Here under follows the transcription of the chapter Kant of Houston Stewart Chamberlain's Immanuel Kant, published by John Lane, The Bodley Head, 1914.

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Kant in the 20th century. Review in the London Times Literary Supplement, 1914
Kritische Urteile über Chamberlain's Kant. Collection of reviews in german, 1909

 

VOLUME I page
INTRODUCTORY 3
GOETHE 13
LEONARDO 101
DESCARTES 197
BRUNO 311




VOLUME II
PLATO 3

KANT 169
NOTES 415
INDEX 513

 
167

KANT

SCIENCE AND RELIGION

  WITH AN EXCURSUS ON THE “THING IN ITSELF“
 
The value which life possesses for
 us reckoned only by what we
enjoy, is easily decided: it falls
 below zero. Nothing remains but
the value which we ourselves give
to our life by means of that which
we not only do, but do to an end
so independent of nature that the
very existence of nature can only
be thought of upon this condi
tion.
Immanuel Kant.

168

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169

KANT

IN this last discourse there is no need to waste time over any preamble; for the previous lectures should have placed us in such a position as should enable us to take a final and conclusive survey of the workshop of Kantian thought, without any risk of carrying away with us half-understood utterances and anaemic conceptions in the place of clear perceptions.
    Our plan from the outset has been to keep in view the proposition that all human recognition consists of combinations. Our first lecture pointed to the specially complicated relation between Idea and Experience: in the second we saw how conception and perception came to an almost inextricable conflict in consequence of the one-sided methods of our modern science: the third addressed itself to constructive criticism and to the fundamental distinction which it draws between understanding and sensibility in all experience of nature, the one being impotent to effect anything without the help of the other; and here we first began clearly to recognise the combination of duality as an essential condition of all thinking: this view was theoretically carried further in the fourth lecture, when we saw those two dissimilar elements, differently developed and differently proclaimed by the various thinkers, and in which we pursued the error of all monism to its very roots; but was only under the leadership of a truly critical thinker like Plato that the matter could be cleared up. Here we found a grandiose and perfectly plastic union

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of these combinations, which constitute the woof and warp of all our thinking, in the manifestation of a life which, looked at from the visible or sensible side, is consistent organism, that is to say, form, while if taken from the conceptual or intellectual side, it reveals itself as organic unity, and that means Teleology, — and that in such a way that neither of these two notions would have any thinkable meaning without the other.
    We shall shortly have to return to these relations, which Kant teaches us to designate as “transcendental.“ But let me say at once, for I think that I am here bringing forward something which, thanks to what has gone before, will no longer be an empty phrase, that this combination, or in other words, this apprehension, according to which experience, thought, recognition, truth, always arise out of the conjunction of duality, is not only characteristic of Kant's theoretical thinking, and of his philosophy in the narrower and more professional sense of the word, but, as a general proposition, of his whole intellectual personality, — of that which he was, and of that which he desired. In a comparatively early work, Von dem ersten Grunde des Unterschiedes der Gegenden im Raume (on the first principle of the difference of regions in space), he gives us the deepest reflections on the essence of “right“ and “left,“ — reflections which when examined critically contain the germ of all criticism. The clearness of his intellect, his persistent pains to draw boundary lines, to distinguish with the utmost care between words, conceptions, thoughts, sciences, intellectual powers, ideas, and systems, — so that there should be no interchange of powers, no encroachments with their consequent confusion, — are facts that in the last resort must be attributed to the fundamental, innate, peremptory, and gradually ripened sense of duality in every intellectual activity. What Plato taught us in his Theaitetos (182 B), that nothing is thinkable which can be described straight

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away as unity, inasmuch as every “something“ and every thought consists of the uniting (συνγιγνομαι) of two things (see p. 507), that with Kant is the beginning and the end; it is not only the fundamental instinct which gradually developed him into the keenest analyst of all times, but it is also the fundamental perception which becomes more and more firm and powerful in proportion as his philosophic views become riper and more perfect, so that the mighty synthesis which is worked up in ever-growing degree in his three critiques — Reine Vernunft, 1781, Praktische Vernunft, 1788, Urteilskraft, 1790, consists not in a fusion, but in a combination.
    This is a fact which repeats itself everywhere in Kant, no matter what stage of his thought and of his life we are considering. But if we seek for its commonest and most comprehensive expression, we find it in the sharp distinction between the theoretical and the practical. If I had said between theory and practice you might easily misunderstand me, for we are apt to give a rather frivolous meaning to those words: theory tells us how we ought to act, practice shows how we act in reality: that is not Kant's meaning. By “theory“ Kant understands theoretical philosophy, and therein the critical analysis of human recognition: what is recognised here is nature, about which we do not possess mere inconsistent rhapsodies, but an exact, objectively certain, recognition, — that is shown by the existence of an exact science of nature; Kant does not ask with the hair-splitters, is there any such thing as positive science? Can such a thing be? and so forth; — but he says, “that such a thing exists is evident since the days of Galilei and Newton“; and then he asks himself what inference is to be drawn from this fact in relation to our human intellectual organisation; ultimately then “the theoretical,“ as Kant conceives it, rests upon the fact of natural science, but aims at establishing the value, the exact importance

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and the boundaries of a scientific doctrine of recognition. By practical philosophy Kant does not understand “the technical,“ nor the rules of executive skill, but rather an enquiry into the dealings of mankind, of man considered as an autonomous personality, that is to say, as independent of that nature, the immutable laws of which science investigates, and as subject to peculiar laws of its own; just as in the one place the fact of science serves as foundation, so here the given, undeniable fact of moral personality serves in the same way: here too there must be the element of law: if none such existed the conception of a personality would be void: it could not be grasped, it would be a mere rhapsody: the person would not be the experience which it is: but this subjection to law must manifestly be different from that of nature: we call it Freedom; its laws are commandments, ethical commandments; and if we look into these commandments of freedom as methodically and clearly as we do elsewhere into the subjection of nature to laws, then we arrive at an exact understanding of what Kant calls, “Religion within the boundaries of pure reason.“ Within the experience, or whatever you choose to call it, of man, there exist nature and freedom as the two fundamental facts facing one another; “ the theoretical“ asks for an answer to the question, What is recognition of nature? “the practical“ for an answer to the question, What is freedom? Just as little as the searching and, as far as possible, unbroken criticism of the theoretical is in itself a science of nature, only establishing the essence and the functions of recognition by an exact analysis, so too the thorough criticism of the practical is not itself religion, though in a similar way it fixes the domain and the boundaries of all religion, thus showing once for all where superstition and delusion begin.
    Out of this survey we have arrived at four fundamental contrasts: laws and commandments as the given

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facts; nature and freedom as ideas under which we comprise the facts homogeneously; theoretical and poetical reason, as methods or intellectual implements, by means of which we may investigate these facts by thought; science and religion as systems in which the sum of our knowledge and opinions upon the subject of each of the two series of facts is dissected and represented. There is, however, certainly one difference to which attention must be called in passing. We may say of the two methods — that is to say, the theoretical reason and the practical reason — that they branch out into two opposite directions from a demonstrably single stem. As Kant writes, “It is always one and the same reason which pronounces judgment, whether it be in a theoretical or a practical sense“ (pr. V. 2 B, 2 H, III); on the other hand, the permanent facts of experience (the laws of nature and the moral commandments) and consequently also the changing collective conceptions (science and religion) are and remain absolute contrasts, between which, as Kant says, “there is fixed an illimitable cleft, so that there is no possible crossing over from the one to the other, just as if they were so many different worlds“ (Kr. d. U., Introduction II, p. xix and p. liii). 1 Yet in spite of this “illimitable cleft“ nature and freedom are inseparably united, — united indeed in the personality of every human being: it is just this combination which makes a man to be a man; it possesses for the essence of personality exactly the same significance as the combination of form and teleology possesses for the essence of life; it is a transcendental union by means of which “the Thing“ first arises: neither of these two contrasts has any existence without the other: there can be no nature without freedom, no freedom without nature: and so it is that this duality forms a unity. It is a gross error, as we saw in the previous lecture, if we believe ourselves to be able to see organic form, unless, consciously or

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unconsciously, the thought of purpose or teleology realises itself in this form: and this is true of the converse; in the same way it is the mistake of an intellect not yet cleared by criticism, if we think that we can represent freedom to ourselves unless nature should, as it were, form the background from which it raises itself, or that nature with its fundamental law of cause and effect possesses a meaning, unless the personal experience of freedom teaches us to think this thought of causality. This unity of duality, however, is not a logical unity: it is not the reduction of nature and freedom, of science and religion, to one and the same thought; in other words, it is not the factitious and subtilised unity of the Monists, but it is organic unity, that is to say, as we know, a unity of which the essence is that it should be plurality. Well does Kant more than once insist that this whole system of faster and looser combinations, out of which our intellectual activity proceeds, might possibly spring from a common but to us unknown root (see pp. 145-6); as a genuine critic he cannot exclude this possibility; yet the consideration of the matter has no theoretical or practical value in his eyes, for, except by fiction, by enthusiasm, or dogmatisation, there is nothing to be made out of this idea.
    It will be intelligible to you that a philosophy of this nature should be called “critical philosophy“: the Greek root-word means to distinguish, to part, to sift. You need only open your eyes and look around you. Everywhere you will become aware of a lack of clear distinction of conceptions and domains. On all sides the fight between religion and science is surging; none, neither men of learning, nor the ignorant, neither the investigators of nature nor the theologists know the boundaries; only a few suspect that they exist. The Pope of Rome maintains that true science, Vera Scientia, is a property of the Church: 2 while at the same moment

