LECTURES
on the PHILOSOPHY o f
W O R L D HISTORY
Volume 1 : Manuscripts of the Introduction and The Lectures of 1822-3
G E O R G W I L H E L M FR1EDRICH HEGEl.
L E C T U R E S O NT H E PHILOSOPHY O F W O R L D HISTORY VOLUME 1
MANUSCRIPTS O F T H E I N T R O D U C T I O N AND T H E L E C T U R E S O F 1822-3
Edited and Translated by
Robert F. Brown and Peter C . Hodgson
w i t h the assistance o t
William G . Geuss
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PREFACE W i t h this book an entirely new vCrs.on of Kegel s Lectures on the P h ^ phy of World History is made available t o the English-reading public. Earlier editions, in both German a n d English, amalgamated various manuscript and lecture sources i n t o an editorially constructed text that obscured Hegel s distinctive presentation i n each of the five series o f lectures he < W . « ™ d ° " this topic. T h e present edition, based on German critical editions, publishes Hegel's surviving manuscripts of his Introduct.on t o the lectures a n d t h e n presents the full transcription of the first series o f ' ^ f ' f ^ r h ^ of L o n d , later volume w i l l publish the trar.script.on of the last series t h a t of 1 8 3 0 - 1 together w i t h selections from intervening years. The E d i t o n a l i n t r o d u c t i o n surveys the history of the texts and provides an analytic sumL y of t h e m , enabling the structure of Hegel's presentation t o s u n d ou, d e a r l y a n d editorial footnotes introduce readers t o Hegel's many sources f u s i o n s . The volume o m ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ T ^ ^ Z 2 first rime an e d i t i o n is made available that permits cntical scholarly study. Presented in this way, the Weltgescbrchte becomes more accessible
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PREFACE
The editors, Robert F. Brown and Peter C. Hodgson, are deeply indebted
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CONTENTS
Editorial Introduction The Lectures on the Philosophy of World History Manuscripts o l the Introduction
1 1 2
The Transcriptions of the Lectures
5
Previous Editions and This Kdition
6
Analytic Summary of the Texts Manuscript: Introductory fragment, 1822, 1828 Manuscript: I n t r o d u c t i o n , 1830-1 Transcription of the Lectures of 1822-3 Introduction: The Concept of World History The Course of W o r l d History
1 1 1 1 12 20 20 31
The Oriental World
31
T h e Greek W o r l d The Roman W o r l d The Germanic W o r l d
43 SO 55
M A N U S C R I P T S OF T H E
INTRODUCTION
Introductory Fragment, 1822, 1828
67
Introduction, 1830-1 A. T h e General Concept of World History H. Mr- Actualization of Spirit in History a. T h e General Definition of Spirit as Intrinsically Free
78 79 86 87
b. The Means of Spirit's Actualization: Passions, Interests, Ideals C T h e Material of Spirit's Actualization: the State d. T h e t ionstitution C. The Course of W o r l d History
89 100 104 107
CONTENTS
CONTENTS
a. The Principle of Development h. The Stages of Development c. The Beginning of W o r l d History d . The Course of Development of World History Loose Sheets Also Spectacles of Endless Complexities C. Course [of W o r l d History]
107 110
Religion
251
11 ! 118 127 128
T H E L E C T U R E S O F 1822-3 I N T R O D U C T I O N : T H E CONCEPT OF W O R L D HISTORY
243 243
A r t
133
251 The Principle of India The Region of India The Castes Civil Legislation The Religious Sphere The State and its History Astronomy and A r t
^ _ „ ^ ^
The Types of Treatment o f History
133
India in the Framework of W o r l d History
Original History Reflective History Philosophical W o r l d History
133 136 140
Buddhism and Lamaism
The Idea of H u m a n Freedom The Fabric of W o r l d History The Concept of Spirit
146 146 147
The Principle of the Persian Empire
The Beginning of History The Progress of History The End of History
152 155 166
The Religion of l ight
169 177
The Medes and the Chaldeans
177 I SI
The Founding of the Persian Empire by Cyrus
^
Features of the Persian Empire
^
Human Passions and the Divine Idea The Nature of the State The State and the Actualization of Freedom The Constitution of the State The State and Religion, A r t , Science, and Culture The State and Geography The Division of World History
184 191 205
T H E COURSE OF W O R L D HISTORY
211
The O r i e n t a l W o r l d
211
China
2]]
The Historical Records of China
211
TheShu-Jing
2js
The M a i n Elements i n Chinese History
21**
Characteristics of the Chinese State
p_> ;
The M o r a l Sphere, Subjective Freedom, and their Violation
232
Ethical Customs
2^7
Fhe Sciences
2î„ viii
^ 304 ^
Persia The Geography of Ancient Persia
^
The Zend People, Language, and Books
^
Assyria and Babylonia Sources for Persia and the Persian Empire
Phoenicia
^
3^1
The Religion of Astarte and Adonis T he lewish Religion
^ 334
Hgypt The 1 and of Enigmatic Marvels Egyptian History Features or the Land and Life of Egypt Religion and the Cycle of Nature Animal Worship H o w the Egyptians Envisaged Spirit Art and Architecture The Dead and I m m o r t a l i t y Private or Particular Purpose Transition to Greece
ix
i
3
4
^ 339 ^ ^ »55 357 ^9 . ^ ? f j
CONTENTS
CONTENTS
The Greek W o r l d
371
The Periods of Greek H i s t o r y
372
The Origins of The Greek F o l k Spirit
373
W h o Are the Greeks?
373
The First Social and Political Organization
377
Greek Culture and A r t
382
Greek Religion
387
The Constitution of Greece
399
The M a t u r i t y of The Greek Spirit
404
The Persian Wars
405
Athens versus Sparta
407
Decline A n d Fall
413
The Peloponnesian W a t
414
The Emergence o i T h o u g h t
415
The End of Greek L i f e and the Age of Alexander the Great
420
The Roman W o r l d
426
T h e Roman Spirit Introduction
426 426
The Origins o f Rome Marriage and the Social Order
427 428
Roman Religion, Utility, and the Aristocracy T h e Periods of R o m a n H i s t o r y T h e Formation o f Roman Power
433 436 437
Early Kings, Patricians, a n d Plebeians Expansion and Conquest T h e W o r l d - D o m i n i o n of Rome
437 441 442
Rome's Place on the W o r l d Stage The Emperors: One W i l l Dominates A l l The A r r i v a l of Christianity
442 445 447
The T r u t h of the Idea The Appearance of the Idea Consequences of Christianity for Life and the State The D o w n f a l l of Rome The Germanic W o r l d Introduction
The T r i u m p h of Particularity The Abstract U n i t y of Islam and its Challenge t o Europe The M i d d l e Ages The Empire of Charlemagne Medieval Christianity Political Developments: Relations between Church and State The Quest f o r the Presence of Christ i n the Church The Crusades T h e T u r n t o the External W o r l d and N a t u r e The Transition To M o d e r n i t y . _ Art The C o r r u p t i o n of the Church The R e f o r m a t i o n The Constellations of Europe after the Reformation
4
7
3
474
4
7
482 488 ^ 494 *00 50U ~ 50/
The T u r n t o Concrete A c t u a l i t y : The Enlightenment
517
Conclusion 523 GLOSSARY BIBLIOGRAPHY NAME INDEX SUBJECT INDEX
461 461 464
9
514
457 460
The Beginning of Europe: Three Groups of Nations
9
6
The F o r m a l Universality of Thought: The N a t u r a l Sciences
447
461
^
4
4
The H i s t o r y o f M o d e r n i t y T h e W o r l d l y Existence of the M o d e m C h u r c h : Wars of Religion 509
450
The Idea and Historical Particularity The Periods of The History of The Germanic W o r l d
The Preparation o f T h e Early M i d d l e Ages C o m m o n a l i t y and Individuality
467
xi
EDITORIAL
INTRODUCTION T H E LECTURES O N T H E PHILOSOPHY OF W O R L D HISTORY Hegel lectured o n the philosophy o f w o r l d history for the first time i n the winter semester o f 1 8 2 2 - 3 i n B e r l i n . The lectures were repeated o n four occasions, i n 1 8 2 4 - 5 , 1 8 2 6 - 7 , 1 8 2 8 - 9 , and 1 8 3 0 - 1 . W o r l d history was the last discipline o f Hegel's system t o become the topic of lectures, w i t h the exception of those o n the proofs o f the existence of G o d , but thereafter they bad a secure place i n the two-year cycle of his lectures. These were also a m o n g the most popular of his lectures, for they served as an introduction to his thought and addressed other parts of his system as w e l l , such as the philosophy of right, the philosophy of spirit, the philosophy o f a r t , and the philosophy o f religion. Prior t o 1822-3, Hegel treated w o r l d history i n the context o f his lectures o n the philosophy of right, where i t comprised the t h i r d and final section o f his discussion of the state. These lectures were published as a textbook in 1 8 2 0 - l , a n d thereafter Hegel developed philoso p h y of w o r l d history i n t o a f u l l topic i n its o w n right. Hegel's other major historical w o r k , his lectures o n the history of philosophy, also attained their final f o r m d u r i n g the Berlin p e r i o d . 1
2
3
1. information for this first section is derived from the 'Edkoriscber rterkhr" in Georg Wifhelm F r i r ^ c h Hegd, V o r ^ w s s m a ^ xviii (Hamburg: Felix Meiner VerJag, 1995), 377-87; and from the 'Vorbemeriung* and 'Anhang* in Voriesungen Uber die Pbilosopbie der Wettgeschichte (Berlin 1822/1823), ed. Karl Heinz Iking, Karl Brcfimer, and Hoo Nam Seelmaan, VorUsungen: AusgewUhke Nachschriften ttnd Mamtskripu, n i (Hamburg: Felix Meiner Verlag, 1996), pp. vu-x, 527-36. Our transJadoos are from these two edns. 2. Elements of the Philosophy of Right, ed. Allen W. Wood, tt H . B. Nisbet (Cambridge; Cambridge University Press, 1992); see §{ 341-60 on world history. 3. Lectures on the History of Philosophy, 1825-6, 3 vols., ed. Robert F. Brown, fx R. F. Brown and J. M . Stewart (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 2006, 2009; a 1st edn. of vol. iii was published by t i e University of California Press in 1990). Hegel first lectured on the fuawry of 1
EDITORIAL INTRODUCTION
EDITORIAL INTRODUCTION
Auditors' transcriptions (Nacbschriften) exist f o r all of Hegel's lectures on w o r l d history, b u t his o w n manuscripts survive for only a fragment o f the Introduction, used i n 1822 and 1828, and for most o f the I n t r o d u c t i o n i n 1 8 3 0 - 1 . The present edition, as explained more fully below, translates the manuscript materials and the transcription of the first lectures ( 1 8 2 2 - 3 ) i n this first volume, w h i l e a second volume w i l l contain the transcription of the last lectures (1830-1) and selections from intervening years.
The Manuscript of 1 8 3 0 - 1 T h i s manuscript has been i n the Hegel Collection o f the Staatsbibliothek since the end o f the nineteenth century. It contains the date of the beginning o f the lectures, 8 November 1830. The manuscript is very carefully prepared a n d evidences a great deal of editing and revision, so that i t almost has the quality of a fair copy. I n terms o f both diction and care of composition it was apparently intended t o serve as the preliminary stage of a publication, even though reports are lacking o f a plan f o r publication such as exist for the proofs o f the existence o f G o d . Despite its highly edited condition, the manuscript is n o t complete. A comparison of the manuscript w i t h transcriptions of the lectures o f 1 8 3 0 - 1 shows that at several significant places (marked as such i n o u r translation), Hegel presented shorter or longer passages in the lectures that drew on earlier preparatory materials and for w h i c h today there is no extant manuscript. A t other places the manuscript has passages t h a t are n o t used for the lectures at a l l , and passages that differ f r o m parallels i n the lectures. T o w a r d the end o f the Introduction there is a diminishing agreement between the manuscript and the transcriptions, u n t i l i n the last section (on 'the course of w o r l d history') they diverge completely. Hegel's announced topic for the winter semester o f 1 8 3 0 - 1 was not, as i t h a d been previously, Philosophiam historiae universalis, but Pbilosophiae histortae universalis partem priorem. Thus he intended t o lecture on only the first part o f the philosophy o f w o r l d hisrory, and by this he i n all likelihood meant the I n t r o d u c t i o n that preceded the historical presentation. Hegel apparently intended t o reverse the tendency o f the more recent lectures, w h i c h his son K a r l Hegel described as reducing the philosophical and abstract aspects, expanding the historical material, and popularizing the w h o l e . However, Hegel i n fact d i d not f o l l o w through w i t h this plan and again lectured o n the whole o f the Weltgeschichte. We can only assume that he d i d not proceed as quickly as expected w i t h the revision of the Introducr i o n , and thus i t was n o t possible f o r him t o devote the entire course t o introductory and conceptual matters. Hegel's Berlin rectorate fell during the s
MANUSCRIPTS
OF THE
INTRODUCTION
4
The Manuscript o f 1822, 1828 This manuscript consists of three sheets; the first sheet is i n the Hegel Collection of the Staatsbibliothek Preußischer Kulturbesitz i n Berlin; the second t w o sheets are i n the Deutsches Literarurarchiv of the SchillerNationalmuseum in Marbach. The t w o sets of sheets are clearly connected and f o r m a unitary w h o l e , even though, through uncertain circumstances, they were separated and found their way t o different locations. A t the t o p of the first sheet Hegel wrote the date of the beginning o f his lectures in 1828,30 October 1828; and, adjacent t o this notation, the date o f the beginning of the lectures i n 1822, 31 October 1822. The t w o dates m i g h t suggest that Hegel wrote this manuscript for the earlier lectures and then at a later time revised it. But the order in w h i c h he wrote the dates, as well as differences i n the quality and color of the i n k , indicate that the extant sheets come f r o m the later lectures. T h e earlier date was most likely copied f r o m an earlier (and n o w lost) notebook, which served as a prototype f o r the preparation of the notes for 1828-9. Nonetheless, the manuscript agrees i n content with the beginning o f the lectures of 1822-3, except f o r marginal additions. It covers only the first t w o o f three rypes o f historiography, original and reflective history, before breaking off. In the I n t r o d u c t i o n t o the lectures other than those of 1822-3 and 1828-9, the varieties o f historiography are not d,scussed such, and the I n t r o d u c t i o n begins w i t h the philosophical concept of w o r l d history. a
regulativ on lome „H ™ r T a
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6
7
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2
5. On possible motives for a publicaaon, see the Manuscript of 1830-1, n. 72. 6. For a detailed comparison of the manuscript with Karl Hegel's transcription ot the lectures see Walter Jaeschke, 'Das Geschnebene und das Gesprochene; Wilhelm und Kan Hegel über den Begriff der Philosophic der Weltgeschichte\ Hegel-Studien, 44 (Hamburg: Felix Meiner Verlag. 2009), 13-44. Jaeschke believes it is possible that the main source for the actual lectures was not the extant manuscript bul other now-lost materials. 7 See Karl Hegel's Preface to the 2nd German edn. of 1840, tr. John Sibree in 185 / as The Philosophy of History, with a new introduction by C. j . Friedrich (New York: Dover Publica¬ tions, 1956), pp. x i - x i i .
3
EDITORIAL INTRODUCTION
EDITORIAL INTRODUCTION
preceding year (1829-30), and his numerous publication plans—a new edition o f the Science of Logic, a revision of the Phenomenology of Spirit, a w o r k on the Proofs of the Existence of God— made it impossible to undertake a thorough revision o f the beginning of the philosophy of w o r l d history lectures. The w r i t i n g of the manuscript probably occurred o n l y i n the weeks immediately preceding the beginning of the w i n t e r semester, that is, i n October 1830; and, in place of the expansion of the I n t r o d u c t i o n t h a t Hegel intended, his version i n 1830-1 is shorter than that of 1822-3. Loose Sheets T w o sets of loose sheets relate to the philosophy of w o r l d history. The first of these, contained i n the Berlin Staatsbibliothek, beginning w i t h the words 'Also Spectacles of Endless Complexities', is written o n the back o f a single quarto sheet, w h i c h o n the front has a notice by Eduard Gans on the current state of the July Revolution in France, dated 5 August 1830. This fragment relates t o Hegel's preparation of his manuscript of the Introduction t o w o r l d history. I t represents a preliminary stage of the middle section o f the manuscript, in which Hegel discusses the means by w h i c h freedom is actualized in the w o r l d . Its themes are recognizable in corresponding passages of the manuscript. The m o t i f of struggle and of the mutual destruction of particular passions is, to be sure, not f o u n d in the existing manuscript. B u t compar ison w i t h the transcriptions of the lectures of 1830-1 shows that Hegel treated these themes, including his famous reference to the 'cunning o f reason', immediately following the discussion of world-historical individuals, notably Caesar. In o u r edition this occurs at the transition f r o m page 165 t o 166 of the German t e x t . Since the fragment is one o f several preliminary pieces t o the manuscript, i t is probable that Hegel w r o t e i t at the beginning of h«s preparation tor the lectures of 1 8 3 0 - 1 , namely i n September 1831). 8
• r° ^ ^ ' ° y ] ' ' ^ o w n e d by he Bibhoteca Naz,onale Centrale, Florence. I t is w r i t t e n on the back of a T
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fragment
corresponds to the beginning of Part C, 'The Course of World
History
,n the 1 3 0 - 1 manuscript. But it is not a preliminary d r a f t of this
THE
TRANSCRIPTIONS
LECTURES
The Lectures o f 1822-3 T w o excellent transcriptions exist of this first course of lectures: those prepared by K a r l Gustav Julius v o n Griesheim (located in the Berlin Staatsbibliothek) and by H e i n r i c h Gustav H o t h o (owned by the Bibliothèque de Sorbonne, Paris, the Victor Cousin Collection). Griesheim provides a caref u l , complete, and reliable fair copy of Hegel's lectures, while Hotho's transcription was w r i t t e n d o w n during the course of the lectures w i t h many abbreviations and some obscurities. According to the German editors o f the edition we have translated," H o t h o is better at providing the language a n d philosophical conceptuality of Hegel w i t h o u t interjecting his own point o f view, w h i l e Griesheim has fewer details and more summaries that reflect his o w n view. However, an astonishing amount of nearly verbatim agreement exists between Griesheim and H o t h o . H o t h o serves as the guiding text ( Leittext) for o u r edition, but the extensive agreement w i t h Griesheim makes i t possible to employ b o t h sources in the construcrion of a continuous, •integral' text, w h i c h approximates as closely as possible to what Hegel actually said. Where necessary, reference can be made to a t h i r d transcript i o n , that o f Friedrich Cart H e r m a n n Victor v o n Kehler (Staatsbibliothek), w h i c h is not complete and comprises only twenty-three quarto pages; Kehler also transcribed the 1824-5 lectures. In his first lectures o n the philosophy of w o r l d history, Hegel devoted considerable attention not only to the Introduction but also to the Oriental W o r l d (China, India, Persia, Egypt), w h i c h comprises nearly half the volume f o l l o w i n g the I n t r o d u c t i o n . He shared the g r o w i n g interest in Asia of the 1820s and studied much o f the available literature, acquiring a knowledge that he utilized also for lectures on the philosophies of art and religion and on the history o f philosophy. Toward the end of his lectures he ran out of time and as a consequence his treatment of the Germanic w o r l d was c o m pressed. This imbalance was redressed i n later lectures. From these lectures we learn that Hegel's treatment of geography (at least in 1822-3) is systematically anchored i n his discussion of the state as one o f its essential features, rather than the topic being treated separately or relegated to an appendix, as i n earlier editions. The state as the bearer of history has not only a spiritual-cultural aspect but also a natural aspect, and in this
9. VorUMgen »ber * !• See below, Manuscnpt of the Ititroducuon, 1830-1, n. 44.
OF THE
Ph.losopb* der WeitgMu
the methods of the German editors, see pp. 532-6.
(see n. 1), 527-8,531. F o r d e d on
EDITORIAL INTRODUCTION
EDITORIAL INTRODUCTION
way ir is the unity o f spirit and nature. Historical events are objectifications of spirit in interaction with nature, yielding the history o f the consciousness of freedom. The latter, as we shall explain below, also constitutes a theodicy, for the progress o f freedom is the work o f God i n history.
by introducing materials f r o m earlier lecrures.
11
John Sibree translated Karl
Hegel's edition into English in 18S7. and it remained the only English source for over a hundred years. In 1917 Georg Lasson published a 4-volume edition of the Weltgeschicbte. The first volume of his edition, containing the Introduction (under the title Die Vernunft in der Geschicbte) was revised by Johannes Hoffmeister i n 1955, and the latter was translated by H . B. Nisbet in 1975. As the German editors o f the new edition point o u t , all these earlier editions obscure the conception o f the individual lectures and mask the changes Hegel introduced. They had the principal goal of producing an editorially constructed unitary text, o f m a k i n g 'a book out of lectures', rather t h a n of p r o v i d i n g a critical source f o r study of the Weltgeschtchte. u
The Lectures o f 1830-1 Hegel's last lectures on the philosophy of w o r l d history were completed onlv a few months before his death i n November 1831. A transcription by the philosopher's son, Karl Hegel, is i n the possession of the Hegel Archiv (Ruhr-Universität, Bochum), and it will serve as the basis for o u r second English volume when the transcription is published i n the Gesammelte Werke a tew years f r o m now, along w i t h selected materials f r o m intervening years. As we have indicated, these lectures provide a more balanced treatment of the tour ma,or "worlds' or 'realms' comprising w o r l d history (Oriental, Greek, Roman, and Germanic!. We could have elected t o hold our translation o f Hegel's manuscript of the Introduction t o the lectures o f 1830-1 for this second v o l u m e , where i t would appear along w i t h the transcription of these lectures. However, there are good reasons for presenting all the manuscript materials together in a single volume, as is the case w i t h the German critical edition {Gesammelte Werke vol. xvi,„. And the uncertainties involved in the delay led us t o proceed w i t h its publication now.
PREVIOUS
EDITIONS
AND THIS
EDITION
the We t
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According to his notes o n the composition of the text, Lasson published i n his first volume Hegel's 1830 manuscript of the Introduction. He interwove passages f r o m the manuscript w i t h parallel texts from the transcr.pt.ons, distinguishing the manuscript by larger type. For the transcriptions he used Griesheim as the source for the lectures of 1822-3, Kehler for the lectures ot 1824-5, and Stieve for 1 8 2 6 - 7 . Apparently unaware of K a r l Hegel's trans e c t i o n o f the lectures of 1 8 3 0 - 1 , he assumed that Hegel lectured only on 'Part One' in the final year. Where the lecture transcriptions available t o Lasson paralleled the printed text o f the second edition of the Werke, Lasson corrected the printed text i n light o f the transcriptions; but he found numerous sections i n the printed text for which no parallels existed in his transcriptions, and these he reproduced exactly as they appeared i n the published version. Thus Lasson's e d i t i o n , apart f r o m the manuscript, was an amalgam of diverse materials w i t h no identification o f sources and no distinction between lecture series. l
Previous Editions
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I''" ^ t>™^"y ° " transcr.pt.ons of v those o f 1 8 i n _ i k , u i . , lecture manuscr.pt of 1 8 3 0 ^ 1 ^ t h A T "Vt annearedin lS4n A- A C \ , . ' < - Werke appeared m 1840, ed.ted by K a r l Hegel, who added t o w h a t Cans had done 0
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11 See Karl Hegel's Preface, The Philosophy of History, tr. Sibree, pp. x.-x.. ^ubdaumsoMf l e . l i m He pra,sed the lectures o. 1822-3 as he.ngtbe richest in ph.losoph«! concept, a i m . and he drew the Griesheun and 1 lo.ho t r a n s i t i o n s inlo h.s edt. P V o r / ™ ™ Uber du Philosoph* der Weltgeschichte (Lcpz«: Verlag von Fei« Me.net vLnlt m der dfnchle (2nd edn.. 1920; 3rd e d , . 1930,;,, Die onenta hsche Veit i n Die gnethische and du römische Veit. iv. Die germanische Veit 3 S Ä äer Geschieh,, ed. Johannes Hof (meiste r ^ a m b " ^ ^ ^ Meiner. 1955t. Lectures on the Philosoph ^ ^ J ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ Z it. I L B. N.sbe. w.,h an I n t r o d u c e * bv Duncan Forbes iCambndge: Press. 19751. The tema.n.ng vols, of .he Lasson edn.. no, translated. A „ ot ,he I n t r o d u c o n . based mamly onjhe kar Hege edn was p u R » Roben S. Hanman as Reason* H.slorv (New York: B<*bvMerr.ll Co., 19531. 14. This is the poal announced by Gans {Jubtläumsausgabe. 121.
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15. Reason in History, 221-6.
EDITORIAL INTRODUCTION
EDITORIAL INTRODUCTION
Hoffmeister made only minor changes to Lasson, although he recognized that the whole needed t o be re-edited. I n a d d i t i o n t o f o l l o w i n g Hegel's o w n subdivisions in the 1830 manuscript of the I n t r o d u c t i o n , he made use of the sheets containing what he called 'The Varieties of Historical W r i t i n g ' , realizing that this material constituted the beginning of the lectures i n 1822 and 1828. Consequently, Hoffmeister placed it at the beginning of the volume, designating i t the 'first draft' of the Introduction, f o l l o w e d by the 'second draft' of 1830. In both cases the manuscript materials were printed in italic, and they were interwoven w i t h passages f r o m the transcriptions i n r o m a n type. The 'geographical basis of w o r l d history' and the 'division of w o r l d history' remained in the appendix. As indicated, it is this edition that was translated by Nisbet in 1975; and until now it has remained the best source for Hegel's Introduction i n English.
Considerable agreement exists between Walter Jaeschke's edition of the manuscripts of the I n t r o d u c t i o n i n volume xviii of the Gesammelte Werke and the earlier w o r k of U s s o n and Hoffmeister on these materials. Consequently we have been helped by H . B. Nisbet s translation of the manuscripts in Reason in History. However, o u r translation differs from his in many ways, large a n d small, and we always f o l l o w Jaeschke's critical text and annotations. For the transcription of the lectures of 1822-3 in volume xu of the Voriesungen, there is no precedent i n English, although parallel passages are found in the Sibree translation of the second Werke edition.
16
This Edition The underlying principle of the critical edition of Hegel's lectures is that the transcriptions must be treated separately and published as independent units. Obviously, it is impractical t o edit and translate transcriptions of a l l five of Hegel's series of lectures on Weltgeschichte. A selection must be made, and here the principal criterion is the reliability and intrinsic value o f the sources. The r w o best transcriptions are those by Griesheim and Hotho of the first series, 1822-3; and the possibility of constructing an integral text based on both sources makes this an obvious choice. K a r l Hegel's transcription of the lectures of 1830-1 is also reliable, and its inclusion w i l l make i t possible for the critical edition to publish the first and the last lecture series, w i t h selections from intervening years. A d d e d to this is the fact that the manuscripts ot the Introduction are from the first and the last series. 18
O u r translation is a collaborative effort. The w o r k of each of us has been read and corrected by the other t w o . The German editors of the lectures of 1822-3 provide detailed annotations for the sections on China, India, and Persia, but very few f o r the remainder of the w o r k where (they claim) Hegel draws upon w e l l - k n o w n sources. We have extensively supplemented the annotations f o r these other sections and have provided additional annotations for C h i n a , I n d i a , and Persia. The German editors of both the manuscripts and the transcriptions include a detailed apparatus on the construction of the text. We have not translated the apparatus except at a few places where there is a significant bearing on meaning or where we prefer an alternative reading of the main text. We have held bracketed insertions t o a m i n i m u m , n o t reproducing the many brackets used by the editors of the transcription t o complete sentences grammatically. In the manuscripts we indicate Hegel's frequent use of emphasis by means of italics; elsewhere italics are f o u n d sparingly. We have provided the subheadings for the 1 8 2 2 - 3 lectures. Pagination of the German texts is i n the margins, w i t h the page breaks marked by vertical slashes. 19
O u r translation principles f o l l o w those originally worked out for the Lectures on the Philosophy of Religion. These principles are in brief: (1) t o achieve u n i f o r m i t y i n the translation of key terms, we have worked f r o m a 10
16. Usson did not have access to the manuscript fragments of 1822 and 1828 for his 1st edn ut onlv to mdicaimns from the Werke edns. and from the transection of 182 3 t b roducnon had begund.fferently i n this yea. He provided an edited v e r s i J o f V n ^ r Ï t h
t
^"script- When the 1822 and 1828 fragments became available, he added them as -addenda" 17- Reason m History, 5-9
^
^
^
and a third pan-volume may conta.n selections from other lecture series. Hegel s ^ senpts have been published ,n vol. xv„i of uSe Gesammelte Werke ,see above, ^ M * ~ - J upon vol. xvni of the Gesammelte Werke and vol. « I of the Vorlesungen, we are able to proceed now with the translation of the first vol. of our English edn. 19. For , h , purpose we have rehed in pan on The Oxford C M Denary N . G. ,.. H a m L n a n d H . H . Scullatd | Oxford: Oxford Umvetsitv Press, £ New Colmdw Encyclopedia, ed. William H . Harris and Judrth S. Lew (NewJfrfc-d London: C o t _ M . University Press. 1975). We also have drawn on t e ^ s t o m .hr ^ S
^
and J. M . Stewart, 3 vols. (Oxford Oarendon Press, 2007), i . 52-8. Onpnally publ. b> the Universrt of California Press, 1984-7.
t
9
EDITORIAL INTRODUCTION
EDITORIAL IN TRODUCTION
glossary, which is modified f r o m that used for the Philosophy of Religion and the History of Philosophy, and is printed at the back of the volume; (2) we have not sacrificed precision for the sake of fluency and believe that the more precisely Hegel's thought is rendered the more intelligible it generally becomes; (3) we have attempted to preserve a sense of the spoken w o r d and of Hegel's oral delivery; (4) we have used a ' d o w n ' f o r m a t a n d have avoided capitalizing common Hegelian terms such as 'idea' and ' s p i r i t ' ; (5) we have employed gender-inclusive references to human beings and wherever possible to G o d .
A N A L Y T I C S U M M A R Y OF T H E T E X T S
We conclude these preliminary remarks by noting that what f o l l o w s after the Introduction is not a history i n the sense of a chronological account of events but rather a cultural and political portrayal o f various ' w o r l d s ' , a portrait' of what is distinctive about each of several great civilizations (Chinese, Indian, Persian, Egyptian, Greek, Roman, and Germanic or European |, a n d w h y Hegel thinks they constitute a meaningful progression in the development of spirit, t r u t h , and freedom, viewed on a large scale. For the purpose of philosophical portraiture, the medium of o r a l lectures is ideally suited. Duncan Forbes claims, in his Introduction to Reason in History, that Hegel's philosophy 'is best approached i n rhe spirit of Plato's, as something that is in danger of being destroyed or distorted i f i t is w r i t t e n down'. Forbes points out that Hegel was i n fact reluctant to publish, and that only four of his books were published during his lifetime. To give these publications a defimm e priority over his spoken lectures, with which h e w a i almost exclusively occupied during the last decade in Berlin, is t o treat his philosophy as a closed book, whereas it was an attempt t o ' t h i n k life', dialectically yet concretely, holistically yet w i t h shrewd insight i n t o d e t a i l — and it is precisely the details that occupy most of the Wettgeschichte. The only way to appreciate this k i n d of thinking, says Forbes, is t o ' w a t c h it at w o r k ' on the podium. Once it ceases t o be thinking and becomes thought, once i t stops speaking and is reduced to an editorial amalgam (as w i t h older editions of the lectures), « ceases to be a living process and becomes a system. The p n n c p a l goal of Hegel's ph.losophy is t o permit thinking to remain open, fluid, and continuous. 11
Our analysis of the texts attempts to honor that i n t e n t i o n . I n this analysis, references to footnotes are to those belonging to the texts of the
vnZT arn
Introduction.
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MANUSCRIPT:
INTRODUCTORY
FRAGMENT,
1822,
1828
By way of indicating w h a t is distinctive about a philosophical history of the w o r l d , Hegel begins his lectures in 1822 and 1828 by surveying three varieties of historiography: original history, reflective history, and philosophical history. Original history is w r i t t e n by historians such as Herodotus and Thucydides w h o have themselves witnessed, experienced, and lived through some of the events they describe. They transposed things that merely happened and existed externally {res gesta) i n t o the realm of intellectual representation by constructing narrative and p o e t i c accounts {htstoria). It is the historian who does this, w h o fashions a whole out of w h a t has passed away, thereby investing it w i t h i m m o r t a l i t y , giving i t 'a more exalted and better soil than that transient soil i n w h i c h it grew'. Original historians, however, do this only w i t h events that for the most part are contemporaneous w i t h them and that belong to their o w n w o r l d , the w o r l d i n w h i c h they themselves are participants, leaders, authors. Such historians are immersed in the material and do not rise above i t t o reflect on i t . They have written the 'bibles' of their peoples," and through them the material comes to us, fresh and alive. 12
21
4
Reflective history goes beyond w h a t is present simply to the author; it depicts w h a t was present n o t only i n time but also i n the life of spirit. It includes everything w r i t t e n by those w h o m we customarily call historians. 25
22. The German .s ursprünglich, which can also be translated 'primeval- or 'pritnordUT For analyses of Hegel's discussion ol the varieties of historiography, see George Dennis O Bnen, Hegel or. Reason and History (Ch.cago: Un.vers.iy ofClncago Press, 1975); and Burle.gh Taylor Wilkins, Hegel's Philosophy of History (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 1974). 23. While Hegel claims that poetry, legends, and folksongs do not belong to original history because thev are the product of an obscure' consciousness, it is clear thai he uses epic poetry such as the Mahabharata and Homer to help construct the worldsof India and Greece. He even savs that Homer is ihe Grundbuch of Greece. 24. The Holv Bible of Jews and Christians is an example of such an original history. Peoples invest such histories w.th divine inspiration, which is a way of recognizing their archetypal importance in consntunng identity. . . . • 25. Reflecuve h.story \refekl,erende Geschichte) is lo be d.st.nguished bom speculative history, which is in fact philosophical history. The subtypes of reflective h.story are umversal pragmatic, critical, and specialized (for the latter two, see the beginning of the Lectures ot 1822-3). Hon Nam Seelmann argues thai the three mam types of rus.ory (original reflecuve, ph.losnrh.cal) correspond .o Hegel s underlying logical structure: original or _ separaten or reflection, and re-establ^hed uni.y on a higher, mediated level See WeltgeMte als Idee der menschlichen Freiheit: Hegels GeschichtsphlosophU m der Vorlesung i-on l B W (doctoral dissertation. University of Saarland; Saarbrücken, 19861, 7 14. <
21. Reason m Htstory, pp. xui-xiv.
10
11
EDITORIAL INTRODUCTION
EDITORIAL INTRODUCTION
The author comes t o the material w i t h his o w n spirit, w h i c h likely is
to w h a t is given empirically. 'Philosophy by contrast is assumed to have its
different from the spirit of the content itself; and everything depends on
own thoughts, produced by speculation f r o m out of itself without reference
the maxims and representational principles that the author applies t o the
t o w h a t is. W i t h such thoughts i t supposedly approaches history as a mate-
content and to the style of his w r i t i n g .
rial t o be treated; it does not leave it as it is but arranges it in accord with
Hegel distinguishes between several modes of reflective history. The first
thought and constructs
a history a p r i o r i . ' The a i m of history, so it is said
consists of surveys of a people or country or even the w o r l d as a whole,
(by historians such as Ranke?), is simply t o discover 'what happened'.
which are compilations from the accounts of original historians and other
To refute the c l a i m that philosophy imports its thoughts into history is the
sources. When the reflective historian attempts to depict the spirit of the age
purpose of the first section of Hegel's I n t r o d u c t i o n .
about which he writes, it is usually his o w n spirit that is heard (compare an original historian such as Polybius w i t h a compiler such as L i v y ) . N o more
A . T h e General Concept of W o r l d History
than such a writer can we transpose ourselves completely and vividly into
The sole conception that philosophy brings w i t h it is the admittedly auda-
the times of the past; so, for example, as much as we admire Greece and find its life congenial, we cannot truly sympathize w i t h the Greeks or share their feelings. As an example of a historian w h o endeavors t o compile individual traits and to portray them i n a faithful and lifelike manner, Hegel introduces a reference to Leopold Ranke (see note 25) when he revises his notes i n 1828-9. He does not have a high o p i n i o n of Ranke, w h o in his judgment offers an assortment of details of little interest, w i t h little o r no reference t o political concerns and general purposes. The second mode consists of pragmatic
cious claim t h a t reason governs the w o r l d and that w o r l d history is a rational process. From the p o i n t o f v i e w of history itself, this is a presupposition.
But
philosophy, by speculative c o g n i t i o n , proves that reason (and w i t h it, God) is substance and infinite p o w e r — b o t h the material of all natural and spiritual life a n d the infinite f o r m that activates this content. Such reason is its own presupposition, the absolute final end; it is the activation and bringing forth into w o r l d history of b o t h the natural universe and the spiritual realm. N o t h i n g is revealed i n the w o r l d except the divine reason, its honor and
history, of which Hegel is both
glory: this may be presupposed as demonstrated. The demonstration is
critical and appreciative. O n the one hand, the historian can, like an amateur
provided by the w h o l e of philosophy, including the science of logic, the
p s y c h o l o g y , take up moral questions, deriving motives not f r o m the concept of the thing itself but f r o m particular inclinations and passions, and offermg hortatory reflections. O n the other hand, th.s pragmatism can be a rational history, which focuses on a totality of interests such as a state, a constitution, oraconfl.ct. Here thehistorianreflectsonhowa people becomesa state, what the ends of a state are, what institutions are needed to bring true interests t o actuality, and what sort of necessity is at w o r k in history The manuscript breaks off at this point, w i t h o u t completing reflective history or addressing philosophical history. For the continuation we must reter to the transcription of the lectures of 1822-3.
MANUSCRIPT:
INTRODUCTION,
1830-1
I n s t e a d ^ surveying the varieties o f histonography, Hegel begins the lectures
thertl
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nents is Hegel's Weltgeschichte.
Thus the presupposition is also the result of
the inquiry w e are about to undertake. What w i l l make itself evident from the consideration of w o r l d history itself is that a rational process has been taking place i n i t , 'that w o r l d history is the rational and necessary course of w o r l d spirit'. This presupposition and result, this 'speculative cognition', can be described as Hegel's metahistory;
and every historian has a metahistoncal
perspective, whether acknowledged o r not.
26. See Hayden White, Memory: The Historical Imagination m N M » « < > * J Europe (Baltimore and London: Johns Hopkins University Press, \9/». ^ / ™T , metah.stoncal perspective is slated abstractly and from a bird's eve p e r s p e c t i v e « " ^ * « « * the Philosophy* Rig*,, « 341-4: in the details of the Wehgeschubte, he comes down toeart . The metahistoncal perspective does not exclude historical and humanist penpn Gets, (or Hegel assumes three has.c shapes: that of human individuals, .hat o. j g ^ T S iVolksgeKter), and that of universal or world spirit (Vdtgrist, « * £ « J ™ 2 h « S bZ or God,. The three are tec.pcc~.ly dependent on each this ground is of such a nature that ,t requires actual.Mt.on in the thick c c — « y SittUchkeu (ethical l.fel because ,he tnune God is ^ ^ T S l b i i J . S * * Hegeh idea of Freedom (Oxlord: Oxford Univers.ty Press, 1999). ch. U and K U C j
^ ^ ^ ^ ^ Z a
^ h - o r v is n o t h i n g o t h t r than the c o n t e m p l a t e of « by means of thinking. But this raises the ouest.on as t o whether t h i n k m g should not be subordinared to Z S " rh
philosophy of nature, and the philosophy of spirit, one of whose compo-
o
12
f
13
EDITORIAL INTRODUCTION
EDITORIAL INTRODUCTION
But history must also be taken as i t is, and we must proceed i n a historical, empirical fashion. Hegel's empiricism is manifestly evident f r o m the Weltgeschichte, which pursues the minutest details of analysis and accords great attention to the framework provided by nature. Hegel accuses the professional hisrorians themselves of introducing a priori fictions i n t o history, such as claims about an original, primeval people w h o lived in perfect insight and wisdom. But truth does not reside on the superficial plane of the senses; i n regard t o everything scientific {wissenschaftlich), 'reason may not slumber and must employ meditative t h i n k i n g . ' Whoever looks at the w o r l d rationally sees it as rational too.'
speak, have a good conscience about them'. W i t h this he advances one of his central theological claims. ' I n the Christian religion God has revealed godself; i.e., God has given it t o humanity to k n o w w h a t God is, so that God is no longer something hidden and concealed.' Along w i t h this revelation comes a theodicy, a justification of God's ways i n the w o r l d . We are able to comprehend the horrendous evils of the w o r l d as negated through the negation of the negative. How this is accomplished w i l l be examined shortly.
7
The conviction that reason has governed and continues t o govern the world is not ours alone. Hegel cites philosophical precedents g o i n g back t o Anaxagoras and Socrates. The alternative is to attribute everything t o chance, as Epicurus d i d (and as many others have done i n modernity and postmodermty). The conviction about reason also assumes another f o r m , that of o u r own religious faith that the w o r l d is n o t given over to chance and external, contingent causes, but is ruled by providence. 'Divine providence is the wisdom that has the infinite power to actualize its purposes, that is, the absolute, rational, final purpose o f the w o r l d . ' This is spiritual power, n o t Physical power, and it interacts w i t h finite spirits freely; it does n o t coerce them but as we shall see, works both in a positive fashion as a lure and i n a negative fashion at cross-purposes to narrow human interests. M o s t people believe that the providential plan is hidden f r o m our eyes, that i t is presumptuous to w a n t to k n o w , t . I t is allowed t o appear only here and there i n pamcular cases. But we should not be content w i t h this 'petty commerce' on the p a n of faith m providence. Rather, the ways of providence are its means, its appearance i n history, and they lie open before us At this ,uncture Hegel is led to consider the question as to whether i t is eTsu T Z t o av T J that nh I '
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Philosophy,
B. The Actualization of Spirit in H i s t o r y " World history takes place in the realm of spirit (Geist), and the actualization of spirit is w h a t constitutes history. This actualization occurs in three (or four) main stages. T h e Orientals d i d not k n o w that spirit, the human being as such, is intrinsically free; w i t h them, only one is free, the despot. The consciousness o f freedom first arose among the Greeks, but they, like the Romans, knew only that some are free (adult male citizens for Greeks, rulers and aristocrats f o r Romans), and their beautiful freedom depended on slaves. The Germanic or European nations, through Christianity, were the first to know, i n principle, that the human being as human is free, that freedom of spirit constitutes humanity's inherent nature. The application of this principle t o actuality is the long and arduous process that is history i t s e l f . I n Hegel's famous f o r m u l a t i o n : ' W o r l d history is the progress of the consciousness of freedom'. H i s t o r y involves the 'education of the human t a c e \ but t o what? To f r e e d o m - n o t directly, but as a result. Hegel notes the immense difference between the principle as i t is intrinsically and w h a t it is i n actuality, and the immense labor required of spirit to achieve the principle. But freedom conrains 'the infinite necessity w i t h i n itself to bring itself t o consciousness and to actuality'. The question then becomes: what means does it employ f o r its actualization? 29
30
JI
28. H«yden White observes that Hegel views the historical field as b o * . structure'and a 'diachronic process' {Metahistory, 106). The first comprehends h ^ o r v a s , spectacle of purpose-, the second comprehends it as a process of section is concerned with purpose (the actualization of spint in history , while the next secuor. • T h e Course of World History') presents development as a meaningful process. 29. See Philosophy of Right, 352-3. The typology o. stages of the freedom is already found in Hegel's 1820-1 lectures on the history of philosophy {History of ^ t ^ r m i " World ,1822-3,, Hege! says that the spirit of the freedom, and that 'the ages pnor to our age have faced hut one labor, have had but one task, and that has been to incorporate this principle into actuality" (below p. W 31. We know fromihe Philosophy of Right, § 343, that Hegel's reference here is to Lessmg Education of the Human Race (see n . 31 of the text,.
14
15
EDITORIAL INTRODUCTION
EDITORIAL INTRODUCTION
Hegel's answer focuses on t w o instruments: human passions and divine ideals. The first represents a negative means, the second a positive o r affirmative means. History shows that the actions of human beings proceed f r o m their needs, passions, and interests, although individuals sometimes pursue limited goodness and other virtues. Passions, private interests, the satisfaction of selfish impulses are the most p o w e r f u l forces i n history because they do not heed the limitations o f justice and m o r a l i t y . They are not just irrational instruments but reason governed by emotions, self-interest, fear, and greed. Hegel testifies eloquently t o the destruction w r o u g h t by these passions, t o the immensity of evil, the u n t o l d miseries of individual human beings, the misfortunes that have befallen even the finest creations of culture, the transience of everything. As we look upon history as this slaughterhouse in which the happiness of peoples, the w i s d o m of states, and the virtues of individuals are sacrificed, our thoughts are necessarily impelled t o ask: to whom, to what final purpose, have these monstrous sacrifices been made?'
out of evil. The deep tragedy of history is that in the process many are sacrificed and a terrible price is paid for human freedom. But the vision is ultimately tragicomic, for good does come out of evil, however imperfectly, and reconciliation is accomplished through conflict.
4
Hegel does not answer this question conceptually o r i n the f o r m of logic He begins by noting that passions are necessary because they provide rhe volition and energy by which anything happens at a l l . To accomplish something our o w n interests must be at stake. But all the individual activities by Which individuals satisfy their o w n ends 'are at the same time the means and instruments of a higher and wider purpose, w h i c h they k n o w n o t h i n g of but unconsciously carry o u f . He provides examples of h o w human action can produce an effect entirely different from that intended: a m a n , out of revenge (whether justified or n o t ) , sets fire to someone else's house, but the fire spreads, destroys much property, costs many lives, a n d the arsonist, rather than being vmdicated, is punished for a crime; or Caesar, by opposing his rivals out o f self-mterest, gained undivided sovereignty over the Empire, thus accomplishing not merely his o w n negative end but the end for w h i c h his age was ready A t this p o i n t a break occurs in the manuscript, one filled bv he first o f the Loose Sheets and the orally delivered lectures of 1830-1 (see note 44). I t ,s f r o m the very conflict and destruction of particular interests that the universal emerges. This is w h a t we may call the cunmng l l T ' ' "a Z T ?' ° ( " P O K S a n d ,s not scathed or damaged by them; indeed, i t brings itself f o r t h through them. The conceptual t r u t h behind the metaphor ,s that reason, because ,r ,s spiritual and not physical or natural power, must w o r k negatively it overcomes opposmon and evil n o , directly, not by intervention",n natural processes, but indirectly, by letting evil combat evil, letting passions wear P 3 S S i 0 l l S
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power of apparent weakness (not of 'force' o r 'violence',, and bnngs good 1«
The second instrument is positive. M o r a l i t y , ethical life (Sittlichkeit), and religion are means t h a t are suitable to their ends because they are governed by the divine principle of reason, the divine idea of freedom. In fulfilling rational ends, individuals not only f u l f i l l their o w n particular ends but also 'participate i n that rational end i t s e l f . The term 'participation' suggests that the divine idea functions as a ' l u r e ' that draws human actions to higher ends; i t has the power of 'persuasion', not coercion. This language of process philosophy is not f o u n d in Hegel, but he is m o v i n g t o w a r d i t . He is interested in human responsibility combined w i t h divine initiative, but acknowledges that the development o f this theme w o u l d require a complete treatise on freedom. The great project o f history is that of overcoming the difference between and achieving the unification of the subjective side (the k n o w i n g and w i l l i n g individual) and the objective, substantial side (the universal final end). The institution t h r o u g h w h i c h this project is carried o u t is principally the state—the institution that bears all other human institutions: laws, morality,
32. l i can hardlv be said that Hegel makes light of evil, but ,he question remains as to whether his tragicomic perspective is cue that can be embraced by a post-Holocaust, * " ™ * ™: environmentally des.rucnve nuclear world. We have expenenced what seem like irredeemable horrors. Have ihe problems become so immense that philosophical hope and religious faith are destroyed? Bui to concede to evil is to let it defeat us. See Emil L . Fackenheun, Gods ft—M M t a York: New York University Press, 1970). See also Eberhard jiingel scomment; In making what one will of Hegel's curmmg of reason (a not very humanly-reassunng one ought not, in any event, to overlook .he fact thai Hegel does not rauonah* away die tota mass of concrete evils" in world history. Quite .he contrary, he takes .t for reconciliation, indeed, reconciliation on the part of the self-d.vesting G o d . . . .Thureconc.l Ution takes place i n the course of history itself. "Indeed, .here is no " " f " * ™ ! reconciling knowledge is more urgently needed than in world history. And where such reconciling knowledge takes place is the pomt at which world-h,stoneal - " ' e r a , o n becomes K theodicy?. ,us,ificat,on [RechtferUgung) of God" For the I Veltgencht), which takes place in world history conceived as theodicy it means that dm no a rudgmen, for the purpose of retribution (Vergeltung) but instead a judgment « God justifies godself no, by e.erc.J 0
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EDITORIAL
INTRODUCTION
EDITORIAL
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INTRODUCTION
higher stages coming later in time. Darwin's soon-to-be formulated theory of evolution w o u l d require that Hegel's view of nature as purely repetitive be modified and that 'history' be applied to nature, although i n a profoundly different sense t h a n t o spirit. The history o f spirit is one of progressive development. Spirit docs not d r i f t about i n the external play of contingencies but rather makes use of contingencies f o r its o w n purposes. 'Spirit in itself is opposed to itself; it has to overcome itself as the genuine and hostile hindrance to its purpose.' Thus development w i t h i n spirit is 'a hard and ceaseless conflict w i t h itself, not a harmless and conflict-free process of emergence as in organic life. The end of spiritual development is spirit itself in its essence, thc concept of freedom. Because the development comes through conflict, its trajectory has not been one of steady advance but rather one of retrogression and destruction as well as o f progression a n d r e b i r t h . Here Hegel repeats his typology of stages in the history o f the consciousness of freedom, noting that spirit starts f r o m what is only a possibility and attains its goal as a result of the travails of history. Repeating, t o o , his critique o f the notion o f an original paradisiacal human c o n d i t i o n — a n d adding a critique of politically conservative theories of an original revelation o f all knowledge—Hegel says that we take up history at the p o i n t where rationality begins to appear in worldly existence, where i t steps f o r t h i n t o consciousness, volition, and deed. The prehistory prior t o the f o r m a t i o n of f a m i l y and tribal life lies outside our interest. W i t h the discovery o f Sanskrit and rhe Indo-European linguistic connection, we k n o w that tribal peoples spread outwards f r o m Asia and developed i n disparate ways f r o m a p r i m o r d i a l kinship. ' H i s t o r y ' begins w i t h the writing of historical narrative, the historia return gestarum, w h i c h we assume appears more-or-less simultaneously w i t h the happenings themselves, the res gestae. This narrative takes the form of family memorials and patriarchal traditions, but ' i t is the state that first supplies a content that not only lends itself t o the prose of history but helps to produce i t ' . The development of spirit's consciousness of freedom forms a sequence of stages—stages i n the 'self-developing shape of freedom'. One must be familiar w i t h this concept philosophically in order to grasp i t empirically. A d vances in this shape occur on a higher plane than that of individual morality. Therefore the deeds o f the great human beings, the individuals o f w o r l d history, appear justified n o t only i n their o w n frame of reference but also f r o m the standpoint of the larger w o r l d . Each stage of w o r l d history must develop into a p o l i t i c a l state, where the arts and sciences of culture flourish, including eventually philosophy. Philosophy in the f o r m o f the 'reflective 19
EDITORIAL
EDITORIAL
INTRODUCTION
understanding' attacks the 'sacred and p r o f o u n d elements that were naively introduced into the religion, laws, and customs of peoples, and debases a n d dilutes them i n t o abstract and godless generalities. T h o u g h t is then impelled to become thinking reason, a n d t o seek and accomplish i n its o w n element the undoing of the destruction that it brought u p o n itself.' The w o r k o f the understanding (Verstand) is destructive; that o f speculative reason {Vernunft) is constructive. The manuscript o f 1 8 3 0 - 1 continues for a f e w m o r e pages w i t h reflections on thought a n d freedom, u n i t y a n d diversity, Eastern and Western culture, a n d the like. I t breaks o f f before reaching a conclusion.
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1822-3
Introduction: The Concept of W o r l d H i s t o r y The Types of Treatment
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The first f e w pages o f the transcription of the lectures of 1 8 2 2 - 3 parallel w h a t is said in the introductory fragments o f 1822 a n d 1828 about o r i g i n a l history and reflective history. Expanding o n his discussion o f pragmatic historiography, Hegel remarks that m o r a l lessons a n d judgments are often regarded as the essentia] purpose of the study o f history. ' B u t the fate o f peoples and the overthrow of states occur o n a different plane than that of morality, a higher and broader one.' For this reason, 'history and experience teach t h a t people generally have not learned f r o m history', and the f o r m a t i v e p o w e r o f history is something other than the reflections derived f r o m i t . In his oral lectures Hegel addresses t w o additional modes o f reflective history, critical (reflection o n the w r i t i n g of history) and abstractive or specialized (special histories w i t h i n a universal o u t l o o k , such as the histories o f a n , science, government, law, navigation). The latter f o r m s a transition t o the final type of historiography. The p o i n t of view o f philosophical world history is n o t that of a particular, abstract universal but o f a concrete universal, w h i c h is the ' g u i d i n g soul of events'. This guide is n o t a mythical figure like M e r c u r y but is the idea- 'it s sp,nt t h a t gmdes the w o r l d , a n d its guidance is w h a t we w i s h t o learn a b o u t ' . T h i s universal is infinitely concrete and utterly present, f o r spirit is eternally present to itself. The spirits o f peoples (Wolksgeister) are the t o t a l i t y y
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345.
INTRODUCTION
of the one w o r l d spirit (Weltgeist). T h i n k i n g is the self-production of spirit. Spirit's highest goal is t o k n o w itself; this achievement, however, is its demise and marks the emergence of a different stage and a new principle. W o r l d history is the m a t r i x i n w h i c h this transition comes about. T h e first category of history is that of change or alteration (Verdnder« g ) - _ t h e constant supplanting of one individual or one civilization by another. W h e n v i e w i n g 'the ruins of ancient splendor', a p r o f o u n d sadness comes over us, a sense that everything passes away and nothing endures. But at the same time alteration and decline entail the creation and emergence of new life. That n e w life arises o u t of death is the radical idea of Oriental metaphysics, its greatest conception. The phoenix builds its o w n funeral pyre but arises anew f r o m the ashes, rejuvenated. However, this image applies only t o natural life, not t o spirit. The Western conception is that spirit comes f o r t h n o t merely rejuvenated i n its o l d f o r m but rather elevated and transfigured, purified and elaborated. Thus the conception of simple alteration becomes that of spirit, w h i c h radiates its energies i n all directions. Its activity has the most varied results: sometimes it shines w i t h beauty and freedom; sometimes it is mere d o m i n i o n and power; sometimes all one's strength produces only tiny results; other times an insigriificant event has enormous consequences. M
W e g r o w weary f r o m the press of details and ask: w h a t is the purpose o f all these events a n d their enormous cost? Beneath the d i n and noisy appearances o f history, w e wonder whether there is concealed 'an inner, silent, secret w o r k i n g ' . Thus we arrive at the t h i r d category of history (beyond alteration and n e w life), that o f reason, the conception of a final end w i t h i n itself. Such a final end 'governs and alone consummates itself i n the events that occur t o peoples', a n d therefore we find 'reason in world history'. Philosophical w o r l d history is more an exposition t h a n a demonstration of this proposition, f o r i n history reason simply proves itself. When i t comes t o proof, Hegel acknowledges the hermeneutical circle: ' I n order to recognize reason i n history o r t o k n o w history rationally, we must surely bring reason along w i t h us; f o r the w a y i n w h i c h we l o o k u p o n history and the w o r l d is h o w it i n t u r n looks t o us.' H i s t o r y as such is e m p t y ; ' n o t h i n g is to be learned f r o m it if we d o not b r i n g reason and spirit w i t h us'. If we do n o t b r i n g reason, we must at least bring faith-'the faith that there is an actual causality i n history, and that intelligence and spmt are n o t given over t o chance'. O u r f a i t h is that a 'divine w i l l and final purpose rule m history', that ' G o d governs the w o r l d ' . But when i t comes t o more specific matters, we refrain from i n q u i r i n g about the prov.dent.al plan, for G o d s p r o v i d e r s is said t o be m s c m t a b k ^ ^ humility we 21
EDITORIAL INTRODUCTION
EDITORIAL INTRODUCTION
must juxtapose what the Christian religion is about: t h a t God's nature and essence are revealed to humanity, that we k n o w w h a t G o d is, t h a t we have the obligation to k n o w God.
the course of h u m a n history. Here we grasp the idea i n the concrete shape of
Hegel summarizes his philosophy of providence in a condensed formulation that is reminiscent of A r i s t o t l e :
itself f o r t h , displayed i n a series of ethical shapes whose sequence constitutes spirit, not as the logical idea. A t this point Hegel introduces his famous metaphor of the weaving of crossed threads:
35
[The] final end is what God has willed for the world. To this end even-thing is sacrificed on the altar of the world; this end is what is operative and enlivening. What we know about it is that it is what is most perfect, and God wills the most perfect; what God wills can only be God godself and what is like unto God, God's will. God's will ,s not distinguished from God, and philosophically we call it the idea. In his discussion of the Greek W o r l d , Hegel fleshes out this v i e w s l i g h t l v .
8
36
He compares the Christian category of providence w i t h that of fate for the Greeks. In the case of both Chrisnans and Greeks, the connection of particularities to the universal is incomprehensible, for destiny 'unfolds o n a soil that must be called contingent in respect to particular purposes'. These are pamculant.es such as the life-journey of each i n d i v i d u a l . 'But Christians have the view that all these particularities serve for the best, that G o d guides all these contingencies and leads them to the best o u t c o m e . . . . T h e Greeks lacked th.s view ,ust because w h a t is part.cular. the end of individuals, was not taken up into G o d . ' The Christian focus on the value of 'the
There follows a section on the concept of spirit. Spirit as such is t h i n k i n g ; it is consciousness and self-consciousness, and it is what distinguishes us f r o m animals. I t gives us a measure of control over drives and passions, and it enables us t o orient our action t o w a r d goals. This means that spirit is only w h a t it makes of itself; i t has its being and concrete existence only as a result, not as w h a t is initial and immediate. Animals are born nearly complete, but human beings must cast o f f the natural aspect and be nurtured, disciplined, and educated. The most sublime example of this quahty of spirit, claims Hegel, is found not in human beings, w h o are finite creatures, but in G o d . In G o d , however, it is not a mere example but the truth itself, of which
theme t o which we shall r e t u r n - m a k e s all the difference A t the beginning of the Germanic World, Hegel remarks that providence is a veiled inner power that achieves its end and prevails via the recalcitrant volition of the p e o p l e s ^ o that w h a t it achieves and w h a t the peoples desire are often at odds'. A n d his concluding words are: ' W h a t is happenmg and has happened does not just come from God but is God's w o r k . ' ' ' The question remains, how
Two elements are salient: first, the idea itself as abstract; and second, the human passions. The two together form the weft and the w a r p ' in the fabric that world history spreads before us. The idea is the substantial power, but considered for itself it is only the universal. The passions of humanity are the arm by which it actualizes itself. These are the extremes; the midpoint at which these elements are bound together, by which they are reconciled, and in which they have their living unification, is ethical freedom.
does God work?
everything else is but an example. For Christianity, God is spirit: rather (the abstract universal), 'Son' (the object that cleaves itself, posits an other t o itself that is just as immediately God's o w n self), and 'Spirit (the seltpossessing, self-knowing umrv of the first t w o ,
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onlv true religion. I f Christianity lacked the Trinity, thought might find more t r u t h in other religions. The T r i n i t y is the Speculative element in Christianity, the idea of reason m i t .
The Idea of Human
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and the end of history. A t the hegmn.ng of history, we find a natural state, w h i c h is a state of bondage and sensuous desire if by 'nature^we mean, a condirion of immediacy, nor the concept or essence of a th.ng. Hegel refutes
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EDITORIAL INTRODUCTION
EDITORIAL INTRODUCTION
the popular view, held by Schelling and Schlegel and others o f his t i m e , based on the biblical story and other creation myths, t h a t the original c o n d i t i o n was one o f beautiful innocence and pure knowledge. T h e assumption here, he notes, ts that humanity could n o t have developed f r o m ' a n i m a l stupor'. This assumption is correct, b u t humanity could w e l l have developed f r o m human stupor, and that is just w h a t we find at the beginning. Spirit is already imprinted on the h u m a n , but it must develop; i t is an infinite energeia and entelecheta that discovers itself i n its labor, brings f o r t h its concept, and this production comes last, not first. (From a p o s t - D a r w i n i a n perspective, o f course the 'development' of spirit starts much earlier than Hegel t h o u g h t , in the long transmon between ' a n i m a l ' and ' h u m a n ' . Hegel is vague about when human beings first appeared, but his view does n o t entail a theory o f special creation.)
everything is dissolved a n d existent being is superseded. For this reason
Second, the progress or progression (Fortgang) of history occurs i n time. 1 he quality of the negative is intrinsic to time because things come i n t o being and pass away. 'The abstract contemplation of being a n d nonbeing is time' (see note 29). Here we enter into a consideration o f change o r alteration. Whereas i n nature n o t h i n g changes, for nature instead constitutes a hierarchy o f levels, spirit constantly changes a n d climbs a l a d d e r o f stages'. B u t because the peoples as spiritual configurations are also creatures o f nature, some of the shapes that we see i n history as a succession i n time also stand perennially alongs,de one another i n space. Thus today w e find three major, h ^ - e x i s n n g configurations: the principle of the Far East (nature), the pnnc ple o f the Islamic w o r l d (absolute antithesis), a n d the principle of Christian Western Europe (spirit's knowledge of its o w n depths). But other peoples, such as the Greeks, Romans, and Germanic tribes, have l o n g disIZZ ° ° otherwise necessary process. V
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emergence of new forms of determinacy, the universal is becoming increasingly concrete. A previous particularity, such as being merely a citizen of Athens, 'melts under the l i g h t of thought, as snow melts under the sun'. When a new w o r k is at h a n d , w o r l d history makes the transition t o a new Gestalt,
f o r no people can be epoch-making more t h a n once. Such is the
'tribunal of h i s t o r y ' , as each age in succession is judged by and appropriated into the h a r d project of freedom's actualization (see note 32). Finally, there must be an end of history: if only new principles constantly emerged, w o r l d history w o u l d have no purpose leading t o a goal. But religion and reason recognize a goal because they are seeking what is genuinely true, w h a t subsists i n and for itself and is not merely transient The religious final end is expressed as follows: 'that human beings should attain eternal peace, t h a t they should be sanctified'. This goal is proper for the i n d i v i d u a l , b u t it does not concern us i n the here and n o w because i t represents a f u t u r e , o t h e r w o r l d l y end. Thus Hegel continues: 'What constitutes the way to the goal is no mere means but directly the absolute thingthat-history-is-about, the absolute history in w h i c h individuals are only
single moments'. T h e thing-that-history->s-about, expressed religiously, is 'the glorification and h o n o r o f God*. Spirit's absolute is the absolute of everything, the divine being. Spirit's purpose, its absolute drive, is thus to gain a consciousness of this being such that it is known as the one and only actual and true being through which everything happens and proceeds-to know that everything must be arranged, and is actually arranged, in accord with it, and therefore that it is the r * w e r that guided and gm^^^ world history, the power that rules and has ruled i t . . . . The individual spint hasM* glory i n glorifying God. This is not its particular honor; rather Ks honor comes from knowing that its self-feeling is the substantial consciousness of God, that .ts action i to theTonor and glory of God, the absolute. I n this knowledge the individual spuit has attained its truth and freedom. Thus the end is achieved not i n some timeless eternity or chronological
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future, b u t i n every t e m p o r a l now w h e n spirit comes t o this recognitionirt G o d . H o w it is t h a t the divine power guides and rules the w o r l d ,s addressed in the final subsection o f this part of the Introduction. H u m a n passions are the instrument for the rule, power and d o m . m o m i the divine idea. Passions are w h a t make each person what he or she is, and m history we have before us a ' c o l o r f u l d m ' of passions. The connecnon between the idea a n d the passions has t w o aspects: first, . t is t o u n
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25
EDITORIAL INTRODUCTION
EDITORIAL INTRODUCTION
intrinsically i n the concept, in the idea itself; second, the question concerns its actual workings. As for the idea itself, we recall w h a t has been said about the Trinity. Initially, the idea is w h a t posits itself as over against itself and makes this ideal object its o w n : this is the eternal life o f G o d w i t h i n itself, before the creation of the w o r l d ; it is the logical nexus and does n o t yet have the mode of reality. Then the idea goes f o r t h f r o m itself i n t o antithesis, positing distinctions on their o w n account, positing the finite other, whose extremity o f freedom reflects the divine freedom.
The Nature of the State World history is the history of states, not of individuals. A r t , religion, scientific knowledge, and other cultural products are comprehended w i t h i n the state. The nature of the state is that i n i t freedom becomes objective t o itself and does n o t simply remain subjective free w i l l . The state is an ethical whole, n o t an abstraction over against individuals but that in which individuals live; it is an organism in w h i c h everything is end and means simulta-
This is the point at w h i c h the passions come i n t o p l a y ; they are the means by which the idea is actualized. Individuals w h o achieve h a r m o n y and reconciliation with the idea are called 'happy'. But ' w o r l d history is n o t a soil of happmess; , history the periods o f happiness are blank pages, for the ob,ect of history , at least, change". I n history there may be s a t i s f a c t i o n tne satisfaction of universal purposes t h a t transcend i n d i v i d u a l desires—but not happiness, at least not for world-historical individuals. T h u s w o r l d history is pnncipally a realm of conflict, a n d this conflict is embodied by the great histoncal figures, the 'heroes', w h o grasp the n e w umversal that is coming on the scene and turn it to their purposes. They are perspicacious, ahead of their rimes, perceiving the new t h i n g that needs t o be done. 'They desire and do what ,s correct and right, although w h a t they do appears to be their o w n passion, their o w n free w i l l because others d o not yet k n o w
neously. I n a f o r m u l a t i o n subject t o misinterpretation, Hegel says that the
h L I ' ° ° " l y t h r o u g h the passion of histoncal human^beings. Because the great figures 'are driven unresistingly
most complete state is the one i n w h i c h the greatest degree of freedom
work ^
greatest degree o f f r e e d o m . By 'freedom' w e d o not mean subjective tree
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26
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state, as the actualization of freedom, 'is the idea as it is present on earth'; this is not a deification of the state but an indication of its critical role in the freedom project. T h e family also is an ethical whole, but i n the family love is the means bv w h i c h individuals relate t o one another. The ethical whole of the f a m i l y is subsumed under t h a t o f the state, and in the state the relationship of individuals is one of citizenship and laws. Hegel explores three aspects o f the nature of the state as the actualization of freedom: its constitution
(its inner nature), its relationship t o the
spiritual
world (religion, art, science, and culture), and its relationship t o the physical world
(geography a n d climate) (see notes 43, 47). 'Constitution' {Verfas¬
sung) refers to the principles by w h i c h a system of government is organized; it can assume a w r i t t e n f o r m , but such is not necessary. Since 'the best and prevails', the question becomes which type of constitution promotes the w i l l {WllkurU
f o r such a v i e w presupposes that the government and the
people (as individuals) constitute t w o sides that must be balanced and l i m i t e d . There is 'something malignant' i n this n o t i o n , for the idea or the state is precisely that o f an organic u n i o n between the universal and the particular, the government and the people. Three forms of constitution are distinguished, depending on how tms union is construed: compulsory unity, a loose unity in which the union itsen is a secondary matter, and a unity i n w h i c h 'the spheres, subsisting independently, find their efficacy only in the production of the universal. i n e translate into three great world-histoncal epochs: the Oriental empires (massive, undivided, substantial unity), the Greek and Romari empires (democracy a n d aristocracy), and the modern European or Germanic w o r l d . The latter represents a 'second monarchy' (see note 46), by wn,c Hegel means n o t an absolute monarchy but a constitutional monarchy _un w h i c h the sovereign has limited though important powers vis-a-vis tne
27
EDITORIAL INTRODUCTION
EDITORIAL INTRODUCTION
executive branch, the representative assembly, and the courts. These constitutions succeed one another i n history i n such a way that the earlier principles are subsumed
in the later ones. Hegel's idea of a constitutional
The t h i r d aspect of the nature of the state is its relationship to the physical world.
Here i t is most i m p o r t a n t to appreciate, i n Hegel's conception, the
systematic position of the state in its external natural setting, that is, its (see note 55). As Hegel himself remarks, ' w o r l d history is spirit
monarchy is similar to a parliamentary system w i t h a head o f state, a
geography
president or sovereign, w h o has symbolic or representative but n o t executive
in the element of worldliness; thus we must also recognize the natural and
power. For him, of course, the head of state is n o t elected but hereditary, and
the corporeal i n i t . The natural and the spiritual f o r m one shape, and this
the choice of delegates in the assembly is made by 'corporations' a n d social
is history.' Thus the one shape of history includes an essential natural
groups ('estates') rather than by direct v o t e .
dimension, and Hegel describes in detail h o w geography and climate affect
41
Under the category of the relationship of the state t o spiritual matters, Hegel discusses first a content t h a t is the universal
in and
for itself
the
infinite. This content is the concern of religion, a r t , a n d speculative science
the f o r m a t i o n of h u m a n cultures, east and west, n o r t h and south. He was quite familiar w i t h the science of geography in the early nineteenth century, and he put this knowledge t o good effect.
and i n this
However, Hegel's conception of nature, while organic (a hierarchy of
respect a n and science can be viewed as 'forms and aspects' of r e l i g i o n . In a
related levels), is almost entirely static. He refers t o the fact that 'in the
repudiation of Kant, Hegel says that 'the human being is infinite i n cogniz-
n o r t h the earth is continental in scope, w i t h a wide breast, while in the south
ing, limited in w i l l i n g ' . The instrument of cognizing, reason {Vernunft)
or
the shapes taper i n t o points'. He w o u l d have been astonished to learn that
thought (consciousness and self-consciousness), constitutes the openness of
this ' w i d e breast' was once part of a super-continent, Pangaea, that for
the human being to the universal and humanity's very participation i n the
millions of years the continents have drifted back and f o r t h , and that for
universal. Thus Christianity reveals that ' C o d is the u n i t y of human and
just as long natural species have been evolving. For h i m the present arrange-
or philosophy. The center point of this knowledge is religion,
divine nature' and that 'the u n i t y . . . of the divine and the h u m a n is the
ment of the ' o l d w o r l d ' — t h r e e continents positioned around the Mediterra-
genuine idea of religion', whereas the understanding (Verstand) makes the
nean Sea, w h i c h b o t h sunders them and facilitates communication—is a
divine idea into an abstraction, a being beyond the human against which
necessary relationship and constitutes a 'rational totality'. However, i n
humans funlely butt their heads. Such an analysis yields t w o types of
nature everything is as fluid as i n human history (over a much longer scale
religion: a religion of separation
(Judaism, Persian and Islamic dualism)
of t i m e ) , and the extension of history t o nature might be viewed as simply an
and a r e I , o n of unity ( H i n d u incarnation, Greek art, a n d Christian theol-
extension of Hegel's fundamental conception. But 'natural history' is funda-
ogy where the speculative truth of divine-human unity is grasped). Religion
mentally different f r o m h u m a n history, w h i c h is a history of spint, con-
sets forth the principle of the state i n its t r u t h , and in this respect i t is rightly
sciousness, and freedom—categories that do not apply to nature.
gl
said that 'the state rests on religion'. The state as a determination of the d m n e nature i t s e l f - t h a t aspect of the divine that is present on earth as ethical freedom-derives from religion and does not supersede it. Ihe finite aspects of human culture represent the real as opposed t o the •deal sphere of the state: customs a n d practices, law, property, family and marriage, satisfaction of needs, empirical sciences. These too are a sub,ect of w o r l d historv.
For one w h o thinks so obviously f r o m a Western and Eurocentnc perspective, Hegel devotes enormous attention to Asia. In part this focus reflects the exhilaration of new discovery, but i n part too it reflects the fact that human culture arose i n Asia before it d i d in Europe. Hegel w o u l d have been surprised t o learn that homo sapiens first appeared i n Africa, but he is certainly correct that states first appeared i n Asia, and his Weltgeschichte
is a history of
states. We cannot go back further in history than w r i t t e n documents will take us, and such documents are the product of states. Hegel is always interested in transitions; however, the first transition encountered by history .s not rom nature to spirit (that transition is buried in prehistoncal depths) but from
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7
5
-
^
« d Inures
on Natural Right and
tribal and family life ('patriarchy') t o the state and its institutions. This transition occurred in Asia and gradually spread ro rhe West. The section o n the state and geography , quite lengthy; we believe that
Press, 1995), » 127-Tg
' ™*
28
Angde*: Un.vcrsrv o i Cal,foam
readers will find i t t o be of interest and need no further guidance. 29
EDITORIAL
INTRODUCTION
The Division
of World
EDITORIAL INTRODUCTION
History
a process of secularization that constitutes modernity. 'Spirituality and freed o m have, and f i n d , their concept and their rationality in worldliness.'
stages, w h i c h are compared
I n a brief final s u m m a r y the stages are reduced t o three: the substantial
w i t h stages in the life of the h u m a n being: the phylogenetic replicates the
immediacy of ethical life (the O r i e n t a l w o r l d ) , the antithesis of subjectivity
ontogenetic and vice versa. We have t o begin, claims Hegel, where the state
and abstract universality (the Greek and R o m a n worlds), and the unity
is still internally oppositionless, t h a t is, where subjectivity has n o t yet come
of subjectivity w i t h universality (the Germanic w o r l d ) . The process of over-
into its o w n . This represents an immediate f o r m o f ethical life and constitu-
coming the antithesis constitutes the great w o r k o f w o r l d history. Stated so
tes the infancy or childhood
baldly, the principle has little meaning; but Hegel puts flesh o n these bones.
World history unfolds t h r o u g h f o u r (or f i v e )
4 2
of history. Here the state is based o n patriarchal
family relationships, and i t appears historically as the O r i e n t a l empires, each w i t h a single ruler o r absolute principle. The second shape is the boyhood
The Course o f W o r l d H i s t o r y
o f the w o r l d i n w h i c h the states are i n a
The Oriental
World
constant tussle w i t h each other and w i t h themselves (the Egyptians, for example, are 'impulsive boys'). However, conflict and struggle cause a selfconcentration into individuality, w h i c h g r o w s i n t o the age of youth;
here
Greece comes i n t o prominence. This is the realm o f beautiful freedom and o f ethical unity as individual personality; but i t is fragile a n d m o m e n t a r y : the Greeks 'intuited' their unity, whereas the Romans 'reflected* i t W i t h the Romans w e enter u p o n the adulthood
o f life w i t h its demanding
labor and the sacrifice o f individuality t o universality. A n empire such as the Roman, i n w h i c h subjectivity is o u t w a r d l y reconciled w i t h substance and individuals are subjugated t o abstract universality, seems t o be eternal. But, notes Hegel, its successor, the H o l y R o m a n Empire, expired in 1806 w i t h the renunc.at.on o f the imperial title by the last o f the Habsburgs to h o l d i t The transinor. t o the next principle (a transition t h a t occurred over several
"
T u'
* « " 8 6 * between particular subjectiv•ty and abstract universality. The struggle must end w i t h the v i c t o r y o f sub,ectiye singularity, a n d the latter assumes the f o r m o f spiritual reconciliation. N o w a spiritual realm (the church) stands over against the w o r l d l y one (the state). ' C
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A t t h i s p o i n t the fourth stage is Z r ^ T
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M m ^ ^ ^ c U ^ ^ ^ r ^ d t
Pe0p,CS
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43 in
t h e
^rmcms
antithesis
We begin w i t h the East, where the d a w n o f spirit occurs, while its setting o r 'descent into i t s e l f happens i n the W e s t .
44
O u r cultural-historical analysis
also moves f r o m East t o West: w e start w i t h China; t u r n next to India and its rivers, the Ganges and the Indus; then move o n t o the M i d d l e East, Persia, the Tigris and the Euphrates. Finally, after a detour through N o r t h Afnca (Egypt), we c o n t i n u e o n a westerly course to Greece, Rome, and Europe. Temporal and geographical co-ordinates are synchronized; spirit moves through rime f r o m East t o West. This is the metanarrative o n w h i c h Hegel plots w o r l d history. T h e f u t u r e o f the plot remains open, w i t h hints o f the rise o f America a n d Russia. China Hegel, w h o engages i n a fundamental way w i t h C h i n a ,
45
notes that O i i n a
has astonished Europeans ever since i t became k n o w n . I t is self-contained, has reached a h i g h level o f culture independently o f foreign ties, and is the only w o r l d empire t h a t has lasted f r o m the most ancient times up t o tile present day. h is vast i n expanse w i t h a very large population; its government is well-regulated, just, benevolent, and wise; and i t has w n t t e n documents that go back thousands o f years. But the principle o f this empire has never
^ " - ™ * Principle o f this ^ i m i S ^ n m j c i . , ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ^
changed, nor has an alien principle ever been imposed on i t , so i n this sense it
R ^ T T " * " ^ "* * ° n « only i m p l i c i t (the Reformanon and Protestantism); i t must realize itself in the w o r l d t h r o u g h
Each people has original books that contain its myths and ancient tradi-
aeeTZ, - ^ " S < a g e , s r e e s p m t subsisting B
m
r e s o l v e d
3 1
o n c
a r i
has no history; everything is forever the same. tions. H o m e r is such a book for the Greeks, as the Bible » for us. The Chinese named such books M r - t h e principal ones bemg the Yumg
«
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30
"
« * ~P~*te u ~ S
44. See n . 1 of The Oriental World/Chim45. See n. 2 on Hegel's sources.
31
and
EDITORIAL INTRODUCTION
EDITORIAL INTRODUCTION
the Sbu-jing. The latter was translated i n t o French b y missionaries, so i n Hegel's day i t was accessible to those w h o d i d not read Chinese. I t begins its narrative w i t h Yao of the X i a dynasty i n the t h i r d m i l l e n n i u m before Christ (see note 15) and contains the w o r k o f court historians. Prior to these written documents, history disappears i n t o unrecorded t i m e .
inheritance. Anyone can sell himself as a slave, and parents can sell children;
4 6
Hegel refers to 'Fo, a divine figure, w h o m people i n eastern India call Buddha'. Distinct f r o m h i m is Fo-hi o r Fu-hi (Fuxi), t o w h o m the invention of the Gua is attributed. The Gua consist of certain arrangements o f lines, and meditation on these lines is f o u n d i n the Yi-jing. The straight line is the simple material from w h i c h a l l things are constituted, a n d the b r o k e n line is the distinction of this simplicity. Various combinations o f these lines represent the speculative philosophy of China. As to the ancient history of C h i n a , separate w a r r i n g k i n g d o m s were eventually unified under a single emperor. W h a t is 'factually historical' commences w i t h Y u (or Yao) of the X i a dynasty in 2 2 0 1 b c (see note 31). Hegel is struck by the coincidence o f this date w i t h the historical beginnings of other empires, f o r a l l of w h i c h he gives precise years: Egypt (2207), Assyria (2221), and India (2204). Struggles w i t h river flooding and the rmintenance of dikes f o r rice c u l t i v a t i o n were major preoccupations of the Chinese f r o m the beginning. C h i n a was conquered t w i c e by M o n g o l s and Tatars, but was n o t long under their d o m i n i o n . The Great Wall was built t o keep out the Manchu-Tatars but it d i d n o t succeed. T h e M a n c h u emperors were among the best, and under t h e m China reached its greatest extent, ranging as far as the Caspian Sea and Siberia. The Chinese state is similar to European institutions i n its ethical life and art. But its principle rests wholly o n patriarchal o r f a m i l y relationships. Hegel identifies several characteristics o f the latter. First, strict rules and instructions govern a l l f a m i l y t e k t i o n s b i p s ; children have a t o t a l duty t o parents; marriage is monogamous b u t husbands may o w n concubines; the father alone has possessions w h i l e children have none; families m u s t honor their^ancestors Second, the entire state rests o n the person of the emperor and his hierarchy o f officials, w h o c o n t r o l everything i n accord w i t h strict moral codes and laws as determined by the emperor a n d overseen by the mandarins. T h i r d , there are no castes and no aristocracy of b i r t h or wealth among ctizens. A t one time state public property was apportioned to patresfatmlias, but private property n o w exists w i t h laws governing
w o m e n , children, and concubines of criminals can be enslaved. In the patriarchal principle, the legal sphere is n o t separated f r o m the m o r a l aspect, so that no internal moral autonomy exists. Rather, detailed regulations govern all aspects of life, the v i o l a t i o n of w h i c h incurs very strict punishment. The government that issues such legislation takes the place of one's o w n inner being, a n d by d o i n g so the principle of subjective freedom is annulled. This f r e e d o m , this intangible sphere of inwardness, respect f o r this inviolable zone, are essential t o the European principle but lacking here. Thus, when a crime is c o m m i t t e d , the entire family undergoes punishment, w h i c h is totally contrary t o the recognition of individual m o r a l responsibility Goods can be confiscated, and corporal punishment such as flogging is c o m m o n . Hegel remarks that the Chinese have been governed as an 'underage people', w h i c h fosters an ethics of dependency and the principle ot vengeance. In ancient times the Chinese were famous f o r their scientific knowledge, but, like everything else, i t has been controlled by the emperors and the court, so that the free soil of inwardness o n w h i c h alone intellect flourishes is lacking. Nonetheless, the Chinese d i d make great strides i n p a m c u ar sciences such as physics {the magnet and compass), astronomy, the circulat i o n of fluids, and mechanical devices for calculating (they use a binary rather than a decimal system). Their w r i t t e n language is hieroglyphic, not the expression o f sounds by letters of the alphabet, and i t is extremely complicated, r e q u i r i n g the learning of many thousands of characters and their combinations; b u t the spoken language is meager and monosyllabic. The Chinese are s k i l l e d i n the mechanical arts b u t lack the creanve power of spirit. They make beautiful landscape paintings and p o r t r a i t ^ w h i c h are lacking, however, i n subtlety of light and shadow. They excel at horticulture and gardens. . , _ Hegel concludes w i t h a discussion of Chinese religion, nonng that missionary reports (our principal source) are suspect because the miss,onaries' o w n religion is an obstacle t o fair reporting. The anaent patnarchal religion ,s simply that humans pray t o G o d as the ruler of earth and h e a v e n - G o d w h o is one, eternal, benevolent, and just, rewarding goodness 4 7
47. Hegel treats the Omental religions for the fir* time in a p U k J ^ o f rehgion Lecture, Here he d i ^ ^ S Egrpt, all under the general rubric of the r e l i e f ~ ^ Retigkm, d. 233-381. Religion, as we have already seen, is also « « . lectures.
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32
33
B
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[ o p i c
o i
y
^
d * poseur
EDITORIAL INTRODUCTION
and punishing evil. I n its abstractness this religion excludes the richness and profundity of nature and spirit. They call their supreme being ' T i a n ' or heaven, but they d o not simply worship nature. ' N o people can be said to have taken what is simply sensible t o be the divine, since it is necessarily spirit's nature not to stop short w i t h its natural aspect, but t o proceed t o something inward. A l l pure religions involve a metaphorical transposition from the sensible i n t o thought.' W i t h thought, conceptions of the universal anse, but here the universal lacks determinacy. The emperor is called 'son of heaven', and he alone presents offerings o n behalf of his people during the four seasonal festivals. The religion is not exclusive, so Jews, M u s l i m s , and Christians are accepted so long as they d o not incite rebellion. The Chinese also revere 'Shen' or spirits, similar to Greek dryads, the souls of natural things, arranged in hierarchical ranks. Temples t o the Shen are f o u n d everywhere, and superstition subjugates the inner spirit of the people. Particular sects are found, one of which is that o f Lao-Tse (Laozi). By withdrawing into self through study, the more p r o f o u n d devotees become Shen themselves through strenuous discipline, i n i t i a t i n g an elevation of human beings to the divine. According to Lamaism, 'the emperor's private religion', divinity has its concrete existence in a living h u m a n being. Such a belief 'is linked to the religion of the Buddha'. The religion of Fo ( w h i c h mav or may not be the same as that of Buddha) holds t o metempsychosis, according to which all shapes (humans, stars, etc.) are o n l y forms o r revelations of the One, the absolute. Followers of this religion locate w h a t is supreme i n nothingness; they elevate themselves bv renunciation of all sensanon, seeking uner emptiness. From these compressed remarks, we recognize the confusion and m i s i n f o r m a t i o n in Hegel's earlv characterization of Chinese religion. India Hegel engaged w i t h India for the first time in a significant w a y i n these lectures. German scholars had confined themselves t o the language, art. religion, and ph.losophy of India and had arrived at a romantic, idealizing interpretation. Hegel relied on the English sources because they acquired their information f r o m first-hand experience, but he also adopted the largely negative .udgment formed bv the British. He was blind t o their bias because i t confirmed his o w n suspicions not only about m o r a l and philosophical ssues but also about the inability o f the Indians t o organize life p o l i t i c a l (and l o t Hegel political organization is the actual bearer of h i s t o r v i .
EDITORIAL INTRODUCTION
Whereas the Chinese remained cut off, India 'has been receptive toward the rest of the w o r l d * and 'appears as an effective link in the chain of w o r l d h i s t o r y . . . . It has been a source of w i s d o m , science, and culture, as well as o l natural treasures.' Thus all nations have beaten a path to India and all have attempted t o acquire a f o o t h o l d there. Hegel begins w i t h some general remarks about the 'principle' of India. This is a land o f dreaming fantasy in which rationality, morality, and subjectivity are nullified. It is also a land of extremes—oscillating between a w i l d , sensuous imagination and a totally inanimate abstraction of inwardness. It lacks a history in the sense of chronological records of actual events. It advances on the Chinese i n that the determinacy that hitherto had been posited externally becomes i n w a r d , but its idealism is one of sheer imaginat i o n devoid of reason and freedom. It allows no free being-for-self of subl e t s , and no distance between subject and object. Its fundamental intuition is that of an absolute substantiality that constitutes the essence of all things. This is not a pantheism of thought (as w i t h Spinoza) but a pantheism ot representation, w h i c h imports sensible material directly into the universal. 'The divine is grasped i n finite f o r m , the finite spun out extravagantly. This rendering of G o d i n sensuous f o r m can have t w o meanings. I n the first, that of H i n d u i s m proper, the representation of unity is universal, and the entire sensible realm, w i t h o u t exception, is divinized. I n the second, that of Buddhism or Lamaism, the rendering of G o d concentrates t o 'an immediately present focal p o i n t ' . The discussion rums next t o 'the region of India'. Its main features are the river basins of the Ganges and the Indus, w i t h mountains to the north and west The name ' I n d i a n ' derives f r o m the Indus River, but it is not k n o w n whether the people called themselves 'Indians' or even had a common name for themselves. Alexander the Great came as far as the Indus, and the British i n t u r n arrived some twenty-one hundred years later (at Delhi) n India, everything necessary for a state is lack.ng, above all the principle o l freedom; i n China the state is the totality, but in India there is just a people w i t h o u t a state and w i t h o u t an ethical life. The government is an unprincipled, lawless despotism. Asia as a w h o l e is the breeding ground of despotism, and it the ruler is evil, despotism becomes tyranny. The Indians are nonetheless a
4 , Somewhat U ~ i .
*•
^ff^^^^
specific semual shapes. So his summary at cms point seems unbalanced. -.4
35
EDITORIAL INTRODUCTION
EDITORIAL INTRODUCTION
people of ancient culture because the fertility of the river valleys made for an easy existence and f r o m early times produced a c o m m u n a l life.
ethical situation is determined by the caste distinctions that seem t o have been in place already at the time of Alexander the Great. The Hindus have no historical perspective and are incapable of historiography; everything for t h e m blurs i n t o extravagant images lacking intelligibility. Because they have no subjective sense o f history, they have no objective sense either.
Hegel devotes considerable attention t o the system of castes, which correspond to four occupations t h a t are f o u n d i n every society i n one f o r m o r another. These are the intellectual class (priests, scholars, scientists), the practical class (government and military leaders), the m a n u f a c t u r i n g and agricultural class, and laborers and servants; t o these is appended ( i n I n d i a ) a fifth, ignoble caste. The distinctive feature about India is t h a t these become natural distinctions, based on b i r t h , and cannot be chosen freely. They ennrely dominate H i n d u life a n d become a permanent, despotic arrangement i n w h i c h the highest group (the Brahmans) assumes the status of divinity while the lowest (the Pariahs or Chandalas, see note 8) is reduced t o subhuman status. Persons w h o are neglectful of their duties can become outcastes and lose a l l legal protections. Detailed regulations governing the castes are f o u n d i n the Laws ofManu. Hegel notes i n particular the degraded status assigned t o w o m e n , w h o are the property o f their fathers and husbands. H u m a n hfe i n general has no inherent ethical value, and w i t h o u t free w i 1 there can be no proper political life, no freedom o f a political state, but only capricious despotism. In Hegel's view, H i n d u religion is composed of t w o extremes: o n the one Hand a singular absolute substance, Brahman, i n t o w h i c h everything vanishes, and on the other hand an indeterminate multiplicity of sensuous images (natural phenomena, animals, deities) and a cultus that is an'unbridled, iicenoous sensuality' (young w o m e n placed i n the temple as sexual objects, and so on). The Hindus d o have w o r t h y views of the one substance: it is beyond aUconceptionand understanding a n d is mvisible, eternal, omnipotent, and omniscient; but it lacks consciousness, and thus self-consciousness cannot k n o w itself i n relating t o i t . Renunciation is the supreme virtue, a self-
sTgnticancT
^
^
" *
* " ^
3
We have defined the H i n d u principle as w i t h d r a w a l f r o m self a n d comp e t e lack of freedom i n the positive sense. W i t h o u t self and freedom, nothing good is possible: the state, purpose, rational a„d ethucal life The p^incat condition as die Europeans f o u n d i t was a host of pnncipalities ruled by M u s l i m and H i n d u dynasties. N o laws governed their succession, contir ^ ° r ' " ^ y « i uprisings, c o n s p , „ c , e s , violence and brutal episodes. O n l y in t h e i r epic poems te tad
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36
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Where does I n d i a stand i n the f r a m e w o r k of w o r l d history? Whereas China as the patriarchal w h o l e has oneness as its basic characteristic, the Indian principle is the second element of the idea, that of distinction. Both are necessary, a n d i n this sense I n d i a represents a world-historical advance. Moreover, distinction a n d difference must go o u t w a r d , and thus India is connected w i t h the test of the w o r l d , while China remains isolated. India has always been an object o f desire, especially by peoples of the West. The ancient Indian language, Sanskrit, lies at the basis of all the Indo-European languages (a recent discovery i n Hegel's time), and this fact indicates an ancient and widespread dispersal of tribes f r o m India and Persia. The section o n I n d i a ends w i t h a discussion of Buddhism and Lamaism I n note 106 w e indicate the reasons for Hegel's limited and unsuccessful treatment of the most widespread and influential of Asian religions. Confusion abounds i n Hegel's discussion of the historical circumstances of Buddha, w h o is the 'other' t o Brahma and Brahman. Buddhism is a more humane religion than H i n d u i s m , and the Buddhist's C o d is a living human being. Buddha attained nirvana, 'a c o n d i t i o n of supreme abstracuon i n which spint was immersed w i t h i n i t s e l f , a condition of bliss. While Buddha was a historical figure, the lamas are h u m a n beings w h o are 'revered as G o d present today'; when one lama dies, the new one is f o u n d i n an infant selectediby priests. Thus a chain o f l i v i n g incarnations of G o d continues uninterruptedly. Persia Ancient Persia was m u c h more involved in the external connections of w o r l d history than were C h i n a and I n d i a ; b u t , while the Chinese and Indian worlds are still contemporaneous w i t h us, the Persian w o r l d has long vanished, m Persia we find a true empire comprised of many diverse peoples, extending f r o m the Indus River t o the Mediterranean and Black Seas. Ethnic groups w i t h i n the empire persisted i n their autonomy and yet were dependent on a point of unirv that held t h e m i n equilibrium. Thus the principle of the Persian Empire is the c o m b i n a t i o n of the preceding pnnaples, exemplifying both a unification of the w h o l e (the Chinese principle) and the distinction ot peoples (the I n d i a n ) . I n Hegel's treatment, Persia is composed of four main
37
EDITORIAL
EDITORIAL
INTRODUCTION
ethnic and geographical divisions: the Z e n d people i n Bactria, the Assyrian and Babylonian peoples, M e d i a o r Persia proper, and Syria (see note 5). Anquetil du Perron's discovery and publication o f the ancient religious book o f the Zend people, the Zend-Avesta, introduces us t o the injunctions of Zoroaster and the religion of the ancient Persians, w h i c h is still found today i n isolated clusters. Hegel names this religion the -religion of l i g h t ' , for light involves the higher, spiritual element worshiped by the Persians. This is a nature worship but not an idolatry of natural objects. L i g h t is 'this universal, simple, physical essence that is pure like t h o u g h t ' , i n the intuition of light, 'the soul goes w i t h i n itself and thus also makes the object seen within itself; this being-within-itself of the pure object, of the l i g h t , is then immediately thought, or the spiritual as such'. B u t because of light's sensible nature 'free thought is n o t yet the free foundation*. D i r e c t l y opposite t o light is darkness, the great antithesis in Persian religion, its dualism—the absolute antithesis of good and e v i l , light and darkness, O r m a z d and A h r i m a n . Hegel considers this dualism to be superior t o the absolute pantheism of the Hindus but it is still the natural mode of expressing o p p o s i t i o n . T h e unity rrom which the t w o sides originate is uncreated time, w h i c h itself is only an abstract unity. Profound metaphysical characteristics adhere t o O r m a z d : he is not fire as such but the fluidity o f fire; his light is the excellence of all creation; he is love, the basic seed o f a l l good, the gift of knowledge, the ground of actuality a n d possibility, the source of everything l i v i n g . One serves Ormazd and reveres light by planting trees a n d g r o w i n g crops, by avoiding impunty, by obeying the laws, and by p a r t a k i n g o f H o r n , a plant Knee that ,s consumed along w i t h unleavened b r e a d - a ritual that (savs Hegel) mirrors our Christian sacrament of the Lord's Supper Ihe wealthier part of the empire is on the western side, namely Babylonia and Assyria , n the river region o f the Euphrates and the Tigris. Here we find agricultural and city life displacing nomadic existence. W e k n o w l i t t l e about the piritual customs other than t h a t the worship of nature is universal.
*"
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through a series of wars became the most powerful ruler i n the w o r l d . The empire he created was a loose union of peoples w h o were allowed t o retain the.r o w n characteristics and i n d m d u a l identity. This allowance for ind.v.duality was one of the great features of Cyrus, w h o was a brutal conqueror but magnanimous i n victory. 'The Persian, the worshiper of the light, of p u r i t y , hovers tolerantly over the whole, free of animosity and hostile particularity.' The successors of Cyrus continued this policy, but a thousand years later there appeared the fanaticism of Islam, w h i c h produced the complete opposite, the destruction of all differences. Under 'Syria* Hegel considers the Semitic peoples w h o lived a ong the eastern coast of the Mediterranean. Whereas Central Asian peoples worshiped nature as a power over them, the Phoenicians conquered the most savage of natural powers, the sea, and used i t t o coloruze and t o engage .n extensive commerce The religion of Astarte and Adonis infuses a higher spiritual element. Adonis b o t h dies and is reborn so that anguish and suffering are not devalued as i n Hinduism but affirmed as an essential element of h u m a n experience, and indeed of the deity's experience. Suffering is discovery of the negative, but i n i t is contained the infinite affirmation, the sense of self, the positive factor. Here we find anticipations of Hegel * trTunent of the so'-called 'religion of anguish' in the 1831 philosophy of 4 9
religion lectures (see note 89). Fuially, Hegel turns t o the Jewish religion. Israel's sigmficance a this stage i n history is n o t i n its being an independent state and thus Israe:! does no constitute its o w n realm of w o r l d history, but its religion , far a d v a n e d ove others of the Persian Empire. Its G o d is grasped purely as thought i n l s r a d the light of the Persians has been completely sp.titual.zed and has blossomed as t h o u g h t . Thus human beings can relate themselves
^ ^ , ^ ¿ 2
a n d t h e m s e l v e s i n i t . T h e moment of the overturning of the O n ntal
principle commences at this point, the moment of the changeover f r o m nature t o spirit.' But this religion has not yet given universahty to its p i n d p l e i t - - i l l b o u n d t o locality, t o the Jewish people Is a b s L t ^
not yet concrete. But a new self-consc.ousness has emerged and
task! are posed. Before turmng to Greece, we must exarmne F ^ p t a
the [first] land t o w h i c h is relegated the carrying out of t h . m k T O M n o t herethatmecormm^ and phdosophical. There is no direct line of mfluence from Persian to Jewish
3 5
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38
INTRODUCTION
e
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with the invention of tbe alphabet, but Hegel does not
39
EDITORIAL
INTRODUCTION
EDITORIAL INTRODUCTION
to Egyptian and Greek religion, but rather stages i n the consciousness of spirit. Egypt Egypt occupies an intermediary position between the Oriental and Western worlds: i t was conquered by the Persians under Cambyses, its traditions are indigenous to N o r t h A f r i c a , and it had a p o w e r f u l effect o n the Greeks. It addresses but does not resolve the 'task' of I t e r a t i n g spirit f r o m its natural and animal forms; rather everything for it remains an enigma (Rätsel). The symbol o f the enigma, and of Egypt itself, 'is the sphinx, this t w o f o l d figure, halt animal and half human, and indeed female. It symbolizes the human spirit that tears itself away f r o m the animal d o m a i n , t h a t frees itself f r o m the animal and casts its gaze about but has n o t yet completely grasped itself, is not yet free, does not yet stand on its o w n t w o feet.' Moreover, 'the language ot Egypt is st.II hieroglyphic; i t is n o t yet the w o r d itself, n o t yet s c r i p t ' . We lack a literature, and o u r knowledge of h o w they thought is dependent on ancient sources, principally Herodotus and Diodorus Siculus. 50
Their priests t o l d Herodotus that the Egyptians were the first human beings, and indeed their civilization is very ancient, w i t h c o m m u n a l life first appearing m the upper Nile valley, principally at Thebes. Later, commercial a a . v i t y shifted i n t o central Egypt (Memphis) and then the delta (bais). Egypt s geographical locale is the l o n g and n a r r o w N i l e valley, which is subject t o flooding twice a year. Floods are the only source of w a t e r for agriculture, and Egyptians mastered the a n of irrigation. Herodotus claimed hat they were the most rational o f all the peoples he had observed, w i t h their well-ordered society and monumental achievements, but t h a t they do aU things the opposite f r o m h o w other peoples do them (e.g. men attend to household matters whereas women engage in external affairs and thus are not in seclusion). r
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principal symbols are the sun (Osiris) and the earth and moon flsis). Osiris and Isis rule i n a cyclical process rhat is related t o the Nile: fertility and g r o w t h are f o l l o w e d by drought and desolation. Osiris is buried i n the earth and becomes l o r d of the dead before he is reborn in the next cycle. A n i m a l w o r s h i p plays a principal role in Egyptian religion. The incomprehensibility of the divine appears i n the soul of the animal, its vitality and intelligence, w h i c h remain impenetrable for humans. W i t h a truly spiritual religion, the incomprehensibility vanishes, for spirit is self-understanding, self-transparency, presence to self and freedom. The mystery of the divine remains concealed i n animal life, and this is w h y , for example, the flight of birds could serve as an oracle for the Greeks. The Egyptians worshiped Apis and other oxen as well as cats, ibises, and crocodiles. They read the signs of the dung beetle and the scarab. Respect for living things is found among all ancient peoples, for w h o m truth is something 'over there', something beyond h u m a n spirit. A t the same time, the Egyptians were resistant to this unselfconscious state and downgraded animal vitality to a symbol of something else. They accomplished this by juxtaposing animal figures, for example, a snake w i t h the head of a bull or ram, or a lion's body w i t h a crocodile's t a i l a n d a ram's head. The juxtaposition signals the symbolic nature of the figures. M o r e explicit are animal bodies reduced t o sphinxes f r o m w h i c h a h u m a n head emerges. But the appropriate sensible figure of the spiritual, as the Greeks discovered, is the human figure, not a hybrid. Egypt knows only the struggle of spirit t o free itself f r o m nature The principle of this ' A f r i c a n s p i r i t . . . i s precisely t o endure such harshness and t o overcome i t , whereas the Indians take their o w n lives'. This spirit expresses itself i n the great labor that produced wondrous works of art and a r c h i t e c t u r e - w o r k s that we still admire after three thousand years. I n higher religions art is subordinate, but i n Egypt art is the necessary means o f self-representation. Its medium cannot be intellectual but rather the hardest of natural materials, stone, i n t o which are carved hieroglyphs and sculptures, and f r o m w h i c h are constructed the most mass.ve strucrures, requiring an advanced knowledge of mechanics. Hegel then writes: W i t h other peoples, the work of their effort is subjugation or domination of other peoples. The vast and abundant realm of the Egyptians' deeds ,s, in works of an Works of annihilation endure in memory, but we sail possess the TacL I) w r k s ^ t h e Egyptians, though only in ruins. One hundred thou.ncI men l e r e engaged for ten years in the Tro.an War, and what they endeavor of the Trojan War, was the devastation of Troy. The furihrv of both s.dcs, of the besieged and the besiegers. What the^Egypj an pre^n ed and left behind them, is a far loftier achievement, a posmve one that, a l b * « ruins, 41
EDITORIAL INTRODUCTION
EDITORIAL INTRODUCTION
still something more or less indestructible and enduring. These are works of the greatest kind.
came about t h r o u g h the deepening of spirit w i t h i n itself, whereas Persia sank
This statement not only is a tribute t o the Egyptians but also offers a rare glimpse i n t o Hegel's artitude about the incessant warfare that has plagued human civilization from the outset. The suffering and devastation of war represent a gigantic exercise in futility, which can only be described as tragic and makes of history a 'slaughterhouse'. Hegel views warfare as something tragically inevitable u n t i l such time that spirit has advanced beyond this primitive mode of competition. A novel aspect of the w o r k of the Egyptians is their dedication t o the dead and to the underworld i n particular, because the souls o f m u m m i f i e d bodies live on. Theirs is not a true belief i n the i m m o r t a l i t y o f the soul, w h i c h is somethingalien t o the Oriental character. I m m o r t a l i t y of the soul means that the inwardness represented by the soul is infinite of itself. The Egyptians did not know 'that spirit has a higher, eternal purpose, and t h a t , reflected w i t h i n itself, spirit is inherently infinite'. For them the dead are given a continuation by embalming, whereas w i t h true immortality the preservation of the body is completely nonessential. The Egyptian orientation is t o vitality m the present, t o the particularities of life's sensual pleasures. T h e energy is n o t yet directed t o the universal, and spirit does not yet come t o be/or itself, although i t is struggling toward i t . 'That this particularity is also explicitly ideal is what must n o w come f o r w a r d as the joyous, free, cheerful spirit, and t h i s is the spirit of Greece.' i r
The transition to Greece is one o f the most critical of the Weltgeschichte. Hegel quotes Herodotus to the effect that 'the Egyptians are impulsive boys who lack the ideality of youths and w h o w i l l become youths only by means or the ideal t o r m ' - a n incorrect citation, but one that fits Hegel's stages in the maturation of spirit. Spirit must break free f r o m the self-enclosed night IT?' u « ¡n this labor, but the Greeks complete •t. The t r u n borne by the goddess at Sais is, according t o the Greeks, the sun, Helios. This sun is the Greek sp,nt, o r light, and A p o l l o is the god of light. A t h.schieftemplearemscribed the w o r d s , ' H u m a n being, k n o w thyself!*'This knowledge ,s what is primary, and the labor of the w o r l d , the s t r i v i n g o f every rel.g,on, ascends to i t ; there is no inscription more sublime than this.* Ehe Oriental principle must give w a y t o self-knowledge, w h i c h i n t u r n requires political freedom. E
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The Greek
World
The w o r l d spirit n o w moves beyond childhood t o the age of y o u t h , and it finds its home i n Greece. T w o youths exemplify the spirit of Greece: the first is Achilles, the poetic creation of Homer, w h o is the great literary source for the intuition of the Greek people; and the second is Alexander the Great, the actual v o u t h , whose conquest of the East brought the age of youth to its end. It is the concept o f youthfulness that is important for Hegel, its vitality and immaturity, its enthusiasm for life combined w i t h an inability to achieve universal goals. Greece offers a concrete yet sensuous spiritual vitality, a spirituality t h a t still has sensuous presence and that highlights the beautiful human f o r m , the individual human being. "The Greek w o r l d has as its foundation the Oriental w o r l d ; i t starts out f r o m the divinity of nature but reconstructs i t , giving it spirituality as its inner soul.' The Periods of Greek H i s t o r y The three periods that mark the history of the Greek people are especially clear in the case of the Greeks because they are the first t o enter into the concrete nexus of w o r l d history. The periods are: the beginning; a retrospective contact w i t h an earlier world-historical people (for rhe Greeks, the Persians); and a prospective contact w i t h a later empire (the Romans). The first period is the firsr f o r m a t i o n of a people up t o a condition ot sufficient maturity that i t can come into contact w i t h the people that precedes it. Here a struggle occurs between indigenous and alien elements, and when they have been unified a people's distinctive vigor is marshaled. The second period is that of a people's t r i u m p h . But when this people turns too much t o external relations and accomplishments, it lets internal matters slip and falls i n t o disunity and conflict; it disintegrates into a real arid an idea existence, the laner being the realm of critical thought. So the seeds ot destruction are planted precisely at the point of t r i u m p h , and the destruction is wrought partly by thought. The t h i r d period is that or decline and f a l , w h i c h culminates , n contact w i t h the next world-h.storical people a people called upon to construct a higher stage of the Weltgeist. We find these three
EDITORIAL INTRODUCTION
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The Origins o f the Spirit of the Greek People
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The Greek gods are not merely natural powers but are essentially spiritual individuality, w h i c h for them is what is essential and supreme. But the latter is not yet established as free individuality, and spirit is not yet comprehended
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We confront t w o questions. First, w h y is i t that the Greeks do not yet w o r s h i p the absolute i n spirit, w h y is i t that spirit does not yet appear to spirit in the spirit} Second, w h y is i t that the G o d o f the Greeks does n o t at the same time appear t o them in the flesh, even though they possess diviniry i n human shape? The answer t o the first question is that G o d does not appear t o the Greeks i n pure thought, as what is nonsensuous, for the Greeks are still closest t o the Oriental principle. Subjectivity here is still only emergent, a n d spirit is n o t yet one w i t h itself in thought. G o d cannot yet be revered in spirit, and spirit is n o t yet the k n o w i n g o f spirit. The answer to the second question is t h a t , while Greek religion is anthropomorphic, it is not anthropomorphic enough: it does n o t k n o w G o d i n an immediate human existence, as a this.* I t k n o w s G o d i n the beautiful shape o f the human, as i t is fashioned i n marble or other media, but it cannot conceive of God as actually becoming h u m a n , appearing i n and as the subjectivity of a single h u m a n being. Thus, against Schillei; Hegel contends that 'the Christian God is much more thoroughly h u m a n ' than the gods of Greece. 4
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A t this point Hegel introduces a lengthy discussion of Greek religion." Religion is concerned w i t h what is essential, and this essentiality for the Greeks is not something exterior and natural but interior and human: it is the beautiful h u m a n shape, comprehended i n its freedom. ' G o d is for h u mans their o w n essence. Humans conceive God t o be in a positive relationship t o them, as their " o t h e r " to immediate contingency and finitude, as their essence a n d substantiality.' However, for the Greeks this essentiality is the beautiful, w h i c h means that it is spirit i n its sensible manifestation and thus i n its finitude, whereas the true essence is infinite. Beauty is the unity of sensibility w i t h spirituality, and free beauty is what constitutes the divine f o r the Greeks. T h e principle of free thinking has not yet been conceptualized, and so the freedom o f spirit is still associated w i t h the human-natural form.
480-479 K .
53. Compare his treatment o i Greek religion in the 1821 Lectures on the Philosophy of Religion, i i . 141-52. 160-89. 54. The -ihis' is a theme of increasing importance as Hegel's lectures progress, reaching its culmination in the Christian doctrine of incamanon as found in the medieval church and in UV Reformation. See the Greek World, an. 36, 43; and the Germanic World, n. 28. 45
EDITORIAL INTRODUCTION
EDITORIAL INTRODUCTION
in the spirit; it is not yet subject i n a d d i t i o n t o substance. The Greeks start with nature, but natural d i v i n i t y is sublated i n spiritual progress. This sublation constitutes the difference between the T i t a n s , w h o were nature deities, and the Olympian gods, w h o overthrew t h e m . The 'resonance' of the natural powers is preserved i n the new gods. Thus A p o l l o is the k n o w i n g god but has the resonance of being the g o d of light, and Poseidon is partly the resonance of the nature god Oceanus. This resonance represents the Oriental legacy i n Greek consciousness. O n the one hand, the Greeks t o o k their gods from Asia and Egypt, but on the other hand their labor, their c u l t u r a l work, was the transformation of this alien element.
Thus faith in God's providence does not eliminate the contingency that a p p l i e s t o particular events, and these contingencies are often incomprehensible. But Christians believe that G o d , having become flesh, has the wellbeing of each and every human being at h e a r t , and that therefore G o d 'guides' the contingencies t o the best outcome, which means taking up the final end of each individual ' i n t o G o d ' . We have discussed the manner of the 'guidance', n o t i n g that it assumes principally a negative f o r m , and we observe t o o that the 'best outcome' is not a historical Utopia but a mystical assumption into G o d . H i s t o r y is governed by contingencies, but God, not fate, is the l o r d o f history. Thus Christians find 'solace', whereas for Greeks there is no solace, simply a submission t o w h a t is.
The resonance echoes i n the Greek mysteries and oracles. The mysteries denve f r o m an old nature religion w i t h the presumption that ancient and venerable sources reveal the t r u t h of all that f o l l o w s . To address particular concerns or to k n o w w h a t one must d o i n the future, one must consult the oracles. I n this respect, Greek religion is still superstitious. The Christian, by contrast, 'is confident that his particular destiny and welfare, temporal and eternal, is an object of God's c a r e . . . . T h e Greeks d i d not a n d c o u l d not arrive at this view; f o r i t is only i n the Christian religion that God has become a this and has taken the character of the this i n t o the characrer of the divine concept.' W i t h their trust i n God's care and providence, Christians can decide and resolve things for themselves and d o n o t need to consult an oracle. The Greeks lack infinite subjectivity and have t o relv on an exterior source. Closely connected w i t h the oracles is the Greek v i e w of fate—a fate that mysteriously governs individual events and must be accepted f o r w h a t it is. Hegel at this point makes i m p o r t a n t remarks regarding his o w n view of providence: The category of providence, or faith, for Christians stands opposed to what we call fate for the Greeks. In other respects, however, for Christians as well as for Greeks the connection of particularities to the universal is something incomprehensible and misunderstood. Destiny unfolds on a soil that must be called contingent in respect to particular purposes;... but Christians have the view that all ihese particularities serve for the best, that God guides all these contingencies and leads them to the best outcome. Thus they assume that God's object is what is best for them. The Greeks lacked this view just because whai is particular, the end of individuals, was not taken up into God. They accepted md.vidvial events as thev happened and where they found them, but they did not have the conception that what is best for them would be a taal end, that as a "this' they would be an end. So they were just left with the thought,... That's how it is, and humans must submit to i t ' .
4h
To conclude his discussion of the origins of Greece, Hegel turns to its political constitution. The Oriental w o r l d offers a brilliant display of despotism; the constitution of the Roman w o r l d is that of aristocracy, and of the Germanic, monarchy. I n Greece the constitution is democratic, which for Hegel means direct rule by the people (that is, the citizens among the people). Such rule presupposes the unity of subjective and objective w i l l , w h i c h is possible only where infinite subjectivity or subjective freedom has n o t yet developed. M o n a r c h y emerges when external order requires a 'focus' f o r the sake of stability and subjective freedom is recognized and honored; thus i n Hegel's view monarchy is the highest f o r m of governance. Under democracy, the w i l l is still the objective w i l l , the collective w i l l of citizens, not that of individual subjects. Three conditions are required for the f o r m that democracy takes i n Greece. First, citizens make decisions based o n their 'inner oracle'. They cast votes, and the m a j o r i t y decides. The greater the number of votes (and/or the closer the vote), the more the decision appears t o be arbitrary, a maner o f chance, and individual votes are devalued. Contingency appears on every side: one citizen stays away f r o m the assembly for this or that reason while another speaks eloquently; issues are manipulated by interest groups; perhaps onlv one insignificant vote decides the maner, and the decision is resented. The second c o n d i t i o n is slavery: freedom holds good for the Greeks o n l v because they are these particular citizens; it does not apply t o human beings as such simply because they are human. Presumably what Hegel means is that n o t everyone can participate i n a democracy, only Greeks w h o are adult male citizens. This points to the t h i r d condition, w h i c h is small size. A democratic state c a n n o t spread out very tar because i t is t h e w h o l e body that renders the decision. Thus the citizens must be present together and the various interests must be alive for them. Hegel does not consider here the possibility of a representative democracy and a balance o t -i-
EDITORIAL INTRODUCTION
EDITORIAL INTRODUCTION
power among the legislature, the judiciary, and the executive; f o r h i m these conditions apply only in the modern w o r l d i n the f o r m o f a constitutional monarchy (where the monarch is a figurehead but an i m p o r t a n t symbol of unity and national identity). Today constitutional monarchies are considered a form of democracy, along w i t h republics, but b o t h differ greatly from the Greek model.
lack the sublime freedom that comes f r o m the subjective unity o f selfconsciousness.' Another principle is o n the way, and i t first appears as something 'revolutionary and demoralizing'. Decline and Fall The struggle between Athens and Sparta erupted into the Peloponnesian War, which dragged o n for twenty-seven years (431-404 bc). Sparta obtained financial support f r o m the Persians and eventually defeated Athens
The M a t u r i t y of the Greek Spirit The second period involves contact w i t h the antecedent world-historical people—in the case of the Greeks, w i t h the Persians i n the events involving what Herodotus called 'the War w i t h the Medes'. Hegel notes that n o t all the Greeks participated i n the Persian Wars. Even w h e n the stakes were highest, 'particularity' maintained the upper hand over a c o m m o n H e l l e n i s m . I n fact, the Greeks were (partly) united o n l y once, w h e n Sparta came t o the aid of Athens at the Battle o f Salamis i n 4 8 0 b c . The next year the Persian army was defeated at Plataea, ending the very real threat o f Greek destruction. These battles marked a major turning p o i n t : 'West and East stood so opposed here that the interests o f w o r l d history lay i n the balance.' Over against a mighty Oriental despotism, united under a single ruler, stood 'a few peoples of limited means but possessing free i n d i v i d u a l i t y ' . ' N e v e r i n w o r l d history has the advantage and superiority of the noble p o w e r of spirituality over massed f o r c e s . . . been displayed so splendidly.' T h i s was Greece's finest hour, a n d Herodotus gave i t i m m o r t a l i t y by his w o r d s .
and the other states, transforming democracies into oligarchies and aband o n i n g the Greek cities i n Asia M i n o r . The Greek ideal had been fatally betrayed, a n d several centuries of decline ensued. It was precisely at this p o i n t that Greek philosophy attained its greatest achievement, threateriing the religion of beauty and the order of the state by its critical thought and principle of subjectivity. Against the notion of the Sophists t h a t h u m a n beings as finite ends are the measure of all things, Socrates grasped being in-and-for-itself
as the universal and thinking
as the
final end. Then the existence of the gods (though not the unitary divine itself) was questioned by Plato, w h o sought t o ban not art but w h a t art portrayed as the highest: thought o f the absolute is required rather than merely sensible representation. The fate of Socrates, remarks Hegel, was the highest tragedy: for his part he had the justification of thought; but for their part the Athenian people were r i g h t i n recognizing that the Athenian state w o u l d be weakened a n d destroyed by the principle that justification resides i n one's o w n
As soon as the Greeks had repelled the external threat, the tension had to be turned inward. They turned to inner dissension a n d conflict i n the f o r m of the nvalry between Athens and Sparta. These city-states were opposites in every respect. Athens was a place of refuge f o r a diverse populace. Solon gave the Athenians a democratic constitution, b u t w i t h an aristocratic element. Slaves could be acquired by purchase, but n o free Greek peoples were ever enslaved. The Athenians achieved an enviable refinement in customs, beauty, talent, and discourse. The Spartans, by contrast, came into the Peloponnesus f r o m Thessaly and made slaves, 'helots', o f the native people. 1 hey lived i n a continuous state o f warfare and were constantly involved in military exercises. Sparta was an aristocracy or oligarchy r u n by wealthv overseers and military leaders. They forced an austere c o m m u n a l asceticism on their people and banned science and a n .
inwardness.
Hegel concludes this section by observing that, w h i l e we always feel ourselves drawn t o Greece (especially Athenian Greece), our spirit cannot hnd ,ts highest satisfaction there. 'The objective absolute that is beautiful lacks a principal element, namely t r u t h ; a n d here r i g h t a n d ethical life still
Historians say that, although there was nothing but bloodshed i n Alexander's conquest, he was still great. However, remarks Hegel, O n e must be prepared f o r blood and strife when one turns to w o r l d hisrory, tor
48
In the state an irresolvable conflict arose between the principle of i n d i v i d uality (which had dark, destructive aspects as well as beneficial ones) and that o f rule by the people as a whole. The Greeks needed a foreign k i n g t o impose his w i l l on t h e m . T h a t k i n g was Philip of Macedon, and his son, Alexander, inherited his father's vast power and had a free hand to use i t . This 'second y o u t h of Greece' consolidated the inner impulse of Greek l i f e , . . . turning i t against the motherland of Greece, the East, the O r i e n t . . . . In one respect, Alexander avenged the evil that had befallen Greece at the hands of the Orient; in another respect, however, he repaid a thousandfold all the good that Greece had received from the Orient i n the form of early cultural impulses... .The great work of Alexander his great and immoral deed, is that he made the Near East into a Greece.
49
EDITORIAL INTRODUCTION
EDITORIAL INTRODUCTION
they are the means by w h i c h the w o r l d spirit drives itself f o r w a r d ; they come from the concept.' The means are undoubtedly tragic and self-destructive, but, as we have seen, they are used by the spirit to further its o w n ends. Part of Alexander's tragedy is that, while he established a Greek w o r l d empire, he could n o t establish a family dynasty. He was a m i l i t a r y genius, an interpreter of history, and a man of great persona! bravery. H e died at the right time, when his work was finished, leaving behind a legacy that has endured to the present day.
hnitude, t o the prose o f life, the ultimate abstraction. The development of formal law was an expression of the constricted, unsentimental understanding of the Romans. I t was their greatest achievement. Their art had a merely technical aspect, and religion was reduced to utility and finitudc. In these respects, although Hegel does not mention it here, the Roman Empire is very similar to our o w n age.
In the absence of Alexander, o n l y an ugly, barren particularity remained, and the Greek states were t o r n asunder i n t o rival factions. The biographical writings of Plutarch and Polybius tell us about the tragic individuals of this last period: good persons could o n l y despair or w i t h d r a w f r o m public life. In these circumstances, 'a destiny appears t h a t can o n l y negate w h a t has gone before; it is blind, harsh, and abstract. And the R o m a n Empire plays the role of this fate."
The Roman
World
The Roman Spirit W i t h the Romans 'politics is destiny', w h i c h means f o r Hegel t h a t individuals were not taken into account but were sacrificed; it means that the achievement of the R o m a n Empire was power f o r its o w n sake. Rome represented a prosaic, practical d o m i n i o n w i t h o u t a spiritual dimension. 'Rome broke the heart of the w o r l d , and only o u t o f the w o r l d ' s heartfelt m i s e r y . . . could free spirit develop and arise.' Rome expanded o u t w a r d f r o m a single hub (the reverse of the origins of Greece!, embracing tribes of Latins, Sabines, and Etruscans. There was no family or patriarchal f o r m at the outset but a robber band, a brotherhood of shepherds and bandits. H a v i n g no wives of their o w n , the Romans robbed neighboring people of their w o m e n . This genesis in ' a b d u c t i o n ' is tvpical for the subsequent history of Rome. The Romans lacked the instinct of natural ethical life, a lack that led t o harsh familial conditions. Wives c o u l d either become legal possessions of their husbands or be acquired w i t h o u t a marriage ceremony by continued use or possession for a year. The husband was the f a m i l y despot, but he in t u r n was ruled over by the state. The greatness of Rome depended on its sacrificing everything t o the political b o n d , t o the state. By contrast w i t h the immeasurable infinitude of the O r i e n t a n d the beautiful poetic indiv.duality of the Greeks, the Romans simplv held fast to
50
'Religion' means ' t o b i n d ' Ireligio, f r o m religare), and 'for the Romans there is in fact a "being b o u n d " , whereas for the Greeks religion is free fantasy, the freedom of beauty, and for the Christians it is the freedom of spirit'. The constraint o f the Romans manifests itself in superstition. Their gods serve specific utilitarian purposes: everything, from political fortune and the m i n t i n g of coins t o baking and drainage, is governed by a god, and gods were i m p o r t e d to meet specibc needs. The Romans gathered all these gods into the Pantheon and destroyed their divinity by reducing them t o finite usages. They expressed no disinterested thankfulness t o w a r d , o r exal ration and invocation of, w h a t is higher. A similar, indeed gruesome utility manifested itself in their festivals and performances. These presented the Romans w i t h the spectacle of m u r d e r — of animals tearing human beings to pieces and of men and women slaying one another. To hold their interest, the Romans needed to see actual suffering and cruelty. These spectacles were an objectification of their o w n suffering, their veneration of finitude and death. The Periods of Roman H i s t o r y Here too, as w i t h the Greeks, three periods are found: the origins of Rome (the formation of R o m a n power), its reference to the East (the w o r l d d o m i n i o n of Rome), and its relation to the principle that ensues (the downfall of Rome). I n the second period, Christianity arrives on the scene as a religion that mediates between East and West, and Hegel devotes such attention to i t as t o w a r r a n t its being regarded as a separate topic. Part of the irony in his treatment is that Christianity subverts the Roman principle and requires another people, the N o r d i c , in which to mature. So the seeds o l destruction are sown at the height of Roman power, just as they are in Greece.
