FROM The Phenomenology of Spirit
BY G. W. F. Hegel[1]
It is a natural assumption
that in philosophy, before we start to deal with its proper subject-matter, viz. the actual cognition of what truly
is, one must first of all come to an understanding about cognition, which is
regarded either as the instrument to get hold of the Absolute, or as the medium
through which one discovers it. A certain uneasiness seems justified, partly
because there are different types of cognition, and one of them might be more appropriate
than another for the attainment of this goal, so that we could make a bad
choice of means; and partly because cognition is a faculty of a definite kind
and scope, and thus, without a more precise definition of its nature and
limits, we might grasp clouds of error instead of the heaven of truth. This
feeling of uneasiness is surely bound to be transformed into the conviction
that the whole project of securing for consciousness through cognition what
exists in itself is absurd, and that there is a boundary between cognition and
the Absolute that completely separates form. For, if cognition is the
instrument for getting hold of absolute being, it is obvious that the use of an
instrument on a thing certainly does not let it be what it is for itself, but
rather sets out to reshape and alter it. If, on the other hand, cognition is
not an instrument of our activity but a more or less passive medium through
which the light of truth reaches us, then again we do not receive the truth as
it is in itself, but only as it exists through and in this medium. Either way
we employ a means which immediately brings about the opposite of its own end;
or rather, what is really absurd is that we should make use of a means at all.
It would seem, to be sure,
that this evil could be remedied through an acquaintance with the way in which
the instrument works; for this would enable us to eliminate from the
representation of the Absolute which we have gained through it whatever is due
to the instrument, and thus get the truth in its purity. But this
"improvement" would in fact only bring us back to where we were
before. If we remove from a reshaped thing what the instrument has done to it,
then the thing-here the Absolute-becomes for us exactly what it was before this
(accordingly) superfluous effort. On the other hand, if the Absolute is
supposed merely to be brought nearer to us through this instrument, without
anything in it being altered, like a bird caught by a lime-twig, it would
surely laugh our little ruse to scorn, if it were not with us, in and for
itself, all along, and of its own volition. For a ruse is just what cognition
would be in such a case, since it would, with its manifold exertions, be giving
itself the air of doing something quite different from creating a merely
immediate and therefore effortless relationship. Or, if by testing cognition,
which we conceive of as a medium , we get to know the law of its refraction, it
is again useless to subtract this from the end result. For it is not the
refraction of the ray, but the ray itself whereby truth reaches us, that is
cognition; and if this were removed, all that would be indicated would be a
pure direction or a blank space.
Meanwhile, if the fear of
falling into error sets up a mistrust of Science, which in the absence of such
scruples gets on with the work itself, and actually cognizes something, it is
hard to see why we should not turn round and mistrust this very mistrust.
Should we not be concerned as to whether this fear of error is not just the
error itself? Indeed, this fear takes something-a great deal in fact-for
granted as truth, supporting its scruples and inferences on what is itself in
need of prior scrutiny to see if it is true. To be specific, it takes for
granted certain ideas about cognition as an instrument and as a medium, and
assumes that there is a difference between ourselves and this cognition. Above
all, it presupposes that the Absolute stands on one side and cognition on the
other, independent and separated from it, and yet is something real; or in
other words, it presupposes that cognition which, since it is excluded from the
Absolute, is surely outside of the truth as wll, is
nevertheless true, an assumption whereby what calls itself fear of error
reveals itself rather as fear of the truth.
This conclusion stems from
the fact that the Absolute alone is true, or the truth alone is absolute.
Now, because it has only
phenomenal knowledge for its object, this exposition seems not to be Science,
free and self-moving in its own peculiar shape; yet from this standpoint it can
be regarded as the path of the natural consciousness which presses forward to
true knowledge; or as the way of the Soul which journeys through the series of
its own configurations as though they were the stations appointed for it by its
own nature, so that it may purify itself for the life of the Spirit, and
achieve finally, through a completed experience of life itself, the awareness
of what it really is in itself.
