintegration of our times.” But Schelling adds: “Of course I do not
mean by this a feeble philosophy, not a mere artifact; I mean a strong
philosophy, one that can compete with life, that takes its strength out
of actuality itself and then produces something effective and lasting”
(XIII, 8-10). Did Schelling from the very beginning raise the level of
philosophy so far above the measure of human things that its toppling
was unavoidable?
Measured against the magnitude of his claim, the actual Schelling is
shamefully inadequate. Even though he senses the crisis of world history
in the situation of his time, he is not involved in it with his whole being.
His discussion of the crisis and his response to it originate in reflection.

In spite of all his radical statements he is able to live calmly and un-
questioningly in the continuity of the traditional order. Also, because
for him it was merely a matter of reflection, he did not, in any practical
fashion, take the road into a new age. Rather, his thinking must be
assigned to the modes of obscurantism of an earlier age, to a way of
salvation that leads not to rescue but to deceptive reassurance.
Schelling is convinced that he is the bearer of a philosophy that will
save us. He arrogates to himself the kind of professorial claim of preem¬
inence that is based on being a knower, proclaimer, and prophet. From
this position he demands a predominant role at the university, as befits
the charismatic spiritual power with which he was endowed. Schelling’s
demands when he was called, for the second time, to the University of
Jena in 1816 are one example. Goethe, with his sure instinct for limits
and his sense of reality, prevented the appointment of his friend because
of these demands. A more telling example is Schelling’s acceptance of
his appointment to Berlin by the king of Prussia as “teacher of the Age.”
Such a figure was then widely admired. Among the professors, an in¬
stinctive mimicking of Schelling’s attitudes became noticeable. I myself,
on attending Kuno Fischer’s lectures, felt as though I detected in his
speech a last faint trace of Schelling’s manner.
All this accords with the strange nature of his self-assurance. In the
brilliance of his intellect, the self-certainty of his abilities, the enthusiasm
of his basic philosophical insights, the young Schelling stands before us
as unshakable. Caroline Schelling called him “granite.” But he turned
out to be anything but granite. When, as early as his Jena years, his high
claims failed and his first great success did not endure, his self-assurance
turned into self-importance. His devotion to the cause became entwined
with an egocentricity that clouded everything. With disillusionment came
self-delusion. The almost constant polemics, the restlessness, the absence
of constantly watchful critical examination made his self-assertion seem
forced. He fell out with most of the great minds among his friends—
Fichte, Hegel, Baader; he held almost everyone in contempt, regarded
those of whom he approved as his pupils and judged them according to
their loyalty—Steffens, Schubert, Beckers. His self-assurance was shaky
and hence enormously sensitive. He courted effect; he acted grimly
proud, denying himself to others; he became taciturn. But he continued
in the conscious display of his superiority. Wherever he appeared as
speaker, he held his audience spellbound, until this too came to an end,
and he withdrew completely from public life during his last years.
One symptom of Schelling’s three inversions is the extent to which
SCHELLING J63
he was mistaken about realities. He disregards them or misjudges them,

while at the same time he has ambitions to penetrate the depths of
actuality with his thinking, and indeed succeeds in doing so conceptually.
It is easy to discern to what degree he misunderstood his age. His
lacunae betome evident by comparison with Kierkegaard, with Marx,
with the political thinking and the political events of his time, and
subsequently with Nietzsche. If we compare what he thought with these
great minds steeped in actuality, it is clear that Schelling was ignorant
in the ways of the Romantics.
It further becomes clear that he had no conception of the meaning
of the natural sciences and their achievements, that philosophically as
well as scientifically he made foolish assertions with regard to matters
scientifically verifiable. He would come up with ingenious theses such
as: The creatures of earlier epochs studied by paleontology never lived
at all; they were created as they are now, as also was the mammoth
embedded in the Siberian frost, that is, from the very act of the world’s
creation they were created as something past (XI, 499).
Further, Schelling’s estrangement from the political realities of his
time has to be shown. Again, without having observed them properly,
he develops ingenuous constructions in disregard of the realities. For
example, in the revolutionary year of 1848 he proposes to the king of
Bavaria, as best fitted for that role, that there be an elected emperor
who, through the sovereignty of all the ruling princes, would unite
Germany as a nation of nations, including Prussia and Austria.
Finally, to what degree Schelling was a stranger to actual religion
needs to be stated. In his construct of “the philosophical religion” he
propagates a new, historically necessary Johannine Age. He misunder¬
stands the independence of religion as manifested in cult, rites, laws,
community, in sacred places and ages, in the authority grounded on
God. He knows that all these religious manifestations are not based on
an error on the part of humanity which can be psychologically or so¬
ciologically explained. He considers philosophy to be a superior authority,
enabling us to see through the various religious phenomena to guide
religion and to found it anew. But the independent authority of critical
philosophy is valid only for the manner in which philosophically
grounded Existenz relates to religion. To be sure, it can question, lim-
itlessly, the religious actuality, though it cannot appropriate it. Schelling
wants to control religion philosophically and tell theologians how to
think. He, who seems to take the historical reality of myths and reve¬
lations so seriously, appears blind to the actuality of religion.
Each of the three inversions—arising from reflexivity, from objectifi¬

cation, from the consciousness of mission—is grounded in a truth, a
truth that should not be lost as we reject the inversion.
Reflection ought to remain unlimited'. Whatever we think in philo¬
sophizing must be brought to consciousness through methodological
deliberation so that we come to be masters of our thoughts and learn to
evaluate their meaning and their limits. But such dominion also includes
an awareness of the guidance within us that, though eluding our cog¬
nition, is part of our human responsibility and sets us limits. Wedded
to this responsibility, we are, beyond the realm of comprehension, given
to ourselves as a gift in our freedom and all its manifestations. Keeping
attuned to this guidance means refusal of a meaningless infinity, of
arbitrariness instead of sovereign reflection.
In thinking, we objectivize. Objectivization is essential. But it must
be carried out philosophically, that is, in such a manner that what is
objectified remains in suspension, that it is always only a foothold in a
movement that lets it disappear again. Hence philosophical formulations
are so irritating to whoever wants to grasp the content objectively as a
fixed possession: to him, it appears as though something is given with
one hand and taken away with the other. But we are spurred on precisely
when we are touched by whatever communicates itself indirectly in the
objectifications.
Being conscious of one’s tas\ is part of the responsibility of philoso¬
phizing. However, if it becomes a consciousness of mission its truth is
vitiated at its very root by the will to be recognized. As philosophers we
are individuals among millions. If we remain true to truth, then we
uphold something indefinable, as Schelling well knew. This is the un¬
conditional point that supports the thinking and acting and the whole
life of the humblest as well as the greatest person. It does so, however,
only in the form of demands upon oneself, demands that comprise
modesty in one’s demand on others.
5-
Schelling’s immoderate claims for his philosophy imply a premise that

many before and after him also posited: There exists the one and only
true philosophy, which is valid equally for everyone and which therefore
rightly claims dominion. Hence arises the further presupposition: This
philosophy can originate and come to completion in the head of a single
thinker. He himself then becomes the movement of history in its entirety,
the turning point, the founder and ruler of his age.
SCHELLING i65
Counter to this claim is the other presupposition: Such sovereign

rank must not be granted to any man, not even the greatest in all the
millennia (nor has a great man ever claimed such a rank for himself; it
has always been imposed on him by the loyal faithful), because no one
can possess the true philosophy. Everybody remains a mere human being.
Man’s life, looked at in honesty, is set within a realm of forces that
cannot be exhaustively surveyed by any human being. We never stand
outside. It is from within that we look for the opponent through whom
we first define ourselves, and for the line of battle in which we find
ourselves. We do not see them with any finality; hence the insatiable
desire to communicate. Even what is most alien must be allowed expres¬
sion and be heard. Whatever men are, think, and do concerns me without
my having to become and think as they do. I want to be questioned and
challenged so that I may deceive myself less. I want to question what is
alien in order to force it into the open so that I may find out what is
behind its assertions. I want to convince and be convinced. And I would
like to acknowledge differences and be acknowledged by them. Only
where there is the will to communicate can alien elements come together,
can they define themselves in the encounter. Such communication is not
the destructive battle in which the intellect serves as a weapon for the
self-assertion of existence, rather than as a means for bringing about
community. Instead, communication is a loving struggle. If darkened by
hatred the lines of battle cannot be clearly drawn. True, hatred sharpens
the eye for weaknesses, but it blinds it to the substance. In confrontations
of hatred the antagonists can only repel each other without coming to
know one another.
Since truth is possible only in communication, the real and worst
enemy is he who turns a deaf ear to communication, to being questioned
and called into question; who evades what he proclaims to be a hopeless
lack of understanding; who refuses to answer; who demands, as prelim¬
inary to any discussion, belief in a certain something, be it man or thing.
This resistance to communication constitutes the most profound rupture
between men. It amounts to a betrayal of our very humanity. What
happens in the intellectual sphere has repercussions in existence. As its
ultimate consequence, the breakdown of communication leads to a state
in which human beings can only avoid or kill each other. One criterion
of truth, however, is whether it enables us to live together. That is true
which unites us.
Fuzziness or half-measures have no place here; no unilluminated
feelings must be left in control, such as, for instance, positing as a scientific
truth a universally valid philosophy which, in deceptive garb, constitutes
the last attenuated claim to domination. Such presuppositions harbor a

radical alternative for philosophizing.
As we investigate Schelling’s stand, some passages in his work permit
us to claim him for our own. But mostly indeed dominating everything,
there is to be found in him the alternative premise. It forces us into
profound opposition.
6.
Schelling’s philosophy is ambiguous. The treasures embedded in his

thinking are indeed precious. But his opus makes one think of a mine
in which the veins of ore and precious stones have to be searched for
laboriously, or like a jungle hiding marvelous blossoms in its luxuriant
tangles. In dealing with Schelling we must be prepared to appropriate
and reject, to alternate between gratefulness and irritation, to feel close
to him and yet end up at the farthest distance.
We have a responsibility that cannot be satisfied by our intellect; it
draws on our substance, for which intellect is only an instrument. In
dealing with Schelling, who would presume to claim universal validity
for his judgments? But whoever takes his philosophical purpose and
himself seriously is seeking clarity. In compliance with Schelling’s dictum
that philosophy is essentially volition, he must know what he wants. By
expressing what he considers to be true, the philosophizing interpreter
of Schelling’s work engages in open-minded battle with other admirers
of Schelling of equal seriousness, those who do not indulge in the ar¬
bitrary limitlessness of mental operations growing out of a depersonalized
moment of nonbeing.
Schelling can be helpful to us. He acknowledged and brought to our
consciousness the high level of philosophy realized by the great thinkers
of another rank, such as Plato, Kant, Spinoza. He awakened our sense
of greatness in philosophy. He made us humble, provided we do not
succumb to the temptation of pride in our participation in philosophical
thought, for we have gained only a measuring rod, not a possession.
Schelling’s thinking frees us from the accepted commonplaces. He
leads us to the comprehension of the finite as finite; he shows how we
gain assurance in the speculative ascent of Being. As long as we avoid
slipping into the entanglements and bewitchments of his concrete in¬
tuitions about nature, myth, revelation, we arrive at the wondrous pos¬
sibilities of philosophy.
Ultimately, Schelling’s importance lies in his actualization of seduc¬
tion itself. A great error, committed in grand style, has become visible
SCHELLING 167
once and for all, so that it will not be repeated. Because he fell into it,
those coming after him can study in the light of his example what they
are now able to avoid. Again and again we are exposed to the temptations
to which Schelling succumbed. He shows them to us in grandiose style,
aler^ng us to them for all time. His misjudgment accrues to our benefit.
Schelling’s succumbing to temptation has the exemplary character of a
warning.
Philosophy is of such awesome effect and its seriousness so momen¬
tous that I would be despicable if I did not respond in kind. This is the
path to which Schelling guides us and intends to guide us. However, as
I have tried to indicate, the truth he postulates turns to a still indeter¬
minate degree against his own work and even his nature. Hence he
harbors in himself both greatness and undoing, and we have the task
of orienting ourselves by his greatness while resisting what is his undoing.
Criticism of a great thinker must not be regarded as rejection. Crit¬
icism allows what is great to shine all the more brightly, even the
greatness inherent in the error. My presentation here grows from my
sympathy for Schelling over the decades during which I constantly wres¬
tled with this sympathy. What unites us is Schelling’s quality as a great
philosopher who cannot be bypassed. I hope to have demonstrated my
respect for him in the compass of my struggling with him. No one
possesses the truth, the unlimited, complete, unalloyed truth. It suffices
if a portion of it reaches us, reflectedly, as a stirring, glorious radiance.
V
, ••
■
-
Constructive Minds
LEIBNIZ
V
,
LEIBNIZ
i
/
Editors’ Note
Gottfried Wilhelm von Leibniz was born in Leipzig in 1646, the

son of a professor of moral philosophy. His precocious mind had
absorbed much of extant European learning by the age of twelve.
From 1661 to 1666 he pursued studies in law, mathematics, and
philosophy, and received his doctorate in jurisprudence from the
University of Altdorf in 1667. Instead of an academic career, he
chose to serve princely patrons in more directly practical capacities.
Both his practical career and his philosophical thought were per¬
vaded by a kind of “diplomatic spirit” of harmonious striving.
After serving as secretary of the Rosicrucian Society in Nurem¬
berg, he worked in legal reform and diplomacy in Frankfurt. From
1668 to 1673 he served the Elector of Mainz, and was sent to Paris
to allay a French move into German and Dutch territories. He
remained there until 1676, studying the new Cartesian philosophy
with Nicolas de Malebranche and pursuing physics and mathematics
with Christian Huygens. In Paris he also perfected his multiple-
function calculating machine. A sojourn in London as attache put
him in touch with chemist Robert Boyle and the British Royal
Society, to which he was elected in 1673.
From 1676 Leibniz served the house of Brunswick-Liineburg
as privy councillor, judge, librarian, and dynastic historian. On
travels to Amsterdam, he met Spinoza, and studied the latter’s still-
unpublished Ethics. He played a crucial role in building an insti¬
tutional framework for scholarly interchange in Europe, founding
the Berlin Academy of Sciences in 1700. He also advised Peter the
Great of Russia on educational and scientific reforms. Confined in
his last years to ceremonial posts, he continued his varied researches
with rigorous zeal. He died in 1716.
172 Constructive Minds
i. BASIC THOUGHT
* *•«
Leibniz’s development shows that the essential elements of his thinking,

adopted from the tradition, are presept even in his first youthful at¬
tempts.1 From Aristotelian-scholastic thinking he takes the thought of
the independent and authentic actuality of the individual, which cannot
be deduced from the universal. It is something positive and is actual
neither through negation nor through privation of the universal. It is
not comprehensible through contraction of the species to the specific
difference of the individual. Rather, the ground of individuality lies in
the totality of positive determinations of substances. Each individual is
individuated by virtue of its entire beingness (entitas). This traditional
thought, adopted by Leibniz at seventeen, was deepened and reshaped
throughout his life, leading him far beyond his beginnings.
Leibniz also took over the mechanical interpretation of natural oc¬
currences, which, from the time of Democritus, assumed many forms
and was brought up to date by Gassendi and Hobbes and the natural
scientists of the time. Even late in life Leibniz remembered his decision
to drop Aristotelian-scholastic forms of explaining occurrences in nature
and to change over to mechanistic thought, which was proving itself so
fertile in factual cognition. Leibniz soon took the next step. He not only
limited the mechanistic interpretation to corporeal nature, but also tran¬
scended it with respect to the world as a whole through the notion of
purposeful structure, the teleological order of things, which uses mech¬
anism as a means, and reintroduced substantial forms in a new, altered
configuration.
A third basic thought adopted by Leibniz is that of the infinity of
the universe and of each thing, as it had its last great formulation in
Cusanus. There is no smallest and no greatest, because we can always
think something still smaller or greater. Everything is divided, into
infinity; worlds are hidden in the smallest, worlds in worlds. The thought
of infinity becomes fruitful for Leibniz in all areas of cognition through
the bridging of opposites (rest is infinitely small movement; the living
organism is a machine with a purposefulness reaching into infinity, as
differentiated from the finite purposiveness of the machines produced
by man, the finite parts of which are no longer machines). The notion
of infinity gives depth to Leibniz’s thinking, ,as well as contradictoriness
and the means for solving the contradictions.
Cf. Willy Rabitz, Die Philosophic des jungen Leibniz.

LEIBNIZ r73
A fourth basic thought Leibniz accepted is that of the harmony of

all things.
From the very beginning, all of Leibniz’s thoughts are grounded—
a grounding that remains unquestioned throughout his life—in the
premise* that the universe is completely in accord with reason, and hence
it can rationally be cognized; that through God the essence of all things
is rationality. This too is a time-honored idea: nihil sine ratione.
What is peculiar to Leibnizian philosophy is, first, the concatenation
of all these basic thoughts, which, in themselves, are not original. Beyond
that, it is the fertility arising out of this concatenation and the consistency
with which it brings about—in the almost incalculable multiplicity of
specific cognitions—a unity in thinking and a whole that can be presented
as a system: the system of monadology and preestablished harmony.
Our comprehension of Leibniz’s complete work would be restricted
if we were to reduce it to one principle, for example, to logic and its
presuppositions; or to the dynamics in physics through which mechanism
first becomes possible as a real mechanism; or to mathematics, especially
the theory of numbers, since Leibniz sees everything according to this
paradigm and the structure of all things according to Pythagorean tra¬
dition; or to monadology as the final configuration of the metaphysical
principle of the existence solely of the individual.
We may with equal right maintain that from the very beginning all
of Leibniz’s movements of thought are grounded metaphysically, and
that monadology represents a convoluted structure resulting from logical
inferences. We can speak of a basic frame of mind that resides in the
notion of harmony, in intrinsic accord with the will of God, in the trust
that everything is in order; and we can say right away that this basic
frame of mind is precisely the ineradicable certainty of the rationality
of God and the universe and that, therefore, rational cognition is the
only way into the ground, and that, therefore, from the very beginning
rational construction from logical premises was, for Leibniz, the form
of his philosophy. The motifs of his worldview are expressed from the
outset as such constructions. Construction is not empty for Leibniz, since
it carries much weight in his metaphysical thought.
The conceptuality that forms the content of this construction is closely
bound up with the ground of things itself. It aims at the most extensive,
encompassing breadth, refuses to leave anything out, wants to combine
everything, since it is already present in the ground of things and only
as such becomes clear to reason. Leibniz’s intellectual stature allows him
to forge ahead, in his constructions, to depths that cannot be derived
*74 Constructive Minds
from the traditional elements of his overall thinking. But their meta¬
physical importance remains.limited, since the rational premise of this
form of faith in reason comprehending the ground of things lacks, as
such, metaphysical depth. N
The metaphysical impetus of faith in God’s rationality lends a height¬
ened importance to all rational activity. But then the independent interest
in inventing, the pleasure of operating, making, and creating as such
(whether a calculating machine or a mine, whether minting or political
action) gains the upper hand. Leibniz concerns himself with everything,
takes on almost every task, always by rational means, his ratio grounded
in God; but the question arises as to what degree the original motive
remains powerful and effective, to what degree it is lost in constructions
and procedures, or to what degree it is presented in the infinite actuality
of thinking or is flatly contradicted by it, leaving the merely constructive.
Leibniz’s first great development out of the basic motive took place
in Paris from 1672 to 1676. Especially through his contact with Christian
Huygens, he became the great mathematician who, in connection with
the thought of infinity, succeeded, in 1676, in discovering the differential
and the integral calculus. This achievement has remained to this day his
most famous, since it has been of immeasurable importance for the
mathematical sciences. Leibniz never ceased developing new ideas,
though none of them equaled the aforementioned in specific scientific
relevance. He discovered ever new means of promoting his fundamental
task, that is, to grasp the world in its rationality through the instrument
of one’s own reason.
2. THE MONADOLOGY
a) Physics and metaphysics—science and philosophy: We shall endeavor to

comprehend the monadology critically by looking at its characteristics.
1) To be sure, Leibniz differentiates between physical research and
metaphysical foundation, But in his thinking he does not keep them
apart at all. In him, the metaphysical foundation itself assumes the form
of a scientific theory of the underlying ground. The physical principles
are posited as metaphysical ones grounded purely in thinking.
Thus, in Leibniz, the law of the “conservation of energy” is quite
distinct from the same principle in modern natural science, since Leibniz
intends it to be valid only in general, without application to or dem¬
onstration in natural phenomena by means of scale, measure, and
readings.
LEIBNIZ *75
As a result, such theses as: the mind is always thinking, even when
we sleep without dreaming, unless it is devoid of all consciousness; or,
the body is never without motion; rest is a minimum of motion; or, a
substance is never without activity—all have an ambiguousness that on
the ojie hand expresses mere metaphysical postulates, and on the other
promises application to practical research, without, however, delivering
on this promise. Here Leibniz’s constructivism is akin to that of Descartes
and Hobbes, as opposed to Galileo, Kepler, Newton. In distinction from
these natural scientists, those philosophers think, to be sure, in mathe¬
matical terms, but without the mathematical method, which is considered
fruitful only as it proves itself in experiment or measured observation.
Such constructivism is to be understood as metaphysics and must not
be confused, even in its fundamental attitude, with science, in whose
garb it appears.
2) A superficial indicator of the difference between science and meta¬
physics is that only the natural sciences allow for a genuine battle over
priorities. It is characteristic that Leibniz could claim priority for many
of his thought-constructs without eliciting any reactions. Over the in¬
vention of the differential and the integral calculus, however, a bitter
battle of priority lasting for decades raged between Leibniz and Newton.
For only here had an actual, weighty, solid discovery been made. Con¬
cerning philosophic thoughts there never was a battle of comparable
significance. For in philosophy there is no actual priority, because there
is no actual theft, either—except when texts are copied; here there is
only originality of thinking, which cannot be repeated in identical form
as is possible with the content of a scientific discovery.
3) Leibniz himself called preestablished harmony a hypothesis, even
if an extremely certain one. He treated his monadology like a scientific
theory of underlying Being, of objectively thought Being-as-such. He
constructed this theory in its ramifications. At specific points he illustrated
rather than proved it by means of facts. The whole is neither gnosis as
it is found in theosophic tradition, nor illumination of Existenz as great
philosophers carry it out by referring their metaphysical vision to man’s
entire conduct of life as well as to his decisions. Herder called Leibniz
a “poet in metaphysics,” Schiller spoke of preestablished harmony as a
“humorous idea by an excellent mind, which he himself never believed,”
Hegel spoke of a “metaphysical novel.”2
b) The truths found on the way despite the absurdity of the whole:
2 Johann Gottfried Herder, Andrastea, in Sammtliche Werfc, Berlin, Weidmann, 1885-86, XXIII,
482. Friedrich Schiller, “Philosophic der Physiologic,” ed. by Oskar Walzel, in Samtliche Werke,
Stuttgart and Berlin, J. G. Cotta, 1904, XI, 21-23. H2. Hegel, Sammtliche Wer\e, XIX, 454.
Although the whole of monadology is invented as objective machinery

of the universe, this thought-configuration gains its depth through the
concept of infinity, and its effectiveness through Leibniz’s ever new ideas
regarding the details. Even if, as a whole, the thought-configuration is
completely implausible, the questions it poses in the development of its
thoughts can point to mysteries that, though not solved, serve to deepen
world-consciousness. Leibniz, who, overall, seems so absurd, manages
in particular instances to be to the point and almost always informative.
He opens up categorial spaces, as it were. Though taken aback by the
overall absurdity, we are yet enthralled.
We can find in Leibniz much that is positive—above all, certain
points of view that supply the conceptual bases for further inquiry: the
differentiation of “conscious” and “unconscious” and related concepts;
the question of the unity and continuity of all things. In all this some
sort of philosophy is operative “nonetheless,” despite the form of scientific
theory and manner of proof: The idea of individuality as monad contains
existential possibilities; his intuitions garnered by means of the idea of
infinity contain metaphysical ciphers.
c) Aspects: The meaning of monadology exhibits several aspects, de¬
pending on what we allow to affect us.
1) Logically, by its extreme complication, it gives the impression that
it was constructed for the purpose of forcing the solution of all difficulties.
Seen in this light it seems artificial, and absurd in its character as ob-
jectivizing hypothesis.
2) Then it can suddenly strike us as a great vision of Being, especially
in the vision of nature awakening from sleep and coming to itself out
of unconsciousness, of a world-event as a whole and in its details, in
which the infinite wealth of a creative possibility, infinite by virtue of
unceasing activity, manifests itself, as well as in the positing as absolute
of infinite, wholly independent individualities.
3) Finally, monadology appears to be the expression of an attitude
of life that understands and confirms itself in it, not only through its
own unflagging activity, but also primarily in the serene belief that,
basically, all is in order, and that this unbounded activity derives meaning
from a constantly actual fulfillment, which is the unity and the peace of
pure cognition behind all that is obscure, confused, violent, irrational,
but is merely the foreground. This is like a faith.
Yet we cannot recognize a metaphysics in Leibniz’s monadology as
we can in Spinoza, Bruno, Plotinus, Plato, and in a few pre-Socratics.
For, despite its other aspects, its effect is, as a whole, that of a construction.
It does not become convincing, but fascinates as an intellectual game.
LEIBNIZ 177
3. SHIPWRECK OF THE RATIONALITY INHERENT

IN THE UNIVERSAL
Leibniz never acknowledged the irrational and the antirational; but he

did, from early on, keep his eye precisely on that which prevents the
dissolution of actuality into the condition of being completely cognized,
that is, into reason: the actuality of individuals and of chance, the factual.
It was precisely this that drove him to seek the universal rationality in
which the individual as well as chance would become rationally com¬
prehensible. Through this tension between the universal, and as such
inactual, and the individual, and as such the alone actual, his task was
further deepened, since his thoughts went radically into the fundamental
on both sides.
Against his attempt to achieve this cognition within scientia generalise
we can readily argue that such universal cognition always finds its limits
in the axioms that are its starting points, to which particular cognitive
structures are bound, but which themselves are not cognized in their
ground; and, second, such cognition finds its limits in an actuality that
never completely fits the universal forms and cannot be derived from
the universal. Leibniz does not deny this, but he seeks to comprehend
in an all-inclusive metaphysical construction why this is true for human
cognition, whereas in divine cognition everything is resolved in ration¬
ality. He further means to see that and to what extent we participate in
such divine cognition through the idea of the scientia generalis.
What he wanted to achieve as all-embracing, all-penetrating scientia
generalis was possible only for divine reason, for which the infinite is
completely cognizable—a knowledge out of the reach of human reason.
Yet only because our thinking is qualitatively identical to divine
thinking, but quantitatively infinitely different from it, could the idea
of the scientia generalis originate in the human mind. (Those human
beings that arrived at perfect illumination in cognition, that is, completed
monads, would be “small gods.”)
There is another objection raised against Leibniz: Though, to be
sure, he speaks of the individual in principle as well as most impressively,
he does not in actual cognition pay attention to what is individual, does
not lovingly indulge the particular, unique, irreplaceable individual. This
objection is justified, and makes comprehensible that the tendency of
Leibniz’s works is so completely oriented toward the universal.
Another objection is: His scientia generalis does no more than gen¬
eralize mathematics to apply to all cognition. Mathematics, it is said, is
not only exemplary for, but the source of, all cognition. This philosophy,
it has been claimed, is an absurd product of misunderstood mathematics

and misunderstood reality. We cannot simply brush aside that many of
his texts invite this stricture, but, in Leibniz, motivation lies instead in
the opposite direction: From his metaphysical stance grounded in faith
in reason, arises, first, his use of mathematics and its potentialities, and,
second, his use of scientia generalis, of which mathematics is merely a
shadow.
Against the construct of the universal cogitated by Leibniz, we can
object that he drains what is thinkable to the point where contradiction
is eliminated. He is stranded in the formal. But—wherever there is
cognition—what is thinkable is the fulfillment by content of the merely
logical form. If our thinking were not a thinking that structures intuitions
and by means of its operations creates actualities in us and outside of
us, it would be adequately apprehended in the theory of logic (which is
called formal symbolic logic today), but would, at the same time, be
recognized in its total emptiness and ineffectiveness. But that was not
at all Leibniz’s intention. There is no doubt that, in his intention, logical
calculus has foundered, whereas, as modern formal symbolic logic, it is
no longer what Leibniz was working toward.
What Leibniz knew, and Pascal before him, is that all logical thinking
is suspended in the void, as it were; it can neither prove its specific
beginning (the axioms), nor attain actuality. Leibniz believed he could
overcome the suspension with regard to reason in God. Modern formal
symbolic logic either has arrived at the “unphilosophy” of a rational
game of correctnesses—and thus at what is endless, inapplicable, fruitless,
and hence indifferent—or it has, it seems (in Wittgenstein), a great
philosophical trait in that it brings to consciousness the foundering of
knowledge that is absolute and, at the same time, unequivocal, and
reveals, with maximal transparency, its radical opaqueness. Modern for¬
mal symbolic logic is far removed from Leibniz on both counts.
4. CHARACTERIZATION OF THE PERSONAL ASPECT
We are inclined to measure intellectual greatness against personal great¬

ness. In Leibniz the disparity between the two is characteristic. His mind
is broad, rich, inventive, clear, inexhaustibly productive, of universal
capacity; his personality is faceless, as it were. Not that he was evil or
mean-spirited; he was most likely decent and average, great neither in
good nor in evil. He gives the impression not of concealed profundity
but of an indecisive character. We encounter the mind of a giant in a
LEIBNIZ l79
human being devoid of pronounced personality. No other modern phi¬

losopher achieved such versatility of occupation, such plenitude of in¬
terests, topics, inventions; yet hardly any other philosopher seems so
shadowy to us. The work is always clear, almost always interesting, has
its distinctive style; but the man never becomes a person for us, devoid
as he Is of either greatness or style. What a baffling discrepancy between
knowledge and mental capacity and personal nature!
Not even his contemporaries knew who he really was. Their mirror
does not project his image down to us. He was admired without being
liked. His fame is enduring, but his personality sheds as little light today
as it did in his own time.
It is unique as well as symbolic for him how little he published in
his lifetime, how almost all of his philosophy was channeled into his
letters to scholars, how unconcerned he was about the fate of his literary
remains, though he collected and preserved them neatly; that he allowed
his major works simply to lie there, works that reached the public only
half a century or longer after his death, and that even today by no means
all he wrote has been published. The new publications have had con¬
siderable effect on mathematical, logical, and metaphysical thinking, but
even they have failed to alter or deepen the image of his personality.
Given the great wealth of topics he was able to treat so substan¬
tively—his rational political ideas; the occasional glimpses he gives of
being profoundly affected; what he is able to express authentically and
forcefully, especially in the German language—Leibniz himself lacks
contour, and what he actually discovered and experienced remains un¬
clear. The matter-of-factness of his writings has nothing in common
with the metaphysical presence of Spinoza or the ethical power of Kant.
What he writes is always clever, based on observation, occasionally wise,
and above all carries the full weight of logical thought as such. His
thought and work as evidenced in his letters and writings testify to a
grandiose objectivity such that Leibniz’s person no longer seems to mat¬
ter. Here a mind had put such distance between itself and the world
that all interest save that in the subject discussed may safely disappear.
The realities of his life do not allow us to discover the personality we
expect to find. Yet philosophy (in contrast to scientific research) does not
permit such impersonality.
i8o Constructive Minds
5. CHARACTERIZATION OF THE WORK
The very greatness of Leibniz’s mind leaves no room for any doubt
about it. Even a brief reading is convincing, and more protracted study
increases our admiration. It seems as if Leibniz could not write a single
line without immediately being engrossing, inventive, astonishing. His
bent is toward previously unthought possibilities; he discovers proposi¬
tions and categorial determinations which, because of their essential
nature, are indelibly imprinted on our minds. In his constructs the wealth
of ideas seems inexhaustible. Leibniz’s simplicity, clarity, conciseness,
and the rapid yet unbroken progression of his thought are admirable.
His critical sensitivity rejects the trivial and lets even the absurd appear
ingenious. He is always lively; he discusses, develops, modifies, and stays
in motion, refusing to be fettered automatically by his own categories,
allowing everything to be carried along by the fundamentals of thought
and his own unique attitude.
Wherever we open his writings we are met by clear air, the serene
mood of the desire to know and the gratification afforded by the profound
possibilities of thought and questioning, and of the marvelous things in
the world. In whatever he encounters, he immediately discovers an
inherent problem.
Thought, with him, is transmittable; it is everything, is simply explicit
and hence without the slightest tendency to indirect communication. But
the transmission of this overwhelming multitude of ideas raises severe
difficulties once we attempt to gain an overview.
Historians of philosophy have tried to overcome this by an exposition
of the Leibnizian system.3 But the question is precisely whether, in the
case of Leibniz, we have a closed whole, a total knowledge intended as
such and free of contradiction, or whether, taken as a whole, this thinking
is from the very first riddled with insoluble contradictions. Expressed
differently, the question is whether the will to conciliation and to a
universal complementation actually brings all opposites to a unity of
knowledge that is not only grandiose but also convincing, or whether
the will to unity achieves a mere semblance of such unity that is con¬
structed by means of efficacious principles (development, complementing
the one-sided, continuity, infinity, and so on) and their artful combi¬
nation. Expressed still differently: We ask whether in Leibniz an integral
3 Johann Eduard Erdmann, Versuch einer wissenschaftlichen Darstellung der Geschichte der neueren
Philosophic, repr., H. Glockner, ed. Stuttgart, F. Frommann, 1932, Parts 1-2, vol. 4. Kuno Fischer,
Gottfried Wilhelm Leibniz, Leben, Wer{e und Lehre, 5th ed. Heidelberg, C. Winter, 1920. Eduard
Zeller, Geschichte der deutschen Philosophic seit Leibniz, 2nd ed. Munich, R. Oldenbourg, 1875.
LEIBNIZ 181
whole is operative that is constant, unshakable, and true, a whole that

enables him to speak in terms of the concepts and notions of opponents,
adapting himself to them in order to lead them to understanding, yet
without losing himself in such adaptation; or whether this might entail
what in fact is accommodation and thus a shifting of his fundamental
ideas 'so that the religious forces of his age, the political motivations, as
well as the tasks imposed on him would overwhelm him for a time and
push his statements into the iridescence of multiple possibilities.
These questions cannot be answered, since for Leibniz there are no
such alternatives. His manner of thinking remains unchanged. By its
nature it is capable of adopting the aspects of either of those alternatives.
His projected systems, in particular the system of monadology, are not
absolute positions but hypotheses, that is, procedures of cogitative in¬
quiries. To be sure, his systematic thinking is familiar with the idea of
a whole, especially of methodical knowledge gaining ascendancy through
the characteristica universalis and the logical calculus. However, he does
not recognize a system in actual fact in which all that exists has its place.
Yet historians of philosophy have attempted time and again to represent
Leibniz’s system. Up to now these attempts have failed. Leibniz’s way
of thinking does not accommodate itself to a single seamlessly constructed
thought-totality comparable to those actually and deliberately created by
Hegel and Thomas Aquinas. If, using their work as a standard, we
attempted to derive such a construct for Leibniz, as though it lay con¬
cealed in the innumerable letters, notes, essays, and writings, it would
call for certain requirements, and certain discoveries would have to be
made.
The first requirement would be a creative architectonic force com¬
parable to that of the aforementioned great system builders. Second, such
a project would need illustrative material, which Leibniz, despite his
universal knowledge, never provided. Third, this project would most
likely fail, because if it were to succeed, it would not produce the Leib-
nizian system—which does not exist—but a new system occasioned by
Leibnizian thought.
Such an attempt would demonstrate that Leibniz actualized a way
of thinking totally different from that of the great systematizers. If their
systems are used as a standard, then Leibniz achieves less than they. In
other respects he achieves more.
This becomes clear if we use another method of presentation. Such
a method stresses what would not be included in those systems, that is,
what for a system would be extraneous and trivial and hence not worthy
of attention. The format of systematic exposition evidently obstructs our
view of Leibniz’s inventive, universal, and constructive thinking. We

would prefer to see how Leibniz actually worked, something that is of
interest to everyone. Such a method would reveal the abundance of topics
taken up by him. He would be seen as wearing many hats: mathema¬
ticians, logicians, physicists, biologists, historians, geologists, and others
would find matters of interest to them.
We have now pointed out what is instructive in Leibnizian thought
and also its limit. So many rational ideas and methodical procedures, so
much fertile experience in thinking and investigating make his work a
treasure trove of great resources. He is instructive as regards particular
topics, specific lines of thought, categorial possibilities. But his power to
stimulate us is essentially different from, for example, that of Plato or
Kant. Leibniz does not lead us into the innermost core of philosophy;
he does not bring about a transformation of our consciousness of Being
or our approach to life; he does, however, provide us with the means
of thinking.
6. THE EXISTENTIAL QUESTION
After we have reviewed Leibniz’s thought, no matter from which per¬

spective, we are inclined to ask about the existential import of his phi¬
losophy: What motives lie behind all his interests? How are so many
interests interconnected? Whence this universality? These questions are
not easily answered.
We might say: It is the mode of thinking that determines the basic
features of all categories and methods of rational thought. The univer¬
sality is not universal curiosity, but the will to participate in divine reason,
a reason that grounds and permeates everything. But as we try to come
to grips with this subject in Leibniz, we find that he treats it as a separate
topic.
Or we might say: It is the attitude of a will to universal conciliation
distinct from and opposed to confining and burying all things in a system.
Actually, we find in Leibniz deep insights into the possibilities of rational
communication, but none into the authentic problem of communication,
since, by means of the clarity of reason, he meant to be in possession of
the substance. The will to combine everything is not the will to com¬
munication.
What is the basic philosophic stance that underlies all Leibniz’s ways
of thinking, or the basic conviction through which he addresses us as
Existenz? One answer to this question is: Leibniz’s trust in order, rea-
LEIBNIZ i83
sonableness, the harmony of all things. This trust seems to be absolute.