55. Hegel makes ihis comparison in Lectures on the Philosophy of Kehgion. in. U a d e f i e d Til ••••••• of Roman relipon and festivals .n the philosophy ol rel.gKxi 1821. see li. 190-231. >1
"
"
* «
EDITORIAL INTRODUCTION
The Formarion of Roman Power Here we find no beautiful mythological antecedent, as i n Greece, but simply a prosaic beginning. The early kings were driven o u t , and the transition t o 'republicanism' was i n reality a transition t o an oligarchic aristocracy that suppressed the plebeians. Aristocracy, says Hegel, represents the worst political condition, despite the desire tor 'the best' t o rule, because it simply offers an equilibrium between despotism and anarchy, a n d it produces only unhappiness and exigency. But i t also produces a h i g h l y effective military strategy, based on the principles o f abstract solidarity and obedience t o the laws of the state. The World-Dominion of Rome W i t h its increasing wealth and power, Rome enters i n t o a second p e r i o d , into a w o r l d theater that lies around the Romans like a panorama, the entire perimeter of the Mediterranean Sea. W i t h its defeat o f Carthage, Rome became mistress of the Mediterranean a n d all the lands a r o u n d i t . Gradually it worked its way f r o m this periphery more deeply i n t o these lands until it became the mightiest empire the w o r l d had witnessed, stretching f r o m Roman Britain t o Asia M i n o r . Julius Caesar emerged as the consummate image of Roman purposiveness, a man w h o wished n o t h i n g other t h a n t o be the ruler, undeterred by ethical constraints. He suffered the fate of all such great individuals, having t o trample underfoot w h a t he lived for. After making inroads i n t o Gaul a n d Germariia, he turned against the republic, cleansed Rome of base interests, and established the emperor as the one person whose w i l l dominated a l l . Hegel describes this principle as t h a t of spirit's complete coming-out-of-itself, the utter, intentional, deliberate finitude that is w i t h o u t constraint*. This principle reached its consummation i n Augustus, and i n opposition t o h i m , t o this ' p r o f o u n d breach' i n spirit, there appeared its opposite, namely i n f i n i t y — a n i n f i n i t y t h a t d i d not negate fimtude but encompassed i t . The Arrival of Christianity W i t h this concept o f infinity, Christianity arrives o n the scene. Hegel says mat his purpose is not t o describe w h a t constitutes the true religion and the true infinite, but only its appearing, the necessity of its appearing at this time, when the tune was fulfilled'; for history deals w i t h the appearing o f what is true, not w i t h t r u t h itself. D e s p ^ , Hegel first launches i n t o m
s
precisely a discussion o f the true idea, n o t just its appearing.
EDITORIAL
INTRODUCTION
The absolute idea is the universal that subsists i n and for itself—not, however, as an empty essence but as internally concrete and determinate w i t h i n itself. I t posits itself as its o w n finite 'other' but then draws back i n t o itself as infinite fullness; i t does not lose itself i n bringing itself forth as an other to itself. ' G o d is this infinite life of separating the other f r o m itself and being present t o itself i n this separated element. This relationship is the speculative f o r m . ' This f o r m constitutes the Christian doctrine of the Trinity, a n d i t is present i n the sentiment of love, w h i c h entails loving another for the sake of the other and finding oneself in this other. There are t w o ways t o grasp this t r u t h : the w a y of faith via representat i o n , and the w a y of knowledge via reason. Between these t w o resides the understanding (Verstand), w h i c h holds fast t o the distinction between finite and infinite and does n o t k n o w h o w t o resolve i t . ' U p o n approaching t r u t h , the understanding destroys w h a t is true i n i t . ' The t r u t h of Christianity—the doctrine of the T r i n i t y a n d o f the d i v i n i t y of Christ—does not appear simply at the beginning, i n biblical statements literally construed, but through the living spirit o f the c o m m u n i t y of f a i t h , speculatively interpreted. O u r p r i m a r y task, however, is to describe the appearance of the idea, the fact that the t i m e had been fulfilled. When the categories of finite and mfinite are separated, w e find on the one side the absolute finitude of the Roman w o r l d , a harsh servitude, the principle of abstract personality, this one; we find it m the capricious f o r m of the emperor, w h o is 'the god of the w o r l d ' . The other category is infinite freedom, the principle of abstract universality, w h i c h appears philosophically in Stoicism and religiously in the 'immeasurable expanse' o f the East. This expanse, says Hegel, becomes supersensible only i n the G o d o f Israel, w h o is stripped of sensuality and is conceived as pure thought. Here, f o r the first time, i n the Jewish religion, the characterization of G o d as 'the O n e ' becomes a world-historical principle^ These t w o , the infinite One and finite singularity or subjectivity, are the t w o categories of the self^onsciousness of this age. ' I n isolation they are onesided; . . . i n their t r u t h they are posited as one. This uniting of East and West, and the assimilation of the t w o principles, t o o k place i n the Roman w o r l d . The Western longing f o r a deeper inwardness, a profound vastness, led it t o the East where it f o u n d expression i n diverse forms: Syrian mystery cults, Egyptian r e l i g i o n , Greek mythology, Neoplatonic philosophy. This is the w o r l d i n t o w h i c h Christianity was born, on Jewish soil, under Roman d o m i n a t i o n . For Christianity, the infinite One, the God or Israel, comes i n t o sensible presence as thts one, Jesus Christ. G o d reveals godse» as a human being i n h u m a n shape. I n this w a y the longing of the w o r l d is f u l f i l l e d - i t s longing that the h u m a n being as finite should be elevated and
52
53
EDITORIAL INTRODUCTION
EDITORIAL I N T R O D U C T I O N
grasped as element of the divine essence', and t h a t G o d s h o u l d 'come forth from his abstract remoteness i n t o appearance and i n t o human intuition'. Faith is the intuition of the unity of God and h u m a n i t y , the certainty that the divine spirit dwells w i t h i n oneself, t h a t one is i n mystical u n i t y w i t h the divine. It entails a liberation f r o m the n a t u r a l state. But the i n t u i t e d unity must also be present in a natural mode, the mode o f an immediate single being, a this one. T h e unity could appear only once, i n a single individual.
can i t be the sort of servitude that exists under Roman aristocracy. I n the true state, obedience t o the secular order must be a matter of 'negotiation' w i t h individual, subjective purposes. The state must be strong enough to accommodate these private interests w i t h i n it and to satisfy them. It must be rational i n itself, a n d inherently just. Hegel believes, as we have seen, that these conditions appear most satisfactorily i n the modern principle of m o n archy, of w h i c h he has an organic view, that is, a view i n which legitimate
'God is inherently only One, and God's appearing m u s t therefore be desig-
competing interests of freedom combine i n t o an organic totality. 'Each
nated utterly w i t h the predicate of oneness and so i t excludes a l l multiplic-
element is posited as an independent power and at the same rime as an
ity.' This appearing of God emerges w i t h i n the Jewish r e l i g i o n , for this
organ of the w h o l e organism.'
people prayed to God as 'the One', and i t emerges under R o m a n domination as the antidote t o the claim of Caesar t o be 'the one'. W i t h i n Judaism, G o d is
The D o w n f a l l of R o m e
not internally concrete, cannot take on the determinateness of finitude, and
While Christianity came i n t o being during the era of the Roman w o r h i it
remains the G o d of just the Jewish p e o p l e .
required a different people to be the bearer o f its principle, namely, the 'Nordic
56
W i t h i n the R o m a n Empire,
Christianity is able to break out of t h i s constraint a n d t o present itself as the true and universal religion. 'Just as the divine idea has w i t h i n itself this crossover t o human being, the h u m a n being k n o w s itself as i n f i n i t y w i t h i n itself.' Thus individuals attain an infinite inwardness, b u t only through the hard labor of breaking through the n a t u r a l sphere, of t a k i n g u p the cross, and of enduring the persecution of the state. The triumph of Christianity has several consequences for life and the state. The first is that slavery is ruled out. Humans have infinite w o r t h as human beings, and they are destined for freedom. Its external history t o the contrary notwithstanding, when Christianity is t r u l y practiced, i t can have
people. The Romans were inextricably linked t o their irrational, barren, and abstract principle o f imperial dominion, and when they came into contact w i t h a new world-historical people their end had arrived. Three characteristics m a r k their d o w n f a l l . First, internal corruption destroyed the empire f r o m w i t h i n . Second, spirit w i t h d r e w i n t o itself as something higher: Stoicism o n the one hand and Christianity on the other. Finally, the onrush of foreign peoples overwhelmed the empire m a flood that no dam could w i t h s t a n d . These were mass migrations of N o r d i c and Eastern barbarians. 'Since t h e s e . . . barbarians were called "Germane*",
the w o r l d -
historical people is n o w the Germanic people'.
no slavery; Christianity is the t r u e humanity. The second consequence is that the forms of ethical life have changed. A n authentic, inner s p i r i t u a l subjec-
The Germanic
tivity arises, which is no longer the beautiful ethical l i f e of the Greeks, nor
World
can it be the merely private interest and caprice of the Romans. The third consequence ,s the establishment o f t w o w o r l d s : a supersensible spiritual w o r l d of subjective inwardness a n d a temporal w o r l d , a w o r l d l y existence
Introduction In addressing the Germanic w o r l d , we face the subjective difficulty of being
that appears i n one aspect as the church, and i n the other aspect as the state.
unable to approach more recent history as impartially as we can the distan
I he final consequence concerns the political constitution that corresponds t o Christianity. For reasons already adduced, the true constitution cannot be Oriental despotism; n o r can i t be that of Greek democracy, in wh.ch s u b i e o m w i l l is immediately identical w i t h the w i l l of the state; nor
past, and the ob,ect,ve difficulty o f having ' b o t h the ,dea as such and the particularity f r o m w h i c h fulfillment o f the absolute final end is t o emerge . The latter difficulty arises because the subjectivity of w i l l n o w P - ^ - t e s along w i t h the absolute idea as such; these t w o are essentially m e i T u n i f i c a t i o n ,s the ultimate goal of w o r l d h , s t o r y . ' The particular w i l l , 5
cribonofl'Znt-** , v ? Ï l o ™ " V f t h t
J C W S m
a
a
m
g
e
U
,
°
r f
f
' ^ M
54
d
« l * » ! * ™ insight w t h the storv of the *WT ™ t h e T u ^ l e d g e of good and
57. See a. I , which for this period.
a l s o t o s e ^ ^
55
EDITORIAL INTRODUCTION
EDITORIAL INTRODUCTION
i n pursuing its o w n ends, initially resists being d r i v e n t o w a r d an absolute final end; ' i t affects the absolute itself by fighting against i t ' . T h e drive is at first obscure and unrecognized; 'hence we are often forced t o judge what has happened i n just the opposite way from h o w it appears to be in the history of peoples'. The French say, ' I n repulsing t r u t h one embraces i t ' , and this is what modern Europe has done by exhausting itself i n bloody struggles. Its history shows 'that the idea i n the mode of providence ruled—providence as a veiled inner power that achieves its end and prevails via the recalcitrant volition of the peoples—so that w h a t i t achieves and w h a t the peoples desire are often at odds'. This is a principal instance of the negative rule o f G o d in history.
Christianity subverted R o m a n hegemony but d i d not yet find its 'people, so
Individual European states f o r m , struggling a n d fighting against each other, yet they are also being driven t o w a r d a general unity. W h e n the latter has been accomplished, Europe turns o u t w a r d — n o t b a c k w a r d t o an earlier people or forward t o a new people. This is because, ' w i t h the Christian religion, the principle of the w o r l d is complete; the day of judgment has dawned for i t ' (see note 2). When i t turns o u t w a r d , C h r i s t i a n i t y encounters the w o r l d of Islam, which is for it an inessential m o m e n t (see note 3). 'The Chnstian w o r l d has circumnavigated the globe and dominates i t ' ; any future essential revolutions w i l l occur w i t h i n i t . Following this abstract summary of h o w Europe 'ends', Hegel returns to BB beginning. The beginning occurred w i t h mass migrations of Romance and Germanic peoples i n the fourth and fifth centuries AD. The Germans were attracted by the cultural w o r l d they eventually vanquished, but for several centuries they lagged behind the Romance nations, w h i c h directly inherited Roman culture. Further east, Slavic nations existed, a n d f r o m the south came later incursions of Hungarians, the Magyars. But these peoples, ot A s i a n origin, have n o t yet entered i n t o the realm o f European history-
the Reformation subverts the medieval synthesis but is not yet fully modern. The final period of the Germanic w o r l d is not that of 'decline and fall', as w i t h earlier empires, but that of 'modernity', which for Hegel seems to represent the consummation of w o r l d history—yet he broods over i t . The comparison w i t h Rome is unsettling. The Preparation of the Early M i d d l e Ages Covering the period f r o m the fall of the Roman Empire (480) t o the reign of Charlemagne ( 8 0 0 - 8 1 4 ) , the early Middle Ages struggled w i t h the tens.on between the independence of individuals and the need for social organization. Germany always h a d free individuals, but they came together into assemblies and gathered around commanders-in-chief and kings. Their allegiance to the k i n g was called 'fealty', which is a principle of the modern w o r l d : ' f r o m one's innermost m i n d and heart to be i n association with another subject'. The t w o elements were united in the formation of the s t a t e - t h e unification of fealty w i t h the w i l l of individuals. However, the unification occurred only gradually, and Germany i n particular was initially splintered into numerous principalities in w h i c h private privilege and particularity of m i n d and passion triumphed. In contrast t o this extreme of particularity i n early Europe stood the other extreme, t h a t o f the pure thought of the One, which emerged in the Onenta w o r l d in the f o r m of Islam in the seventh century (see note 14). Here all particularities become accidental. Judaism and Christianity share w i t h Islam its worship of the O n e , but i n Islam this characteristic becomes fanatical because all differences and determinac.es are abolished. Everything^tops away: positive rights, property, possessions, particular purposes. I hat is why Islam devastates, converts, and conquers a l l . ' A t the same t.me. the ardor and beauty of love are nowhere expressed more fully; ^ Hegel does n o t take note of i t - t o l e r a n c e of other religions is an early teatur of M u s l i m rule over subjugated peoples. Hegel does note that the natural father' of the Christian w o r l d is the West, but its 'more sublime and spiritual father' ,s the East. The East is the birthplace of freedom and univer a ty. over against the N o r d i c reliance on individual sub.ectivity. C t a W could combine these elements, b u t Islam remained largely u « o * h « i b . Western influence. I t conquered all that it could: the M i d d l e E a t N o r t h Africa, Spain, a n d southern France. Only at Poitiers (or Tours, ? 3 2 ) w e r e t h * Arabs halted bv Charles M a r t e l , grandfather of Charlemagne. Great ones appeared in Asia M i n o r . Egypt, and Spain; scholars and schools were a
The Periods of the History of the Germanic World JJsmg the most sweeping generalizations, Hegel distinguishes three periods early, U t d W , and m o d e m ) , which represent three types of u n i t y (real, hi ro ™ ; ' P earlierperiods of w o r l d U\ Z mt5 I ' Reformation does not U
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EDITORIAL INTRODUCTION
EDITORIAL INTRODUCTION
established, which disseminated the sciences and the w o r k s o f classical antiquity, together with free poetry and free fantasy. But this magnificent empire soon disappeared. Islam did n o t impinge again on the history of Europe until early modernity, w i t h the invasion o f the O n o m a n Turks—a presence with which Hegel was familiar i n the 1820s i n the f o r m of the Greek struggle for independence. The Middle Ages The Middle Ages continued f r o m the early ninth century to the Reformation.*
Charlemagne unified the Frankish K i n g d o m a n d was named H o l y
Roman Emperor m 800. Later the empire split up a n d fell a p a r t , and the Germanic world reverted to private dependencies. T h u s d u r i n g the medieval period the 'real' authority and unity became 'ideal', or spiritual, t h r o u g h the triumph of the Catholic Church. Its first great accomplishment was t o make the Christian religion i n t o an object of scholarly study by b r i n g i n g rational reflection to bear on i t . The basic doctrines o f the church had been established by the early church fathers a n d the ecumenical councils. ' W h a t there is now, i n addition, is the elaboration of this s u b j e c t . . . by theologians of the West, who formulated it i n thought; these theologians were
essentially
philosophers.... Every theology has to be philosophical; for p u r e l y historical treatment does not address the content as t r u t h . ' Theology brought dialectical thinking to bear upon faith and transformed i t . The science o f theology
a s
cognition of the truth became the principal mode o f scholarship,
but other sciences also appeared, such as law and medicine. A second aspect, however, was that of feeling, 'the deepening of religion in the hearts of individuals'. The church established convents a n d monastic orders. Even the ' f i r m gnarled oaken heart' o f the Germanic peoples was split in t w o by Christianity, pierced by the power of the ideal. ' I t is the "credible power that breaks the stubborn self-will o f barbarism a n d wrests he strength o that nature to the g r o u n d . ' The envisaging of the ideal t o o k the form, finally, of transforming laws in accord w i t h the church: murder
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Hegel describes at some length the role of the church in medieval politics. Power struggles occurred between secular and ecclesiastical authorities, and different regions of Europe experienced different solutions. Especially in Germany a protracted struggle persisted between emperors and popes, a struggle that undermined the unity of Germany and led ultimately to the victory of the church. A t the height of its power, the church asserted authority over every aspect o f life and scholarship. The real kingdom had been replaced by 'the d o m i n i o n of this ideal k i n g d o m ' . The church seemed t o possess everything, but one thing was lacking: 'the presence [of God) experienced by self-consciousness'. The early church councils long ago established the objective, absolute content of Christianity. The content was not altered by scholastic philosophy, and 'philosophy in our o w n time too can only transpose the content into the f o r m of the concept". One aspect of this doctrine is that divinity is not a quantity of some kind but a relationship, the unity of the divine w i t h the human, 'such that God appeared to humanity a n d is utterly present to humanity'. The divine nature has w i t h i n itself the quality of the this. 'Christ has appeared, and this presence, this unity of the human and the d i v i n e , . . . is what the w o r l d has ever been striving for.' But where is Christ today? The God-man Jesus Christ existed as a temporal being and thus as a past being. H i s spiritual presence cannot be that of a prolonged physical presence such as that of a string of Dalai Lamas. What is past exists no longer, but the this should still be present. The divine singularitv is no mere mode or accident of substance but is essential to the infinitude of G o d , and this singularity must be present. For medieval Catholicism, this presence is f o u n d i n the Mass or the Last Supper. The Mass happens not once but eternally, for i t is the life, suffering, and death of God. The sacrifice or the Mass is an actual presence, not merely a historical remembrance or a psychological phenomenon. I t takes place perpetually in the community ot faith, w h i c h is itself the co-celebrant along w i t h the priest. The problem w i t n the Mass, however, is that Christ is represented as something external, as tne host that is consecrated by the priest. Sensible presence as such is essential to the this. But w h e n it becomes the host, the consecrated bread and wine mat is supposed t o be worshiped as G o d , then it can be repeated endless y, ana the need for such a physical presence multiplies exponentially. Miracles and relics extend the divine presence; single details of nature are converted into particular manifestations of the divine. Christ is reproduced m countless churches, but Christ himself, as the Son of G o d , remains utterly one. W M t the church demands is this utterly one presence, on earth here Dew V physical, if n o w long-decomposed, f o r m . But access to the H o l y Land
EDITORIAL INTRODUCTION
EDITORIAL INTRODUCTION
the tomb of Christ was blocked by infidels, M u s l i m s . T h e Crusades became necessary. The ineptitude of the Crusades (.nine of them, between 1095 and 1291), together w i t h the grandiosity of their mission, resulted i n massive bloodshed and a failed objective; and the cross o f Christ was converted tnto a sword. But when they finally reached the t o m b o f Christ, the crusaders discovered the ultimate meaning o f the sensible this: ' W h y d o y o u seek the living among the dead? He is n o t here but has risen.' F o l l o w i n g u p o n Christ's sensible presence, the H o l y Spirit comes u p o n the cornmunity, filling the hearts and minds of people, not their hands. The Crusades expelled the illusion of Christians about the meaning of the this; s p i r i t u a l presence replaced sensible presence; a n d the interests of sensibility c o u l d now be directed to the w o r l d of nature. Hegel concludes his treatment o f the M i d d l e Ages by exarnining the turn to nature and t o worldly affairs. Here he discusses the appearance of industry, crafts, and trade, and n e w inventions such as gunpowder and the printing press. The feudal system was broken by the rise o f freedom in die cities. Social classes i n Europe were political i n nature a n d d i d n o t constitute natural distinctions, as i n the O r i e n t . O r d e r e d states were found only i n Europe, together w i t h private rights and private property. A balance of power obtained between t h e m , as w e l l as a m o n g states.
H e ^ l b r i c f l y examines art and the corruption of the church before t u r n i n g to the Reformation. A r t inwardly trans figures the external this by spiritualizing, elevating, and breathing life into i t , raising i t t o a figurative f o r m that W o n g s t o spirit. A piety that remains i n a state of bondage, i n a feeling of d u l l dependency, has n o need of art and fails t o recognize genuine works of 60
As f o r the c o m i p t i o n of the church, we are speaking of a necessary, n o t a contingent, aspect. T h i s corruption resides within the c h u r c h , i n t h e fact that i t has n o t truly and wholly excluded the sensible element. It resides w i t h i n ifapiety .tself w superstitious veneration o f sensible things as absolute, i ne church s highest virtue n o w assumes a negative form-, retreat, renuncian o n , i , elessness By contrast, i n Hegel's view, the highest v i r t u e is found i n me realm of the Uñng, i n the family. T h church is supposed t o save souls ! t s
e
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of St Peter's, the most splendid church i n Christendom. Hegel reminds us that the Athenians used funds f r o m the Delian League to build the Parthenon. 'Just as this was the misfortune of Athens, so too this structure, St Peter's, w h i c h Michelangelo adorned w i t h the image of the Last Judgment, became the last j u d g m e n t o n this proudest and grandest structure of the church—a last judgment o n the church itself i n its corruption.' In describing the R e f o r m a t i o n , Hegel reaches the narrative climax of the Weltgeschichte. In Germany there emerged a simple monk who was conscious that the this is to be found in the deepest recesses of the heart, in the absolute ideality of inwardness.... Luther's simple teaching is that consciousness o f the this in the present is nothing sensible but something actual and spiritual; it is consciousness of an actual presence, not in the sensible realm but in faith and partaking. Faith here does n o t mean a belief i n something that has already taken place or is i n the past; rather i t is subjective certainty about the eternal, about the truth that subsists i n a n d for itself, and it is produced and given only by the H o l y Spirit. The content of this faith is n o t its o w n subjectivity but the objective t r u t h o f the c h u r c h : Christ, Spirit, the Trinity, the absolute being of G o d . I n faith the absolute being becomes the being of subjective spirit, and subjective spirit becomes free i n relating t o i t because it is thereby relaongto its very being and t r u t h . T h e ontological
The Transition t o Modernity
m
namely, the indulgences. Indulgences were sold t o support the construction
but i t makes this salvation i n t o a merely external means,
participation of faith in God, the
communication of spirit w i t h spirit, of finite spirit w i t h mfihite spirit, and vice versa, is the key insight f o r Luther and for Hegel. This is how Christian freedom is a c t u a l i z e d - b y participating i n the true content and making this content its o w n . Faith and freedom ate not merely forensic categories, as neo-Kantian interpreters o f L u t h e r have insisted. As p r o o f t h a t we have arrived at the narrative climax, read the foUowwg w o r d s : 'This is the new and ultimate banner around which peoples gatber^ the flag of freedom, o f the t r u e s p i r i t . . . . The ages p r i o r t o our age have^cea but one labor, have had but one task, and that has been t o
60
torm
freedom, o f universality.' But, w h i l e the climax has been reached, t h e p l o t fully disclosed, history itself goes on and w o r k remains t o be done, a l l , the w o r k o f actualization remains: the reconciliation implicitly i n religious faith must take on concrete existence in the « ™ » " " of modern life, a n d i t must be universalized so as to encompass the w o r T h i s ,s a t a l l order, and Hegel's relative o p t i m u m about
60. On this transibonaj secron, vx n- 47.
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principle i n t o actuality, thereby achieving f o r this principle the
^ccomPl«bment
has become vastly m o r e complicated i n our o w n time, we say 61
EDITORIAL INTRODUCTION
EDITORIAL INTRODUCTION
optimism, because Hegel's brief account of the history of modernity recog-
abstract identity that lacks distinctions. For i t , 'the finite is not infinite', and
nizes deep ambiguities and difficulties.
that is that.
The History o f Modernity
It produces insight i n t o the universal purposes of the state, which take
The first development of modernity (see note 61) requires that the 'new church' (the Protestant church) should create a w o r l d l y existence for itself. This was not a simple task, for the ' o l d church' retained a considerable basis in power and did not surrender its hegemony easily. I n fact w h a t happened is that religious wars endured for many years, Germany was severely damaged, the Turks invaded Europe, and no true religious a c c o m m o d a t i o n was ever achieved. In addition to the Catholic-Protestant (or Romance-Germanic) divide i n Western Europe, there was a t h i r d large constellation, the 'Slavic nature', which persisted in its 'initial solidity' despite Russia's approach to the West. The Protestant church did achieve a legally secure existence, but Europe was far from unified, and deep divisions persisted t h r o u g h o u t the rest of the w o r l d .
precedence over privileges and private rights. Wars and revolutions are
When thought turns to the state, however, it has a more beneficial effect.
now fought on constitutional grounds, not religious ones. Such wars attempt to change governments through force f r o m below, in the interest of freedom of the w i l l and self-determination. 'Freedom of the will is freedom of the spirit in action', and it emerges directly f r o m the principle of the Protestant church. 'The freedom o f w i l l that is in and for itself is the freedom of G o d w i t h i n itself; it is the freedom of spirit, not of a particular spirit but of the universal spirit as such, i n accord w i t h its essential being. Revolutions, then, have proceeded f r o m thought. This thought has had to do w i t h actuality and has turned f o r c i b l y against the established order.' Such revolutions have already occurred in Protestant
states, w h i c h n o w are at peace, but i n
Romance countries the revolutions have been strictly political and are not
The second development of modernity is that of the scientific investigation of nature, representing w h a t Hegel calls 'the f o r m a l universality of thought'. True culture now essentially becomes that o f science and is aligned with the state, not the church. The church does not assume the lead in advancing either freedom or the sciences. The sciences o f the understanding, claiming to honor b o t h humanity and G o d , were w i d e l y accepted as valid, although the Catholic Church d i d not concede that science honors G o d . The church is correct in the sense that the sciences could lead to materialism and atheism, for nature and its laws are n o w taken t o be something u l t i m a t e and universal. One could indeed add that G o d created the w o r l d , but empirical science has no way of recognizing G o d . T h e understanding recognizes only itself i n the universality of its laws.
yet accompanied by a change i n religion. Religion must change for there t o
The third development of modernity is that the f o r m a l universality of thought turns to the practical, to actuality. The understanding w i t h its laws turns itself as 'enlightenment' against the spiritually concrete, the religious sphere. Its principles, derived f r o m nature, are logical consistency, identity, and coherence. It recognizes a natural sense of i m m o r t a l i t y , sympathy, and so on, but R is intrinsically antireligious. 'For the very principle o f religion is that the natural is precisely w h a t is negative and needs t o be s u b l a t e d . . . . Religion is speculative . . . and thus is inconsistent w i t h the abstract consistency of the understanding.' Reason (Vernunft) grasps distinctions w i t h i n itselt as a unity, whereas the understanding (Verstand) h o l d s fast to an
God's w o r k . '
62
be genuine political change. Conclusion This is where Hegel leaves the s t o r y — i n a state of irresolution and inconclusiveness (forced u p o n h i m , perhaps, by his having r u n out of time). He offers only brief summary remarks about the whole of history being nothing other than the actualization o f spirit. W h a t is true in thought must also be present i n actuality, and vice versa. 'Thus it is spirit that bears witness t o spint, and in this way it is present t o itself and free. What is important to discern is that spirit can find freedom a n d satisfaction only i n history and the present—and that what is happening a n d has happened does not just come f r o m God but i s
63
MANUSCRIPTS OF THE INTRODUCTION
I N T R O D U C T O R Y F R A G M E N T , 1822,
1828
121
1
Gentlemen! The subject of these lectures is the philosophical history of the world. Our concern is t o w o r k our w a y through universal w o r l d history as such. I t is not w i t h general reflections abstracted f r o m i t and illustrated by examples, but rather w i t h the content of w o r l d history itself. I have no textbook t o use as a basis. However, at the end of m y Grundlinien der Philosophie des Rechts, §§ 3 4 1 - 6 0 , I have already indicated the more precise conception of world history as well as the principles and periods i n t o which our consideration of it is d i v i d e d . ( I t w i l l enable y o u t o at least become acquainted w i t h the abstract shape of the elements that we shall be discussing.) 2
By way of an introduction to our philosophical history of the world, I will begin by p r o v i d i n g an indication, both general and s r ^ i f i c , | of what constitutes a philosophical history of the world. I w i l l go over a n d describe other ways t o expound and treat history by distinguishing—[in] a survey that has n o t h i n g philosophical about it—three different modes of w r i t i n g history: a. o r i g i n a l history 0. reflected history 3
y. philosophical history (a) A s t o the first mode, the mention o f a few names should give a more specific picture of w h a t I have i n mind—e.g., Herodotus, Thucydides* and other historians w h o have themselves witnessed, experienced, and lived through the events, deeds, and circumstances they describe, w h o have themselves participated i n these events and their spirit, and w h o have compiled a report of these events and deeds. I n this way they transposed things that merely happened and existed externally into the realm of intellectual representation and elaborated them in its terms. First, [there wasj sxnnethuig
1- Next to the heading m the margin, designating the dates the lectures began in 1822 and 1828: 31/10 22 30/10 28 2. Hegel, Grtvtdlmien der Philosophie des Rechts (Berlin, 1821). See Elements of the Philosophy of Right, ed. Allen W Wood, te H . B. Nisbet (Cambridge, 1991), 372-80. 3. The manuscript here reads refUctirte ('reflected'} but at the beginning of of the second mode, reflectirende ('reflective'i. 4. Editions oi Herodotus' The History and Thucydide*' The Pelopoeotesxan War we« in Hegel's library: Herodotus, Htstoriarum libri IX (Paris, 1592), and Uhn novem (Cologne, 1562); Tbucydides, De beMo Petopomesiaco Uhn Vlll (Frankfurt, 1594).
the matmcm
61
122
I N T R O D U C T O R Y F R A G M E N T , 1 822,
MANUSCRIPTS OF T H E I N T R O D U C T I O N
existent—now something intellectual and representational. T h a t is how, for example, the poet elaborates the material t h a t he has i n bis feeling, i n his 123
inner and | outer soul, into a sensible representation. A d m i t t e d l y , the narratives and reports of others were also an ingredient f o r these historians, but they are merely the more scattered, less important, fortuitous, subjective, and transitory o f their materials (just as the poet owes m u c h t o the shape of his language and the structured i n f o r m a t i o n he receives). But it is the historian w h o fashions a whole out of w h a t i n actuality has already passed away and is scattered about i n subjective, f o r t u i t o u s m e m o r y o r indeed preserved [only] in fleeting memory, and sets i t u p in the temple of Mnemosyne, thereby investing i t w i t h immortality. The historian transplants [the past], gives it a more exalted and better soil t h a n that transient soil i n which it grew—transplants i t i n t o the realm of the departed and n o w eternal spirits, as the ancients described the Elysium in w h i c h their heroes d o perpetually what in their lives they d i d only once. From such original history I exclude all legends, folksongs,
124
traditions,
and
even poems; f o r such | legends and traditions are b u t obscure methods [of recording events], and therefore methods of peoples—or parts t h e r e o f — whose consciousness is still obscure. I shall r e t u r n l a t e r t o the m a t t e r of the relationship of history to a people. Peoples w i t h an obscure consciousness, or the obscure history [of such peoples], is not our t o p i c — a t least not the topic of the philosophical universal history o f the w o r l d , whose end is t o attain knowledge of the idea i n history. [Its object is] the spirits of those peoples who have brought their principle t o consciousness and w h o k n o w what they are and what they do. 5
6
125
Such original historians, then, shape the events, deeds, and situations that are contemporaneous to them i n t o a work of representation f o r representation. It follows f r o m this: («a) T h e content of such historical narratives cannot therefore be of great extent. Their essential material consists i n what is vital for humans i n their o w n experience a n d current interests, what is present and alive i n their environment. | [These historians] describe events i n which they have shared t o a greater or 'esser extent, or at least of w h i c h they have been contemporaries. [They describe] brief periods of time, individual configurations o f persons and
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1828
events. They w o r k from intuitions d r a w n f r o m their own experiences and lives, assembling individual and unreflected elements into a [composite] picture i n order t o give to posterity a representation as specific as that f o u n d i n [their o w n ] intuition o r i n the intuitive narrative they have before them [ f r o m someone else]. (0/3) W i t h such historians the development of the author and the development of the events o n w h i c h his w o r k is based, o r the spirit of the author and the general spirit o f the actions he relates, are one and the same. Thus initially the author brings no reflections to bear, for he is immersed in the spirit o f the historical material (der Geist der Sache) and does not rise above it t o reflect o n i t . This unity [of author and material] also means m a t in an age i n w h i c h a greater differentiation between classes occurs, and i n w h i c h the culture and maxims o f each individual are related t o his class—the historian must belong t o the class of statesmen, generals, etc., whose aims, intentions, and deeds are part of the same political w o r l d that he describes. W h e n the spirit of the material is itself cultivated, i t becomes aware of itself. A major aspect of its life and activity is i t s consciousness o f its purposes and interests a n d of the principles that underlie them. | One aspect of its actions is the w a y i n w h i c h it explains itself to others, acts on their imagination, and manipulates their w i l l . The author, then, does not explain and portray this consciousness i n terms of his own reflections; rather he allows the persons and peoples themselves t o express their aspirations and their knowledge o f their aspirations. H e does not put into their mouths alien words of his o w n devising; and even if he elaborates on w h a t they said, the substance, culture, and consciousness of this elaboration are identical w i t h the substance and consciousness of those whom he has speak in this fashion. Thus i n Thucydides, for example, we read the speeches of Pericles, the most 7
3
9
7. At this point the transition occurs fron, the first sheet of " f ^ ^ f ^ ^ ^ in the Berlin Staatsbibliothek Preußischer Kulturbesitz, to the second and ^ d s h e e t s , looted in the Deutsches Literarorarchiv of the Schiller-Nationalmuseum ir, MarbachThe stnooth trans^ don indicates that the sheets, though subsequently separated, ongmally formed a siigle
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o Hnes lover): Words are Ä - a m o n g h ^ n W * * ~ P and effects anions. But words of a people, or between people, or » are, factions, an essential object of history, especially ancient hstory. A t o U i « b e « o persons w h o * utterances have been taken amiss often saying that ^ [ ^ ^ ^ imered was ^ word^Uütey are thev must be pronounced .nnocent Unschuldig), for such words are ^ T ltW
chatter, which has the sole advantage ^ ' ^ f r S d 9. In the nsargn, iahove the previous ^ ^ ^ ^ J ^ o Z motives (and feelings) in his own name or to bring them into his particular 69
to explain
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I N T R O D U C T O R Y F R A G M E N T . 18 2 2 . 1 828
M A N U S C R I P T S OF T H E I N T R O D U C T I O N
profoundly orators,
cultured,
the truest and
envoys of {various]
noblest etc.
peoples,
of
sciousness of their political condition
and
con-
accounts of m i l i t a r y and other events that are simple, ingenious, and specific,
spiritual
and that compare favorably w i t h Caesar's commentaries; because of their
and
[personal]
reflections, and what he lets [his characters] express is n o t an alien consciousness lent to them but their own culture and
himself
in such
{original]
must linger w i t h them, and indeed i t is impossible to linger t o o
historians,
long with them. Through them the history of a people o r a government comes t o us fresh, alive, and at first hand. Anyone w h o does not desire to but rather to enjoy history
become a learned historian
can l i m i t himself
almost entirely t o such authors alone. From them [we must] distinguish [i.e. identify] the bibles of peoples; every people has a basic bible [Grundbibel),
a
Homer. Such [authors] are, after a l l , not so c o m m o n as frequently supposed. Such historians include Herodotus, the father or originator o f history and moreover the greatest of historians, and T h u c y d i d e s — [ b o t h are] to be admired for their naivete. Xenophon's equally original b o o k ;
Polybius;
11
Retreat of the Ten T h o u s a n d is an the Commentaries
12
of
are
Caesar
13
likewise masterpieces of simplicity by a m i g h t y spirit. To have such historians, it is necessary not only that the culture of a people 128
have attained
a | high level, but also that i t not be limited t o the priesthood
and
to
scholars
but rather be shared by leaders of the state a n d military. Naive chroniclers such as monks were certainly f o u n d in the M i d d l e Ages, but they were not statesmen. To be sure, there were also learned bishops
w h o stood at the
center of commerce and the affairs of state, and were thus also statesmen, but in other respects [their] polit,cal consciousness was not
accounts.
developed,
nowever, [such works] are characteristic not only of antiquity. In
modern
I n modernity we have excellent
w e a l t h of content and specific declaration of means and conditions, they are even more informative. W o r k s of this k i n d include numerous French memoirs. M a n y of them are cleverly w r i t t e n [accounts] of trivialities
consciousness.
Anyone who seeks to study substantial history, the s p i r i t of nations, to live and have lived i n and w i t h i t , must immerse
i n t o representational
transforms
all events
that underlie t h e i r purposes
conduct. The historian has left himself little or no r o o m for
times, all this has changed. Our culture immediately grasps and
men
the
personality,
| a n d o f their ethical
condition and nature, and the principles
other
I n their speeches these
10
express the maxims of their people and of their own \ZT
and of
statesman,
content on narrow grounds.
and anecdotes, often w i t h a narrow
Others, however, are the product of an able
ingenuity [set] o n a larger and more interesting scale. The Mémoires Cardinal
de Retz [are] a m a s t e r w o r k .
14
I n Germany
similar
of
masterpieces
by persons w h o themselves participated in the events are rare, although the Histoire
de mon temps by Frederick I I
is a great and notable exception.
1 5
I t is
[not] enough [for an author] to have been a contemporary of such events or even t o have witnessed them at first hand and obtained reliable i n f o r m a t i o n about t h e m . A n author must be of the same class, circle, attitude, mentality, and culture as those whose actions he describes—[the same rank] as those on whom
I the authority
of the state and the power of the government
rests.
O n l y f r o m an elevated position does one have a proper overview of the subject and see everything i n its context—not when one looks up f r o m below, peering t h r o u g h some limited moral lens or other bit of wisdom.
In
o u r time i t is a l l the more necessary [to free ourselves] from the limited point of view of the classes t h a t are more or less excluded f r o m direct politica activity and r e f l e c t i o n - f r o m the life of the state. They bask m moral principles by w h i c h they are consoled and k n o w themselves superior to the upper classes—in short, they do not stand w i t h i n that sphere.
history
whose p o r t r a y a l goes beyond what is present simply to the author and that depicts not only w h a t was present in time but is present i n the life of sprnt; i t is concerned w i t h the whole of the past. Thus many varieties of [this sort o t historiography] are f o u n d - i n d e e d , including everything [written] by those w h o m w e customarily call historians.
Here the most important thing ,s the
way i n w h i c h the historical material is w o r k e d up, for the worker comes to i t "
Pe
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14. See Memoes du Cardinal de Retz, contenant ce,** ^ ^ ^ T ^ Z Prance pendant des premieres années du Règne de Lou, XIV. new edn., 3 vols. (Amsterdam. 1719). It is uncertain which edn. was used by Hegel. 15. See Histoire de mon Temps de Prédenc II, Roi de
Cvilts 71
129
I N T R O D U C T O R Y F R A G M E N T , 1822,
MANUSCRIPTS OF T H E I N T R O D U C T I O N
with his own spirit, which is | different f r o m the spirit of the content itself. Here everything depends on the maxims and representational principles that the author applies both t o the content (to the purposes of the actions and events themselves) and to the style of the historical narrative. With us Germans the reflection—and the cleverness [ w i t h w h i c h it is p r a c t i c e d ] — differs considerably. Each historian has adopted his o w n style a n d m e t h o d , however he is of a mind to do i t . The English and French k n o w in general how history must be written; they share the attitudes of a c o m m o n culture, whereas w i t h us each writer quibbles over his o w n distinctive view. Thus the English and the trench have excellent historians; but w i t h us, if w e l o o k at the critiques of historians of the past ten or t w e n t y years, w e f i n d t h a t nearly every review begins w i t h its o w n theory about h o w h i s t o r y s h o u l d be written, a theory that the reviewer sets up against the theory o f the historian. We are in the position of continually struggling to find out h o w history ought to be written. Víírions [modes of reflective history]: (on) There is always a demand for surveys of the entire history of a people or country, or of the v/hok world in general; and t o satisfy this demand history books must be written. These are necessarily compilations f r o m accounts already prepared by original historians as such, and f r o m other individual reports and accounts. [They are] not based o n i n t u i t i o n and the language of mtuinon, or on first-hand observation. This first variety o f reflective history comesclosesttotheprecedingkindwhenithasno further | purpose t h a n to present the entire history of a country or people. The type of compilation depends on h o w exhaustive the history is intended to be. I t often happens that such histonans try to unite so vividly that the reader has the impression ot listening t o contemporaries and eyewitnesses. But such attempts must always be more or less unsuccessful. The entire w o r k should a n d indeed must be unrform m tone, for the author is a single m d i v i d u a l w i t h a specific cuwL AT u ^ ° **"*r have very different m a t ^ k *° ,, r ' a « h o r t spirit h t l n W f T " * * * * * ^ « P * t of these ages. W h e n the 0V
U t
t h e
a g C S
h i
r Í a n S
C
V e r e d
U t Í H z e d
b
b y
y
S u c h
t h e
a
a u t h o r
a
n
d
t h e
from
have witnessed them himself, although these descriptions could not have derived f r o m the ages i n which they are set. Their features can be used to describe the battles of any age; their specificity contrasts w i t h the lack of coherence and the inconsistency that often prevail elsewhere i n the main course of events. The difference between such a compiler and an original historian can best be seen by comparing Polybius with the way that Livy utilizes, selects f r o m , and abridges his history for the periods covered by surviving portions of Polybius' w o r k . Johannes von Muller, in an attempt t o give a faithful portrayal of the times that he describes, has given his history a stilted, pompous, pedantic air. The o l d chronicle of T s c h u d i related the same events i n a much more endearing, naive, and natural way t h a n Muller's contrived, affected archaisms. 17
1 8
1
20
This [is] an attempt t o transpose us completely into the times [of the past, as something] quite v i v i d and alive—[something] we [can achieve] no more than a writer. A writer is also [one of] us; [he] belongs t o his [ o w n ] w o r l d he honors its needs and interests, the things it esteems. For example, whatever [the age] w e live i n , we can [immerse ourselves] i n the life of Greece, which is congenial to us i n so many important respects; yet i n the most important matters w e cannot sympathize w i t h the Greeks [or share] their feelings. For instance, however much the city of Athens captures o u r interest, and however much w e sympathize w i t h its activities and c u s t o m s - a s a most w o r t h y fatherland of a cultured p e o p l e - w e cannot share the feelings of [its citizens w h e n they prostrate themselves before Zeus, M i n e r v a , etc., | [ o r w h e n t h e y ] agonize over their sacrificial offerings until midday o n the anniversary of the B a t t l e o f P l a t a e a . [ N o r d o we sympathize w i t h ] s l a v e r y - j u s t as;[we]cannot share the feelings o f a d o g , [even if] we have a clear impression of a particular dog and can divine its mannerisms, attachments, and idiosyncrasies. n
17. On the fable of Menenius Agriopa, see T.tus ^ ™ 4 (Lyons, 1645), 1.114 ,2.32.5-12); on Livyjs The Rise of Rome, tr. T. j . Luce (New York and Oxford 1998). ™' f\+18. i W u t i l . e d Polybius' work for * e history o h ™ Polybius is discernible as the source for books 21, 26-8 ^ : ^ ° _ , See Heinrich Nissen, Kritische Untersuchungen über die Quellen der inerten anä Hennen
^f^^J *™ 3
a n d t n ? I ? *"* ° ** o ^ Z l t ^ 77, ' ^ ^ ^ r ^ ^ C e n u f Z f 1 ,
r
M
C
^ r e Z e ^ r
,
e
n
^
M
S
m
S
p
O
U
t
h
s
e
e
C
h
C
° *° f
l
t h 3 t
S
3 1 1
^
C O U
i e g e n d S
f * * ™ ^
° <* kings of Rome, the consuls a - o m p h s h e d advocate ' » » ™ ^ v e r e d , a n d that ° W (e-g-, the fable of
f
r
m
d
a
d
n
t
™* * • d e s t i n e s . H e 1 kewise gives
. n s u c h a t o n e a n d w t t h s u c h a s p e c i f i c g r a s p l o f ] | details that he appears t o 72
1828
n
*" ^
K
p
Dekade des Uvius (Berlin, 1863). ,. nie Geschichte der Schweizerischen 19. Hegel is referring to Johannes von Mullers Die Euigenossenschafi, found m his Sämmtliche Werke, x * - x x v T u b ^ > ^ " k
I
W
c
8 1
20. See Aegid.us Tschudi, Chronicon Helvetica, 2 ^ " ^ " 21. and tr. Robert F. Brown et d (Oxford, 2006, 200V) , descnption relates to the efforts at obtaining a favoraboracie opponent Mardonms), as reported by Herodotus m The History (Chicago, 1987), 629-40). 73
7 )
^ S * ^ 936-6*
«2«.«!. «-du, h«
I N T R O D U C T O R Y F R A G M E N T , 1 822.
M A N U S C R I P T S OF T H E I N T R O D U C T I O N
But there are also other ways by w h i c h [historians] have t r i e d t o b r i n g the
25
[They give us] a motley assortment of details
historical |past] t o us—if not by [eliciting] a sharing of feelings t h r o u g h the tone [of w r i t i n g , at least by eliciting) vividness and lively feelings [by enter-
influence on political
concerns. [These writers are] incapable of [envisaging]
ing] wholly i n t o the details of events, practices, modes of feeling, a n d specific
a w h o l e , a general
purpose.
Histories that endeavor to provide an overview of a lengthy period or the of reality and (make do w i t h ] abstractions, [means] not only that many
with individual
portrayals
epitomes, abbreviations.
events and actions [must be] omitted
This but also
that thought or understanding, the mightiest epitomizer, must intervene. For example, a battle was fought, a great victory
was w o n , a city was besieged i n
vam, and so on. A battle, a great victory, a siege—all these are terization
that condense a vast individual
into a simple
whole
general charac-
for representational thought. When w e are t o l d t h a t at the begin-
ning of the Peloponnesian
War Plataea was subjected to a lengthy siege by
the Spanans, and that after some of the inhabitants had fled the c r y was taken and the remaining citizens were executed, this is a brief
\ summary—
not ,ust short i n length but a merely general representation distilled ce)
by r e f l e c t i o n - o f what Thucydides describes w i t h so much
in great detail.
interest
(reduand
[The same applies when we are told] that an A t h e n i a n
expedinon t o Sicly came t o an unfortunate e n d . " But as w e have said, such are necessary aids for an overview,
renectedrepresentations
a n d an o v e r v i e w
is necessary too.
h . !£/Y
n
L
g
3
h
u
D
d
m
J
W
a
r
s
w
atin^i v ' ^ agamst the Volscians, or the Fidenates ' etc S U C H
P
W
coltSaT ^ T T ' ^
S
3 5
I n
i
t
h
I h i s
t h e
w
a
Volscians, repeats f o r was successfully waged
r
2 4
° * ° ™ " ™aeavor] t o collect all individual traits and to portray them , n an infinitely f a i t h f u l a n d
T^Pe^^^t^ m
sentations make the content dry. M a k i n g use of intuitional representation (Anschauungder
if
Vorstellung)
not liveliness of feeling, (these writers] at least strive to reproduce past ages not by means of their own elaboration
but by giving an accurate
and
faithful
portrait of them. A series of features—as i n one of Walter Scon's novels —gleaned from 26
here and there, painstakingly
and laboriously
assembled—such features are
d r a w n f r o m | historical w r i t i n g s , correspondence, and chronicles. Such a procedure entangles us in numerous fortuitous details-historically tic, to be sure—however
authen-
the main interest [is] in no way clarified by them but
rather confused—and thus [ i t is] immaterial that such and such a soldier by the name of [so and so, d i d this and t h a t ] - t h e effect is the same. This [son of thing ought] to be left to Walter Scott's
detailed
novets-th\s
portraiture
w i t h all the minutiae of the a g e - i n w h i c h the deeds and fate of a individual constitute a passing
interest and all the particulars
same. H o w e v e r , in the portrayal
panicular
details
about
of the great interests
individuals disappear.
are much the
of the state,
The
single
all
these
features [that
are
includedl should be characteristic of and significant for the spirit of art age
However, it inevitably makes for a drier account: h o w can it interest us 2
affairs—and that have no
Such a way of w r i t i n g history is lifeless—such forms and abstract repre-
whole of world history must more or less dispense
representations
of soldiers, private
[that
are] o f little interest—actions
presentation.
134
lifelike manner ( R a n k e ) .
1828
The e x M r d o o is « e , pp. 306-412).
[
f W r i t i n g
h i 8 t 0 r
^fTzSiiS
°"
o
t
h
e
r
h i s t
s
°P° » ^ Thucvd.des to^l^^^^W" ° - » « . « ! M 1 , 154-64). "KVd]des m The Peloponnesian War 6.1-8.1 (Lattih e
P d
,
, e s l
lt
This should be accomplished
in a higher and w o n h i e r m a n n e r - l w r t h
deeds, actions, and customs, [which are] matters of
political
25. Th« reference to Leopold Ranke « found . the ^ ^ Hege. coped i , 8 2 8 f r o r „ ^ the subsequent expansion made in the Winter of 1828-9. At tbis o n * fam,lia, with three of Ranked works: GeMte der ro^ben von J 4 * M i J S , . (Berlin, 18241; lur Knttk ^ ^ ^ J desselhen romaniscben und gemvnvehm Geschichte ( U t p z * »>d
l t b n
e
p
™ £ J} *J* ™ «w«n h=gan , „ 5 3 4 " '» «. (1.53.21 (Luce, pp. 19-20, «,1-21. ^s^ ^ ^ " f < > " ' H l a t 1.102(2.23.1», 1.104 (2.24.1), W
fc 9 3
n
2
D
3
H
l a
74
/
^
^
^
n
Ranke's Die serb.sche Revolution:
»
^
m
fa
In the MorgenbLttt (Ur dte gebddeten S*nfe * UonwiUStheremark/ashallowrnan-lB^nerS^^JSlS (Hamburg, 1956), 697-8).
i
%
*
U e b e r
k
^
to^^
Aus serbtschen Pap.eren und Mmhe.lungen
1829) were in Hegel's library. , 26. It not known wuh which of Walter ^ ^ ^ S » ^ Scott is net found in his lectures on aeschencs (at ^ ^ ^ J , later fragment on aesthetics. Hege! owned a German edn. ol: S c o n , j o * * , l
f • Uvy, HtstorZLn ^t^oossi^u,,^ ^.58.3)(l^ ,p .
universal
interest, [depicted] i n their specific character.
a n d
(Hambu g,
A reference to «*»•> * * das Uben und ta
Johannes Hoff.ne.ster
INTRODUCTORY
tlU
:
:
:
:
:
:
:
:
___
MANUSCRIPTS OF T H E I N T R O D U C T I O N Th,s [is] h e o b i e a and * n 1 * . —
-
t
(ßß) The first variety of reflective history leads directly to the second. | This is pragmatic history, or [it] remains nameless [because] it is the kind that historians i n general serve u p — a developed a n d purer [portrayal of) the past. [If we] do not have [individuals] and their l i v e s such a totality—before us, and have no living expenence of them—(aa) but rather are dealing w i t h a reflected w o r l d , i.e. a past—its spirit, its interests, its culture...
« "
-
-
^
*
' ^
«
v
[Then we have] in general a rational (verständige) history, (aa) A totality of interests—such as the totality of a state, the epoch-making event o f a w a r or even of an individual—is the object. (f!|3) Here t o o the object is a present interest, b u t w i t h o u t it being the presence of tone, of feeling, of external vividness \Anschaulichkeit) i n circumstantial details and the fortunes of single individuals as such. The need for a present exists, [but] it [is] not [ t o be found] i n history. Such presence (is created by] the insight of the understanding, the activity and effort o f spirit. The external [aspect of events is] pale and grey. Their purpose a n d rationality (Verstand), the state and fatherland, their inner continuity, the universal aspect of their inner relationships, are what endure, [for these aspects are] as valid and present now as in the past and forever. The first step is a primitive, enveloped people, [not] as such, but insofar as it reaches the p o i n t o f becoming a state. Subjection to a state, a rational whole i n itself, is a universal end o f reason. | Every state is an e n d for itself. Its external preservation, its inner development and formation, f o l l o w a necessary progression whereby rationality, justice, and the consolidation of freedom gradually emerge. [It is] a system of institutions - (aa) as a system [ i t is] the consequence and (0) the content of the same [rationality, justice, freedom], the means by which true interests are brought to consciousness and struggle to obtain actuality. I n every objective advance [there is] not merely an external consistency and necessary continuity but also a necessity i n the thing [at work in history], i n the concept (in der Sache - im Begriff). This [is] the true thing, [present] for example in the state (German, R o m a n ) , o r in si/igie great events [such as] the French Revolution, or in any great necessity.
us) how it was). . ^i„ estine and enlivening Whether such reflections ate i n fact m t e w w * an 28
tpr
the author's own spirit¬ . .
.
| u J e
29. The manuscript ends here and does ^
aV
reflective history (critical and specialize^ o sophical history.
a n u t e u r
" "' - l h-stonan | likew.se a compiler, and. wneti he aw»kcM Horn his weary rarnbbngs, events and mdivtduak are occasionally felled with amoral fa* attack bv means of edify.ng C W , a r , d cher reflections-! by! tossing .n an eddying reflecnon, a hortatory proclamation or doctrine and the Uke d n V
g
e f f e c t i v e
S u £ h
a
i s
ao
77 76
h
a
d i s c u s s l o n
mclud^ ^
l n
hLiT ^
„ , „ individuals like Napoleon only
28. In the margin: Empires [ofj great md.vidua.s - other md-vd momentary - in essentials, ^ P ^ T of the rema.ning w b t y p o o l
27. This paragraph u written in the margin adjacent to the present paragraph: l|i> Historiography general- The worst kind ol pragmatic [historian is one who takes up| T^iquesoons " Pathologist. The momes of the subiect (are] denved not from U * concept but from particular inclinations and passions, vnstead ot regarding the thtng nseli l a s l
depends on
^
^
w n t ] n g
,
p
W
o
INTRODUCTION,
INTRODUCTION, 1830-1
1830-1
history and treats history according t o them, that I wish t o discuss i n the
1
I n other w o r d s , we must first obtain a general definition
introduction. the philosophy
Gentlemen!
of world
of
history, and then consider the immediate implica-
tions that are connected w i t h i t . Then the relationship between thoughts
The subject of these lectures is the philosophy of w o r l d history. A b o u t
and events w i l l of its o w n accord be correctly posed. For this reason, and
what history or w o r l d history is, I need t o say n o t h i n g ; the general impres-
since in this introduction I do not wish t o become too copious—for a wealth of
sion of it is sufficient and we can perhaps agree o n it. But t h a t we shall be
material lies before us i n w o r l d history—there is no need for me t o spend time
considering a philosophy of w o r l d history, that w e intend to treat history
refuting and correcting the endlessly many misguided misrepresentations and
philosophically—this is what is striking about the title of these lectures a n d
reflections that are ongoing or perpetually reinvented about the perspectives,
appears to require a discussion or, even more, a justification.
principles, and views I on the aims and interests of the treatment of history,
However, the philosophy of w o r l d history is n o t h i n g other t h a n the contemplation of it by means of thinking. never cease, for humans are thinking
T h i n k i n g is something w e can
140
and especially on the relationship of the concept and of philosophy t o historical matters. I can omit them ennrely or just mention them in passing. 3
beings, and in this respect they are
distinguished from animals. [In] everything that is human—feeling,
knowl-
edge and cognition, instincts and volition—insofar as it is h u m a n and n o t
A.
THE
GENERAL
CONCEPT
OF WORLD
HISTORY
4
animal, thinking is involved. [Thinking] is involved in all historical studies. However, this | appeal to the participation of t h i n k i n g i n a l l h u m a n activ-
'The first t h i n g I wish t o say about the provisional concept of the philosophy
ities, including history, might appear to be unsatisfactory because it c o u l d be
of w o r l d history is this. As I have already remarked, the main oD ect.on
argued that thinking is subordinate t o what exists, the given, that it is based
brought against philosophy is that it approaches history, and reflects on it,
on and guided by it. Philosophy by contrast is assumed t o have its
w i t h thoughts o r conceptions [Gedanken).
own
(
However, the sole concepnon
thoughts, produced by speculation f r o m out o f itself w i t h o u t reference t o
that it brings w i t h it is the simple conception of reason - t h e
what is. W i t h such thoughts it supposedly approaches history as a m a t e r i a l
that reason governs the w o r l d , and that therefore w o r l d history is a rational
to be treated; it does not leave it as it is but arranges i t in accord w i t h t h o u g h t
process. F r o m the point of v i e w of history as such, this conv.ct.on and
and constructs a history a p r i o r i . History [so i t is said] just has t o grasp i n
insight is a presupposition.
unalloyed fashion what is, what has been—events and deeds. It gains i n
t i o n : by means of speculative cognition it is proved that reasoned
veracity the more strictly that it confines itself t o the given, and—since w h a t
adopt this expression for the moment w i t h o u t discussing more precisely its
is given is not so immediately evident and requires m a n i f o l d investigations
connection and relationship to G o d ~ . s substance and inhmte power. [It »)
2
conception
W i t h i n philosophy itself this ,s no presupposiwe can
7
that are bound op w i t h t h i n k i n g - t h e more that its a i m is to discover s i m p l y what happened. This aim appears to contradict the impulse of philosophy; and i t is t h i s contradiction, and the accusation that philosophy imports its thoughts i n t o
3.
l n
the margin: The preface to every new history-and then again the mtroducuon » the
reviews of such histories—[brings] a new theory
Note Heeeft
4. The sect.cn headings are editorial but reflect Hegel's own intended dmsions. Note HegeB further subdivisions of this section as indicated m the margms. 5. In the margin:
who l
ávT^r T
f
i
' í™ S
e
d
b y
H t E e l
m
e
U d t
b - agaias, johann Goitheb Fichte,
ia) General Concept 10) Determínale \yi Mode of Development 6. In the margin: (a) Reason „ ,„ ,ht lectures on the proofs of the -. The references to "proof and 'God' might call attention t o * . ^ r u r e s P m
' « p p . 4 - f i V w i * V
^expenence a. identifying the concept of an epoch
t
i
f
m
existence of God, which Hegel wrote and delivered , n l o n themes and vear before he wrote this mtroduct.cn. The two pro,ec« J a r e s o m ^ . concerns. The proofs establish, among other things, * a t ^ • ^ ^ power, and inhnite form (or subject). See Lectures on the Proofs of fte taastence O
Phibsopfe c l ^ Z Z
t b a l
° ^ f
o b s e r V M
o f
a»d humanity begms. The
y
f
?8
79
(
INTRODUCTION,
M A N U S C R I P T S OF T H E I N T R O D U C T I O N
itself the infinite material of all natural and spiritual life and the infinite form that activates this its content. [It is] the substance whereby and wherein all actuality has its being and subsistence. [ I t is] infinite power, f o r reason is not so impotent as t o yield only an ideal | or a m o r a l ought, and only outside the bounds of actuality, or w h o knows where—perhaps merely as something particular that exists in the heads of a few individuals. [It is] the infinite content, all essentiality and truth, itself constituting the material on w h i c h i t operates by its o w n activity. Unlike finite action, i t does n o t require the limiting factors of external materials or a given medium f r o m w h i c h to derive its sustenance and the objects of its activity. I t feeds u p o n itself, i t is itself the material that it labors on. Just as it is itself its o w n presupposition, its own end, the absolute final end, so it is itself the activation and the bringing f o n h , out of inwardness into appearance, i n t o w o r l d history, n o t only of the natural universe but also of the spiritual realm. T h a t o n l y this idea is the true, the eternal, the almighty, that i t reveals itself i n the w o r l d , and that nothing is revealed i n the w o r l d except i t , its glory a n d h o n o r — t h i s is, as I have said, what is proved i n philosophy, and so i t may here be presupposed as demonstrated. To those of y o u gentlemen w h o are not yet acquainted w i t h philosophy, I could perhaps appeal that you approach these lectures o n w o r l d history with a faith i n reason, w i t h a desire and thirst f o r knowledge o f i t . A n d we must surely assume that a desire for rational insight and knowledge, a n d not just a collection of information, is the subjective need [that drives] the study of the scientific disciplines. I n fact, however, I d o n o t have t o a d o p t such a faith in advance. What I have said i n a preliminary w a y and have still to say is not—and n o t just w i t h reference t o our science—to be regarded as a presupposition ) but instead as an overview of the whole, as the result of the inquiry that we have i n i t i a t e d - a result that is k n o w n t o me because I am already familiar w i t h the whole. W h a t therefore remains t o be seen, a n d w i l l make itself evident from the consideration of w o r l d history itself, is t h a t a rational process has been taking place in i t , that w o r l d history is the rational and necessary course of w o r l d spirit. W o r l d spirit is spirit as such, the substance of htstory, the one spirit whose nature [is] one a n d the same and
1830-1
that explicates its one nature i n the existence of the w o r l d . This, as we have said, must be the result of history itself. History, however, must be taken as it is; we must proceed in a historical, empirical f a s h i o n . For example, we must not allow ourselves to be misled by the professional historians; for at least among the German historians leven leading authorities w h o are experts i n the so-called study of sources) there are those w h o do w h a t they reproach the philosophers for doing, namely for introducing a priori fictions i n t o history. Thus, to take one example, i t is a widely accepted fiction that there was an original, primeval people, directly instructed by G o d , living i n perfect insight and w i s d o m , and possessing a thorough knowledge of all natural laws and spiritual t r u t h ; or else that i t was f r o m one or another priestly people—or, by a more specific assumption, f r o m a Roman epic—that the Roman historians have produced their ancient h i s t o r y ; and so o n . Let us leave such a priori inventions t o the ingenious professional historians, w h o in Germany commonly make use of them. I 9
1
11
W e can therefore declare as o u r first condition that we must apprehend the historical accurately. But general expressions such as 'accuracy' and 'apprehension' contain an ambiguity. Even the ordinary, average historian, who believes and professes that his attitude is entirely receptive, that he devotes himself only t o the given, is not passive i n his thinking a n d introduces his o w n categories as medium through w h i c h t o view the available evidence. The t r u t h does not lie on the superficial plane of the senses; m regard t o everything that aims t o be scientific, reason may not slumber and must employ meditative t h i n k i n g (Hachdenken). Whoever looks at the w o r l d r a t i o n a l l y sees ir as rational too; the t w o exist i n a reciprocal relationship. But i t is not our task t o discuss here the different modes of meditative t h i n k i n g o r the various perspectives for judging w h a t is significant and insignificant in the immense amount of matenal that lies before us, and the most suitable categories t o use in doing so. • L , 2
l i
I w i l l mention only t w o points concerning the genera conv.ct.on that
reason has governed and continues t o govern the w o r l d , and thus also w o r l d
rnvthclogy; see e.g. j Gorres, Mythengeschichte der astattschen Welt, 2 vols- (Heidelberg,
8. In the margin;
V l . Hegel could be alluding here to die reference to a primeval people , „ Barthold G ~ r Niebuht, Rom.scbe Gesch.chte, 2 vols. (Berlin, 1811-12),.. 112 H. 12. i n the margin: (5) Apprehend accurately 13. In the margin: (t) Two Points - Anaxagorat.
Faith, survey, result. 80
SI
g
I N T R O D U C T I O N , 1 830-1
M A N U S C R I P T S OF T H E I N T R O D U C T I O N
history; for they provide an occasion to examine more closely the main point, which constitutes the difficulty, and to indicate what w e must discuss more fully. | One is the historical point that the Greek Anaxagoras that nous—understanding
was the first t o say
in general o r reason—rules the w o r l d .
1 4
This is
not an intelligence in the sense o l self-conscious reason, not a spirit as such; the t w o must be clearly distinguished. The movement of the solar system follows unalterable laws; these laws are its reason, b u t neither the sun n o r the planets that revolve according t o these laws are conscious of t h e m . I t is human beings w h o derive these laws from existence and k n o w t h e m . Perhaps the only thing striking to us about the conception that reason exists in nature, that nature is ruled by irrevocable laws, is that Anaxagoras initially restricted i t t o nature. We are accustomed t o such conceptions and
only w i t h external causes, such as air, aether, water, and the like, instead of reason.' We see that what Socrates found to be unsatisfactory in ihe principle of Anaxagoras is not the principle itself but his failure t o apply it t o concrete nature—the fact that nature is not understood and conceived in terms o f this principle; that i n general this principle remains abstract;
more specifically
that nature is not grasped as a development of this principle, as an organizat i o n produced by reason as its cause. I w i s h f r o m the outset to call attention to this distinction between whether a d e f i n i t i o n , principle, or t r u t h is just held t o abstractly, or is advanced t o a more precise determination and concrete development. This distinction is decisive, and i n addressing other issues we shall come back [to) this circumstance especially.
18
A b o v e a l l , however, I have referred to the first instance of the conception
do not make much of them. I have mentioned this historical circumsrance
that reason rules the w o r l d and also discussed its inadequacy
to point out that history teaches that conceptions of this sort that may
complete application of this conception has assumed another shape,
appear trivial t o us d i d not always exist i n the w o r l d , t h a t rather
such
we k n o w full w e l l as our o w n conviction—namely the form of the religious
conceptions are epoch-making in the history of the human spirit. A r i s t o t l e
t r u t h t h a t the w o r l d is not given over t o chance and external, contingent
says of Anaxagoras, as the originator of this conception, t h a t he appeared as
causes, but is ruled by providence.
a sober man among d r u n k a r d s .
to presume on your faith in the indicated principle. I might, however, have
15
This conception was taken over f r o m Anaxagoras by Socrates, a n d — w i t h the exception
of Epicurus, w h o attributed everything t o
chance —it 16
became the ruling principle above all i n philosophy; we shall see i n due course in what further religions and peoples [it came t o prominence]. Plato makes Socrates (say] of this discovery \Phaedo, Stephanus e d i t i o n , v o l . 1 . pp. 9 7 - 8 ) ' : ' I was delighted w i t h it and | hoped I had found a teacher w h o 1
w o u l d explain nature t o me rationally, w h o w o u l d e x h i b i t the particular purpose i n particular things and the universal purpose in the w h o l e — t h e good, the final purpose. 1 was not at all eager t o relinquish this hope. But how very disappointed I was,' continues Socrates, 'when I t u r n e d f u l l of anncipation t o the writings of Anaxagoras himself. I discovered that he dealt
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20
one
that I d i d not want
appealed t o f a i t h i n this religious f o r m were it not that the distinctive character of the discipline of philosophy does not a l l o w i t t o accept presuppositions; or, to express the point i n a different way, i t is because the discipline w i t h w h i c h we are engaged must first of all furnish the proof, if not of the truth, then of the correctness
of this principle. The truth that a
providence, indeed divine providence, presides over the events of the w o r l d is consistent, then, w i t h the indicated principle because divine providence
is
the w i s d o m that has the infinite power t o actualize its purposes, that i s , the absolute, rational, final purpose of the w o r l d . Reason is thinking
that
determines itself w h o l l v freely; nous. 2 2
B u t there is a disparity, indeed a contradiction, between this f a i t h and
our principle precisely in the same way that there is between the principle of
of
' r e s ™ n j t u r a D e o r w i (Leipzig, 1818), 1.36 ff., 52-4 ! De natura
C a i r o ^ P ^ ^ /
8
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| because the
18. The r e f e r e e to 'this ri r e m stance' idu-sen Vmstand) makes rnore sense »relation_ to material not introduced into the main lext bv the German editor .D which Hegel f ™ " * " the distinction will be encountered 'at the end of our world ^ . ^ £ ^ ^ recent political condition (Zustand)'. These word, are not cancelled although Hegel apparentK intended to replace them with a passage from the margin that now comprises this paragraph. m
19. 20. 21. 22.
In the margin: \U Vrovidence See above, p. 80. In the margin: that i t is so - displays the concreteness In the margm: (T,) Transition - Providential plan 83
ne
147
M A N U S C R I P T S OF T H E I N T R O D U C T I O N
I N T R O D U C T I O N , 1830-1
Anaxagoras | and what Socrates makes of i t . For that f a i t h is likewise
rather, since i t has ceased t o be a question, [it is a matter of] the precept
indeterminate; it is faith i n providence
i n general and does n o t advance to
the determinate; i t lacks an application t o the w h o l e , t o the extensive course of world events.
23
The determinate aspect of providence, the specific acts
that it performs, is called the providential
plan (the plan's end and the means
[for its] accomplishment). But this plan is said t o be hidden f r o m o u r eyes, indeed it is supposed to be presumptuous to w a n t t o k n o w i t . I t was natural for Anaxagoras t o not k n o w how [his] understanding c o u l d manifest itself i n actuality, for thinking and the consciousness of thought had not advanced further with him and i n Greece generally. H e was n o t yet able t o a p p l y his general principle to concrete reality, to cognize the latter i n terms of the former. I t was Socrates w h o took a step t o w a r d [finding] a means o f combining the concrete and the universal, though, to be sure, he grasped i t only in a one-sidedly subjective way. Thus he was not hostile to such an application, although faith i n providence is at least opposed t o the application o n a large scale; i t is opposed t o knowledge of the providential p l a n . To be sure, 148
l t
is allowed in particular cases, here and [there]; | and pious souls discern
m numerous individual occurrences, where others see o n l y contingencies, not simply dispensations of G o d i n general but rather God's providence—i.e. the purposes that God pursues w i t h such dispensations.
But this usually
happens only i n individual instances. For example, when an i n d i v i d u a l i n great difficulty and distress receives help unexpectedly, we must not h o l d it against him that he should at once l o o k up t o G o d i n gratitude; however, the purpose itself is [ i n this instance] of a limited k i n d ; its content is merely the particular purpose of this individual. I n w o r l d history, however, the i n d i v i duals we are concerned w i t h are peoples, totalities, states. We cannot, Aerefore,
te
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^
^
^ ^
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ai h in providence, nor indeed w i t h a merely abstract and indeterminate ta.th that concedes the general n o t i o n that there is a providence r u l i n g the w o r l d but that does not apply i t t o specific [events]. Rather, we must be senous about [our faith i n providence]. Concrete events, the ways of p r o v i nce,
are its means, its appearances i n history; these lie open before us, and
we have only t o relate them to the general principle mentioned above.
enem7 r\ e
in
" " " T
utmost God-or
^ S ^ S S J ?
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"xalJed natural cause, - like W * °
become a foregone conclusion that it is impossible to k n o w God,
notwithstanding the teaching of H o l y Scripture that our highest duty | is not only to love G o d but also to k n o w G o d .
2 4
C T a t e s
-
A 1
n
-
T
t
h
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is
* "T ° *** ^PP™ contingently " ">erdy in remaknng satisfied with the general f
A b 5 t r a c t
r
84
149
It belies what Scripture itself
says, that the Spirit leads into t r u t h , knows all things, and penetrates even into the depths of d i v i n i t y .
25
I could have refrained f r o m mentioning that our
principle (that reason rules and has ruled the w o r l d ) is expressed i n the religious f o r m that providence governs the w o r l d ; i n so doing I w o u l d have avoided the question about the possibility of the knowledge of G o d . But I d i d not wish t o do so, partly i n order t o bring out some further implications of these matters, and p a n l y also t o allay any suspicion that philosophy shies away f r o m or should shy away from mentioning religious truths, or that it circumvents them because it does not, so to speak, have a good conscience about t h e m . To the contrary, things have gone so far i n recent times that, i n opposition t o certain kinds of theology, philosophy has to take on the content of religion. [ I make] only these general remarks. I n the Christian religion God has revealed godself; i.e. G o d has given it to humanity t o k n o w w h a t God is, so that G o d is no longer something hidden and concealed. W i t h the possibility of k n o w i n g G o d , the duty to do so is laid upon us. The development of the t h i n k i n g spirit, w h i c h starts out f r o m and is based on the revelation of the divine being (Wesen),
must eventually increase t o the point that what
initially was set before spirit i n feeling and representational modes is also grasped by thought. The time must finally come when this rich production of creative reason—which is w h a t w o r l d history i s — w i l l be comprehended. Whether | the time has come for this cognition w i l l depend on whether the final purpose of the w o r l d has ultimately entered i n t o actuality m a universal and conscious manner. This [is] the understanding of our time. Our cognit i o n consists i n gaining insight i n t o the fact that w h a t is purposed by eternal w i s d o m comes about not only i n the realm of nature but also i n the w o r l d of actual [human events] and deeds. I n this respect o u r consideration [of history] is a theodicy,
a justification of G o d , something Leibniz attempted
metaphysically i n still abstract and indeterminate categones enable us t o comprehend all the evils {Übel)
I t should
of the w o r l d , including moral
<* the divine providential plan i n
6
fZni f " ° ° " »me of .mportance. This is the question as t o whether i t is possible t o k n o w £
now
.
,
i J
t r~ A , f™.r>H einecialk in the lohannine writings; e.g. c
24. Emphasis on the knowledge of God is found especially in j John 8: 32 The connection between knowledge and love is found . n 1 Cor 8. 3, 13. IZ. 25. Hegel here combines John 16: 13 and 1 Cor. 2: 10. 26. See Gottfried Wdhelm Leibtuz, Tentamtna Tbeod.caeae, ^ ^ ^ ^ 2 de Theod,cee sur la bonte. de Die*, la UberU de i'homw et I or, me du ma! (new rdn., Amsterdam, 1734). g
85
^ ,
.so
INTRODUCTION.
M A N U S C R I P T S OF T H E I N T R O D U C T I O N
evil (Böse); the thinking spirit is [thereby] reconciled w i t h the negative; and it is in world history that the total mass of concrete evils is set before our eyes. Indeed, there is no arena i n which such a reconciling knowledge is more urgently needed than i n w o r l d history, and w e shall accordingly take a moment [to consider i t ] . Such a reconciliation can be attained only t h r o u g h knowledge of the affirmative [element in history) in w h i c h the negative passes away i n t o something that is subordinate and overcome. It is attained in p a n through the awareness of w h a t the final purpose of the w o r l d t r u l y is, and in part through the awareness that this purpose is actualized i n the w o r l d and that evil has not been able to maintain a position of equality alongside it. Reason, it has been said, rules the w o r l d ; but 'reason' is just as indefinire a w o r d as 'providence'. People speak continually of reason w i t h out being able t o define i t , to specify its content, o r to supply a criterion by which we can judge whether something is rational or i r r a t i o n a l . Reason grasped in its determinate f o r m is the-thing-that-history-ts-about(die Sache); and the rest, if we confine ourselves t o reason i n general, is mere | words. W i t h this declaration we make the transition t o the second p o i n t that (as indicated earlier) we wish to consider i n this introduction.
B. THE ACTUALIZATION
OF SPIRIT
IN
HISTORY ' 1
The definition of reason m i t s e l f - i n s o f a r as reason is considered in relation to the w o r l d - a m o u n t s to asking w h a t the final end of the w o r l d is. To discuss the laner implies that it should be realized or actualized. Thus there are t w o points consider: the content of the final end, its definition as such; and its actualization. t o
We must first of all note that our object, w o r l d history, takes place i n the realm of p . ' W o r l d ' embraces both physical and psychical nature. PhysiS
in its o w n right, operating in its o w n distinct element, but only i n relation to spirit. But spirit is f o u n d in its most concrete actuality in the theatet in which we [are about to] consider i t , that of w o r l d history. Despite this—or rather precisely so that we may comprehend the general aspect of spirit from this mode of its concrete actuality—we must begin w i t h some abstract definitions of the nature of spirit. A t the same time, these can be nothing more than mere assertions since this is neither the place nor the time tor a speculative exposition or the idea of spirit. What is said needs | to be made accessible t o the level of education and outlook that can ordinarily be expected among the audience. What can be said i n an introduction is, as alreadv r e m a r k e d , to be taken generally as historical, as a presupposition that finds its elaboration and proof elsewhere or that w i l l at least obtain its confirmation at a later stage in the elaboration of the discipline. 28
a. The General Definition of Spirit as Intrinsically Free"" The first t h i n g that we must do is to provide an abstract definition of s p i r i t . . . . I n accord w i r h this abstract definition, we can say that w o r l d history is the portrayal of the labor of spirit to arrive at knowledge of what ,t is intrinsically. The Ortentals d o not k n o w that spirit, or the human being as such, is intrinsically tree; because they do not k n o w this, they are not themselves free. They only k n o w that one [person) is free, but t o t this very reason such freedom is merely arbitrariness, savagery, and dull-witted passion, o r their m i t i g a t i o n and domestication, which itself is merely a natural happenstance or something capricious. This one is therefore a despot, not a 30
free human being. , . The consciousness of freedom first awoke among the Creeks and accordingly thev were free; b u t , like the Romans, they knew only that some are free not the human being as such. Plato and Aristotle did not k n o w the
irtt
l T o trie , Tbasic aspects° of this natural influence. ^ beginning we shall But spirit and the course rC
1830-1
f
P
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3
r
l e
i n
W O r l d
h
i
s
t
o
a
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d
a t
r u ^ ' historyl. Spirit [,s] higher than nature. Here we need t o consider nature n o t as a rational s v s t L P
m
e
n
t
S U b S t a m , a l
o f
w
o
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l
d
28. See above, pp. 80-1. 29. The manuscript reads: («). i n the margin: \a) General definition (3) Visible means of fulfilling rhis definition ly) Completed reality - state
. r
1 1 0
H ^ l ^ n a r a e r ^ L L ^ ^ L w J ^ -he d m , ™ , , ^ ™ ' J ? " Z t S l freedom. w
v
(
c
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o
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'« ^ W Determinate' >n " ^ > Th« section considers * • * through the actualization of spirit in lis J
l m r 0 d u c
l u s t o r
86
0 n
a n < J
t h f f l
l e a v e t
30. The manuscript adds the w o r d , no longer * « * « three-quarters uf a pa*e blank. Tms appears to be a ™ / T * ^ „ conscriptions manuscript. u * d bv Hegel in the actual P ^ " " ^ ' / ^ Tmanuscc.pc Hegel disco**, the contain materia) at this point ihai is not found in the iretu ^ subsiamialm idea of freedom as .he subsiannahry of spml. drawing a parallel to -eign, of matter 87
i e c n l
152
INTRODUCTION,
M A N U S C R I P T S OF T H E I N T R O D U C T I O N
latter. Thus not only d i d the Greeks have slaves, u p o n w h o m their life and the continued existence o f their beautiful freedom depended; but also their freedom itself was o n the one hand o n l y a contingent, transient, incomplete flowering of limited scope, and o n the other hand a harsh servitude [imposed] o n [some] human beings, o n [their] humanity. | The Germanic nations were the first t o come t o the consciousness, t h r o u g h Christianity, that the human being as human is free, that the freedom o f spirit constitutes humanity's truly inherent nature. This consciousness first arose in religion, i n the innermost region o f spirit; but t o incorporate this principle into secular existence was a further task whose solution and application would require a long and arduous labor on the part of culture. For example, slavery did not immediately [cease] w i t h the adoption of the C h r i s t i a n religion; still less d i d freedom immediately come to prevail i n political states, nor did governments and political institutions become rationally organized and founded upon the principle of freedom. The application
of this principle
to actuality, the penetration and transformation o f w o r l d l y conditions by the principle of freedom, is the long process that is history itself. I have already drawn attention t o this distinction such and its application, that is, its introduction
between the principle
into and its
as
accomplishment
i n the actuality of spirit and life; and we shall r e t u r n t o i t again shortly. I t is one of the basic aspects of our discipline, and we must keep it ever in m i n d . The distinction applies not only to the Christian
principle o f the self-con-
sciousness o f freedom, which I have mentioned here i n a p r e l i m i n a r y w a y ,
1830-1
Spirit's consciousness of its freedom (and along w i t h i t for the first time the actuality o f its freedom)
has been declared t o be the reason of spirit in its
determinacy. The latter is the destiny of the spiritual w o r l d , and (since the substantial, physical w o r l d is subordinated to the spiritual, or in the speculative sense has no t r u t h over against it) it is the final end of the w o r l d in general. But that this freedom, as accounted above, is itself still indeterminate, t h a t freedom is a term of unlimited ambiguity, that since freedom is the highest [concept] i t is subject to no end of misunderstandings, confusions, and errors, including every possible a b e r r a t i o n - a l l this has never been k n o w n a n d experienced so fully as i n the present age; but we must be satisfied for the moment w i t h this general definition. We have also taken note o f the importance of the immense difference between the principle as it is intrinsically
or in itself and what i t is i n actuality. A t the same time i t is
precisely freedom w i t h i n itself that contains the infinite necessity w i t h i n itself t o b r i n g itself t o consciousness and t o a c t u a l i t y - f o r its very concept is t o k n o w itself. Freedom is itself the end or purpose of its o w n operation, the sole end o f spirit. The immediate question | must be: W h a t means does i t employ? This is the second point that we have to consider here. b
The Means o f Spirit's Actualization: Passions, Interests, I d e a l s
32
The question about the means by w h i c h freedom brings f o r t h a w o r l d for itself leads us t o the p h e n o m e n o n
33
o f history proper. Whereas freedom as
such is p r i m a r i l y an internal concept, the means i t employs is something
but also t o the principle of freedom i n general. W o r l d history is the progress
external and phenomenal that confronts us directly in history. A n initial
o f the consciousness of freedom —a progress whose necessity w e have t o recognize. |
proceed f r o m their needs, passions, and interests, f r o m the representanons
31
These general remarks on the different degrees o f the k n o w l e d g e o f freedom-namely,
that the Orientals only k n e w that one is free, that in the
Greek and Roman w o r l d some are free, and that we by contrast k n o w t h a t ail human bangs are intrinsically free, that the human being as human
is
t r e e - s u p p l y us w i t h the divisions that we shall make in w o r l d history a n d by wfnch we shall treat i t . But these are only preliminary remarks made i n passing; several other concepts must first be explained
inspection
of history, however, indicates that the actions of human beings
and purposes t o w h i c h these give rise, and f r o m their character and t a l e n t s indeed i n such a w a y that i n this spectacle of activity these needs, passions, interests, etc., seem to be the sole driving
force.
Individuals d o at o n e s
pursue more general purposes such as goodness,
but . n such a w a y that
this goodness is itself limited in character, for example
a noble love o f
country, o f a country that plays an insignificant role i n the w o r l d and the genera purposes of the w o r l d ; or a love for one's f a m i l y one s friends, and one's moraUectitude in g e n e r a . - i n a w o r d , all virtues. We may well « : the dictates o f reason actualized in these subjects themselves and i n the sphere of their efficacy; but these are only isolated individuals w h o make up but a
-
the History of P i n l o s o p h y Z ^ ' ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ opny, eo. ana t t Robert F. Brown etal. (Oxford, 2009), j . 181, 195. i
o
s
0
to
32. The manuscript reads: {&> 33. The manuscript adds: (oil 89
155
M A N U S C R I P T S OF T H E
INTRODUCTION,
INTRODUCTION
small minority of the vast human race over against all the other individuals, | and the effective range of their virtues is correspondingly small. But in many cases passions, private interests, a n d the satisfaction of selfish impulses are the most powerful force. What makes them p o w e r f u l is that they do not heed any of the limitations that justice and m o r a l i t y seek to impose on them; and the natural force of passion has a more immediate h o l d on human beings than the artificial and laboriously acquired discipline o f order and moderation, of justice and morality. When we contemplate this spectacle of the passions and the consequences of the violence and irrationality that are associated w i t h them, a n d even more so w i t h good intentions and worthy aims; when we have before our eyes i n history the evil, the wickedness, the destruction of the noblest constructs of peoples and states, the downfall of the most flourishing empires that the h u m a n spirit has produced; and when we [observe] w i t h p r o f o u n d compassion the u n t o l d miseries of individual human beings—we can only end w i t h sorrow at the transience of everything. And since this downfall is n o t a w o r k of nature merely but of the will of human beings, we can all the more end up w i t h moral s o r r o w and with the good spirit (if such is in us) repulsed by such a spectacle. Without rhetorical exaggeration
we need o n l y compile an accurate
account of the misfortunes that have been suffered by even the finest creations of peoples and states, and of private virtues or innocence, t o raise u p a most frightful picture—a picture | by w h i c h our feelings are intensified t o the deepest and most helpless sorrow w i t h no reconciling outcome to counterbalance i t . We can perhaps fortify ourselves against this s o r r o w o r escape brom i t by the thought that this is h o w things have happened, that it is a matter of fate, that nothing about it can be changed. A n d then we react against the lassitude into w h i c h our sorrowful reflections are able t o plunge us and return t o our [normall outlook o n life,
the aims and interests of the
to
present, w h i c h are not a sorrow over the past b u t return us t o o u r o w n actuahty, even to that selfish complacency that stands o n the calmer shore 7
A
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slaughterhouse the vntues o f
beginning rejected the way of reflection as a means of ascending from this picture of [historical] particularity to the universal. Besides, such sentimental reflection has no real interest i n raising itself above these attitudes and feelings, or in fact solving the enigmas of providence to w h i c h such 1 fruitless sublimities of this negative result. We return, therefore, to the standpoint that we have taken, and the elements we shall adduce f r o m i t w i l l furnish us w i t h the essential indications for answering the questions that are raised by these pictures [ f r o m the past]. ^^The first t h i n g t o be noted is that what we have called the principle, the final end, the destiny, or the nature and concept of spirit in itself, is purely a n d abstract.
universal
A principle, fundamental rule, or law is something
universal a n d i n w a r d , w h i c h as such is not completely actual, however true it may be i n itself. Purposes, principles, and the like are i n our thoughts, only i n our inner intentions, o r also i n books, but not yet i n actuality. I n other words, w h a t is only implicit
is a possibility, a potency, but it has not yet
come o u t f r o m its inwardness i n t o existence; [it is] one-sided ([like] philosophy [itself]). A second moment is needed t o arrive at its actuality, that of activation, o f actualization, and the principle of that is the w i l l , the activity of human beings i n general i n the world.
It is only through this activity
that the [original] concept, the implicit determinations, are realized and actualized. Laws a n d principles are not immediately alive, do not gain currency, by themselves; the activity that [puts] them into operation and determinate existence is that of human needs, drives, inclinations, and passions. T h e fact that I actualize something and | bring i t into determinate existence must involve me, / must be at h a n d / I seek to be satisfied through its accomplishment—my o w n interest must be at stake. 'Interest' signifies 'being at h a n d ' . A purpose that I am actively t o pursue must also i n some w a y be my own purpose; I must simultaneously satisfy my purpose, even though the purpose f o r w h i c h I a m w o r k i n g has other aspects that have nothing t o do w i t h me. T h i s is the infinite right of the subject, the second essential element 35
6
3 7
34. In the margin: Connection oi particularity with the universal, «hereby die former
I considerations brooding
literally being there') and dabey seyn CrternsM^n^). - w ^ t 37. Interest [interest*) means literally "being between' iinter-esse), d m . less bterally bemg at hand' or 'being involved'.
for
t h 0 S C
&°«y
have claimed t o be the substanml destiny, the absolute final end, or (what is
158
considerations give rise. Rather it is woefully content w i t h the empty and
becomes the means 35. In the margin: my interest . „•„„„„> « . Hegel tuayfon the connection between Daseyn (here translated 'determmare evs.ence,
t 0
90
the same thing) the true result of world history. We have f r o m the very
- n s t r o u s sacrifices been made?
^ S P C C t a d e
« "is
**«*Y
n
d
1830-1
91
159
INTRODUCTION,
M A N U S C R I P T S OF T H E I N T R O D U C T I O N
of freedom —that the subject itself m u s t be satisfied i n [ c a r r y i n g o u t ] an 38
activity or task. A n d if persons are t o be interested in something, they must be able to be actively engaged in i t ; that is, they require an interest of their own, they wish to identify themselves w i t h i t , and they find t h e i r o w n selfesteem confirmed by it. But we must avoid a misunderstanding here: people find fault and justifiably say, i n a misguided sense, o f an i n d i v i d u a l t h a t he is an interested party, that he seeks only his personal advantage—that is, seeks his personal advantage
without regard to the general purpose on the
19
occasion he seeks that advantage, even [acting] c o n t r a r y t o the purpose by curtailing, damaging, or sacrificing i t . But whoever is active o n behalf o f a cause is not merely interested i n general but is interested i n it.
Language
the w o r l d without
passion.
1830-1
Passion is the subjective, and in this respect the
f o r m a l , aspect of the energv o f volition and activity, irrespective o f its content or aim. Just as w i t h my o w n conviction, insight, and conscience the specific content of my conviction matters, so also does the specific aim of my p a s s i o n - w h e t h e r
| one a i m or another is of a truer nature. But con-
versely, i f it is the truer nature, then i t is inevitable that i t should come into existence and be actual as that element o f the subjective w i l l that includes all such factors as needs, drives, passions, as well as one's o w n views, opinions, convictions.
,.
F r o m this discussion o f the second essential element of historical actuality o f a purpose as such, it is e v i d e n t - i f in what has been said we consider the
accurately expresses this distinction. N o t h i n g happens o r is b r o u g h t t o
state-that
completion unless the individuals w h o are active i n i t are s a t i s f i e d
p o w e r f u l i f the private interest of its citizens coincides w i t h the general
40
too—
they who are particular [individuals] and w h o have needs, drives, and interests that are specific, are their o w n , although others have t h e m t o o , and that m their c o n t e x t - f o r example, m y c o a t - a r e n o t | distinct f r o m those o f the others. Included among these [interests] are n o t o n l y one's o w n needs and volitions but also one's o w n insights a n d convictions, or at least one s o w n estimation
and o p i n i o n - a s s u m i n g t h a t the need f o r argument,
understanding, reason is otherwise already awakened. W h e n people
are
acnve on behalf o f a cause, they expect t h a t the cause w i l l appeal to them as such, that they should enter into i t o n the basis o f their o w n o p i n i o n a n d conviction regarding the goodness of the cause, its justice, usefulness, advanc e for themselves, etc. This element i n particular is i m p o r t a n t f o r o u r o w n A" T ^1
a
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and esti
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- r i v i t y to a
e r e t a n d i n g and independent c o n v i c t i o n
in this aspect a state w i l l be well-constituted and internally
end of the state, each finding m the other Us satisfaction and actualizauon. This is
a
most i m p o r t a n t proposition. But for the state t o achieve this unity,
numerous institutions must be established and appropnate
mechanisms
invented. This involves a lengthy struggle of the understandmg to become aware o f w h a t is appropriate, as
well as a struggle w i t h particu
and passions, w h i c h m u s t be subjected t o a protractedandd.fficult discipline before this unity ,s achieved. The point i n time at w h i c h the state anains such a u n i t y marks the period in its history when it flourishes, the period of its virtue strength, and success. B u t world
history does not begin w i t h som* sort of conscious purpose
do the particular
as
spheres of human b e i n g , The simple
c o m m o n life already has as its conscious purpose the « c u n n g o f l i f e a n d property, and once such a c o m m o n life has come i n t o being; these p u l s e s are S e t
defined, such as upholding the c t y of Athens or
^ J " ^
every new evil or exigency the problem becomes interest* of ^
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history begins w i t h its general purposed I d - b u t only » * * ' u . as nature"
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w o r l d history ,s the labor to make this drive conscious. Thus wha ha
e
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- ' - o f all other actual or
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92
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nions, subjective i m o r e s s i o n s - i s present o n ,ts o w n account
, s
being o r natural tvdl. The vast number of
activities constitutes the instruments m
t
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and means by w h i c h th^
accomplishes its p u r p o s e - r a i s i n g it to consciousness and mak-ng
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b«n
called the subjective side-needs, drives, passions, particular natual
*
uncon-
scious drive; , and, as has already been
1 0
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d i v i d u a l * w h o l l y apply themselves to an
n T e n d ) we 7 * *** < — * » « d L we may really say that nothing great has been accomplished i n
40. ,« the
the concept of spirit be satis
42. in the margin: Actuality first [exists] only as nature 93
actual.
M A N U S C R I P T S OF T H E I N T R O D U C T I O N
This purpose is simply to find itself, t o come to itself, and t o contemplate itself i n its actuality. A l l these expressions of i n d i v i d u a l and public life, i n seeking and satisfying their own ends, are at the same time the means and instruments of a higher and wider purpose, w h i c h they k n o w n o t h i n g of but unconsciously carry out. I t is this that can be open t o question, and indeed it has been questioned and frequently denied—decried and disdained as a philosophical fantasy. But I have made this clear f r o m the very beginning, and our presupposition or faith (which, however, can only be postulated as a result) makes no claim here beyond saying that reason rules the w o r l d and thus also has ruled and continues to rule w o r l d history. Everything else is subordinate t o this universal substance i n and for itself, and serves as a means for i t . I n a d d i t i o n , however, reason is immanent i n historical existence, bringing itself t o c o m pletion in and through i t . That the unification of the universal t h a t subsists i n and for itself w i t h the singular or subjective is the sole t r u t h , is speculative i n nature, and i n this general form is treated by logic. But in the course of w o r l d history itself, seen as something still i n progress, the subjective side o r consciousness is [not] yet i n a position to k n o w w h a t the pure a n d final purpose I of history is, w h a t the concept of spirit is. For the latter has not yet become the content of its needs and interests; a n d although the subjective consciousness is still unaware of i t , the universal is nonetheless present i n its particular purposes and completes itself through t h e m . Since, as I have said, the speculative aspect of this connection belongs t o logic, this is not the place for me to provide and develop its concept or, so to speak, make it conceivable. But 1 can attempt to give a clearer impression of it by means o f examples. The relationship [between the universal substance and subjective c o n sciousness! is such that the actions of human beings m w o r l d history produce an effect altogether different f r o m w h a t they intend and achieve, f r o m w h a t they immediately k n o w and desire. They accomplish their interests; but at the same ome they b n n g about something additional that indeed is i m p l i c i t m their actions but was not present i n their consciousness and i n t e n t i o n . Bv ^ , ' ° ' ™ ° f « v e n g e (perhaps usnfied h a t he may have been harmed unjustly,, sets fire t o someone else s house This at once means that a connection is established between the W
3
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a
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f
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m
a
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w
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w S f h * ^ . ' ^ u m s t a n c e s , albeit external circumstances, ™ nothing directly to do w i t h the original deed. The deed as such is perhaps the application of a small flame to a small p o r t i o n of a beam, a n d h m h e r consequences of the deed ensue on t h e , o w n accord. The b u r n i n g secnon of the beam is connected w i t h other sections; these i n t u r n are a n d
J
I N T R O D U C T I O N , 1 830-1
connected w i t h the t i m b e r w o r k of the entire house, and the latter w i t h other houses, leading to a widespread conflagration that destroys the property of many more persons than the one against w h o m the revenge was directed, and indeed costs the lives of many persons. This outcome was not part of the original deed or of the intention of the perpetrator. However, the action has a further i m p l i c a t i o n : the instigator only intended an act of revenge against an individual by destroying his property, although i n addition it is a crime, w h i c h carries its | punishment w i t h it. The perpetrator may not have been aware of, still less intended, this result, although it is the universal and substantial aspect of his deed in itself— that which is brought about by i t .
164
This example only establishes that something more can reside in an immediate action than was present in the intention and consciousness of the agent. The example has the additional feature that the substance of the action, a n d thus as a whole the action itself, turns against the one w h o performed i t ; it recoils upon h i m and destroys h i m . Insofar as the action is [treated as] a crime, it misfires and justice gets restored. But there is no need to stress this aspect of the example, as it applies only to a specific case; and besides I have said that I only wished t o introduce an analogy. But I w o u l d like t o mention another example, which w i l l appear later m its proper place. As an actual historical instance it involves, in a characteristic f o r m that essentially concerns us, the unification of the universal and the particular, of a determinacy necessary on its o w n account and a purpose that appears contingently. Caesar, in danger [of losing] the position t o w t u c h he had a s c e n d e d - a position i n w h i c h he was not yet superior t o the others w h o stood at the head of the state but was at least equal t o them—opposed [his rivals] i n the interest of preserving his o w n position, honor, and security. He was i n danger of succumbing t o those w h o were on the point of becoming h.s enemies, but w h o at the same rime had the formal constitution of the state (and hence the authority of o u t w a r d legality) on the side of their o w n personal ends. | But since their power gave them sovereignty over the provinces of the Roman Empire, his victory over them simultaneously enabled h i m t o conquer the whole empire itself. W i t h o u t changing the f o r m of the constitution, he thereby became the sole ruler of the state. By carrying o u t his originally negative end, he gained the undivided sovereignty of Rome, w h i c h was at the same time an .ntnnsically necessary determination m Roman and w o r l d history. Thus not ,ust his persona!
i u r t h e
e
94
43. Hegel is following here the .terpret.noathat Oesar ^ Carter (Oxford, 1997), 76-139). 95
^
¿
^
^
^
£
its
MANUSCRIPTS
INTRODUCTION,
OF T H E I N T R O D U C T I O N
advantage was involved; rather his w o r k was an impulse that accomplished the end for which his age was ready. Such are the great figures of history. Their own particular ends contain the substantial end that is the w i l l of the world spirit. Their true power is this content, which is present i n the universal, unconscious impulse of humanity. H u m a n beings are i n w a r d l y driven by this impulse and are incapable o f resisting the i n d i v i d u a l w h o has taken over the execution of such an end i n [the pursuit of] his o w n interest. To the contrary, peoples gather about his banner; he reveals to them a n d carries out what is their own immanent drive. If we go on t o examine the fate of these world-historical individuals, [ w e see that] they have had the good fortune t o be executors of a n end t h a t marked a stage in the advance of the universal spirit. However, as subjects 166
who are also distinguished f r o m their substance, they
4 4
(
But although we may accept that individual persons, their purposes a n d the satisfaction of their purposes, are sacrificed, t h a t their entire happiness is given up t o the realm of natural forces and t o the contingency of w h i c h it is a pan—that we view individuals i n general under the category o f means—there still remains one aspect of individuals that we hesitate t o view only in this light, even i n the face of extremes, for it is something utterly not subordinate [as a means] but rather is i n itself eternal a n d
44. Here a break occurs m the manuscript (between sheets 65b and 66a) where Hegel presented matenal orally in the lectures that is not included i n the manuscript. The loose ^ P "oeDdlkhe Verwikiungen' ('also spectacles of endless complexities') belps to rill m the gap (see below, pp. 127-8). It is in this fragment that Hegel's famous reference tothe 'cunrung of reason' (Lwt der Vemunft) occurs, a reference incorporated into the oral T™™- ™ ™ 8 ' tt^npnoo of the lectures of 1830-1 contains the following passage 1Mb, pp. l*-20} at tins point 'In external history we have right before our eyes what is paruculai; namely drives and needs. We see these particular elements engaged in mutual Jeamcnon, headed for ruin, [whereas] the idea is whal is universal, and ,n the struggle it is A
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s
S l H l r ^ ™ ' ™y ^ <™"»!? of feasor,, since reason avads i«elf of these mstnnnents and shines forth untouched ot, rather, bnngs itself forth. , S
SkTof h unfvell Z Z ^ i
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^ T } ^ f ' ^ 'tself by means of the needs, p a e o n s , and the A * T™* &™ « quite insignificant over against what is A ' ^ ^ World Instorv representTitself as the 7 f ^ " 7* ° P V thing, e e d Jturalh, that is, force S t hT T T ** of We is the purpose, drive, and inst.nct. re n l t d T c T ^ T " T S - - - ^ p a s s , o s these aims 2 ^ t**y are successful but in rur* are just as l i k e k a n d ^ 1 * ^ ' « — 1 « ^ within the tumult of the t t T Z i t o t f hcoR1 " °* tins edn. Different versions of dus V
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H O F F M E I S * R WoHd H £ ™ I «««- ^ctures or, the Phdosophy D World Hrtory: IntroducUon: Reason ,„ ffetorv, tr. H . B. Nisbet (Cambridge, 1975), 89).
96
46
This is the hallmark of the lofty and absolute vocation o f human beings, that they know w h a t good is and what evil is and that vohtton itself -s w i l l i n g either good or e v i l - i n short, that they are capable of responsibility w i t h respect not onlv to evil but also t o good; they are responsible not simply 4 7
;
i B
rlTt™
d i v i n e . T h i s is m o r a l i t y , ethical life, religious piety. Something already mentioned about the activation of rational ends by individuals is that their subjective aspect—their interest as a whole and that of their needs and drives, their opinions and views (as only a f o r m a l aspect)—does, however, have an infinite right t o be satisfied. When we speak o f a means, we represent i t principally as something that is only external to the end and plays no part i n i t . But i n fact natural things generally, even the commonest inanimate things, w h e n they are used as means, must already be of such a character as t o be suitable to their end and have something about them that has affinity w i t h i t . A n d the relationship of human beings to rational ends is least of a l l that of a means i n t h i s w h o l l y external sense. For i n fulfilling rational ends, they n o t only simultaneously fulfill their own particular ends (whose content is quite different f r o m that [of the universal end]) but also participate i n that rational end itself, and are thereby ends in themselves. [They are] ends in themselves not only in a f o r m a l sense, as are all living beings—see K a n t — w h o s e individual lives are by their very nature already subordinate to human life and are rightly used as means; I individual human beings are also ends in themselves by virtue of what their ends involve. A n d under this heading falls everything that we w o u l d exempt f r o m the category of means, namely, morality, ethical life, religious piety. H u m a n beings are ends i n themselves only in virtue of the divine pnnciple w i t h i n them that we have referred to all along as reason and, insofar as i t is i n w a r d l y active and self-determining, as freedom. And we assert (without being able to develop the point more fully here) that indeed religious piety, ethical life, etc., have their soil and source i n this principle and therefore are intrinsically elevated above external necessity and contingency. (But i t must not be forgotten that we are concerned w i t h these factors only insofar as they exist w i t h i n individuals, that is, insofar as they are left to individual freedom; i n this regard, the responsibility for religious and ethical weakness, c o r r u p t i o n , o r loss falls upon individuals themselves.)
p r o C
0 n e
,
1830-1
o,
: * : i i ^ ^
human beings as the final end of nature. See Immanuel Kan^ CrU.k ^ LibaO790U83(diebeg,nnm^ (Oxford, 1952), ii. 92. 47. Hegel is alluding to Gen. 3: 5. 97
J£\
^
INTRODUCTION,
M A N U S C R I P T S OF T H E I N T R O D U C T I O N
168
for this or that or for everything that is around them a n d i n them, b u t also for the good and evil that are inherent i n their i n d i v i d u a l freedom. O n l y the animal is truly and totally innocent. But t o prevent or remove all the misunderstandings t o w h i c h this claim usually gives rise ( w h e n , for instance, the very ignorance of evil, which gets called 'innocence', is hereby debased and devalued) would require an extensive discussion, | a discussion no less extensive than a complete treatise on freedom itself. B u t when we consider the fate that overtakes v i r t u e , ethical life, and religious piety in history, we must not fall i n t o a litany o f lamentations t o the effect that the good and the pious often or indeed most of the time fare badly in the w o r l d , while the evil and the w i c k e d prosper. P r o s p e r i t y ' is commonly understood in many different ways, such as w e a l t h , o u t w a r d honor, and the like. But when we are discussing an end that subsists in and f o r itself, the so-called prosperity or misfortune of particular single individuals cannot and ought not t o be regarded as an element of the rational w o r l d order. There is more justification for expecting of the w o r l d purpose that good, ethical, and just purposes should seek their fulfillment a n d guarantee under its auspices and i n i t than t o expect that simply f o r the happiness and good fortune of individuals. W h a t makes humans morally dissatisfied (and they may take a certain pride in this dissatisfaction) is that they find a discrepancy between the present and their conceptions, principles, and opinion concerning ends of a more universal content, w h a t they consider to be right and good (nowadays ideals o f political institutions i n p a r t i c u l a r ) ; they find a discrepancy between the present and their predilection for devising ideals on w h i c h to lavish enthusiasm. They contrast [present] existence w i t h their view of h o w things r i g h t l y ought t o be. I n this case it is not particular interests and passions t h a t demand satisfaction b u t reasonjustice, and freedom; under this banner, such demands assert themselves a n d not only are readily dissatisfied w i t h the condition a n d events of the w o r l d but rebel against them. To | appreciate such feelings a n d views, we should have to undertake an investigation of the stated demands themselves, of verv emphatically expressed judgments and views. I n no other time than o u r o w n have such general propositions and conceptions been advanced w i t h more forceful claims. Whereas history customarilv seems t o present itself as a 4 8
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169
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1830-1
conflict of passions, i n the present age—although the passions are not absent—it appears, on the one hand, primarily as a conflict of conceptions striving t o justify themselves to one another, and on the other hand as a conflict of passions and subjective interests, but essentially under the banner of such higher justifications. These rights, demanded in the name of w h a t we have described as the vocation of reason—as the absolute end and as selfconscious freedom—are thereby legitimated as absolute ends just like relig i o n , ethical life, and morality. We shall t u r n in a moment to the s t a t e , t o which all such demands are directed. But as for the curtailment, harm, and ruin of religious, ethical, and m o r a l purposes and affairs in general, it must at least be said—although we offer a more precise judgment regarding this matter l a t e r ' — t h a t such spiritual powers are absolutely justified; nevertheless, although their inward and universal aspect is infinite, their shapes, content, and development into actuality are more limited, thus meshing externally w i t h the natural order and being subject t o contingency. I n this respect they also are transient, subject t o curtailment and harm. Precisely as inwardly universal essences, religion and ethics have the feature, in conformity w i t h their concept, of being truly present in the individual soul, even if this feature is not fully cultivated there and not applied to | a network of relationships. The religious piety and ethical life of a restricted sphere of life (e.g. that of a shepherd o r a farmer), i n their concentrated inwardness and their limitation t o a few quite simple situations of life, have an iiifinite value—the same value as the religious piety and ethical life that accompany a high degree of knowledge and a life that is rich i n the extent of its relations and actions. 50
5
This inner center, this simple region of the right of subjective freedom, the seat of volition, decision, and action, the abstract content of conscience, that in which the responsibility and value of individuals and their eternal judgment are contained—all of this remains untouched by the noisy clamor of w o r l d history, untouched n o t only by external and temporal changes but also by the changes brought about by the absolute necessity of the concept of freedom itself. But in general the following may be established: that whatever in the world cani ,u»h/ claim nobility and splendor is subject t o something even higher than itself. 1 he right of the w o r l d spirit transcends all particular rights; it imparts itself to them
50. See below, pp. 100-7. The beginning of the section on the sure ^ ^ S ^ t l 51. An exposition as indicated here of the opposinon between « ^ J t e ^ ^ l a spiritual powers and the,r historical variabdity is not to be found u n available sources somewhat altered perspective Hegel returns to this theme at pp. 1 1 » - ' ? 52. In the margin: Ethical life in its genuine shape - in the state 99
I N T R O D U C T I O N , 1 830-1
M A N U S C R I P T S OF T H E I N T R O D U C T I O N
but only conditionally, insofar as they indeed belong to its substance but at the same time are burdened by particularity. These remarks may suffice in respect to the means that the w o r l d spirit employs for the realization of its concept. I n simple and abstract terms, the means it employs is the activity of subjects i n which reason is present as their inherendy subsisting substantial essence; but this g r o u n d is as yet indistinct and concealed from them. The matter becomes more complex a n d difficult, however, when we consider individuals not merely as active | o r i n terms of particular purposes limited t o only this individual, but rather in terms of a more concrete and determinate content related to religion and ethical life; for this content partakes of reason and hence also of its absolute rights. N o w the relationship of a mere means to an end disappears [ f r o m view], and the major aspects that arise i n regard to the absolute end of spirit have been briefly considered. c. The Material of Spirit's Actualization: the S t a t e
53
The third point concerns the end or purpose that is carried out by this means, that is, the shape i t assumes i n actuality. We have spoken o f means, and w i t h the carrying out of a subjective and finite end we also have the element of a material that is available or that must be procured in order that the end may be actualized. So the question becomes: What is the material i n which the rational final end is earned out? [This is a] spiritual [end]. Here humanity [is]: (a) the subject of w h a t is substantial its reason | and drive; (/3) means; ( ) consciousness, a knowing and willing intelligence. [Its] specific end is a spiritual nature. - . . . r
54
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their external possessions i n nature—the soil, mountains, air, and waters— as their land, their native land. The history of this state, its deeds and the deeds of their forefathers, are theirs; it lives i n their memory as having brought f o r t h w h a t n o w exists, w h a t belongs t o them. A l l this is their possession, just as they are possessed by i t ; for i t constitutes their substance and being. T h e i r way of thinking (Vorstellung) is fulfilled w i t h i n it, and their w i l l is the w i l l i n g of the laws of their native l a n d . This spiritual totality constitutes a single essential being, the spirit of a people. Athena [has] a double s i g n i f i c a n c e : as spiritual, and w i t h all its characteristics included in a simple essentiality, [this totality] must become fixed as a single power and being. Individuals belong t o i t ; each individual is the son of his people and, insofar as his state is still developing, the son of his age. N o one can remain behind his age o r even less leap ahead of i t . This spiritual being is his being, he is a representative of i t ; he arises out of it and exists w i t h i n i t . 5 6
57
This spirit of a people is a determinate spirit, and, as has just been said, it is also determined by the stage of its historical development. Thus this spirit constitutes the foundation and content i n the other forms of its consciousness | that have been indicated/ This spirit is a single individuality. In religion it is represented, revered, and enjoyed in its essentiality as the essential being, the divinity [der Gott)\ in art it is portrayed in image and i n t u i t i o n ; and i n philosophy it is cognized and comprehended in thought. Because they have the same original substance, the shapes they assume, their content and object, exist i n an inseparable unity w i t h the spirit of the state^ This particular f o r m of the state can exist only w i t h this religion, and likewise i n this state only this philosophy and this art can be found. 8
These remarks are especially important in light of the foolish efforts of our age t o devise and implement political institutions independently o i religion. The Catholic religion, although it shares the Christian rel,g.on in common w i t h Protestantism, does not allow for that inner justice and ech.cal.ty o the state that resides i n the inwardness of the Protestant pnnc.ple I<|[«i i n tact] necessary that the political constitunon and government should be divorced from a religion that has the feature of not acknowledging .he substantial existence of tight and ethical life. But if the state s legal p o n t e s and institutions are divorced from inwardness, from the ultimate shrme of
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INTRODUCTION,
MANUSCRIPTS OF THE I N T R O D U C T I O N
conscience—the silent sanctuary where religion has its seat—they w i l l not become actually central [to life] but w i l l remain abstract and nonspecific. '*... 5
The nature of the state has been described. I t w i l l be recalled that i n present60
day theories various misconceptions about i t are prevalent | that are taken to be established truths and have become simply assumed. We w i l l cite only a few of them here, especially those that are related to the aim of o u r [study of] history. The first error that we encounter is the direct opposite o f our concept that the (political] state is the actualization o f freedom. This is the view that human beings are free by nature, but that i n society and the state, w h i c h they enter by necessity, this natural freedom must be r e s t r i c t e d .
61
T h a t humans
are free by nature is completely correct i n the sense t h a t they have freedom as their concept, but only in terms of their destination o r vocation, that is, only implicitly, the 'nature' of an object just means its 'concept'. B u t this proposition is also taken as understanding, and referring t o , human beings in their merely natural and immediate existence. I n this sense a state of nature is assumed in which humans are imagined t o be i n possession o f their natural nghts and have the unrestricted exercise and enjoyment of their freedom. This assumption can scarcely claim to be historical fact. I f one d i d seriouslv want to make such a claim, i t w o u l d be difficult t o point t o such a state of nature that exists m the present or that existed sometime in the past. O n e can certainly point t o states of savagery, but they are connected w i t h raw passions and violent deeds; and, no matter h o w unrefined they a r e , they are connected w . t h social institutions that supposedly l i m i t freedom.
This
assumption is one of those nebulous pictures that theory produces, a representation that flows I necessarily f r o m i t , and t o which it then falselv
1830-1
W h e n w e find a state o f nature in empirical existence, it does indeed conform t o its concept. Freedom as the ideality of the immediate and natural does not exist as something immediate and natural but must rather first be acquired and attained t h r o u g h the endless mediation of discipline acting upon knowledge and w i l l . Thus the state of nature is rather a state o f injustice, of violence, of uncontrolled natural impulses, of inhuman deeds and emotions. There is of course a restriction imposed by society and the state, but this is a restriction of these dull-witted emotions and r a w impulses, and of preferences based on reflection t o o , as well as of the needs, choices, and fervor arising from cultural formation. These restrictions are p a n of the mediation by w h i c h the consciousness and the w i l l of freedom i n its true f o r m , that is, its rational and conceptúa f o r m , are first engendered. Freedom i n its concept is such that right and ethical life belong to it. The latter are, i n and o f themselves, universal essences, objects, and aims that are discovered by the activity of t h i n k i n g - a thinking that distinguishes itself f r o m and develops over against the realm of sense-and that i n t u r n must be given f o r m by and incorporated into the initially sensuous w i l l , indeed contrary t o that w i l l itself. To regard freedom i n a purely formal and subjective sense, abstracted f r o m its absolutely essential obiects and aims is a perennial misunderstanding; f o r i t means that the drives desires, and passions that belong t o particular individuals become p a n of the content of freedom, 1 [their] choices and p r e f e r e n c e
1
taken as a restriction o f freedom. O n the contrary, such a restriction is the absolute c o n d i t i o n f r o m w h i c h liberation proceeds, and society and the state instead provide the condition in which freedom is actualized. We must mention a second representation that generally inhibits the development o f right into a legal f o r m , namely, patriarchy
ascnbes an existence w i t h o u t any sort o f historical justification.
This condition « re¬
garded as providing, either for the whole [of humanity] o r at least or sotn o fts mdividual branches, the crcumstances in w h i c h mridical as wellas « h i c a and emotional elements [ o f life] are satisfied; and only i n con.uncuo w i t «
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MANUSCRIPTS OF T H E I N T R O D U C T I O N
I N T R O D U C T I O N , 1 830-1
who initially axe in the state o i nature described above. Thus they live in a unity of feeling, in love, trust, and faith t o w a r d one another. I n love an individual finds his o w n consciousness in the consciousness of the other and is divested of himself; i n this mutual divestment | each i n d i v i d u a l gains not only the other but also himself as he is at one w i t h the other. The [family's] further interests [arising] f r o m the needs and external concerns of life, as well as its internal structure i n respect t o raising c h i l d r e n , constitute a common purpose. The spirit of the family—the Penates—is just as substantial a being as the spirit of a people w i t h i n the state; and ethical life consists in both cases in a [common] feeling, consciousness, a n d v o l i t i o n , not in individual personalities and interests. But i n the family this unity is essennally one of feeling and remains w i t h i n a natural mode. The piety of the family is something to be most highly respected by the state, for by means of it, i t has m its cmzens individuals w h o already are intrinsically ethical (which as persons they are not), and w h o bring t o the state a genuine f o u n d a t i o n in their feeling of being at one w i t h a whole.
and i f each i n d i v i d u a l ought to assent t o everything that takes place by and for the state, then i n the strict sense there is no constitution. O n l y t w o things w o u l d be needed: first, a central body without a w i l l of its own, which w o u l d take note of w h a t appeared t o it to be the needs of the state and make its o p i n i o n k n o w n ; then a mechanism for calling together the indiv.duals. recording their votes, and performing the arithmetical operation of counting and comparing the number of votes in favor of various proposmons, at w h i c h p o i n t the decision w o u l d already have been taken.
But the expansion of the family into a patriarchal unit transcends rhe ties of blood relanonship, which is the natural aspect of its foundation, and beyond which mdividuals must assume the status of [independent] personhood. lo examine the patriarchal condition in its w i d e r scope w o u l d lead especially t o the consideration of the f o r m of theocracy, for the head of the patnarchal clan » | its priest. When the fam.ly is n o t yet separated f r o m society and the state, then religion too is not yet set apart f r o m society, and rehgmns p.ery .tself has not yet become an inwardness of feeling."... a
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The state itself is an abstraction, which itself has only a universal reality in its citizens; but i t is actual, and its merely universal existence must become specific in the f o r m of individual volition and activity. The need arises for some sort of government and political a d m i n i s t r a t i o n ; there is a need for selecnng and singling out those t o be heavily occupied w i t h the affairs of state, t o make decisions and determine how they are t o be executed, and to instruct the citizens w h o are t o put them into practice. If, for example, i n a democracy a people chooses [to go to] war, a general must still be put in command to conduct the war. The state as an abstraction comes t o life and actuality i n the first instance by means of the constitution; but as it does so a difference anses between ruler and ruled, between command and obedience. | Obedience, however, seems t o be incompatible w i t h freedom; and command seems to do the very opposite of w h a t is required by the foundation of the state, by the concept of freedom. If sometimes the distinction between command and obedience is necessary because the maner could not be < * « i w i s e - « i d * » appears t o be a necessity that is merely external to freedom, abstractly denned and indeed i n conflict w i t h i t - t h e arrangement at least must be such that the m i n i m u m o f obedience is required of citizens, and the m i n i m u m of arbitranness is allowed t o those i n command. The content of what i t is c o m m a n d should be the m a m thing that is determined and decided by the people i n accord w i t h the w i l l of many or of all i n d i v i d u a l s - a l m o u g h the state as an actuality, as an individual unity, must have vigor and 65
The foremost feature is the distinction between ruler and ruled, and constitutions have rightly been class-fied on the whole as " ^ " " ^ racy, a n d democracy. It should be noted, however, («1 that i n a o i t i n c t i o n must be made between despotism and ^ ( f l that i n all classifications derived f r o m the concept only * ^ ™ * l u r e is emphasized. This does not mean that this very shape, anety o k i n d is said t o be exhausted in its concrete application, but tather that n
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M A N U S C R I P T S OF T H E I N T R O D U C T I O N
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admits of a number of particular modifications, not o n l y i n terms of general arrangements i n themselves as such, but also of the sort that blend several of these essential arrangements, but which are accordingly amorphous, unsustainable, and inconsistent configurations. This clash of features raises the question, therefore, as to which is the best constitution, that is, by w h i c h arrangement, organization, or mechanism o f political power the purpose of I the state can be most securely attained. This purpose can certainly be understood i n different ways, for example, as the peaceful enjoyment of civic life or as universal happiness. Such purposes have given rise to the so-called ideal o f political regimes, especially the ideal of the education of princes (Fénelon), or of rulers generally, the anstocracy (Plato).* Here the chief concern ,s w i t h the character of those who govern the state, and no thought at a l l is given to the ideal f o r m of the organic insmunons of the state. The quesrion about the best c o n s t i t u t i o n is often treated as though not only the theory about i t a matter of s u b j e c t s and treedehberation, but also the actual introduction o f w h a t is recognized b m a ) 2TJ11" * a consequence of such a w h o l l y a T h o n ^ ' T ^ 5 ° « > ™ i o n could be a matter of 6
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in a monarchical f o r m o f government, for example Lafayene,* have not contradicted such a v i e w o r have subscribed t o i t . But they have seen that such a constitution, even though it may be the best, in actuality cannot be introduced everywhere, a n d that, because humans are what they are, one must make d o w i t h a lesser degree of freedom. As a consequence, under these I circumstances and i n light of the m o r a l condition of the people, the monarchical c o n s t i t u t i o n m a y be the wiosi workable one. From this perspective the necessity of a specific constitution is made to depend on conditions that are merely external and contingent. A representation of this kind is based on h o w the reflective understanding (Verstandes-Refiexion) separates concept and reality because it holds only to an abstract and therefore untrue concept and does not grasp the idea, or, w h a t amounts to the same thing i n content if not i n f o r m , does n o t have a concrete intuition of a people and a state. I t has alreadv been r e m a r k e d that the constitution of a people forms one substance and one spirit w i t h its religion, w i t h its art and philosophy, or at least w i t h the representations and conceptions of its culture generally—not to mention a d d i t i o n a l external factors such as its climate, its neighbors, and its position i n the w o r l d at large. A state is an individual totality from which a particular aspect, even a highly important one such as a constitution, may not be abstracted a n d isolated, considered solely for itself on its o w n terms. N o t only is the c o n s t . t u t . o n i n w a r d l y connected w i t h and dependent on the other spiritual powers, but also the specific f o r m of the entire spiritual individuality [of a state] w i t h a l l of its powers is merely one moment i n the history o l the whole.Thecour e[ofworldhistoryasawhole]predeternuneswhatg.vestoa 15
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1830-1
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I N T R O D U C T I O N , 1 830-1
M A N U S C R I P T S OF T H E I N T R O D U C T I O N
condition. Changes in nature, no matter h o w | diverse they are, exhibit only an eternally recurring cycle. In nature there is n o t h i n g new under the sun, and in this respect the manifold play o f its shapes carries on in wearisome fashion. Something new emerges o n l y through the changes that take
unchangeable principle, f r o m a simple essence whose existence as a germ is at first likewise simple but then brings distinctions forth from itself into determinate being. These distinctive features engage w i t h other things and thereby undergo a process of change; but this is a process that continuously
place in the spiritual realm. Purely natural things have one and the same
reverts t o its opposite and instead maintains the organic principle and its
quality, an always stable character, i n t o w h i c h all changes r e t u r n and w i t h i n
configurations intact. Thus the organic individual produces itself; it makes
which they are subject to it. The phenomenon o f the spiritual as it appears in
itself i n t o w h a t i t is i n itself. Spirit t o o is simply what makes itself; it makes
humans shows an altogether different character—an
actual capacity for
itself i n t o w h a t i t is inherently. But the development of the organic individual
change, indeed, as has been said, a change i n the direction of completion,
is such t h a t i t produces itself i n an immediate, unopposed, and unhindered
an impulse of perfectibility.
fashion; n o t h i n g can intrude between the concept and its realization
This principle, w h i c h makes change itself i n t o a
[basic] precept, has been grievously attacked by religions such as the Catho-
between the i m p l i c i t l y determined nature of the germ and the adequacy of
lic and also by states that claim i t to be their true right t o be static or at least
its existence t o its nature.
stable. While mutability is generally acknowledged w i t h regard t o w o r l d l y
W i t h spirit, however, it is otherwise. The transition of its I determinate
things such as states, an exception is made i n the case o f r e l i g i o n , as the
nature i n t o its actual existence is mediated by consciousness and w i l l . The
religion of truth. Moreover, it is possible t o ascribe changes, revolutions, and
latter are at first immersed i n their immediate natural life; their object and
the destruction o f legitimate rights panly t o contingencies and misfortunes
purpose are at first their natural determination as such. Because i t is spirit
but pnncipally to the frivolity, c o r r u p t i o n , and evil passions o f human
that animates t h e m , consciousness and w i l l [consist] of infinite demands,
beings. Perfectibility is i n fact something almost as indeterminate as change
strength, and w e a l t h . So spirit i n itself is opposed to itself; i t has t o overcome
itself; it is without aim and end; that t o w a r d w h i c h i t supposedly tends, the
itself as the genuine and hostile hindrance to its purpose. Development,
better and the perfect, is completely unspecified.
w h i c h as such is a peaceful procedure because i n its expression i t remains
The principle of development
has a further aspect: there is at its basis an
mner determ.nauon, an implicit
presupposition, that it brings i n t o exis-
tence. | This forma) determination is an essential one: the spirit whose meater, property, and field of actualization is w o r l d history is n o t one that onrts about ir.the external play of contingencies bur i s r a t h e r a s p i n t t h a t is in iteelr the absolutely determining [power]; its o w n distinctive determinan t * stands firmly against contingencies, w h i c h it makes use of and governs Uor its o w n purposes]. But natural organisms are also capable o f development Their existence is not simply an immediate one that can be altered only by external
influences;
rather it proceeds f r o m
its o w n inner
simultaneously equivalent t o and w i t h i n itself, is, w i t h i n spirit, i n a hard and ceaseless conflict w i t h itself. Spirit wants t o attain t o its o w n concept, but it conceals itself f r o m it and is proud and full of satisfaction i n its alienation ^ [ S p i r i t u a l ] development, therefore, is n o . just a
and a»nflicj free
process of e m e r g e n c e , a s i n o ^ directed t o itself; moreover, it involves not merely the formal aspect of developing as such but rather the producnon of a purpose or end w . d i a specific « » « 0 * . We have established f r o m the beginning
^
•s spirit, a n d indeed spirit in accord w i t h its essence, the concept of freedom. This is he fundamental object and thus also the driving principle of d e ^ opment. Such an object is that f r o m w h i c h development derives K . m e a n n and significance; so for example i n R o m a n history Rome is the
whkh is the bagmen, 'C. C ^ T j ^ S J , ^ ^ °" ' " "» > ° of the fit,] J ^ ^ ^ T ^
Schlrgd. the Abbe represer.ut.ves of French R ^ Z n v '° ^hotiaue |see below, nn. 77-5»-all based on the manuscnm. „i. , s u g g e s t s a motive f planning a publication m l l S t
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the principle of development fcTwilr i ""H*** ' * phik«ophv o f h.stor) and Whelm „nd Karl Hegel Ttn Z S r ^ ' " ^ ^ b e n e und das Gespr^chene: 44 (Hamburg. Felix Meiner V«lag,7oOT t p ^ o T ^ Hegel ^.en. re atln
u b e r
108
t 0
f r o m this object, deriving their meaning from their relationship to ,t and
ftiea
n a m
.he R e s t o r e ^
guides the consideration of events, while the events ,n t u r n p oceed onb
, h e
having their substance i n i t . I n w o r l d history there have been several great I * ™ * that came t o an end w i t h o u t any apparent ^ ' "
ail the vast accomplishments
^
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A™ |™>ment ' ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ P
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made i t necessary t o start over f r o m the begmning i n order t o regain 109
^ w
184
INTRODUCTION,
MANUSCRIPTS O f T H E I N T R O D U C T I O N
some help perhaps from salvaged fragments of past treasures and w i t h a renewed and immeasurable expenditure of energy | a n d time, of crimes and suffering—one of the domains of past culture that was mastered long ago. A t the same time there have been enduring developments, fertile and expansive structures and systems of culture w i t h their distinctive elements. T h e formal principle of development as such can neither assign superiority t o one [ f o r m of culture) over another nor make intelligible the purpose behind the destruction of earlier periods of development. Rather it must regard such progressions, and i n particular the retrogressions they include, as outwardly chance occurrences; and it can only evaluate the merits (of a culture] by employing indeterminate criteria that are relative and not absolute ends, since the development is what finally matters.
