The philosophy of life, and philosophy of language, in a course of lectures

by Friedrich von Schlegel

Now that the conflict which our age has to go through is eminently intellectual is implied simply in the prevailing notion of a public opinion and its influence. But, at the same time, we must observe, that in the very notion of opinion, and in the word itself, there is involved a certain character of extreme vagueness and uncertainty. No doubt that which man can properly be said to know is extremely limited and confined. Of very much all that we can have is merely an opinion, and with that must we be content to put up. Nay, inasmuch as all scientific certainty admits not of being imparted to all men, very much of that which we do properly and certainly know is best and most beneficially set forth to others merely as an opinion, in order that we may not seem to force their minds to the admission of this higher certainty. And what is there that the passions of a prejudiced or excited multitude can not be made to adopt as an opinion, which, if presented to them as a sober conviction of reason, would never make an impression? So devoid are they, generally, of that intelligence and accurate knowledge of men and things which are essential and necessary to the formation of a right judgment. If, instead of public opinion (which, unquestionably, is a great power, but which, if it takes a wrong direction, is also a very dangerous one), the appeal were to be made to a public conscience, this would be, to my mind, far more impressive and serious. To illustrate my meaning:—the impression which the events of 1793 made on the general feeling of all Europe, and the universal movement of discontent which, among all European nations, preceded the great political catastrophe of our own days, are instances to which the old maxim, vox populi vox Dei, may, without hesitation, be applied. Such feelings are founded on a true and higher judgment—often on a correct presentiment of evil and wrong—even though, as we must admit, that in their utterance more or less of passion and exaggeration reveals itself, and that individual prejudices are not unfrequently mixed up with them. But now seldom, in the ebbing and flooding tide, in the ever-changing course of the stream of public opinion, flows there aught that truly deserves to be called a public judgment. And yet public opinion is even that on which, in this respect, and relatively to the theme of our present Lecture, every thing mainly and principally turns.

In discussing the theory of consciousness a chasm remained, or, rather, was intentionally left open, and the present seems the appropriate place for filling it up and supplying it. The power, or, rather, the faculty of judgment has not, as yet, had its place assigned it. The reason, with its immediate subordinates, memory and conscience—the fancy, with its subordinates, the senses and inclinations, form six faculties of the inner man, with which the understanding and will make together eight. The ninth is the living, loving, feeling soul, which, although it be the center of the whole consciousness, must, nevertheless, be counted as an independent and peculiar faculty. As for the heart [Gemuth]—as some peculiarly designate the collective sum of the tender, moral emotions of the soul, and which, at any rate, must be carefully distinguished from the conscience, and also from love—it is, however, a kind of application of the triple relation and function of the soul rather than an independent faculty. But the tenth faculty, which completes the whole cycle and theory of the human consciousness, and which may be regarded as its crown and perfection, is the judgment, or, in other words, the judging mind [geist].

But now, if this term judgment be understood purely in a logical sense, as that process of thought which forms combinations and deductions, and by means of which we ascribe to a subject A a predicate B, this would fall very far short of the signification in which I here intend it to be taken. Moreover, it would be, in truth, quite a superfluous task to separate this cogitative relation, or this relative cogitation, from the other logical functions of the understanding, and to make of it a special and independent faculty. The judgment is something higher than this mere coupling in the thought of some special A with some general B. Understanding is the cognition of spirit and of that which it has uttered; and judgment is the decision between two things understood, or the “discerning of spirits.” Of how great a multitude of intellectual relations does a scientific or even an artistic judgment imply the coincidence and concurrent action! And yet these are merely private judgments, which involve an assenting feeling in the individual, but beyond that can not pretend to any valid authority. In practical life the judicial function in the state alone furnishes an adequate standard for estimating the high rank which the faculty of judgment holds as the center of the human consciousness. For, in the deliberative sentence of the judge there is comprised both the mature art of the understanding—which has taken due cognizance of the matter, and impartially discerned between two objects equally well understood—and also a determination of the will: for, though the actual carrying into effect—that which properly and peculiarly constitutes a willing—belong not to, but is independent of, the judge’s office, still the conclusion of a positive judgment implies the existence of the first determining motive of the will. In this one act of judging, therefore, there is contained both functions of the mind [geist], understanding and willing; and as the loving soul is the center of the consciousness, so the judging mind, or spirit, is the highest of all its operations.

