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

by Friedrich von Schlegel

The democratical writers of a recent era, in obedience to a sentiment natural enough to their false system, have expressed a deep horror and strong aversion to this institution of castes among the Hindoos, stamping it on every occasion with the strongest marks of reprobation. Viewing it, however, in an historical light, I for my part am disposed to think that it is to this ancient and hereditary institution, however much of imperfection it undoubtedly involves, that this great and populous country owes that firm stability of its laws and customs, and that indestructible prosperity which the various conquests it has undergone both in ancient and modern times have been unable to shake or to undermine. No doubt the Indian gradation of ranks wants the stamp of perfection and mildness which belongs to Christian politics. And in this respect the comparison is especially instructive. It serves to draw attention to, and strongly illustrates the fact, that a Christian division of ranks is, in some points, different in its principle, and the very opposite to the correspondent state of things in the old world, as yet unrefined and purified by this divine element. For, first of all, according to the Christian idea, the spiritual class can not depend upon birth; it must possess a higher and peculiar vocation. This order, consequently, can not recruit itself merely by birth, but must derive its members from the other classes which are hereditary. But in consequence of this principle, the partition-wall, otherwise impassable and absolute, between the other ranks, which, taken on the whole, are hereditary, is so far removed, that exceptional cases occur when these barriers are opened to merit or other important considerations. It is a self-evident fact, requiring no elaborate argument for its proof, that the Christian sentiment, or, as we have here expressed it, that principle of equity so universally and essentially interwoven with the Christian idea of justice, demands that every alleviation of their toilsome and oppressive lot should be afforded to the industrious classes. To those on whom the accident of birth, as the world speaks, or, as we should prefer to say, a higher and a divine Providence, has laid all the hardships of life, it is but just that every privilege should be conceded that does not militate against the general welfare, or the private rights of individuals. And in the same spirit, every political constitution that is organically arranged and founded on a Christian, and, consequently, modified separation of ranks, will attentively observe and engraft into its old constitutional stock every new historical shoot. A great and instructive example of the kind is at hand. In the Teutonic constitutions of the middle ages, and especially in the Germanic Empire, cities and trades, which at an earlier period had formed a very immaterial and comparatively insignificant element in the whole—in short, the growing burgher classes were, at their very first appearance, understood humanly and politically—received a great organic development, and taken into a living combination with the old.

In all probability our own deeply-agitated times, which assuredly deserve not to be called unfruitful, even though, together with the good fruit, they may also produce many a false blossom, give birth to much that is new indeed, but which is, nevertheless, or at least may eventually become, historical. The phenomena of the present, therefore, demand our most careful consideration, lest any negligence in this case should inevitably involve us in disaster, and bring on us a natural historical retribution. An exclusive and narrow aristocracy, or, if we must say so, one senselessly insisting on its privileges, such as in the earlier part of the last century was probably to be met with in a few countries, is, to the true friend of the ancient order of things, the most painful phenomenon. It is its own greatest enemy—since, by an historical law of antagonism and reaction, one extreme inevitably calls forth the other sooner or later. Hereditary monarchy, as it is the oldest form of polity in history, so, if it is maintained in the mild and moderate spirit of the Christian state, is likely to survive all others, and to be the last in force among the human race; for a state which is founded and established on the Christian principle of an equitable distinction and division of ranks, must, in every calm and unprejudiced judgment, deserve the preference over the artificial constitution of a dynamical balance of powers; for the necessary equipoise is liable to be disturbed by the restless agitation to which the latter form of polity is exposed. And it is only, therefore, in comparison with an absolute despotism that the dynamical theory can appear desirable and win so many adherents, while the former, on the other hand, as the only remedy for popular anarchy, if administered with talent and energy, becomes not only tolerable, but acquires even an historical justification.