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the ultra-modern psychologists and ethical societies are labouring to bring into being an empirically logical “substitute for religion.“ The most complete and unhappily still active example of the irretrievable confusion of domains was furnished by Spinoza with his famous formula Deus sive Natura; here religion and science are 3 so confused that there is no longer any possible distinction of their respective domains, and so we come to the experience of a “geometrical doctrine of morals“ and a nature which must be “conceived out of God“ 4 (Ethica, I, prop. 15 and 18), hence a scientific religion and a religious science. In all this unintelligible jumble the “herd of subtilisers,“ as Kant disrespectfully calls them, finds an unfailing joy, and the “immanent monism“ as this hocus-pocus dubs itself still flourishes luxuriantly amongst a generation who are Kant's grandchildren. In this philosophy we have the direct opposite to that of Kant. Kant refuses to take one step outside of the field of possible experience: whatever pretends to come from beyond that field he dismisses as “fairy tales out of Utopia“ (Tr. II, 1), but experience, — that is to say, the exact observation of that which has been experienced, — shows us that in our intellect every apparent unity arises out of the meeting (συνγιγνομαι) of duality.
    Once we make ourselves clear as to the results of this method, which cannot but be of service to us in our purpose, we see that Kant's most comprehensive division is that into nature and freedom. 5 There is a nature, that is to say, a world in which freedom never and nowhere comes to the front, a world which would be annihilated by the mere thought of freedom, and in which as a consequence no morality, no responsibility, no sympathy has place or meaning, since everything in it proceeds mechanically according to laws without a flaw, in the eternally immutable sequence of necessary reciprocal

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action; and there is a freedom, that is to say, a world in which not that which is, but that which ought to be, is the law, — a conception which in nature would be utterly unmeaning, out of which a totally different order arises, in which the conceptions duty, merit, kindness, dignity, holiness, etc., gain importance, and in which the commandments and moral ideas correspond to the laws and nature-ideas of the first-mentioned world.
    Let me make a diagram of the result of what we have been anticipating, — this series of the great, universal, accurately corresponding contrasts, carried only so far as is absolutely indispensable. We start of necessity from the Ego, and however widely the series of thoughts flying from one another may strive to diverge, the Ego in its knowledge and opinion still gathers together all that exists for us. So it is immaterial whether we begin methodically from the distinction between theoretical and practical reason, and thence rise upwards, to that which is more and more complicated, until on the one side we come to science and on the other to religion; or whether, on the other hand, we take the great synthesis science and religion as the given starting-point and then keep widening out the series of conditions, until we find the ultimate most elementary branchlets in the various practical proofs of reason. As a matter of fact it was the latter way that Kant pursued; he is just a scientifically empirical observer, not a speculator: but in his method of representation he followed the contrary way, the one which he called “scholastic.“
    This table, as I think, speaks for itself; whoever is a stranger to the world of this critically analytical thinking, will in it find matter enough for thought. Only a few words more by way of explanation, in order to guard against any possible misunderstanding.
    Every single expression exactly corresponds to the one standing opposite to it on the same level: the divergence,

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Scheme

however, increases by degrees from below to above. Practical reason is nearly related to theoretical reason; it is not possible to discuss either of the two without the other: commandments and laws too are in appearance near enough to one another to be occasionally interchanged by the inexperienced, — we say moral law just as readily as moral commandment; the distinction between personality and recognition is perhaps the clearest for mankind in general. That freedom and nature stand still further apart from one another is assuredly a fact which anybody can see as soon as he has learnt to open his eyes, — were this not so it might occur to him that the earth attracts the moon out of a feeling of duty, and that the fact of an honest man not betraying his trust is due to the operation of the obliquity of the ecliptic; in general, however, the confusion of domains is here inextricable, simply because we have not sufficient command of criticism to disentangle the very diverse operations of our reason in dealing with the subject-matter afforded by experience. This distinction between Science and Religion, if we examine both intently, is so complete that they can in truth only be placed in relation to each other in so far as they present themselves as united in the consciousness of a single being; and yet for lack of the

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critical power alluded to we do not possess a clear perception of the cleft which separates them: besides which there stands here every intellectual narrowness, every superstition, every moral vulgarity, together with the immeasurable community of interests of the speculators in religion of all the confessions of the world, as a closed phalanx against any attempt once for all to arrive at something clear. So much for the contrasts. But as regards the serial sequence of conceptions from below to above, where on both sides of my diagram the one seems as it were to grow out of the other, we must not attempt to show a logical progression: it is no case of foundation and consequence, of cause and effect; we might more appropriately think of concentrically widening circles. Yet this comparison only leads us approximately on the right track; for the rungs of this ladder differ from one another not only in extent but in value: religion and science are systems, artificial and artistic constructions, in which our knowledge and our opinions are ordered into a perspicuous whole; freedom and nature are ideas in which and through which our reason visibly represents to itself facts; personality and recognition are conceptions, the former symbolical, the latter schematic, in which, to express myself allegorically, the transition between within and without, between reason and empiricism is effected (see I, 285 seq.). Commandments and laws are the given facts 6 as ordering reason first grasps them, — they are its material; theoretical reason and practical reason are methods of consciousness. 7 We are dealing, therefore, in an ascending series, on the right hand as on the left, with methods, facts, conceptions, ideas, systems: every stage corresponds with a different function of our intellect. My scheme is only intended, as you see, to exhibit certain relations of reciprocal forms in the space of thought. Such schemes should be looked upon as comparison; we require of a comparison that it

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should illuminate a course of thought, not that it should serve as a substitute for thought: what we expect is a suggestive operation, not a portrayal in the shape of an exposition, and that holds good here.
    Here we may pause for a moment. It has been my aim at the very beginning of this lecture to place you in sight of the very simple ideas of this philosophy, of this method of surveying the world: the very simple is always at the same time the very great; it is also that which is universally intelligible. That at any rate is what Kant has in his mind when he utters the memorable words, “True wisdom is the companion of simplicity,“ and adds, “it enables us for the most part to dispense with the great equipments of scholasticism, and its aims need no such means as can never more be accessible to all mankind“ (Tr. II, 3). It is impossible that Kant's critical work can ever in its technical details become common property, — Kant knew that full well and wrote, “my method is not very well fitted to attract the reader and to please him ... only the human understanding fails here by reason of subtleties and must be refuted“ (Ref. II, 6). Kant then only becomes subtle because he wishes once for all to sweep away the subtleties of the sophists, and the fine points of his contentions serve him rather as an indispensable protection against false arguments than as foundations for his own thought-building. We also must ask ourselves the question — What do we mean when we affirm that Kant must become a factor in culture? In the main we can only deal with that wisdom “which enables us to dispense with the great equipments of scholarship.“ Influence over wide circles can only be won by simple conceptions. The Kant who reveals the transcendental properties of the human intellect remains accessible only to a very small minority: the Kant, on the other hand, who might succeed in setting free all the leading intellects of the

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world from the night of the superstitions of decades of centuries, and in bringing them over to the bright daylight of the belief that religion and science are two entirely separate domains, each of them autonomous and autocratic within its own boundaries, — that Kant must be the founder of a new epoch in the history of mankind; it must be his to break the tyranny of the churches for ever, and once for all to brush away the fantasies of the “natural philosophers.“ Then at last the human intellect would be free. “The salvation of freedom“ is indeed Kant's highest aim. 8 But if we turn our gaze from political freedom, and look only to the freedom of our human reason, we become aware that this freedom is continually being robbed from two sides at the same time, namely from the side of theoretical reason, and from the side of practical reason: the priest of science, says Kant laughing in his witty way, leaves mankind nothing but “the freedom of a wound-up turnspit“ (pr. V. 1, end); the sort of freedom which the priest of religion leaves us is a matter of common knowledge. And here there is a still more important consideration: Kant points out that the unsophisticated investigator of nature, who in his innocence ventures upon dabbling in the domain of practical reason and of the moral commandments, who retails miraculous fables about the souls of animals, about Darwinist morality, etc., is not only guilty of working mischief in the domain of freedom, but is actually from the very outset hindering the observation of empirical nature; whilst his counterpart, the theologian, who is so accurately informed upon the subject of the making of the world, the object of creation, etc., is not only bringing dire confusion into the science of nature, but is, at the same time, undermining the true foundations of genuine religion. The science, on the contrary, for which Kant strives, is a pure science, flawlessly mechanical; whereas our anti-metaphysical empiricists, such as Mach,