It is expressed everywhere. There is harmony between the physical realm
of nature, with its causality, and the moral realm of grace, giving meaning
and purpose. God is one and the same as the architect of the machine
of the universe and as monarch in the spiritual city of God. The paths
of nature lead of themselves to grace. No “good deed” remains “without
reward, no evil one without punishment.” The good people, that is, those
“who are not malcontent in this great state . . . take comfort in what
God permits to happen through His secret, consistent, and decisive will.”
It would be impossible “to make things better than they are, not only
with regard to the great whole but for ourselves in particular.”
The great wealth of his knowledge and abilities is at the service of
an outlook on life that itself lacks greatness. It lacks the element of
protest and even a rudiment of despair. It lacks a sense of the tragic and
the overcoming of it. Leibniz never speaks seriously about tragedy. His
metaphysics is comforting; it does not arise from a sense of dread nor
from mature reflection, and is not revealed through inner action. He
speaks of dread only in general terms, such that the Gorgon’s head is
simply veiled for him. Leibniz appears to unite wisdom and contentment.
But we are entitled to ask whether such an attitude might not explain
and justify an existential indecisiveness that stands in clear contrast to
Leibniz’s decisiveness in his specific rational thought. It is an attitude of
a basic weakness of character originating in a lack of capacity for despair.
His thinking shows the way toward accommodation with any govern¬
ment and church, with any baseness and calamity. It exhibits the activity
of making, inventing, working, rather than that of a supreme, existen¬
tially responsible will in the face of the ultimate, of transcendence; it
cannot be likened to the free creativity of the poet and artist, or to the
creative invention of a metaphysics great in its substance because it fulfills
Existenz.
Leibniz represents no positive philosophic force, no existential pos¬
sibility, no resolve in decision, but, instead, the possibility that even in
the presence of universal knowledge and great talent in thought and
invention, Existenz can be lacking. For this reason his worldview cannot
convincingly be reduced to one type. He cannot be made to stand in
relation to others, not because of his being an outstanding personality
but because there is nothing decisive about him, nothing definite or
integral. The many independently valid insights as well as the grandiose
absurdities seem to hide a deep groundlessness.
His doctrine of the absolute independence of individuals in particular
must not deceive us on this point. Leibniz’s notion of individuality is an
objective one. The diversity of unique individuals, each in its own orig¬
inality, is seen by him purely as an observer. All are monads, not only
the human spirits; they are differentiated only according to the degree
of clarity in their thinking. The only impulse emanating from his teach¬
ing is directed toward rational clarification; he does not address himself
at all to possible Existenz, at risk because it stands between losing itself
and gaining itself. All existential questions lie beyond the range of his
otherwise universal thought.
There is a connection between this existential lack and the absence
in Leibniz of the whole spiritual realm of Verstehen, the great herme¬
neutics of all possibilities of meaning which, later on, would become the
impetus of system building in Hegel’s philosophy. In Leibniz, universality
is specific, not total. For an individual mind, to be sure, the idea of
universality can be only a fundamental task, one that cannot be carried
through. But Leibniz’s great lacuna lies in the very foundation of his
thinking, a lacuna not filled by the manner of his historical investigations.
Creative Orderers
ARISTOTLE
HEGEL
i
/ INTRODUCTION
Editors’ Note
Jaspers distributes those great thinkers who are properly called

“philosophers” among four main groups:
Seminal founders of philosophical thought;
The original visionaries (various types of metaphysicians);
The disturbers (“Probing Negators” and “Radical Awakeners”);
The creative orderers (builders of all-embracing systems).
The given sequence accords with the intrinsic logic of Jaspers’s
distinction, as he makes clear in the following introduction and his
appraisals of Aristotle and Hegel. The reasons are, in brief, that
the creative orderers mean to comprise both the affirmations of the
original visionaries and the negations of the disturbers; and that
the creative orderers are at the opposite pole from that of the seminal
founders. The founders open up the range of philosophical thought;
the orderers gather all thought and bring it to a conclusion.
Hence Jaspers’s project, uncompleted, of “The Great Philoso¬
phers” was to follow that order, and the orderers would have been
presented last, after the disturbers. For technical reasons, however,
it was felt that, in dividing the material into two volumes of ap¬
proximately equal size, the large group of disturbers should be
presented in the same volume, that is, Volume IV. This was possible
only if the orderers were placed in Volume III.
Jaspers describes the philosophers discussed in this part as “cre¬
ative orderers.” However, the reader of the following introduction
will notice that he does not refer to them by this designation. Rather,
he talks about “great systematizes,” “creative systematizes,”
“builders of systems.” The reason is that “ordering” is the type of
thinking that characterizes their greatness, while comprehensive
“system-building” is the way in which they present themselves and
exert influence on the history of thought.
188 Creative Orderers
Every philosophy that is serious and not merely an operation of the

intellect is the foundation of a life. But -in its historic configuration each
is a special one. No matter whether we are dealing with metaphysicians
whose original thinking penetrates into the ground of things, or with
metaphysicians given to panoramic designs, or with thinkers who ques¬
tion and disturb, each one is limited in his own way. They do not take
hold of the whole of God, world, man, in its actual scope, but concentrate
on what to them seems to be the essential, such as a cause, a procedure,
a form of life. If the content of their thinking has a universal resonance,
this is due largely to happenstance and not intended on principle. Each
is distinguished by his vision, originality, and inventiveness.
Not so with the great systematizers. They present an all-embracing
system of Being filled with content and intended to take hold of all
knowledge and fit it together into a whole. They want not only to attain
a fundamental knowledge, not only to carry out operations of thought,
not only to turn a specific content into the main focus of interest to
which they cling. Instead, they want to appropriate everything thought
prior to them and use it as building material and construction technique
for their own edifice. They would like to take up even the disturbing
thoughts of the probing and awakening philosophers. By depriving the
disturbers of their dangerous sting, they turn them into moments of the
great all-embracing movement within the system.
The greatness of the systematizers, however, does not lie in collecting
and amassing, or in the universality of their material. This would be the
way to compile encyclopedias (and, finally, lexica), which constitute the
uncreative counterpart of the creative systematizers. Their creativity is
contained in the concept of order itself. I am not speaking here of a
partial aspect of this group. What is meant is that through them the
vision is widened: not only do we see what has already been thought,
but we see more, see something new everywhere. This systematic thought
becomes creative in its own right. Furthermore, it is not something
discovered by the great systematizer but, rather, is brought forth by him.
This thinking is not confined to expression as a solely intellectual content
of cognition but has to be experienced in its power, which builds as it
discovers. 't
The great systems exude tranquillity. In the original metaphysicians
this tranquillity is attained in transcendence. It is radiated by their very
nature. The great systematizers take up this tranquillity as a moment
of the tranquillity constituted by the harmonious whole of everything
Introduction 189
there is. The excogitated order of everything that is actual, that can be
experienced, thought, executed, also presents the factual order of all
things. Tranquillity is the result of everything being in order. Tran¬
quillity in transcendence is transformed into tranquillity in the All of
harmonious order.
I shall attempt to depict the three great systematizers: Aristotle,
Thomas,1 Hegel. Their achievements are almost beyond comprehension.
Their enormous scope, the thoroughness of their information, their con¬
centration on the particular—wherever it was within their reach—are
just as astonishing as their steadfast adherence to the whole. They did
not allow the immensity of material to overwhelm them, but appropriated
it creatively. They managed to live in the tension between the plenitude
of things and the unifying nature of their grasp, or between apparently
abandoning themselves to the plenitude and the center from which the
plenitude was drawn.
1. What the great systematizers had in common
a) The All: In distinction from systems that objectively have a specific

character, the great systematizers desired to bring the All of things,
actuality in all its ramifications, into a thinkable whole in which nothing
is lacking, nothing left out. The entire world and meta-world are cap¬
tured in their thoughts and crystallized in a doctrinal system. Few prin¬
ciples and methods govern throughout the whole, which becomes a unity
that grasps the richness of Being. In the finished work it becomes actual
as a known.
b) The universal reception of tradition: The great systematizers knew
what preceded them. They consulted the texts of the ancients insofar as
they were obtainable. They purposefully cast their eyes over all of history.
But they differed in their attitude toward the ancient thinkers. Those
not engaged in philosophical inquiry are primarily interested in deci¬
phering the correct meaning of the ancient texts, but keep their distance,
as it were, remaining “objective” and uninvolved, except for correctness
of interpretation presupposed as a possibility. For them it did not matter
whether what was understood was true or false, essential or inessential.
Philosophers, by contrast, desire to understand by partaking of the blood
of ancient philosophy, by bringing back to life what once had been. This
is where philology and philosophy part company. The philological ap¬
proach fails because ultimately the understanding of earlier forms of
The essay on Thomas Aquinas, because of its fragmentary state, is not included in this volume.
thought is possible only in one’s own philosophizing, as determined by

the truth of the thought. Philosophical appropriation fails when it leads
to a transformation exceeding and missing the correctness of understand¬
ing of the intended meaning. \
In the case of the great systematizers, misunderstanding is inseparable
from their appropriation, intended to create order and wholeness. What
is appropriated is changed to a degree that amounts to cutting the heart
out of the original philosophical life and leaving a structure of lifeless
organs and limbs as the building materials of a new edifice. The thoughts
are grasped and shaped by the new rationality of the systematizers. The
seriousness peculiar to the ancients is lost in the new seriousness of the
system. The pervasive seriousness of the ancient past no longer weighs
in the detachment of relative comprehension of thoughts that have be¬
come objective.
The new systematic ways of thinking fixate and structure the mul¬
tiplicity of antecedent thought, placing what went before on the one
level of their own rationality, ironing out differences. The new systematic
thinking often eliminates the authentic meaning of prior thought, by
blurring the view for what the system is not able to appropriate. (Thomas,
for example, does not understand Anselm’s proof for the existence of
God; Aristotle does not understand the pre-Socratics, whom he calls
physicists; Hegel does not understand Kant.)
What original thinkers created and wove together and meant to
awaken through their testimony becomes dismembered in the objectivity
of systematizing thought. This dismemberment is now regarded as lucid
thinking, which, however, can keep its meaning only if it leads back
into the early unity of that fabric. That unity is incorporated into the
new unity of the systematic whole. This is the order (sapientis est ordinare,
as Aristotle and Thomas express it) that is arrived at on the basis of
differentiations (distinguendum est, is Thomas’s formula).
But these procedures by the great systematizers are themselves means
within a new productivity, even if fatal for the greatness of the others.
The immediacy of their vision, their perception of the world, their
tremendous sensitivity to the appearance and meaning of all things is
the ground from which the whole of tradition is put into service to
enhance what is their own.
c) The power to form schools: The great systematizers were great
teachers. Their thinking exhibited a power to form schools, not only in
the sense of attracting a temporary group of disciples, but also as an
educational force, which continues to influence thought. The stamp of
their thinking and the solidification of their conceptions have determined
Introduction 191
the character of whole eras. Subliminally, their thoughts have entered

our thinking up to the present. Within the narrower circle of deliberate
philosophical education, they are a source of philosophical teaching. They
provide the firm substructure for methodical learning, teach conceptual
thinking,and methodical order.
Through their claim to all-inclusiveness, the school is made, if un¬
intentionally, the means of transmitting the material they deal with.
They are indeed capable of expanding the realm of thought to its farthest
reach, but are not able to ground or awaken the seriousness of Existenz.
Their activity breeds inexhaustible discussions of concepts, teachable
applications, and extensions of thought, but in a manner that encases
the breadth of such instruction within the totality of what is thinkable,
resulting in a sense of completeness and peace. Within such systems
institutions and the various states of a community are given the sense
of orders destined to be enduring ones. The schools have carrying ca¬
pacity. The thought structure becomes a sturdy scaffold.
Methods are developed to elaborate philosophical texts valid for gen¬
erations to come. The universal validity claimed for this manner of
instruction equates philosophy with science, the one science of the one
truth. All problems lie within the common totality of this system. The
system itself is not problematical. As the generations succeed one another,
the method of planned learning usurps the place of original thinking.
d) The pact with the world powers: The great systems are well suited
to be the tools of the power structures of this world. They confirm
thereby their own sense of duration, by way of education and justification
for the existence and actions of those powers. Intellectually, the range
of their intuitions and methods allows them to deal with and rationalize
anything whatever, imprinting and even drilling minds. Opposition of
any kind is extinguished by incorporating its meaning into the tremen¬
dous intellectual structure; if it understands itself as the system under¬
stands it, it is opposition no more.
The will to power combines with the will to system. Everything is
spiritually overwhelmed and subjugated by the process of integration.
Another component of the system is injustice toward everything original.
It is considered only as revolt, obstinacy, arrogance.
Aristotle was not in league with any worldly power. But his ter¬
minology, his differentiations, and his conceptions gave a scholastic mold
to the thinking of the Western world as a whole and to the Arab world
as well. Once integrated into Thomas’s thinking, Aristotle was allotted
the role of teacher in the thinking of the Catholic Church. By way of
Marx, Hegel became determinative for the thinking of a third of hu-
manity: Thomism and Marxism are the only philosophies that—by

molding future generations through education—have the character of
worldly powers.
Manner as well as content of their effect fundamentally differ, of
course, with each of the three great systematizers. Aristotle’s influence
is based on education in thinking, on the apperception of an eternal
order. Thomas works his effect through the ideal of order in a given
social actuality, that is, the Church. For the Hegelians, the master is
effective as a restorative force, and Marx provides an operational means
to the will to power which in conditions of mass desperation aims at
bringing about a new order by force.
2. The limit of the system
Representatives of great systems consider them as embracing all of phi¬

losophy. Whatever remains outside them is either incorporated as a
moment of the system or considered obsolete, erroneous, or negligible.
The system stands firm against any truth that cannot be incorporated
into the totality of the one whole. Such a truth disturbs not only the
unity of what is true in the system, but the peace grounded in it as well.
The system, when turned toward the past, aims at preserving this
peace (and then has a restorative effect); when directed toward the future,
it aims to bring about this peace through planning (and then has a
totalitarian effect). In both cases the system does violence and closes off
human possibilities, though in opposing ways. Ultimately, both forms of
peace would result in the peace of the graveyard, the death of the spirit
as well as of existence.
Mankind inclines toward systems. Our reason feels impelled toward
them. The organization of everything thinkable, known and knowable
in a systematic whole is not counter to truth in its origin.
But it becomes evident that every system has foundered. The very
idea of infinity—implying that it cannot be mastered by thought, neither
the infinity of the actual nor that of possible creations (as distinct from
the infinities of mathematics and logic)—leads to the insight that systems
are impossible. They have to leave out what does not fit into the whole,
what cannot be integrated, just as they leave out any future experiences
and creations, all that may already be present'.without having been noticed
by the system, that has been belittled or ignored by it, while being open
to the perception of any original thinker.
This antinomy cannot be transcended: the system and the breach in
the system are correlated. To deny or dispute either would be tantamount
Introduction x93
to an evasion of the antinomy. The historic process of illumination in

human thinking evolves by keeping this antinomy alive.
Ultimately, schools lead to restrictive rigidification, which in turn
demands breakthrough. This breakthrough finally leads to the chaos
that depiands order and system. Hence there remains the impulse toward
the system as well as to the breach; there remains danger in both, which
keeps temporal man from attaining the tranquillity of the ultimate.
The circumstance that systems are unavoidable demands that the
system be transformed by the breach. The final transformation would
have to lead out of the self-contained unity of one work into the idea
of a unity constituted by the communication of all, outside the purview
of a single individual but providing a space that must be entered. In
such circumstances the systems would transform their meaning. True,
they would dissolve in regard to their absolute claim to universal validity
as the one truth. They turn into dwellings into which we move without
being tied to them. They no longer overarch the one whole as its fir¬
mament. For if we live within the idea of communication, we are no¬
where at home absolutely. In our encounters we are on a journey in
which the bonds of fidelity unite us historically but do not permit total
knowledge to become the one and only objectivity. The systems them¬
selves become functions. They exert their attraction, but we do not have
to yield to them. They themselves are, as a whole, historic ciphers, which
for others have been clues to reality. We may perceive them, they may
touch us to some degree, but never assume the importance they had for
those who produced them or followed them as the only valid ciphers.
In polar opposition to the great systematizers stand the creative,
seminally effective, never-ending thinkers, such as Plato, Augustine,
Kant. The seminally effective thinkers are also systematic to a high
degree. But they do not generate a system of Being. They liberate those
who follow them, arouse their own originality, know schools only as
preparation.
The systematizers, no matter how irreplaceable for forming the in¬
struments of thought as a schooling for all time, seduce us to come to
rest in knowledge. Established as sole authority, they render new, original
thinking ineffective. They do not stimulate independent creation; rather,
they present what can be learned as a possession to be accepted.
Relinquishing systems of Being excogitated in a single work implies,
for the progress of thinking, that systems become ciphers and that there
may be several of them. But doing without them altogether implies,
primarily, that our thinking poses questions—including the most essen¬
tial ones—that are impossible to answer. Recognizing that impossibility
m Creative Orderers
sublates the question by transforming it into an inner attitude of thought.

The attitude intrinsic to the system, however, presupposes that all sub¬
stantive questions have been answered. The aporias lie within the system.
They have only intellectual importanse.
The great systems are an extraordinary historical actuality and the
form through which philosophy has had thy widest effect.
Closing one’s eyes to the systems and refusing all knowledge of them
makes one vulnerable and defenseless in philosophical encounters. To¬
day’s superiority of Thomist and Marxist minds in debate is a sign of
impotence due to a lack of philosophic education. To be sure, philosophy
in its substance is far more and far more profound than what can be
taught and learned, since it illuminates the seriousness of Existenz. But
without philosophic training as transmitted by the systems, such Existenz
remains nebulous. It cannot demonstrate to the systematically schooled
adversary what is truly accomplished by such thinking, and it fails to
communicate its own thinking. This is one more reason to study the
great systematizers even if ultimately we do so because of their greatness
and the truth residing in them, despite their limits.
If the spiritual spark breaking through these systems were not pre¬
served, the spirit, in some way, would die. The very descendants of those
schools of thought live by the appropriation of new possibilities, the very
possibilities they reject in their ordering totality. They provide an in¬
dispensable counterweight.
ARISTOTLE
t
/
Editors’ Note
Aristotle was born in 384 b.c., of Greek parentage, in Stagira, a

colony in Macedonia. His father, Nichomachus, a member of the
medical guild of the Asclepiadae, may well have transmitted to his
son a carefully observational, scientific way of thinking. At the age
of seventeen, Aristotle became a pupil of Plato at the Athenian
Academy, where for twenty years he broadened his interests to
embrace the humane subjects of ethics, aesthetics, and politics. In¬
spired by the guiding notion of overall systematic order in the world,
but dismayed by the Platonist preoccupation with mathematics, he
went to Mysia, in Asia Minor, where he continued his biological
studies and, from about 342 to 335 b.c., tutored the young Alexander
of Macedonia.
In 335 b.c., Aristotle returned to Athens to found a new school,
later known as the Lyceum and renowned for its peripatetic mode
of instruction. When public sentiment turned against the Mace¬
donians following the death of Alexander in 323 b.c., Aristotle was
compelled to leave under suspicion of impiety. He died in 322 b.c.
in Chalcis.
Over the centuries hundreds of works have been attributed to
Aristotle; of these, perhaps twenty-five can be authenticated as
actually written by him or under his direct influence. His writings,
which have come to define much of our way of looking at the
world, can be roughly separated into five areas: logic and knowledge
(epistemology); physical nature and being as such (physics and meta¬
physics); living nature and “soul” (biological and psychological sci¬
ence); ethics and politics; rhetoric and poetics.
*95
1. FIRST PHILOSOPHY
The topic Aristotle addresses in the metaphysical as well as in parts of

the physical writings concerns, first, the ultimate principles of all that is
and of all cognition; second, what pervades everything and supplies the
means for grasping all particular actuality in its entirety and for seeing
its structure clearly; and, third, Being, as well as the ground of Being
that is called God. The topic is contained in specific didactic writings
and reappears in many others. It is emphasized by Aristotle as “first
philosophy” (proton philosophia).
This is the most difficult part of his work. It has been ignored by
those who were interested in Aristotle’s concrete insights into politics,
ethics, poetics, psychology, and the natural sciences. Metaphysicians have
preferred to ignore these concrete matters and, instead, turned their
attention wholly to those fundamental questions that were not simply
and unequivocally answered by Aristotle himself. The essence of Aris¬
totelian philosophy can be grasped only as a whole, including the concrete.
It is historically noteworthy that Aristotle never speaks of meta¬
physics, only of first philosophy. The title of the didactic writings on
this subject, Metaphysics, originated later, with his school. The name has
been interpreted as arising from the coincidence that these books followed
those about physics. Today scholars are inclined to acknowledge that the
true meaning, “beyond the physical,” was intended from the beginning.
2. THE BASIC CONCEPTS
Matter and form; dynamis and energeia
The principle by which Aristotle conceived the world contrasted matter

and form, but also grasped reality as their inseparable union. His point
of departure is graphic illustration, such as the following: Through
human art (techne) things are formed out of matter and are actualized
only in this process. The artisan makes tools out of wood and metals.
The sculptor carves the form of the statue out of marble. The builder
erects a house out of building materials.
In living beings the appropriately formed shape develops from the
seed by assimilating matter in the process bf nutrition.
In each of these different instances form is imprinted on matter or
permeates it. By means of these illustrations we arrive at the thought of
form as such (eidos, morphe) and of matter as such (hyle). Everything
that is—whether body or soul, whether lifeless or living nature or human
ARISTOTLE 197
being, whether numbers or figures or contents of thought—is a whole

made up of form and matter. This form-matter relationship is the mother
of all that is.
The form-matter relationship has such far-reaching importance that
it escapes* immediate intuition. But in each particular intuition it can be
seen as an instance of the underlying relationship.
This fundamental relationship has another aspect. In the seed of the
living entity, the living being is merely possibility (dynamis). It is actuality
(1energeia) only when it is grown. The potentiality is not yet the actuality
of what has been conceived; yet it is not nothing, but the real possibility
of what will develop.
Guided by the development of living things, Aristotle sees the same
principle everywhere in the relationship of form and matter. In every
instance matter is possibility, and form brings actuality.
Such basic concepts are readily expressed and demonstrated graph¬
ically in their points of departure. But these do not present sufficiently
what Aristotle means to convey. For him, the points of departure (the
human activities of shaping and building, the coming-to-be of organisms)
translated themselves into a conceptual scheme that then developed its
own inner life. It is the game of refining the differentiation of basic
concepts (as ontology) in the application to all that is and by this process
is apprehended: the construction of the universe, of the plants and an¬
imals, of man and his ethical and political sphere. The coinciding concept-
pairs of form-matter and of actuality-possibility become the intellectual
means of grasping and assimilating all there is and all that happens.
In this way the depth of their meaning becomes manifest. The graphic
point of departure could work for us only because it was already molded
by what we derive from it. Primary for us, according to the nature of
things, is what comes later, what we first have to find through thinking.
It would be wrong to believe that the concepts we have attained—
form-matter, actuality-possibility—are abstractions, overgeneralized and
empty concepts that can be used almost arbitrarily because of their
ambiguity, for this would be almost the opposite of what Aristotle means.
“The natural path . . . leads from that which is clearer and more familiar
to us, to that which ... is clearer and more familiar by nature” {Physics,
I, 1). That which is clearer by nature is, in its clarity and presence,
comprehended in philosophic thought through reason {nous). In the leap
from immediate intuition, which presents things sensuously to our mind,
we arrive at primal intuition, which presents things spiritually to reason.
What we at first regard as being clearer to us is by no means clearer as
such; it is only the graphic impression of the whole, for example, giving
form in human art, or living growth, or coming to be and passing away.

The step from what is'to us the seemingly greater clarity to the authentic
clarity in the origins of all things Aristotle compares with the relationship
of word and concept. The word “circle” designates a whole in an in¬
definite way; the conceptual determination, however, takes the circle
apart and makes it individual.
Hence what Aristotle comprehends in form-matter and actuality-
possibility is to him not a very general abstraction that carries many
meanings, but the concretion of simple and authentically clear primacy.
If it is thought in the manner of the analogies with which we began,
then these analogies are themselves also the visible presence of what
speaks to us through them.
The two limits: pure form and pure matter
All the matter we encounter is already formed, and all that is formed
is, in turn, possible matter for something else. Everything that is in the
world is in one respect actuality as this form, in another respect it is not
yet; it is possibility, that is, matter.
If our thinking progresses to the outermost limits, then we ought to
be able to find there pure form without matter and pure matter without
form, pure actuality and pure possibility. At the limits there seems to
be complete rest, pure actuality that does not have to become, because
it already is, and pure possibility that cannot become, since, out of itself,
it is nothing but possibility.
Between pure matter and pure form stands all there is as a series of
intermediate steps in which the possible as matter and the actual as form
are united with each other: this is the world, the world of becoming, of
nature. The actuality of our world is motion, the motion from matter
toward form and between the two; it is, in the case of every configuration,
a whole consisting of both.
Motion (kinesis)
If all worldly being lies between form (actuality) and matter (possibility),
then becoming is motion from possibility' to actuality. In all worldly
being, motion (kinesis) is the event in which what as potentiality and
disposition is the foundation comes into actuality and existence.
Motion presupposes the mover and the moved. Form does the mov¬
ing, matter is moved. In their constant motion the things in the world
ARISTOTLE 199
seek and develop their form, which is called their eidos, their logos, their
morphe, their entelechy.
Motion is eternal, as are pure form and pure matter, as eternal as
the world, without beginning or end. What the world is in actuality,
what corhes to be and passes away, is in motion between possibility and
actuality.
The unmoved mover
But the endlessness of motion in its entirety needs an origin. This origin
is pure actuality (actus purus) without possibility, pure form. It is itself
unmoved but is the ground of motion. It is called the unmoved mover.
Out of love for the unmoved mover, the pure spirit, all things, the world
begins to move.
The pure spirit, itself nonspatial, borders on space. That which
touches it immediately, the outermost heavenly sphere, first starts to
move and passes the motion on to the world. For all effect occurs only
in the immediacy of touch and not from a distance. The incorporeality
of the unmoved mover touches the corporeal.
The causes
In the realm of motion, effects occur in different ways, while still ulti¬
mately issuing from pure actuality and pure possibility, from actus purus
and matter. The causes are structured differently. As causes according
to form, they are called final cause, formal cause, conceptual cause,
moving cause; as material causes, they are called necessary cause, passive
cause, material cause.
The positive meaning of matter
At first matter seems to be that which is only passive, the absolutely

nonresisting, the merely possible, that which is ready for form. But how
does motion arise? It is not brought about by the form, which, sufficient
unto itself, rests in itself, but by matter, which strives after form out of
its mere possibility. Like a lover, matter yearns for the form of actuality.
The unmoved mover brings forth the world because matter urges toward
Him who only is and does not become.
Furthermore, matter has a positive effect on the reality of the world
through its resistance. It is not merely unboundedly yielding matter, not
only not-yet-being; rather, it has its own power, which eludes formation.
Consequently, the form is not actualized purely, the purpose is not

faultlessly carried out. The contingency that disturbs order, the residue
of deficiency, whatever turns out badly, all this has its reason in matter,
though unrecognizable in the particular instance.
Aristotle considers matter itself to be the source of some vital forms:
the difference between masculine and feminine is supposed to have its
source in it; animals are imperfect configurations that occur on the way
toward the shaping of the human figure, a process that is obstructed by
matter.
The universal and the individual entity: the problem of ousia
To conclude our sketch of Aristotle’s conceptual schema, we must discuss

the most fundamental concept of this sphere.
Confronted with the sea of entities teeming between possibility and
actuality, between matter and form, Aristotle’s question is: What is that
which actually is? He calls it ousia, which is substantia, essentia, or being.
Ousia is Aristotle’s primal term, and while it provides the possibility for
all these translations, none of them is adequate.
What is ousia? The individual being or the universal concepts? Ar¬
istotle answers: It is the individual being (i(ode ti) that is called, first and
foremost, ousia.
Ousia is the individual being as a whole (symbolon) composed of
matter and form. Hence Aristotle speaks of ousia in regard to matter as
that which is underlying (/hypokeimenon), and in regard to form as the
actual {energeia on). But these viewpoints focus on one thing, which is
both.
Whereas the basic concepts have a universal character, every actuality
is the actuality of singular beings, of individuals. In the individual beings
in the world, each of which is a whole composed of matter and form,
matter is the ground of individual existence. It is not the universal that
is actual, but the individual being.
But now a great difficulty appears, one that we can comprehend but
not really solve.
What do we cognize? Not individual beings but universals. Plato
had developed the doctrine of ideas: The universal is the timeless being,
while the temporally actual is a nonbeing} which exists only through
participation in the universal, that is, the ideas. The ideas are the actual,
that which authentically is; matter is that which is not.
While Aristotle agrees that we know only the universal, he maintains
that it is not distinct from and other than existents, a being-for-itself;
ARISTOTLE 201
rather, it is in the things themselves. Ideas are the forms of things, the
forces effective in them, the entelechies.
Concepts refer to universals. However, in their fundamental con¬
ception universals are not meant as abstractions, but as actuality. Only
through'this actuality, intuited in reason (nous), do these concepts have
their meaning. If philosophically considered such thinking is not to be
an idle game with words but the presentation of actuality itself, then
actuality too is an attribute of the universal and not only of the individual.
Aristotle overcomes this difficulty by differentiating a first ousia from
a second one. The first ousia is the individual being; the second ousia is
the universal concepts of genera and species. But this differentiation too
can be turned around, that is, when Aristotle refers to form as the first
ousia.
The origin of these reversals and seeming contradictions is clear: On
the one hand, form is the ground of the actuality of things; however,
taken by itself, as the universal, it is the object of cognition. On the other
hand, the universal, taken as form, is the ground of the actuality of
things; yet there also is no actuality of individual beings without the
ground of matter. Hence the actuality of individual beings is not ac¬
counted for by means of the universal alone.
These obvious inconsistencies must have been apparent to a mind as
extraordinary as Aristotle’s. But for him they were not inconsistencies,
because, quite naturally, he discerned the individual beings in the very
concepts.
The unity of concept and individual being is evident, surprisingly,
in the sole and distinct actuality of pure form, that is, the being of the
unmoved mover, the deity. This pure being of form without matter, this
pure actuality in the Aristotelian sense, is not, however, the sum or the
ordered whole of all universal forms. Rather, it is itself an individual
being, the only one of its kind, yet, as individual being, alongside other
incorporeal individual beings, the spirits of the spheres and the rational
part of man, as well as alongside all the individual beings of the corporeal
world.
Whenever we take up the problem of the relationship of the universal
to the individual, we realize that it is hardly solved today any more than
in the past. The problem surfaces wherever one differentiates between
the universal and the individual.
It can be expressed in various ways, depending on the presuppositions
of a particular mode of cognition. The mystery aroused by the question
simply gathers depth. It is not solved, but more clearly revealed as mys¬
tery.
Hence the problem has its own history throughout the ages. It became
famous as a central theme in the profound debates over universals waged
during the Middle Ages. Do universal concepts have actuality? Or are
they merely signs or names which point to actualities by means of ab¬
stractions, without ever capturing them, much less being them? Those
who attributed actuality to concepts were cabled realists; those who saw
only names in them, nominalists. From a nominalist standpoint, to be
designated a conceptual realist amounted to an accusation of illusionary
thinking.
Aristotle was unaware of these contrarieties, so he did not defend
himself against nominalism. Viewed with this later developed position
in mind, we would have to call him a conceptual realist. Since by now
all of us are, in a manner of speaking, nominalists, we have some difficulty
in conjuring up the Aristotelian mind-frame. Aristotle knows the sat¬
isfaction derived from conceptions of reasons or principles since he be¬
lieves that with them he possesses authentic actuality. Hence the
comprehension of all things via these basic concepts signifies cognition
for him. We, however, would see a cipher in the interplay of thoughts,
which arises from the intuitability of things and grows into a picture of
what there is. We regard this way of thinking as a specifically philo¬
sophical one whose truth cannot be tested through arguments and coun¬
terarguments, but, rather, through risking its existential significance, that
is, through the power and tendency to mold whoever lives by it. But as
cognition of the world we would have to reject Aristotle’s entire con¬
ceptual structure, for it is not a means of knowledge, but a specific mode
of formalization.
3. THE CONCEPT OF GOD
By means of first philosophy Aristotle intends to know what there is as

a whole, that is, in the form of universals, and to do so out of its primary
grounds. This philosophy has several motifs:
1) It looks for primary reasons and origins (it acts peri ta prota aitia
kpi tas archas)\ in this way it arrives at matter-form, possibility-actuality,
motion, origin of motion, and the unmoved mover. First philosophy as
well as physics arrives at the prime mover in the same way. The limit
of physics is the origin of motion; it is neither the object of physics nor
the explanatory principle of individual motion, but of motion as a whole,
of there being motion at all.
2) First philosophy inquires into beings as beings, that is, what Being
ARISTOTLE 203
is in the multiplicity of all that is called Being. First philosophy encounters

Being that is Being itself, the ousia—and thus the first unmoved ousia.
3) First philosophy encounters the deity in the primary grounds, in
Being in its complete actuality. This is the cognition of God. Aristotle
calls it theology. This concept, used occasionally by Plato, was inten¬
tionally made central in this sense by Aristotle. Since his time this concept
has persisted as a creation of philosophy.
Primary grounds, beings as Being or ousia, and God are the three
coinciding themes of first philosophy; later to come: cosmology, ontology,
theology.
Aristotle’s concept of God exhibits a certain tension. In his Physics,
he seems to think of it as the ultimate origin from which all motion
proceeds, without, however, being profoundly affected by it; to him it
is a purely rational, constructive, and explanatory device.
In his question about Being qua Being, Aristotle ends in ousia—in
ontological thinking that simply posits Being as the ground of all beings
whatsoever.
His physics and ontology can be distinguished from his theology.
Formally, they share the same fundamental thought. Yet the content
exhibits two totally different aspects. They share, on the one hand, cool,
purely theoretical thinking. On the other, we are drawn into the current
of Aristotle’s thinking, through which the meaning of philosophy and
of our existence becomes fulfilled. To think Being is not the same as to
think God. Logical assurance, always open to doubt, is not certainty of
God.
In his earlier writings, however, and later in his elaboration of the
concept of the unmoved mover, Aristotle exhibits deep emotion, awe,
and enthusiasm in regard to the concept of God.
By naming first philosophy “theology,” by designating it as the think¬
ing about God, Aristotle made it a distinct topic. He himself developed
it only in one book (.Metaphysics, Book 12), which, according to Jaeger,
is probably a separate work.1
Moods as points of departure
What has everywhere been experienced, believed, and acted on religious

grounds was to be raised to the level of cognition, not as psychology or
philosophy of religion but as a kind of thinking that is religion in the
mode of cognition. But what kind of religion?
1 Jaeger, Aristotle, 22iff.