1830-1
substance as something implicit, as the purpose and goal that i t attains only as a r c s u l t - a result that is only then its actuality. Thus in existence the progression appears as one f r o m incompleteness to completion, although the former is t o be understood not merely i n the abstraction of incompleteness but rather as something that contains w i t h i n itself its opposite, the would-be completion, as a germ or drive; just as possibility, at least for a reflective way of t h i n k i n g , indicates something that ought to be actual, and, more Precisely, just as the Aristotelian dynamts is also potentia,
energy and power.
Thus
incompleteness, w h i c h contains its o w n opposite w i t h i n itself, is a contrad i c t i o n ; i t indeed exists but just as surely is sublated and resolved It is the drive, the impulse of spiritual life w i t h i n itself t o break through the bond, the rind of natural and sensuous life, of whatever is alien to i t , and t o come t o the light of consciousness, that is, to itself.
b. The Stages of Development ' 7
World history accordingly presents the stages of development of the principle whose content is the consciousness of freedom. This development has stages not only because it [occurs through] the mediation of spirit w i t h itself rather than in spirit's immediacy, but also because i t is i n w a r d l y differentiated into components or differences of spirit w i t h i n itself. The more precise determination of these stages is i n its general nature logical, but i n its more concrete nature i t is provided by the philosophy of s p i r i t . The abstract f o r m
Zi S »™mediacy, and, as already mentioned, i n i t spirit remains immersed i n the 13868
3 d d U C e d
K e r e
s i m p , y
a s
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first
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natural state , n which it exists i n a condition of unfree singularity (one
is
ee . in the second stage spirit emerges into the consciousness of its freedom, f
ut tins hrst breaking loose is incomplete and partial (some are free) because rt^nat«fromih i Ji« e miIlef
, of the natural state, is related t o i t , and is
y
^1 encumbered w i t h i t as a moment. I n the third stage spirit is elevated out hrin„
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In connection w i t h the n o t i o n of a state of nature in which freedom and justice are, or were, supposedly present in perfect f o r m , we have already remarked i n general terms h o w the beginning of the history o spirit must be comprehended i n terms of the concept. However, the historical ex.stence of a state o f nature was only an assumption made in the feeble light of hypothesizing reflection. | A pretension of a quite different s o r t - t h a n s , an assumpt i o n put f o r w a r d on the basis not of thought but rather of a historical fact, and indeed one based on a higher a t t e s t a t i o n - i s made by another nonon that is prevalent today i n certain circles. I t is that of an original paradis ac human c o n d i t i o n , a notion that earlier was elaborate^by theologian,un the r o w n fashion ( f o r example, that God conversed w i t h A d a m i n Hebrew and that ,s taken up aga.n but adapted to suit other « * » « ™ f j « authority t o w h i c h appeal is initially made is that of the biblical a n a m ^ But this narrarive presents the primitive condition only m its ^ w e l l - k n o w n parameters, i n part, however, w i t h various adaptations m regard t o the
n f i
" »^ P .° ^J. l .^t v , w h i c h e
- 4 . h , s ^ « ^ ^ dynam* by refernng especially to Aristotle, Metaphysics H i m l
n
0
pp. 7 6 Í - 6 1 . "5. This heading is editorial. „f ,he divine origin of language. Set, "6. Hegel apparently » alluding here to ** *>£™ „ 3 dTerste Splche éren , m o n oihers, johann Peter S u t l e r , ^ ^ ^ ^ u T h a b e ^ , 176*1. Hegel Ursprungnid* vonMenscben, * ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ * « f r W Herder, Abhandlung would have been famihar w,th dus * " ' ° " ^^^dutTwerke, ed. Ikmhard Suphan, v uber den Vrsprung der Iprache iBerl.n. 17721 ^ ^ ' . ^ V a n d especial I v C a b b a l a • Berlm, 1 8 9 * 1-155». Hegel ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ i-Hebnw. speculations about Adam's possession of complete knowledge an g
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73. The heading is editorial; the 110
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stages are the fundamore precisely w i t h i n
f
—
c. The Beginning of W o r l d H i s t o r y
manuscript reads 'b\
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111
INTRODUCTION,
MANUSCRIPTS OF T H E I N T R O D U C T I O N
human being as such (taking i t as universal human nature), or, insofar as Adam is taken as a single individual, as t w o in this one i n d i v i d u a l — o r as only present and complete in a single human couple. T h e biblical account does not justify our imagining that a people a n d its historical c o n d i t i o n actuallyexisted i n that primitive shape, still less that i t had developed a pure k n o w l edge of God and nature. Nature, so the fiction runs, 'originally lay open and transparent like a bright mirror of God's creation before the clear eye of humans', and the divine t r u t h was equally open t o t h e m . I t is also hinted, although in an indefinite and obscure fashion, that i n this primitive condition humanity was in possession of a specific | and already extensive knowledge of religious truths, which indeed were directly revealed by G o d . A l l religions had their historical origin i n this c o n d i t i o n , b u t at the same time they adulterated and concealed the original t r u t h w i t h products o l error and depravity. In all o f the erroneous mythologies, however, traces o f t h a t origin and o f the first teachings of religious t r u t h are present and discernible. Thus the study of the history of ancient peoples gains its essential interest f r o m tallowing back to the point where such fragments o f the o r i g i n a l revealed knowledge can soil be encountered in their greater p u r i t y . * We owe very 77
1830-1
much that is valuable t o the interest | [that has produced] this research, but ie» the latter directly belies itself because i t sets out to prove by historical methods w h a t i t has presupposed to exist historically. Neither that [advanced] state o f the knowledge o f G o d , or of other scientific, for example, astronomical, i n f o r m a t i o n , such as astronomers themselves, including Baillv,* have fancifully attributed t o the Indians, nor the assumption that such'a state prevailed at the beginning o f I w o r l d history or that the reh- 1 » gions o f the peoples were derived f r o m it by tradition and subsequently developed b y a process o f degeneration and deterioration, as is claimed by the crudely conceived so-called system of emanation—none of these 0
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pra.seworthy invesagaDons into Chinese and thence into Mongolian literature, could, into Tibetan literature. And Baron von Eckstein, in his own fashion _ wrtb the he p ol superficial nouons and mannerisms borrowed from German natural p h - l ^ T Frlednch von Schlegel, which, although more ingenious than those of Schiegd, ™ve«h« it ^ - e n corwruss.oned ^ « » £ Onen, , o discover at las. sttll hidden treasures with the hope of ohta.ning further regardmg more profonnd doctrines and espec.ally on ^ « ^ " ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ 5 1 " F ^ h i s m - t h e r e b y furthering the cause of Catholicism by tlus circuitous but for scholars f
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INTRODUCTION.
1830-1
tribes that scarcely f o r m a sociery, much less a state, but that have Jong been k n o w n t o exist; and w i t h others, although i t is primarily their advanced condition that interests us, their traditions extend back before the history
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t t i s
relationship funher.
But Hegel's designation of the time when ihis discovery was made, a good twenty years prior to the lectures of 1830-1, corresponds precisely with the publication in 1808 ol Schlegel's Sprache und Weisheit der Indier. At the very beginning of his essay Schlegel thematizes this relationship; see KFSA viii. I I S . 115
193
INTRODUCTION,
M A N U S C R I P T S OF T H E I N T R O D U C T I O N
general and universally valid directives. I t thereby creates a discourse [of its own development!, and an interest in intelligible, i n w a r d l y determinate, and—in their results—enduring deeds and events, ones on w h i c h Mnemosyne, for the benefit of the perennial a i m that underlies the present configuration and constitution of the state, is impelled to confer a lasting memory. All deeper feelings such as love, as well as religious i n t u i t i o n and its forms, are wholly present and satisfying i n themselves; but the external existence of the state, w i t h its rational laws and customs, is an incomplete present, the understanding of which calls for incorporating the awareness of its past (history]. Those periods—whether we estimate them i n centuries or m i l l e n n i a — that elapsed i n the life of peoples before history came to be w r i t t e n , and that may well have been filled w i t h revolutions, migrations, and the most t u r b u lent changes, have no objective history because they have no subjective history, no historical narratives. It is not that narratives of such periods | have simply perished by chance; on the contrary, the reason w h y w e have no such narratives is that none such were possible. It is only w i t h i n a state that is conscious of its laws that clearly defined actions can take place, accompanied by that clear awareness of them that makes it possible and necessary t o preserve them in this way. I t is obvious t o anyone w h o begins t o be familiar with the treasures of Indian literature that this country, so rich i n spiritual achievements of a truly profound quality, nevenheless has no history. I n this respect, it at once stands out i n stark contrast t o C h i n a , an empire that possesses a most remarkable and detailed historical narrative g o i n g back t o the earliest tunes. India has not [only] ancient religious books a n d splendid works of poetry but also ancient books of l a w ,
something already men-
82
tioned as a prerequisite for the formation of history, and yet it has no history, nut i n this country the original organization that created social distinctions i u
^
S t
°
n e
3 8
determinations (the castes), so
n a t U r a l
H i ! SA f right*, they make these ngh s dependent on distinctions imposed by nature, and they spec.fy, above alk he posmon (m terms of injustices more than of rights) o f these classes ZZt , ^ 1 T r 1 " ° ^ 'he lower. The ethical W
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e
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t h e
f
c l v i l
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o
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i
t h e
G vTn h i T ? " ° its realms. Given this bondage to an order based firmly and permanently o n nature, y
e d
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*S Menu (Calcutta, 17HV
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1830-1
all social relations involve a w i l d arbitrariness, ephemeral impulses, or rarher frenzies, w i t h o u t any purposeful progress and development. Thus, no t h o u g h t f u l memory, no object for Mnemosyne presents itself, and a deep but desolate fantasy drifts over a region that ought to have had a fixed purpose—a purpose rooted i n actuality and in subjective yet substantial (i.e. implicitly rational) freedom | — a n d thereby ought to have rendered itself capable of history. As such a precondition for history, what happened is that so rich and immeasurable a w o r k as the g r o w t h of families into tribes and of tribes into peoples—which have then expanded because of this increase, resulting presumably i n many complications, wars, revolutions, and declines—only transpired w i t h o u t giving rise to history; and what is more, that the concomitant expansion and development of the realm of speech itself remained mute, t a k i n g place inaudibly and furtively. The evidence f r o m monuments is that ihe languages spoken by uncivilized peoples have attained a high degree of development, and that the understanding has cast itself meaningfully, expansively, and fully i n t o this theoretical region. A n extensive and consistent grammar is the w o r k of thinking, and its categories are apparent in i t . Further evidence indicates that, w i t h the progressive civilization of society and the state, this systematic completeness of the understanding gradually erodes, and language thereupon becomes poorer and less refined—a peculiar phenomenon i n that a progression that is inwardly spiritual and that promotes and cultivates rationality allows intellectual elaboration and precision t o tall into neglect, finds it t o be confining, and dispenses w i t h it. Unguage is the activity ot the theoretical intelligence i n the proper sense, for i t is the outward expression of i t . Apart f r o m language, the activities of memory and fantasy are only just uiner manifestanons. But thiswhole theoretical acnvity, together w i t h its further development and the more concrete process that accompanies i t - d i e dissem.nat.on of peoples, their separation from one another, their interminglings and their migrations-remains buried in the obscurity ot a voiceless past; these are not acts of a will becoming conscious of itself, of a freedom giving itself another sort of exterionty I and a proper actual.ty. Since they d o not partake ot this true element, all such changes, r e g a r d ! ^ of the language development they cultivate, have not anamed t<, b s t o r y The precocious development of language and the progress and nations have first acquired their significance and interest for « ^ partly as they bear upon states, and p a r r i , as they themselves begin to form
a n d
or. The Ordinances of
3
After these remarks that have concerned the form taken by the b e ^ m ,
of w o r l d rnstory and the prehistory that lies outs.de . t , we must now md.cate 117
195
196
INTRODUCTION,
M A N U S C R I P T S OF T H E I N T R O D U C T I O N
more precisely the manner of its course [of development)—but for the present only i n its formal aspects; the further determination of its concrete content is the task of the division of topics. d. The Course of Development of World H i s t o r y
8 3
It [world history], as we have indicated e a r l i e r , presents the development of spirit's consciousness of its freedom and of the actualization produced by such consciousness. This development is o f itself a sequence of stages—a series of successive determinations of freedom that proceed from the concept of the matter, which i n this case is the nature of freedom as it becomes conscious of itself. The logical and even more the dialectical nature of the concept as such, i.e. the fact that it determines itself, posits determinations within itself and then sublates them, thereby attaining an affirmative, richer, and more concrete determination—this necessity, and the necessary series of pure and abstract conceptual determinations, are made k n o w n in philoso phy. Here we need only indicate that each stage, since i t is different f r o m the others, has its o w n peculiar determinate principle. I n history, such a principle constttutes the determinate characteristic of the spirit of a people. This principle concretely expresses every aspect of a people's consciousness and wi l , of its entire actuality; it i the c o m m o n feature of its r e l i g i o n , its polittcal institutions, its ethical life, | ,ts system of justice, its customs, as well as of ,ts science, art, and technical skill, and the direction of its industry. 84
s
197
nese special characteristics are to be understood in terms of the general characteristic, the particular principle of a people, just as vice versa this general particulanty can be found , the factual detail that historv sets be ore us The question as to whether a specific p a r t i c u l a n t y in fact consti tutes the distinctive principle of a people is one that can only be approached empirically and demonstrated by historical means. n
fJ i V ^ - l S . * " ' ' " abstraction a i d a t h o r o u g h tamilianty w i t h ideas are both necessary. One must, so t o speak, be familiar t r a i n C d
C a p a c i t
f o r
n a n ^ ^ ° ' P W « * i«* ^ Kepler-to a ono w T ' l , ° ' ^ ° c o g n i t i o n - h a d to be acquainted concern n 1 ^ " ^ d w i t h the conceptions concerning their relafons before he could discover his i m m o r t a l laws f r o m C
X
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m
f
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t h
t h e
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l e s
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S3 The repots ^ ^ ^ i ^ l ^ ^ ^ ^ i ^ ^ ™8 ^ ^dtgesdricbuV. I . thu, uWe.pMlOVWthavedes.enaicd;,: (above, p. lG7 overlooks its prev.ous V world history (ahove, p. 111) * separate section 'c' the discussion of the beginning o i 84. See above, pp. 87-9. (G
t
118
1830-1
the empirical d a t a ; and the laws consist of definitions drawn from the indicated sphere of representations. Anyone w h o approaches such data w i t h o u t a knowledge of these elementary general definitions, however long he may contemplate the heavens and the movements of the celestial bodies, can no more understand these laws than he could hope t o formulate them himself This unfamiliarity w i t h conceptions concerning the self-developing shape of freedom (sich enttvickelnden Gestaltens der Freiheit) is partly responsible f o r the objections to a philosophical consideration of a science (history] that usually confines itself to empirical m a t t e r s ^ b j e c r i o n s t o its so-called a prior, character and its importation of ideas into the (historical) material. Such thought-determinations or categories then appear t o be something alien, not present in the object. To a subjectively cultivated m i n d that is unfamiliar w i t h thoughts and unaccustomed to using them, | the categories d o indeed appear alien and do not reside in the representation and understanding that have such a limited a view of the ob,ect. It is this that has given rise to the saying that philosophy does not understand \ntcht verstehe) such sciences. Philosophy must indeed admit that it does not have the k i n d of understanding (Verstand) that prevails i n those sciences,.e. that it doesnot proceedaccordmgtothecategor.es of such an understanding but according t o the categories of reason ( V ™ / i > - a l t h o u g h .t is acquainted w i t h the understanding and w i t h its value and position. In the procedure ot scientific understanding, it is likew.se the case that the essenml must be separated f r o m the so-called nonessential and clearly distinguished from i t . But this is impossible unless we know what is essential; and when world (ustorv as a w h o l e * t o be considered, the essential, as we indicated earlier,- ,s p r e c ^ b the consciousness of freedom and the determinate phases i n its development. Onentation t o these categories is onentation to the ^ . 85
t
s
m
l
Some of the instances of the more direct k i n d of £ £ comprehension of a determinate ob,ect in its universal a s p e c n a n u s £ U y b * traced to an inability t o grasp and understand ideas I f , m n n , a ! h i t o r y some monstrous and abnormal specimen or mongre ,s citedas an n a against clear.v defined species and classes, we can rightly reph/ w> h that , often used i n an imprecise sense, that the exception ?J namely, that the rule includes the particular cond.t.ons under w k h appl J ; or that deficiency and hybridism occur m deviations from v
. o h ^ K e p l e , ^
Commentary on the Motions of Mars Ii609).and h,s th.rd law (1619). 86. See above, pp. 87-8. 119
196
INTRODUCTION,
M A N U S C R I P T S OF T H E I N T R O D U C T I O N
1830-1
norm. Nature is not strong enough | t o preserve its general classes and species from other elemental factors and agencies. But, [althoughj the constitution {Organisation) of the human being, for example, is comprehended in its concrete configuration, and the b r a i n , the heart, and the like are specified as essential ingredients of its organic life, it is possible t o adduce some wretched monster or freak that possesses a h u m a n shape i n general or in part, and that has even been conceived i n a human body, gestated there, been born from i t , and drawn breath f r o m i t , but which lacks a brain o r heart. I f such a specimen is quoted as a counterexample t o the defining properties of an actual human constitution, then all we are left w i t h is the abstract w o r d 'human being' and its superficial d e f i n i t i o n , f r o m w h i c h the representation of a concrete and actual human being is o f course quite different: the latter must have a brain i n its head and a heart in its breast.
Spinozistic system;** and since it also expresses itself in abstract numbers and lines, some have claimed to detect Pythagorean philosophy or even Christian dogma i n i t . Examples of bravery, indefatigable courage, qualities of magnanimity, self-denial and self-sacrifice, ere, which are encountered in the most savage and the most faint-hearted of nations, are deemed sufficient for the view that there is as much and even more ethical life and morality in such nations as in the most civilized Christian states, and so on. I n this regard, some have seen fit to doubt whether human beings have become better with the progress of history and of culture in general, and whether their morality has increased— the assumption being that morality depends on subjective intentions and opinions, on w h a t the agent considers legal or criminal, | good or evil, and 201 not on w h a t is considered to be legal and good or criminal and evil in and for itself or i n terms of a particular religion that is regarded as true.
A similar situation arises when it is rightly maintained that genius, talent, moral virtues, moral sentiments, and piety can be encountered in every region, under all constitutions, and in all political circumstances; a n d there is no lack of examples to prove this assertion. B u t i f this means that the distinctions that arise out of the self-consciousness o f freedom are u n i m p o r tant or nonessential in relation to the above-mentioned qualities, then [ w i t h such a view] reflection remains tied t o abstract categories and waives any claim to determinate content because they provide no principle f o r i t .
Here we can spare ourselves f r o m illumining the formalism and error of such attitudes, and f r o m establishing the true principles o f morality, or rather of ethical life, in opposition t o false morality. For world history moves on a higher plane than that to which morality belongs: the proper sphere of the latter is that of private conviction, the conscience of individuals, and their o w n w i l l and mode o f action; these have their value, i m p u t a t i o n , a n d r e w a r d or punishment on their o w n terms. Whatever is required a n d accomplished by the final end of spirit (an end that subsists ,n and for itself), and whatever providence does, transcends the duties liability, and expectation that attach to individuality by virtue of .ts ethical hte. I hose w h o , o n ethical grounds, and hence w i t h a nobler intention, have resisted w h a t the progress of the idea of the spirit necessitated, stand higher i n mora! w o r t h than those whose crimes may i n some higher order have been transformed i n t o means of putting the w i l l of this order into effect. When the
The culnvated standpoint that adopts such formal points of v i e w affords unlimited scope for ingenious questions, learned opinions, | striking comparisons, and seemingly profound reflections and declamations-ones that can become all the more brilliant the more they resort t o indefmiteness, and can be ever more perpetually refurbished and modified the less they achieve great results in their efforts or arrive at anything solid and rational. In this sense, we might compare the familiar Indian epic poems, if vou like, with those o f tiomer, and argue perhaps that, since the magnitude of fantasy is the test of poenc genius, they are supenor to the latter; in the same way, similarities between certain fanciful traits or attributes of the deities have led some t o
9 0
92
87
8«. He e, could be referring » * work by ^ ^ ^ ^ ¿ ^ 2 seinen verladenen Hauptformen, seinem Ursprung und Fortgange, seinem speculative* unä B
praktischen Werth und Gebalf, see i (Berlin, 1826), 3. „„„,-,;„„ ,0 a work b« % . In his Uctures on the Philosophy of Religion Hegel ^ ' ^ ^ ° Z ^ , Abel-Rerm-sat .hat he probably has ,n v,ew here as « I L See jean Piene Memoire sur la me et les opinions des Lao-Tseu (Pans, Mil, 9 ] , Hegel alludes here to a .heme ,ha, throogh * ~ u * 6 f remporle U discussed in the late Enbghienmem. See i ^ ' ^ ^ f ^ , ' ^ ^ ^ the second Prix ä rAcadenue de D„on (Geneva, n.d.l. But whether Hegel read the tust 0
2Jurf u i " ^ ° ^ « y w i t h those of I n d i a . " SuruWly, the philosophy of China, insofar as it takes the One as its bas.s, has been equated wnh what later appeared as the Eleanc philosophy or .he m
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best
120
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e x p e c M I O O
MANUSCRIPTS
202
OF T H E
INTRODUCTION,
INTRODUCTION
1830-1
rich and concrete content, and to designate i t by a single w o r d , as it is an act of thought to analyze it, to isolate [the qualities] contained in such a representation, and t o bestow particular names on them. A l l this [has t o be said] to avoid m a k i n g ill-defined and empty pronouncements on culture.
tables are turned in this way, however, b o t h groups are subject to ruin, and this is thus merely a formal k i n d of justice that is upheld by the defenders of legal justification—a justice already relinquished by the living spirit and by God. The deeds of the great human beings—who are the individuals of world history—thus appear justified not only i n the significance of w h a t they do unselfconsciously themselves, but also f r o m the standpoint of the [larger] w o r l d . But from the latter standpoint, demands must not be placed upon world-historical deeds and | their agents deriving f r o m m o r a l spheres thai are not pertinent. The litany of private virtues—modesty, humility, love of humanity, generosity, etc.—must n o t be raised against t h e m . World history might well disregard completely the sphere t o w h i c h morality and the much discussed and misunderstood dichotomy between m o r a l i t y and politics belong, not merely by refraining f r o m judgments—tor the principles o world history and the necessary relationship of actions t o these principles already constitute the j u d g m e n t - b u t also by ignoring individuals altogether and leaving them unmentioned; for w h a t it has to record are the deeds of the spints of the peoples, and the individual configurations that these deeds have assumed on the soil of external actuality could w e l l be left t o ordinary histonans.
But t o r e t u r n t o the view that originally occasioned these remarks, it is at least clear t h a t , just as reflection produces the universal conceptions of genius, talent, art, science, etc., and equally general observations about them, f o r m a l culture at every stage of spiritual configuration not only can but also must make its appearance, grow, and blossom out to the l u l l ; tor each such stage must develop itself i n t o a [political] state and, from this basis of civilization, advance t o reflective understanding and to forms of universal,^, b o t h i n laws and i n a l l other things. Political life as such necessarily involves f o r m a l culture and hence also the establishment of the sciences and ot a fully developed poetry and art i n general. Moreover, what we call the fine arts, indeed i n their technical aspects, require a civilized common lite ot human beings. Poetry, w h i c h has less need of external means and supports, and whose m e d i u m is the voice, the element produced immediately from spirit's existence, | emerges i n all its boldness and w i t h a highly developed power of expression even i n the circumstance where a people does not hv under a shared legal system; for as already r e m a r k e d , » » " ^ £ ^ '«« attains t o a high cultivation of the understanding outs.de the bounds of W
The same formalism as that found in morality makes use of the ill-defined aspects ot genius, poetry, and even philosophy, and finds these i n similar T
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the reflective understanding attacks all those sacred and P ^ J ^ X that were naively introduced into the religion laws and f ^ and debases and dilutes them into abstract and godless gene is then impelled t o become thinking reason, and to seek - ^ c o m p h s h o w n element the undoing of the destruction that -t Thus, m all world-histor.cal peoples, we do .ndeed e ^ ^ ^ J , a n , science, snd also ph.losophy. But these differ not only .„ then tone, sty! fin£
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204
INTRODUCTION,
MANUSCRIPTS O F T H E I N T R O D U C T I O N
and orientation as such, but even more i n their i m p o r t o r substance; and this substance involves the most important difference of all, that of rationality. It is pointless for a presumptuous aesthetic criticism t o insist that the subject matter, i.e. the substance of the content, should not determine o u r pleasure, and to argue that beauty of form as such, imaginative greatness, and the like. 205
are the aims of fine a n | and what must be taken i n t o consideration and appreciated by a liberal disposition and cultivated m i n d . I f the substance itself is insignificant, or w i l d and fantastic or absurd, a healthy c o m m o n sense cannot bring itself to set aside such features so as to derive enjoyment from such a work. For even i f one ranks the Indian epic poems as highly as Homer's on account of numerous formal qualities—greatness of invention and imagination, vividness of imagery and sentiments, beauty of diction, etc.—they nevenheless remain utterly different i n their content w i t h its substantial element, and i n the interest of reason, w h i c h simply concerns the consciousness of the concept of freedom and its expression i n individuals. There is not only a classical f o r m [of poetry] but also a classical content; moreover, f o r m and content are so intimately connected i n w o r k s of art that the form can only be classical insofar as the content is classical. I f the content is fanciful, not internally self-limiting, t h e n the f o r m becomes w i l d , measureless, and formless, or a w k w a r d and t r i v i a l . The rational element is what contains w i t h i n itself both measure a n d goal. 9 4
In the same way, it is possible to d r a w parallels between Chinese and Indian philosophy [on the one hand], and the Eleatic, Pythagorean, and Spinozistic philosophies, or even all of modern metaphysics [on the other], f o t a l l of them do indeed base themselves o n the One or on unity, the w h o l l y abstract universal. But such a comparison or indeed equivalence is h i g h l y superficial: , t overlooks the one factor o n which everything depends, the determ.nacy of the unity i n question; and this involves an essential distinction, whether the unity is to be understood in an abstract or i n a concrete sense-concrete t o the point of being unity in itself, which is spirit. Those who treat these as equivalent merely prove that they recognize onlv abstract unity; and although they pass judgment o n philosophies, they are ignorant of what consntutes the interest of philosophy. 206
But in all the diversity i n the substantial content of a culture there are also pheres that remam the same. This diversity concerns | thinking reason; freedom, whose selt-consciousness ,s this reason, has one and the same root
1830-1
as t h i n k i n g . Since, i n distinction f r o m animals, human beings alone think, they alone possess freedom, and they possess it solely because they are t h i n k i n g beings. Consciousness of freedom consists i n the fact that the individual comprehends himself as a person, i.e. sees himself i n his singular existence as inwardly universal, as capable of abstraction from and renunciation of everything particular, and therefore as inwardly infinite. A feature these substantial [cultural] differences have in common is spheres that accordingly lie outside this comprehension [of freedom]. Even m o r a l i t y , w h i c h is so closely connected w i t h the consciousness of freedom, can be quite pure while still lacking any such consciousness; for it may simply enunciate universal duties and rights as objective commandments, o r even as commandments that remain purely negative, by formally imposing a renunciation of the sensuous and of all sensuous motives. Since the Europeans have become acquainted w i t h Chinese morality and w i t h the w r i t i n g s of Confucius, it has received the highest praise and the most flattering acknowledgment of its merits f r o m those w h o are familiar w i t h Christian m o r a l i t y ; in the same way, the sublimity is acknowledged with w h i c h the Indian religion and poetry (of at least the higher sort}, and in particular the I n d i a n philosophy, express and require the removal and sacrifice of sensuous t h i n g s . Yet these t w o nations are lacking—indeed completely l a c k i n g — i n the essential self-consciousness of the concept of freedom. The Chinese l o o k on their moral rules as if they were laws of nature, positive external commandments, mandatory rights and duties, or rules of m u t u a l courtesy. | Freedom, through which the substantial determinations of reason can alone be translated i n t o ethical attitudes, is absent; m o r a l i t y is a political matter that is administered by government officials a n d courts of law. Their works on the subject are not books of legal statutes b u t are addressed t o the subjective w i l l and disposition. Similar to the moral w r i t i n g s of the Stoics, they read like a series of precepts that are supposed to 9 5
96
95. M a p r o m i n e n i e x a m p l e o f t h i s p r a i s e o f C h ^ ^ Stnarum phtlosophia practice (Frankfurt am Main, 1726). 96 Here as elsewhere, Hegel hesitates to assign to the Indian religion and poetrv the p r e d i ^ e of s u b t n h ' Èrhahenhe, whose proper place for h i - is found ,n the ^,,g.on a d P^etrv of Israel. See the contrast i n his Lectures on the ^ p h f K t ^ u . l X . . £ » M Z,n his Aesthetics: Lectures on fine Art, t , T. M . Knox (Oxford, 1 9 , , , 71 evaluation of Indian poetry as 'sublime', see Herder's preface to. a w o * £ « J £ oder Der EntMnde Ring: Em Indies 1803», pp. xxx-xxxviii, esp. xxxi (Johann ^ f ^ ^ ^ ^ l ^ a 1886). 577). See also SchkgeL Sprache und Wetshetl, l\*-\> < *.... Schlegel does not speak specifically of 'sublimity '. {
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^ M A N U S C R I P T S OF T H E I N T R O D U C T I O N
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consciousness, a spmrual and even physical s t a g n a t i o n .
LOOSE SHEETS
97
ALSO
SPECTACLES
OF ENDLESS
COMPLEXITIES
also spectacles of endless complexities - misery, misfortune, evil - transitoriness, only sorrow - displeasure, regret - l o o k i n g away w i t h dread 0fi - } this appearance combines need and passion - means - realm o f contingency providence, means - if the passions surrendered - badly ordered w i t h the execution w h i c h connection between final end and means thus represent - insight [into] the universal - a) universal final end - not completed for itself /S) t h r o u g h human beings - activity - abstract law need, passion, interest - as lis subjective end - interest attaining, w i l l i n g only its end jS> virtue, morality a) absolute right of w o r l d spirit $) realm of contingency if w e thus as means - spectacle of the w o r l d I - absolute final end - morality, virtue - perish in particular spheres if its right conflict, destruction falls into these particular {spheres} this activity in general the inner means for the end conjunction of an end w i t h the activity i n the interest o f the subject so universal final end - reason w i t h activity interest of human beings - but distinction of consciousness from it - and unconsciousness here inasmuch as we believe, reason rules the w o r l d - it i n the deeds of human beings, although unconsciously - that through their actions something else is accomplished at the same time - comes forth as they k n o w and w i l l immediately - still more is i n i t - they have their particular end, their interest different example i n one [instance] - arson that k i l l s - follows only justified revenge ~ good intention - - but at the same time crime - misfortune of a city - human beings
12«
127
209
MANUSCRIPTS
OFTHE
L O O S E SHEETS
INTRODUCTION
y) type of connection
external nexus
mole - aa) as a totality -
cunning of reason so we must envisage [it] for ourselves as such - the connection n o t made conceptually - the more particular end i n it a universal determination but the singular, external - connected w i t h the inner, universal - this the action - crime - the universal determination [of] character and punishment, unintentional or unselfconsciously righteous, virtuous - does n o t k n o w that it virtuous - knows morally; this knowledge - removes at least half of v i r t u e - a closer | example f r o m history - Caesar master over his [political] enemies, alongside whom he could no longer exist - but his personal enemies connection w i t h the Senate - fights them i n the process o f m a k i n g himself the sole ruler of Rome - but inwardly, inherently ~ n o t only makes himself secure but secures undivided sovereignty over Rome great human beings i n w o r l d history |
C
of peoples - series appears i n the w o r l d - sous terre,
COURSE
[OF WORLD
inner necessity, that existing so - geographical allotment of the natural determinacy whole they have not formed this needless development w i t h i n itself 0)3) i n history - only w h a t static among the developed states, Chinese,
- the former static, only presupposes itself, not an other not t u r n e d o u t w a r d beginning thereof Persians - against Greece revolutions, violence, intelligence, gradual improvement f r o m w i t h i n outward m the Prussian
HISTORY]
state, yet also 1806 and proceedings in France not u t i l i t y - but enjoyment of reason
come t o consciousness of w h a t it is in itself to its concept -
beginning w i t h formation of states
f o r m of beginning and prehistorical excluded philosophical consideration alone w o r t h y - i n accord w i t h t a k i n g up history where rationality begins t o appear i n w o r l d l y existence -
labor of spirit i n w o r l d history - perfectibility - development ff) w o r l d history portrays spirit's stages - easy, stages o f this consciousness - m e whole of w o r l d history employed t o tins end - t o enjoy a s p e c i f i c a t i o n familiar t o us the fact that the human being is free - already introduced ^^
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« » t o history likewise as natural detenrunacy - distinctiveness - (philosophy i n thoughts) a) deep beautiful sensation 0 -ses of world history - learn f r o m experience
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- principle of rest - unfreedom unrest of freedom - reflection is connecting w i t h the other
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where i t is still only a possibility
in itself-the
| not
in-itself here to histonca
existence - w h a t is rational in itself, t o k n o w this other philosophical sciences, unorganic, unconscious dullness o t mastery [whether] it be w i l d or tame, m i l d a condition i n w h i c h reason brings itself t o existence the [reason] of freedom, i.e., of good and evil and therewith of law society natural - ethical - family piety history res gesta, historia - where w i t h consciousness and deed history of state, and only here for the first time history even e « s t s language « its highest theoretical existence - forerunner - before will
2*
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0
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forms t o universality - self-conscious freedom to infinite content its existence presupposes (formed) society worth state
128
129
213
MANUSCRIPTS OF T H E I N T R O D U C T I O N
law, freedom, even religion has a universal object, thus law and freedom wants only such a universal object - condition will therefore the state opposition of the Indian and Chinese - the former no history, no forma2M tion of the state - | prehistory lies outside our specification the highest deed of intellect (outward expression of it) amazing aspect of development - it is itself no more recent history as such indwelling the pure theoretical ground of peoples - who resorted to their understanding; state, intelligence worthy of Mnemosyne Homer calls upon it in his lliad x
suppositions, inferences art no facta
memories, thoughts in the peoples first genuine interest - also outer universality of recollection and preservation loud talk insidiously silent
1. Hegel is apparently thinking here not so much of hie Iliad as of tlw first ten verses of the Odyssey (ti L V. Rieu, rev. D. C . R Riru (London, 2003», 3).
130
T H E LECTURES OF 1822-3
INTRODUCTION: THE CONCEPT OF WORLD HISTORY
T h e subject o f o u r lectures i s u n i v e r s a l w o r l d h i s t o r y . O u r c o n c e r n is w i t h w o r l d h i s t o r y i t s e l f , n o t w i t h r e f l e c t i o n s a b o u t i t ; i t is w i t h i t s o r i g i n a n d p r o g r e s s i o n , n o t w i t h h o w w e m i g h t c o n s i d e r i t as a set o f e x a m p l e s . W e w a n t t o g i v e a p r e l i m i n a r y r e p r e s e n t a t i o n o f w h a t t h e philosophical history o f t h e w o r l d is, a n d f o r this purpose w e shall explore t h e other c u s t o m a r y w a y s o f t r e a t i n g h i s t o r y . T h i s s u r v e y is o n l y a v e r y b r i e f o n e T h e t y p e s o f t r e a t m e n t a r e t h r e e i n n u m b e r : first, original h i s t o r y ( t h e w o r d ' h i s t o r y ' i n G e r m a n c o n t a i n s t h e d o u b l e m e a n i n g o f res gestae a n d t h e n a r r a t i o n o f t h e m ) ; second, 1
history.
reflective h i s t o r y ; a n d t h i r d ,
philosophical
2
THE
TYPES
OF TREATMENT
OF
HISTORY
Original History W r i t e r s s u c h as H e r o d o t u s a n d T h u c y d i d e s b e l o n g t o t h e first o r o r i g i n a l h i s t o r y . T h e y m e r e l y w r o t e d o w n t h e events t h a t t h e y e x p e r i e n c e d a n d d e s c r i b e d t h e deeds o f w h i c h t h e y w e r e a w a r e . These w r i t e r s , t h e r e f o r e , b e l o n g e d t o t h e s p i r i t o f t h e i r age; t h e y p a r t i c i p a t e d i n i t a n d described i t . W h a t t h e y a c c o m p l i s h e d w a s t o t r a n s p o s e w h a t t o o k place i n t o t h e r e a l m o f intellectual
| r e p r e s e n t a t i o n ; i n t h i s w a y , w h a t w a s a t first s o m e t h i n g a t
h a n d {ein Vorhandenes), Vorübergehendes),
s o m e t h i n g e x i s t e n t a n d t r a n s i t o r y (ein Seiettdes,
b e c a m e s o m e t h i n g r e p r e s e n t e d i n t e l l e c t u a l b / {geistig Vor¬
gestellten). T h e p o e t p r e p a r e s h i s m a t e r i a l for sensible m o r e t h a n f o r i n t e l l e c t u a l r e p r e s e n t a t i o n . W i t h h i m t h e m a i n w o r k is h i s o w n ; l i k e w i s e w i t h these h i s t o r i a n s . F o r s u c h w r i t e r s o f o r i g i n a l h i s t o r y , t h e r e p o r t s o f o t h e r s t h a t a r e a v a i l a b l e t o t h e m a r e a n i n g r e d i e n t , b u t these a r e s u b o r d i n a t e d , s u p p r e s s e d , a n d d i s p e r s e d ; f o r t h e m a i n w o r k (the masterpiece) is t h e w o r k o f t h e h i s t o r i a n h i m s e l f . These h i s t o r i a n s b r i n g t h i s p r i m a r y m a t e r i a l , w h i c h w a s t r a n s i t o r y a n d c o n s i s t e d of scattered m e m o r i e s , i n t o a firm a n d e n d u r i n g
1. The Germm word for 'history', Geschichte, is reiaud to lie veib geschehen, *to happen" or 'occur', and thus refers to 'things that happen' (res gestae^ but ft also, Hke the English means 'story'. 2. For the first two types compare the manuscript fragment of 1822, 1828.
word,
133
T H E LECTURES OF
INTRODUCTION
1832--1
representation; they link together what rushes past fleetingly a n d set i t up in the temple of Mnemosyne so that i t may be i m m o r t a l . Legends a n d f o l k songs must be excluded f r o m history, for they are but obscure means of establishing what has happened. They are the representations of peoples with an inherently d i m awareness, and for that reason such peoples are excluded from w o r l d history. I n w o r l d history we have principally to do with peoples who knew what they were and what they desired—peoples who were thoroughly cultivated. Poems d o not belong here either because they lack historical rruth; they do not have as their content determinate actuality. They are not the concern of a people that has arrived at a f i r m identity and a developed individuality. A people first belongs to history when it possesses a determinate consciousness, a personality. The history of a people properly begins w i t h the formation of its consciousness. 3
The original historians transplant the events that were contemporaneous to them f r o m the soil of the past onto a better soil, that of a stable representation, and such is the distinctive character of their w o r k . | Such a history' cannot be very extensive because its material consists of w h a t the historian has to some extent participated i n , experienced, or at any event been contemporaneous w i t h . Such perceptions (Anschauungen) and features taken at face value {unrefiekuerte Zuge) are what he portrays as posterity envisages them. I n such a history the cultural formation of the author and his spirit, as well as of the deeds that he narrates—[thus the f o r m a t i o n ] of his spirit and o f the acnons described by h i m - a r e one and the same. Therefore he does not have to reflect on them; he stands and lives in the material itself, does not elevate himself above i t . Here we shall indicare more precisely w h a t also applies to later ages. O n l y in ages when the cultural formation of a people is more advanced d o great differences n . culture as well as m political conditions appear, w h i c h arise from the differentiation of classes. The writer of the original history must t h e r e t o * belong t o the same class as the one that produced the events and the deeds he intends to recount. To be an original hisronan, he must be a general or statesman. Reflection is excluded because the author is identical
w i t h the material. If the spirit of the material itself involves a certain level of culture, then the historian must be cultured too. The author of an age with a certain culture must be aware of its fundamental principles, for he lives i n an age that is self-aware. The spirit of his age is aware of itself and of the purposes of its actions, the evidence for its principles. Thus the historian must be aware of them. Another aspect t o consider is that actions I also manifest themselves as words (Redert) because they themselves operate on representation; such words are like actions and constitute an essential part of history. This includes above all the utterances [Reden) of individuals to peoples and vice versa. I f they d o not become living words, if they do not lead todeeds and are [not] likewise heeded, then they remain empty and inconsequential chatter. Thus the historian must incorporate such utterances; they contain reflections about the age a n d its purposes and provide information about its principles, sparing the historian any need for his o w n reflections. H e lives i n the reflections that are the reflections of the age. I f he also has composed such speeches ( R e d e n ) , they are still speeches of his age. Since he exists w i t h i n the spirit of his activity and the culture of his age, what he expounds is the consciousness of the age. The historian thus presents the maxims of the age through the speeches [he composes). Such writers deserve t o be studied. Thus i n Thucyd.des we read speeches of Pericles and unerances of foreign peoples-speeches that contain the maxims of the bas.c principles ot the peoples and their reflections about themselves. I n these presentations the writer provides the reflection of the age itself, not his o w n reflection about the material. These speeches too are t o be regarded as something completely original. I f w e want to become acquainted w i t h the spirit of such peoples to live among the peoples themselves, then we must spend tune w i t h these writers, become familiar w i t h them, and obtain a picture of the age at farst hand. Whoever wants a quick dose of history can find that to [ O r i g i n a l historical] writers are not as common as we would like t o t r u n k Herodotus, the founder of history, is one of them. We have mentioned Thucvdides. Xenophon, who describes the retreat |of the ten thousand] and Caesar's Commences, belong here t o o / I But original historians ot this k i n d are f o u n d i n our own day as well, although our modern _cul ure also involves dealing w i t h events by assimilating them r e p r e s e n t s o n a l h , apprehendmg them i n commentaries, and transforming them into t „ e (Geschtchtenl These too can have the character ot originality. In particular. c
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4. On H e : o d t u , Thncvd.de, Xenophon, and Caesat, see the tnt.oductotv Fragment 1 . 8 2 . 0
1818). nn. 4.10. 11.13. 134
135
T H E L E C T U R E S OF
INTRODUCTION
1822-3
the French have produced numerous memoirs, more so than have other nations. The terrain on which such men labor contains many trivialities, intrigues, passions, petty interests. But exceptions are found here as w e l l . There are always masters w h o labor on a larger field, for example, the clever work of Cardinal de Retz. In Germany the works of men w h o live i n the age [about which they write] are f o u n d but rarely, although the memoirs of Frederick H are an exception. It is not enough t o have been present at the events; rather one must have been positioned w i t h i n the spirit of large political operations and world events.
periods the delivery of speeches is grand, in others it is quite deficient. The fable t o l d bv Menenius Agrippa is natural enough, but other speeches are rather a w k w a r d . The difference between a compiler and an original historian can be most clearly seen by comparing Polybius and Livy. A similarly unfortunate attempt to make it seem that one has lived in the age in which the events occurred is f o u n d in Johannes von Miiller's Scbwetzer Geschtchte which has a somewhat wooden and pedantic quality w i t h its artificial and affected antiquity; it is not original as compared w i t h the original historian T s c h u d i . A history that covers a long period of time and large epochs must by its very nature resort to abstractions and generalities: for example a battle was lost or w o n , a city was besieged i n vain, and so on. As a result, such a history becomes very dry and u n i f o r m , but this is in the nature of the case. I Reflective history by its very nature takes a large body of concrete details and reduces them to abstract representations. 8
5
9
Reflective History The second type consists of the reflective historians; their portrayals go M , ™ ' ' P ™ » d arc of several varieties. 11.J What one expects f r o m them above all is a survey oi the whole o f a people or of world history. These are of necessity compilations of already xisnng historical writings and reports of others; the language is not t h a t of observers or of eye-witnesses. Every w o r l d history is necessarily like this. I he more specific type of compilation depends on its purpose. Livy belongs here, also Johannes von Mullet's Scbtveizer | GeschtcbteJ If well done, n O U S 7 ™ " U s a b l e . I t is very difficult to state a n o r m or this type of treatment. The historian tries to make i t possible f o r readers [ h , S t 0 n a n
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anachronistic o r c o u l d
been given and are incompatible w i t h its lesser m a t u r i t y I n
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[2.] A second type of reflective history is the s o i l e d pragmatic historiography. W h e n we have t o do w i t h the past, and are concerned w i t h a distant and reflected w o r l d , spirit finds itself in need of a p r e s e n t - a present that it produced by its o w n activity as compensation for its efforts; and this present is f o u n d i n the understanding. The occurrences of history are diverse; but w h a t is universal and inward, the relationship between events, the universal spirit of the circumstances, is something enduring and ageless, a perpetual presence that sublates the past and renders the events contemporary These pragmatic reflections are enlivening; they bring the distant past into the present. Whether they are enlivening and of interest depends on * r author's particular spirit. General relationships and chains of become, t o a greater or lesser degree, the objects of descr.pt.on; they become themselves the events; it is the universal that appears, no longer £ *«ular. If, to the contrary, we should w a n t t o make countless .nd,v,dua^ e v e n , the topic of these universal reflections, that would be and f L l e s s . But i f genera, conditions are treate - n way t h a t the entire context of an event is comprehended, this is taKen as intellect of the author, of the m i n d of such a . .
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Here w e should mention i n ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ tions that arise f r o m history and 1 w i t h wnicn one M o r a l reflections are very often regarded as the essential purpose A
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• • -| ,hout the Bellv md the Limbs. 8. On, the fable told bv Menenius Agrippa con uhn>03 BcUtHW see Livy Historian** j i b * . «L I . F. Gronovn .Lyons, 1645), -. description of battles, see i . 274-7 14.32-41. 1734-6». 9. Aegidius Tsehwh, Chronicon Hehencum, 2 vols. (Basel. 1 H<
(
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137
2 ( ;
o n
T H E L E C T U R E S O F 18
INTRODUCTION
22-3
study of history. I n brief, examples of the good elevate the heart or disposition of young people i n particular and are often cited because they exemplify the good more concretely. Such examples are t o be employed i n m o r a l instruction as concrete representations o f universal m o r a l principles. B u t the fate of peoples and the overthrow of states occur on a different plane than that of morality, a higher and broader one. The methods o f m o r a l instruction are very simple and of no use [ o n the broader plane o f h i s t o r y ] . The biblical history is sufficient for moral instruction, w h i c h has no need for so large a plane [as that of w o r l d history]. The reference here is t o experience. Statesmen, sovereigns, and generals are referred t o history; but in the c o m p l e x i t y of w o r l d history and the affairs of the w o r l d i t is often seen that simple moral laws are inadequate. History and experience teach that peoples generally have not learned from history. Each people lives in such particular circumstances that decisions must and are made w i t h respect to t h e m , a n d only a great figure (Charakte,) knows h o w t o find the right course i n these circumstances. This [figure embodies] the character of the age, w h i c h is always umque. Peoples find themselves i n such an individual Circumstance tat earlier conditions never wholly correspond to later ones because the ^ n o n s are so different. The moral law appl.es | to simple interests and pnvat circumstances, and these I do not need to learn f r o m history. I n the ca^ ot m l laws, the core element i n all such situations is exhaustively cov red by such a law. Here I am instructed once and f o r all. 0 f a
Unoer the press of w o r l d events, such simple principles do not hold good because the conditions are never the same and what ,s taken f r o m m e m o r y f
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contemplation o f events can make reflections interesting. The meaning of the idea as i t interprets itself constitutes the true interest. This is the case w i t h M o n t e s q u i e u , ' w h o is at once thorough and profound. However, everyone 0
thinks himself smart enough | t o be able to make such reflections, and thus a superfluity of such reflective histories arises. We thus turn back to the simple proposition of merely narrating what happens w i t h precision and t r u t h . Precisely crafted descriptions and narratives of this kind are of great merit; but for the most part they merely provide material for others. We Germans are satisfied w i t h that and want to live i n the past. The French by contrast generate descriptions themselves and seek to treat them w i t h i n genuity; as a consequence they are to a lesser extent thorough historians. They always see the past in terms of the present. [3.] A t h i r d type of reflective history, which has been developed especially in our age, is critical. Critical history is not so much history itself but rather a history of the narratives of history and an evaluation of them. Ntebuhr s Romische Gescbichte* is written in that way; he treats the narratives ,n light of the actual circumstances and draws conclusions from them The aspect ot the present that is found here consists in the acumen of the author, w h o draws conclusions regarding the credibility of reports in terms of all the circumstances. The French have accomplished much that is bas,c and beneficial » this regard. W i t h us the so-called higher criticism has taken possession of h i s t o r y * * has sought to supplant the more circumspect ^ t o n c ^ r a p h y ; having abandoned the soil of history, i t has made r o o m for the most arbitrary representations, | digressions, fantasies, and 1
made to b r i n g these most arbitrary elements into history This too is a way of bringing the present into the past. The present that ,s advanced i n tins way rests on subjective fancies that are all the more striking the less they have Finally there is a history that announces itself as something; that: * partly abstractive; it is indeed abstractive^but at the sarne^urnit forms a Transition t o philosophical w o r l d history. This type ,s a special a universal o u t l o o k : i t is extracted f r o m the whole matrix of u n r m ahrv culled f r o m the wealth of a peoples life. But ,t also involves ^pamcul aspect. O w , n g t o today's culture, .t has gamed regard and — « O cultured representation, as i t frames a picture of a people ^ aspects t o L r than does the history of ancient people, Such individual
o t p r o p o s t ^
I ^
m T
S
! 0 . Charles de Secondât, Baron de U fcède et de Montesau-eu, De f d e s
^ ^
interesting
and 138
even
°< * b o u g h t , R e f l e c t s concrete; o n l y t h o r o u g h
' ^
e
V
B ^ Ï Ï Georg Niehohr, * * * *
Ceschicbte, 3 ^ 139
1811-32).
la.,
THE LECTURES OF
INTRODUCTION
1822-3
aspects include, for example, the histories of art, science, government, law. property, and navigation. Every particular topic can be given prominence in this way. I n our rime the histories of law and government are especially favored and emphasized. Both make sense only in connection w i t h the |' state as a whole and with history as a w h o l e . When these histories are fundamental and interesting, and do not merely labor away at external material, as Hugo's Rómische Recbtsgescbichte does, they are admirable. A richer content is found i n Eichhorn's Geschichte des deutscben Rechts. Such general aspects and branches [of culture] can and w i l l also be made the subiects of particular histories, and they are related to the entire history of a people I n the treatment i t is a question of whether the whole internal nexus is exhibited or is merely sought or touched upon in its external circumstances. The latter, unfortunately, is more frequently the case, and as a result the aspects appear only as w h o l l y contingent details of peoples. 12
13
Philosophical World History Philosophical world history i closely related to the previous type of h.story. Jts point of view is not a particular universal, nor is i t one of many general v-ewpoints that is singled out abstractly at the neglect of the others; rather it .s a concrete universal, the spiritual principle of peoples and the historv of this principle This universal is not restricted to a contingent appearance ui such a way that the fates, passions, and energy of peoples w o u l d be the prrniary occasions that reveal the universal. Rarherthis universal is the guiding s
l wol A- ' T ° ^ ° ^ « « * * * the world, and ,ts guidance is what we wish t o learn about | h t0ty S
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140
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12. Gusuv Hugo, Lehrbuch eh*s a v . i t s ü r - ~ Kechts. 4th edn. iferlm. 18101 Lursus, ,„. Die Grschicht? des U . Karl F r e n c h Eichh™. ^ 5^„ ^ ]
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A t the outset we have to consider t w o modes in regard t o the concept of w o r l d history, hirst, the spiritual principle is in the first place the totality of all particular perspectives.
But this is not to be understood narrowly
because, secondly, the principles themselves, the spirits of peoples, are themselves the t o t a l i t y of the one w o r l d spirit. They complete themselves in it and stand i n a necessary succession of stages. They are the offshoots of spirit (Sprossen
des Geistes),
and in them spirit completes itself to totality
w i t h i n itself. A l l aspects and viewpoints that are salient i n the history of a people are closely interrelated. I t is a trite statement that the condition of the sciences, arts, legal relationships, system of government, and religion of a people is b o u n d u p most closely w i t h its grand fortunes and its relationships with its neighbors i n w a r and peace. This t r u t h has often been stated. Such statements are both accurate and p r o f o u n d , but they fail to develop and clarity the unity, the soul involved; they do not identify the one thing necessary-, w h i c h is t o determine h o w everything is interrelated. What is normally omitted is a portrayal of [the interrelationship of] the parts, a description of the soul. I T o o frequently this spécification is lacking. Such reflective expressions are often v e n m r e d - f i l l i n g pages and entire b o o k s - b u t they remain superficial and never address the substance. I n general such reflections are correct; but the correctness of propositions that everything is interconnected must be specified more precisely, For individual facts often appear t o contradict them. There are peoples suchas the Chinese a n d the Indians w h o have achieved a high level of artistry. J he Chinese, f o r example, were quite advanced in mechanics and invented gunpowder, but d i d n o t k n o w h o w to use i t . W i t h the Indians poetry blossomed gloriously, but i n the art of statecraft, freedom and law they lagged far behind. To offer the superficial judgment that all elements of t h e n culture should be equivalent simply demonstrates how much such a proposition represents a misunderstanding. The interrelation * < f » f ' J * ' not t o be understood t o mean that each aspect must be developed to the 1
same deeree. ^ „r ,„\+„ Each aspect relates t o the others, and the various aspects of c h re r P
comprise ^ s p i r i t of a people, which ties all ^ ^ ^ ^ ™ ^ 5 all aspect, Thfs spirit is something concrete; we have to w i t h i t , and we can only recognize this connecnon to the exten hat w k n o w ,. For a spiritual principle can be grasped only s p n m a U y o n b through t h o u g h t , I d « are the ones ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ itself is driven t o grasp its thoughts which_ for * have » ^ p r o d u c t i o n : i t will think itself, and in doing so is alive 141
INTRODUCTION
THE LECTURES OF 1 8 2 2 - 3
Thinking is the profoundest aspect of spirit and its highest activity is t o comprehend itself. Its purpose is to t h i n k itself, t o engender itself for its thoughts. While i t is operating, however, i t is aware only of the aims of a determinate actuality and nothing of itself, [not] w h a t it is i n itself; it knows only the aims of finitude and nothing of itself. Its object is n o t its o w n inferiority but a determinate actuality. Thus the highest goal o f spirit, its truth, is to know itself, to bring to f r u i t i o n the thought o f itself: this it shall do and has done. This achievement, however, is its demise and marks the emergence of a different stage, a different spirit, a different epoch of w o r l d history; then a different world-historical people comes to the fore. The individual spirit completes itself, the thought of itself, as it makes the transition to the pnnciple of a different people; this is h o w higher principles come about, taking the place of the principles of peoples as the w o r l d advances t o w a r d its coiisummation. The task of w o r l d history is t o show the m a t r i x i n w h i c h this comes about. Philosophical w o r l d history is a w o r l d history that has universal concepts about history that extend across the whole; i t is n o t reflections about mdiyidual situations and circumstances o r individual aspects. i n e first general concept that tenders itself is the abstract category o f change o r alterat,an~the * a t anse, 1 ^ f o r
a
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shanng , t with others, and then vanish. evol^H
a S p e C I
Grandeur ^ d e ^
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natural life and is purely O r i e n t * t
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profound sadness that is
**" » ^ o r , of past everything seems to pass away, nothing endures. Every traveler
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human activities, events, fortunes; we see ourselves i n all this. H u m a n doing and suffering everywhere attract our interest as our o w n expenence^ Somerimes phenomena appear that shine w i t h beauty and freedom;
—
energy! even depraved energy, creates dominion and power; sometimes summoning all one's strength produces only tiny results; andI somenmes an insignificant event has the most enormous consequences^Thus we see san resuhs and vice versa. The most variegated needs pass before o u r ^ ^ o n human .merest supplants another. But i t is always human mterests rha. move us. human interests above a l l .
"
thespint^wh.chmdeedpasLe;^ passes over into a new sphere but does not rise o u t of 142
Thus under this category [of change] we see i n Instory the most diverse
* " found in the
™ T
radical idea o f
s
16
rv.ng activities and unsat.sfy.ng ones. Great efforts often produce^mal
<»**< side o f the c o i n .
e
its ashes i n the same shape. The Western conception is that the spirit comes forth not merely rejuvenated but rather elevated and nansfigured. Indeed, spirit acts i n opposition to itself I and consumes the forms of its configuration, its structure; its previous structure becomes its material—the material that by its labor i t elevates to a new and higher shape. The alterations undergone do not merely return it t o the same shape but rather reconsmute, purify, and elaborate i t - a process whereby, through the completion of its task, it creates new tasks and multiplies the material for its labor. Thus i n history we see spirit indulging itself, enjoying itself, and satisfying itself i n innumerable directions. But its labor has only one outcome—to increase its tasks anew and consume them anew. Each of its creations confronts .t anew as material t h a t i t must r e w o r k ; its labor is thus merely that of preparing heightened e n j o y m e n t s . The unmitigated conception ot simple change becomes t h a t of spirit, w h i c h is disseminating its energies in all directions^ We learn the extent of its energies f r o m the multiplicity ot its forms and productions. I n this longing for activity, it is only engaged w i t h itselt. I t is, t o be sure, entangled w i t h the outer and inner conditions of nature; these do not merely stand in the w a y as resistance and hindrance, but also can occasion a total miscarriage of its efforts. I t attempts to overcome these conditions although it often succumbs t o them and must do so. Then, however, i n its vocation as a spiritual being and i n its efficacy, it founders and^presen s the spectacle of itself as spiritual activity that seeks not deeds (Werke) but living activity. For its aim is n o t deeds but its o w n acnvity. 1
tution, reworking), and ^ » ^ ^ « ^ ^ ^ 1 ^ « " » " ^ ™ ^ ^ ,„ ^ 16. The noun Genuft (here used in the plural, < » > J . ^ a preceding sentence), meaning m the most literal sense to eo,ov ana pa thus to 'consume' but also to 'commune . ,
143
S
a f l d
emegen (used in f food and drink,
verbg
0
INTRODUCTION
T H E L E C T U R E S O F 1 82 2 - 3
As appealing as these observations are in themselves, their most immediate consequence is that we grow weary f r o m sifting t h r o u g h this press of details and arrive at the question: What is the purpose o f all these singular events, which interest us all? There is more t o them t h a n their particular aims. This enormous cost must be for some ultimate purpose. Is t h a t beyond imagining? We are faced w i t h the question as t o whether the d i n a n d noisy surface appearances [of history] do not conceal an inner, silent, secret working that gathers up the energy of a l l phenomena and benefits therefrom—something [for the sake of which] a l l this is happening. This is the third category, that of reason, | the conception of a f i n a l end w i t h i n itself. The question concerns an inwardness determinate i n a n d for itself, the one idas Eines) whose eternal labor i t is to impel and b r i n g itself to the k n o w l edge, application, and enjoyment of itself, i t is a t r u t h that such a final end is what governs and alone consummates itself i n the events that occur t o peoples, and that therefore there is reason in world history. This affirmative answer t o the question is presupposed here; the p r o o f o f its t r u t h can be found in the treatment of w o r l d history itself because history is the image and deed of reason. But philosophical w o r l d history is more an exposition than a demonstration of this proposition. The actual p r o o f resides in the cognition o f reason itself; the proof consists in w h a t is cognized, reason itself, w h i c h is the stuff of all spiritual life. I n w o r l d history reason simply proves itself. World history itself is but one mode of appearance of this one reason, one of the particular shapes in w h i c h reason discloses itself. From our standpoint, we must proceed o n the basis of the principle o f finding nothing but a likeness of the one archetype—a likeness t h a t presents itself i n a particular element. The material, the element, f o r this likeness are the peoples [of w o r l d history] w i t h their struggles and labors. In order t o recognize reason in history or t o know history rationally, we must surely bring reason along w i t h us; for the w a y i n w h i c h we l o o k upon history and the w o r l d is how it i n t u r n looks t o us. In m o d e m rimes, w h e n knowledge of the w o r l d and experience of the t r u t h are very difficult t o come by, people desire t o gam conceptions by pointing t o history. | H i s t o r y has been expected to yield all manner of information about the nature of spirit, right, etc. But history is empty; nothing is t o be learned f r o m it if we d o not bring reason and spirit w i t h us. I n particular, the shallowness o f general abstracnons must be resisted in order that reason itself may indeed be brought to bear . n the task. Reason accomplishes much in combating these abstractions, but one must k n o w beforehand what counts as r a t i o n a l . W i t h out this knowledge we w o u l d not find reason [in history]. If and w h e n reason gives us the final result, we w i l l k n o w that we have already entered senility. 144
The distinctive q u a l i t y of o l d age is that it lives only i n the memory of what has been, the past, not i n the present; this is a sign of our senility. If we do not b r i n g w i t h us the conception of reason, then we must at least bring that of faith—the faith that there is an actual causality i n history, and that intelligence and spirit are not given over t o chance. A t this point spint steps f o r t h i n t o the light of the self-knowing idea—higher therefore than i n nature, i n w h i c h the idea is also present. It is often enough conceded that the spiritual w o r l d is n o t abandoned by G o d , that a divine w i l l and final purpose rule i n history. G o d governs the w o r l d . As soon as we come t o more specific matters, however, we refrain f r o m inquiring about the providential plan. W h a t then is the plan of providence i n w o r l d history? Can this plan be comprehended? Has the time arrived t o examine it? The more proximate question regarding the providential plan is answered w i t h a confession of h u m i l i t y : God's providence, like God's nature, is said t o be inscrutable a n d inexhaustible. To this humility we must oppose what the Christian religion is about: | this religion revealed to humanity God's nature and essence; before that, G o d was the u n k n o w n . The previously concealed G o d has become manifest. Thus as Christians we k n o w w h a t God is; God is no longer an u n k n o w n . To regard G o d to be ,ust as u n k n o w n after God's revelation is an affront t o this religion, i n doing so we acknowledge that we d o not have Christian religion; for that religion lays upon us the one obligation t h a t we should k n o w G o d . I t has vouchsafed this benefit t o humanity. So the Christian religion demands the humility of being lifted up not o f one's o w n merit but through the spirit of God, through cognmon and knowledge of t h a t spirit. G o d does not desire narrow-minded hearts and empty heads but rather children w h o are rich i n the knowledge of God and put their m e r i t i n it alone. Thus Christians are initiated i n t o the mysteries of G o d . Because the essential being of God is revealed through the Christian religion, the key to w o r l d history is also given to us: w o r l d history is the unfolding of God's nature i n one particular element. As a particular element, it is something specific; and the only knowledge that we have is of a specific providence, i.e. of its plan; otherwise, there is no knowledge. One can stick quite naively w i t h the general idea that divine providence rules the w o r l d ; or one can h o l d t o this assertion selfconsciously. A n d this general | proposition can, on account of its generality, also have a particular, negative connotation: that the absolute divine being is kept at a distance and conveyed t o the far side (jensetts) of human things and knowledge. If this is done, we keep 1 7
17. Hegel i aUudrng to Paul's speech at the Areopagus » which he makes k n o w , the S
unknown God (Acts 17: 22-8). 145
THE
LECTURES
INTRODUCTION
OF 1 8 2 2 - 3
ourselves free of that other side, indulge i n o u r favorite representations, and distance ourselves from the requirements o f t r u t h and rationality. E v e n representation of God in this sense is merely empty t a l k . If God is placed on the far side of our consciousness, we are freed f r o m k n o w i n g G o d , f r o m troubling ourselves about God's nature, and f r o m finding reason in w o r l d history. Then hypotheses are allowed free play, and blissful vanity has complete freedom. H u m i l i t y knows well w h a t it gains by its renunciation. Thus our task is to consider w o r l d history and inquire about its final aim. This final end is what God has willed for the w o r l d . T o this end everything is sacrificed on the altar o f the w o r l d ; this end is w h a t is operative and enlivening. What we k n o w about it is that it is what is most perfect, and God wills the most perfect; what God wills can only be G o d godself and w h a t is like unto G o d , God's w i l l . God's w i l l is nor distinguished f r o m G o d , and philosophically we call it the idea. Here we must abstract f r o m the religious expression and grasp the concepts in the f o r m o f thought. |
THE
IDEA
OF HUMAN
FREEDOM
Thus w e have here the idea as the totality of ethical freedom. Two elements are salient: first, the idea itself as abstract; and second, the human passions. The t w o together f o r m the weft and the warp in the fabric that | w o r l d history spreads before u s .
19
The idea is the substantial power, but considered
for itself it is only the universal. The passions of humanity are the arm by which it actualizes itself. These are the extremes; the midpoint at which these elements are b o u n d together, by which they are reconciled, and in which they have their living unification, is ethical freedom. Further discussion w i l l specify this more precisely. Concerning the idea—the soul as guiding power—its moments or elements must be clarified. The idea has major elements. Here we must not speak i n w h o l l y abstract terms; rather we grasp the idea i n the concrete shape of spirit, n o t as the logical (idea]. I n this regard we shall speak of the nature o f spirit in a f o r m a l w a y and then proceed to the applications. The Concept o f Spirit Spirit as such is t h i n k i n g - t h e s o n o f thinking that is, thinking that it is and how it is. I t is k n o w i n g as such, is consciousness. K n o w i n g is the consciousness of a r a t i o n a l o b j e c t . I have consciousness insofar as I am self-consciousness; that is, I k n o w something over against me, something outside me, only insofar as i n it 1 k n o w myself, and 1 define the other as what makes possible m y k n o w i n g my o w n determination i n i t ; hence, I am not ]ust one t h i n g or another but am that o f which I know. I n other words, I know^tnat that w h i c h I am is also object for me. K n o w i n g myself is inseparable f r o m k n o w i n g an object. Neither exists w i t h o u t the other, although the first aspect (self-knowing) often appears to be predominant. 20
The Fabric of World H i s t o r y
1 8
idea i n the element o f
We can thus conclude that we must consider the
human spirit, or more precisely, the idea o f human freedom. T h e true has diverse elements. The first and purest f o r m distinctive t o i t through which he idea reveals itself is pure thought itself, and thus the idea is considered in t e r n * of logic. Another f o r m is the one in w h i c h the idea immerses itself, that ot Physical nature. Finally, the third f o r m is that of spirit , n general. A m o n g tt
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19. Here the translation follows the reading of GriesheimAden raiher than that of Hotho < * . Kette und den Einschlag), w h i c h * f a v ^ J b r * e & ™ a » G„e he,m ,s more likely correct. The ,erm translated as <weft\ Enschla* •driving' or "striking', and , related to Schlag, > 1 * or Stroke . Tfc associates with the divine idea, wh.ch dnves back and forth across the of human passions, weaving the fabric of history which gradually ^ •ethical freedom' (tUtUch* Freihe*. Evidence that the divine idea . X dTv.ne « found in othet iectutes. For - a m p l e , He^el of has broken through ^ngeschlagen) into the sphre ^ ' ^ ^ „ . 2 5 0 , ; and that U K 3 Religion, ed.andtr.PeterC. ™ from finhe to idea constitii.es a Voun.ers.roke' [Gegenschlagthat reversesJbe U ^ infin.te into a iransition irom infinite .o finite {Lectures on the Proofs at S
1 5
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God, ed. and t Peter C. < j ^ -wha.-rtarKb-vet-agamsf. 20. Gegenstand, normally translated object, means uterauy t
0
147
THE
INTRODUCTION
LECTURES OF 1 822-3
Initially we k n o w ourselves as feeling; w e find ourselves constituted this way or that. Objectivity is not yet involved here, | o n l y indeterminacy. The progression is t o determine myself and cleave myself so that something is placed over against me as object. I strive, then, t o separate this determinacy from myself and make it into an object; i n this w a y m y feeling becomes an external and an internal w o r l d . If we speak of feeling i n this way, determinacy in general is accepted. But a distinctive mode of determinacy sets i n , namely, that 1 feel myself t o be lacking something and deficient, that I find a c o n t r a d i c t i o n w i t h i n myself that threatens to destroy my self-unity. I n this way determinacy first exists, but at the same time i t is a distinctive mode of determinacy: I feel myself to be lacking something. However, I am; I h o l d fast to this. I k n o w that I am, and I counter the deficiency, the lack, w i t h i t ; i n this way I cancel the deficiency and preserve myself. So I have, a n d am, a drive. Everything living has drives. Insofar as m y drives are concerned, the significance of objects is that they are the means of reconstituting m y unity and thus of m y satisfaction. (This [reconstitution and satisfaction] can be either theoretical or practical.) L i these intuitions and drives w e at first exist directly i n external and natural things; we are ourselves external. The intuitions are singular and sensible as is the drive, regardless of content; this is w h a t human beings have in common w i t h ammals. I n this condition they are not yet t h i n k i n g beings, do not yet properly exist as self-consciousness, as consciousness; f o r there is no selr-consciousness in the drive. What robs human beings o f this immediacy is t h a t they have themselves as then own objects; they k n o w of and about themselves and are inwardly present t o themselves; this is the being of thinking. | This distinguishes them f r o m animals. T h i n k i n g is knowledge o f the universal. H u m a n beings think only insofar as they are inwardly present to themselves. As something wholly sunple and i n w a r d , I something w h o l l y universal; and only a
m
\TTi%*£ r become simplified, M . ideal. The unending drive of t h i n k i n g ,s to transpose w h a t is real into C
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- ^ human beings are l l u ^ ^ ^ the real as the .deal and k n o w themselves as ideal, they cease being merely n a t u r a l ; they 3 S
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seem to be of importance in the present context. 148
21
R e a l l y red ^eell) tha, has, by
0
these objectives. . The specific objective can be something wholly universal i f one posits w h a t is w h o l l y universal as one's purpose. The most boundless I universal is boundless freedom. H u m a n beings can posit this freedom as t h e n aim or purpose. They k n o w w h a t is, what determines them: it « k n o w edge of themselves a n d of their w i l l . This consntutes humans as volitional beings, and herein resides their autonomy. Animals lack w i l l , cannot restrain their drives, because they d o not have their representanons i n the f o r m o f R e a l i t y , actuality. R e c o l l e c t i o n is the source of human beings' freedom and universality, o f their determination i n accord w i t h purposes (which can be the most universal or singular); as a result, the.r irnmediacy and naturalness are broken. I t is this inwardness that makes human beings autonomous^ They are n o t autonomous because of being the source of the,r o w n a r ^ a n o n ^ animals t o o as living beings have the ^ J * ^ . * " " ^ * ^ themselves, but they are aroused t o it only by their inner animals the arousal begins f r o m w i t h i n and presupposes a n — e n . execution; w h a t .s exterior does not stimulate them if die stimuUis does not already reside w i t h i n . Animals do not entertain.somethingthat doesno well up f r o m w i t h i n them; w h a t determines them they have can come between drives and t h e , execution, their ^ ™ . " ^ w h a t c o n s t i t u t e s t h e a b s t r a c t w e l l s p r i n g o f human the being of humans as spirit, as I ; this constitutes the pnnciple by which
"til - ^ ' ^
Hegel d i s u s e s b e ™ ™ X , 3
n
u
cease l i v i n g i n their immediate intuitions, in their drives and satisfactions, and i n their productions. Because they know this inwardly, they restrain their drives; they interpose representation, thought, the ideal, between the urgency of the drive and its satisfaction, and they separate the.r representations f r o m the execution of the representations. W i t h animals this is not the case because f o r animals there is a constant connection between drive and satisfaction, a connection that can be interrupted only outwardly, by pain and fear, not inwardly. The animal does not interrupt this connexion by itself; it does not oppose an outer t o an inner. The animal does not cleave itself, but h u m a n beings do; they t h i n k , they restrain the drive. Because they can either restrain their drives or give them a free hand, it becomes a question of purposes, of orienting themselves w i t h reference to so.neth.ng universal. They entertain objectives that they cons.der prior to the execut i o n ; and w h i c h one of their many options they should choose depends on
22. Ernnerung,translated 'recollection' o r ^ r d emphasis that is p.cked p in the next sentence wrth the term InrxrW** U
149
r <
Ï
Ï
Î
THE
L E C T U R E S OF
INTRODUCTION
1S22-.Î more
are only the potentiality of being rational and free; they have this potentiality
The
culture they become for the first time w h a t they ought to he, rational beings.
p r i n c i p a l t h i n g w e have d e t e r m i n e d is t h a t t h e h u m a n b e i n g as s p i r i t is n o t
Humans have only the potential of being human when they are born.
an i m m e d i a t e b e i n g b u t essentially a b e i n g t h a t r e t u r n s i n t o i t s e l f . T h i s
Animals are b o r n nearly complete; their growth is basically a strengthening,
spirit is s p i r i t . T h i s is the d e t e r m i n a t e closely. |
q u a l i t y t h a t c o n c e r n s us
only as a vocation, an imperative. By means of discipline, education, and
We t u r n n o w t o t h e c o n c r e t e aspects [ o f t h e c o n c e p t
of spirit|.
m o v e m e n t o f m e d i a t i o n is t h u s t h e essential e l e m e n t o f s p i r i t u a l n a t u r e ; i n
and in instinct they have straight away everything they need. We must not
this w a y h u m a n beings become i n d e p e n d e n t a n d f r e e . T h e i r a c t i v i t y is a
regard it as a special benefit of nature for animals that their tormation is
going o u t b e y o n d i m m e d i a c y , a n e g a t i o n o f i m m e d i a c y , a n d a r e t u r n i n t o
soon complete, f o r the strengthening is only a matter o f degree. Because
themselves. T h u s s p i r i t is o n l y w h a t i t m a k e s o f i t s e l f b y its acirvity.
When
humans are spiritual beings, they must acquire everything for themselves
we speak o f a r e t u r n , w e o r d i n a r i l y p i c t u r e a d e p a r t u r e f r o m a p l a c e a n d a
must make themselves into w h a t they ought to be and what otherwise would
r e t u r n t o t h e p r i o r l o c a t i o n . W e m u s t r e j e c t t h i s r e p r e s e n t a t i o n because f o r it
remain a mere potentiality; they must cast off the natural. Thus spirit is
the subject .s w h a t is first, w h e r e a s i t is t h e s e c o n d a s p e c t , t h e r e t u r n i n t o
humanity's o w n achievement. The most sublime example o f this is the nature of God. It cannot, however, be called an 'example'; rather it is the universal, the true .tselt, whereof everything else is but an example. In our religion God is spirit; t,oa is revealed as spirit, and this is the distinctive quality o f the Christian religion. T o be sure, the most ancient religions | also called God vov* but this is to be understood as a mere name that d i d not explicate the nature ot spirit. In the Jewish religion spirit is not yet comprehended and ^ P "*but only represented in a general way. I n the Christian religion G o d tshrsx spoken of as 'Father': the power, the abstract universal, which is sti veiled. In the second place, G o d , as object, is w h a t cleaves or ruptures itseH, pos ts an other to itself. This second element is called the 'Son". It is defined m.such a way, however, that in this other t o godself God is just as immediately God s own self, envisioning and k n o w i n g godself only i n the other; and this self-possessing, self-knowing, unity-possessing, being-present to-seit-nthe-other, is the 'Spirit'. This means that the whole is the Sp.nt; neither he one nor the other alone is the Spirit. A n d G o d is defined as spirit; God to the first nme the true, the complete. Expressed in the form of feel,ng or sensibility, G o d is eternal love, the Son, knowing godself m the o.her^ havmg the o t h e r * its o w n . This characteristic is, ,n the f o r m of t h o u g h t . c o n , « u tivc of s p i n , . This Trinity makes the Christian religion to be the only true religion. This rs its superiority in virtue of which i t stand a b o ^ i h e other religions and by w h i c h ,t is d.stmguished from all d « : o £ r « - g ™ * If the C h L i a n religion lacked the Trinity, it could be tha t h o u g h ^ * o u d find mote I t r u t h ] in other religions. The Trinity ,s the ^ ' " " ^ ^ C h r , s r . a n , r y - t h e element whete.n philosophy finds and recogn.es the of reason in the Christian religion as well.
itself, that f o r the first n m e c o n s t i t u t e s t h e s u b j e c t , t h e a c t u a l , t h e t r u e ; i n other w o r d s , s p i n t exists o n l y as i t s r e s u l t , n o t as w h a t is m e r e l y i n i t i a l a n d i m m e d i a t e . T h i s is t h e g u i d i n g p r i n c i p l e f o r t h e w h o l e o f w o r l d h i s t o r y . I he image o f the seed helps t o i l l u s t r a t e t h i s p r i n c i p l e . T h e seed is t h e b e g i n n i n g o f the p l a n t , b u t at t h e same t i m e i t is the r e s u l t o f a l l t h e a c t i v . t v a n d life o f the p l a n t . T h e p l s « d « essential 1 ™
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We proceed n o w t o the concrete implications ot the concept ot spirit, implications that are of interest for our subject. I
150
151
THE LECTURES
INTRODUCTION
OF 1822-3
Friedrich Schlegel (Sprache
The Beginning of History The first of these implications concerns the beginning o f history and h o w it is customary to portray i t as a natural state, a state o f innocence. I n accord with our concept of spirit, the first, immediate, n a t u r a l state o f
spirit is a
state of bondage, of sensuous desire, in w h i c h spirit as such is not actual. I t is customary to make of such a state an empty ideal, w h i c h misunderstands the w o r d •nature• since by 'nature' one often means the concept or the essence of a thing. I n this sense 'natural state' means the natural right of freedom that human beings ought to have i n accord w i t h their concept, the freedom that belongs t o human beings i n accord w i t h the concept o f spirit. But when we see w h a t humanity is by nature, we can o n l y say w i t h Spinoza, ^ ^ Z l " " ' < » r y ) has departed f r o m the natural state ] T h a t state lacks freedom and is one of sensuousness. To confuse the natural condition of spirit w i t h that state is a mistake. Spirit should n o t remain in this natural state because i t is one of sensuous w i l l i n g a n d desire, it belongs t o the concept of spirit to be by sublating the form o f its sensuous ex>stence and i n this w a y positing itself as free. S
t
6
S t a t
a t H r a e
l
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h u m a i
Earlier i t was often customary t o start history w i t h t r a d i t i o n s about a
und
The hypothesis of
Welshed der Inder)
2
such a p r i m o r d i a l people is said t o explain the high culture of the preh.storcal w o r l d . Thev are sa,d to have been another human " " t h a t preceded the peoples k n o w n in history. Such a people is said to have left behind cultural traces in a n t i q u i t y and to have been immortalized i n the ancient legends, depicted as gods. Disfigured vestiges of this high culture corresponding to the legends of ancient peoples are ( s a d to be] f o u n d . The cond.t,on of the earliest people, i n recorded history w o u l d then represent a rmogression a n d decline f r o m that of the high culture of the primordial People. This s a representation t h a t has been favored in modern times
«
w
^
h
beings have n o t risen i n t o consciousness and reason f r o m instmct, f r o m the stupor of animals, that humanity as such could not have begun i n animal T a ,
is human could not have developed f r o m animal stupor, but i t could
well have developed f r o m human stupor. If w e begin w i t h a naUiral « a t e w h a t we find is an animal-like humanity, not an
» » ™
stupor. A n i m a l - l i k e humanity is something w h o l l y nature. Spirit does not develop out of the annual, does no animal; rather it begins f r o m spirit, but f r o m a s p i n .
no place o f ,ts o w n at the beginning, since i t is f r o m a t i m e | w h e n i t
i m p l i c i t , is a natural and not an animal s i r , t - a sp.nt o n j ^ c h
had a historical existence, i.e. an existence in the b e i n g of a people. We
ter of the h u m a n is imprinted. Thus a c h i U has the poss,
do not begin w i t h i t , but instead refer t o i t i n the era w h e n the promise it
rational, w h i c h is something w h o l l y different and
contains ,
developed a m m a l . A n animal does not have the P O » b * V
^
«
^
^
theeta«c
P
cry o f the c h i l d is already different f r o m that of an
undiZ^T T * ? P of * Primitive c o n d i t i o n has been underscored and verified w i t h presumptive historical dates. The existence re
resemation
IvervZ ^ ^ ^ ™ *P W * a t possessed knoThi T*2 .T ° handed d o w n all ouTextant knowledge .n these fields. Schelling strikingly tr.ed to validate this v,ew, also a r c h e
m
beg,fro*^e
^ *^becotnmg
conscious of itself. We cannot ascribe rationality t o a cfadd•
the culture of peoples.
8
^
evidence of t h e m must exist. The conception here ,s simply that human
the human spitn. The Mosaic t r a d i t i o n is pertinent here, a l t h o u g h i t has
fulfilled; then f o r the first t i m e i t takes o n a historical
^
d £ t philosophy I must construe such a people a p r i o n and that h « o n f l d
primmve state of the human race, w i t h the n a r r a t i o n o f a n a t u r a l state of
s
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has the human stamp. Something h u m a n is already present i n the simple movements of the child. . , By c o n f i n i n g representation exclusively t o that initial, t i o n i n a m e l y , t h a t h u m a n i t y has dwelt in f P
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of the divine nature, standing d,rectly at the center of at thmgs
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we attain only w i t h difficulty), standing at the m.dpom
^
art, so that all things lay open to humanity as
t
- two J Z £ * ^ r i n w - " i " * ' « * - ! . Hegel e x p l L that .here accord ^ ^ ü T c o n c Z o r ^ Z . Mtunuttandy. fc^ b e h ^ are » immediate zxmtncr. Only in t h e f i l ^ ! ' **** * prehrtoncal, natural, and nature. The attempt by Hobbes. R ^ " ÜT " '° * " * •* w
w
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Z S f S Z ^ i t Z Z Z S r 152
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sentation
I
is that one is ignorant of and no longe
24. Fnednch Wi.helm Joseph ScheUing, W j t a - J -
0
h
Studiums 11803), lecture 8 \On ^ ^ ^ ^ 3 ( H e i d e l b e r g , 91); Friedrich von Schkgel, Uher dieSprache und Wexhe* derlnd** 153
k
>
, , « » . 821808),ct62.
INTRODUCTION
THE LECTURES OF 1 8 2 2 - 3
thinking is, what the nature of spirit is. One could n o t k n o w that spirit is this infinite movement, this ivtpyeia,
emehtxtux.
Spirit is energy and does not
remain in a state of immediacy; it is the movement a n d activity that proceeds from an initial state t o another state, w o r k i n g t h r o u g h and overcoming the latter, discovering itself in this labor; and o n l y by r e t u r n i n g t o the first state does i t become actual spirit. It is only t h r o u g h this labor that spirit prepares for itself the universal, brings forth its concept as its object, brings i t before itself. This production, however, comes last, not first. I f we claim that the spiritual aspects of ancient peoples—their customs, laws, institutions, religions, symbols—are productions and expressions of speculative ideas, this is correct; they are actual productions of spirit, but only i n an instinctive way. However, the inner w o r k i n g of rhe idea is something quite different, as is the fact that this idea has recognized itself and grasped itself in the f o r m of the idea. That inner w o r k i n g can only be comprehended through knowledge of the idea. The idea i n rhe form of the idea is not something p r i o r f r o m w h i c h customs, religion, ans proceed; rather it is only the final labor of spirit. The known, speculative idea cannot have been anterior; rather it is the fruit of the highest and most abstract exertion of spirit.
The second i m p l i c a t i o n is the progress
27
of world history, which can only be
derived f r o m the concept of spirit. The first t h i n g t o note is that history as the development of spirit occurs in time, w h i c h is appropriate to the concept of spirit. We shall treat only briefly the broader speculative discussion. The cultural f o r m a t i o n
2 8
of spirit occurs i n time. Spirit has a history
because of w h a t it is, because it exists only through its labor, through the elaboration of its immediate f o r m , thereby raising itself to a consciousness of itself and thus t o a higher standpoint. The quality of the negative is intrinsic to time. For us i t is something positive, an event or happening. But what characterizes rime is that the opposite can also happen—the relationship of what has being t o its nonbeing; and this relationship | is time insofar as we do not merelv t h i n k the relationship but also actually intuit i t . The abstract intuition of being and nonbeing is t i m e .
2 9
Time is the wholly abstract realm
of the sensible. D u r a t i o n is the sameness of determinate being, where the nonbeing of this being does not intrude. But cultural formation, because it is the development of spirit and also contains its self-negation, occurs i n time.
In addition, when an appeal is made on the basis of historical data, they generally melt away, finally disappearing completely. |
The Progress of History
A
Here we enter into a consideration of change or alteration (Veränderung),
Frenchman,
how it occurs in nature, and the alteration of spirit. A comparison of the
Bailly, w i t h a quite superficial knowledge of astronomy, sought t o demon-
alteration of spirit and of nature shows that the singular is subiect t o change.
strate the wisdom of the I n d i a n s . I n more recent times, when scholars were
In physical nature everything is transitory, and the same is true of the
no longer satisfied w i t h this and investigated the level of knowledge of the
singular i n spirit. I n nature, however, in this persistent change, classes and
Indians, Lambert found for example that the Indians certainly possessed
species {Gattungen)
broad knowledge of astronomy/
He found that the modern Brahmans,
orbit persists; and it is the same w i t h animal species. Alteration here is
who mindlessly and mechanically make use of forms the inspiration behind
cyclical, constant repetition of the same. N o t h i n g new is produced by all
which is long forgotten, have preserved the traditional methods and no
the changes in nature; this is why nature is tedious. Everything happens ,n
longer k n o w the inspiration behind the ancient calculation of the eclipses
cycles, and individual things change only in keeping with their cycles. Inter-
of the moon and sun; hence the present-day Brahmans have surely declined,
actions of the individual cycles present no obstacle to the persistence of these
25
6
endure. So the planets move from place to place but the
and the methods they use, while demonstrating great knowledge, are not as superior as people once believed. Other sons of historical data are equally unsatisfactory.
, , i i . ^ - , „ . - , . > ifortsrane) in rhe sense not onlv of'improvement' ' . .Hegel speaks of "progress• or . ,advance (f-ongungj but also ol "progression' or "process'. ,,,„«.i A 28. Mdungl a term used by Hegel in a vanery of interrelated « ~ * * • t o o n W , "culture', "cultural formation-, -education", 20. Th.s definition of time is drawn from the Eloped,* of the PMosoph^<*ee , Z58; c , * 257-9. See Hegel's Phdo^hy of ^ ^ 5 £ $ Z 33-40, also 15-16. In -natural' Btne,the present is the p ^ . n g overo » nw-ve. of i h , fm„re , and the hmire is -he pass.r* over ol nonhe.ng into bengMhe f sedim.ni, so ,o .peak, deposited by .h» reciprocal passage, and as sue b * £ coin» d nooheme, the'truth' of finite , 1» 'spmiuai' - e , herer.ee ol the modes of time; and for absolute spm, th,s presence is eternity. atr
f
-ül^rf) T Z ' l r ' ' ' * f a r i n g L ^ o n L ^ l l u ^ ' T * ' ' ™ « 2 vols. .Par*. 18.7, Lectures on the History of Phdmophy,, (Oxford, 2009), 111 „ . 15. P
b
V
U m b e r t
W
154
15
3
^ See
M
155
T H E LECTURES
INTRODUCTION
OF 1 8 22-3
cycles. It is otherwise, however, w i t h the shape of spirit i n history. Here change affects not merely the superficial aspect but enters into the concept itself; it is a concrete alteration. The concept of a shape i n history itself is enhanced and corrected. In nature the species makes n o progress. But in spirit the change presses t o a new stage (Stufe), and every change is progress; yet all the individual | offshoots continue t o exist. I n nature every series allows its shapes t o stand alongside each other. The species f o r m a ladder of levels {Stufen),* ranging f r o m the rudimentary, f r o m light, f r o m the abstract, to the highest pinnacle of life, the human being. Each successive level presupposes the others, resulting as a new and higher principle f r o m the sublarion, reworking, a n d destruction of the previous level. But i n nature this process falls apart; the connective m a t r i x is o n l y interior and not apparent; the transition appears only to the t h i n k i n g spirit, which comprehends i t . Nature itself does not k n o w itself; its concept does n o t enter as such into phenomena] f o r m ; nature does not comprehend itself, and consequently the negative aspect o f its configurations is not apparent f o r i t . 0
In that regard, the sphere of spirit differs f r o m the mode o f nature because the ladder of stages that spirit climbs and the labor needed t o grasp its concept make it clear that the concept drives itself f o r w a r d t h r o u g h the sublanon and reworking of the previous, lower stage, w h i c h , once transformed by nme, falls into the past. This previous stage has ceased to exist. The existence of a new shape that is the transfiguration of the lower, previous pnnc.ple demonstrates that the series of spiritual shapes comes about i n time. It should be noted that the peoples as spiritual configurations are i n one respect creatures of nature and thus comport themselves i n accord w i t h nature; therefore their diverse shapes | stand alongside each other indifferently m space, perennially portraying the independence of the stage [they represent}. I f we consider today the shapes they exist concurrently, w e see a
s
T l ?w ° ** * ^ * * e Principle of the Far East (Mongolian, Chinese, Indian), and it is also the first in w o r l d history. The second shape is filled out by the M a m i e w o r l d , which embod.es the principle of absolute antithesis; present in it is the principle of abstract . p i n t , the simple eternal God, but over against that spirit stands the 8
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unbridled free w i l l of individuality. The t h i r d shape comprises the Christian w o r l d of Western Europe, rhe greatest accomplishment of which is spirit's knowledge of its o w n depths. Thus the shapes that we see in w o r l d history as a succession i n t i m e we also see standing perennially alongside each other in space. It is essential t o note, and indeed we must convince ourselves of it, that these shapes subsist alongside each other and have their o w n conceptual necessity. For the sole intent of philosophical history is t o eliminate consideration o f a n y t h i n g contingent and t o k n o w everything as engendered by the concept. Chance is external necessity, which indeed comes from causes, but f r o m causes that themselves are only external conditions. One accustomed t o regarding everything as contingent can find the philosophical wav of considering the concept at first astonishing, and, from slipshod habits of representation, assume that such a view is itself contingent, a mere fancy. | But such a person has not yet arrived at engaging in philosophical reflections, m u c h less being able t o critique them. Whoever does not value thought alone as the true and the highest is i n no position to judge the philosophical w a y [of t h i n k i n g ] . Because w e have said that the great principles also exist perennially alongside each other, one might imagine this to mean that we should find all the shapes that have gone past i n time existing alongside each other in the present. Thus we could expect that a Greek people w i t h its beautiful paganism, its pleasures, etc., still exists today; likewise, that a Roman people should snll exist today. However, these peoples, these configurations, have passed; similarly, in the case of every particular people there are configurations that have passed. The ancient Germanic tribes have for example disappeared. W h y these shapes and their principles have become part of the past and no longer exist physically can only be discussed i n terms of the special nature ot [historical] configurations. O u r discussion of this matter would lack s p l i n e ity if w e d i d not consider the particular shapes themselves, and this can be done only i n [our treatment of] w o r l d history itself. I t follows that only the most universal elements and c o n f i g u r a r a s can subsist perennially alongside each other, and that they necessarily disappear if they are in turbulent animation. This was the first consequence of the nature of spint. The second p o i n t concerns the specific mode of progress of the spirit o a people (Volks e,st) and of the transition undergone by such a spirit. F,rs there | is the wholly general and sens.ble activiry of change, or nme as such. Concrete negativity and movement constitute spiritual activity as such and w e shall w a n t t o consider these more closely in then mode and f o n n a they relate t o the progression of the spirit of a people w i t h i n itse ^ a r c h transition [ t o another stage]. I f we say initially that a people progresses, g
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15?
THE LECTURES OF 1 8 2 2 - 3
INTRODUCTION
making an advance, a n d , overstepping itself, declines, then the most p r o x i mate categories that strike us are those of cultural f o r m a t i o n in general: thus development, refinement, over-refinement, a n d d e c l i n e . Over-refinement is the result or source of a people's destruction.
real possibility; thus w e have first the real possibility, and second the actual
Cultural formation or cultivation in a general sense concerns the formal aspect and does not yet specify anything in regard to content. W h a t constitutes cultivation is in general the formal aspect of rhe universal. Cultivated human beings are rhe ones w h o k n o w h o w t o place the stamp of universality on everything that they do, say, and think; they surrender their particularity and act i n accord with universal principles. C u l t i v a t i o n is thus the activity of the universal, the f o r m o f thinking. C u l t i v a t i o n informs t h i n k i n g , the universal, everything. Regarded more closely, we find that t h i n k i n g , formal universality, is able t o restrain what is particular. T h u s humans act not merely i n accord w i t h their inclinations, desires, and particularities; rather they restrain themselves, rein themselves i n , thereby a l l o w i n g the object per se more freedom; they conduct themselves more theoretically, | respecting the right and freedom of the object. Connected w i t h this is an individualized treatment of the aspects of the object, a closer consideration of the concrete situanon at hand, an analysis of circumstances, and a pinpointing of the aspects of the object. This individualization is directly what gives these aspects the form of the universal because they are abstracted and considered each for itself. Thus cultivated persons approach the objects and pay attention t o their various aspects; the latter are available t o t h e m . Cultivated refection has given these objects the form of the universal, takes t h e m as particularized on their own account. W i t h this approach cultivated persons can grant individual circumstances their rightful place, while uncultivated persons ,„ well-meaning way se.ze upon some prominent feature but thereby do .n,usnce t o a host of others. Because cultivated persons take into account and register the various aspects, they can act more concretely; moreover, this ,s essentially due to the fact that cultivated persons can act i n accord w i t h universal aims and perspectives. This is the nature of cultural tormanon in general. I t has this one simple qual.ry that aims and reflections oear the impnnr of the universal* character.
itself 'ability', 'capacity'; and when these are posited, brought forth i n t o
31
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The development and activity of spirit must, however, be grasped more concretely-, the movement produced by cultural formation must | be grasped more specifically ,n ,ts moments. As the deed and concept of spirit, we have indicated that it [spirit] makes itself t o be w h a t i t is i m p l i c i t l y i n its
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existence of this merely possible being-in-self. The positing of the determinate qualities t h a t i t has i n itself constitutes the universality of spirit. This can be translated into a subjective meaning as well: we call what spirit is i n existence, w e c a l l them 'attributes', 'aptitudes', etc. What is posited and brought f o r t h i n the f o r m of anributes is itself received only i n subjective f o r m ; but in historv w e have w h a t is brought forth by spirit in the f o r m of act, object, w o r k . I n the latter f o r m spirit wants to have itself as explicit act {Tat vor skh),
to have consciousness of itself; and thus it must stand over
against itself as act. As to the relationship between attribute and act, a distincnon is often made between w h a t the human being is inwardly, one's anributes, and what one's actions are. I n history, however, this distinction comes to nothing because human beings are their actions; they are themselves the result of their acnons. We assume that intentions can be admirable even if actions amount t o nothing; we think that the inner is something other than the deed- W i t h individuals, t o be sure, it is possible that they dissemble and appear to be something other than what they are; but this is something quite partial, temporary, and limited, and on the w h o l e it cannot succeed. The truth is that the outward does not differ from w h a t is inward, and it is misleading t o draw this disnnction; a senes of deeds is not t o be distinguished f r o m what is inward. History is what is revelatory; therefore it is especially i n history that all the specious reasoning about momentous divisions [of inner and outer] | amounts to nothing. History's method is t o consider the actions of individuals and peoples; actions portray what the peoples are. Actions are the aim or purpose. The aim of spirit is t o produce itself, make itself to be an ob.ect; . n t h , way it has itself as an existent being; in this way i t knows itself, and its being .s t o know itself. I t is an actual spirit only insofar as i t has brought its be.ng-.n-self before itself as object, w o r k , deed. Thus the spirit of a people is a determinate spirit, and its action is to make itself into an extant w o r l d , one i n space and time. Evervthing is the w o r k of a people; its religion, laws, language, custom^ art, accomplishments, actions, relations to other deeds, and each people is only this w o r k . Each people has £ All Enghshmen w i l l say that they are the ones who rule the East I n d i a _and h^ oceans; and so f o r t h . A people adduces its insntutions and ,ts being, these c o n s t i t u t e substantiality and t h o u g h t individuals may have no on; and individuals appropriate the w o r k , t h a . . a c ^ it [and k n o w ] t h a t their individual aspects reside in this whole. y
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159
THE
LECTURES
OF1822-3
the work is there before them as a ready-made w o r l d t h a t they must become pan of. Spirit is therefore this bringing f o r t h , k n o w i n g that it is this w o r k and deed. When we consider the period in which this p r o d u c t i o n occurs, we see in this period a people living for the sake of its w o r k ; and f r o m this standpoint a people is t o be regarded as ethical and virtuous because it brings f o r t h and enacts its inner principle, the inner w i l l of its spirit. This is the period i n which its purpose is brought into concrete existence; here the sundering of the | individual f r o m the w h o l e has not yet taken place; this happens only later, in the period of reflection. W h e n a people has objectified itself i n its w o r k , it has arrived at its satisfaction. Spirit is no longer something subjective and merely interior that does not have a correlative existence. This deficiency of merely being-in-self, the split between the in-itself and actuality, is suspended; and thereby a people has accomplished itself and is satisfied; it has erected what it itself is as a w o r k , as its w o r l d . T h i s is the first moment that comprises the activity of spirit. The second moment, associated w i t h the first, is t h a t spirit, w h e n i t has achieved itself and has what it wants, n o longer needs its activity. The substantial soul is no longer active; n o w it is only oriented t o individual aspects, having lost the highest interest of life, which is f o u n d o n l y w i t h the antithesis [between goal and attainment]. I have an interest i n something only insofar as it is still concealed f r o m me or insofar as it is m y purpose but is not yet fulfilled. Hence, its deeper interest disappears when a people has achieved itself and makes a transition f r o m adulthood t o o l d age, t o the en,oyment of what i t has achieved. Such a people lives i n the spirit of w h a t it has become, m the spirit of w h a t it sought and has been able t o a t t a i n . I t has perhaps surrendered several aspects of its purpose or been satisfied w i t h i n a narrow compass. It n o w lives w i t h i n its habitual routine, which is w h a t leads to natural death. (But because i t is universal, a type (Gattung), something different comes on the scene, a different determination.) For h a b i t is no £ n g e r alive; i t is where purposes are no longer at w o r k because they have been achieved. A necessity or need d i d arise, b u t i t is no longer felt because | i t was satisfied by some arrangement or other. A l t h o u g h they once had a sound basis, such earlier arrangements are n o w of little interest and are discontinued as unnecessary; a present w i t h o u t need ensues. However, such an undemanding perpetuation of h a b i t leads t o natural death. Natural death can show itself as political n u l l i t y : a people contmues to vegetate only the particular needs and interests of individuals predominate, and there « no longer the spirit of a people w i t h lively interests. If true and universal interests are to arise, the spirit of a people must aspire t o 160
INTRODUCTION
something new. But f r o m where is this t o come if the principle is already produced? The new can only entail a surpassing of that people's principle, a striving f o r something universal in such a way that this principle w i l l determine itself further. This is possible; for spirit does not simply die a natural death; the spirit of a people is not a natural, singular, immediate individual but rather essentially a universal life and spirituality. A n d thus w h a t appears as a natural death also appears as a self-mortification, not merely as the abstract negative of simple cessation; rather this negative other w i l l come t o light i n the universality of the spirit of the people itself. The spirit of a people exists as a type {Gattung), as universal on its o w n account, a n d therein resides the possibility that the universal can appear w i t h i n this people as w h a t is posited over against it. Thus the spirit of a people allows its negative t o make an appearance. Peoples can drag on m a vegetative life and be spiritually dead i n such a way that the negative that is w i t h i n them | does not come to light as division and conflict. We have seen this in m o d e r n i t y w i t h o l d imperial cities that have outwardly declined but inwardly remain w i t h o u t a clue of h o w that happened to them. This brings us t o the t h i r d p o i n t , which is that spirit as spirit prepares its own downfall, w h i c h is however the coming f o r t h of a new life. It is not merely the habitual routine of spirit's life that constitutes its transition; rather, the spirit of a people as spirit must get to the point of k n o w i n g itself and t h i n k i n g w h a t it is. The spirit of a people is k n o w i n g , and this activity of thought i n relation t o the reality of such a spirit is such that the latter k n o w s its w o r k t o be objective and universal, no longer merely subjective. T h i s is the other principal determination that stands m ^ p o sition t o a n a t u r a l death. I n this regard we wish to return t o the point that spirit produces its being-in-self as w o r k , makes itself into an ethical, polincal organization. This is something external, a system of articulations. Such a w o r k is something objective, and for this reason i t has universality as .ts determination and foundation. As the w o r k of the spirit of a people, i t is not something particular but something inherently universal. O n l y as enduring and permanent is i t a w o r k . W h e n a people is driven t o actions by mere desires, such deeds pass by w i t h o u t a n ' t r a c e , or the traces are not positive but rather d e s t n i c n v . Enthusiasms, impulses, and occurrences of this sort are not w o r k s . The same thing is the case i n the ancient myths. I n the begmning Chronos ruled in an age o f innocence when ethical relationships did not yet exist This Chronos, o r time, had his o w n works or achievement that he tegoand that were only ephemeral, and he m turn devoured t h e m Jupiterthe polmcal god w h o created an ethical and conscious w o r k - h e from whose head I 161
T H E LECTURES OF
1822-3
Minerva sprang, he w h o was father of A p o l l o and the Muses—was the first t o vanquish time because he produced an enduring w o r k , the state. So w o r k has the quality of universality and objectivity. Universality has the nature of subsistence. Thus a w o r k must have objectivity and universality. The second point is that the formation of a people is necessarily accompanied by the fact that i t knows its universal aspect as ethical. Objectivirv is found i n the work only to the extent that i t is k n o w n . The people must be cognizant of the universal upon w h i c h its ethical life rests and that allows the particular to disappear. The people must therefore possess a conception of its life and circumstances; it must be cognizant of its laws as acknowledged universalities; it must k n o w its religion and not merely possess a cultus but advance t o the doctrines of religion. Spirit seeks t o k n o w this; thus i t seeks t o know its universality, and only by means of this k n o w i n g does it make itself one with the aspect of its objectivity that constitutes w h a t is universal. As what ,s universal it seeks to relate itself to irs o w n universal elements. Its obiectivity is at the same time a w o r l d of singularities; by relating itself onlv t o these singularities, it exists in faith, i n sensible behavior, in external perception, etc. But it ought to be a thinking being, the unity of its highest and mnermost being w i t h ,ts existent being; and this unity can obtain onlv when i t knows the universal aspect of its w o r k and its w o r l d . T h i s is its highest sansfacrion because thinking what is mnermost for , t . T h i n k i n g involves a need and necess.ty that we shall have to consider further. A t this pomt spirit knows the universality of its principles and its actual w o r l d ; it 1 S
7 ™ " * * n t , a l l y is. I t is now conscious | of its essential being. This work tlus w o r l d of thinking, ,s initially, ,n terms of f o r m , distinct f r o m its actuality; so there ,s both a l and an ideal ethical life, and the individuals w h o k n o w about the w o r k of the people are different f r o m those w h o live i n only an unmedme way w i t h i n i t . So at this standpoint we see the sciences nourish, as they necessarily must. S
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I f we w a n t to k n o w what the Greeks were, we find o u t about Greek life in Sophocles, Anstophanes, Aristotle, Plato, Thucydides, etc, in them spirit came to k n o w itself through thought This satisfaction is indeed the highest, but in one respect i t is ideal and ttalk a, k
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th unreflecred. Here resides in p a n the awareness of the l,m,tat,ons of such ^ n n i n a c y Reasoning prompts selfonsciousness t o renounce duties and eldenc , " " ' ^ ' y M A I . N o w ,t ,s the general tendency to require grounding, to require t h a t an acknowledged [practice] W
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162
INTRODUCTION
be connected f i r m l y to some w h o l l y universal principle. If such grounds, i.e. something w h o l l y universal, are not discovered as the basis, the representation of virtue becomes precarious. Then duty as such becomes something that is not valid absolutely | but only insofar as the grounds of its validity are k n o w n . Connected w i t h this is the sepatation of individuals from each other and f r o m the whole; for consciousness is subjectivity, and it has the need t o isolate itself, t o grasp itself as a particular subjectivity i n the form of a this. This sub|ective inwardness, grasping itself in the form of singulariry, is what produces vanity, self-seeking, etc.—qualities that are contrary to faith, to immediacy. Thus self-interests and passions are unleashed as destructive qualities, .ind the destruction of a people runs rampant. This is not natural death but the death of an ethical life, a death that appears in ethical life as the tearing apart of the members. Thus it came to pass that after Zeus put a stop to the devourings of Chronos and established something inherently permanent, Chronos himself and the whole race of his offspring were i n any event swallowed u p themselves, i n fact by that very principle of thinking that requires insight based on reasons. Time is the negative portrayed in a sensible way; thought, by contrast, is the innermost negativity in w h i c h all determinacy is dissolved and objective, existent being is superseded. Thought is the universal, the unlimited, and i t puts an end t o a l l l i m i t a t i o n . If indeed what is objective does not appear as limited, it still appears as a given and thus as something that can set no limits to thought. Political states are the sort of objects that limit thought because thought can overcome them. To the thinking subject states appear to be a limitation. This is the path on which the spirit of a people, out of its depths, prepares its d o w n f a l l . | This dissolution of the ethical w o r l d by thought is at the same time, however, necessarily the emergence of a new principle with new determinate qualities. Put briefly, thought is the dissolvent of the previously healthy shapes because its activity is that of the universal. I n this dissolution brought about by the universal, however, the previous principle is in fact maintained, but only in such a way that its determinate mode or actual being is destroyed. Here this is to be taken as axiomatic. O n the one hand, therefore, because spirit is the comprehension of the universal, the singular becomes something precarious and foundering; but on the other hand the universal essential being is m a i n t a i n e d - n o t only maintained but elevated into the f o r m of universality; its universality is rendered prominent. The preceding principle ,s thus transfigured into this universality. But the mode of universality n o w existing is also t o be regarded as something different from what preceded i t , f o r universality then was more in the mode of inwardness and 163
T H E L E C T U R E S O F 182
2-3
INTRODUCTION
had outward existence only as concealed w i t h i n an endless number of various existing relationships.
defining categories as k n o w n by philosophy are explicit to i t . Merely reflective
The labor involved i n processing this externality by thought means for us simply that what beforehand was singularity and merely subsisted i n concrete singularity is n o w transposed i n t o the f o r m o f universality, w h i c h however has a different determinate quality i n preference t o the others; for it is a further determination a n d thus appears as something different, something new. And spirit, w h i c h thus now i n w a r d l y has further comprehension of its essential being, appears as something more and different, and i t n o w has different and broader interests and purposes. T h i s transformation has, indeed intrinsically, arisen f r o m a transformation of f o r m , but this new f o r m then adds to the principle other | a n d further determinations, w h i c h also become determinations of content. I n order t o b r i n g this into greater representational clarity, we can recall w e l l - k n o w n phenomena. So, for example, those w h o are cultivated among a people have quite different expectations than those w h o are uncultivated and w h o share i n the same religion and ethicality, whose substantial circumstances are entirely die same. Cultural formation at first changes nothing about the situation itself b u t appears o n l y to be a formal matter. The cultivated and the uncultivated Christian have the same content but nonetheless w h o l l y different needs. The person o f l u x u r y eats and drinks and has a dwelling place just like the simple person. T h e same is true regarding matters of property. O n the w h o l e , the serf also has property, but it can be bound up w i t h encumbrances, w h i c h confer another sort of property right involving a joint proprietor. I n t h i n k i n g about p r o p erty, we state f o r t h w i t h that i t is something unencumbered {ein Freies), t h a t there can be but one master of i t ; thus thought posits the definition o f property as something freely held (freies). The content is the same; but thought emphasizes the universal, and f r o m the latter emerge a separate higher principle and a different need and interest.
from actual being. Thus we can give a general representation of peoples and
Thus the characteristic of the transition or the changing of a people is that what e present to hand and immediate is subjected to thought and thereby elevated t o un.versality; for the particular must be purified of its particularity and transhgured into essentiality. Only this relationship [to thought] makes tor a further^determination. Therefore, t o the extent that we have seen a spirit * n v i n g to be with uself and t o grasp and comprehend its actuality i n thinking fashion, ! the prmciple has t o that extent been expanded and further deter^ nnned. To grasp t h , ^ we must know what thought is, namely that i t is what is r a n d e s s m n a k ^ thus the universal is found i n philosophy. This is the speculative significance of the universal, and sptnt is what has this speculative significance because the 164
thinking has general representations too, but only as abstract and distinguished their masters, etc., but this is merely subjective and just facilitates our representational activity. Universality—grasped as it truly is—is the substance, the essentiality, that which genuinely has being. I f , for example, being a citizen of Athens includes being a citizen i n a universal way, such that this person counts for something just as he now truly is, then this universal aspect simply means that the citizen is a human being; and, i n face of this universality, the particularity of simply being a citizen of Athens or having some other features, melts away. Particularity o f this sort melts under the light of thought, as snow melts under the sun. When, i n a people, thought comprehends universality, that people can no longer remain what it was but rather must attain new and higher determinate qualities. T h u s , for example, if particularity is sublated by thought in a people such as the Athenians, and if thought develops i n such a way t h a t the particular principle of this people is no longer essential, then this people can no longer endure; another principle has emerged. If higher qualities accompany such a principle, then the substantial foundation of the spirit of a people has changed. W h a t was once its purpose now has different characteristics. A new w o r k is at hand, one that must be accomplished. I Incidentally, i t must be remarked that in w o r l d history, insofar as a principle of the spirit of a people has become a higher p n n o p l e this spirit is now existing i n the f o r m of a different people; and that w o r l d history has made a transition f r o m the people that previously was pronunent to another people. For a people cannot traverse several such principles and several stages; it cannot be epoch-making twice i n w o r l d history, even though it has stages i n its development. . These stages are, however, merely forms of the development o f its determinate principle. I f the latter changes, then a different people arrives at the higher principle. This is the reason why, in the history of spmt, the p r u n e s e x i t as the spints of peoples but at the same time are also natural existences; here we find ourselves not on the soil of pure thought but rather on that of existences. T h e stage at w h i c h spirit has arrived exists as a nacy, the natural principle of a people, or rather as a nauon; for nanon » what a people is i n natural f o r m . I n history spintappears as f l a y e d m various sort, o f natural shapes in space and time^ Thus w h e n a de^rmmate pnnciple takes on further determinate qualines, the new ^ ^ ^ ^ o f a people as the negation of what previously existed, as etc. Lrefore as the destruction of what previously exited; i t appears as the 165
56
THE L E C T U R E S OF 1 8 2 2 - 3
INTRODUCTION
negation of its determinacy, as the destruction of w h a t that people was in terms of its original determinacy. The higher stage i n its positive existence is still a natural stage that thus appears as a new people. These are, then, the more precise moments in the process of change; herein reside the moments of the concept i n their necessity. These moments are the moving soul of progress. |
to a goal; no end w o u l d ever be in sight. However, religion and reason recognize as of interest only | w h a t is genuinely true, subsisting in and for itself, only w h a t has no limitation and is not merely transient. This brings us t o the content of the absolute purpose that spirit sets forth by means of w o r l d history and that is therefore the w o r k of w o r l d history. This t o o , like the first t w o stages, must proceed f r o m the concept of spirit. We have thus far indicated rhe mode of the beginning [of history), then secondly the moments of its progress. The latter must have a goal, a final end, and it is this final end that we now consider. It resides in the already-indicated concept of spirit. I f we speak of it briefly, however, it remains abstract; if we speak of i t as it is for the concept, we would be too expansive, and this is not appropriate here. Thus we can give here only a general representation; history itself provides the details.
The End of History Further reflection about the respects in w h i c h the spirit of a people dies a natural death but also is altered by thought presents a succession of stages that appears to be nothing other than a progression into infinity, a perfectibility that proceeds in infinitum without ever attaining its goal. The additional statement that the higher principle consists in the fact that w h a t preceded it can only be grasped in universal terms makes this universal itself only some¬ thing determinate once again. Just as i n nature there is a progression i n the series of living forms such that the higher level is a universal life bur at the same time appears as something determinate, so also must the universal i n history assume a determinate shape and portray itself i n a determinate way; tor we are standing on rhe soil of existent beings, of natural shapes. In any even,, h to do w i t h actuality. But it appears t o be a matter of onlv mdeterrmnate progress i f no determmate shape can secure itself against thought against the concept, i f i t cannot withstand thought. Were there t o oe something that the concept cannot digest, cannot resolve, cannot idealize, then this thing w o u l d stand opposed to the concept, estranged f r o m , t ; and this would be the greatest rupture, the supreme unhappiness. Thus the concept resolves everything, and i t does so continually. H a d something been able t o I s t o r y
h a s
irff r ^ r ' > ** ^ » • « « ^ .tself be the object such that i t grasps its o w n self; for it is sunplv w h a t is itself unhmiteck I n that event it would have returned into itself, and the tribunal of his cry idas Gertcht der Gescbtchm would be over and done w i t h : for udgment , passed only on what does not accord w i t h the concept * In this return of thought mto itself, eternal peace would be established. o
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principles constantly emerged, w o r l d history would have no purpose leading
One often hears that the final end of the w o r l d is the good. But this is indeterminate, and precisely the final end posits something determinate. We call to m i n d the statements of religion about this matter, and we must do so; for we must not proceed i n philosophy by failing to take into account religious and other venerable intuitions because, out of timidity, we ventured no comparisons. We find the religious final end expressed as follows: that human beings should attain eternal peace, that they should be sanctified. This is, i n one respect, the proper religious aim as i t concerns the individual. The subject as such has an infinite interest in this religious arrangement. However, the presupposed content of the final end, so conceived, is that in w h i c h individuals w i l l find their erernal goal, that in w h i c h souls find their salvation. One m i g h t have the impression that the eternal goal has nothing to d o w i t h us here, | where we act i n the w o r l d , because it is a future, otherworldly end, something 'over there'. But then this w o r l d , what is .hisworldlv, is still the place of preparation and attainment, and so this w o r l d must furnish the basic orientation f o t all works. Yet the final end as thus expressed bv religion refers only to the individual, subjeenve side; a n d i f the interest of the individual is thus expressed as the final end then the content of salvation, w o u l d fall under the heading of means. But tins « certainly not the case. What constitutes the way to the goal is no mere means but directly the absolute thing-that-history-is-about itself, the absolute hist o r y i n w h i c h individuals are only single moments. 3 3
I A r Weltgeschichte .stdas Weltsaich /) if H
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T H E L E C T U R E S OF
INTRODUCTION
1822-3
If we leave aside the merely subjective f o r m , the substantial content that it presupposes may be grasped more precisely. Just as is the case w i t h the purpose of natural existence, the purpose of spiritual activity is the glorification and honor of God. Here the matter is comprehended i n religious terms. This is i n fact the w o r t h y a i m of spirit and history, h is implicit in what we said before, and we w a n t to t h i n k about i t w i t h more precision. We found spirit t o be w h a t produces itself, makes itself i n t o a n d grasps itself as object. O n l y then is it result, as w h a t is brought f o r t h and self-produced. To grasp itself means simply to grasp itself i n t h i n k i n g fashion. I t does not mean merely to have information about arbitrary, o p t i o n a l , and transient matters; rather it essentially means t o grasp the true being, the absolute itself. Spirit's absolute is the absolute of everything, the divine being. Spirit's purpose, its absolute drive, is thus t o gain a consciousness of this being such t h a t i t is known as the one and only actual and true being t h r o u g h which everything happens and | proceeds—to k n o w that everything m u s t be arranged, and is actually arranged, i n accord w i t h i t , and therefore that it is the p o w e r that guided and guides the course of w o r l d history, the power that rules a n d has ruled it. The recognition of this in these deeds and w o r k s is w h a t religion rightly expresses by giving God the honor and glory, o r by g l o r i f y i n g and exalting the t r u t h . This exaltation of the t r u t h is t o be understood as the absolute final end, and this t r u t h is the sole power that brings f o r t h and completes this exaltation. The individual spirit has its glory in glorifying 3 4
u it* " ; « its honor comes f r o m k n o w i n g that its self-feeling is the substantial consciousness of G o d , that its action is to the honor and glory of G o d , of the absolute. I n this knowledge the individual spint has attained its t r u t h and freedom; here it has t o d o w i t h the pure concept, w i t h the absolute; here i t is at home n o t w i t h another but w i t h itself, with its essence, not w i t h something contingent but rather in absolute freedom. This, accordingly, w o u l d be t h e f i n a l e n d of w o r l d history, i n this idea the antithesis that is found in the consnicted spirit falls away, for hat spirit is aware of its essence only w i t h i n a limitation and overcomes the aner by means of thought. Here, therefore, the destruction w r o u g h t by n
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H u m a n Passions and the Divine Idea We come n o w t o the other aspect, the passions and their relationship to the divine idea. These constitute the element of singularity, of particularity, of the activity whereby particular purposes are actualized. It is i n and through the passions t h a t the rule, the power, and the dominion of the idea are to be recognized. These passions include all special purposes and interests. The form of the purpose is not essential. "Passion' is the most passive of terms, but not completely so. W h e n something is accomplished, we think of it as a purpose, as something set f o r t h or presented (Vorgestellies). Indeed passion always seeks something set before i t ; | but what it does is determined w i t h i n itself and by itself. It is the unity of the determination of the w i l l w i t h what the subject is as such. Passion is the determination of the whole human being; thus i t is w h a t separates and distinguishes one human being f r o m another; i t is t h a t whereby the individual is this person and not someone else. Every human being is a specific, particular person; only so is a human bemg actual, for a mere abstraction of humanity has no t r u t h . A purpose is not something selected but is precisely w h a t emerges f r o m the determinacy of the passion. Thus 'passion' means here the determinacy of the human bemg. Character is already t o o b r o a d a term because it encompasses all particularities and denotes the w h o l e complexion [of the person]. We are not concerned w , t h the merely impotent i n t e g r i t y that lacks the strength to realize itself n o r w i t h merely putative purposes by which weak characters beat around the bush. I n history we do not have to do w i t h individuals w h o have certain intentions but then act like mice or gnats; rather we have before us the colorful d i n of passions. , , . .•<• If w e compare the colorful drives of passion w i t h the silent and simple life of the idea, w h i c h has w i t h . n itself, and carr.es out, the absolutefinal end then the next question concerns the nature of their connection. T h e i d e a of w o r l d h i s t o r y necessarily sets forth this connection and contains the unity of the t w o ; i t makes this unity utterly fundamental. This connection not something t o be taken simply on faith; actions are not to be the_ mere material o r external means by which the idea realizes itself. Fo m d , duals are k n o w . n g and w i l l i n g beings and make no claim to < ^ ° ^ > the designs of a pretty magic ( « « fin scboner Z»*er *nto/The^ h a « £ justifiable expectation not to have to serve as mere means. Nor can we sa. 1S
35. The German term Letdenschaft is ^ ^ ^ ^ undergo'. Similarly, the English word 'passion derives trom me 168
169
P
^
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'
T H E L E C T U R E S O F 18
INTRODUCTION
22-3
that the connection is something incomprehensible; rather our task is to comprehend it since we are engaged in a philosophical history of the w o r l d . Nevertheless we cannot enter into the full extent o f this discussion but only indicate the path on which a response t o the question is t o be f o u n d . Still it can be noted that the connection of these elements employs the w e l l - k n o w n form of the unification of freedom and necessity. I t is customary i n reflective representation t o speak about free w i l l , the particular w i l l o f freedom, and to place over against it what has being i n a n d for itself, the rational, as something proper to itself and as iron necessity. I n fact, the relationship of spint to what has being i n and for itself, as a relationship t o w h a t is its o w n , « only one or freedom. Freedom in the proper sense is the rational. Free w i l l , thejparticularity of interests, is only a m i x t u r e of freedom and necessity, and . t belongs only to the presumptive o r phenomenal freedom that stands under the influence of natural determinations. 3 6
The connection between the particularities of h u m a n beings and w h a t has being , n and for itself has t w o aspects: first, i t is f o u n d intrinsicallv in the concept, i t » the idea itself; second, the question concerns w h a t the its w o r k i n g s " 5
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fullness as an a t o m [i.e. a self-contained particle), is the most extreme contrast to that fullness. The entire fullness of the idea is opposed to this abstract negativity. G o d , the w o r l d , or whatever form the concrete may have, is posited as something 'over there', as an object; but the I is thus defined by the fact that this other is for i t . The knowing side, absolutely unyielding (absolut Sprode), is so situated that for it there is also the other. These are the i n i t i a l specifications. Further conceptualization arrives, for instance, at w h a t is called the emergence of the w o r l d of finite and free spirits. | W h a t can be noticed as first is that this atom, which is at the same time m u l t i p l i c i t y , is the finite as such. This atom is for itself only as exclusive o f the other because i t negates the other and therefore is limited by the other; it has the other as a negative, a limitation of itself, and thus is itself finitude. , I t is t o be n o t e d , t h i r d l y , that this finitude, this extremity of freedom that is f o r itself, must (because it is formal k n o w i n g w i t h i n .tself be considered i n r e l a t i o n t o the honor and glory of God as the absolute idea, and t h a t the latter is t o be recognized. I n recognition reside G o d s h o n o r and glory. This aspect of finitude is thus the ground on which the s p i r i t u a l element of k n o w i n g rests, k n o w i n g as k n o w i n g . It is thus the aspect o f determinate existence f o r the absolute, the aspect w i t h o n l y f o r m a l reality. These are the p r i n c i p a l moments i n terms of which the connection is t o be f o u n d . Inasmuch as we n o w make the transition t o more concrete shape*, we said that there is an other for the finite I . The other is present for me as the divine, and thus religion is present; but also i n the shape of the^othe,: there s the w o r l d as such, as the universal sphere of finitude. Its o w n fimtude exi s for this f o r m a l self-knowing. It grasps itself in this aspect < * » ^ and so i t has as such the standpoint of finite being, of finite wiTl, of ree w,» of finite k n o w i n g , of finite ends; this is its phenomenal standpom. toone aspect this self-knowing wills itself as such, and i t alsowills t h m g ; its sub,ectiviry is to be found i n all objectivity; this is Inasmuch as this subjectivity is thought of as pure and w h o l v wKhont content, i t constitutes the drive of k n o w i n g , i t is the reason that « k s o k n o w itself , n everything. Thus the pious individual I be blessed. Certainty of it ,s therefore a moral t r u t h and reside here n p . , subjectivity. But this being-for-self must have gone throughasequen order t o £ purified. It does not w a n t
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seeks itself as finite i n accord w i t h its immediacy, . n > t s £ r t K « £ is the sphere of appearance. It seeks itself in accord w i t h ^ p e c t e - o n its finitude a n d particularity i n that an other stands over against i t .