Each of these two extremes, the absolute and the dynamical, admit, however, of a wider application than merely to single states and their different forms, according to the fluctuation of the times between prosperity and adversity. For the entire system of Christian states throughout the civilized world may in their mutual relations and confederations depend principally on the absolute preponderance of some leading power which holds the others in subjection or rules them. But this is an authority which all are ready to throw off, and is never willingly acknowledged or submitted to. Or, perhaps, the whole political world may, on the dynamical theory, be based on the balance of power, each state being held in check by the rest. This was the reigning system of the eighteenth century, and at its first foundation was admired as the perfection of a wise policy. In experience, however, it has proved inadequate and practically untenable. The only case where it seems to admit of application is that of a division embracing the whole globe, but based on geographical relations; but even in such a case it could only serve to check mutual injury, and not to promote any salutary end.

In the middle ages, as soon as the German Empire, having fallen from its original purity, had become totally false to its Christian principle, it found, according to the spirit of the times, a salutary check and counterpoise in the Church. And that iron character of the Ghibellines, which was exhibited no less strikingly in individuals and morals than in politics and counsels of state, affords the best justification for this antagonism, as well as for the opposite great party of the Guelphs, with their milder bearing and sentiments.

But now that this ancient division and conflict of the spiritual and the temporal powers is in these enlightened times a bygone thing, and in the older sense is extinct forever—since it seems mankind can not do without antagonism of some kind, we have, instead of it, an elementary one between land and water. A political schism variously manifests itself between the ocean and the continent. In fact, that great Island Kingdom which traverses and rules the ocean, and by founding colonies and settlements wherever it listeth or thinketh profitable, puts forth, as it were, the feelers of universal dominion, is properly an empire of the sea. For in contradistinction from a kingdom we may call every monarchy an empire which comprises in itself several other peoples and nations of divers races and political constitutions. In such a sense we have contrasted this maritime empire with the Continent. But although experience has shown the possibility of such a division of the whole world and political alienation of the two elements of land and water throughout the globe, it has also established a conviction that though these two divisions might do incalculable injury and mischief to each other, no permanent or decided supremacy of either would follow, inasmuch as a medium for maintaining the dependence of either is wanting. And as it is only in some urgent need of the times to find some counterpoise to absolute power, or an apprehension of it, that a dynamical state or the tendency to it finds its justification, so it was only during the transient reign of a despotic lust of conquest, and as a check to it, that this maritime power could have risen so high as it has in the opinion of the Continental states.

Since then, however, the great powers of Europe have had a different interest to pursue, and their political counsels have been directed to the preservation of peace rather than to selfish aggrandizement. For they have all had to contend with a common enemy in the restless spirit of the age, which is yet very far from being conquered and subdued. If, then, an absolute preponderance of a single state is hateful to all, and a dynamical balance of power in the general state-system is either inadequate for such an end, or else does not admit of application, is it not at least conceivable that a higher principle of Christian justice might be substituted for these which are equally defective? Might not a common point of moral unity be found and established for the European states? Must this sublime idea ever be nothing more than the noble enthusiasm of a magnanimous character? And is it to be regarded as impossible merely because it is imbedded in difficulties? But is not all that is great also difficult? Still, inasmuch as this exalted political unity must have a purely spiritual basis in the sentiments of men, a precipitate or violent attempt to bring it about must inevitably miscarry. It would not only militate against, but also corrupt the original purity of the very idea. It must be universally recognized before it can, in the contest with the evil principle of the day, become a salutary power of good, or furnish for the political relations a general basis of Christian justice. The one extreme of political Europe, with its absolute polity, which moreover has fallen very low from its former preponderance, seems excluded by the very nature of things from the idea of such a unity. But if it be true that it is gradually becoming more and more European, a character in which, until very lately, it has rarely been regarded, then a modified kind of subordinate connection with such a general principle of association among European states, does not seem necessarily inadmissible or inconsistent. The other extreme of Europe, with its dynamical constitution, had, in an opposition, moderate indeed in form and conditionally, more than half renounced this idea. In the opinion, however, of many competent judges, this renunciation is much more decided, and must exercise a great and unfavorable effect on the harmony of the whole. The moral want of our age, judged by this or some similar idea, is the necessity which was so keenly felt upon its deliverance from the general yoke of a military aggression, of a moral and intrinsic regeneration of Europe. And this unity is not to be derived from and set up merely in science, but must be felt as a living energy in life itself. But how is such an inner restoration to be brought about and effected in Christian states, but by a complete renewal and invigoration of their religious foundation? And inasmuch as this want actually exists and is felt, the problem which is to supply it must be regarded as an historical one; and consequently the historical development of the times—abstracted from the accidental form of the first essays at its solution—will sooner or later carry us to all that is most essential in the idea.