Natural consciousness will
show itself to be only the Notion of knowledge, or in other words, not to be
real knowledge. But since it directly takes itself to be real knowledge, this
path has a negative significance for it, and what is in fact the realization of
the Notion, counts for it rather as the loss of its own self; for it does lose
its truth on this path. The road can therefore be regarded as the pathway of
doubt, or more precisely as the way of despair. For what happens on it is not
what is ordinarily understood when the word "doubt" is used: shilly-shallying about this or that presumed truth,
followed by a return to that truth again, after the doubt has been
appropriately dispelled-so that at the end of the process the matter is taken
to be what it was in the first place. On the contrary, this path is the conscious
insight into the untruth of phenomenal knowledge, for which the supreme reality
is what is in truth only the unrealized Notion. Therefore this thoroughgoing scepticism is also not the scepticism
with which an earnest zeal for truth and Science fancies it has prepared and
equipped itself in their service: the resolve, in Science, not to give oneself
over to the thoughts of others, upon mere authority, but to examine everything
for oneself and follow only one's conviction, or better still, to produce
everything oneself, and accept only one's deed as what is true.
The series of configurations
which consciousness goes through along this road is, in reality, the detailed
history of the education of consciousness itself to the standpoint of Science.
That zealous resolve represents this education simplistically as something
directly over and done with in the making of the resolution; but the way of the
Soul is the actual fulfillment of the resolution, in contrast to the untruth of
that view. Now, following one's own conviction is, of course, more than giving
oneself over to authority; but changing an opinion accepted on authority into
an opinion held out of personal conviction, does not necessarily alter the
content of the opinion, or replace error with truth. The only difference
between being caught up in a system of opinions and prejudices based on
personal conviction, and being caught up in one based on the authority of
others, lies in the added conceit that is innate in the former position. The scepticism that is directed against the whole range of
phenomenal consciousness, on the other hand, renders the Spirit for the first
time competent to examine what truth is. For it brings about a state of despair
about all the so-called natural ideas, thoughts, and opinions, regardless of
whether they are called one's own or someone else's, ideas with which the
consciousness that sets about the examination (of truth) straight away is still
filled and hampered, so that it is, in fact, incapable of carrying out what it
wants to undertake.
The necessary progression and
interconnection of the forms of the unreal consciousness will by itself bring
to pass the completion of the series. To make this more intelligible, it may be
remarked, in a preliminary and general way, that the exposition of the untrue
consciousness in its untruth is not a merely negative procedure. The natural
consciousness itself normally takes this one-sided view of it; and a knowledge
which makes the one-sidedness its very essence is itself one of the patterns of
incomplete consciousness which occurs on the road itself, and will manifest
itself in due course. This is just the scepticism
which only ever sees pure nothingness in its result and abstracts from the fact
that this nothingness is specifically the nothingness of that from which it
remits. For it is only when it is taken as the result of that from which it
emerges, that it is, in fact, the true result; in that case it is itself a
determinate nothingness, one which has a content. The scepticism
that ends up with the bare abstraction of nothingness or emptiness cannot get
any further from there, but must wait to see whether something new comes along
and what it is, in order to throw it too into the same empty abyss. But when,
on the other hand, the result is conceived as it is in truth, namely, as a
determinate negation, a new form has thereby immediately arisen, and in the
negation the transition is made through which the progress through the complete
series of forms comes about of itself.
This contradiction and its
removal will become more definite if we call to mind the abstract
determinations of truth and knowledge as they occur in consciousness.
Consciousness simultaneously distinguishes itself from something, and at the
same time relates itself to it, or, as it is said, this something exists Jar
consciousness; and the determinate aspect of the relating, or of the being of
something for a consciousness, is knowing. But we distinguish the
being-for-another from being-in-itself; whatever is related to knowledge or
knowing is also distinguished from it, and posited as existing outside of this
relationship; this being-in-itself is called truth. Just what might be involved
in these determinations is of no further concern to us here. Since our object is
phenomenal knowledge, its determinations too will at first be taken directly as
they present themselves; and they do present themselves very much as we have
already apprehended them.