170
171
THE
INTRODUCTION
LECTURES OF 1822-3
This is the point at which the passions occur, the p o i n t where individuals
everything in the material realm mto the universal and to draw everything
seek t o actualize i t . I f we consider this point, namely that individuals seek the existence o f their
out of the universal; i n this way the absolute w i l l is k n o w n and accom-
place their certainty i n their particularity and
plished. This infinite | drive of unity, restoration, r u p t u r e ' is as such the 3
finitude, we see that they have doubled themselves: they are finite a n d they
second aspect o f the diremption of the idea. Thus it is the restoration, the
actualize this finitude. I f they have achieved this h a r m o n y by reconciling
universahzation o f the singular. If we understand the singular as singular
themselves in this way, they are called 'happy'; for those w h o find harmony
self-consciousness, then this process is the raising up of the singular to
with themselves and enjoy themselves i n their existence are called 'happy'.
universal ethical principles, and i n precisely this way the ethical realm
This is where happiness has its home. Happiness might also be considered a
comes into force.
factor in history. In this regard it can be remarked that w o r l d history is not a
T h e more pertinent question concerns the form or character that the
soil of happiness; i n history the periods o f happiness are blank pages, for the
universal takes o n when brought into appearance, to existence; for i t is
object of history is, at the least, change. I n w o r l d history satisfaction cannot
activity that actualizes the universal. This is the viewpoint of separation,
really be called happiness because i t is a question o f the satisfaction of
of differentiation, of finitude in general. The agents w h o are acting from this
universal purposes that transcend the sphere i n w h i c h ordinary and particular inclinations can be satisfied. The object o f w o r l d history is those purposes
that have meaning i n w o r l d history, purposes that are carried o u t w i t h energy, by an abstract w i l l i n g that is often directed against the happiness ot | individuals themselves and of other individuals. W o r l d - h i s t o r i c a l i n dividuals have not sought happiness, yet they have found satisfaction. W
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principle o f being-for-self, o f f o r m a l unity. The m o m e n t o f abstract activity
viewpoint seek f o r themselves actual and finite things, higher purposes; they seek the enjoyment o f their particularity. The other aspect is that at the same time a universality o f purposes appears in these particular purposes, and we call these universal* good, right, duty, etc. If the universal is not apparent m the particular purposes, then we are dealing w i t h the stance of abstract tree w i l t , of brutality, w h i c h desires only the satisfaction of its self-seeking. But this latter v i e w p o i n t lies behind us. This universal, as seen f r o m the viewpoint of finitude, .s the particular
it is positioned
good as such, present i n ethical f o r m . I t is a production of the universa ,
as the middle term of a syllogism. Everything rational is a syllogism. I f the
w h i c h is already the ethical. This can be called the sustenance of the ethical;
acnvity ,s regarded as the middle rerm, rhen o n one side is the abstract idea,
it is no lifeless dutation but essentially a bringing forth. W h a t .s brought
the well of thought. O n the other side ,s externality, matter,
forth is i n the first mstanceethical custom, valid right, not merely g o o d i n a n
is to be regarded as the guiding aspect, the medius terminus;
which is found ,n
to winch belong the particularities, the independent atoms. W h a t is itself
abstract sense but the determinate of the good, not just anything as good. I t
atomistic, however, exists as the activity o f this middle t e r m , w h i c h actua-
is a d u t y t o defend one's native land, be i t Rome or S p a r t a - a d u t y , not an
hzes the inwardness o f the idea, translates it f r o m i n t e r i o n t y t o the extemal-
o p t i o n The ethical is thus essentially something determinate. This o p é r a m e
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a c u i t y o f individuals i n general, which all individuals should weave i n t o their activity. These are the w e l l - k n o w n duties and laws that each i n d m d u a acknowledges, the objective aspect of one's status and
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nothing problematic about them; weak-wiHed persons are he o n e s ^ h o think they call f o r extensive discussion. The feature of * e - v e r s a ethical practice is that the sustenance o f the ethical sphere comes
as
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all persons having t o produce ,h.s ethical life by their own
« « ¿ J ^ ^
agamst this universality of ethical custom there , a
comes .nto prominence and expresses itself in the great figures of history.
another, and the other
peak. But there is also the direct o b l i g a t i o n t o fit 172
ethicality I comprises individual duties, the rules of conduct for the ethical
37. T t i
U S
Gnesheinu H o * » read, 1 * 173
<* —
•
*
»
INTRODUCTION
T H E L E C T U R E S O F 18 2 2 - 3
and herein lies the point of conflict that makes i t difficult to conduct oneself in accord w i t h the ethical realm. W i t h i n an ethical c o m m u n i t y of being such a conflict cannot occur. For the latter is a necessary w o r l d of ethical life, and the universality of the ethical is not damaged by the a b i l i t y of individuals t o stray from it. Singular things can indeed happen; but such singular things as depravity and deceit are suppressed. Still, the [other] universal that menaces this [ethical] universal is of a different sort; i t has already been noted where that universal comes f r o m . We remarked earlier i n reference to the progress of the idea that an ethical whole is at the same time limited and as such has a higher universal above i t . Inasmuch as the latter comes t o prominence, a d o u b l i n g o r inner fragmentation occurs; the universal remains what it was but the higher p o w e r w i t h i n it rises t o prominence and intrudes upon i t . This constitutes the transition from one spiritual shape t o another higher shape; the preceding universal is sublated as a particular by means o f t h i n k i n g i t . T h o u g h t renders the particular universal by means of thinking. | A universality t h a t is higher than the preceding universal, higher than what is now specified i n contrast to it as particular, can be referred to as the next type. It was already inwardly present i n the preceding universal but had not yet come i n t o currency, so that its actual existence was precarious and inwardly broken. It is precisely the great historical figures, the w o r l d historical individuals, who grasp such a universal and turn it to their purposes. They can be called heroes, those w h o produce something universal—a universal that they create out of themselves by k n o w i n g , w i l l i n g , and accomplishing it, a universal that is recognized to be a universal. They are praised for having accomplished a universal that previously was only implicit, a universal that was not invented by them but rather was eternally present and, as posited by them, also as such is honored along w i t h t h e m . These historical individuals grasp such a universal; they create it o u t o f a source whose content was not yet at hand i n a k n o w n , determinate existence, and thus they seem t o create it out of themselves, out of their i n w a r d ness Thus they bring about, as accomplished deeds, new conditions of the w o r l d that appear initially to be simply their own goals and specific character, their productions, their passion. I t is their n and they will it as something umversal. Everything is gathered under the banner of such heroes because it is they w h o articulate what that era involves. We can say that by dint of the passions of the world-historical persons, the universal that appears here in the f o r m of passion is the absolute. os;
peculiar to philosophy. World-historical individuals should have this concept. Accordingly, they k n o w the universal and seek i t ; they have to do w i t h this universal. Its hour has come; it is the t r u t h of the age, and on this account they are world-historical persons; i t is what is inwardly already prepared. Thus they have the absolute right on their side; they k n o w how to carry it o u t . Spirit validates itself i n this shape, and these persons are conduits of i t . We remark in this regard that the world-historical persons are the most perspicacious about their age. They have the best understanding of w h a t needs t o be done; they desire and d o what is correct and right, although w h a t they do appears t o be their o w n concern, their o w n passion, their o w n free w i l l because others do not yet k n o w i t . They must heed it because they feel i t , because it is already inwardly their o w n and n o w comes i n t o existence f o r the first time. But, as w e have said, it appears as the passion o f the world-historical figures. Their w o r d s and actions express w h a t is timely, what is true a n d necessary. They have power i n the w o r l d solely because they seek w h a t is right, although i n i t i a l l y this right is simply their o w n representation. They have the correct view of w h a t is right. Thus Julius Caesar had the correct view of w h a t R o m e was; he knew that the Republic was only a shell (a shadow of its f o r m e r self), that the r i g h t f u l laws of dignitas and auctoritas had been suppressed, t h a t (and this was the m a i n thing) they no longer were t o be granted to the people, for instead i t was proper t h a t he make the particular w i l l subject t o himself. This was a correct representation of the rime, and thus Caesar c o u l d be its c u l m i n a t i o n . Lucan says: Caro favored the vanquished cause; the gods, however, the victorious cause. W h a t is right I is the characteristic that promotes the idea in and for itself. This appears as the passion of those individuals w h o above all satisfy their o w n concept i n their passion. W h a t the great persons d o is t o act i n order t o saOsfy themselves, not others. Were they t o satisfy the others, they w o u l d have m u c h t o d o , f o r the others do not k n o w w h a t is timely o r w h a t they themselves w a n t . Hence the great individuals k n o w w h a t the nmes call f o r ; they seek i t and find their satisfaction only i n doing so. They are so constituted t h a t i n their quest they satisfy their o w n concept, a n d this appears as their passion. For this reason the peoples gather around t h e m , 3
38. Marcus Armaeus Lucan, Bellum civile 1.128. The Latin text
* j *
At this point we should indicate that, while such moments are higher, I they are themselves only one moment i n the universal idea. This concept is
i o C a t o l Cato the Younger 95-M K ) Kught " P ^ ™ * « supported Pompey in opposition ro Caesac The Bellum cvile is an ep* poeni abou. the war between Julius Caesar and Pompey the Great.
174
175
R
{
o
m
a
n
THE
LECTURES OF
1822-3
aad those who resist them and remain true t o the o l d are defeated. People are powerless to resist these individuals. This is the true connection between passion and the idea. The necessity of the idea is ethical only through the passion of historical human beings a n d is connected with it. Thus the purpose of the idea a n d the content of the passion are one and the same. Passion is the absolute unity of character and the universal. Passion appears, as i t were, as something animal-like in the great individuals; f o r their being as spirit and their being as something natural are utterly one and the same, and this u n i t y constitutes their strength. Because they are driven unresistingly t o d o w h a t they d o , they are satisfied. In this way they satisfy their passion. They have not been happy; for [their w o r k ] has perhaps become biner t o t h e m , or at the moment they achieved their goal they have died or were murdered or exiled. They sacrificed their personality; their entire life was a sacrifice. A n d that they were not happy is a consolation for those w h o need such a consolation. | Such great ones attract hangers-on, and enviers of t h e m p o i n t t o the fact that they were i m m o r a l and f i n d this situation tolerable o n l y i f i t is evident that such persons were not happy. However, free inquiry k n o w s w h a t has truly come about by means of them; it acknowledges the greatness and is glad that it exists and has existed. The psychological mode o f inquiry c o m m o n l y comes i n t o play here; i t disparages the passion of such great persons and tries t o demonstrate t h a t they were i m m o r a l . Thus Alexander is judged to have had a thirst for conquest and t o have n o t done w h a t is g o o d for its o w n sake. Alexander's thirst for conquest was supposedly something subjective and for that reason not something good. But such modes of inquiry d o not concern us. Thus the t w o aspects that we have considered i n their connection are, on the one side, the idea, and, on the other side, passion o r the subjective w i l l insofar as i t is w h a t activates the idea and is the sustaining principle of the existing ethical whole. Thus the subjective w i l l has n o t o n l y produced the aspect o f partKulariry or mere change; i t also sustains w h a t is substantial, tor changes presuppose something i n w h i c h a l l changes come about. W h a t is postulated , the absolute unity of the idea w i t h the subjective w i l l that actualizes i t . These changes are posited by the subjective w i l l . The unification of the idea (that is, of the w i l l i n its representation) and the subjective w i l l is w h a t ,s substantial, rational, the ethical whole. T h e latter, insofar as it .s defined i n terms of w i l l , is the idea as volitional and thus the state as such, the idea | human freedom. This is the topic of w o r l d history, a n d the state as such is the more n a r r o w l y denned topic of w o r l d history as a whole. s
a s
176
INTRODUCTION
T H E NATURE
OF THE
STATE
The State and the Actualization of Freedom Ethical life constitutes the midpoint in which freedom objectifies itself, maintains itself, and lives i n enjoyment of itself. This ethical whole is the unity of the t w o extremes [the idea of freedom and human passions]. The state is the m i d p o i n t o f these t w o aspects, which also come t o the fore in i t . Thus i t is the m i d p o i n t of other concrete aspects: art, law, customs, the conveniences of life. W h e n we have defined this middle more precisely as the unity of universal and subjective w i l l , we w i l l as a consequence be in a position t o say something more specifically about our subject and about the connection of the state w i t h religion, art, and science. Before we can go into history proper, i t is important t o k n o w w h a t is involved of necessity m the state, w h a t the state is, and likewise h o w art, religion, and science are related to the state. Thus the first topic to consider is the nature of the state. The nature of the state is developed more specifically and exactly in the philosophy of right. The interest of philosophy is precisely t o comprehend the concept [of the state), i n contrast t o the approach more recently i n vogue, the belief that one has an immediate knowledge of its nature. Here we must for the most part presuppose this cognition and only summarize the results. Concerning the nature o f the state, it should be represented as follows: that i n it freedom becomes objective t o itself, that in it freedom is realized in a positive [i.e. historical] fashion—in contrast t o the representanon t h a t the state is a collection of h u m a n beings i n which the ( freedom of all is limited, and that therefore the state is the negation of freedom i n such a way that tor individuals only a small area remains free, one i n which they might express their freedom. However, the state is freedom in its objecnvity; and the constrained space w i t h i n which people have, as a rule, k n o w n freedom is only arbitrary choice or free w i l l (Wilbur), thus the opposite of freedom. Therefore the way in which philosophy comprehends the state is that the
39. See Eiemenu of the Philosophy of Right (1821), §§ 257-340 ^ ^ ^ S pp. 275-371). Perhaps Hegel intend, to refer here only to the ^ f ^ 0 ^ ^ ^ |pp.275-*l) where u l n t L e o f t l * state * d e h ^ topic o i this first subsection is the nature of the state a* ^ ^ ^ ^ followed by s u b s e t » wbch three aspect, o, its nature are addressed relation to\. spmrual world, and its relation to however, the whole toion of the state i n the PMosophyof * ^ ^ " ^ ^ state, and the same * txue o i these lectures. The h * i £ l £ ^ t u r r o f t h e S u ^ * fourth* German eon. while the subsection headings are supplied by the Er.ghsh eduors.
^J^^L^SS
177
THE
INTRODUCTION
LECTURES OF 1 8 2 2 - . Ï
state is the actualization of freedom. This is its principal definition.
appropriate; f o r the state is not an abstraction that stands over against the
Connected with this is the fact that human beings occupy a rational stand-
citizens; rather they are the essential element, the consciousness of the whole
point only i n the state. Aristotle indeed says: ' A p a r t f r o m the state the human
itself. I n an organism everything is end and means simultaneously; in it no
being is an animal or a g o d . '
member is an end and none is a means. Thus the state is the idea as i t is
4 0
We remarked e a r l i e r
41
individuals, as well as law, art, and the sciences, are the
that the being of accomplishments
present on earth.
of the peoples. Individuals are offspring, representatives, of their age and
Regarded more closely, the relationship of the state can appear as a family
people. What one truly is, is one's people as existing in the f o r m of a state.
relationship, a patriarchal relationship. I n any event, such conditions are
Only this deserves t o be called one's being. For better o r for worse, one is a
f o u n d i n the w o r l d ; states also arise i n part out of the association of families.
representative of one's age. Earlier we called this being the objective w o r k of
Such a relationship constitutes the transition f r o m the family to the state.
a people, and this constitutes the objectivity of each i n d i v i d u a l . Individuals
But the state can also be shaped i n a nonpatriarchal f o r m . The specific
are only this objective w o r k ; anything else is only their f o r m a l activity. The
quality of the state w i l l be clearer when we compare it with the family.
goal of all education is that the individual should n o t remain something
The f a m i l y is likewise an ethical whole, but i n i t love as such is the modality
subjective but rather become objective.
by w h i c h spirit and unity are present. Each family member is aware of being
Individuals can, to be sure, regard the state as a means for the satisfaction of their o w n ends. This view is, however, simply a one-sided error on the p a n of individuals; for the state is the end or purpose, and individuals have meaning only to the extent that they enact w i t h i n themselves the substantiality of the people. The true w i l l wills the people's objective essence {die
a member of the whole through | love. The labor and goals of each are not independent, for their o w n sake, but rather exist for the family as a w h o l e , and this w h o l e takes precedence over one's o w n particularity. So here too there is ethical life, actually existing spirit, the spirit of the penates.
42
But the
spirit of states is different f r o m these penates.
Sache), and this is what is substantial. The true artist strives to portray the
The state is [a w i l l e d and k n o w n ] unity: it is spirit not i n the form of love
object or situation (die Sache) as | it is for itself, and in doing so his o w n
or sentiment but rather i n the f o r m of w i l l i n g and k n o w i n g the universal.
subjectivity must disappear. Likewise, individuals musr make their people's
Members of the state confront universality as a force of nature because, for
objective essence actual w i t h i n themselves, and thus their subjective w i l l and
the i n d i v i d u a l , customs and habits exist as the immediate mode o f the ethical
what is universal in and for itself are united also i n the subject. Individuals
and in an immediate way. But i n addition laws belong to a state, which
owe everything that they are t o the state; only in the state do they have their
means that custom does not exist merely in immediate f o r m ; rather the
essential being. The state is the ethical w h o l e ; i t is n o t an abstraction that
universal is k n o w n also i n the f o r m of universality. I t is these laws that are
stands over against the individual. O n l y the criminal stands over against the
the universal i n the f o r m of k n o w i n g ; they are what elevate the state to a
state as an antagonist; but he too remains i n the state a n d has rights i n i t . The
spiritually existing community, whereas i n the family sentiment is the domi-
individual lives only i n the whole.
nant force. I n the state individuals obey the laws and k n o w that in this
The interest o f reason is that the state, this ethical w h o l e , s h o u l d exist, and that the singular w i l l should be united w i t h this absolute. The legitimacy of the heroes who founded states is in terms of this absolute interest. The foundation of states is the supreme justification. The state does not exist for the sake of its citizens; rather i t is the end i n and f o r itself, n o t a means for individuals, w h o are elements of i t . I t is not the case that individuals are the end and the state the means. The relationship of end and means is not
obedience they have their freedom, their objectivity; for the laws are the rational. Thus i n the laws individuals are related to their o w n being, their o w n w i l l . This is, accordingly, a k n o w n and willed unity. Thus the independence of individuals is found in the state; for they are k n o w i n g mdividuals, and k n o w i n g constitutes the being-for-self of individuals, i.e. it pos.ts^their T vis-a-vis
the universal. Here, therefore, personal identity
(Personltchkett)
enters i n t o play. This personal identity is not found in the family; instead onlv a natural drive binds the members together, a drive heightened t o spirituality and thus eth.cal.ry. O n l y i n the state do individuals k n o w the
v T ^fte;i0lit'CS ' °f Richa«l McKeon (New York, 1 » 1 (. 1129-301. 'Man is by nature a political animal. And he who hv nature and not mere accident .s without a state, is either a bad man or above humanity' 41. See above, p. 159. 1 2 5 3 a
t T h e
B a s
c
W o r k s
178
M s t o t U
42. The lares and penates were household gods of the ancient Romans. 179
T H E L E C T U R E S OF 1 8 2 2 - 3
INTRODUCTION
universal and are j reflected i n t o themselves, have independence. The universal, the laws, stand over against individuals i n the state, are posited over against them. Individuals are set apart f r o m these laws; as singular they are over against the universal. The independence of individuals constitutes the division i n the state, the antithesis; this antithesis is the element of rationality, constiniting the state as a concrete w h o l e .
universal. The universal must be posited as a universal that is an existing being, n o t as something that is merely intended, represented, or inward. The universal, w h a t has being (da seiend ist), is present in the state. To i t corresponds the inwardness that surmises that what ought t o be for it is a being that is there (Dasein), and that its task is to make this being its o w n . Here inwardness is simultaneously actuality. Actuality is an external manifold that is embraced w i t h i n universality. This existent universal must be comprehended, and it can o n l y be comprehended insofar as it is; and it is only i n the state. Thus religion, art, and science can only be present in the state. These are the abstract aspects of what is involved.
Thus what appears i n the state is the element of k n o w i n g a n d t h i n k i n g . Connected w i t h this is the fact that precisely all r e l i g i o n , art, science, and therefore culture as such, can emerge only i n a state. For they a i l have thinking as their principle. Absolute being is represented in religion. I n the state the absolute is still limited [and takes the f o r m o f a j specific f o l k s p i r i t so the Athenians had Pallas Athena, and they worshiped their f o l k spirit as a divinity. Absolute k n o w i n g , however, is something distinct f r o m this externality. A r t likewise portrays the substantial. Thus all these aspects have as their object the t h i n k i n g and k n o w i n g o f the universal, and the latter is able to become actual for the first time i n the state. The more precise correlation is as f o l l o w s : i n every state, indeed in every relationship of master and servant, i t is already the case that the subjective will obeys an other. Even i n rudimentary states the subjection of one w i l l t o another occurs. The subjection of the w i l l means that the particular w i l l does not count. This does not mean, however, that the individual has no w i l l ; [rather, i t means that] fancies and desire d o not count. Thus w h a t takes place is a w o r k i n g oneself free f r o m the particular w i l l a n d natural desires. I t involves the habit of directing oneself t o an other. The habit o f acting i n accord w i t h the universal w i l l , o f k n o w i n g a universal and a f i i n i i i n g its purpose, is what counts in the state. Thus the state is the knowledge of the universal | that comes about i n this external w a y (and i n history w e stand on the soil of externality), h i such a rudimentary condition there is already a renuncianon of the particular w i l l . There is at least a suppression here of the p i m c u l a r w i l l such that i t retreats into itself. This retreat i n t o self, t h i s inward being-with-self, presupposes that a power is brought t o bear u p o n the merely sensuous, natural w i l l . A n d i t is o n l y when this happens that a r t , science, and religion can f o r m . But we should not suppose t h a t they can appear m insular fashion, or, speaking generally, simply i n isolation. A l l great human beings have indeed shaped themselves i n solitude, bur only masmuch as they reworked for themselves what the state had already created. Such formative activity presupposes the state a n d society. I n the former instance [i.e. i n solitude], the universal is pressed back into oneself, as inwardness; m the other, the universal mnst be there (da sein). The universal as an existing being (em Seiendes) must be posited w i t h i n me as the i n w a r d l y 180
The C o n s t i t u t i o n of the S t a t e
43
H a v i n g examined the nature o f the state, we still face the question as t o the essential character of its c o n s t i t u t i o n . * W h a t is to be regarded as an 4
advance, and w h a t is not? I The m a i n p o i n t about the essential character of the constitution of the state i n its m y r i a d aspects is that the best and most complete state is the one in w h i c h the greatest degree o f freedom prevails; for the state is the actualization o f freedom. But thus far n o t much has been said, and it is a matter of detennining wherein rational freedom is found. The question follows as t o w h a t constitutes the reality of freedom. The first proposal is the representation of freedom as subjective w i l l , as free w i l l (WiUkur); people t h i n k of freedom i n the state as free w i l l , as the subjective w i l l of the individual; and they t h i n k that this subjective w i l l plays a part i n the most i m p o r t a n t affairs o f state. W h a t is called the subjective w i l l is regarded as ultimately the decisive factor. But we have already set aside this principle of free w i l l w i t h the remark that the nature o f the state is precisely the u n i t y of subjective and universal w i l l such that the singular has raised itself t o universality. The subjective w i l l is elevated so that H renounces its particularity. I n this w a y the n o t i o n that the free w i l l o f the individual should be the principle is already set aside. 45
43. This subsection is the first of three in which Hegel explores aspects < f ^ " ™ * ^ state « the actualization of freedom, its constitution; its f ^ l v T f e (religion, art, science, and culture); and i « relationship to the physical world Û W * W - & *
^ Ï T ' - l ^ L r r n a n term * Stootsverfassutg. V ^ »
£
r n ^ - c o ^ t ^ ^ r h e ^ ^
pnndples by which a system of government is organized. Hegel » « * referring pruwpally t o written constitution, i.e. to a document. 45. See above, pp. 170, 177-8.
181
T H E LECTURES OF
When we have the state and its wel!-being i n m i n d , w e often represent ir |as having two aspects]: one is the government, as the concentrated individuality of the state, the activity of the universal; the other is, i n contrast t o this, the people as many individual subjective w i l l s . Then we set f o r t h the proposal that the best political organization of the state w o u l d be one i n which both sides are posited and secured: the government i n its universal operation, and the people i n their subjective w i l l . B o t h sides must then be limited. I f we have this very common representation (and it appears often i n history), | but n o w ask what the concept o f the state is, precisely this opposition between the government (i.e. the universal, the self-acting o f the universal will) and the subjective w i l l is suspended i n the concept a n d disappears. There is something malignant i n the opposition between the people and the government. As long as this opposition endures, there is not yet in fact a state, and what is at stake is the very existence of the state. The idea of the state is the unity of the universal and particular wills, and the opposition that we have been dealing w i t h is an abstract one. I n the state this opposition must have disappeared. The rational concept of the state has already left such an abstract opposition behind; those w h o speak of this opposition as a necessity and still assert i t k n o w n o t h i n g at a l l of the nature of the state and have n o t yet recognized the concept of the state. T h e state has as its very foundation the unity of these aspects. This u n i t y is its being as such, its substance; but i n this regard i t is n o t yet an i n w a r d l v developed substance. In this regard i t is not yet rational. As a living entity, the state is to be thought of essentially as something developed, as an organic system consisting i n spheres or particular universalities t h a t are independent o n their o w n account, but only i n such a way that their independent operation produces this whole, that is, sublates their independence. I n the organism it is absolutely no longer a question of the opposition between universal and singular, hot example, in regard t o an animal it is not a question o f its a n i m a l nature in general and of >ts particular animal components. Rather, the u n i t v of the un.versd and particular already resides ,n the animal nature, where the universal q u a k y of life is present i n each component; w h e n extracted f r o m the living thing, the component becomes something unorganic. I I f the unity is destroyed, an organism no longer exists. So t o o the state is to be grasped as this totality; and what is distinctive about a constitution is the torm of this totality. The first f o r m is the one i n w h i c h this totality is still enveloped and the spheres [comprising the state] have not yet arrived at their independent subs,stence, the.r autonomy. T h e second f o r m is the one i n w h i c h the spheres 182
INTRODUCTION
1822-3
become free, a n d along w i t h them individuals become free too. The first f o r m is compulsory unity; the second is a loose unity of liberated spheres in which the u n i t y is a secondary factor (eine neue). Finally, the third f o r m is the one i n w h i c h the spheres, subsisting independendy, find their efficacy only i n the p r o d u c t i o n of the universal. Reminding ourselves of concrete representations, we see that all states, all realms, pass through these forms, and the whole of w o r l d history can be divided according t o these forms. First we see in each state a type of patriarchal kingdom—patriarchal or militant—and here the unity is still inherently compulsory. Then singularity, particularity, come into prominence, and thus aristocracy or democracy arises, depending on whether particular spheres or individuals rule. I n democracy an accidental aristocracy crystallizes, based on talent or some other contingency. This makes a transition t o a second k i n d of kingship, a monarchy, which is finally the ultimate and true f o r m of the state. W o r l d history has passed through this c o n d i t i o n . T h u s i n Germany there have always been kings, who first ruled patriarchally. The later ( H o l y Roman] empire is to be seen as the demise of kingships; individual parts of i t - H o l l a n d and o t h e r s - e v e n totally seceded. | So i t was only an empty formula and not yet the second kind of kingship. O n the w h o l e the same progression occurs i n w o r l d history. I n w o r l d history we find first the Oriental empires in w h i c h universality appears i n a massive, undivided, and substantial unity. The Greek and Roman empires at the point o f their highest flourishing, i.e. the development of their w o r l d historical significance, split into aristocracy and democracy. The modern European or Germanic w o r l d portrays, by contrast, the [second] monarchical c o n s t i t u t i o n , * where the particular spheres become free w d i o u t endangering the w h o l e , where instead the very activity of the particular produces the whole. A n d this is the presentation of the idea, which grants freedom to its different elements, brings them into prominence, and takes them back 6
i n t o its unity. , , , , N o t h i n g can be learned f r o m history about the consnmtion of the s ate because the state is rationality i n the w o r l d , concretely existing ranonahty. For this reason the various constitutions succeed one another in the ditterentiation of their principles, and always in such a way that the earner
and its equation with 'European', see below, n 79. 183
T H E L E C T U R E S OF
principles are sublated by the later ones. The rationality of the state is this principle of inward unity that stands over against those [previously mentioned) abstract aspects. It is a wholly different matter i n the sciences. I n the sciences, once something has been brought f o r t h i t holds good f o r all times; the earlier principles are the absolute foundation of the later ones. I t is a different matter with the constitution. I n the case of the constitution of the state, the later principles are not yet present i n the earlier ones. For that reason we can learn nothing f r o m ancient history; i n ancient history there were distinctive principles that ultimately were inherently static. T h e principle of the rational | state is precisely that such principles are not ultimate but, on the whole, perish. M o r a l principles can, to be sure, be extracted f r o m history for the constitution, but not for the concept o f freedom, w h i c h is what matters for the true constitution of the state. W h a t matters i n the state is the rationality of freedom, namely, that the whole is like a Gothic building, free-standing and having for its foundation and material the unity o f singularity and universality. Its t r u t h is that the singular exists only t o bring forth the whole. It is here too that the concept of the true constitution o f the state is found, which the ancient states knew not but the modern Christian w o r l d first discovered. The State and Religion, A r t , Science, and Culture The second aspect to be included here concerns the connection o f the spheres of religion, art, and science w i t h the state. T h e state is the idea in the element of worldliness, of human freedom. The state is the whole of spintual and actual actuality. This concrete whole has particular forms in which it is and must be comprehended. These forms constitute, then, the particular content. There are three types of forms. In the first, the content is the universal in and for itself, the infinite; this is the content of religion, art, and [philosophical] science. The second is a finite content as it relates to needs. The third is the natural aspect of the state, climate, land, etc. These three aspects are thus forms of the state, and systems of exteriority w i t h respect to i t . The first is the state i n its being-in-and-for-self, the second the 47
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2rU ^ 1 " ' ' regions to the natural or phvskal eXter 01 Th, , h ! ^ "1 ™ P to the interior relations of the constitution. Thus the discuss-on o( the state's natural relations (,.e. geography, forms a third elemen, in tu-o mads, an outer and an inner. Our subsection headings trace the outer triad (constitution, ,
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state's exteriority for itself, the t h i r d the whole immediate determinacy of nature. These three aspects f o r m a rich chapter. [ 1 . Religion, A r t , Science.) Only the first aspect can be discussed here more fully. The content of the state that subsists in and for itself is the spirit of the people itself; comprehended i n and for itself, we have the state in this f o r m . The actual state is animated by this spirit. In the determinate existence that occupies this spirit, singularities certainly enter into play; for m the actual state determinate interests are at stake. As thinking beings, however, humans | must k n o w the universal, the essential being; they must represent this being to themselves. But they must not merely know i t ; i n doing so they must also k n o w themselves. The singular consciousness must therefore have knowledge of b o t h the being-in-and-for-itself of spirit and its unity w i t h the individual. The center p o i n t of this knowledge, the actual spirit of this consciousness, is religion as such. A r t and science can be viewed as forms and aspects of religion. A r t shares a content w i t h religion, but the element of art is sensible intuition. A r t renders religion sensible and objective to representation. Science also has the same content—the science that is simply science, science twioxfr, namely philosophy. Philosophy treats the same object, but i n the f o t m of thought. The finite sciences d o not have an absolute content, and thus they are f o u n d in the second f o r m [as the relationship t o the finite]^ The substance of the state comes to consciousness i n religion, as i t d i d in Athens. So the penates were portrayed as the spirit of the family. Therefore religion is the first topic that we have to consider. We can adduce only the chief elements that are involved i n religion, those that can be demonstrated by philosophy alone. The essential characteristics of religion the idea at religion, must be presupposed on the basis of the philosophy of religion. We begin w i t h the assumption that the nature of the state » the life of ethical activity that unifies w i t h i n itself the w i l l of the universal and the subjective w i l l . This is the essence of the state. N o w , when we grasp the w.11 as the f o u n d a t i o n I of the state and take up this charactenzanon on . o w n account, it receives a further specification. The principle o f w . i l ,s being- o self. W i l l is activity and has its antithesis i n the external w o r l d as ^ » extent it ,s l i m i t e d , its principle is finite, and so it ,s thwarted The huma^ being is infinite , n cognizing, limited i n w i l l i n g . This , the ^ ^ « the talk about the human being as unlimited m willing and limited in
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INTRODUCTION
1822-3
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THE LECTURES OF 1 822-3
INTRODUCTION
t h i n k i n g . ' Intelligence alone liberates the w i l l f r o m its l i m i t a t i o n , and the thinking free will is what is universal. The w i l l as essentially i n and for itself must n o w be thought o f as liberated from its antithesis t o an outer w o r l d . It i s t o b e thought of as altogether universal i n this aspect too. Indeed cunning always finds means for the attainment of its ends; but the w i l l as universal is determined i n and for itself by the antithesis, is i n itself power; and essential being is t o be thought of as universal power.
The understanding (Verstand), as i t is found i n modernity, has made the divine idea i n t o an abstraction, into a being that is beyond the human; i t has made it i n t o an impregnable battlement, looming starkly, against which human beings run headlong when they approach i t . Reason (Vertiunft) has a f o r m that differs completely f r o m the abstraction of the understanding. Since we regard this unity to be already posited as rational, i t shows itself direcrly | w h e n it is a matter of considering religion. The object of religion is the t r u t h itself, the unity of the subjective and objective.
4
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This power can then be thought of as the l o r d of nature and the spiritual world. The w o r d ' l o r d ' expresses the power i n the f o r m of subjectivity; but this subject, 'lord', is itself only something formal; f o r an other stands over against the lord: the lord is active vis-à-vis an other. But the lord as spiritual p o w e r i s lord not only over an other, but also over itself; i t is reflected into irse t. Thus this power must be thought of as the being that is at rest w i t h i n itself, not as the universal negativity vis-à-vts the other. Power is not the sole aspect of the universal. This reflection into self is simple relation to self and is thus a subsisting beuig (ein Seiendes), individuality, sub|ectivity. Reflection into self ,s for the first time personality. Thus reflected i n t o itself, power is actuality, and indeed immed.ate actuality. The immediate acrual.ty o f this reflection its spiritualized | shape is, however, k n o w i n g (Wssen), and more precisely the k n o w i n g one (das Wissende). This is self-consciousness, human individuality. The universal spnit is essentially present human consciousness The human being is knowing's being-there [Dasein] and being-tor-self (Fiirstcbsetn). Thus we have a universal spirit as self-knowing and inwardly reflecring-as w h i c h it posits itself as subject, as ^ m e d i a t e , as subsisting bemg. The subsisting spirit is human consciousness. i n
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These elements are t o be apprehended w i t h i n the divine idea i n such a way that i , ,s the unny of the universal and the s u b s t r i n g spinr. Abstractly, his means nothing other than that spirit must be apprehended as the unity of
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The other type of religion is the unity of infinite and finite, the unity ot God and the w o r l d . This religion again has several forms. For example, the incarnations o f the H i n d u s belong to i t , likewise Greek art, winch portrays the d i v n e in human shape. This type is found more purely in the Christian religion, where the unity of divine and human nature appears in Christ, and which allows G o d t o appear in his Son, and so brings human beings t o a conscousness o f the unity. This anthropomorphic nature is not, however, portrayed i n an u n w o r t h y fashion but rather i n such a way that it leads
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In general, t w o types o f religion occur. The first is a religion of separation in w h i c h G o d stands o n one side as an abstract being outside us, thus a religion not positing the singularity o f consciousness, w i t h the result that what i t perhaps calls 'spirit', its so-called 'spirit', is but an empty name. This has been the religion of Judaism, and it is still that of Islam; and so also it is the religion of the present-day understanding, which i n this respect has gone over to a Turkish mode of representation/' This is the religion of separation, w h i c h can have i n turn a diversity of forms since a universal i n the form of natural being can be represented i n a natural, elementary way as air, fire, etc. But it can also be represented as a universal being in the form of thought, as it is i n Judaism, etc. (When we represent the universal as nature, that is pantheism, but nothing exists i n this pantheism. God disappears as the subject because nothing is distinguished any longer. Human beings do not recognize themselves positively in such a universal but instead relate t o it negatively.) . ,
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to a more favorable interpretation, which emphasizes no y ^ ^ ^ philosophy goodness, wisdom, and subjectivity of ihe God of hrael. Also ^ ^ ^ ^ of religion lectures, Hegel br.efly refers to Islam in a way « ™ . j ^ i ^ - D i n Ron.1. time he expresses appreciation for the un.tary vision ot_m ^ _ - . See Lectures on the Philosophy of Re/.gton, u- 1™, ' ' ^ ^ ^ h,|osophy 242^». The typology 'rehgior, oi separation", 'rel-tpon of un.ry , is « * m W t k
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7 2 8
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THE LECTURES
INTRODUCTION
OF 1822-3
true idea of God. The true idea of God entails that G o d is not a beyond, over and against which stands consciousness. W i t h religion, therefore, it is a maner of these forms. | The existence of art is directly connected w i t h religion. The understanding can have no art, o r at best it can have an art o f sublimity, w h e r e figure (Gestalt) is so distorted and disconnected that subjectivity seems t o disappear, inasmuch as figure becomes boundless. But art is essentially a n art of beauty or fine art (schöne Kunst) and had to have occurred a m o n g the Greeks. I t is to be represented as the sensible i n t u i t i o n of the divine, and the form of subjectivity belongs t o i t . Therefore the Christian religion too has art because the divine has appeared in it too a n d does not remain something above and beyond—because the divine is n o t the abstraction of the understanding. Whether philosophy can occur among a people is also a f u n c t i o n of religion. Thus only among the Greeks and Christians c o u l d there have been genuinely concrete philosophy. The Orientals have philosophy too, but an abstract one, not a unity of the finite a n d the infinite. These are the main factors of religion. There is a necessary connection of religion w i t h the principle of the state; for religion sets f o r t h the principle of the state i n its t r u t h , i n unconditioned universality, but i n such a w a y that i n i t actual spirit has divested itself of external contingencies. Conscious freedom can only exist where individuality is k n o w n as positive in relation t o the divine, i.e. where subjectivity is envisaged as present i n the divine being. Thus conscious freedom is found among the Greeks, and, in more developed f o r m , i n the Christian w o r l d because i t is there that the characteristic of subjectivity comes t o be k n o w n as a divine characteristic. | I n this respect i t has been rightly said that the state rests on religion. The principle of the state must be an absolute justification; finite interests are relative matters. The absolute justification o f the universal principle is that i t is k n o w n as an element of, a determination of, the divine nature itself. The principle of the state, the universal, what it requires, is k n o w n as absolute, i.e. as a deterrmnanon o f the divine nature itself. This is more precisely w h a t i t means t o say that the state rests on religion. We have often heard this said m modern nmes, but w e must n o t suppose i t t o mean that the existing state needs religion, and t h a t religion is not present there and must therefore first
be i m p o r t e d into the state in bowls and buckets. H u m a n beings are formed only into w h a t exists, and not into w h a t does not. Thus we must not believe that the state existed beforehand and had t o introduce religion into i t ; rather the state derives f r o m religion itself. O n l y a state that is determinate has derived f r o m a religion that is determinate; such a state has derived only f r o m the Christian religion, Catholic or Protestant. Thus the state always derives f r o m religion; the principle of the state, the consciousness of the sacred, is f o u n d i n religion. [ 2 . Finite Aspects of Culture.] Still t o be considered is the fact that, vis-avis its ideal aspect, the state has the aspect of outer appearance and life, o f external material in general. Thus the content here is the particular as such, the finite, b u t the universal shines through this particular content. However, this particularity is so manifold and rich that we cannot go i n t o i t here. These are the elements that are involved in i t . I 5 3
The first material of this sort is w h a t is reckoned among the customs and practices of peoples. Here above all belongs natural ethical life o r the family relationship; its characterization is very important. Both [customs and practices] are determined by the nature of the state. The first aspect here is marriage, the question as t o its type, whether it is polygamy or is monogamy, the marriage of one m a n and one w o m a n . The modern w o r l d can have only the latter (thus also not polyandry), f o r the modern state is where each side receives its f u l l right. Marriage, i n accord w i t h its concept, n o w receives its f u l l right as the relationship of one m a n and one w o m a n . A second aspect is the relationship o f children to parents. Likewise, i n the t h i r d place, family property is i m p o r t a n t . Definitions of the law of inheritance are connected w i t h the principle of the state, depending on whether persons arc slaves o r free property holders. A further relationship is the behavior of individuals t o w a r d each other, even to the point of what shows itself as courtesy o r civility. Other customs include those involved i n the necessary epochs of an individual's life, f o r example, b i r t h , marriage, death. Such practices express the conceptions that a people has about these matters. They show the specific sort of representation that a people has of spirit. Such conceptions present themselves in practices that are symbolic, whether mcidentally o r expressly so. Incidental features often play a large role i n practices. Thus the meaning is n o t t o be sought in all their individual components. So these are
53. Hege, bneflv — z e * «lïcJol ^ r ^ . " " " ° - b i u n i t v Ijewsh religio«) and the «Ugion of beauty (Creek rel.poa). See Lectures on the Philosophy of Rttrgton, iTl52-89. 0
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INTRODUCTION
1822-3
aspects that are connected w i t h the universal dimension of rhe state—to which courtesy I and conduct also pertain, as, for example, the manner in which Europeans and Asians behave t o w a r d the authorities. Asians, for example, prostrate themselves before their rulers, w h i l e Europeans merely greet them. So such differences are characteristic t o o , t h o u g h o n l y a few are purely incidental.
belongs to a higher and more concrete security, a greater energy of spirit, t o
The second point that comes under consideration regarding the aspect of appearance is the practical conduct of h u m a n beings i n relation t o n a t u r e — therefore, c u l t u r e — a n d h o w they act w i t h respect t o means for the satisfaction of their needs. Here luxuries come i n t o the picture, also the weapons that human beings use against animals and each other. Weapons are i n any case an important element. According t o ancient Asian legends, the discovery of iron seems t o be such an element; the impact o f the discovery is still felt today. The invention of gunpowder is t o be regarded as n o t h i n g more than accidental, but it could have been invented and used only at precisely this time and m this culture. Equally i m p o r t a n t elements are w r i t i n g , p r i n t ing, etc. Such elements comprise influential stages. A great many o f these things are free-standing, such as luxuries that could appear in any age and under any condition. Others, however, are bound t o a specific standpoint.
The State and Geography The t h i r d aspect t o be discussed concerns the connection of the state w i t h its external natural setting. W o r l d history, we have said, is a series of spiritual shapes that lead to the actualization of the principles of spirit and that end i n such a way that spirit grasps itself. A necessary principle is allotted t o each world-historical people. These principles have a necessary succession i n time, and likewise a concrete spatial specificity, a geographical position. So w e speak here about geography in w o r l d history.
54
Jhe t h i r d i m p o n a n t point concerns the rights or basic principles i n regard to finite needs: private rights as distinct f r o m statutory law. This requires in part personal freedom, the exclusion of slavery, and i n addition property (namely, freely-held property). Full personal freedom, f u l l free property, can emerge only i n states w i t h a specific principle. Finally, the fourth matter concerns the science of the finite: rights, frcedotr.,relanons to finite objects. | Knowledge of me finite forms the content of thesciences that are not philosophy: mathematics, natural history, phys>cs. Ihese, too, require a certain cultural standpoint, also a theoretical
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T * . T t . ° theoretically. The freedom o f md.v.duals belongs t o the fact that they are curious. The ancient w o r l d could not yet be acquainted w i t h the objects of nature, or examine the finite objects at nature, o r have an interest i n nature and its laws in the w a y that w e have had. The ancent and the m o d e m worlds are distinguished here t o o . I t m
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55
The first t h i n g t o note i n this regard is that climate is a wholly abstract and general element i n relation t o the shape taken by spirit. History indeed lives onthesoil | ofthenaWral;butmisisonlyoneaspect,andthehigheraspect is that of spirit. Therefore nature is an element o f lesser influence; the natural aspect, climate, does not account for the individual. Thus it is tedious to heat about the m i l d Ionian sky and its influence on Homer; for the sky is still m i l d , and the Turks have no Homer. The second t h i n g t o be noted is that neither the frigid nor the tropical zones create world-historical peoples, for these extremes constitute such a 55. See above, n . 47. The German editors of to edn. ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ pos,rion , n Hegel's c o r d o n of the state, a fact that is obscured by tte earb« ana Karl H e j p l a c e d the tbscussion of geography betweenthe ^ ^ ^ ^ y ^ Z , top.es, while^eorg Lassen and Johann« Hoffmeister moved it to an append^ »her die ?h,lo ophe der Weltgeschichte, p. «iL As a conase ° geography i n wedd h.Kory, see Hege., remark below ^ element of w o r l d l i n g thus we must also recognize ^ ^ ^ l , He^Ls natural and the spiritual form one shape, and this is hrfory. ft » n o t '^T** perspective on wcild geography and wodd history Americas were pnrK.pally travel and m.ss.onary J ^ ^ , ^ p j ^ v c , is f
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pre,ud.ced and bmned pCTre. What ,s surprising, « 2 2 ^ 3 nearly L large amount of attention devoted .o rhe Oriental world m d*se l e r n t « £ ^ h a l f T work foUowtng the inrroducuon,. The sourcesfor ^ T ^ ' J * ^ ^ philosophy were much more a d e . u a . than absorb tfus gromng Uterature in the early J f ^ ^ ^ S ^ been familiar whh geography .s the work of Carl Ritter (see n. «2 Wow). " ^ T ^ ^ ^ w U h d m « , the w . n n p of the natura.«, and explore. ^ ^ n ^ U of Humboldt and one of the founders of the University of ^ ^ ^ r Z ^ Z in the early i * h e m . Ritten geography became one of the more advanced of ^ « w a L s ^ e n c e s m Hegel's vZTf geography and nature » organs but pre^voluuonary. t o
191
THE LECTURES OF 1 8 2 2 - 3
INTRODUCTION
powerful natural force that human beings there are unable to move about freely or acquire adequate means by w h i c h t o pursue higher spiritual interests. The peoples w h o belong to such extremes persist i n a state of torpor. They are under the t h u m b of nature and cannot separate themselves f r o m it. The natural force is so great that the spiritual aspect remains i n identity with i t and thus cannot position itself over against the natural; this separation and self-composure are inherently the first condition of a higher spiritual development. Other peoples w h o are less bound t o natural forces a n d w h o are favored by nature are more open to spirit; but they have not yet raised themselves to spiritual activity and are n o t yet free enough f r o m nature t o advance beyond feeding themselves f r o m the crumbs of the master, t o advance further than other tribes, by gaining the impulse to attain a higher existence.
The new w o r l d has shown itself to be much feebler than the old w o r l d , and it lacks t w o resources, iron and horses. America is a new, feeble, powerless w o r l d . Lions, tigers, and crocodiles are feebler there than i n A f r i c a , and the same is true of human beings. The original inhabitants of the West Indies have died out. | Some of the tribes of N o r t h America have disappeared and some have retreated and generally declined, so that we see that the latter lack the strength to join the N o r t h Americans in rhe Free States [die frehtmten). The same is more or less the case w i t h M e x i c o and South America. Those w h o assert themselves there and sense the need for independence are Creoles, just like those i n the Free States. When we read the description o f the time before Europeans arrived, it is easy to understand w h y the Creoles are the dominant people involved. The Brazilians are of a wholly feeble nature and narrow spirit. I n the East Indies the English utilize a policy t o prevent g r o w t h of a Creole population, that is, a people of European ancestry who are indigenous to Asia. There Englishmen are not allowed t o pursue any occupation they like, or become indigenous themselves. Also a child b o r n of an Englishman and a native cannot hold any official post and is relegated t o lower status, just like the child of a native.
O n the whole i t must be noted in the t h i r d place that the temperate zone, and indeed the northern temperate zone, forms the stage I of the w o r l d theater. I n the north the earth is continental in scope, w i t h a wide breast, while in the south the shapes taper into points, so that here there are quite distinctive human beings and animals, and in the south animals and plants generally predominate. These are also elements of necessity. Here t o o the general conceptual distinction holds good and is conspicuous. L a n d d i v i sions parallel the division into several classes of animals. A fourth and necessary division is that i n t o the new w o r l d and the old w o r l d ; we d o nor make the division, but the w o r l d itself does i t . The new w o r l d is new not only relatively [in regard t o its relationship t o the o l d w o r l d ] ; it is [also] new in regard t o its physical and spiritual properties. W i t h o u t speaking dispatagingly of the new w o r l d , its geological age is not our concern, it being of comparable o r i g i n w i t h the so-called creation, although islands of the South Seas such as N e w H o l l a n d are evidently of recent formation. N o t h i n g can and should be said about whether America had been in contact w i t h E u r o p e . N o r does i t matter that Mexico and Peru did indeed have significant civilizations, since they were of a feebler stock and are long gone. 5 6
57
T l " ' I * * « " h named this .sland-continent 'New Holland' in 1644, and the name was not officially changed until 1824 although the English started settlements ,n 1788. Hege s br.ef description o i 'New Holland" below <see n. 641 fits the east coast of W a h a . The term South W was the name given bv earh explorers to the Pacific Ocean. Thus Australia and the P c .slands are part of what Hegel describes as the "new world". 57. Is th,sis a reference to V,king expedites i„ Hegel knew about them! and/or Spanish and Portuguese colonies prior to the Erudish and French settlements? W
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America can have the aspect of a new land, a land of the future. Napoleon is supposed to have said that the o l d w o r l d wearied h i m . Emigrants t o America have on the one hand an advantage i n that they bring w i t h them the whole treasure of European culture and self-awareness without the burdens that the European states impose on individuals, w i t h o u t re-encountering the hardships they have left behind, such as the lack of free land, the division and surplus of labor, or indeed being w i t h o u t any livelihood at a l l . N o n e of this is characteristic of America. The new Free States of N o r t h America are often cited as an example that even a large state can exist as free, i.e. as a republic. But in general there is nothing less apt than the comparison of states | w i t h one another i n regard to specific conditions. As an example that free states can exist, we can even point to Hamburg and Switzerland, but the inappropriateness of comparing them w i t h large states .s directly evident. I n any event N o r t h America is a still-forming state, a state in the m a k i n g , w h i c h does not yet have need of a monarchy because ,t has not yet developed to this point. It is a federation of states. Such states are the worst w h e n , t comes to foreign relations. Only its peculiar location has saved the federation f r o m total destruction. If large states were closer to , t , its
58. The only 'lions' in the new world ate mountain Hons; the jaguar matron to a 'tiger'; and the crocodile,' are pnncipallv alligators. These their Afncan counterparts, so perhaps this is wb« Hegel means when he call, them feebler 193
T H E LECTURES OF 1 8 2 2 - 3
INTRODUCTION
precarious situation w o u l d essentially come t o light. T h i s was indeed evident
the foremost aspect o f the sea is that it binds together. One of the distinctive
from the last war w i t h E n g l a n d .
The federated states could not conquer
features o f the Mediterranean Sea is its many gulfs; therefore it is not an
Canada, and the English even occupied Washington. T h e militias did not
ocean that offers an empty and endless journey into the u n k n o w n , to which
arrive, or they fled; and such tension existed between the southern and the
human beings can only relate in negative fashion. One of the great differ-
northern states that, had the w a r continued longer, a complete division o f the
ences between peoples is whether they go to sea or | avoid i t . The Mediter-
state w o u l d have resulted.
ranean Sea o f itself invites and calls upon human beings t o take t o the sea
59
In general, the [ N o r t h American] state is only i n a process of becoming. The coasts facilitate transit trade between China and Europe. As for the rest, wave upon wave o f people migrate f r o m the coastal regions t o the hinterlands of the Mississippi River valley where they f a r m ; w h e n pressed [by
because on the whole i t presents such a friendly face to them. Thus the three continents are situated advantageously for their connection w i t h one another. As to their geographical properties, the following is t o be briefly remarked. O u r task is facilitated by Hitter's fine b o o k ,
6 2
which has
more migrants], this self-sufficient class clears new l a n d . But w h e n all the
thoroughly examined the physical properties o f these continents. There are
land has been occupied so that there are internal social pressures and the need for trade arises, | the state must necessarily develop to the point of
three main features. The first element is the highland, where there is a massive formation, a
having t o maintain a different system o f government. T h e beginnings there
land that rises high above the sea and is encompassed by a girdle of moun-
are European in nature. So this country is presently a country o f becoming,
tains. The second is that there are breaks or gaps i n this great mass. W i t h o u t
of the future, and thus it does not concern us further.
t h e m , these areas are not well-suited t o human needs. Thus the second
We return n o w t o the o l d w o r l d , for i t is the one that concerns us i n more detail, and we shall examine its condition more closely. This w o r l d is divided rnto three continents (Weltteile); antiquity was already aware of that natural feature. These differences are necessary because they correspond t o the concept of thought. These three continents stand i n an essential relationship and constitute a rational totality. They are so situated in relation to one another t h a t communication between them is easy. The Mediterranean Sea sunders the o l d w o r l d , but i n such a way as t o facilitate communication. A n aspect o f the beneficence of water is that it makes communication p o s s i b l e .
60
It is a French point of view-
that nvers and water are natural boundaries because they are w h a t most bind together. The stretches of land along b o t h banks of a river are necessarily united, and they connect inhabitants more readilv than w o u l d otherwise be the case. The sea accomplishes the same thing. B r i t a i n a n d Brittany belonged together; likewise N o r w a y w i t h Denmark, b u t n o t w i t h Sweden. However, Livonia, Estonia,
61
»L
l a
r
d
?
i n i o u i i t t .
w h a t matters is whether this is close to the sea or not, whether they encounter o n l y a n a r r o w coastal strip or some impediment that causes an extensive delta t o f o r m . I n [South] America i n western Chile and Peru there are n a r r o w coastlines and no culture. O n the other side, i n Brazil enormous rivers discharge, such as the A m a z o n , [or in Argentina] the Rio de la Plata, rivers fed by the mountains. N e w H o l l a n d
' Y * *
T
™
P ° ™ * water ,„vers, seas, oceans, was sflf «°" " role of water in human hrstorv ">">P™ng present Latvia and parts of Estom*. funded S
a C K n
"
° T " ^ " P ^ ° f ^ - d (Stomal. Es.oma loo has be«, T"** T^* - ^ <* " 3 0 - 1 a. this point have Churknd (Courland), a former duchy and part of p r e s e n t l y Lama. m
e n
t
S
is an immature land, having m the
6 4
east a n a r r o w strip of coast, and, beyond the blue mountains, rivers, which however f l o w o u t i n t o marshes and so have no banks. The nvers of the highland are the second feature, and, if their plunge t o the sea is impeded, they have a longer course and flow in valleys. The third feature .s a more o r less absence o f highland, where there are only mountain ranges that can indeed have flat areas but only a few, and f r o m w h i c h only small streams f l o w ; here meadows f o r m and valleys are found, and the alternation between m o u n t a i n and valley constitutes the main feature. |
62. Carl lüttet. Die Erdkunde ,m Verkält
t h u S
f 0 r m
element is the precipitous flow o f rivers d o w n from these mountains, and
and Finland have belonged to Sweden. Thus
S9. The War of 1812. e ^ r ^ t y ^ T T Z j " :
63
J
S w e d e n
194
l e c t u r e s
'nphpdul,sJ,e»undhistorischen
*r
Natur und zur
fet.n
Wirtschafte*
a f c Z d e , of modem human geography, w « P " > * ^ T r ^ S l o w m g
< * ^ < *
* "*
°'
paragraph shows, these l e a n , - apply to the new world as weU a,
the old. 64. See above, n. 56. 195
T H E L E C T U R E S O F 18
The three continents are distinguished i n accord w i t h these three aspects. In Africa proper the highland is the main feature; i n Asia the fertile, abundant plains and alluvia] valleys; in Europe m o u n t a i n ranges are found, alternating w i t h valleys, hills, and plains, w i t h no single element predominating. The character of spirit differs i n the three continents i n similar fashion. I n Africa proper it is the sensuous nature at w h i c h h u m a n development is arrested: sensuous enjoyment, great muscular strength t o sustain labor, childlike good nature, but also unreflective a n d unfeeling ferocity. Asia by contrast is the land of spiritual antithesis, w h i c h arrives at an ethical life but sticks w i t h a natural, substantial ethical life, whereas the other aspect of the spiritual antithesis remains individual self-seeking, infinity o f desire, and boundless extension of freedom, w h o l l y abstract freedom. Europe is the descent out of abstract freedom into self, o u t of this boundless freedom i n t o the particular; i t is the deepening of spirit w i t h i n itself, its diversification, and the elevation of the particular into the universal. Our closer task is briefly to examine the continents i n succession. I n physical terms each continent divides i n t u r n into three parts physically—a division that more or less can stand, although the distinct parts are m u t u a l l y related i n such a way that their relations reveal the distinctness of forms and thereby become the bases f o r drawing n e w distinctions. f 1.] We can consider A f r i c a as comprising the f o l l o w i n g three parts; these differ such that distinctions i n spiritual character remain bound t o this physical characterization. The | three parts comprise A f r i c a as i t is in itself (art stch), A more precise characterization o f the division is t h a t the parts exist fundamentally on their o w n account, and only then i n relation t o the others. We have t o disregard w h a t they are o n their o w n account (das Fiir-Sich). The first part o f A f r i c a is therefore Africa proper, which w e can leave aside since its points of contact [ w i t h history] are m i n i m a l . I t is bounded essentially as follows: in the west, by the G u l f of Guinea; i n the east, also n o t by a straight line but by the G u l f of A r a b i a ; i n the n o r t h , by the south side of the Niger River. This l d is fashioned i n accord w i t h our first characteristic. It .s a highland whose mountains f o r m a n a r r o w band around the interior. Within this band is a belt of rich vegetation but pernicious h u m i d i t y (giftige Ausdunstung). Ad,acent to it are the mountains of the highland. The plateau proper ,s round w i t h a narrow strip of level coastland. I n between lies a swampy area whose atmosphere is almost always pernicious. To the n o r t h is p n n c p a l l y the Sahara Desert. The Europeans have established settlements and colon.es on the other three sides, w h i c h touch the sea, but they have n o t yet penetrated i n t o the highland, where riches are t o be f o u n d i n the most a n
196
INTRODUCTION
22-3
inaccessible conditions. The Negroes display great sttength of body and a highly sensual nature along w i t h affability but also a shocking and inconceivable ferocity. These peoples have never emerged out of themselves, nor have they gamed a f o o t h o l d i n history. I n the sixteenth century, t o be sure, ( w h o l l y u n k n o w n peoples irrupted f r o m the interior; but these hordes were merely destructive a n d of no cultural significance. These bands displayed the most frightful savagery and barbarism. But encounters w i t h them in peaceful circumstances f o u n d them t o be as affable as any others. This Africa remains in its placid, unmotivated, self-enclosed sensuality and has not yet entered into history; its only further connection w i t h history is that in darker days its inhabitants have been enslaved. As t o the general condition of slavery, it is said that slavery ought not t o exist, that i t is intrinsically unjust in terms of its very concept. But this 'ought' expresses a subjective wish; it is not a historical 'ought', for w h a t ought t o be exists, and w h a t exists ought to be. What this deficient 'oughtregarding slavery lacks is substantial ethicality, the rationality of a pohncai state i n w h i c h i t can have reality. There is no slavery i n the state that is rational; slavery is found only where spirit has not yet attained this point, thus only where the true idea i n some aspects is still just an 'ought'. Slavery, therefore, is necessary at those stages where the state has not yet arrived at rationality. I t is an element i n the transition to a higher stage. The second part o f Africa « north of the Niger River and the Sahara D e s e r t - t h i s d r y , burning sea that more completely separates than does the sea itself. This part runs f r o m the Atlas Mountains i n the west along the Mediterranean coast to the N i l e . Here there are mountain ranges and isolated deserts, but in part i t contains the most fruitful a n d rnany-hued stretch of l a n d , including, for example, M o r o c c o and I Fez. This part as a whole forms a coastal region and has only a subsidiary role m w o r l d history; i t is not independent on its o w n account and does nor stand on . * o w n t w o feet. Spain is said t o belong to Africa. But i t is just as correct t o say that this part of A f r i c a belongs t o Europe. The third part of Afnca ,s Egyp , a part m its o w n right and one interesting i n terms of w o r l d history Egypt is a nver basm; ,t has the nver t o thank for its existence, and it , isolated i n d * « * and south. The three different parts as such are distincnve in Afnca, w h i c h ,s the first, immediate continent. Egypt adjoins Asia.
German edn. The Hotho version reads: . . . thus toe true wea sou it merely ought to be'. 197
«i—
100
T H E L E C T U R E S OF 1822-C
INTRODUCTION
[2.] The second land is Asia, the w o r l d of d a w n i n g (Aufgang). Thus far we have viewed natural conditions as having a more negative a n d constricting impact on w o r l d history. In Asia they become positive, thus the great intuition o f nature, w h i c h must become the natural foundation for our intuition, as it is for history. World history is spirit in the elemenr of worldliness; thus we must also recognize the natural a n d the corporeal in it. The natural and the spiritual f o r m one shape, and this is historv. Asia constitutes the dawning [of w o r l d history]. Every countrv is east for another. Asia, however, is the continent that is the East as such, while Europe is partlv the center and partly the endpoint of w o r l d history. I n Asia the light of selfconsciousness dawns as the state. Here we have first t o consider physical locales, w h i c h , i n the way that they appear immediately, do not constitute historical distinctions; rather Asia is the land of antithesis. Here distinctions must be posited concretely as the relation of antitheses. The first differences here are abstract but not isolated as i n A f r i c a . | O n l y in their concrete differences do the relationships play a part in history. 66
Here i n Asia the relations of the distinctions are necessarv ones. To begin w i t h the entire northern slope must be regarded separately f r o m the ranges of the A l t a i [Mountains] of Siberia. The apparent advantages gained from rivers empty.ng i n t o the sea are offset by the climate, and thus this area holds no interest for w o r l d history. The remainder is divided i n r o three topographies. The first, as i n A f r i c a , is a massive highland, encircled by an enormous girth of mountains, the Himalaya Mountains, the highest i n the w o r l d . These have the highest peaks. But this highland does n o t remain enclosed w i t h i n itself like the one i n A f r i c a ; rather i t is intersected and stands in reciprocal relation w i t h the second topography. This terrain comprises the river basins, which lie outside the highland and are different f r o m those in t u r o p e . There are no valleys but enormous alluvial valley plains (Talebenen) and nver basins. The rivers, w h i c h rise ,n the highlands and flow through these valleys, are the connecting arteries between the t w o locales, but thev only connect after c u n i n g through the mountains. W i t h i n the mountains the rivers are w i l d ; but there are rapids that interrupt the flow w i t h m rhe mountains and m t o the valleys. Rapidly ftowmg waters such as waterfalls hamper interchange. The Zaire [River] is | this too i n Africa, where the flow surges through mountains and is interrupted by waterfalls. M o u n t a i n s
as such generally f o r m watersheds, as it were free-standing areas. But rivers cut through such mountain ranges. Thus it is | not strictly correct t o call mountain ranges watersheds. The rivers are the sources of fertility. The fertility in these valley plains is wholly different f r o m that in the mountainous country. In the lower parts of these valleys the fertility comes from sediment, etc. The vast plains are especially characteristic of Asia and Egypt. To be sure, we note them also i n Europe, but they are only a minor element, like the lowlands of the Vistula and those in Lombardy. In Asia these plains are the focal point of the culture. The first of these river basins is China w i t h the H u a n g H o [Huang He] and the Yangtze [Chang Jiang], the Yellow River and the Blue River. These rivers are cut off f r o m the southern section by a m o u n t a i n chain. The Ganges and the Indus form the second valley. The Indus however lacks a characteristic valley; its upper part runs through mountains and is fertile, w h i l e i n its lowlands it flows through sandy plains. T h e t h i r d valley or basin is that of the Tigris and the Euphrates and also encompasses grazing land. The fourth basin is formed by the Caspian Sea, along w i t h the rivers that flow into i t : in the east the Oxus, also the Jaxartes, n o w the Syr-Darya (which flows into the Aral Sea but formerly also into the Caspian Sea); and further west the Cyrus and the Araxes. To the west too there are flat valleys, but less important ones; noteworthy are those formed by the present-dav Ataxes. Thus the chief antithetical elements in Asia are highlands and enormous wide plains. These t w o topographies are necessary: they are a source and ground for w h o l l y antirhetical human dispositions, antithetical human activity. I n this respect the distinctive feature is the essential interaction between them, the mountain dwellers w i t h their inner restlessness, ^ > dwellers w i t h their rootedness; and they are not isolated as in Egypt. What is characteristic is precisely the connection between these wholly antithetical t h
a i l e
dispositions. | • t • A The t h i r d topography of Asia, running along the coasts, is of a mixed character. Here we encounter Arabia, and the coastal regions of Syria and 68
Asia M i n o r . , „ These are the three principal terrains of Asia. These differences are no. t o be taken abstractly; for they are recprocally related and concretely grounded.
l k e
t 0
^
O I
198
™ » * ° * c sun in the east; Aufgang also f
67. Hegel refers to the nver* by their ancient names. the Syr-Darya, flows inio the Aral Sea, not the Caspian), ^ C y r u s Araxes is the Aras. The Aras. which forms part of rhe northern border
^
Kura, which empties into the Caspian Sea south of Baku^ Persian Gull, and 68. That is, the coasts of the Mediterranean, the Black Sea, the Red Sea, the the Arabian Sea. 199
103
104
THE LECTURES
OF 1 822-3
INTRODUCTION
Here t w o elements are t o be distinguished: the one is the rootedness o f human beings in the plains, the other is the wandering o f the inhabitants of the highlands. These are the predominant differences. The first terrain involves the principle o f the river plains. Here the predominant factor is the peaceful f o r m a t i o n of substantial ethical life, wh.ch indeed contains w i t h i n itself the awakening o f spirit but has not yet arnved at inner antithesis; [it is] a patriarchal kingship. These are the regions principally of the Far East, to which the western mountainous country is also ad,oined, but i n such a way that the principle of the plains continues t o be dominant with the highlanders. The inhabitants can be called M o n g o l s . The har East belongs t o them. China, although subjugated by M a n c h u - M o n g o l s , remarns what i t was; the Kalmucks and other tribes are f o u n d here. The Indians too are pan of the whole area. The second part is the M i d d l e East, where m o u n t a i n peoples p r e d o m i nate, and which also comprises the Arabs. It is, as i t were, a h i g h l a n d o f plains: it has the character of the highland, but in plains. This is the sphere o f anmnesis, and here the antithesis has arrived at its greatest freedom in the form of light and darkness, Orientalism, s p l e n d o r - w h e r e the abstraction o f pure spiritual intuition, of this One, Islam as such, breaks d o w n (hmfallt)* Foremost here is Persia. | 9
105
There is nothing [notable] about the t h i r d p a n , w h i c h is the Near East, consisting of mulnple coastal areas, the side o f Asia where it is related t o other regions. This section is connected w i t h the Mediterranean Sea. I t includes the Syrian coast: Palestine, judea, Tyre and Sidon. Colchis, * through which the 7
Tu ,p ' ° ° ' " *** P ' ™ ™ d the Volga up t o the Ural River-rhese are regions that are oriented t o w a r d Europe. W S
kJr
^
n , a n
L
i
C
l 0 n y
a
d
a , n s o
f
r h e
D
' ° » brief. Here a massive h i g h l a n d is not a factor, although one ,s found in Spain. The main features, however, are mountain ranges that surround deep valleys, and the d.verse landscape o f a
i
t
0 E u r o p e
uTir
d
w
e
horn , h ' ' ™ « «I** » r e n t the h n T î * > ™ ' A - a we saw the antithesis between the highland and the vast plains, but i n Europe there ,s n o overriding prmc pie; rather everything ,s individualized: just as Spam, oriented t o Africa, ,s home to a highland, so Russia w i t h its [rivers] ,s t o valley plains. S
e
=
—
t
a
u
* i
h
l
a
t
n
V a ü e y S
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C
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:
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In Europe we have to distinguish between t w o aspects: first, its turning outward t o w a r d other areas, toward the Mediterranean Sea; second. Europe on its o w n account. The first part is south of the Alps. As the Alps cut Italy off f r o m France, H e l v e t i a ; and Germany, so also the mountains south of the Danube, c o n t i n u i n g further east f r o m the Alps, separate the Haemus f r o m Greece. The other part, the northerly slope of these mountain chains, constitutes the w h o l e o f Europe proper. | Here eastern and western Europe are t o be distinguished: the western part includes Germany, France, and England cum anncxis; the eastern and northeastern part includes Russia Poland, H u n g a r y , etc., where the dominant element is the connection w i t h Asia. The heart o f Europe is the western part, which was opened up above all by Julius Caesar, w h o broke through the Alps, occupied Britannia and Germania, and linked this new w o r l d w i t h the old. This was truly a manly deed as compared w i t h the youthful exploit o f Alexander, w h o opened up the O r i e n t . The ideal of elevating the Orient to Greek life was merely a dream, and as a dream it was not realized. The midpoint of the ancient w o r l d is the Mediterranean Sea. Around i t lie Jerusalem and the chief area of the Ishmaelites, M e c c a ; likewise Delphi, the navel of the earth, Rome, and finally Alexandria, w h i c h is of great value and has more significance than Constantinople because it was the l i n k between Asia and Europe. I t is the spiritual point o f union between east and west. This sea is very influennal (charakterhtxeb); i f the center o f the ancient w o r l d were not a sea. w o r l d history w o u l d be powerless; for as a sea this center gives life t o and connects everything, and w i t h o u t it there could be no w o r l d history. Just as Rome and Athens could not exist without a forum and without roads, so also the ancient w o r l d w o u l d be nothing w i t h o u t the sea. 1
73
74
75
We have thus designated the tripartite geographical division of w o r d history, f r o m east to west, f r o m southeast to northwest trom rising to setting. W o r l d history has arisen (aufgegangen) i n the southeast, and i t has subsided n,eder egan en) {
g
g
into itself to the northwest. Spint « such as to
create itself out of itself, as its own w o r l d .
71. The Latin name of Switzerland. 72. An ancient lerm for the Balkans. 73. ,.e. including Scotland, Wales, and Ireland. MmeQdndxthr M«r, 'MidUnd 74. Here elsewhere ,n rhese lectures Hegel uses th e « ™' ^ j & Sea', rather than the more customary A W * W , t h « giving a literal Germ Latin Medtterraneus. . , 75. lshnuel was the tradit.onal progenitor of Arab P * ^ eet,np 76. According «o ancient Greek W ^ * ^ * ! ^ of the universe, hence its navei. place of the league of Greek city-states, was at the very center o i me a s
s
200
201
w
a
d
e
a n d
m
T H E L E C T U R E S OF
«7
INTRODUCTION
1822-.!
This geographical ground must not be taken t o be an external occasion tor lnstory; rather i t has a specific property, is of a distinct type, t o which the character of the peoples who emerge from it corresponds. Since they emerge from such a ground, the peoples have specific characteristics that are connected w , t h their environments. Peoples have a spiritual locus, | but the determinacy of their principle corresponds to the natural aspect or the soil on which this principle appears. The connection of nature w i t h the character of human beings appears initially to contradict the freedom of the human w i l l because humans should have raised themselves above natural determinacy. We call the latter the sensible; and we could indeed represent the situation to be such that t h i n k i n g takes place on its o w n account, that human beings have the t r u t h w i t h i n themselves and do not attain i t f r o m nature but rather f r o m themselves. We must not think of the spiritual determinacy of peoples as dependent on the natural determmacy of the soil [on w h i c h they live] in such a way that we think of spirit as an abstraction that then acquires its content f r o m nature. Rather the connection is as follows: the peoples in history are particular, determinate spirits; and we ought to k n o w from the nature of spirit that pamcularity does not obscure the universal, that rather the universal must parnculanze itself i n order to become true. Because peoples are spirits of a particular type, their determinacy on the one hand is a spiritual determinacy, w h , c h then on the other hand corresponds to a natural determinacy; and the relat.onsh.p reciprocal. Sp,rit is m itself this determinacy, and what ,s simph- i n itself exists only ,n a natural way a n d thus has a natural aspect; for the particular too must exist, and it has this existence i n its natural aspect. The child as mere i n itself, as possibility, as inwardness, is a i s
106
capacities
"
' *
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l hC y natural l 0 n l Y and f spiritual beings natural tfeatures C n U m e r a t C
fo/lhe ^ V 1
8
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— ' » A - -nust be oriented to « ' ° " oi needs; instead S
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autonomy of the individual. Then something universal enters more i n t o play, a condition that calls for something universal beyond this exceptional singularity, one that protects i t for the first time; i n this way there emerges the possibility of a ruler and, essentially, of laws. What comes on the scene .s the necessity of a self and later of spirit. I n such natural conditions (i.e. the valley plains] lies the counterpart to o u t w a r d striving [i.e. nomadism] namely, l i m i t a t i o n or confinement t o a restricted locale, one maintained w i t h i n a general framework [of l a w ] . (2.) The second topography, the highlands, involves plains without rivers and soil of lesser quality; or there are streams w i t h no tributaries, some of w h i c h disappear by drving up in certain seasons. Here | there is only continual wandering i n a constant c i r c u i t - a nomadism that snnply remains f o r m a l , repetitious, and restricted i n scope but is only de facto so and does not preclude leaving this region, because this life involves no agriculture or private property, but only nature's bounty that can be discovered elsewhere There is always the possibility of moving on. The soil is not cultivated, and one can exploit i t everywhere. Thus an impulse both external and internal can drive such peoples f o r t h . They do not have a characteristically unruly spirit; they are even of a peaceable nature. In individual cases such nomadism can result i n pillage. Some peoples of this sort are driven to pillage, but only i n the lower plateaus because these border o n peaceful lanch. The highlands are bounded by lofty mountains where a robust and w i l d people d w e l l but the tnbes further d o w n abut on peaceful inhabitants, who come i n t o conflict w i t h them. Thus these nomads are host, e to other groups and so are typically at war w i t h outsiders, resulting ^ " ' S W " ? isolation, w h i c h leads t o an antisocial personality and an unruly, fruitless autonomy, despite the abstract freedom that remains to them. ;
[3.] The t h i r d environment » that of the mountains. Here ^ r e are no nomads, but rather a pastoral fife. The diversity o the soil e v e n ^ * agriculture, hunting, etc. The climate is I changeable, w i n « a f i s all else. There are dangers here, so warrior % called for. The whole of hfe, however, is circumscribed * ™ ^ becoming so narrow in scope, rhis life for that reason ^ enclosed community and remains so. When the locale b ^ ^ T i n g , such a mountain people calls upon a leader, not an anny h e -h e valley C o p i e s ; and the mountain people ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ exodus is not abstract, not a marter o re > e ^ price of choosing a more comfortable lite, i n Asia nature are based on these characteristics and p e - s t w i t h i n this opposition. h
! S m
o
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3
C u l t l v a
o r
l e s s
102
^ , external reality. The natural J ^
d j
203
o
m
THE LECTURES OF 1 822-3
INTRODUCTION
[4.] I n Europe no single type of typography stands o u t ; here, rather, one form of nature is offset by the others. The land here is such as to bring with it freedom from the forces of nature; here, therefore, universal humanity can emerge. Human beings can live in all [climatic] zones, b u t some zones exert a natural force over them, which, as compared w i t h their general character, seems t o be a force within them. Thus European people are indeed by nature freer beings because here no particular environment is predominant. In Europe the essential contrast is only between inland a n d coastland. |
its compliant and permeable nature, is a danger to which human beings oppose their instrument—the instrument by which they direct to their own purposes the powerful effect of the sea and the sea breezes, and take their world w i t h them. The ship, this swan, so easy in its movement, is an instrument that pays tribute t o the audacity of the understanding. This audacity of the understanding is w h a t is missing from the splendid edifice of Asian ethical life. Although seafaring is an occupation too, it is liberating to individuals, gives freedom t o their lives. So the principle of the freedom of individual persons has become [foundational] to the European life of the state.
[5.] For Asia the sea has no significance. O n the contrary, the Asian peoples have shut themselves off f r o m the sea. China proper has no navigat i o n . Only those provinces that are cut off by mountains f r o m the great river basm have a minor degree of navigation. I n India, religion positively prohibits going out t o sea. The Egyptians, t o o , at the t i m e of their greatest nounshing, had no navigation on the sea, although river navigation was very lively. Thus seafaring is excluded f r o m the Asian principle, while i n fcurope it plays a large role. [6.] I n Europe the relationship t o the sea is precisely w h a t is important, i his distinction still holds good. States whose territories d o n o t include the mouths of rivers are essentially different f r o m those that possess them. Holland, f o r example, is different f r o m Germany, Venice f r o m Lombardy; and thus the sections of rivers that flow into the sea are inhabited by different peoples than are the inland rivers. A European state can be great o n l y i n connectmn w i t h the sea. The sea, t o be sure, separates lands but connects peoples. Seafaring-going forth on the s e a - i s the entirely distinctive feature lacking i n Asian life.
These are the basic differences i n physical features and the connections of self-conscious life t o them. We must, however, stop w i t h the general characteristics, for the soil of nature is at the same time that of connngency. Only i n its general characteristics is this soil a determining factor, one corresponding t o the principle of spirit. But the connection may often be tracked m specific ways. The character of Greek life comes forth f r o m the s o i l - a coastline that produces individual isolation. Thus the land of Greece is a reflection o f t h e splintering w i t h i n Greek j life. Also, the Roman Empire could not havebeen established i n the middle of the continent; Roman w o r l d dominion could rather exist o n l y o n the sea, and indeed on the Mediterranean Sea, the center of the ancient w o r l d . These are simply the overall features o f t h e connecnons, but ones w i t h wlúch we must be a ^ ^ major place i n history. , . . . The preceding discussion has n o w brought us closer t o the prmarJes that underlie w o r l d history. We w a n t t o proceed t o these
punches
of world
history themselves. A t this stage, therefore, the big picture lies before us.
This is the going forth of life beyond itself. Subjects have particular purposes that we call needs. Labor for the satisfaction of needs has the byproduct that mdividuals irnmerse themselves in this limited area, this sphere of acquisition.
T H E DIVISION
OF WORLD
HISTORY
Human bemgs also benefit from the connecting aspect of the sea. Nevertheless, meirKtrument
of satisfaction has here the reverse effect: property and | life
are put m danger, and thus the instrument immediately contains its opposite. °
Z i h
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P nd
SS^S^J f
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a t i o n
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involvement w i t h [the sea], becomes
t h i s
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204
, ^
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.
In regard t o the d i v i s i o n - a n d we have already « ^ , * ? ^ t
otn
w a y s - w h a t we must proceed f r o m is the state as such, t h tua, life i n w h i c h individuals have before themselves then w i l l th^.r purpose their being, w h i l e at the same time they maintain ^ ^ J ^ through i t , are active on behalf of i t , f ^ Z ^ Z p ^ y T h e question principally concerns the form ^ J ^ ^ this ethical life (sittiiche Leben) for the sake o t h e « ^ custom (S.tte) as an unreflective habit ^onstose Gewoh^ ) ^ ^ custom is the authority for i n d m d u a l s , c o n s u l t i n g tne y mines mdiv.dnals; whether actual life is one of custom, be prese m
205
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T H E L E C T U R E S O F 1 82
114
and trust, or in habit. W i t h i n this immediate unity exists the other principle, the reflective power (Reflexion) of personality, the principle ot subjectivity subsisting for itself. Abstractly considered, the latter is in general the infinite form, the activity of self-distinguishing and of the distinctions and development of | unity. Substance remains at the basis. Subjectivity, the form, merely develops the unity of substance i n its distinctions. Conceptually speaking, where we have t o begin is the state that is still internally oppositionless, where subjectivity is not yet for itself and the subject has not yet come into its o w n . Thus the first state is the more immediate f o r m of ethical life, the infancy (Kindesalter) of history, the ethical life devoid of law that does not advance t o the singularization of subjectivity. The childhood (Kindbeit) o f history splits i n t o t w o aspects because the antithesis [between state and subjectivity] is snll there, i t cannot be absent. To the extent that the antithesis has n o t yet developed i n this shape, i t falls outside of it and plays out o n its o w n . The first aspect is the state. We have t o regard it as based o n family relationships—an organization based on paternal oversight and maintaining the whole by punishment, admonition, discipline. This is a prosaic realm, a realm of permanence, an unhistorical history; it lacks this antithesis, the locality, within itself, and such a condition does n o t change internally but only from w i t h o u t . True change, however, lies only w i t h i n , and only when this condition changes does something external make inroads i n t o i t . The shape of such a state is f o u n d i n the Far East and is essentially t h a t of the Chinese Empire. The spatial dimension is of no consequence here.
115
But, secondly, the objectivity of the state exists also in the f o r m of time, i n such a w a y that the state does not i n w a r d l y change and is only in conflict outwardly; states that rest on the same unchanging principle | are essentially occupied w i t h themselves and so are i n continuous decline. The new state that appears m place of the one that collapsed also sinks i n t o decline, mto the same downfall. N o true advance occurs i n this restless alteration, whichever remains one and the same. This ongoing unrest is an unhistorical This second shape, that of restless alteration that produces n o t h i n g , the shape or time, occurs m the M i d d l e Easr. j u s t as we call the first shape die mfancy, we can name the second one the boyhood (Knabenaiter) of he w o r l d m w h , c h the states are at constant odds w i t h one another. But inasmuch as the state is outwardly directed, a premonition of the indiv.dual p n n c p l e a p p e a r Conflict and struggle cause a self-concentration (S,chzu™™7 V ' * "tenia! *'Comprehension (Insschfassen). But this premonition first appears as powerless individuals, as a m d i v
d u a I i t
a
n
206
INTRODUCTION
2-3
universal, unconscious
principle, as something natural, as light, which,
however, is not yet the light of the self-knowing personal soul. The latter grows into the age of youth \JungUngsaiter);
here the realm of Greececomes
to prominence. Realm and state are distinct here, for at the beginning the essence ot Greece was not a state; rather a multitude of states is its characteristic feature. This is the realm of beautiful freedom. The principle of this shape is that of naive, natural ethical unity, but ethical unity as individual personality. The single person feels himself to be free as an individual unity with universal substance. Thus it is the realm of beauty, the most cheerful and most graceful realm, but also the utterly ephemeral one, the quickly wiltmg bloom, the i n w a r d l y most restless shape since it itself must overturn its soliditv through reflection. For beauty unites the opposed principles, and the principle of individual | freedom is precisely the opposite of natural ethical life. Thus constant unrest is found here. The reflective power (Reflexion) of personality can be sustained i n unity w i t h immediate ethical lite tor only a m o m e n t ; reflection tears it apart. Here substance is present only as beautiful individuality- The reflective power of personality, through the power that subjectiviry exercises vis-a-vis naive universality, must elevate
116
immediacy t o thought, to universality. The Greeks intuited their unity, the Romans reflected it. So we step i n t o the Roman w o r l d , i n t o the adulthood (Mannesalter) of demanding l a b o r - a labor that hearkens t o duty, serves a universal purpose a state, in universal principles, the laws, and that is operative neiflier m die free w i l l (Willkiir) of the master nor i n its o w n beautiful free w i l l , " e r e is the sacrifice of individuality t o universality, a universality m which the mdnndual is submerged. Individuals attain their purpose only in the Such an empire seems to be eternal, especially when ,t is 1 ° ^ * T £ labor o f the subjective principle of satisfaction in its ^ - w h e r i t has become subjectivity reconciled w i t h substance, i.e. w i t h religion, « ^ ¡ 7 Roman Empire. But we saw the latter perish t w o decades ago * ^ a c t universality it ,s the labor of the Roman w o r l d to mcorporate individual peoples and to subjugate them in its abstract^umversa ,ty. The transition to the next principle is to be seen as the of abstract universality against the principle ^ The struggle must end w i t h the victory of ^ ^ abstract universality as legality (Gesetzmafrgkeit) does not ass m
K
T , A reference ,o rhe — t i c , of the burgs, in 1806.
^
207
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l
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^ ^
^ ^
117
INTRODUCTION
T H E L E C T U R E S O F 1 82 2 - 3
individualized form and has to have a purely arbitrary, subjective singularity as its impetus. As abstract, this legality must therefore perish in complete subjectivity. The subject, the principle of infinite f o r m , has not yet substantialized itself and must therefore appear as arbitrary d o m i n i o n . That is how. in this realm, the suspension of the antithesis, its w o r l d l y reconciliation, takes place. But i n the meantime spiritual reconciliation is also produced: individual personality is ttansfigured into self-subsistent universality, into self-subsistent universal subjectivity, into the divine personality. T h e latter appears, then, in the w o r l d . Were it not t o appear i n the w o r l d , i t w o u l d not be the self-subsistent universal, for such a universal includes subsisting actuality. From here o n , a spiritual realm stands over against the w o r l d l y one. The realm of self-knowing subjectivity, of subjectivity k n o w i n g its essence, is the principle of actual spirit. A t this point the f o u r t h realm is attained, w h i c h we can compare w i t h old age (Greisenalter). I n a natural state this is language at its prime; in spirit it is the full maturity of spirit. Old age i n a natural sense has left behind the stage of development; but spirit is an infinite p o w e r t o m a i n t a i n w i t h i n itself the moments of earlier development and thus t o k n o w itself i n its totality. This fourth realm is the Germanic because the Germanic p e o p l e s ' stand at the pinnacle of this change. This realm begins w i t h a reconciliation that is completed only implicitly; because this reconciliation is just starting, at first the most enormous antithesis is exhibited, w h i c h then | appears as a wrongful condition and an antithesis t o be subtated; i t emerges therefore precisely in the supreme conflict [of the spiritual] w i t h the worldly. 7
The principle of this realm is free spirit subsisting f o r itself. The principle of the spirit that is for itself is freedom i n its distinctive quality. O n the one hand, i t is subjectivity—wherein one's o w n m i n d o r heart (Gemüt), the subject, ought at the same time t o be present i n w h a t it recognizes. O n the other hand, i t is not a matter of validating simply anything; rather, what
f. . Germanen to designate the European peoples whose eduuc a i d linguist* heritage is Germanic. The Germanic peoples c o m p r i s e of the U S e
S T n tauta,.<* ^ r Z ? dSS,
l h e
t C l m S
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3 n d
T p ^ ° Germanic i or^ of the language ^ E u r o p e a n , but m German the terms indogermanisch and indoeuropäisch are S
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° 71
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w i t h
condensed and abstract terms rn the following paragraphs. 208
ought to be validated is m i n d or heart i n accord w i t h its essential being and in its t r u t h . Christ reveals this truth of spirit to us in his religion. His own t r u t h , w h i c h is t h a t of m i n d and heart, is the placing of oneself in unity with this objectivity [ o f t r u t h ] . M i n d and heart are valid only when the true lives w i t h i n them a n d takes its immediacy f r o m them. This is the principle of this realm. Here is reconciliation, the reconciliation completed in and for itself. Spirit has f o u n d itself. But because this reconciliation is at first implicit, and because of its immediacy, this stage begins w i t h the antithesis of the principle in itself; i t begins w i t h the spiritual principle t o w h i c h the w o r l d l y realm is simultaneously opposed. This worldly realm, however, is not the preceding realm; rather i t is a Christian realm, w h i c h as worldly recognizes the truth, and therefore as w o r l d l y desires t o be commensurate w i t h the t r u t h . O n the other side the spiritual principle wills to know itself as realized in the w o r l d . Inasmuch as the t w o sides emerge as distinct, the worldly realm has not yet cast off subjectivity, nor on the other side has it yet recognized the spiritual. For the t w o sides are at the beginning and are not yet done w i t h immediacy: | spirit must first have worked off its subjectivity, and w o r l d l . ness must first have r i d itself of its o w n internal conflict. Because this process is not yet completed, spirit and w o r l d m i l confront each other. Thus the advance is not a peaceful, resistance-free development; rather it involves an enormous conflict of the t w o sides. Spirit does not advance placidly t o its actualization; rather spirit strives to produce itself in its actuality. But the advance consists i n both sides struggling t o r . d themselves of their one-sidedness, this untrue f o r m . Thus it is an empty worldliness that strives to be commensurate w i t h spint; but itis not yet commensurate and ultimately is crushed by the spiritual power. Therefore . must perish. A t the outset the power of worldliness i n its vast shape cannot yet be at one w i t h spirit. O n the other side, the spiritual realm is iinrnersed m external worldliness, is merely clerical and ecclesiastical (geuthcb), a p p e a r in immediate worldliness. j u s . as the worldly power is pressed, so the spiritual power is inwardly corn.ptmg los.ng its inne signific nee. This corruption of the two sides causes the standpo n o baTbansm to v a n i s h - t h e barbarism where worldliness « the spirit o f this immed,ate worldliness. The d.sappearance results f r o m the corruption of the t w o sides; and at this reflected w i t h i n itself, finds the h.gher form of the reconciliation worthy of it. This f o r m is rationality or thought. The spiritual principle cannot remain ,n its sub.ecuve .mmed acy
rathe,
insofar as i t has attained ,ts objective f o r m , the universal shape of thought, 209
119
THE L E C T U R E S OF
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Oriental
HISTORY World
^out the So we begin w i t h the East. The dawn of spirit is in the East, in the [place of the sun's] rising. Spirit, however, is but its setting. So we begin w i t h the Asian principle. The valley plains are the terrain of life here, not the mountain ranges and ravines. There may well be historical records of a prior existence of tribes on the mountain slopes leading t o the plains; but ethical existence just is historical existence, and we are only interested in an ethical people. Such a people is first found on the valley plains and alluvial plains. 1
T i - n S S T ^ T L ^ t i l
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We go first t o the Chinese river valleys, and f r o m there to India, t o the t w o rivers, the Ganges and the Indus; i n this connection we mention the Tibetans and the M o n g o l s . The t h i r d topic is M i d d l e Eastern life in the river valley of the Tigris and the Euphrates, where the valley comes into conflict w i t h the mountains; on the other side lies the easterly alluvial plain along the Caspian Sea, r u n n i n g u p against the mountain ranges. This sets the limits of the Oriental w o r l d .
the unity of the subjective with CHINA The Historical Records o f China W h a t is first, then, is the Oriental w o r l d i n the Far East, namely, the history of China, of the Indians, Tibetans, and Mongolians. Accordingly, our point
1. The imagery in these first two sentences is of sunrise {Aufgattg, which can also refer to the place, for Europeans, from which the sun appears to rise, namely, the East or the Orient), and sunset, which involves a 'going down' INiedergmg, which can also iMan 'downfall' or 'oVcay'J. For the third sentence Griesheim reads: 'Spirit, however; is this going-down within itself (or: "descent into itself', in sich niederzugehen). The Hotho reision of the third sentence, as given in our text, with ibr Ifeminine) having 'dawn* as its oaij possible antecedent, suggests that spirit comes on the scene only at the concitwioD of t h i i 'dawning', namely, upon the 'downfall' of the East ('after' it, or 'replacing* it>, What follow* here in the discussion of China, and in the ensuing accounts of other civilizations too, is. as we pointed out i n the Introduction, not so much a history in the sense of a chronological account, as it is a cultural and political portrayal of these 'worlds', of what is distincnw about each of these civilizations, and why Hegel thinks they consrilure a meaningful succession in the emergence and development of spirit. Except for the main divisions, the section headings are provided by the English editors. 210
211
THE
THE
LECTURES OF 1822-3
ORIENTAL WORLD: CHINA
of departure w i l l be C h i n a . China is this w o n d r o u s l y unique empire that
significance for this empire. I t is the only empire in the w o r l d that has lasted
astonished Europeans, and has continued t o do so,
| ever since i t became
from the most ancient times u p to today. We have already remarked upon its
k n o w n . Self-contained, i t reached this level of c u l t u r e quite apart f r o m
truly vast expanse. Today the population of the Chinese empire as such is,
foreign ties; its ties w i t h other peoples are only recent, and they ate of no
according to the average estimate, some 200
2
million souls; the lowest
estimate is 150 m i l l i o n , the highest 300 m i l l i o n . Every few years there is a census based on very precise tax rolls. So the data are correct. The Tatars of China are excluded f r o m these counts, as are the many surrounding princes 2. This is an appropriate place for a few remarks about the secrion on China in the framework ot this edn. In providing the editorial notes it is especially important to be clear as to which sources Hegel can have used and, in particular, which ones he certainty utilized, rather than retrospecuvely correcting erroneous judgments. The edn. of Hegel's first lectures on the philosophy of world history makes » possible as well to cast a specific light on Hegel's fundamental engagement with China. To give the reader a sound orientation to these lectures, the following indicates the essential sources. Two works are of overriding importance. The first is the Mémoires concernant l'Histoire, les iaences.des Oman, by the missionaries of Peking, >n 16 vols. (Paris, 1776-91 and 1814). he second is De la Chine; OH Description générale de cet Empire, by Abbé Crouer, 3rd edn., revised and expanded, 7 vols. (Paris, 1818-20). This 3rd edn. of Grosier has until now been wholly neglected by researchers, although it can be shown from several passages that it must be viewed as Hegel's second principal source. b addition, Hegel certainly also utilized the H^iorre générale de la Chine, by Joseph de Ma.lla, ,n 13 vols. (Paris, 1777-85), although it cannot be given the same significance as the previously mentioned sources. The 1st edn. of Grosier's De la Chine ,s vol. xiii of de Mailla's work and so Hegel was familiar with it too; a German t r of it in 2 vols, was published in 1789 ^rankturt and Leipzig). Hegel did not use ihe 2nd edn., 2 vols. (Paris, 1787). These facts are evrten tfroma letter of Hegel to Duboc, ,n Brutfe von undan Hegel, ed. Johannes Hoffmeister (Hamburg, 1953), n. 367. With the aid of the aforementioned works the bas framework of Hegel's account of Chma can be reconstructed. Whether or not other possible sources are actually significant for him is open to quesnon. Hegel obviously rehed more on the more recent works than he d,d on ihe numerous rravelers' accounts and missionary reports of the I7th and 13th cents. The Allgeme.ru "•stone .. oder Sammlung alter Reisebeschreibungen, 21 vols. (Leipzig, 1748-74|, had already made the extan, literature available, foremost the reports of Trigaltins, Samedo, Martinius. 1C
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1 7 S 0 1
^ r "* ° " ' B"-8 ' Foc»™ r ' ! P i o u s l y unpublished reports of many miss.onar.es: Verb.est, Couplet. Fontenay, Bouvet, C^rbi lon, Noel, le Comte, Visdelou, Regis, Premare, Dentrecolles, Herveu, ^ L r r r - ^ V ™ ^ " >an Baptiste du Halde ,s the author of Description 0 0 Pobtiaue. et physic de Verr, ,redelà Chmeetdela m
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' " ^ " " " g «h* status of China studies at the middle of «casioodly draws upon the two of them ,o fill out his presentation. P a m , r e
ruling their o w n lands under China's direct c o n t r o l . This enormous populat i o n of C h i n a proper stands under a government that is well-regulated to the highest degree, that is most just, most benevolent, most wise. Laws elaborated, and
agriculture, commerce, industry and sciences
are
flourish.
There are cities w i t h more than a m i l l i o n inhabitants. W h a t is even more astonishing is that this people has a continuous, w e l l ordered, and quite well-attested history f r o m its earliest times o n w a r d ,
,oumeys (as Lord Macartney), and .hose of A m t e « , in 2 vols (London, 179, >, and Pierr man sometimes previously supposed. However, Hegel did occasionally f^ W*,byCa,lRLr,2vols.
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3. Hege, draws upon Grosier, De I* Oinejot irom the German tr. of 1789. i . 313-40. There it ,s A 1743 roll of 200 numon mhabttants (p. 313). He ob.air.ed this number in ^ ^ ^ J ^ ^ ui l i f i S 7 * 4 8 S Each is thought on average to have nve diprnora". . taxable persons totals 28,524,488. tach ,s " " " ^ be wrong to tunes the roll total equals 142,622,440 people. Father A ™ « " £ „ , double this number so as to include other populanons not on the o « r B alon ssa. toh two^on o,e^^ populauon ot China in 1761 as I ^ W J ' Erdkunde (i. 664), has different figures. w a v
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° ° ^ «*«™«> * e earlier ' * * 'he B.bliography on HegeK Sources), X l d i t V ° ^ ' ' ' S d e r , and o7hers, scared, m^stT i d a t " >* with ihem. The same X HeZ d£ 2 ~ - ^ < l P o t a t i o n s of Chinese historv and religion. LeT b ^ S t ™ T ^ T ' " ™ ethology of Cheese law, the Ta Tsing Le* Lee, by George T. Staunion (London, 1810). Staunion's accounts of his own diplomat* „
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THE ORIENTAL WORLD: CHINA
T H E L E C T U R E S OF 1 8 2 2 - 3
covering a i least 5,000 years w i t h the greatest exactitude and certainty; it is 4
not like Greek and Roman history but instead is more fully attested. N o other land in the w o r l d has such a continuous, authenticated ancient history. This empire ever remained autonomous, ever remained w h a t i t 5
was. A t times it was conquered—in the thirteenth century by Genghis Khan, and later, after the time of the T h i r t y Years War, by the M a n c h u 123
Tatars—but it was not changed by these conquests.
6
| I n all these circum-
stances it always retained its character, f o r it remained w h o l l y an autonomous empire. A n d so it is an empire untouched by h i s t o r y
(ungescbicbtticb),
for internally it developed undisturbed; i t was not destroyed f r o m w i t h o u t . N o alien principle came t o displace the ancient one. T o that extent it has no history. So, i n speaking about the most ancient history of this empire, we are not speaking of something past but instead o f the shape that it has today. (The same is the case i n India.) The principle of this empire, w h i c h has not departed from its concept, was set f o r t h i n universal terms; the amazing thing is that this principle is simply the natural concept of a state, the elaboration of w h i c h has not altered this first, immature principle. A n d yet
[This empire] dates back to 2,400 years before the b i r t h of Christ. According t o conventional chronology, this is the era in which N o a h and the flood are placed. After this ume historical figures emerge, for prior t o it is the age of m y t h . Contrary t o the conventional opinion that places the flood at this time, Johannes von Müller, i n agreement w i t h several recent or earlier historians, puts the date at 3,473 years before Christ (and others pick a different number) based on O l d Testament statements and the Josephus translation of the Septuagint into Greek; this is in his [Miiller's] first book as w e l l as i n part eight of his Werke.* This hypothesis dates the flood one thousand years before Abraham, while others I put i t three hundred years earlier than h i m . The discrepancy is owing to the fact that according t o one account only three hundred years passed between Abraham and N o a h , whereas according to another, a thousand years are said t o separate these r w o eras. A notable factor i n favor of the latter hypothesis is that, given how the w o r l d looks i n Abraham's day, it is improbable that only three hundred years should have passed since the f l o o d . It w o u l d obviously be impossible for the w o r l d t o have been so developed three hundred years after such a
we find here culture at its height.
deluge.
So we cannot speak here of a proper history as such. We intend t o consider briefly not only the res gestae [deeds] but also the narratto return gestarum [narrative of the deeds].
The Shu-Jing
9
N o w w e come more specifically t o the Chinese themselves; we intend to go over briefly a few points about their 5,000-year history and then to l o o k at the character of this f o r m [of civilization] itself. I n addition t o its original
4 The Histoire générale (,, p. xxiv) and Voltaire, Essâti (p. 82), both say 'more than 4,000'; on Voltaire, see the Bibliography. Gricsheim has 'four thousand'. Just below in out text Hegel puts the beginnings at 24CK) BC, which makes ihe sources cited in ihisnoie closer to the resulting total ot 4^00 or more years prior to Hegel's own day. Yet a bit further on Hegel repeats the number
5,000.
5. This assessment
1 S
taken from Grosier's introduction t o the Histoire
générale.
historians, each people has original books that contain its myths, the ancient elements of its i n t u i t i o n set d o w n in a sensory mode, w h i c h explicate the existing circumstances. Homer is such a book for the Greeks, as the Bible is for us The Chinese named such books Jing. another is Sbu-jmg.
The first is called
The latter is a basic source (Grundbuch)
Yt-,tng
of original
i , pp. XXJ-XX1Î.
6. Genghis Khan and his Mongol army entered China in 1211 and devastated i t methodically. ai^To" !! ' 6> " « ; « the extensive account in the Histoire générale, ix. n-lJ2. Ihe Manchus, who conquered China in 1644, are a Mongol people from Manchuria who are related to the Tungus people of north-eastern Siberia, not to the Tatars (or Tartars!, a P e k i n E
1
L
i B d
i n
, n
u'r ^ f °L <* i l * * P«»ples are ethnic Chinese. The Manchus estabbshed the Ch'ing (Qing) dynasty (1644-1912), which replaced .he Ming dvnasrv P
C e m r a I
A s , a
N
o
n
e
L w ^ (Shenyang) in Manchuria. Drspirr being foreign ers, the Manchus assinulaied ,o the dominant Chinese culture. Perhaps Hegel's term Manschulartaren could be taker, as relernng more broadly to these two large assimilated populations harwere not ethnic Chinese. The Thirty Years War i n Europe, mentioned m connection with the Mancnu conquest, ended in 1648. 1
S e n , n 8
C 3 p , , a l
a t
M
u
k
d
e
n
7. See the d.scuss.on of change tVeranderung) above, pp. lSi-6. There Hegel states .hat w.rh a change ,n s p i r e s contrasted w.th change ,„ nature), the concept embodied bv h.stoncal .hape ,s enhanced and corrected', through progress to a new stage. He holds that no such change takes place in the case of China. a
214
8. Hotho gives the number as 3,173. By Hegels ume Mullet's ^ ^ S ^ a m r various edns and trs. Possibly by his 'first book Hegel means the crmcal edn b> ^ e r k - P (Amsterdam 1726). This work. Versuch über die Zeitrechnung der Vorweg n repr. m the ^IhcbewJke, Achter Ted: Kleine historische Schriften, ed. Johann ^ " ^ ' ^ ^ 1810). 195-230. The Septuagint is a tr. of the Hebrew ^ 1 ™ « ^ ? ^ and 2nd cents, BC by Jewish scholars in Egypt. Flavms Josephus (AD ^ f ^ . l O O ) , author o The Antrittes of the )eu,s and not himself one of ,he Sepniagin, translators, made use of the Old Tesuamenr historical books in their Septuagmi version. 9. Mullet does not provde the numbers Hegel mentions. He says ^ 2 h T , tha 1 J 3 ^ r * passed between .he flood and die b.rth of Abraham. For ™ ^ ' ™ ™ ^ ^ L x a n d n , and other, On p. 2 0 . Müller w n t ~ « - M helioses. « £ « « 1 Genesislthinktha^threehundred years alter such an upheaval " ^ J ™ ^ ? lands of the earth, the world would be as he portrays it in the ume of Abraham. (
e
215
S
o l
izi
THE
THE
LECTURES OF 1822-3
ORIENTAL WORLD: CHINA
contemplation for the Chinese. We must become f a m i l i a r w i t h such original
first of that dynasty. The Shu-jing
sources i f we w o u l d be informed about the types of representation employed
noted that later Chinese history has still other credible annals. In earliest
by the ancients. The Shu-jittg has been translated i n t o F r e n c h , " as we are
times the rulers already had at their right hand a historian who recorded the
indebted to missionaries, i n particular French missionaries, f o r a l l these
ruler's deeds, a n d at the left hand one w h o recorded the ruler's words, for
reports concerning China. Formerly the priests did this i n a lifeless m a n n e r .
early on the custom was to have t w o kinds of historians at the c o u n . In later
10
12
begins w i t h h i m . Moreover, i t must be
But since the eighteenth century very scholarly men have taken u p the task o f
rimes the number of historians was increased t o four. These annals were
learning about China, those w h o knew the spoken a n d w r i t t e n language and
preserved i n locked chests. The custody of history as such is an affair o f the
are at the same time leaders of the European calendar deputation t h e r e .
For
state i n China, i n that the rulers are n o t obliged to compile their own
two hundred years the highest tribunal at the court consisted o f Christians.
biographies, a n d several historians f r o m each of the t w o branches w o r k
Up until the end o f the previous century these clerics made translations, and
together.
13
subsequently Chinese converts were sent to Europe t o complete their studies here, w i t h the result that we are j on the whole f a m i l i a r w i t h C h i n a .
16
T h e historians are not set any limits i n their narrative.
W i t h regard t o the Shu-jing and ancient history i n the H s i n [Qin] dynasty,
Thus
i t is notable t h a t i n a time of disorder the imperial history fell into disarray
our information about China is not unreliable, for w e have a basic acquain-
a n d was not continued w i t h precision. The main factor is that a ruler o f the
1 4
tance w i t h its literature and its life as a w h o l e , as w e l l as w i t h its history. As for the specifics o f the Shu-jing,
i t commences, according t o the report
f o u r t h dynasty [ Q i n ] , one Shi H u a n g t i [Shi Huangdi], some t w o hundred years before Christ, had a l l the historical writings burned.
The Shu-ftng
of Kang-mu [Gangmu] (the most famous o f the Chinese historians), w i t h
had i n fact been edited by Confucius [Kongzi] i n 551 BC. I t t o o was burned
Yao of the X i a dynasty, 2,356 years before the birth o f C h r i s t .
but
15
Yao was the
i t was reconstructed i n fragments from the oral version o f an aged
mandarin. There are also extant traditions. The Shu-jing 10. This information may come from the account of P. de Premare, 'Le Chou-king Discours Préliminaire', repr. ra the Mémoires, viii. 193. 11. Hegel is likely speaking of the tr. by Antoine Gaubil, publ. by De Guignes as Le Chou ting (Pans, 1770). There was no new edn. before 1822. There was the earlier Latin version by Gaubil (Peking, 1755), and du Halde is said to have brought back a few excerpts from the book made by the Jesuit Premare (Allgemeine Historie, vi. 324); but we cannot identify Hegel's source at this point with certainty. See also n. 26 below.
I of Kongz. is
said t o consist o f one hundred chapters, although only fifty-nine chapters have come d o w n t o u s .
18
The Chinese also have f r o m earlier times nananves
of the beginnings o f the empire, partly from traditions, p a n l y f r o m fragmentary materials. O n the whole these narratives resemble the w a y i n w h i c h people i n recent times have given psychological accounts of the history of humankind.
1 9
Those [modern] narratives begin w i t h a crude human c o n a -
r-tt , w ^ d y h * " view. See Pierre Sonnerat, Reise nach Ostindien und Cfcwa, 2 vols. (Zürich, 1783), i i . 3-4; also, Allgemeine Historie, vi. 349. 13. On the calendar deputation, see n. 98 below. 14. These remarks concern the origins of the Mémoires. Two young Chmese had studied in trance, and were sent back to China with various inquiries for the missionaries resident there. I his moated a correspondence giving rise to the matenals for the Mémoires. See vol. i of the Memoes, as well as W. T. Krug, Allgemeines Handwörterbuch der philosophischen Wissenschaften, 2nd edn. (Leipzig, 1833), iii. 758. We can take these remarks as an indication of the great prominence Hegel attributes to the Mémoires.
t i o n i n w h i c h people live i n the forests like animals, without shehe.; and they
15. Hegel's figure of 2,356 years diverges from all of his available sources. Grosien De la C A ^ i v . 35 has 2,357; see Histoire générale, i , p. Iii; Mémoires, ü. 181, vi. 3 1 1 , riii. 262, «ri. nere are o l course problems with exact dating. The Mémoires states that the time of Yao
dated in 213 BC. See: Mémotres, xvi. 64; Grosier, De la
H C g e l
a
rTwi £ " ^ < ™ 3 > . d e a l i n g are statements in the Sbu-,ing edn. of Gaubrl that Ssu-rna Ch .en (Sjtna Qian), the father of Chinese historiography, could not date Yao s time precisely, but calculated that he ruled about 20O0 Be i n our calendar but that others p aced Yao vanously in 2303,2300,2200. and 2132 BC (pp. xxxiv, xxxvi); see also pp. xxvi ff. I . d
e
r
r
a
m
lf)
7 t u & i S » understandable. However, the Xia dyuasry actually began wuh Yü (see n . 31 below), not Yao. This sentence of our text, untypicalty has the p.nym Xia rather than the older 'Hsia'. Perhaps •Rang-mu* report' refers here to the translation of the 'Tong-Kien-Kang-Mou' in the HistoirVgénérale H
e
g
d
S
d i v e r g e m
d a [ i n
216
are set apart f r o m the animals only in virtue o f having a soul, which ,s averse t o such crudity. One of their leaders taught them t o construct shelters o u t of
16. For this picture of court historians and their role,, see Hxtoire gírale, XKxu, as well as the preface to vol. iii, and AllgemeineHtstone,
viii; GanbU, U Chou-ktng, 356-7; ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ 18. Kongzi is generally said to be the ed.tor (in 482 K (See Grosier, vii. 410 and 432; Mémotres, in. 43 and xu. sage Fou.heng (Fou.heng, is ^ ^ ^ 356 íí.; Hütohe genérate, i , pp. viu ff.; Grosier, i v . «explicable, for all the sources have 58 as the « ¿ 344;Memoires, i . 440 and vii.. 193; d,d not utilize the French edn., or perhaps the ^
^
A
U A ^ ^ i m S S l ^. ) , Chou-king, 256.) The 379, GauD^ ut 7 j | , pp. S ^ ^ » . r ™ ^ ^ ^ ^ ¿ ^ then, Hegel s"p
"
u
j S e e
G a u b
] v
^
^
19. This is perhaps a ^ ^ ^ Menschheit, by Isaak Iselm (Zurich, 1764). See Ernst Schul.n, U* des Orients bei Hegel und Ranke (Gottingen, 1958). 217
i , pp. xü and ^
J
^ K
& Geschxh*
der
THE ORIENTAL WORLD: CHINA
THE LECTURES OF 1 822-3
tree branches, and to make fire, cook meat, observe the seasons, a n d the like,
has the f o r m of single fragments, portrayals of singular ele-
and later t o build ' H o a n g t i ' [ H u a n g d i ] , or houses, out of tree t r u n k s . So this hisiory commences like [that of] almost all ancient n a t i o n s .
Renowned
and so it is not a proper book of h i s t o r y . The content consists, for instance, o f
among those sovereigns in particular is Fo-hi or Fu-hi [ F u x i ] , w h o made his
a command ot this or that ruler to someone by which he makes that person a
selection as leader conditional on their m a k i n g h i m l o r d and emperor. H e
minister, or instruction given t o a servant, or else it is teaching of a priest
took on counselors, then instituted ministers, priests, and the l i k e , estab-
imparted to his disciple, t o a younger prince, or the appointing of a general
lished customs, and so f o r t h .
together w i t h the orders issued to h i m , or else it involves reports, especially
20
H e is to be distinguished from that Fo, a
2 1
25
The i n v e n t i o n o f
reflections o n military events. The historical dimension plays only an incidental
the Gua, certain arrangements o f lines, is ascribed t o Fuxi. I n fact he saw a
part, one fleshed o u t from other traditional elements. So this book has a quite
dragon climbing out of a stream w i t h a tablet that had these lines on i t .
different aspect than do those of other peoples, which recount the deeds of their
divine figure, w h o m people i n eastern India call B u d d h a .
127
The Shu-jing
ments, poetic romances, w i t h o u t any historical sequence, lacking connections,
22
2 3
They consist of simple arrangements of lines. Fuxi found eight Gua. The first
heroes. Here the content is principally speeches and exhortations of princes and
was three straight lines, =
ministers, ones for the purpose | of securing the successful performance
the second a straight line and a broken line
o f subordinates. So in this case too the moral aspect is the main
beneath i t , | — , and so f o r t h . This is the w i s d o m o f the ancient Chinese.
iGtiick)
Thus table is the foundation o f the Yi-jing, consisting o f nothing b u t medita-
element. One o f the most ancient princes is Yao, who in the first chapter is
tion on these l.nes. Kongzi constructed the Yi-nng f r o m t h e m . These lines are
reported t o have asked: 'To w h o m shall I assign the task of protecnng the land
utilized w i t h a substructure o f thoughts, such that by means o f them one
f r o m flooding?' The minister proposed someone, but the prince rejected him
thinks universal, abstract characteristics. Thus the straight l i n e , — , is the
and said: 'You are mistaken, for this man presents himself modestly, remark-
simple marenal from which all things are constituted. T h e broken line, — ,
ably so, but he is filled w i t h p r i d e ! ' A ruler ordered a mandarin t o observe the
is the distinction of this simplicity. Light, fire, and the l i k e they thought o f i n
five duties, that o f father and child, of prince and subordinate, o f children t o
different arrangements among these lines. Thus abstract characteristics
elders, and so f o r t h .
26
2 7
The Shu-jing
is compiled in such a fashion.
underlay these figures as symbols. So the Yi-jing i the speculative philosos
phy o f the Chinese.
24
The M a i n Elements i n Chinese H i s t o r y We can only make general remarks about the historical element in the narrower sense. This ancient history has its grounding, indeed i n its essential
HuJZ tZJ, kZ™*
li ™ « tf
" 1 X T tailed' L l 3 W r ^
°
f
f
f
b e P
K ^
k
n n i n
f
°"
OWS
2 1
H
" '
S
E T T " s 3 4
«««« »d *q««« of ,he extensive discuss.on in the 0 t h e f
n d , c u l
8
^emoires, i«. 11, ™ . 109, xvi. « Le C W
S 0 U K e S
w h i c h flows first to the north-east and then to the east. A l l the earliest
;
° * A x o n s ' , an assessment with which Hegel concurs, * I * * * , i- 5-10, where he is u
W
m
m U S t
25. This assessment echoes the view of Grosier, iv. 346-7. 26. This «
i S / S i r f" T . (Oxford, 2006, 2009), .. 108, describe this ' 4 The i S Z ^ f , r f W ' t h P a t t e m s ° f *™ into its carapace. >i "'Ot h s e Z Z Z T ' ^ ""r ° ^ ^ river Ixiu. 216; also 11.-uj. it is evidently based on a widespread ialp l a * d i l . , — ^ u . VL 3 2 3 >> ONF 1031 Hegfl retells terselv. Konez. is said to Z J T A ^ " " ^ H,ST<ME> toecihcr with two mnJ produced a c o m m e n t ^ 0 « the Gua, and rt ,s bound H
i
y
1 1 1
. -1.81 t r :
part, i n Shansi [Shanxi] province on the upper Hoangho [ H u a n g He) River,
7
(
W
d
^ sXei r s ; T La
u
ofthe
»*» *
^
m
secondarv hreramrc „ « A " ">s information about it from *hich inJudes a discussion of the Y -, by Q d e Visdelon | 39iM36) The brevity of Hegels account, however, counts against his use of the latter ^ ***** c o u l d
t
3 0
mg
h a v e
d r a w
p p
5
218
i
b
h
l
h
c
is p u . l i n g and needs an explanano,
c o n
^
^
^
i i„ed 0
7
^
to combat flooding, combined w«h the ^ ^ ^ ' ^ ^ portrayal m this qualified to be his successor The issue ,s less about deta, Is than a* . ^ ^ text. The Htsto.re générale presents the.conversation ,n asinularway. ^ ^ ^ drawn upon either one. Hegel's word chcce ^ ^ S ^ even, this passage Hwtom. More likely he utilized a third source, not yet menuneu , ^worthy makes , t doubtful thai Hegel uulized Gaub.J's 1770 edn. ( s e e n . U aboveM ^ mat M a , l l , a u . n o , ol the Histoire, died in 1748. and so ^ ; ^ M [ b f L w as publication by Grosier (., p. xxvii). Evidently there are " * mentions a passage m 3
well as Chinese original sources, that report on lao an Mong-rse (Mongzi) {Histoire, i, P- cvi); see 'Lettres du P.de Mailla 1«.
Premiere Lettre'
l i , pp. lucv-cxxxi). , . , 701. fhose of father and child, of 27. The Mémoires mention the followmg five duw> friendshj prince and subject, of husband and wife, of child and Jus brothers.
<J^
219
128
T H E L E C T U R E S O F 182 2 - 3
THE ORIENTAL WORLD: CHINA
traditions pertain to this sector o f China. D o m i n i o n extended a t first east-
development coincides w i t h what can be viewed as the historical beginnings
ward to the ocean, and then nearly to Canton (Guangdong) province. This locale is one point. A second point t o note is that later the Yangtse [Chang Jiang] River constituted the boundary f o r centuries. This river produces significant flooding and marshland, and the principal city o f N a n k i n g [ N a n jing] is located o n i t . O n l y later d i d northern princes establish themselves beyond this river. The south was said to have been populated last o f a l l .
2 8
Inasmuch as what is called Chinese history i n the ancient period refers more to the western region, i t is difficult t o discern whether w h a t is meant is the whole empire or just this one specific sector. Very likely the empire was made up o f many separate kingdoms, which waged w a r w i t h one another. Several dynasties sprang f r o m such empires since, u p o n their demise, fathers passed the c r o w n on t o their sons or to i m p o r t a n t persons.
O n l y later was the
29
empire unified into its present shape under one emperor, a n d yet d u r i n g 129
several | centuries individual princes regained their f r e e d o m .
30
O n l y the main elements i n Chinese history can be o f interest. Chinese history involves few external relationships, and accordingly these relationships offer little i n the way of anything universal. A n ancient traditional history constitutes the beginning. W h a t is factually historical (das tscbe) commences w i t h Yu in 2 2 0 1 , w i t h the X i a d y n a s t y .
