It is therefore right when Goethe makes the transition from civil to religious freedom. Men cannot accomplish more than the realization of the freedom of the nations, for Mankind has its concrete existence only in the nations; if the nations are free, it is also free. Faust must thus be enraptured by this thought in the highest degree. But with it, he departs from the world—Heaven has opened itself above him. But, though Heaven sheds its grace, and lovingly receives the striving soul which has erred, still it demands repentance and complete purification from what is earthly. This struggle, this wrestling of the soul, I find expressed in the most sublime manner in the songs of the hermits and the choruses, and do not know what our time has produced superior in spiritual power, as well as in unwavering hope, though I must confess that I am not well enough versed in the fertile modern lyric literature of Pietism, to say whether such pearls are to be found in it.
Moreover, it is evident that the pliable Meister, and the stubborn Faust, are the two sides which were united in Goethe’s genius. He was a poet, and became a courtier; he was a courtier, and remained a poet. But in a more extensive sense this opposition is found in all modern nations, particularly among the Germans. They wish to obtain culture, and therefore shun no kind of society if they are improved. But they wish also to be free. They love culture so deeply that they, perhaps, for a while, have forgotten freedom. But then the Spirit warns them. They sigh, like Faust, that they have sat so long in a gloomy cell over Philosophy, Theology, etc. With the fierceness of lions, they throw all culture aside for the sake of freedom, and in noble delusion form an alliance—even with the Devil.
A CRITICISM OF PHILOSOPHICAL SYSTEMS.
[Translated from the German of J. G. Fichte, by A. E. Kroeger.]
[Note. Below we give to our readers the translation of another Introduction to the Science of Knowledge, written by Fichte immediately after the one published in our previous number. Whereas that first Introduction was written for readers who have as yet no philosophical system of their own, the present one is intended more particularly for those who have set philosophical notions, of which they require to be disabused.—Editor.]
I believe the first introduction published in this Journal to be perfectly sufficient for unprejudiced readers, i. e. for readers who give themselves up to the writer without preconceived opinions, who, if they do not assist him, also do not resist him in his endeavors to carry them along. It is otherwise with readers who have already a philosophical system. Such readers have adopted certain maxims from their system, which have become fundamental principles for them; and whatsoever is not produced according to these maxims, is now pronounced false by them without further investigation, and without even reading such productions: it is pronounced false, because it has been produced in violation of their universally valid method. Unless this class of readers is to be abandoned altogether—and why should it be?—it is, above all, necessary to remove the obstacle which deprives us of their attention; or, in other words, to make them distrust their maxims.
Such a preliminary investigation concerning the method, is, above all, necessary in regard to the Science of Knowledge, the whole structure and significance whereof differs utterly from the structure and significance of all philosophical systems which have hitherto been current. The authors of these previous systems started from some conception or another; and utterly careless whence they got it, or out of what material they composed it, they then proceeded to analyze it, to combine it with others, regarding the origin whereof they were equally unconcerned; and this their argumentation itself is their philosophy. Hence their philosophy consists in their own thinking. Quite different does the Science of Knowledge proceed. That which this Science makes the object of its thinking, is not a dead conception, remaining passive under the investigation, and receiving life only from it, but is rather itself living and active; generating out of itself and through itself cognitions, which the philosopher merely observes in their genesis. His business in the whole affair is nothing further than to place that living object of his investigation in proper activity, and to observe, grasp and comprehend this its activity as a Unit. He undertakes an experiment. It is his business to place the object in a position which permits the observation he wishes to make; it is his business to attend to all the manifestations of the object in this experiment, to follow them and connect them in proper order; but it is not his business to cause the manifestations in the object. That is the business of the object itself: and he would work directly contrary to his purpose if he did not allow the object full freedom to develop itself—if he undertook but the least interference in this, its self-developing.
The philosopher of the first mentioned sort, on the contrary, does just the reverse. He produces a product of art. In working out his object he only takes into consideration its matter, and pays no attention to an internal self-developing power thereof. Nay, this power must be deadened before he undertakes his work, or else it might resist his labor. It is from the dead matter, therefore, that he produces something, and solely by means of his own power, in accordance with his previously resolved-upon conception.
While thus in the Science of Knowledge there are two utterly distinct series of mental activity—that of the Ego, which the philosopher observes, and that of the observations of the philosopher—all other philosophical systems have only one series of thinking, viz: that of the thoughts of the philosopher, for his object is not introduced as thinking at all.
One of the chief grounds of so many objections to and misunderstandings of the Science of Knowledge lies in this: that these two series of thinking have not been held apart, or that what belonged to the one has been taken to belong to the other. This error occurred because Philosophy was held to consist only of one series. The act of one who produces a work of art is most certainly—since his object is not active—the appearance itself; but the description of him who has undertaken an experiment, is not the appearance itself, but the conception thereof.[[1]]
After this preliminary remark, the further application whereof we shall examine in the course of our article, let us now ask: how does the Science of Knowledge proceed to solve its problem?