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Haeckel, Ostwald, and others, are ever and again crossing over into a domain outside of mechanics, into what Kant pointedly calls an “imaginary science“; and the religion which Kant desires is a pure religion, that is a religion purged of all history and of all dogma. It is out of the confusion of domains that dogma, scientific as well as religious, arises. If theoretical reason only, or practical reason only, oversteps the mark, that constitutes no irremediable evil; it is in this way that ideas, in the narrower Kantian sense of the word, arise, and these are indispensable for the systematic moulding of science as well as of religion. Precisely because no web of dualism arises in these genuine ideas, — or at any rate because the slightest test serves to dissipate its appearance, — they become fused like cloud-pictures as soon as they are closely examined; they render good service and do little harm: as examples only think of the aether, and of the conception of grace. But when the intellect breaks out in both domains at once, whilst under such covering words as “soul,“ “plan,“ “unconscious,“ etc., it tries to smuggle a little freedom into science, or, with all theologians and theosophists, tries to draw nature into the authority of religion, then there arises a sham web hard to destroy, and that is the birthplace of dogma. That is what, in order to express it allegorically, if you please, but rightly and powerfully, I should like to call the Sin of Thought: it is the sin against our own being, against the intellect which should be sacred to us: it is at the same time the hereditary sin in the Thinking of our race. Kant then wishes to redeem us from this sin, from the night of dogmatism: that is the function of the “pure“ distinction of domains. It in no way destroys the unity of our being, it is rather a question of the true, conscious culture of human individuality. Kant defines culture as “the bringing to the front of the aptitude of a reasonable being for all and any object, consequently in its freedom“

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(Ur. § 83). But in order to be able to build up this freedom of ours, and to make full use of it, we must be instructed in two particulars, first, as to the limits of our abilities, secondly, about the directions which are open to us without limitation. We must, on the one hand, learn “to confine all our speculative claims only to the field of possible experience“ (R.V. 1, 395), and, on the other hand, we must learn to perceive that, as Kant expresses himself, “freedom is man's work,“ — that here everything depends upon ourselves, i.e. upon our perceptions and intentions, and that it is accordingly incumbent upon us men to raise ourselves out of the condition of an animal race into a moral genus, inasmuch as it is our duty now consciously and systematically to take in hand that culture which has hitherto proceeded as it were without any plan. (Cf. Kant, Mutmasslicher Anfang der Menschengeschichte). Man must be a creator where he can, that is in the realm of freedom. Here the “know thyself“ of the Hellenes surges up again in a new and more exact form. For man can only become a conscious systematic creator in respect of himself, if he grasps the same method which has proved so successful in the case of nature: the exact analysis of his complicated being, the exact distinction between the practical and the theoretical, between freedom and nature, precision in the recognition of his own self, must form the foundation. This would not only bring about a far-reaching transformation of his scientific and religious ideas, but would also in the end work a change in all human relations. Kant, for all his modesty, enunciates it with precision: his philosophy makes for a revolution, against which all previous merely political revolutions shrink into insignificant episodes: he wishes to realise ideas, but not by fanaticism and philosophical phantasies, but by the dispassionate and conscious change in the direction of human thought and will, a change worked out slowly but surely in the humble

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study of the quiet thinker. He comforts himself with no illusions; “I much doubt whether I shall be the man to bring about this change; the human mind is such that besides the grounds that should enlighten it, time is also necessary in order to give it strength and impetus“ (Ref. II, 18). Yet, however that may be, in this way, sooner or later, that “Kingdom, which does not exist, but which may be realised by what we do and by what we neglect to do, will be brought into being“ (Gr. II, 1). All this means a complete change in all those conceptions and habits in science, religion, morals, law, society, which show us to be in intimate brotherhood with the Babylonians of six thousand years ago: it means an upsetting of all values such as the devotees of Nietzsche and his school have never dreamt of, a growth of mankind, an accretion of strength over all that it has hitherto been, not by the idea of a will to possess power, but, on the contrary, by the finer moulding of man's consciousness, by the clearer apprehension of his intellectual organisation, and so (which is the same thing) of the organisation of the world of his experience, — in other words, by the still more tightly fettering of the dumb-beasts' instincts of his will in the service of a reason perfectly self-controlled and consciously creative.
    This thought I take to be Kant's great cultural accomplishment; it is what concerns us all; it is what we can all assimilate sufficiently to be taught by it: it unquestionably forms the living centre of Kant's way of looking upon the world: it was his starting-point, to which the toilsome path of nearly half a century of critical work brought him back. And it is precisely upon this that you will find little or no instruction in the writings of the professional philosophers. How many of them have really grasped Kant's practical view of life? How many of them see on the scale on which he saw? How many know what he means when he, the grim enemy of all the metaphysics

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of the schools, talks of “the leaking vessel of the Danaids,“ as he sarcastically calls metaphysics in one of his latest writings, — and when he says, in spite of that, “I am convinced that the true and lasting weal of the human race depends upon metaphysics“ (R.V. 8, 4, 1766). If you now know, or at any rate if you suspect, the services which are rendered by metaphysics towards the freeing of the human race, towards the freeing of freedom, and towards nothing else, then you have gained an advantage which may comfort you if you fail to follow Kant in many a subtle scholastic question.
    It is good every now and then to allow the impression of a mighty whole to work as a unity upon oneself without stopping to consider any one detail. Even if there should be much in this introduction which remains hazy to you, do not let that trouble you. Kant himself, the painfully conscientious man, says, “it often happens that the analysis of a thought weakens the effect which it brought out, dark and undeveloped as it might be, whilst it was yet entire and unbroken.“ 9 It is therefore important not to be in too great a hurry, but rather to dwell upon the general thought which we conceive upon a large scale though darkly; that is one of the laws of our ψύχη: we must gather strength as a machine gathers heat; even Goethe, the master of us all, teaches that the great problems must in the first place “be treated with a sense of lofty passion“; it is questionable whether a new view can as a general proposition be grasped without some such driving or attracting power. To follow Kant in detail would be the work of a lifetime: I should be loath to say anything which should weaken this proposition: far be it from me to rock you in the belief that Kant is easy to understand; what I do wish is to inspire you with a lasting ambition to understand him. Let each man follow as best he may, according to his pleasure and power. We Englishmen have a way of

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saying about such great, half-understood thoughts that “they grow upon one,“ they grow of themselves high above our heads, and lock us in their embrace; it is like Parsifal's approach to the temple of the Holy Grail: the fool takes only a few steps towards it, “I hardly step, yet meseems  I am already far,“ and the holy sanctuary is all round him. In like manner I have tried to take you at once into the heart of Kant's world: the atmosphere of this world must exercise a certain spell, and under its influence the otherwise almost unattainable thoughts will no longer seem so alien to us.
    The aim of these lectures will not suffer me to dally here as I fain would do. It is not Kant's work that I have promised to set before you, but something quite different, — an introduction to his work by familiarising you with his special way of thinking. Once more then we must dive into the depths of his personality.
    In the highest degree characteristic is an admission of Kant's uttered at the time when critical thought began daily more and more to exercise his speculations. “Often Alps rise up before my eyes, when others see a level and comfortable path along which they wander or think that they are wandering“ (Tr. I, 1). Kant will never be understood unless the same difficulties be felt which he felt. He sees mountains where others wander over the plain; and that leads us to the conclusion that his thinking struck upon a new and hitherto untrodden direction. Yet if we study and judge Kant without having made ourselves clear as to the direction of his thought, then we not only misunderstand him, but the misunderstanding grows with mathematical necessity like the distance between two diverging lines: then the more we think about him the greater the misunderstanding becomes: that is the story of ninety-nine out of every hundred commentators on Kant. The first point then is that you should strike the right line, the

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unaccustomed line, the one which is opposed to all our inherited and inbred habits of thought. So soon as you achieve that, those Alps of which Kant speaks will arise before your eyes, and then you must climb those rugged walls, for on the summit is Kant's standpoint. The man who without more ado thinks that Kant's philosophy is manifest to him, — whether he be friend or foe to it, — he surely does not understand it: whereas to the man who sees the obstacles that Kant saw, travels along the path which leads to the new recognitions which he discovered, sooner or later that revolution of which we spoke just now will take place in his intellect. As you see, the question is simple enough, and yet for that very reason almost impossible. The Kritik der Reinen Vernunft was written by Kant in five months: but he had wrestled for twenty-five years before he, in his dissertation of 1770, distinctly admitted the true line of thought, and twelve years more of unbroken thinking did it cost him before he had finally won his standpoint. 10 That must account for the obstinacy with which I over and over again bring you back to the same or very similar reflections; for in the first instance my duty is confined to giving your intellect a single impetus: you have to learn like our mountaineer in the Bruno lecture to turn round, — to give your Thinking the new direction; when you have done that you will see the problems of our Thinking and Being in a new connection: then you will be ripe for Kant's work, and have no further need of me.
    Let us have recourse to Plato: in that way we shall surely gain possession of plastic elements.
    In our predilection for simple formula we found the following in our last lecture. Plato proceeds positively and affirmatively, Kant negatively and contradictorily. That must strike every man who observes with even slight attention. But we know from the Goethe lecture, and have often found it confirmed since, that a simple