31
Histor-
F r o m the Tschou
[Zhon] dynasty i n the twelfth century o n w a r d the history becomes clearer, more definite; .his is i n the fourth part o f the Shu-,mg determinate character.
I t is s i n k i n g that i t begins
32
a n d has a more w i t h Y u , and its
of other empires: Egypt (2207), Assyria (2221). India (2204), all begin « approximately this rime, according ro solar and lunar calendars Already i n the time of Y a o
3 4
(Uttten).
a major issue is the government's struggle
w i t h the rivers and marshlands. This struggle is one of the largest and most i m p o n a n t tasks o f the empire even today, as i t is in Egypt w i t h the N i l e The physical life o f the Chinese is conditioned by agriculture and i n particular by the c u l t i v a t i o n of rice. Dikes hold the rivers i n check. Maintenance of the dikes is therefore the greatest task; a breach has the most significant consequence, since millions lose their lives and famine is the lot of the survivors. Pertinent here t o o are the canals, w h i c h are given the greatest attention F r o m earliest rimes onward the canals have been laid out and maintained w i t h the greatest care. T h e main one is the imperial canal, w h i c h links Beijing to Guangdong, by l i n k i n g the Huang He and Chang Jiang rivers. A t h i r d feature o f the canal system | is that the royal capital was often relocated t o facilitate the transport of provisions. That required canals. Wherever the emperor set u p his residence, thousands gathered there. The imperial capitals were principally i n the north, along the upper Huang He; only later was Beijing the capital. The Asiatics [i.e. foreign invaders] brought about the relocation o f the capital city. I t is typical o f conquering Asiatic peoples that new dynasties also founded new c i t i e s ,
35
remaining
one central pomt, a n d establishing themselves as new foreigners on. theno w n m order n o t t o dwell among the rest as foreigners, w i t h the natives must come to their masters. The
" T * *
foreign conquerors thus appears to be necessary. So today Cairo ,s the fourth rfLfcTT!. 1- in VRitter, * Erikunde° i 520 655 generate, I . \, md 29. See below, a. J6. ' f t h e S p r e a d
^l^were^f ''' 6
<
5
6
[T**
u n i o n
o
i
,
h
t e m
P
i r c
«
n
he found i n the Histoire
<™ d"™™n occurred « 213 B C , and only
™
3Tm I f , * Chang Jiang R , v populated, rhatl Y a o h v e d m r ' T ^ ^ ^ <* * « Shu-fing (it says £ S y ^ f » * * Of C h r i s t . . . • Hothc, P
er
t
a f t
b
I
U
5
h
e s e v e n t h
6
t
h
e
Yu ascended nw- r t . ™ i™, ' " "* ^ ^ " ^ ° « The Huto.re gtr^raJe « v s thai ^ 5 ^ ^ ^ ^ J ^ ^ - « , dynasty i . 1 . 9 - ^ d 250,. The d,tfe nt atteSttd •hat mav have i n f i u e n S S^ tZ M " T V " in his V*g„ch£Zt^ m
(
of Chinese history to 2 2 0 ^ 7 2 3 7
^
J i ^ ^ ^ ^ X ^ S T ,
°
" '
<»e beginmng
m
^
(
^ r y a , . ,22 „c and desenbes
Tcheou-Chou' and gives * v e r 1122 " ° " charaaer' is the W r . h , 7 Z ' " A n i e n t with Hegel's more determinate character is the iact that „ mvolves the largest division of this t e x M r J 144-318 in Gaubil s P
B C
I n
220
f U
h
capital c r y of Egypt. T h e same thing t o o k place i n Babylon. For the Chmese the relocarion o f the cap,ta. city was more the prince's
decision£a£
tional major factor i n a new dynasty necessitating a new r e s i d e , « that the ancestors must be given a place of honor in the v
f
^
afao S
^
consecrated t o them. Relocation of the residences was also connected w i t h the layout of the canals. _ . _ The Chinese were also occupied w i t h wars and expanded the Chinese state beyond its original extent. J ^ f ^ ^ had their o w n princes, w h o were continually at war. Another cause o f t
33. M u l , , ,n his Zvtre^ng
(p. 209), e * r e ^ a comparable
dare at 2200 BC. ^ 34. Here • Yao' (not 'Yu') is correct. See n . 31 |ust above, A . flood during Yao's reign. . v
e
f
35.
P - ^ -
P
ta(ErdW*,i.662,mennons^
M
i
o
™
common
Memoes, o>. 7, aboui ibe ,
u p o f l
as well as the canal system (i. 644 ff.), and in parucular the imperial 221
„
a
change of dynast).
^5«.).
T H E L E C T U R E S O F 1 82 2 - 3
THE ORIENTAL WORLD: CHINA
wars was weakness at the center, because the governors acted independently
installed their o w n prince. A n insurgent i n China called for their assistance.
of i t . A t h i r d cause of war was the instability of the political succession,
They came, defeated the Chinese, and took over the throne. The nature of
which became more secure only in more recent times. In earlier times the
the empire was such that Manchus took over the government but did not
emperors were able to select the worthiest ones as their successors.
I So
change i t . O n the contrary, a series of the most excellent emperors ascended
then what indeed happened was that the emperor o f t e n was induced by the
the throne. The series of these M a n c h u emperors was the best, and gave new
second wife to disinherit the children of the first w i f e . A further cause [of
life t o the whole.
36
war] was insurrection, instigated by the oppression o f the governors or
i n the wake o f Manchu rule the whole Tatar region became subject t o
mandarins. Yet another was warfare w i t h foreign lands, w i t h M o n g o l s and
China, so that China's boundaries reached to the Caspian Sea, also to Nepal,
Tatars. China was conquered by descendants of Genghis K h a n , thus twice by
Bhutan, Tibet, and Bengal, where China today borders on the English
Mongols and Tatars, but was not long under their d o m i n i o n . T h i s dynasty
colonies (Staaten),
lasted for eighty-one y e a r s ,
after w h i c h a Chinese person seized power
O x u s [ A m u Darya] River, t o the [Aral] Sea. O n its other side the empire
once again. A naval battle was decisive i n bringing a b o u t the regime change
runs up to Siberia, t o | the Kalmucks of the Volga. The Russians had
whereby the Chinese empire came under its [i.e. the M o n g o l dynasty's]
pushed as far [east] as the A m u r River, but had been supplanted by the
control. The emperor cast himself i n t o the s e a .
Chinese i n 1770. This is the extent of the Chinese empire.
37
leagues was created under this d y n a s t y .
39
38
The canal extending 300
The w a l l o f some 3,000 kilometers
in length was built t o keep out the T a t a r s ;
to the mountain slopes that extend, as plains of the
A major part of the history is the personal history of the emperors, their
it sufficed i n some instances but
directives, bureaucracies, and palace intrigues involving the emperors' wives
did not fulfill its proper purpose, for i t could not protect against the incur-
and sons. The eunuchs especially carried on these intrigues, but today they
sions and conquests of the Manchu-Tatars, and in 1644 China came under
no longer exercise power. There are still eunuchs at court today, but they are
Manchu-Tatar rule, under prince Chun-chi [ S h u n z h i ] .
no longer, as before, i n offices where they had many opportunities for
40
41
Previously the Ta-
tars were under Chinese rule; oppression caused them t o rebel. They
stirring up c o n f l i c t .
42
So the history is a history of emperors and their
households. These are the chief elements in Chinese history.
36. The AUgememe Htstorie states (vi. 415) that early emperors chose the cleverest of their sore as theu successors, o . even those of thru subjeos who were deemed most worthy.
Characteristics of the Chinese State
,J M 7 '""yT ' généré, which he certainty used, puts the MongcJ period from Kublai Khan in 1279 to the M i n g dynasty in 1368, thus at eighty-nine years (uc 401-x. 1), which agrees exactly with more recent authorities. 38 Rmer states (Erdkvnde, i . 657) that the cowardly southern Chinese retreated before Kublai Khan m t h a , fleet „i 800 vessels, were cut off from their anchorage, and 100,000 of them drowned, blankedng the sea with their corpses. See Histoire générale, ix. 398-9. M™ ' T T ' t o say the canal was constructed under the MongoK can confuse the reader The Histoire générale says (ix. 450) that i n 1292 i t was the
zation] more specifically as a shape o f the state, as ethical. Upon exanuna-
S p r o M e m A a c
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J Sr ^ h
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O u r more particular concern is to characterize the shape [of Chinese c i v i l i t i o n , the distinctive feature of this shape is that, in one aspect i t has, tor the most part, the greatest similarity t o European i n s t i t u t i o n s - f o r example in ethics and the arts, such that the initial h.gh point (Extrem)
that China has f o r m e d itself internally i n an undisturbed process of
C n d r e , y
states there is an ongoing linkage of trad.rions. The Chmese have brough everything about on their o w n . Chinese political instituuons d o m u c h f r o m ours as do those of states in between, such as India andTurlcey. So a European i n China is on the one hand more at home, on the other hand
™
i
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°
r e g , m e
U n
' ° S « alson. 6 ^ c T f » « Hotho, is generally accepted today. i t h K
which has the Ming dynasty persKting until 1649, whUe acknowledging t Z n c h u dominance pnor to that year It commences the Manchu dynasty with Shunzhi. 222
emo-
t i o n , o w i n g n o t h i n g to foreign peoples, whereas in the history of European
^ ™ Y di«ance nia, could be traveled m one - i the Mongol penod, but rather under the Mtng dynasty. h
of the East
resembles t h a t o f the West i n later times. The difference lies s.mply ui the fact
3 6 ^ 140-1.
^
^
^
223
T H E L E C T U R E S OF
THE ORIENTAL WORLD: CHINA
1822-3
more alien, than elsewhere. Thus China, along w i t h its greater similarity, is extremely d i f f e r e n t . 43
133
The principle of the Chinese state rests w h o l l y o n patriarchal relationships; they determine everything. This is w h a t is most elementary and, as the life of a great people, i t inherently involves maintaining, in this vast empire, a formation that makes orderly provision for the innumerable multitudes. The I organization of the state is cultivated such that the f a m i l y relationship is the foundation. I t can be more precisely characterized as a moral foundation. The basic element of this shape is that i t is a patriarchal relationship, a family r e l a t i o n s h i p . 44
[1.1 N o duty is so strictly commanded as that o f children to elders. Children have no possessions of their o w n , are perpetual m i n o r s , must serve their elders, care for them, be deferenrial t o them, and must mourn them for three years and during this period may not hold any office, marry, or anend public gatherings. Even the emperor m a y not rule or marry during the period of mourning. The mother is honored as well as the father. Upon the death of his father, the emperor must thereafter visit his mother every fifth day, and i n doing so he is not even a l l o w e d t o r i d e beyond his palace gate; for the carriage must remain i n the outer c o u r t y a r d and the emperor must make his way through snow and r a i n t o the mother's residence. Thus the former emperor, Kien-long [ Q i a n l o n g j , received his mother's permission only at age 67 t o ride forth f r o m the gate. This fact was made k n o w n t o the entire realm. When someone is summoned t o be emperor, he cannot receive homage u n t i l he himself has acknowledged his mother as the dowager empress. He receives his mother's advice o n all matters of clemency. The parental relationship w a s held i n this high 45
regard. Parents arrange the marriages of their children." I n China polygamy is not allowed, just one wife. The husband, however, can own several concubines w h o are servants to the true wife. Their children were viewed as legitimate children of the legitimate wife. These children too must mourn the legitimate w i f e , not their o w n m o t h e r . The father is responsible for the misbehavior of the children. The harshest punishments are decreed for wrongs c o m m i t t e d by family members against one another or for those of children against the parents. If a son speaks disparagingly of his elders he is | strangled, and the same applies i f he raises his hand against them. If he injures t h e m he is grabbed w i t h pincers and torn to pieces. Younger brothers ate subject t o older brothers in the same way. I f they justly accuse of w r o n g d o i n g some person who outranks them, then they themselves are unjustly exiled o r beheaded. 48
In Chinese families it is important above all for the head of the family to have c h i l d r e n . I f he has none from his lawful wife, he takes a concubine or even adopts children of outsiders. The father alone has possessions; the children have n o n e . The father has the legal right to sell the children as slaves. D o i n g so, however, is tolerared t o some degree only among the lower classes. T h e son as well has the right t o sell himself. Actors are a disreputable group, so sale of their children is f o r b i d d e n . A father has the greatest interest i n having children to arrange for his burial after his death, to honor and adorn the graves.te. The relatives m o u r n for months at the graves of distinguished persons. O f t e n a son keeps his father's remains m the house for three o r f o u r years and lives in strictest mourning for that length ot tune. 50
51
46
bJi'^H^r^,^
í
^ presentation, there is an intellectual affin.n « d e r I " his Ideen , Philosophie der Geschichte der c £ ~ „ L 1784-91,, Herder cites many admirable features of e r S T i r Í Í t*í ™ - ~ >' ^ " ^ n r e s accordingly: 'It is a i f the whole brXs í ¿ 5 h Í « " - ^ t - P . d i h S - t , ethifal, happy children and TietS ° *"™ A r a b l e ponraval of Chinese 3 U r ^ T " > W - e d . r between excessive restnos the spmts free development, and that China lacks 'free spontanea on the pan oi " f ,7,
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Historie, »,. 319; Voltaire. Ess*. 263. * „ . 1 3 - 1 , 160.
(v to^^7 ° ^ " " P ™ ' * < * % « • < « to his mother comes from (v. 104-5] who, however, g.ves the * e of Qunlong i n the story as 63. The Memoes 4
m0n
a
b
U
w,th Gross's ver,on o l the episode, whne descnbtng k more fully ^ ^ ^ S ^ ,s drawing upon the Memoes, or perhaps both ate utilizing a common source p c s ^ y Halde, although the Allgemeine Htstorie does not recount the episode; see abc>e..* I. 47. On arranged marriage, see Cosier, v. 272; cf. Mtmoires, 14-15; ~ l
t
224
Grosor concur
L i , • i i o i ^hilp that in the Memoires (vi. 311 anil i x 3-' i •> has a similar account (vi. 15*), wruie tnai m " ^ T L description of family responsibilities and of statements from Gros.er (v. 48 and 61) with ones from ^ ^ ^ ^ U e s . punishment is -unjust- is evidently the opinion of ^ J ^ ^ S w d Z i ^ father as 50. Gros.er ,s the source for these statement allowed ,n sole owner of property (v. 501. He also says (v. 227-8) that takmg order to obtain a male offspring; ct. Mem^ ™ J ^ £ ^ ^ French Comedtens of 51. The term in our text for "actors ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ the poorer Memoires, iv. 159^0, a passage that names vanous ^ classes for whom sale of one's offspring « ^ J j f Grosiex. v. 49-50. To 'actors' Gneshrim adds 'ulusiomsts {Gaftkler). z
t
a
o
i ( n l k r
225
m
THE
L E C T U R E S OF
THE
1822-3
For example, during this time he sits o n no chair, but o n l y on a f o o t s t o o l . Just as important as the burial is the upkeep of the gravesite and the annual visit to i t . This demonstrates one's respect, sorrow, and g r a t i t u d e .
his o w n reasoning. H e frequently makes very wide-ranging declarations
In addition to maintaining and adorning the grave there is a t h i r d major obligation, to honor one's ancestors. For that purpose each f a m i l y has a hall of its forebears i n a large structure ringed w i t h benches o n w h i c h stand small plaques bearing the names of the deceased, or pictures if they were distinguished persons. In spring and autumn entire families assemble, often | six to seven thousand individuals, w i t h the eldest in the forefront. Age takes precedence and the wealthiest one provides the h o s p i t a l i t y . I f the emperor wishes t o honor someone, as the mark of honor for the living person he bestows a title on that person's forebears. A grave is so highly honored that a mandarin who became a Christian and then no longer held the grave in honor was attacked by his o w n family.
successor. H e made this matter widely k n o w n . So he always explained the
52
135
ORIENTAL WORLD: CHINA
53
54
[2.] The second topic for our consideration is the emperor and his power, (a.] He has the status of father, of patriarch, and holds u n l i m i t e d power. The empire is no theocracy like that of the T u r k s , where the Q u r ' a n is the book of divine and human law. I t is also unlike the Hebrews or Jews, whose sovereign o n l y expresses the w i l l of G o d . Chinese governance is n o t t h a t son of theocracy. Likewise i t is no feudal state having, f o r instance, a n inherent order of ranks o r i n which the countrymen are subject to the o w n e r of the land and soil. I n China there is no such aristocracy i n virtue of b i r t h any more than one based on wealth, nor one based o n commerce (Handehzustand) as i n England. There are no relationships of those kinds, f o r the emperor alone wields every controlling, highest, and all -pervasive power. There are laws according to which he rules, but these are no laws that conflict w i t h the w i l l of the monarch, but instead the k i n d o f laws bv which all things are maintained in accord w i t h his w i l l . The government has a wholly paternal outlook. The emperor is accountable, has a l l maners reported to him, and sharpens or softens judgments by giving an account of
443 J ^ z 2 2 J_ tefgmeme
^
"Counted in Memoires, vi. 325-* and Grosiet v. ' ° °P ** » ^ ™ry words (in v. 449). The account in HKtorte
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en™ ( r i T ,n ^ ^ " * * * > ™ W o a c h to government L H _ ; M e w o w e i , v . 3 2 ; H r s f o t r e g e n e r ^ i i . 4 4 6 , i v . 302.312-13,324,5.2" and 42, and vol. x i i . See also n . 43 above. 0 1
g C n e r a l
v
a t u r e
in
226
o f
about his actions to 1 his people, ones that are published in the court
136
newspaper of Beijing. The previous emperor was entreated t o name a reasons f o r his actions, w i t h w i s d o m , gentleness, understanding, and consideration. W h e n the last English ambassador came to Beijing and was soon sent away, the emperor issued a declaration about the matter. These declarations are constructed most carefully, i n the best style. They are stylistic masterpieces.
56
So the emperor counts as the most learned man of the
empire. [b.] The second [point under this heading) is the fact that the emperor ot necessity must have officers of government, for he cannot govern by himself. These officials are of t w o kinds, both called mandarins, and they number some 15,000 scholars and 20,000 military personnel. One must study extensively t o become a mandarin scholar. The scholarly mandarin has risen three levels by passing three difficult examinations. The foremost o f them have a place i n the royal palace, and the one who has proven himself t o be first among them receives a robe of honor and entry t o the palace [area] where only the emperor sets f o o t ; he is honored, and given gifts by the emperor. The higher official posts are filled by these mandarins, of which there are eight levels. T h e empire is administered by these officials. The administranon .s highly organized; everything is subject to the emperor's review; reports always proceed f r o m below up through all the levels, and they are presented to him f o r his approval. The officials ate honored by the people as is the emperor, a n d they have the right t o make written or oral representanons to h i m . I n each governing body there is a mandarin as censor, who does not participate o r speak but w h o is present at all meetings, w h o says and imparts nothing t o the meeting but all t o the emperor, and w h o brings complaints to h i m . S u c h a | censor is greatly revered and feared, and cannot be removed. These are called Ko-laos [Kelaos]. They i n concert constitute i n turn a tribunal a n d can present their views about all matters to the emperor. There are stories about the great energy expended in fulfilling their duty . This fulfillment alone is their guiding pnnciple. There are instances g,ven i n which such Kelaos presented views even at the risk of then- o w n lives. 5 7
56 Grosiet (v 226) mentions this function of the court newspaper The Me™o
C h
are held is mentioned in Staunton (ii. 62). M<«Mr» <»• 1 » , « . 282-3), and i>ro*rr 227
.37
T H E L E C T U R E S OF
THE
1822-3
CHINA
Notwithstanding the consequences, they often, by their views, made them-
hospitals where they are very w e l l cared for and conscientiously raised. The
selves objects of the emperor's great displeasure. In doing so they entered the
dead among children so discovered are cremated. The closest supervision
palace t o reiterate their views, while bearing their o w n coffins. Others w h o
governs all these matters. A Chinese must be very impoverished to abandon
incurred the emperor's wrath and were t o r n to pieces have nonetheless written
a child, since he loves his children so d e a r l y . This, then, is the feature o f the
on the earth w i t h their o w n blood what they sought t o say to the emperor.
administration.
58
64
Also noteworthy is the fact that every five years each mandarin must submit
[3.] As f o r the rights o f citizens, i t is noteworthy that there are no castes
a written confession o f the errors o f w h i c h he k n o w s himself guilty and for
and no birthrights other than that regarding inheritance of property. W h o -
which he will then b e p u n i s h e d . A mandarin may not exercise authority i n the
ever seeks admission t o the class of mandarins must distinguish himself by
province where his family l i v e s . Likewise he may n o t acquire property where
his aptitude. The foremost mandarins alone have the right to insist thai then-
he holds office. The punishment is demotion and results i n reduction in title. In
sons occupy a post. But these are very minor posts. So there is no class of
office, the mandarin is responsible for all that takes place. H e does n o t escape
officials t o w h i c h only certain families belong. Thus there is no preference
responsibility for anything, as if n o blame at all c o u l d rest on h i m . Lapses of
based on b i r t h . The institution of private property was introduced in China.
responsibility incur the harshest punishment. The most trifling matter can lead
So there is private property and definite legal right w i t h operative laws
iS
60
138
ORIENTAL WORLD:
to the greatest punishment. The mandarin has a s w o r d hanging over his head.
concerning it. Laws and courts are of course i n place for its protection.
Often they are demoted and must mention this w i t h every subsequent decree
In the history o f right, landed property undergoes the same sequence as in
[they issue].
The emperor rules over all things. Everything i n the whole
Europe. I n the most ancient dynasties landed property was not private
empire is organized t o the highest degree. The lower level officials need not
property but instead the state's public property, which it apportioned to
be mandarins, but instead are the local patresfamiJias.
the patresfamilias f o r annual tithes or some other share o f its production.
61
The strictest police are i n the c i t i e s .
62
T h r o u g h o u t the empire there are
granaries | situated under the strictest supervision and always only one hour [of travej] apart. The granaries are opened w h e n the harvest is poor i n a province.
In Chinese travel narratives it is striking that infanticide is
very common, i n particular by exposure. I n Beijing, however, every m o r n i n g carts pass around t o collect abandoned children and bring them t o foundling
This arrangement lasted f o r three dynasties. Under the last dynasty six hundred t o nine hundred acres provided for ten patresfamilias.
History
says that was the arrangement for t w o millennia. Later or^ under Shi H u a n g d i | (238 o r 2 2 1 - 2 1 0 B C ) , w h o built the Great W a l l o f China and
139
had books burned, the powerful landowners and the people became serts. For that reason his regime was detested. His subjects were competed to construct the w a l l . * Free landed property had been mtroduced on y at a 8
very late date. Today, however, there is free private property and landed C " JÍT T ° ° « «nsors upon Crosier (v. 34 ft), from a passage first added m the 3rd edn. of De la Chine, and then included in Memoes, vui. 242-3. The version m Memo„ has fewer similarities to Hegel's presentation (cf. also .v. 164 ft.). The Mono*»^ does no, the term 'Kolar*' where Hegel does, but instead speaks of -ministers of the state ( v 35). 1, sa s this tribunal ejcamines the recommendations of that other tribunal (of 5 8
1
b
M
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U n t
f
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i
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d
a
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i
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s
property. A t h i r d factor pertaining to rights of citizens is that slavery is still
es
u s e
?
SÍTTiS! ^ r«4 ' " ' °"
° * ' ^ " ° ™ « t h e Mhememe Historie (vi. P**" - According to Crosier s foller account | v. 38), the hierarchy
m
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1 E ¡aS Útk sTwT T, ^ ° > « < « ™ p o t a o s - ) as a group subordmate to me most highly qualified, scholarly mandanns, who are the Kelaos
. J "
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^«-^nauonforthed^repancy.
60. See M ^ , rv 313 for this restrict**,; cf. ARgen*», Historie, v!. 444, 61. On the responsibility of a manda nn (even for the act.ons of his subordinates), and his S
M m t T declare e d "• r ^fact " n on ° ' This' subsequent ^ 1 decrees must that G
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228
lodgments of Sonnerat
and 312-13; Allgemetne
V
Historic, vi. 414. 66. On the tribute or lithe, see Memoires, vn. 65 A Morgen is a variable 67. The German reads: W e n 1000 land measure of six-icntb* to nine-tenths of an acre. The term moron*
Moiger^^^L^bL
"
™-
Allgememe Mlgemeim
— ««
how much land a team could plow in a morning. „Mrale reports on the reign 68. On this forced tabor, see Memoves, iv. 35-6. 1 * " * V . 9 - 4 u 5 ) , .nclud!246-210 BC) of Tsin^hi-hoang-u (Qinsh. Huangdi) of ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ h m b , L *28; and ^ construction of the wall (373) and the book-burning (401), ct. Ritter, ee
H^L " ^ ¿ T * ? * T^"* ™™^ vui. 218; Grosier, v. 2 1 1 ; Histone, v i . 216; Ritter, Erdkunde, i . 259; Staunton, ii. 58. 0
M . H e g e , i s n o , d ,
1
36
mg „ ^
_ _
Staunton, ii. 75 ff. See also above, n. 40. 229
THE LECTURES OF 1 8 2 2 - 3
THE ORIENTAL WORLD: CHINA
practiced. Anyone can sell himself as a slave, and a father can even sell a son.
government themselves a n d . over the lengthy duration of their government,
Also, the courts have committed into slavery the w o m e n , children, and
they were indefatigable and had a thoroughgoing sense of justice and benev-
concubines of criminals, especially in cases of high treason. W o m e n , h o w -
olence.
ever, commit suicide [rather than live as slaves].
of a piece like the artworks of the ancients, in the way that we represent t o
69
73
[The ideal rulers are portrayed as] moral, plastic shapes that are all
I t remains for us to fathom and evaluate the principle of the state. The
ourselves the ideals o f the ancients; they are figures w h o express i n their
whole rests upon the person o f a monarch, on his officials, whose activity
every fearure a unity o r harmony o f character, dignity, circumspection, and
derives f r o m h i m , and on oversight of these officials, ranging f r o m top t o
beauty. T h i s plasticity or simple unity is not so suited to European culture,
bottom. This hierarchy (subordination) o f officials f r o m b o t t o m to top
w h i c h is more diverse; our particular features have their o w n multifaceted
constitutes a cohesiveness, and its main feature is t h a t the reins are tightly
aspects and satisfactions.
Princes and other persons have pastimes and
held. Every inferior is overseen by his superior. W h a t matters, then, is the
pleasures outside the sphere of their occupations, in their roles as private
moral personality of the superior; for there are no spheres at all that, acting
persons. In plasticity, on the contrary, the idea pervades all the features and
independendy on their o w n , take care of their o w n domain as do social
aspects o f life.
classes and the like [elsewhere]; rather, everything derives solely f r o m the
I t is not a given that an emperor's personality be so constituted. Thus the
emperor. A t the apex is an individual person w i t h u n l i m i t e d power. W h a t
educating o f royal princes is very much directed to inculcating this morality
matters is the moral condition o f the emperor. In the long series o f these
i n t o t h e n character, for all depends upon i t . Their mode of lite is in one
emperors, over f o u r t o five millennia, China has had a great number o f
respect strictly regulated, while i n another respect it involves being treated
virtuous, excellent rulers. The sterling qualities of the Oriental emerge in
w i t h pronounced deference; but i t is not a given that they w i l l become moral
the f o r m of moral excellence and p r o p r i e t y .
in character. | I f this effort miscarries and vigilance is not exercised from
70
|
The image o f Solomonic w i s d o m and governance is a familiar one
Quite
recently people set forth a portrait of the ideal ruler, as i n Fenelon's Tele¬ and said that the well-being of the people depends on this individ-
maque,
ual personality. I f they wanted to cite examples, they could have taken them f r o m Chinese history, above all f r o m the princes o f the M a n c h u dvnastv. Especially distinguished are the emperors Kangxi and Qianlong; Macaruiev himself was received by rhe l a t t e r .
72
We find them uniting a simple w a y o f life
w i t h the highest scientific culture. They reviewed the operations
^tul^Z" L,cide
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the center, if the emperor does not watch over the state, then the whole comes apart, f o r there is no lawful power, no explicitly formed conscience ot the officials; for what ought to be l a w is something determined from the top d o w n . So the laws depend more or less on the individual personality of the emperor.
74
A n d this loosening of the reins can readily occur even w i t h o u t the
throne being occupied by a tyrant who has unruly desires (as indeed French tragedies p o r t r a y tyrants). There only need be a certain indolence, a faith or confidence of the monarch in his associates, ministers or courtiers, or in his spouse or mother, i n those who are perhaps highly unworthy of it, and so the slackening sets i n . And such confidence is quite possible i n tandem w i t h a moral education. I t is even msisted on morally. I n that case this moral virtue is not linked to energy of character that sticks only to .tself, d.savows all confidence i n others and keeps an eye on those close to it. I n this way private, personal interests range freely. When the monarch has favorites so dear to
*™n the M , W « , which mentions i.
h i m that he places his trust m them, and these favorites have private interests
the ancient Greek character Tderaachus from the Odyssey of Homer. emperor Qianlong, see Staunion (who is himself Lord Macartney) „ 94-12' Other oartic-
t h ^ s ^ m e i s i h e c a s e f o r reports ar,sin from the Amherst legat.on of 181i .on which,
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see below, n. 821. 73. Others generally sha.e He.els favorable op.nion of the Manchu emperor, T i e M « and W Alexander I n Hegel's day all these accounts were available in several edns and in German trs. (see Cordier, cols. 2381-2393). There no clear evidence rha" . ^ e l used one of l s
230
oires, for instance, is full of praise for them. „ g 74. The proper education ol emperors is retired to in Memoes, »- 6 , . meme Hislone, vi. 413. r
231
6
7
U
i n
d in Allge-
1«
THE LECTURES OF 1822-3
THE ORIENTAL WORLD: CHINA
that gain force and exert influence on the government, then, owing t o mutual jealousy, these favorites descend further i n t o private interests. | So then the empire, under entirely noble sovereigns, falls o r transforms i n t o a condition of injustice, of arbitrariness, of bureaucratic d o m i n a t i o n . We find this most often in the Orient, w i t h the result that, under the government of w e l l intentioned, noble sovereigns, c o r r u p t i o n pervades a l l classes and consequently there is revolution. For the whole only stands firm in virtue of the monarch's strict vigilance. The destruction of the M i n g dynasty apparently fits this description; i t was overthrown by the Manchus, only t o be torn apart. In particular the last M i n g emperor was said t o be hostile to adulation, devoted Co the sciences, patron of Christians, and so f o r t h . But when, through no fault of his o w n , uprisings and revolts broke out in response t o pressure f r o m the mandarins under h i m , he d i d not take charge energetically but instead sought the advice of his ministers and t o o k his o w n life. His character exhibited greatness and complete moral beauty. O n the whole there are in general scarcely any l i m i t i n g factors w h e n the character o f an emperor has brought the empire t o ruin. A n easy slide i n t o moral slackness can engulf everything.
are the m o r a l a n d the religious spheres. But the ethical sphere too must be the object of law, although not directly but instead indirectly as the object of fulfillment and practice. I t ought to be upheld, but in its o w n characteristic way. Laws, i n contrast, deal w i t h what is right as the concrete existence of free v o l i t i o n , albeir not w i t h i n itself, whereas the moral sphere is the concrete existence of free v o l i t i o n indeed w i t h i n itself: morality determines itself internally according t o intentions, purposes, plans, and points of view. The legal sphere is the external concrete existence of free volition; w i l l gives t o itself its existence in an external sphere. W i l l gives itself material expression; a person is o n l y free as a possessor of property. Property is external matter. So i t is not permissible for a person to be a slave. Legal obligations t o w a r d other private individuals, the laws of the state w i t h respect t o private rights, concern external circumstances and the k i n d of issues and behaviors that can indeed be based on sentiment but also arise apart f r o m it. I Morality, however, is quite a different domain. Laws can compel because they apply to an individual's external being. M o r a l i t y , on the contrary, is the domain of inwardness, the area of my o w n insight, my o w n self-determination commensurate w i t h my aims, intentions, and so forth. This inner domain can take the f o r m of respect, reverence, or affection. This internal disposition ot the i n d i v i d u a l , this inwardness, cannot be commanded, cannot be made the direct object o f laws. C i v i l or political legislation pertains t o external existence. But the m o r a l d o m a i n has its o w n expression too. I t is a source o t the action or conduct of persons w i t h reference t o the state and to individuals. These expressions have matters of legality as their content. The other aspect^ however, « that there are also expressions that anse solely f r o m m o r a l sentiments, such as signs of respect or affections among relatives or r3erween married couples. There is indeed a point at which legality plays a p m , yet that p o i n t is difficult to specify, inasmuch « M ' t y « ^ to intrude i n t o matters pertaining to the individual as such. Legahty^may not intrude i n t o maners of sentiment. I f some moral the laws doing so can have an excellent resonance can be » language, a l t h o u g h this in turn opens the door to a despotism that is all greater i n p r o p o r t i o n t o h o w excellent the law ^ ^
75
The M o r a l Sphere, Subjective Freedom, and their Violation
143
The drawback of the patriarchal principle lies, on the whole, in reliance on the personality of the emperor. Its distinctive feature is that there is no separanon of the legal aspect f r o m the moral aspect. A rational political msntution must have produced and must uphold b o t h aspects, each for its own sake each according t o its o w n necessary position. The characteristic Unental feature however, | consists precisely in the fact t h a t these t w o principles are still ,n immediate unity, w h i c h is the case i n the ethical sphere and the condition o f a state where the ethical sphere still rules. So the - n r e state rests on ethical custom. In any event custom rules, and the laws are i n part ms ffic,em, or else they base themselves o n c u s t o m / As soon as m
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In the Chinese state w h a t is ethical is made to be the !aw only as a sentiment ,s supposed to have the force of ^ by Lture ,s m o r a l , name.y what thus commanded by law. It is commanded by those wnu
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THE L E C T U R E S OF
1822-3
government. I n introducing the laws of families, we saw several examples | of this. A n endless number of civil laws bear upon the conduct of citizens vis-a-vis one another a n d their superiors, the officers of the emperor. One of the ancient }ing, the Li-jing, contains only customs, w h i c h are very comprehensively stipulated, a n d the neglect of w h i c h incurs very s t r i a punishments, and [by following them] life runs s m o o t h l y . So w h a t concerns o u t w a r d decorum is thus necessary and is commanded, although as a system of legal ordinances it loses its essential meaning. Thus the fundamental characteristic of Chinese political institutions is that the moral d o m a i n is posited as strict legality. A government of the kind that issues such legislation takes the place of m y o w n inner being, and by d o i n g so the principle of subjective freedom is annulled o r goes unacknowledged. 78
And this principle o f subjective freedom is what is foremost, is w h a t is above all understood as freedom. This subjective freedom, the intangible sphere of inwardness, is a characteristic proper especially t o the European principle. Thus all that is fine and true proceeds f r o m this formal source. So, when governments make the moral domain into their principle, this characteristic in the subject goes unacknowledged; it is no longer present as what is proper to the particular subject. Morality seems indeed to be the principle of the whole state; but linked to it is the failure to acknowledge the morality that must be i n the inwardness of the subject. Accordingly this system lacks the free soul, the source f r o m w h i c h arise free, self-supporting ethical life, free science, free religion. N o t h i n g is allowed to emerge that is the subject's o w n creation. | For that w o u l d be a second enterprise i n opposition t o that of the government. The government has made itself the master of morals, has seized control of inwardness. So the ideal enterprise of freedom cannot flourish. What is inwardly free, w h a t has its concrete existence i n the subject, is permitted no entree i n t o the laws. In the shape in which we represent i t , subjective freedom is ordinarily considered to reside i n our demand that this inwardness ought t o be respected in human beings. By making this demand as such we stand on this principle, and i t expresses itself chiefly in the f o r m of respect. Respect fundamentally involves an inviolable zone that ought to exist for me. I have subjected myself t o this zone by my own volition; 1 exist i n i t through my o w n volition. What I a m through my o w n volition belongs t o me and is inviolable. I t is an infinite harm for me i f someone infringes on this sphere. I have my o w n existence i n w h a t 1 have decided for myself. Respect presupposes such a being-for-setf, and its inviolability; and ,t is its formal aspect. This being-for-itself is not respected
THE ORIENTAL WORLD: CHINA
among the Chinese, since there I am subject t o moral governance; for that reason there is no room for respect i n this case, nor for what this inner freedom produces. These are the abstract characteristics [of the Chinese principle). It remains for us t o consider this abstract principle in its concrete features, albeit not in all of its detail. [I.J The first thing to mention has already been brought u p , the fact that in China there is slavery. People can sell themselves, and parents can sell their children. I n addition, being sold into slavery | becomes a punishment. The Manchu-Tatats regarded everyone as slaves of the emperor. So here there is no acknowledgment of the primary respect a human being has, that of being a free person, this abstract inwardness. 79
[2.] The second point concerns punishment as such. When a crime is committed the entire f a m i l y — w i f e , children, parents, brothers, f r i e n d s undergo the punishments. This is wholly contrary to the recognition of moral freedom, t o imputation of wrongdoing, to moral autonomy as such. For the Chinese this punishment i n w h i c h , for instance, all the children are put t o death, is all the more horrible because the family relationship is supteme and o w i n g to the punishment the family's ancestors w i l l no longer be honored now, because there are no survivors capable of honoring and avenging the deceased. The punishments include confiscation of goods regarded as questionable, as stolen, as unlawful, and this has the effect o f punishment because someone whose goods are confiscated is viewed hencef o r t h as a slave since the whole of his property is taken f r o m h i m . A further punishment is flogging, t o which even the highest mandarin is subject. Such flogging is incompatible w i t h our sense of respect. Any mandarin can have any citizen flogged. I t is not as a rule done sparingly w i t h a cane. W h e n the last legation f r o m England departed after visiting the supreme mandarir^the householder used a w h i p to clear a path for all the imperial dignitanes. 80
81
79. On slavery as punishment, and on al) as slaves of the emperor, see
Memoir*.
»• « 0 and
80. The M e m o e s mentions the pumshment of family members;VH. 37). although Done of Hegel's possible sources state explicitly that the children of crirninals would be put to death These penal praences are regarded as deterrmg potential criminals from carrymg their intended acts" for no one would be left who ,s capable o. honoring and avenpng them (on which, see Alleemeine Historie, vi. 486-97). 81. On corporal pumshment, see Memcnres. -v. 157 ff. On all mandanns as authonzed to inflict punishment, see Crosier, v. 58, and Sonnerat, u. 17-18. , .,~A 82. The legation to China in 1816 was led by Wilham Pitt Ambers, about it, prior to ,822, including ones in Gennan t r a n s l a u ^ r d i e r . BMo*** cols. 2393Hi) mcludes those of Henry E l k , Clark Abel, Robert M o r m o n , and J. F. Da™. Rnr
73. The M e > ™ says this about the U-fmg (vii. 193-1), * also does Crosier (iv. 350-1). Some of these elements faU under the heading of what Hegel regards as 'sentiments'. 234
Z35
U7
THE
1«
LECTURES OF
THE
1822-3
Corporal punishment can i n one sense be considered something utterly insignificant, j since the human being is only injured i n his lesser aspect, merely outwardly, in mere mortal existence. But c o r p o r a l punishment is the most humiliating for the very reason that a human being so afflicted is supposed to be coerced with regard to his inner being. This presupposes the absolute connection between inner and outer aspects, f o r human beings k n o w themselves as morally independent of this connection. Hence the h u m i l i a t i o n is greater. A n assault on such a subordinate aspect of a person serves t o label i t as one's highest aspect, an aspect that is supposed t o coerce one's inner aspect. The educated o r cultivated person has more i m p o r t a n t aspects, a n d views a subordinate aspect o f that k i n d as of no importance whatsoever. To the educated person the punishment that is as a rule most extreme expresses the n u l l i t y of his w i l l before the law. So punishment that is not corporal acknowledges the educated person as a m o r a l , i n w a r d being, as the k i n d who acknowledges the l a w as w h a t is supreme. The latter punishments are for this reason more creditable, since the one punished is respected as a m o r a l being. The greater the cultivation, the greater the sensitivity t o corporal punishment. So a mandarin w h o acknowledges the laws and holds them i n honor is degraded by corporal punishment, since i t robs h i m o f m o r a l standing. 83
»49
[3] A further point is that the administration itself relies upon oversight bv the higher officials, of which the emperor is the highest. Every superior always has i n t u r n the highest, uncircumscribed authority w i t h i n his o w n sphere. The emperor's oversight can be exercised only by his also entrusting such power t o the various governors. Each mandarin is the chief justice i n his city. A viceroy can pronounce a death sentence. | I n that w a y officials are given broad jurisdiction, w h i c h depends upon their m o r a l i t y , and as soon as oversight is relaxed, oppression a n d arbitrariness increase gready. In that way the inner feeling of moral dignity is lost. Citizens have no recourse against the mandarins, have no inherent m o r a l consciousness o f their o w n . 84
cannot be proved that Hegelnt.li^d „ e of , as well from newspapers or from drsc.jss.ons. See also above, nn. 2 and 72. Q
t h e s e
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1
Ethical Customs The next p o i n t concerns the ethical customs of the Chinese people. The customs too of this people have the inherent character of nor arising from their o w n inwardness. The Chinese were governed as an underage people; so their ethics too has the character o f dependency. The Chinese are pleasant and mild-mannered, extremely courteous and ceremonious. Everything involves its own specific etiquette. They become regulated in the most exacting way by precepts, even in more or less irisignificant matters. So in China the human being has an external existence, not an internal one. A Chinese person is externally moved above all by vengeance for an injury, especially one done t o his father, or to an elder brother. H e takes the injury to be something absolute, and has no internal restraint regarding it. The entirety of his individual personality reacts against this injury. H e is extremely vengeful and reacts quite vehemently because he feels himself powerless in face of the injury. The same is evident i n other Asian peoples. It is evident, for instance, in the killing of oneself in order to cast blame on others by the act, as was formerly done in our culture by soldiers. Among the Chinese i t is common for someone hostile to another t o kill himself, in this way precipitating a thorough investigation of the matter and leading to the torture of the other person, for torture is practiced i n O i i n a . T h e 1 other person w i l l be executed himself, as being to blame for the death of another person. For blame is so widely spread that, i n the case of death, I need only have been its cause even w i t h o u t w i l l i n g it, i n order to be executed myself. 85
Individual responsibility (Imputation) for crime is not a consideration in C h i n a . T h e suicide w h o wishes to revenge himself on another will plunge that person's entire family into r u i n ; so he takes his o w n life because by doing that he plunges i n t o r u i n the other as well as the other's family t o o . What the Chinese person gains from such a revenge is that a penalty cannot be imposed on h i m a n d his family together, nor can there be confiscation of his g o o d * The Chinese thus continue this vengefulness right up to the present day. The people of Ceylon [Sri Lanka] do the same, revenging themselves in this way [by suicide] w h i l e bathing. I n addition, the Chinese are extremely cunning, thievish, and deceitful, like the Indians. (They have great flexibility o f t h e i r limbs, are supple i n body and versatile in sleight-of-hand tricks and arnhces.,
i ( l f o r m a t l 0 f l
«ni T? ^ 7 ^ Punishment and, for mandarins «pec,ally, the resulting loss or lack of respect. On Herder, see above, n. 43 84. Gros,er stores (v. 231) that a vKeroy can pronounce a death sentence, but the execution must await ratification by the monarch. ilde
ORIENTAL WORLD: CHINA
85. Grosierremarkslv.
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236
one's enemy and his family are destroyed in this way. See snn.lar statements . 289-90,439, and vii. 37. 237
Memo**,...
150
THE LECTURES
THE O R 1 E N T A L W O R L D : CHINA
O F 1 82 2 - i
They are especially deceitful t o w a r d the Europeans because they [the Chinese] lack inner i n t e g r i t y . 87
The Sciences The next point concerns the sciences, a r t , and religion. Lack of proper inwardness extends also to the sciences. There is n o free, liberal science. When the topic is Chinese sciences, we hear o f their great reputation. They are highly valued and honored in China. [1.] I n ancient times the Chinese were very famous f o r their science and were actually held in high regard. The emperor stood at the apex o f the sciences; he was most fastidiously educated and, especially during the M a n c h u dynasty, he was also actually taught and instructed i n science. The emperor is held to be the final judge o f scientific | value. I n the court newspaper the emperor criticizes erroneous expressions in the decrees o f the mandarins and often composes his o w n editorials, essays, and poems. There is even a high tribunal at court, composed of the most learned men, which has no other business than the development of science and, above all, o f history. T h e emperor himself selects the members of the tribunal, Han-Line, based on strict examinations. They have a suitably scientific life, laboring in particular on general w o r k s under the emperor's supervision, and he writes the prefaces for most of them himself. From these men the emperor chooses his secretaries, w h o provide his brush strokes [is. are his stenographers]; f r o m them the highest state officials are appointed. The compilation of great w o r k s and new editions there are handled by the state. I n his last years [from 1772 on] the previous emperor saw to a n e w edinon of the collected literature, consisting of 168,000 volumes. It was decreed that the edition should be error-free in its entirety. One volume o f this sort does not contain as much material as our books do. The accounts i n the state newspaper declared h o w many printing errors particular mandarins left uncorrected, and h o w many lashes had been the punishment of each for doing s o . 88
8 9
87. This passage shows that Hegel « not adopting without exception the positive , dgments ofthe Memoes about the Chinese, for thts othenv.se so .mponant source for him savs nothing about dece.tfulness or thievery. Grosier mdicates these complamts ,n »*
^
i - d * - ™ * on this .ssue. JnTrT P « ° Q'anlong m h.s various published works Ox « » - 1 0 ) . (Utter too praises the Manchu emperors Kangh. (Kang.xi) and Qianlong as be.ng ph.losophers poets, and skilled in vanous branches of literature (Erdfc«™fe.,. 5271. See also Grosiet, vi. 5R-9. ' i P P e a r
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So the sciences seem in one respect to be greatly esteemed, and yet the main thing is lacking, namely, the free soil (Bodert) of inwardness, the intellect that comprises a wealth of thoughts w i t h i n itself, that makes all of concrete existence the object o f thought. The inierest o f science thus lies in its o w n internal satisfaction, its inner life in possessing a w o r l d of thought. This grounding (Boden) eludes the Chinese, w h o pursue the sciences but not i n the free interest of science. So science and culture, | the compiling o f i n f o r m a t i o n , is i n the main empirical in nature, not theoretical, not a free interest o f thought as such; instead the sciences essentially stand to serve the utility and benefit o f the state. The state has the sciences under its control, as means, and f o r that reason a purely scholarly life, or pure interest in science for its o w n sake, is neither encouraged nor patronized by the state- When we consider the condition o f the sciences themselves, then the exalted reputa¬ t i o n of Chinese science vanishes before our eyes. [2.] As for the written Chinese language, it is distinctively Chinese and is i n many respects something admirable. There are t w o aspects t o it. The one that concerns us is that the written language is viewed as a great obstacle to the development of the sciences; one can put the point differently by saying that because there is no science as such, the medium for it is so poor. The written language is hieroglyphic i n f o r m ; it is not the expression o f sounds. For us sounds are representational signs (Zeichen der Vorstellung), and we have i n t u r n signs for these signs. Letters are thus signs of representational signs The Chinese do not take this roundabout way of signifying sounds by letters and representation by sounds. The signs for letters are equally so signs for representation. That feature impressed eminent men, so they have held it t o be universally desirable. W h a t we can say w i t h regard t o the spoken language (Tonsfrracbe) o f the Chinese is that it is meager and monosyllabic. O u r spoken language is structured by the written language. O u r spoken language wyorres little more than is found i n the w r i t i n g . That is not the case w i t h the Chinese. Their spoken language is meager. M a n y words of the spoken language | have twenrv-five wholly different meanings. Distinction among these meanings arises f r o m the fact that the words are accented differently, are spoken
a d v e
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89 Hegel bases th,s account of these impend court bodies and their pubhshing act-vines mostly on Grosier (vi. « - 7 1 ) , with additional material from tbe MemoheZxv. 3S1-6) drawn from .he court newspaper See also above, n. 56. Hegel mistakenly speaks of the one behmd the 238
152
7 a7ylol7^ successors prior to 1822. *0 Herde- savs something simila, a h o i . Chines -c.ei.ce Mdeen, 12* autonomv o,spir,,' 21 >. He also parallels Hegel's r e r r ^ a b o u . needs, ABgemtmen Betrachlungen über d,e Geschichte dieser Strien Allgemeine Historie, vi. 318-19. 1
l e r
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(pp. 45 8). * t a*o
153
T H E L E C T U R E S O F 18
THE ORIENTAL WORLD:
22-3
slower, faster, softer o r louder. The Chinese have very sensitive ears. This [aspect o f the language] is therefore a major defect. 91
The fact that the written language is the greatest obstacle t o the advance ment of science is one of its conspicuous features. O u r written language is extremely simple. Its multiplicity o i sounds is l i m i t e d and specified by the small number of our w r i t t e n signs. Unlike ours, their written language does not limit the variety o f sounds. O n account o f the intermediate sounds, an unstructured language does not lend itself t o w r i t i n g . Structured language is specific i n its sounds and letters, and these are readily learned. The rest involves the combining of sounds, and nothing f u r t h e r about t h e m needs t o be remembered. The Chinese do not have twenty-six letters, b u t instead many thousands of characters {Zeicben). The number o f them necessary for ordinary purposes is 9 , 3 5 1 , and i n the o p i n i o n of some more t h a n 10,000; scholars need 8 0 , 0 0 0 - 9 0 , 0 0 0 . Still t o be learned are the combinations of words, combinations some o f w h i c h are conventional (symboltscb) and some are wholly arbitrary. So one must also learn the combinations them selves. Therefore not much is gained f r o m the fact that many characters are only juxtapositions. People have declared the u t i l i t y o f hieroglyphics to reside f o r us i n the fact that many peoples can learn and understand the same characters w i t h o u t understanding one another's spoken language. This advantage is o f no avail t o the Chinese, because f r o m time irnmemorial they have kept t o themselves. | 92
154
CHINA
his books [the hurt yii] i n a modern translation; according t o the reviews, however, it does little t o enhance his reputation. H e is not to be compared to Plato, Aristotle, or Socrates. He was about the same as Solon, if we under stand by this that he was the lawgiver o f his people. H i s teachings are the foundation for moral instruction, especially that of princes. We w i s h t o remark only briefly about the specifics o f this topic [of science). Early o n the Chinese d i d indeed make great strides i n particular sciences, although this point has often been disputed, i n modern times people have become better acquainted w i t h the condition o f their science and so are i n a position t o evaluate i t . Physics is regarded as their most developed science. They knew about magnets and the use o f the compass needle before w e d i d . They say that the magnet points t o the south, and this is equally correct. They first learned about the thermometer, barometer, pneumatic p u m p , pendulum clock, and lever f r o m Europeans, as w e l l as the theories behind these t o o , the actual scientific theories. So i t seems that they d i d not advance very far even i n physics. I The Chinese have become most renowned for their astronomy. Delambre and Laplace have reported on it specifically, and credit them w i t h a series of long-term, ancient observations by which they calculated the duration of the year rather accurately, observed a solar eclipse i n 1100 B C , and also quite accurately noted the procession of the equinoxes. So they are credited w i t h 96
95
[3.] A s for the science itself, it has received m u c h praise. The most renowned scientific man is Confucius fKongzi]. H e is for the most p a r t a moral educator. H e was a moralist as such, not actually a philosopher; f o r in his case w e do not find theory that occupies itself i n t h o u g h t as such. For a few years he was a m o r a l l y virtuous m i n i n e , , , d then he traveled about w i t h his disciples. H i s teachings are expressed like the proverbs o f Solomon; and yet, more than this is required for scientific knowledge. We have one of a r
91. For these aspects of the Chinese language, see: GrosKS, v . 5, 8-9; Memorres, viii. 145-6.202. 92. ^ « i B İ r i . 15-16) that knowledge of 8,000 or 9,000 suffices for o r * to tead many books. His 3rd edn adds, according to a letter of de Mailla to E b e m * W e t , the more specific range of 9,535 to 10,516 for ordinary usage. If Hegel is n « utilizing a source unknown to us, be may be basing his numbers on Grosier, despite the minor discrepances. In any case these exact numbers are found in Gaubil, U C W f e m g , 380-98, esp. 393-4. For other accounts, see: Memoires^n. 146-7; Staunton, i i . 132; Herder, Ideen, 11; AMgememe Historic, v i . 334-49. In any event, 80,000 appears as the upper limit.
Memoes
93. Either Hegel is reinterpret,ng for his own purposes a passage from fiv. 168» that is on the whole neganve about the possibility of translating Chinese poetrv, or else he ,s referring to an actual d.scussion m his day about the transla.ability of the characters. The latter alternative is supported by the way our text is expressed. 240
94. In Hegel's day there was good published information about the life and work of Con fucius. Vol. x i i of the M e m o e s contains an account of h.s life /pp. 1-403, one Uwt more recent authorities regard as accurate. Following i t is a chronological table ( p p . o f ™ life. Accotdingto i t , he lived from 551 to 479 BC, was an official at the age began to attract disciples and to navel about. He is deemed ' ^ ^ ™ ^ ^ ™ " ^ n i . 6 Grosier, vii. 4091. The translation o f the U* yu referred to » * contained i n The Works of Confucius, by Joshua Marshman (see the * * w £ ^ } t ™ 1809. Cordier refers (in Bibtiotheca Simca, col. 1404) to a French rev«w of i t by eanFvrre Abel-Remusa. (in Extrait du Moniteur, 36 (1814)) that widely ^ u e n a a L W d h e l m Laurerbach (pseud, for Heinnch Julius von Klaproth) publ. a ^ lHalle, see Dr. Wilhelm SchotSs vergebliche Vbersetzung der ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ der V sprJe, e,ne hterar.cbe BetrUgerei (Leipzig and Pans .828). Poss.b y Hegelis reamng here to other reviews in newspapers. It is doubtful that his reference to other and earlier translations, bv Couplet, Noel, Intorcena, et d. 95. These comments about the physics of the Chmese are lound in Grower ( ^ 80^ 96. Hegel clearly relies on Grosier(vi. 129 ff.), who cites ^ ^ ^ ^ " h e d ^ Hegel the resultsand does no, V * ^ ^ ^ c r o s i e r s informant, P.erre Simon de Laplace author o £ 2 vols. (Paris, 1796), ii. 266, discussed by Gros,er (v.. 131 ff.l. Hegel is alsoevident in his adoption of connections between po.ms f ^ n d there F O M O S ^ ^ . 133^) mentions closely together the observation e
;
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equinoxes. As his second authority Hegel m e l o n s (but 241
Grosier does not.) Jean jcsepn
1 5 5
THE LECTURES
OF
THE ORIENTAL WORLD: CHINA
1822-3
very long-term observations, but this by itself is n o science. They have also made meteorological observations for over 2,000 years, although not w i t h barometer and thermometer but by n o t i n g rain and w i n d . Europeans can learn nothing at all f r o m them. A proper astronomical science must not be sought f r o m the Chinese. One reason is that its mathematical component, the calendar, has for the past t w o t o three centuries been d r a w n up byEuropean missionaries w h o give regular lectures there, because the Chinese are ignorant i n such matters. The Chinese furnish the astronomical component. The other reason is that from ancient times the Chinese have indeed made use of tubes for observation of the stars, but employed no telescopes and pendulum clocks (which they first learned about f r o m the Europeans]. The finest European telescopes and pendulum clocks are f o u n d today i n the imperial palace in Beijing, ones that the emperor has received as gifts f r o m the English. A n d yet, on the astronomical towers o f Beijing they d o not make use of them as i n n o v a t i o n s . 9 7
98
156
The other sciences are pursued i n comparably empirical fashion. The circulation of fluids is the foundation in medicine. So the principal cure consists in the bodily postures of | the sick. Little is to be said about mathematics i n China. Their mathematics consists of geometry. I t is claimed that they k n o w the Pythagorean theorem; but there is no evidence of that, even less so the proof. The Chinese understand h o w t o calculate very well indeed, but by using mechanical devices. Algebra, i n its higher forms especially, is not found there. Their system for counting is not the decimal svstem like ours, but is binary; they write all numbers w i t h one and zero, w h i c h proves h o w inferior the Chinese generally are i n comparison w i t h other peoples. Also noteworthy w i t h regard to algebra is the fact that they are completely unaware, for instance, of logarithms, sine, and tangents. Thev do have knowledge of chemistry, but only for its immediate application. It is the same w i t h mechanics and hydraulics, a field where they are ingenious i n the
de l^tronow anctenne, 2 vols. (Fans, 1817); ,. 347-400 olThTf " T > y - Even m ore noteworthy is thai, of all ,he previous ed». ot these lectures, none but Lasson even mentions Delambre. Ddambre, a u t e of H.stoire a
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a s I r o n o n
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for n ST" T T i ^ ^nunistrative purposes and Z 1 " I ^ " but rely on the European m,ssionar.es lor the r precrse mathematical measuremen. and verification. Cf. Memoes. LL 369 and v. 44. 5
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invention of simple machines, often cleverer than Europeans; that, however, is not science. I n addition they are skillful in a number of things having to do, for instance, w i t h insects and copper metalworking {Sammlurtgen Kupferblechen).
von
99
Art In the field o f fine arts the consequence of all this is that ideal art cannot flourish among the Chinese. The ideal seeks to be conceived f r o m the i n w a r d , free spirit, not prosaically but i n such a way that it directly dispenses w i t h something bodily. The Chinese are, to be sure, skilled i n the mechanical arts, but they lack the creative power of spirit, the free inwardness. They have no lack of productivity. They have beautiful landscape painting and portraits, but they never attain the brilliance that is produced in ours bymeans of shadows and light. They are very precise i n sketching, for instance, the scales of carp. Their floral painting is well-executed i n this respect. I n all these ways thev are extremely precise, but the ideal is extremely alien t o them. O n l y i n horticulture | do they excel. Their gardens are quite bcautif u l , n o t rigid and f o r m a l . 1 0 0
Religion Finally, i n f o r m a t i o n w i t h regard to religion is difficult to come by because the Europeans could only obtain it i n the role of missionaries, although as missionaries their o w n religion was an obstacle t o their doing so.
99. Grosier remarks on rhe empirical nature of Chinese medicine and its focus on bod.lv fluids (vi. 190, 1921. Voltaire refers to the demonstration ol the Pylhagotean theorem t o the Chinese bv a French pries. ( £ « « , 262). Grosier (v. 154-7! describes the.r calcuhnng machn.es: see also S.aunion, ii. 40-1, and AUgememe Htstone, « . 2%S-i\Uy^ illustration of an abacus, p. 237). No source refers to logarithms, etc. G r o ^ r m e l o n s Ou^ese chemistry , v i . 94), and desenbes rheir skdl m vi. 241 ff Herder says (Ideen, 21-21 that some of their skills and artifacts are earlier t h a n A e * European counterpart, These passages say nothing about insects or metalworking although another Grosier passage |see n. 104» mentions the effects of a *»*f*%t ^ 100. These appraisals of Chinese fine art occur in GrosKr, v,. 388-90. 393, ^ ™ S f ™ " * H W o n r . ... 24. and Staunton, ri. 138. Grosier (vi. 3 2 M B H » a - r y f u l i ™ rf C W horticulture; see es . . 346. Hegel', posmve assessment of Chinese ing taste of Europeans, who had lormerlv taken the formal French garden as " his dav inclined more to the style ol the English garden. See ^ ^ ^ ^ 3 derdeutschenL.teraturdeslS.Jahrhunder^Ge^^^ s a « that Kew Gardens ,n London, with .ts Chmese pagoda and natural landscapes des.gned William Chambers, became the model for all of Europe |pp 50-11. 101. Hege, rs expressmg the skepneism, missionary reports on China. The Atlgtmeine Huton* (VL 349) says tne j i ~ d
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243
157
T H E L E C T U R E S OF
1822-3
THE ORIENTAL WORLD: CHINA
In China the state religion must first o f all be distinguished f r o m private religion. The main thing is that the state religion here is in one aspect patriarchal religion, although i t has still other aspects distinguishing i t from patriarchal religion. We can express this ancient, simple, patriarchal religion briefly i n the following way: H u m a n beings pray to G o d as the ruler of earth and heaven, w h o is one {einfacb), eternal, benevolent, and just, and who rewards goodness and virtue, a n d punishes evil and crime. This pure, simple religion is essentially the state religion o f the Chinese. It is pure and simple o n account of its abstraction. This son of v i e w excludes the richness and profundity of nature a n d o f spirit. Justice and benevolence are modes of activity of the absolute; but w h a t the absolute is does not get expressed. I n this patriarchal view, human beings are i n the c o n d i t i o n o r abstraction i n which they have not yet plumbed their o w n depths o r the depths of nature, nor w i l l they find the problems of nature and o f spirit resolved i n the divine. This simple view thus comprises the state religion o f the Chinese. [1.] They call their supreme being Thien [Tian] or heaven, and also Schang-ti [Shangdi], the supreme l o r d . The Jesuits have alleged | t h a t Tian or Shangdi is our G o d , the one w e too recognize as G o d . Other missionaries, however, declared the religion of the Chinese t o be paganism and m n o way Christian. A second point of controversy was that the Jesuits allowed the Chinese t o honor their ancestors, whereas the other missionaries forbade i t . Some have placed these ancestors on a par w i t h the saints; others have decreed that only the saints of the Catholic C h u r c h are intercessors. The k i n d of reverence that the Chinese have is evident i n most ancient peoples. 'Tian' literally means 'heaven', and so there was dispute as t o 1 0 2
natural aspect, or else what we This dispute occurs i n the case o f a l l ancient peoples, for
n r J \ £ call G o d .
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^ p l e t e erroneous, and respects untruthful, owing perhaps to their perfunctory p r u n e s or to a hostrbry to religions other than their own. See the fuller discussion of Chinese religion in Lectures on the Fhdosophy of Rehgior, (Oxiocd, 2007), h. 299-303, 547-62. l n
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« » d Donuntcans, or thTaance " ' " "**™™Ch,n,212,lA3, 306*V). His sources have f u f e explanauon. The Hutove generate (ex. 300-4, p u b i s e s an appeal (p W ) of *veral Europeans res.denr ,n China, made in 1699 to the emperor, l o n n g ^ to take a posmon on the controversy mentioned by Hegel. The Memo.res contain a n l d i c t of Kang*., makrng known the mipenal religion in this connection (v. 54-5). I t is unclear whether H e g d i s ZZZ
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instance, w i t h the Persians pertaining t o light: D i d they mean by i t natural light or the light of thought? It is the same w i t h the Egyptian Osiris: Is it the Nile, or is i t a symbol of something inward? So people ask themselves i f heaven, l i g h t , and Osiris are supposed to be signs of something purely spiritual a n d i n w a r d , or if it is the natural things themselves that these signs are supposed t o signify. A t h i r d opinion holds that deceased individuals were revered under these images. This controversy w i t h respect to all mythology continues right up t o the present day. If a sharp distinction between these views is d r a w n , then they are opposed. It is surely correct, however, t h a t n o people can be said to have taken what is simply sensible t o be the divine, since i t is necessarily spirit's nature not t o stop short w i t h its natural aspect, but t o proceed to something inward. A l l pure religions involve a metaphorical transposition (Hinuberspieten) f r o m the sensible into thought. When the thought (Gedanke) i n the object makes itself more p r o f o u n d , then it is something conceived (ein Gedachtes), something universal. We c o u l d say a lot about the more specific implications in h o w the Chinese speak of their T i a n . Nevertheless w e only wish t o recount this one episode. | I n 1711, under Kangxi, the Jesuits built a church, on the pediment o f w h i c h the reigning emperor himself had three inscriptions placed. The first reads: "The true principle of all things'. The second is: ' I t has n o beginning a n d i t w i l l have no end; i t created all things and sustains all things.' T h e t h i r d is: ' I t is infinite, is infinitely good and infinitely )ust; it governs everything w i t h supreme power.' The Chinese speak i n this way about their god, similar to what we read about Jehovah in the O l d Testament. Kangxi's successor issued a declaration when several mandarins wrote to the emperor about a stunted growth of plants. They t o l d that there was no stunted g r o w t h where the likeness of an ancient general had been erected. The emperor replied that it had not been his intention t o erect the image for that purpose. There is an ongoing relationship between human beings and T i a n . W h e n a misfortune occurs, people must pause and ask whemer their failures, and w h i c h ones, have brought these punishments upon them. The emperor does this himself when he hears of such misfortune by ashing himself h o w he brought it upon his empire. I f the people do what .s n g h t then T i a n w i l l even come to their assistance; for empire and people would be o v e n h r o w n o r overwhelmed only i f the people were to neglect what is nght
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drawing directly from one of these passages for, despite the a^eernent obviA surnrnarizing m few word, an already ^ ^ T ^ i e ^ ^ his own words, i n 1827, see Philosophy ofRehgion, n. 548-50. See also mmones.
245
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159
T H E L E C T U R E S OF
THE ORIENTAL WORLD: CHINA
1822-3
and good. If human beings shirk their duty, then T i a n changes his favorable disposition into one of chastisement. These are the thoughts about the supreme being, and these views are w h o l l y compatible w i t h w h a t one finds in the O l d Testament. | 104
So we can call this aspect o f the religion patriarchal. Thus for the Chinese this simple, abstract being stands at the apex. Learned Chinese, w h o m the missionaries call atheists ™ i n the state religion, take this abstract being as the primary element (das Primitive) o f the understanding, as the innermost essence o f the w o r l d w i t h the significance one can give to fate, approximating to the laws o f nature as w h a t nature produces. Everything is supposed to have come forth from this primary element. The Chinese have i n general the representation o f a just sovereign over nature and human action. The c o r o l lary is that the emperor alone is called 'son o f heaven , of T i a n , and he alone presents the offering behalf of his entire people. The emperor alone presents the offering; he alone carries o u t the act o f worship. The Chinese have several festivals at which the emperor makes the offering i n a public procession. The principal festivals occur at our Christmastime, at the winter solstice, and the second ones at the spring equinox, at w h i c h t i m e the emperor nils the soil, not so as t o honor this site politically but as worship. I he empress for her part tends the silkworms. A t h i r d festival is at midsummer, at the summer solstice. A f o u r t h w o u l d take place at the onset o f autumn but is , n any event celebrated earlier, because the emperor issues a declaration stating that he w i l l not w a i t until a u t u m n to thank heaven for its rruitfulness. So the principal festivals correlate w i t h the f o u r seasons o f the year. I n earlier nmes the emperor made the offer.ngs o n high mountains that are called Yo [Yue). There are four o f them, corresponding t o the four cardinal directions. Later, however, the location o f the festivals was transferred t o the palace. Here the emperor paid homage t o Shangdi. There is a grand process.on. I n such a festival procession there are often t w o thousand 1
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1 6 1
|2.] A second element o f this religion is that while Tian is indeed the one lord, the religion is not so exclusive [polemisch) that he alone is honored, for many others find a place under this One, w i t h the result that there are many sects i n China—Jews for more than a millennium as well as many Musl i m s . " The spread of Christians too is not prevented when their religion does not seem to involve incitement against the ordinances of the Chinese empire. I n addition t o T i a n , the Chinese revere Tschen [Shen] or spmts (Genten), similar t o Greek dryads and the l i k e , the souls of natural things, represented as distinct f r o m the objects of which they are the essences. 1
7
1 0 8
It is rationally essential that the absolute not be something indeterminate but instead particularize itself, and that the particular or the determinate even be posited w i t h i n the absolute and be recognized, k n o w n , and envisaged i n i t . O u r thoughtful understanding grasps the solar system in its morion as self-determining according to laws. These laws are the sou of the solar system. So law is something universal, although only as particularity elevated to the universal. This particular is thereby linked to the One. This universal is t o be k n o w n i n G o d , i n the one universal, and so we say that G o d has made it so. Thus we speak of this [particular] universal as posited by the one universal, but we do not yet know the former in the latter, because we grasp the one universal as power, whereas this particular universal lies outside i t . 1 This absolute is still not comprehended as itself thus determined w i t h i n itself. Inasmuch then as the Tian of the Chinese lacks deterrninacy, ,t thus falls outside the absolute, and this universal status to w h i c h the particular is exalted lies outside it. In this way we have, .n the O l d lestament, Jehovah set o n one side, the Elohim on the other side.
106. All of Hegers ^ i b . e sources are ,n f ^ ^ i ^ ^ L I the C h i n e * . On the emperor as eh.ef pnes. who alone may present the ottering, see
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». 39, x i . 535, x n , 10S, and xv. 215; ^ ^ " ^ Z ^ d ™ * ? , which commenced 107. C r ^ r < i v . 4 8 W J e « b . v « b ^ in 206 ; Mhnoires, v. 58, concurs. See also Grosier, iv. Ml/, wo. more Muslims in China than there are jews; cf. Memoires, v. 68 and Aligememe B C
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391—40.. , . , , ; m i l Th* Mr»»oir«scalls!hem 108. As.milar compansonoccurs in t h e > ^ •wandering spirits' (xv. 2191. Hecel draws a distinction between the particular 109. In this difficult and unusual paragraph Hegel oraws a ^ universal (instantiated i n the laws governing -he motions of bodies i n the solar . 3
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T H E L E C T U R E S OF 1 8 2 2 - 3
THE ORIENTAL WORLD: CHINA
The initial exaltation, which does not yet grasp the universal itself i n its determinacy, is one o f bestowing universal status o n the souls of particular things,
as we find w i t h the spirits o f the Chinese. A l l things have such
spirits—sun, m o o n , stars, time, the years and hours—each w i t h its o w n Shen. The Shen love human beings and are arrayed i n ranks as are the mandarins.
Each province and each c i t y has its o w n Shen. There are
superior and inferior spirits, ones beneficial to h u m a n beings a n d ones that are evil. The evil spirits are called G u i , and these are i n conflict w i t h the Shen
Some Shen are fully occupied, others n o t ; the latter can then
transform themselves into h u m a n beings or animals. As h u m a n beings, they are immune to physical d e t e r i o r a t i o n .
113
T h e emperor, the son of
Tian, can even assign the Shen their places and instructions and offices; he does so through the court calendar. I n Chinese history there are narratives, always lengthy ones, concerning a dynastic change, whereupon the emperor in fact rearranges the invisible w o r l d as w e l l as c h a n g i n g a l l the state offices. Also appointed as Shen were the deceased w h o had been loyal t o the state. The Shen have their temples everywhere. People t u r n t o them i n the convict i o n that all natural events depend on them. I f a misfortune befalls a province, then the Shen are | reviled and the chief mandarin can strike
them f r o m the next year's calendar as p u n i s h m e n t .
The Shen were not
114
actually honored as deities, but instead as subordinates to Tian.
The
Chinese have idols or graven images of these Shen. In their temples frightening graven images are installed. Temples of the Shen have priests. There are a great many monasteries of these bonzes, where they live in celibacy, and there are convents t o o . I n Beijing there are 10,000 t e m p l e s .
The monas-
116
teries have increased i n such numbers that the emperor must limit them. One emperor h a d twenty-five men or bonzes return to civic life and closed 5,000 monasteries.
117
The great superstition o f the Chinese relates t o this point
about the Shen and monasteries. U p o n any misfortune they turn t o bonzes and idols. These bonzes are constant givers of advice, as well as being soothsayers and the like. One o f their main concerns is the arrangement of houses and even more of gravesites, for they are convinced that the fortune or misfortune of a family hinges o n these things. N o o k s and crannies ( W t n M are exorcized by means o f dragons, and auspicious burial places located by t h e m .
1 1 8
A n d this superstition presupposes the subjugation o f the
inner spirit that we saw among the Chinese. [3.] We n o w take note of particular sects. One is that of tao-Tse [Lao-tzu o r L a o z i ] . These sects m a r k the beginning of a quite differenr order. Through w i t h d r a w a l i n t o self, through study and the like, they represent themselves as a t t a i n i n g a mastery over the Shen. I n addition, the more profound devotees become Shen themselves, through strenuous discipline. So here there is a
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THE LECTURES OF
64
1822-3
of lamas is very widespread. The imperial families, m particular those of the Manchu line, rely on the lama. The emperor's private rehgion is | Lamaism, with its regard for a living human being i n w h o m , at the present time, d m m t y has its concrete existence. •«> This belief is linked t o the religion of the Buddha. The religion of Fo is quite renowned, although i t i d o u b t f u l that this religion ,s the same as that of the Buddha. One of the m a i n views held by the r e l , g i „ o f Fo is that of metempsychosis, according t o w h i c h all shapes-human b e , _ s
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the One, the absolute. I n a d d i t i o n , followers o f this religion locate w h a t is supreme m nothingness (das Nichts), such that h u m a n beings then elevate themselves to God when they renounce all sensations of w h a t is particular and make themselves into abstract i n t u i t i o n , reaching a p o i n t where good and evu, as well as all differences, vanish; [these people] immerse themselves w h o l l y i n emptiness, i n impassiviry (das Unbeusegte). Thus w h a t should be sought is utter e m p t i n e s s . 121
From this presentation of the first patriarchal empire we pass over t o the second, to India.
INDIA' India comprises the river valley of the Indus and that of the Ganges. Here commences a more specific involvement w i t h the mountains. India has been receptive t o w a r d the rest of the w o r l d , and thus i t appears as an effective l i n k i n the chain of w o r l d history. The Chinese Empire, i n contrast, lies outside this history; i t is an initial point that, however, still has not gotten under w a y or moved outside itself. India presents the very image o f a world-historical people. I t has been a source of w i s d o m , science, and culture, as well as of natural treasures. There is nothing that it does n o t have to offer. Thus all peoples have turned their attention t o India, t o f i n d a route t o it I i n order to access its treasures. A l l peopfes w i t h o u t excepnon seek to gain for themselves a connection w i t h this source. There is n o great nation that has not to some degree acquired a foothold i n I n d i a . The Principle of India [1.] First w e shall attempt t o grasp the Indian principle i n contrast to the Chinese principle. As opposed t o China, India appears t o be a land o i fantasy (Pbantasie),
a land o f wonders. I n China everything was understanding
devoid o f fantasy, a prosaic life i n w h i c h even a persons disposmon .s externally determined, established, and regulated, by law. In India, con-
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. 208-59,,
each one and makes i t wondrous. I n China morals eonsnnite the content of
supcrsunon and idola.™ \uHl i ^ ° P ^ a p ^ v e t ^ o ^ ^ '•¡.41 and v 56-7 , | „ « « ^ j * * HegeJ does not use 1 f
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the law. I n India there are of course set regulations and laws, indeed an enormous number of stipulations regarding conduct, albeit ones whose content is d e v o i d o f w h a t is ethical, sociable, or moral, for their content instead consists of s u p e r s t i t i o n , These superstitious acnons are lacking m spirit a n d are unfeeling, i n both f o r m and content The lives o f t h e are comprised of spiritless and unfeeling forms of this k i n d . Inasmuch as one
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T H E L E C T U R E S OF 1 8 2 1 - 3
THE ORIENTAL WORLD: INDIA
aspect of the Chinese is their prosaic prudence and another is t h a t the sovereignty of their rulers extends over all things, they have an abiding superstition as opposed t o intelligence. The Indians do not have the same sort of superstitions that the Chinese have, for their entire condition can be summed up as one of dreaming or fantasy. Rationality, morality, and subjectivity are nullified ot cast aside, and thus the human being is simply self-absorbed a n d arrives at something positive t h r o u g h the vagaries o f the imagination. T h e extremes are, respectively, w i l d imagination involving sensuous enjoyment, and a totally inanimate abstraction o f inwardness; the Indian vacillates between them. | So the Indians are l i k e w h o l l y debased persons w h o , devoid of all spirituality, empty a n d i n despair, acquire for themselves a dream w o r l d by the use of o p i u m , a w o r l d or bliss of insanity.
posited externally, t o become i n w a r d , to configure itself into a spiritual w o r l d such that what is inward not be merely abstract, such that spirit construct f r o m itself a w o r l d of its o w n and the w o r l d be configured into an idealism.
For the Chinese, historical knowledge is the most developed science. We saw Chinese history ordered and arranged over some five thousand years, in chronicle-like, prosaic narratives of external matters, deeds, and events, embellished n o w and again w i t h practical applications. I n the case o f the Indians, i n contrast, there is no thought of history, of chronology or the presentation o f an actuality. For them all that subsists i n the present evaporates i n t o colorful dreams. So for them no authentic history is possible. Their grasp of things is affected by a weakness or i r r i t a b i l i t y of the nerves that makes objects, a fixed and determinate existence, unbearable t o them; instead, when concrete existence makes itself felt i t turns into a hallucination for them. They cannot endure any determinate actuality, and so must dream and deceive. N o r are they i n any better position t o deceive w i t h knowledge. T h e n scriptures are no more reliable t h a n are their narratives. These are the most pertinent features. A dream or a lovely atmosphere has pervaded views of the nature o f things Indian. M o r e recendy, however, after people became acquainted w i t h the Indian spirit, this aura was destroyed o r dissipated. The verdict today is quite at odds w i t h h o w the fantasy of this wonderland represents itself. [2.] N o w we need a more specific grasp of the Indian principle. W i t h the Chinese we encountered the patriarchal principle that governs dependency. The Chinese lack fulfilled inwardness, for their inwardness still has no content. For them the content o f self-determination is given in an external regime, in external laws that define that content. This is the most abstract | inwardness. The next step is a necessary advance, one that indeed generates a w o r l d of inwardness; hence the fulfillment is the coming i n t o being of an i n w a r d w o r l d . For the Chinese the w o r l d o f thought exists only in relation t o the state and t o utility. The next step is for the determinacy, heretoforc 252
We see this advance w i t h the Indians, although here the idealism is one of sheer imagination devoid of reason and of freedom, a mere dreaming i n w h i c h there is only a simulation of t r u t h and i n which the preponderance of the content is abstract imagination. What is objective appears as spirit's imaginative construct, but as nonconceptual and accordingly as unfree. Thus Indian life is a life of dreaming Precisely the case i n dreaming is that a person's actuality, which exists on its o w n account, which is one's o w n personality for itself, is not distinguished f r o m what is external to it, and thus the entire connection t o externality, the understanding o f the external w o r l d , drops out. I n the dreaming life of the Indian there is no free being-for-itself of the subject nor of the objects, and no subject's distance f r o m them and theirs f r o m the subject. Furthermore, although the profoundest depths of spirit express themselves i n dreams too, in another respect dreams are nonsensical and the greatest silliness. So w i t h the Indians we see the consciousness of the highest idea, the most sublime characteristics, but intermingled w i t h the most arbitrary, cloudy shapes (Wolkengestalten). There is a w e l l - k n o w n , characteristically feminine beauty in which the face possesses n o t the rosy complexion of health | but instead a more delicate tosy g l o w like a spiritual emanation from w i t h i n , one i n which all the features possess a gentleness. Women have this gende beauty for a few days after giving b i r t h . We also see this beauty i n a sleepwalking state, a beauty i n the dying [Virgin] ™ & ^ J»"«* . * Scorel. We see this beauty of nervous exhaustion take shape i n India as the beauty of the sensitive soul that, however, suffers f r o m weakness, the soul that lacks a free spirit, a spirit grounded w i t h i n itself. [ 3 ] I n o u r clearer grasp of the Indian condition in light of this companson, the underlying idea of Indian life is the oneness of the concrete existence of w h a t is external w i t h w h a t is internal. Indian intuition has as ' ^ j tion the absolute substantiality that is not yet inrerr^lly separated by the understanding; accidental phenomena are not separated f r o m e ^ m l being. Separation of that sort depends on the understanding. A n d w e f i n d an absence of understanding i n India. Understanding calls for a secure a
2
2. Dutch artist Jan van Scurd (1495-15621253
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169
T H E L E C T U R E S OF 1 8 2 2 - 3
THE ORIENTAL WORLD: INDIA
subject distinguishing itself f r o m a m a n i f o l d that, w i t h i n itself and by the
So w h a t is sensible is the particular element that is posited i n unity w i t h the
same token, is securely denned and stands over against the one understand-
universal. This unity, regarded i n and for itself, constitutes the foundation of
ing i t . The manifold standing over against the individual exists itself i n an
all t r u t h ; however, taken here i n singularity, thus merely given for represen-
understandable interconnection. This division of subject f r o m object, and o f
tation, this unity becomes bizarre, absurd, and contemptible.
objects from their interconnection, does n o t obtain for the Indians. |
This rendering of G o d i n sensuous f o r m can have either of t w o meanings.
The way things exist i n their interconnection is that they are, above a l l ,
In one, that of pantheism, the representation of this unity is thoroughly
singular, but they have laws governing their deeper interconnection; they
universal, and the entire sensible realm, without exception, is thus divinized,
have something inner, something universally essential that is distinct f r o m
is completely inclusive of the finite, w h i c h must count as G o d . h i the other,
their singularity. The most universal expression o f this essential character is
the rendering o f G o d i n sensuous f o r m concentrates or confines itself to an
the abstract G o d o f the Chinese; the Indians d o n o t distinguish the singula-
immediately present focal point. This distinction accounts for the distinction
rities o f things f r o m their interconnection o r their essential being. For that
between peoples. The universal dispersal of pantheism belongs t o the Brah-
reason the Indians are pantheists. Theirs is no polytheism, f o r their i n t u i t i o n
manic Indians [the H i n d u s ] ; the second type is that of the Buddhist principle,
is one of universal pantheism; i t is not the pantheism of t h o u g h t , as i n
or Lamaism. The peoples of the latter principle are mainly the Tibetans,
Spinozism, but the pantheism o f representation. Spinozism, w h i c h considers
Mongols, and Kalmucks, and also the Ceylonese | and those of the eastern
what is itself singular t o be null (nichtig) and holds fast only t o w h a t i n i t is
peninsula on the far side of the Ganges. Lamaism is the most widespread of
abstract substance, thinks that only w h a t is universal is substance.
all religions. First w e have to speak of the Indians proper [namely, the
Among the Indians, then, the universal is not t h o u g h t , for sensible stuff is directly and crudely imported i n t o w h a t is universal; this stuff is not made ideal by the energy o f spirit, not elevated to free beauty in such a w a y that
H i n d u s } . Reverence for the Buddha is also k n o w n i n India. To the Hindus, 3
Buddha is the n i n t h incarnation of God, although Brahmanic pantheism is on the w h o l e the universal principle.
what is sensible w o u l d be only the expression of w h a t is universal; instead the Indians just take up sensible stuff into the universal, a n d t h i s stuff is
170
The Region of India
expanded so limitlessly that the divine is bizartely swallowed u p by i t and
[1.] As for the region of India proper, its fundamental features are the
itself made t o be ridiculous. That is because the divine is grasped in finite
floodplains o f the Ganges and the Indus Rivers, as well as what the English
form, the finite spun o u t extravagantly. For the Indians this is n o mere game;
call ' H i n d u s t a n ' and the Deccan peninsula. I n the north is the over basin of
they are not making up fairy tales o r standing above and beyond imagina-
the Ganges, a region looked upon as the actual focal point of I n d i a n
tion; instead these dreams are intended seriously. T h e divine is not i n d i v i -
Brahmanism, the region of Bengal, Kashmir, and so forth. The other nver
dualized by this construct but instead is just w h o l l y debased by such l o w l y
basin is that o f the Indus, the southern p a r t o f w h i c h consists mostly of sandy
shapes; it is completely defiled and | absurd, like the finite just set o u t i n
deserts interspersed by solitary oases. The northern part, the Pun,ab
miniature, m the miraculous, and it is cast w h o l l y i n t o an abyss. This is the
divided by five rivers, is fertile. Alexander the Great came as far as the Indus,
divinizing of the finite and the finitizing o f the divine. Thus our representa-
and the English came in t u r n , some 2,100 years later, i n 1805.
o o n of God's becoming a human being, the incarnation of the d i v i n e , cannot
' I n d i a n ' derives f r o m the Indus River. It is not known whether they called
sub-
The name
impress them. For it is n o t a particularly i m p o r t a n t thought, inasmuch as everytfong
, the incarnation of G o d - t h e ape, the parrot, as well as the cow, s
and s o f o r t h ; the divine is incarnate i n everything. T h e divine universal, its inner being, is imaged i n w h a t is sensible, w h i c h was not the case for the Chinese. There is an extant w o r l d of representation f o r the Indians, a replete
3. Hegel regards H.nduism as the rehgion of dre Indian people^«i I m L W and .^variants ( h * ^ , IrMer, wheo t h e ^ ' ^ ^ as such. Up to this point in the present secnon this has not been an !ssueana
^
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Indian', etc. stand. L from now on when ,t is clear ^ ^ £ Z ^ and not so applicable to Buddhism or other posiuons, we translate his Uerman
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brought about is simply a crude uniting o f the t w o extremes. The basic
and its variants. J , , Jumna River. The 4. In 1805 the East Intha Co. reached as far west in I n d * ^ ^ ^ X l o o g d o m in English did not arrive at the Indus until the final defeat and annexanon of the SUC long
thought is the representation of the u n i t y of the singular w i t h the universal.
1849.
inwardness, but not one shaped by reason, by the concept, for w h a t is
254
l u
255
THE
LECTURES OF
themselves 'Indians' or we called them that, nor whether they i n fact had a common name for themselves. The t e r m ' H i n d u ' was w h o l l y u n k n o w n there. There are no sizeable highlands between the Ganges and the Indus. Farther south, however, to the east o f the Indus, there are extensive m o u n tain ranges, linked t o the southern highlands of Hindustan. South of the mountains is the Nerbudda [Narbada] River, the boundary between H i n d u stan and the Deccan, the peninsula. The coastal regions to the west and those near Ceylon are very narrow and are o n l y an edge between the highlands a n d the ocean. Behind them rise high mountains, as w e saw in the case of A f r i c a . The other coasts are more varied. Ceylon lies opposite Cape C o m o r i n , quite close to i t . So Hindustan a n d the Deccan are separated f r o m the t w o vast river basins. I n | the highlands dwell utter barbarians such as the Deplad e n , a savage tribe wholly lacking i n culture. I n the river basins d w e l l mainly Brahmanic people characterized by the aforementioned principle, although intermingled w i t h other individual peoples. 5
[2.] Their political life, ethical life, and religion are very closely interconnected. We should delineate the basic tenet of life i n the state more precisely as follows: The state as such is supposed t o be the unity of the particular w i l l w i t h the universal, thus the actualization of the universal w i l l . So the state presupposes consciousness o f free w i l l . The objective w i l l i n China is law; objective w i l l , however, is beyond the p u r v i e w of the w o r l d of the Indians. W i t h the Chinese we saw w h a t is m o r a l made i n t o the content of civil l a w , so that w h a t is internal is handled as something external. For the Indians there is indeed a unity of external and internal, but one i n w h i c h neither does nature constitute an understandable w h o l e , nor does w h a t is spiritual stand as free w i l l over against this natural d o m a i n ; instead there is still immediate unity. Lacking is spirit's w i t h d r a w a l i n t o itself, whereby i t recognizes the law of freedom as subsistent for i t . So the principle o f freedom is lacking, and so lacking too is w i l l subsistent i n itself as w e l l as i n the f o r m of subjective w i l l . So everything necessary for a state is lacking. Therefore i n India there can be no state whatsoever. I n China the state is everything; i n India there is just a people but no state. As shall become evident, there is a governing element i n virtue of the existence of a social, communal life, and indeed a very structured life, inasmuch as this life has focal points. But f o r determination of w h a t is said
5. N o mountain folk with this name is to be found i n any of Hegel's sources. Possiblv the transcriber misheard Hegel's term for them. In any event there is a report of a savage rnountam folk in John Rawluis, 'On the Manners, Religion, and Laws of the Cu ci's, or Mountabeers of Tnpura , Asiatic Researches, 2 (London, 1799), 187-93. 256
THE
1822-3
ORIENTAL WORLD: INDIA
to be ethical, right, and m o r a l i n this life, | there is no basic tenet of ethical life and no piety as conscience and the like, because the principle of freedom is lacking; for spirit as freedom is the principle for all of these things. So t o the extent that there is government here, i t is a despotism, a wholly unprincipled, lawless despotism. Thus i n India the determinative feature is the most degraded despotism. There is plenty of religion but no piety (Religiosität). China, Persia, the Turks, and Asia as such are the breeding grounds (Boden) of despotism. I f the ruler, the one holding power, is an evil ruler, despotism becomes tyranny. But then tyranny is k n o w n to be an objectionable condit i o n , something individuals detest, an extraordinary state of affairs. In India, however, there is no feeling of one's o w n freedom, no consciousness of what is m o r a l ; so tyranny is in order and is not detested. The Indians are left w i t h nothing but the feeling of the sensible domain as a given for them. [3.] T h e t h i r d p o i n t , then, is that the Indians are a people of an ancient culture. The greatest fertility exists i n the Ganges river valley i n particulai; and likewise i n the Narbada valley; i n the alluvial soil crisscrossed by so many fine streams—in this w a r m , moist soil, i n this luxuriance of sensual nature—all needs may easily be satisfied, and from early times it produced a communal life and its elaboration. Here emerges a most noteworthy feature of absolute importance for the concept of the state, a feature opposed t o that of the Chinese. W h a t China lacks is the feature according t o which the idea of the state is concrete in subdivisions internally determined and organically articulated as distinct domains; there is no abstraction [as i n China], for w h a t there is instead is the being o f the distinctions posited on their o w n account, albeit in such a w a y that they exist by means of the w h o l e , and the whole by means of them. These distinctions are something universal; they are universal | particularities. The entirety of the state is something substantial; however; i n particularizing itself it divides itself into m u l n p l e p a r ticular occupations that constitute the organic branches of the state. These are the distinct elements that we see emergent i n India. The Castes Individuals and families are distinct elements as singular particularities not
as universal ones. Insofar as these distinct elements are m d m d u a l 6
6. In the somewhat unusual termmo.ogy of this ^ ^ £ ^ Besonderhe.ten) are self-contained units such as individuals or pamcolanties' (aUgenvine Besonderhcten) are drsnncuve elements <*
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of many members who share the same characteristic and are present tfaoughout the sooery. I n India they are called castes.
T H E L E C T U R E S OF
1822-3
personalities, they involve the further distinction that some individuals can be free, while others can be slaves. This distinction regarding personal freedom cannot be found among the Indians; i n their case we cannot speak of personal freedom. We likewise see no inner, subjective freedom of i n d i v i duals for their o w n sake, no conscience. We have n o t observed this feature in China, and it is even less t o be sought i n India. The genuine state must have moral subjects t o o ; i t must allow an inner moral freedom t o its individual members.
175
We saw the universal particularities arise i n China w i t h the organization of the occupations of the state. N o w we have t o r e m a r k about the extent to which these branches are permitted t o organize themselves. China does n o t reach the point at w h i c h these distinct elements develop into actual, particular branches, into communities w i t h i n the whole, f o r i n China they are just different ways of meeting the state's needs. I n I n d i a these universal particularities emerge, to be sure, i n the characteristic determinacy o f castes. The first occupation of the state involves intelligent, s p i r i t u a l , religious, and scientific life. The second is practical life, the occupation o f power, the external and internal defenses, the occupation i n v o l v i n g bravery a n d leadership. The t h i r d occupation is that of the skilled trades designed to satisfy the needs of society. This one subdivides i n multiple ways, just as ours does i n t o urban and rural, the former manufacturing and the latter p r o d u c i n g . The f o u r t h occupation, attaching itself t o the others, is that of the servants as individuals assigned t o the personal service of the aforementioned occupations, servants w h o cannot have | a standing o f their o w n . The distinction of occupations is determined rationally, i n accord w i t h this concept. Then we have the question as t o the f o r m that these distinctions take i n India. Distinction and classification of individuals i n t o general occupations is necessary i n every state. I n India i t emerges in a specific way. The feature distinctive to the H i n d u s is that these determinates of the concept become natural distinctions, ones based on b i r t h . Our practice involves subjective freedom, i n that people can settle upon any one of these specific roles for themselves, commensurate w i t h their o w n views, intentions, and circumstances. For the H i n d u s , however, these distinctions are completely tied t o a naturally determined status. Plato's political constitution recognizes these distinctions t o o , but he rules out free w i l l . W i t h the individual's o w n choice ruled o u t , the ones in charge, according t o their o w n informed and ethical w i l l , assign individuals t o their social classes. So then, even for Plato there is still a human w i l l t h a t makes the assignments t o classes. I n this case the subjective freedom o f individuals is not respected even though the determining factor is not based o n nature as 258
THE ORIENTAL WORLD: INDIA
it is for the H i n d u s . For us, social class is generally a subordinate matter. The spiritual, religious, ethical, and legal sphere is something higher i n which everyone has or can have equal, universal rights. The social classes belong t o the particularity of civic life, f r o m which the universality of volition is explicitly independent, as a sphere i n w h i c h each one can be at home. For the H i n d u s , however, the distinctions are, as we said, natural ones, and they encapsulate the entire institution of H i n d u life. A l l the religious and legal precepts hinge upon them. Hence i n India they also have absolute significance. Since each individual bears the label of such a class or caste and is bound t o i t , a widely held opinion about their historical origin | is that these distinctions derive f r o m racial distinctions (Stämme), such that initially they w o u l d have been distinctions based on nationality, w i t h the occupational distinctions being linked t o them. This opinion has no historical evidence f o r i t , and thus no explanation for its basis. There cannot be a priestly people, for a people has need of all occupations. The main thing is that each one of the distinct groups develops only i n conjunction w i t h the others. A division of labor is a mark of culture, the beginning of a people. So the castes are not to be explained by an external convergence of nationality groups; instead they presuppose a whole that has developed its o w n distinctions. W h a t is characteristic of India is then simply that these distinctions are strictly determined i n this way based on birth. H o w that took place, whether directly o r unconsciously or through external despotism, is another quest i o n . Despotism can decree that someone pursue a specific occupation and pass it on t o one's descendants, w h i c h is indeed a natural way of doing things. There is also the major consideration that these distinctions can emerge and become firmly established only w i t h i n a whole that is indeed a whole, as they have w i t h the Hindus. We find castes among the Egypnans, and further traces of them among the Medes, the Persians, and a few other peoples. I n Persia some cities had t o supply attar of roses t o the court of the despot, and others silk garments. The despot decided that and made it a permanent arrangement. This permanency is the same thing as what we see in the case of the Hindus. I . , A l l the ethical and religious determinations are a function of these H i n d u caste divisions. The main principle w i t h regard to religious uinnnon .s the oneness of the individual w i t h the universal, of the sensuous with the divine. We, however, distinguish the sensuous f r o m the sp.ntual disnngu.sh essential being from contingency, and unite them by means of « f t c a o n . ^ the H m d u s , the oneness .s no consequence of reflection; instead fo hem he unification is immediate. The distinction is only slight, to the the divine has what is universal as its point of departure, o r else begins from 259
T H E L E C T U R E S OF 1 8 2 2 - 3
THE ORIENTAL WORLD: INDIA
what is sensuous—by first setting out f r o m the sensuous and ending u p , to a greater extent, w i t h the universal, o r else by beginning f r o m the universal and passing over, to a greater extent, into the sensuous realm. Hence the Hindus count as divine the sun, m o o n , mountains, rivers, animals, and individual human beings—immediately sensible things. I n another respect, moreover, they have representations that belong indeed to thought but are entertained n o t as thoughts but instead as immediately sensuous. Thus the gods become immediately sensuous. This also applies t o the division i n t o castes, which is a k i n d of culms i n w h i c h one part o f the people appears as divine. N o w since what is divine, w h a t has validity, has become something earthly and fixed, the caste distinctions too are firmly set i n the H i n d u intuition. Here people relate themselves to the divine and t o other people as they do to natural things. From this perspective human beings are in the k i n d o f relationship w i t h the divine i n which their daily lives appear as a divine service. Here i t is evident h o w the most extreme superstition finds its place under the banner of such a general proposition as ' G o d is i n a l l things'. We, however, see h o w things stand w i t h such a manner of speaking w h e n i t is not subject t o closer | examination. So, like the religious sphere, the ethical life of Hindus also comes w i t h i n the scope of caste distinctions. Subsequently we w i l l speak more specifically about h o w the H i n d u religion has f o r its object not only human beings and natural things, but also universal being.
classification, there are many subcategories that differ greatly from one another i n various regions. They number between twenty-seven and thirtysix. The Brahman and Kshattiya castes are snictly defined, whereas those of the artisans or Vaishyas, and the Shudras, are quite broad in many respects. Everyone has a particular occupation of one's o w n .
The first topic i n a consideration of the castes concerns their rights. We find that f o u r castes stand out f o r the H i n d u s . The first comprises the Brahmans, the second the Kshatriyas or warriors, f r o m which come the rulers. Nevertheless, the last peshwa or head o f the Marathas was a B r a h m a n . T h e t h i r d caste is called the Vaishyas. These people are i n the m a i n the landowners and landlords. The f o u r t h consists of laborers, artisans, peasants, and servants, the Shudras. Appended t o these is a fifth or ignoble caste of disdained people, the Nischadas or Pariahs. I n addition t o this general 7
9
The H i n d u s themselves assign a historical origin t o the majority of the castes, since by the indulgence of princes men and women of different castes intermarry, w i t h the result that particular castes must be constituted from their children. So those w i t h o u t a caste were formed i n t o new castes w i t h their designated occupations. The arts and sciences originated i n this w a y . This account is surely correct except for its attribution of the origin of arts and trades t o this cause; for the specific features of the arts and trades brought about the specific caste distinctions. So there are a great many castes, and each one has its o w n trade: fisherman, tanner, barber, barrel maker, porter, palanquin bearer, mat weaver, | and so forth. N o caste departs f r o m its designated occupation. Europeans have great difficulty w i t h these caste distinctions, for instance, i n military service where the individual must do everything but where the Hindus are disinclined to do anything above and beyond their caste occupation. Because of more longstanding association, this capricious restriction has begun to diminish somewhat. Soldiers f r o m the military caste are unwilling t o dig trenches, transp o r t anything, or move the cannon; others must d o those things. They are of even less use for other tasks. Hence when an English army of 20,000 in India takes to the field, it is accompanied by an entourage of 100,000 men. A lieutenant has thirty servants and a captain fifty, for each of them has his very o w n role. Lally-Tollendal, a French general who i n his fifties was dispatched t o I n d i a — a n d subsequently was guillotined i n Pans-Bought to force 10
8
7. The peshwa was not the king of the Marathas but .nstead the pnme minister who, however, held the actual power in the state after the Maratha kings had to submit to Mogul dommanon at the beginning of the 18th cent., and to become mere figureheads. The office of prune minister was hereditary in a certain Brahman family. 8. Hegel's abbreviated account of the castes is erroneous, confusing two distinct circumstances. The laws of Manu is the traditional and authoritative t e n setting forth the caste system. See Institutes of Hindu Law; or the Ordinances of Menu, a Sir William Jones (Calcutta, 17941, a German a. of which was publ. in 1797 i n Weimar. In ch. 10 of the English ordinal the passage mentioning 'Nischada, Pana' has the heading: 'On the mixed classes; and on times of d,stress\ whereas ch. 1 , paras. 87-93, contains the classical account of the four main castes and their mutual relations. Describing the 'mixed classes' is complicated by the fact that they are quite numerous. Hegel's attribution of the lowest level to the 'Nischadas or Pariahs' does not 260
square with this source (ch. 10, paras. 8 and 12), which places « often uses the term 'Chandala' for the very lowest class of persons (ch- ^ P ^ j " ^ Accounts of the Chandalas and the restrictions unposed ^ ^ / f V ^ J ^ ^ ne History of British India, 2nd edn. (London, 1820),i 1 7 * H . ^ ^ ^ ^ of Indian Classes', Asiatic Researches, 5 (London, 1799), 53-6/, "ITT^ The last of theCharacter.^ers^Custon^ofthePeopUo s
these refers to them as 'Pariahs', not 'Chandalas. 9. See Co.ebrooke, 'Enumeranon', 54 and 61. The n u m b . " ^ g sources. Colebrooke counts the mixed classes' variously as 36, 39, and 42.
^ S S * .
^ M u l ,pp. 171-2» tells of an evil and corrupt king who ^ J ^ f ^ T « good successor who devised a classification system and occupanom for then- oHspnng, which various arts and manufactures sprang. 261
t -
179
THE
THE
L E C T U R E S OF 1 8 2 2 - 3
ORIENTAL WORLD: INDIA
Hindus into different combat roles, but they deserted, w i t h the result that he
uneducated ones are nevertheless equally e x a l t e d .
brought about his o w n downfall by the rigidity of his p l a n s .
lower castes are harsher than for the higher castes, except tor theft, where
11
16
Punishments for the
Each caste, then, has its o w n laws or rules concerning the minutest
the reverse is t r u e . A n ancient poem tells how a prince sought t o attempt by
matters of daily life. One must have bathed before eating, a n d i f n o t , then
force t o become a Brahman. The cow, however, stood up for the Brahmans,
one does not eat and often goes several days w i t h o u t eating until one has
striking d o w n one hundred thousand men. Then the k i n g did penance f o r ten
bathed. The different castes do not eat together, a practice chat, o w i n g to
thousand years, though he was still unable t o become a Btàhman. I T h a t is
circumstances, is o f course largely disregarded o n the battlefield. A Euro-
because, i n virtue of b i r t h , the Brahman indeed stands as God vis-à-vis all the
pean or a horse drinking from the H i n d u s ' pool renders it unclean. A H i n d u
other castes.
may not touch a dead bird nor possess its feathers, nor wear leather made
chief o f all creatures and is installed as guardian of all civic and religious
f r o m cowhide. Hence one must see t o one's o w n provisions. So each caste
duties. Whatever exists is the abundance o f the Brahmans, w h i c h is theirs by
has its o w n specific occupation, | and particular rules to follow; as such it
right in virtue o f their higher b i r t h .
has the most distinctive civic rights.
o f all the castes. Although the other castes are mutually distinct, and i n each
The Brahmans are at the apex, elevated above the others, particularly the Shudras, i n the way that, for us, h u m a n beings are higher t h a n animals. Brahmans alone are allowed t o pursue scientific knowledge a n d t o read the holy books, the Vedas. A Shudra ( f r o m the f o u r t h class) is n o t allowed to memorize passages of these books or learn any prayers. A Shudra w h o knows such things w i l l be punished by death. According t o the Laws Brahmans cannot advise, or teach prayers t o , a S h u d r a .
Manu
12
of
A Brahman
who finds a Shudra troublesome goes directly t o the authorities, w h o condemn that person t o death. A n y contact w i t h Shudras makes a Brahman unclean, and so they avoid contact w i t h Brahmans on pain o f d e a t h .
13
A Brahman as such has the status o f a god. Any H i n d u can fall d o w n before a Brahman and declare that person t o be one's g o d . Brahmans wear a threepart c o r d aborn the neck. U p o n seeing it the o r d i n a r y H i n d u falls d o w n and prays t o i t .
k i n g can m n o w a y attain it
n
matter h o w h i g h he ascends.
o
15
Learned
Brahmans can of course be distinguished f r o m uneducated ones, and yet the
i,
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n d e , n n e d
3 oil f ^ ^
18
According t o the Laws of Manu, f r o m b i r t h the Brahman is
1 9
So a Brahman stands higher, at the apex
case the lower is responsible for showing deference t o those above i t , none of them has this exalted status except the Brahmans. Caste distinctions also determine the general civic rights, and even come into play here so as t o result i n these rights being unequal. Commensurate w i t h their relative levels, the lower castes are punished more harshly for the same crimes than are the higher castes, w i t h the sole exception o f theft, for w h i c h the punishment intensifies as the caste position becomes higher I n general the principle governing punishments is that o f abstract reprisal. For instance, whoever slanders someone will be punished o n his tongue, and so forth
1 0
The Laws of Manu stipulates ten places for physical punishment ot
the l o w e r castes: tongue, ears, eyes, hands, feet, head, body, nose, genitals, and possessions. However, a Brahman w h o commits a crime, which m the case of another caste makes one subject t o exile and corporeal punishment.
A Brahman may receive something only f r o m a Brahman.
I he Brahman iscalled •twice-born' and occupies a position so exalted that a
drlle I t r T l suTunlJÏ
1 7
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" ™n Tollendal. a French general, in 175* L i k i n g a r a b l e support from France, he w *
' ** ™< t» end on the scaffold in Paris
16. Set Institutes, ch. 9,para. 317. U.
^ S l T p t S
fron, the KJmâyana entided
the Gerrmn tx. of FrTnz Bopp in his Uber das ^ f ^ Z t ^ ^ T ^ Z Verging (Frankfurt am Mam. 1816). Hegels retelling is bom a Kshatriya. attained Bràhman status through penances, and b^ame the t « c h « ot central figure of the I I » . The cow Sabala belonged to V ^ w h o Vishvairu.ra. Hegel's numbers cannot be s u b s u m e d ; ^ J T ' ^ f ^ ^ w.-hou, are reponed, including a thousand years - f ^ ^ t ^ r T ^ S a n s " power speaking. Sabala the cow uners the statement about the superiority c*
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Cf. Bopp, pp. 175 and 189 ff. Gnesheun the Brahman .s guardian of the 19. See Institutes, ch. 1, paras. 98-10U in -jnesucuu „ ol abundance of nature'. Gnesheun also birthright or natutal birth I . e. not smtplv m v.mie of the second oirtn
^^J^^^^^Z«^ riof
higher one is a slitting or cutting in proportion to the m jury caused. 263
i o
w
T H E L E C T U R E S O F 1 8 22—3
THE ORIENTAL WORLD; INDIA
is supposed to be exiled but not punished p h y s i c a l l y . I n contrast, a Shudra 21
who, by hand or foot, injures a Brahman o r a person f r o m another higher caste, w i l l have his o w n hand or foot cut off. A 'once-born' person w h o insults a Brahman w i t h harsh invectives shall have i n j u r y done t o his tongue; i f he inveighs against the entire caste a red-hot r o d shall be thrust i n t o his mouth.
| So castes also differ i n their civic rights.
Caste status can be lost by one w h o is neglectful o f the duties o f one's caste. Such a person is an outcaste and beyond all protection o f the laws, and is then shunned by everyone. But caste status can be reacquired, and indeed in various ways. I n the case o f m i n o r infractions this is accomplished w i t h o u t difficulty. The outcaste gives money to a Brahman and a meal to several other members o f the caste; then reinstatement occurs. I t is more difficult i n the case o f more severe crimes. A post is erected and a crossbeam attached
from the end of which hangs a rope w i t h iron hooks. These hooks
are stuck into the back o f the one to be reinstated, and the crossbeam is swung around in a circle a certain number of times. Clemency is gained by this penance. Penitents even impose this upon themselves. There is a particular method by w h i c h Brahmans can be reinstated. A c o w or a w o m a n must be fashioned f r o m g o l d ; i n addition, many gifts m u s t be given. I n order t o regain his principality, an Indian prince dispatched t w o Brahmans t o England, and they were then ejected f r o m their caste because they had crossed over the sea, and i n particular because, on the r e t u r n journey, they had crossed over the Indus River. The prince ordered the m a k i n g o f a metal cow w i t h
a
golden b i r t h canal. The Brahmans were enclosed i n the h o l l o w
abdomen and i n t u r n d r a w n forth through the birth canal, thus undergoing a second b i r t h ' .
2 3
C i v i l Legislation The second topic we n o w come to concerns legal specifications. Abstract freedom, existence as a person, is the foundation for all ethical freedom. The civil legislation is contained in the Laws ofManu,
and is found in collections
and | compilations that have been translated by the English. This legisla-
183
t i o n is very incomplete, deficient, and confused. [1.] A n i n i t i a l and very important point concerns whether or not those f a r m i n g the land are its owners, and so whether they are property owners or day laborers. This is a very difficult question to answer. When the English first came into possession o f Bengal w i t h its 20 million inhabitants, and ultimately ruled the whole of India (in part directly, in part indirectly) w i t h its 100 m i l l i o n inhabitants, the majority of w h o m are direct subjects of the English, it was of the greatest importance to determine whether the fanners are the landowners. Resolving the question became so difficult on account of the extensive encumbrances and levies on the land. There was no set regimen of taxation, f o r there were also many other imposts besides the particular property rents. If the encumbrance involves half the value o f the property, then such a farmer is regarded equally as a day laborer because he is then t o that extent supported by the owner, i n that he receives remuneration for his labor. Since i n many regions of India the landed estates have become even more severely encumbered, the owners have thus disavowed their role because day laborers have deemed themselves better off. So a condition can arise i n w h i c h the owner is worse off than the one w o r k i n g for pay. The English government and the Parliament i n England have considered this issue f r o m many angles, but have come to no actual dec.s.on. I t .s evident t h a t i n the most ancient times the rajah or prince was onguially the sovereign owner o f all the land, although the farmers had a hereditary
t i e T w Ï Ï ^ t ' i t' ~ ' *°* " < ' body" for capital crimes) T? A B r i a n s ' « e m p t i o o from physical punishment. P a l a
Aw Z . — " " ^ h u T aor T aan outcaste. aS -Jnuora
1 2 3
t 0
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« t z t a Z s the A t m r f c V ^ l T
h
Tm»h £ 2 . >
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,
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Grebes, b u i
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6 (London, 1801>,
™ * t °™ * ™ < - - " * » - ° w e v e r , that the prohibition only applies to h Afghanistan, and it does not include
S t a t e s
U P P C r
m h e S
t h e
* « « ' r from Instruits, ch. 8, paras. 270-1. S A c t i o n and initiation, namely,
f o m , a I
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m
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a n d c o n t i n u i n g | right that was an ownership too, w i t h the result that
1 8 4
were t w o ownership rights: the rent that must be paid t o the prince, and w h a t remained to the farmer above and beyond this rent. Ancien manuscripts i n India contain inscriptions about bequests of p m c e s temples, and documents of the sale of land to
V
^
^
^
hand t o J
Mackenzie has collected over 2,000 d o c u m e n t s . - When the pnnce
^
Z ^
quishes l a n d t o those w h o farm i t , he is relinquishing only his nght to rent,
° «
0 1
A
^
Grmcken, pt. 1 (2nd edn.
^ ^ ^ ^ ^ Z ^ ^
24. See Cohn Mackenzie, A D-**** A ^ s Illustré of the UteraM (Calcutta, 1828). Our text refers to turn as colonel {Ufierai rat™.
^ . ^ ^ ^ Z , ^ 265
THE
LECTURES
THE
OF 1S22-3
just as private individual sellers relinquish only their right, w h i c h remains distinct f r o m a right t o r e n t s . 25
Each village constituted a communiry. I n ancient times the villagers were all firmly united against the outsider (das andere) and against thieves, because property was not secure. Only in most recent times, w h e n confidence in the English government increased and property had become more secure, have the inhabitants dismantled these defenses. L o r d Hastings stated this in a speech to Parliament t w o years ago. Such villages were entirely isolated; they were indifferent t o any political changes a n d often felt the effects of regime changes only after m u c h time had passed. Such a village would have its magistrate, a Brahman, and an astrologer w h o has t o determine favorable and unfavorable days, a n d someone t o see t o the water supply. Also present and necessary were a potter, physician, baker, barber, laundryman, dancers, a seamster, musicians, and finally a p o e t . Each of these persons received a percentage o f the entire income. T h e remaining proceeds went half to the agricultural workers and | half t o the government. A n authorized collector levied the government's share. T h i s was the only tie w i t h the government. These circumstances led to the conclusion that the government was the landlord. 2 6
The English have accepted this unsatisfactory system inasmuch as they looked upon the collector of the revenue as the landlord a n d demanded f r o m him a specific declaration t o the effect that the system was empowered t o dispossess the fanners f r o m their property, such that they came t o be viewed wholly as day laborers, whereby i t came to pass that a f e w years ago more than a m i l l i o n H i n d u s died of hunger. Today there is once again more respect for property. So it is difficult to reach a decision a b o u t this capital. [2.] The second point to note concerns testimony in court, thus the question as to w h o is capable of giving legal testimony. The k i n g cannot, nor the cook, nor p u b l i c dancers and singers, nor can reputable persons w h o have no sons but o n l y daughters; women can testify o n l y against w o m e n . 2 8
ORlENTALWORLDr INDIA
The haws ofManu allows the rendering of a false testimony when doing so can preserve the life of a man who otherwise must die. This also applies when the death of a sevete offender, be he a Brahman or someone f r o m another caste, w o u l d be brought about by a truthful testimony. Insofar as the harshness of kings is well k n o w n , falsehood is preferable to t r u t h . The same applies if a wedding can be arranged by false attestation, or if falsehoods are spoken f r o m impulsive desire for a maiden, or also against those w h o use torture i n the quest for valuables; finally, i n many other cases, i f false testimony proves advantageous, for instance, to a Brahman. | 186 [3.] Yet a t h i r d characteristic t o bring in here concerns debts. Notable i n this regard is that the amount of interest, the very amount itself, then and thereafter too, is a function of caste distinctions. According to the law the regular interest w i t h collateral is as follows: for a Brahman, a monthly rate o f ' l M percent, or 2 percent without collateral; for the second caste, the Kshatriyas, i t is 3 percent, or 3 ^ percent without collateral; for the t h i r d caste it is 4 percent; f o r Shudras the interest is 5 percent monthly. These are specifications of the Laws of Manu. As t o the manner of debt collection, the specification is that one ought to be pressed for payment. A further recourse involves transfer of the collateral to the authorities and auihonzation of the creditor t o confiscate the property of the w o r k e r - t o discover whether he w i l l pay. Also, the wife, children, livestock, and clothing of the debtor can be confiscated. Furthermore, it is lawful for the debtor to be compelled forcefully, even by the cudgel. Finally, one may sit at the debtor s doorstep, t o see whether that moves h i m t o payment. If the debtor is a t another caste he must pay by his service. A notable exception is that if a Brahman is the creditor, he goes w i t h a dagger or w i t h poison t o the debtor and threatens t o take his o w n life if he is not paid. The debtor lets himself be coerced by this threat. If that does not happen, the Brahman can « i n front of the house of the debtor, w h o is then not permitted t o eat i f the Brahman does not eat, because he is not permitted to eat in the Brahman s presence, and so a competition i n fasring is begun. I f the Brahman dies of hunger, the debtor imposes on himself the harshest of capital punishments involving 31
2 ^ See Mill, ch. S which discusses this issue and distinguishes three levels o l ownersh.p': the 7* ' °T intermediate figure. See pp. 256, 265, 272, 274 S
e
O W n 6 r ;
f a f m e r
= *
e
^ereign's collector erf revenue, an
26. Many of the village occupations mentioned here, as well as some others, are described by n H T i"' * * , ° ° ' *•* C ° ™ « on Ind,a Affairs', produced i n M ^ °' ° ' " ^ ***** cem»l goverrmenl. 27. M . l l . 2f,5) mentions this allocation of the remaining proceeds. -S. Hegel does not distinguish being not competent to tesofy from being free from an obligation to testtfy; nor does the text from Institute, ch. 8, paras. 62-8. I . makes clear that men with sons (who also meet other requirements) are competent. The status of the others it
T i f t h
"7
i S
R
e
p
n
a t i 0 n
U a
i p
26«
s
3
meu.ioneu .vague, aunough one would dunk that the ^ ^ ^ ^ .ha, have immuruty. Homo's version more clearly suggests the immunity ol the Inog. 19. Fo, these ,and other, cases where falsehood is ^ ^ ^ ^ 12; M i l l , p. 239. However, contrary to our test, hat*** state, ma, talsenotxl when a person is not a serious offender (para. 104). 140-2. 30. These rates (with one excepuon) are f o u n d c h - 8, paras. 14U31. for these means of recourse, see M i l l , pp. 206-7. 267
" ^
L
T H E LECTURES OF 1 822-3
THE ORIENTAL WORLD: INDIA
nrightfiil torrures, because he is guilty o f the death of a Brahman. This very thing has taken place under the English government, such that, when the | court denied the Brahman's claim, he made his appeal of the decision in such a fashion.
prerogatives are lost. There are regions i n India and Tibet where there is also polyandry, and others where the female sex is treated even more contemptibly, where, for example, several brothers keep one wife as servant and shared instrument of their desires. A father can readily provide for his daughter by means of this Indian polygamous relationship, by giving his daughter as wife t o a reputable Brahman; the result is that many a Brahman has thirty to f o r t y wives, half of w h o m he has never seen, for the parents have merely informed h i m that they have given theit daughters to rum as wives. A l l these circumstances exhibit the lowly condition of women in India.
32
As for justice and personal freedom, there is thus no glimmer of i t . The female gender is wholly excluded f r o m a r i g h t of inheritance, and even debarred as such f r o m making a w i l l . W h e n there are no male heirs, the goods go to the r a j a h . 33
[4.J Furthermore, the fourth of the legal specifications pertains t o marriage. W h a t is stated about the circumstances of wives is that they are incapable of testifying i n court, may not even make a w i l l , and are i n general subordinate and i n a state of degradation. They are not allowed to eat in the presence of the h u s b a n d , just as a lower caste person is not allowed t o eat m the presence o f someone of higher caste. I t is further the case t h a t wives are more o r less purchased by the bridegroom f r o m the parents. This is traditional, an ancient custom, although the laws f o r b i d it. For a formal, legal marriage the bridegroom must give a cow and an o x , the ancient f o r m o f purchase. Generally, however, a contract is d r a w n u p regarding the gift supposed t o be given t o the parents. But the arrangement nevertheless consists of a formal sale. 34
35
The young w o m a n has no choice regarding a husband, for the father makes the decision. The father's duty is t o marry o f f his daughter, just as it is the duty of every H i n d u t o marry. I f the father neglects to d o so, then she is left to choose a spouse for herself. This is what happened i n the story of N a l a . It only applies i f the father is thus neglectful in the first three' years of her womanhood. I f the parents d o not find a spouse, | then the young w o m a n can be provided for in another way since polygamy, for instance, is allowed. 3 6
O n l y monogamy, however, gives the wife her r i g h t f u l place; only in monogamy .s she o f equal status to the husband. W i t h o u t i t her wifely
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I n w h a t w e read of ethics we find that marital duties are often neglected and are viewed as of lesser importance. A t the great festivals, for example, the Brahmans pass among the people and seek out wives pleasing t o them, take them along into the temple, and retain them there for several years until their beauty has faded, thereby making their husbands feel very honored. Then they are r e t u r n e d . Every household and every wife is thus available to the fakirs. These people travel about naked, individually or i n crowds of as many as 10,000-12,000 f r o m all castes, w i t h the privilege o f being fed. Women are at their disposal. They are held to be holy, and were k n o w n t o the Greeks by the name 'gymnosophists'. Moreover, there are regions on the M a l a b a r Coast i n India where marriage relationships d o n o t exist at a l l . ' " The beginning of a political condition involves the recognition o f marriage, and above all of monogamy. I n many regions of India, I however, families reside together. The brothers, w h o reside together w i t h their sisters, do not take i n t o the household the wives w i t h which they wed. A young w o m a n can m a r r y a young man without becoming part of his family, w i t h the result that the sisters' children make up the children of the household. These characteristics of marriage demonstrate how imperfect even this relationship is in India. 39
40
38. See Jonathan Duncan, 'Historical Remarks on the Coast of Malabar with Some!Description of Manners of its Inhabitants-, Asiatic Researches, 5 (London, 1799),1-J6; ^ On Tibet, see Samuel Turner, An Account of an Embassy (London, ISOOfc see
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German tr. (Hamburg, 18011. ,. . . , „K, 39. Abbe Dubo.s fpP- 416 if., has an extended account o f t h » p r a c t « at Vengata Ramana in Tirupati, in soum India. He depkts ^ h u s h ^ w h o ^ ^ v e s ^ o rhe gcd> as gulhble, « they are actually handed over "to the knaverv < * * * * £ ™ £ ^ event, after the* release these women are respected ^ and - ^ ^ ' ^ ^ ^ j 40. Detail about these 'Senasseys' (sannyasins) .s found m Alexander ^ J ^ " ^ * Hmdostan, 2 vols. (2nd edn. London, 1770), i , pp- «xvn-xxxvui. Abbe Dubo*
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[5.] A n important and fifth aspect is then the religious practices insofar as they determine the daily lives of the H i n d u s . H i n d u s , the Brahmans i n particular, stand under a yoke of the most external practices, w h i c h are repeated daily i n the course of the most insignificant occupations. I n human life elsewhere the actions of meeting daily needs are viewed as ethically neutral and are carried out w i t h o u t undue emphasis. For the Hindus, however, a l l the actions that pertain to daily needs are carried out subject t o a host of rules that are of themselves quite senseless, rules that make one's life into a sequence of senseless practices, w i t h the result that the Hindus conduct their lives i n a senseless bondage. The Brahmans have t o keep i n m i n d the most complex matters in this regard. Throughout the day a person has to p e r f o r m specific ceremonies; upon arising, one must subject oneself t o certain rules. Upon awakening one has t o recite prayers, t o stand up using a specific f o o t , t o clean the teeth w i t h the leaf of a specific plant, to go t o the river, taking water into the m o u t h and spitting it out again three times, and so f o r t h , all the while reciting particular formulas. One may n o t sneeze or cough w h i l e d r i n k i n g water. For instance, one w h o sneezes while sipping water may not go on d r i n k i n g b u t must pluck at one's right ear. A host of things can contaminate a person. For instance, when eatmg one must be wearing not one garment, but t w o . One must not be naked while bathing. I n urinating a person has | much t o take into account. One may not urinate i n the direction of w o o d — t h a t is f o r b i d d e n — nor i n rivers, nor turned toward the sun; instead one urinates t o w a r d the south i n the evening, t o w a r d the n o r t h i n daytime.'* There are thus some eighty rules. Someone w h o disregards one of these circumstances must perform a purification. A l l castes are forbidden to w a l k upon ashes, hair, flax seeds, or potsherds. There are similar prescriptions o f this k i n d . Already by a few hours after sunrise a Brahman can have c o m m i t t e d thirty to f o r t y transgressions. 42
3
44
Pertinent to the point about such contamination is the quite famous story of Nala i n the Mahdbharata, which turns upon a purification f o l l o w i n g such a transgression he c o m m i t t e d . N a l a , a prince, set out to m a r r y a princess 45
42. See H . T. Colebrooke, 'On the Religious Ceremonies of the Hindus, and of the Bra'hmens Especially', essay l , Asuttic Researches, 5 (London, 1799), 34S-68, esp. 345-8. 43. See Institutes, ch. 4 , paras. 45-50, for these regulations. 44. See Institutes, ch. 4 , para. 78. 45. The Mahdbharata and the Rdmayana together form the national epic of India. The story concerns the struggle between two branches of one dynasty, the Kaurawas and the Panda vas, for rule. The title of the work as Mahdbharata is found already i n the 4th cent.; i t attained its final form at the latest m the 4th cent AD. The Nala episode of the Mahdbharata is named for the 270
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who was herself allowed to choose a spouse. Her other suitors were génies. She was clever enough to pick out the human being, for Nala alone stood on the ground. So Nala married the princess and lived blissfully and contentedly. A vengeful genie, in association w i t h a playful spirit, lay i n w a i t for the prince. It waited for a long time. A t last the king allowed one lapse t o make h i m guilty, by stepping on the spot where he had urinated. N o w the playful devil had power over h i m . The prince gambled away fortune and realm and was ruined on account of this sin. So the whole interest of the story turns o n this absurd circumstance. I n this w a y the H i n d u lives dependent on external matters. Inner freedom, morality, one's o w n intellect, can find no place here. The Hindus exist in this domination by externality, w i t h the result that they can have no inherent ethical life. There was a time when Hindus were held to be exemplary human beings. I n particular an Englishman, W i l l i a m Jones, drew attention to them and disseminated very favorable assumptions about t h e m . A l l the other Englishmen, however, framed a depressing account of the ethical depravity o f H i n d u s i n all social classes. These individuals I are credible, for they are high-minded and come f r o m all classes and occupations, one being the Frenchman Abbé D u b o i s , w h o lived among them as a missionary for twenty years, as well as the English officers who served there for a long t i m e , and others. The best sources of information for evaluating the ethical relationships o f the Hindus, however, are the judicial responses t o government inquiries about ethical matters. These are submitted t o Parliament, and the judgment i n all cases concludes that i n every sector Hindus live i n utter moral degradation. But this must give one pause. This portrait very much contradicts the earlier views that people had of the Hindus. 46
47
This phenomenon is in one respect connected w i t h what we already stated. The most inane things are forbidden t o Hindus. The H i n d u institutions rule out a l l that rests upon one's o w n free w i l l . Everyday condinons are most closely linked to the principles of the castes and their entire way of life. Hindus refrain f r o m slaying any animal. Their hospitals for sick cows and their abhorrence at k i l l i n g animals can be set wholly apart f r o m any prince. The princess, and later the wife of prince Nala, u Damayanti. After lengthy false paths and separations, Nala and Damayanti find themselves and one another again. 46. In 1783 Sir William Jones was a judge in the high court in Calcutta. He and Colebrook were founders of the discipline of Sanskrit studies. , ^ N „« ^.J 47. Abbé Jean Antoine Dubo.s lived m India as a nussionary ^ twenty r W ^ r s a n d pubhshed a book about his experiences. As Hegel mentions here, his ,udgment about the etlncal life and morality of the Hindus is decidedly negative. 48. See M i l l , pp. 399 and 402, on their 'dissimulation and falsehood. m
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sympathy for life or any compassion for human life i n particular,- f o r this too is an external affair, as seen f r o m many phenomena. The horrible way they treat their draft animals demonstrates just h o w external it is. The English do not spare their livestock, and yet they are put out at h o w the H i n d u s mistreat their beasts of burden. They do n o t refrain f r o m k i l l i n g them out of sympathy, but instead because it is forbidden; so even the English are appalled at this. The Hindus are not yet very advanced i n a n i m a l husbandry or crop production. So when drought ensues, the livestock die o f f or else lead miserable, enfeebled lives, w i t h o u t arousing pity. Thus i n a certain month of the year Hindus are obligated to provide water i n their huts t o any thirsty person; | yet a day later that person receives not one swallow, in panicular not f r o m Btahmans, in w h o m any distress o f others arouses no feeling whatsoever, especially since Brahmans are quite w i t h o u t feeling, are proud and haughty. W h e n parents, wives, husbands or relatives become i l l , they are placed i n the hands of an astrological physician w h o provides sympathetic remedies. I f the illness is life threatening, however, they are brought t o the Ganges or to another river and left or abandoned, alone i n their final h o u r s . Thus all these are not features of human sensibility. 50
People must n o t say, to the contrary, that there are beautiful, gracious portrayals of human sensibilities and situations in the Shakuntaia and other poems, for they must k n o w w h a t these features i n v o l v e . These portrayals involve an idyllic sphere into which n o t h i n g intrudes that concerns principles of ethical life or morality, of freedom, of polirics—namely, behavior toward their fellows (Gespielen). Where engagement i n civic life ceases, as in Indian poetry, there pleasantness prevails. But where the prince and court life enter i n , this pleasantness is over and done w i t h . I n the case of this disinterested state, w i t h this lack o f the feeling o f freedom and of one's o w n independence, i n the total unawareness of a universal purpose t h a t has determined actions and has come f r o m w i t h i n , w e can surely conclude that there can be no proper political life, no freedom o f a political state; instead that o n l y capacious despotism-sometimes cruel, sometimes m i l d e r - m u s t prevail. 51
49.
ibid. 403.