Aristotle desires to formulate doctrines corresponding to man’s pre¬

monition of the deity {De caelp 2, 284b 3).
He understands the origin of the experience of the mysteries: “Those
who are being initiated are not to 4earn anything but to experience
something and be put into a certain state .. . once he has become capable
of it”2
The concept of God, says Aristotle,3 originates in two sources—the
experiences of the soul and the contemplation of the stars. Those ex¬
periences are premonitions and prophecies in dreams or at the moment
of death. Their basis in moods is demonstrated by a famous passage in
Cicero:
If there were beings who had always lived beneath the earth, in comfortable, well-
lit dwellings, decorated with statues and pictures . . . and who though they had
never come forth above the ground had learned by report and by hearsay of the
existence of certain deities or divine powers, and then if at some time the jaws of
the earth were opened and they were able to escape from their hidden abode and
to come forth into the regions which we inhabit; when they suddenly had sight of
the earth and the seas and the sky, and came to know of the vast clouds and mighty
winds, and beheld the sun and realized not only its size and beauty but also its
potency, in causing day by shedding light over all the sky, and, after night had
darkened the earth, they then saw the whole sky spangled and adorned with stars,
and the changing phases of the moon’s light . . . and the risings and settings of all
these heavenly bodies and their courses, fixed and changeless throughout all
eternity—when they saw these things, surely they would think the gods exist, not
only by reason, but by a reason that is transcendent and divine.4
The impression of order, of beauty, of abundance, and of the inex¬

haustible motion in the world awakens immediately the consciousness
of God: this magnificence is God’s language.
The proofs of God
What is first experienced immediately in moods is confirmed and de¬

veloped in thought processes which are called proofs of God. Only after
doubts about the existence of God and the gods enter the mind can there
be thoughts intended to prove their existence explicitly. Following the
Greek enlightenment, Aristotle was the first to do this systematically.
He is the philosopher who initially devised such proofs of God, later to
be reiterated throughout the millennia.
2 Rose, Fragment 15, trans. from The Complete Worlds of Aristotle.

1 Rose, Fragment 10.
4 Cicero, De natura deorum, II, XXXVII. Cambridge, MA, Harvard University Press, 1956.
ARISTOTLE 205
Our world is one of ceaseless motion, of constant coming-to-be and

passing away. But it is merely moved. It is, however, surrounded by the
world of the stars, which, alongside their self-movement in their regular
orbits, keep the motion of the lower world going. The world of the stars
is move/i <and engenders motion. But for these movements to be, there
must be something perpetual that causes the moving without itself being
moved, namely, the unmoved mover.
The conclusion of this proof proceeds from the fact of motion to the
ultimate ground of this motion. In modified form, it proceeds from the
merely caused to the ultimate cause.
On a more basic level Aristotle’s thought makes use of his concept
of matter as potentiality, as distinct from actuality. If we think that
beings that are merely possibility might not come to be, then the fact of
actual beings implies a necessary Being, pure actuality, which is not
possibility. Aristotle does not explicitly explore the thought that there
could be nothing at all. In every instance there is possibility, and this is
referred to as matter. However, actuality cannot be comprehended out
of the merely possible. Something necessary, eternally actualizing has to
be presupposed. Thus, according to Aristotle, it is incomprehensible that
the universe has emerged out of darkness, according to the teaching of
the “theologians,” or out of the chaos in which all the things were
gathered, according to the teaching of the philosophers of nature. The
night or the chaos were never what necessarily actualized or formed the
world; it was always the unmoved mover.
A further aspect of proof lies in the basic mood elicited by viewing
the heavens. The purposiveness, beauty, and order of the world is a fact.
Its originator is inferred from it. This aspect was more broadly developed
by the Stoics. The suitability to life of all living things is a fact that
becomes ever more astonishing to this day. The discovery of every new
unexpected adaptation belongs to the development of biology, just as
does the connection of insect life and the pollination of flowers or the
instincts of the insect, such as the minutely precise dissection of a leaf
by the leaf roller. We could add the beauty of all natural phenomena,
the landscape, the forms of life, the seasons, the inimitability of the
natural beauty of a meadow in bloom, produced by the random distri¬
bution of its flowers, and finally the ordering of things according to
measure and number. The Stoics never wearied of intuiting all this, and
seeing therein the immanence of God. And by means of the inference
of purposiveness they were led to the thought of the author.
Starting with Aristotle, teleological thought is perfected by that of
the hierarchy of beings. This hierarchy cannot be incomplete. If the

world is the most perfect one, then, in the hierarchy of perfections the
highest perfection, God, must also be actual.
Ultimately, one proof of God stood out, based on the unanimity of
different peoples: All of them believe in God. Since Aristotle’s time such
unanimity among peoples has not been considered irrelevant, but, instead,
especially convincing. Being human itself testifies, through that which
is common to all, to the truth of what is immanent in all men. For an
innate concept of God belongs to man qua man and testifies to the
existence of God. The actuality of this idea of God must be grounded
in something through which it is, and this ground cannot be less than
its own content. The idea of God stands at the beginning of the history
of mankind; it can come only from God himself.
We have interpreted here the meaning of the Aristotelian proof of
God by going beyond his own formulations and drawing on subsequent
ones.
Characteristics peculiar to the Aristotelian concept of God
Let us characterize the traits peculiar to the Aristotelian concept of

God—a concept wherein the tension between assurance in thought and
meaning persists and, for the sake of the fundamental conception, should
not be resolved.
a) The aspect of transcendence: This lies in the separateness of the
unmoved mover from the world. He is a khoriston.
Moreover, the spirit {nous) of man does not come to be in the hierarchy
of the developing entelechies, but is added from the outside (dyraden).
The fact that Aristotle held fast to this transcendence, abandoned by
the Stoics, was of historic importance. In this position beyond the world,
in this distance from the world, which it yet touched, the transcendent
deity could become the place that was later occupied by the corporeal
God, at the time when Aristotelian theology had become Christian
theology.
The will not to lose transcendence is evident in the statement “God
is either mind or something beyond mind.”5
b) Aristotle’s “religious” attitude: Reason posits God as “place.” It
is thought that arrives at this, and God is something that is thought, the
thought corresponding to Aristotle’s enthusiastic characterization.
5 Rose, Fragment 49.

ARISTOTLE 207
Aristotle’s God is “distant” and calming for thought. With him there
is no cult, no predestination, no intercession by God, no activity of God;
there is no prayer directed to him, no love of God for mankind.
But the God who is unhuman and exalted, who calms us from a
distancp through his existence, can be fulfilled in this form through an
original certainty of God, such as that of Spinoza.
God is thought as “place” so that there is no “pantheism,” no iden¬
tification with the all-pervasive soul of nature, the force of nature, the
Stoic world-reason. Hence He is suited to be a schema of the intellect
that can be filled with the transcendent God—suitable for the great
configuration of Christian theology.
c) The “personality” of God: It assumes an impersonal character but
does not become mere force.
4. THE INDIVIDUAL SCIENCES:

MAN AS POINT OF DEPARTURE
I have given the basic concepts of the Aristotelian vision of Being: all-
pervasive nature as motion from potentiality to actuality; the modes of
Being and the reference point of all of them in ousia; the deity as the
unmoved mover who alone is complete actuality and the origin of all
motion.
Aristotle’s philosophy also contains the entire intuitable reality of the
world and all that is in it, including man and his thinking and acting.
How does Aristotle see the arrangement of philosophical cognition of
these areas, and what place within the whole is assigned to the previously
discussed first philosophy? The traditional form of this question concerns
the organization of the philosophical disciplines, and of the sciences.
Aristotle’s answer is grounded in the way he sees the being of man.
Man is the location where thought takes place about everything that is
and is thought about. We can call this Aristotle’s great but by no means
narrow sense of anthropologism. The actuality of man shows us the
organs through which he perceives, thinks, produces with his hands, and
acts thinkingly. It is in humanity that what there is becomes manifest.
What is meant here by “humanity” is not the subjective, which has to
be disregarded in order to attain the objective. Rather, it is the unity of
the subjective and the objective, the place of the appearance of all Being.
How does Aristotle visualize humanity in this sense?
5. ARISTOTLE’S COSMOS AND NATURAL SCIENCE
The simplicity, comprehensibility, and greatness of the Aristotelian pic¬

ture of the world by no means prevailed at first. Proper inquiry and
increasing understanding remained in flux. But after the disappearance
of scientific thinking, as early as the last century before Christ, the
Aristotelian worldview attained a dominant position and maintained it
for fifteen centuries.
The Contrast to Aristotle’s Eternal Cosmos: This is an oddity—since
with Biblical religion the true contrast to this Aristotelian worldview
acquired actuality.
The Biblical counterview sees the world as transitory. Having been
created, it will come to an end. Our lives are set between the creation
of the world and its end. Our life, and the world as a whole, are in a
state of transition. The eternity of what is now hidden is an actuality
preceding and outlasting the world. Authentic Being, and non-Being, is
tested in the world, but its pure actuality is attained in eternity.
Aristotle knew about catastrophic events, but they never caused total
destruction. Something was always left intact.
The Merits of the Aristotelian Picture of the World: Explications con¬
cerning nature are based on notions that make immediately perceived
phenomena plausible by the application of thought.
In this process Aristotle evokes ideas and develops trains of thought
that open the way to subsequent investigations, even though this was
not the original intention.
To a high degree Aristotle’s picture is one of a “natural” world.
Forced complexities are drawn upon to buttress the naturalness of in¬
tuitions that seem to go against nature.
This mode of thinking has the practical outcome of paralyzing in¬
vestigation. Inquiry is blocked. With a few minor exceptions, Aristotle’s
thinking is confined to descriptions of what lies ready to view, which
then is explicated by interpretation inaccessible to actual verification.
This limitation he takes for granted, a given within which he has his
being. Its sole purpose: to enable him to encompass, by means of the
basic concepts, the whole wealth of what there is and always will be,
and make it an object of contemplation.
The Contrast to Modern Knowledge of the World: Has this cosmic
picture been devaluated also in its fundamental approach, quite apart
from factual errors that have undermined it in the areas of astronomy,
physics, and biology? Or does it retain significance as a cipher, valid
historically over a long period (though based on the fallacy that it rep-
ARISTOTLE 209
resents the reality of the world itself), so that even today this vision
remains meaningful as a way of representing the cosmos?
And does it not endure because of its configuration, if only in the
guise of memory? It appears to me that for us the chief value of the
Aristotelian world-picture lies in the contrast to the present lack of such
a picture. We reach full consciousness of the world within which we
live. As a result of our knowledge and our technical prowess, we are
always in the presence of something from which, it is true, the Aristo¬
telian immediacy of reality as an absolute has vanished. But that world
picture can be granted a detached recognition, as a moment in our
experience of the splendor of this world. In this guise the Aristotelian
world-picture is exposed as a blissful illusion, an illusion we wish to
know and learn about, but which has lost all compelling power.
In the modern understanding, our knowledge cannot be completed;
it proceeds in directions of inquiry that have opened up the reality of
the cosmos and of all natural things as never before. The last half-century
has brought us such tremendous discoveries in physics, chemistry, as¬
tronomy, and biology that we are conscious of living in a unique age,
one of Promethean creativity.
Hence, for our cognition the world is pulled in several directions,
each demanding a different methodology; it is infinitely investigable but
is uncompleted and uncompletable.
Moreover, our technological advance has taken a step well beyond
Prometheus’s lighting of the torch, leading in principle into a different
dimension. In the early 1920s, Nernst6 said: We live on a powder keg
—a good thing that man does not find the match to blow it up. This
point, it is true, is still far from man’s grasp. But that it—a process that
would let the limited chain reactions of today suddenly extend to the
entire matter of the globe—will be reached no longer belongs to the
absolutely impossible. The Earth would glow and our solar system would
look like a nova for any other beings alive in the cosmos—just as we
observe such novas from time to time in the skies.
Something else has become totally and inescapably certain during
the last few years: by means of radioactive substances man can destroy
all life on Earth and thus also himself.
We know the unique combination of conditions required for life on
Earth to exist. It can be demonstrated how cosmic rays with the capacity
to destroy us are warded off by the Earth’s protective layer, how the
radioactive elements of Earth send out their rays only in amounts that
6 Walther Hermann Nernst (1864-1941), German physicist.

are not life-threatening, and how all other environmental conditions

exhibit an astonishing degree of suitability to the demands of living
things.
The cosmos is hostile to life. Life is contained in the thin layer on
the Earth’s surface, between the core that produces fiery catastrophes
through volcanic eruptions, and the cosmos, from which we are protected
by the earth’s shield. Once the precious balance of the physical prereq¬
uisites for life, which was created over extremely long periods of time,
is destroyed, life will end. We live in a state of instability.
But now man has tried not only to light a fire as did Prometheus,
but also to transfer to earth the process by which the almost inexhaustible
energy of the sun comes to be. For a few years now we have lived in
this situation where our cognition encounters a world that is torn apart
and mankind has the incipient capability of destroying life on earth and
thus itself. This news is beginning to reach us, yet man cannot grasp it.
It does not affect him. He tries to deal with the news by abolishing
knowledge.
Gone is the marvelous sense of security pertaining to the two mil¬
lennia of Aristotle’s cosmic view and its later modifications, which did
not fundamentally alter human attitudes.
Gone is the outermost sphere of the firmament of fixed stars.
With the two million suns in the Milky Way, we are only a tiny
speck of a nebula among hundreds of thousands of stellar nebulas in a
cosmos that seems to be expanding due to enormous anorganic quantities
of energy.
All this is not cognition, but, rather, speculation grounded in physics.
It is a perspective that sometimes arises in the course of research. Such
research will go on—until man brings about the event that will end
everything for us. This event is likely if man does not change in the
depth of his being—a change by virtue of a turnabout taught and
demanded by great philosophers since Plato, and demanded by prophets
and evangelists, a turnabout that, to be sure, takes place in individual
human beings, not in the entirety of being-human.
As long as mankind survives there will be a basic opposition in our
perception of the two modes of the cosmos: the cosmos of Aristotle,
which needs no turnabout on the part of man, because man is as eternal
as the cosmos itself; and the cosmos of our age, which is not concerned
about man, and for which even the explosion of the globe would have
no more importance than one of the innumerable prominences on the
sun’s surface, and a change of the terrestrial surface into an inorganic
landscape would be utterly meaningless.
ARISTOTLE 21 I
But what is life? Where does it come from? How can it come to
be? What is man’s position in this coherence of all that is alive? Through
what means did he come to be?
We do not have the answers, no matter how much we know about
things that could perhaps contribute to answers.
Th^re is more in the cosmos than is known or can be known by
present-day investigation.
On the one hand, Aristotle’s picture of the cosmos has become con¬
stricted, full of holes, broken up, and yet, on the other hand, it might
be called broad: It keeps open the space for that which we do not know
but may not deny for that reason; it leaves open the view on what
effected the origin of life and brought human beings into existence, and
for what might be called, following Aristotle, the divine as ground of
all things, mover and creator of the cosmos, bringing us infinitely closer
to the Encompassing.
6. SCIENCE AND PHILOSOPHY
i) Every philosophy is colored, in its thinking, by the conditions, the

language, and the ideas prevalent in its time. But every true philosophy
enters a timeless presentness in which it manifests its own greatness and
its limits.
No one and no age can lay claim to making judgments that are
unequivocally derived from the timelessness of suprahistorical truth.
But every philosophy moves in that direction and—by virtue of the
polarity of its temporal appearance and of its eternal meaning—stands
in its existential historicity, which no one can recognize merely from the
outside. A philosophy of the past concerns us authentically when it is
dealt with in our own philosophizing, either by appropriation or by
rejection.
2) We easily make the error of believing that we can cast our glance
over all time or any time, as a whole. We then speak of Greek, of
Christian, of modern thinking as if each existed as a whole, as if each
excluded and included, and therefore was only temporal. We go astray
from our own existential historicity into a known, or in principle know-
able, history.
What we tend to regard as Greek in Aristotle is by no means Greek
in a widely accepted sense. And what, issuing from our mental image
of him, we tend to regard as un-Greek is no less Greek than, for instance,
Pythagoreanism, which founded a religion and a state, or a tragic sense
of life, or science, which, even at that time, owing to its very nature,
exhibited the characteristics of modern science.
3) For our understanding of Aristotelian philosophy this last question
is of decisive importance: What in it pertains to science and what to
philosophy? Are they the same or different, and in what sense can we
speak of science and philosophy in Aristotle?
He himself does not draw this distinction. But he differentiates in¬
dividual sciences, which, to him, are all philosophies, and he differentiates
from them “first philosophy,” which we call metaphysics.
In view of historical development to the present time, two conclusions
have been reached. First: Aristotle is the founder of the sciences in the
modern sense. Second: Aristotle is the founder of scientific philosophy.
We have to see in what sense these two conclusions, which apply con¬
jointly, are appropriate. Let me anticipate the result: The first conclusion
is fallacious if it is meant to refer to what is unique and genuinely great
in modern science, whose beginnings Aristotle actually misunderstood.
The second conclusion is correct, but in the sense that Aristotle is the
founder of that philosophy, which ultimately puts an end to authentic
philosophizing, even while he still carries it on. However, faced with
those two prevailing interpretations, to which I gave such extreme for¬
mulations, the unique and enduring value of Aristotelian thinking has
to be clearly characterized.
7. SCIENTIFIC INQUIRY AND SYSTEM
Aristotle seems to take hold of all possibilities of cognition. He pays

great attention to details and penetrates the most comprehensive hori¬
zons. He is rightly considered to be the great systematizer. The question
is in what sense we can speak of a system in Aristotle.
Collecting, enumerating, organizing
If “system” means a closed deductive entirety, the opposite of the system

consists in collecting and enumerating. Aristotle is the great collector.
But enumerations also play an important role; often it appears as though
Aristotle had no aim beyond them: for example, in his development of
the categories. Having enumerated the four causes, he can say “more or
less these,” but not “there are no more than these” CMetaphysics, 1013b).
Aristotle’s classifications often retain the form of enumeration as well.
His writings do not represent a system; in this he differs from Hegel
ARISTOTLE 2I3
and Thomas. If the term “system” is applied to Aristotle’s thinking,

system would be reduced to a textbook in which information is arranged
in various groups and under specific headings, but where the ordering
principle is not considered essential or as penetrating fundamental
thought.
The fundamental closure of completed total knowledge
Aristotle directs himself toward the totality of the world, including God
and man; his thinking is universal as well as comprehensive in content.
His is the architectonic principle which, directed at the whole, would
not omit anything. He constantly arranges and develops. His thinking
does not reach a final conclusion, yet its fundamental sense is not to
exclude anything but to presuppose everything. In Aristotle the nature
of closure does not consist in an accomplished construction of the whole,
but in the basic schemata of comprehension.
There is something satisfactory in Aristotle’s immediate comprehen¬
sion. All who follow him are included in his schemata of comprehension,
which present themselves naturally and immediately, are instantly un¬
derstandable, and are palpably close at hand.
According to Cicero, he himself had hopes of philosophy’s being
completed in the foreseeable future/
Investigation of specific problems and system
Aristotle is constantly probing, investigating, and examining. He scru¬

tinizes his predecessors’ thoughts on specific subjects. He formulates his
questions precisely. He answers questions or leaves them open. This is
a constant in his works, alongside the wealth of exposition, description,
information devoid of any problem-contexts, and enumeration.
Contrary to an understanding of Aristotle throughout millennia,
another interpretation arose:
a) Aristotle did not develop a system; his greatness lies in the de¬
velopment and examination of problems.
b) Even more strongly: He did not aim at a system; the idea was
alien to him.
c) Or, put differently: He is the last of the great and still original
thinkers; the systems came later. The break in the history of ancient
7 Tusculum, III, 69.
2I4 Creative Orderers
philosophy does not lie between Classicism and Hellenism but between
the Original and the Secondary.
Our understanding
Notwithstanding the modes of discursive inquiry, we see in Aristotle a

finality of total knowledge functioning as an edifice and the harvest of
fundamental knowledge; investigation that is both way and goal; a grasp
of the particular derived from the already known whole. He stands in
radical contrast to authentic modern scientific research. But for the born
disciple there is great satisfaction in Aristotle, as there is for the seeker
of tranquillity in knowledge as such, in knowledge as information. By
extensive and thorough study of one such as Aristotle, we are at home
everywhere, as it were.
Hence what is called for is reading and re-creating the metaphysics
as though it were a finished system.
The system in statu nascendi: Notwithstanding the magnificent wealth
of development, the system fails in its realization, in the unattained unity
of principle.
Aristotle’s prevailing attitude is still one of examining; it is not
dogmatic. He questions, develops possibilities, reports on answers already
given, supplies answers himself, but also, at decisive points, allows aporias
and perplexities to stand.
Yet the truly strong tendency in his thinking is toward a closed
picture of the world, toward the didactic order that has become decisive
in the historical aftereffect of his thinking. The process of his thought
led to a closed system. The mode of question and answer, proceeding
from the mode of actual examination, grows into the didactic form of
lucidly articulated finality.
Intellectual work, investigation, gradual unfolding are the modes of
his ascertaining what he knows already fundamentally and as a whole.
In this process formulations and concepts may change, be modified, even
come to contradict each other. Hence, with Aristotle, it signifies to be
participating in the movement of thought and not limiting our knowl¬
edge to the accomplished schema or system. Aristotle’s writings are still
“in process,” but toward the system—from which goal their impetus
derives its meaning—and quite particularly in his Metaphysics.
But when trains of thought appear as question, answer, tradition,
criticism, aporia, and so on, this is not to be taken as the development
of a basic tendency or as goal-directedness.
ARISTOTLE 2I5
Comparison of Aristotle with doctrinal systems and with constructive minds
a) Doctrinal systems are deliberately intended as bearers of a worldview

considered to be the only true one, but standing in confrontation with
others that make the same claim.
Specific to a system is that it is refuted only by a later one. The
multiplicity of systems is a given.
A universal system—like those of Aristotle and the other creative
orderers—wants to incorporate all systems, that is, as moments of the
one all-embracing truth: and it does so systematically, so that all others
find their “place” in it. It is not eclectic, but recognizes all that is essential
as moments. It is characterized by objectivity, calm, nonbelligerence, as
well as reciprocal discussion.
b) Constructive minds: The question arises whether the constructive
minds are to be differentiated from the metaphysicians and systematizers.
Constructs may appear as freely suspended, as hypothesis; or as
fanatical intellectual faith; or as architectonic; not as factual compre¬
hension and embracing all Being.
In construction, form as a power makes itself felt. It is not the richness
and substance of the world that is made manifest (as, for instance, in
Fichte).
The system as closed whole: While systems present a closed whole,
they do not take in the world and all Being in their concreteness. Rather,
they are instruments of a fundamental knowledge and not attempts at
fulfillment. They serve a personal consciousness of Being, and do not
represent universal cognition, either in intention or in fact.
The absolutist trait inherent in them is alien to Aristotle.
8. PHILOSOPHY
Two theses were proposed: Aristotle is the founder of modern science,

and Aristotle is the founder of scientific philosophy.
The sciences carry on empirical inquiry, mathematics, and logic in
the sense of cogent cognition of objects. Philosophy abandons itself when
it allows the sciences to take its place.
Philosophy brings forth these sciences or releases them from itself.
If, however, philosophy has itself become a science in the process, then
it is science in a different form, even if not in a different sense. It becomes
science through the methodical form of the progress of thought, through
the systematic nature of its intellectual configurations, through concepts
2l6 Creative Orderers
concisely defined, through the skill of illumination and impartation in

thought, through the artistry of its configured thoughts. This is what
came about through Aristotle and ever since has remained a prerequisite.
The consequences are:
1) Philosophical cognition is scientific cognition. There is only one
truth. Science is an investigative procedure of the intellect whose results
have universal validity; since the sciences arid philosophy are the same,
they are related to philosophy as parts to a whole or as its material, or
like consequences to their basis.
Insofar as science and philosophy were considered to be the same,
theology, as cognition of faith, became a science; in this sense Newton
called his cognition of nature “natural philosophy,” Fichte called his
philosophy “doctrine of science,” Hegel and Schelling called theirs “sci¬
ence.” The intertwining of the meanings of philosophy due to its iden¬
tification with science has not yet come to an end.
2) A new and lasting objectivity arises. Not only in practice but even
in intention, the tendency is toward the impersonal. We want to become
absorbed in the matter at hand whose nature it is to be grasped by the
mere intellect.
Philosophy becomes “easy” in an existential sense, that is, it becomes
mere intellectual labor. Among those succeeding Aristotle, application
and effort alone substitute for the seriousness of the thinking being
himself.
What is proper in regard to matters of science leads, when transferred
to philosophy, to the loss of philosophy.
3) When “scientific philosophy” leads to the separation of science
from philosophy (now too become a science), philosophy, by losing its
seriousness, falls into thematic sterility, since it has no objects of inves¬
tigation of its own, in the scientific sense. Its activity takes place in a
vacuum. However, it endures by force of the uncomprehended residue
of authentic philosophy it continues to contain, providing an ambiguous
satisfaction.
Philosophy can gain strength only through the presentness of the
sciences, which it wills, whose research it animates, which it experiences
as indispensable for itself.
From the very start of science, philosophy has by no means changed
ground to become a science in its turn. Withput science philosophy would
be suspended in a space filled with misleading signals. The rise of the
sciences has subjected philosophy to new conditions, under which it might
reach for its highest possibilities derived from the eternal origin.
If we speak of philosophy’s creative power in terms of the myth-
ARISTOTLE 2I7
producing imagination or of analogous logical myths, such creations are

not voided of their meaning, nor did the sciences preclude creation of
effective symbols. These grow from the earnestness of Existenz, and not
from science. They have their power through Existenz, and not through
scientific cognition. They are not the brainstorms of the researcher, but
illuminations of Existenz by a new language.
4) What is called “investigation” or “research” cannot be applied to
philosophizing in the same sense as it is to the sciences. Busywork in
the interpretation of texts, uncommitted thinking that applies itself in
infinite combinations of traditional abstraction and in arbitrary prefer¬
ence for certain categories can no longer be considered philosophizing.
Losing philosophy, it has not attained science.
Aristotle’s experiential science demands nothing more than descrip¬
tion and collection, and, associated with these, interpretations based solely
on thinking. This amounts to discursive elaboration, not to scientific
investigation. Collecting, describing, reducing to formulas are not the
equivalent of scientific inquiry.
The radical difference of scientific research, as represented by diligent
thinking operating with an object, consists in evolving a procedure,
experimenting, creating combinations of circumstances, calculating mea¬
surements in relation to theoretical constructs, interpreting texts in con¬
junction with ideal-typical constructs—all this in continuous practical
operation with the object.
5) The approach of scientific philosophy allows intellectual enter¬
prises to function. Schools in the sense of joining forces and linking
traditions; discussions endlessly perpetrated—these keep a movement
going in which nothing of real significance is brought about.
While Aristotle’s aftereffects lead philosophy onto a ruinous path, he
himself stands completely within a philosophizing that, though revealing
its fragile nature, still concerns us.
This becomes additionally evident in certain dicta of his on the nature
of philosophy.
9. ARISTOTLE’S POWER TO STIMULATE

AND TO PARALYZE
Aristotle’s compelling power lies in the following:

1) Totality, the truth in the guise of an ordered whole, shown as an
existing and attainable goal.
But this goal fell short of being actually attained. In Thomas Aquinas,
2l8 Creative Orderers
by contrast, the pursuit of the goal is effected by a recapitulation of

Aristotle, by systematization, by conciliation, complementation, and ex¬
tension of this manifest whole. A system of Being exists, which implied
that one had to search for it. \
2) Through his aporias Aristotle gives us the impetus to unending
discussions; he opens a space for all active minds inclined to argument
and discussion.
3) Aristotle displays for us a wealth of concretely perceived phenom¬
ena. With him, we practice seeing and formulating; with his help, the
ability to perceive the phenomena is aroused.
4) Aristotle has refined the “art of thinking” to such a degree—in
the precision of differentiations, figures of thought, and forms of infer¬
ence; in the order of all kinds and levels of thinking and speaking (logic
and rhetoric)—that he is the very source of education.
It is true that in science and philosophy Aristotle has the power to
impel movements of thought and the shaping of thought sequences, to
stimulate questions, the development of the questions, differentiations
and aporias, solutions—all of this, however, within the confines of a
type of conception that considers only what can be immediately observed.
But his effect on authentic science and authentic philosophy is
paralyzing.
He promotes all that is didactic, the technique of discussing and
imparting exact and structured writings, but essentially only where nei¬
ther science in the sense of inquiry nor philosophy in its existentially
serious sense is at play.
He is, therefore, useful where earnestness is located elsewhere,
namely, in faith and in the conservative will to unchanging perpetuity.
10. PLATO AND ARISTOTLE
a) We can speak of a contrast to Plato, and to Aristotle’s own youth,

only in the sense that Aristotle early understood Plato in the same
methodical philosophical form as he did later.
From the outset Aristotle translates everything into doctrines and
tenets considered valid in themselves. Without open intent, he removes
them from the basic Platonic approach. '
Inspired initially by Platonic philosophizing, Aristotle never loses
this impetus. But it does not imply Platonic freedom or joy in experi¬
mentation, or the prodigality of Plato’s spirit. Aristotle’s concern is
assimilation to what, in principle, is open to everyone.
ARISTOTLE 219
Aristotle’s basic approach is a positive acceptance of life, of the bliss¬

dispensing religion of the heavens and the heavenly bodies, of content¬
ment with the order of things.
Aristotle rigidified Plato’s theory of ideas into a doctrine, analogous
to wha£ happened in the Academy after Plato’s death. Platonic theory
is difficult, and was so for Plato himself; but Aristotle did not reject it
on logical grounds. Instead, rejection grew out of the clarification of his
own fundamental approach.
The separation of a world above from our world as an expression
of unfathomable, passionate, erotic striving; unflinchingly facing de¬
pravity; the call for a change of heart; being deeply, unswervingly af¬
fected; acceptance of the state of incompleteness in an absolute sense—
for Aristotle, all this from the outset falls by the wayside. Nothing of it
survives, not even in rudimentary form. Everything is transformed by
a radically different basic approach: contentment with the world and
eternity. Everything has become cozier, more comfortable, more leveled,
more satisfactory. In this mood Platonic thoughts keep their beauty,
though stripped of their earnestness: Through objectification they be¬
come facts of a case which are refutable; through subjectification they
acquire a contemplative contentment, become transposed into images
open to embellishment.
The battle against his own Platonic youth consisted in the reshaping
of positions, even to the extent of outright opposition. Those earlier
positions, however, had been expressions of the same basic approach;
they proved inappropriate as Aristotle became more clearly aware of his
attitude. At that point not only was the Platonic mind-set transformed
into objectified positions, but these positions themselves turned into ap¬
propriate expressions for the new attitude toward life or into a funda¬
mental knowledge of world, God, and man, allowing man to arrange
himself satisfactorily in this world as it is.
What was it in Platonic thought that Aristotle thus abandoned?
1) The “divine madness,” the excessiveness that in Plato called for
the utmost—whether in the founding of the state, the “turning around,”
or the ethos;
2) philosophizing in non-knowledge, supplanted by maximal
knowledge;
3) rescue from catastrophes through action appropriate to catastro¬
phes; and eternal discontent with the way things are.
Aristotle has been understood; Plato, virtually never.
b) In differentiating classical philosophy from Hellenistic philosophy,
the great systematic philosophies of Plato and Aristotle are habitually
assigned to the former. Hellenistic philosophy, no longer original, is

considered interesting as part of intellectual history, rather than of phi¬
losophy. However, the more profound break may be located between
Plato and Aristotle. >
Plato thought in the context of political freedom, as a citizen of
Athens profoundly affected by the ruin of his native city within a dis¬
integrating world; but in this situation he thought at the limits; his
thinking was infinitely open and going beyond those limits. He did not
bend to fit into a shell no matter how magnificent the structure. In the
movement of thinking, he touched the eternal ground of Being but did
not fixate it as something known; in fundamentals his thinking led
beyond all objects.
As an alien resident of Athens, a metic, Aristotle’s thinking took
place in a context of uninvolved observation of political matters that
hardly touched him at the core. He established boundaries in a mag¬
nificent world-structure, objectified things in his science, at least in in¬
tention if not in actuality. He was theoretically interested in everything,
including the state and its various forms, which he compiled and cate¬
gorized. The movement of his thinking, originally a labor of the soul
of the widest scope, he ultimately allowed to atrophy into a rational
movement of thought devoid of commitment, and repeatable by the
application of the intellect only.
HEGEL
I
/
Editors’ Note
Georg Wilhelm Friedrich Hegel was born in Stuttgart on August

27, 1770, the son of a minor government official. He studied theology
at Tubingen, with his friends Schelling and Holderlin, and steeped
himself in contemporary and classical literature. A career principally
of teaching followed: tutor in Bern, 1793-96, and Frankfurt, 1797-
1800; lecturer, then professor, at the University of Jena, 1801-06;
editor of a Bamberg newspaper, 1807; rector of a school in Nurem¬
berg, 1808-16; professor at the universities of Heidelberg, 1816-18,
and Berlin, 1818-31. He died in Berlin on November 14, 1831.
The presentation of Hegel projected by Jaspers is outlined in
the second of the Fragments culled by Hans Saner from Jaspers’s
notes; it is given here, as “Survey of the Planned Exposition,”
following part three of this chapter. What follows under the title
“The Dialectic” was to have been the first of four topics. It is the
only one Jaspers left in a nearly complete state.
THE DIALECTIC
We shall proceed from examples, from a tiny number out of the tre¬
mendous mass of Hegel’s configurations of thought. Only by participating
in the dialectical movements, and not merely speaking about them, can
we hope to understand what is happening here.
Without the experience gained from the examples of dialectics, the
discussions that follow would be as incomprehensible as a lecture by an
art historian about works the listener has never seen and would not be
shown. Moreover, the picture shown by the historian of philosophy is
not a photocopy of the text itself, but of a reproduction. This reproduction
is an art that already interprets as it reproduces.
All direct formulations about dialectics (including those by Hegel
221
himself) become schematizations. As we proceed we shall have to ask

whether the one basic principle that recurs in vastly manifold and dif¬
ferent variations exists at all. In any case, its appearances constitute a
multiplicity of origins that deviate from each other, perhaps in a fun¬
damental way.
I. EXAMPLES OF THE DIALECTIC
A. Sense-certainty
Exposition
Knowledge becomes apparent through my questioning. I ask: What is?