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observation of that nature only has any value for the recognition of personality, because and in so far as it leads into the depths. A fact only gains a value from the use which we make of it. Here we must make ourselves clear: why is it that we clutch at the great simple relations and apply them to the investigation of personality? The consideration of the question leads to the following result. The analyses of persons built up of thousands of indications, such as men of letters and novelists are so fond of giving us, are an illusory labour, a game; for the mystery of life is the singularity of the individual. The man who sets out before me the multiplicity of thousands of conditioned manifestations, is a mere reporter, at the most a soul-photographer: what he gives is history: it is knowledge, not science. “Knowledge,“ says Goethe, “rests upon the appreciation of that which is distinctive, science upon the recognition of that which cannot be distinguished.“ 11 In other words, knowledge brought into form arises out of the fact that, as Plato taught us, we see the one in the many. We are therefore surely in the right way if we search for simple recognitions, and leave subtleties out of the question. We saw in the former lecture that in life unity means form. Every form of life, even the meanest, is a symbol of the eternal: for the relations which are here before us are unthinkably manifold, and have neither beginning nor end: but form itself is limited and unconditionally unified, for that is its essence: it is unity, κατ εξόχην; it alone can therefore really be grasped; besides, our sensibility shows itself as more congenial to nature than our understanding. But if, considered visibly, the essence of life is form, then of necessity the deepest depth of thought must also be form, since thinking is a phenomenon of life. And just as in the visible world life-form gives birth to life-form, — indeed under such sure if incomprehensible laws of ever-reciprocal con-

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ditions, that a single bone is sufficient to enable the expert to reproduce the whole form, — even so must the form of thought bring forth thoughts, and the true investigator of the inner man will aim at grasping the simplest features, because from them alone can he hope to establish the fundamental lines of this physical form, — by which then all that is possible for the knowledge of the personality is attained. These simple recognitions, however, are only of use when by their help “form“ is really built up. No single line suffices for building up figures in space, it needs a system of co-ordinate intersecting lines; in the same way too there is necessary here a methodically chosen system of certain simple and true recognitions reciprocally supplementing one another. Otherwise the only result is a flat picture. So, for example, the observation, otherwise correct, “Goethe all eye, Kant no eye at all,“ would have appeared quite erroneous, had it not been supplemented by a series of other observations, which, as it were, came to the assistance of the one which had been originally made. Simple recognitions of this nature furnish one another reciprocally with meaning: taken by itself no truth is other than empty; the man who confines himself to the simple truth is an incontestable phrase-monger; but if we have correctly selected our recognitions in consonance with truth and then carefully observe the points where they intersect one another, then we obtain by degrees the outline of the form for which we are seeking. So we will complete the saying about the affirmative Plato and the negative Kant by two others which directly intersect it.
    The man who in the domain of critical thought is affirmative must of necessity speak in parables: Plato is a case in point, and we have seen what an imperishable living value lies hidden in such fictions, but at the same time to what endless misunderstandings they lead both in enemies and in friends: the man who, on the contrary

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is negative as a matter of consequence defines, and in defining obtains strictly circumscribed forms: you will, I hope, understand in what a conditioned and yet entirely and positively real sense Kant, — the so-called man of negation, barren of all imagination, — is nevertheless of the two men the one who deserves the title of constructor. Thinking is for Kant a process of building up. He says, “the human intellect is by nature architectonic.“ That intellect which in himself was developed in such extraordinary measure, was also therefore that of a great architect. That is one observation to which we will at once add another as supplement. Since Plato is in so high a degree a Seer, who aims at grasping everything by the help of his eyes, Logic for that very reason, wherever he makes use of it, appears hard and arbitrary, like something foreign and artificial — think only of the many dialectic discussions, of the logical proofs for the immortality of the soul, and all manner of similar subjects, in which at last everything seems to be in suspense without any firm outline, and remember how the born poet and Dionysus-like intoxicated seer of forms scourges himself with the asceticism of a tyrannically self-imposed scorn of art, and in his state of the future hands over poetry and music to the pedagogue and pedant: Kant, on the other hand, the thinker and logician, into whose colourless life art never penetrated, was nevertheless above all men the discoverer of the essence of beauty and of the essence of creative art, the possessor of a special gift, peculiar to himself, of giving a schematic visibility to the most abstract thinking, — the only form of visibility possible in the circumstances. Kant is therefore not only a constructor by right of negative definitions, but he is also an artistic constructor of schemes.
    I take the significance of form in Kant's philosophy to be one of the most important observations that can be made as affording an introduction to his work. For since

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we have in what has preceded recognised “direction“ as a first requisite for all understanding of this philosophy, 12 I must here add by way of supplement, that we generally lose the direction in Kant, even before we have set out on the special journey. When, shortly before his death, Kant surveyed his life's work, he called his transcendental philosophy “the science of forms“; 13 (Ug. III, 393). On the other hand, amongst the Kantians it has become the current custom to give up form in Kant in favour of what it contains, and indeed generally of only part of the contents, of a few so-called fundamental thoughts, just as they suit this or that person.
    You will find the proofs of this everywhere. I open one of those books on Kant which are the most read by all students and cultured persons, and find Kant's system reproached with being “stiff and formalistic“: most of his arguments are “casual and failures“; 14 but his “great fundamental thoughts have a lasting value.“ And one of the most famous professional Kantians, in his memorial lecture, on the centenary of the philosopher's death, assured us that “the form of the Kantian system might perish, — what does form signify?“ It is, therefore, assumed to be plain without further discussion that it is possible to set Kant's thoughts free from the form which is peculiar to them; people seem not even to ask themselves whether the so-called fundamental thoughts which remain over can really be Kant's thoughts. This way of looking at form and contents as two separate entities with which we may deal singly as we please, — this conception of form as something which can ever and anywhere be treated as a matter of secondary consideration, is a legacy of the most barren scholastic epochs of the Middle Ages. It is time to take a lesson from Gustave Flaubert; l'idée n'existe qu'en vertu de sa forme (Lettres, I, 157). 15 Yet here, where we are dealing with the most masterful and at the same time most patient constructor

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of form in the domain of thought that ever lived, we ought very earnestly to reflect whether it was not in this same scouted “system,“ in the organisation which was thought out down to its minutest detail, that the greatest power of his life's work lay. In addition to this the careful observer cannot fail to be struck by the fact that even in the case of his enthusiastic adherents, the moment they renounce Kant's form its contents also by degrees fall to pieces. That was the case with all, from Fichte downwards: Kant was admired, but men thought that they might look upon the “form,“ the “system,“ the “schemes“ of his manner of thought as matters of secondary consideration: yet it soon became evident that those much-belauded “fundamental thoughts“ had been understood in a spirit as unlike Kant's as possible, and every day removed men further and further from him. Only take Schopenhauer to wit!
    Schopenhauer in his principal work speaks with reverence of “the great Kant,“ and at the end he professes himself to have “done no more than carry into effect Kant's work,“ and thus the impression is created that he identifies himself completely with Kant. But there is one thing which he rejects at once, and that is Kant's form. On almost every page of his criticism of the Kantian philosophy (Kritik der Kantischen Philosophie), of his exegeses (Erläuterungen), and also in other places, he scoffs at “Kant's love of architectonic symmetry,“ he compares it contemptuously to Gothic church buildings, calls it “child's play“ (Spielerei), and maintains that it “leads to farce,“ and so forth. In regard to the distinction between theoretical and practical reason, at the meaning of which we have arrived at the outset of our sketch to-day, and which constitutes the conditioning  fundamental thought of Kant's whole system, Schopenhauer grows witty: “in obedience to the love of architectural symmetry, theoretical reason must also have a

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pendant“; he does not see any deeper connection. And like the general outline of the building, so by degrees every feature of the form which Kant had given to his view of the world, is first derided and then rejected: nothing is spared, neither the distinction between reason and understanding in Kant's sense, nor his conception of the relation between understanding and sensibility (which Schopenhauer calls a non-entity, as indeed it is when its meaning is so utterly missed), nor the importance which he defends in the “Idea,“ nor the antinomy of reason in the sense which you have learnt, nor the fundamental laws of our judgment which are the foundation of the architecture of the Kritik der Reinen Vernunft, nor the categories, nor the distinctive part played by temporal schematism, nor the difference between Thing and Phenomenon, nor the analysis of the Ego, nor the categorical imperative — nothing, absolutely nothing: in the whole structure no stone is left standing upon another. And in spite of all, Schopenhauer in his later days expressly confesses himself to be a Kantian, 16 and, as I have said before, considers himself to be the direct sequel of Kant. But it is easy to prove incontrovertibly that Schopenhauer has never grasped a single one of Kant's fundamental thoughts in Kant's sense: 17 that is no matter of wonder since he never understood the critical standpoint, but took Kant's critique from a purely psychological point of view, and as an analysis of the function of the brain (in both volumes of his chief work and repeatedly in the Parerga); it would be very desirable that some one should expose the whole matter consistently, briefly and systematically. 18 Indirectly even here I can bring forward the mathematically certain proof that Kant remained absolutely misunderstood by Schopenhauer. The intellectual personality of Kant is by now pretty well familiar to you; so far then you possess a reliable touchstone; now listen to Schopen-