Now, if we inquire into the
truth of knowledge, it seems that we are asking what knowledge is in itself.
Yet in this inquiry knowledge is our object, something that exists Jar us; and
the in-itself that would supposedly result from it would rather be the being of
knowledge Jar us. What we asserted to be its essence would be not so much its
truth but rather just our knowledge of it. The essence or criterion would lie
within ourselves, and that which was to be compared with it and about which a
decision would be reached through this comparison would not necessarily have to
recognize the validity of such a standard.
FROM
Reason in History
BY
G. W. F'. Hegel[2]
The question of the means
whereby Freedom develops itself into a world leads us directly to the
phenomenon of history. Although Freedom as such is primarily an internal idea,
the means it uses are the external phenomena which in history present
themselves directly before our eyes. The fIrSt glance
at history convinces us that the actions of men spring from their needs, their
passions, their interests, their characters, and their talents. Indeed, it
appears as if in this drama of activities these needs, passions, and interests
are the sole springs of action and the main efficient cause. It is true that
this drama involves also universal purposes, benevolence, or noble patriotism.
But such virtues and aims are insignificant on the broad canvas of history. We
may, perhaps, see the ideal of Reason actualized in those who adopt such aims
and in the spheres of their influence; but their number is small in proportion
to the mass of the human race and their influence accordingly limited.
Passions, private aims, and the satisfaction of selfish desires are, on the
contrary, tremendous springs of action. Their power lies in the fact that they
respect none of the limitations which law and morality would impose on them;
and that these natural impulses are closer to the core of human nature than the
artificial and troublesome discipline that tends toward order, self-restraint,
law, and morality.
When we contemplate this
display of passions and the consequences of their violence, the unreason which
is associated not only with them, but even-rather we might say especially-with
good designs and righteous aims; when we see arising therefrom the evil, the
vice, the ruin that has befallen the most flourishing kingdoms which the mind
of man ever created, we can hardly avoid being filled with sorrow at this
universal taint of corruption. And since this decay is not the work of mere
nature, but of human will, our reflections may well lead us to a moral sadness,
a revolt of the good will (spirit)-if indeed it has a place within us. Without
rhetorical exaggeration, a simple, truthful account of the miseries that have
overwhelmed the noblest of nations and polities and the fillest
exemplars of private virtue forms a most fearful picture and excites emotions
of the profoundest and most hopeless sadness, counterbalanced by no consoling
result. We can endure it and strengthen ourselves against it only by thinking
that this is the way it had to be-it is fate; nothing can be done. And at last,
out of the boredom with which this sorrowful reflection threatens us, we draw
back into the vitality of the present, into our aims and interests of the
moment; we retreat, in short, into the selfishness that stands on the quiet
shore and thence enjoys in safety the distant spectacle of wreckage and
confusion.
But in contemplating history
as the slaughter-bench at which the happiness of peoples, the wisdom of states,
and the virtue of individuals have been sacrificed, a question necessarily
arises: To what principle, to what final purpose, have these monstrous
sacrifices been offered?
From here one usually
proceeds to the starting point of our investigation: the events which make up
this picture of gloomy emotion and thoughtful reflection are only the means for
realizing the essential destiny, the absolute and final purpose, or, what
amounts to the same thing, the true result of world history. We have all along
purposely eschewed that method of reflection which ascends from this scene of
particulars to general principles. Besides, it is not in the interest of such
sentimental reflections really to rise above these depressing emotions and to
solve the mysteries of Providence presented in such contemplations. It is
rather their nature to dwell melancholically on the empty and fruitless
sublimities of their negative result. For this reason we return to our original
point of view. What we shall have to say about it will also answer the
questions put to us by this panorama of history.