The first answer is: Being is what is immediate or that which is in sense-
certainty.
However, who asks and who answers? He who himself stands within
the appearance of knowledge but who at the same time knows about
the appearance of knowledge; that is, the person who philosophizes. He
grasps Being by standing within it and grasps it once again by observing
this standing-in-it. Let us see how Hegel lets sense-certainty move.
i. The claim on the part of immediacy to being all of actuality and truth.
Sense-certainty posits the claim to be the richest kind of cognition due
to its immediacy. Its wealth has no limit: it stretches away in time and
space (extensive infinity); it is not bounded when we take a piece out of
this plenitude and by division enter into it (intensive infinity). This kind
of cognition appears to be the truest, for it has what is immediate before
it in its perfect completeness.
For example, this piece of paper conceived in its infinity: “In the
very attempt to pronounce it, it would . . . crumble . . . those who have
started to describe .it would not be able to finish doing so: they would
have to hand it over to others, who would themselves, in the last resort,
have to confess to speaking about a thing that has no being” (2, 83;
Phanomenologie, 73).1
Actually, sense-certainty turns out to be the most abstract and poorest
truth. For of that which it knows it merely states the following: It is.
And the consciousness of this being exists only as the “I” as such. Object
and the “I” are only pure “Thises.” The “I” js not certain of itself because
it moves in diverse thoughts and because it might have undergone de-
1 References giving volume and page are to Georg Wilhelm Friedrich Hegels Werke, ed. by
P. Marnheinecke et al.\ those to Phanomenologie des Geistes are additionally to the edition of
J. Hoffmeister.
HEGEL 223
velopment; nor is it certain of itself because the object might have shown
itself in its rich relationship to itself and in its manifold relation to others.
Without such mediation, the truth of sense-certainty is simple immediacy,
which is really nothing as yet. Consciousness is only this and nothing
beyond tf. 'The singular “I,” the pure “this,” knows the singular thing,
the pure “this.”
2. The “falling-out” of “I” and object. As soon as we speak of im¬
mediacy as “this," more has happened than merely addressing immediacy
itself. There has occurred, right away, the first “mediation,” in that “I”
and object “fell out” of immediacy, a “this” as “I” and a “this” as object.
The philosophical observer sees that pure immediacy has thereby
been sublated. For this consciousness in the split of “I” and object is
already mediated: I have the certainty through an other, namely, the
thing; and the same applies to certainty through an other, namely,
through the “I.”
With this mediation there begins, in sense-certainty, the movement
in which is revealed what it is: first the object, second the “I,” third the
whole, consisting of “I ” and object—all three dissolve in their immediacy.
3. The dissolution of the object. Sense-certainty has to be asked: What
is the “this”? It is the Now and the Here.
To the question What is the Now? the answer is:
The Now is the night. We write down this truth. If now, this noon,
we look again at the truth we have written, it has become stale. The
written truth is treated as being, but it turns out to be a nonbeing
(2, 75-76; Phan., 67).
The Now is preserved, but as something neither night nor day—
a negative as such. Its being something that is permanent and self¬
preserving is determined by the nonbeing of an other, namely, day and
night. A simple thing of this kind, which is, through negation, neither
This nor That, a Not-This, we call a universal. The universal, therefore,
is the truth of sense-certainty. The self-preserving Now is a mediated
one and, as such, a universal.
The same applies to the Here as to the Now. Here is the tree. I turn
around: here is the house. But the Here itself does not vanish. It abides
in the vanishing of house, tree, and so on. Again this shows itself as a
mediated simplicity, a universality of the Here (2, 76-77; Phan., 68).
This pure Being, however, the Now and the Here as such, is not
what is meant by sense-certainty. What is left over is only the most
universal and most abstract, the empty and indifferent Now and Here.
But still left is our opinion, for which the truth of sense-certainty is
not the universal. Now the object has become the nonessential. The true
essential lies in the object as my object, or in the act of meaning. It is

because I know of it. Sense-certainty has been driven back into the “I.”
4. The dissolution of the “I.” If everything is now to become truth as
my seeing and hearing, and the disappearance of the singular Now and
Here that we mean is averted by my holding on to them, then, to be
sure, I see the tree here and now, but another “I” sees the house. Both
have the same verification, namely, the immediacy of seeing. The cer¬
tainty and assurance of both about their knowledge vanishes. What does
not vanish, however, is the “I” as a universal, the “I”-as-such. By saying
“I,” I say all “I”s. Everyone is that which I say: I, this singular I (2, 78;
Phan., 69).
When “I” and object have become universal and hence empty, there
still remains for us to see the whole of sense-certainty as its essence. As
an immediacy, sense-certainty holds fast to the whole.
5. The dissolution of the whole of sense-certainty. I claim to be pure
intuiting. I hold fast to my immediacy. “Since this certainty will no
longer come forth to us when we direct our attention to a Now that is
night, we will approach it and let the Now that is asserted be pointed
out to us. We must let it be pointed out to us. . . . We must therefore
enter the same point of time or space . . .” (2, 79-80; Phan., 70-71; cf.
Mi, H105).2 What happens then?
The Now ceases to be when it is pointed out. The Now and the
pointing out of the Now are not something immediate and simple, but
a movement that contains various moments. The result, in pointing out
the multiplicity of Now, is discovering that Now is a universal.
The Now is already the Now that has been. It is I who maintain
that it has been. But it is not that-which-has-been. I sublate the having-
been, thus negate the negation of the Now, and in this way return to
my first assertion: The Now is.
Hence neither the Now nor the pointing out of the Now are im¬
mediately singular, but are a movement with various aspects:
This Now is sublated to the has-been; this sublation is itself sublated
in turn and thus returned to the first assertion. “However, this first, thus
reflected into itself, is not exactly the same as it was to begin with, viz.
something immediate-, on the contrary, it is something that is reflected into
itself, or a simple entity which, in its otherness, remains what it is: a Now
which is an absolute plurality of Nows. Arid this is the true, the genuine
Now. . . . The pointing-out of the Now is thus itself the movement which
References to translations by A. V. Miller, in Phenomenology of Spirit, are indicated by Mi and

the paragraph number. The translators’ emendations of Miller are not noted as such.
HEGEL 225
expresses what the Now is in truth; viz. a result . . . the experience . . .

that Now is a universal" (2, 81; Phan., 71; Mi, ^107).
The same thing happens with the Here.
6. The Result. The dialectic of sense-certainty is the history of its
movement' or the experience of its meaning. Sense-certainty is itself
nothing other than this history.
The philosophical observer lets it speak and lets it point out what it
means. He sees the turnaround and vanishing of the meaning of what
is said, which does not coincide with what is meant, but arrives at a
universal, indeed, at the most abstract.
Reflections
After this summing-up of the dialectical movement of sense-certainty,

let us reflect on its meaning, on the continuation of the dialectic beyond
it, on the enduring import of sense-certainty in all further appearances.
1. The Schematization. Our report could present only an abridgment.
Whoever reads Hegel’s text experiences the vividness of the dialectic,
which eludes any summing-up.
Later on Hegel himself set forth this dialectic in his system, which
has become a doctrine (76, 257ff.; Enc., 18fF.).3
Sentience is immediate consciousness; its relation to the object, un¬
mediated certainty. As immediate, the object is singular. But sentience
knows about it only as something that is, a Something. It appears to be
the one richest in content but poorest in thoughts.
2. The Limit. The immediacy of sense-certainty constitutes a limit. We
look for its beginning but do not reach it, since each experience of sense-
certainty that we can express is already mediated, at the least through
the split of “I” and object. Exertion is needed to arrive at the limit where
there would be nothing except a pure sense-certainty. We approach this
limit, do not reach it, and discover that in its place there is the dialectic
of sense-certainty, that it is here as movement, not as duration. That
with which we would like to begin can never be the real beginning. If
we say it is given, we don’t know from where, and then this “from
where” is pointed out in the system of philosophy in which there is no
beginning, only circles.
The clarification of sense-certainty suspends the solidity and abso¬
luteness of a sensuous Being and its certainty. But there remains the
3 References to Encyclopddie der philosophischen Wissenschaften im Grundrisse give paragraph

number and, where appropriate, Z, for Zusatz, the addendum from notes by Hegel’s auditors.
question about the Being that is meant in sense-certainty once everything

said about it in universal categories is subtracted. Is it then, at the limits,
nothing, or does there remain a Being which is impenetrable, not reached
by any universal, absolutely singular, accidental, not subsumable? Is there
actually only that which enters into the form of a universal that can be
expressed, or is there also, prior to the latter, something that with its
core cannot enter into this universal?
3. What does “sensuous” mean? Tradition, starting with Plato, calls
that “sensuous” (aesthetic) which is a given and a conduct extraneous
to the logos, a conduct in perpetual flow devoid of durability, the constant
flux of merely momentary appearances. It lies between Being and non-
Being, namely, Being as genuinely present in endless singularity, unre¬
latedness, nonattachment, and non-Being as constant disappearing. This
content of aisthesis evades determination and hence cannot be thought,
just as it is itself not thinking.
Hegel has the following to say on what he has in mind regarding
“sense-certainty”: Sensuous consciousness is not differentiated from
later modes of consciousness through the fact that in it alone the object
comes to me by way of the senses, but solely through the fact that the
object (whether external or internal Being) has no further thought-
determination except the one, that is, to be at all and to be an independent
other over against me as singular, immediate. By coincidence it occurs
just now in consciousness, is a given of which I do not know where it
comes from. In this way the immediate or sensuous consciousness could
be the form in which knowledge of God is asserted: that He is, that He
exists outside us. This form is inappropriate to the content, does not
signify anything, claims to possess all in the plenitude of immediacy (7b,
259-60; Enc., H418, Z).
4. What is universal? Language. Where there is consciousness there
is also thought. Sense-certainty exists only at the point where it is thought.
And where there is thinking, a universal is being thought. This cannot
be thought without language. Thinking is bound to speaking.
The ' ‘sensuous ‘This’ that is meant cannot be reached by language,
which belongs to consciousness, i.e. to that which is inherently universal.”
But “what is called the unutterable is nothing else than the untrue, the
irrational, what is merely meant” (2, 83; Phan., 73; Mi, If no).
Sense-certainty is supposed to say wh'at it means. But it turns out
that it cannot do this. It expresses the sensuous, immediate, singular as
a universal. But for the sensuous being that is meant, it is not possible
ever to be expressed.
It loses the richness it maintained in favor of this universal, which
HEGEL 227
at first is the most empty Being-as-such. In language our meaning is

refuted right away. Language, however, says Hegel, is the more truthful.
Language possesses “the divine nature of directly reversing the meaning
of what is said, of making it into something else and thus not letting
what is/rrleant get into words at all” (2, 84; Phan., 74; Mi, Hi 10).
5. The progress of dialectic beyond sensuous certainty. In sense-certainty,
according to Hegel, natural consciousness finds out through experience
what is true in it. But it also forgets, time and again, this experience it
has gained, and recommences the movement from the beginning (2, Si-
82; Phan., 72-73).
It cannot go on in this manner. The beginning made by speaking
impels forward—if experience, instead of merely repeating itself end¬
lessly, goes on to the next level of consciousness. To be sure: “If I speak
of a singular thing, then I speak of it ... as something wholly universal,
for all are one singular thing” (2, 84; Phan., 74).
But sense-certainty does not fall by the wayside as trivial through
the refutation of what it has spoken. Rather, refutation is intended to
sublate to something higher. That is achieved in Hegel through the
transition from “sense-certainty,” from immediacy, to “perception.” In
it, the Here and Now becomes a togetherness of many Heres and Nows;
the object emerges as something integrated, as a thing possessing many
qualities.
Sense-certainty is taken up into perception—and thus it proceeds on
the very long road of the configurations of consciousness, to absolute
knowledge.
6. How sublated sense-certainty returns as an indispensable aspect of
truth. It may appear as if sense-certainty is trivialized through Hegel’s
dialectic, its impoverishment, emptiness, abstractness exposed in high-
spirited formulations. But in fact all that is shown is the abstractness of
speaking on the part of the immediate sensuous consciousness: the in¬
capacity of saying what is meant that is contained in the motionless thesis
of sense-certainty as the only certain, the richest and actual one.
Hegel does not deny the richness inherent in sense-certainty. But as
merely immediate sense-perception this wealth is not present as yet.
Rather, it must first work its way out and show itself in the total sequence
of knowledge appearing in consciousness, in self-consciousness, in reason,
in spirit, in history. Nothing is lost here, and truth in its completion is
again present as sense-certainty.
The “incarnation of the divine being” means it enters into sensuous
consciousness. In this way it is revealed. The mystery “ceases when the
absolute being, as spirit, is the object of consciousness.” “The divine
nature is the same as human nature, and it is this unity that is beheld.
“The absolute Being [Wesen] which exists as an actual self-consciousness
seems to have come down from its eternal simplicity, but by thus coming
down has, in fact, attained for the first time to its own highest essence
[Wesen], . . . What is called sense-consciousness is . . . this thinking for
which Being is the immediate. Thus the lowest is at the same time the
highest; the revealed which has come forward wholly onto the surface
is precisely therein the most profound. That the supreme being is seen,
heard, etc. as an immediately present self-consciousness, this therefore
is, indeed, the consummation of its concept” (2, 569, 570, 571; Phan., 487,
488, 489; Mi, H760).
Once more, at the end of The Phenomenology of Spirit, at the point
where absolute knowledge is attained and where the science of philos¬
ophy takes place, the return to the beginning of phenomenology in sense-
certainty is reached in the following manner: This science of absolute
knowing (developed later on in Hegel’s Logic and continued in the
Realphilosophie of nature and history) “contains within itself this necessity
of stepping out of the form of pure concept and it contains the passage
of the notion into consciousness . . . into the certainty of immediacy
... or sense-consciousness—the beginning from which we started. This
release of itself from the form of its self is the supreme freedom and
assurance of its self-knowledge” (2, 610; Phan., 520; Mi, 1f8o6).
This eternal happening which brings about time and space, this
externalizing into this apartness has the following dialectical basis: The
self-knowing Spirit’s “knowing knows not only itself but also the negative
of itself, or its limit; to know one’s limit is to know how to sacrifice
oneself. This sacrifice is the externalization in which Spirit displays the
process of becoming Spirit in the form of free contingent happening,
intuiting its pure Self as time outside of it, and likewise its Being as
space” (2, 610; Phan., 620; Mi, H807).
Thus, Spirit wends its way through nature and history.
7. On Feuerbach’s criticism. Whoever reads Hegel’s sequences of ideas
for the first time finds himself, in most instances, at a loss. What is it
that Hegel wants to prove, what to refute? What is the outcome? Instead
of being given an unequivocal answer, the reader is driven to go on. He
is not allowed to stop, for only in what is to come will truth become
manifest. The result is not the attainment of a specific knowledge-content,
but the whole of the dialectical road traveled, which is now reaching its
completion.
In order to open our senses to this astonishing procedure, a look at
HEGEL 229
objections that have been raised against Hegel is helpful, provided it

becomes clear that they obviously miss Hegel’s meaning.
Against Hegel’s development of sense-certainty, Feuerbach holds that
the reality of sense-certainty is not refuted; the universal is not proven
to be th^ peal. In greater detail:
For sense-consciousness, all words count only as names. “My brother
is called Johann . . . innumerable others are also called Johann . . . does
it follow from this that my Johann is not a reality . . . that Johann-ness
is a truth?” (II, 212).4
For sense-consciousness, language is unreal, a nonentity. For it, words
are only signs for reaching its purpose by the shortest road. “Language
is irrelevant here. The reality of the sensuous singular being is a truth
that, for us, is sealed with our blood” (ibid.).
Sensuous consciousness finds itself owing to the fact that the singular
being cannot be expressed or refuted. Precisely in this it finds a refutation
of language, but not a refutation of sense-certainty. In this, sensuous
consciousness is completely correct. Otherwise “we would let ourselves
be palmed off in life with words instead of with things . .. consciousness
does not let itself be confused, now as ever it holds fast to the reality of
singular things” (II, 213).
To get the better of Hegel’s dialectic of sense-certainty is decidedly
not easy.
Hegel does not speak of sensuous consciousness but of sense-certainty,
which is not able to say what it means.
Hegel does not want to refute sensuous presentness; rather, it runs
as an indispensable adjunct through the appearance of the spirit up into
its highest configurations.
Hegel, in deeming it “inexpressible,” does not intend to refute sense-
certainty. For where speaking ceases, refuting also comes to an end.
Instead, Hegel sees the unutterable in the entire reality as the accidental,
the disparate in which the Idea has freely surrendered itself in order to
find itself in it again, now sheltering reality in itself as a moment.
For Hegel, the unutterable as such carries no weight, of course. It
has to be elevated into thinking and thus into something capable of
expression. Only in this way does it receive the truth of Being in place
of the indifference of the endless. This, however, happens in the entire
sequence of the appearances of the spirit and in the whole of the phi¬
losophy of logical and real Being.
* Ludwig Feuerbach, “Zur Kritik der Hegel’schen Philosophie” (1839), in Samtliche Wer\e, vol.
2. Leipzig, 1846, 185-232.
The ineffability and wealth of the “This” becomes manifest, and

thus expressible, only in the whole of Being. This it cannot achieve as
mere sense-certainty.
Feuerbach’s criticism ascribes positions to Hegel that he does not
hold at all. Hegel’s dicta, which have their place in the dialectical move¬
ment, are taken out of context and fixed fn absolute assertions, and as
such are “refuted” in an undialectical way. In this process the sense of
the Hegelian movement of thought—in which not self-certainty itself
but the abstract meaning of sense-certainty is sublated—is being lost:
namely, the philosophical energy that firmly holds on to the sensuous
even as it brings it into suspension.
If the movement of the dialectic is denied and the experience of
participating in dialectical thought missed, the fixating intellect finds a
way of using the dialectic, either by shrewd manipulation or by rational
refutation. This, however, is not a legitimate way to introduce a mean¬
ingful criticism of Hegel and his dialectic, since it does without one’s
own participation in the dialectic.
What matters to Hegel in his dialectic of sense-certainty is rejection
of the assertion that “the reality or being of external things taken as
Thises or sense-objects has absolute truth for consciousness” (2, 82; Phan.,
72; Mi, H64). Universal experience teaches us the opposite. Anticipating
that the practical sphere will have to be taken into account, Hegel says:
Those who assert the truth and certainty of the reality of sense objects
“should go back ... to the most elementary school of wisdom, viz. the
ancient Eleusinian Mysteries.” They have “still to learn the secret mean¬
ing of the eating of bread and the drinking of wine. For he who is
initiated into these Mysteries not only comes to doubt the being of
sensuous things, but to despair of it; in part he brings about the noth¬
ingness of such things himself in his dealings with them, and in part he
sees them reduce themselves to nothingness. Even the animals are not
shut out from this wisdom but, on the contrary, show themselves to be
most profoundly initiated into it; for they do not just stand idly in front
of sensuous things as if these possessed intrinsic being, but, despairing
of their reality, and completely assured of their nothingness, they fall to
without ceremony and eat them up. And all Nature, like the animals,
celebrates these open mysteries which teach the truth about sensuous
things” (2, 82-83; Phan., 73; Mi, U65). '
Hegel’s playful tone is not directed against sensual actuality but
against sense-certainty put forward as absolute truth; that, he says, is
not to know what one is talking about and saying the opposite of what
one wants to say.
HEGEL 231
It is not reality that is denied to sensuous things (if they were not
real they could not be eaten as food), but absolute actuality. Hegel does
not assert that sense-reality is superfluous (for God himself becomes
sensuous man), but that an aspect of sense-reality has the character of
the absolute (man-become-God dies and has his actuality in time in the
form of remembrance).
That Being itself becomes temporal does not signify only the noth¬
ingness of the temporal as such but also the authenticity of the temporal.
What passes away as finite sensibility in time is sublated in the time¬
lessness of Being where it originated.
As temporal and trivial Being the sensuous becomes an object-image;
but in disappearing, it is the manifestation of the eternal.
Comment
On first hearing an example of Hegelian dialectic, the response might

well be: Everything seems to be revolving, nowhere can one get a foot¬
hold, nowhere is there a conclusion, nowhere a definite standpoint to
adhere to. This impression is accurate, but only as a beginning. It rep¬
resents the vertigo out of which what is at stake here becomes clear: the
ordered dialectic that, through its methodically lucid movement, controls
the initial vertigo. The confusion is lifted but the movement is preserved.
It does not allow a solid, final standpoint, does not yield any ground
other than in the whole of the movement itself.
To attempt to practice this dizzying movement brings with it one
of the fundamental thought experiences. The true meaning of Hegelian
dialectic cannot be acquired in perfunctory appropriation of clever about-
faces or in the inflexibility of rapidly absorbed dialectical tricks. But
without such a knowledge we remain inwardly unarmed against the
dialectics of sophism and unable to grasp fundamental actualities that
defy the fixating intellect.
Let me try to give another exposition.
B. The becoming of self-consciousness; mastery and servitude;

the further progress of self-consciousness
1. The becoming of self-consciousness
1) Consciousness is not yet self-consciousness. Consciousness directs itself

toward the other in the meaning of sense-certainty, in perceiving the
thing, in the intellectual grasp of forces, of appearances, and of the

universal.
Out of these configurations of consciousness, “for which their truth
was a thing, something other than they themselves,” proceeds the nec¬
essary advancement toward self-consciousness. How does this come about?
Consciousness comes to the object of the intellect, which in itself is infinity
but is not grasped as such by consciousness. Consciousness itself must
make its appearance as a new configuration of consciousness insofar as
it immediately has the notion of infinity. The notion of infinity becomes
its object in distinguishing what is distinguished, or in self-consciousness:
“I distinguish myself from myself, and thereby it is in respect to me
immediately that what is distinguished is not distinguished” (2, 129;
Phan., iii).
Philosophical observation proceeds by v/ay of meaning, perceiving,
and understanding to cognition of that “which consciousness knows by
knowing itself” (2, 130; Phan., 112). This leads onto a long road.
2) At first Hegel regards self-consciousness as distinguished from con¬
sciousness through the following elements:
a) The object of consciousness is something other than what it is itself:
this other is a lifeless other. The object of self-consciousness is what it is
itself: Life.
There the object is the singular and universal, the force, the law of
events, appearance, the internal—all thought as an Other: I am not
involved. Here the object is the Other, which is Life, as I am myself; it
concerns me; I turn to it as the object of my desire, as an object lacking
independence, which I would like to sublate but which lays claim to
independence as I do. While consciousness turns into self-consciousness,
its object at the same time turns from lifeless Other into Life, and then
from the self-less into Self.
b) What has come to be in this manner enters a new process: desire,
at first directed toward the Other, devouring and negating it, must negate
itself. Self-consciousness experiences the independence of its object. And
it now achieves its own satisfaction in another self-consciousness.
The doubling of self-consciousness is the living self-consciousness.
The latter reaches its completion as “the unity of itself in its being-other”
(2, 139; Phan., 122). Being with itself in the other is its actuality and its
truth. 1
Hegel anticipates this goal before he comprehends the long way to
it in its developments, catastrophes, and new foundations. It is the concept
of the Spirit, which he already knows by observing the way along which
consciousness, the appearance of the Spirit, first has the “experiences of
HEGEL 233
what the spirit is, this absolute substance which, in the complete freedom
and independence of its opposite, namely of various self-consciousnesses
that are for themselves, constitutes their unity; the I that is We, and the
We that is I” (ibid.).
3) Hegel anticipates the form of this movement before all his represen¬
tations of concrete movement:
a) There is for self-consciousness another self-consciousness; it has
come outside itself (2, 140; Phan., 123). This has a twofold meaning: it
has lost itself for it finds itself as another being; with this it has sublated
the other, for it does not see the other as a being, but sees itself in the
other.
b) “It must sublate its being other” (ibid.). This sublation of the first
double meaning is a second double meaning: First, self-consciousness
must aim at sublating the other independent being in order to become
certain of itself as that being; second, it thus aims at sublating itself, for
this other is itself.
c) The consequence of this ambiguous sublation is an ambiguous
return into itself. In the first place it receives its own self back through
the sublation; because, by sublating its otherness, it again becomes equal
to itself. But, in the second place, it gives the other self-consciousness
back again to itself, for it sublates its being in the other and in this way
lets the other again go free (2, 141; Phan., 124).
d) Thus all acts of self-consciousness are presented only as acts of
the One. But these acts of the One again have a double meaning: They
are just as much the acts of the one as those of the other. For the other
is equally independent, closed in himself. He has no power over the
other if he does not do to himself what he does to him. The movement
is that of the self-consciousness of both. Each does himself what he
demands of the other. Therefore self-consciousness does what it does
only insofar as the other does the same. One-sided action would be
useless because what is to happen can come to be only through both (2,
141; Phan., 124).
The same, expressed differently: What prevails for self-consciousness
is that it is and is not other consciousness immediately. Equally, the other
is only for itself by sublating itself as that-which-is-for-itself, and is for
itself the other only in being-for-itself. Each is the center for the other,
through which each mediates and joins with itself. Each is at the same
time for itself only through this mediation. “They acknowledge each
other as mutually acknowledging each other” (2, 142; Phan., 125).
That means self-consciousness is in and for itself through being for
another in and for itself; “it is only as something acknowledged.” The
movement of acknowledging comes about only in the ambiguous inter-

twinings and turnarounds, about which Hegel says: “The ambiguity of
what is differentiated lies in the nature of self-consciousness ... to be
immediately the opposite of the determinateness in which it is placed”
(2, 140; Phan., 123). This, Hegel calls infinity.
e) We must have convinced ourselves^ first, that self-consciousness
is not like a thing for self-consciousness; second, that self-consciousness
is not for itself without the other self-consciousness being for itself; third,
that this being for each other, in which each is yet to become for itself,
is not a state at rest, but in movement only.
This Hegelian dialectic of self-consciousness can strike us as strange,
but then as a gripping metaphysical cipher. What is it that Hegel is talking
about?
Examined logically, the process may appear as a sequence of concepts
that are transposed into their opposite; or, psychologically, as an event
between two people who work their way up to mutual acknowledgment
through which at the same time each of them first becomes himself; or,
historically, as the development of a community through the struggle of
individuals with each other and with the whole whereby they arrive at
the realization that the strength of the community is guaranteed by each
individual’s becoming himself only insofar as he is equally devoted to
the whole.
This multiplicity of possible interpretations circles around what He¬
gel means, but without being on target. For certainly each of these three
aspects is correct; each, however, is inadequate at the same time. From
a particular perspective we can understand things more easily because
they appear more graphic and definite. But the intention of the inter¬
weaving of perspectives is to give voice to the cipher that in Hegel points
the way to the ground of all that occurs.
This movement, which is so all-encompassing and so sublimely pre¬
sented, shapes the mystery of the communication of self-being in its
greatest intensification. The movements of stepping apart, of inter¬
weaving, of finding each other, are presented clearly, formally, without
illustration. There is no durability to the mere being-together of self-
isolating, coy atoms of being-I, nor is there one entirety of the universal
which eradicates all individuals. Being-for-oneself exists only through
being-for-the-other and vice versa; being-for-oneself does not terminate
when it is won in devotion to the other; rather, one is returned to oneself
by the other, and only then comes to oneself. In the movement there
arise the individual selves as well as the whole. I am not myself if the
other is not himself; I am not free if the other is not free.
HEGEL 235
The goal "they acknowledge each other as mutually acknowledging

each other’ is reached only after a long road through the sequence of
—as yet not adequate—appearances of self-consciousness. The devel¬
opment, classic in its conciseness and clarity, presented in two pages of
text, and, carried to extreme abstraction, is to find its fulfillment.
The first step—for us, a further example of concrete dialectics—is
taken in the unfolding of the coming-to-be and the movement of mastery
and servitude.
2. Mastery and servitude
Hegel shows how the process of recognition appears to self-consciousness

when, in the struggle for existence, the extremes of mastery and servitude
develop into the greatest inequality. Here only the one self-consciousness
is recognized, the other only recognizing (cf. Mi, Hi85).
1) Self-consciousness demands the negation of mere existence. The I of
self-consciousness, in its being-for-itself but confronting all others as the
not-I, is not actual as yet. It is something other in its origin than a thing
or life. This origin gains actuality only if it does not remain consciousness
immersed in the being of life. It must accomplish the movement of
absolute abstraction, “of rooting out all immediate being.” Self-
consciousness can come to itself only when it shows and discovers its
superiority to the mere existence of life, and when, in this superiority,
it is joined with the other self-consciousness: as long as it is indeed aware
of itself but not of the other, “its own self-certainty still has no truth”
(2, 142, 143; Phan., 125; Mi, Hi86).
The foundation of self-consciousness is laid in the encounter of self-
consciousness with self-consciousness through life-and-death struggle. This
primal abstraction is shown in the pure negation of the mode of its being
as object; it shows self-consciousness as “not being attached to any specific
existence, not to the individuality common to existence as such, not
attached to life” (2, 143; Phan., 125; Mi, Hi87). Negativity is the under¬
lying sense in the dialectic of becoming oneself: Each seeks the death of
the other and thereby stakes his own life. Only thus is freedom won;
freedom proves itself only in “that for self-consciousness its essential
being is not just being, not the immediate form in which it appears, not
its absorption in the expanse of life—but, rather, that there is nothing
present in it which could not be regarded as an ephemeral moment.
. . . The individual who has not risked his life may well be recognized
as a person, but he has not attained to the truth of this recognition as
an independent self-consciousness” (2, 143-44; Phan., 126; Mi, Hi87).
2) Death in battle. Proving yourself in actual death cancels the pos¬

sibility of actualizing the self-consciousness that came to be through this
proving. “Death certainly shows that each staked his life and scorned
it, both for himself and for the oth^r; but that is not so, for those who
survived this battle . . . the two do not reciprocally give and receive one
another back from each other consciously, but leave each other free
indifferently, like things. Their act is an abstract negation, not the ne¬
gation coming from consciousness which sublates in such a way as to
preserve and maintain what is sublated, and consequently survives its own
sublation” (2, 144; Phan., 127; Mi, If 188-89). In this experience, self-
consciousness learns that life is as essential to it as pure self-consciousness.
Death in battle can be neither goal nor completion. Proving yourself is
unavoidable, scorn of death a condition of authentic self-consciousness.
3) Two configurations of proving oneself. The first result is two op¬
posing configurations of consciousness. The first wants to stay alive at
all costs; he submits; but he becomes, as he deserves, nonindependent
consciousness, becomes servant; the substance of his life is there for
another. The second risked his life, and becomes, as he deserves, inde¬
pendent consciousness, becomes master; the dependent other is at his
service.
The condition thus reached is the following: The servant is kept on
a chain, in fear of death, from which he cannot break free in his struggle.
The master, who proved in struggle that he is contemptuous of life,
insofar as being “is to him a negative” (2, 146; Phan., 128), is the power
over the other.
This power is evident in that the servant works for the master while
the master consumes what has been gained through this work. If we
call that which is being worked on the “thing,” then the servant stands
in immediate relation to this thing; he too has a negative attitude toward
it and sublates it; but it remains, at the same time, independent for him,
because through his negating he does not get done with it to the point
of destroying it, but merely works on it. The master, on the other hand,
has a mediate relationship to the thing through the servant who works
on it, but an immediate one only through the sheer negation of the
thing, or the enjoyment of it. What desire failed to achieve, due to
the independence of the thing, the master succeeds in doing, because the
servant is interposed between him and the, thing. Thus the master takes
to himself only the dependent aspect of the thing and has the pure
enjoyment of it. The aspect of independence, however, he leaves to his
servant who works on it (cf. Mi, Hi90).
This, however, as little as any other, is not a quiescent state, a state
HEGEL 237
that endures unchanged and represents the end. Instead, the master as
well as the servant now experiences a new movement—in fact, the very
reverse.
4) The master. Only the master has the unrestricted consciousness of
his beingrfor-himself. The servant acknowledges him, but he does not
acknowledge the servant. There has come about a one-sided and unequal
recognition. Lacking here is the recognition that what the master does
to the other he also does to himself, and that what the servant does to
himself he should also do to the other (cf. Mi, IJ191).
In achieving his mastery, the master has, in fact, gained something
quite different from an independent consciousness. Because he alone is
independent, is for himself, and only through recognition by his non-
independent servant, he finds himself the empty point whose indepen¬
dence has lost the movement that he sees only in the actions of the
servant. The master can fight, risk his life, and subjugate others but does
not come to himself by doing so, since, being alone and without concerted
movement with other independent individuals, he becomes empty him¬
self. He cannot make use of being master once the struggle and the risk
to life have ceased.
The master finds himself at a dead end.
Influenced by Hegel’s thought, Hebbel had Holofernes say: “Some¬
times, surrounded by all these imbeciles, I feel as though I were the only
one existing. . . . Oh, for an enemy, a single one, who would dare to
defy me! . . . Everything I respect I must destroy. . . . What a wretched
place the world appears to me. I think I was born to destroy it . . . let
him come, my challenger, he who will overthrow me. I long for him!
It is tedious to have nothing to honor save oneself.”5 Frederick the Great
is said to have exclaimed: “I am tired of ruling over slaves.”
5) The servant. The servant posits his own consciousness as unessen¬
tial, first, in working on things whose obstinacy confronts him, and by
fashioning them through his work to become something objective; sec¬
ond, in his dependence on another existence, the master, whom he obeys
as the free self-consciousness he recognizes. Unable to achieve mastery
over Being and to arrive at the absolute negation of his existence in
death, the servant now does to himself, in the existence preserved in
him, what the master does to him.
But this is indeed an analogue to trial by death. For he who became
a servant has experienced death. “For this consciousness has experienced
fear not for this or that, or at odd moments, but for his whole being;
5 Friedrich Hebbel (1813-1863), German dramatist; references are to Judith, Acts 1 and 5.
23 8 Creative Orderers
since it has felt the fear of death, the absolute master. In that experience
it has been quite unmanned, has trembled in every fiber of its being,
and everything solid and stable has been quaking” (2, 148; Phan., 129;
Mi, Hi94). \
Such an experience has transformed his essence; but only such an
experience is able to do that. “If it has not .experienced absolute fear but
only some lesser dread, the negative being has remained for it something
external, its substance has not been infected by it through and through.”
If it had not been that way and remained that way, then “the entire
contents of its natural consciousness had not been jeopardized,” then
“determinate being in principle still belongs to it,” then, having “a mind
of one’s own” is obstinacy,6 a freedom still enmeshed in servitude (2,
150; Phan., 131; Mi, H196).
As though he had died, the servant eradicates his existence in ser¬
vitude, obedience, labor. But herein freedom is accrued for him and not
for the master. For the nature of self-consciousness is absolute negativity.
It has actualized itself as creative, negatively in death and in the empty
self-consciousness of the master, and positively only in the servant. This
self-consciousness fulfills itself actually in service instead of dissolving
totally into nonactuality. “Through his service he sublates his attachment
to natural existence in every aspect; and gets rid of it by work.” By
serving he achieves what he wanted to avert by refusing death: he sublates
his dependence on natural existence. This occurs through labor and
servitude (2, 143; Phan., 130; Mi, H194).
Work: Through work the servant comes “to himself.” “The negative
relation to the object becomes its form and something permanent. Work
is arrested transitoriness, or: it educates” (2, 143; Phan., 130; Mi, H195).
The object gains independence and so does the worker (even if at first
merely “in itself,” not “for itself”). Working consciousness arrives “at
the intuition of independent being as itself” (2, 149; Phan., 130). Through
being made external to him the result of his work does not become
something other than the worker. “It is precisely in his work that he
acquires a mind of his own” which is no longer obstinacy (ibid.). He
brings forth a world ranging from agriculture to the creation of churches
and palaces, which are enjoyed by others. But this is a world in which
he recognizes himself, in which he is free with himself, and is in himself
free in the other, and in what has been produced, whereas the consumer
approaches the meaning—if he understands it at all—only at a distance
and passively. Whereas the master enjoys and, in his desire and its
6 Hegel s play on words: a mind of one’s own — eigener Sinn; obstinacy = Eigensinn.
HEGEL 239
satisfaction, achieves nothing permanent, and moreover misses his po¬