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hauer's judgment. It would be possible to compile out of his writings the most acrimonious pamphlet against Kant that ever was written. Of Kant's thought he says that it is unclear, uncertain, wrong, illogical, shameless, unanswerably careless, pedantic, sophistic, inconsistent, queer, simple, grotesque, full of contradictions, etc., and of single thoughts he affirms that they are “brought forward in defiance of all truth,“ surreptitiously obtained, mere plays upon words, monstrous mongrels, and so forth ad infinitum. To all of which Schopenhauer adds the assurance that it is “all the respect which is otherwise due to Kant“ which restrains him “from expressing himself in hard terms“! The reproach which he oftenest brings against Kant, the thinker, is that of a “lack of adequate consideration,“ — once he goes so far as to talk of “an incredible lack of consideration.“ 19 To talk of Immanuel Kant and a lack of consideration in the same breath is too amusing! and that is the reproach of a man who before he was thirty years old had fixed and made an end of his own philosophy, and never advanced a step further, addressed to another man who was nearly sixty before he looked upon his system of thought as sufficiently ripe for him to hand over for publication the first of his fundamental writings. “It is marvellous,“ Schopenhauer writes, “how Kant without further consideration, follows his own way, striving after his symmetry, ordering everything according to it, without ever taking any one of the subjects in itself into consideration.“ We may judge Kant's philosophy as we will, we may reject it as a failure, but every man who has any knowledge of his writings and his life will nevertheless admit that this assertion of Schopenhauer's is simply grotesque: the only thing that is marvellous here is the infatuation, almost amounting to blindness, and the superficiality of Schopenhauer. But he outdoes himself when, in a rising scale of calumny, he accuses Kant of moral cowardice, of

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lying, of deserting his colours. You yourselves, though you have not yet gone into the theoretical teaching of Kant, are in a position to pronounce judgment with absolute certainty, and maintain that Schopenhauer's conception of Kant must be false from its very foundations: for a man who can, after studying his works, arrive at such a ridiculous caricature of his personality, can certainly not have rightly understood those works. As a matter of fact all the inconsistencies, the contradictions, the absurdities, and, indeed, the dishonesties into which in Schopenhauer's opinion Kant involves himself, are nothing but the inevitable consequences of his own stiff-necked misunderstanding. And then the question arises, how was it possible that such a brilliantly gifted thinker as Schopenhauer, who delighted in being called “the keenest of the keen,“ could fall into such unholy error? 20 Truly one-sidedness and a passionate nature played many another trick upon this man, worthy as he was of admiration, but they afford no adequate explanation here. Kant was the subject of his study during his whole life, and yet he so utterly misunderstood both his work and his personality: how was that possible? I answer only because he held himself to be justified in everywhere separating the form of Kant's thinking from the thought itself, because he held Kant's system of architectonics to be an idle adjunct, an old crone, a mere seducer and destroyer.
    Judgments like those of Schopenhauer, more politely and less cleverly expressed, will meet your ears from the most different philosophical camps. Almost every professor will tell you that “Kant's form, Kant's system are secondary considerations; do not grow grey over the distinction between pure reason and practical reason, with the power of judgment as the 'third,' — over the table of categories, and schematism and the Thing in itself, and the transcendental ideas and the autonomy of

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the moral personality, and the rest of it; all this is mere pedantry which may be explained historically: they are no longer of any value in these days, we men of the twentieth century have gone far beyond all that: keep to the great, new world-moving thoughts; the rest is scrap iron.“ As against this I tell you that unless you are prepared lovingly to grasp the architectonics of Kant's thinking you will never know what Kant thought. To talk of growing above Kant is like talking of growing superior to Homer, Leonardo, Plato; we may thank God if by honest work we gain the power of merely understanding such men, and of enriching our poverty-stricken public-school and high-school wisdom with the glorious thought-life of the heroes. Right is on the side of the man with the strong fist: with improved lyddite bombs and such weapons we may rise superior to him: but the man with the strong head is a cosmic phenomenon just like the Sun or the Dogstar; he is HE; taken as a personality he is neither right nor wrong: if we wish to understand him, we look upon him face to face as something that is, not as something which is yet to be; he is eternal: whether he will be of service to us or not, time will show: but the historic plague of our days snatches him away, and we have hardly had leisure even to have a glimpse of him as he really was.
    In what I am telling you and in what I wish to impress upon you I am swimming against the stream, almost alone: but that does not matter: you can trust me, I know that I am right; stronger men than myself will sooner or later assure the victory to truth. It is true that I am no professional philosopher, but I possess instead of that the great advantage of having busied myself with Kant all my life, without making any other call upon him than that he should help me to build up my own personal view of the world. I neither chose, like our private tutors, as a half-fledged boy of twenty-

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five, to lecture as best I might upon the ripe teaching of the man of sixty, in that way blocking my understanding for ever, nor would I meet him with a system of my own, the justification of which I should have had to make good by attacks upon his: there was no need for me to bind myself to any party: I did not require to inveigh against what I did not understand, nor to make myself the representative of what my own thought was unable to receive. There are in Kant things that to this day I do not understand; but since I am still removed by ten years from the age at which Kant wrote the Reine Vernunft, and twenty from that at which he wrote the Urteilskraft; and since ever and again the oftener I read those wonderful books, and the more I reflect upon this philosophy, new lights suddenly blaze up before me, I hope, if I live, gradually to arrive nearer to an understanding of them. For entire success I must not hope: I know it; I am not sufficiently gifted in the matter of abstraction, and besides that I am so different from the great Kant by aesthetic tendencies and impulses of will that inevitably much must remain unattainable by me. On the basis then of the experience which I have gained I can affirm as my slowly won and ever more strongly fixed conviction, that neither the one thought, nor the many thoughts of Kant can be understood if we disintegrate them from the architectonic scheme in which he set them, — if we try to tear them from the scheme in which he gave them form and many-sided relations. The schematism of the Kantian philosophy is as it were an expanded language; it is the visible and at the same time precise interpretation of thoughts, which in no other way could attain expression: and that is why we may maintain, with only unimportant limitations, that in Kant form is thought.
    This also I pledge myself to confirm without impinging upon technicalities which have no right to any place in these lectures.

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    One thing in the first place: I attach more value to Kant's own testimony than the professors do. For in such matters there is no question of learning, and still less of the vote of the majority; it is only a matter of insight and judgment: in both respects Kant soared above all the men who since his time have taken up their parable upon philosophy. Since Kant, moreover, in contradistinction to Schopenhauer, was a pattern of modesty and reflection and prudent reserve, it is unquestionably significant when he repeats again and again that he has much to add to his exposition and excuses himself if in order “to bring the whole into existence“ some parts “have been left in a certain unfinished state“ — if, however, in spite of that, in speaking of his system as a whole, he is convinced that it will be maintained unchanged later on. 21 In 1787 he writes to Reinhold, “I may well assure you, without laying myself open to the charge of self-sufficiency, that the longer I pursue my course the less anxious I am lest any contradiction, or even any coalition, such as we commonly see nowadays, should do any important damage to my system. This is an inmost conviction, which grows in me from the fact that when I proceed to other undertakings, I not only find my system always consistent with itself, but, moreover, when from time to time I am puzzled as to the method of investigating a subject, I only have to look back upon that general description of the elements of recognition and of the incident powers of the mind, in order to arrive at lights of which I was not aware“ (Br. I, 488). When Kant wrote those words he was standing on the highest pinnacle of his powers: the Prolegomena had been in circulation for several years, the second and partly altered edition of the Reine Vernunft had appeared at the beginning of the year, the Kritik der Praktischen Vernunft had been finished in manuscript six months earlier, and as he announces in this letter he had begun to work at the

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Kritik der Urteilskraft. 22 And this is the moment at which the thinker himself gives us his testimony as to the exact reciprocity which his whole thinking bears to the architectonic form of his philosophy! And yet even this surely weighty judgment must not be taken as authoritative; Kant might have been in this relation the victim of a mistake, of an auto-suggestion: we should not expect it of him, but it might be. For this reason I will now bring forward the positive arguments which must determine us to accept Kant's judgment. To the two recognitions which we already possess of Kant as constructor and as artist in schemes, the opportunity will now occur for adding more than one supplementary recognition.
    In the first place, we must mention certain strongly marked characteristics of the individual with which we are already partially acquainted.
    It was purely visible problems for which logically there is no corresponding expression that, in the first instance, led Kant, the mathematician and physicist, to investigations in the criticism of recognitions. I have already mentioned the fact that one of his earliest writings which touch upon the domain of the criticism of recognition is devoted to the question of the first principle of the difference of regions in space. That is highly characteristic; you see how the visible, the element of all construction, takes the lead. What are the relations between right and left? In this question is rooted the life-work of Kant. The question would never even occur to the pure logician: to him right and left are identical; only the man who starts from pure perception, and from that point searches for the connection with pure understanding, discovers that here there is indeed a problem, and one which cannot be solved by empirical methods. That is how this apparently very simple question leads a Kant into the depths of the criticism of recognition, and