The first thing we notice -something
which has been stressed more than once before but which cannot be repeated too
often, for it belongs to the central point of our inquiry-is the merely general
and abstract nature of what we call principle, final purpose, destiny, or the
nature and concept of Spirit. A principle, a law is something implicit, which
as such, however true in itself, is not completely real (actual). Purposes,
principles, and the like, are at first in our thoughts, our inner intention. They
are not yet in reality. That which is in itself is a possibility, a faculty. It
has not yet emerged out of its implicitness into existence. A second element
must be added for it to become reality, namely, activity, actualization. The
principle of this is the will, man's activity in general. It is only through
this activity that the concept and its implicit
("being-in-themselves") determinations can be realized, actualized;
for of themselves they have no immediate efficacy. The activity which puts them
in operation and in existence is the need, the instinct, the inclination, and
passion of man. When I have an idea I am greatly interested in transforming it
into action, into actuality. In its realization through my participation I want
to find my own satisfaction. A purpose for which I shall be active must in some
way be my purpose; I must thereby satisfy my own desires, even though it may
have ever so many aspects which do not concern me. This is the infinite right
of the individual to find itself satisfied in its activity and labor. If men
are to be interested in anything they must have "their heart" in it.
Their feelings of self-importance must be satisfied. But here a
misunderstanding must be avoided. To say that an individual "has an interest"
in something is justly regarded as a reproach or blame; we imply that he seeks
only his private advantage. Indeed, the blame implies not only his disregard of
the common interest, but his taking advantage of it and even his sacrificing it
to his own interest. Yet, he who is active for a cause is not simply
"interested," but "interested in it." Language faithfully
expresses this distinction. Nothing therefore happens, nothing is accomplished,
unless those concerned with an issue find their own satisfaction in it. They
are particular individuals; they have their special needs, instincts, and
interests. They have their own particular desires and volitions, their own
insight and conviction, or at
least their own attitude and
opinion, once the aspirations to reflect, understand, and reason have been
awakened. Therefore people demand that a cause for which they should be active
accord with their ideas. And they expect their opinion-concerning its goodness,
justice, advantage, profit-to be taken into account. This is of particular
importance today when people are moved to support a cause not by faith in other
people's authority, but rather on the basis of their own independent judgment
and conviction.
We assert then that nothing
has been accomplished without an interest on the part of those who brought it
about. And if "interest" be called "passion"-because the
whole individuality is concentrating all its desires and powers, with every
fiber of volition, to the neglect of all other actual or possible interests and
aims, on one object-we may then affirm without qualification that nothing great
in the world has been accomplished without passion.
[One) may indeed question
whether those manifestations of vitality on the part of individuals and peoples
in which they seek and satisfy their own purposes are, at the same time, the
means and tools of a higher and broader purpose of which they know nothing,
which they realize unconsciously. This purpose has been questioned, and in
every variety of form denied, decried, and denounced as mere dreaming and
"philosophy." On this point, however, I announced my view at the very
outset, and asserted our hypothesis-which eventually will appear as the result
of our investigation-namely, that Reason governs the world and has consequently
governed its history. In relation to this Reason, which is universal and
substantial, in and for itself, all else is subordinate, subservient, and the
means for its actualization. Moreover, this Reason is immanent in historical
existence and reaches its own perfection in and through this existence. The
union of the abstract universal, existing in and for itself, with the
particular or subjective, and the fact that this union alone constitutes truth
are a matter of speculative philosophy which, in this general form, is treated
in logic. But in its historical development (the subjective side,
consciousness, is not yet able to know what is) the abstract final aim of
history, the idea of Spirit, for it is then itself in process and incomplete.
The idea of Spirit is not yet its distant object of desire and interest. Thus
desire is still unconscious of its purpose; yet it already exists in the
particular purposes and realizes itself through them. The problem concerning
the union of the general and the subjective may also be raised under the form
of the union of freedom and necessity. We consider the immanent development of
the Spirit, existing in and for itself, as necessary, while we refer to freedom
the interests contained in men's conscious volitions .