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

by Friedrich von Schlegel

IN these pages we give to the world the philosophical Lectures which the late F. V. Schlegel delivered last winter, at Dresden, to a numerous and distinguished auditory—the last monument of his life and mind. To many of his personal hearers they will probably be welcome, as enabling them, in the perusal of what their own ears so lately heard, to realize more distinctly the matter of the Lectures, and the whole person of the eminent individual who was so unexpectedly taken away from among them. But to a still larger circle of the friends and admirers of Schlegel, this publication will, no doubt, be acceptable, especially since, under a pervading reference to language, it throws much light and more fully carries out the views advanced by Schlegel in the Lectures delivered two years before, at Vienna, on the Philosophy of Life. In this rich and important fragment, Schlegel’s whole idea of philosophy stands out far more clear and distinct, though, for its complete elucidation and exposition, it was his intention, had he been spared, to add at least one more series of Lectures to the three already given to the world.

The present publication is eminently calculated to show what in these three connected series of Lectures it was the author’s first object, both as a thinker and teacher, to accomplish, viz., to convey the living words of his inmost mind, rich with the fruits of many years’ study and research, to all who possessed a sensibility or disposition likely to be roused and animated thereby to pursue or promote some kindred inquiry or object. It would, therefore, be a proof of grave misconception to make such requisitions on these Lectures as are incompatible with this end and with the character which they most covet, of being, in the higher sense of the term, a living discourse; for, to satisfy such demands was neither the design or wish of the author. It was not his purpose either to take some single abstract notion, and by detailed elucidation to make it clear and obvious, nor to set up some rigorously limited system of notions, with its definitions and arbitrary terminology, whose great merit should be made to consist in such regularity of plan and faithful execution, as should every where command the notice and the wonder of the reader. In short, it was not his object, in some partial speculation of the reason, exclusively to set forth a long series of abstract propositions as a model and precedent for such essays. Those, however, who, to use Schlegel’s own words, look upon these Lectures as a series of questions to which their own hearts, silently, indeed, give a concurrent answer, or find therein the satisfactory solution to many difficulties suggested by their own reflections on the life and mind of man, will not be able to get rid of a just and righteous sorrow, to think that the voice from which they still looked for many such questionings, and much similar instruction, is suddenly silenced, and that none remains who, as inheriting the spirit of the departed, or as his favorite and intelligent scholar, is able to supply what is still wanting.

With this heavy feeling of sorrow, it seems perhaps inconsistent to express a passing regret that the author has not been permitted himself to superintend this edition of his Lectures, and to make those corrections which here and there might have appeared to him desirable. A few passages, noticed thus (†) in the text, were marked by Schlegel himself, either for emendation or enlargement, and the loss of these corrections we can not but miss and regret.

LECTURE I.

BY philosophy—and this term best expresses the historical and original conception as it was understood by the Greeks, who so variously and ingeniously developed it—I understand man’s innate and natural curiosity, so far as it is universal in its scope, and not from the first limited to any one specific end or subject.

This natural curiosity, consequently, stimulated by the mysteries of existence, whether in the external world or of its own consciousness, would fain make all these enigmas clear, to itself, and by attaining to an inward illumination, would discover the true signification, or, if we may so call it, the all-explaining key-word of life. And, indeed, there is no reasonable doubt but that the possession of this revivifying and living key-word would give to life, both individual and universal, a much more exalted energy. For nothing less than an internal light of intellectual brightness, or of the spirit made clear to itself, is that search after truth and knowledge, by which we discover the key-word and true signification of life, as a whole. By it all the powers, qualities, and faculties of the soul are strengthened anew, inwardly elevated, and augmented in force and fertility. And if any would prefer to give the name of science to this highest and earliest speculative knowledge or pursuit of internal certainty and divine truth, we object not, so long as it is admitted that it is not a science precisely in the same sense, and still less in exactly the same or similar form, as the other sciences, which are directed to one specific aim and limited to one subject. Free as life and the free-formed spirit itself, ever new, wonderful, versatile, and infinitely varied, both in internal structure and external manifestation, are the ways of man’s thinking and speculative spirit. A ready and apposite illustration will clearly demonstrate this peculiar freedom and manifold variety in the methods, species, and developments of philosophy. At any rate, if it do not place it vividly before our eyes, it at least suggests the idea of it. The written dialogues of Plato—that great master of philosophical exposition and of the thinking dialogue of science, with its ever-living and changing play of thought, and earnest spirit of investigation—are perhaps not less diversified in their course; not less wonderfully manifold and exuberant with all the riches of genius; not less peculiar in their general conception, as well as external development; not less exquisite in the finish of the several parts and divisions, than the poetical productions of the greatest and most admired of dramatists.