tentiality; work is “desire held in check” (2, 148; Phan., 130). It creates
form in resistant matter and thus shapes the shaper at the same time.
It creates enduring forms, as opposed to mere fleetingness in the existence
of the mgster.
This is not the place to consider Hegel’s later conception of work or
his concerns regarding the complete transformation of labor brought
about by machines.
Servitude: In the beginning labor develops not in freedom but in
servitude. Without the fear of death and the obedience engendered by
it, it would not have started. “Without the discipline of service and
obedience, fear remains at the formal stage and does not extend to the
conscious reality of existence.” It is in servitude, however, that formative
activity takes place, without which “fear remains inward and mute” (2,
149; Phan., 131; Mi, If 196).
Summary: True, in his disregard for his own life the master achieves
dominion, but gains for himself nothing but empty independence. In
holding fast to life the servant, to be sure, becomes subservient, but owing
to his labor he acquires self-consciousness and ultimately an independence
that is not empty but is a world fulfilled.
Not the master, but the servant continues the movement of the spirit.
The former is bogged down undialectically, fruitlessly; the latter finds
himself in a progressing dialectic. Hegel expresses this as follows: “The
truth of independent consciousness is . . . the servile consciousness” (2,
147; Phan., 129; Mi, 11193).
Servitude will, “in its accomplishment, really turn into the opposite
of what it immediately is; as a consciousness forced back into itself it
will ... be transformed into a truly independent consciousness” (ibid.).
Then true freedom comes into being, “the identify of one with the
other.” I am “truly free only when the other is free also and is acknowl¬
edged by me to be free” (7b, 276; Enc., U431, Z).
6) In his later system (Enc., U423-37), Hegel repeated the dialectic of
master and servant at the place proper to it. Comparison of the pres¬
entations shows, on the one hand, the schematization in which the
convoluted dialectic of the Phenomenology becomes more easily compre¬
hensible, and, on the other hand, graphic additions and amplifications
that, by their concretization, also help us to reach an easier understanding
of the subject.
Historical references: The life-and-death struggle for recognition takes
place solely in the state of nature where men live only as “singular”
individuals. It is absent from bourgeois society and the state because
recognition is already present there. In the state the individual obeys the
laws. “In the state the citizen receives his honor through the office he
holds, through the trade he practices and through his other work-related
activity. Through this his honor has a substantial, universal, objective
content no longer dependent on empty subjectivity; this is still lacking
in the state of nature.” “The struggle for recognition and the subordi¬
nation to a master is the phenomenon from which arose man’s communal
life, which is how states started to be” (7b, 278, 279-80; Enc., H432, Z,
433)-
Pedagogical import of servitude: The servant “works off, in serving
his master, his individual will and his self-will, sublates the inner im¬
mediacy of desire and, in this divestment and his fear of his master,
takes a first step toward wisdom—the transition to universal self-
consciousness” (7b, 281; Enc., H435).
And in its general application: “Without having experienced the
discipline that breaks self-will, nobody becomes free, rational, and capable
of commanding. Hence, in order to become free—to become capable of
ruling oneself—all peoples have had to pass first through the strict
discipline of subjugation to a master” (7b, 282; Enc., H435, Z).
Appraisal of the servant: “Those who remain servants do not suffer
any absolute injustice; for whoever lacks the courage to risk his life for
the sake of gaining his freedom—he deserves to be a servant.” But to
the extent that the servant does in fact raise himself above the selfish
individuality of his natural will, he stands, “as far as his value is con¬
cerned, on a higher plane than the master who is caught in his own
egotism . . . and who is recognized by an unfree consciousness in a
formal manner. The subjugation of the egotism of the servant constitutes
the beginning of the true freedom of man” (7b, 281-82; Enc., H435, Z).
Universal self-consciousness: Out of the struggle evolved the division
into the extremes of master and servant; out of the development of the
servant universal self-consciousness will evolve, which is the knowledge
of myself in the other self.
This universal self-consciousness “is the form of the knowledge of
the substance of all essential spirituality—of family, fatherland, state, as
well as of all virtues, of love, friendship, valor, honor, renown” (7b, 283-
84; Enc., H436).
7) If, in assuring ourselves of the truth 'of this dialectic—through vi¬
sualization based on inner actions and vivid events—we ask about the
origin of the evidence, the question becomes more specific: Is it a matter
of movements in the self-consciousness of the individual? of the meaning
of work for liberation in the creation of a world? of the fear of death
HEGEL 241
in the origin of human transformation? of the inevitability of the dis¬

cipline of obedience for freedom to come into being? of historical pro¬
cesses, the development of society, which become conceivable in this
way?
Obviopsly Hegel touched on all these. That he allowed for their
interplay can be confusing: Time and again, the object seems to have
changed (without our noticing how this came about); we try to differ¬
entiate in order to test the truth of what is differentiated, to grasp it in
its methodical meaning, and end up in an almost endless process. But
the interplay can conversely act like a revelation of the depth: Our glance
is arrested by the underlying process in the origin of Being in motion,
the different aspects of which lie logically in categories, historically in
events, sociologically in structures, psychologically and pedagogically in
motivations, existentially in turning points; in penetrating all these we
arrive by way of speculation at insight into that which authentically is.
The first, selective, probing, appropriating, or rejecting, procedure is
open in each instance to every rational being. The second, the absolutely
philosophic insight, originates in different promptings. Whether I go
along here or whether I battle a cipher of Being that for me is clearly
fallacious but seductive can be discussed only in a criticism of Hegel as
a whole.
3. Self-consciousness in the wake of the appearances of spirit
The dialectic of self-consciousness, anticipated as a whole and then shown

in its first step (master and servant), now proceeds in the wake of the
appearance of spirit. Where is it completed?
The anticipation of the goal of the movement—“ ‘I’ that is ‘We,’
and ‘We’ that is ‘I,’ ” or “They recognize each other as mutually recog¬
nizing one another”—allows us to pose the question regarding the mean¬
ing of these words; wanting to be recognized is not understood
satisfactorily if it is understood as the will to self-assertion, which, if
taken by itself, would mean the loss of substance (2, 139, 142; Phan.,
125; Mi, If 177, 184).
The substance is contained in what I am and in what the community
is into which I was born and in which I come to myself. As Hegel says:
“The substance must become subject,” mere Being must turn into the
movement of coming-to-oneself. I am substance not by virtue of simply
being such as I am, but, rather, by virtue of my foundation, which—
finding it—I posit for myself. I take myself over in my being-such, but
this being-such, as something taken over, in the movement of its coming-
to-itself, is no longer the same. I become what I am by being I myself

in being-other, by being with myself in the other. The words “I,” “we,”
“recognize,” “mutual” point toward communication that reaches into
the ultimate depth of the I and of the We through which they have first
become what they are, by means of radical changes and turnarounds, in
which nothing is lost through the new creation, and in which the subject
becomes by not giving up the substance but by bringing it to itself.
The great problem of communication as ground and condition of
authentic being-human is a famous one. The question is whether
Hegel—after he has sketched out the becoming of oneself in its whole
scope, although in the extreme abstraction of pure conceptuality—fills
this scope in his philosophy.
1) Hegel’s basic attitude as a whole. Hegel leads to the “experience of
what spirit is, this absolute substance which, in the complete freedom
and independence of its opposite, i.e., of various self-consciousnesses that
are for themselves, constitutes its unity; I that is the We, and We that
is the I.” Only in self-consciousness, in the notion of spirit, can con¬
sciousness find “its turning point, where it leaves behind the colorful
illusion of the sensuous here-and-now and the nightlike void of the
supersensible beyond and steps out into the spiritual daylight of the
present” (2, 139-40; Phan., 122; Mi, Hi77).
The pathos of these anticipatory sentences at the beginning of the
depiction of self-consciousness expresses Hegel’s basic certainty, his
knowledge of Being, the actuality of his life:
a) Presentness is eternal present, the “now.”
b) It is only that which is manifest and thus is also present to the
senses; but it is not simply present as the sense-certainty that has been
lost in judging the immediate.
c) The empty Beyond, an absolute transcendence, splits self-
consciousness, deceives and defrauds it. The sensuous, however, in its
mere immediacy, is itself nothing as yet. Rather, spiritual daylight, that
is, the fulfilled present, the eternal presence of the Divinity is, alone, the
actuality of my being in my world: It completes itself at all times as the
actuality of Being in the world.
But this whole becomes present only in the entirety of the circle of
appearances of the Spirit, of which each one is a necessary and irre¬
placeable link. This whole is in eternal movement, which, as the temporal
movement of the Spirit, possesses the moment of its appearance.
This movement must pass through philosophizing without allowing
a gap, in order to take firm hold of the whole, to live in this whole, to
HEGEL 243
absorb each moment, avoiding being drawn into any particular moment
as though it were the absolute one.
Sense-certainty is the beginning to which the circle returns in the
end, having, on the way, already experienced in increasing fulfillment a
return to phis certainty. In the same way self-consciousness is for self-
consciousness in mutuality the point of departure whose immediacy is
the mutual struggle, then in the relation of mastery and servitude, then
in the new dialectics of being-master and being-servant only to enter
farther into the movement at the end of which stands the reconciliation
in the spiritual daylight of the eternal present.
2) The completion of recognizing each other as mutually recognizing
each other.
a) On the way to the complete unity of self-being in the multiplicity
of selves lies the “life of a people.” This is the “universal substance.”
“Reason is present here as the fluid universal substance . . . which in
the same way bursts apart into many wholly independent beings just as
light bursts apart into stars as countless self-luminous points” (2, 265;
Phan., 232; Mi, U350). The individuals are conscious of being these single
independent beings through the sacrifice of their singularity and because
this universal substance is their soul and essence.
b) Between two singular individuals the movement completes itself
in forgiveness and reconciliation.
First of all Hegel describes the moral consciousness of the other. The
one who judges, who sets himself up in this inactuality and conceit of
knowing-better, places himself above the deeds he discredits and wants
the “words without deeds to be taken for a superior actuality.” Hegel
calls this “insidious” and hypocritical because it “passes off such judging
not as another way of being wicked but as the right consciousness of
the action” (2, 502; Phan., 430; cf. Mi, H666).
Thus the one who acts recognizes him who passes judgment as his
equal. “Perceiving this identity and giving expression to it, he confesses
this to the other, and expects likewise that the other—having in fact
put himself on the same level—will also respond in words in which he
will express his identity with him, and expects that this mutual recog¬
nition will now exist in fact” (2, 503; Phan., 430; Mi, H666).
“But the confession of the wicked: This is the way I am, is not
followed by a reciprocal similar confession.” Quite the contrary; the
judgment “rejects this community of nature and is the hard heart. . . .”
It remains for itself and rejects any community with the other. It refuses
“the emergence of its own inner being into the outer existence of speech”
and contraposes the “wicked with the beauty of his own soul”; it counters
“the confession of the penitent with his own stiff-necked . . . character,
mutely keeping himself to himself and refusing to throw himself away
for someone else.” This is the “extreme form of revolt of the Spirit
certain of itself.” It refuses to initiate communication with the one who
made the confession, who, in his admission, renounced separate con¬
sciousness. It reveals itself as a consciousness forsaken by the spirit, for
it does not recognize “that spirit, in the absolute certainty of itself, is
master over every deed and actuality and can cast them off and make
them as if they had never happened” (2, 503-04; Phan., 430-31; Mi, H667).
The scene has been reversed. The judgmental and separated “beau¬
tiful soul” has become Being devoid of spirit as well as devoid of actuality
in the immediacy of this firmly held antithesis. It ends “unhinged to the
point of madness in its unreconciled immediacy and wastes itself in
yearning consumption” (2, 505; Phan., 432; Mi, 1I668).7
The path leads in another direction: The “breaking of the hard heart”
is the same movement that was expressed by the one who “made confes¬
sion.” The consciousness confesses: “The wounds of the spirit heal with¬
out leaving scars; the deed is not imperishable but is taken back by the
Spirit into itself.” The one who confesses “exhibits the power of the
Spirit over his actual existence,” as the breaking of the hard heart shows
“the power of Spirit over the specific concept of itself” (2, 505; Phan.,
432; Mi, U668-69).
The result is forgiveness. The one who judges renounces his unactual
nature by equating it with that other which was a real action: “The
word of conciliation is the objectively existing Spirit which beholds the
pure knowledge of itself qua universal essence in its opposite” (2, 506;
Phan., 433; Mi, %yo).
Here Hegel’s language rises to the comprehension of intuition. “It
is the actual I, the universal knowledge of itself in its absolute opposite,
in the knowledge that remains in-itself, and which, on account of the
purity of its separated being-in-itself, is itself completely universal. The
reconciling Yea, in which the two I’s let go of their antithetical existence,
is the existence of the I which has expanded into a duality wherein it
remains identical with itself, and in its complete externalization and
opposite, possesses the certainty of itself; it is God manifested among
those who know themselves in the form of pure knowledge” (2, 507-
08; Phan., 434; Mi, H671).
c) Religion and, finally, absolute knowing, complete, as actual con-
7 Hegel’s play on words is lost in translation: Schwindsucht, the German word for the disease
“consumption,” can mean the strong desire to waste away.
HEGEL 245
sciousness of the whole, the reconciliation of all opposites, now on a

supratemporal plane, carried awayv as it were: Communication is no
longer a process occurring between men, but is the revolving duration
of the eternal.
3) Hefe we sense the critical limit in Hegelian completion. Can the
supratemporal be completed in time? The alternative seems to be
whether movement in time can, within time itself, cease in the absolute,
which is the unity of all opposites, one in all, circle of circles (in the
“ethical order” of the state, in the absolute thinking of religion, art,
philosophy); or whether, within time, everything remains open, where,
to be sure, there are exalted moments and unwavering loyalty, where
eternity and temporality are indispensable, yet where thought does not
attain universality but must always move anew, and finds itself face to
face with limit situations and with foundering in existence.
Hegel’s dialectical thinking would incorporate the second into the
first, the latter being the Encompassing. However, existential truth breaks
through this Encompassing and holds fast to temporality as the only
existential possibility, that is, to the never-completed task of communi¬
cation.
At this point the wondrous “reconciliation” may become actual as
purely and simply historic. Beyond all “getting along together,” all “talk¬
ing things over,” all forgiveness, it remains mute. For, having been
expressed, it is transformed into a possession we can express and refer
to. But by thus becoming temporal-supratemporal actuality, it is con¬
taminated and spoiled. Speech does not hinder or uphold it, nor does it
aim at completing itself in silence, as though in this form it could become
truth and true possession.
But reconciliation strives, instead, toward realization in the palpable
phenomena of temporal reality. In Hegel it leads to consummation in
absolute knowledge and not into the uncharted depths of the authentic
movement of Existenz in time. It sublates existential communication into
speculative intuition of absolute knowledge. He fails to see the ineluctable
movement toward turning, as Existenz in time, to the other Existenz,
in sustained communication, and beyond it toward a mutually shared
experience of unspoken transcendence which cannot find its consum¬
mation in time. Speculative contemplation takes the place of communi¬
cation.
C. Being; Nothing; Becoming
Another example: the beginning of Hegelian logic.

For Hegel, logic is the movement of thinking in the “heavens of
absolute knowledge,”8 in the “thoughts of God before creation,”9 is His
timelessly eternal thinking. This logic proceeds through all thought-
determinations (categories) which align themselves dialectically in a
mighty whole and close into a circle. It is the most comprehensive
doctrine of categories, perhaps unsurpassed to this day. But in its progress
it lays claim to being in a truer and purer sense what earlier was called
metaphysics and ontology.
a) The first is Being. What is Being? It is the indeterminate (for it
has shed all determinations—this is its purity); hence it has no dissim¬
ilarity, toward the inside or the outside; it is equal only to itself and not
yet unequal as measured against the other. It is the immediate that has
come to be without mediation (3, 77).
There is nothing to intuit in Being; it is sheerly pure, empty intuition
itself. Neither does it contain any substance for thinking; it is only this
empty thinking.
It turns out that Being, the indeterminate immediate, is empty. It is,
in fact, Nothing (3, 78).
b) What is pure Nothing? It is “equality with itself, complete empti¬
ness, lack of determinacy and content; lack of differentiation in itself”
(ibid.). Insofar as we speak of intuiting and thinking, there is nothing
in our intuiting and thinking, which is empty intuiting and thinking.
When we consider what cannot be said about Being, it turns out
that the same is said about both Being and Nothing. Hence pure Being
and pure Nothing are identical.
Hegel uses a parable:
Being is imagined as pure light, as the clarity of unclouded vision;
Nothing is imagined as pure night. But in absolute clarity we see as
much or as little as in absolute darkness. The one as well as the other
is pure seeing, the seeing of Nothing. Pure light and pure darkness are
identical emptinesses (3, 92).
c) It would seem that we reach the conclusion right from the start.
If Being and Nothing are identical, we have reached a dead end. This
8 Jaspers probably noted this reference from memory. He is most likely referring to Hegel’s
Lectures on the Philosophy of Religion, 12, 434: “Logic is God in the ether of pure thought” —Hans
Saner.
g In Logic, Introduction, 3, 36, Hegel characterizes logic as “representation of God ... as He
is in His eternal essence prior to the creation of nature and of a finite spirit” —Hans Saner.
HEGEL 247
is the situation for determinative reason, for which Being as well as

Nothing qua total indeterminateness are and remain the same.
But we can go on in the eternity of absolute thinking, which becomes
manifest in the speculative thinking of dialectics. This thinking tells us:
Neither Being nor Nothing nor their being identical is the truth. In the
progression the truth is, rather, “that Being does not turn into Nothing
or Nothing into Being, but that one has turned into the other” (3, 79).
What does this having-turned-into mean? Being and Nothing are
just as absolutely differentiated as they are absolutely undivided. Each
vanishes immediately into its opposite. This movement of immediate
disappearance of the one into the other and of the other into the one is
Becoming: a movement in which Being and Nothing are differentiated,
but by a difference that has dissolved just as immediately. The “Being
. . . that remains with itself in Nothing is Becoming” (6, 176; Enc., 5188).
What is, and what is the meaning, of this first triad of Being, Nothing,
Becoming? Is it a play on words? Is it a figure composed of interconnected
meanings? Is it a way of expressing the mystery of Becoming by thinking
it as Becoming prior to all time, without time? Is it the most abstract
origin that cannot be transcended and the enduring structure of all that
is? Is it that it cannot be thought at all with the intellect alone, or is it,
using the intellect as means, a speculative intuition that is simultaneously
present or absent? Whether this triad seems plausible or absurd, if we
want to try to understand Hegel’s meaning, we have to discuss this
quickly finished triad, which at first appears so simple.
To be sure, this triad, which cannot be thought rationally but is
speculatively so exciting, can be thought only as an act that is intuitive
in its extreme abstractness. But we can try to follow this thought—a
paradigm of Hegelian logical-metaphysical speculation—to the point
where it attains this importance. It is merely the beginning, but it contains
the primal metaphysical intuition, which resurfaces in all understanding
of things eternal and infinite as well as temporal and finite. It shows an
incalculable wealth of fulfillment through which its very poverty proves
the scope of its receptiveness.
1.
Becoming overarches the triad, or is its center and encompassing mean¬

ing. Becoming is the first concrete, coalesced thought, against which
Being and Nothing are empty abstractions.
“If we speak about the concept of Being, it can consist only in being
Becoming; for as Being it is empty Nothing, but as the latter it is empty

Being” (6, 176; Enc., H88). Becoming is the first concrete, and hence the
first genuine, determination of thought.
About Being and Nothing all Hegel says is what either is not. In
both cases his statements are the same. Becoming, however, is expressed
positively as the turning and having-turned on the part of Being and
Nothing into the movement of the one disappearing in the other.
This does not mean that the Nothing is merely nothing. When I
think Nothing, I have already thought it as Being. It exists through my
expressing it. The Nothing that is meant to be only nothing, receives an
existence in thinking, imagining, or speaking (3, 139).
2.
In Becoming, Hegel thinks a “concrete identity.” Identity as unity of

equals is an abstract identity (A = A). Identity as unity of different
beings—inseparability—is concrete identity. Thinking abstract identity
is an act of the intellect, which fixates and does not progress. Thinking
concrete identity is genuine speculative thinking to which what is man¬
ifests itself. Because Being and Nothing are the same concrete identity
“they are no longer Being and Nothing. . . . The unity remains ... as
their foundation, out of which they no longer emerge as the abstract
meaning of Being and Nothing” (3, hi).
i-
The statement “Being and Nothing are the same” expresses the identity
of these two determinations—which are not yet supposed to be
determinations—both of which it also contains as differentiated. Hence
“in itself it contradicts itself and dissolves.” It is a statement that “contains
the movement of disappearing through itself”; there happens to it that
“which is supposed to constitute its true content, namely, Becoming' (3,
88-89).
The statement “Being and Nothing are the same” appears to be such
a paradoxical statement to the imagination or to the intellect that it might
not be recognized as seriously meant. But in Hegel it possesses an all-
dominating seriousness. ^
To be sure, the statement is indeed “one of the most difficult that
thinking demands of itself” (6, 171; Enc., H88). Being and Nothing are
opposition in its full immediacy; as yet no determination containing the
relation of the one to the other is being thought in it. Yet in it I think,
HEGEL 249
in an abstractness lacking determination, of what in all of philosophizing

recurs in specific definite forms: There is “nowhere in heaven or earth
anything . . . that does not contain both. Being and Nothing.” All further
logical determinations are “examples of this unity” (3, 81, 82).
4-
The proposition Being and Nothing are “to all intents and purposes different”
is just as correct as its opposite (6, 172; Enc., U88; cf. 3, 89-90). Becoming
would not be Becoming, but static identity, if only the being-the-same
of Being and Nothing were valid. Only the fact that the unity of Being
and Nothing maintains absolute differentiation in itself constitutes its
concrete concept.
The differentiation of Being and Nothing is, as such, devoid of
relation. Hence to express the difference as Being and not-Being would
be inappropriate: the relation to Being would be introduced through the
word “not-Being.” The Nothing is “the negation devoid of relation—
something one . . . could express also through the mere: Not” (3, 79).
5-
Since Being and Nothing lack all determination, that is, remain within
immediacy, difference is also not as yet determined. It is the inexpressible,
the merely meant. Both Being and Nothing are “the same ground¬
lessness.” Being is “not a particular, definite thought, but, rather, the
still wholly indeterminate thought that precisely for this reason cannot
be differentiated” (6, 171; Enc., H87, Z).
It is impossible to indicate a difference between Being and Nothing,
for in order to do so we would need a determinateness. Both, however,
are the sheerly indeterminate. “If Being and Nothing had any deter¬
minateness at all by means of which they would differ, they would be
. . . determinate Being and determinate Nothing, and not pure Being
and pure Nothing. . . . Hence the difference between them is completely
empty; each of the two is the indeterminate in the same way”; they are
“empty thought-things” (3, 91, 82).
The first thought is that of Becoming, in which Being and Nothing
are thought, whereas they cannot really be thought each for itself. In
Becoming, Being and Nothing have “their consistence.” They are dif¬
ferentiated in their Becoming. They consist only in an other, in a third,
in Becoming. Their consistency is only their being in one (3, 82).
6.
The question is asked: How does the static unity of being-the-same of
Being and Nothing turn into the moving unity of Becoming?
Hegel answers: Within the sequential presentation of the text, Being
and Nothing are discussed first, followed by Becoming. But in truth
Becoming is first (3, 93; 6, 175-76; Enc., f 88, Z). Comprehension proceeds
from Becoming. Becoming does not become, but is the beginning from
which we think back to that which-—in an act of meaning-reference to
the unthinkable—is isolated, devoid of relation, as Being and Nothing,
only to be sublated at once. Becoming is the first concrete concept (all
true concepts are concrete concepts) following what is merely meant.
It is always this way in Hegel’s dialectics of becoming-manifest: The
result is in fact the beginning. Bringing-itself-forth is not a result that
follows cogently from beginnings merely expressed. Hence the circle is
the correct picture for this thought-process, which does not know a real
beginning aside from itself as a whole, but which is the movement that
illuminates itself.
7-
We repeat once more this thought-experience: Being and Nothing are

everywhere bound to each other—one does not exist without the
other—in each instance in a definite and particular configuration. Only
here at the beginning do we find the thought that wants to advance
beyond all determinateness into the abyss and there wants to grasp Being
and Nothing, but discovers that it falls into the void and is not really a
thought but a meaning: the absolutely differentiated shows itself to be
the same, that is, Being as Nothing and Nothing as Being.
Out of this experience grows the first thought, which returns from
the abyss, from the vertigo of mere meaning, which no longer rested on
any ground; it thinks Becoming, and thinks it from the start as the unity
of the difference of Being and Nothing.
The fundamental experience of thinking carried out in this specu¬
lation can proceed in the opposite direction: I think Nothing when I
ask: Why is there anything at all and not nothing? That there is Nothing
may seem to be the natural state of things. fThat there is Being—this is
the miracle.
Hence I arrive—out of my attempt at thinking Nothing—at a rec¬
ognition of the miracle: Being is. It is the standing-still of thinking before
HEGEL 251
Being, prior to all determination, a holding of one’s breath, as it were:

Being is. The first thought necessary is the thought of Being. The pos¬
sibility of not-Being can be thought only as the second thought, for it
refers to Being whose not-Being it is.
But, Being qua Being cannot be grasped in this form. After all, what
is this Being? Thought only as Being, without any determination, in
pure immediacy, it is as Nothing. It is that which is not derivative, cannot
be transcended but, when more closely grasped, is, to be sure, but like
nothing that we encounter as Being.
Once I have at the origin experienced the belonging-together of Being
and Nothing, I can think Being as the unity of Being and Nothing, that
is, as Becoming. The contrariety in my experience of the origin now
constitutes everything that is and is encountered as Being.
5.
It is said: This whole method of thinking and what it expresses cannot

be comprehended (6, 173; Enc., 1f88). Comprehension demands represen¬
tation, an object-image with which thinking, as it is practiced, is familiar.
Hegel gives us two answers.
To begin with: In asserting that the representation of the unity of
Being and Nothing is impossible, you really imply that everyone has an
infinity of representations of this unity. The very assertion that you do
not have them can only mean a lack of recognition of the relevant concept
in any one of these representations. Thus, says Hegel, everyone has a
representation of Becoming: In analyzing it, you have to see that the
determination of Being, as well as that of Nothing, is contained in it.
Another example is the representation of the beginning: A thing that is
not as yet at its beginning is not its nothingness but already contains its
Being.
Further: The “manner of philosophical knowledge” is, “to be sure,
different . . . from the manner of knowing habitual in everyday life, as
well as from the one prevalent in other sciences” (6, 173-74; Enc., U88).
The inability to comprehend this shows one’s being unaccustomed to
persevere in abstract thoughts without any sensuous admixture, or to
grasp speculative statements. (In this context, you should consider: psy¬
chologically, it is perhaps impossible to do without concomitant phe¬
nomena of sensuous representations, though they have no bearing on
the matter at hand; a thinking-as-seeing, a categorial intuition of what
itself cannot be represented, has to be tried by everyone. Whoever con-
siders himself unable to do so has no right to deny that something of

this nature exists; he may not be aware of it as he himself carries it out.)
In maintaining about a concept that it eludes your faculty of imagination
merely signifies the wish for a familiar^representation. It seems as though
without a familiar mode of representation the ground under one’s feet
were lost. What is demanded, however, is not.to think beyond the concept
itself (6, 7; Enc., U3).
9-
The beginning of logic is considered the beginning in absolute knowledge

that represents itself. But as far as man thinking in time is concerned,
this beginning has to be reached, because it is immediate only in the
timelessness of the eternal movement of thought; for the thinking person
it is mediated in temporality. He needs preparation, guidance to lead
him to the beginning. In Hegelian philosophy this road differs from that
of the mystics with their spiritual exercises and stages of meditation, of
initiations into esoteric doctrines or, as nowadays, of the indoctrination
of a fundamental position, such as a Marxist or psychoanalytical one.
Rather, it is itself a thinking that provides “the ladder” for the seeker
through the “phenomenology of spirit” (2, 21; Phan., 18). In thinking,
he can stride there through the levels of consciousness, of self-conscious¬
ness, of a spirit manifesting itself in the configuration of a world. He
then sublates and preserves them all and arrives at absolute knowledge
in which only now logic begins with the first triad of Being, Nothing,
and Becoming. What in logic begins immediately as such is reached by
us through mediation.
10.
A second way to arrive at the beginning of logic is abstraction-, in thinking

I advance to the limit where thinking is with itself, where it becomes
pure thinking without object, the thinking of thinking.
a) I, the “I think,” is “the universal in and for itself. . . . All other
men have this in common with me, to be ‘I.’ . . . But ‘I,’ in the abstract
as such, is the mere act of self-relation, in'which we make abstraction
from all representation and feeling, from every state of mind. ... To
this extent ‘I’ is the Existence of a wholly abstract universality, of abstract
freedom” (6, 37; Enc., H20; cf. W. §20).
“It is by the free act of thought that it occupies a point of view in
HEGEL 253
which it is for its own self, and thus gives itself an object of its own
production” (6, 25; Enc., If 17; W, § 17).10
But that means that the “I” as such has vanished in Being itself. The
process of production is the rule of the matter itself in pure thought,
whichvas thought, simply has the form of the “I think.”
The road of this experience leads to the limits where no special
thought is carried out any longer and no object is thought, and where
Being and the thinking of Being in the self-being of the “I” are the
same; where I, having stood at the edge of the abyss, am indeterminately
certain of Being in all its possibility; where, out of the stillness of coming
to a standstill, I am, after all abstraction, again I, thinking I, and hear
myself, as it were, by experiencing the dialectic of the movement of
thought through carrying it out.
b) The beginning is the “decision to want to thin\ purely, achieved
through the freedom that abstracts from everything and takes hold of
its pure abstraction, that is, the simplicity of thought.” Reaching the
beginning demands “total absence of presupposition,” total skepticism
must precede everything so that now pure thought can be accomplished
and develop its certitude (6, 146; Enc., U78; W, §78).
Hence the beginning of philosophy is “a beginning only in relation
to the person who proposes to philosophize.” The beginning has no
relation “to the science (of philosophy) as such” (6, 26; Enc., Hi7). Being
has no beginning, nor does the thinking which is this Being itself. The
thoughtful action of the individual human being has a beginning, as
does its presentation in a work.
c) What is achieved for us through the mediation of abstraction is
the immediate, that which is not mediated by anything.
“The indeterminate, as we have it here, is the immediate, not the
mediated indeterminate, not the sublation of all determinateness, but the
immediacy of indeterminateness preceding all determinateness, indeter¬
minateness at the very first” (6, 166; Enc., f86, Z, 1). It cannot be felt
or perceived by sense or pictured in imagination: it is pure thought.
d) We free ourselves from all that is determinate, submerge ourselves
in the abyss of the indeterminate of Being, which is Nothing.
If I want to grasp it determinately as Being, it is already in existence;
it comes to be and passes away. Then Being and Nothing cease “to be
abstractions by receiving a determinate content... only existence contains
the real difference between Being and Nothing, namely a Something
and Other” (3, 85).
10 References preceded by W are to Hegel's Logic, trans. by William Wallace, emended as needed.
If I want to grasp it determinately as Nothing, then I think by means

of a determinate Nothing the determinate Being whose Nothing it is.
What is Being? Neither the solid Being nor Nothing, but, rather,
Becoming. \
e) The path of abstraction, taken in order to arrive at the immediacy
of the beginning, can be transformed into an easy and cheap act: I could
abstract from everything; then nothing would be left. The Nothing
would be attained as the beginning, and thus the end would be reached
at the same time.
Hegel counters this: If “we presupposed that abstraction from every¬
thing, which after all is everything of what there is, then . . . the result
of the abstraction from all that is, is . . . first of all abstract Being, Being
as such.” “And then it would seem that in the end it is also possible to
abstract from this pure Being, and Being were to be relegated to all that
from which one has already abstracted; what then remains would be
Nothing” (3, 101).
This act is something completely different from the transformation
of Being into Nothing, which is not a further abstraction but the move¬
ment at the origin. However, we would expect that the person who, by
reasoning in like manner, enters upon this path of a superficial game of
abstracting would continue due to his “ability to abstract,” that is, to
abstract further from Nothing (“just as,” says Hegel, “even the creation
of the world is an abstraction from Nothing”), but “then there remains
not Nothing—for one abstracts precisely from this—rather, one has
arrived once more, in this manner, at Being” (3, 101).
f) The Being of the beginning must be comprehended in its uni¬
versality as being devoid of content or weight:
It can be reduced to the meaning of the copula in sentences: Every¬
thing that I state is expressed in sentences through the subject and the
predicate which are being connected by the copula “is.” There is the
void, the universal of the indeterminate Being in all statements, non¬
binding and insignificant.
Or it is binding as the germ of everything, as the totality in which
what develops has its origin. This form as origin, the Being of all there
is, signifies that from the very beginning everything is One: the unity
of the logical in the development of all categories and, grounded in it,
the unity of all Being, the One. '
g) This total abstraction has an existential meaning for Hegel. “The
directing from particular finite Being back to Being-as-such in its abstract
universality must be considered as the very first theoretical as well as
practical requirement.” Man ought to raise himself “in his way of think-
HEGEL 255
ing to this abstract universality in which finite things become matters

of indifference, in which it makes no difference to him whether or not
they exist, whether he is or is not, that is, is or is not in finite life” (3,
86-87). “Indeed, philosophy is precisely what frees man from endless
finite gpals and intentions” (6, 172; Enc., H88).
11. Frequently raised objections to the dialectic

of Being, Nothing, and Becoming
a) “Pure thinking” is not possible. Actually, Hegel at every step uses an

intuition that did not arise from pure thinking but is brought about.
Thus Becoming is brought about only with the aid of the intuition of
time and does not arise out of Being and Nothing through pure thinking.
Hegel says: “The statements ‘that everything that is carries the germ of
its passing in its birth, and that, on the other hand, death is the entrance
into new life,’ basically express the same union of Being and Nothing”
as Becoming. “But these expressions have a substratum on which the
transition takes place; in time Being and Nothing are kept apart, are
represented as alternating in it, but are not thought in their abstraction
and hence not in such a way that they are the same in and for themselves”
(3, 80).
Hegel anticipated Trendelenburg’s objection. Trendelenburg denies
that Hegel’s demands can be carried out in thinking.11 On the level of
the rationalistic intellect and of the psychological descriptions of the
representations that always accompany our thinking, we can merely
determine the impossibility. The question remains, however, whether,
for Hegel, something else is happening which is not at all affected by
such objections and which we have to try to experience ourselves. Tren¬
delenburg’s criticism is astute but without substance, blind to the lan¬
guage of dialectical speculation, incapable of intuition in thinking itself.
He is right in challenging Hegel’s claim of cogent proof and solid cog¬
nitions in challenging the “science” of Hegel and the Hegelians. He
intends to base himself on science, to which Hegel denies the character
of philosophy, since science is the knowledge of finite things; he sets
little store by it and at best makes use of its results, after first interpreting
them. But in fact Trendelenburg does not base himself on this ground
either; he bases himself on the old rationalistic mode of argumentation,
by means of which no cogent knowledge is gained that possesses objec-
11 See nineteenth-century German philosopher Friedrich Adolf Trendelenburg’s Logische Un-

tersuchungen, 3rd ed., Leipzig, S. Hirzel, 1870, 36-129, and Geschichte der Kategorienlehre, Berlin,
1846, 355ff.
tively relevant character, just as it cannot be gained through Hegel’s