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here he immediately shows up the empirical acceptation that the conception space arises out of the experience of matter as being once for all impossible and senseless. Five years earlier we already see Kant following similar ways: the work of the year 1763 entitled, “an attempt to introduce the conception of Negative Magnitudes into the science of the world,“ is one of the most instructive which we possess for the study of the intellectual personality of Kant. Here the thinker still lives wholly in the conceptions of mathematics and physics; in this very work there are remarkable hints as to the essence of electricity as a motive form of the aether, and here for the first time Kant defines the impenetrability of bodies as “negative attraction.“ But he has another aim in view, and this other aim is the introduction into the consideration of philosophy of those problems which arise out of the nature of our perception by the senses, whereas they remain hidden to abstract logic, and indeed remain so hidden without the logician's being conscious of it, because he is lacking in the organ necessary for the purpose. “Right and Left“ was one example, the conception of negative magnitudes is another. The formula +a and -a, directly set over against one another, looked upon from a purely logical point of view mean that of the same thing I say at the same time, yes and no. The result is a contradiction, — a non-sense. I might as well have said nothing. For the physicist and the mathematician the matter is quite different. Plus and minus are for him the one as positive as the other: the principle of this is the perception of space: plus is motion in one direction, minus is motion in the opposite direction; if, however, we are dealing with mere numbers, that is to say, with space-lacking mathematics, motion ceases to exist in practice, though it continues to exist figuratively, that is to say, in my thought, 23 and in calculation all minus signs are added up just like the plus signs, because
 
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they belong to the same direction of motion, and it is a simple matter of convention which of the two complexes of magnitude I choose to indicate with plus and which with minus. If a body remains entirely without movement because four horses are pulling it to the right and four equally powerful horses are pulling it to the left, then, from a purely logical point of view there is nothing more to be said about its motional condition than that the body is at rest; physically, on the other hand, its motion is equally null, but the does not here signify the nothing of contradiction, but rest as a consequence, a result, the practical sum of two opposite movements. This trivial example will suffice to show you what is the question at issue. Here is no question of rendering an abstract recognition familiar by demonstration, but the reverse: The perception and that which is annexed to it, — as the interplay between scheme and symbol, which the third lecture exhibited as the essence of mathematics, — must first reveal the problems and guide reason on the road to thinking. So in Kant it is everywhere that the constructor leads the way: it is out of perception that the problems of the criticism of recognition arise. And just as elsewhere in the case of right and left, so here he is led by the distinction of directions, that is to say, of real in contradistinction to logical contrasts, to the most profound ethical and critical thoughts: it is in this essay on “negative magnitudes“ that, so far as I know, a hint of the categorical imperative crops up for the first time; in this essay the system of the pure conceptions of the understanding (categories) is clearly proclaimed. Both are shown as the direct result of thinking stimulated by the scheme of directions, or to speak mathematically, the contrast between positive and negative. For example, “un-virtue“ according to Kant cannot be a mere negation, else it would be a nonentity; rather is it something positive and real, namely a negative virtue, a virtue

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turned in an opposite direction, “not merely a lack.“ And here it becomes clear that virtue itself is nothing, unless it be positive and real, — a motion with a fixed direction. If, for example, a man does not carry out a good deed which it was his duty to carry out, then this neglect is not a mere zero = nothing, but it is the result of a struggle between two powers with opposite directions; the categorical command of reason was “do it“! against which the impulse of pleasure, of selfishness, etc., said, “do it not“! The direction or inaction is the result of the adding together of the various plus and minus quantities. In the same way there arises here for Kant the question of the importance of causality in our recognition. For the perfectly clear distinction between a purely logical foundation, and a real foundation, that is to say, a true cause, corresponds to the aforesaid distinction between a merely logical contrast and a real contrast shown according to the scheme of direction. If I deduce B from A that is only the more accurate displaying of the greater circle of conception A considered as already granted: this disintegration of that which is granted is the function of logic, as against which in the real original cause I deduce from the existence of A that X must also exist, although the two are not the same but different. If I say this body is at rest and therefore does not move, that is a logical deduction; in the expression a body at rest is included the notion that the body in question is not moving. But if I say this body remains motionless in suspense between the Earth and the Moon, because it is at that point where the powers of attraction of the two luminaries are exactly balanced, that is no logical deduction, but I exhibit two real and opposite motive tendencies as working causes in order by that means to account for the condition of rest. And here arises the fundamental question of the criticism of recognition which Kant raises — “How am I to understand that because some-

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thing exists therefore something else exists?“ And at once, though only two or three pages of printed matter are devoted to these reflections, he soars into the heights and enters upon the subject of God. From Anaxagoras and his Nous (see p. 330) to Descartes and Leibniz, thinkers had imagined that they could come to a logical conclusion about the existence of God; whereas Kant from the simple consideration in question deduces that this is a case where a logical conclusion can only be arrived at if God and the world are identical: but if God is to be thought of as the cause of the world, then the divine will is one thing and the existing world another, and we see that the acceptation of a divine Creator explains absolutely nothing; for we are once more faced by the question: what is the meaning of the proposition that because A exists therefore X must exist? “That is something that I should wish to have clearly explained to me,“ says Kant. 24 And now he tells us in a few words that he has pondered over these relations which lie outside of logic, and which are therefore not capable of explanation in the ordinary sense of this conception, and announces his intention of giving the result of these reflections in detail: for the present he only communicates the one result, namely that we must force our way to something which lies beyond our judgment, and that can only be a question of conceptions, and then we shall find that all our recognition “ends in simple and insoluble conceptions of the variegated groundwork of reality.“ These insoluble conceptions are what Kant later named “pure conceptions of the understanding, or categories.“ 25
    Once more I must ask you not to be discouraged if in the course of these studies you should now and then come upon points of which you cannot at once fathom the meaning: our aim for the present is no more than to arrive at a certain general recognition of the personality.

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Whoever will compare these two little treatises on Right and Left and Negative Magnitudes, and will consider them attentively, will see in them the programme of the Kantian critique of recognition sketched out in tolerably clear outlines: but above all he will see laid out before him the way which Kant, the thinker, followed. 26 It is the way of a man who starts from perception, — from reality afforded empirically; it is the way of a man whose intellect is penetrated through and through by the strict necessity of combination, of the ever perspicuous schematisation of all mathematics and mathematical physics; it is the way of a man who with rare keenness of sense grasped the essence of space. But in the relations of space it is form that is the important matter; the man who here perceives form possesses, if not the whole recognition which it includes, for it is inexhaustible, — at any rate all the elements requisite for recognition. This standpoint was in Kant the result of instinct and of schooling: it was the characteristic of genius magnified by method. And you must not fail to observe that this way is peculiar to Kant alone among all the philosophers. Descartes and Leibniz alone show any analogy to it. But Descartes does not dwell for long upon the investigation of recognition; he is more inclined to arrive at a hasty and arbitrary compromise with it, in order then to devote himself as undividedly as possible to the cosmic, physical, and physiological problems, whereas Kant starting from cosmology and physics which in the meantime had both grown into powerful systems, soon arrives at the problem of our recognition to which from that time forth he dedicates all his strength. And in regard to Leibniz, he is the abstract mathematician as opposed to the physicist, and that is a mighty distinction; Leibniz belongs to those mathematicians who, if I may refer to what I urged in the Descartes lecture, view everything from the side of the understanding, and at the same

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time attach as little value as possible to the perception of the senses as a subordinate element. Thus, for example, the “principle of the indistinguishable“ forms a pillar of Leibniz's philosophy: two circles which are like to one another in every respect, are, to the man who takes the world into consideration, logically not two circles but a repetition of one and the same circle; the same holds good of all things that are equal; hence it is deduced, that it is impossible that two equal beings should exist in nature, and this deduction again serves as a main pillar of support for the monist doctrine, — a philosophy of which the imperishable value consists in the fact that it gives a pure reflection of the cosmic picture of the abstract mathematician. But here Kant, plain and always starting from experience, steps forth and cries, Halt! that is all abstraction and could only have any value if mankind were purely beings of understanding; but the senses possess the same dignity as the understanding; it is the senses that give us space; and entities which can be comprehended as “undistinguishable,“ be they two, or two hundred, or two thousand, are at once fully distinguished from one another as soon as they are separated by space.
    This remark is very important for the appreciation of Kant's intellect. For Kant is often called an “intellectualist“ or a “rationalist,“ that is to say, a man for whom understanding apart from sensibility is the supreme court of appeal: and here you see how false and one-sided such a judgment is, and that Kant might just as fairly be accused of relying solely upon the evidence of the senses. In truth he is open to neither objection, but is an entirely objective critic of recognition. It is precisely this absolute objectivity which makes him so difficult of comprehension to all of us: every interpreter of Kant drags him over to the one side or the other.
    So Kant goes forth on his lonely road fully conscious