Those who are best acquainted with the art and the intellect of the poet and of the thinker, will be least inclined to dispute the justice and accuracy of this comparison. We appeal to the instance of Plato with greater confidence, not only because he stands alone, as inimitable for beauty of exposition, and for fullness and grace, as well as spirit and vividness of style, but also because (as is apparent from the numerous and varied compositions which he has bequeathed to posterity) every path of inquiry previously opened, as well as every road and by-way of dialectic subtilty still conceivable or possible, were perfectly familiar to this lofty intellect. There was, in short, no field of speculative thought and investigation, however high or deep, that remained unexplored by him. From any one of his most perfect master-pieces, consequently, we might perhaps, by a precise and exhaustive analysis of the art and skill that lies hidden in it, gain a more correct notion of the true and profitable method of speculative thought and investigation than from many or most of our compendiums of all absolute ideas and metaphysical chimeras, or from the systems at present in vogue of unconditional logical negation.

In order, however, to establish this view of a true philosophy of life, which in its very form is also living, it is unnecessary to appeal to any single example, even though it be one so splendid as that of the Socratic school in general, or of Plato, the greatest thinker it has produced. For in fact, the whole history of philosophy, from its commencement to its close, will serve as a proof and confirmation of its truth. In various ways does it teach and convince us that in this lofty struggle after truth the most divergent, and even apparently contradictory methods and tendencies may, however, and actually do lead to similar conclusions, nay, to one common result. It shows us that, however various may be the paths, the end of knowledge—the eagerly-sought jewel of truth itself—is by no means always and in all cases tied to any immutable and exclusive rule of one fixed form and solely felicitous method of thought, as to a magic charm on which all depends, and from which all success must flow. The history of philosophy, I said, for, understood in its full extent, in its correct sense and spirit, and in its deepest significancy, what else is this than the internal reverse of the picture of man?—the intellectual half of humanity, in its development through all the peculiar and remarkable processes which in the pursuit and cognition of truth—that noblest exercise of man’s powers and faculties—he has at any time had recourse to. And in tracing this gradual progression, we may easily discern an invisible guidance which shows itself, especially in the more remarkable epochs or transition-points and decided periods of the struggle. In the general exciting cause, and the new directions which the inward intellectual development occasionally took up, and the law it followed, an entirely distinct order of things manifests itself to the glance that looks beneath the surface, of a far higher and more exalted nature than aught which is comprised and established by the insignificant rule of our ordinary school methods, or which is only estimated and judged thereby.

It is by no means my wish to set aside the usual scholastic form in the academical exposition of scientific philosophy, or in any way to depreciate it when it is effectively carried out on strict principles. In its right place, and when the occasion demands it, we must acknowledge it to be indispensable. It is not to be neglected with impunity. This is especially the case in that period of our life which is more particularly and exclusively devoted to the study of the sciences, when philosophy naturally takes its place among the rest in the academical course, and also in the systematic mode of instruction assumes a form similar to the other sciences. It is involved in the already advanced but briefly and imperfectly developed idea of the spiritually free and ever-varying, ever-shifting form which belongs to the very nature of philosophical thought and knowledge, that when circumstances predispose, and its external relations afford the opportunity and occasion, philosophy should adopt and appropriate the limited and less absolute form of other sciences, or, as I would rather express it, may and can condescend to assume them. But this is only a special application for some collateral purpose, a deviation and exception from, and not the rule itself, if we thereby understand the natural rule, or that which is essential and original, and consequently the simplest and highest.

As regards, however, the philosophy which pretends to be the science of life, and not merely of the school, this principle follows from the fact, that when taken as a whole, and when the question is not of any special application to a particular view and object, its form also must be free and vivid. Consequently, even when classed and associated with the other sciences, it justly lays claim to the first place among them, as being of a different nature and origin.