pure thinking. Thus, in deriving all categories from “movement,” clear-
minded Trendelenburg himself unwittingly carries out a speculation
devoid of content. He was widely acclaimed among the pseudoscientific
academic philosophers of the nineteenth century whose thinking had
lost real seriousness. No genuine philosopher, that is, one who knows
the mode of his particular knowledge, came forth to oppose him.
b) It is said that when Hegel speaks of Being, Nothing, Becoming,
he uses—in the very first sentences—categories that are presupposed
but not derived. This objection to the claim of a development without
presuppositions states something obvious. Without this, speaking would
be impossible for Hegel, as for everyone. What is met with only later
as categories begins functioning from the very beginning of the
presentation.
Naturally Hegel knows this too. Hence he asks only that all categories
be clarified and determined in their proper places; he does not demand
the impossible, however, that is, to dispense with them altogether when¬
ever thinking is focused on that which is prior to these categories.
c) The modern Thomist Alfons Lehmen argues in an undialectical,
rationalistic manner against Hegel’s dictum that indeterminate Being is
the same as Nothing: if they were the same, then their opposites would
also have to be the same. However, the opposite of absolute Nothing is
all Being; that of indeterminate Being, determinate Being. Hence being-
Nothing and indeterminate Being are different in their essence. It is false
to assert that two things coincide because they are identical in one
characteristic (indeterminacy).12
This can be countered as follows: A Hegelian dictum is here removed
from the dialectical movement, isolated, and “refuted” according to the
rules of formal logic. These rules apply where we speak of a determinate
or indeterminate Something. This kind of refutation can be arrived at
very simply by juxtaposing Hegel’s immediately following statement,
that Being and Nothing are absolutely different, with the preceding one.
That there is contradiction is obvious, but precisely this contradiction is
at the heart of dialectical thought. The contradiction cannot be solved
by rejecting it on a formal, logical basis and declaring Hegel’s proposition
to be nonsense. The truth that is thought here can be experienced, if at
all, only by plunging into the contradictibn and trying out what the
movement displays.
d) In his struggle against Hegel, Feuerbach too aimed at destroying
12 Cf. Alfons Lehmen’s Lehrbuch der Philosophic auf aristotelisch-scholasticher Grundlage; I: Logif(,
358; 4th ed. Freiburg-im-Breisgau, Herder, 1917.
HEGEL 257
the beginning of Logic in Being, Nothing, and Becoming. His thesis is:
Being exists in actuality, but Nothing, not-Being, exists only in the
imagination and in reflection. “Nothing is that which is . . . devoid of
thought and reason. Nothing cannot be thought at all, for thinking is
determining . . . and therefore would cease to be Nothing” (II, 223).13
All of Hegel’s propositions about Nothing are, according to Feuer¬
bach, in fact already determinations (simple self-identity, and so on).
“Thinking cannot go beyond beings since it cannot go beyond itself,
because reason only means positing Being, because only this or that being
but not Being . . . can be thought as having become” (II, 224).
“The thinking of Nothing is self-contradictory thinking. He who
thinks Nothing just does not think . . . hence it can be thought only by
being made into Something. Thus at the same moment when it is
thought, it is not thought, for I always think the opposite of Nothing”
(ibid.).
“Nothing is the limit of reason . . . which reason posits for itself”
(II, 226).
“Nothing is just Nothing, — hence also Nothing for thinking; Noth¬
ing further can be said about it; for Nothing refutes itself. Only imag¬
ination turns Nothing into a substantive.” “Admitting that it occurs . . .
in our thought, does it therefore belong in our logic? Even ghosts occur
in our thought” (II, 229, 227). Feuerbach’s critique lives in and by He¬
gelian thought. There is hardly anything in it that has not been said by
Hegel himself. But all Hegel’s statements are changed in their meaning;
they cease to be links in a dialectical movement that advances into the
ground of Being and allows whatever may issue from it; rather, they
become a game under Hegel’s direction but as such denatured, merely
a clever game of constant self-sublation, its stake not speculative under¬
standing but the banality of finite existence and being-there, of an intellect
which grasps only finitudes. Nothing remains of Hegelian speculative
experience except that its dicta are used for defiant banality. It is from
this remaining trace, reflected in the emptying and twisting show, that
the superficial vitality and the illusion of spirit in this childish game
arise.
Such objections make us see more clearly what Hegel means and
what he does, but also about what perhaps he remains in the dark,
carried away by the conviction that in universal dialectic he is bringing
to mind absolute knowledge. We shall now try to explain what this
dialectic is.
13 Ludwig Feuerbach, “Zur Kritik der Hegel’schen Philosophic” (1839), in Samtliche Wer\e, ed.
by W. Bolin and F. Jodi, II, 185-232. Stuttgart, Frommann, 1903-
II. ANALYSIS OF THE DIALECTIC
Introduction
We want to bring to awareness, in di methodical manner, what is done

in dialectical thinking. This procedure of analyzing dialectics is not itself
dialectical.
Hegel would reject this procedure. Not being itself dialectical, it
cannot understand the dialectic. It amounts to prattle from the outside
that fails to reach the heart of the matter. In other words, it is reflection
that is arbitrary, multifarious, unproductive, and endless. Dialectic can
be grasped only with dialectic through dialectic. We have to move within
it—only then do we move within truth. Standing outside it, we stand
also outside truth. But Hegel himself carries out reflections, not only in
order to reject false ones but also to further the understanding of the
meaning of dialectic. Insofar as Hegel would like to persuade us (at
times even by wielding his authority) to entrust ourselves to the course
of the dialectic as he presents it, we may confront him with the Hegelian
dictum: Everyone has the right to demand that what is true be present
to himself. On the other hand, insofar as Hegel engages in reflection
whereby he indicates from the outside what he does in his thinking, one
may be able to follow him and proceed on this road.
We must ask whether we might be able to carry the dialectical
movements out ourselves and to analyze them on the basis of our own
dialectical experience. Through intuition gained by carrying out the
movements, and with the aid of the intellect we would then regard what
we ourselves are acquainted with and examine its claim of having arrived
at authentic truth—beyond intuition and beyond intellect.
What has precedence? Is it the dialectic, which purports to embrace
and include everything and to grasp the truth completely? Or a mode
of thinking that renounces such absoluteness, that uses every way of
convincing oneself, of thinking for oneself, of evidence, of making critical
distinctions—a criticism that inexorably transcends all that is thinkingly
done and said, and is able to question each claimed absolute since it is
something occurring merely in the world of thought? Do we perhaps
want to regard and judge the higher position from the lower? Or bring
experience of a higher plane to our consciousness on our lower level?
Or, with the limited nature of our intellect, grasp what outstrips the
intellect? Not at all. Instead, we want to avoid taking the experience of
thinking on the plane of speculation for absolute knowledge.
Methodical awareness consists of sovereignty in thinking, keeping it
open, exposing it to ever new pitfalls and new assurances, which alone
HEGEL 259
guarantees the mastery of my thoughts and keeps me from being enslaved

by a form of thinking, an absolute asserted in thinking, a mode of the
movement of thought.
Here we reach a crossroads of thinking where through an existential
decision/ a' choice is made in the light of insight into philosophical logic.
By relinquishing historic Existenz in which the individual assures
himself, we choose the objective and at the same time absolute road of
a dialectic that soon exerts its tyranny by means of specific and divergent
schematizations. Or, in a decision originating in non-universal Existenz,
dialectical experiences that can actually be carried out are affirmed and
brought to the open world of thought in which Existenz becomes possible,
and are joined to all other thought-experiences, which in their totality
do not shape themselves into a whole, a system.
Thinking that imparts itself in a universally comprehensible manner
moves within the dichotomy of subject and object, that is, thinking refers
to objects jointly. This does not call into question the thinking that—
reaching beyond the subject-object dichotomy—aims at moving in the
unity of thought and being; but it can always be challenged when,
expressed in the form of communicable knowledge, it makes absolute
claims because of this form. Such thinking—the specifically philosophical
attempt to assure ourselves speculatively on the mystical foundation (the
unio of thought and Being) of the deepest truth attainable to us and to
secure communicability for it—is credible only in the operation of
thought whose articulation it is, or through its translation into practical
life, where what it is and its actual meaning first become manifest.
The great choice is not that between utterable opinions and modes
of thinking, but in this: The unconditional nature of Existenz (the
actuality of man knowing himself as given to himself as gift through
transcendence and existing in relation to transcendence) cannot be at¬
tained by way of meditative, contemplative thinking, but only in exis¬
tential decision and its repetition. However, what happens in meditative
thinking and also in dialectical thinking is not, as in scientific cognition,
unchallengeable by the universal validity of its material content. Rather,
it is binding through the Existenz that lives in it, finds its meaning there,
and testifies to it through both thinking and doing.
The basic attitude is: Having operated within all methods and lived
within them in thinking awareness, we face them again from the sov¬
ereignty of our possible Existenz. Existenz will not allow subjugation to
a specific form of thinking, to identification with a specific form of
thinking. It refuses to tolerate imprisonment in thinking that pretends
to be absolute. It throws off the net of objectivities pretending to have
transcended the subject-object dichotomy. This sovereignty of Existenz

is not arbitrary, since it yields to every manner of evidence. But it sees
that none commands the character of absolute knowledge. Out of this
sovereignty every manner of testing is put into action. This sovereignty
teaches us to set limits and to set free. It opposes the self-certainty of
knowing-it-all, the arrogance of believing ,that we exist in the state of
truth, the delusions of possessing truth.
Our criticism of dialectics is twofold. First, we have to make an
analysis of the dialectical methods with regard to their truth content,
and be willing to appropriate them. We have to pursue each particular
dialectic to the origin of its evidence experienced in carrying it out, to
try to test the dialectic from below, as it were, in its particular config¬
urations, and not to judge it first from above, in its entirety. Thus we
gain the means of recognizing the difference between what is plausible
and what is absurd. We can appropriate the truths without losing our¬
selves in the current of the repugnant, obscure, and dictatorial.
Second, our critique is aimed at the untruth in the universalization
and absolutization of the dialectic. It is an aspect grounded on the untruth
of the Hegelian system, which, paradoxically, still appeals to us as irre¬
placeable in its greatness, through an abundance of truth.
A. The answer to the question: what is?
If I ask, What is Being? I want to know what it is. Hegel supplies the
answer. Being has opened itself to him completely in thinking the truth,
but has done so in a manner alien to everyday thinking. The true can
be grasped almost nowhere, or everywhere. Nowhere, because it is in
no thing, in no object, in nothing determinately known; everywhere,
because it is in motion. The true does not lie in a statement, in which
it would be firmly embedded. The true is the whole, in which the
movement completes itself.
1) Wherever I take hold, that which I know as Being turns out to
be something it is not. It is—not authentically, not absolutely—but in
a vanishing configuration.
That which authentically is, is not in the sense of a thing. It is not
a fixed, self-enclosed object. These objects are merely in transition. They
come on the scene and melt away, they art here and are sublated in the
movement of truth, which preserves in itself everything it traverses, thus
steadily becoming richer.
2) Being is knowing and being-known. What would that be which
is known by no one and cannot be known? It would be as nothing. If
HEGEL 261
we try to think it, then, ineluctably, it immediately becomes something

that is thought, something that exists for a subject who thinks it or can
think it. It is a Being-in-itself, which only is by becoming an object for
a subject. Whatever is in itself is this at the same time for an other.
A Being which knows nothing of itself and about which no one can
know is unthinkable.
3) Hence the point of departure of all assurance is something that
is not merely a thing. Instead:
Being is that which refers to itself, as in self-consciousness. I know
myself, am one and double, the knower and the known (expressed in a
subjectifying manner).
Being is that which from the start either has an other outside itself
or divides itself in itself. Whatever I think is one and other, differentiated
from the other and at the same time related to it (expressed in an
objectifying way).
4) Hence, if I want to know, I must move in my thinking, objectively
from the one to the other, subjectively from me as the knower to me as
the known. The two are not inflexible relations but merely forms in
which the movement is continued. The movement always needs a fixed
point; yet every fixed point is left behind.
Truth consists in moving on. I am driven out of rigidities, whether
of opinions or of things. Nothing, it turns out, is solid. Something
overturns them, from the outside or the inside. In the dialectic they
overturn themselves, they change. The firm opinion goes into a tailspin
as it no longer understands itself.
5) Where does the movement goP It either continues into endlessness
or it returns into itself. There it loses its ground, here it completes itself.
There it is endless, here it is unending. Hegel calls it unending because
it has no limit, that is, it is closed in a circle. The unending, not endless
movement knows itself and has an overall view of itself. In this way it
is at home in the whole, in Being itself.
Expressed in an objectifying way, this means the whole is a circle of
circles. The dialectical circlings enclosed each other until the one all-
embracing circle is reached and all knowledge is enclosed in the system
of the whole.
Expressed in a subjectifying way, it means Being is reached when,
in knowing, I know the other as I myself, when I am with myself in
the other. Consciousness is no longer in opposition to what it knows, is
no longer alienated. It has sublated its subject-object dichotomy and has
reached unity.
No matter whether expressed in an objectifying or a subjectifying
manner, I move—or what is thought moves—in circles whose unre¬

mitting motion, as a whole, is complete stillness (the old mystical simile).
“The true is thus the Bacchanalian revel in which no member is not
drunk; yet because each member fades away as it passes out, the revel
is just as much transparent and simple stillness” (2, 36-37; Phan., 31;
Mi, U47).
B. The dialectic universalized and absolutized
In his understanding, Hegel achieves this completeness because the di¬

alectical movement is the only all-embracing movement of Being that
is present everywhere, recurring in the greatest and the whole as in the
smallest, repeating itself in infinite reflections of its basic logical forms
through everything that is.
We, who want to understand Hegel, visualize the dialectic as we
carry out concretely each particular one. In this way we come to un¬
derstand this universalization into a single all-penetrating dialectic as
the formalization into an abstract movement of thought in which one
time this, another time that dialectic, differing in origin, reverberates, a
difference, however, that becomes insignificant in pure abstraction.
In Hegel this is quite different. For him, the one dialectic in the
ground of all Being is such a manifest actuality and so much the actuality
of all Being that he apprehends and comprehends, that is, gathers the
particular dialectic from that ground and into the one whole. This is
what makes Hegel, as one studies him, so impressive: his implicit faith
in the all-comprehending dialectical discourse, his consciousness of stand¬
ing within truth itself, his ever-renewed profound emotion before a
manifestation that retains no mystery. Here language becomes a totally
conciliatory, blissful meditative intuition of that which is, of the Deity,
of absolute Spirit, of Reason, of the Concept (or whatever words we
choose from among the many which in Hegel intend the same thing
they bring before the eyes, or, rather, into the thought of absolute knowl¬
edge in a variety of forms).
Requisite for the understanding of Hegel is at least the attempt to
reach this basic intuition; the inability to make it one’s own is the basis
for criticism of Hegel.
What are the fundamental characteristics of the one universal
dialectic?
1) The dialectical movement of all that is proceeds from the matter itself.
It is the “concept’s own life” (2, 41; Phan., 35) and is not caused by an
external impulse.
HEGEL 263
In the movement of our philosophical thinking, the movement of

being-thinking is reiterated. It is not we who carry out our reflections
in essential cognition; instead, concepts “examine themselves” (6, 87;
Enc., U41, Z, 1).
Dialectic, therefore, is the same whether in the operation of our
thinking, in the objective prerequisites of what is thinkable, or in the
real action itself.
What I think takes place not only in me as “rethinking,” but also in
thinking as such; in concepts as pure concepts in logic (which therefore
is at the same time “metaphysics” in Hegel’s sense, God’s thinking prior
to creation), thus in nature as the being-asunder in space and time, thus
in the process of the spirit. This spirit is to be understood as the real
happenings in man, from his inner life to the objective spirit of history
throughout the ages, up to absolute spirit, which in its eternity comprises
all time and all actuality, and which is transparently manifest in the
absolute knowledge of philosophy, according to the mode of its pres¬
entness, in the intuition of art and the representation of religion.
In philosophizing dialectically I am only an observer; as I see all-
inclusively what happens everywhere I allow my contingent subjectivity
to vanish. There is nothing that is not dialectical. And there is no
comprehending that does not rethink this dialectic.
Dialectic is the form that breaks open everything and brings it to
light. It is the contemplative knowledge of philosophy, but what is known
is the active movement of Being itself in all its spheres.
2) The movement of the dialectic occurs through a single factor, the
negativity that lies at the bottom of things.
Negativity (being-other, contrast, contradiction—differentiating, op¬
posing, thinking the contradiction)—this infinite power of the intellect
—is the goad that drives us on. Negating creates movement.
What is negativity? Let us bring to mind its multiple meaning.
a) If I think Something, I must right away think the Other. Some¬
thing is only if there is the Other. In fact, for the understanding, that
which it searches for at every moment does not exist at all. There is no
Being which, standing still, as it were, is this and only this and everything.
Through its determinacy it has excluded the Other. This Other, however,
brings itself into play. Hence no matter what I think according to my
understanding (that is, fixed and self-same), I am by the nature of the
thing driven onward to the Other. No matter what I would like to turn
into something fixed and final: As such it slips out of my grasp as I am
carried to the Other.
b) I am only in confronting the Other: the thing, the alien self,
myself. Being is in division. The basic attribute of Being in existence is

that it is split. I am only when objects are for me, and objects are only
when I am a subject as such.
Where I take hold of truth I must
%
take hold of the whole, the other
and myself, and both in the movement in which they separate and find
each other.
However, the understanding specifically makes what it takes hold
of into objects. Then the insoluble ontological question arises as to how
the object gets to the subject. But things are a mode of Being which
cannot be thought only in itself but only together with the one for whom
they are things. Being is not something enduring, but something that is
moved through splitting; it is divided and at the same time “Being in
itself,” “Being for the other,” “Being in and for itself.”
c) Being-other, confronting each other in division, and also contra¬
diction, opposition, mutually repelling forces, polarity, mere difference
—all these Hegel subsumes under the all-embracing concept of nega¬
tivity.
d) The real objection to Hegel’s dialectic usually concerns the way
in which he accepts contradiction. He explicitly comes out against the
principle “that contradiction cannot be thought; as a matter of fact . . .
the thinking of contradiction is the essential aspect of the concept. Formal
thought too thinks it in actuality but looks away from it immediately”
(5> 342)-
e) In Hegel’s dialectic negativity has not only a negating meaning
but also one that propels the new Yes. The negative sublates what has
been grasped by it, but in a threefold sense: It destroys it; it preserves
it; it raises it to a higher plane. That which preserves and drives upward
is “what is most important in rational cognition”; “to preserve in the
result the positive in its negative, the content of the presupposition” (5,
340).
The negative is false as the merely negative, “which does not catch
sight of the positive in itself’ (2, 47; Phan., 40). Thus the absolute freedom
of the French Revolution is the point of departure for the terror in which
the negation becomes “the meaningless death, the pure terror of the
negative which harbors nothing positive, nothing fulfilling” (2, 449;
Phan., 386).
3) Immediacy and mediation: Being is Immediate; I am immediate in
my murky torpor, am not actuality but possibility. Only negation awak¬
ens, by creating movement.
Examples: According to Hegel’s dialectic of master and servant I am
actual for myself as self-being only when I have risked my life and have
HEGEL 265
experienced and assimilated total upheaval. For only then do I possess

myself (a possession that eludes me if all I have is fear, a fairly easy
escape followed by forgetting). Or: a friendship is not handed to me like
a gift. Authentic friendship is the fruit of struggle with the inherent risk
of a break, a break overcome only in loving struggle.
In abstract form: Negativity is the wellspring of authentic Being,
which is nowhere immediately, and becomes positive only as the negation
of negation, as the overcoming of negativity in positivity. This is true
for Being in every sense, for thinking, for the unfolding of Existenz.
Immediacy is sublated through negativity and through this mediation
is raised to a new, higher immediacy to which the same happens in turn.
In Hegel the immediate is everywhere; it is as manifold as negativity.
It is not yet actual, not yet true, because it is still in progress. Hence it
is subjected to the dialectical process in order to come to itself. But in
that which has thus come to be there is a new immediacy.
The beginning, the immediate only, seems to be clear, but it turns
out that this is really not so, that it is not yet what it will become. The
immediate does not endure, but is the origin that develops through
negativity.
The immediate cannot maintain itself. The dialectic comes upon it,
from outside or from inside.
Hence Hegel sees the actuality in all Being as “the seriousness, the
suffering, the patience, and the labor of the negative” (2, 15; Phan., 13);
he sees everywhere the being-other, the alienation—-and the overcoming
of this alienation. The life of the spirit “wins its truth only when in utter
dismemberment it finds itself; it is this power only by looking the negative
in the eye, by abiding with it. This abiding is the magical power that
converts it into Being” (2, 26; Phan., 22; Mi, H32).
4) The thinking of the understanding, by fixating and thus separating
and negating, is the aspect of the dialectic itself that is indispensable to
gaining the determinacy and clarity in which the strides, steps, and turns
of the dialectic are to be executed.
Thus Hegel does not reject rational thinking in favor of a dialectical
reason that would not need it. (In general, Hegel’s thinking cannot be
determined so easily by an alternative, for, according to the meaning of
the dialectic, every alternative is taken up into the whole of this philos¬
ophy.) The understanding is the determinative and thus the negating
aspect; hence, to be sure, it is overcome through the negation of its
negation, but is at the same time also preserved. Therefore Hegel speaks
of the “strength and labor of the understanding as the most wondrous
and greatest or rather the absolute power.” It is “the tremendous power
of the negative . . . the energy of thought” (2, 25, 26; Phan., 22). “Death
... is of all things the most dreadful and to hold fast to what is dead
requires the greatest strength. Lacking strength, beauty hates the un¬
derstanding for asking from her what she cannot do. But the life of the
Spirit is not the life that shrinks from death and keeps itself untouched
by devastation but rather the life that endures it and maintains itself in
it” (2, 26; Phan., 22; Mi, H32).
The activity of the understanding is compared here to the devastation
of death. The inner action of Existenz influences the spiritual activity
of observing dialectically, lends it weight but also allows it to become
ambiguous. In any case, what is decisive for Hegel’s philosophy is the
following: It is not mysticism, not edifying talk, not whispering, sug¬
gesting, limiting, but, rather, what he calls “the exertion of the concept”
(2, 46; Phan., 39). The understanding serves dialectical speculation as a
means in every one of its movements. No dialectic without understand¬
ing! Yet the dialectic cannot be comprehended by means of the under¬
standing that serves it. It is “mysticism for the understanding” (6, 59;
Enc., H82, Z).
5) What the understanding contrasts (negative dialectically) is linked
together by reason (positive dialectically). The static concept of the un¬
derstanding, which is used in every proposition, is taken up into the
concept of reason only in the sequence of propositions, where it manifests
itself in its wholeness.
Being is torn apart just as much by negativity as bound into oneness
and wholeness. The struggle of separation is followed by reconciliation in
wholeness. Negativity drives forward the movement, which in the end
is completed in the reconciliation of all opposites.
At bottom and as a whole, Being is separation and return to itself.
Negativity is the suffering of existence, and this suffering is the foun¬
tainhead of actualized Being.
Hegel knows no limit in the development of sufferings through all
their configurations up to the “speculative Good Friday.” “God ... is
dead” (1, 157). This proposition denotes the most extreme negativity,
which immediately turns around dialectically into “God is risen.” Each
suffering seemingly fated to end in despair soon finds its way to return:
it was merely the dialectical negative movement. Reconciliation is the
encircling bond of the whole. Thus, in studying Hegel’s philosophy,
which penetrates into all abysses and seems to risk the ultimate, the
reader remains unperturbed; in the end everything is in order, secure
and positive.
In other words, the dialectic is not carried into infinity. Just as each
HEGEL 267
individual dialectic is determined by the whole that precedes it and is

its goal, so the entire, massive, almost incalculable dialectic of these
particular dialectic wholenesses is in turn bound or forced into the One
that is no longer subject to the dialectic but embraces all dialectic, in
which it unfolds and reveals itself.
The progress of the dialectic is not linear, but circular. The whole is
a circle of circles of circles. . . .
6) The schematism of dialectical operations: Since the dialectic becomes
a method by means of the movement of understanding—a method that,
however, goes beyond the understanding it makes use of—it finds itself
in an ambiguous situation: It can succeed only if it proceeds freely and
creatively in every instance. But as a method it is used as a plan to
discover and as a means to invent, in the same way an operational formula
is used.
Seemingly it then becomes easy to follow the instructions for the
philosophical thought process, as, perhaps: posit, posit the opposite, seek
the synthesis for thesis and antithesis. Or: consider the whole, dismember
it into opposites out of whose movement the originally regarded whole
then presents itself as composed, determined, as movement within itself.
Hegel turns against such schematization of the dialectic, against such
formalism of method.
a) As early as his preface to Phenomenology, Hegel rejects the pro¬
cedure of “triplicity” as being “shallow mischief” (2, 38-39; Phan., 33;
also Logic, 5, 344). For it makes use of the schema for an “external
ordering” and applies it “without a concept or immanent determination.”
That is easily done. But what is important is to allow the dialectic to
proceed anew in each instance out of the matter itself, freely to stick to
the matter itself in our thinking, to have it present in ourselves, and to
be illuminated by it. Such fulfilled thinking is not an applicable method
or a technique to be replicated. It requires at every moment guidance
from the absolute.
For this reason Hegel rejects the term “construction” for dialectical
drafts that Schelling had used (5, 344). To him, they do not appear as
operational constructs, but as the reflections of pure observation. Con¬
struction would be contrivance. Absolute method is a matter of discovery,
conducted in pure dedication, by way of the exertion of the concept.
Without intuition into the true presence of a particular idea of the
whole, all that can be achieved is external ordering in the manner of
triadic tables, without there being any intrinsic insight. Rosenkranz14
14 Karl Rosenkranz (1805-1879) was a German Hegelian philosopher who interpreted Hegel in
a somewhat liberal, semi-Kantian manner.
spoke of “innocent triads,” which are empty. A dialectic that runs on

wheels, as it were, and rides over everything without actually looking
at it, reaches nothing and brings no insight.
b) Connected to the schematism 4s the tendency to turn the dialectic
itself into an object knowable through the understanding. The thrust in
that direction is implicit in the wording, which, through the use of “is,”
lays claim to “Being.” Truth “is just as much immediacy as mediation;
but propositional forms such as: the third is immediacy and mediation;
or: it is their unity, are not capable of grasping it, since it is not a third
at rest but is precisely this unity that is a movement and activity that
mediates itself with itself” (5, 345).
c) Hegel does not even maintain absolutely the schema of triplicity.
Here the number carries no weight. “Instead of the triplicity the abstract
form can be taken as a quadruplicity” (5, 344). Then the road proceeds
from a wholeness that is divided into an opposition; the return to the
whole takes place by way of this opposition. It is the road from the
undeveloped germ to a totality articulated within itself. Quadruplicity
arises when the negative or the difference is counted as a duality.
The reader of Hegel still needs a knowledge of the schematisms.
Only in this way does he recognize them, does he avoid falling under
their spell, and sticks to asking in each instance about the concrete matter.
By applying the schema he has not as yet taken hold of the matter, but
reaches it only via discovering the content of each wholeness, which
explicates itself to him dialectically in a unique way. Only the openness
in the original life of the original allows the operation to succeed—
otherwise it is a mere mechanism of the circular motion of thinking.
Insofar as they are supposed to be variations of the same thing as
the dialectical turns that obliterate particularity, the multivocal triads
confuse. They can cast a spell provided they bring about a consciousness
of this sameness residing in the core of everything. Let me enumerate
a few comprehensive triads according to their groupings:
Thesis, antithesis, synthesis—position, negation, negation of ne¬
gation.
Immediacy (in itself), mediation (for itself), new immediacy (in and
for itself).
Position, contradiction (opposition), concrete unity of opposites—
abstract, reflected, concrete—Being, reflection, totality.
Abstracting understanding, reflecting understanding, speculative
reason.
Substance, subject, substance-become-subject—objectivity, subjectiv¬
ity, the absolute—the object, the subject-object-dichotomy, the identity
HEGEL 269
of subject and object—object, subject, object-subject—to the outside, to

the inside (reflection), identity of the outer and the inner.
Universality, particularity, individuality—concrete objectivity, indi¬
viduality, penetration of concrete objectivity and individuality (the matter
itself)., *
Unconsciousness, consciousness, self-consciousness—sensibility, un¬
derstanding, reason.
Reason (in itself), nature (being-other), spirit (being-in-and-for-
itself).
Dogmatism, skepticism, dialectic—metaphysics, critical philosophy,
speculative philosophy.
C. Thinking and cognizing in Hegel
Through all great philosophy there runs the question regarding the
thinking that unlocks the truth, allows it to show itself and to become
manifest. Such thinking is not the everyday thinking of the understand¬
ing, which grasps, ad infinitum, things as static and which, in practical
life, has specific goals in the world. For this reason a doctrine of a ladder
of levels in our way of thinking runs, in variations, through the history
of philosophy.
In Hegel the highest level of thinking—which preserves, at the same
time, all the lower ones in itself but out of which it cannot be compre¬
hended itself—is the dialectic as the absolute method or absolute
knowing.
1. The ladder of the “Phenomenology ”
Absolute knowing in absolute method does not come about merely on

its own.
Consciousness thinks something, its object. But the object contradicts
consciousness and itself. The experience of not being-in-agreement-with-
oneself drives the movement of consciousness forward into the dichotomy
of consciousness and object (of subject and object) until it reaches the
point where subject and object coincide, and thought and Being, no
longer contradicting each other, are the same. Here thinking is with
itself in pure transparency without any separation of subject and object.
True to his intention, Hegel carried out the movement through all
configurations of consciousness in his Phenomenology of Spirit and thus
made available the “ladder” on which we are to climb up to absolute
knowing, that is, in passing through the stages of consciousness and of
history, the configurations of the conditions of the particular individuals

and the configurations of a world.
One example of the compelling origin of the meaning of dialectical
insight is the course of consciousness.N
a) Consciousness seems to be firm and identical to itself when it
grasps its object as static and considers such knowledge to be the truth.
However, consciousness must be tested against its object, for what is
meant in the object as being-in-itself is, as it refers to knowledge, being-
for-it. “Thus in what consciousness affirms from within itself as being-
in-itself or the true, we have the standard which consciousness itself set
up by which to measure what it knows” (2, 68; Phan., 57-58; Mi, H84).
However, consciousness has this experience through an inner contra¬
diction, because what it meant turns itself around, and something
happens to it that it does not as yet comprehend. Consciousness is
transformed.
b) Hegel allows the appearance of knowledge to express itself or to
conduct itself or to act, and then he observes that no appearance of
knowledge is to be adhered to as the absolute one. Hence we must
differentiate in his texts where he lets the standpoint of the appearance
of knowledge speak, which in each instance considers itself to be final;
and where the philosopher—who already knows the whole of the move¬
ment of appearing knowledge—allows this knowledge of the movement
to come into play.
The differentiation of what consciousness does in knowledge of ap¬
pearance and of how the observing philosopher understands it poses a
twofold task for the philosopher: at first to be receptive, refraining from
changing anything in the way it presents itself, keeping comprehension
separate from reception for the time being, and then to follow up by
observing what happens in this appearing knowledge, observing its actual
movement and basing comprehension on it. Such comprehension com¬
pletes itself only in the total movement of appearing knowledge and
ultimately proceeds from appearing knowledge to absolute knowledge.
In observing the appearance of consciousness, we allow the exami¬
nation to take place as a process within itself (in the dialectical explication)
and “all that is left for us is simply to look on.” Thus it turns out that
consciousness must “alter its knowledge,” but in fact in altering the
knowledge the object itself also changes for. knowledge. The object, as
well as the criterion, undergoes change, and so does consciousness. This
course traveled by consciousness—a course meant to be followed in
thought by Hegel in Phenomenology of Spirit—he calls “experience of
consciousness.” The new object shows itself to have come about “through
HEGEL 271
a reversal of consciousness itself.” The philosophical “science” of the

succession of experiences through which consciousness passes is not
known to the consciousness that we are observing. The coming-to-be of
each new object in the succession of the configurations of consciousness
happens '“behind the back of consciousness, as it were.” The coming-to-
be of the new object presents itself to consciousness “without its knowing
how this happens.” And, further: for consciousness “what has thus come
to be exists only as an object, for us it appears at the same time as
movement and a process of becoming” (2, 69, 72, 71; Phan., 58, 60; Mi,
H85, 87).
In each of its configurations consciousness is true as a moment of
the whole but false as self-contradictory. Therefore it is driven onward,
unstoppable, through all configurations, until it finds rest in absolute
knowledge in which all semblance is cast off and “appearance becomes
identical with essence” (2, 72; Phan., 60). The progression of conscious¬
ness, brought to completion, “comprises nothing less than . . . the entire
realm of the truth of spirit” (2, 72; Phan., 60; Mi, H87).
c) The dialectic in the progression of consciousness is not at all of
one kind, but of almost indeterminably different kinds. In the examples
cited above we saw the movement of consciousness taking place: in sense-
certainty as the progress of meaning and saying what it is, in the move¬
ment of master and servant as the progression of self-consciousness.
Further, it takes place in Stoicism as experience gathered in the mode
of being sustained by the truth by which I attain satisfaction and tran¬
quillity, but which then leads to the sublation of this tranquillity; and
so on.
Hegel sees the process of spirit appearing in consciousness in the
individual person, in communal consciousness, in the configuration of a
world.
d) Hegel gained his grand insight from transformation, reversal, and
the progression of consciousness, counter to the opinion that all con¬
sciousness is the same.
However, for him this change is not an open, indeterminable, mul¬
tiply divergent process, but a single one which the philosopher now views
clearly in its completeness, up to its consummation in the moving un¬
changeableness of true knowledge. The movement of appearing knowl¬
edge completes itself up to the point where there is no more contradiction,
no more difference between knowledge and truth. This completion does
not come about by finally reaching a distinct, separate step, which con¬
summates itself as the only now true one. Rather, all the steps, without
exception, are perceived and held fast as moments of the whole. The
I’JI Creative Orderers
truth of knowledge rests in the circle that is formed by all the steps of
appearing knowledge.
Self-consummation and self-dissolution of knowledge take place at
every level; the philosopher who ha? reached a clear overview of the
whole brings to mind the event of emerging knowledge. To be sure,
each and every configuration regards itself as true, yet has to experience
that its thinking is turned around; it then either abides within itself or
is driven beyond. But only the philosopher knows the meaning through
which, and the goal toward which, and the road on which this takes
place.
e) Everywhere consciousness intends the truth, but reality does not
coincide with it. So it keeps on going, destroying and reappearing anew.
Only in completion do consciousness, truth, and actuality coincide. But
on the road to this completion the following applies: “Actuality is in
league with truth against consciousness.”
Consciousness believes itself to grasp truth in the phenomenality of
thought and so to encounter actuality. But what it experiences is
discrepancy.
There it can erupt, as it were, into skepticism and nihilism. But these,
together with their lapse into hopelessness, ultimately are only moments
of the one whole, true, and actual, and are the critical turning points of
radical negativity, which bring about what is new in consciousness, a
newness of which actuality itself makes sure.
When Hegel, in a lecture at Jena, demonstrated the course of knowl¬
edge in its appearance and dwelt repeatedly upon the reversals, thus
arriving at nihilistic turnings, a student jumped up, after an hour of this,
and exclaimed: “Now everything is destroyed.” Not at all: To be sure,
Hegel presented the negative with devastating consistency; but he did
so with the tranquillity that had been present from the start, based on
the knowledge of the whole truth, a knowledge that had never ceased.
f) Each instance of coming-to-be of the new object in a consciousness
transformed by it happens by means of a leap. All the conditions are
present under which the birth of the new can take place. The leap itself
brings about a new manifestness, or a resolve; in a crisis this leads to an
act out of the depth of our ground. The negative does not necessarily
bring about the new position for our understanding by violence; instead,
by understanding the conditions and possibilities, the new is like a gift
(as, by willing suicide, you may come to yourself with a new will to live;
or, in the despair brought about by the loss of faith and the collapse of
all objects of faith, a new faith may come into being).
It is said about this leap (a term Hegel avoids, since it would deny
HEGEL 273
the necessity of progression) that it takes place “behind the back” of

consciousness. An entirely different meaning of “behind the back” is
operative in Hegel and is nothing short of decisive for the progression
of the whole, which, without this other meaning, would elude insight
in the following way: The circumstance that novelty arises, as if by
magic, according to the “necessity of the concept”; for example, the
reality released by the logos follows the world of the logos; the organic
follows the inorganic; India follows China, and so on. This is not com¬
prehensible through an inward movement that is experienced; neither
is it a matter of the incomprehensibility of a leap that may be regarded
as possible under understood conditions; rather, it is totally incompre¬
hensible.
Whereas the movements occurring in consciousness through its ex¬
perience with itself are comprehensible to us, this mode of happening
“behind the back” strikes us as surprising, artificial, forced (grounded
metaphysically) if it is meant to arise out of the necessity of logical
concepts. On the other hand, we are able to comprehend a situational
matrix arising from consciousness but behind its back, that is, through
the unanticipated consequences of its actions and of its conduct in the
world, or, put another way, when conditions of life are changed through
what consciousness brings forth and consciousness itself changes in an
unforeseeable way.
2. The unification of subject and object
The fundamental difficulty in understanding Hegel is to grasp this think¬