In the Book of Truth there is a sentence which admits of application here. “There is none good,” it is there written, “but one, that is, God.” However harsh and severe this judgment may sound at the first hearing, still, upon a little reflection, we shall see ample cause to admit its justice. Man is not wholly and purely good; at the very best he is not free from faults, and more or less of imperfection cleaves to all that he does or is. And even granting that a man might be found devoid of all admixture of imperfection, and quite faultless and thoroughly good, still he was not so always and from the first. And even if any should here urge that the angels, who have continued such as they were originally created, were good from the beginning, we must remember that, at least, they are not good in and by themselves, but that, that they are good, comes from God, who is the source of all goodness. Now, just in the same sense can we also say, Who judges rightly? There is none that judges rightly but one, i.e., God. He is Himself the truth; and, therefore, He alone has the standard of truth in Himself, and all truth has its ground and principle in Him alone. Every individual judgment and decision, in all important matters, has its ground, either mediately or immediately, in this divine basis, and its rectitude must be estimated according to this standard. But this latter condition need not make us foolishly anxious, for nothing impossible is required of us by God; and this requisition, like every other which He lays upon man, is modified by, and adjusted to, the measure of human finiteness. The conscientious judge, who, after a patient investigation of the cause as it is laid before him, and after a careful weighing of all the possible reasons and motives, nevertheless errs, or is deceived by a rare coincidence of circumstances, stands, nevertheless, exonerated, even though he should have passed an unjust sentence, and have had the misfortune to condemn the innocent. Although, when he becomes aware of it, the thought must be painful enough to his own feelings, yet who, in justice, can reproach him merely because he was not omniscient? He who, in thought, in science, and in faith, adheres to this divine foundation—the best and most certain that he can find, or that is any where offered to him, may rest calm and composed; he has done the utmost that lies in his power. He alone, who makes a bad use of what he has and what has been given to him, like an unjust steward, need fear to give an account of his stewardship.

This reference of all judicial sentences to, and their foundation in a divine authority, is an idea which was not unknown even to the republican states of antiquity, as is evident from the way they expressed themselves on the irrefragable sanctity of the laws and the inviolability of the supreme judicial power, and also in the maxims which they practically advanced on this subject. They honored herein a higher and a diviner principle, of which, however, in theory they possessed no clear and perfect knowledge, though in practical life they were taught by a correct feeling of sound reason and the natural conscience accurately enough to recognize and steadily and distinctly to respect it. With us still more generally is it become an admitted doctrine that all sovereignty and kingly power is of God, and that all obedience to the laws and to the supreme authority in the state rests ultimately on a divine foundation and sanction. If very recently men were for a while disposed to argue that political institutions must be founded on the reason and its unconditional liberty, yet bitter experience quickly convinced them of their error, and it was soon fully refuted by the convincing argument of actual fact. And, accordingly, theory has for the most part reverted to a right principle, and recognized the divine authority as the true foundation of political authority.

But the principle being thus generally recognized, it is, I think, still necessary to distinguish with care and accurately to define in what sense the supreme ruler of the state is the vicegerent of God. The indefinite titles which are assumed by Eastern despots have always been alien to the habits of the West. But it is not enough to avoid such exaggerated titles of honor, if, nevertheless, the appeal to divine right be made so very vaguely, and simply in general terms to God himself. In His absolute essence, God is wholly inconceivable; it is only in his operations on man and nature, and in His relations to the human race, that we can at all think precisely of Him. It is only as Creator of the world, as the Lawgiver of nature, or as the Benefactor and Redeemer of mankind, and so forth, that we can form a clear and distinct notion of the Godhead.

Now, is the supreme ruler of the state God’s deputy as Creator of the world? Who would venture to assert any thing of the kind? It is true that the paternal rule of the earthly parent, and the universal feeling among all peoples and nations of the sanctity of a father’s authority, rests on a resemblance—which is, however, only symbolical—between his relation and that of our unseen Father which is in heaven. And it is no less true, also, that the reign of a truly paternal monarch over his people may be regarded as a mere amplification of the father’s government of his family; a good king is the father of his people. But such remote, although most significant analogies, furnish us with no precise notion of right; and it is on such alone that the whole question here turns. No doubt when a people is governed well and wisely—which is even the same as to say, paternally governed—it exhibits a wonderful power of natural development; productive industry flourishes, population increases, and its physical and mental cultivation advances rapidly. Unfavorable seasons may undoubtedly check this tendency, and it will be entirely stopped as soon as the subject refuses to follow with loving confidence the guiding hand of the paternal monarch. Whenever they whose duty it is to obey seek to be supreme, then are the natural energies of a great people transmuted into a fearful element of universal desolation.