Formerly, in the medieval times, the German Empire claimed to be this Christian center of unity for the states of Europe—although, in truth, it was far from embracing the whole system of European states. Latterly, in the new political theory, the mutual relation of nations has become gradually republican. And this new form has consequently been accompanied with imperfections and difficulties and almost inextricable perplexities. Is it, then, probable that in the commencing or recently-commenced era of history, a firm, compact, but vast corporation of states, founded on a principle of Christian justice, can be substituted for and gradually evolved out of the two previous ones, which are now found wholly inadequate for the ends they were designed to meet? As a mere historical probability we may well allow this idea to stand.

Totally different from those idle speculations of an endless peace, which, for the sake of mere intellectual amusement and discussion, philosophy was used to advance in the schools, is this thoroughly-practical thought of a confederation of states based on the principle of Christian justice and vitally connected with religion as the most general center of humanity. And the latter must be regarded as the essential condition of its internal consistency and permanence. At least we may safely advance the following as the result of a philosophical consideration of history. An exalted and universal religious peace of this kind, and proceeding from such a principle, in which, by a peaceful approximation, not only the two parties in the faith should be reconciled and finally united, but also the spiritual and the secular powers, the Church and the State, should be allied together in the profoundest harmony, is, properly speaking, the very thing which mankind most stands in need of. But this desirable result never can and never will be attained until all shall be united in pervading harmony with religion and with life, especially with public life or the state, so that all these three principles or fundamental elements of human existence may work together with one aim and purpose. Such a state of profound internal peace would be something more than a simple political peace, with its transient blessings. It would be a sacred peace of God and the higher spirits, or at least the precursor and the best initiation thereto. This, however, is not to be effected by diplomatic skill no more than by scientific hypotheses. It can only be brought about by the immediate operation of God, and by that divine energy which from the beginning has sustained and still sustains the system of the universe. Philosophy, accordingly, must content itself with pointing to this end and this sustaining power, and also with calling attention to all the traces historically furnished which tend in the same direction. And since the great conflict of the age draws all powers into its vortex more violently than ever, it may be allowed to be sufficient for us to have hazarded a glance toward this glorious consummation; and we now will turn our attention to the development of intellect and intellectual powers as at present involved in the as yet undecided conflict. Thus much at least must be clear, that if science, religion, and the state, and the several powers, parties, and influences belonging to each of these domains, is, as hitherto, to pursue each its own way in opposition to the rest, then will all hasten again with rapid strides into a state of chaotic confusion. It may, therefore, well be permitted us to endeavor to hold up before men, in as strong a light as possible, this better hope, and to furnish them with every possible confirmation of it both from science and history.

If our age be as yet far from healthy—if it be still in a sickly state, if the first fearful crisis has not totally expelled the diseased matter—if, on the contrary, the general European body in many of its members is still infected with the virus which has penetrated into the inmost and secret marrow of life—if the source of the malady lie in false ideas, or the total absence of right ones, or, in other words, in philosophical error, which has spread in indefinite vagueness and endless hair-splitting over the whole of public and private life, and in a skepticism no less political than religious—then, since the external refutation rarely avails any thing, our first object must be intrinsically to conquer and to banish this error by truth, and the spirit of truth in that higher science which is genuine and lawful and directs itself to divine things.

The restless anarchical spirit of the times, or the perverted absolute spirit—for they are essentially one and the same, is yet a spirit—it may be a superficial, shallow, sensual, and negative one, but still a spirit, and therefore can not be overcome by any mere negation, but on the contrary only struggles against it with renewed bitterness and consequently more vigorous resistance. As opposed to the divine spirit of truth, however, it appears an unsubstantial nullity, and soon vanishes into its own vanity.