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( P at ibuKS U ™ " at the river to the B e n g a l i . Jr., ^ ^ ^ ° ° P ^' ^ "ther portrayals of the As.au spintw.ll prove to display grace and love as found ,n the Shakntala. See his Ober die Spra^e und Weuhet^ hdKr (Heidelberg. 1808), pp. ,ii-iv. Shakuntaia the main female character of a play by Kal.dasa (probably 3rd cent. A D hence the play (AbhifrldnaiakuntaM) .* usuallv l ' ^ ^ ™ which h b based occurs i n book 1 of the a
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Before w e go i n t o the political sphere we have first to mention the religious sphere. The Religious Sphere The topic of religiosity poses the difficulty as to which presentation one should rake u p ; for H i n d u mythology is | extremely vast, and the other aspect is that its images are very diverse. We see that what the Laws of Manu contains about G o d and the creation thus diverges from any other portrayal t o be found i n the Vedas and other b o o k s . The portrayals are therefore extremely dissimilar and d o not concur at a l l . One can escape their confusion only by culling out the universal spirit of r e l i g i o n .
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The question is h o w a people so devoid of spiritual substantiality, of independence, can themselves become conscious of the highest life, of w h a t is t r u l y substantial. We concede that the One is of course given t o the Hindus as absolute substance, albeit as subsisting world-soul, as a subsisting stuff i n w h i c h b o t h spiritual and material aspects are annihilated. This one substantiality constitutes the foundation of H i n d u representation, and everything determinate is only something dreamed, is nothing secure. The basic representation lies i n this One and A l l ; everything else is just a modification o r vanishing f o r m of the One. The w o r l d is its transitory revelation or manifestation. So pantheism constitutes the foundation. These configurations i n t o w h i c h this One passes over, w i t h i n which this One manifests itself, are something indeterminate, are self-dissolving. There is no unity present in the m a n i f o l d . The human being is i n no way posited i n i t . For someone w h o rises above this bondage, these distinctions principally become something fluctuating that deteriorates into this utter nonsense. | For the H i n d u s there is nothing miraculous, because they have no set natural law; so everything is as such something miraculous. The Chrisnan missionaries are faced w i t h a difficulty when they tell of the miracle of Christ, because miracle is the Hindu's daily f a r e . The Hindu's representation is this ceaseless w h i r l , this dreaming, and the more specific interest of religion is to secure something essential in this dreaming. One aspect is the contentiess g r o u n d , the other the fact that multiplicity enters into it. Interest 54
52. The Vedas are the most anc.ent religious hterature of the ^ ^ ^ composed m a more ancient form of language (Old Indie) than the later Sansknt hterature. There are four Vedas, or Vedic collections of texts. .h^ii-vaeue 53. M J I remarks (p. 283) that no coherent system of belief can be exacted from to vague language, multiple fictions, and discrepant ideas. 54. See Abbe Dubois, p. 421. 273
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lies i n apprehending what is essential in this dreaming, i n these incipient shapes. This apprehending cannot come t o fruition, however, because apprehension would preclude rhe dreaming. For the t r u t h of consciousness is f o u n d " where human beings freely k n o w themselves as infinite self-consciousness within itself, f r o m which they distinguish the w o r l d as something inherently self-establishing. Just as they acquire freedom and internal stability, so too the objects acquire boundaries and stability; they receive a solid grounding for the first time through the w a k i n g state (Wacbsein). Hindus do not arrive at this waking state. Their religion, their endeavor t o attain consciousness, is a struggling w i t h this dreaming, a dreaming struggling, a seeking or longing that only gets t o the p o i n t of tossing oneself about f r o m one antithesis t o another. N o w that we thus know the general character, we have t o consider its more specific forms. We see t w o sorts of aspects, since the struggle of their dreaming is a buzzing about f r o m one extreme to the other. T w o aspects are in turn found in each extreme. One is the representing of the object, the other the consciousness | that strives t o raise itself up t o the essentiality of the object; the latter aspect is the cultus. The first extreme is then the sensuality of H i n d u religion, the fact that i t is a religion of nature, that i t directly reveres natural objects as divinity, and that human beings relate themselves t o these natural objects as they relate themselves to their o w n essential being. A m o n g these natural objects is first of all the s u n . The principal prayer of the Brahmans is a prayer t o the sun that they must recite numerous times during the day, but which they do i n great secrecy f r o m the E n g l i s h . I n addition, the stars and mountains, and particularly one p a n of the H i m a layas from which the Ganges has its source, are divine, as also are the rivers as such, foremost the Ganges but other streams too. To possess water f r o m the Ganges can cost Hindus a l o t of money, and it is most desirable f o r each H i n d u t o have some, just as it is then that a particular elephant bearing Ganges water lead the way for a n a b o b . Ganges water is brought to Tibet 5 6
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3 5. The German editors, surely correctly, have changed the reading here from "not found' to found , 56 M i l l savsjp. 333) thai Brahman is the sun, and chat Brahma, Vishnu, and Shiva are us heat, light, and flame respectively
and into the peninsula. Furthermore, particular animals are revered: bulls, cows, elephanrs, and particular monkeys, for the ape-prince is a great ally of Rama in the Rdrttdyana. '' Often these are mere images. There is, however, a city inhabited by monkeys, w i t h fakirs there t o serve them. These monkeys are highly vicious. A living thing as such is respected by the H i n d u t o the extent that it may not be killed even though i t has indeed gotten out of control. 5
This respect for animals is connected t o the H i n d u assumption abour transmigration of souls, which is not, however, the sort of transmigration that we envisage. We envisage soul as a consciousness, the consciousness of oneself as this person. So our soul has consciousness of its o w n self-identity {Diesselbigkeit). H i n d u s represent transmigration of the soul I as the soul being unaware of its previous condition and living on i n a different body. For Hindus there is no personal continuation of the soul. There is a becoming one w i t h the universal soul. There is a contradiction i n holding at one time to maintenance of the individual i n a different body, then t o merging into the universal, the One, as w h a t is highest. So here there is confusion too. They even take i t so far that they regard their blind or crippled persons as though they are afflicted by these natural incapacities as punishment for crimes from a prior l i f e . * 0
So natural objects, sun and stars, are objects of worship. A t least according to some views, fire, air, and sun are regarded as the three main gods, those said t o constitute the foundation of all the other deities, which reduce i n t o these three gods. There is no consistency whatsoever i n all these matters. To these natural objects that emerge as deities there then belong universal, natural powers, especially the powers of procreation, which are worshiped in the most disgraceful fashion. M a l e and female genitals are worshiped. The Hngam and the yoni are the forms of male and female procreanve powers. There are pervasive symbols for these powers. M o u n t M e m , f r o m which all streams flow, is also just the male organ. Masts of ships are symbols for it t o o . " The English maintain that Hindus are so brazen and bawdy i n this 61
59. In the ep,c, Sita. the beloved o i Rama (an avatar of Vishnu, was ^ ^ ^ ^ (Ceylon) by the demon king Ravana, and the monkey king Hanuman aided Rama in rescurng her. See Creuzer, Svtttbolik, pt. 1, 608-9.
57. Colebrook descr.bes the standing posture o i one oiiering this praver ('On the Rehgious Ceremonies , 3J5). 58. A 'nabob' is a Mmlrni prince, as Hegel correcth slates laier in our text, and one would noi expect Muslims to regard Ganges water as holy. The term r a h ' (for a Fhndu pnnce) might better have been used here. |a
274
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worship of theirs, as they are i n their conversation, that even the English sailors are shocked and embarrassed by i t . | Linked w i t h this worship is a cultus that is, f r o m this aspect, an unbndled, licentious sensuality. A group of young w o m e n , the only ones to enjoy an education, is kept in the temple for the purpose o f arousing the sensuality of anyone who comes there. They are instructed i n the art of giving pleasure, partly for its o w n sake, partly to acquire valuables for the temple f r o m strangers who come t h e r e . Likewise they have celebrated the most licentious festivals i n w h i c h the essential t h i n g is the utmost lack of restraint. 63
As the H i n d u religion is but a giddy w h i r l f r o m one extreme to the other, we also find in it an ascent to what is most abstract, and the most abstract relation of self-consciousness t o that abstraction. Insofar as the universal is abstract, self-consciousness does not freely relate itself t o i t ; for only in k n o w i n g itself i n relation t o God does self-consciousness k n o w itself i n that relationship a n d is it free. Since self-consciousness is n o t free i n H i n d u ism, it also cannot relate itself freely t o the absolute. As devoid of freedom, H i n d u self-consciousness lacks the inwardness t o stand before G o d ; instead i t can only relate itself t o G o d as negating itself w i t h i n God- This absolute negating of oneself is the highest p o i n t of H i n d u self-consciousness. This complete renunciation must then count as w h a t is supreme. The w a y of spealdng here does not consider that G o d is something concrete, is a concretion of reason. A more concrete definition involves at a m i n i m u m the point that G o d is wise and has determined the w o r l d according t o rational decrees. The concrete representation of God must have as its foundation the h u m a n being as one w h o acts purposefully, and self-consciousness must then itself be moral. But this definition according t o the opposite aspect of God's w i s d o m , or a determining of the individual according t o these laws | of a universal w i l l , is not f o u n d in H i n d u consciousness, which reaches its highest p o i n t only in this abstract negating, i n corning to God i n this unhappy state (Unglück) o n l y via its o w n self-surrender. Since it relates t o this culminating p o i n t as something negative, this (self-surrender) is thus t o be regarded as unhappiness. I n this abstraction self-consciousness indeed comports itself i n thinking fashion, and in this proximity to the supreme point the speculative echoes of
representation emerge; but they are confused and obscure, and are only fathomable by someone w h o knows the speculative as such. Only a few of the details f r o m H i n d u mythology can be mentioned, for it is extremely diffuse. As for the H i n d u representation of God, we do find G o d represented as One, and they call i t 'Brahmà' as distinct from 'Brahman', which is the O n e . This representation of Brahma is i n a sense quite sublime, although for t h e m i t is f o u n d o n l y alongside others. Brahma is not the enduring, sovereign One; it is of course t o be distinguished from the 'One' of monotheism. I t is nothing enduring or independent into which everything perishes. The distinctions t o which w e proceed f r o m this 'oneness' are no predicates nor are they persons, for they introduce once again the confusion of multiplicity. The H i n d u s have w o r t h y views of the One. They say that this One is beyond all concept, beyond all understanding, is invisible, eternal, omnipotent, omnipresent. This is stated i n the religious b o o k s . This One has n o temple, no public | w o r s h i p . H u m a n beings have no positive relation to i t . Were the worship truly monotheistic, representation w o u l d have to function freely w i t h i n this One, t o abide there. But Brahmâ is not worshiped and has no temple, just as i n the Catholic religion individual saints are w o r s h i p e d , not G o d , as Canova himself says. H i n d u temples are dedicated t o particular figures. I n addition t o Brahma, the Hindus have an endless number of gods; a Brahman replied t o an Englishman's query as t o h o w many gods there are, by saying there are 33 crore of gods, each crore having 100 lakhs, and a lakh has 100,000 p a n s . A l l of them reduce t o three. B u t this multiplicity does not amount to anything. 6 4
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64. In Hindu religion Brahma .s one of the most important deines p o t h e r s are Shiva and Vishnu); together the three constitute a trinity, the Trimurti (three forms L ^ * ^ Brahman, which embodies the world-soul; some say Brahman is the one reality else, the Tnmurti and the world too. Hegel's interest focuses on Brahm^ at the bgj*rs* individual deity'. Later Hinduism actually pves a greater protmoence to Vfcbnu and Suva than i t does to Brahma as an individual deity. In Hegeft day tberewas ^ scholars in l a n g u i s h i n g the various written forms and from the Sanslcritfoot brahman. For Hegel's sources, see Jones, 'On the Gods (p. 242) and Abbe e
^ ^ ^ J T ^ ^ I
lengthy h.erary narrative in which .he c h a i r s and ^ a descnpuon o f M t . Meru drawn from the Puranas texts. See also Abbe Dubois, p. 40. Wilford also links M t . M e m t o the primeval lingam and yoni, and the latter two to the mast and hull of a ship (p. 522). See also W.lford, 'An Essay on the Sacred Isles in the West', Asuitw Researches, 8 (Calcutta, 1805), 273-4. 63 Abbé Dubois bas a very full account ( . 401-2) of these temple prostitutes. See also MilL pp. 235-6. *^ P P
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nonstandard spellings; it would serve no purpwe <° P » » ™ «yk 66. A n t o n i o ^ a (1757-18H, was ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ S T J Z and developed his own classically bcsh style. From 1802 on be was supenu monuments for the Papal States-rVse terms for monetary 67. See M i l l , p . 285), who presents the grand totalas « 0 m u h < ^ l ^ ^ ^ values derive from Hindi- A crore amounts to 10 n u l b o n r u p ^ o r l O U i ^ 100,000 rupees. Hotho reads:'... there axe 33 muhon Igodsj. 277
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In addition t o Brahma, the foremost figures are V i s h n u and Shiva. We find then the characterization o f Brahma as the Creator, Vishnu as the Preserver, and Shiva as the Destroyer. O n this score, however, there are i n turn many sects; each holds a different god as supreme, a n d there is perpetual confusion. The main view involves Vishnu, w h o is, however, also called Krishna; but others worship Shiva and opposite [characteristics]. I n the same fashion Buddha, or Gautama, is G o d for the Buddhists, b u t the Brahmanic Hindus have him too. The typical H i n d u affirms all of these gods, w i t h only one of them as supreme; in any event, for others a different one is supreme. We cannot say that there are Hindus for w h o m Brahma alone is the one god. They always have all the other gods as well. The typical w o r s h i p is just idolatry. The god is worshiped in a specific sensual shape. Just as Brahma is called the Eternal, the One, so the same is ascribed to other gods t o o . I So no distinction is secure; instead everything is fluid. Typically they regard the One, w h a t they call Brahman or even Parabrahman, as still n o t w h a t is first, fixed, and at rest, even though it is w h a t is supreme. The unsteadiness and irrationality in this representation is advantageous for the H i n d u . M a n y representations that sound wholly absurd have at the same time the feature that the One or the abstract is considered to be one element, something derivative. When God as spirit is called 'father', this is itself only one element. From this perspective we discover among the H i n d u s much that is fundamental t o the speculative d o m a i n . Thus f o r them the One o r the abstract is nothing fixed itself, but instead only insofar as they call Brahma, Vishnu, and Shiva, these three, the whole; the triad alone constitutes the true unity, such t n a t f o r them an inkling of the trinity seems to be fundamental. The one that the Hindus call Brahma is therefore itself an element of the whole, although this in p a n comes o u t o n l y i n very sensuous representations In the Laws of Mam, it says: 'The first cause, Brahman, does not exist tor the senses, is n o sensible c h a r a c t e r i s t i c - i t is and is n o t , is w i t h o u t beginning and end, is eternal; divine p o w e r is generated f r o m i t , the divine, the male, which is represented i n all w o r l d s as Brahma. As inactive, this one rested in water, i n an egg, for a rhousand years, or one year of creation.' At the end ot this time, through ,ts o w n thought alone, , t brought about the dividing of theegg, and f r o m that division heaven a n d earth have emerged/
ORIENTAL WORLD: INDIA
In another representation, Brahma has lived eternally. Love lay dormant together w i t h h i m , and i t produced the p o w e r . | The particular deity 201 Brahma existed in the f o r m of the endless expanse, and i n his thus going hither and yon he became frightened for himself. For a thousand years he wandered about to complete his expansion, the setting of his dimensions. Then he prostrated himself and the Almighty said: 'You have done well. Brahma, t o prostrate yourself before us, for y o u cannot conceive of me. Go and create the w o r l d . ' Brahma asked, ' H o w can I do that?' Brahman replied, '1 w i l l give y o u the p o w e r ! ' Brahma produced w i t h i n himself the ideas of things i n such a wav that the ideas of things only shimmered before his eyes but then vanished f r o m them; so Brahma called out, ' H o w shall I maintain these shapes?' Then there emerged f r o m Brahma's mouth a blue exhalation that said, '1 w i l l ' . This was Vishnu, who gave reality to Brahma's merely ideal things. These things then possessed nothing but reality, without k n o w l edge or thought; they were idiots with fat bellies. Distressed by them, Brahma destroyed them and generated f r o m his mouth four persons as regents w h o m Brahma designated to complete the mastery over the w o r l d . But they were unable t o d o i t - f o r glory belongs t o God alone—since they had nothing destructive w i t h i n them. Then Brahma created Shiva as this destroyer. Shiva, w h o for the first time unites both aspects, is also called Isa, Ishvara, Rudra, Hará, Sambhu, Mahádeva, and Mahesha. I n such representations there are thus fine echoes of the speculative, many admirable ones, although such depictions are merely subjective, individual personages pertinent only to individual sects foreign to the popular religion. These are just intimations. Besides, such features are confused and intermingled w i t h sensuous representations that are incompatible w i t h the universal rehgton of 69
70
the H i n d u s . I . , m_ i„ Another issue ,s then the Hindu's relation t o G o d i n the cultus. The c u l m is a commonplace idolatry. The most interesting thing t o investigate is , u w h a t t o t h e m seems supreme i n the relation to God ^ < ™P<«™ ^ " the ordeal IQual) or the slaying of the natural state, the f ^ z n o via abstraction that leads t o actual loss o f life- Hence we find in particular even human sacrifice. Sacrifice is in part ^ n q u . s h m g of w a n s earthly, m part recognition of its nullity, such that recognition of the
8
69. See Dow, History of H,ndost*n, 70. This lengthy account is taken from ibid., pppan and with additional detail omitted. * V This list of names £or Shivacomes may refer to either of the more common name*, Manesan
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THE ORIENTAL WORLD: INDIA
worthlessness of the earthly is evidenced by divesting oneself of these w o r t h less possessions. Such sacrifice is something external. The higher sacrifice, the true one, is for a human being's free choice and subjective particularity to be overcome by the universal. H i n d u s have only sacrifice of the former k i n d , and these sacrifices extend t o the point of relinquishing all feeling for life, as well as relinquishing life itself.
one such person w h o for twenty years had forced himself to sleep exclusively in a standing position, and to that end had in the beginning tied himself t o a nee, and other such things. Others force themselves to have their arms perpetually raised, or their hands constantly clasped so that their fingernails grow out t h r o u g h the opposite hand. They are beggars and must be fed by others. One H i n d u slept on a bed of sharp nails for thirty-four years; others sit motionless, gazing at their noses and in anticipation of being fed. I f they are not fed they die of hunger. There are a great many austenties and states
I n the relationship to thought, however, the H i n d u s themselves only ascend abstractly; i n doing so they d o not arrive at their freedom, do not maintain themselves in it. To be sure, abstraction f r o m natural existence is necessary for this ascent. So human beings have t o break through the negative aspect of mere natural freedom, of mere natural existence; however, this standpoint must then be a positive standpoint; their relationship t o pure thought must be something positive. H i n d u ascent then indeed breaks through the natural, but i n such a way that natural existence cannot maintain itself at this peak, cannot make itself concrete, cannot f u l f i l l itself. So this standpoint is only a hindrance, and its phenomena are the ordeals that Hindus impose u p o n themselves, penances they undergo, tortures and siinenng. So it is an ascent that remains negatively disposed t o w a r d | the natural state, that cannot revert t o life, that i n this return cannot maintain what is absolute. So its phenomena are the ordeals i n which h u m a n beings exhibit themselves as worthless in their natural existence b u t ones they cannot convert i n t o the positive apprehension of the absolute. Ihese phenomena are extremely diverse. Often w h o l e groups o f Hindus cast or plunge themselves i n t o the Ganges, not f r o m being tired of l i v i n g or depressed from ill health, but . n order t o sacrifice or dedicate themselves to God. I hus they even cast their children before crocodiles; they suspend them horn trees in baskets. Hindus often take their o w n lives o r a l l o w them to be " k e n j n the procession they allow the carts o f the deities t o crush them to pieces. What takes place at the festival is that the i d o l i n the temple is transported about, for instance, i n the Jagannatha festival. The extremely ponderous cart, d r a w n by some one thousand people, is outfitted all around w i t h ights. M a n y hundreds of people are u p o n i t . T h e procession around the temple lasts for three days. Often at that time many penitents cast themselves m the path of the cart, i n order t o be crushed to pieces by its wheels, for Hindus are very ingenious i n their penances/ A n Englishman encountered 72
74
of abstraction like this. I So this is the only way that Hindus know h o w to place themselves m unity w i t h the One. To them the One is w h a t is abstract, and the placing of oneself in unity w i t h i t is in any case this pure negation. The image is of being one w i t h Brarunan through such austerities. Those b o m as Brahmans are already one w i t h Brahman in virtue of their birth. Hindus suppose that members of other castes become Brahman only through this endless abstraction, through this m o r t i f i c a t i o n , fh.s negation, the sheerly negative, the thought of the onefold (Einfacb). Abstraction f r o m all fulfillment is the means for becoming one w i t h B r a h m a n . * The universal soul, the lifeless, abstract s o u l _ t h , s is the supreme exaltation of the H i n d u ; i t is a liberation that has merely a negative significance. I t proceeds f r o m the state of withdrawal from self, and this w i t h d r a w a l exalts itself only through absolute abstraction. They d o not k n o w h o w t o take h o l d of a fulfilled value. The whole of H i n d u character is comprised i n this feature. 7
The State and its History N o w that we have seen the fundamental features in their concrete f o r m , the ultimate k n o w i n g of oneself as being something empty, we pass overtc-our last topic, t o the state and its history. As far as the state ,s concerned, we have definea the H i n d u principle as complete lack of freedom. The v i e w o f freedom is not fulfilled freedom, but is instead empty thing ethical determines its volition and actions from t h , elaborates itself f r o m this point. But w i t h this withdrawal horn self and
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74. On these self-inflicted austennes, see Mill, PP-•» • p. sxxviii; Jonathan Duncan, An Account of Two Fakeers, w,d» R«*4rch*s, 5 (London, 1799), 37-52 (see pp. 37, «1¬ 75. On this route for non-Brahman*, see MiU, P- 3 « 281
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T H E L E C T U R E S OF 1 8 2 2 - J
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this lack of freedom that marks the H i n d u ' s concrete life, w h a t we call the state, purpose, wholeness, rational law, or ethical life can have no place, cannot be present. For the freedom of the H i n d u remains utterly | indeterminate, abstract. So nothing is left for concrete relationships but contingency of w i l l i n g o r caprice, w h i c h cannot arrive at a political constitution. The patriarchal principle of the Chinese also can have n o place; there is no room for it. Its defect was having its m o r a l content as c i v i l law. For the Hindu freedom is only something negative, the w i t h d r a w a l of self f r o m all that is determinate in life and consciousness. So the H i n d u principle of political life is caprice and contingency. The political condition, examined more closely, presents itself as the Europeans found i t . We w i s h t o mention its general features and then to inquire whether this is the enduring c o n d i t i o n , o r whether i t has been preceded by something different w i t h the present condition only its final dissolution, perhaps only the residue of a prior c o n d i t i o n of splendor and prosperity. So our first concern is this c o n d i t i o n as the Europeans f o u n d it. They found i t to be a host of larger and smaller principalities ruled by M u s l i m and Hindu dynasties. I n both kinds of principality internal conditions were the same. H i n d u princes were called 'rajahs', M u s l i m princes 'nabobs'. These lands of course had ruling families, some ancient a n d some more recently so, with the ancient ones mostly f r o m the w a r r i o r caste but also occasionally trom the Brahman caste, as is the peshwa o f the M a r a t h a k i n g d o m . We see at once that the succession w i t h i n these families is utterly uncertain, is entirely a matter of chance. Even though w e consider the distinction between determinate succession and chance succession t o be merely an empirical issue, we are fanul.ar ^ importance of determinacy of succession and only learn t o prize a definite line o f succession when we have become acquainted w i t h the history | of oriental despots. Secure succession i n volves n o , merely the law of succession, bu, in general an ethical, legal condition; only where such is the case can the royal sequence be definite. We have attributed the succession ,n the Indian states t o chance. The cn. uren are of course the successors, though i t is unspecified as to w h i c h w i n be the one. It ,s the same i n private rights; according to the Laws of A W , brothers shall inherit in accord w i t h their relatively g o o d or bad 7 6
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Hence the history of that Indian realm is a ceaseless interplay of uprisings, conspiracies, and brutal episodes of princely family members vis-a-vis one another, the poisonings of princes, as well as a series of conspiracies of generals and public servants as such. The main history consists of these upheavals and intrigues, these murderous deeds, these atrocities. As soon as a minor c h i l d was supposed t o rule, these circumstances came into play. A prince w h o wants t o maintain the royal succession for himself and his descendants can accomplish it only by violence, by constant distrust of his surroundings i n every way, and not through strictness of punishment but through harshness. Orderly conduct and statutory punishments are not the norm here. The main spectacle of Indian history is this atrocious and wearisome drama. To be more specific about the internal constitution of the state, about its inner c o n d i t i o n , i t can best be characterized by, or compared t o , a feudal arrangement, subdivided among a host of minor masters, I elders from the w a r r i o r caste. This w a r r i o r caste is master of the land; the warriors employ against one another and against the prince the same means of uprisings and atrocities as he employs himself. The powerful form an aristocracy and constitute the prince's council. They must pay a tax and provide military service; but their counsel in all matters must be sought, and they obey only when they feel under compulsion by the prince or some other authority. So the prince's chief means of maintaining himself is his o w n character or the power of g o l d . So long as princes have money to pay the soldiers, they have power. A l l comes apart; the chieftains carry on independently; they conquer and oppress. This was the condition that the Europeans found following the exhaustion of the M o n g o l princes who had held the whole together in unity. After its decl.ne the realm fell apart into this m u l t i p h c t y of rulerships maintained by force, attained by cunning or strength, m that a pack of thieves seized power. But sometimes too a stronger < ^ J ^ ^ realm, for instance the Maratha k.ngdom, which then exacted tribute from " d t a
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The question is then: Was this an age-old c o n d i t i o n or | was i t the final state of dissolution of an earlier, flourishing r e a l m , o f a beautiful, rational, earlier condition, of a more magnificent, more prosperous w o r l d - a dissolunon preceded by a beautiful w h o l e , by an ethical c o n d i t i o n ?
India's image today is largely still that of an earlier condition. Of course individual kingdoms do necessarily have splendid eras and flounsh.ng condinons, especially the principality o f Ayodhya, farther inland. As wc said, however, these are only passing moments. For what they show is that the chance personality of the ruler is everything, and all hinges on i t . Under despotism a weak prince can be the cause of greater internal conflict, whereas under a stronger master as successor the land, with its luxuriant soil, directly restores itself anew to splendor and brilliance. The condition ot states i n that setting is like nature when i t exhibits constant osculation between total desiccation and the most luxuriant vegetation; so India is in general the scene o f the greatest contrasts. Because this was in the main the ancient c o n d i t i o n i n India, thus earlier ages and religion were simpler. 1 he ancient books, the Vedas, are mostly prayers t o the gods and hymns to princes, f r o m all eras. These books exhibit greater simplicity than does the present day. Some incarnations of deities were not yet mennoned i n tnern. 1
78
The next topic before us involves the foreign conquerors, w h o can be viewed as the cause o f the dissolution. W h a t is n o t e w o r t h y so far as the foreign conquerors, the M u s l i m s , are concerned, is that they inserted themselves as a wholly alien w o r l d and so changed the c o n d i t i o n of the Indians; tney d i d so n o t i n the w a y that the n o r t h e r n barbarians altered the Roman w o r l d but instead i n the way i n w h i c h the M a n c h u s pressed into China, w n a t is more, a large number of Indian states remained free. So foreign rule m d not produce any wholesale change. The next point is w h a t we discover o f historical features o f an earlier cc.nait.on,
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<s nothing but a condition o f stupefaction, o f warfare and the political conrrovers.es o f the dynasties. A great expert o n the Indians says that 7 1 7 '
^ ' b a r i c conquests, and atrocities mark the history
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The entire c o n d i r i o n - t h e political and religious condition i n general,£id so f o r t h - i s determined b y the caste distinctions that seem to have been already in place at the time of Alexander the Great, although then there were stiH exceptions t o the ban on intercaste marriages. Strabo, Ptolemaeus, Pliny, and A r r i a n indicate as m u c h . The Hindus have tradinons c• a p n n c e w h o prescribed these distinctions, although these castes were established p r i o r t o historical times. The Brahmans, for instance, are said t o be an .mnugran people but not a priestly people, so an external coming together of d h W L a i stocks does not account for the situation. That , ate occupational distinctions, and these of course presuppose the unity state, i n w h i c h these distinctions later come t o be set m stone 8 1
The fact that these distinctions have spread throughout all o f j n d * (although n o p e t i t * is kingdom) can readily be explained when we see how tn principle f o r its foundation, w i t h the result that when, i n a shared stage
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80. See Jones, 'On the Gods' (p. 259) and ^ ^ J ^ ^ ^ ^ o ^ a o T i Z extrrmdy large, anc.enu and sacred city. Regarded as the birthplace Drtar Pradesh, in the vicinity of Lucknow. report, see htf incUai. 81. On Ptolemaeus. or Plolemy, see n. 8* . bui m (act says pts. 11-12, an accoun, based on earl.er writers thai spe«s ^ ^ inmmamag* .s not allowed. English tr. P. A. Brunt, ATTW, Amar. says (.bid. u . I } Cambridge, Maw., and London, 1983); the 'V a r t ^ arxl shcpkeeperv 336^1) rtiat the seven castesconsist of: s o p l u s t s , U ^ r v with * * king - S « at*c solders, overseers, and 'those who deliberate abou.J£W* Straho, G e o ^ f r v 15.1.29 ff. (The < * f ^ ^ « ,. Classical Library; Cambridge, Mass., and London, 1930), J o o e s
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OF 1 8 2 2 - 3
THE ORIENTAL W O R L D : INDIA
culture, at one p o i n t such an ethical condition arises, the less refined neigh¬ bors are easily converted t o w h a t the cultured people show them. They willingly adopt w h a t appears to them to be something superior. By the way, the caste distinctions are not all-pervasive i n Indian states, tor there are still many quite unrefined, savage peoples w h o have not yet arrived at this distinction of castes. N o c u l t i v a t i o n has begun for them. Their commerce consists i n the salt trade, although apart f r o m i t they remain i n their mountains, f r o m w h i c h they just make single, w i l d forays. This is n o w what can be said i n general terms about the ancient c o n d i t i o n o f the Hindus. Noteworthy in this context is a publication of N i k o l a u s Müller (Mainz, 1 8 2 2 ) . This m a n | holds the ancient H i n d u s i n h i g h regard. H e seems to be entirely unfamiliar w i t h Asiatic Researches. H e seems t o k n o w only the work o f W i l l i a m Jones, and says that the golden age in India blossomed w i t h these ancient H i n d u s . H e seems t o have a fairly l o w opinion of lieutenants and captains, and yet these men are the ones w h o often have spent the greatest p a n of their lives in India and are knowledgeable about the ethics, language, and religion o f the Hindus. 82
N o w we w i s h t o go over briefly the situation o f the historian. We have already remarked that the H i n d u s have no historical perspective and are incapable of any historiography; this point serves t o complete the picture of their characteristics. In order t o p o r t r a y the distinction to us, we need only look to what the O l d Testament says about the c o n d i t i o n o f Israel's forebears. H i n d u s c a n n o t comprehend this at a l l . H i n d u s are w h o l l y incapable o f such an intelligible designation. For them everything blurs into extravagant images. They are incapable of anything intelligible. Improbability and impossibility are categories that do n o t occur t o t h e m . * 3
212
The historia rerum gestarum constitutes a necessary middle term in the ongoing development o f a people; f o r a people must look u p o n its past i n historical terms. I t has something firm and enduring in these images. This becomes something by w h i c h caprice and contingency are dispelled. A n established condition can secure itself only empirically. O n l y through history does a character f i x itself i n the case o f a people, i n t h a t they have the image of an established p r i o r condition whereby something firm also enters into the political aspect, i n part undergirds a political constitution, i n part I is
J L r ? * * ? T ^ T *t "fT » » * » M i l f c r i n the following sentences of our text show that he had not rmil tKic 1 i VJ - II .- • • DL i J „ u j . ,.. , ™ u t n i s book. Müller explicitly mentions Asiatic Researches ( s « pp. I t ft. and eft. 31 in the course nIVw,™, L i L ,„^c i f f <_ „ "*urse or expressing rus negative assessment of the scientific v»Jue of those reports from Enrrlishmen Müll.» . „ ..• , j. ,- _ , ... . , , " « " » " " « i i . Müller cites a publication thai puts the contributions of soldiers on the same level as those of scholl« i „ \ tX 83. See M i l l , pp. 142 and 144. ' ' ^ 1
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continually b u i l t up. Because the H i n d u s have no history i n the subjective sense, they also have none in the objective sense. Precisely because the Hindus have n o historia, they have no authentic history. The vast numbers that we find in the case o f the Hindus for the reigns o f rulers and the periods of history are remarkable. M a n y names are linked to these numbers, although the numbers are totally arbitrary, entirely lacking in historical significance. Examples include one k i n g reigning for 70,000 years and another prince undertaking penances for 10,000 years. We see that we are not t o t h i n k o f history (Historie) i n these cases. The situation is comparable w i t h the numbers of chronology. These huge numbers have an astronomical sense, but not one as though the Hindus had such ancient observations that the numbers w o u l d have become so huge. 84
To provide a brief perspective, we wish t o compare our year w i t h the H i n d u numbers. When we calculate our year at 365 days and a few hours, to express such numbers exacdy we need to express them i n relation to a determinate unity, to a day, to hours, and so forth, and to express such relationships i n terms of intervals (Brüche). But i f we do not do it with intervals, then the numbers become all the more decisive, all the larger. Thus the m o o n completes its cycle relative t o the earth twelve times and then some i n one of our years. There is then, however, the Metonic system, according to w h i c h the m o o n completes 237 cycles over nineteen years, such that after nineteen o f our years it finds itself once again at the starting point. So the Hindus sought t o indicate when all the planets, as seen from earth, would have been i n conjunction, 1 and they expressed the intervals by huge numbers, supposedly commensurate w i t h such relationships. This is thus how their huge numbers came about. The Hindus have a distinctive astronomical system, the accuracy o f which depends upon the precision of the one doing the calculating. The main thing is that such numbers are nothing historical, but instead have astronomical meaning and express exactitude not via intervals but by large whole numbers. 85
Another remarkable feature is that the best sources for Indian history are not the H i n d u s themselves, but the Greeks and Muslims. The Greek accounts do not indicate that the Indians had been subject to the Persians. Alexander conquered only one part of India; he d i d not press on t o the
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, P
286
84. See above, n, 18. , , 85. Meton (5tb cent BC), an Athenian astronomer, devised the Meton* ^ 7 V " nineteen years after which the lunar month returns to an original pouuoo of calibration wun me solar year. 287
T H E L E C T U R E S OF
THE ORIENTAL WORLD:
1822-3
Ganges, but only as far as the P u n j a b . Successive Greek monarchs also had possessions within India. The Seleucids held the Bactrian realm under their dommion. O n l y by AD 1O00 does the narrative become more precise, when M u s l i m princes seized the I n d i a n throne: Ghaznavids, Afghans whose dominion had its seat in Ghazni. Later, T i m u r a n d his followers conquered India and founded a M o n g o l e m p i r e . But these M o n g o l princes, becoming soft eventually met their downfall w h e n the Europeans finally took control of almost the entire empire. 86
87
214
M o r e important as a historical source are the documents of the interior of India, the inscriptions o n stone monuments, copper plates, and the like, some of which are in very ancient w r i t t e n characters similar t o Sanskrit and provide specific dates, but only dates of these specific monuments, furthermore, an indigenous source is the collection o f lists o f kings. Captain Wiitord in particular has collected and studied these lists, a few of which I are of the greatest consequence. These lists are accepted in India as more or less accurate although, according t o the testimony of W i l f o r d , w h o possessed one ot them himself, they are very discrepant from one another. Lately the English nave devoted a l o t of effort to such matters. T h e geographical statements of ftoUrnaeus were found t o be e x a c t . K n o w n t o h i m were Allahabad, a region of the Ganges, as well as many others.
INDIA
imparted t o h i m that he quite casually filled in the expanses w i t h names and conjoined realms, and that his doing so is justifiable because h,s predecessors, the authors of the chronicles, have done likewise. Another remarkable circumstance that contributes t o the confusion of Indian history is that the Indians have also incorporated into their history the histories of foreign peoples. The best-known to appear in those hsts is V i k r a m a d i t y a , w h o is reckoned to have lived about fifty years before Christ. It is highly uncertain w h o this person was. As the English investigated more precisely I they found nine individuals having this famous name; one was k i n g of a small realm, another king of all of I n d i a " One of them ,s said to have presented a great offering i n order to attain a long life Upon receiving an unfavorable response, he wished t o kill himself, and the de,ty then promised h i m a thousand years of untroubled rule. Then a son was born to a virgin and a carpenter, and this son dethroned Vikramaditya^ This child is obviously Christ; for what Christ has done is found m this history,
88
89
The lists of kings, then, are mutually contradictory in the extreme. The branmans deal w i t h the lists i n such a w a y that w h a t is most important is mrT n -rl ^ oncauy. i h e y fi[| n
i n 8
a b I i s h i n o u t
m
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8 P<*hs P ^ l y i n astronomical terms, partly his^ e
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rniag-nary. They o m i t important kings and ascribe their periods of reign to others, transposing kings and dynasties into a w h o l l y different time, based on preiud.ce or confusion. I t is not uncommon f o r them t o pass over f r o m distant P r e s s o r s of one year to the latest descendant, o m i t t i n g those in °T™ ^ * * d about these kings is completely mythological. W l f o r d provdes us w i t h these reports. He says t h a t an I n d i a n historian a
(
t
I S
e
n
reworked in Indian fashion. I„J:„„ We find that the books of the Apocrypha were distorted in wholly Indian fashion, and the Talmudic writings as well. In the same way too the story of Solomon is found interwoven into the Indian narrative, as. well as the stones of the M u s l i m and of other Islamic k i n g s . " The detaded story of M u h a m m a d is told and indeed so that he was born ,n India. The t c * y o f how he is then said t o have come t o Arabia is so shamefully sord d tha - u s not t o be r e c o u n t e d . " I n particular, even the story o Noah and h * * « * sons appears i n I n d i a n history t o o , but so that the sons'name n i a b . e l d , a n 'history' consists of such « « — , ^ ¿ ^ 2 out the most exacting investigations, supposes that this V.kratnad.tya only fall i n the eleventh o r t w e l f t h century after Christ. 2
P
i n d i c a
, 0 . On the mulnple bearers of this name, see Wuiord, 'An Essay', AsuiOc
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89. Claudius Ptoleinicus id AD 177_*Ki I astronomer of Alexandria, was akn , I , u Europe, Africa, and A s i a ^ o r n p l e ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ' ^ ^
288
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Restart,
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T H E L E C T U R E S OF
1822-3
THE ORIENTAL WORLD: INDIA
Astronomy and A r t
India i n the Framework o f W o r l d History
I t is noteworthy concerning the w r i t i n g s on astronomy that, because thev are inscribed on palm leaves, they d o not last long, for which reason there are no ancient cod.ce mstead the works must be recopied, and i t has come to light m a t the c o | ^ . S;
216
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The t w o world-historical questions are: W h a t advance has the Indian world generally made as an advance o f the idea i n itself? Does the Indian world stand connected t o the rest of the w o r l d and, i f so, i n what way.' We already considered the first question at the outset. China is the patriarchal whole, and wholeness or oneness is its basic characteristic. The Indian principle is the second element of the idea, namely, that o f distincnon, of specific, f i r m distinction. As a human distinction that is said t o be subordinate t o the spirit of unity, i t remains something merely natural and becomes a setting o f the social classes in stone, in relation to one another. Because the distinction was so ossified, there was only inequality, distinct i o n , m u l t i p l i c i t y ; rationality, freedom, and a political condition could find no place here. Therefore this distinction was 6xed, and this is the Hindu principle. It is the other principle i n the world-historical context, although i t has no connection either backward w i t h China or forward with the next principles. The world-historical | advance is therefore only implicitly present-as in the case of animals and flowers that f o r m a system, albeit a system i n which, as individuals, they emerge f r o m the soil by themselves, without one species appearing i n connection w i t h the others. The connection is not explicit, but instead exists o n l y for the reflective m i n d . This is the most irrational mode, that of nature, and i n this naturalness the Indian pnnciple exists i n tnis connection o n l y for the concept, not in the phenomena. The second q u e s t i o n - w h e t h e r the Indian world stands in a historical connection w i t h the o t h e r s - m u s t be answered i n the a f f i r m a n t . That is because the concept of the principle o f distinction already e v o l v e s , d f l n r ence, going-outward (Nachauflengehen). The Chinese pnnciple .s « j * c « L •solated. But distincrion must go outward, and so the Indian has an external, world-h.stor.cal connection with the others. can onlv be a passive relationship, a mute, ^ £ Z ^ ^ < as the distinction is the abstract pnnciple, the Indian ° > n d , , d u a . . r , W h a t there is o ^ ^ w
1
So i t is a connection devoid of individuality. We w i n a " i. f ™ . r s e been stated previously. One aspect o f this connecnon has ° ^ * ,|l namely, that India was always an object of ^ ^ 5 ^ Foreign the West. Hence early o n India was a factor m commerc a H r a ^ peoples acquired for themselves Indian ^ ^ ^ ' J n was The details o f these elements are not our concern. b r i e f l v
i
6*5. See Wilford, An Essav' ?S1 if erasures, and forgery of e n , i w ™ .
W
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"> 400 to 900. There is no ^ Niehuhr (1776-iaTlT m
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290
s
t h c
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^
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«mples dating from " » ^ ' o r i a n BarthoW Georf
a n d o i
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219
T H E L E C T U R E S OF 1 8 2 2 - 3
THE ORIENTAL WORLD: INDIA
partly by land, partly by sea. The Indians themselves were early | seafarers
ocean route. So India has i n this connection a passive relationship w i t h
and traders, and they had been visited by a people f r o m the ocean t o the
regard to commercial trade.
south. This already took place before the Greeks came. Egyptians, Creeks,
The second aspect o f it is the dispersal of Indians. A characteristic phe-
and Romans had contacts w i t h India. Sailing a r o u n d the Cape o f Good
nomenon has been observed in more recent times, one that places India in
Hope is a principal feature o f more recent history. T h i s trade that the Indians
contact w i t h the West. I t is evident that Sanskrit, the ancient Indian lan-
themselves also carried on is i n general something inconsequential and
guage, is not o n l y the mother o f all contemporary Indian languages, of
ancient; it had n o influence on the situation as a whole a n d the Indians
w h i c h there are many, w i t h all o f them acknowledging Sanskrit as their
discontinued i t very early on, j u s i as advances t o o k place in the elaboration
mother. The Vedas are written i n Sanskrit. The Shakuntald {'The Decisive
ot the caste principles and the subservience t o ceremonial observances, and
Ring'), a drama by Kal.dasa, is even partly in S a n s k r i t .
stricter lines were d r a w n between the castes themselves, a n d between pure
stani l a n g u a g e ,
and impure acts.
skrit is not only the mother tongue o f Indian languages but is also the
So India had early visits f r o m , and connections w i t h , the ocean t o the south. It is notable thar the commercial connection w i t h Asia and India had long been carried on by land, via Syria and Egypt, until at last the epochal discovery o f the sea route around the Cape of G o o d Hope. People often have the image o f this route around the Cape as just an expedient to avoid the barbaric conditions of Egypt, Syria, and A r a b i a — t h a t the natural and closer route passes through Egypt, and so people i n any event propose t o cut through the isthmus o f Suez.
97
The ancient route does indeed go this way.
But it is not the infinitely easier route, thus m a k i n g the other one just an expedient. Seafaring f r o m India to Suez can take place only three months of the year, because one has t o contend w i t h the monsoons, w h i c h b l o w i n the opposite direction the greater part o f the year. I f one does not take advantage ot the season and has gotten t o the G u l f of Arabia, then here come the n o r t h 220
winds as a hindrance. A t the present time Egypt is peaceful, and yet people tavor the sea route. Last year L o r d H a s t i n g s ' dispatched t w o | captains to 8
England via the t w o routes. The one sailing via the Cape reached L o n d o n
101
100
As for the Hindu-
it is not typically Indian, but something composite. San-
original language underlying ancient Persian; it is also related, on one hand, to the Greek, L a t i n , and Germanic languages, on the other, to Egyptian. The r o o t words of these languages are also found i n Sanskrit, t v e n more amazing than the evident identity of the roots is the comparability of the grammatical system and especially rhe conjugation system, with those of the Greek, L a t i n , and Germanic languages. Professor Bopp ut particular has carried out celebrated studies of these languages.
102
This has
necessarily
been very surprising t o the European w o r l d . In India, S a n s k r i t » ,n fact the language | o f the sacred books, as Latin is for us. In India we see Sanskrit, and in other places we see the Persian, Egyptian, Greek manic languages. Hebrew.
1 0 3
U « n and Ger^
The [geographic] link is interrupted by Synac and
So the linkage is not continuous, but is interrupted.
This points to a quite ancient dispersal o f tribes of people from «nd.^• Y « this is n o t t o be represented as though India is to be viewed as die land o f o r i g i n , because the i n d e n t Persian or Zend language likewise connected w i t h Sanskrit; Zend is not its daughter but parallels i t , so that
three weeks earlier than the other, w h o at that very rime h a d been at the latitude of B a b - e l - M a n d e b " and had set out on the route via Suez. T h e one w h o sailed via Egypt had the most auspicious season but had to make part of his way over l a n d and arrived three weeks later. Also, on the A r a b i a n Gulf one sails only w i t h small ships, ones that utilize the off-shore winds. Thus this apparently shorter route has disadvantages compared t o the newer
100. K a h d a s a i s h d d t o b e ^ ^ co rx of the kings of the Gupta dynasty He composed ^ ^ ^ ^ t , oder der his most famous work. Hegel mos, hkeiy knew ^ £ * l £ * r ^ Sanskrit und entsche.dende Ring. Ein mdisches Schausptel von ™ ^ ( V i e n n a , 180O). Prakrit ins Engliscbe und aus diesen ,ns Deutsche ubersetzt mtt trtauterung U
U
r
s
p
r
See above, n. 51. , , Western Hindi with Arabic and 101. Hindus™, the lingua franca of much of tad* rod** « W Persian components too. f Rerlin published bis major 102. FrarTBopp ,1791-1867,, professor « ^ " " " ^ ^ ^ ^ E n g b s h t , , by work subsequent m these lectures by Hegel, w b vols., ^ Edward B. Eastwick, is A ComparMve GWMTW' ° I " ' ^ , , _ e^ ^ above, Gothc. German, and Sclavonic languages (Hildeshe.m and New YorK, rt
37. The Suez Canal was opened in 1869
U t i n i a m a
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292
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f A
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n
from
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s
9 g i
n. 18. . , . . . , coddled Armenian languages, 103. In place of 'Synac and Hebrew', Cnesbeim has the « « a l Syriac, Arabic'. t h
293
T H E L E C T U R E S OF
1822-.1
THE ORIENTAL WORLD: INDIA
both seem to have an ancient, c o m m o n source. Z e n d has its locus to the
I n comparing Sanskrit w i t h the Greek, German, and Latin languages, we
north o f India, «n the region of Bactria, of Kashmir, i n the A f g h a n kingdom,
find many roots that are shared w i t h the Persian language. This is the
.n the Parapamsus Mountains. A l l these lands are ones where the predominant language .s related t o Sanskrit. There are regions where Sanskrit
materia! aspect; the more ideal aspect is the grammatical affinity. The
still
grammatical system proves to be not only very developed internally; I there
today is the lrvmg vernacular and ,s spoken in purer f o r m than in India
are also a number of scholarly works about grammar. I n Indian literature
proper So we have this northern region that likewise belongs t o the domain
too one finds a sublime cultivation of grammar. From this feature people
ot the Sanskrit language; i f we represent the dispersal as a displacement of
customarily infer an early, sublime cultivation of the Indians as such. H o w -
peoples, we have t o think of i t as proceeding o u t w a r d f r o m this northern
ever, this inference f r o m the elaboration of languages t o cultivation in
point, or that this point is rather the higher point t h a n that f r o m which the
general is w h o l l y unwarranted. I f the matter is viewed empirically, we indeed
antecedent diffusion took place.
find the opposite. I n Europe very cultured peoples have a simple grammar.
This migration of peoples that we see only , n the language ,s itself a silent,
Fulsomeness of expression for sensible objects is more a sign of barbarism
mute feature p n o r to all the specificity of recorded history. I t is a silent
than of culture. The German language too has many distinct sounds. But this
dispersal i n t o c.rcumsrances where there was no inherent o r extant culture
abundance is not one on which t o place a high value. Previously people took
at all The available historical | traces have been compiled very intelligently
grammatical cultivation as indicator of a people's culture. But this elabora-
and cleverly, w i t h great diligence, by Professor R i n e r in his Vorhalle
tion is quite often a multiplicity of wholly insignificant distinctions. For
zur
instance, the English language has a very simple grammar; whereas w i t h
Z :T ™ ' ° ^ ^ - r y treacherous, w i t h httle c r e d u l i t y because connections often arise that reside m e i t k h
dt
W
e
V
e
3
barbaric peoples w e see that when they commence cultivation they engage in
mphonemes.S.ncethesepeoplewerespr adout,nCentralAsia,rhis dispersal route ,s represented as going n o r t h w a r d f r o m India and around the Caspian Sea, partly t o the south and p a n l y t o the n o r t h , t h r o u g h Armenia and Asia M i n o r toward Greece, to the Black Sea, and so f o r t h . As Ritter constructs mem t±e , n connecting elements relate principally to points at the Black
drawing minute distinctions. For example, in the Arab and Turkish gram-
connl^
Buddhism and Lamaism
e
m
223
marians w e f i n d the greatest acumen and the most extreme minutiae as signs of retrogression, or of a not yet highly flourishing culture. I n the nmes ot their decline the Creeks a n d Romans began to elaborate grammar.
a
uT'
t h C
^
°
f
H
e
d
e
,
i
^ ^
* commercial trade
^ ™ n w . t h t t h e s e points, an ml and trade t h a t s t r e t c h e d f r o m h e r e t o l n d i a
We n o w have remaining for our brief consideration something yet p l a t e d to
and to Chma The similarity of names of people ,n Phasis w i t h those i n
the Indian w o r l d , namely, the range of peoples that belong to the Buddhist
lnd,a is remarkable. In this connection Herodotus transm.ts the legend that
religion, those linked to Lamaism.
iS
i X n e l
T n
?
irt^dZkhS
Z
3 S i S
C
S
'
S
e
—
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°
h l S t
r i c a l
n W ca* o f f T \ T S i l y W0U'd h3Ve w o r l d nd V " ' ' ™ ° " r nqU£Kd Z we! ^ they were no outwardly directed individuality. 0
r
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V
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e
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b
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Egyptians fo be the e
s
We saw the I n d i a n spirit as one of a drearnmg that, in splits i n t o t w o extremes. The shapes are nevertheless related. We saw tha m representation this spirit goes wandering at random- Its ^d^on is the One of all things that casts itself about i n a great many natural and spiritual
Peoples were not
e
^ "™
^ b u e d with of Indians w i t h the outside have been conquered:
h a t
!
10,. The ponrayal of Biddh.sm confronted ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ overall presentation of As.a had become so ™ « ^ % " * ^ s not, in Hejels other was rhat, as a relig.on spanning manv lands and people*, sense, a bearer of history, which ,n his conception could only bea ^ ^ Urmtations and systematic reasons, Hegel did « * ^ r c e s were not so sbmpy as tlus reliaion that ,s so widespread u As.a-although t h e oi» te* h,s pcrvaval would lead one to believe. Hegel hm.ts himsel. " ™ £ £ > ^ There * . travelers' reports and omits almost entirely a prese«_ lectures, norahh however, some discussion of Buddhist docrr.™ m the ^ ,?9>. those (Ledums on tbe Phlosopby ofRebpon (Oxford, 20071, d
e
d
h
i
s
i
l
l
w a
fa
O V i M g
t
m
105. Pha shore ot the Blark Sea sls i 5
t n e
m
m
c a n
l 7 l l 7 r ^ > H w , , o
f
a
k
n
t
t '' a
t b e
" *" " ' territory ot Colchis on the easlem
G e i U t d e
a n c l e n l
i
W
i
°J * T^"™ **" >' eStaf
-as a major tradmg ^ JJh n l " ™ * •us says ColcLnsZ ^ IT • ^ ™ »d {Chicago, 1987) 173 Egyptians' I n . 104). See The Hxtory. l h e
294
( B e ,
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T H E L E C T U R E S OF
« 2 2 - 3
THE ORIENTAL WORLD: INDIA
shapes, c o m p m m g , w i t h i n itself, the presentation o f thoughts t h a t are on the
statement is possible. Obviously the Buddhist religion is the more elemen-
one hand st,Jl sensible, on the other most p r o f o u n d . Over against this
tary one a n d as such can be the oldest religion, although i t could also have
t ^ T V A ? " ' P ^ w S r h ^ • f ° S g ^an beings [into castes], one on w h eh the whole culture depends. I n contrast t o this dream-life, this w h i r l l h C f e
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through all the Tatar T i b e t , the Tatar inhabited by M o n g o l s and K a l m u c k s , all Peopfc. all go under this heading. Indeed
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elementary. There are reasons supporting both sides, but no defimtive
among the Greeks this distinction w i t h regard t o Indian religion. The Greeks k n o w of t w o kinds of priests of the Indians. They k n o w o f Sarmnas. Lamanas, and Garmanas {GarmaneHh*
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Samuel Turner, An Account of Ttbet 1 1 W » . Hegel would have seen ^ (Hamburg, 1 8 0 1 ) , » v . 307. ^ ^ « » * * J « * * W k , , personai name, i n
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Turner s , the narn i ^ Ceylon the e q ^ ^ ^
a
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term that passed over into Ger-
manic' ( G e m w ^ « ) - w h o were i n the army of Xerxes; and on the other s.de, of Brahrnans a n d M a g i . T h a t Samanas were understood to be Buddhists .s also clear f r o m the fact that 'Samana' was a name used even as often as Gautama.
1 1 0
So the Buddhist religion is the simpler one.
According t o the Brahrnans, Buddha himself emerged as the ninth incarnation o f G o d a n d is also the founder of the first Maurya I dynasty; for there is also a t r a d i t i o n drawing the distinction between solar and lunar l o n g s , " Buddha is represented as king, as teacher, as G o d , and his but 1
djsciples are revered by the Buddhists. So he appears even m »
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give currency t o the H i n d u representation of deities. They even sacred sites t h a t are sacred to the other, Brahmanic Indians. I n ^ b e t t t e Ganges is i n any event [held to be] sacred. I n Ceylon i t 1.
^
nous t o have visited such sacred sites. They acknowledge ^
^
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and scientific knowledge f r o m Benares, a city on the Ganges. So even the
^^^T^
235-6).
was quite possible to find a scientifically tehabfc ApparenUy Hinduism included Turner (AccomU, 306) ^ J ^ ™ ^ ^ T T o r W scholar* regard straddling the fence were MU1 (p. 310) and ^ ^ J J ^ ' J ^ r e i e r r e d teas Buddhism as having broken away from t t e antecedents ot by whac o n * to b* 'Br^hmamsm,- bui as perhaps older than the specfic shape later taken try known as Hinduism in its developed, theisoc form. - . ^ result that be canrn* 110. The sources Hegel bad at his disposal are very ^ ^ x L *»d Litemmre erf the gain any clarity on this issue. See Francis B « b W f. O^brocAe, 'OfcBnrmas" Asuuic Researches, 6 (Loudon, 1801), " ^ J ^ ^ 287-322, csp. 300; servarions on the Sects of Jains', Asiatic Researches,v t ^ L ^ ^ ^ ^ drsl.na from the Rittet, Die Varhalle, 11- Buchanan regards ^ ? T „ distinct hoo, Buddhists, and « g g « o Magi. Colebrooke says the •Sarmanes' ('Garmanes .] ^ v s they art to be they may be Jains. He also says Strabo ^ ^ " ^ , s^naaa is . w a r i e r u * 1
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contrasted wid. B r i a n s , as Hindu ascetic o i ancient times who focused 00 the upana. Jainism and Buddhism came from similar ongms- winch adds
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not only of
Hegel but of his sources. *-30) of a Brahman taditina a « * d u ¥ 111. S « X M , p . 109- Ritwr speaks ' ^ " v ^ ^ ^ j T ^ j j , , & "childrw of the moon was the to which the founder of the ancient Hindu dynasty referred 2
son of a Buddha. 2%
r
settings, just as, contrariwise, the Buddhists among themselves also j n i u m
S
n S U l a
In any event we find
1 0 9
d
» Cey'on he is called Gautama. •« H e
e
resulted f r o m the reformation of an earlier o n e .
" ^
A s i a
^ ° proper are called «nd B u d d h i t t Peoples can be contrasted w n i them.
^
wa
h
also more simply; ,t is also simpler i n its configuration
innlrnT
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t
297
226
T H E L E C T U R E S OF 182
THE ORIENTALWORLD: INDIA
2-3
Buddhists and the Tibetans point t o I n d i a . T h i s simple religion can be produced by a reformation of Brahmanic religion. M o r e likelv, however, is the greater age of Buddhism. 1 1 2
There are, to be sure, also H i n d u reformers. A few tribal groups i n India nave treed themselves f r o m this bondage, m particular f r o m the caste divisions-cfuefly the Sikhs, w h o inhabit a n o r t h e r n region of I n d i a . T w o hundred years ago M u s l i m pressure likewise increased and there arose a r e t o r m e r w h o , together w i t h his people, sought t o gain independence f r o m die superstitions o f both sides through viewpoints alone, not t h r o u g h force, o n l y when a follower of this man had been p u t t o death by the M u s l i m s did histnends rise up against M u s l i m s a n d H i n d u s . N o w this people lives as a Kind of republic. So here we have a people that, by r e f o r m a t i o n , established , T « * r d i n g to all the historical evidence, however, the Buddhists seem to be a m u c h more ancient people. | B
227
r d , g I o n
A
The second thing is to indicate the character of this religion, and the t h i r d , «ts historical path. It is a more humane religion i n every respect. This is so nmch the case w i t h regard t o the representation of God that one aspect heir supreme God was a human b e , , n another their G o d is t o them still hv.ng as a human being; so they revere a l i v i n g h u m a n being as G o d . i n
i n g
i n e nrst feature is the case w i t h the Buddha. They have extravagant Z H w ' ' « w i t h the rest o f TrZTiT/li ' " ' ^ d e e d the n i n t h , and is to be revered in w r T h ' ' condition of supreme abstraction in w h i c h spu-it was immersed w i t h i n itself, in which he no longer held fast to e
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^ B > « condition w e can t o that extent call ° death. Whoever attains nirvana uddha. So this one, Gautama, is the t r u e G o d . H e was n o t some fr
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sort of natural being, not heaven o r the sun, but instead was essentially a human being. They say that he was at the same time eternal, immortal. They ascribe t o h i m all the attributes that we assign to the supreme being. They revere him i n images i n temples, images of h i m sometimes as seated, sometimes standing erect, and also together w i t h his disciples. One feature consists of the temples that the Buddhists have, in which his image is erected. I n addition to these temples dedicated t o him there are pyramid-shaped buildings, as i n Java, that are thoroughly massive, i n which are preserved relics of h i m , some being of his body, although it is told that after his death his body was cremated o n a funeral pyre of sandalwood. So we have here the feature that, i n their representing God as having become a human being, his death is an element of their devotion. Gautama is God of Ceylon, but his religion extends t h r o u g h Tibet up to the Arctic Ocean. I Here, however, the veneration of a living human being is linked to the fact that the supreme lama (priest) is the one i n w h o m God is present for them. Such a l i v i n g incarnation is also found i n India itself, in the inanity of Bombay, where this incarnation of a deity is hereditary in one family and the incarnation is Ganesha, represented and depicted in images w i t h the head of an elephant. A n English officer sought out the currently living individual. H e was a man 30 years of age and was revered as God. A similar belief finds its home on a larger scale i n Tibet proper, i n the land that extends n o r t h w a r d beyond the Himalayas. Three such lamas are revered. The first is the Dalai Lama in Lhasa; the second is the Taschi-Lama i n TaschiLumpo; the t h i r d , beyond the Himalayas and to the south of Lake B a i k d a t h e e Z of the highland, where Ghengis Khan had his ongin, * Lama, also a B u l d h i s t lama, i n Urga in K a r a k . " These « e humanThings who are revered as G o d present today; their service »linked t o the Buddhist 1
US. Ganesha « a Hindu deity; so tins part of the a ^ Lamaism ,n .his respect, pertams to Hrnduisn, ^ ¡ ^ 5 ^ Hereditary L.ving Deity, to Whom Devotion * * ^ , bood', Asiattc Researches, 7 (London, 1803), 381-95. Moor say P
P
version says that Hindu DI
reacts the caste ™T
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^
114. Hindus regard Buddha „ T
^
«gardT ^„^ t
r
u
* " *
» >W
Arpan ( 1 5 6 3 - 1 6 0 « , the nrs^odeoTsÎ
Bnddhis.
aal looked to be 55, and was said to be 60. Account 11 b. He gel's accouw here is erroneous. See n " " * 0 called ihe Teshoo U m a . Turner says all three sea, and thai three more lamas belonging to ^™r^ superior resides in Tibet. The tradiuonal seatol the ua ihe Gelukpa (Yellow Hall seer, is in Lhasa. The Taschi-Lumpo Monastery. The location of the dura I £ statement. Turner say, he .s in 'Kharka'. Urga us a name or capital o i Mongolia, a possible alternative, almough there 1
I see esp. 200, 212-13, and 218-19). Griesheim's
.s'-"*. ^ t e r e d uV the PtoUb ™
d
^
movement.
Sikhim.
of monotheism thai stresses meditation and
G u r u s
^
^
<* ^
<**
r 298
' «'«^
*™ began w i t h Nanak. was
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Karakoram Mountains to the north of Kashmir, or Karakorunt, 299
J 9 4
a l l i * Neighbor- 5 ) that the uvtivid-
w
314-15. where the second is and belong to the CyUookpa„, Bhutan, but their , i M . who is head of has his at the ^ undtar from Hegel's (Ulan Bator), >he ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ r e s l d f
n o w
j^,
fa
e X
k
[ [ l a a n b 4 a u r
seat
228
THE ORIENTAL WORLD: INDIA
T H E L E C T U R E S O F 18 2 2 - 3
religion, to the representation that this is Buddha present here and now, in living form. The more specific p o i n t here is the great confusion, albeit one preferable to the H i n d u view, that the d o m i n i o n o f a One over all the mamgods, demigods (Genien), and spirits is the f o u n d a t i o n . M o r e recently we have been better informed about the lamas, since Captain Turner has been an emissary t o the Taschi L a m a . W h e n he stayed there, the previous lama had just.died or, as they say, h a d gone away. The current lama was 2 years o l d . n /
229
T h e w lamas are spiritual as well as w o r l d l y leaders, but | ' w o r l d l y ' o n l y directly in Tibet.
They are revered as spiritual leaders by the M o n g o l
1 8
tribes, and are consulted in political matters; they are revered spiritually as G o d . Besides the lama, however, there are then still many gods, Buddha or Gautama, and so f o r t h . One could envisage such chief lamas as being most arrogant and, i n their madness, becoming supremely haughty; yet that is byn o means the case, h i his embassy t o the Taschi Lama, Turner f o u n d the current lama t o be a 2-year-old c h i l d ; in his stead there was a regent to w h o m the E n g l , h embassy paid its visit. N o t h i n g m u c h was of course t o be s
said by this child. It sat there, erect a n d well-trained, listening and watching, bather and mother stood alongside, and the c h i l d behaved quite alertly and caimly A pot of tea was presented, f r o m w h i c h the regent himself drank. K u• u . remarked t h a t i t was empty, the child looked about several times i n order t o have more b r o u g h t t o them, tor the child proved i n general to be alert and i n t e l l i g e n t . " The priests selected individuals o f the most superior disposition t o be lamas. The previous lama was extolled as the noblest, most modest, m a n . H e was educated and, tar from being haughty and p r o u d , was gentle to subordinates, intending their best interests i n all things, and the government o f the lama is one o f the most patriarchal sort that can be f o u n d . So the lama is then the one through w h o m the G o d o f the people is present, such that G o d cares for them I h e relanonship is o f a k i n d t h a t i n general comes quite close t o pantheism. Nevertheless i t is not the H i n d u pantheism where every m o u n tain, stream, and Brahman is divine, such t h a t Brahma is immediately r c a P 0 t
b
e
m
e
m
p
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e
d
w
d
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e
c i l i l d
1
present therein; instead, i n the worship of the lamas the infinitely extravagant pantheism has I coalesced into a unity. These people distinguish them-
230
selves f r o m the Hindus generally i n virtue of their higher stance w i t h respect to freedom. They k n o w themselves i n God inasmuch as they situate God as a human being and have a genial intuition of their God, and have thus arrived at a freer G o d . As for castes, they are present i n Ceylon but not so strictly and also only for the tradespeople. They ate, however, somewhat different than in India. There individual castes can have no dealings w i t h alien castes, not even for their o w n sake. Here i n Ceylon, however, this is allowed, since one can undertake for oneself w h a t properly is the province of a different caste. Also, there are no higher castes, no warrior castes. Since 1813, people have also come t o k n o w the interior of Ceylon in this way. In the Burmese kingdom, i n Siam, there are no castes, nor are there castes in Tibet and among the Mongols. This, therefore, surely constitutes a great distincnon o f a free, courageous, more genial existence. These peoples have priests, and i n Tibet above all; i n the Burmese kingd o m , they live together in large monasteries. I n Tibet the pnests i n a monastery number over t w o t h o u s a n d .
120
These priests do
^
«P
a
particular caste, but instead come from the entire people. I n Tibet the nile is that one o f four sons must be a priest and be brought up for that role. I n Tibet these priests have their o w n land rents and live from chanty. In the Burmese k i n g d o m they live principally f r o m gifts freely given, since the priests pass t h r o u g h the streets early in the morning, anticipatrng g * » f r o m the inhabitants. Here they arecalled ' R a h a n s ' .
121
So t h ^ pnests differ
f r o m the Brâhmans w i t h regard t o their entire behavior. The
™ n s c a U
them 'Gylongs- a n d , as opposed t o | the Brâhrnans, they are on the w b o k quite w i t h o u t pride, are modest, educated, and affable, whereas the Brab^ man is hardhearted and proud, unfriendly. Tibetan pnests distnbute surplus goods to the poor and give shelter t o any wayfarec There are t w o kinds of sects, one o f which mames and the
,
> f K
„
r
not
< * « ^
The latter ,s the most widespread today. They are d i s n n g u i s h e d _ b y t a robes, by red and yellow robes, and are hostile to the p o u t of the bIood.est
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118. See T u m « S o !
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« the Kama-pa, or Red Ha. ^
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< L W b e r 1783, and published a ^
was eighteen months old.
119. Ibid. 3 3 4 - j ; also, his account m Asiatic Researches, 1 (Loudon, 1799», 200. 300
^ S t Ä - . On the
**. tot • " ^ I S ^ f Ä - -
^^.^^^L^ ci various 1 « * . ^>^^T^^^-
122. Buchanan attributes ,o the Burmese Ib,d. 276-8. Hegel does no, On the contrast of these monks with the Brabmans, see luron, 301
231
THE THE
conflicts.
113
ORIENTAL WORLD- INDIA
L E C T U R E S OF 1 8 2 2 - 3
They are pious, educated, and religiously observant in the
temples as well as in the monasteries. The m a i n thing i n their services is chanting, which they raise to the highest volume. The emissaries dwelt in a monastery and could not have been more amazed at the enormously powerful voices. N o w as for the Mongols and Tibetans, they are described as extremely good-natured, open, trusting, observant, obliging, and far f r o m the deception, cowardice, and baseness of the H i n d u s . Trusting and friendly, these peoples carry on a peaceful life. The priests are pious on behalf of the entire land. Everyone o f the laity performs his job peacefully and untroubled. They are not, on the whole, warlike. Even i n Tibet most remain exempt f r o m warfare. It can also be noted that the eating of meat is to an extent forbidden among these peoples, in particular the Burmese. Nevertheless this rule is modified t o a greater or lesser degree, and it depends i n particular on the prince as t o whether he wishes to uphold i t . The Mongols a n d Kalmucks refrain f r o m eating meat and regard it as w r o n g t o k i l l an a n i m a l . Very benevolent in particular are the Kalmucks, w h o w i l l not even k i l l their game 232 animals | but instead t i l l the soil. O n the whole these M o n g o l s a n d Tibetans live peacefully; the Mongols are chiefly nomadic, but not actually m a patriarchal condition such that by birth one person w o u l d have unlimited power. Their chieftains are of course partly determined by b i r t h ; but the heads of families i n the main arrange these things among themselves, and political matters are more or less the affair of the entire people. Today most of these peoples are under Russian d o m i n i o n , w i t h some under Chinese rule. I n 1769-70 a Russian clan of Kalmucks, some 70,000-80,000 families, departed f r o m the Russian territory along the Volga and D o n rivers and fled into Chinese territory, because the Russians had broken o f f relations w i t h the Dalai Lama.
subject all t o themselves. But such deluges abate just as they have^started. They have never been long-lasting nor in particular have they estabUshed a kingdom. Such surges t o o k place especially under Genghis Khan, pressing all t h f w a y t o the borders of S i l e s i a . - After h i m i n like f a s h T m u j j j r M o n g o l pnnce or actually a T u r k , was one ^ ^ . ^ / " ^ ^ t o o . ' " H i s actual point of departure, the original tnbe w i t h which he surged f o n h , consisted not of Mongols but of Turkish peoples, or Turka. I So this w o r l d belongs on the whole to India. But whereas the Hindus are one w h o l e w i t h rigid internal divisions, these ianer peoples have not arrived at this internal cultural shape, and instead are more disparate, although thereby f r e e , We proceed now f r o m India to the third Asian realm, t o Persia.
124. Between 1215 and 1223, Genshis Khan undertook several campaigns of con.ue, in a., directions, and founded the Mongol Empire.
Mongols that came to
™ s z ^ i sKESsit:-££^
territory, but for plunder.
These genial peoples, who are a freer s o n t h a n the c h a r m i n g , delicate weakness of the Indians, can, t o be sure, expand o u t w a r d a n d then, like rivers, wildly inundate everything; not sweeping through the w o r l d i n warrior tribes b u t , as an entire people, they come into a state of inner, unsettled fermentation and then, restlessly expanding spatially, by laying waste they
) 23. As is evidem from Turner's Account, 314-16, this sentence applies strictly to the Tibetan Buddhists, the two sects of which are the Gelultpas (Yellow Hats) and the Karma-pas (Bed Hatsl. (See also n. 116 above.) Turner (while using his antiquated spelling for the names! says that the Karma-pas were the most powerful, and the Celiac pas assembled an armv io drivt them trom their lands and gain the upper hand. Gelukpa power then stabilized when it gained the favor of the Chinese emperor. One should not mistake this sentence of Hegel's for a general feature of Buddhism; it is based on Turner's account of a single episode in Tibetan history. 303 302
.
-
2 3 3
THE
stock, a finer race of people more related to Europeans. Elphinstone, an
PERSIA
1
Englishman w h o has those lands under his oversight, has visited and made
Here we can be briefer because, on the one hand, w e have fewer materials and, on the other hand, they are better k n o w n . The materials pertinent t o the Persian Empire are, however, largely incomplete. W i t h this empire w e enter for the first time i n t o w o r l d history proper. A l t h o u g h China is an important, essential element, i t lies outside the connections of w o r l d history, as also does India, the other element, w h i c h has only a m u t e , silent, inner connect i o n that passes by inconsequentially (taths). W i t h Persia, however, there is i n fact a conscious and clear connection. In China a n d India there is less t o say about a history that is directed outwards but enough t o say
O R I E N T A L W O R L D : PERSIA
about
internal matters, whereas i n Persia we k n o w m u c h more about external matters but less about the inner w o r l d . The Chinese and Indian w o r l d is still contemporaneous for us and therefore we can be more precise about i t ; the Persian w o r l d is one that has long vanished. W h a t w e k n o w of the Persian w o r l d and what appears t o us t o be its most ancient aspect is an element that has survived all history and is still extant in venerable remains, and has come to light only i n recent times. |
k n o w n to us the empire of Kabul and Kashmir. He conveys the impression of how
greatly Persians a n d Indians differ, and says that, all the way [east]
to the Indus River, Europeans could believe that they are still in Europe. Immediately u p o n crossing the Indus, everything is different. When we come 1
to the Persians we find an empire outwardly directed, and so for the first time an empire impinging upon w o r l d history. We have, then, to indicate the principle of this empire: i t is the unification of the preceding principles. I n Persia, the Chinese and | Indian principles are united. I n China there was the unification of the whole under the dominion of an external, moral w i l l that determined a person's innermost w i l l . The principle of the Indians, on the contrary, was that of absolute distinction set in stone by nature. In the Persian Empire we see the distinction of individualizations as nations too, and indeed in such a way that the distinctions are given free rein and yet overcome, held together by a point of unity. So here free individualization reverts into a point of cohesion; this is the t h i r d necessary element. W h a t we have t o consider more closely are the distinctions whose unity is the whole.
The Principle of the Persian Empire When we examine the Persian Empire more closely, w e find here for the first time an empire, that is, a total domain comprising entirely heterogeneous elements (to be sure, only relatively so). The peoples w h o were combined into one here were extremely diverse i n language, customs, and religion. This splendid empire lasted a very long time, and the way i t was composed more closely resembles the idea of the state than d o the preceding elements [in history]. That is because here there is neither the patriarchal-moral tradition as in China, nor rigidly distinct groups as w i t h the Indians; not the rapidly dissolving world-inundation of the Mongols, nor the negativity of oppression as i n the Turkish Empire. Instead w e see here a u n i t y of ethnic groups persisting in their autonomy and yet dependent on a p o i n t of unity that held them in equilibrium and could keep them content. The Indian a n d M o n g o l world belongs to the Far East, and the sense of self (Selbstgefühl)
in
The Geography o f Ancient Persia In considering the distinctions externally, geographically, we can say that here the highland comes i n t o conflict w i t h the lowland, w i t h the broad nver valleys. I n India w e see the unfolding of life i n sweltering valley regions separate f r o m the highlands. I n Persia the t w o principles are united i n reciprocal conflict. One part of the whole is the highland that bears the general name of Persia. To i t belong the mountain ranges more specifically and the valleys that attach t o them. The other part is the nver valley regions of the Tigris, Euphrates, Oxus ( A m u Darya), and Jaxartes. The highland is not t o be characterized as a sort of elevated land like that of Chinese Tatary; instead it is somewhat lower relative to the valley plains, and f o r that reason i t has singular features of fertility. The Indus marks the boundary between India and Persia. Westward f r o m this river, Persia nses up
the Far East is quite different f r o m that of Europeans. I t is otherwise w i t h the sense of self that i n Persia still holds sway. I n Persia today there is a different
i. dJ^£ ™ <** r in what « present-da v Iran, that at its height 2TJ^£l<%, * i ™ ** spread from the Indus River in As.a to me ^ i d b J ^ T " ™ ?? ™ P n ^ ™ - y cultures and peoples, h was comrohed by the Achaememd dynasty until i t was defeated by Alexander the Great in 331 BC. f
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304
2. SeeMountstuart Elphmstone, A ^ < c ^ Per™. Tartar,, (London, 1815), 1*8 ff. He says an would be diswrbed by the institutional instabAty and evident £«J onecrossu* over to t L e f r o m India « 0 - ^ * « - ^ ^ ^ energetic character, their similarity to Europeans, in contrast to me sturruyu* meat on the Indian character. 305
^
^^^Zl ^ ^
236
THE
LECTURES
OF 1 8 2 2 - 3
THE
above the valleys of the Indus and the Ganges. Farther on beyond the sources 236
o f t h e l n d u s | is a higher mountain range, generally called the H i n d u Kush, and eastward f r o m it is a yet loftier region in w h i c h the Chinese a n d the Mongols dwell. Crossing over to the west f r o m the H i n d u Kush t o the Caspian Sea is a mountain chain f r o m w h i c h the Oxus River, n o w called the A m u Darya, flows in a northerly direction; i t formerly emptied i n t o the Caspian Sea but n o w i t empties i n t o the A r a l Sea. T o w a r d the sources of the Oxus {Amu Darya] the valley narrows, and another m o u n t a i n range takes up, extending t o the north. The A m u Darya originates i n the junction (Wmkel)
of these t w o mountain ranges, where there is a valley alongside
the river. This junction is an important point where lies the city of Balkh (formerly Bactria), the seat of an earlier culture. F r o m here it is n o t far to Hindustan, i n fact t o K a b u l . To the south-east lies the H i n d u K u s h ; crossing over these mountains, one comes to K a b u l . A l o n g this mountain chain where Bactna lies to the east, Khorasan is t o the west, then farther westward A r i a ,
3
M e d i a , Iraq, and Azerbaijan, where the A r m e n i a n mountains then take
O R I E N T A L W O R L D : PERSIA
The Z e n d People, Language, and Books The Zend people has its name f r o m the Zend language i n which are written the books that a Frenchman, Anquetil du Perron, discovered in the 1750s and translated i n t o L a t i n . These books contain the teachings of the religion 6
of light, w h i c h doubtless had been the religion of the ancient Persians, although n o t i n the specific f o r m of the Zend-Avesta. The name of the teacher is Zoroaster, as the ancients called h i m . This Zend people is doubtless connected w i t h the ancient Persians, although it is certainly uncontestable that the ancient Persians w h o came to the fore under Cyrus were not made up exclusively of these Zend people. Anquetil discovered these books a m o n g the Parsis o f his day, w h o still dwell i n the East Indies as fire worshipers. O n e particular community is located south of the Caspian Sea. They are a self-contained community. These Zend books are not without gaps, although the most important part of them is known. They were a new discovery [to Westerners]. The scriptures are something self-contained,
shape. To the south-west begins the valley of the T i g r i s and Euphrates rivers, proceeding from the north-west in a south-easterly direction. A n o t h e r chain of mountains extends to the Persian G u l f and alongside the g u l f . A l o n g this chain the ancient Farsi land of Persia principally lies. This l a n d extends 4
tardier, to the Indian Ocean and along the Indus, and terminates at the Suleiman Mountains. This elevated plain is I r a n as such i n its nonspecific designation and constitutes the focal p o i n t for o u r examination. T o the n o r t h is Bactna, t o the south is India, and Babylon or Assyria lies to the west, w i t h Syria and Armema farther west, and farthest is Asia M i n o r . Persia plays its role o n this stage. The components of this empire are then the Z e n d people i n Bactria a n d , on the other side, the Assyrian and Babylonian peoples, w i t h the t h i r d
2*
237
M e d i 3 r T I T M "a ' f Persia t o the Mediterranean Sea. I
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Empire bv Cyrus', and 'Features of the Persian Empire' correspond to the third; the last three, 'Phoenicia', 'The Religion of Astarte and Adonis', and "The Jewish Religion' correspond to the fourth. 6. Anquetil du Perron's tr., Zend-Avesta, 3 vols. (Paris, 1771) has been repubL in facsimile, with an Introduction by Robert D . Richardson, Jr., 3 vols. (New York and London, 1*84); rt was rendered into German, tr. and ed. by J. F. Kleuket, 5 vols. (Riga, 1776-83), an edn. referred^ hereafter simply as 'Kleuker'- In 1754 Anquetil du Perron went to Gujarat in India, t o j ^ r n m e language of the Parsis, who still practiced the ancient Persian rehgion there. Long before that they had left Iran to escape Muslim persecution. (Below in our t e n Hegel m o n e w s l y ^ t f t M t they had their center i n 'the East Indies', and that Anquetil du Perron ^ v e r e d * « r boots there.) In Hegel's day the Parsis were a prosperous commercial community ™ ™*™7* £ the region o f Mumbai. The correct name for these ancient scriptures is amply ™ s t * . o r 'iniunction' (of Zoroaster). What survived the Islamic persecution was actompamed by « « mentary [Zand), hence the hyphenated name 'Zend-Avesta' by which this * known i n the West. Hegel refers to the people horn perhaps their forerunners too, as the 'Zend people', although these people « f ™ * ^ ™ not go by that name. Where possible, in what follows, references to the & ™ use.f will be g.ven in Kleuker, in Anquetil du P ^ J » ~ * - S Darmesteter in the Sacred Books of the East, 3 vols. (Oxford, 1883, f**''*™ ^ edn.). hereafter abbreviated as SBE. Modern scalar, refer to this ^ f ^ T ^ ™ ^ 'Avesta'; to avoid confusion, however, we will continue to speak of the Zend A v e * * , as 1
*e
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the Chaldeans', 'The Founding of the Persian
306
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The Kleuker e d , ,p. iii) states that, owing to followers had to separate into two groups, one at that ttme stül * W ° ™ 7 £ ^ ^ along the Caspian Sea, the other driven to Surat i n Gu-arat. < ^ * ^ 3 followers of Iranian Plateau, well south of the Caspian Sea.). It says ' ^ T ^ t h T z e n d - A v r » . Zoroaster carry on the worship of Ormaid and still possess the Holy r x x * * , OT
307
THE
LECTURES
THE
OF 1 8 2 2 - 3
connected t o the religion of the ancient Persians b u t nevertheless a characteristic whole.
memories w i t h ancient heroes. Alexander the Great did not make his way to
To begin w i t h , people still disagree about the seat of the Z e n d people,
south. The Parapanisus Mountains lie t o the east of Bactria, a higher point of
w h i c h seems, according to all investigations, t o be Bactria, w i t h its main
India via B a l k h , but instead went around the Parapanisus Mountains t o the the H i n d u K u s h .
1 3
8
This region of Bactria is then doubtless the stage for the Zend people and
Bactria is not so far distant f r o m K a b u l . I n W i l f o r d ' s account the route there
the place where Zoroaster lived. Anquenl, and following him the Germans too,
involves about an eight-day journey. Notable among the way-stations is
took Armenia to be his native land, but Bactria as the site of his activity.
Zohaksburg (Firdawsi), which plays a great role i n ancient legends;
a
In Bactria, Zoroaster lived under a king Gustasp, who has been held to be
about
Darius Hystaspes. But the fact that Zoroaster's time was more ancient makes
this city w i t h
it prior to the entire state of affairs portrayed i n the Zend-Avesta. The chrono-
city Bactria on the A m u Darya River. Bactria itself lies adjacent t o B a l k h . 9
second is Balkh-Bamiyan (Balkh is the name o f a city as such), w h i c h W i l f o r d remarks that the Persians often confused
10
16
Balkh [the p r o v i n c e ] . ' Near t o Balkh-Bamiyan there still exist remarkable
logical combinations by w h i c h one transposes Darius into Gustasp rest upon
ruins of another city, Galgaleh.
dates the later Persian historians select. But these dates are extremely dubious.
1
Here are f o u n d innumerable hollowed-out
12
Also evident are the ruins o f walls
The Zend books call one people 'Turan', the Turanians, but the names Per-
and t w o gargantuan statues severely damaged | by the M u s l i m s , as well as
sian', 'Mede*,
when Akbar fired cannon at them, whereupon b l o o d is said t o have flowed
reference t o Cyrus, but instead Dschemschid is named as the first mythological
from the leg of one of t h e m .
king.
places in the rock, some 12,000 of t h e m .
238
O R I E N T A L W O R L D : PERSIA
Thi
M
1 3
point suffices t o show that many
s
fortifications must have existed here and that the tale associates many
1 7
H e is taken to be Achaemenes,
18
horn w h o m Cyrus is said t o have
descended. Extremely important is the fact that f nothing is to be found in the Zend books about such famous peoples and princes of the Person Empire. The other i m p o r t a n t p o i n t is the entire condition that the Zend books lay
8. Balkh is both a province in northernmost Afehanistan and a town there, close to ^ t e m p o r a r y Mazir-e Sharif. The province of Balkh is bordered on the north by the Amu Lfcrya River In ancient times Balkh was known as Bactra; i t is in the larger region then known as T% ^ J » route, between East Asia and the West passed through Balkh. M
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i 0 U m e y
TJ^ZT" J^TT^ " ^^^VZ^" * f
b < l m
of Balkh and to the north-west of Kabul lay wrciun the large ancient regon known to d v ^ " ' m our text. This passage also refers ^ f o r t of Zofaauk', « a r Zohauk (the -Zohaksburg' of the next sentence i n our text) and c o n s i d
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******** * ™ their opposipon to idolatry, <** >"E±uleb, two miles south of Bamiyan, M
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Scbah Nameh des Fndus,, I vols.
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four classes, as w i t h the H i n d u s . Also to be found are agriculture, village 1 9
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before o u r eyes, that of a people already possessing a great culture. There are
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IS. Actually the Parapanrsus Mountams he maudy to the of Balkh, and then exrend northward toward the Hindu Kush; so there » perhaps otdy an apparent tension between these last two sentence*. „ ™ d Persian T r h e Kkuker edn. says (pt- 1 . P- 57) that «* ^ ^ " ^ ^ dynasty'. The 'Life o f Zoroaster' in Anquetil du Perron's 3 a w a y by this multitude of wonders, embraced the Law of expbuned the Zend-Avesta to him the whole day ^ ^ ^ d e r a i t e n V ^ ^ take this Gustasp to be Cyaxares L of Media {625-585 BC), wnereas a n o ™
« DariusHystaspes(5SO-M6 BC), namely,Danus 1' ^ ^ ^ f i l m o r m d i i n . l i n e o f 17. According to the Kleuker edn. (pt. 1 , . 38in.), ^ " „ ^ ^ 7 ^ ^ Qnnazd (Ahura descent from Noah, and Zoroaster was in turn bs riT^roast« Mazda,, lived 716 years, ruled fot 616 years, . . ^ ^ , or subsequently upheld. Cf. Anqueti! u r text calls this detry The Lord Wisdom') is the preferred name for J t T t b an 'a' COnnaTd'), which Ormuzd'; so we are using that name in the tr., although spelt witn w P
T J ^ J T S G
is customary i n English. the «andfather of Cambyses,andbeoce 18. According to Herodotus ,7.11), A c h a e m e n e s • ™ £ " ~ ^ his name. See 7*e the founder of the Persian Achaememd Dynasty of pea' History, n . David Grene (Chicago, 1987), 473. established long before 1?. The Kleuker edn. (pt. 1 , p. 58) says four scoal f ^ ^ ^ e shouW « * r d « e Zoroaster's day, and that he accepted.hem.lt * surprumg mat U « e h j c h
w
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T H E L E C T U R E S OF
T H E O R I E N T A L W O R L D : PERSIA
1822-3
chiefs, roads, administrative districts, cities, provinces, and other similar features that indicate an internal organization a n d an advance i n the ame nities of l i f e . But there are none of the characteristics of an empire that could possibly have been like the Persian Empire we k n o w via the Greeks. It is the same w i t h the religious laws and civic conditions, w h i c h a l l point to the circumstances of a much simpler people rhan that of the Persians. 20
The name i n the Zend books for this Zend people is ' A r i e r ' , and the land is likewise called ' A h a ' or 'Ariene', w i t h the soubriquet 'Vedjo' (the proper, pure Ariene). The pnncipal seat of this land is Bactria. Ariene is called more specifically 'the great A r i e n ' ; this 'Iran* is then Persia. Iran extends farther over the highland, and Medes and Armenians are included w i t h i n it. The Zend language, i n w h i c h the ancient books are i n p a r t composed, is similar t o Indian Sanskrit, so that both seem t o have one root. The land is not linked down t o the Indus on its southern part, but instead to the n o r t h from Kabul onward into the center of Iran where, farther on, lies Khorasan. From the Zend books we learn that the people had simple customs, although we find chieftains and class distinctions. The main t h i n g that w e must consider first I is the doctrine of the Zend, the doctrine o f the M a g i , w h i c h is extant even today, although i n a more elaborate f o r m . 21
2«
The Religion of Light This religion of the Magi involves the higher, spiritual element of the Per sians as such. In the Persian religion we see worship of nature I Naturdienst) but not idolatry, something entirely different f r o m Indian baseness; instead, a supenor atmosphere (Atem) wafts our way. Individual natural things such as sun and moon do not constitute the foundation of the configurations that are revered. Although the Indians comprise the universal operations [of nature] i n a figure grasped by means of thought, the sense of such config u r a t o r is itself r u m something sensible, a merely natural operation, w e saw Brahman as indeterminate unity, not actual concreteness of spirit. m
/ . " T * ? * " ° " h i p w i t h the Persians t o o , b u t onlv the worship of light, this universal, simple, physical essence that ,s pure like t h o u g h t l
s
n a [ u r e
w
hought longs for, or discovers, so to speak, its o w n self inasmuch as it has
the light before i t . O f course the Persians have not represented light t o themselves i n the way that N e w t o n envisaged i t . They prayed reverently t o the light and not i n sensible intuition alone; instead, in this intuition the soul goes w i t h i n itself and thus also makes the object seen within itself; this being-within-itself of the pure object, of the light, is then immediately thought, or the spiritual as such. Free thought is not yet the free foundation; instead, something sensible is intuited. It is, however, something sensible as w h o l l y universal, thus in the f o r m of thought; insofar as this sensible element is k n o w n as something inward, the meaning is a thought, a cognition, a k n o w i n g , something good. This is the higher standpoint of the Persians as such. So their soul has raised itself up t o this higher purity, t o something sensible i n the universal f o r m of thought. | W i t h any religion one must look first at its configuration, then at its meaning. W i t h every religion intuition is something anthropomorphic, but w h a t matters is the meaning. W i t h the Indians the meaning is that their shapes themselves have i n turn sensuous meaning, whereas w i t h the Persians the sensuous element is i n the f o r m of thought. Directly tied to this, then, is the antithesis i n the Persian religion, this great dualism. Considered philosophically, dualism is a determination that is not t o be regarded as w h a t is ultimate or fixed if its content is said to contain t r u t h ; the principle of t r u t h is instead the unity of the antithesis. I n the Persian religion we find the absolute antithesis of good and evil, of light and darkness, of O r m a z d and A h r i m a n [Angra M a i n y u ] , such that the t w o subsist indepen dently of one another, contrary t o the pr.nc.ple of all truth of philosophy, w h i c h is absolute unity; for only the natural sphere involves this e q ^ p o ' l ™ ' m u t u a l opposition. W i t h the Indians there is absolute pantheism. W i t h the Persians the endless variety of sensuous things was reduced t o th.s dualism, and we have t o sav that it is precisely the greatness of the Persian mtuition since, in its metaphorical significance, it is the dualism of good and evil, and so f o r t h . This shows that the requirement of thought appears as emergent here n o w w i t h the Persians, since the multifaceted confusion of the hidians.s diminished and resolved in the simpler determ.nanon of the this Oriental dualism itself demonstrates the grandeur or the self-s.mpl.fymg thought of the Zend religion. « ^ r K « k n f We have t o distinguish t w o kinds of antitheses, the abstract annthes.s of light a n d darkness, and an antithesis that is concrete. I
stock and culture.
^
Eeriene ^ j c - ( K l e u k e r ^ Î ^ ^L"Tİ
m
e
s a m e
-
o r
P « U
o f
s i m i l a
^
^ *
C e n c r a l
™ *« d
A s l 3 n
™ » i P*. A p. 299); rf. Anquetd du Perron, ii. 264, and SBE iv. 3. 310
*
241
[1] W h e n we consider the Persians with respect t o the ^ can xonerate them from standing pat w i t h -t as the d u m a t instead we also find w i t h them ^ ^ This unity, the first element, is called Zeruane Akerene or u i * . 311
portion,
^
E
^
T H E O R I E N T A L W O R L D : PERSIA
THE LECTURES OF 1 822-3
O r m a z d , the prince of light and creator o f
The m o o n , the sun, and five other heavenly bodies [Sterne] were revered
the w o r l d , is depicted as created by this time. So where there is the need to exonerate the Zend books f r o m the reproach of dualism, one w o u l d reach
^ o . * A m o n g these five—and i t cannot be ascertained whether they are too planets and, if so, w h i c h o n e s - w e come upon M i t h r a , but only as one of
for this unity, But the unity is less i m p o r t a n t here; instead, the interesting
these beings o f light a n d not as M i t h r a is customarily designated i n later
point is the more concrete, later religion. T h a t is because uncreated time is
times.
itself only an abstract unity, something o f moderate but not absolute impor
later o n a n d came t o be revered during the era o f the Roman emperors i n
tance, and i t is not the object o f reverence like the light that is said to be the
the West, since the attribute of mediator was assigned to i t .
The worship
One, the light by which A h r i m a n , w h o is darkness a n d e v i l , is said t o be
of M i t h r a even came to Germany w i t h the Roman legions.
I n the Zend
eternally overcome.
books, however, he stands only as one being among the othets.
feminine creator of those t w o .
2 2
2
27
H e appears part masculine, part f e m i n i n e . This figure was exalted 28
The same is
So Ormazd is the light. The name derives f r o m ' O r ' , meaning ' L o r d ' , the
true of the antithesis of good and evil, which later on was made more
Supreme L o r d , and from 'mazda', as 'maz', 'magnus' o r 'great', as w e l l as
prominent t h a n is the case i n the Zend books. I n circumstances such as
' c W , 'Deus'. So Ormazd is called the great Supreme L o r d . H e is the l o r d o f
these one must observe more closely how a figure has one shape at one time,
the light, the creator of all things, namely, o f his creation—the creator o f the
a different shape at another time. More recently there have been many-
good. Ormazd is n o t , however, the sun and fire but instead is the fluidity o f
disputes about M i t h r a ; however, one must not suppose that what a later
fire, just as the sun is a container [Hülle)
era made of such a figure was its original character i n ancient nmes.
o f i t . Fire and the sun are a
corporeal aspect of Ormazd. Wherever there is light, O r m a z d is present.
The other beings revered apart f r o m , or subordinate t o , Ormazd are the
As such, he is the excellence i n a l l the creation. A n d wherever evil o r
Amschaspands [Amesa Spentas]. These are not the five planets {Sterne) i n
darkness is f o u n d , Ahriman's presence is e v i d e n t .
addition t o the sun and moon; instead they are i n general the guardian
23
In the simple Zend books themselves we also find more p r o f o u n d meta
spirits | o f the w o r l d . Ormazd is the first, the sun the second. This mam-
physical characteristics of Ormazd. Zoroaster's teaching is presented mostly
foldness does n o t detract f r o m the unity of the substance, which remains
in quesnons put t o Ormazd. For instance, Zoroaster asks h i m , ' W h a t are y o u
Ormazd, the light. Yet there are other personifications, ,ust as there are, tor
called?', and he replies, 'Love, the basic seed o f all g o o d , the g i f t o f k n o w l
instance, seven Amschaspands that always appear, however, only as aides t o
edge, mastery a n d mastery bestowing, ground o f actuality a n d possibility,
O r m a z d , and f r o m w h i c h too the seven days of the week have then names.
fullness and blessedness, | the pure w i l l o f the g o o d ' .
So this is the chief representation.
2 4
So everything that
32
Opposed to the light stands d.rlcness
comes from Ormazd is living, and i n this connection a host o f objects were
the realm o f A h r i m a n , to which belongs all that is evil, lifeless, .mpure. This
revered as manifestation of O r m a z d . The w o r d , the l i v i n g w o r d , the w o r d of
is the one great antithesis. ^ [2.] There is yet a different antithesis to note, a more concrete one The Zend books m fact speak of the t w o pure worlds of Ormazd, one of wh,ch ,s
the teaching, is revered in this way, as also are the Vendidad a n d p r a y e r . A l l 2S
of these are more or less personified, although i n a l l o f these personifications the unity of Ormazd remains o f paramount importance
l a İ ^ d f T T
A J
l 7 e
n e
' ^
«*>• «i «H things, see Creuzet, Symbol*.
697. See also the
t Z n Z Z ^ l Z ^
the * - —
and so played a t n a . r t o , »
ancient observational astronomy and astrology.
o / i W d a X h T " " Î T " ' '"'T*™ 24 See the KJATA , . ver. nuThÎ ^ Z ^ T p ' ^
İ n t h C K , e u k t r
'
l
^
m
a
^
y
e d Q
- IP -1 - PP- ff-)» i these features 1
4
^ « « " e n t s about these two. °*™***Pti« "ties ai Ormazd. For a
m resy looT t e x ;co^l^ t m i r, 0 f t b ? e ^ ^ SymboUk. 710. The Vendidad is a ^ « ^ « 6 < > i rnytholorpcal matena), laws of puntkatiou, and vanous other topics. t
r
a
c
312
splendid and is invoked
27. See Kkuker's account (pt. 1 , p. « h wluch says M-thta is most spi together with the sun, but is not the sun. c u l i n e aspect, pust as Osiris 28. Creuzer, Symbolik, p. 734, says the Pers.an Mithra has a mascuune pect, correlates with Isis. 29. Ibid. 729 and 760. 30. Ibid. 765. , , „ ^ „| the second ordctThw term and ma(
identification also appears in the text cted in,n 32. Kleuker's edn. sets forth these realms ot suDorum*^
m
313
Q
m
a
x
d
( p L
pp. 15-16).
T H E O R I E N T A L W O R L D : PERSIA
T H E LECTURES OF 1 8 2 2 - 3
the earthly world as such, the immediately sensible w o r l d , the sensibly living existence of the human being. Established as distinct f r o m this living actuality is a kind of spirit w o r l d . To what is individual, t o trees, streams, m o u n tains, and human beings, there is given a k i n d o f spirit w o r l d , a w o r l d o f fravasis (Feruers), which are omnipresent and are at home i n the realm of the blessed. Everywhere that there is activity and life the fravasis are present. They are said to be primordial, and e v e r y w h e r e . This representation is similar to how we in fact represent the Ideas of Plato t o ourselves as souls set apart from the actual w o r l d . So it is a realm of representation, a tealm o f spint also on its own account and juxtaposed t o the actual w o r l d of the good. These are the main representations of the Z e n d religion. 33
245
N o w we have t o speak about the cultus of the Z e n d people, about h o w they are supposed to conduct themselves i n a legal, ethical, religious manner. One serves Ormazd and reveres the light by planting trees and by | agriculture. The rules as a whole make the point that every citizen o f the Z e n d people is a citizen of the realm of Ormazd, w i t h the result t h a t one is enjoined to propagate goodness and vitality and is supposed to shield oneself trom impunty, a commonplace practice i n Oriental r e l i g i o n . A dead d o g causes impurity. There are many rules for removing i t . 34
[l.J The first precepts for the servants of O r m a z d are t o keep themselves pure by holiness of thought, by holiness in w o r d and deed, by offering prayers to Urmazd, and also by worshipful actions and obeying the l a w s . These are in p a n civil regulanons, which also include moral precepts. They were understood t o contain the living spirit, the revelation of G o d . 3 5
1 he Zend people have three kinds of l a w s . The first pertains t o personal security and penal codes, for mstance, laws against doing h a r m . Whoever draws the blood o f another or moves t o strike h i m undergoes punishment, primarily lashes. There is no capital punishment. Punishment for many things occurs ,n the hereafter. It is remarkable that there is no mention at all i 6
57
the crimes ot murder and homicide, although the series of books
containing the laws seems t o be complete. Later on, t o be sure, i n more developed conditions, punishments were enacted, although there is no punishment for murder of one's parents, because these crimes are too hornble to have possibly been committed. | The second k i n d o f law is more concerned w i t h religious precepts, as well as those dealing w i t h purification. The first of these is that punishments befall anyone w h o speaks contemptuously o f a holy man and deliberately lives contrary t o the laws of O r m a z d . The t h i r d kind contains the M i t h r a offenses, above all the moral laws. M i t h r a appears as the one w h o presides over the inner or higher aspect >n the human being. This aspect is far more highly esteemed, and the punishment for a moral transgression is much harsher. The precepts ot rectitude are round here. Thus i n particular, f o r breaking one's w o r d the punishment is three hundred lashes. Whoever steals money lurthermore recedes_ m the other w o r l d three hundred years of punishment i n hell. These then are the M i t h r a laws. The civil laws thus indicate extreme simplicity ot the culture, and many of them are for the most part moral commandments, tor instance, t o n o t neglect one's o w n sphere of w o r k . , [2.] The second k i n d of precept concerns the sacrificial offermgs. These do not have the meaning they have for other peoples, where each one relinquishes something of his o w n property, declaring himself or his P™^ ™ be nonessential as opposed t o the deity, and so gives either a pomofl.ofthat property or his o w n self, unconditionally (ganz rmtzlos, ungebraucht) to the deity: For the H i n d u s this sacrifice extends to the surrendering of one life the deity, so that vn this absolute negativity a H i n d u ,s ,ust some w o r t h . The Zend people themselves make orfenngs; are enjoined and occur. The beast is not burnt nor is some of i t useless; instead | the offering consists solely i n the prayer while slaughtering the ammal. So what takes place .only^a^dedica L of the beast, a n d indeed only when ,t is supposed to be s l a u g t o d o n festival occasion. Explicit prayers are enjoined for daily consecranons, but 40
t h o u g h , ^ L
»"] i "
f
^
^
^
^
^
34 The GnKh*,™ „
Whm
u r
"
^
, o r
rS
Z
y i thC
t
b
£
I ^ r
^
plural ,erm » French as
^ ° " r ^
P
non German term Fetuer in our text.
w o u l d i T i S ? , S S " " ' ° i-S. See Kleuker |pr. 1, p 17)
d m cop*s of bring, mad, by the
d J y
''
>
mPUnt
(ir^SS !j* "'t^ 314
15
» •*
«
— n e e of winch
3, S e e K l ^ p t . t ^ p ^ mvolves both iniemal and eternal fac.ors. T ^ . ^ ^ S , L n b e d pramces lor persons or animals, or contact with a dead t f ^ g v^tho , foUo ^ ^ ^ such circumstances. See SBE ,v. 67-122, for wgf te of punficanon alter arumals or people; cf. Anquetil du Perron 11. 297 3 M . punishments for p r
U
o t h e r
39. See Kleuker < t. 2, pp. l i m ^ ^ * ^ . teahoi37 above. Sfcthra offenses (hut in this world, without menuon ot J™*™*"* « « s e m i e d and then 40. Kleuker (pt. 3, 206) says that the main ^ ^ ^ . eaten, as well as a variety of fruits, grains, dany products, and the I * 0
P
-
pohnca.-reh.ous.
246
o
315
f
f
l i k e
247
T H E O R I E N T A L W O R L D : PERSIA
T H E L E C T U R E S OF 1 8 2 2 - 3
these are not regarded as offerings. There are n o negative acts directed against oneself t o prove one's respect f o r O r m a z d . [3.] The religious action proper is that o f the consecrated bread and chalice in remembrance and honor o f H o r n [ H a o m a ] , the actual founder
highly obscure and contrad.ctory and multifaceted; the result is that the names of the kings and the lists of kingdoms pose many difficulnes, and here in particular a critical stance is necessary. We are not, however, granted a
of their religion, as Zoroastet is the reviver o f i t . There is a particular festival
glimpse i n t o the inner character of these peoples; we have t o be satisfied w i t h
t o honor Horn that consists o f the consecration and p a r t a k i n g o f unleavened bread, as well as the presentation and p a r t a k i n g o f a chalice containing a
the m a i n elements. . . , First is Assyria, a term of highly uncertain application- Assyria is proba-
beverage from Horn juice. So H o r n is the revealer and is also a plant the juice
bly a m a i n district along the middle part of the Tigris Rivet, pruicpally to the
o f which is then consumed.'" So this is something m i r r o r i n g o u r Christian
east of it. M e d i a lies farther east, Armenia is t o the north, and to the south is
sacrament o f the Lord's Supper. The C h u r c h Fathers even f o u n d this obser-
Mesopotamia, w h i c h was at one time part of Assyria, at another nme part ot
vance in the M i t h r a worship o f Roman times, even into the Christian era
Babylonia. Assyria is one section o f what today is Kurdistan By the Greeks,
too, and they say that through it the evil demons sought t o ride on the
Assyria is called Babylonia and Mesopotamia. I n Assyria the ancient cities
coattails of what is good, as a mockery o f the Christian religion. Zoroaster
were called Assur and Ninevah, the great city of Minus.
has Horn say: 'Whoever consumes me i n thankful prayer is sacrificing to me,
fertile soil, a n d yet the culture here does not seem to have reached the high
and receives f r o m me the good things o f the w o r l d . '
4 2
This ceremony in
remembrance o f H o m was also celebrated in the slaughter o f a beast as a
level o f that i n Babylonia. I t cannot be
tenoned
The setong is ui
precisely where Ninevah
was located, although its site is i n the area o f present-day M o s u l . | The southern part is Babylonia. Babylon, or Babel, is a name ,ust as
sacrificial offering.
243
splendor have their setting i n the most ancient history, which in any event is
This is the ancient religion of the Z e n d people, a f o u n d a t i o n that made its way over to the Persians and the Medes. I t is the purest nature religion i n that light is the object o f reverence, and the entire relationship o f the cultus is upheld ,11st as purely as the object itself. I t is nature religion as pure as there can be. | So this is the spiritual element o f the Persian Empire, one that has its seat wholly in the empire's eastern part.
famous as N i n e v a h . Babylon lies on the Euphrates River, as Nmevah does o n t h e Tigris. I t i s t h e c i t y of Bel, o f the ^ K o c ^ B a
y l o . a ^ N ^
w e see a t w o f o l d need: first, to abandon nomadic lue and the raising of livestock, and to transition to agriculture, trades, and commerce, to adopt a law-based, civic life; second, t o become secure agautst peoples w n o r e mained nomadic. The ancient tales speak of this valley I a n a s ha^ngjbeen traversed in early times by nomads w h o were subsequently displaced b y o t y life. A b r a h a m came f r o m the region o f the Euphrates t o ^ n a a n j n m o u n
Assyria and Babylonia The other, more sumptuous element, rich and sensuous, one o f o u t w a r d abundance, we have to seek on the western side, i n Babylon a n d Assyria m the nver region o f the Euphrates and the Tigris. Here we have not much
tainous Palestine.
45
The soil o f the Euphrates region was
^
extremely fertile, as valley soil, and Babylon
e
^
.
^
^
X
situated for commerce along the Euphrates and Tigns, wh«:b were I n k e d by
more than historically factual accounts. Little is provided f o r us about the spintual character o f this side o f the region. Tales o f these peoples i n their
^PowtTof'bJ^n^' Srap^
ITTIZ
2 0 6
-
e ^ S a T c Z S Tins hanian ^venly pr««vr* T w T
7 i
n
1
s a
^T
'" i
t h a t
l
t
t
a
t
"
H°™ «=> wcted tree t o which the Persians attnbute ^ P < « « . bears no fault, and is similar .o a
* **
' °
the juice of which, when ^ "° * ^ ° « t r h by Ahura Mazda, or Ormazd; , t has a S
m a
''
3
k
°
3
P
l a n t
S a i d
^
^
0
0
t o
r
43. Ninus was a king of Assyna and the ^ who, after his death, supposedly built the city of EUbylon. V***"^' mehUncalAssynankingShair^
7 ^ ° * ? " ^«Y niaon
42. F o , r h * ^ n ^ Z - t t S r * 316
* ^
was widespread m the ancient Near » *
^
*
^
k
^
L a S ^ Latin
name for Nmevah. d ~ god of the city of Babylon. Bel was abo 44. 'Bel' derives from a Greek name for Marduk, tne goo o T ^ ^ FC M associated w i t h the sun. Another sun god, Shamash, w a s £ p n r c ^ , wbo was ofHanunurabH^OOBcl-Peri^^^ associated with feraliry^yck mythology, as was the Greek ngure goddess Demeter, , , . L « fjmjlv west TO Haran, from 45. See Gen. 11: 31-12: 9. Abraham's father ^ ^ J ^ d e p a r t and too* h * which point Abraham, then called Abram, later la. God s comma*. ^ family t o Canaan. I s h t a r
L I W A
Eaa; see Gen. 2= 9 22-4 ™
N
317
249
T H E O R I E N T A L W O R L D : PERSIA
T H E L E C T U R E S OF 182 2 - 3
250
canals for purposes of navigation as well as of agriculture. N a v i g a t i o n here
the passersby were able t o impart good advice t o h i m . ' So this too bespeaks
extended over the Persian Gulf.
a shared life, a general sociability.
4
What must strike us in particular as characteristic of these cities is their
We next have t o mention the historical elements of the terrain on w h i c h
vast size; just as famous are the huge edifices of temples and walls, w h i c h
we n o w find ourselves. The most famous name is Ninus, the builder of the
were phenomenal achievements and parts of w h i c h endured f r o m ancient
city of N i n e v a h and the savior of the Assyrian Empire, who is said t o have
times o r at least were still to be seen i n n i i n s . Famous in particular are the
lived 2,050 years before C h r i s t .
magnificent buildings of Semiramis. There is no strictly historical indication
aggerated as they are elsewhere, for instance i n China. The biblical tales of
as t o the time of this splendor. The name of Semiramis was universally
N i m r o d as savior of the Babylonian Empire fall approximately i n this same
celebrated, and many great things have been associated w i t h i t . Babylon
time p e r i o d .
51
i0
Here too | the legends are thus as ex-
The story is that N i m r o d subjugated Babylon, and then
had a further period of resplendence seven hundred years before Christ, and
Bactria and Media to the north-east. Ctesias, a physician who was at the
for that reason it is uncertain whether the buildings were n o t erected u n t i l
Persian court during the time of Cyrus the Younger, furnishes these re-
this later era.
ports.
52
H e speaks especially about a w a r of Ninus w i t h Bactria that was a
We know little about the spirit, customs, and character of the people. I t
hard struggle f o r both sides. H e gives special attention above all to the siege
has been suggested that the finest construction was the temple of Bel. People
of Bactria, w h i c h was conquered by means of the counsel of Semiramis,
revere the sun. Besides, the worship of M y l i t t a | or nature is u n i v e r s a l .
In
the w i f e o f a general. The locale indicated as 'Bactria' is not a good fit w i t h
the Near East generally there is reverence f o r universal nature. 'Physis' even
the B a l k h of today o n the A m u D a r y a River, but instead fits w i t h Balkb-
serves as the principal title for Greek or Ionic philosophy.
Bamian; Semiramis is said t o have assigned t o its conquest an infantry of one
46
Only Herodotus reports for us a f e w features o f the customs o f Babylon. One of them is that each w o m a n of Babylon had t o sit i n the temple and offer herself to a stranger, who i n return gave a monetary gift to the temple. We must not look upon this custom as something benefiting the strangers i n the w a y it does the temple, but instead we have here a nature w o r s h i p , the worship of Astarte, a religious f e a t u r e .
47
A second feature concerns the same
matter, tn that maidens were married annually via an auction in w h i c h the fairest drew the highest bids and the unattractive and oldest ones were outfitted w i t h that m o n e y .
48
m i l l i o n , 700,000 men, a cavalry of 100,000 men, and 10,000 armed chariots.
53
Later o n this Semiramis [allegedly] became the consort of Ninus, and
subsequently was herself the sovereign;
54
her story oscillates between myth-
ological a n d historical features. Derceto, a fish-woman, a mythological figure, is reputedly her m o t h e r .
55
Ascribed t o this Semiramis is u i part the
construction of Babylon, i n part its enlargement and selection as the main c r y , and construction of the temple of Bel. She caused to be msuUed three golden s t a t u e s - o f Jupiter, Juno, and M i n e r v a .
5 6
Ctesias himself claims t o
We see n o great respect for the w o m a n i n this
practice, because her feelings play n o p a r t i n the matter. I t is n o t , however; the general Onental practice that the maiden have a voice i n the choice of a husband; it is the practice only in Europe. For w h a t we see in it is a shared lite, ethical equality, concern for everyone. Herodotus goes on t o m e n t i o n , as a third point, that a sick family member was set i n the marketplace so that
H^L^H^l^u^ S
AT
Z
^
S 1
" °' ^ a s * * ™ * ! - r h childbirth. 'P" > her w t h Aphrodite. Her worsh-p * linked P ^ m t i o f , described just below in our tew B a b y , 0
f P
nrionunlirtSrl
G r e n e
1
48. T ^ ^ Z^T — See £ * ^ 1
9
9
t o
9 5
*
^ T™ ^ C ^
'
HtIodotas
M
o
"
K
cn
1
^ MS
^
*
*>ses her. ^ **
™ m
and says . t is women as their
49. See Herodotus, 1.197 (Grene, p. 123). i ft«n,r« Ivine behind 50. See n . 43 above. The Oxford Classical Dictionary puts the historicalfigureslymg behind the legends of Ninus and his queen Semiramis in the 9th cent. BC. Si S s S a Itl from Guides, Uved in the hue 5th and personal physician to Artaxerxes D. He authored * history * * ^ J ™ ^ the Persian Emp.re » 23 books, a mstoncally unrehabte source, as well as works on geogr pny and on India. „ , • _ r- IA rtiafmheT ILoeb Classical 53. See Diedorus Siculus, 2.4-S; ^ J^S*^ (taken Library; Cambridge, Mass., and London, 1933), 3 5 f r « . ™" ,hnx*nd six hundred from Ctesias! are actually 210,000 cavalry and 'sNibtly » - * • » « scythe>b«iring chariots' (Oldfather, p. 363). 54. Diodorus Siculus, 2.6 (Oldfather, pp. ^ S - ? " b j . e a goddess, 55. Diodorus Siculus, 2.4 (Oldfather, pp. 35S-9) D.^orus says the synan* Derceto, with the head of a woman and the body of a hsh. . . ^^rocad under 56. D.odorus Siculus g,ves an e x t e n d account of ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ . t the direction of Senuramis (2.7-9; Oldfather, pp. 370-83). ft ™ » 319
T H E L E C T U R E S OF
THE ORJENTA L WORLD:
1822-3
have seen a Jupiter still there. But they probably have these names only from the Greek accounts. That is because the Greeks i m p o r t their gods into all mythologies and, i n doing so, deprive their depictions of part o f their value. Also recounted are further expeditions by Semiramis t o Ethiopia, Egypt, and India. O n the latter she suffered losses, although the k i n g w h o defeared her was prevented f r o m pursuing her beyond the I n d u s . Her expeditions that we hear about are like similar expeditions we read of by Dionysos | t o India, as well as ones of Sesostris. But it is to be assumed t h r o u g h o u t that, if they d o have some historical basis, these expeditions were quite unimportant. Should there be some historical basis t o these narratives, it pertains t o an age that still has nothing definitive about i t , w i t h the result that no [historical] progress is made by such expeditions. It is equally probable, however, that these expeditions are only imaginary, are the unalloyed fictions of Oriental nations. For it is typical o f the Orientals, w h e n they become acquainted w i t h foreign lands, that they enlarge upon the tales of their heroes and of events, commensurate w i t h their w i d e r acquaintance w i t h new regions. We 6 n d these phenomena everywhere. 57
58
So Ninus and Semiramis are the principal figures at this t i m e . Ctesias and others provide lengthy and partly discrepant series of successive kings, whereby the empire is said t o have endured for 1,000 years, o r even 1,300 years. The main figure w h o emerges is Sardanapalus, whose d o w n f a l l took place i n 820 B O The previously subjugated provinces rebelled. Later on Sardanapalus as such became a symbol, t h a t of a w h o l l y sensual prince. I t was written about him that, after being besieged i n Ninevah for three years, he burned himself t o death on a pyre o f w o o d , together w i t h his w h o l e family and his treasures. ' One feature that signifies the eastern n o b i l i t y is i n fact the Onental inability t o acknowledge oneself as being subordinate. 5
« 2 £ t i 3 i i
"
=
^
—
S
•Jl'^Z ™TT ^ TS i* "i . ^^ f ***
^
°< ^
C T
It is reported that, after the downfall o f the Assyrian Empire, many independent states cropped u p , ones now sustaining a more historical character. M e d i a and Babylonia n o w come t o the fore. Receiving special mention from this later Babylonian Empire is a | queen Nitocris, to whom i n panicular are ascribed many works, including some said t o have been completed by Semiramis. I n fact, i n accord w i t h Jewish accounts, people often feel inclined t o assume that there was a newly independent Assyrian Empire. Combining the diverse accounts o f this and more ancient periods has been a perpetually attempted but fruitless endeavor; for the sources are i n such a state that there can be no fundamental reconciliation of them. 60
Sources for Persia and the Persian Empire The main sources we have are those of the Greeks. The foremost sources are Diodorus Siculus, Herodotus, and later, Ctesias, the latter of which w o u l d have been created f r o m the Greeks' o w n archives. There are discrepancies between Herodotus and Ctesias. A second kind of source consists of the sacred w r i t i n g s of the Jews; for the t w o [Hebrew] kingdoms stand i n relation to the Assyrian Empire and the Babylonian E m p i r e . A third source consists of Persian legends and accounts, and of course later writers, and these are the most i m p o r t a n t ones. Especially famous is the epic poem o f Firdawsi, the Shahnameh. The stories that he recites are compiled also by others i n almost the same f o r m . Firdawsi lived i n the eleventh century, at the court of M a h m u d , the Ghaznavid sultan; his poems have as their topic the ancient heroic sagas o f Iran. Gorres provided an excerpt and endeavored t o harmonize it w i t h the accounts by the Greeks. I t is nevertheless just a bit of flashy pyrotechnics that, upon closer examination, dissolves into smoke. 61
62
W i t h these heroic sagas w e must take into account a circumstance like that of the other sources. The Greek accounts pertain t o their closer neighbor M e d i a ; the Jewish accounts pertain to Babylon. Firdawsi's sagas are said
H « , and Rhea (2.9.4-5;
finally
to Media, Egypt, and Ethiopia, and her 2 ° * ' ^ ^ " r s buik pontoon bndge ^ - ^ » o flee tact to the o L stfe. T h T L l i a n king. a no mem « , mean that he should not pursue her forces across the rivet. , d i a
S ^ i , ^ 5 8 T ^ £ ~ ,
*
a
3
an enormous pyre in the palace, burning up his concubines, eunuchs, and treasures, as well as himself and his entire palace (2.23-7; Oldiaiher, pp. 424-41). 60. Herodotus says that Nitocns realigned .he Euphrates K i t * dug canals, and rated a
^^^T^J^Z„
lake, thus establishing for the city defenses against the Medes (1 Q 61. Accordrng to
62. On the S™.
palace, be Inred the l,fe
of
awomar
,
^ 320
PERSIA
^^
^^ ^
1 . , see n. 10 above,
to
^
^
^
^
Z
Afghanistan that at its height extended from the T.gns to the Ganges. Sultan rvuuu™ 997-1030. 321
Z
253
254
T H E L E C T U R E S OF 1 8 2 2 - 3
T H E O R I E N T A L W O R L D : PERSIA
t o concern the history o f Persia as such, | but his field of action seems t o involve a different sphere than those of the other accounts. O n e must take into consideration that he was after a l l a M u s l i m and by no means simply a Persian. He speaks only i n faint echoes about the ancient religion of the heroes. The soul o f the people no longer lives i n h i m . The m a i n contrast for him is that of I r a n , the high plateau, w i t h Turan, the land t o the n o r t h of the A m u Darya and extending to the Caspian Sea. This area is his chief concern. It may be that either the events and deeds that he narrates actually t o o k place there, or else that the region was the only one familiar t o h i m , in which case this area alone was i n his purview. H e came east from M e d i a , f r o m the mountain range that descends to the valley of the A m u Darya, f r o m Khorasan. The Ghaznavids were rulers of Khorasan, o f the land of Kor, a people w h o waged war w i t h the Turanians. Their sultan conducted campaigns t o that region. For Firdawsi's imagination, and for the dynasty under w h i c h he lived, this area is of the greatest importance, and that is w h y he could have given i t as the locale of his narratives. Johannes von Müller t o o labored w i t h these sagas and sought to impose a rigorous chronology on t h e m , although fruitlessly and unsuccessfully, which also is explicable f r o m the foregoing circumstances.
mountain heights that descend t o w a r d the Caspian Sea and toward the Tigris. In ancient times we see them in sttife and at war w i t h the Armenians, Syrians, a n d Hadrians, the people of Sardis, and the inhabitants of the plains t o the n o r t h of the A m u Darya w h o are otherwise known as Turanians. The Medes include the M a g i . Their chief city is indicated as being Ecbatana, i n the region of w h a t is today Hamadan. They are mentioned in part w i t h respect t o Arbaces, w h o led the revolt against Sardanapalus, i n part by Herodotus i n relation t o Deioces, w h o was the first t o get the Medes t o build cities, t o create laws, and to choose kings just as he too had been c h o s e n . The main thing that we see in the case of the Medes is that, for them as a m o u n t a i n people, the era of their cultivation comes later than i n the case of the Bactrians and the Babylonians. These Medes, a mountain people, are an important people.