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of his solitude, as he writes in his treatise on the comprehension of the Negative Magnitudes, “usually I least understand that which all men believe that they understaxtd with ease“; from the outset all problems present to him a special and unusual aspect. Starting from the point of cosmology and physics, it seems to him organically impossible to leave out of sight the form of perception which has been given to us — namely space; rather do all the problems of recognition arise for him out of and in perception. Space, related on the one side, as is sufficiently proved by mathematics, to the subjective understanding, is yet on the other side, as Plato calls it in the Timaeus (52 D), “the foster-mother of all Being,“ the condition, the form of objective things. Here Kant gains a foothold for further investigation in both directions. That is why it is inexplicable that our professional teachers should have called the writings in which Kant examines the properties of space “pre-critical,“ because, as they say, his analysis had not yet made a thorough investigation of understanding. On the contrary, what we have just said shows that out of these writings we obtain a highly important, indeed conclusive, insight into the accurate judgment of Kant's intellect and of its work: it is with the critique of space that his critical work begins: this is the starting-point, just as this same criticism later on is the beginning of the perfected exposition. But another insight, hardly less important, which we gain here is the perception that geometrical instinct and mathematical schooling must make schematic construction not only into an indifferent habit, but into a fundamental method of this manner of thinking. And so in Kant we see, from the very beginning, concrete perception, the geometrically practised eye acting as guide to thoughts, so that the architectonics, the scheme of thoughts, were forced of necessity to grow together organically with the thoughts themselves, and that no

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stripping of these thoughts out of the shell of their scheme is possible in the case of Kant.
    But there is yet more to be said of the significance of form in Kant. The matter is far too important in regard to the exact understanding of the intellectual personality, for me to omit any of the arguments.
    We have already seen why and how far we are entitled to describe Kant as a constructor as against Plato; for if Kant is from the very outset pre-eminently a constructor of thoughts, then it is impossible for this construction to be of slight value. I will not repeat myself; but I wish to impress upon your attention still more earnestly the architectonic side of Kant.
    You remember the anecdote about Westminster Bridge in our first lecture (I, p. 38); since then we have often observed how characteristic of Kant's thought is all that has to deal with the architectonic art. In the Kritik der Reinen Vernunft he expressly makes architectonics the equal of science. It is not unity of itself, but systematic unity which “turns ordinary recognition into science,“ and therefore in general “architectonics are the doctrine of science in our recognition“ (R.V. 860). Those of us who are only capable of seeing what is artificial in such a construction, do not recognise the resultant importance that in such architectonics refined to their utmost capability everything stands in relations of the closest interdependence to everything else; no matter what we take into consideration in such a structure, every single detail is so closely conditioned, and has at the same time such exact conditioning power in return, that it is hopeless here and there to break up greater or smaller portions, and judge them by themselves. There may well be much that is artificial in all this: I readily believe it: but this artificiality is art, the art of Genius: here we see what Goethe calls “highest art: the magic of the sages.“ Wherever such operations come to the front they depend

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upon incomprehensible, undefinable relations, upon things which are imponderable; one single clumsy touch and the strength of the fabric, the “magic of the sages,“ is gone. We may dissect, break up, cut to pieces, pick to bits products of nature in order better to understand them: — not a work of art, for that is either a unity or it is nothing. In very truth, like iconoclastic monks, have our philosophers and professors attacked the masterpiece of the fabric of Kantian thought!
    In relation to this painfully exact architectonic quality of Kant's work it is now important to be able to watch him at work, especially in the bundles of sketches for his last planned works which remained unwritten. Every single pithy thought here occurs over and over again, the sentence is turned and tested in every conceivable, sometimes hardly observable, variation, — so laboriously are the stones worked up one by one, till they fit into one another and at the same time into the general plan of the architect. Our historians of philosophy ascribe this mode of writing to Kant's advanced age and to the beginning of the failure of his intellectual powers: but that is an easy way of dealing with the analysis of personality; for even if such an assertion partly hits the mark, — even if some features should show signs of decay, still the manner of working is none the less characteristic. If we think of the eleven years which Kant spent upon sketches for the Kritik der Reinen Vernunft, which he ultimately wrote in five months, and if on the other hand we consider the wondrous depth and productivity of the thoughts in these fragmentary relics, which are just beginning to be appreciated by the professors, we may readily conclude that these leaves are typical of Kant's method of work. 27 Far from seeing nothing but what is sickly in these working manuscripts of Kant's, I find in them a strong family likeness to the sketch-books of that other great architect, Beethoven.

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Here too we find an untidy muddle and endless repetition; for years the same apparently simple motives recur over and over again, until they have received the exact shape which corresponds to the master's sense and to the whole which hovers before his mind's eye. This fact may help to sharpen our understanding for the formal significance of Kant's working: had the man not been an artist, he would never have given himself up to this torturing work like that of Beethoven. There is no difficulty in arriving at a merely logical indisputability or a mathematically precise organisation; however complicated the matter may be, it can be solved with the certainty of an arithmetical sum, and constructed according to rule. On the other hand, in all artistic work unity is necessary; we learnt in the previous lecture to regard it as the essence of life; only where this unity exists does work deserve the title of creative: here an indivisible ideal unity has to arise out of divisions, and since this unity consists of parts, it follows that the parts are not parts in the sense of pieces, but organs, and that in turn means unities; so here you have circle within circle to all eternity. This is the ideal which hovers before the artist, — this is the necessity which forces a law upon him. You must not then in appraising the significance of form in Kant's thought simply say: here we have a thinker who takes his departure from the visible, and his method is that of the mathematically physical scheme, but you must add: he is an architect, an artistic creator, and in obedience to that he wills to produce organic and not merely logical unity.
    Out of this consideration there arises another which must not be passed over without mention.
    I spoke of “organic not logical unity,“ and as a matter of fact these are two different things: this you already know, and I need not dwell upon the proofs of it: a single example may suffice. Logically I neither may nor

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can say, unity is plurality: the predicate would destroy subject, and the sentence would be a type of absolute senselessness. In life, on the contrary, as was shown in the previous lecture, “a unity is of necessity a plurality, and it is plurality which constitutes a unity“ (p. 105). In life, then, we are subject to another code of laws differing from the logical code: we must not call it “illogical,“ for that would be unintelligible; but it embraces an incomparably wider world, a world that is more richly constituted. You must have observed this more than once to-day. Now come the purely logical schoolmen, and discover dozens of “contradictions“ in Kant: if only one-tenth of the so-called “contradictions“ were really “contradictions“ in the true and broader sense of the word, that is to say, if one-tenth of them not only attacked the narrow rules of mere logic, but also the organic conditions of all life, — then Kant must have been a quite exceptionally stupid man, and Schopenhauer's reproach of chronic want of consideration would even be flattery! In truth it is baseless misunderstanding upon which this is founded, and that indeed not only with reference to Kant. Let us try to arrive at some clear notions upon these matters.
    We have seen that Life is Form, and Form is Unity (p. 98): later on we learnt if the essence of Life is Form, it must of necessity follow that the deepest foundation of thinking must equally be Form (p. 188). Even the thinking of an individual must first and foremost be uniform, and it is only by extraneous circumstances that it is broken up and turned out of its course so that it seems to destroy itself. The childish doctrines of the middle of the nineteenth century, according to which thought must be looked upon as matter, 28 have long since been carried to their grave, amid the jeers of all scientifically competent judges; still the fashionable idea of to-day which sees in thought a motion and there-

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fore an energy, is patently no more than the repetition of the same thesis in a veiled form: it is always the same mistake of looking upon life as a result of matter and force: whereas as we have seen, life is the aboriginal and only concretely given phenomenon, while matter and force, the closer we look into them, are for ever evaporating more and more into abstractions. If, on the other hand, Life is Form, and thinking a result of form, then what we are wont to call the “Soul“ is, to speak allegorically, no more than the inner side of the Form of Life. How astonished our worthy empiricists were when positive investigation proved more and more clearly not only that the weight of the brain, as they premised, but also its relative complexity, the number and the variety of its superficial folds, etc., stood in direct relation to the power of thought of the individual. And yet even to this fact no more than a symbolical value can be attached; but it shows that the conception of thinking as a direct manifestation of form is not so senseless as it might seem to be at first sight to many a man who, shrouded in the dust-cloud of false anti-metaphysical empiricism, stalks in the great high-road of the vulgar herd. And since every phenomenon of life is fixed, and therefore necessarily bound up by the form of the essence of life into an organic unity, — in which all parts point to one another, condition one another, and together constitute a whole, therefore thinking must also form a unity in the place of its birth, that is in the inmost soul of the personality. But in almost all men thoughts remain in suspense, and never gain a firm impression; they are the children of form, but they do not attain form: they fall short, and do not reach the goal, like bullets missing the white, missing the black, burying themselves in the earth on the hither side of the target. Sometimes men of this sort want to carry their point arbitrarily, and are lacking in the indispensable measure