ing of absolute method in absolute knowledge. Let us recall some theses
that carry the entire Hegelian philosophy:
First: Subject and object have become one in absolute knowledge.
After all, we always think as consciousness directed toward the par¬
ticular intended object. And Hegel does not deny this: Absolute knowl¬
edge is not attained by our abandoning this clarity of consciousness of
the understanding in order to move toward something beyond; instead,
it occurs in this medium through the movement that—while remaining
in this medium—transcends it in the direction of the absolute, which is
subject and object in one and in constant motion. This movement is the
“absolute method,” the “movement of the concept.”
Second: The movement of the absolute method is that of the matter
itself, in which subject and object coincide.
The method is the concept that knows itself, and that has, as its
object, “the absolute, the subjective as well as the objective” (5, 330).
The “concept that knows itself subjectively” is, at the same time, the
objective “substantiality of things.” For representation and reflection
the concepts appear as the other; in truth they are, in their movement,
the matter itself. For reflection, the method is universal and applicable
to everything. In its idea and actuality it is the particular method of each
matter itself.” The concept corresponds to its reality “as an existence
which it, the concept, itself is” (ibid.)
The method of the movement of the concept can be called the form
in which all content lies. This form is “the soul of all objectivity”; “all
otherwise determined content” has its actuality “only in the form” (5,
329).
Third: The infinite power of the method.
The movement of the concept, the method, is “the unrestrictedly
universal, inner and outer mode” of “absolute activity,” which has the
“simple infinite power against which no object could put up any resis¬
tance.” The method is “therefore the highest power, or, rather, the only
and absolute power of reason—not only, but also—its highest and only
impulse to find and to recognize itself through itself in everything” (5,
330-31)-
3. Character of the absolute method
In speculative philosophizing, we are, in the execution of the absolute

method, with the absolute itself. Hence Hegel calls the thinking of logic
“divine service.” All of philosophy is the thinking of the reflection of
God’s primal thoughts and their activity in nature and spirit. “Everything
else is error, murkiness, opinion, striving, arbitrariness and transitoriness;
the absolute idea alone is Being, imperishable life, truth that knows itself,
and is all of truth” (5, 328).
Therefore Hegel says that “everything must begin with the absolute,
just as all progress is merely its representation insofar as what is in-itself
is the concept” (5, 334).
4. Resistance to mathematics
The absolute method cannot be attained, substantiated, or understood

from any lower one. Only from the absolute standpoint do relative
methods, methods of cognition of the finite, reveal themselves in their
meaning. Hegel senses only one science as threatening to philosophy.
Starting with Pythagoras and Plato, mathematics occupies a position of
superiority, in itself as well as in being a gateway to philosophy. Hegel
HEGEL 275
opposes this view with something approaching hate and bitterness in his
remarks:
"The essential point of view is that it is altogether a matter of a new
concept of scientific treatment. Philosophy, insofar as it is purported to
be a science, cannot ... for this purpose borrow its method from a
subordinate science such as mathematics; neither can it leave it at cat¬
egorical assurances of inner intuition” (3, 6-7).
It cannot be said that Hegel was ignorant of mathematics. As is
shown by his detailed exposition of mathematical problems, his knowl¬
edge is by no means negligible. But number as such “is the pure thought
of one’s own renunciation of thought,” “the abstract thought of super¬
ficiality itself”; thinking finds itself here “in the violent activity of moving
within thoughtlessness” (3, 246).
The numerical unit is “the totally inactive, lifeless and indifferent
determinateness in which all movement and relation is extinguished,
and which has broken off the bridge leading to living existence” (2, 215;
Phan., 189).
5. What is meant by proof
Hegel’s proving goes by way of the dialectical development. Proving “in

philosophy means the same as showing how the object—through and
out of itself—turns itself into that which it is” (6, 161; Enc., H83, Z).
a) Proof in the finite sciences and in mathematics “falls outside the
statement that is supposed to be the truth” (15, 402). In mathematics
“the mode of cognition remains external to its subject matter” (2, 33;
Phan., 28; Mi, ^48). So it is too in the kind of philosophy that appropriates
this manner of proving and states its theses on such grounds. “To be
sure, it is proved and one has to be convinced, but the subject matter is
still uncomprehended. There is a rigid necessity of proof which lacks
the aspect of self-consciousness” (as does the inadequate method of Spi¬
noza) (15, 402).
Hegel therefore complains: . . once the dialectic has been separated
from proof, the concept of philosophic demonstration has been lost” (2,
52; Phan., 44; Mi, U65).
b) The true proof to which Hegel lays claim for his cognition is the
one out of the wholeness, within which each insight follows through the
movement of the matter itself. Hence the truth cannot be contained in
any thesis. The “thesis, in the form of a judgment, is not suited for
. . . expressing speculative truths.” Truth is “only as a Becoming” (3, 89,
193)-
“The true is the whole. But the whole is the essence consummating
itself through nothing other than its development. Of the absolute it
must be said that it is essentially a result, that only in the end is it what
it truly is; that precisely in this consists its nature of being actual, or
subject, or becoming itself’ (2, 16; Phan., 14; cf. Mi, H20).
c) The proof lies in coherence, in necessary coherence. In philosophy
this coherence is, first of all, not an external but an internal one, and,
second, one that is completed and proved only in the absolute whole.
Speculative thinking is not scientific inquiry; it is not experimental
getting-to-the-bottom-of-things, not methodical approach to dealing with
worldly things. Rather, it means surrendering to the matter into whose
innermost depth we enter.
Whatever is discovered, whatever is intuited in light of the matter,
whatever becomes clear as meaning, in terse formulation-—none of these,
nothing is valid for Hegel in isolation, out of its separate self, as a clever
aphorism; only in its coherence is it valid for him, and the latter only
in the completion of the whole. What Hegel calls “science” is thinking
the coherence systematically.
On this point two things need to be said:
First: The claim that something is true only at its place within a
totality and can be understood solely in this context reveals insight. It
expresses that which, counter to the dissipation of current opinions and
sudden inspirations, points to the ground without which everything turns
into mere prattle.
Second: This coherence is not open-ended and to be sought unto
infinity, as it is in the Kantian idea, while effectively providing guidance
to movement and exercising control over random meanings. Rather, the
coherence is completely present in the system. Hence everything that
happens in it is “proved” through the preceding dialectical movement,
and for the purpose of conclusive proof requires the presentness of the
whole system, which, self-encircled, has neither beginning nor end.
Thus it says at the end of Logic: “It is too late to ask for proof that
the idea is the truth; the proof of that is contained in the whole exposition
and development of thought up to this point. The idea is the result of
this course of dialectic. ... It is ... its own result and, being so, is no
less immediate than mediated” (6, 387; Enc., I213, Z; W, §213).
d) The proofs for the existence of Gqd are a special example of
philosophical demonstration. In the way Hegel shows them to be true,
they have the significance “that they should contain the ascent of man’s
spirit to God, and express, for thought, how the ascent is an ascent of
thinking, moreover to the realm of thought.” This ascent is “essentially
HEGEL 277
founded on the nature of our spirit and is necessary to it. It is this

necessity that we are confronting in this ascent, and the characterization
of that very necessity is nothing other than what we ordinarily call proof.”
The ascent is not “provable from outside; it proves itself out of itself
... it is necessary for itself; we merely need to observe its own process”
(12, 300-01).
“The method of proof employed in finite cognition displays altogether
the perverse position of requiring some objective ground for God’s being,
which would make it appear as mediated by something else. This mode
of proof ... is embarrassed by the difficulty of passing from the finite
to the infinite” (6, 73-74; Enc., H36).
6. Resistance to reflections
In the true dialectic, what goes on is the progression of the matter itself.
This progression should not be interfered with. Hence the demand “to
let go of specific opinions and presuppositions and to let the matter
prevail in itself.”
But when it proceeds in this manner, Hegel himself often inserted
reflections about it. Such reflections can serve “to facilitate the overview
and thereby the understanding.” The disadvantage is “to look like un¬
justified assertions, reasons and bases for what follows. Hence one should
not take them to be more than what they are meant to be, and should
differentiate them from that which is a moment in the progression of
the matter itself” (3, 114).
But we are to resist reflections arising out of finite understanding
devoid of any intuition of the whole that dialectical movement comprises
in regard to the theses it incorporates. These are inexhaustible. Their
endlessness would have to be countered by an endless refutation, which,
however, by means of the repeated attempts to raise reflection, would
have no other result than progressing from mere understanding to di¬
alectical reason.
Totally to be rejected is the demand—inherent in the understanding’s
reflection—for conformity to its conceptual mode. This conceptuality
“belongs ... to the bad manners of reflection, which looks for concep¬
tualization but simultaneously presupposes its static categories, thus
knowing itself forearmed against the answer to what it looks for.” In
this way, for example, reflection provides the “presupposition of the
absolute separation of Being from Nothing.” Becoming, then, turns into
something incomprehensible for reflection, since it has been superseded
by this presupposition. But then again this Becoming, and “this contra-
diction which one posits oneself and whose solution one makes impos¬
sible, is called the incomprehensible” (3, 96, 107).
The understanding, which is always the indispensable means for the
dialectic movement, cannot itself comprehend the dialectic. Hence Hegel
calls it “mysticism for the understanding.”
7. Attempt to understand the dialectic

through differentiating between two logics
Logic examines the forms of thinkability as empty forms that are the
conditions for the correctness of all cognition but are not the basis of
the content of cognition.
Another logic sees, in the forms of thinking, the content itself and
the truth of Being.
Lask called the first logic the analytic logic, because it allows concepts
to emerge, according to their content, out of their abstraction from
experience; the second logic he called emanatistic, because it lets the
content of cognition flow forth, as it were, from the concept.15
For analytic logic the concept having the widest perimeter is the
emptiest; it is the concept of a universal. For emanatistic logic the concept
with the widest perimeter is, to be sure, at first devoid of content, but
it shelters the entire fullness of content that emerges from the concept
through its self-movement; the concept is not the concept of a universal
but the concept of totality present at the beginning as a germ and at the
end in its complete development.
At first glance this differentiation seems apt. Hegel states it time and
again: By abstracting, “the finite cognition according to the understand¬
ing” produces that universal which leaves out the concrete, which it later
again takes up just as externally. “The absolute method, on the other
hand, does not behave in the manner of external reflection but extricates
the determinate from its object, since it is itself the object’s immanent
principle and soul.” For Hegel, the universal is “not merely something
abstract but . . . the concrete totality” (5, 335, 334).
Because of this alternative, the matter seems clear for a moment. It
appears that we can choose which logic to consider the true one, and
accordingly we have to reject the other. We can show this difference
historically in the permutations of the medieval opposition of nominalism
(concepts are mere names, produced by our thinking, an order of valid
relations all its own) and realism (concepts are themselves actualities).
15 Emil Lask, Fichtes Idealismus und die Geschichte. Tubingen, Leipzig, J. C. B. Mohr, 1902, 28ft.
HEGEL 279
Formal logic can be contraposed to metaphysical logic and, finally, Kant¬

ian logic to Hegelian logic. But the simple differentiation, and especially
the subsequent simple rejection of the one or the other, is inappropriate.
a) It runs counter to Hegel’s intention. For Hegel incorporates the
logic that is contraposed to his into his own as its moment. While
acknowledging the demolishing opposition as justified, he exposes it as
inadequate, as a step that becomes false when it presumes to be the
ultimate one.
b) The plenitude of meaning-relations without which Hegel’s work
would not be so astoundingly impressive might be subordinated to a
logic belonging within the logical clarifications but not justified in claim¬
ing absolute authority.
c) The very positing of the alternative presupposes a single absolute
logic. Hegel’s absolutism is opposed by another absolutism, a position
that, in its deepest ground, seems to manifest a likemindedness with
Hegel. We can choose between two logics, but in such a manner that
one is false. The choice is the fundamental act that is shifted into the
realm of theoretical knowledge; criticism is taking here the wrong turn.
It would be just as mistaken to give both logics equal status, granting
either one absolute validity, depending on the situation, and to consider
logic as a series of possibilities from which we choose according to
circumstance.
8. Hegel on the dialectic and what he actually does
Hegel’s own statements on the dialectic in his writings, though sparse,

are of great importance.
He is a “hands-on” philosopher, explaining what he does only in
passing or in context, at the appropriate place.
He does not promise what he does not also carry out.
He does not indulge in whispers, secretive hints, or portentous pre¬
sentiments, in the style of the Romantics; nowhere does he present his
cause as mysterious. He sets down, builds up, is involved, and guides
his reader to participate; he rules out what is vague as well as merely
questioning. He knows within an absolute knowledge and comprehends
this knowledge in its wholeness. Everything has become manifest. Noth¬
ing could resist the “courage of truth” (Enc., Preface to 2nd ed.).
This stance is admirable, to be sure. Hegel’s “exertion of the concept,”
his dialectical-constructive apprehension and appropriation of an im¬
measurable plenitude of concrete material knowledge, his capacity for
absorption, and his power of mastering this knowledge are unique.
But though the vagueness of Romantic intimations repels us as

weakness, as lack of clarity in the Existenz of the thinking person,
as indulging in fanciful utterances that have actually nothing to say,
though they might sense the extraordinary which ought to be said,
Hegel equally repels us with his imperious assertion of knowledge in
its all-encompassing totality, knowledge achieved by the practical labor
of thoroughgoing construction that brings meaning to appearance—a
knowledge, however, that is flawed in its deepest ground. Whispering
Romantics reach for too little; Hegel’s dictatorship, for too much.
Perhaps there is a relationship between the two. The one tends toward
the other: fanciful conjecturing prepares for the claim of setting a uni¬
versal standard; hypnotized fixation on the incomprehensible mystery
tends toward submission to the dictator; the cheap assertion of authority
of the one reflects the compelling power laboriously built up by the other.
D. The actual multiplicity of the dialectic
We have discussed two possibilities: Either the dialectic is seen as the

one universal method—in which case it seems to leave an indeterminate
universal arrived at by empty abstractions; to get lost in a tangle of
assertions of the unity of logical interrelations, comprehensible spiritual
meanings, and the real course of events, and to collapse in absurdities.
Or the dialectic is retained in the multiplicity of its concrete meaning,
and analyzed according to the specific modes of its evidence, its content,
its movement.
In this second instance the further question arises as to the reason
all this is to be called dialectic, what it all has in common. And, further,
what in this commonality (which resides in the movement through
contrariety and contradiction) are the radical differences, and whether
there is a difference within the dialectic that bursts the system open,
namely, the difference between a conciliatory conclusive dialectic and
one that remains or breaks open and leads, without conciliation, to the
limits of irreconcilable contradiction.
Perhaps Hegel did not comprehend what he was actually doing by
bringing the dialectic into the one form of universal method and absolute
knowledge, that is, when, instead of looking at particular concrete di¬
alectics, he looks at that which, according to his understanding, happens
in all dialectics. While Hegel often works out a specific dialectic, in other
instances he presents us only with dialectical phraseology instead of
concrete illuminations, and allows the great transitions of the whole to
become obscured and lost in pictorial images and parables.
HEGEL 281
Strangely enough, we do not as yet have a systematic analysis of the

modes of the dialectic or their clear differentiation; nor do we have an
elaboration of the range of each particular meaning, and of their diverse
importance for the methodical cognition of actuality.
Suffh' an analysis would exhibit the particular originality of each
meaning of dialectic in the movement of consciousness, in the com¬
prehension of biological actuality, in historical movements, in logical-
categorial relations. While all these phenomena confront us with a
dialectic, its universality precludes it from being as “explicative” as
concretely illuminating dialectic would be.
If it is to remain explicative, however, it must be only as explication
of the entirety of the absolute idea; and here we ask whether the idea
can be carried out; we ask about its intuitability and presentness. For
example, our understanding of the coexistence of things in the created
world rests on the idea of being-other, with which the logical idea is
fully compatible. Each kind of thing is one moment of the wholeness
of reality; the inorganic, life; the soul, spirit. These moments do not
produce each other; they succeed each other in thought. Hegel, however,
lets them bring each other forth dialectically in this order. Because the
logical idea realizes itself, all of its moments must also be present in
reality. Experience appears to confirm what must become dialectically
real.
Without evidence or necessity Hegel has the things that are here
“leap forth.” Hence the infinite multiplicity of accidental individuals.
Just how odd this fundamental idea is becomes evident when this “leap¬
ing forth” is called an “eruption.” Hegel juxtaposes the eruptions of skin
ailments with the eruption of stars in the heavens and the pointlike
marine phosphorescence (7a, 46offi; Enc., U341, Z). All of them are
moments of the course of the idea that surrenders itself to the accidentality
of being-other without losing itself in it. For this reason all such eruptions
are, as arbitrary multiplicities, assuredly factual but also indifferent.
In order to think along with Hegel’s dialectic we need the most acute
intellect combined with sensual, psychic, and spiritual intuitions—all
within human reach. But, additional to this the illumination of another
intuition is required, which represents the cipher of Hegelian philosophy:
that of the absolute being of the dialectic in the ground of all things.
This intuition is not easy to reach; it can occasionally be discovered as
movingly present in Hegel, though not in every Hegelian, for it is easily
lost in formalism, in the tricks of antithetical games, in the mere imitation
of Hegel’s formulations. Hegel’s cipher appears to be unique: personally
his, and not honestly repeatable by imitation.
III. CHARACTERIZATION AND CRITIQUE

OF HEGELIAN DIALECTIC
1. Once more: the positive aspect
Prior to our critical remarks let us look once more at the viewpoint of
this astounding philosophy:
The center and surrounding circle of Hegelian philosophy is the
dialectic as concretely carried out by him and comprehended in its
entirety. To achieve understanding of it, we attempt time and again to
leap into it, as it were, to share Hegel’s experience via the figures of
thought that are in motion, to vibrate along with him in and toward
the One itself, to attain the plenitude of the absolute that Hegel believed
he had grasped and recognized anew in all things, in logic, in the world,
in nature, in man and his history, and in the actuality of the philosophy
that, by understanding everything and the whole, understands itself.
We go on accompanying him in the circular movements, whose
operations nowhere permit us to come to a halt; for only in the completion
of the movement, not at its end but, rather, through it as such, when it
returns within itself in its infinite circle of circles, is the tranquillity
achieved in which the answer to all questions is given.
Hence there is no answer if we demand that it be in the form of an
intelligible unequivocal statement.
Hence in following Hegel we find ourselves in ever new circular
movements, whose whirling may confuse us, until we grasp, by way of
trial, the configuration of thought that keeps recurring within them and
in this way the great order pervading the whole.
If we understand him on his terms, we arrive at a whole that, in the
magnitude of its rich development and the inexhaustible, constantly
expanding plenitude, as well as in the detail of the individual content
of thought, always speaks the same language, out of the absolute of the
ground of all Being. All things reflect in each other the same plenitude,
which, however, becomes manifest only as individual being through the
completion of the mirroring in the infinite movement.
2. Mystification? But a grand achievement
Did Hegel, with his dialectical method as absolute, place impossible

expectations on human thinking? And did he himself fall prey to an
illusion? Do we deal here with a mystification, on a grand scale and
unintended as such, to be sure, and seductive in its sweep?
Are we faced here with the astounding situation that this thinking,
HEGEL 283
being “with the matter itself,” indeed claiming to be “the matter itself,”
knows this matter in its wholeness as the absolute, as God, and itself
thinks God’s thoughts, God’s thoughts before creation (in logic), after
creation as operative in the process (in the philosophical “real sciences”
of philosophy of nature and philosophy of spirit)?
The grandeur of the actual achievement, the attractiveness of so many
intuitions of actualities, the acuity of Hegel’s powers of thought, in all
of which a most serious contemplation of the deity can be felt, do not
readily allow us to reject this philosophy because of its disconcerting
inferences and postulates. But for the same reason they must not demand
that we surrender to them. The power of Hegel’s achievement demands
our effort to immerse ourselves in it. Only then can we experience that
which becomes apparent to us in such an effort. The study of this
philosophy, which, as a configuration of thought, belongs to the few in
the history of philosophy which are most comprehensive, remains im¬
perative. It reveals itself surprisingly rewarding by insights as well as by
eliciting opposing powers of which without Hegel we would hardly be
fully aware.
Hegel’s dialectic may repel as grandiloquent nonsense, but only if it
is regarded one-sidedly in its fallacious inferences and applications. It
keeps its attractiveness as profound insight only if its significance is
critically considered, analyzed, and resolved. To undertake this success¬
fully requires a position that is not overpowered by the dialectic itself,
but still can make use of all its true elements. Where do we find such
a position?
It cannot be a matter of a determinate “standpoint” or of the ra¬
tionality of finite intelligence. Rather, thinking has to be guided by
Existenz at one with reason.
3. Characterization of the universality of the method
When dialectic, as universal method, has become a method, then it is

—with its universal form of negativity, movement, wholeness, circle—
itself an abstraction.
In distinction from the many origin-structures, it is no longer com¬
prehensible in the sense of a content unless this abstraction becomes the
cipher of faith that looks into the dialectical movement of the absolute
itself.
No convincing reason is given by Hegel why, given the infinite
variety, the dialectic is always the same. In trying to express this sameness,
we are stuck with a formal schematism which as such is not an evident
content but gains evidentiality only through the particular fulfillment of

each specific dialectic. The evidence for this does not always exhibit
everywhere the same character that is comprehensible from the universal
schema; on the contrary, the universal schema originates in the specific
dialectic.
4. Critique of the "absolute method”
The critique of the dialectic can be directed radically only against the
“absolute method.”
a) The comparison between the reality of what is understood through
dialectic and the dialectical meaning-structure shows what in reality does
not fit the understood meaning. The same reality can also be grasped
through a different dialectical meaning-structure. This means that each
dialectical meaning-structure is a construct arrived at by an understand¬
ing that arises from the nature of intelligibility. The type of construct
can be applied to reality. Insofar as reality conforms to construct, it has
been comprehended in a specific aspect but not as a whole.
The wholenesses of the absolute dialectical method are intended as
real substances. The wholenesses of the dialectical meaning-structures
are sketches of constructive evidence which are useful as tools for grasp¬
ing reality and recognizable as reality in the sense of an individually
limited line of effectiveness.
b) Each dialectic is to be questioned as to the evidence specific to it.
If this is lacking, we recognize it to be a formal and superficial toying
with concepts.
c) The meaning of dialectic resides in its specificity in each case.
Universal or absolute dialectic is an abstraction from formal analogies.
The critical appropriation of the dialectic takes place in concrete spec¬
ificity and not in the totality.
5. Critical breakthrough by means of the method
When Hegel’s dialectic seeks its completion in the absolute knowledge

of the absolute method, the following radical objection may be raised
against it: The dialectical method must itself break in upon every total
structure of the dialectic, must sublate it and drive the dialectic further.
Hegel’s method must also close in on his system as a whole. It has to
be applied to the work itself. After all, man’s thinking and cognizing
do not come to an end with Hegel. The dialectic of history drives on
and beyond him.
HEGEL 285
The first reply to the foregoing is: In principle Hegel’s dialectic is all-
encompassing. The dialectic must overwhelm each particular dialectic
but it has no power over the completed total dialectic. Any dialectic op¬
posing Hegel’s would be absorbed in his totality and restricted from
letting this totality become again a moment of something more compre¬
hensive. From this angle we are justified in saying that Hegel anticipated
the Marxist dialectic of the labor process, located in a few paragraphs
of his Philosophy of Right—in the dialectic of bourgeois society. In the
same way we are justified in saying that Kierkegaard’s concept of Ex-
istenz is anticipated in a few passages of Hegel’s Aesthetics—in the
Romantic Spirit. Admittedly, in neither instance has the meaning of
Marx or Kierkegaard been captured, much less developed. But seen from
the Hegelian perspective, its anticipated incorporation might be claimed
by means of seemingly identical concepts. Hegel’s breadth is extraor¬
dinary and is of a sort that, if one remains within it, can be broadened
even further.
But if the dialectic as a whole cannot be overcome by dialectic, it
can still be penetrated by something that itself is undialectical (or is
something that forces itself upon us in a dialectic that leaves things open
and does not arrive at synthesis, at reconciliation): first, by true scientific
knowledge and research, going forward into infinity; second, by exis¬
tential decision in historicity; third, by the “place” of being-human as
an indeterminable place within the indeterminable whole. Man has no
overview of the whole; rather, by going forward into incalculable dis¬
tances, he penetrates it. He does not know what he himself truly is but
goes forward in his decision to his unforeseeable, incalculable actuali¬
zation.
6. The presupposition: faith in the whole and in the method
Hegelian dialectic presupposes the “whole” through which the movement

takes place and is guided, the circle that, as the circle of circles, closes
on itself as it reconciles all. And faith too is presupposed, which, being
unified and all-penetrating, sees the absolute in this dialectic.
The actual design can be improved, completed, corrected in its details,
following Hegel’s own incessant labor. Hegel’s faithful successors oc¬
casionally attempted to facilitate reflection in accordance with their per¬
sonal intentions, but measured against Hegel, their endeavors appear as
arbitrariness and whim, derived in part from undialectical intellectual
motives.
That faith is presupposed is easily noted in discussions concerned
with interpretation of Hegel. No general reflection about dialectic as

such can arrive at a convincing result, whether affirming or rejecting.
The movement always takes place within a reflection detached from the
matter at hand. However, it is only continuing examination of the con¬
crete dialectic that can lead to experience of each specific evidence, and,
conversely, can expose the mere toying wi(;h formal dialectical concep¬
tuality. In proceeding along this path, it becomes noticeable that those
Hegel interpreters who take the dialectic equally seriously everywhere
will arrive only at a boring—because uncritical—replication. For Hegel
believers this is their training, which to them is not boring since its
constant repetition of an act of faith is to them satisfying in itself.
Only he who is predisposed by his readiness to believe and susceptible
to indoctrination can agree to uncritical surrender, maintaining that only
someone able and willing truly to accept the dialectic can understand it
at all. Concomitant with this alleged insight is that nothing exists outside
the all-embracing dialectic. Anyone who thinks in terms of opposition
is, on the contrary, within it at a place already understood as bound to
be overcome. Refusing to become part of it amounts to lack of clarity
in thinking, to being arrested in a subordinate position, to being lifeless
instead of going forward in living movement. Every opponent is con¬
sidered overcome once his own particular necessity is recognized. The
opponent becomes himself a proof of the truth of dialectical faith. This
faith is an enormous snake devouring everything: Standing up to it is
not an encounter; whatever does this becomes, instead, prey that is
destroyed and assimilated by it. This “refutation” (which occurs anal¬
ogously in Marxism and in psychoanalysis) leaves us with a choice: to
identify with our own “position” as it is characterized in the dialectic
and thus blend it into the living dialectical flow, or to allow ourselves
to be declared dead, to be excluded, and, if the matter becomes involved
with political power, to be destined for annihilation.
7. The limit of Hegelian dialectic
Comprehensive as Hegel’s dialectic may be, it is nonetheless a specific

dialectic, because circle and reconciliation are the ultimate for its absolute
method.
Hegel excludes the dialectic that leads to the limit of seemingly
irreconcilable opposition, a dialectic that opens up, that confronts us with
irresolvables, antinomies, the irreconcilable either/or.
HEGEL 287
It excludes the dialectical forms of speculation that touch the un¬

thinkable in paradoxes and want to make the unutterable utterable.
8. History of the dialectic
Hegel sees his dialectic in its historical derivation and summarizes it.
Heraclitus is the most ancient philosopher of dialectical insight; Plato is
the originator of dialectic as method. Dialectic has always been misun¬
derstood by popular philosophy and common sense. The Eleatics used
it to deny the truth of the world and of motion, since that which contains
contradiction must be illusion. Educated skepticism has always made
use of dialectic. Thus dialectic has had a negative result throughout
history, and is even called the “logic of illusion” by Kant. The coincidentia
oppositorum of Nicholas of Cusa, and the mystical speculation and the
broad current of genuine philosophy are all for Hegel a single testimony
to the eternal truth. Hegel is conscious of being the first to develop
dialectics to its full extent, in its comprehensive and positive import,
making use of all preceding achievements, especially those of Kant,
Fichte, and Schelling. In Hegel the all-penetrating method becomes not
only the one actively effective everywhere, but also the one that orders
everything in a system, in which respect Proclus is the precursor.
Hegel praises Kant as the one who revived dialectics because of this
infinite achievement and at the same time opposes him in regard to the
way in which he took it up. It is important for us to contrast the two.
For Kant’s dialectical synthesis, the idea is the regulative principle
of progressing into the infinite, into the open world. For Hegel’s dialectic,
the process of the concept is itself the substance of Being, the eternal,
internally moving permanence. For Kant there exists the wholly other,
in the form of the turmoil of the emotions and in the forms of diversity
and chance. For Hegel the other is merely the other of the concept,
which he posits as a moment of itself released by itself. Kant knows
cognition through experience and comprehends its possibility. Hegel
knows and understands the cognition of the absolute. For Kant there
are limit-concepts, the encounter with mystery, the incomprehensibility
of freedom. For Hegel there is no limit to cognition, no darkness, no
mystery; everything is comprehensible and comprehended.
The origin of the content of Hegel’s dialectic is religious in nature.
The notion of “reconciliation,” to which he held fast with unwavering
certainty and which in the end brings a comforting conclusion to the
most extreme ruptures, is of Christian origin.
The motor of dialectical penetration in Hegel is the understanding

ofmeaning. All other modes of cognition (for example, causal explana¬
tion) are taken up from the aspect of their meaningfulness. Hegel carries
out what Nietzsche was to explicate'forcefully: Cognition is interpre¬
tation, and total cognition of Being is the interpretation of interpretations.
Nietzsche refers to philology. Reading a text is a great art. To carry out
this art when faced with the text of what is, is philosophy. Knowing
and being-known are here understanding and being-understood. Because
in philology and theology the process of understanding texts is called
hermeneutics, we can speak of hermeneutic philosophy. In this respect
Hegel is the master of a philosophy regarded as the hermeneutics of
what is.
FRAGMENTS
i. The systematic spirit
From early on, the systematic spirit predominated in Hegel in a variety

of meanings:
1) In his boyhood he acquired well-organized knowledge. There was
nothing that did not interest him. He started his copious collections of
excerpts. Throughout his life he preserved a capacity for sustained work
which enabled him to master any subject.
The thoroughness that brought him close to whatever his subject
never dissipated in diversity. He always aimed at the essence of the
matter, the principle, the particular characteristic. He took the detail as
guide to the general or representative of the fundamental—which, in
turn, he pursued down to the detail.
Hegel’s thinking, moreover, was always underpinned by closeness to
life and by intuition. We find him early in his life passionately following
and interpreting national political events. He took note of everything
the world offered in matter and content. All through his life he was a
diligent reader of newspapers, an eager traveler, an interested observer
of all realities he encountered. A world-system demands the repleteness
of the world.
2) He sought the whole of all Being at the foundation. From the
very beginning he was in the thrall of a metaphysical attitude—we might
point to his fundamental religious experience and see him in relationship
to the religious, Christian, specifically Swabian Protestant theological
tradition.
3) He aimed to discover the interrelatedness of all things, the method
HEGEL, 289
by which the uniting, permeating, moving force that holds everything

together in one ground and goal can be recognized and grasped in our
cognition. If we set aside specific concepts, contents, and thought-
operations and concentrate on the pervasive mood, the basic attitude as
a whole, in other words, on his will to system, we may say that Hegel’s
thinking, from beginning to end, stands as a singular great whole.
This becomes all the more clearly palpable if we observe the con¬
siderable developments, changes, and transformations of Hegelian po¬
sitions. All are overshadowed by the whole of the unity; they are
themselves understandable, in their astounding manner, out of this
whole, which makes such changes possible, indeed demands them, and
takes all of them back into itself.
2. Survey of the planned presentation
Hegel’s system is the richest in content as well as the most consistent in

the history of philosophy.
The systematic basic thought, or the systematically creative basic
movement, or the organ through which all things are seen is the dia¬
lectical method. However, Hegel is convinced that dialectic is not just
a method of our thinking, but is also the movement of Being itself; it
is that through which everything is out of the ground of things. Dialectics
does not think in relation to an other, an object; rather, it considers
what, as thinking, is the nature of God and all that is created.
Here for the first time dialectics is conjointly the creative principle
of operation, the principle of objective cognition that reappears every¬
where in the individual object, the systematic principle of order, and the
principle of Being.
Hegel took over in particular the contents of tradition and of his
age, then at a point of spiritual culmination, putting to use his tremen¬
dous intellectual capacity. Even the basic formula of dialectics (thesis-
antithesis-synthesis) comes from Fichte, and Schelling was the first one
to apply it in a systematic, objective way. Nonetheless, Hegel’s work as
a whole and in its organization of the particular has the originality that
gives his system its birthright and magnificent character. Hegel had no
systematic precursor, such as Thomas had in Aristotle.
In order to understand Hegel we have to understand dialectics; it is
the first subject of this presentation.
Second, we shall discuss some basic Hegelian concepts, the manner
in which they have been shaped by dialectics and have arisen in the
dialectical movement; for example, freedom, spirit, time, the concept of

the concept.
Third, we shall consider the entire system in a brief overview of the
structure of the whole and its simple outlines. To give a succinct account
of the tremendous system with its almost immeasurable richness of
historical, political, religious, aesthetic, biological, logical intuitions would
be impossible, and even absurd. No matter where we start the reading
of Hegel’s work, it promises intellectual exhilaration, which, to be sure,
can be furthered by our discussions of fundamentals but for which there
is no substitute in the form of abstracts.
Fourth, we shall try to understand what Hegel’s conception of phi¬
losophy is and what philosophy means to him.
3. Hegel's fundamental concepts
Hegel’s fundamental concepts are so closely interconnected that they lose

their meaning apart from the whole, and each becomes a mirror of the
whole.
The rich development of differentiations and dialectical movements
gives the impression of a single thought that cannot be expressed in one
sentence. It is modified, appears in simple and complicated, abstract and
concrete, intuitable and speculative configurations. It takes in the world
and all that is in it, needs it for its self-assurance, but is in its totality
conscious of itself as the final truth in its completeness and certainty.
Such concepts, envisaged in their apparent separateness, singled out
and aligned in juxtaposition in an undialectical manner, and perceived
as repetitive and yet always as of astonishing novelty, can be enumerated
as follows:
Spirit. Freedom. Idea. Truth. Subject-Object relation. Finitude and
Infinity.
And, further: Reason. Providence. World spirit. National spirit. Prin¬
ciple. Development. Ultimate purpose. Bildung.
4. Characterization and critique of Hegel’s thinking on time
Such criticism would have to differentiate between the possible notions

of time, something readily done nowadays.
The specific nature of Hegel’s thinking on time as a transcending
cogitation, in which time is a vehicle and a cipher of authentic Being,
would thereby be clarified. Time would have to be understood as itself,
HEGEL 291
and criticism would have to assume the standpoint of metaphysics, from

which alone it has any meaning.
Criticism comes into play:
1) metaphysically in the whole of the philosophic attitude—perhaps
by absolptizing time against Hegel—
2) within Hegel’s meaning:
a) where the transcending meaning is abandoned or misused in favor
of temporal manipulations, plans, evaluations—
b) where transcending self-consciousness no longer allows the tem¬
poral to be illuminated by that which obliterates all time, but, rather,
goes on to determinate interpretations as universally valid contents of
knowledge—
c) where, by disregarding the dimension of the meaning of time, we
no longer penetrate the depths before which such differences become
mere semblance and relativities and are irrelevant, but where confusion
arises because of the immanent applications of the transcending thoughts.
5. Critical study of Hegel
Hegel’s precision in formulation; the necessity of concentrating attention

on every word; the staying power of organized thought; the power of
intuition: persuasive as tremendous spiritual power and work.
But always also: the blurring of limits; the dialectic operative not
just in the conscious method but also in the ambiguity of words; the
fuzziness: a powerfulness that makes us feel as though in a web, to be
unraveled in constant effort if what we seriously want is not merely
uncommitted understanding but cognition of the truth.
Unique greatness in the work (perhaps the only thoroughly for¬
mulated and closed system—not accomplished by anyone else—of which
all his works form part) alongside the absurdity found in the principles.
True insights are thus almost constantly vitiated by something destructive
that obfuscates, deludes, perplexes.
An easy way out is simply to play the game after some practice. By
turning off our critical acumen, by allowing the questioning rapier to
become dulled, we may, interpreting ad infinitum, delight in abandoning
ourselves to this all-knowing, this absolute knowledge, whether inter¬
preting it metaphysically in its entirety or not.
Hegel carries out, in effect, an understanding unique in the history of