63
The manner in w h k h Firdawsi and the Orientals treat history, however, can be seen i n the histories that we k n o w f r o m elsewhere. In I n d i a no trace of Alexander the Great is t o be found. A n d yet, f o r instance, Alexander is renowned far and wide i n the Near East as 'Skander'. We see, then, h o w 2 5 5
P " ° « s l y history | itself is dealt w i t h . Thus Firdawsi tells h o w one of the pnnces of Iran waged w a r w i t h Philip of R u m , overcoming h i m and f o r c i n g him to pay tribute. This Iranian prince then married a daughter of Philip, but sent her away because she had bad breath. She subsequently bore Skander by him as father. So Alexander was said t o be the ancestor of a Persian p r i n c e . The depiction of the deeds of Skander is similarly quixotic.
c a
c l
64
6
66
W h a t emerges o n the other side [of the region] is the Chaldean-Babylonian Empire, the empire of the Chaldeans i n union w i t h the Babylonians. | The Chaldeans appear t o be a mountain people insofar as they remain t o some extent i n their mountains, and appear partly as the dominant people m Babylonia. I n the Cyropaedia, Tigranes describes them to Cyrus as a mountain people, whereupon he enters into relations w i t h them and makes them a l l i e s . I n this Chaldean Babylonia we become acquainted, principally via the Jews, w i t h a highly developed situation. Daniel himself was a governor i n Babylon, and the regulations that he instituted are evidence of an extensive commercial o r g a n i z a t i o n . We even find multiple classes of the M a g i , some as interpreters of scriptures or hieroglyphs, others as astrologers and prophesiers, just as the Chaldeans i n turn f o r m a particular class of prophesiers. This empire had gained renown at this time because of its commerce, its l a w enforcement, and its observations of the stars. W i t h o u t a doubt they have no greater astronomical information w i t h all this than one can obtain f r o m l o n g and careful observation. The calendar of Nabonassai; the first 67
68
The Medes and the Chaldeans The people who come to our attention n o w are the Medes. Their l a n d is partly to the south of the Caspian Sea, pardy southwesterly f r o m i t , on the
nSi.'SSSf.iSsf * * übec
above ^ J ^ l
* 'T*
N^cLc^Jir
1
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,trechnung
™ P-
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3
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- •* a-**
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G o ^ edn. of the Shahxanteb, o „ wh,ch see n . 10 f e g i O B
E-Pire L
0 i
Persian prinaTMd V ^ . / J T ^ **** * ™ « , « w vet our text says 'ancestor' (Afrwl. 322
t o
extended over
Alexander the descendant of a
65. Sardes, or Sardis, was the capitol of Lydia, in western Asian Mmot, Turan was the name for a vast region in north central Asia. , 66. Herodotus has a fuller version of the accomplishment,
C
6m
A»
Medes (1.96-101; Grene, pp. 79-81). See Diodoms Siculus, 2.23-7 (Oldfathcn pp. 424—411 tor the full account of Arbaces'revolt.
. .
67. Xenophon's Cyropaedu, is a fictional but Instorically based^work rn 8 life and accomplishments of the Persian king, Cyrus the Great, who ruled
u ^ j . , ,hnutthe b ^ ^ j h e
by Walter M i l L (Cambridge, Mass., and London, 1914), as v o l , S and 6 of Classical Library vols, of Xenophon's worts. 68. See the biblical book of Daniel 2:48-9. 323
i~o
T H E O R I E N T A L W O R L D : PERSIA
THE LECTURES OF 1822-3
king, is r e n o w n e d . But the supposition is that i t was certainly not in use by 69
The second conquest by Cyrus was the victory over Croesus. Herodotus
the people, and only later was i t placed at the disposal o f the historiographer.
says Croesus was defeated because Astyages, whose kingdom extended t o
I n any event this is a principal empire of the Near Eastern culture.
the Halys River, had married a sister of Croesus and for that reason Croesus hastened t o h i m for assistance. Previously Croesus had waged w a r against the Medes a n d , after a five-year snuggle, had concluded a truce the condi-
The Founding of the Persian Empire by Cyrus N o w , having examined the elements o f the Persian Empire, w e must consider h o w Cyrus consolidated i t . The founding o f the Persian Empire t o o k place through Cyrus, a Persian f r o m the house o f the Achaemenids o f Persia and one related to the M e d i a n royal l i n e .
7 0
We do n o t k n o w the eastern b o u n d -
aries o f this empire. There is even a k i n g of Susa w h o regards himself as allied w i t h the Babylonians.
71
The first thing Cyrus d i d was t o become ruler o f the M e d i a n Empire. According t o Herodotus, the king o f M e d i a w h o m he subdued was his o w n 257
grandfather.
f Like the Persians, the Medes were a mountain people and
72
at that time were still unrefined, little advanced i n culture. We find very
tion of w h i c h was this marriage, mediated by a king of Babylon. And so we see a diplomatic connection between these kingdoms. We can pass over the story of the war. Cyrus conquered Sardis, and from that point o n the Persians became wealthy, i n light o f the abundant goods there.
The Per-
sians are said i n this w a y t o have become acquainted for the first time w i t h the finer things o f life. Cyrus then straightway subjugated the coasts o f Asia M i n o r t o himself and conquered the multitude of Greek colonial city-states. Bias is said t o have advised these Ionic Greeks to take t o their ships in order t o seek a new | homeland. But they did not prove sufficiently courageous t o leave the land o f their b i r t h .
7 6
T h r o u g h this conquest the Persians came into
Scythians w h o , u p o n locating no w i l d game, slaughtered t h e hunter's sons
contact w i t h the Greeks. . The t h i r d w a r of Cyrus was the conquest of the Babylonians and Syrians,
and gave their flesh to Astyages the k i n g .
I n a different story, the king had
right up t o the Mediterranean. The last one was Cyrus' battle against the
the son of Harpagus slaughtered and served to his father, because Harpagus
Massagetae, a Scythian people beyond the A m u Darya, i n a region that
had spared Cyras. Enraged at this, Harpagus handed the a r m y over t o
the Persian tales call Turan. Herodotus states that Cyrus was killed here.
conquest by C y r u s . So w e encounter harsh features of this sort.
He says, in addition, that the Massagetae have gold and copper but do not
harsh features i n the story o f Astyages. For instance, he h a d i n his service 7 3
74
possess silver and i r o n .
7 7
I n the prehistoric graves beside the Balnc Sea only
copper is f o u n d but n o i r o n , just like with the Massagetae. Cyrus died . n J' .-/ ^ (f* " Greek) was king of Babylon 626-605 « C , the first ruler of Ubaldean lineage, and founder of the Neo-Ba by Ionian Empire. His Babylonian name is Nabuapu-usur. 9
i a
p o U s S a r
1
70. Xenophon mentions ( I A I J Miller, i . 8-11) that the father of Cyrus was Cambyses, a Persian, and nis mother wis Mandane, a Mede ofA«ir f °L - 2-5) Abradatasof Susa was a i l e d with the krng « * A s j n a ^ l was his errnssary in relacons with Baaria. Susa lay east of Babylonia and south0 r d i
8 t
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J V * " * ^ ,1.75, 127-30; Gtene, pp. 67, 93-4) says that the forces of Astyages, the d e ^ b Z . i 3 * ^ ^ <* - h o allowed some of them t o C
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to him i n the past, and so the army of
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contrary to Hegel's account, "ere angry T h . m , and so
battle w i t h the Massagetae. So he died pursuing his calling, which had no broader a i m t h a n the uniting o f the Near East under one rule. His accomplishment was the uniting o f Near Eastern peoples throughout the TO [of this region]. This unification had no further political or religious significance.
X g a ^ n ^ r ^ t e T i s w h e n Harpagus got his revenge. See Herodotus, W (Grtne,pp.89-90,93-4)fortheseactsofretaliation.
l - l ^ a n d 1.127-8
75. See Herodotus, History 1.73-91 (Greo, - ^ ¿ ^ ^ ¿ 2 5 defeat and submission to Cyrus. The last sentence refers to the fabulous accumulated at Sardis (see 1.30; Grene, p. 4S). city), who was -6. Herodotus ,1.70; Grene, p. 110) says d u t f c a s of Pnene i ^ regarded as one of the 'Seven Sages of Greece', adv.sed that they au r m ^ set up a single colony there. , . annv. including Cyrus 77 He says (1.214; Grene, pp. 129-30) that most himself, were killed in the decisive battle ending this dl fated the Ma^agetae from the S c y t h e although d * two are nmuar peoples, and Massagetae lack silver and bronze (1.215; Grene, p. i-WJ. (
a
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to Cyrus. In
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h » w f e seemlynusedbin, w unwunugk earina h » o-m ^ ^ " l » c o v e r e d this, he deceived Harpagus ^ " * * own sou as pumshment for his failure to carry out the order. n
324
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325
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256
T H E L E C T U R E S OF 1 8 2 2 - 3
T H E O R I E N T A L W O R L D : PERSIA
Features of the Persian Empire So we have t o highlight the features of this Persian Empire. I t is not so m u c h a single shape as it is a tying o f so many natronal groups together i n t o one bundle; it is a unique entity, a kind of free union of peoples, thus reflecting in a single focal point the glory of all of them. There is no political w h o l e o f comparable customs and laws; instead the many peoples stick to their charactenstic individuality. A l l of them retained their o w n characteristic features and they were nor fused into one whole. The greatness o f this empire the very fact that each p a r t is allowed its o w n characteristic s h a p e - , for instance, the Jews were t o o - a n d that these peoples simplv array themselves (stch konzentrteren) around a single point. Cyrus allowed the Jews t o reconstitute their o w n folkways, and this allowance for i n d i v i d uahty is one o f the great features o f Cyrus. Princes remain in p a r t rulers o f their own I tnbes; surely the magnanimity o f Cyrus broadened the empire's domain. We can take a brief look at the characteristics o f these many peoples. I S
a s
259
1
We see, however, that the jews and the other peoples are caught up i n nflexible mdividuality, incapable of uniting under universal thoughts and haws for each people has its o w n wholly determinate nature, yet in such a way that they do not stand m isolation but instead enter i n t o the most 171 , ^ ' » y irreconcilable, uch that only the iron rule of the Persians can hold them together and t h 3 t
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exercises rule over the other peoples w h o differ f r o m i t , a core that does not blend i n w i t h them but instead reserves for itself the ruling power. While making their w a y d o w n into the valleys, the Persians still stand with only one foot in the valley and the other foot on their mountains, just as today the Manchus d o o f course still rule i n China but also stand back and perpetually remain a particular w a r r i o r people, and the [Manchu] emperor annually lives for a t i m e outside the w a l l i n tents w i t h his horsemen, devoted t o the hunt for w i l d animals. I t is like this t o o in India, where the English govern but have their roots elsewhere, i n order to reinvigorate themselves and not lower themselves t o the Indian principle, so that they do not descend t o the principle o f the subject people. Thus the Persians endeavored for a long time to maintain themselves i n this characteristic status, although they have not sustained i t W i t h the Persians we see independence, gallantry, freedom, a certain boldness a n d greatness—a customary disposition, which can gnly exist together w i t h a savagery that gives way when particular factors i n lite intervene, so that in the face o f greater diversity i t dissolves into harmless mildness. The Persians therefore sought to maintain themselves i n this characteristic way. Their 'political constitution' was a simple way of connecting so many distinctly different peoples. The Persian prince was surrounded by his nobles and was educated by the M a g i ; the Greeks called h i m 'the Great K i n g ' ; he stood at the apex of the empire, was cultured, a n d was educated i n the sciences. I n his early years I raised by eunuchs, he was introduced to military activines and from the ages of 7 to 17 was trained in all physical skills. Then he received four teachers, one o f w h i c h , the c ^ s , instructed h i m i n the teachings of Z o r o a s t e r . ^ w e did state beforehand that the civic and religious laws of the Zend books could n o t endure w i t h a cultivated world-people. Gathered around the prince w e see the nobles of the empire, mostly Persians. We see traces or 'the empire o f light" reflected i n their administration. For, j s the Z e n d people revered seven Amschaspands fAmesa Spentas], so we read
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^ W u a l i i y of these peopTes,
7.. T h ^ s o ^ r w . * - , ^ ^ ^ place of the omicron (as it does in our text) i n ^ " ^ ' ' ^ T T h e r e ts DO Greek in this Linguae of Stephanus, and the Greek dictionary of Lrioeil ™<^*™r passage m ^ s e c o n d edition of Hegel's Werketypesetting or in transcnptrou. Xenophon is heavUy ma v uvofrm Socranc m vanousof his works; so his Cyrof^
^^^pKophy.« M
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s
as
b^nJ^T* ° " ' ' t h u , see the Persians being an uncultured mountain people. The Persians are only the cote that f C a t U r e S
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1822-3
T H E L E C T U R E S OF
T H E O R I E N T A L W O R L D : PERSIA
often of the number seven w h e n the Persians speak of the nobles and magistrates of the empire i n such a w a y that the prince is compared to Ormazd. But there is no historical p r o o f for a specifk elaboration of this representation. Historically the Persian nobles e x h i b i t a patriotic attitude i n w h i c h m a i n tenance of the empire was a higher interest t h a n selfishness a n d one's o w n raterest. The intrigues occur more often among princes of the royal line. After the death of Cambyses, the M a g i seized the power o f the throne and ruled for some time. The nobles of the empire u n i t e d , however, i n order to install the Achaemenids on the throne and maintain the dynasty of the renaans Their concern was the thought of the empire and its maintenance. Following the expulsion of the M a g i w e see, as Herodotus depicts i t , an unpass.oned deliberation among the nobles as t o w h i c h constitution w o u l d be best for the empire, one i n which n o one is out f o r himself, iubsequendy I they settled o n a monarchical constitution, and the decision as t o w h o ought to lie king was determined by whose horse w o u l d be the first t o neigh at the rising s u n . We see i n these nobles, some 1,500 strong, the leaders of the army. For their maintenance and that of the k i n g , the provinces paid a tribute, w i t h each satrapy providing f o r f o u r m o n t h s . Xenopho^ecounts that at a festival the king, at the head o f a l l the cavalry, was escorted f r o m the royal c i t y . Xenophon imparts many things, such as a ï 83 calling for complete discipline 80
81
82
a m i y
3
Snon^K ^ °P ' Cyropaedia is of course a w o r k o f facnon although its general features are certainly accurate. T h e subject populanons were ruled via satrapies, and this rule seems to have been e D C e
X e n
h o n
s
t ^ ^ S ^ ^ l ^ . ^ . 529-522 BC, was the son of Cyrus the Great, control his successor (3 2 ^ * 7 ^ 1 T the Magi conspired to install and 0
3
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subject t o an annual t a r d e a M t X t T ^ " " 82. Xenophon describes in detail r\J^ A t
p
k
o
f
h
o
w
" " " ' " » " ^ Grene, pp. 252-4), ' P « . ™d each of the twenty was ,
o r
3
8
9
r o v i n c
more of a general oversight, since all the peoples continued on i n their o w n customary ways of life. The Persian prince was, i n effect, lord over all property. Wherever he came, gifts were brought t o h i m as signs that everything belongs to him and that these people have everything only by his favor. Within Persia proper, however, the k i n g distributed gifts. I t is evident that under this rule many individuals h a d great riches. Each [people] had to bestow a specific thing on the k i n g a n d o n the satraps. Thus Xerxes demanded earth and water f r o m the G r e e k s . The provinces sent only the most valuable things as t r i b u t e — the Arabians sent incense, Tyre sent purple dye, through intermediaries. Each province sent its most excellent products to the king. Thus we see the Persian Empire as a consolidation of many peoples, w i t h Persia as their master. So we observe this multiplicity of peoples « W « i n wars against the Greeks, I i n its characteristic fashion not divided into regiments but instead made up of nations, distinct in their ranks, attire, weapons, military discipline, and mode of behavior. Their march was a k i n d of movement of peoples, and Herodotus even says about it that the w a r r i o r s w i t h w h o m they dwelt at home were those they also wished t o be w i t h i n b a t t l e . We see the Far East completely self-enclosed, whereas in Western Asia there is, o n the contrary, the opening up o r fragmentation .nto particular individualities. We see these individualities united for the first tune under the Persian Empire, i n such a way that individuality does not come on the scene i n hostile fashion. The Persian, the worshiper of the l « h t , of punty, hovers tolerandy over the whole, free of animosity and hostile pamculanry. According t o Herodotus' historical account of Darius Hystaspes in contrast t o Cambyses, what emerges is that the Persians - r e conscious of this tolerance. Herodotus indicates that Darius Hystaspes had brought the I r , dians a n d the Greeks together. Darius asked the Greeks whether t h e y w ^ e d t o consume their deceased parents, upon which they t h s t u ^ y n * £ d » horror. H e then turned t o the Indians, asking ^ J ^ ^ ^ L ? cremate the dead, and when these people then receded f r o m what was m 84
85
84. The enussanes of Danus made dus demand of ^ ^ J ^ ^ ^ t T Z Gtene, pp. 362-3). Prior to a later ' " ^ ^ j ^ r ^ Z L e i g n e r s f w U c h Greeks f U s y r n b d i c offering of'earth and ^ ^ Z t f ^ ^ ^ ' ^ ^ ^ differs from the mbutes a . d ^ t ^ ^ u , 7.13.-3: backfired, and so he did not make this demand o* Athens anu ^
5.17-18;
P
Gtene, pp. 511-12). ^ vaoous army and navy 85. Herodotus describes m considerable detail rftese tea of units, arranged i n nahotuhoes, as they passed tn tev*w before Xerxes poor f
o
l
m v a s t o o
tacucs of bis soldiers i n battle.
U
328
y
0
u
t
rf
to
«K*™pa»«it and for the
Greece
(7.59-100; Gtene,
pp.
491-501)329
363
THE
THE
L E C T U R E S O F 1 82 2 - 3
O R I E N T A L W O R L D : PERSIA
fact the usual practice among the others, he expressed the v i e w t h a t each people must stick t o its o w n c u s t o m s . We cannot n o w enumerate the whole series of particular features. A few of them are to be h i g h l i g h t e d , w i t h their elements showing that they bring t o f r u i t i o n a c o n d i t i o n w e can say is more humane.
Isles, where i n C o r n w a l l they traded i n tin, | and i n magnificent amber from
First of all we have in mind especially these elements on the coast o f Syria, and after that, as o u r fourth major topic, we pass over then t o Egypt. | The Syrian elements are Phoenician commerce, the religion o f Astarte a n d o f Adonis, and the religion o f the Jews.
of nature, become masters over nature, mastering its most savage power, the
86
the Baltic seacoast and f r o m H o l l a n d . So we see a people that, by simply pursuing trade i n its o w n fashion, is at these times a world-discovering people. Thus we see here a progression not previously apparent i n Asia, one i n which human beings, self-reliant i n face sea, whereas i n Central Asia people worshiped nature as power over them. Here, however, they deliver themselves f r o m nature, seek to guard against it, overcoming i t . So here emerges an element incompatible with the nature worship o f A s i a — a n emancipation f r o m this power. H u m a n beings who
Phoenicia
undertake such a risk extricate themselves from the many petty, scrupulous, commerce had its locus on the Phoenician coast, a n a r r o w strip
formal, and obscure forms o f worship. The spiritual existence and awaken-
m some places only t w o hours travel time in w i d t h , bordered behind . t to
ing self-confidence o f h u m a n beings turn them away f r o m this dependence,
the east by M o u n t Lebanon, which protected i t f r o m the interior, f r o m the
from petty ceremonies. So this is one difference f r o m what existed
contmem. Along this coastal strip arose a series o f c i t i e s - T y r e and o t h e r s -
heretofore.
Phoenician
87
m w h i c h there emerged commerce i n its distinctive a n d particular f o r m ; this commerce was indeed an isolated feature and not just an element o f the
The Religion o f Astarte and Adonis
whole, of the state; instead it existed abstractly f o r its o w n sake. We see this
A second element is a religious difference. Along this coast nature ^ w o r -
commerce in part reaching into the interior of the land, extending .tself
shiped as a universal factor under the names of Astarte, Cybele, and others.
m w a r d the intenor even as far as the Red Sea, although it was earned o u t
This divine service is i n one sense still very much sensual a r d hcennous,
esj*c,ally on the Mediterranean Sea. The Phoenicians proved to be very
albeit n o t lifeless and cold like the worship of the Hundus, but instead
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86- This anecdote is in Herodotus, 3.38 (Grew. . „ « . -r, , . arvpkalerouD.tbe'CalLiriamL' ~AS? ^ P- - " " I - e Indians in question are an of coursfdo £ t t S c ^ ^ o T ^ * ^ ^ " « ^*»<* I h
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the H i n d u s only w h e n they achieve a higher state beyond
through the death o f spirit, being devoid of consciousness or devoid <* the natural state (Naturlosigkeit).
Here in this religion, however, we
emerging the element o f spiritual infusion [Begeisterung);
see
*
goes » t a r as the licentiousness that can be called orgiastic. In c o n t r a l t o the H i n d u s , however, I there was i n i t an elevation to a higherstate, one^beyond enmity, beyond finitude, coupled w i t h a sustaining o f the sense of self, one
» A f r i c a , they founded S t * ° ? ° - - g a t e d the A t l a n t i c M " " 7 ° « theTcircumnavigated Afnca via the Arabian Sea. Farther t o the north they sailed t o the Bntish , n
enthusiastic and spirited i n its celebration. H u m a n beings have value for
that still maintained self-consciousness.
o„kioc
In this context we have t o touch upon the worship o f Adonis at ByWos w i n c h accords w i t h that of Cybele or that o f Apis. The w o r s h i p o f A d o n i s consists o f t w o parts. The first element » the observance ^
*
Adorns and the second .s his rediscovery. The first -s a w h i c h the w o m e n mourn for the dead lord, for
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most extravagant laments. This is a feature also found » Phryg.^and even more so i n Egypt, and i t ,s alien t o the Onenta
spirit^
torture themselves w i t h o u t lamenting, women similar fashion, and wives immolate themselves without painful suttenag
331
THE LECTURES
OF 1 8 2 2 - 3
T H E O R I E N T A L W O R L D : PERSIA
Ucbmerzhs); the Hindus are ingenious i n tortures, and all this takes place without suffering w i t h o u t lamenting and w i t h indifference t o d o i n g so. The elevation consists i n the heroism of impassivity.
267
What lamentation entails is that the negative ought not t o be. For the Hindus lamentation w o u l d have the opposite sense, because there the nega tive is supposed to be. But o n the Syrian coast, i n Phrygia, f o r the Phoeni cians, and in Egypt, suffering is respected, is a l l o w e d . Here h u m a n suffering is expressly honored. Here the profoundest suffering is w h a t is most palpa ble. I n experiencing suffering, human beings discover themselves; they dis cover their bliss, their particularity, their 'thisness', their actuality, a n d this discovery here allows them to k n o w themselves as being 'this one', here and now. This is what is human. Suffering is the discovery o f the negative. But at the same time suffering contains the infinite a f f i r m a t i o n ; i t is not the sheerly abstract negative but is instead at the same rime the sense o f self, the positive factor I that is related t o this negative factor. So here we see human feeling come on the scene.
so. One can w i s h t o 'recollect' (unedererkennen)
90
rhe principle of thought
i n this w o r l d soul of the Hindus or i n that Brahman into which the Hindus transpose themselves. But we have noted that, as what is first, Brahman is only the existent material foundation. The content is not thought itself, but is instead the universally existent substantiality, the universal being of nature. T h e Brahman t o w a r d w h i c h the Hindus elevate themselves is not worshiped by them, but instead is the Hindu's own self, drawn together into an empty i n t u i t i n g . So if Hindus were to revere Brahman they would be worshiping themselves, for t o them this elevation to abstraction is Brahman. I n the Jewish religion, however, pure thought, the way i n which God is grasped—although
essentially objectively—is i n its purity the object of
human w o r s h i p , is their G o d , and thus human beings have a relationship to this object; they relate themselves positively to it and maintain themselves w i t h i n i t , whereas in contrast the Hindus, i n relating themselves t o thought, surrender themselves i n their submersion and render themselves empty. So the m o m e n t of the o v e r t i m i n g of the Oriental principle commences at this p o i n t , the moment of the changeover f r o m nature to spint. Oriental
The Jewish Religion
people say that nature is the foundation, is what is first and eternal, and they
The t h i r d topic t o touch on is the phenomenon o f the Jewish religion, the prmaple
The G o d of the Jews exists only for thought; here the light o f the Persians has blossomed i n t o thought, is completely spiritualized, but still abstractly
proceed f r o m nature t o anything further. But here and now, conversely w i t h the Jews, w e see rhe spiritual as the foundation for the first time. I However, this religion has not yet given universality t o its principle, that of spirituality. I t is n o t yet free thought, but is instead bound up w i t h locality. It is pure, abstract thought, and n o t yet concrete thought; for apart f r o m its abstrac t i o n i t is, moreover, just the G o d o f the Jewish people alone. W h a t w e see i n these three elements is the elevation of the human beuig above nature, above the employment of me elements of nature for their o w n sake; it is the fact that pure thought as what is abstract is ackiwwledgrd, and
P ^ L e ^ J f ^ ^ f S A T ^ İ " f ^ d^fed Z e
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suffering retains its element of validity. These are the elements of a nevvseir consciousness, w h i c h poses for human beings * new and different problem f o r t h e m t o solve. We have t o examine Egypt, as the (first] land t o which relegated the carrying out of this task.
« « « is not to b ^ l S " f ^ s u f f e r s in d.ese various >* - e r c o r n e r e W o t l ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ - essential (alhei, ultimately to s t a t e s , S c h m e n i s e s s e n t i a l ^ ^ ! ^ ' * « P ^ e n c e t o o . As Hegel 89. In the p h £ ^ 3 i t ^T^V* ' P ™ ' " "U*®™** as spirit, that be d - s c o ™ ^ S r J n ^ l Z l r r ^ '° " * ^ r A o e n t x . a n d ^ h L E a S b ^ ^ ' "Y** concerning Adonis, the be gives « by 1S31 i V ^ e n ^ n S S ^ ^ ^ ' o f
of, and responses „ d J & r f ^ prindpal ~ 2007), ii. 452-5, 4 J ^ a a ^ i i T 7 L '
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t h e K
* 333
T H E O R I E N T A L W O R L D : EGYPT
EGYPT The answer {Lösung) to this task or problem, however, seems rather t o be that, i n the individuality o f the Egyptian people, the enigma {das Rätsel) is apparently posed and not solved. Egypt confronts our soul a t the outset w i t h the image o f the sphinx, similar t o h o w dragons, centaurs, a n d giants generally call to m i n d the East; distorted shapes are as such the r u l e i n the Orient. The symbol o f Egypt, however, is the sphinx, this t w o f o l d figure, half animal and half human, and indeed female. It symbolizes the h u m a n spirit that tears itself away f r o m the animal domain, t h a t frees itself f r o m the animal and casts its gaze about but has not yet completely grasped itself, is not yet free, does not yet stand o n its o w n t w o feet. 1
The Land of Enigmatic Marvels
269
2
3
1. In coodudirig the preceding discussion of Persia, Hegel said that the Oriental principle is to * °^T^ 7 P * - Egypt has this shift as the task or problem \A*fabe) set font. Egypt tackles the task but faUs to accomplish it; it poses the problem but BWsto solve it. Egypt strives mightily to liberate spirit from its natural or animal forms in ^rptran r e l * ™ and da,!y life, but farls to enable a new selfconsc.ousne* en appear. As Hegel ^ ^ ' ^ e s a r e ' a s r t were, helmets from which the human visage peers outward, although spirit never fully emerges selfconsciously from them. The Egyptians 8 ^ Hegel uses hequendy to characters Unem. It r Z ^ ^ , ^ ^ 'lacking self-consciousne*". to what follows U
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It seems t o be a matter of chance, and yet i t is i n keeping w i t h the Egyptian standpoint, that they have no book i n the language; instead they only knew h o w t o express themselves i n part by hieroglyphics or i n sculptures, and also by works o f architecture, [inasmuch as they] had no signs of the k i n d t h a t w r i t t e n languages do. The signs of spirit here are still in immediacy. T h e writers o f history mention I no Egyptian Homer, no dramatists. A l t h o u g h Herodotus and Diodorus were i n Egypt, they impart nothing about books. Even later, when the Hebrew Bible was translated in Alexandria a t the behest o f an Egyptian king, the Egyptians still stuck to Greek w o r k s ; there was n o mention of any written works in Egypnan.
a
L T ^ T J T ^ i ' ^ 1 ^ ° ^ ' ^ " " - t i m e s as 'unselfconscious'. The hieroglyphs r ^ ^ L * f n ^ v e but remain an enigma ^ b e c a u s e they ,ust stnve for, but never arum, the status of self-nterpreting spinrual ^ 3 ^ f as self-awarenes, | Ai the time of d S J e c n L Hegel T d e aTdec^l
Herodotus saw everything in Egypt, was acquainted w i t h its priests, and yet said n o t h i n g about its profound religious nature; to him the history of the enigma remained enigmatic. Diodorus too visited Egypt, during the rime of Augustus. He offers us a great deal of information about its religion; despite this knowledge, this opportunity t o become informed, views about the Egyptian religion indeed opposed or contrary to his were to be found among the ancients. Recently, over the past twenty-five years, the French have brought the land to light and opened i t up anew for us, and new descriptions are continually f o r t h c o m i n g . But ever lacking for us still is the key f o r going more deeply into the discoveries; this key is an Egypnan literary w o r k , although we have n o such thing. 6
Thus grand edifices o f Egypt like the labyrinth, h a l f above the earth and half beneath i t , divided the whole realm into the land o f the living | a n d that of the dead, dedicated t o A m e n r i . Standing u p r i g h t there is the Pillar o f Memnon; the light of dawn falls upon this structure and causes i t t o resound. M e m n o n resounds in the bright d a w n . But what sounds f r o m i t is not yet
3
the free light o f spirit, resonating f r o m itself, for the language of Egypt is still hieroglyphic; ir is n o t yet the w o r d itself, not yet script. We understand it only when w e grasp i t as hieroglyphic, and the definitive character of Egypt is as such the sphinx, the hieroglyphics, the enigma. Egypt appears as, and remains, a land of marvels.
3 5
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for those advances we must wait for the Greeks.
< c i o i , ? 0 0 ^ 7 i ° ^ Ecvwian t e m i ^ JflT , " 'Aoientbes' is a Helletuzanon of an X^snTwaf t ^ ' ' » Naiad, was mistress to i h l ^ , 1 „ ^ ' —et-smellmg m m , plan,. The 1 M Hegel refers ts ptnhahly the funeral temple of Anier.ernhet DI ates ^ Z ^ i ^ ^ °* * * * * ^ ^ of h ^ T y s and deed,, and ^ l i e i ^ f ^ 1 ^ « ^ Near East aod Zloss, a, Thebes were huge sutues o f phat.oh Amenhotep m . Menmon was hnked to then, because the* stones ? 4 5
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were said to'sing', or to emit sounds like those of a hatp, when struck by the Irghtof the risu* w n , sounds believed to be his response to Eos, goddess of the dawn and ius rnotner. 4. See Herodotus, TAe « ^ 2 . 3 ^ David Grene (Chicago, ^ ^ ^ he will mention the names of the Egyptian gods (which he in some cases to Greek de.oes), bu, will not go into other aspects of Egypnan behefc the divine. All of the second book of his History, and the first part of the third book, a « m
^
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^ r h e first book of his Library of History, ^ ^ ^ C ^ ^ rehgrous mpK*. See Diodorus of Sicdy, i , t t C. H . Oldkther bridge, Mass., and London, 1933). Oldfather, pp. 22-9), sacred animals (1.83-90; Oldfathet; pp. 282-305 >,and c u m *
^
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the dead (1.91-3; Oldfather, pp. 305-19). lean-Franco* ChampnlKoo, 6. The French research to wfuch Hegel refers is presented in- ^J™\ „ , rh* swdy of L-£eyp sous les Pbaraons (Paris, 1814). ChampolBoc was J ^ ^ ^ S ^ T t h . t hieroglyphics. Later than these lectures, in 1825, he demonstrated from the Rosert. * o « some hieroglyphics have a phonetic character. a
te
335
270
THELECTURES
OF l g l T T T H E O R I E N T A L W O R L D : EGYPT
spirit express it« f fron, the
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by Cambyses. Ultimately, however; he burst into tears when he saw an elderly m a n , his father's friend, o n the threshold o f death. A l l this caught Cambyses' attention, and when he asked the king why i t was so, his reply was that the misfortunes o f his daughter and his son were too great or too hard to bear, and rendered h i m immobile, bur that the latter and lesser misfortune moved h i m t o human sympathy, t o tears. So Cambyses directly sought t o rescind or halt the execution o f the son o f Amasis, but i t had already been carried o u t . Then Cambyses returned the daughter to the king, treated h i m and the daughter w i t h respect, and w o u l d even have reinstated h i m | i n the government had he not been a rebel. Cyrus treated Croesus in similar f a s h i o n . So Cambyses w o u l d even have kept the Egyptian king by his side, had he deserved i t . These traits are interesting as illustrative o f the Persian character.
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Egyptian History
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We take u p only the principal elements f r o m the ancient history of Egypt. I t is n o t e w o r t h y that the ancient history of Egypt reaches very far back. We k n o w that the priests assured Herodotus that the Egyptians are the most ancient people, the first human beings. A n extremely communal life is historically probable. I n any event, the first state found historical expression «i the upper N i l e valley; i t is the first formation o f a state. Thebes, on the upper river, is the most ancient site where a community life emerged. W i t h the passage o f time commerce shifted more t o central Egypt, so that M e m phis, where the N i l e divides into separate branches, became the principal site. Later the principal site shifted into the delta, atSais. This transfer from the Upper Nile t o the Lower Nile is therefore the first historical f u t u r e . In Roman times the principal site shifted again, t o Hermopolis, where Hadrian founded Antinoiipolis, as a memorial to A n r i n o u s . 10
11
A second feature of its history is that at nines Egypt disintegrated i n t o a Jiurnber o f sovereign domains (vd>oi) and at times i t was unified under one rule. Sesostris is said t o have united all the provinces (Stoaten) for the first
9. See Herodotus, History 1.86-93 (Grene, pp. 73-7). Cyms nor only spued Croesus, but also relied on him as his adviser 10- See Herodotus, History 2.2 H. (Grene, pp. 131 ft). Actually Herodotus begins bis book Z, Egypt, considering whether Egypt is to be regarded as just the delta area and the Medrtemneaa coast, or includes the land extending far up the Nile (he accepts me J « w v * w M n the «»urse o f this discussion he cites the priests of Hephaeaus in Memphis as hokBng that the Wuigians are an older people, but that the Egyptians were the first to invert or " ^ ««lrural elements {2.2 and 4i Grene, p. 132). Later on (2.15; Grene, p . 137) he says.- ' I bebew "be Egyptians... have been ever since the race of man was'. 11. Antinous, a handsome young man and favorite of emperor Hadrian, drowned m ™ « ™ _ m An H O . f-ladnan insisted that he he dctfW, and m hrs hooorfoundedibr new car named tor him. 0 Q
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1822-3 T H E O R I E N T A L W O R L D : EGYPT
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Ancient tales speak o f the great expeditions of Sesostris t o Asia, and it is indeed said o f Sesostris that he went far and wide i n Asia. | If this is i n fact historically true, and if the bas-reliefs" at Thebes pertain to i t , such things nevertheless fall i n ancient times, and this earlier era has had no lasting effect, has left behind no traces. In later times Egypt had n o naval power, and along its coastlines i t barred foreigners f r o m its territory. For a long time this policy of exclusion was a basic feature of Egyptian life, and only in the later period o f its history did the Egyptian state once again interact w i t h foreigners, w i t h other peoples; f r o m this t i m e o n , then, the history o f Egypt also becomes more defined. This period fell [i.e. began] approximately 120 years prior to the conquest by Cambyses, and resulted i n Egypt's decline. Psaramerjchus, most notably, transferred the chief city t o Sais, united the many provinces (Staaten), and established external connections w i t h other peoples. These peoples included Greeks as w e l l as Carians from Asia Minor, often w i t h the influx of as many as thirty thousand who constituted the essential component of the Egyptian army. The wars w i t h Syria, w i t h the Jews, and w i t h the Babylonians occur i n this period. In light of their historical dates, however, little import is to be attached to these wars. These later kings also waged w a r principally with Cyrene. Other relationships with Africa to the south and with the Hyksos are more transitory, occur i n more ancient rimes, and are t o some extent of no consequence. | Features o f the Land and Life of Egypt The features o f Egyptian life must be o f more specific interest to us. Egypt is a complex topic (sebwere Aufgabe). Herodotus, Diodorus Siculus, and the (other] ancients w h o spoke about the Egyptians, provide the very best evidence about them. Herodotus says they are the most rational (the Aoyia-TOTot} of all the peoples that he has visited and observed. These authors leave us amazed, on the one hand, by the African stupidity and, on the other hand, by this people's reflective understanding and spirit, by die 16
11- Khuhi reigned during the 26th Herodot** the fotved labor in n^arnrd^ £ • * * ^ Khaire. Khufu -shu, aj, ^ ^ ^ f J T 1 ? » ™ S «"°er Khufu and Khafre, savmg that sonof^Kh h ,or.„eduplternptTnJ^^ s>cnfices' ,2.124-* Grene, pp. m 2 H ^ F * * " ^ > t o their o * n work and t b n r Erh.op.ansandtherrk.ng, S ^ T D , , r k 3 S ^ - r " * " ^ ^ ™ '* over EOT, tor ^ c ^ ^ Z T t ^ a r m y . . . and the Ethiopian ruled wnrusing. Herodotus savs. in the ^ I " I f " I' ^ ™ ^ is perhaps nder aher Mvcennus. t h ^ ^ ^ » . drove A*ys.s, t h e ^ c o ^ branches ot the Nile, hence . tnarshy arel ' " * ' ^ d ' s e a t e d between b
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U . As lor the 'bas-reliefs" {Baachass), ancient authors indicate that these were lewd. Herodotus (2.106; Grene, p. 174) speaks in this way of inscriptions be has seen in Palestinian Syria, andof stames i n lorua. Diodorus Siculus(1.5S.7-10;OIdtath«;pp. J92-S) writes in more detail oi srelae that depicted warlike enemies with male genitals and cowardly enemies with tenule genitals. 16. Herodotus devotes book 2 and the first part of hook 3 of his History to Egypt- t^>nceramp their calendar, he states: 'Their reckoning, in my opinion, is much cleverer than that of the Greeks' (2.4; Grene, p. 132). Diodorus Siculus devotes book 1 of his Litrrary of History to the myths, customs, and kings of Egypt, recounting in great detail the highly organized and regulated daily life o i the king (1.70; Oldfathet, pp. 240-5). 339
27S
T H E L E C T U R E S O F 182
2-3 THE ORIENTAL WORLD:
intelligent order, optimal regulations, and adrmrable w o r k s o f fine art especially the architecture. ' Itt iiss common ^ o n i l ^knowledge " ' , 7 ^ that ' ^ " Egypt 8
t
0
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c o n s i s t s
BWgtaphical arcumstances.
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EGYPT
constitutes the m a i n theme of Egyptian life. Agriculture was very far advanced, as the Egyptians are a very skillful agricultural people. The second thing t o take into consideration is the castes that we encoun¬ ter here (as i n India), which are described by various authors. The main castes are the priests and rhe warriors. (Diodorus also has a caste of kings, but this can o n l y be a social class. ) Herodotus then also names other castes, the t h i r d and fourth being the cattle herders and swineherds, the fifth that of merchants, the sixth the interpreters and the sailors. He makes no mention of farmers. D i o d o r u s says the t h i r d caste consists of farmers and artists. The supposition is | thus that agriculture d i d indeed occupy several castes, in particular even the w a r r i o r caste, which received a certain domain or landed estates f o r cultivation, especially in Lower Egypt. So overall wc see here diverse castes that do not, however, seem t o have been so strictly isolated as are those of the Hindus. For instance, [the pharaoh] Amasis was f r o m a lower class, f r o m a lower caste. A n d when the warriors refused to line up f o r battle against Sennacherib, King Sethos, f r o m the priestly lineage, struck against the enemy w i t h an army from the castes of farmers, assembled craftsmen, and so f o r t h . 21
a « 1 i o~ n °^ a b o n »^ ^Se s „„. c
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constitute
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Proof o f h o w the Egyptians held back f r o m engaging w i t h other peoples is the fact that the soldiers or warriors often refused to venture i n t o foreign fields, t o d o battle outside the borders of the land, as happened under Apries. When Apries, the predecessor of Amasis, dispatched the warriors against the Cyrenaeans, they revolted and installed Amasis [as king], which goes t o show that they preferred t o remain in their o w n t e r r i t o r y . So this people seems to be peaceable and agricultural, w i t h the result that Greek mercenaries carried on the wars for them. I n other instances too we observe that Egypt brings little force t o bear against attacks f r o m outside. The Ethiopians often conquered the land, and Cambyses easily did so. A t h i r d topic concerns the more specific mode of daily life, the police regulations, and so f o r t h . According t o Herodotus and Diodorus, the 25
year there * no rain I n f X or not high enou^ ] S ^
1
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land as
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thus twice a year. D i r ^ y T f f t * ^ **» i " ™ ^ - d creeping things ( C ^ ^ £ T " « * ' d e m e r g e s : frogs had conquered Egypt v v n T T . - ™dless numbers. A n A r a b general who transforms i t s e l f ™ ^ t ^ « * » « * dust that d
i s
a n
a These are, on the w h ^ L u J™* * * of p l a n t s / - ne pnysical conditions. The agricultural principle a n d
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20. Presumably this refers tr> 'AmThW I 'i ***
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^ 540
21. See n . 16 above. Diodorus says that 'the life which the kings o i (he Egyptians lived was not like that of other men who enjoy autocratic power' [1.70; Oldfather, pp- 240-1). 22. The passage in Herodotus (2.164; Grene, p. 204) actually reads as follows. T b e « a r e m Egypt seven classes, which are called, respectively, priests, warriors, cowherds, swineherds, shopkeepers, interpreters, and pilots.' 23. He states (1.74; Oldfather, pp. 254-5): 'There are three other classes oi tree cmans, namely, the herdsmen, the husbandmen, and l i e artisans.' 24. This story of the Assyrian rnvasion under Sennacherib is told by Herodotus (1.41; Oreoe,
^
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°
PP-192-3). 25. See Herodotus, History 2.161-2 and 4.159 (Grene, pp. 202-3, 340). 341
277
T H E L E C T U R E S O F 1 82
2-J
T H E O R I E N T A L W O R L D . EGYPT
Egyptians' daily life is most amazing to the Greeks. Herodotus and Diodorus tell us about its simple features; for they were amazed to find characteristic lémures in the very smallest details. Herodotus says that the Egyptians do all things the o p p o s e of h o w other peoples do them, and he adduces several practices for those who seek to k n o w the inner meaning f r o m the externals. Such practices are, for instance, that the women urinate while standing, the men while seated, and that men have t w o garments but w o m e n only one. Ine order of the day here ,s cleanliness, frequent washing, , n general contrast to the Hindus, since the E g y n s d o nor, like Hindus, simply wash the body out of superstition but otherwise keep nothing clean; instead thev also wash their clothes. The Egyptians maintain b o d i l y health | intelligently. Egyptian doctors are k n o w n to be very skillful, especially in treating i n d i vidual diseases. There are different doctors for different diseases. 26
p t i a
M o r e important are the police ordinances, w h i c h are the basis of order. These are excellent. Annually each Egyptian had t o give his in wilting to the governor, together w i t h the information as t o where he resided. I t had to be correct, on pain of death. The land was d m d e d i n an orderly way. and
name
M g e s , headed by a chief justice (Prastdrnt).
Trials were handled w i t h
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like ours. They
2h. See Herodotus, History 2 is ff if PP- í 3 S - 4 Í I . H e r r x l o m w o e n o d ™ ¡ l ^ ' í V ^ Ha *nd Dt°**»> ^ (OMftther. non* below, well *Wf*>aa practices Hegel specifically menS 1
a s
a s
n e
[
t h e
n u m e r o u s
2-. See Wtdoriis, 1.75 ( O l d h t h w i M 2SB-i!li n . ^ "se twice, the second S "T ^ « " that each side presented its pr« sstones wornabontthejudae'.neck ,, * P » - He also speaks of 28. Seen. 16 above *™KK|asmour texrbelow) and the function i n the trial. [ l m r
l n
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lOU
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342
divided the year i n t o 365 days, five of which were intercalary. As for marriage, there was monogamy in one part of Egypt, in Lower Egypt alone, and in the rest there was polygamy. Herodotus says that the men stick t o household matters, whereas the women take care of external affairs and so are n o t i n seclusion as they are in the East. I When we see how the Egyptians transformed their entire land (Bodett) into a work of art, they are exonerated f r o m the charge of indolence that Winkeimann levels at them. ' Diodorus savs the Egyptians are indeed the only people in which the citizens did not trouble themselves w i t h the affairs of the state, but instead concerned themselves solely w i t h their o w n affairs and lived tranquilly for themselves. Diodorus lived under Augustus and therefore of course was not thinking about a r e p u b l i c . ' Herodotus states that each one carnes on by himself his o w n specific and particular occupation, and we thus find this to be the case through all the social classes right up to the king, who also has his occupa29
3
Uon defined bv the law." * , So we see that i n Egypt everything was i n definite order, such that even the 1
kings d i d n o t rule capriciously. This is a totally ordered condition, enforced by the authorities, in which all caprice is eliminated, bo we see a defined, rule-governed condition all the way down to private matters. Religion and the Cycle of Nature It seems then that, complementary to these conditions, there must have been a comparably tranquil religion, that the impulse toward something higher had been satisfied in a comparably tranquil way. When we pass over to t h topic, however, we are surprised when we behold and examine the most opposite and marvelous phenomena. The political condition " < » ^ ™ aspect, and i n this other aspect we are dealing w i t h an >m ulse set i n motion m t T n a l l y , and an ardent, active, laboring spirit. We are d,aUn with an African people that- in its secluded condition, is inwardly people aglow and afire, exceedingly compact, a people staying ^ c l o s e d P
&
Z9. Herodotus, > W v 2.35 «Grene, p. ,45, savs «endo «He weav.n*
™
stated as much tn nts GeMte M W des .Uteri™ « £ ¡ * £ J ^lieaee « contras, lo this, D.odoms describes m detail, ™<< P " * " ' * Egvptian iarmers and artisans (1.74; Oldfather, pp. -5 >• F ™ n a n artisans are nor 31. Wha, Diodorus actually says (see «^ Prev.ous not I s tr, ^ *V ^ allowed to pursue other occupations, and so do not daowe Inamelv. the business of government!. M„«ionis 32. This v,ew actually tits Diodorus better than ,t does Herodotus 1
343
T H E L E C T U R E S OF
1822-3
T H E O R I E N T A L W O R L D : EGYPT
and not dealing w i t h anything external; instead the tremendous labor acnvely operates w i t h i n its o w n horizons by means of the most extraordinary productions. | We notice this characteristic i n the religious aspect: a pressing and laboring within its o w n horizons, an unending pressure t o w a r d objectification within itself that, however, does not attain the free self-consciousness of spmt. There is still an i r o n band around the eyes of spirit, where the free apprehending of spirit is not yet set f o r t h ; instead spirit is still encircled by an iron band, so that the only thing t o which spirit gives b i r t h is w h a t we called the enigma. A n d thus the enigma, namely Egypt, is a concrete individuality that holds multiplicity fast w i t h i n itself a n d unifies i t , although i n such a way that the unity does not advance to die free self^onsciousness o f spirit w i t h i n itself.
for
from
We cannot draw any retrospective conclusions w h e n we hear t h a t Pythagoras emulated the Egyptian setting his teaching. For it is obvious the [Egyptian] religion that Pythagoras just adopted a one-sided picture of the pnestly caste, one w i t h o u t any basis, d according t o i t he t o o k no account of human impulses, i o n , and reflection. So of course his community dismtegrated. It d i d of course carry on, but not for long i n that a
n
form.
p a s s
* ***** ^ I f soon proved to be a vacuous representation, one making i , dear that human beings ought not t o remain placidly isolated and self-contained. C I f C l e
r o o t e d
i n
i3
For a closer l o o k at the character of Egyptian religion, we must hold fast o the fact that m t h * case we are still w i t h i n the bounds of a nature religion. J j l f e p c we find ourselves still w i t h i n the bounds of the i n t u i t i o n nature. When™ ^ G o d ' , we directly o n the soil thought, a n d so w e
are
of
of
T T ° ° ^ f » - e r f r o m this abstract thought t o further d o n a t i o n s , passing over t o just the attri6
f
3
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,
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of
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universal tadi*
something universal, but instead w i t h a particular, specific intuition of nature. T h e Egyptians live in a closed w o r l d as such, and this w o r l d is also the basic i n t u i t i o n i n the religion of the Egyptians, is what they know as their substantial being, as their essence. Inasmuch as this closed, private w o r l d becomes religious, i t does not remain sensible but instead becomes distilled into a representation. H o w ever, i n keeping w i t h the enclosed condition, and w i t h the Egyptians' inner alertness, the inward state of this intuition gets transformed into further intuitions i n t h a t a further meaning i n it is called to mind as well, and i n fact gets determined as a symbol. A n d so i n the Egyptian religion we find ourselves u t t e r l y i n the domain of the symbolic. Immediate intuition therefore has a meaning, although this meaning does not elevate itself to thought, for instead the meaning is i n t u r n only the image or the symbol of what beforehand was itself a symbol. These are the images and aspects linked through a b o n d that emerges here, but not as t h o u g h t instead this indiv.dual or inner p o i n t remains, binding or linking together these representations w i t h o u t revealing itself in thought. I So we have here the individuality that ties together distinct pfomornena, ones that have a foundation, but not the universal foundanon of thought. The w h o l e is therefore an artifact of the fanciful imagination (em Fhantastisches) because i t connects such manifold or multifaceted elements. Its basis is an i n w a r d content, something that was pointed to in this way by an imaginative (phantastisch) connection, but this content was not actually set f o r t h a n d d i d n o t lend itself t o deciphering (erraten). So the «maguíame element involves the task of grasping this inner element; however this mner element, then, is not grasped but is instead just pointed t o symbolically; ana w h a t the symbol is remains unspecified (ist freigestellt)-^^ other that is itself only a symbol o f something else. To see more precisely w h a t is involved, we have, at least m ^ general way, t o allow f o r a representation of i t . What first confronts us is the ctosed physical cycle of nature that, f o r the Egyptians, is everytbng a s a w h o k . For the Egyptians the N i l e , the land, the sun, make up such * c that H e r t S o L learned nothing f r o m the Egyptian priests a b o u t A e j u r c e s of the N i l e ; he learned that only f r o m the people of Cyrene * The u r f o n m tion the priests had was therefore bruited t o their own locale. So then, me
" ° - ™ - ^ P t - deities are not even heroes havmg human nature as their foundation. We are dealing not with m C a r n a t l
L
1 1
e
34. S e e H e r o d o t u s . H ^ 2 . ^ 3 2 G ^ die Nile floods, para. 19 mentions the ignorance of ™ " ^ " " T . ^ rf* presents what Herodotus learnt from the peopk of Cyrene, in L-bya, a b o Africa, but not specifically about the sources of the Nile. (
33. See the comparable discussion n i tK* p^,k of Philosophy (Oxford, 2 0 0 6 , 2 0 ^ % % * * * * " 344
on the H«lory
345
hnehor of
382
283
THE L E C T U R E S OF 1 8 2 2 - 3
T H E O R I E N T A L W O R L D : EGYPT
Egyptians' representation was also limited to that locale and emphasized a particular contemporary era.
conson w h o has been dismembered, and she collects the pans of his body. All of Egypt strikes u p a dirge, the 'Maneros', over the dead God; according to Herodotus it was always sung by them and is the only song that they have. People do of course have a l o t t o say about Egyptian music; we find many instruments portrayed and I hear talk of Egyptian songs, contrary t o the assertion of Herodotus. I n any event, he says that the Greeks call this dirge or this song ' L i n o s ' , and that i t was the only song of the Egyptians; thus that they had no poetry and no songs.
This self-contained whole was the essential being o r the m a i n G o d o f the Egyptians. Isis and Osiris, this duality, are the main deities here. Osiris is the sun in connection w i t h the N i l e ; Isis is the earth and, i n [her] connection w i t h the sun, she is, correspondingly, the m o o n . This [duality] is the basic deity of the Egyptians; it is their distinctive feature and the foremost element of their religion. These t w o , Isis and Osiris, are themselves procreated, are themselves i n t u r n counterparts; for, wherever religion begins from nature, G o d is something emergent a n d not what is absolutely first as is the case i n a religion o f thought. So this Osiris and this Isis are the essentially Egyptian gods. | 7
Yet this nature intuition is, furthermore, a history, a process: the sun, which becomes distant and returns; the N i l e , w h i c h inundates a n d fructifies the land or Isis, w h i c h recedes f r o m i t and goes i n t o opposition t o the sun and is devoured by the sun, has i n the sun its enemy, T y p h o n . So heat, the scorching w i n d , appears i n a hostile way as Typhon, just as then t o o the N i l e empties i n t o the sea and dies. This cycle was transposed into the characterization of the gods, and this divine twosome has its history t o o . Osiris, the sun, is b o m . After the sun has become distant it draws near once again, just like for us too [ i t recedes] during the shortest days. Osiris is b o r n in the springtime, ,ust as there is a temporal connection f o r all peoples and for us too insofar as G o d , that is, Christ, is b o m after the shortest day. A f t e r his birth Osiris becomes the bringer of good fortune, of fertility, f blessing; he is said to have completed his course through the w o r l d , just as, according t o the Greeks, Dionysius traversed the w o r l d . So this is then the felicitous penod o f Osiris, when the N i l e overflows. J S
0
However, the opposite also comes i n t o play; the sun retraces its steps and goes away once more; the land is desolate, the water used up; the Nile dies out m the sea, and Isis alone rules i n the absence of Osiris. T y p h o n hatches a Plot and slays Osiris. Then ensues the lamentation of h i s , seeking her
S'iu^dl ^:,^
CpSn g^ si E >
SE7p
W
*
1 i ff Heeel uses the ™ ™
*5™*Z ^ C r e e k
°& * ™»™ engages u> conflicts ° Typhon « * b o the c S n a m e for the
m¥th0l
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0 ( 0 1 1 5
of Osiris , 0 1 ; Old-
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36
A p r i n c i p a l element, then, is this lamentation over the god, which corresponds t o the lamentation over [the Greek and Asian fertility deity] Adonis. H u m a n grief upheld his honor. Isis then buried Osiris, and there are many holy gravesites of Osiris throughout Egypt. A further point t o note i n this context is that nothing of this sort is to be found among the Brahmans or H i n d u s . I n the case of the priests of Buddha, however there is at each Buddhist temple a pyramid w i t h relics of the Buddha. So this circumstance is a point of agreement w i t h the Buddhist religion. Isis then has the body parts of Osiris embalmed, a task performed by H e r m e s . The Egyptian manner of embalming as such, even embalming animals, essentially distinguishes them from the Hindus, who show no respect for the bodies of the dead, casting them into the Ganges. The Egyptians, however are the first ones to have called the human soul immortal, and showing respect for the dead is linked t o this practice, i n that here the individuality of the human character has attained an entirely different meaning and value than i t has w i t h the Hindus. So Osiris was buried i n the e ^ a n c h s lord i n the realm of the dead; he is judge in the invisible realm, that ofHades. We can also remark here that in later times, i n the era of Alexander and subsequently i n Rome, the god Scrap* took over this function in place ot Osiris, just as the invisible realm, that of thought, Aito* gamed a greater ascendancy over the visible o n e . I I n this cycle from the history of reLg.on 37
38
^^^^^T^S^Z
36. See He«>dotus, H ^ o r v 2.79 ( G r e ^ Pthat, m Egypnan, Linns is called Maneros. Herodou* 7 * « ^ £ ^ £ E ? i , was the funeral chant upon the untimely death o the ^ ^ ^ ^ j j o f t , , and a their firs, and only song'. In Greek mythology Linus, £ ^ £ ' f a ^ and winefamous singer and poet. In Homer this song is sung by a boy during tbe grape W
making. „ J „ _ « 1 K» Horus (the son of 37. the Egyptian amounts this honor H~, and other Egyptian deines. The Greek figure Hermes is not t y p ^ r perhaps the auditors misheard what Hegel said. 38. The Greek word refers to what is unseen. ta
. stays lower in «JT^ ™ T "
7 ' " a f
i
W
^ *
a s s o c , a t
"
34i
"
t
* " h Osiris. The sun -becomes distant' ™ V * overhead i n
347
te) «
T H E LECTURES OF 1822-3
T H E O R I E N T A L W O R L D : EGYPT
there lies the history of the human individual—a person's b i r t h , activity, enjoyment of the world, and death.
significance. T h e most ancient god, Knef or Kronos, is time, and Ptah is
Linked w i t h this concrete, Egyptian imagination, w i t h Isis and Osiris, is the benefit o f the introduction of agriculture. Thus N i l e , sun. and earth were
particular Egyptian gods and their cultus involved, and their particular fire.
4 0
The representation o f the planets and the starry heaven is connected
w i t h these gods, as i t is w i t h Isis and Osiris. Connected with Osiris is the
essentially something useful, were means essential t o meeting (human] needs.
representation o f the passing o f the year and its determinations, how the
So Isis and Osiris acquired the characteristic feature o f being benefactors o f the
year is divided; in keeping w i t h this aspect, the festivals o f the Egyptians
human race; they provided the means for living effectively (Benutzung).
Isis
are, u p t o today, something w h o l l y governed by the calendar. Osiris, the sun,
discovered grain, not wheat or c o m but barley. Attributed to Osiris were the
is called the prince o f heavenly herds, which he leads, and the shepherd
plow, the broad hoe, draft ariimals, and the yoking o f oxen, as well as the
especially of the zodiac. A l l of this has its impact in these symbolic
introduction o f marriage, o f laws, religion, and civic order. Osiris is then at
representations.
the same time also the likeness of the seed that is buried i n the ground, dies, and shoots up again. Thus all specific features come together i n Isis and Osiris. Hence the Egyptian God is not some sort of general benefactor, not an abstraction. Thought does not project itself out beyond these specific features; instead, multiple intuitions o f nature are linked in one complex—Nile, sun, seed, human activity, and so forth. So, what is fancifully imagined is conjoined here i n a unity. This Isis and Osiris thus link or bind together w i t h i n themselves all the representations, all the specific features; one symbol becomes symbol o f the other. Osiris is the symbol of the Nile and the sun, the very same symbol is the symbol of human life and, vice versa, life is thus in turn symbol for the sun, the N i l e , and so forth. Therefore each is the counterpart (Gegensatz) and symbol o f the other. 286
Animal Worship We still have t o speak about animal worship. We have covered universal inorganic nature, this universal foundation, as the Egyptians see it. The other most noteworthy point is that the Egyptians do not stop w i t h reverence for inorganic nature, but instead pass over to reverence for animal life as something divine. According to the general image of nature i n Egypt, after the N i l e recedes, | animal activity ensues in tandem w i t h human endeavor. Just as the animal realm reawakens along w i t h the revival o f the soil, so the existence o f the Egyptians orients itself to that occurrence. Spirit, however, remains inaccessible [verscblossen)
to them. An d we see, then, that the
Nevertheless, the universal element i n them has not yet emerged explic-
thought or the being-for-seif o f spirit remains something i n itself inaccessible
itly. | When we speak of 'symbol', the representation w e have is expressed by
t o the Egyptians; they sympathize not with the free, spiritual soul but instead
means o f a general representation, by an image: for instance, as an image,
w i t h the soul remaining confined w i t h i n living things, for the reason that
Mare is the general, abstract representation of w a r I n the case o f Isis and
their fanciful imagination merely works symbolically from the soul that is
Osins, however, we do not have these t w o i n one image, i n a general, abstract
confined w i t h i n sheer life itself. So we have t o consider this mode o f rever-
representation. Instead we have a bundle o f symbols, w h i c h themselves are
ence f o r animal life.
anomer symbol o f a sensible representation, not o f an abstract representation.
In seeking t o grasp this point we must, in doing so, set aside as such, in t h i n k i n g o f w h a t is higher or considering what is higher, our customary practice o f seeking it on the soil o f thought and representation, and ot closing our eyes t o w h a t is sensible, present at hand, actual. By sacking to sensible intuiting, the Egyptian grasps and holds fast to the living thing, the instinct of the animal, this marvelous feature that operates from within it.
Ihese basic Egyptian representations are typical of that people. Besides these, however, the Egyptians also have more abstract gods, in generalthree kinds o f gods: as Herodotus says, eight ancient ones, twelve mtermediate ones, and several more recent o n e s .
39
These abstract gods are
the ones espeaally that the Greeks adopted for themselves, f o r instance / W W v , the sea. We have only
few vague reports as to w h a t these
a
counterparts and p r L c ^ l S h T ? l
PP 149-51) t h M r t J T l ^ . statement about t
h
e
^
r
e
.
! 348
"* ^
m
^
t h e
"
G
t
^
of Herades (2.43-5; Grene.
3
* ~ «
<°»™ "P
-
40. It is unclear to whkh deity the name 'Knef appl.es. The 2nd edn_of IP- 278,: 'In the firs,class comes rite and its use, as P t a h , a s ^ » ^ as the good daitnon.' The god Ptah is assorted with tus (the Greek god of fire) m 2.3 (Grene, p. 132). It is unclear why
^^^S^.
^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ 1 .
unless there « \ p o s s i h , confusion with i ^ * f ^ t ^ refers to her being 'what was. what is, and what will be. See Lectures Religion, ii. 639. See also Hegel's mention of Neith below in our text. 349
E
S
E
^
THE L E C T U R E S OF
*8
1322-3
T H E O R I E N T A L W O R L D : EGYPT
This intelligence that an animal has for the purpose of its vitality we can call something incomprehensible to us. For although human beings might studv animals and imagine themselves in their place, we cannot represent to ourselves how things appear within the soul of the animal. Human beings cannot succeed at imagining themselves inside the nature of a dog or a cat- it remains something alien, something incomprehensible to us When we seek, then, to grasp the divine for ourselves as something higher and .ncomprehens.ble, there are two ways ,n which the incomprehens.biiitv confronts us. Thefirst,s as the vitality in the animal; but although we are hvmg ourselves, GUT vitality is determined by spirituality. The second way is he soil of representation, of reflection, of thought. In recent times it has been the particular fashion | to call God something incomprehensible that we encounter ir, the course of seeking, by the use of thought, for the foundation or exisnxig being, of all that there . In the one wav there is the vitality of the natural being and in the orher the aspect of reflection in which the mcom1S
a tr h ?T ? '"^-Prehensible element thus a something h,gher that is beyond us. The question is where the incompreW C
Í c o ñ Í nu Í m tllv' h T " mately ,n he first way, US
d e f i n e
W U h
y
8
ZZ f ^™ ^ r^.
hZin h Sd o
re
1st s o n Í
^ « - the first way, or the comprehensible more legitinatural aspect, ,n the realm of nature. For e to self, being free. The Greek stand' ' - d i n g of the essence of spirit, W
i n
I O n
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t
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^ " ^ i t y of the Greeks, the - « h " - t r e a t e d to d
Í U S t l f i e d
r
n t r U t
"
hav
it in animal
™Z
P ^ -ill this enigma, and they of " ° - i" theirTntuition of the V ° * - P-hensib!e ,n every respect are
W 3 S StlJ1 C h e
r m , n e d
f
f
F " — P - ^ b i l i r y as what is higher, we ^e Egyptians are jusrified if the abstract was for them
Z Z l T ^ T l e
I s
¡ S
We
life manarTw r L " T cour" ™ S
l t i m a
u n d e r s t
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and
LTwi„
t h i S l a n e r
f
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r t h e i T , s d
in
nature [Befangenheit) of the animal, as something remote from them, as something higher, and this remoteness from spirit is sheer life, whal is devoid of spirit, the animal domain. This, then, is therefore the most distinctive aspect that wefindin the case of the Egyptians. Wefindthis aspect—the fact that what is intuited in animal life is not a lower life but a higher one—not with the Egyptians alone, for it is also present in the case of the Indians, indeed even in that of the Greeks and Romans who saw knowledge and vision in [the flight of] birds, which discloses the future to human beings and so could serve as an oracle. The main feature here is that, when human beings have not in fact arrived at freedom of spirit, they hold the incomprehensible to be something higher and consequently seek it in animal life rather than on the side of spirit. The Egyptians intuited animal life as something higher and, in doing so, proceeded to the most obtuse and inhuman superstitions, as we see in the worship of Apis. They also worshiped two other oxen in addition to Apis. When Cambyses came to Egypt he, as a noble Persian, called them dunderheads for doing so. He himself wounded Apis and had [the ammal] killed. Among the Egyptians this superstition passed over into barbanc obtuseness. Apis was worshiped in one city in particular; other cities or districts worshiped other individual kinds of animals: cats, the ibis, the crocodile. 1 hese animals were fed in enclosures (Häusern) and large endowments existed tor their maintenance. After they died they were laid to rest, embalmed as carefully as human beings. For those nor embalmed, the.r bones were I collected and preserved, as was done with the bones of aH cats wruch were brought by ship to Bubastis and laid to rest there. Their skeletons were deposited in large tombs. Splendid tombs were dedicated to Apis. In the second pyramid to be opened up after a few thousand yearsJtoru discovered, in a major chamber, an alabaster coffin containing bones of oxen, thus showing that Apis had been laid to rest here.
s
m
41. Herodotus says that a call bom under ^ ^ was regarded by the pnests as rhe manifestation o l the god A IS
^
^
^
therrr, subbed the amrrral ,n the .h,gh, and .. died horn t h e L T ^ ^ ' j ^ Iteo.eru, 42. See Grovanru Battista Belzoru, Narratwe <* *" ^ Z d N v b * (London, 1320). wttbm the Pyramids, Temples, Tombs and BccavaUons mtgW ^ ^ o f
what is h den Wnh * * T 7 *\™ ^ ^ ^ °™< with somethL ' < f " « < bondage, the Egyptians have to wrestle 1
h
1S
ho
¡ t a ^ a l T Z TITT^' ^ ^ ^ ""uralness of anima. I.fe. They have defined this mcomprehensibility, in the unselfconscious p O S S e S S
350
S
P
v
Somewhat „ variance wuh Hegel's ^ ^ 1 ^ nwnmufied. "the ammaN,mc(udingh |lMp.lft«);he^yso 1ymelK d'Mi^ ^aer MMS rest of the body bemg represented by two p.eces or wooo^ ^ p ^ o g the heads of conta.mng embalmed er.tra.ls of human mumrmes and havtng covers dep various animals (p. 172). See also n. 52 below. U
n
a
351
;
290
T H E O R I E N T A L W O R L D : EGYPT
T H E L E C T U R E S O F 18 2 2 - 3
It is also noteworthy that the death penalty applied f o r the k i l l i n g of a revered animal of this sort, i n some cases indeed o n l y when it was killed intentionally, although in other cases even if the act was unintentional. Diodorus tells of a popular uprising w h e n someone had unintentionally killed a cat, i n the course of which the slayer lost his l i f e . W h e n there is famine the supply of animals remains untouched and people are left t o starve rather than slaying revered animals. So this further enhanced [respect for] the great vitality o f the animal. The magruficent life of animals therefore counts as something infinitely higher. Sheer vitality f o r its o w n sake is thus highly honored in this way by the Egyptians. This includes reverence f o r vitality i n the abstract and not merely for the particular vitality o f individual animals. Thus the worship of the lingam constituted a principal focus for the Egyptians too; according to the testimony of Herodotus this practice of theirs was even brought to Greece a n d copied b y the G r e e k s . Other offenses too, such as sodomy, were commonplace f o r the Egyptians. So this worship of vitality is one aspect. 43
44
As then vitality for its o w n sake counted as the supreme t h i n g , i t also transpired that the animal figure d i d n o t remain the absolute object of worship, but instead was transformed i n t u r n into the symbol f o r something that is not said t o represent itself; the animal figure is instead the means f o r pointing t o something other than i t . This is likewise a familiar and essential aspect [of Egypt], and we can call to m i n d in this regard the falcon, sparrow hawk, | dung beetle, and scarab, w h i c h were revered for their o w n sake but were demoted t o being only the presentation of a significance they have within them. Yet w e do not k n o w w h a t they are supposed t o signify; the more precise symbolic characteristics are not given. T h e dung beetle was said t o represent the power o f procreation, then the path of the sun, and so on. This is something wholly impenetrable to us. We must not t h i n k of these symbolic representations, however, i n such a w a y that the universal representation was at band and that then a symbol was sought f o r i t ; instead, what came first was the intuition of a kind of animal in which something universal, a universal representation o f that sort, was then imaginatively envisaged, and not vice versa. The general idea (Gattung), the universal
J w d f L ^ r ' ^ i " - >> ~ v '"he c o r ™ people gather in crowds and deal w,th the perpetrator most cruelly, sometimes doing this without waiting for P P
3
2 8 2
5
w
h
o
S
L v n i n ™ ' T T . * Roman, who was pntushed even though the 44 H f " ; * y seeking good relations with the Roman visitors. t b e
z e
L
C a t
k i i , C T
w
a
feature o f the representation, sought to work itself out o n the basis o f an animal figure o f this k i n d . We find traces of the respect for living things among all ancient peoples, which is why in the O l d Testament i t is forbidden t o eat blood, because blood contains the soul or the life of the animal. This is the m a r k o f the reverence for life. To the spirit that is not free, the divine is something over yonder. The unfree spirit knows truth only as something 'over there'. The spirit that is free is spirit for itself, is not i n the presence of something other. However the Orientals, not being free, relate to spirit as t o an other, t o a localized, specific vitality i n particular f o r m (partikularisiert), i n w h i c h they situate spirit's essential nature. This particular living t h i n g , the 'other' to spirit, is therefore what is incomprehensible, a n d the unfreedom of spirit is its having its essential being i n what is incomprehensible. Life as such, life i n general, human life, universal vitality, is o f course t o be conceptualized. B u t what is i n particular form, the life of the animal, is just as incomprehensible as | is the nonconceptual caprice 292 (Willkür) o f h u m a n beings. Unfree caprice is t o be apprehended i n the same way as animal vitality. Unfree spirit or superficial w i l l wants nothing more than to place itself on a par w i t h particularity, t o satisfy itself w i t h part.cularities; and so we see people who get on well w i t h animals, like old maids w h o are at home w i t h cats or w i t h dogs, w h o live w i t h them as with likeminded souls. For the more profound spirit, however, such a particular torm is something other to i t , and when spirit feels itself bound t o such a pamcular f o r m , then i t proves t o be still wholly unfree. We n o w have t o say, furthermore, that the Egyptians were resistant t o this severely unselfconscious state (Befangenheit), to this determinacy i n intuiting the animal; so they downgraded this unselfconscious state to something said t o represent something other than i t . What they d i d was convert the animal element into a symbol, and 'symbol' is what does not bear its own explicit interpretation by itself, as i t immediately exists, but instead has that interpretarion i n what is yet something other. Thus i n Egypt we see aruma figures as symbols, transformed and thus downgraded i n t o the sheeriy external realirv of a representation or meaning that ,s supposed to be disnnct f r o m this immediate animal f o r m . The dung beetle and t h e ^ s p a r r o w W are symbols i n this way. A symbol, however, is always something o p ^ u e j n language there is free clarity; i n the symbol, ^ ^ ^ " ^ ^ only opaquely by human bemgs or by the sensible e l e m e n . ^ > < ^ tion d l not become entirely clear; i t merely makes use of the symbol. The
s
l o u s |
Di™J" t ^ T f * T' ^ - ~ > ^ Melampus learnt the ntual of ^ n v s m s rrom tgypt and instituted it for the Greeks, including a phallic procession to 1
5
U
P P
1 5 2
3
352
a
45. See Gen. 9:4. 353
THE
L E C T U R E S OF
1822-3
THE
power of procreation and the sun's path were expressed in this w a y via the symbol of the dung beetle. Here, then, there was the intuition of nature that imaginatively envisaged a general significance w i t h i n the l i v i n g thing. So, representation progresses f r o m the exclusively immediate representation t o something further. We have every reason t o take such forms as symbols. Posited explicitly as such, as symbols, they are, moreover, positioned differently here where the animal figure is transformed and thus not left r o be as ir exhibited itself in immediacy. Here belongs the juxtaposing of animal figores, for instance | a snake w i t h the head of a b u l l or r a m , o r a lion body with a crocodile tail and a ram's head, and so f o r t h .
293
Even more explicit, however, are the animal figures reduced to symbols i n the actual sphinxes o r animal bodies f r o m which a human figure makes its way outward; l i o n bodies w i t h female-male heads. Thus thev also have sparrow hawks f r o m which human beings come f o r t h . So animal images are, as i t were, helmets f r o m which the human visage peers o u t w a r d , w i t h the result that the animal aspect serves more as adornment or attribute. What this represents is the fact that something spiritual raises itself up o u t of the animal nature. The human being that immerses itself i n the animal always, , n doing so, still has human sensibilities. I n such t w o f o l d beings the universal begins t o project itself o u t w a r d . The spiritual element is not yet hee; thus the spiritual element is indeed expressed i n the task of m a k i n g itself free, in ,ts detaching itself f r o m the animal aspect. Vice versa, however, there are also other formations i n which the spiritual element is represented i n the human «gurc. The human element o r the human figure is no longer symbol ' ' e x p r e s s i o n , the distinctive figure, of the spinrual. The human figure appears, w , t h the face having the characteristic of _sp,nrual soul. So the sensible figure o f the spiritual is the h u m a n figure. M to proceeding t o the point of bringing out the spiritual element i n this hgure^ the Egypnans m turn perverted and distorted this figure by the use of
r'VT™
m
m
e
d
i
a
t
e
O R I E N T A L W O R L D : EGYPT
the priests had t o attire themselves i n such animal masks i n order to indicate or identify w h i c h deities they served. H o w the Egyptians Envisaged Spirit These are then the Egyptians' ways of envisaging essential being; spirit's task of becoming self-conscious was, by the natural domain, bound up w i t h the i n t u i t i o n of nature and breaking through this bondage, the transit i o n t o c o n t r a d i c t i o n , the inversion of the spiritual element into the natural element and vice versa. But for human beings the spiritual element is also present i n an existence proper t o them, in the spiritual power of their own discoveries a n d aptitude. The arousal and power of the Egyptian consciousness and spirit has not overlooked this, but instead this consciousness has set itself up as something t o be revered, something essential and substantial, just like the powers of nature, and this then constitutes the other aspecr o f the Egyptian religion. H u m a n aptitudes are objectified Wypostasiert) i n this w a y and looked upon as important and worthy. But the spiritual element has n o t then also become the object (Gegenstand) as free spirit, as universal; instead it appears only as a particular power alongside the p o w e r of nature, something particular too in keeping w i t h its particular | content. The Egyptians therefore also had gods whose being was spiritual efficacy or activity, but it too was confined w i t h i n a restricted, n a r r o w scope (Partikularitat), and it was downgraded or demoted t o symbolic status and was linked to natural things. This aspect of this spirituality is preserved for us above all i n Hermes, also Teuh or T h o t h (Herodotus). As Egyptian, this deity [Hermes] is the god Anubis, friend and companion of Osiris, and his deeds include discovery of hieroglyphic w r i t i n g , of surveying, astronomy, music, and medicine, of religion and teachings of sacred matters, and so f o r t h . The Egyptians say that l a m b l i d i u s has set f o r t h all their customs, the inventions of the priests, and the name H e r m e s . *
295
4 6
7
294
Ltr 1 'H I anZ T t
he2nf
S P e C t
tfnrJTh ^inteir
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8
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beings w i t h ^ s . Greek art under-
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^ of "self, whereas m Egypt
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b r
354
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46. Herodotus mentions H e r m e s m v a r W 195), but does not state explicidy that Henues equals Thoth. ^ ^ " ^ f ^ ^ ^ L gistus are Thoth, the reputed author of Her^a. A c c o r d i n g ^ C ^ ^ ' f T ^ ^ r ^ ^ ^ renders the Egyptian phrase 'Thoth the very greaf. ^ Greek T n s » e ^ rnea Ums
associated with Lwnasthe rl ,lv
•thr.ee greatest'. T h o t h T t h e
*™^™^^^J2^
Egypnan god of
^¿^^^¡^7^
souls of the dead. He h not the same one as Anub.s, who ass.sts lum scale the hran of the deceased, set over agarnstan osmch f e a t
h e 47. lambhchus. a Neoplatonis. of the 3rd and 4th cents, AD, wrote various Pythagoras, mathematics, magic, the mysteries, and theurgy. 355
f
r
o
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„
^
THE LECTURES
This spirit is the inventor of particular, individual (besonderen partikulären) inventions, not of free thought. As noted, the content of this divine element is then the particular natures of human arts a n d inventions, all lumped together here and grasped n o t as pure spirituality b u t instead i n their individual essential being. This content was also i n turn degraded into nature symbols and linked w i t h natural figures. I t is God i n fact w i t h the head o f a dog. I n addition t o this natural, sensible mask, it also becomes linked on the other side t o a natural object, to Sirius (the D o g Star). Just as the content of this spiritual activity as such is constricted i n this way, the mode o f its appearance, its concrete being, is constricted too. Therefore this confusion [of spirit] w i t h animal symbols that t o o k place, a confusion evident w i t h the sphinx, is also i n part present i n the most g l a r i n g fashion in other and broader circumstances. Thus, for instance, the sphere of human purposes and interests—how people have to conduct themselves w h e n dealing w i t h natural things and by which they have t o define themselves—is i n t u m such a confused state that even one's o w n act is then constrained by the powers of nature. 296
T H E O R I E N T A L W O R L D : EGYPT
OF 1 8 2 2 - 3
For example, i n medicine the diagnosis of bodily illness is b o u n d u p w i t h the most diverse superstitions and is linked w i t h | astrological or lunar influences, w i t h mysterious, magical w i s d o m . Likewise, in cases where people wish t o decide upon other matters such as building a house o r going o n a journey, decisions of that k i n d are controlled by the influence of the stars; i n all these contingent matters the Egyptians resorted t o oracles, especially consulting the oracle of A m m o n , a n d doing ail this i n the most extraordinary way, for there is a confusion o f one's o w n understanding w i t h the supposition of, and belief i n , other influences. The fact that external contingency is at w o r k carried over here t o m i n o r matters. T h e oracle of A m m o n was extremely famous. I n one city a shield w i t h precious stones o n it was the oracle, i n virtue of the fact that, w h e n moved, these precious stones either were, o r were n o t , made t o vibrate. 4 8
The spiritual element, free science, constrained i n this way f r o m coming t o consciousness, , n o t to be sought among the Egyptians and hence d i d not come t o solve the enigma, d i d not anive at free consciousness. It is a ridiculous supposmon to believe that Greek sages or philosophers obtained their thoughts and then- wisdom f r o m Egypt. Pythagoras had been there i n Egypt, but we do not k n o w what he brought back w i t h h i m . When we see, however, that he taught the r^yptians t o calculate the size of the pyramids f r o m their s
shadow, it is certain that they were not far advanced in geometry. What he brought back f r o m them was of little consequence. Also, if we wish to assume that Pythagoras brought back philosophy, we see that Pythagoras himself did not yet arrive at free thought but only at number, inasmuch as he comprehended w h a t is spiritual i n the abstraction of number. A n d if we also assume that the Egyptians had such philosophical themes, they still had not yet arrived at pure thought. So the Egyptian priests could well have engaged in speculation; b u t w h a t others obtained from them was not pure thought, and in any event i t was different f r o m the standpoint of the [Egyptian] people. |
So we see the Egyptian spirit as the laborer, the great master buddet, whose wondrous works, after three thousand years, snil deserve our com¬ plete admiration. A r t and Architecture mi anu r Y r c i u i c c L i u t - i u A n is a principal feature of Egypt, and it presented ^ ? Egyptian religion. A r t can have n o place i n the religion of absna* [i.e. Judaism and I s l a m H o r t h e v e r y ^ ^ something indeterminate and invisible. In that setting « . sinful because representation of the abstract One, °* ^f™^ ought to be ruled out. I n the higher - l i g - o n of s p u ^J the ~ religion, art is something | subordinate and not t h e ^ ^ ^ s p i r i t c a n the need f o r understanding represents its content t o itself, nor h o w sp.ru can
48. Tbc famous oracle of Ammon was located « rus temple « the oasis o f Siwi. 356
297
So these are the principal features of the Egyptian religion, which has as its principal element the urge or impulse (Drang) of spirit to work m way free f r o m the i n t u i t i o n of nature. This superstition is a harsh fate for the Egyptians themselves; here spirit is still i n strict, harsh slavery, and spirit strives or longs t o be free of (beraus) i t , yet has nothing but struggle. The Indians t o o l o n g t o be free of i t , but they remain stuck i n negation, i n selfcenteredness (Selbstzweck). The principle of this African s p r i t , however, is precisely t o endure such harshness and to overcome i t , whereas the Indians take their o w n lives. The Egyptian sustains the impulse and lives w i t h m it ho the content of Egyptian religion is then of a sort that cannot be only a subjective content of representation; instead the content is the tremendous urge itself, and since the content is this harsh driving force, it must, in going out beyond subjectivity, become objective to itself, must portray ttsett, must annul the onesidedness, must overcome the self-enclosed state (Befangen¬ heit). Hence the Egyptian religion is i n one aspect this content of representat i o n , and is the urge t o supersede the merely subjeenve status o f the representation and t o produce the object.
357
298
T H E L E C T U R E S OF 1 8 2 2 - 3
make a representation form
w
e
0
T H E O R I E N T A L W O R L D : EGYPT
f itself. I n the form before us, t o the contrary, the
us i n Egypt, i n the spirit enclosed w i t h i n the natural
have before
domain where spirit ,s an impulse but cannot come t o itself, art f r o m this standpoint is the necessary means of self-knowledge, o f bringing about self-
into a representation. So what spirit makes
consoousness and making it
representational is the very content that w e have seen that of thought; it can only be the sensible, natural material, the material of the natural realm. Here spirit is the master builder that w o r k s o r inscribes itself into stone and has only this [natural] material. So what i t then makes
into the obiect of .ts consciousness, w h a t it produces, w h a t knowledge this spmt brings .tself t o , can only be this impulse, this task, this enigma itself, namely, the h.eroglyph. Therefore w h a t this impulse produces are the hiero g l y p h , ^ We marvel at the power o f this tremendous impulse in these
works o f a n , , n their m e c h a n i c s - h o w far advanced the Egyptians were in the mastery a n d movement o f massive natural objects, i n impressing upon them the form that spirit seeks to k n o w in t h e m . They developed the
extent. I n more recenY times
r f ^ i ° ^ P ^ of the obelisk to Rome and A e head of the sphinx t o E n g l a n d ; " they made a great ado about Egyptian 3
Zsa^orn
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hand 299
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h a r d e s t
s t o n c
d
- o g l y p h s . Up to now these M o s t of the representations are
, C S S
1 6 5 5
h
, U S t
«P«« o f resolv.ng ° the great discoveries of
S PSSSLT W f ^ *** « understanding the t g y p a a n hieroglyphs. We have not yet given up the desire for actual w o r k s E
w
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h
t h e
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enigma t h a t the Egyptian spirit made o f itself would ever remain just an enigma for us and w o u l d n o t become w h o l l y clear. These artistic productions i n architecture and sculpture are the principal w o r k of the Egyptians. other peoples. The vast and abundant realm of the Egyptians' deeds is, in contrast, their w o r k s of art. W o r k s of a n n i h i l a t i o n endure i n memory, but we still possess che [actual] w o r k s of the Egyptians, though only i n ruins. One hundred thousand m e n were engaged for ten years i n the Trojan War, and what they accomplished, the endeavor of the Trojan War, was the devastanon of Troy. The chief result is the f u t i l i t y of both sides, of the besieged and the besiegers. W h a t the Egyptians presented, and left behind them, is a far loftier achievement, a positive one that, albeit i n ruins, is still something more o r less indestructible and enduring. These are works o t the greatest k i n d ; t o H e r o d o t u s the w o r k s of the Greeks appear paltry indeed compared t o those of the Egyptians, and especially compared, for instance, t o the l a b y r i n t h w i t h its three thousand chambers above ground and three thousand below ground.™ f t is likewise w i t h the walls. These w o r k s are as impressively grand as they are elegant
tectural design ,s as impressively grand as i t is beautiful like that o f the Greeks. So the Egyptian spirit is this laborer, and this is the principal feature of Egypt as such.
f
The Dead and I m m o r t a l i t v
_
Especially i m p o r t a n t among these works is their novel ^ P ^ to the dead. Ágreat many of these subterranean works that they the dead still L a i n , and not just by chance, for this sub^mnean
°
"
f
' S -Belzon,. - a k o considerable detail the l i b o r i o M ^ T " ° ' ^ P * « d o u work." Belzoni describes ,n Memnon overland t o the Nile ™ Zt. P " * * * * endeavor of transporting the huge bust of t
8
l x )
a
stu
5 4 6
W b e r e
H e
358
^ » n*hn
thearena (Tu^etp^oi the Greeks and the hillocks of the valley, are the sorts of tombs in w h cn
^ ^ ^ j ^ L
preserved themselves, especially the works or thedead on the hillocksof the valley. Belzoni established
pvr
e l
s
1
Museum. See Belzoni, N o r r a ^ ^ n Z ^ l
^
plays an essential and major part i n are countless ruins of temples to the gods, especiauy m
51
^ipo^Ju^Z^ ht^d of M ^
| MM arcni-
d
w i d . subjective representation. *e sculptures, or else m
»
r k s
r
n
t h e
«>
^
e
^ *
k
, n s c r i b e d
u T ° ° ^/^ciphered.
t
r
t
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W
m
n
b
w e r e t h C S e
?
O
C a r w d
r
yp
0
even actual works i n the language themselves, their
content, w o u l d always be only w h a t the works of art represent for us. The
W i t h other peoples the w o r k of their effort is subjugation or domination of
The material in w h i c h spirit makes itself into the representation cannot be
undemanding of mechanics t o the greatest
in the language; yet
*"
» ^ Brit! A
'?^ ^ ^' i
2 50. See h.s account of the labyrinth, and of Lake Moens G o i * t 0 51 Belzon, descnbes b n ^ ^ ^ ^ 1 ) ^ m o u n t s on the west of Thebes' o f rocks, about two miles «i length, at the foot of the unyan
359
T H E O R I E N T A L W O R L D : EGYPT
T H E L E C T U R E S OF 1 8 2 2 - 3 too were dedicated t o t h e d e a d /
M o r e r e c e n t l y t h e y have been o p e n e d
2
u p . B e l z o m made t h e second o n e accessible, i n v e s t i g a t e d t h e w a l l s , a n d discovered w e l l - p r o p o r t i o n e d c r y s t a l l i n e s t r u c t u r e s (Kmtalle).
w h a t w e c a l l i m m o r t a l i t y . I t is n o t a m a t t e r o f mere representations, such as o f respect s h o w n t o t h e deceased.
These enor-
I n t h e O r i e n t a l v i e w p o i n t n o f r e e d o m is g r a n t e d t o the i n d i v i d u a l . So wc
mous, w e l l - p r o p o r t i o n e d c r y s t a l l i n e s t r u c t u r e s a r e n o t o r g a n i c b u t r a t i o n a l
s a w t h a t t h e s u b j e c t is r e c o g n i z e d n o t as being something i n f i n i t e l y free nr
{versumdtge), s t r a i g h t - s i d e d s t r u c t u r e s t h a t enclose n o t h i n g b u t a c a d a v e r /
i n h e r e n t l y self-subsistent
3
b u t instead o n l y as some-
(Fiir-Sich-Bestehendesl
The t o m b s o f k i n g s are a w e - i n s p i r i n g . B e l z o m o p e n e d u p a n d i n v e s t i g a t e d a
t h i n g t h a t passes a w a y . I n d i a n ' S p i n o z i s m ' does n o t a l l o w t h a t subjecuvity
king s t o m b t h a t was built i n t o a h i l l . H o w e v e r , he d i d n o t reach its other
c o u l d h a v e a n i n f i n i t e , free self-subsistence; instead, the fact t h a t substance
end, w h i c h ,s p r o b a b l y o n t h e o t h e r side o f t h e m o u n t a i n . E v i d e n t here is t h e
m o d i f i e s itself a t o n e p o i n t is o n l y a superficial m o d . f i c a t i o n . W i t h t h e
i m p o r t a n c e t h a t the E g y p t i a n s p l a c e d o n t h i s r e a l m o f A m e n d , o f d e a t h , o f
Chinese w e see g r e a t respect s h o w n t o the deceased, the son ascribing all
the i n v i s i b l e , a n d t h e k i n d o f r e p r e s e n t a t i o n t h e y a c c o r d i n g l y a t t a c h e d t o i t .
t h a t he does t o his f o r e f a t h e r s . I t exalts t h e m , n o t h i m . So we see m t h i s
it hts together w i t h their r e p r e s e n t a t i o n o f t h e essence o f t h e h u m a n b e i n g as
i n s t a n c e t h e v i e w t h a t t h e deceased are a perennial factor, a l t h o u g h t h a t does
such; t o r t h i s aspect o f the r e a l m o f t h e d e a d relates t o the i n d i v i d u a l i t y o f
n o t suffice f o r t h e b e l i e f i n the i m m o r t a l i t y o f the s o u l - q i n t e the c o n t t a n
h u m a n beings. W h a t c o m e s t o l i g h t h e r e i s the r e p r e s e n t a t i o n o f t h e h u m a n
People s u p p o s e t h a t , w h e n the e m p e r o r elevates t o a higher level the ather or
being b y h u m a n beings, divested o f a l l c o n t i n g e n c y a n d t e m p o r a l i t y ; f r o m thlirTouls
E
g
y
P
t
i
a
n
S
t
h
e
m
s
e
l
v
«
thought about the i m m o r a l i t y of
D e a l i n g w i t h t h i s aspect o f the r e a l m o f the d e a d i n v o l v e s g o i n g o v e r the features
p e r t i n e n t t o w h a t the E g y p t i a n s t h e m s e l v e s t h o u g h t a b o u t t h e
i m m o r t a l i t y o f t h e i r souls.
hrst t o have believed a n d t a u g h t t h a t t h e h u m a n soul is i m m o r t a l .
Chinese
5 4
reverence f o r t h e . r ancestors a n d t h e I n d i a n s ' t r a n s m i g r a t i o n o f t h e s o u l - t o r he I n d i a n s d r e a m e d o f e x t e n s i v e w a n d e r i n g s o f souls t h r o u g h m a n y n a t u r a l ant
"
1"
meaning
" he h esou 3 ,
o
a
b
d
i
e
V
e
t
h
3
t
H
e
r
o
° t - ,
d
being u n i n f o r m e d o r igno-
his a c c o u n t , w e m u s t be clear as t o w h a t belief i n t h e i m m o r t a l i t y
f
l
0
r
t
h
a o
i u
g
T h
t h i s
i m m o r t a l i t y o f t h e s o u l m e a n s t h a t t h e s o u l , this i n w a r d n e s s , is m f i n u e ot itself. T h i s i n w a r d , i n d i v i d u a l , p r i v a t e sphere, t o w h i c h n o t e m p o r a l h o n o r can a n y l o n g e r b e f a l l o r be s h o w n , is supposed t o be i m m o r t a l i t y s o m e t h i n g t h a t is o v e r a n d d o n e w i t h t e m p o r a l i t y . T h e emperor c a n n o t h o n o r ,t b y e x a l t i n g i t , a n d s o t h i s is the i n d i c a t i o n t h a t f o r the Chinese there ,s nc. su h
T h e first n o t e w o r t h y p o i n t is t h a t H e r o d o t u s says t h e E g y p t i a n s w e r e the
t
t h e p e r s o n b e i n g h o n o r e d , t h i s is a p r o o f I o f belief i n i m m o r t a l i t y . B u
°
P e P l e h 3 S 3 F C r e p r e s e i l t a t j o n | e n
P d
r
e i
s
s e n t t s d f
a
r f
i o
o
oi the i m m o r t a l i t y_ o f
n
c
h
a
r
a
c
w
r
« a « o n s , so w e m u s t of course e x a m i n e w h e t h e r t h e r e is a g r e e m e n t r e g a r d i n g
t h i n g as t h i s a b s o l u t e l y free, i n n e r being-for-self of soul. H e n c e e x a t a n o r n n t i m e n o l o n g e r has a n y m e a n i n g ; for the s o u l resides w h e r e w o r l d l y h o n o r can n o l o n g e r reach i t ; a n d i f w o r l d l y h o n o r does e x t e n d t o , t then t h , ,s a sign t h a t w h a t w e have here is n o t w h a t is c a l l e d a n i m m o r t a l soul So t h i s a b s o l u t e l y free, i n n e r being-for-self o f the soul is
^
^
»
n
r o the O r i e n t a l character. Even i n t h e O l d Testament, , n the Jewish there are o n l y f a i n t traces o f i m m o r t a l i t y , a n d w e d o n o t even tality o f rhe
find^men-
o u l t o be a d o m i n a n t t o p i c , so t h a t here t o o n o l i g h
u p o n i t . I f , t h e n , w e d o n o t find i t a m o n g i
«
.
^
,
b
s shed ^
w
w h e t h e r , t .s t o be s o u g h t i n the case o f the E g y p t i a n * ,
f
^
the s o u l is c o n s i d e r e d t o be s o m e t h i n g s u b s i s t f o r i sel t t a n s _g ^
h
C c
* «"
ind"a ^ L i p h ^ r 5 " ^ " r ' sepulchres'. Set his a , ™ , ™ - / . t ^ ''^ pp. 2,-5-81. ^ ° Z |
a b 0 U
Bolzoni notes ubid ^TS) that *'r contain the bones of bulls" rh, Theh^s ot enormous V n H ^n.on. " a t
a
s
- ^ i a n d ^ , ! ^ ^
.
dm o r e
4.
The circumstance of havin chambers * > but thai thev were erected as pyramid of fhephren [Khafrei o r K
t l c U
P
a u e o t
k k» l ' PP
t , o r l
o s e t l th
w h l c h t o r3
? ' " earn, it cycles through some other living thing. C
360
firS
1 0
I e
t h a t
t
h
c
h
a
^
t h e soul has a n eternal p u r p o s e w h o l l y d . s t . n a
from
d i s t i n c t f r o m t e m p o r a l i t y . W h e r e this d e p t h o f rh
^
^
r
soul g
^ ^
w h a r c a n a p p e a r t o be a [mere) c o n t i n u a t i o n is meager^ - - " ^ J ^ ^ ^ ^ e
c o n s t i t u t e s f a i t h ' s g e n u i n e interest , n
-
n a n s , t h e consciousness o f the existence (Bestehert has n o t yet arisen.
r
^
c h a r a c t e r i s t i c o f t h e person as destined f o r e t e r n i t y t h e
interest. T h i s h.gher destmy t h a t ,
ese larjse sarcophagi were made to <™ found ,« .he tombs o, the kinfts of hull than a human bod>. I cannot agree m this s u
M
,
labyricrh' «p. « „ see pp.
a
t h e
penU,
w
^
release f r o m t h e t e m p o r a l sphere. O u r
iSriTAV'^tao™
s o u ) 1 5
361
a
h
i
p
h
e
r
p
r e u
r
_
I'HE L E C T U R E S O F
THE ORIENT AL WOR1D:
1822-3
W e have t o discover e x a c t l y w h a t t h e y expressed b y s a y i n g t h e soul is 303
i m m o r t a l , exactly w h a t perspective
this was. H e r o d o t u s attributes to |
EGYPT
A f u r t h e r c i r c u m s t a n c e is t h a t w e f i n d the j u d g i n g o f the dead also in i n s c r i p t i o n s a n d i n t h e i r s u r v i v i n g p a i n t i n g s t o o , as well as i n the [ w r i t i n g s
F o r t h e m the
o f ] h i s t o r i a n s . It is h i s t o r i c a l f a c t t h a t , p r i o r t o the b u r i a l o f a private person
i n t u i t i o n o f i m m o r t a l i t y w a s o n l y at a n i n i t i a l stage. [ T h e i r c o n c e p t o f ) s p i r i t
a n d that of a k i n g , there was a public t r i b u n a l and a funeral o r a t i o n , w i t h
was not yet f u l f i l l e d b y t w o aspects: t h a t s p i r i t has a h i g h e r , e t e r n a l p u r p o s e ,
n a r r a t i o n o f t h e p e r s o n ' s l i f e a n d the e x t o l l i n g o f his v i r t u e s , at w h i c h t i m e
a n d t h a t , reflected w i t h i n itself, s p i r i t is i n h e r e n t l y i n f i n i t e . T h e y a p p r e h e n d
a n y o n e i n t h e a s s e m b l y w a s a b l e t o present a c o n t r a r y v i e w . I f the b y s t a n -
i m m o r t a l i t y o n l y i n the sense o f a b s t r a c t oneness, o f the a t o m , b u t this
ders d i d n o t c o n c u r ,
oneness does n o t suffice f o r the c h a r a c t e r o r c o n c e p t o t s p i r i t . T h e y t h o u g h t
H e n c e the t r i b u n a l f o r t h e d e a d is n o t represented as h e l d i n the under-
o f t h i s oneness o r this a t o m as o n g o i n g a n d i n d e s t r u c t i b l e , y e t n o t o n g o i n g i n
w o r l d , i n t h e w a v it is w i t h the G r e e k s ( i n M i n o s a n d elsewhere), a n d still
an e t e r n a l , u n i v e r s a l existence b u t instead as e x i s t e n c e i n a p a r t i c u l a r f o r m
less so d o e s i t r e s e m b l e o u r L a s t J u d g m e n t . I n g e n e r a l , w e have no j u s t i f i -
{partikularistert) i n w h i c h the soul passes o v e r i n t o t h e b o d y o f a n a n i m a l .
c a t i o n f o r a d v e r t i n g f r o m t h i s i m a g e t o o u r Last J u d g m e n t ,
They d i d not t h i n k o f themselves as i n f i n i t e i n a n d f o r t h e m s e l v e s . T h i s I o r
i u d j ; i n g ot t h e d e a d here is d o n e bv t h e l i v i n g , n o t b y a judge i n the b e y o n d
t h e m a b e g i n n i n g o f t h i s consciousness o f a h i g h e r d e s t i n y . '
5
t h i s ' o n e ' , a n d the w a y i n w h i c h the r e a l i t y o t t h e s o u l is r e p r e s e n t e d ,
are
w h a t m a k e s the d i f f e r e n c e .
These t r i b u n a l s are
they c o u l d m a k e accusations againsr the deceased.
because the
t o be u n d e r s t o o d as t h e sort t h a t t h e l i v i n g h o l d
c o n c e r n i n g the dead.
T h e o b j e c t i v i t y o f s p i r i t is its e t e r n a l destiny. I f t h e soul is n o t v i e w e d
A n o t h e r c i r c u m s t a n c e , one r e c o u n t e d by H e r o d o t u s , is that images ot
as t h i s s p i r i t , t h e n its destiny is o n l y b e i n g s o m e t h i n g i n a p a r t i c u l a r f o r m
deceased relatives w e r e set u p at b a n q u e t s , together w i t h the a d m o n i t i o n :
(?artikular), a n d so the s o u l i n d e e d c o n t i n u e s o n as a n a t o m , t h o u g h
-Eat a n d d r i n k , f o r y o u w i l l b e c o m e such a one as t h i s . '
one
tossing a b o u t w i t h i n p a r t i c u l a r f o r m s o f existence. A further representation
So the r e m i n d e r ot
d e a t h was n o o c c a s i o n f o r r e m i n d i n g the l i v i n g t h a t death i n v o l v e d k n o w l -
o r f e a t u r e t h a t b e l o n g s h e r e is t h e fact t h a t
edge o f a h i g h e r d e s t i n y ; i n s t e a d , t h e images o f the dead were
| used to
O s i r i s dies, is b u r i e d , r e m a i n s b u r i e d , a n d is n o r i n t u r n r e s u r r e c t e d . So he
e n c o u r a g e t a k i n g a d v a n t a g e o f t h e present by seizing u p o n lite s sensual
has m a n y graves. A n o t h e r p o i n t is t h a t , b y e m b a l m i n g , b y t h e m u m m i e s ,
pleasures. So t h . s spectacle served n o t as a n a d m o n i t i o n r e g a r d i n g a higher
the E g y p t i a n s g i v e t h e d e a d a c o n t i n u a t i o n ; the b o d y w o u l d be p r e s e r v e d i n
destinv, b u t i n s t e a d as an i n d u c e m e n t t o the sensual pleasures o f t h i s M e
t h i s w a y t o r t h e t i m e b e i n g . People s u p p o s e t h a t i n t h i s e n d e a v o r t h e y h a v e
T h i s is w h a t w e observe i n the case o f the Egyptians c o n c e r n i n g their v i e w ot
f i i T i
the h u m a n b e i n g a n d o f t h e s o u l .
t
0
I ^
b e
'
, e i
'
n
g
e
n
u
,
n
e
' ^ m o r t a l i t y , since it is said t o h a v e been a
f o l k b e l i e f t h a t the s o u l c o n t i n u e s o n t o g e t h e r w i t h a b o d y p r e s e r v e d in t h i s w a y a n d , w h e n t o g e t h e r w i t h i t , does n o t d e c o m p o s e . Yet
t h e r e is n o
h i s t o r i c a l ev,dence t o r t h i s b e l i e f . I n a n y e v e n t , t h i s m o r e r e c e n t o r m o d e r n
»4
Private o r P a r t i c u l a r Purpose T h e [Egyptian] orientation is t o v i t a l i t y i n the present. O n the one h a n d , here
w a y o t e x p l a i n i n g t h i n g s is u n h i s t o n c a l a n d i t is a s i l l y v i e w . T h e very f a c t
w e see the E g y p t i a n s e n g a g i n g themselves over against nature
t h a t they sought t o e n a b l e t h e b o d y t o e n d u r e reveals i n s t e a d t h a t thev h a d
f u l u n d e r s t a n d i n g o f t h e i r o w n s t r e n g t h t h a t is self-confident a n d is w e s
n o g e n u i n e sense o f i m m o r t a l i t y ; f o r t h e latter, t h e b o d v i t s e l f
in t h e o p e r a r i o n l o f the state just as i t ,
| or
the
b o d i l y b e i n g ,s precisely the m o r e i n s i g n i f i c a n t f e a t u r e , a n d o n l y a n o u t w a r d respect o u g h t t o be s h o w n i t . T h i s e m b a l m i n g i n s t e a d
testifies
far
m
i n the mechanical a n d te h n c
features o f t h e i r edifices. O n the o t h e r h a n d , we see i n t h i s v . t m m o r h p o w e r o t t r a n s f o r m i n g the p a r t i c u l a r and the finite. We have o served t h
m o r e t o t h e i r i n f i n i t e l y h i g h esteem f o r t h e m o r t a l , p a r t i c u l a r , finite, b o d i l y
c h a r a c t e r i s t i c o f transforming natural p a r t i c u l a r i t y , n t o sorncth. i g s m b o l
b e i n g t h a t the soul has as its b o d y . F o r w i t h t r u e i m m o r t a l i t y t h e
o f r e p r e s e n t i n g one r e p r e s e n t a t i o n in another, w h e r e i n the
preserva-
t i o n o t t h e b o d y ,s c o m p l e t e l y n o n e s s e n t i a l . So this m u m m i f i c a t i o n does n o t
sent o n e sensible r e p r e s e n t a t i o n i n a d i f f e r e n t one i n such a w a y h
p o i n t t o t h e a u t h e n t i c sense o f i m m o r t a l i t y .
b e c o m e s s v m b o l f u r the other. H e r e w e see the p o w e r o t the
*. H e r ^ s _ U,S; O r e . , having someone carry around a miniature cotfin containing 362
363
*
on
pamcula
^
THE LECTURES OF
1 822-3
THE ORIFNTAL WORLD:
a n d the s p i r i t u a l p o w e r of c h a n g i n g or
(Partikulär)
transforming it—the
presence of m i n d and steadfastness or g o o d sense t h a t JS. on t h e one h a n d , i m m e r s e d i n the sensible, i n p a r t i c u l a r i t y , a n d is s t r i c t l y b o u n d ro i t , and o n the other h a n d , h o w e v e r , a l s o has t h e p o w e r t o v e n t u r e o u t b e y o n d this p a r t i c u l a r i t y , r o t r a n s f o r m i r , yet g o i n g f o r t h nor
i n t o s o m e t h i n g s p i r i t u a l or
universal or freely e m e r g e n t as s u c h , n o t t o t h o u g h t , b u t instead i n t o another particularity that only transforms the one intelligible representation into a d i f f e r e n t one,
such t h a t w h a t is u n i v e r s a l a l w a y s r e m a i n s s o m e t h i n g 'other'
o r m w a r d . H e r e i n lies the c h a r a c t e r i s t i c o f s u b , e c t i o n t o w h a t i s p r i v a t e and p a r t i c u l a r {die 306
Partikularttät
und
die
a n d the strength
Besonderheit),
of
seeking t o break t h r o u g h i t . J
brother, t o free t h e h o d v o f his b r o t h e r f r o m this h u m i l i a t i o n ; otherwise, she t h r e a t e n e d t o reve.il a l l t o t h e k i n g . So her s o n , the brother, c a r r i e d o u t the c o m m a n d b y l o a d i n g d o n k e v s w i t h w i n e s k i n s a n d c u t t i n g i n t o o n e o f the skins w h e n t h e y w e r e n e a r t h e g u a r d s , so t h a t the g u a r d s came a n d ladled t h e w i n e , a n d d r a n k i t , g r o w i n g m e r r y u n t i l they w e r e d r u n k . T h e n the b r o t h e r r e m o v e d t h e c o r p s e a n d shaved the r i g h t cheeks o f the g u a r d s . The k i n g , h a v i n g b e c o m e even m o r e e x a s p e r a t e d , t h e n i n despair o f f e r e d his d a u g h t e r t o s o m e o n e w h o m u s t t e l l her w h a t has been the m o s t i n t e l l i gent o r w i s e s t t h i n g he has ever d o n e , a n d t h e most outrageous or u n g o d l y thing. Then
the robber
c a m e t o o a n d t o l d h e r the s t o r y o f the t h e f t ,
w h e r e u p o n t h e k i n g ' s d a u g h t e r s o u g h t t o g r a b h o l d of h i m . B u t he h a d
W h e n , i n this l i g h t , w e t u r n t o the c o n s i d e r a t i o n o f p e r s o n a l i t y a n d t o the Egyptians' customary
EGYPT
conduct, we
find
b e h a v i o r t h a t is correspondingly
c i r c u m s p e c t a n d a p p r o p r i a t e . B u t w e a l s o find a u d a c i t y a n d boldness o n
cut o f f t h e h a n d f r o m h i s b r o t h e r ' s b o d y , a n d he e x t e n d e d it to her a n d made his e s c a p e . T h e n t h e k i n g p r o m i s e d t h e b o l d r o b b e r a p a r d o n and the daughter f o r his w i f e . "
the part o f k i n g A m a s i s , w h o sent t h e d a u g h t e r o f h i s p r e d e c e s s o r t o C a m byses. O n the one h a n d he h o l d s fast t o t h e p u r p o s e o f his o w n daughter's honor, a n d on d i e o t h e r h a n d he has t h e a u d a c i t y t o s u b s t i t u t e f o r her rhe d a u g h t e r or the o n e he m u r d e r e d .
5
So w e see b r o u g h t o u t here the t y p i c a l [ E g y p t i a n ] character; the p r i v a t e nature o f t h e
p u r p o s e is established
r h r o u g h o u r . I n reading this story.
I i m a g i n e d ir w a s f r o m T h e T h o u s a n d a n d O n e N i g h t s ' : i n one aspect i t is fantastic, i n a n o t h e r t o t a l l y c o n f i n e d t o a p r i v a t e passion d e v o i d o f any w i d e r
S t r i k i n g a n d just as n o t e w o r t h y is a n o t h e r s t o r y t o l d b y H e r o d o t u s . H e
r e f l e c t i o n a n d scope a n d possible t r a n s f o r m a t i o n o f w h a t is i n w a r d . L i n k e d t o
speaks o f a k m g R h a m p s i n i t u s . T h i s k i n g R a m p s i n i r u s h a d a large a m o u n t o f
this is the g e n e r a l lack o f a n y i n t e g r i t y o r any general ethical life. T h e p r i v a t e
g o l d i n a stone c h a m b e r o f his p a l a c e . T h e b u i l d e r o f t h i s c h a m b e r , o n his
character o f t h e p a s s i o n is a t h o r o u g h l y p r i v a t e purpose a n d is the ultirnare
d e a t h b e d , revealed t o h i s sons t h a t he p r o v i d e d f o r a life o f riches f o r t h e m bv
t h i n g ; a n d r h i s p u r p o s e is p u r s u e d a n d c a r r i e d o u t w i t h a n u n d e r s t a n d i n g
h a v i n g inserted one stone o f rhe c h a m b e r i n such a w a y t h a t it m i g h t easily be
h e e d l e s s o f c o n s e q u e n c e s a n d ever focused o n t h e present, a n d w i t h a m o m e n -
removed w i t h o u t that being noticed. (This extreme
tary
r e p r e s e n t a t i o n o f the
| d i s s i m u l a t i o n . T h i s s i m i l a r i t y t o A r a b i a n f a i r y tales is w o r t h y ot
p n v a r e p u r p o s e o f p r o v i d i n g f o r his sons i n r h i s w a y is a u t h e n t i c a l l v E g v p
a d m i r a t i o n , a n d H e r r v o n H a m m e r says that ' T h e T h o u s a n d a n d O n e N i g h t s
m n . ) T h e sons p u t t h i s i n f o r m a t i o n t o use a n d l , d t h e i r hands o n the g o l d .
is b y n o m e a n s A r a b i a n b u t is instead o f t h o r o u g h l y and strictly Egyptian
T h e k i n g s p o t t e d t h e loss a n d w a s a m a z e d ; he se, t r a p s , a n d o n e o f the
origin.
a
2
teT' ^
T
?
t
0
t
h
e
5 i t e
*
w
a
ensnared i n t h e m . T h e n .his t h i e f
s
h br T " I !? I t ' e " P ' » 8 ™ d o u t o f concern tor his brother, bade the b r o t h e r t o c u t o f f h i s head a n d t a k e i t a w a y w i t h h i m . a n d
under L T 2v c
Z
t
T ,
n
8
'7
u n
Th " f ' were
I "
mothe?ofth
3
IT S
e
e
U e S p a i n n
g h t i l , 1 , y
S
W
c
h
3
"
t
n
°
find,ng
t
0
u
P
3
O
n
C
n l y
^
^
C
e
o
S
h
'
e s
5
^
e
t
f
r
e
'
m
"
a
d
y
a
K
C
remaining |
n
t
a
i
n
o
n
t
^
0
^meanor
withguards
more
posted bv ,r
o f the p a s s e r s b , T h e
s u r v ^ n g son t o f e t c h the c o r p s e of
d
57. F « t h e « o r v , « , b « i
0
j p p
. j _ 3
6
character, w h i c h i n v o l v e s f a r s i m p l e r passions: courage, horse, s w o r d , love, and so t h e i r E g y p t i a n | o r i g i n ] is t o be i n f e r r e d .
o f a heedless
k i n g L a m e ever
- ^ ' - ^ v e d
7 w i d i
„
8
F o r i n t h e c o n c e r n s o f t h e E g y p t i a n s there is n o t h i n g o f the AraOian
w o m a n . T h u s w e see the E g y p t i a n character clearly realized i n these stones,
h e e d ' « * * carries out w h a t
e
5 9
his
Herodotus tells this long smrv much as Hegel doe.,
a.U
h
^
w
graspmg the severed hand (and arml ot a corpse, which was brother hut taken t r o m a difterent corpse. The reason lor tw• p
« . See Joseph von Hammer. Lexbicbte
der schonen
365
„J
:hef
turner«rf
^
S
the htother . t h the kinRVUauithter tikes place ,n the dark, »mc
181SI.6. 364
t
t
chteks of the d r u n k e n . . . i r d s is an art of J e m w n . Also, wr wto
I-ins v.as vcr> impressed w . t h the man's wit and daring. n ini m proclamation o f i m mim mttvv I r o m the kins- I lerodotus turns n ihesiorv regarding the attempt to discover the thiet bv the
Sh^i£die
^ °S
Crone, pp. 1 8 1 - . ) . In Herodotus the treasure «
0
^
^ ^ ,„
^ ^ ^ e
d
e
^
j^, f
ä
n
(
t
e
^
deteaseJ ^
i h j t
l r s p 0 r i s e
, u»< [ h e
, h n ot daughter. daughter, Pente«* (Vienna a s
k
c h e
[ r u f
f pi
THE
L E C T U R E S O F 1822-
î
T H F O K I F N TA I W O R L D :
W h e n w e c o m p a r e this p r i v a t e (indwtdueil) c h a r a c t e r o t the
Egyptians
T h e O r i e n t a l s p i r i t is s p i r i t r e m a i n i n g i m m e r s e d i n n a t u r e , is this unal
w i t h t h e i r r e l i g i o n a n d their c i v i c life a n d t h e i r endless u r g e t o w a r d labor, w e
loyed u n i t y i m m e r s e d i n n a t u r e . In E g y p t we see s p i r i t as self-enclosed, b u t it
rind i n a l l this a u n . f o r m d e t e r m n i a c y ; t h i s a b s t r a c t i m m o r t a l i t y and Hxitv of
is i m p o s s i b l e
i n d i v i d u a l i t y , this atom, b u t n o t yet s o m e t h i n g c o n c r e t e , n o t yet concrete
because the i m p u l s e is t o d i s r u p t i t . T h e I n d i a n s are only disposed t o w a r d
i n d i v i d u a l i t y . Since this [ a t o m ] is w h a t i t b e c o m e s , i t i m m e r s e s itself in
negativity a n d flee t o i t , whereas the Egyptians absorb themselves in their
p a r t i c u l a r elements (Parttkuldres) a n d f o r t h a t very reason ,t is
firmly
( o r s p i r i t t o keep i t s e l i w i t h i n this self-enclosed c o n d i t i o n
ani
labor. E g y p t is t h e l a n d o f c o n f l i c t , ot d i a l e c t i c , the l a n d o f the task o r the
m a l , the f i r m u n d e r s t a n d i n g t h a t o p e r a t e s w i t h i n a p r i v a t e d o m a i n o f pur
p r o b l e m [Aufgabe). T h e task stands h i g h e r than that [ I n d i a n ] i d e n t i t y d e v o i d
poses a n d i n t u i t i o n s b u t is, j u s t so, a n endless i m p e l l i n g , a s t e a d f a s t presence
of i n t e r e s t — i f n o p r o b l e m , t h e n n o s o l u t i o n ; a n d if the p r o b l e m is devised
ot m i n d and s t r i v i n g t h a t , f o r private purposes,
inverts
and d e f i n e d , t h e n t h e s o l u t i o n itselt is a c c o r d i n g l y given a t the same t i m e .
and k n o w s no b o u n d s . So w e see t h a t this compulsiveness or
The E g y p t i a n s p i r i t is o n e o f l i b e r a t i o n , o f universal inwardness. The strug
energy o t the E g y p t i a n soul is n o t yet d i r e c t e d t o w h a t is u n i v e r s a l a n d does
gle is against p a r t i c u l a r i t y , a n d w h a t m u s t emerge or has r o s p r i n g t o r t h is
not yet k n o w the universal as such, a n d t h u s it does n o r yet k n o w itself; t o r the
lust the f o r m o f u n i v e r s a l i t y . I t c o u l d have been interesting to investigate
soul is this o n e f o l d and universal d e m e n t o n «
the h i s t o r i c a l i n t i m a t i o n s , a n d ro consider,
everything
risks e v e r y t h i n g ,
o w n account. G r i p i n g
s
s o m e t h i n g universal is i m m e d i a t e l y i d e n t i c a l w i t h t h e f a c t t h a t this u n v i e l d i n g one , the 1 grasps itself a n d relates itself to itself, r o this u n i v e r s a l , abstract element. The very f 309
ECYPT
a
that the soul k n o w s itself is its m a k i n g itself i n t o the
a
content. the E g y p t i a n u n d e r s t a n d i n g | or s p i r i t stands at once ,
n
parricularirv
a n d does n o t yet g o back i n t o its o w n i n n e r being, does n o t raise itself u p t o the pomt ot grasping itself as u n i v e r s a l a n d c o m i n g t o be for ^ n s o o u s state (BefangenJvtt) this s p i r i t at the
same
itself. I n this
n n
-
t i m e s h o w s o r proves
" W i t t o be tree, b o l d a n d brave. It renders its n a t u r a l i n t u i t i o n s y m b o l i c a l l y a n d positions itself as the means t o s o m e t h i n g u n i v e r s a l t h a t , h o w e v e r , does not make its appearance as universal. It involves a self-enclosed state iBefangenhatl
ort r h ai
a
adv L I "
8
0
a
,
n
S
1
j
t
'
t
a
n
A f f i l e , or a mastery
, m p l l C l t
^ . P ^ a r i t y ,
encliL
over p a r t i c u l a r i t y ,
is n o t yet for ttself. T h e
but
particulars
' ' k&yp ' s p i r i t supersedes the selfenclosed state, unhang it t o r the sake o f a n o t h e r self-enclosed stare. S p i r i t does Zs
nan
m
p
I* '* T
i
,
a
t
l
y
b
e
'
c
t
a
h
u
S
e
p
C
a
t
h
A
e
t
n
i
v
r
e
e
s
u
i
a n
™
t
" " v e r s a ! itself. T h a t
o Z T e T T. ' ' « > « * h»rward as the l o y o u s , tree, cheerful p , t , a n d this ,s the s p m t o f Greece. e
S
X
P
U
d
t
l
y
d e a l
S
W
h
a
r
m
U
S
r
n
a
w
[ r
| h o w the consciousness o f the
Egyptians r e p r e s e n t e d t h e i r o w n s p i r i t i n the f o r m o f a p r o b l e m . In this r e g a r d w e have t o recall t h e G r e e k i n s c r i p t i o n o f the goddess at Sais (the goddess c a l l e d N e i t h in E g y p t i a n . /7aAA« i n Greek): ' I a m w h a t is a n d w h a t w a s , a n d n o m o r t a l has l i f t e d m y c o v e r i n g or m y v e i l . ' Expressed here is this u n k n o w n — r h e l o n g i n g f o r , a n d s u p p o s i t i o n of, something higher, a n d the a d d e d p o i n t t h a t it is n o t disclosed. T h i s is h o w Plutarch puts i t , a n d i n his Commentary on the Titnaeus, Proclus mrroduces this i n s e n p n o n w i t h the a d d i t i o n : ' T h e f r u i t t h a t I b o r e is the s u n , H e l i o s ' .
6 1
H e l i o s is the sun of s p m t .