If now we inquire in the next place how far it is allowable to compare the highest authority in the state to the Lawgiver of nature, we shall find that even in this respect the difference is so very great that analogy almost entirely fails us. Holy, unquestionably, are the laws of every political community in respect to the duty of obedience which they suppose and require; but this is not paid spontaneously and naturally, but needs to be enforced and maintained by pains and penalties. And not to speak of the stem laws of retributive justice, but rather of those mild and equitable enactments designed for the general benefit and the improvement of the whole community; these are still more subject to the imperfection and manifold changes of human things. Suppose, for instance, a measure promulgated in any country with the design of balancing in some degree the agricultural and the manufacturing interests—however wisely designed, it is found within a few years to have totally failed; under it misery has but increased on both sides, and the law must be repealed or modified. But it is not so with the laws which God has implanted in the system of the universe: they never fail of their intended effect.

Do we further ask in what, if in any respect, the earthly sovereign is the deputy of God, as Redeemer, Emancipator, and Liberator? A notion of grace and mercy does, we must admit, attach itself to our idea of supreme authority; and in this respect it presents a sort of analogy and resemblance to the idea of the Godhead. Properly speaking, however, the exercise of grace and mercy forms an exception to the general rule of man’s sovereignty, and belongs to him only in his special function as administrator of justice. Moreover, the most paternal and beneficent of earthly rulers can at most provide only for the physical happiness of his people. He may alleviate or avert heavy calamities, or procure many temporal blessings and advantages for his subjects; but the unhappy soul can be helped by One alone. The distinction I have just made will become more apparent by means of a contrast. Wherever the clergy are not regarded merely as teachers of the people, but as is the case in the greater part of Western and of Eastern Christendom, as priests speaking with a divine authority, this their public vicegerency relates primarily and immediately to the Redeemer; its judicial functions over the conscience ought to shun a visible publicity, and to be left entirely to the conscience and guarded by its seal of secrecy. And in this respect lies the distinctive peculiarity of the relation subsisting between the supreme authority in the state and God, which, however, refers pre-eminently to His attribute of justice. And here it is no mere remote analogy and weak resemblance, dependent on the principle of human weakness and imperfection; but it is a true and real vicegerency, publicly admitted and recognized, and exercising consequently a great public influence. And therefore it is, that among the divers elements or branches of the supreme political authority (which, however, fundamentally and in its essence is one and indivisible), a special sanctity is, as I have already remarked, ascribed to its judicial functions. In a word, the earthly head of the state is the dispenser of the divine justice, the vicegerent of the Judge of the world; he is a divine functionary, and, so to say, the supreme judge in the world’s tribunal. And this is the point of view from which all matters and questions connected with this subject may most fully be answered and most correctly determined. But that this exalted dignity of the earthly ruler may not be interpreted too literally, I must here observe, that the divine Judge is one who allows mercy to take the place of justice, not merely occasionally, and by way of exception, but always and invariably; so long, at least, as it is in any way possible. And here comes in the application of the principle which we previously advanced:—That God is in nowise absolute, but that on the contrary His justice is in every case limited by His love and grace; while the latter again is restricted and modified by His justice, and both, indeed, reciprocally by each other. Whoever has formed in his heart the least vivid notion of God will not entertain the slightest doubt of this union of justice and of mercy in the divine essence.

When, however, we speak of kings being the dispensers of divine justice, we mean it in quite a different sense from that in which, during the great immigration of the northern hordes of Asia, the barbarian conqueror proclaimed himself the scourge of God. By assuming this title he merely meant to terrify his adversaries by the thought of having to encounter in himself a fearful and destructive power of evil, whom, in order to chastise a degenerate world, the Almighty had permitted to do as he pleased and to let loose his fury on the nations of the earth. And phenomena of this kind are not confined to the period of the great migration; for the true notion of the representation of the divine Judge of the world by the supreme power in the state combines together with the sternest severity of justice, which in this respect is both wholesome and necessary, the greatest clemency—for where is there, or can there be, a clemency greater than the divine? But most especially does this idea imply that which is here pre-eminently requisite, and insists with a prominence proportionate to its great importance on the strictest conscientiousness in the discharge of the duties of this vicegerency. But the superior excellence of this idea over many other explanations of a similar kind, but laboring under the defect of extreme vagueness, consists even in this, that it comprises and inseparably combines those two important conditions, both that the supreme governor is responsible to God alone, and, as following therefrom, that he is unquestionably responsible to Him, and that it also determines in what sense and in what way he is so.