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of formative power. The work of projecting, in the sense of the Latin word projicere, and setting up again that which lives within us, is beset by very important difficulties. The one difficulty is that of speech: words are never fully adequate to true thoughts. Cusanus, a clear thinker, warns us that oportet supra verborum vim intellectum efferre, the reader must lift himself above the narrow meaning of my words to a higher point of conception: 29 and Goethe says, “For the superior man the power of speech which has been vouchsafed to him is insufficient; ... he falls short almost everywhere“ (G. VIII, 96); that is why the handling of speech is an art; it is not every man who knows how to exercise it. But this is only the difficulty of the lower layers, the caprice of the building material: then comes the building itself, the question of architecture: even the “superior man“ will only master it after many years of devoted labour, and only within certain bounds laid down by his personality. In all ordinary cases the much complained of contradictions in thinking arise simply from the fact that the personality in question had not grown up to this work of construction: it is not their thinking which fails in unity, but the expression of their thinking; it is our business to build up unity out of the chaos of matter. On the other hand, what is so extraordinary in Kant is that he succeeds in an almost perfect “projection“ from within to without. In every projection there is much that is artificial even though it be according to rule: it is a combination of convention and law: besides that there belongs to it the exercised faculty to express bodily the picture which is superficial: lastly, the geometrician may often have been mistaken: even admitting that all this is to be found in Kant, there still remains the fact that in him every single thought possesses its mathematically appropriate place, and with that its appropriate function. Thoughts are not stones:

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the thinker cannot raise up a great cathedral before our eyes and say — that is my scheme of philosophy: he can only give us the plan, ground-plan and elevation; but these are a far more delicate matter than buildings of stone and mortar: a chip hurts these but little; even out of ruins our thoughts can build up their form: but whoever touches an architectural drawing ever so little, displaces the various relations, so that the original form, the thought of the architect, can no longer be guessed at. It is in this way that Kant is radically spoilt for us: soon no one will any longer know what he was talking about. Fragments of thought of a hundred men pass current under Kant's name to-day, so that Hägerström, an expert in philosophy, complained that “Kant's whole philosophy is represented in such a fashion that it might have had its origin not in one great thinker, but in many little ones.“ 30
    In this connection it may be opportune to insert an observation of general significance: we must in general and everywhere distinguish between contradictions and contradictions. There are contradictions which are of a purely logical nature, they result in an absurdity, a nullity, an emptiness of thought, — and there are relations which logic is apt to point to as contradictions, because they overstep its powers of conception, but which are in reality the simple affirmation of the living fact. These contradictions are necessarily found in all thinking, but appear in “monumental“ shape in proportion to the pre-eminence of the thinker; for it is precisely in them that organism proves itself as organism, and that means as unity. In my work upon Richard Wagner I made use of the expression “plastic contradictions“ for this phenomenon. 31 There is in thinking, as we have already seen, a right side and a left, and just as it is not possible to draw the left glove on to the right hand, so it is impossible to expect to find in a genuine and honest thinker

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unity in anything except in the organic interdependence, in the reciprocal correspondence, in the relation of the parts to one another. Here again is the proof of Plato's saying: there is no knowledge unless in the many we see the one. And sure it is that we have not understood an intellectual personality, that is to say, personality as a thinking being, until we recognise it as being just as uniform and necessarily self-conditioned in its organisation, as it is conscious, in the midst of all inmost conflicts, of being a unity. But to reproach with contradictions a man gifted as Kant was, a man equipped as perhaps no other mortal ever was with all the means for the architectonic and systematic exposition of a philosophy that was supra-logical, and therefore contained all logic in itself, — devoting to this one task almost exclusively a whole life of most painfully exact, scientific work, — to bring such a charge against such a man wherever we fail to understand him off-hand, and cannot without pains see into the organic relations of his thought-work which embraces all the domains of the intellect, is not only void of understanding and childish, but above all impertinent.
    We have now become acquainted with Kant the constructor as a physicist, gifted with exact perception, as a master geometrically skilled in schemes, as an architectonic builder, as a magician in art, as an organic creator. Possibly Kant may have been excelled by others in any one particular, but what constitutes his personality, and gives it such extraordinary importance, is the fusion of these various branches of the creative faculty into one unity: for the gifts which we have been unravelling are naturally only various manifestations, aspects and facets of the one uniform phenomenon. All that we have said up to the present is directed at these faculties subjectively as faculties; but if we cross over to the objective and ask, what is the relation to the

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world of this intellect thus equipped? then we come to a new experience, and what we find is of decisive importance for the recognition of the peculiarity and value of the formal element in the Kantian system. Moreover, we here touch the point where the hope arises of growing into something which may go beyond what Kant achieved, for here is revealed the connection with nature.
    When we watch Kant the systematiser at work objectively, it becomes necessary to distinguish between artificial systematising and natural systematising. There have been many systems in philosophy, — indeed we may say that from Thales to Schopenhauer, even down to the present day, it has been the ideal of most thinkers to set up a “system.“ The Greek word “system“ means originally a uniformly and arbitrarily accepted number of persons or things, for instance, a college of priests or a body of troops; by degrees it came to have a theoretical sense, and so betokened the unity of a doctrine composed of more or less numerous theses; but the arbitrary and conventional sense which it bore in the first instance was attached and remains attached to the second signification. By “system“ our thoughts in the first instance turn to the autocracy of an intellect which forces things to assume whatever shape or position suits it; it seems to be the opposite to nature. And now as regards philosophy! If anywhere we see arbitrary will at work it is here; here assumption is set against assumption, and nowhere do we see the trace of a strictly straight procedure such as, in spite of all conflict of opinions, is shown in the other sciences. In the Bruno lecture we spoke in detail of this philosophical system-mongering. Aristotle, who asks the stars how many heavenly spheres there are, in order to deduce the number of substances which exist in the world, the number of the creative intellectual powers, the number of aims, is the pattern

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of the systematiser: a second extreme example is furnished by Spinoza, who builds up a whole philosophical system “after the manner of geometry“ with definitions, axioms, corollaries, etc., which naturally has all the appearance of consistency, just as consistent as Euclid's Elements, but where there is this one oversight, that all mathematical definitions are without exception merely verbal explanations, but that these words always premise the perception by the senses of the relations, and refer to it, whereas all Spinoza's definitions relate to things which are incapable of being perceived, and are therefore more geometrico worthless. 32 What must specially strike us in this connection is the circumstance that Plato, the great and true man, left behind him no philosophical system, not even the rudiments of a system, indeed that he scoffs at all the systems together (see p. 494), and further that Kant in the same way never wearies of warning us against the “systems of the idle reason,“ as he calls them: he who otherwise took but little notice of other philosophers, does battle energetically with the systems of Descartes, Spinoza, Berkeley, Leibniz, Wolff, which were held in esteem in his day. In a certain sense, therefore, critical philosophy must be a radical opponent of all system. This it is that Schiller extols as the “intolerance“ of the Kantian philosophy: “This does it honour in my eyes, for it proves how little it can tolerate arbitrariness.“ 33 And, nevertheless, Kant himself tells us in his Kritik der Reinen Vernunft, that he is “striving after a complete system of transcendental philosophy,“ and at the end of his life he energetically repudiates Fichte's assertion that he (Kant) had only aimed at giving us “a preparation, not a system,“ convinced as he was that he had given “the completed whole,“ and that “the system of criticism rests upon a fully assured foundation, established for all time.“ No system then, and yet a system. What are we to understand by that?

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    One word suffices to explain: Kant here understands by system “natural system“ precisely in the sense of our modern natural science, and in exact contradiction to all former, and yet to be born, artificial systems of the idle reason.
    In the sciences of life we do not in these days understand by “system“ the attempt to produce an artificial order out of practical and convenient considerations, — nor a logical or mathematical order such as man in his wisdom thinks would be fitting: still less do we think to create order based on arbitrary acceptations: what we aim at is an attempt to follow up the trail of nature, to fix as exactly as possible the relations between its phenomena, secret as these may be, — in short, to reveal its true organism, that is to say, the necessary connection which dominates it — the unity of its plurality. Upon this subject I have expressed myself in detail, based upon a rich empirical stock of examples, in my Foundations of the Nineteenth Century (p. 789 seq. [English edition: Vol. II, p. 305]), and I need not repeat myself: laboriously precise, exactly obedient observation of nature, united to a bold, creative power of construction, — those are the two gifts which we find at work together in our great biological systematists. If a man is to render services in the domain of natural systematics it is indispensable that he should be endowed with aptitudes nearly allied to artistic receptivity, failing which he cannot see form in nature: and equally indispensable is it that he should be possessed of a rare creative power, without which that which he sees and divines is not projected outwards as a form such as is humanly recognisable. In all natural systematics, therefore, we have to deal with something extraordinarily delicate, with “a hidden art in the depths of the human soul,“ as in all productive schematising (R.V. 180); once it is discovered, system can be made use of even by average intellects, and indeed built up in

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detail; nature herself then leads us further; but the founders of systems have always been brains of the very first rank. That plastic contradiction, of which I spoke a while ago, must be most powerfully developed in the intellect of a systematist, and must penetrate the whole mind: for the systematist must at the same time discover and invent, obey and command, receive and generate; to use a coarse image he must stand on the dividing line between man and woman. You must not overlook the fact that we can never reach further than symbolism, even though it should be an exact symbolism. Goethe's saying is universally known, “natural system, a contradictory expression; nature has no system“; 34 yet system is to us men the tool of the understanding: that constitutes its incomparable importance. By means of the telescope we see