philosophy and open on all sides. But the strange thing is: This openness
is lost in the conciliatory conclusion. And, further: Hegel’s understanding
kills what is understood. Interesting as are his philosophic-historical

interpretations, he cuts the heart out of the great thinkers and presents
their towering figures as configurations of thought bereft of life in the
dialectic movement. His grand design of the history of philosophy—
noted as the first philosophical history of philosophy and as an inter¬
pretation of the entire history and of a spirit that links everything to a
necessary development of historical thinking—deprives his followers of
the chance to arrive at an original understanding of great philosophy
out of itself by penetrating the infinity of its essence.
6. Confusion of dialectical reconciliation with dialogical communication
a) Total dialectical reconciliation in the circle of circles and authentic

will to communication are mutually exclusive (unless reconciliation re¬
mains a cipher that cannot find its fulfillment in actuality).
The grandiosity of uniting everything with everything in the one,
unique, dialectically all-embracing, cognizable and now cognized truth
is, recognized in its essence, violation, and no less so when the compass
and the breadth of contents in their inexhaustible richness tend to deceive
us.
The universal principle of dialectics actually sublates discussion in
favor of all-inclusive integration.
b) 1) Objections to the rupture of communication:
against: the conventionally accepted practice of breaking off
brusquely, leaving the room, slamming the door—
against: “you should not have said that” (instead of: good thing you
said that—now we can talk and mutually see what is true, and what is
not true in the matter)—
against: the method of alleging insult and refusing to talk in protest
(a hollow notion of honor in social relations), whereas everything depends
on:
(a) clarifying the content of the “insult”;
(b) refusing to play the insulted, though not the use of juridical
method by which to attain complete clarification of factual assertions—
against: everything that renders verbalexchange and conciliation

impossible or hampers frank, lucid opposition; against lack of clarity,
muteness that sublates everything by stealth, whereas you, as overt op¬
ponent, come close to becoming a friend, in the spirit of openness—
against: the claim that any human being is perfect, and you may
HEGEL 293
judge and measure the other against an ideal, whereas this is permissible
only in respect to yourself.
2) This will to communication—particularly where the opposites are
extreme—repudiates, in the end, the all-embracing objective reconcili¬
ation in the circle of circles.
/ *t
Considered in this sense, Hegel’s philosophy of dialectic, in all its

admirable greatness, is reduced to assertions that cannot be fulfilled
without self-delusion.
Such reconciliation in philosophical thought trivializes and opens the
door to practices such as obstructive silence; protestations of insult; out¬
right defamation in accusations of shallowness, superficiality, moralism,
abstractness, buttressed by notions such as pure coincidence, lack of
actuality, incapacity of doing justice to the concept, and accusations of
rebelliousness, of constituting a threat to the state.
It repudiates what is not in accord with it, by way of totally breaking
off communication, leaving no chance for the excluded, spurned one,
reminiscent of Christian eternal punishment in hell (a cipher that contains
truth provided that no one and no institution dares to anticipate, to
think, or to express God’s judgment of a person) and leading to the
exclusion of races, classes, the opposition of political parties.
7. The three possible meanings of the relativizing that effects abeyance
Hegel demands: Movement, no stopping! Everything turns out to be

in flux. Truth is everywhere, provided there is superseding. Nothing
exists absolutely. I am open to everything, I let nothing take hold
of me.
Whoever agrees with this is gripped by the method. It does not lag
behind the skeptical and nihilistic movements reappearing throughout
the history of philosophy. Hegel seems to absorb all of these. This is not
the struggle between contending positions; it is not criticism that puts
in doubt in order to attain to the unassailable. Rather, it is a matter of
radicalizing criticism, of procedures that are contradictory and use
contradictions for the purpose of resolution—establishing a universal
method of totally dissolving everything solid. It is no longer criticism as
polemics in spiritual battle, but is the thinking that sweeps us along into
the movement, with no foothold whatever. The magic of eradication
penetrates the consciousness of greatest freedom.
However, this formally consistent procedure has a totally deviating
meaning in the radicality itself.
In the first place, it is possible, in the sense of the philosophical
attitudes actually termed skepticism and nihilism, to attain via this pro¬
cedure the despairing of everything and thus the total tranquillity of the
Nothing.
Second, it is possible to attain in this universal movement—which
dissolves everything determinate—precisely the reverse, that is, Being,
whole and fulfilled, the truth and actuality itself.- This is what Hegel
means and wants. The true is at no place, no standpoint, on neither side
of alternatives, in nothing enduring; instead, it rests in the entirety of
movement itself. For the latter not only eradicates, but also, in sublating,
it preserves what it has eradicated. What is untrue by itself becomes true
as moment. According to Hegel, to sublate has the following threefold
meaning: to negate, to preserve, to raise to a higher level. The ground
of the movement is the plenitude of Being that unfolds in this movement.
It does not trickle away into endlessness, does not come to Nothing, but
completes itself in wholeness. The means of the movement is negation,
is contradiction, is pain and death, is untruth and evil. But within the
wholeness there is constant reconciliation. The movement is not an
arbitrary one, but is necessary and must be understood as such. All that
is terrible, destructive, divisive turns out to be the road to the tranquillity
of truth and actuality. The experience of soaring is itself a moment of
bringing this tranquillity into the present.
Third, it is, however, possible that the movement is the medium in
which historic Existenz finds its unknowable tranquillity. In the liber¬
ation from the cogent and coercive capacities of objective positions and
statements and established truths, Existenz—-not through casting them
off, but through mastering them—attains self-certainty based in its
unique historicity and its results: its irrevocable decisions and actuali¬
zations. For Existenz, objective visions of reconciliation such as Hegel’s
are seen as possible ciphers among other ciphers which may unpredictably
bring their language to bear in existential situations.
8. Characterization and critique of Hegel’s philosophy
My exposition of Hegel’s philosophy constituted the attempt to under¬

stand, while preserving the tension noticeable in it. Something is awry.
Hegel’s philosophy stands as something uniquely magnificent, but mag¬
nificence is not yet truth. We encounter a wealth of truth, but even when
much is true, the whole is not necessarily true.
If I now attempt a critical characterization that both wards off and
appropriates, a few words need to be said on the meaning of such a
critique.
HEGEL 295
A critique such as Schopenhauer’s is meaningless: he merely scolded.

Equally meaningless is that of liberalism: it separated out reactionary
and conservative consequences, considering them in isolation as Hegel’s
philosophy. Meaningless are the strictures of the positivist nineteenth
century,, which thought to have demolished the entire philosophy by
pointing out empirical errors.
Critique presupposes having-been-there. You must have changed
yourself into Hegel, and watched in what sense it is possible at all to
criticize: not pass judgment by means of logical argument and empirical
data, but by attaining the awareness of a different unconditional attitude
of soul, which is authentically yourself and, believing in its authenticity,
finds that it does not understand itself in Hegel.
However, the presupposition of critique is penetration into what for
the intellect is mystical. We do not practice yoga in order to arrive at
the truth. But what we must do is analogous, namely, attain a trans¬
formation of consciousness that goes beyond objective understanding.
Out of this transformation we arrive, be it in agreement or in opposition,
at the truth which we ourselves are and with which we can therefore
live.
It is obvious that Hegel’s philosophy (or any other philosophy) does
not represent inquiry in the sense of empirical or objective examination.
Based on its presuppositions, philosophy does something different: Hegel
calls it “translation into the concept” or “elevation into the concept.”
Is this the playful construction of an idle intelligence? Such is the
judgment passed by the positivist camp in the nineteenth century.
Or is it the expression of Being attempting to express what truly,
absolutely “is”? Under this aspect, Hegel’s philosophy is the reading of
the cipher-script of existence, and an expression of that which is under¬
stood, knowledge about Being.
Philosophy cannot possibly be knowledge comparable to that of the
natural sciences; the world is their domain; philosophy remains empty-
handed. Philosophy is possible only via the sciences and grounded in the
sciences, as the thinking illumination of your own being as absolute
consciousness. Philosophy, if it is philosophy, creates results that are not
permanently valid, but, rather, a stance of consciousness that is the stance
of the soul. Its thoughts are the space of an absolute consciousness.
(Hence, to be sure, the history of philosophy needs the history of the
sciences and the history of images of the world, but it is itself the history
of truth as the effected freedom of the absolute consciousness on the part
of unique Existents.)
But such knowledge becomes untrue when it is retranslated into the
intellect to become something that you now can possess as objectively

valid. Philosophy is neither rational knowledge nor rapturous emotion¬
ality. It is thinking self-illumination in communication with other phi¬
losophizing human beings; it is notvcogent, nor can it be proven as
objectively valid, but it is true and binding in your life. Hegel calls it
speculation, a word that has become an invective but is precisely the one
that he who philosophizes has to live with.
9. Hegel’s historical position
Why did Hegel not become the Thomas Aquinas of Protestantism?

1) Because there is no all-embracing Protestant church; instead, there
is the multiplicity of those who struggle against each other, set themselves
off from one another—the ground for the all-uniting system is missing.
2) Because he does not seem to understand what is specifically Biblical
and Christian in the conception of transcendence, namely, that God’s
revelation is the incomprehensible irruption into natural history, which
cannot be resolved into universal thought. Hence the accusations of
pantheism leveled against him.
3) Because the lifelong training of the mind, the life of constant
contemplation does not hold sway in the Protestant world.
Question: whether Hegel’s system—richer, intellectually more de¬
manding and profound than Aristotle and Thomas—might someday
play a role, as Aristotle did for Thomas, in a way of faith that is new,
transcending, completing, and uniting masses of human beings. We
cannot divine this way in its content and its reality. Then it would not
be the Hegelian system itself anymore, but its completion and reworking
by means of new impulses and horizons. It would furnish the intellectual
tools, as Aristotle had done.
10. Hegel’s steps, and circles, and circle of circles

compared with my modes of the Encompassing
1) Hegel “deduces” by means of dialectic; I discover through bringing

to awareness the fundamental differences in what I find myself to be
and wherein I find myself. >
2) Hegel’s “moments” belong exclusively to the Encompassing of the
spirit;
they deny Existenz and transcendence—
HEGEL 297
they do not clearly differentiate knowledge as consciousness-as-such

(sciences)—
they trivialize existence by reducing it to the accidental—
they do not allow “reason” to come into its own, but substitute for
it tho closed circle of spiritual creation.
3) Our impulses are analogous but not identical: the will to appro¬
priation in communication, inclusive of all of tradition—the tendency
toward the widest scope—in Hegel, however, closing up at the end; in
my case, opening up.
4) In Hegel a tremendous volume of intellectual creativity, a huge
opus; in my case, weakness, “confinement” within the factual, a scant
opus—and yet I believe I see truth unknown to Hegel, and continue to
believe, after all the critique of Hegel, once more and by original thought
to have seen through his untruth as a whole. Yet how paradoxical, how
out of proportion such a claim appears, coupled as it is with such a
discrepancy in intellectual achievement!
11. Guidelines for critique of Hegel
A critique of Hegel means: self-understanding versus self-understanding:

positing a whole against another whole. But with the premise that both
are true, true for each in his respective historic situation. The opponent,
for me, represents neither absolute untruth nor truth. For us, Hegel is
the magnificent, unique, irreplaceable adversary. By understanding him
completely we gain self-understanding: Two people who philosophize
can never be objectively identical. But we who are not creative feed off
the Greats, who lead us by the hand. Thus Kant, Kierkegaard, Max
Weber may appear utterly disparate to us, yet in confrontation with
Hegel they appear a unified front.
But up to now, all of them exist as isolated monads, as it were. We
are only at the beginning of a discussion that would also signify the
appropriation of origins, following an extended period in which doctrines
were only being paraphrased. The “adaptive reworking,” as Hegel calls
it, has not come to an end; such a task can itself be authentic philosophy.
Whoever has perceived the grandeur of Hegel and Kant will not expect
another philosopher of such stature in the present or the immediate
future. Just as in antiquity no new Plato or Aristotle appeared, though
a Plotinus was possible, we may conceive as possibility a life of the mind
of our own, growing from authentic criticism.
12. May Hegel be granted a place at the side of the

two ancient great orderers?16
1) Among the three great creators of systems in the West, Hegel is still
so close to us in time that we cannot know whether we can place him
legitimately alongside the two others. His historical impact, which, to
be sure, has grown up to our day, must yet prove itself in the long term.
Above all, he is close to us in his world and his humanity. We know
more about his life, and his development is much better documented,
than are those of the other two.
2) Also, the principle of his system is an entirely new one, much
more difficult to comprehend than that of the other two. Whereas Ar¬
istotle and Aquinas address our intellect and are comparatively more
accessible to our understanding, there is something in Hegel’s thinking
that may strike us as odd, as nonsense. To penetrate to his meaning, a
different kind of effort is required. We are never sure of having truly
understood him. He himself called his thinking “mysticism for the
understanding.”
And yet this difficulty can suddenly vanish. Then it is as though we
had learned a trick and now everything for the understanding falls into
place in a grandiose unanimity of method.
3) On the other hand, he is richest in tangible substance. It is possible
(even if, in Hegel’s sense, it is a misunderstanding) to keep to the wealth
of interesting contents and concrete intuitions, to forget about dialectic
method, and to appropriate his genuine insights into history.
4) Hegel can be seen as a figure at the conclusion of an era, but one
who conceals dynamite within the method, a figure of the Western spirit
as it comes to a “conclusion” in “Verstehen” [comprehension]. In that
respect Hegel is a “hermeneutic philosopher.”
16 Aristotle and Aquinas.

I
f
BIBLIOGRAPHY
This Bibliography lists the main primary sources used by Jaspers in his exposition of the
individual thinkers. In some cases several editions in different languages were drawn upon to
explicate the same thinker. Also included under primary sources are standard English editions
used in translating the text; they are identified in the text. Included under Secondary Works
are some consulted or referred to by Jaspers.
Xenophanes
SOURCES
Capelle, Wilhelm: Die Vorsofratifer: die Fragmente und Quellenberichte. Leipzig,

Kroner, 1935.
Diels, Hermann: Die Fragmente der Vorsofratiker. Ed. with additions by W. Kranz.
3 vols. 6th ed., Berlin, Wiedmannsche Verlagsbuchhandlung, 1956-59.
Freeman, Kathleen: Ancilla to the Pre-Socratic Philosophers: A Complete Translation of
the Fragments in Diels, Fragmente der Vorsofratifer. Cambridge, MA, Harvard
University Press, 1971.
SECONDARY WORKS:
Bowra, C. M.: Early Greeks Elegists. Cambridge, MA, Harvard University Press, 1938.
Freeman, Kathleen: The Pre-Socratic Philosophers: A Companion to Diels, Fragmente
der Vorsohratiker. 3rd ed., Oxford, Blackwell, 1953.
Griinwald, Michael: Die Anfange der abendlandischen Philosophie, Fragmente und Lehr-
berichte. Zurich, Artemis, 1949.
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Democritus
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Diels, Hermann: see under Xenophanes.
Freeman, Kathleen: see under Xenophanes.
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Barnes, Jonathan: The Pre-Socratic Philosophers. London and Boston, Routledge &
Kegan Paul, 1979.
Guthrie, William: A History of Greek, Philosophy. Cambridge, Cambridge University
Press, 1962.
Snell, Bruno: The Discovery of the Mind: The Greek, Origins of European Thought. Trans,
by T. G. Rosenmayer. Oxford, Blackwell, 1953.
299
300 Bibliography
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Diels, Hermann: see under Xenophanes.
O’Brien, Denis. Empedocles’ Cosmic Cycle: A Reconstruction from the Fragments and
Secondary Sources. London and New York, Cambridge University Press, 1969.
Wright, M. R., ed.: Empedocles: The Extant Fragment's. New Haven, Yale University
Press, 1981.
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Barnes, Jonathan: see under Democritus.
Kranz, Walther: Empedocles. Antfie Gestalt und romantische Neuschopfung. Zurich,
Artemis, 1949.
Bruno
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The Expulsion of the Triumphant Beast. Trans, and ed. by A. Imerti. Brunswick, NJ,
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The Heroic Frenzies. Trans, and introduction by P. M. Memmo. Chapel Hill, University
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Cassirer, Ernst: Individual and Cosmos in Renaissance Philosophy. New York, Barnes
& Noble, 1963.
Michel, Paul-Henri: The Cosmology of Giordano Bruno. Paris, Hermann, 1973.
Singer, Dorothea: Giordano Bruno: His Life and Thought. New York, Schumm, 1950.
Yates, Frances: Giordano Bruno and the Hermetic Tradition. Chicago, University of
Chicago Press, 1969; repr., 1979.
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Gigon, Olaf Alfred: Epfiur. Von der Uberwindung der Furcht. Zurich, 1949.
Miihll, P. von der: Epicuri epistolae tres et ratae sententiae. Leipzig, Teubner, 1922.
Nestle, Wilhelm: Die NachsofiatiCer. Jena, E. Diederichs, 1923.
Strodach, George, ed.: The Philosophy of Epicurus. Lvanston, IL, Northwestern Uni¬
versity Press, 1963.
Usener, Hermann, ed.: Epicurea. Leipzig, B. G. Teubner, 1887.
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Asmis, Elizabeth: Epicurus’ Scientific Method. Ithaca, NY, Cornell University Press,
1984.
Bibliography 301
Bailey, C.: The Greeks Atomists and Epicurus. Oxford, Clarendon Press, 1928.
Jones, Howard: The Epicurean Tradition. London and New York, Routledge, 1989.
Mitsis, Phillip: Epicurus’ Ethical Theoiy. Ithaca, NY, Cornell University Press, 1989.
Rist, John M.: Epicurus: An Introduction. Cambridge, Cambridge University Press,
1972.
/ '
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Barth, 1831-47; 2nd ed., i860.
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Concerning the Three Principles of the Divine Essence. Trans, by John Sparrow. London,
John Watkins, 1910.
The Confessions of Jacob Boehme. Comp, and ed. by W. B. Palmer. London, Methuen,
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Berlin, Trowitzsch & Sohn, 1913.
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Koyre, Alexandre: La philosophie de Jacob Boehme. Paris, J. Vrin, 1929.
Martensen, Hans Lassen: Jakob Bohme, Theosophische Studien. Leipzig, J. Lehmann,
1882.
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Stoudt, John: Jakob Boehme: His Life and Thought. New York, Seabury Press, 1957;
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Walsh, David: The Mysticism of Innerworldly Fulfillment: A Study of Jakob Boehme.
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The Ages of the World. Trans, and introduction by F. Bolman. New York, Columbia
Bruno, or, On the Natural and Divine Principles of Things. Ed., trans., and introduction
by Michael Vater. Albany, State University of New York Press, 1984.
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The Philosophy of Art. Ed., trans., and introduction by D. W. Stott. Minneapolis,
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Schelling: Of Human Freedom. Trans, by James Gutman. Chicago, Open Court, 1936.
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Benz, E.: Schelling. Werden und Wirkung seines Denkens. Zurich and Stuttgart, Rhein-
Verlag, 1955.
Brown, Robert: The Later Philosophy of Schelling. Lewisburg, PA, Bucknell University
Press, 1974.
Esposito, Joseph: Schelling's Idealism and Philosophy of Nature. Lewisburg, P A, Bucknell
Hayner, Paul: Reason and Existence: Schelling s Philosophy of History. Leiden, E. J. Brill,
1967.
Jaspers, Karl: Schelling: Grosse und Verhangnis. Munich, R. Piper, 1929. Also in Hans
Saner, ed., Karl Jaspers: Aneignung und Polemf. Munich, R. Piper, 1968.
Marx, Werner: The Philosophy of FWJ Schelling: History, System, Freedom. Trans, by
T. Nenon. Bloomington, University of Indiana Press, 1984.
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Die philosophische Schriften von G. W. Leibniz. Ed. by C. J. Gerhardt. 7 vols. Berlin,
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Sdmtliche Schriften und Briefe. Ed. by P. Ritter and E. Hochstetter. Darmstadt, Reisel,
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Discourse on Metaphysics. Ed. by R. Martin and S. Brown. New York, St. Martin’s,
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Logical Papers. Ed. by G. Parkinson. Oxford, Clarendon Press, 1966.
New Essays on Human Understanding. Ed. by P. Remnant and J. Bennett. New York,
Cambridge University Press, 1981.
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Philosophical Writings. Ed. and trans. by Mary Norris. New York, Dutton, 1951.
The Political Writings of Leibniz. Ed. by P. Riley. Cambridge, Cambridge University
Press, 1972.
Theodicy: Essays. LaSalle, IL, Open Court, 1985.
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Aiton, E. J.: Leibniz: A Biography. Boston, A. Hilger, 1985.

Broad, C. D.: Leibniz: An Introduction. Cambridge, Cambridge University Press, 1975.
Brown, Stuart: Leibniz. Minneapolis, University of Minnesota Press, 1984.
Frankfurt, Harry: Leibniz: A Collection of Critical Essays. Notre Dame, IN, Notre
Dame University Press, 1976.
Kabitz, Willy: Die Philosophie des jungen Leibniz. Untersuchungen zur Entwicjlungs-
geschichte seines Systems. Heidelberg, C. Winter,, 1909.
Rescher, Nicholas: Leibniz: An Introduction to His Philosophy. Totawa, NJ, Rowman
and Littlefield, 1979.
Wilson, Catherine: Leibniz’ Metaphysics: A Historical and Comparative Study. Princeton,
Princeton University Press, 1989.
Woolhouse, R. S., ed.: Leibniz: Metaphysics and Philosophy of Science. Oxford and New
York, Oxford University Press, 1981.
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Aristoteles' Philosophische Werke in der Philosophischen Bibliothck. 13 vols. Leipzig,

Meiner, 1876-1922.
Ha up t werke. Ed. by W. Nestle. Leipzig, Meiner, 1934; 2nd ed., Stuttgart, Kroner,
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Metaphysik. Ed. by A. Lasson. Jena, E. Diederichs, 1907.
Nikomachische Ethik- Ed. by A. Lasson. Jena, E. Diederichs, 1909.
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Bollingen Series LXXI.2, Princeton, Princeton University Press, 1984.
Introduction to Aristotle. Ed. by Richard McKeon. 2nd, enlarged ed., Chicago, University
of Chicago Press, 1973.
The Works of Aristotle. Ed. by W. D. Ross. 12 vols. London, Oxford University Press,
1952-62.
SECONDARY WORKS:
Ackrill, J. L.: Aristotle the Philosopher. Oxford, Oxford University Press, 1981.
Allen, Donald James: The Philosophy of Aristotle. Oxford, Clarendon Press, 1952.
Barnes, Jonathan: Aristotle. Oxford and New York, Oxford University Press, 1982.
Edel, A.: Aristotle and His Philosophy. Chapel Hill, University of North Carolina Press,
1982.
Grene, Marjorie: A Portrait of Aristotle. London, Faber & Faber, 1963.
Hardie, W. F.: Aristotle's Ethical Theory. 2nd ed., Oxford, Clarendon Press, 1980.
Jaeger, Werner: Aristotle. Oxford, Clarendon Press, 1934; repr., 1948.
-—: Aristotle: Fundamentals of the History of His Development. New York, Oxford
-: Paideia: The Ideals of Greek Culture. Trans, by Gilbert Highet. 3 vols. New
York, Oxford University Press, 1944.
Rose, Valentin: Aristoteles Pseudepigraphus. Leipzig, 1863. Trans, quoted from The
Complete Works of Aristotle.
Veatch, H. B.: Aristotle: A Contemporary Appreciation. Bloomington, Indiana University
Press, 1974.
Hegel
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Freunden des Verewigten. Ed. by P. Marnheinecke et al. 19 vols. in 23 vols. Berlin,
Duncker and Humblot, 1832-87.
Samtliche Werke. Ed. by H. Glockner. 26 vols. Stuttgart, F. Fromann, 1927-40.
Samtliche Werke: Neue Kritische Ausgabe. Ed. by J. Hoffmeister. 52 vols. Leipzig,
Meiner, 1930-.
Encyclopadie der philosophischen Wissenschaften im Grundrisse. Ed. by G. Lasson. 3rd
ed. Leipzig, F. Meiner, 1923.
Phanomenologie des Geistes. Ed. by J. Hoffmeister. In Samtliche Werke. Ed. by
G. Lasson. 6th ed., Philosophische Bibliothek, 1952.
Early Theological Writings. Trans, by T. M. Knox. Chicago, University of Chicago
Press, 1948.
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Hegel on the Arts. Ed. by H. Paolucci. New York, Ungar, 1979.
Hegel’s Logic: Being Part One of the Encyclopaedia of the Philosophical Sciences (1830).
Trans, by William Wallace; with Foreword by J. N. Findlay. Oxford, Clarendon
Press, 1975.
Introduction to Aesthetics. Trans, by T. M. Knox. Oxford, Clarendon Press, 1979.
Introduction to the Lectures on the History of Philosophy. Trans, by T. M. Knox and
A. V. Miller. New York, Oxford University Press, 1985.
The Letters. Trans, by C. Butler and C. Seiler. Bloomington, Indiana University Press,
1984.
Phenomenology of Spirit. Trans, by A. V. Miller. Oxford, Clarendon Press, 1977.
The Philosophical Propaedeutic. Trans, by A. V. Miller. Oxford and New York, Black-
well, 1986.
The Philosophy of Hegel. Ed. by C. Friedrich. New York, Modern Library, 1954.
Philosophy of Right. Trans, by T. M. Knox. New York, Oxford University Press, 1973.
Political Writings. Trans, by T. M. Knox. Oxford, Clarendon Press, 1964.
Reason in History. Trans, by R. Hartman. New York, Liberal Arts Press, 1953.
SECONDARY WORKS:
Avineri, Shlomo: Hegel’s Theory of the Modern State. Cambridge, Cambridge University
Press, 1972.
Findlay, J. N.: Hegel: A Re-Examination. New York, Humanities Press, 1958; repr.,
1976.
Harris, H. S.: Hegel’s Development: Toward the Sunlight, 1770-1801. London, Oxford
Kaufmann, Walter: Hegel: A Reinterpretation. New York, Doubleday, 1965; repr.,
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Lowith, Karl: From Hegel to Nietzsche. New York, Holt, Rinehart and Winston, 1965;
repr., 1984.
O’Brien, George: Hegel on Reason and History: A Contemporary Interpretation. Chicago,
University of Chicago Press, 1975.
Rosen, Stanley: G. W. F. Hegel: An Introduction to the Science of Wisdom. New Haven,
Yale University Press, 1974.
Taylor, Charles: Hegel. London, Cambridge University Press, 1975.
I
/
INDEX OF NAMES
Aeschylus, 17 Fichte, Johann Gottlieb, 143, 162, 216,

Alexander of Macedonia, 195 287, 289
Anaxagoras, 20, 25, 88 Fischer, Kuno, 162
Anaximander, 11, 16, 25 Franckenberg, 117-18
Anselm, 156, 190 Frederick the Great, 237
Aquinas, Thomas, 181, 189-92, 213,
217-18, 289, 296, 298
Galileo, 58, 175
Aristotle, 17, 20, 21, 37, 39, 41-42, 54, 68,
Gassendi, Pierre, 27, 172
86, 187, 189-91, 195-220, 289, 296-98
Goethe, Johann Wolfgang von, 47, 55,
Augustine, 62, 152, 193
162
Gorgias, 14
Baader, Franz von, 141, 157, 162
Beckers, 162
FJebbel, Friedrich, 237
Benz, Ernst, 120
Hegel, Georg Wilhelm Friedrich, 126,
Bignone, 35
141-43, 162, 175, 181, 184, 187,
Bodin, Jean, 107
189-91, 212, 216, 221-98
Boehme, Jakob, 116-42, 157
Hekataios, 17
Boyle, Robert, 27, 171
Heraclitus, 9, 16-18, 25, 40, 52, 53, 55, 56
Bruno, Giordano, 57-64, 176
Herder, Johann Gottfried, 175
Buddha, 39, no
Hermarchos, 99
Herodotus, 34, 74, 76, 84, 86
Cagliostro, Count Alessandro di, 54 Hesiod, 9, 17
Cassius, 103 Hieron of Syracuse, 10
Charles I, King of England, 141 Hippocrates, 20, 49
Cicero, 12, 88, 103, 107, 204, 213 Hobbes, Thomas, 172, 175
Copernicus, Nicolaus, 63, 136 Holderlin, Friedrich, 35, 55, 143, 221
Homer, 10, 15
Horace, 67, 71, 106
Dante, 59
Huygens, Christian, 171, 174
Democritus, 20-33, 68, 70, 72, 81, 84, 88,
90, 172
Descartes, Rene, 175 Jaeger, Werner, 17, 35
Diogenes Laertius, 107
Diogenes of Oinoanda, 72
Kant, Immanuel, 89, 109, 146, 156, 166,
Dionysius, 34
179, 182, 190, 287, 297
Kapila, no
Empedocles, 9, 17, 25, 34-56 Kepler, Johannes, 58, 63, 175
Epicurus, 27, 67-111 Kierkegaard, Spren, 156, 160, 163, 285,
Euripides, 17, 88 297
Feuerbach, Ludwig, 229, 230, 256-57 Lehmen, Alfons, 256
3°5
306 Index
Leibniz, Gottfried Wilhelm von, 141, Plutarch, to

171-84 1 Proclus, 287
Leonardo da Vinci, 57 Protagoras, 20
Leucippus, 20, 21, 25 Ptolemaeus, Claudius, 88
Lucretius, 9, 27, 34, 55, 81, 83, 84, 89, 91 Pythagoras, 16, 17, 35, 53, 274
Pythokles, 73
Malebranche, Nicolas de, 171 ■*
Martensen, Hans Lassen, 120 Renan, Joseph Ernest, 54
Marx, Karl, 163, 191, 192
Saner, Hans, 221
Melissus, 14
Schelling, Caroline von, 143, 162
Menander, 105
Schelling, Friedrich Wilhelm Joseph von,
Metrodorus, 68, 77, 99
43, 58, 116, 141, 143-67, 216, 221, 287,
Meyer, Eduard, 54
289
Montaigne, Michel Eyquem de, 106
Schlegel, August Wilhelm von, 143
Schlegel, Friedrich von, 143
Neocles, 105
Schopenhauer, Arthur, 295
Nernst, Walther Hermann, 209
Schubert, Gotthilf Heinrich von, 162
Newton, Isaac, 54, 141, 175, 216
Schwenkfeldt, Kaspar von, 118
Nicholas of Cusa (Cusanus), 62, 64,
Silesius, Angelus, 141
172, 287
Socrates, 17, 20, 70
Nichomachus, 195
Nietzsche, Friedrich, 35, 55, 148, 150, Spinoza, Baruch, 55, 149, 156, 166, 171,
156, 163, 288 176, 179, 207
Novalis (Friedrich von Hardenberg), 141, Steffens, Henrik, 162
Swedenborg, Emanuel, 157
M3
Terence, 105
Paracelsus, Philippus Aureolus, 118
Thales, 11, 16
Parmenides, 9, 14-16, 18, 21, 25, 35,
Themistocles, 105
52-54. 56
Tieck, Ludwig, 141, 143
Pascal, Blaise, 178
Trendelenburg, Friedrich Adolf, 255-56
Pausanias, 35, 48
Peter the Great, 171 Valla, Lorenzo, 106
Philodemos, 76, 77 Virgil, 39, 89
Pico della Mirandola, 89
Pindar, 15 Walter, 141
Plato, 14, 17, 20, 21, 24, 40, 43, 56, 59, Weber, Max, 297
62, 68, 70, 145, 166, 176, 182, 193, 195, Weigel, Valentine, 118
200, 203, 210, 218-20, 226, 274, 287, Wittgenstein, Ludwig, 178
297
Plotinus, 47, 59, 64, 156, 176 Xenophanes, 9-19, 51, 53, 54
\
'
■ *
■V
PHILLIPS ACADEMY
867 00104 3483
OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES LIBRARY

PHILLIPS ACADEMY
ANDOVER, MASS.
DEMCO
(Continued from front flap)
Bruno, Epicurus, Boehme, Schelling, and Leibniz. Then he
turns to the Creative Orderers: Aristotle and Hegel. His
method is personal, one of constant questioning and
struggle, as he enters into dialogue with his “eternal con¬
temporaries,” the thinkers of the past. For Jaspers believes
that it is only through communication with others that we
come to ourselves and to wisdom.
Karl Jaspers (1883—1969) is one of the leading philoso¬
phers of modern times. He studied law and medicine,
wrote a textbook on psychopathology. He lectured in
philosophy in Heidelberg, until the Nazi regime forced
him into retirement. After World War II Jaspers taught
philosophy in Basel, Switzerland. Among his works in
English translation are The Way to Wisdom, The Future of
Mankind, The Question of German Guilt, and The Origin and Goal
of History. Volumes I and II of The Great Philosophers

*
appeared in 1962 and 1966. ,
Jacket photograph: Tatsuhiko Shimada/Photonica
Jacket design by Steven Cooley
A Helen and Kurt Wolff Book
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Critical Acclaim for
The Great
Philosophers
Volume I
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Done with such exemplary clarity that one need not be a student of the subject in
order to comprehend the ideas that are discussed.”
—The New Yorker
“ A new and stimulating approach to the history of philosophy . . . the work of a
learned and generous-spirited man taking stock of his heritage and thus taking
stock of himself. It will help others do the same.”
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“ A magnificent analysis . . . highly recommended to all those interested in contem¬
plating man’s origin and fate.”
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Karl Jaspers

Xenophanes » Democritus - Empedocles

Bruno - Epicurus - Boehme > Schelling

Leibniz - Aristotle * Hegel

“An expository, biographical, and critical study of great

thinkers, written by one of the most eminent of contem¬

porary existentialist philosophers.” —The New Yorker

Karl Jaspers died in 1969, leaving unfinished his universal

history of philosophy, a history organized around those

philosophers who have influenced the course of human

thought. The first two volumes of this work appeared in

Jaspers’s lifetime; the third and fourth have been culled

from the vast material of his posthumous papers. This is

the third volume; the fourth is to be published in 1994.

In the present volume, which follows his original plan of

“promoting the happiness that comes of meeting great

men and sharing in their thoughts,” Jaspers discusses the

Metaphysicians: Xenophanes, Empedocles, Democritus,

(Continued on back flap)

Edited by Michael Ermarth

and Leonard H. Ehrlich

Translated by Edith Ehrlich

and Leonard H. Ehrlich

ADAMS BOOK FUND

Systematic Philosophy and Philosophy of Religion

VOLUME 2: EXISTENTIAL ELUCIDATION

REASON AND EXISTENZ

THE PERENNIAL SCOPE OF PHILOSOPHY

REASON AND ANTI-REASON IN OUR TIME

TRAGEDY IS NOT ENOUGH

TRUTH AND SYMBOL

MYTH AND CHRISTIANITY

PHILOSOPHICAL FAITH AND REVELATION

KARL JASPERS: BASIC PHILOSOPHICAL WRITINGS-SELECTIONS

NIETZSCHE AND CHRISTIANITY

THREE ESSAYS: LEONARDO, DESCARTES, MAX WEBER

THE GREAT PHILOSOPHERS: THE FOUNDATIONS

THE GREAT PHILOSOPHERS: THE ORIGINAL THINKERS

Philosophy of History and Political Philosophy

THE QUESTION OF GERMAN GUILT

THE EUROPEAN SPIRIT

THE IDEA OF THE UNIVERSITY

THE ORIGIN AND GOAL OF HISTORY

PHILOSOPHY AND THE WORLD

THE FUTURE OF MANKIND

THE FUTURE OF GERMANY

STRINDBERG AND VAN GOGH

EDITED BY MICHAEL ERMARTH AND LEONARD H. EHRLICH

TRANSLATED BY EDITH EHRLICH AND LEONARD H. EHRLICH

FOREWORD BY MICHAEL ERMARTH

A Helen and Kurt Wolff Boof{

Harcourt Brace & Company

New York, San Diego London

© R. Piper & Co. Verlag, Munchen 1981

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