The r e n o w n e d p r i n c e o f l i g h t w a s celebrated at Sais w i t h a fesnval ot lamps [of N e i t h ] ( P a l l a s ) " " c o r r e s p o n d i n g t o o u r C a n d l e m a s and the l a n t e r n festival o f the
Chinese. T h e
f r u i t o f N e i t h is the l i g h t , b u t her a t t r i b u t e s ,
the
predicates t h a t are g i v e n her, o n e can equally w e l l refer o r relate t o n i g h t , and t h a t n o t i n t h e specific sense [ t h e Greek sense as such) o f Pallas
o
A t h e n a , because N e i t h is c a l l e d ' n i g h t ' i n E n g l a n d t o o . So n i g h t gives (ıırth the s u n .
, . ,
.
,
T h i s s u n o r H e l i o s , t o w h i c h this veiled goddess has given b i r r h . is the G r e e k s p i n t o r the G r e e k l i g h t , is Phoebus A p o l l o , w h o has the sun as his r a d i a n c e (Nachhall). As f o r t h e Greek A p o l l o , this g o d ot l i g h t , we knov.
T r a n s i t i o n t o Greece
y
o
u
t
h
5
a
n
d
w
h
o
w
' "
b
—
^
""'>•
b i
uTf^c
chthfltc-l (Asia,, the,, proceeding lo boyhood ,**>,»>. >o ,h iGree.e,,
w
U
•feme,, and old ^ 61.
.Europe.. V c ,bove, pp. ^
^ - H ^ h h „ ^
Lectures on the Philosophy of Ret'K"'"-"-
4
j f ı J
p
these- quotations. The sources are: Plutarch, f)e hide et M» W o n 1.30. The additional phrase 'and v.ha. w . l l be ,s o m i m d .rum H e t c i r ^ ^ ' j ^ J ! ^ ^ 1 0 d
8
'
h S
e
&
°
°"? ™>™ a
w n
d
İ66
b
o
v
e
W h . l e Hegel „ mistaken j b o u . of w o r l d history, starring w i t h the age o l m
1
0
Hegel mi hides it in h.s lectures on other top,c^ 62. Se H e r o d o t u s , History 2.62 (Grene. p. I m e
567
^ " " ^
r ( K
.
l l J S
/„
P
^
nit™* jlthouşsh
310
I, E C T U R L S OF
THE
1822-3 T H F
O R
I F N T A L
W O R L D :
E G Y P T
A t the same t i m e w e m u s t recall t h a t E g y p t was a province o f the vast Persian E m p i r e , a n d f o r t h a t reason w e have juxtaposed t o Greece n o t just E g y p t a l o n e b u t t h e Persian E m p i r e t o o . I n the Persian Empire there was a p o l i t i c a l p o i n t at
u n i t y i n the p o w e r of the Persian race, rhis m o u n t a i n
people. I n the r e l i g i o u s m o d e this p o i n t o f u n i t y t o o k the specific f o r m o f the pure l i g h t , as the k n o w i n g o f the absolute, distinctiveIn
"
t h i
a n
H'7
'
S
n
°
" " ^ ^
°
f
t h
*
G
M
c
k
S
P'"
—
[
311
| i n the existence o f p u r e
3t2
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o u t of t h i s m a t e r i a l is t h e c h a r a c t e r i s t i c feature o f Greece. We s t i l l have t o m e n t i o n , w i t h respect t o Persia, the fresh energy o f the m o u n t a i n p e o p l e . A l l o w i n g t h e distinctiveness o f t h e i r subjects p r o v e d t o be a b e a u t i f u l , n o b l e r e l a t i o n s h i p t h a t i n its p u r i t y , however, was o n l y o f b r i e f
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d u r a t i o n ; f o r s i m p l e g a l l a n t r y sank back suddenly i n t o A s i a n p r i m i r i v e n e s s , i n t h a t ir c o u l d n o r w i t h s t a n d A s i a n excess a n d k n e w nor h o w t o p u t a stop t o it. T h e s i m p l e I'crsian sense entered s u d d e n l y i n t o Asian opulence and h a d n o i n t e r n a l r e s t r a i n t . Persian r e l i g i o n w a s n o t f a n a t i c a l ; the absolutely basic i n t u i t i o n w a s t h e i n t u i t i o n o f l i g h t as a still s i m p l e , n a t u r a l essence, and o n l y f a n a t i c i s m w o u l d have | been able t o m a i n t a i n itself over against opulence,
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368
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T H E t. E C T U R E S O F 18 2 2 - 3
these peoples. As 'barbarians', this sufficed for t h e m . In their far-flung Asian expanse the Persians remain a people by itselt, cat o f f and isolated over against this diversity. 6 6
Thus, for instance, Herodotus narrates how, after the overthrow of the Magi by the eight great princes, Otanes wanted to have a democracy, Megabyzus an anstocracy, and Darius a monarchy.* Here there is no evidence whatsoever of considering the governance of so many peoples and rhe broad expanse of so many nations; here we see nothing but regard for the Persian people. Each of the speakers is concerned exclusively with the Persians as such, who held themselves apart. There is no commonality o f laws or r.ghts shared w i r h the other peoples, just as the Persians themselves evidently are not the particular government officials for these peoples; the chief connecting elements were instead just tribute and military service. So, Persian rule gained no inner legitimacy among these peoples; that is, there was no l a w and right in common with the ruled. Defining themselves in this way as separate, the Persians remain the absrract | masters, and such a relationship necessarilv brings w i t h ,r violence, lack of rights, and oppression. 7
aw
This circumstance, then, brought about the internal debilitation o l the ersian power that came up against the Greeks. The encounrer of these t w o peoples the Greeks and the Persians, is the great topic, and the epoch, of what Herodotus thus called the 'Median Wars'.** F r o m here we pass over directly to Greece, and consider the culture of the land of Greece up t o this point in time.
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Earlier we compared the Greek spirit with the age of youth.' The noblest figure that hovered before rhe Greek spirit was that of the Homeric youth Achilles. The Trojan War is, speaking generally, the beginning of the actual unity of the Greek totality, and Homer articulated this actuality in representational f o r m . Thus H o m e r is the basic literary source {Grundbuch) for the onset of intellectual representation, the source for the intuition of the nation, the source d r a w n upon for a period of a thousand years. His work is the mother's m i l k on which the Greek people have been reared. The Homeric youth, Achilles, son o f the poet, of representation, is the beginning of the Greek spirit; but he is still subject to, subordinated to, the king of kings, Agamemnon. I n this initial condition, he cannot be the leader without becoming a figure of fantasy, cannot yet step forward as leader.' | The second youth of the Greek world, Alexander the Great, the actual youth, w h o stands at the pinnacle of rhe age of youth in its full maturity and concludes the whole, is the culmination of what is authentically Greek. This comparison of Greek life w i t h the age of youth does not capture the specific figure of a human youth, but instead the concept [of youthfulness]. Young people are tmmature and incomplete, for their aims are outside themselves; and if they believe that they already possess w i t h i n themselves the proper ami. if they regard iheir way as the ultimate aim, they would be mistaken, and the wrong thing w o u l d result. In regard t o Greek life, we can say that it does not yet involve an activity or effort on behalf of abstract understanding, an effort that sets itself a universal goal and toils to achieve i t . What is found here is a concrere yet sensuous vitality, w h i c h , though born of the spiritual, still has sensuous presence. Tins unity, this fusion of the spiritual and the sensuous, which
—
Ephes \„, . " J ^ '«f ° ' ^ a , the (.reeks of As.a Miner ,„ 0.74- Grene „ £ h i u ' " " "» » w.th the M r * » been ^ ^ ^ "T 5"" f " « « * *> Persian sheets and M l S ' S r * ™ » " — H - P a ^ Mede and a dene. >> I , h . , , « > ™ ' conquered Sard.s, the capital of Lvdk 11.84; A s * minor I who were one! n H ' T * * " ? * » ^ "> * e westernmost pan o< to be * on the O r e * i n l a n d . u s
T/»(? Greek World
1. See ahove, p. 207. The term used here ,s Jugendalter; earlier . H / ^ * ^ _ ^ 2. H e g e l ' ^ n n a p a l a ^ e n t * , ^ ^ ^ Homer, H e r o d o n ^ The H.tory; Thucydides, The Peloponnesus U^ry of H,s,ory-, and Pausani-s, Guide U>0reece. Smce these ¡ ^ £ ^ ^ 5 * sources, ^ e & r r n a n e d . t o r s g r v e c . t a . i ^ h when r e a r e d by F ^ ^ t o e r * P ed„. rov,des addirional notes. Hegel's library < ^ ^ £ ^ Z £ ^ IX 1819-21), and Odyssea. 2 vols. ( U i p a g and Le.den, 820), , piodorus lF>,r,s. 1592); Thucydides, De bello Peioponnes^coUhr, WH S.culus, BMiotheca* hnloncae Ubr, XVtt ( ^ 1 5 5 2 ^ 1 ^ « ^ ^ 3 vols. (Leipzig. 1818). Hegel was thoroughly faron.ar w.th the Greek philosophers, and poets, and wirh modern works on Greek history. P
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THE LECTURES OF
1822-3 T H E GREEK WORLD
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The sun takes its course f r o m morning to evening (Abend), and so we move f r o m Asia t o Europe, the West (Abendland). First we will consider the land of the Greeks. The fourth location, which we encounter here, across the sea, is the group o f islands of the Aegean Sea and a mainland that is just as insular in nature, partly a peninsula [the Peloponnesus], partly numerous narrow spits of land, and frequently bisected by bays. A diversity of landscape dominates the interior, alternating hilly areas or mountains w i t h narrow plains and valleys intersected by small streams. Greece hasno large rivers w i t h the son of alluvial plainswhose | fertilesoilnourishesonlyaraceofpeopletowhomtheheavens offer merely a type o f dependence. Here in Greece this much-divided land is superficially connected. This is the elementary character of the geography and of the Greek spirit—the spirit of self-subsistent individuality, which was not unified f r o m the start by a patriarchal realm but which stands on its own and by itself, and must find unity i n a higher medium, that of law and spiritual custom. 4
i n d i c a t e d
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struggle, and conflict. N o w the outwardly directed tension disappears. Having attained a pinnacle w i t h i n itself, and having been victorious outwardly, the tension turns inward and brings about a disintegration within, a disintegration into a real existence and an ideal existence, so that it becomes objective to itself i n this mode of thought as it portrays itself in a n and science. This is rhe p o i n t at which a people founders. N o w the t h i r d period begins, that o f decline and destruction and of contact w i t h the next world-historical people—a people called upon to construct a higher stage of the w o r l d spirit, a stage in which the higher spirit appears. These periods are to be distinguished in the case of the Greek people t o o . Thus we n o w move on to Europe.
HISTORY
1
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W h o Are the Greeks? A closer consideration o f the Greek spirit reveals the difficulty of knowing what the Greek people actually were originally; for the Hellenic first had to become the Greek. A n inwardly heterogeneous character is what we first 5
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4. The preceding locations are the Far East (China, India), the Middle East (Persia), and the Near East j n d North Africa (Egypt!•>- Since 'Hellenic' {hellenisck) and 'Greek' {grieckisch\ hare the same meaning, Hegel may amply be engaged in a wordplay meaning that the Greeks had to become Greet. The * o r d •Helleruc' goes back to Hellen, the legendary ancestor of the Hellenic people*—the Itonarts, I o n i c s , Achaeans, and Aeohans. Among the first Hellenic tribes to c o l o n s Italy wen the Grecians' (so named after Graecus, according to legend a nepbe* of Heileo). and thus the u
and cond, oned them; they do not start (1
372 373
THE LECTURES
319
THE GREEK W O R L D
OF 1822-3
encounter, and the free, beautiful spirit o f Greece c o u l d only emerge out of such heterogeneity by surmounting i t . The heterogeneity f r o m w h i c h i t emerges is not something that is basic and more p r o f o u n d , else the Greek spirit w o u l d have become something higher than it is. Thus the heterogeneity is a necessary principle. O n l y a superficial a n d foolish representation makes the claim t h a t a beautiful ethical w h o l e could come about t h r o u g h a simple, singular development of something of the same k i n d as i t — a race that remains tied by blood and clan relationships. For even the plant needs and makes use of heterogeneous elements such as light and air. The representation of a natural goodness and of the absence of need as the peaceful development of such a goodness—this sort of notion must be abandoned | w h e n spiritual development is t o be considered. Such representations are contrary to the concept; the experiences of history demonstrate the opposite.
Greece and the interior lands of Asia Minor. N o r do we k n o w the extent t o which we should pay attention t o peoples other than Greeks, such as Phrygians and Carians. (In modern times a t o m b of a King Midas | w i t h an ancient Greek inscription has been discovered i n Phrygia.) Herodotus said that he did not k n o w whether the Phrygians o r the Egyptians were older; likewise Homer regarded the Carians as barbarians because, so he said, they did not understand Greek; a n d yet Thucydides reported that the oldest inhabitants of the Greek islands were Carians. 7
The natural relationships thus cannot be determined w i t h precision; we have no clear scientific knowledge n o r does the nature of the case make it clear. It is essential t o remark that here we find ourselves i n murky waters because the natural relationships themselves are by nature obscure. The names of these tribes a n d clans are very changeable because the clans are constantly o n the move. One of the important peoples here are the PelasThe beginning of Greek life reveals t o us a m i x t u r e , intersection, and gians, w h o were constantly o n the move and were drawn also to Italy, the migration of tribes and peoples of w h o m w e d o not k n o w the extent o f their Peloponnesus, a n d Asia M i n o r . Their name vanished; it is n o t k n o w n where Greek nature, and o f tribes whose entirely non-Greek nature is f a m i l i a r t o they came f r o m physically; and they melded w i t h other peoples. Thus there us. The Athenian peoples—Athens, the summit of the Greek spirit—came are a host o f names that later disappeared when one tribe mixed w i t h about as a place of refuge for individuals of various tribes, of the most another a n d , w h e n united, formed a common body. The Pelasgians were diverse clans and peoples. Likewise Persia, the genuinely Asiatic empire, is absorbed into Hellenism and thus disappeared; as Herodotus says, the a collection of varied and heterogeneous tribes; and even the Romans were a national collection o f castoffs f r o m diverse peoples w h o , w i t h o u t Pelasgians were present i n Athens and became Hellenes. family ties, were b o u n d together solely through an interest i n pillage. A l l the N o t only are tribes seen t o wander back and f o r t h ; so, too, various loci o f nations o f Europe have arisen through a melding of peoples. Thus the aspect culture arise o n l y to disappear again. Thrace, f o r example, where Orpheus of heterogeneity is essential t o a world-historical people. Greeks, Romans, and others once lived, is mentioned as an early locus of culture—a country Germanic peoples first became one o u t of heterogeneity. This is the necessary that later, however, vanished so completely f r o m the Greek w o r l d that i t n o prerequisite for a people t o claim world-historical significance. longer counted | as part of Greece. Thessaly too was mentioned: Deuca-
(coUuvies)
8
9
I n looking more closely at the Greek people, w e cannot say w h i c h of the peoples were originally Greek i n origin. Later, a broad s w a t h of countries that were inhabited by Greeks belonged t o the Greek people, such as the lower part of Italy, the Black Sea, the coasts of Asia M i n o r , and Sicily. There were also Greek colonies in France, such as Massilia, and Gyrene o n the coast o f A f r i c a . Based on the earlier situation, we do not k n o w about the relationship between 6
L * i n s land l a w the West) used the word •Greek' to designate the Hellenes (whereas the Greeks referred to their country as 'Hellas'). But since Hegel quotes Thucydides' chum, based cm Homer, that originally the term 'Hellenes' designated only one of the tribes, that of Acfailks tromPhtnioas (see below, n. 12), bis meaningmay be that the various peoples who settled i n the area had to acquire a common identity. In any event, the pomt of the s e n few paragraphs is thai the Greek spini emerged only gradually out of heterogeneous elements.
lion was an extremely famous man i n antiquity, and we can observe i n h i m
7- See Herodotus, The History 2.2 (tt David Grene (Chicago, 1987), 131); Homer, h W 2 . 8 6 in- E. V. Rieu, rev. edn. Peter Jones and D. C. H . Rieu (London, 20O3), 44); and Thucydides. The Pelopemnesian War 1.4,8 (tr. Steven Uttimore (Indianapolis, 1998), 5,6). Pbrygs. and Cana ™ " ancwu regions located in what is now central and south-western Turkey. The Phrygians can* from the Balkans about 1200 BC, and the Canans were probably native to the region. Midas was a fang o* Pfliygia in the 8th cent, BC but also figured in Greek mythology. ,
6. Massilu is p r e s e n t l y Marseille, and Cyrcne ,s an aooent city located i n what is n o * eastern Libya. The Greek Empin reached its greatest < ^ h, the 7th cent BC.
8. Herodotus, History 2.51 (Grene, pp. 153-4). Link is known of the ^ ^ < ^ , _ , " ' they were an aboriginal people who inhabited parts of Greece prior to the HeUrnes and spoke a language other than Greek. Their origins and ethno-imguisbc identity ate matters of depute. 9. The region of Thrace presently comprises north-eastern Greece, southern B o h ^ and European Turkey. The anoent Thracians were independent; subsequently they were ^ the Greeks, later by the Romans, and eventually disappeared into the By*ar.w* and Ottoman Fmpires. I„ Greek mythology Orpheus was a celebrated Thracian musician-
374
375
t
i
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THE GREEK WORLD
THE LECTURES O F 1822-3
the same restlessness as portended by his ancient o r i g i n s . According t o a saga, he came f r o m the Peloponnesus, then traveled t o Locris t o w h i c h he led the T e k h i n e s , w h o m he allied w i t h the indigenous people, and he erected a permanent base at M L Parnassus. There, the second deluge caught h i m unaware, and he moved o n into the sacred land o f Thessaly w h e r e , upon conquering the PeUsgians, he founded a k i n g d o m i n Phthiotis. O n e o f his sons was named Hellen; one grandson was named Aeolus and another Dorus. 10
11
Thucydides indeed mentioned that H o m e r uses the t e r m 'Hellenes' t o designate a tribe rather than as a generic n a m e . Since we have t o d o here w i t h matters o f spirit, the natural connection is secondary. The uniqueness of the Greek spirit, however, is seen in h o w i t assimilates w h a t is foreign. I n this material that exemplifies this restlessness and adaptability, w e see an even more alien and more heterogeneous element enter i n t o play t h a n w h a t had thus far emerged: namely, the many colonies o f aliens w h o settled i n Greece (ancient Inachus is k n o w n i n the ambiguous sense as a son o f Oceanus, hence as one w h o came f r o m the sea); additionally, colonies f r o m Asia M i n o r (such as Deucalion's lineage f r o m the Caucasus) and also from Phoenicia. Settlers f r o m Egypt, such as Cecrops, came t o Athens. T h e Pdasgian oracle o f Dodona, likewise, is traceable back t o Egypt, supposedly founded b y a n Egyptian w o m a n . Even things o f antiquity (das Alte) are thought t o be o f foreign origin. Cadmus, the founder o f Thebes i n Boeotia, a son o f Argenos, K i n g o f Tyre, came f r o m Phoenicia, bringing w i t h h i m the alphabet. Dana us i n Argos likewise came | f r o m Thebes. Pelops, the p r o genitor o f the A t r i d e s , came t o the Peloponnesus f r o m Lydia. These, then, are the main elements that the Greeks kept chiefly i n m i n d . Cecrops led the Egyptians t o Athens. We have spoken o f N e i t h , a n d o n the citadel o f Athens, the Acropolis, Athena was soil depicted as r i d i n g upon a crocodile. 12
1 3
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r ^ r ^ * ^ * * * ^ * ' * * ' ancientregionof Greece, located in what it now north central Uweee. Deucabon m Gr«± mythology was the son of Prometheus and the father oi HeUen. He ^ , " ^ ^ 7 . 1 " a** I ? Zeus to pumsh the hubris of the Peh.sg.aiis. ¡1" - I T T T * * " " - d ™ * bangs with their traditional home in Rhodes. ••I".. • • ° ^ ^ ^ ™ar 1.3 (Lammore, p. 5). 'When I feller, and his sons hecaor* P^ertal m H n W ^ were c*hed ,„ „ , help other cues, each tended DOw to be called 3
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The First Social and Political Organization Taken as a whole, w h a t w e refer to as the 'Greek people' is a conglomeration of tribes that came f r o m elsewhere. I t is f r o m this foreign lineage that the many famous r o y a l dynasties were established, descended, and so provided more enduring centers of authority and identity, taking o n more definite contours. These dynasties f o r m e d the bond o f small inner circles and behaved as lords a n d heroes i n relation t o a previously disunited g r o u p . So there were established more permanent centers, which emerged as cities or developed into t h e m . The building o f citadels was a major element through which the restless wanderers established themselves. Thucydides says i n the introduction t o his h i s t o r y that, over a long period of time, farming activity remained threatened by constant plundering; hence farming was not introduced u n t i l later. G o o d soil alone was n o guarantee o f permanent settlement because, being coveted by a l l , it was more likely t o be subject t o change o f hands a n d conquest. The poor soil o f Athens was the reason that so many foreigners had f o u n d refuge there. However we d o n o w see citadels established f r o m rime t o t i m e , fortifications o n high ground. These are the first w o r k s o f architecture. 16
These first w o r k s o f architecture are o f a peculiar construction a n d are called Cyclopean. I n more recent times they have been searched o u t and found t o have been constructed o f large, irregular building blocks o f r o c k . The lateral sides are h e w n into smooth I surfaces so as to firmly j o i n , f o n n i n g a stable m a t r i x . Hence very large bwldings were erected i n this fashion, i n particular, a r o y a l treasury i n Boeotia, the walls o f Tiryns and Mycenae, a n d the treasury o f Atreus, structures that Pausanias had •escribed; today ruins o f these w a l l s still stand and are only slightly more deteriorated t h a n i n Pausanias' time. W h a t is unusual a n d consotutes a further connection is that w h e n other examples o f this type of w a l l were sought, they were found elsewhere, namely, on Crete, Cerigo, M i l o s , and in Smyrna; also i n Asia M i n o r , i n some Italian cities, and o n Sardinia and in 17
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C l ™ ^ T ^ * " " " > *khou8h * » * for this to prevail for a l l And ** -far me T t o ^ ^ he neve, uses this l a m ecrfkeavriy oor for an, ot^p, Achilles' f o l l o w s from Phthx*,s (r-ecaeh; the first Hefle«s) bin refers ha poems Danaans, Argrws, and Adrians.' 13. Herodotus, History 1S6 (Grene, p. IS 6). a
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Hegel refers to Neith in the philosophy of religion h^nires, where IK say^ d i « AmeM out of Neith', meaning that the spiritual goddess Athena evolved out of the Mtnre goddess Neith. See Lectmes on the Philosophy of Religion (Oxford, 2007), n. 152, incl. B- 132. 16. Thucydides, Pelopotmesum War, 1.2 (Lattimore, p. 4). 17. Pausanias, Graecite desenpto, 1.4, 5, 16 {Description W- H . S. Jones, U e b O a n k a l Library (Cambridge, ^ • • ^
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377
T H E L E C T U R E S O F 1822-3
THE GREEK WORLD
Spain. Thus citadels o f this type were established centers o f the oldest k i n d .
matters divine and h u m a n . Nestor showed such knowledge when, after the
They have been attributed t o the Cyclops. M o r e precise details a n d the relationship o f the peoples t o each other are o f n o interest for us. Thus, these centers are the earliest t o be found. O f the ancient cities and
Achilles' mother, was m o u r n i n g her son's d e a t h .
2 0
Such an understanding
that they were not situated on the sea due t o
insecurity along the coast f r o m fear o f pirates w h o stole livestock and
feature, t h a t kings are on the one hand honored because o f their lineage,
abducted people, enslaving the latter. According t o Thucydides, i t was not
but o n the other hand exercise and preserve royal power through their
until later that cities were relocated t o the coast a n d especially t o landing
personal qualities, based mostly o n personal strength, was befitting such
places; and i t was even later that coastal regions became densely settled. The
circumstances.
19
centers o f culture in Greece are situated either along the coast o r nearby but
The clearest depictions o f those circumstances are f o u n d in the H o m e r i c
somewhat i n l a n d , differing markedly f r o m other centers, such as those i n
poems, concerning, f o r instance, the relationship o f Agamemnon t o the
Egypt and India, w h i c h are centrally located i n those countries I a n d w i t h -
other kings, and the relationship of the latter t o their people.
out any connection t o the sea. The second k i n d o f [cultural] center, however, lay o n the coast o f Syria at water's edge, as i n Phoenicia, f o r example. Just as w i t h Carthage, the geography o f these countries determined their orientation TO the seacoast and offered them n o possibility t o extend inland. Even the Greek [stales] o f Asia M i n o r , such as M i l e t u s , w h i c h sent out sixty t o seventy colonies, still lay on the coast w i t h o u t expanding i n l a n d . The presence o f w e l l established populations inland prevented them f r o m d o i n g so. I n Greece itself, however, the populace was firmly established o n the l a n d . Farming is integral t o Greek identity, w h i c h nonetheless retains a tie t o the sea. These centers thus are characterized
by this particular
geography.
Another aspect o f these centers is political, the rule o f royal dynasties over the people. Here w e find heroes w h o exercise c o n t r o l over the people, iraling] families w h o are not separated f r o m their subjects by caste differences. N o r is the relationship patriarchal; rather these heroes a n d sovereigns are o f a particular; mostly foreign lineage. N o r are their subjects oppressed, as is seen w i t h tyrants of a later rime. Their relationship d i d n o t entail the need for a legal-juridical nexus; rather i t was a q u i t e loose, open, a n d personal relationship. I t was the respected families w h o ruled. I n one respect their class, birth, and also their bravery naturally set them apart. A s leaders needing t o provide order, they were accustomed t o ruling; they were i n 325
explained t o the Greeks w h y the sea was restless, namely, because Thetis, belonged t o the qualities possessed by royal families. This distinguishing
citadels, Thucydides r e m a r k s
aw
death o f Achilles, he described the agitated sea as Achilles' mother, and he
charge. The need for order | per se thus elevated them above others. H o w -
Agamemnon
had primacy over all other kings. W i t h o u t them, he undertakes nothing of importance. I n camp, Agamemnon takes the counsel o f his chieftains, each o f w h o m brings his personality t o beat. I t is n o t a matter o f simply v o t i n g ; they express their opinions and the sovereign takes them i n t o account, w h i l e i t is be w h o decides w h i c h o f their wishes is feasible. The people f o l l o w e d their chieftains i n t o this w a r out o f obedience, but also more or less o u t o f trust a n d respect f o r t h e m , just as the chieftains d i d w i t h Agamemnon. They obeyed i n complete confidence. If a leader is | dissatisfied w i t h the sovereign over the kings, t h e n he w i t h d r a w s , as d i d Achilles, and w i t h h i m his retinue and people. The people, the soldiers, d o very little i n this w a r ; rather i t is the chieftains w h o d o the most. They themselves must fight the battles. T h e people are not simply driven along like an apathetic herd, such as a caste i n I n d i a . N o r are they fighting f o r a cause of their o w n b u t only as companions o f a m i g h t y representative, as witnesses t o the deeds and glory o f their chieftains, m a g n i f y i n g b o t h by their o w n strength. There is something quite unusual a b o u t conducting a w a r i n this way. The leaders, the clueftains, are seen advancing o n their chariots, the infantry f o l l o w i n g behind; n o cavalry is i n evidence. T h e infantry does very little, [leaving] the chieftains [ t o j o i n battle J—just the opposite o f our w a y o f waging war. I t is only i f a leader faUs t h a t the people fight t o retrieve bis weapons and his corpse, so as t o avoid the shame o f losing their commander's body o r armor.
ever, another consideration played a r ^ . These c i r c u n ^ r K ^ were n o t a t all equivalent t o those o f the later monarchies. Royal power was the prerogative o f a family, but it also resulted f r o m
19. Thucydides, Tt)opommim Wat, 1.7 (Utrimore, p. 6L
20. Homer, Odyssey 24.51-5 (tr. E. V. Rieu, rev. edn. D. C H . Rieu 1 ^ 0 ^ 3 ) ^ 1 2 ) . Nestor, ruler
378
379
personal qualities, f o r example, bravery, and an understanding o f
1U«L Iliad.
J
THE GREEK WORLD
T H E L E C T U R E S O F 1822-3
Hence, the relationship is still rather loose; the people do n o t really consider the affairs of their chieftain t o be their o w n , just as the entire war was not their affair. The Trojan War as a whole was solely an affair of the chieftains. The people simply f o l l o w e d trostingly, scarcely championing i t w i t h their o w n lives. There is no discord between leaders and followers, n o mistrust o r rebellion. The figures i n H o m e r are timeless because they exist i n and for themselves. I n the Greek camp there is o f course Thersites —a timeless, perpetually recurnng figure [of literature]—a vituperative person, w h o blames and reviles the kings; however, he is the o n l y one i n the camp w h o does so. H e is slight, hunched, a n d , t o the delight o f the people, is flogged b y Odysseus | w i t h the r o d . H e is a demagogic troublemaker, insistent, noisy, a n d beaten, b u t quickly calms d o w n — a person whose defiance a n d buffoonery are soon over, w h o sheds tears and w i t h d r a w s . This literary type appears as a single individual. Portraits o f the other characters are comparably done. 22
327
I n his homeland, Odysseus is surrounded b y many people o f stature. During his absence, as a young m a n Telemachus has little say i n things; consequendy, the suitors and chieftains manage the affairs i n his royal house as they see fit. Also Achilles, i n the u n d e r w o r l d , asks Odysseus h o w his eWeriy father PeJeus is faring, w h o because o f his age is probably n o longer honored. * I t is clearly n o t royal power that is honored. Hence, royal prerogative is n o t valued f o r its o w n sake. 23
2
32A
What is more, Zeus has the same relation t o the other gods as Agamemnon has to the chieftains. O n Olympus the other gods wrangle w i t h Zeus (Jupiter), but tbey have t o resist extreme measures. Ihings must n o t come t o a break in the bond that unifies them; and, i n the face o f Jupiter's threats and bluster, they again accede t o his aims because he is, after all, the most p o w e r f u l ; all are subject t o his sovereign power, and his w i l l prevails. These circumstances are such that b i r t h and lineage are one aspect, b u t nonetheless a figure must establish bis own authority. The people benefited little f r o m this royal dignity, and when popular consensus became the practice, then the king was o f l i t d e import, somewhat superfluous. For court could be held by a n experienced member of the community; ( the bravest and best general could c o m m a n d in batde; the cleverest and wisest could attend t o human and divine matters during a sacrifice and during legislation. T h e development o f [smtctured]
social bonds h a d not yet taken place. Royal tide and its perpetuation through hereditary succession was not yet necessary. I t is crucially i m p o r t a n t t o recognize a n d t o grasp this distinction and the conditions under w h i c h monarchy is absolutely necessary. Social conditions in early Greece were such that the royal title became superfluous o f its o w n once i t h a d fulfilled its purpose. I t is remarkable that the kings were n o t driven out, but instead that the royal families stepped d o w n w i t h o u t hatred and strife, w i t h o u t batde, simply dying o u t naturally or through m u t u a l elmiination. ha part, they simply declined o r sank back i n t o the (common] people. T h e line o f Cecrops existed f o r a long w h i l e i n Athens. K i n g Cleibthenes i n C o r i n t h died w i t h o u t male heirs, and his daughter moved t o Athens w i t h her treasure where she married a commoner. Thus, i n contrast t o R o m e , the kings i n Greece were n o t exiled but simply died out, a n d they were always esteemed and loved i n memory. H i s t o r y reports that numerous atrocities and crimes occurred w i t h i n these royal dynasties, and t h a t the main cause of their demise was internal unrest and atrocities, and dreadful palace revolutions. This upheaval is similar to the O l d Franconian {attfrankisch) dynasties. W i l l f u l passion and caprice erupt, unrestrained a n d destructive. There is as yet no internalized | conscience, no law, nor any c h u r c h t o fear; laws h o l d no sway over their minds. The people have no stake i n such atrocities; they d o n o t participate i n these acts, they are n o t affected b y them. T h e people represent the tragic chorus, and their reflections about fare are based o n sentiment, although they a l l o w the royal parties t o settle things among themselves. We see that sentiment is involved, b u t n o t action. T h e people only watch passively; they appeal t o the gods, b u t no power o r authority exists t o judge such [royal] individuals, neither externally i n statutes n o r internally i n their conscience, i n their minds. Hence, their passions play o u t destructively, but only f o r themselves, w i t h o u t bringing harm t o the people. So the royal dynasties are superfluous to the social order, and they declined as a result o f their o w n actions.
22. Homer, Iliad 2.212-77 (Rieu, pp. 27-8). 23 Descriptions of Odysseus' royal how, of bis son Tdemachos, of the suitors of bis wife Penelope, etc, are found in the Odvtsey, starting in book 1 24. Homei;aiys(e7tl.494-503(Rie»i,pp.l52-3).
Once they had formed, the diversity o f such centers is remarkable. This multitude o f states had its [common] ground i n expeditions that drew the peoples together o n more than one occasion. I n these circumstances no despotic power was present t o unite them, as was the case i n Asia. T h e individual as such is n o longer w i t h o u t legal standing, w i t h o u t rights, a n d should n o longer disappear i n t o the collective whole. N o r is that other principle o f purpose yet present: there is n o abstract a i m , n o p r i n a p l e o f universaJity, t o w h i c h individuals c o u l d be subordinated. As the Greeks evolve, w e see t h e m united just once, under Agamemnon, and here the y o u t h Achilles is the foremost figure. However, b y his reputation a n d
380
381
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THE LECTURES OF 1 8 2 2 - 3
T H E GREEK
power i n particular, as Thucydides reports, by his predominance, Agamemnon prevailed upon the chieftains and peoples to go t o sea, to w a r . But this is a chance alliance based on personality. The Acamanians d i d not partici2 5
330
pate i n the war against Troy, | and later, even against the Persians, the Greeks were by no means unified. Only during their decline, as the states disintegrated, did the second youth, Alexander the Macedonian, w h o was at once Greek and non-Greek, reunite them, unifying all o f Greece. Greek unification during the Trojan War, however, was of no political consequence; it had n o consequences for the whole, for the political existence o f Greece. It remained ephemeral with regard t o the actuality. The poet [ H o m e r ] , however, for the sake of popular representation, presented this unity as the image of the Greek spirit and greater virtue; and i t has always remained so i n the eyes of the people. The association o f the A m p h i c r y o n y can serve as an example. Its union, however, remained rather weak and endured neither i n actuality nor in imagination. Stronger bonds resulted f r o m the oracles and national games and festivals. W h a t was politically unifying was the n o t i o n t h a t the formation o f a Greek state was something sacred and revered. The i n d i v i d u a l state was not protected by federative arrangements. A n actual unification by means of treaty never occurred, but unity d i d remain an honored and sacred notion that was of help t o such a people. Even so the Lacedaemonians perpetrated the unholy deed of subjugating and enslaving a free people, the Messenians. It was not until centuries later that Epaminondas righted this heinous wrong. Just as disastrous was the execution of the citizens o f Plataea after its conquest in the first Peloponnesian War, w h e n all the
Hellenes became a world-historical people and distinguished themselves from other peoples, w h o m they called 'barbarians'. O f interest are solely those Greeks w h o exhibit Greek culture. Each o f us feels at home, and takes pleasure, i n the realm of Greek culture, art, and science. Enjoyment o f the beautiful is something ever-present that can educate us a n d that we must each acquire f o r ourselves. I t is here, w i t h Greek culture, that there begins the conscious connection of the chain of cultural tradition. We come f r o m the Romans, w h o were educated by the Greeks. A t the same time, w h a t we have received remains foreign to us, and, i n the course o f adopting i t , w e create something new. This is essentially the case w i t h the culture o f all peoples, Greek culture also has a cultural precursor. O n the basis of such precursors a people educates itself and its educators, reworking in equal measure w h a t has been received.
One aspect in which the Greeks must be considered as one, as a single w o r l d historical people, is that o f their culture. By means o f this culture the
In regard t o Greek culture t w o positions can be taken, namely whether the a n and science o f the Greeks originated f r o m external sources o r f r o m w i t h i n themselves. Historically, it w h o l l y appears that the Greeks produced their culture and all its subsequent stages completely f r o m w i t h i n . We observe a consistent sequence w i t h o u t a break, a continuous succession o f cultural stages w i t h no necessity o f drawing f r o m external sources. M o r e over, what is authentically and specifically Greek is not found anywhere else, only i n ( Greece. But it is likewise a matter of history that the Greeks started w i t h foreign material, and they d i d so necessarily. Mechanical and intellectual progress c o u l d remain i n the f o r m that it was received, and technical knowledge as w e l l , such as stone cutting, geometry, and mathematics. Matters lacking i n spirit are received just as they are passed d o w n . R o m a n law, were i t still valid today, w o u l d also be something tacking in spirit. W h a t is spiritual, however, develops further w i t h i n itself; i t passes through independent stages. So Greek culture too has its precursors. H a v i n g a precursor, one o f foreign origin, is just as necessary as is a reworking that passes through its o w n independent stages.
15. Thucydides, Peloponnesian War 1.9 (Lammore, p. 7). 26. The Great Amphicryony was a league of twelve Greek tribes, which met in the spring at the temple of Dtmeter at Anthela and in the autumn at Delphi. Concerned at first with religious maners, it gradually assumed a political role. 27. Lacedaemon or Laconia was a region in the south-eastern Peloponnesus with its capita! at Sparta. The Messenians were their neighbors to the west. The attack on and siege of Plataea is described in Thucydides, Peloponnesian War 2.2-7, 71-8 |Lattimore, pp. 74-8,110-14). 28. See Hegel's extensive discussion of Greek art i n his Aesthetics: Lectures on Fine Art, t t T. M . Knox (Oxford, 1975), i. 427-501.
A closer look at Greek culture w o u l d reveal the concept o f the exceptional or of excellence (das Ausgezeichnete) as its focus, primarily i n the fine arts. The Greeks d i d not acquire their art through conquest, either actively like the Romans o r passively like the Gauls. We Germans have also acquired [art] in the latter manner, partly through being conquered, but w e have also expressly learned it. The Greeks were neither conquered nor conquerors. We see them preserving the memory o f the first stages o f their civilization, o f their earliest culture, and all stages remain sacred t o them. They honored the beginnings as gifts of the gods, and possessing them [the gifts] from all these myths, they celebrated this point and acknowledged i t w i t h respect to laws,
26
331
WORLD
inhabitants without exception were k i l l e d . Greek Culture and A r t
2 7
(
2 8
382
383
332
T H E L E C T U R E S OF 1 8 2 2 - 3
333
marriage, agriculture. Thus, they celebrated the introduction of agriculture and of marriage, both historically and as m y t h . They also reverently attribute fire to Prometheus; the horse was given t o them by Neptune, the olive tree by Pallas [Athena]. Evil too is preserved in a m y t h , the myth of Pandora. Such beginnings are in part ascribed to a foreign origin, b u t always one that is honored. | The historical context as a whole points to the fact that the Greeks acquired many of their arts and many cultic elements—technical a n d other matters—from beyond the sea. Eastern Greece also is the most developed part; the western part—Acarnania, Aetolia, and Epirus—played only a minor role in the culture. The western peoples had been and remained uncultured and savage. Even in the Roman era the A e t o l i a n League was more an association of thieves or the lawless than one of the law-abiding. A n d the uncultured Albanians are t o be f o u n d there even t o the present day. The Peloponnesus lies i n between [the western peoples and eastern Greece]; Arcadia likewise kept to itself, and the western part, Elis, became sacred territory. The abstract element of Greek culture is to be f o u n d w i t h the Eleans, where the [Olympic] games and sacrifices were established, and they remained focused on them. Thus culture took root predominantly in the east. A further aspect of Greek culture is the peaceful condition that was established on land (partly by the kings, p a r t l y by the heroes, e.g. Hercules) through arrangement i n communities. Aggressive and hostile actions, especially robbery at sea and on land, remained a challenge. According t o Thucydides, ' peace at sea was established by M i n o s , while peace o n land was not achieved until later; the Locrians, for example, continued t o r a i d for a long time. On land, however, [population] centers a n d individual heroes countered this plundering. 25
334
A major element of enmity between uncivilized peoples, that of hostility between tribes, is not f o u n d in Greece. Vengeful tribal warfare d i d not exist w i t h the Greeks because their associative ties were not based o n family status. We see wars of conquest only later after stable states had been established. Wars of revenge bad no place there because the Greeks d i d not originate from tribes but from the mixture [of tribes a n d peoples). I
THE GREEK
WORLD
condition a person carries weight based on family, and each individual is of a particular standing, has recognition, because of his family, and precisely for that reason carries weight not on his o w n account, but only in and through the family. Such a [patriarchal] structure was not found in Greece, and i n this respect Greece has similarities w i t h N o r t h America. Just as, near [to Greece], the great land mass of Asia underwent the dispersal, contact, and intermixing [of peoples], something comparable took place in N o r t h America, where intermingling and settlement coincided, over and over again. The more complete segregation of tribes only occurred i n the west of Greece, where peoples became more permanently settled. However, i n these circumstances and spheres individuals w o r k e d their way t o the fore, and the association thereby became something essential, valued, and highly esteemed, something into w h i c h individuals had t o enter and t o which they had to conform because it d i d not come f r o m the family. I n this association the singular appeared as something individual and self-sufficient. In addition to these elements, numerous intellectual stimuli came f r o m foreign sources. Imagination (Vorstellung) was aroused f r o m the East, from Egypt and Asia M i n o r , and f r o m Crete. Similarly, the fortunes of the nomadic tribes, their o w n early wanderings, provided an abundance of natural and intellectual ferment, which, under the conditions of a tranquil common life and inner peace, could be revived and fashioned into cultural forms. So, i n distinction f r o m the barbarians, the Athenians for the first time refrained f r o m the bearing of arms in peace, | thereby manifesting the earliest culture. They were among the earliest, and later the most cultured, of peoples. They were [as a people] the most composed and established. Federations f r o m early times formed the basis for peace w i t h others and remained of such importance that wars were fought only in a limited fashion.
29. Thucydides, Pelopormesian War 1.4 (Laltimore, p. 5).
Under these peaceful conditions we now see the emergence of the boundless drive of individuals—the drive t o display and give evidence of oneself, t o let i t be seen w h a t one has made of oneself and can make of oneself, and i n this way to achieve status w i t h others and to take pleasure in this status. Sensual pleasure d i d not f o r m the basis of Greek life or peace, nor did superstition, dependence, apathy. The barbarians also wanted t o display themselves, but go no further than preening and self-adornment. W i t h other barbarians w e see this as the drive t o be seen and adorned. Adornment is meant t o make the body pleasing, thereby enhancing its beauty; the trappings are n o t intended to represent something for its own sake but are only meant for others, to serve a different purpose. The Greek people are too individualistic, and w e see them to be too strongly spirited, t o be captive t o
384
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Most of these associations had absorbed very diverse elements, and the second condition [of Greek culture] is the internal diversity of the associations. Thus there was no patriarchal family structure t h a t might have spared individuals from needing to prove themselves; for in the patriarchal
335
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outer adornment, t o be able t o be content w i t h that. F r o m an early time they were marked by their self-awareness, by their self-respect. Individuals had first t o prove themselves, to show others w h a t they are on their o w n account, and t o see t o i t that this was acknowledged. This appears quite early w i t h the Greeks i n the f o r m of peaceful competition; hence we d o n o t see them enslaved to superstition or t o vanity (the latter can become a factor later on). For i n the beginning w h a t is substantial must first be brought f o r t h . I T h e drive t o manifest this joyful self-awareness, t o show themselves in contrast t o savage self-awareness, t o the merely sensuous, constitutes the major characteristic of the Greeks, and w i t h them this drive progressed into fine art (schone Kunst}. Fine art begins w i t h a satisfaction t h a t is n o t a remedy for a need but an articulation o f w h a t resides in unspoiled human nature. The origins of Greek art are subjective. A r t arises f r o m the element of a labor that is free o f need and consists i n the fact that individuals make themselves into something, that they comply w i t h something other and thus exhibit i t , that the character of universality, of universal validity, is imprinted upon i t . The first and subjective beginning of art consists i n the Greeks making something of their o w n bodies, giving them free versatility. It consisted i n the development of the body, i n the shaping o f the body i n t o a w o r k of art. We recognize this to be the oldest f o r m .
and themselves i n t o beautiful shapes, i n t o works of art. So w e see games at an early date, f o r example, at the t o m b of Parroclus. Hence the games are ancient: w r e s t l i n g , t h r o w i n g the javelin and discus. Song and dance are tied t o these activities, dance being the dominant f o r m and song the subordinate; they are the o u t w a r d expression of an unrefined gaiety. | Such dances are mentioned as being depicted on the shield o f Achilles; they are art works in their o w n r i g h t . Just as w i t h the dance shown o n the shield of Daedalus, the sole purpose o f this dance is zest for life; i t has no connection whatsoever to a sacred festival. Both exist for the sake of display, to a l l o w admiration of f o r m and skill. Song later became an independent f o r m ; i t was given instrumental accompaniment and thus called for a content drawn from representation. A n d just as the image of representation becomes free on its o w n account i n song, so the representation itself becomes something that likewise ought t o be shown. I n this w a y the representation as such becomes outwardly a pleasing, autonomous shape, just as humans in the first instance displayed themselves i n their beautiful [bodily] dexterity.
30
I n Homer we see no art w o r k s ; f o r h i m the Palladium i n T r o y is n o t a piece of sculpture. We find no minstrels i n the Greek camps yet (these first appear among the Phaeacians) but rather cosdy garments and attire. Likewise the weapons of the heroes are ornaments. The shield o f Achilles is noteworthy and significant i n this regard as a decorated weapon; b u t i t is evident that i t is not yet a free-standing w o r k of a n , not an art w o r k m a t is said t o count explicitly as s u c h . This shield is of significance as portraying the cycle of life i n ancient Greece. M a r s and M i n e r v a are, t o be sure, executed o n i t i n gold; but the main point is that the Greeks, before they created such shapes and beautiful images, first developed their o w n bodies 31
32
30. The German term for 'fine art' means literally 'beautiful art', which fits Hegel's interpretation of Greek culture perfectly: its art highlights the beauty of human and natural shapes, and its religion is one of beauty (the harmony of the sensible and the spiritual) rather than of truth (spiritual truth). See the following discussion. 31. The Palladium was a legendary statue (an image of Pallas) on the preservation of wfakh the safety of Troy (Ilium) was supposed to depend. I t was stolen by Diomedes and Odysseus, thus enabling the Greeks finally to capture the city. So for Homer, claims Hegel, it was an object of political, not artistic significance. However, the reference to the Palladium is found in Virgil, The Aenetd 2.166 (tr. H . Rushton Fairclough, Loeb aassical Library (Cambridge, Mass., and London, 1916), i . 327).
33
337
Song as such is an immediate self-expression of the cheerful, individual subject. T h i s organ, the voice, is n o t merely a sensible articulation, not merely an immediate manifesting of an existence; it is also a manifesting of representation. The content that properly belongs to representation and proceeds f r o m it can be characterized i n such a way that i t is said t o contain the essential. W h a t exists has passed through spirit and is formed by i t . This content, f o r m e d by spirit, can be highly diverse i n nature; but, t o the extent that i t is f o r m e d by spirit, it is sensible content that is elevated to universality, and i t captures sensible, immediate existence as something universal. This universal feature becomes religious content and is t o be understood i n its highest sense. Greek R e l i g i o n
34
Religious content is the principal content of spirit, something brought f o r t h f r o m spirit w i t h i n itself; and the question is w h a t the nature o f this religious content is for the Greeks, h o w w h a t is essential must appear to them. | W i t h the Greeks w e see that this essentiality became something that is not exterior and natural but interior and human, formed first o f all as a [human] shape and as its beauty, so that i n i t human beings comprehend themselves as
32. Achilles' shield is described in detail in Homer, Wad 18.468-617 (Rieu, pp. 332-6).
33. See Hornet, Iliad 23.257 ff. (Rieu, pp. 402 ff.l. 34. See Hegel's treatment of Greek religion io the 1821 philosophy o f religion lectures (Lectures on the Philosophy of Religion, i i . 122-34,141-52,160-89).
386
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free. H u m a n beings esteemed themselves, and w h a t is esteemed is the p r i mary content, their gesture, shape, expression, deeds and actions: the elaborated human being. If we proceed i n this fashion f r o m the subjective side, we see h o w highly human self-consciousness situates itself. We discover that this was necessary. H u m a n self-consciousness had t o grasp t h i s [exaltation] as being essential. God is for human beings their o w n essence. Humans conceive God t o be i n a positive relationship t o them, as their 'other' to immediate contingency and finitude, as their essence a n d substantiality. Thus the true (das Wabrhafte) is i n one aspect ' o t h e r ' t o h u m a n beings and yet, as w h a t is true for them, it is their o w n t r u t h and thus their o w n inner being. However, this true itself, this essentiality, is f o r the Greeks the beautiful {das Schdne)—spirit i n its sensible manifestation. So sensibility is sheerly the appearance of the spiritual when sensibility is divested o f its finitude, contingency, exteriority. The beautiful f o r the Greeks consists i n this unity of sensibility w i t h spirituality i n and for itself; free beauty [is w h a t constitutes] the divine. The Greeks occupy the standpoint of k n o w i n g themselves to be free. K n o w i n g themselves t o be free is their determinate characteristic. The characteristic of free individuality constitutes their fundamental principle. This principle of being free, the principle of t h i n k i n g , has not yet itself been explicitly conceptualized; | i t has not yet been t h o u g h t , emphasized, and acknowledged; rather this Icnowmg-oneself-to-be-free is still united w i t h the natural sphere. Actuality, broadly construed, comprises both concept and reality. W i t h die Greeks, however, the freedom of spirit is not yet itself the subject matter but is still associated w i t h the human-natural f o r m . The latter is the externalizing of self (das Sicb-aufierlich-Machen). I t is possible t o tkttennine w h a t forms the basis o f the Greek intuition o f the universal when we consider t w o aspects: first, the question w h y the Greeks do not yet w o r s h i p the absolute i n spirit and in t r u t h , o r w h y spirit does n o t yet appear to spirit i n the s p i r i t ; second, the fact that the God of the Greeks does not at the same time appear to them in the flesh, although they h a d wliat-subsists-in-and-for-itself, the divine, i n unity w i t h the human—they had i t i n h u m a n shape. [ 1 - The Aspect o f the Reality of the Idea or of the Divine.] The first aspect, then, is that spirit, G o d , has not yet appeared for the Greeks i n pure thought, not yet as the invisible, the spiritual, the nonsensuous; for the Greeks are the closest principle t o the Orientals, whose basic i n t u i t i o n is that o f the substantial unity of spirit and nature. The Greeks are sublime i n their i n t u i t i o n of this unity. They themselves reduced this substantial unity, the unity o f substance and nature, t o the aspect of the reality of the idea* t o the status of ideality, and the other t o i t is the subjective o r the i n d m d u a l aspect. 388
THE GREEK WORLD
The principle of subjectivity, of individual spirituality, emerges; but this subjectivity is as yet o n l y emergent, and i t has t w o aspects: one is the soulfunction {das Seelenbafte) the other the natural aspect. First of a l l , the soul-function is imagined as belonging t o the natural aspect; but i t is also [something] o n its o w n account, and emerges over against that natural image, w h i c h appears | as life. I n this appearance, the soul-function and the natural aspect are i n immediate u n i t y ; this aspect is of itself the Oriental [intuition]. N o w , [ i n the Greek i n t u i t i o n ] , the subjective element [still] has this aspect but only as a mode of existence. Thus the spiritual is encountered twice: as subjective being-for-self and i n unity w i t h the natural. The animal likewise has a soul, paralleling the h u m a n being; the soul constitutes the lifeforce (Lebendigkeit) of the human being t o o . However, in the case o f the human being t h i s soul-function is opposed on its o w n account to the merely naturally imagined soul-function. The human being is a l i v i n g being w i t h a soul; however, this soul exists for itself i n yet a second w a y and is distinct f r o m the soul that is submerged i n naturalness. I t is i n this fashion that the Greek [ i n t u i t i o n ] contrasts w i t h the Oriental. For the Greeks, the Oriental intuition is merely that of reality. The immanence of the spiritual and natural is for the Greeks f o u n d only i n the aspect of reality, and the spiritual opposes itself t o w h a t is merely submerged i n materiality, t o w h a t is merely immanent t o the natural. This is the first stage of elevation above a mere sod-function. t
3S
But i n this w a y spirit is n o t yet one w i t h itself i n t h o u g h t 'Spirit thinks itself; ' G o d is revered i n spirit as w h a t is nonsensuous*: this simply means that G o d is posited i n the element o f thought, and simply for thought, God has a mode of appearance i n thought t o o ; G o d appears f o r an other; but this aspect of appearance is the thought itself. The aspect [ w e have been discussing] is that of reality. The tree was indeed one aspect f o r the Greeks, but the place where this freedom appears is a spirituality that is still immanent, submerged i n materiality. Here, therefore, | G o d cannot yet be revered i n spirit. Spirit is not yet the k n o w i n g of s p i r i t Its reality i n this aspect is natural appearance. I n terms of this aspect we must say t h a t the Greek principle has not yet developed and risen i n t o a w o r l d of thought; the object of its reflective, individual principle is rather the substantial u n i t y of the spiritual and the physical. The higher, nonsensuous w o r l d does not yet stand above the sensuous w o r l d .
iS. Wrth its suffix -hafte, this term seems to refer to the soul as still attacl^toor in contact * « h nature, but at the same time as emerging from i t We hare translated rt loosdy as soufaction'.
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[2. The Aspect o f the Concept of the Idea or o f Spirit o r of the Divine.] The other aspect is t h a t the Greeks possessed the spiritual i n individual f o r m and elevated spirit t o subjectivity, so that the subject was the essential aspect, and the natural as such was reduced t o the aspect o f appearance. This natural f o r m serves as the expression of the appearance of subjective spirit, and so this natural can only be the humanly natural, can only have human shape; for only the latter can be a spiritual expression; o n l y i n the latter can spirit appear as such. But inasmuch as the Greeks portrayed essential being [ Wesen] as human, we can ask w h y God does not appear t o them as h u m a n , w h y G o d does not appear i n the flesh, in actual existence, and w h y they fashion G o d for themselves only in marble or i n fanciful images. This characteristic is connected w i t h the fact that human beings o n l y counted and only w o u l d have their w o r t h insofar as they made themselves to be the appearance of the beautiful, only t o the extent that they have displayed and elaborated themselves i n a beautiful f o r m . 343
Thus the divine itself has been brought forth by the subject, and the contingency of the singular has been made subordinate to it. | It was only the Greeks who developed themselves in this w a y ; all the others were barbarians, and even among the Greeks there were true Greeks a n d there were slaves. Being b o m a Greek did not suffice to make one a Greek, and it is an essential quality of spirit to make oneself into w h a t spirit is. T h a t spirit is w h a t i t makes o f itself is only one aspect; the other is thar spint is essentially and intrinsically w h a t is originallv free. This is the concept o f spirit that the Greeks d i d not yet grasp because they were not yet engaged in thinking. They did not yet grasp spirit as the in-itself (Anstch)—in accord w i t h its universality, its concept—but only i n terms o f h o w i t is engendered i n individuality. They d i d not yet have the view that the human being is created in the image of G o d and is intrinsically free. For this reason they could not yet have the conception, the Chnstian idea, of the unity o f divine and human nature. For they d i d not yet regard human nature as such, humanity i n its concept, to be capable of receiving the divine, but only those human beings w h o have elaborated, produced, spiritualized, and idealized themselves. The spirit that has produced a n d built w i t h i n itself its own inner w o r l d the only spirit that can recognize existing liberation and the divine nature m what is singular; only it can convev the fact that the natural has envisaged the spiritual directly w i t h i n itself. O n l v the s r i t that has matured inwardly as a totality no longer needs t o image the natural i n spiritual t o r m . When thought is free on its own account, it thinks the external; and, by thinking i t , i t can leave this externality i n its immediacv. m its immediate existence, just as it is. | If i t [externality] is not yet thought l s
p i
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but rather intuited i n the connection [ w i t h the spiritual, as w i t h the Greeks], it cannot be grasped i n its immediacy. I f the divine is supposed t o be represented and thought, i t must be assimilated and adapted i n order to express the spiritual. I f , however, thought is free for itself and reflective (as in the Christian religion), then there is n o need for it to give f o r m t o the natural; rather, thought allows the sensible t o remain what it is, namely, a this {Dieses), and i t grasps the divine i n this this. The totality o f the idea requires that the idea should have consummated both aspects, thought on the one side and the sensible on the other, so that it should ramify itself into singularization. O n l y this infinite antithesis attains the profundity o f the idea, w h i c h has the strength t o hold the antithesis together i n its profundity. Here for the first time is the profound idea, which contains w i t h i n itself the infinite a n t i t h e s i s . 36
One can indeed reproach the Greek religion for being anthropomorphic; but its defect, its liability, is that i t is not anthropomorphic enough; i t did not know G o d i n immediate existence. The Greeks have heroes, t o be sure, but w i t h H o m e r they are not yet revered as divine. This came later and w i t h a different significance (e.g., the emperor for the Romans). Thus the anthropomorphism o f the Greeks did not yet go far enough. Schiller has written an important p o e m , "The Gods of Greece', which shows that the author was profoundly moved by the sublime {Höchsten), but that his idea is i n part quite w r o n g . For the opposition | that he draws between the Christian and Greek religions is false w h e n he avers; 'As the gods were more human, The Christian G o d is m u c h more thoroughly human. But this can be addressed o n l y speculatively. The next t h i n g to note is that polytheism is directly implicated i n the Greek mode o f religious i n t u i t i o n . However, the being-one (Etnes-Sein) of G o d is directly b o u n d u p w i t h the incarnation o f G o d . We can indeed say, ' G o d appears in nature and i n the human race', although i n saying that we stop short w i t h God's externalization or divestment (Entäußerung), w i t h the outward appearance, since i n nature G o d does not appear as G o d . For,
36. The idea [Idee) on Hegel's view is the unity of the concept and obiectiviry or thought and sensibility. The unity appears in the singular or the individual (Vereidete), which has the quality of spirit. Only the profound idea (tiefe Idee) has the strength to hold together toe ant.thesis between thought and reality, the mental and the physical. See Encydoped* of the Philosophical Sciences, §§ 213-44 {The Encyclopaedia Logic, tr. T. F. Geraets, W. A. Sucht.ng, and H . S. Hams (Indianapolis, 1991), 286-3071. On the this, see below, pp. 3%-.. 37. Fnedricb Schiller, 'Die Götter Griechenland«', 11. 191-2: 'Since the gods w e r e j n o * human, humans were more divine' (Da die Götter menschlicher noch waren tvtren Menschen göttlicher) (Werke: Nationalausgabe, ed. Julius Petersen and Gerhard Fncke (Weimar, 1943), i . 195). 391
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appearing as spirit, G o d has sublated the externalization or divestment, and the latter is expressed as the Son and as one S o n . I n the Greek religion, which is still in the state of externalization, there must be many gods; that is how the divine appears for the Greeks. 38
W i t h this portrayal we have started o u t f r o m the subjective side, f r o m the human in its subjective aspect. The other side is that of nature. T h e divinity of the Greeks is humanity idealized into beauty. Just as the sensuous human being is idealized and exalted in its outer aspect, so also must it be in its inner, spiritual aspect, t o which belong knowledge, justice, t r u t h , goodness. When these attributes are exalted to their essential f o r m , we refer to them as the highest good, etc.; but this is only a quantitative exaltation a n d distinction. The true exaltation would be the sublation of humanity's finitude. 345
T h e e x a l t e d s p i r i t i s t h e s p i r i t | that at the same time has power over nature, as what initially appears as other to it. The spirit that is essential a n d n o n finite is precisely the spirit that has sublared the antithesis to nature and that therefore i s itself a natural power. In modem times it iscustomary to say that Helios is the god of the sun, Rhea the goddess of earth, etc. The Greeks did not have such a n o t i o n , namely that the sun and a god are the same thing; rather they understood the sun in its essential nature to be divine. Poseidon is not the god of the sea; rather rhe god is the sea itself, the sea as god. If we speak of 'a G o d transcending nature', this already establishes a w h o l l y different relationship than that found i n the Greek gods. The Greek gods are not merely natural powers but essentially are spiritual individuality, which for the Greeks is what i s essential and supreme, but is not yet established as free individuality. Spirit is not yet comprehended in spint. The Greeks are free individualities, but free individuality i n its substantiality. The spiritual is not yet its object. This free individuality is the free spirit. The Greeks, therefore, are free, but just for this reason they still exist w i t h i n the condition of naturalness. W i t h the Greek gods, naruralness, the power of nature, is no longer the foundation, and this constitutes the difference from the Orientals. We shall n o w consider the difference between rhe t w o .
346
Spiritual s e l e c t i v i t y is the pnncipal matter w i t h the Greeks. To be sure, natural power ,s mamtained as a natural divinity, but it functions i n this wav only as the beginning, the starting point that is sublated in spintual progress, in the broad desnny of spirit. Thus the Greeks have Cronus and Selene, etc. But they are o t a wholly different race than that o f Zeus; they are | the T i t a n s .
This distinction between the o l d and the new gods is an essential element in the conception of Greek i n t u i t i o n — i t is essential that the Greeks distinguished these gods f r o m the n e w gods w h o ruled w i t h Zeus. The Titans dwelled outside the l i m p i d earth; they were in part o v e r t h r o w n and in p a n excluded f r o m spirit t h a t is becoming conscious of itself. They still hold sway but have above them a mighty r u l i n g race [of gods]. So in part they are preserved as nature gods, but i n part the resonance of the natural powers is preserved in the more recent gods—preserved only as a resonance, as an element. Thus A p o l l o is the k n o w i n g God, and this has the resonance of being the god of l i g h t . Poseidon is partly this b u t also partly the resonance of the nature g o d Oceanus, and still echoes elemental natural powers. There is m u c h controversy over whether A p o l l o is the sun g o d , etc. But the succession i n the races o f gods is to be understood i n this way. Such a distinction is also found among the Egyptians. The Egyptians have three races or gods. Isis and Osiris belong to the t h i r d creation, the third race, the t h i r d class, which approached closer t o spirit; thus they have also the most abundant qualities, since the earlier gods were only aspects of nature. We note i n this regard that the Greeks are oriented to the Oriental mode i n having nature as the foundation. [Their view of] nature as foundation comes t o t h e m f r o m the Orient i n such a way that springs, trees, waves, rivers are also represented i n the f o r m of divinities. They have maintained this i n Helios, i n the mountain nymphs, the river gods, etc. The Greeks, it is said, have animated and ensouled the whole of nature in a genial way. But such animation has an Oriental character. In the river god the merely natural acquires the | significance o f divinity. Here, however, it is simply the merely natural, this spring, the divinity. This fantasy of the Greeks is surely more beautiful and pleasing than that of the Orientals; and this comes precisely from their clinging t o and revering the human as the form in w h i c h divinity reveals itself, because i t alone is capable of being the sensible manifestation of the spiritual. Revering the finite in human f o r m , they have humanized the configurations of knowledge, etc.; they have not, like the Orientals, distorted them. They have remained free of the Oriental absurdities. The shape of the absurd is precisely w h a t diverges from the human. The Greeks, having on the one hand the Oriental outlook, merely added to i t and, by transforming 't, founded a higher order of the gods.
39
38. O . Ph.J.ppun 2: ¿-7. G o d , * Chnst, 'did not regard equality w,thGod a, something to exp oited^ but empued himself, taking the form of a slave, being bom in human likeness'. 39. The Titans * « e rurute d e that were overthrown by the O l y m p , gods. S
ltM;s
an
392
Historically speaking, there are t w o schools of thought, r w o dominant views: that the Greeks took their gods f r o m Asia and Egypt, and that the Greeks let them emerge f r o m w i t h i n themselves in Greece. Herodotus h i m self expresses this double view: he avers that Homer and Hesiod gave Greece gods, but then he says that they, after consulting the oracle at Dodona 393
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(Janinna), got the names and the gods themselves f r o m E g y p t . A t Dodona they asked whether these newly acquired gods should be accepted. The modem controversies draw upon these viewpoints. We have already indicated how they are t o be reconciled. The Greeks adopted culture as w e l l as heterogeneous elements from w h a t remained standing i n the sphere o f nature; however, their labor, their cultural w o r k , is the transformarion o f this alien 4 0
346
element. Thus they adopted the Asian principle. | T h e Asian principle lived in them, but they did not leave i t as they received it; they exalted it as well. To the alien and ancient elements that the Greeks adopted belong i n particular the Greek mysteries, the distinctive mode o f w o r s h i p that has engaged curiosity over the centuries and elicited m u c h controversy even t o the present day. Their standpoint follows directly f r o m these circumstances. They were an ancient f o r m o f worship {something t h a t is expressly stated), deriving i n part f r o m foreign sources. Regarding their content, the historical material itself points to the fact that these mysteries contained traits of an ancient nature religion; and i t is necessarily the case that they contained this and nothing more. The image people associated w i t h the mysteries is that w h a t in them is ancient, and in w h i c h the spirit of the people no longer lives, delves i n t o soinething obscure and venerable that is the beginning or source of w h a t follows f r o m i t , so that later versions can be interpreted and understood from such ancient elements. W h e n w h a t develops and is novel has become valid and sacrosanct, and is something sprung f r o m the earlier c o n d i t i o n (as, for instance, in political constitutions), then the ancient elements, although revered as the source, are nevertheless at variance w i t h the new arrangerrraH. It is, as i t were, dangerous and forbidden t o k n o w the ancient source as sometriing that readies the downfall of the new—because one w o u l d k n o w what the truth of things is; because one w o u l d accept that, i n k n o w i n g the old,
349
one knows what justifies the new, | and because t h i s new element then appears t o be something without justification. This is the natural c o r r e c t i o n between w h a t comes earlier and w h a t follows, and i t seems that i f one is to know the new one must t u r n t o the o l d . T h e mysteries h a d this relationship t o folk religion; a customary part of i t is the representation, the belief, that this mysterious and earlier source is much wiser because i t facilitates knowledge of what is new. So i t was partially right to regard o l d and musty parchments t o
« L Herodotus, History! J2-7 (Grene, pp. 154-6).
2
.53, be suggests that the second v i e *
c r e a t o r the Greeks the* gods), janinna, also Yamna, are later oaroes for the ardent s.re of
be the genuine basis f o r justifications., the proper source of information about the present. These are kept secret because the o l d source differs from w h a t follows, and subsequent validity could therefore be endangered i f i t were revealed t o people what is present i n the new. The relationship of the mysteries to the f o l k religion is represented i n the same way. The mysteries contained essential traits and cultic depictions f r o m the o l d nature religion; but the newer religion was genuinely spiritual, and so I f t t r the Greeks] the f o l k religion had an advantage over the o l d and more abstract religion. But i t is the same for our undeisunding. For example, we call f o r an explanation o f the Greek gods, and we take as an explanation the abstract natural element f r o m w h i c h it [such a god] emerged; we say, for example, that Poseidon is the sea. B u t i n fact the sea is something inferior t o Poseidon. Such a natural element was only the beginning and i n the mysteries there was no greater w i s d o m ; the mysteries were not simply a secret. Mysterium does not at all mean a 'secret' (Geheimnis); for the meaning of tnysterittm is the speculative, ) w h i c h t o the understanding is in any event a secret. I n Athens everyone but Socrates was initiated into the mysteries o f Eleusis. He d i d n o t take part i n them because he wanted t o reserve a free hand; w h e n he established something by means of thought, he d i d not w a n t to be responsible f o r divulging Eleusinian secrets. I n his history o f Egypt Herodotus often said that he c o u l d n o t reveal w h a t the priests t o l d h i m . H e heard there about the foundations, the abstract beginnings, of me Greek gods. This is, then, the relationship o f the o l d gods t o the new ones. Greek mythology itself contains this transition; the battle of the gods is famous. Zeus and his siblings are a new and later race. From this it is clear that the Greek gods t o o are an emergent phenomenon. The resonance o f the natural beginning is there; but i t is only the gods that come f r o m thought that are eternal, a n d w i t h these gods there can no longer be a theogony. These are the basic features. 41
4 2
When we have beheld the nature of the Greek gods i n this fashion, we see in them spirit in its freedom. Spirit is no longer immersed i n nature (even though people n o w regard this unity [ w i t h nature] as the most excellent feature). Spirit is no longer subject t o superstition. I f spirit is still w i t h i n this natural unity, i t is bound and subjected w i t h i n its other, i n superstition. {But
« - Hegel attributes the hnkage between mystery ^ V ^ ^ ^ J ^ ^ ^ . ^fAers, and to Proclus i n particular See Lectures on the Philosophy ofRehffon, ' • j ™ ^ * ' «rf Uas.es on the History of Philosophy (Oxford, 2006, 2009),*. C l o s u r e of more profound rrurh or a higher rationally, tnaccesabk to to* vnerawc a
+2- Herodotus, History 2.3 (Grene, p. 132).
394
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T H E L E C T U R E S O F 1822-3
THE GREEK WORLD
Greek religion is [essentially] devoid of superstition.) W h i l e detaching itself f r o m nature, Greek religion still has an aspect w h e r e superstition rules; this is because the infinite breach on the p a r t o f the subjectivity o f h u m a n beings 351
w i t h i n themselves has not yet happened; the infinite antithesis | is not yet present; the antithesis o f good and evil does n o t yet exist, the [antithesis] disrupting that beautiful cheerfulness o f the Greeks—the infinire break of human subjectivity w i t h i n itself and consequendy the infinite antithesis of the •this' to the universal. A n d i n this respect Greek religion is therefore still superstitious, as is shown by the oracles. I t is said that the antithesis o f the individual as a this (Dieser) t o the universal is n o t yet present t o thought and thus is not yet resolved. B u t the characteristic of infinite subjectivity is i n fact already present i n actuality because every i n d i v i d u a l is a this. B u t the character o f the this is n o t yet religiously comprehended, has n o t yet been taken u p i n t o religion, and so the antithesis is n o t yet reconciled and subjectivity is still b o u n d . Thus superstition still is a factor here. The Christian is confident that his particular destiny and welfare, tempo¬ raland eternal, is an object o f God's care. H i s life journey turns o u t for the best. I n his particular circumstances and w i t h his particular aims, i n these matters, i n prayer to G o d , the Christian is God's object a n d a i m , and is absolutely justified. This person, each and every person, should be redeemed and eternally blessed. The Greeks d i d not and c o u l d n o t arrive at this v i e w , f o r it is only i n the Christian religion t h a t G o d has become a this a n d has taken the character of the this i n t o the character o f the divine c o n c e p t . 43
*>
We see t h a t the Greeks consulted the oracles about particular concerns. Earner oracles were found i n a number o f locations i n Greece; there were other places besides Delphi and Dodona. | N a t u r a l phenomena were included under the general category o f oracles. They were n o t consulted about ethical or legal issues but only about particular matters. Because we are comparing the attitude of the Christian religion [ w i t h that of the Greeks], w e •nd.cated that we f o u n d the G o d o f Christians t o be defined as a this, as an actual human being, as being this G o d . In determining the nature o f the Chnsoan G o d to be this G o d , w h o has a Son w h o is an actual h u m a n being, ri.r. Z / - ™ k r m h a r trust o f Christians i n G o d resides m the fact that G o d has experienced the feelings of h u m a n suffering 0
1 5
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^ *^ a J ^ ^ ^ T l ' ^ * °° ^
from all ouVaTbTt^JZl^ Hindu
m
iV
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that God .
and therefore particular concerns stand under the care of G o d . W i t h this conception, this confidence, individual human beings can decide and resolve things themselves. I t m i g h t be assumed that decision on the part of human beings, deciding for oneself, is superfluous here, since God w i l l make things right. But this can be said only by empty and idle talk that does not assume that action must be taken. But since action is assumed, the only question concerns whence comes the determination of the action. But the indolent do not make this assumption of action. Thus the question is: Does the subject derive the determination f r o m itself or f r o m something external? Since infinite subjectivity (the T w i l l ' ) , since the detennination of this w i l l i n g , is not yet developed i n G o d , is not yet taken u p into this idea of God, then abstract w i l l i n g and abstract deciding, this ' I w i l l * of the subject, still has no proper standing. The subject has n o t yet been able t o derive from itself the characteristic of w i l l i n g as a 'this'. Humans have not yet grasped this power of decision as their o w n ; a n d i f their o w n being was the decisive tiling, that would have no justification. Insofar as they have i t , it is more i n the f o r m of an arbitrary w i l l (Willkiir), a sacrilegious presumption. For human beings are absolutely justified only insofar as nature knows the this i n the divine nature. Thus the Greeks have | n o t yet taken their o w n counsel about decisions affecting their particular concerns, but must rather obtain the decision f r o m an external source. This explains w h y i t appears that this uifinitely free and gifted people has nonetheless found a place for superstition. In the this Christians recognize the divine nature, and they trust i n God that G o d m i g h t shape the circumstances of the this to the purpose o f God's providence (Vorsorge). This is a very important consideration because die Greeks place their superstitious trust i n the oracle. When someone, for example the nobleman Pausanias prior to the Battle of Plataea, frets over [the entrails o f ] sacrificial a n i m a l s , i t is essential t o ask h o w this is congruent w i t h the free Greek spirit. This apparendy bizarre circwistance is connected w i t h the Greek conception of spirit, and talk about pnestiy legerdemain, e t c , is superficial chatter. Circumstances such as this reveal the difference between the Greek and the Christian religions. 44
Closely connected w i t h the oracles is another Greek view, that of fete- I t is « i d that the Greeks d i d n o t yet inwardly grasp the absolute^ pr.nc.ple ot ^ W i n g for oneself about particular affairs o r events. They had [not] yet
individual who is distinguished contested with mam m dv See Herodotus, History 9.61-3 (Grene, pp. ^ ^ ^ ^ < ^ k feces against those of the Per^ar, seneral ^ ^ ^ J * " * to the battle, both sides resorted to omens to iore^x the outcome.
396
397
^
1
^
^
.
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T H E L E C T U R E S O F 18
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22-3
established this ultimate determination i n itself. T h i s is connected w i t h the fact that the principle that determines the particular they grasped i n objective f o r m : the Greeks were still perplexed about the panicularity of events. The category of providence, o r f a i t h , for Christians stands opposed to w h a t we call fate for the Greeks. I n other respects, however, f o r Christians as well as f o r Greeks the connection of particularities t o the universal is something incomprehensible a n d misunderstood. Destiny unfolds on a soil that must be called contingent i n respect t o particular purposes; | for it is a question of particularities that are not justified vis-á-vis w h a t exists i n and f o r itself and on its o w n . The particularities of circumstances, the life-journey o f the individual, are incomprehensible for Greeks and Christians; but Christians have the view that all these particularities serve f o r the best, that G o d guides all these contingencies and leads them to the best outcome. Thus they assume that God's object is w h a t is best for them. T h e Greeks lacked this view just because w h a t is particular, the end o f individuals, was n o t taken up into G o d . They accepted individual events as they happened and where they found them, but they d i d not have the conception that w h a t is best f o r them w o u l d be a final end, that as a 'this' they w o u l d be a n end. So they were just left w i t h the thought that 'that's h o w i t is'. They remained w i t h the mere fact of being, i am such that I a m an end' c o u l d not have entered their t h i n k i n g . It only remained f o r them t o think, 'That's h o w i t is, a n d humans must submit t o i t ' . This was their ultimate [recourse]. A t the same time we must say that no superstition is present i n this fate, i n the reiteration o f 'That's how it is', i n this representation of things, as there is in the view of the oracles, where the human being is unfree. B u t , i n the representation of fate, freedom is still only f o r m a l freedom, for if humans accept w h a t is and let things fall as they may, then n o discord occurs between them and things as they are, between w h a t they w a n t and w h a t is. H u m a n beings are only dissansfied when external reality does n o t correspond t o their aims and differs f r o m their desires. But w h e n persons d o n o t regard themselves to be justified i n a particular way, then they have no aims of their own and submerge everything i n the simple n o t i o n , 'That's the way it is'. Thus a unity exists between them, their representations, a n d the w a y things are. They are at one, at peace. Since they have n o particular purposes, the I 'other' is annulled i n them, and there is peace a n d freedom. However, this offers no solace, for solace presupposes that 1 have a purpose and t h a t i t was satisfied. Solace is not found. This disposition, this subjection, does not require solace precisely because it does not yet have the deeper need of subjectivity, a n d this is because individuals i n their particularity d o n o t view themselves as ends o r purposes. The deeper demands o f subjectivity
THE GREEK
are not met here; but the situation is by no means unreasonable. If one were to view destiny as a blind power over right and ethical life, as is the case i n modern tragedies, that w o u l d be a most spiritless and unreasonable outlook. But this was n o t the w a y that the Greeks viewed fate. The sphere of divine justice is something other than t h a t o f destiny. The Constitution of Greece Here we make a transition to the constitution of Greece. The latter is directly connected w i t h Greek religion. We have already spoken of the beginnings o f Greek political organization and said that the sovereign power imported from foreign lineages finally fell away as superfluous. Let us now examine its positive aspects more closely. What distinguishes the Greek constitution is democracy, w h i c h c o u l d attain this development only here and only here be so admired, while the Oriental w o r l d offered a brilliant display of despotism. The Roman w o r l d is that of aristocracy, and the Germanic w o r l d that of monarchy. Oriental despotism is absent, then, f r o m Greece because the [Greek political] c o n d i t i o n d i d n o t begin f r o m patriarchy (fundamentally, the t w o systems [democracy a n d patriarchy] remain alien t o each other [even] when they are intertwined); rather the Greeks united as rational individuals, n o t as individuals linked and bound together by nature. O n the other hand, however, the subject, or subjectivity, | was not yet infinite reflection w i t h i n itself, not yet the w h o l l y free ideality of thought, nor the infinite subjectivity to w h i c h conscience belongs. A n absolute determination regarding the particularity o f conscience d i d not yet have a place here; i t was not [yet] expected here that everything should be justified before human inwardness. Missing is w h a t human beings justify w i t h reference to themselves. There had not yet occurred this breach i n w h i c h autonomous, independent inwardness is f o r m e d , seeking t o determine for itself i n thought w h a t is right and ethical, recognizing only the latter t o be justified, and not recognizing what is not justified according t o its o w n insight. Since this breach has not yet occurred, this w o r l d [of subjectivity] is not yet erected; the particular w i l l is n o t yet free; the particularity of conviction and intention does not yet carry weight. Passions are therefore not yet involved in the operations of the state. * I n regard to such inwardness, to 4
4*. Since the early Greek leaders surely did act out of passion, perhaps what Hegel o«nd ire passions based on a subjective sense of self. In place of this sentence, fo « n e i r a , Hotho continues the preceding sentence; '[the particularity o f ccwwictionanc * > ] doe* not yet come into association with àte ttate'Gri
tK
398
WORLD
399
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T H E GREEK
T H E L E C T U R E S OF 1 8 2 2 - 3
such particular powers of the spirit and w i l l that i n w a r d l y strive t o be free, the state is then [in the Germanic -Christian w o r l d ] precisely w h a t is of universal interest, appearing as something external. Since it is determined [as] something external t o w h i c h the subjective free w i l l is not subjectively bound, the state must have its o w n distinctive mode of stabilization, its o w n distinctive bond, because [otherwise] only spirit, only conscience, is somet h i n g secure and stable. The only t h i n g i n m y m i n d t h a t is secure is my conviction; and the state, because i t is external, must provide another mainstay over against this inwardness, this [personal] o p i n i o n . The time f o r monarchy has arrived when such a bond is required; thus monarchy emerges w h e n external order requires a focus f o r the sake of stability. This bond can only be secure if it has occurred naturally and 357
been formed naturally. | Hence, the moment of naturalness is taken up into the ethical order. This stable order can take u p the element of naturalness and can support the state apart f r o m and even contrary t o the conviction and conscience of the individual, since the latter are uncertain and are left t o one's o w n opinion. w e do n o t yet find this situation or any o f these characteristics w i t h the Greeks. However, in order t o be able t o d o justice t o the Greek constitution, we must have mastered these propositions a n d become sure of these conceptions both abstractly and i n external phenomena; it is o n l y when w e have its concept that w e are permitted t o discuss conceptions o f the constitution. Inwardness is very important t o the Greek spirit a n d w i l l soon surface i n i t , where b o t h the subjective spirit a n d , together w i t h i t , [personal] opinions appear Their appearing, however, can only be destructive, because the corjstkutioo has not yet developed t o this p o i n t . Hence, the principle of subjective freedom appears only as something disruptive i n i t because i t is still a heterogeneous ijnnciple for t h i s constitution. The Greek constitution, therefore, proceeds f r o m the unity of subjective and objective w i l l , whereas the Oriental w o r l d starts o u t f r o m the patriarchal Principle, and the modem w o r l d starts out f r o m surjjecrive freedom. Since these [other] t w o principles are not present i n the Greek w o d d , the central thing here is beauty, which in terms o f the political aspect leads t o the Greek constitution and sets the Greek w o r l d apart This w o d d is beautiful, but the true [is] always higher. Beauty is not yet truth. This beautiful center o f the ethical and the just [is what] is grasped and sought by the free individual, by free individaahry—not yet i n the specific quality of morality but instead as custom, as the objective aspect o f w i l i n g . The w i l l has not yet been intensified i n t o the ideality of bemg-for self, has n o t yet arrived at the interi-
356
ority o f t t e l a t t e c The ethical arxl the , u s t a « 400
| o f the
WORLD
w i l l ; they actualize this freedom. Thus the content is defined by the law of freedom, and it is rational. The w i l l is indeed no longer b o u n d f r o m the outset and is no longer fixated i n unity w i t h the natural, as i n the Orient. Thus the content is the free, the r a t i o n a l . As to the f o r m , it is that of immediacy. The law of the ethical is valid here because i n the condition of immediacy i t is the l a w of one's o w n country. It is n o t v a l i d because / regard i t t o be right and have convinced myself of i t ; rather i t is the simple custom by w h i c h w e live. W h a t is natural, w h a t befalls us, just is, a n d thus i t must take place. Here this is simple reflection, simple ethicality, the custom o f l i f e . Here there is no higher g r o u n d for obedience. In beauty as such the idea ts still the natural element i n sensible representation and is expressed f o r sensible representation. I t expresses the d i v i n e i n the sensible; and thus ethical practice, w h i c h does not yet comprise m o r a l i t y , has here as such the character of custom and habit i n the mode of nature and of necessity. Thus the l a w has here the f o r m o f immediacy; the particularity o f w i l l is not yet present. Hence the interest o f the entire community, its c o m m o n being, can reside i n the decision o f individuals, the citizens; and this w i l l of the citizens must be the basis o f the constitution, for there is no principle that could hinder the existing ethical life i n its actualization. Thus here the democratic constitution is the absolutely necessary f o r m . The w i l l here is still the objective w i l l ; and Athena, the goddess, is still Athens, still the spirit of the people, still the actual spirit of the citizens; this ceases t o be o n l y when object and subject separate. And this f o r m is the justification a n d necessity of the democratic constitution; none other is possible here. The democratic constitution rests on this immanent ethicality. When the w i l l | has retreated into an i n t e r i o r conscience and the separation has occurred—only then has the moment f o r the democratic constitution passed by. O f greater interest are the tenets that lead t o the call for a democratic constitution. I f we speak of such a i n s t i t u t i o n , in our time i n particular it is frequently represented t o be the best. I t is said that interests, decisions, and ordinances o f the state should be the concern of all citizens; this is true and i t is quite important. A further tenet adduced is that individuals, citizens as individuals, must have the right t o deliberate and decide about public matters, because their o w n and their most essential concerns i n this w o r l d are stake. It can be said that citizens w i l l be motivated to choose w h a t is best for themselves, and that they w i l l best understand w h a t that is, and thus should have the right t o make this choice. a t
However, a n essential consideration is the question as to w h o these individuals are w h o are t o determine what is best, a n d where these 401
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individuals are who should understand these concerns. They are single individuals, citizens; and of them i t must be said that they have this absolute justification o n l y t o the extent that their w i l l is still the absolute and objective w i l l and is n o t split between the inferiority o f subjectivity and w h a t is universal and objective—only to the extent, therefore, that their w i l l is still the simple unity of substantial v o l i t i o n . This is indeed the standpoint of the Greeks, b u t no longer that of the modern w o r l d , where Christ says, 360
' M y kingdom is not of this w o r l d ' — w h e r e , then, this split | exists and the inwardness and eternity of spirit w i t h i n itself are f o u n d . The objective and substantial w i l l should not be called the good w i l l , for the g o o d w i l l is precisely w h a t is msnnguished f r o m the objective. The g o o d w i l l is the m o r a l w i l l ; and the m o r a l w i l l judges w h a t the individual and the state should d o , acting i n accord w i t h an inner rational determination, i n accord w i t h the good as an idea w i t h i n itself, as a knowledge of duty. This g o o d w i l l is no longer the substantial, objective w i l l . I t appears t o be a remarkable destiny of the human race that, as soon as i t arrives at subjective inwardness, at this religion of freedom and spirituality, its higher standpoint of subjective freedom inhibits the possibility of achieving w h a t one often calls, preeroinendy, the freedom of a people, namely democracy. These are fundamental determinations at the core of the concept. One must be acquainted w i t h these determinations [in order] t o avoid idle talk about what a constitution is. 4 6
Three conditions relating to the democracy of the Greeks can be added here. The first [is] the oracle. While the oracle was inseparably connected w i t h democracy i n its older and purer period, democracy itself results i n the oracle no longer being consulted about the most important circumstances and matters. There was a rapid transition to citizens deciding for themselves rather than consulting the oracle. Along w i t h the rapid transition t o assemblies t o take counsel, the feeling soon arose that citizens themselves should decide, play an active role. We find this i n Athens where democracy fully developed; there the people themselves decided. The decision of the people reached its height i n this 47
361
period, | when Socrates experienced his daimon, which did not yet appear t o him as his interiority but as something alien, sornething that determined h i m , his oracle. H e d i d not yet call this subjectivity. 48
46. John 18:36. 47. The connection of the oracle with democracy appears to be as follows. When political decisions were no longer made by patriarchs or despots, they fell to individual citizens. Individuals first consulted oracles to determine how they should act. Subsequently they gathered in assemblies and took votes based on their own decisions, deriving from their inner oracle. 48. On the daimon (ot "genius') of Socrates, see Hegel, Lectures on the History of Philosophy,*. 145-50. 'What it implies is that human betngi will now reach deasioos tn accordance 402
THE
GREEK W O R L D
In the conflict between Achilles and Agamemnon, Homer ascribes t o Pallas [Athena] Achilles' inner decision t o refrain f r o m fighting. When such decisions are n o w made by citizens entirely i n the state, the majority decides. I n earlier times, at the beginning, votes were not counted individually but estimated as a whole w i t h great imprecision. As evidence Thucydides reports that i n Sparta an ephor proposed that, i n order to decide whether t o go to war, [the Lacedaemonians| should not raise their hands but rather stand o n different sides i n different g r o u p s . Later o n , decisions were made by precise count. The greatest accuracy could be achieved only by counting, but there was also the awareness that such a decision appears t o be a matter of chance, and a l l the more so the greater the number of voters. This can cause an uproar because the large number of votes is quickly tallied and the individual vote is devalued, is n o w regarded as insignificant I t is even said that, by increasing the number of votes so that individual votes become insignificant, the individual has less regard for his vote and casts i t irresponsibly. Here is where contingency enters on every side: one [citizen] stays away for this or that reason while [another] speaks eloquently. The decision then appears t o be a matter of chance. Indeed the majority | can become indignant if, f o r [example], there are six hundred on both sides and only one insignificant vote decides the matter. I f things come t o this final exactitude, the decision also appears t o be contingent and w i l l be resented, especially i f at the same time inner conviction, the reflection of w i l l , comes into play a n d is aware that whatever law alone, or whatever else, has been decided, contributes t o the c o r r u p t i o n o f the state. A n d this strength of conviction enters the picture as a result of education. Thus a l l the attention to, a l l the respect for, such decisions collapses, and this w h o l e w a y o f deciding collapses. W i t h the daimon of Socrates, this interiority, w e see i n Athens itself the onset of the age of this baipuiv* a n d also o f the age of decline. I f the oracles are the first f o r m for outwardly expressing w h a t is 49
10
1
with their inner being, insight, reasons, and consciousness in general, although genius is not vet "conscience", for that is a later expression' (p. 145). References to Socrates' daimon (as a divinity or voice that conies upon him and determines hunt are found i n various passages i n Xenophon's Memorabilia and Plato's Apology. 49. Homer, Iliad 1.190-220 (Rieu, pp. 9-10). As Achilles debated with himself whether to disembowel Agamemnon or t o control his angry impulses, Athena appeared and persuaded him to fight with worth: rather than weapons. 50. Thucydides, Ptlopotmesian War 1.86-87 (LattimoK, p. 42). Thucydides does not reier to raising hands but to shouoog as the alternative to standing in groups. The ephors in Sputa were overseers or magistrates, selected annually. 51. The German text adds a final otnicron to thu word.
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determined—which still has the advantage t h a t w h a t is o u t w a r d comes in the f o r m of a divine apparition—this changes i n t o a second f o r m , i n t o a majority of votes, i n t o a number; but the oracle has the advantage of being a divine authorization.
363
First we shall indicate i n more detail w h a t the major elements of this second period are. W h a t we have had up to this point is intrinsic t o the first period of the Greek people;—the period that constitutes its strength and formation. I n the second period w h a t has reached maturity manifests itself: inwardness comes i n t o concrete existence (Dasein), presents itself i n its brilliance, comes i n t o prominence; it does not simply remain w i t h i n itself but appears i n | w o r k s , ones that are for the w o r l d . Thus these works constitute the second p e r i o d of the Greek w o r l d .
History shows that a second condition is bound u p , a n d necessarily so, w i t h Greek ethical life and its democracy, namely, slavery. For ethical life exists as custom and habit, and has i n this respect a particular mode of concrete existence. It is only when h u m a n beings k n o w that they are not things but persons, infinitely free o n their o w n account, that slavery does not occur. It does n o t occur w h e n the concept of the human is t h a t h u m a n beings are free as such. But this is where the mfinite inwardness o f subjectivity comes into play. For the Greeks, freedom holds g o o d o n l y because they are Greeks, because they are these particular citizens. Thus we see t h a t [ o n l y ! these Athenians, these Spartans, etc., are free; freedom is n o t yet grasped as w h a t is | universal but rather as something that is particular. O n l y w h e n the free is thought are human beings free—free because they are free. This freedom presupposes that thought comes t o itself. Thus slavery is necessary i n Greece.
The Persian Wars The epoch w i t h w h i c h such a second period begins involves contact w i t h the antecedent w o r l d - h i s t o r i c a l people. [ I n the case of the Greeks,] the epoch with w h i c h t h i s second period begins involves contact w i t h the Persians. The individuality that has matured i n w a r d l y must t u r n outward and then recede back into itself. The first p o i n t , therefore, is the contact of the Greeks w i t h the Persians a n d the events involving w h a t Herodotus calls 'the War w i t h the Medes'. The history of the latter, brilliant as it is, cannot be considered further here; i t is w e l l - k n o w n , a n d here only the following needs to be recalled. 53
A t h i r d observation is that democratic constitutions can be f o u n d only i n states of small size. Again, this is n o mere contingency of history; a democratic state cannot spread o u t very far. O n e can also t h i n k differently about this, i n abstract terms; but that is o f course a quite stagnant a n d lifeless picture. The character of democracy is an essentially plastic, compact unity. Just this plastic character requires t h a t i t is not one person w h o decides; rather it is the whole body that renders the decision, taking i n t o account all circumstances and interests, a l l sides and reasons. The citizens must therefore be present [together]; the picture of interests must be alive f o r them. This can only happen in small states.
T H E MATURITY
OF THE GREEK
We must recall that not all the Greeks participated i n the war. A significant number were allied w i t h the Persians and fought w i t h them against the Greeks. Even here, where the highest stakes were involved, particularity maintained the upper hand; f o r i n w a r d l y mature individuality is a person outwardly before i t returns again i n t o i t s e l f . We see the Greeks united only once. Their separation is a necessary element, and particularity inevitably gained the upper h a n d over a common Hellenism. Athens and Sparta above all distinguished themselves. The Athenians alone led and w o n the first war, against Darius, w h i c h was decided at the Battle o f Marathon. I n the next war, w i t h Xerxes i n command (he invaded w i t h all of Asia), Boeotia, Thessaly, a n d even Argos were subjugated by the Persians. I n the Peloponnesus, Argos t o o k no part i n the defense of the islands; Sicily and Crete came 54
SPIRIT
According t o o u r previously indicated division o f the history o f a p e o p l e , the unfolding of a spiritual principle belongs i n the first p e r i o d . I n the second period the principle itself is evident; and thus the Greek spirit i n its m a t u r i t y comes forth i n a l l its brilliance. 52
53. The Medes became part of the Persian Empire in the 6th cent, tc and played a major role B the Persian attacks on Greece. Herodotus describes the Persian Wars (5MM49 K) in detail in * * • 5-9 of The History (Grene, pp. 357-664). _ . , , _ , 54. Hegel's argument throughout this section is as follows, to the first penodof Greek ktuxr, inwardness or subjectivity matures as an inner possibility foe huroan ^ ' " j * J * " * * period, this inwardness takes on concrete existence, appearing m ^ ^ ^ . ^ T iPartikularmt) or 'individuality- (InelmduaW), th"*a*»iorncwP*" *™^^ themselves over against communal ioVnthy. This is n e c e s ^ ^ » t t e i i i a « n r u o r . ot P*" > but h has negative as well as positive consequence*. l
0 0
52. See above, pp. 372-3. 404
S
5
t
405
364
T H E L E C T U R E S O F 18
365
under | Persian aegis; and thus only a few peoples stood o n the Greek side. O n l y a few states withstood this great c o n f l i c t . 55
Also noteworthy here is the favor of destiny. M a r a t h o n , Salamis, Thermopylae remain immortal names, w h i c h live eternally i n h u m a n remembrance. The small number of Athenians w h o fought at M a r a t h o n , the three hundred Spartans under Leonidas at Thermopylae, the Athenians w h o took t o their ships t o battle against the Persians—these w i l l always be examples of bravery. Since these battles and that age, many thousand times three hundred have died just as bravely. There is no people that has n o t engaged in heroic deeds and had many defenders; a l l native lands are bravely defended. But for us, none of these countless battles and the men w h o died i n them, these heroes, compare w i t h the i m m o r t a l glory of Thermopylae and the three hundred. It may appear t o be g o o d fortune, but fame decides according t o the nature o f the case. We must consider how fame distributes its laurels. Fame rewards, deciding n o t according t o m o r a l , subjective values, n o r on the basis of subjective m e r i t ; rather i t decides i n accord w i t h objective values and the nature of the case. The defense of Greece is unique i n its universal aspect. West a n d East stood so opposed here that the interests of w o r l d history lay i n the balance. The defense of other interests, of one's native land and the like, have all been more limited. Pericles, i n his funeral oration f o r the 366
fallen during the Peloponnesian War, | spoke in praise of Athens, for which the men bad died, and be said: Tt is for such a city t h a t these m e n struggled and d i e d . ' H e attributed the excellence of their sacrifice to the greatness of the cause. Thus i t is because o f the cause that their fame here is so great. 5 6
A s to the powers that were opposed here, o n the one side there was Oriental despotism, the entire Eastern w o r l d united under a single master, mighty i n numbers, having the great advantage o f being under a single doininion. A n d these Persians, these Orientals, Xerxes i n particular, are by n o means to be seen as soft and weak o r t o be derided. Herodotus gives quite a different picture of them; while some groups were soft, many, indeed most, were the opposite: they were strong and belligerent, and indeed displayed a r a w and savage bravery. Over against these folk, w h o i n p a r t were very
55. The B a r * of Marathon occurred in 490 B C Ten years later, Xerxes prevailed at Thermopylae, overwhelming a valiant Spartan contingent, but was decisively defeated bv a united Greek navy at the Battle of Salamis i n 480. With the defeat of the Persian army at Piataw in 479, the threat of Greek destruction ended, but the Persians very nearlv succeeded in their conquest. The parenthetical remark 'he invaded with «11 of Asia' refers to the fact that dv Persian forces consined o f wins drawn from the many distinct ethnic groups contained within the Penian Empire. 56. Thucydides, Pelopomeston War, 2.41 (Lartimore, p. 94). 406
T H E GREEK W O R L D
22-3
warlike and were united under one leader, stood a few peoples of limited means but possessing free individuality. Never i n w o r l d history has the advantage a n d superiority of the noble power of spirituality over massed forces—who were indeed not t o be disdained—been displayed so splendidly. In modern times it often happens that i n a single battle a small force has prevailed over a large number: 400 French defeated 60,000 Indians i n one battle. I t is otherwise w i t h a war of long d u r a t i o n , in w h i c h one battle is but a single and rather contingent matter. | This war, therefore, is the most glorious [episode] of Greece, and it had as its author the father of historiography, Herodotus. This w a r is decisive for this great epoch. The epoch was marked by tension; and as soon as these [foreign peoples] had been repelled in the o u t w a r d tension, the tension had then t o be directly i n w a r d , for the Greeks were still n o t capable of conquering the Persians. H a v i n g been aroused a n d n o longer having an o u t w a r d object of their activity, the people had t o seek i t inwardly, i n inner dissension and conflict. Thus we see here the emergence o f conflicts between Greek states w i t h i n Greece itself. The conflicts are p a r t l y among individual states and partly among individual parties w i t h i n each of the states.
367
Athens versus Sparta Athens and Sparta were i n the greatest and most substantial opposition, and the interests of the other states especially revolved about this antagonism. It provides a great deal of material for specialized histories—accounts of all the separate states (Inselstaaten), of the factions and individuals w i t h i n them. The particularity of the other regions, which have the greatest diversity of constitutions, comes into view; this is an anthill, in constant and continuous movement w i t h i n itself and against itself. But the major interest focuses on Athens and Sparta; the whole struggle turns o n their opposition; indeed, even the internal opposition w i t h i n the other states defines itself by the struggle between these two. For already here, at the beginning of the conflict, the antithesis between democracy and aristocracy comes t o the fore—an antithesis that Rome strove to end in a unity that was visibly accomplished in Rome, j The balance quickly shifted back and f o r t h between Athens and Sparta. We shall examine more closely the character of these t w o peoples. Regarding Athens, we have already n o t e d that early on it established peaceful conditions as a place of refuge for inhabitants f r o m other regions, for other peoples of Greece; and so i t had a mixed populace, made up partly 5 7
57. Seeabore,p. 374.
407
368
T H E L E C T U R E S O F 18
22-3
of Greeks and peoples f r o m the islands, and p a r t l y o f foreigners, o f Asians and Africans. A second thing t o note is chat its essential o r i e n t a t i o n w a s t o the sea, trade, and shipping commerce; but at the same t i m e f a r m i n g , olive cultivat i o n , and landed property were related t o these activities. We k n o w historically that f r o m an early rime opposition developed between different factions. We shall pass over the earlier or older [history of Athens], f o r example the umifkaricM) under Theseus. The only noteworthy p o i n t is that the u n i f k a r i o n is attributable to the fact that he enabled the various autonomous c o m m u nities t o unite in Athens, i n the city itself. H e enabled all aspects o f the state t o be under a common authority and a single t r i b u n a l , a l l being i n one central point. We see the apposite i n Boeotia and Lacedaemonia, where the authority was distributed across the whole r e g i o n . T h u s , i n Athens, unification o f the region and the c i t y occurred earlier. But three groups began t o emerge quite soon, w h i c h were related t o different locales and the way o f life associated w i t h them: inhabitants o f the sea coast a n d mariners, m o u n t a i n dwellers, a n d plains dwellers. The three can be called classes {Stände) t o the extent that they are based o n distinct ways o f l i f e . | The situation w i t h these classes was unsettled; and insofar as Athens also constituted one whole, a u n i o n , i n effect a state, there thus arose a see-saw between aristocracy a n d democracy. T h e legislation o f Solon resolved this situation. (Solon w a s one o f the Seven Wise M e n ; the other six bore this name f o r diverse reasons. Solon's legislation indicates a level o f culture where the awareness o f , a n d need f o r , a universal representation, e.g. o f general well-being, emerges; t h i s is the p o i n t at w h i c h the need f o r l a w arises. The Wise M e n were p r i n c i p a l l y legislators, some being referred to as rulers and tyrants, the ones w h o were the noblest a n d wisest. ) Thus Solon gave the laws t o his f e l l o w citizens. I t is a rare stroke of good fortune that an individual gives laws t o such a people—this lot befalls few mortals. 5 8
55
THE GREEK
WORLD
that here one individual promulgated the constitutional l a w ; w h a t is more, Solon also established the civil law. However, i t is quite superficial to say that a democratic constitution should give the legislative power t o the people, that in a democracy legislation should be i n the hands o f the people. For democracy is already a constitution; i t is already the development | of a legal system i n which its o w n great and important laws are already established, and further elaboration is unnecessary. Its o w n laws, o n w h i c h things depend, are already established i n every constitution, insofar as it is one. Solon gave t h e Athenians a democratic constitution, but in such a fashion that an aristocratic element was involved. Solon's laws do indeed specify equality a m o n g the citizens, but the wealthy still have an advantage over others, principally i n regard t o the administration of public offices; hence there is a n aristocratic element. This difference w a s ameliorated, as w e notice, by a t r a n s f o r m a t i o n i n the age t h a t f o l l o w e d . A t the instigation o f Cleistenes, the constitution became m o r e democratic. U p t o the age o f Pericles the Areopagus had issued decrees about everything, decrees i n which the people had n o say. But f o l l o w i n g Pericles the actions o f the Areopagus were suspended, so that f o r the first t i m e i n the age o f Pericles a democratic constitution was firmly established. 60
We should note that slavery was a major aspect o f private life. I n contrast to Sparta, however, slaves were an incidental private possession, acquired by purchase. I n Athens n o free Greek peoples were enslaved. We must keep i n m i n d these m a j o r distinctions. 61
Industnousness, and ethical and legal equality, are essential', they are the means by w h i c h the inequality o f individuality and the diversity o f character could develop most effectively and be made acceptable. I n the conduct of private persons t o w a r d each other, w e see i n Athens a refinement of customs a n d freedom that has taken a very fine and delicate f o r m .
59. O n Solon, set Herodotus, History 1.29-33, 2.177 (Grene, pp. 44-8, 21)8). His reforms date tarnte axchwtthip m Athens, 594-593 B C The list oi the Seven Wise Men of ancient trteece dtrtertd widdy butahvayi included Solon. It is rK* strictly true that aü of there were J* ^ ^ «wewing political pow«. Some were amply perweu who gavr good adv^tortheb^^Ttocuoduao^afta^
60. The Areopagus was the prime council of Athens, which met on a rocky bill (also called the Areopagus) north-west of the Acropolis, [t combined judicial and legislative functions and through the 5th cent ac was the stronghold of nV aristocracy. By the 4th C M L its scor* had b ^ grcady reduced. In 463 Pericles stripped the Areopagus of its chief political power, thus weakening the oligarchy. Cleistenes (chief archon 525-524) is regarded as the founder of the democracy, because he changed the political power structure from one based on family or blood relationships to one based on locale of residence. 61. Athenian slaves were typically foreigners captured in war—ho»ce nor Greeks. 62. Hegel uses the term Urbarutat. It derives from the Latin word for 'city' imbs). and describes a quality of U£e found in cities, namely a way of being polite and courteous in a smooth, polished way. 'Urbanity' is a form of 'refinetneot', and we have preferred the latter term ntratslaboa.
408
409
I f we say that an essential aspect o f democracy is that the people themselves must make the laws, then it is remarkable, a n d can appear striking,
headings mat we omit.
o f
370
T H E L E C T U R E S O F 18
22-3
T H E GREEK W O R L D
Refinement is civility i n matters of substance w i t h o u t | expressly assuming forms that we associate w i t h i t , for example certain expressions and courtesies. Everything that for us is a matter of f o r m is, i n the refinement o f the Greeks, the substance itself. These courtesies consist i n the ongoing recognit i o n o f the rights of other persons, a n d the c o n v i c t i o n that, i n expressing myself, I respect the right of others t o their o w n opinions; I respect whether they w a n t t o listen to me or n o t . I f I speak w i t h o u t k n o w i n g whether they w a n t t o listen, I violate their rights, and the same is true i n regard t o w h a t is said. I f I speak i n this way, then I presume t o speak o n behalf of the listeners and, as i t were, demand their agreement. This presumption u p o n the freed o m o f the other person is not f o u n d i n refinement. This enduring respect for the other, this refinement, is developed i n t o the highest f o r m i n the Platonic dialogues. I f I am refined, I must d o nothing that betrays an imposition of w i l l o n the other. Thus refinement consists of one person always acting and speaking in such a w a y as t o acknowledge the rights of the other.
his consciousness o f w h a t Athens is, showing that he h a d a deeper comprehension o f his state than a statesman normally w o u l d . H e says in particular: 'We love beauty w i t h o u t p o m p , w i t h o u t w a l l o w i n g i n i t , w i t h o u t haughtiness, not f o r the purpose of display but rather for the sake o f beauty [itself]We philosophize w i t h o u t being indifferent and w i t h o u t becoming indolent. I n other w o r d s , w e are aware o f w h a t w e d o . ' This is characteristic. The Athenians k n o w w h a t they are about, but this does not progress t o the point o f mere indulgence i n thought that might lead t o a disconnection f r o m the practical. Thus they liked being aware o f their action and their being, w i t h o u t that awareness adversely affecting practice. 'We are brave', Pericles says further, ' n o t f r o m coarseness of spirit, not f r o m dftaBta [ignorance], not f r o m lack of culture—a lack i n w h i c h the spirit that does not respect itself surrenders because it is nothing i n itself and as yet has no content. O u r soul is cultured. We k n o w | w h a t is pleasant and w h a t is difficult, but despite this knowledge w e d o not avoid danger.'
I n the more precise sense culture (Bildung) is w h a t distinguishes the Athenians formally—the f o r m of their actions generally. As a consequence, the f o r m of universality is expressed i n works and activities i n which there is respect for others, and they find themselves validated therein. The material content o f this culture is constituted in p a n by the state and in part by the religious culms, the major aspect o f which were festivals. The great political figures were shaped by the distinctive democratic consritution; they are f o u n d especially i n Athens, where all individuals are challenged and obliged t o demonstrate their o w n talents; and this is possible only w h e n it is k n o w n h o w t o meet the expectations and carefree nature of a highly cultured people. |
Sparta is the antitype t o Athens. I n terms of their origins, the Spartans are called D o r i a n s . This distinction is not yet found i n Homer, where generally the [Greek] racial stocks are not differentiated; so this distinction was first drawn later,
Talent was most deeply inspired t o become art by religion, f o r the g o d is a beautiful individuality, elevated t o ideality, the principle of the spiritual idea present in the element of sensibility so as to serve spirit. The cultus does not occur inwardly i n prayer; so, then, the g o d is venerated o u t w a r d l y i n festivals, not inwardly i n the m i n d . Because inwardness does not yet exist, humans portray the god t o themselves outwardly, i n a w o r t h y fashion. Because the cultus still lacked inwardness, i t suffused its o u t w a r d character w i t h beauty. So Athens offered the spectacle of a state that lived f o r the purpose of beauty, and that, in doing so, was aware of the flux of public life and o f life generally, and proved t o be energetic i n the pursuit of practical affairs. The funeral oration of Pericles, found i n the second book o f Thucydides' history, gives the best indication of the Athenian spirit. Here he articulates 63. TWvdHk*, Pehpemnesian War 2.35-46 (Utwnore, pp. 91-7). Hegel's quotations art from 2.40, hut his verson differs widely from standard traralarions. 410
Sparta's o r i g i n is completely different f r o m that of Athens. As Dorians they came i n t o the Peloponnesus f r o m Thessaly—they came as conquerors w h o made slaves, 'helots', of the native people w h o m they encountered, as they d i d later also o f the Messenians. Thus the Spartans lived i n a relationship t o these peoples that is similar t o that today of the Turks to the Greeks, w h o are deprived o f equal rights by their conquerors. But the condition of the Greeks still is not so harsh. The condition of the helots was much harsher; they were slaves and were not regarded as free, i n the w a y contemporary Greeks are regarded as free; the Greeks are only subjected t o taxation and r a n d o m maltreatment. I n this way the Spartans live in a continuous state of w a r ; w i t h i n their o w n society they are always perpetually involved m military exercises, i n w h i c h the young Spartans, even in times of peace, were forever h u n t i n g d o w n the increasing number of slaves that ran away. This pursuit was a state-sanctioned arrangement, whereas w i t h the Turks today it happens o n l y i n momentary outbursts of fury. The helots were often armed in rimes o f w a r ; but afterward the brave ones were killed treacherously, massacred en masse. So even i n times of peace the Spartans perpetually lived in war a n d freedom. I
373
64
64. In the early 19th cent, Greece was still part of the Ottoman * m p ^ botth* GreekWtr of ••dependence began in 1821, an event that must lie in the background of Hegd , comment 411
374
THE GREEK W O R L D
T H E L E C T U R E S OF 1 8 2 2 - 3
A second aspect is the legislation of L y c u r g u s . ' I t dealt w i t h all aspects of landed property, dividing it into thirty thousand sections; one section was devoted to the Achaeans and another t o the Lacedaemonians proper, w h o among themselves were said t o be equal. I n this w a y the equality of resources was maintained and grounded. But this a n d other arrangements were i n no way adequate to this purpose; for, counter t o the intention and desire of Lycurgus, landed property fell into the hands of a few, and i n the end w e see the most extreme inequality. Moreover, Lycurgus permitted n o other metal than that of iron, thereby cutting o f f external trade and internal i n d u s t r y . Citizens were expected t o dine together i n order t o maintain c o m m o n customs and familiarity; this ts a much-praised practice and is particularly highly regarded. But no great import is to be attributed t o i t . It is of no consequence that they ate the same fare; for whoever is satisfied does not m i n k of those w h o have feasted on better fare. Eating and drinking are in general a private matter, and i t is natural that this should take place i n the family. There is no great virtue i n dining i n common. Everyone was supposed t o contribute t o the cost of the food, t o this common meal; but whoever was t o o poor t o do so, the poor citizens, were excluded f r o m the meal. W i t h the Cretans the f o o d was paid for by the community; but i t is w e l l - k n o w n that they acquired a bad reputation. The N e w Testament calls the Cretans Sya (h)pia and 'worthless bellies', and thus nothing m u c h can be said f o r equality. The Athenians of course d i d not dine i n common, but they engaged i n physical exercise (lebten sie in den Gymnasien} i n a spiritual way. 6
66
67
68
375
Constitutionally, Sparta was a democracy w i t h kings; the kings, however, were at first only magistrates, public officials, | and military leaders. Later we find ephocs w h o , as the most i m p o r t a n t persons, were i n c o m m a n d , so that Sparta was a democracy i n name only and was actually an aristocracy o r an o l i g a r c h y . The apathy o f spirit of the Spartan people a l l o w e d c o n t r o l of the government t o fall i n t o the hands o f the few. A s a consequence science and art were banned. Individuahty was uncompromisingly absorbed i n t o the 69
65. See Herodotus, History 1.65-6 (Grene, pp. 61-2). Nothing is known of the life of Lycurgus, the traditional name o i the founder of the Spartan constitution. 66. These ire examples, presumably, of Spartan asceticism and ineptkude. 67. Plato neats this practice—not just dining together but sharing all goods i n common—as one of the key features of his guardian groups (philosophers and soldiers) in The Republic although Hegel does not discuss i t specifically in his Lectures on the History of Philosophy (ii. 223-4), beyond general remarks about private property. 68. Titus 1: 12. The Greek text reads: «
state; it was unrelated t o free and spiritual consciousness, and multiple viewpoints went unacknowledged. Science on the whole was excluded. General conceptions, principles of right and ethical life could not come t o the fore here. The stringent relationship t o the one, uncultured state suppressed everything universal, and thus the Spartans c o u l d not determine their o w n actions. Even if they are said t o have acted justly among themselves, w e still k n o w that i n all things they were dishonest t o w a r d outsiders and were not guided by general principles. Nonetheless, i t should be noted that many noble Athenians had a preference for Sparta.
r o
I n modern times w e find great and p r o f o u n d men such as Rousseau w h o l o o k backwards f o r w h a t is better, for example, t o the wilderness conditions of N o r t h America i n preference t o the cultured European states; the belief is that w h a t is better precedes the 1 i n t r o d u c t i o n of culture However, t h i s is not the case; w h a t is better lies ahead. So we always feel ourselves d r a w n t o Greece. We regard Greek life i n general, its ethical a n d political qualities, t o be shaped i n charming and beautiful and interesting ways. But spirit cannot find its highest satisfaction here. T h e objective absolute t h a t is beautiful lacks a principal element, namely t r u t h ; and here r i g h t a n d ethical life still lack the sublime freedom t h a t comes f r o m the subjective u n i t y o f self-consciousness. T h e higher principle always appears f o r the w o r l d i n the shape ç t destruction vis-à-vis w h a t is earlier and lower. W h a t is earlier has developed its l a w a n d ethical life i n t o a present w o r l d and actuality. Against d u s the higher principle seems t o be something different that disrupts this w o r l d , something that this w o r l d does n o t recognize, but [by w h i c h i t ] is disavowed. This disavowal, w h i c h constitutes the next higher p r i n c i p l e , w i l l r o b the state o f its staying p o w e r a n d individuals of their v i r t u e ; a n d consequently this higher principle appears as something revolutionary and demoralizing.
DECLINE
AND
FALL
I t remains f o r us t o consider the aspect of destruction as the t h i r d p e r i o d , and here again the distinction between Sparta and Athens is of interest. I n terms
70. On Hobbes, Rousseau, and others, see above, p. 102, n - 6 1 . 413
376
377
T H E L E C T U R E S OF 182 2-3
T H E GREEK W O R L D
of the external history that is related t o this p e r i o d , j the great historical event is the Peloponnesian W a r .
act of Sparta to betray Greece by t u r n i n g t o the Persians for help. The
71
Spanans' need for money required them to seek i t from outside and to resort to the w o r s t means. For a second time, Sparta acted in a vile and treacherous
The Peloponnesian War
way. The Lacedaemonians turned against Greece; they promised to liberate
A t the beginning o i the war, Pericles s t o o d at the apex o f the A t h e n i a n state.
the Greek cities and islands f r o m Athens, but instead they made them
It is generally the case that, where there are many, a leader must come
dependent o n themselves and i n all the cities transformed democracies i n t o
f o r w a r d , one individual w h o always stands at the forefront. I n a republic
oligarchies. I n a t h i r d betrayal, at the Peace o f A n t a l c i d a s ,
this leader is a distinctive personality, a person w h o must legitimate himself
monians, the Spartans, treacherously handed over the Greek cities i n Asia
but can only do so when also accepted as leader. A n d the wisest, the freest,
M i n o r t o the Persians.
74
the Lacedae-
the most virtuous individual is Pericles, w h o exemplifies the highest perfec-
N o w the cities, w i t h Thebes at the head, revolted; they threw o f f the yoke
tion. Athens at this t i m e had a league o f allies i n the islands a n d engaged i n
of Sparta, a n d Sparta declined. We see the Messenians, and the Arcadians
friendly commerce w i t h them; the allies contributed funds that were depos-
too, reestablished and f o r m i n g a state. Thebes, lifted u p by Pelopidas and
ited in a central treasury, administered by Athens i n equipping the f l e e t .
Epaminondas,
72
75
again assumed its earlier role. Pelopidas and Epaminondas
Thus Xenophon asked: ' W h o does n o t need Athens, w h o does n o t need a l l
died, and the previous situation almost repeated itself, such that Greece
the wealthy regions, all the wise a n d gifted individuals w h o grasp w h a t is
found itself thus entangled n o w i n mutual amity and hostility of every
w o r t h seeing and hearing i n politics a n d r e l i g i o n ? '
Athens was the center o f
sort; | and w i t h o u t such [orderly] circumstances no state endured unless
the league since it administered the central treasury. I f it was reproached for
some k i n d o f authority had established peace and calm among them. This
collecting money by force and using i t f o r itself, f o r temples a n d statues, at
authority had to come f r o m w i t h o u t .
73
least nothing was squandered. But t h e league also had a share i n all o f this, and Xenophon reported h o w honestly Pericles cared f o r the c i t y . I n such confederations n o single c o m m u n i t y has concrete p o w e r ; rather an abstract center serves t h a t purpose. B u t i n Greece there was n o universal
This brought about the external political destruction o f Greece. N o t only were the states divided among themselves, but also each state was split inwardly i n t o factions, so that always a p o r t i o n o f the citizenry was living in exile, and w h e n some returned others were banished.
order o r organization, n o abstract center; the latter developed f o r the first 378
time i n Rome, j I n Greece each c o m m u n i t y strove t o be the w h o l e o n its
The Emergence o f Thought
o w n terms. T h e exigencies o f w a r p e r p e t u a l l y drove the Greeks i n t o such a
However, the m a i n f o r m i n w h i c h change came to the Greek people has its
confederation, but its hegemony w a s temporary because each one n o longer desired t o be p a r t o f a w h o l e . T h e struggle between Athens and Sparta hinged o n the impossibility o f p r o d u c i n g such a center a n d the d r i v e t o d o so.
basis i n the beginning o f a t h i n k i n g (Denken) that is a self-comr^hending. I t came about through thought or conception (Gedanken),
[and it resides] i n
the principle o f inferiority, o f the freedom o f subjective self-consciousness. W i t h the Greeks w e see art and philosophy, and marvel at these works:
I n the Peloponnesian Lacedaemonians,
War Athens was defeated by their enemy, the
they are o u r eternal model. Despite these achievements, Greece on the whole
who allied themselves w i t h the Persians it was a base
exhibits a narrowness i n principle. The deficiency i n the Greek w o r l d lay not in their lack o f one single legislation, nor i n one or another particular law, nor in the passions of single individuals; rather i t is w i t h h o w they viewed the essence of things. The religion o f the Greeks, their consciousness o f the
™ ^
. T h e Driiao League, under Athenian leadership and based on the island of Dele*, aod ™
m C D , b e
'
4 i s b a a d e d
^J^^l
5ympOS
T
»nd its ..LmrU, c r e a t e d » 478 *c as .
*~ ^ a n
^ t i ^in the ^H T " " Wat mgT Athena Peloponnesian V
**"
f > l ™ l ^ e l n 404, after defeat
^ves a very loose paraphrase of the text, which 1 0 t l T i ^ i l ! ^ ^ ° ' ^ * tod^X.uopboa, Sympoaw", ti. A. J . r W c n (Warminster, 1998), 83. ^ 3 9
-
S
absolute, is f o u n d in beauty—a spiritual quality burdened w i t h sensuous
l 0 n
t f l e t u a n
414
' 4 . Antalcidas was a Spartan general who made an alliance with Persia and, in 3SS K, forced Athens and its allies to accept the treaty called the 'Peace of Anakidas'. 75. Pdopidas accompanied the military commander E p a n u r ^ ^ u r ^ s s f u ^ " P " * * 8*inst the Spartans (in the 370s BC) that restored Theban power and nanueoce m liieece. a
415
379
T H E GREEK
T H E L E C T U R E S OF 1 8 2 2 - 3
elements. Therefore art was their religion and cultus. Their G o d is beautiful i n d i v i d u a l i t y — a beautiful G o d but n o t yet a true one. Likewise their constitution, their laws, their justice and ethics were | a matter of custom. The manner by w h i c h they lived, a n d established w h a t is v a l i d , is s t i l l an immediate one o f custom and practice. I n their consciousness they still lacked a knowledge of the principle of subjectivity and conscience—the reflection of thought w i t h i n itself in such a way t h a t w h a t ought t o count as true confirms itself t h r o u g h my reason, t h r o u g h the witness o f my spirit, through my feeling. Thus w h a t is lacking here is the infinitude of s p i r i t — spirit as an inner t r i b u n a l before w h i c h everything validated has t o be justified. We n o w see this inwardness emerge i n Greece i n a t w o f o l d fashion. T h e ideality of thought threatens t h a t beautiful religion, f o r t h o u g h t is somet h i n g other t h a n the ideality of beauty; and the same principle threatens the laws and the political constitution. A t the same time, the passions o f individuals a n d the free w i l l (Willkür) of particular subjectivity are also threatened by the ideality of thought. This very inwardness is t w o f o l d : on the one hand there is the universal, the idea o f the t r u e , f r o m w h i c h the true principles emerge; o n the other hand, subjectivity is w h a t is particular, is inclination, i n w h i c h passions a n d free w i l l are conjoined. The principle of Greek freedom already comprises the idea t h a t even thought has become free o n its o w n account; thus the development o f thought begins along w i t h the development o f a r t , the Greek r e l i g i o n , and the political constitution. The development o f thought runs parallel to the development of art and is hostile t o the realism o f a r t . F r o m Thales on we see the philosophers making these advances, and this c o u l d o n l y happen i n Greece. Imtiaüy, science (Wissenschaft) emerges as a contentious understanding [räsonmerender Verstand) that applies t o all objects. This activity and stir i n the realm of representation is widely praised. The practitioners o f k n o w i n g , the I champions o f this application of thought, were called Sophists, a t e r m that has taken on a bad connotation for us. Inasmuch as thought was strengthened so as t o venture everything and t o begin to feel its force, i t addressed all sons of topics, including ethical life, justice, belief, and confidence [ i n one's views], treating them exhaustively and i n ideal f o r m , and resolving (auflösen) them. This knowing showed itself to be master of these topics. However, i n the midst of this vacillating array of all sorts o f topic, the Sophists did n o t yet comprehend themselves, did n o t yet discover their o w n central point. Thus the essential tiling, the science of the Sophists, remains the art of 'dialectic', w h i c h must seek and recognize something as a fixed end 416
WORLD
(festen Zweck). They situated this fixed end i n human beings; thus humans in their particularity have become the goal and end of all things, and utility the highest v a l u e . So the final end {letzten Zweck) is a matter of one's personal preference This 'dialectic' regarded itself to be universally valid, and has done so [again], even today. I n this way objective t r u t h is denied. Thought makes everything vacillate depending o n the preference of subjectivity. 76
A t the beginning of and during the Peloponnesian War, Socrates was the one w h o finally grasped the independence o f thought. Being-in-and-for-itself came t o be recognized as the universal, and thinking as the final end, as w h a t is valid, i n that h u m a n beings are able t o discover and recrjgnize f r o m themselves—not f r o m their o w n preferences but f r o m themselves as universal and t h i n k i n g beings—what is right and good, and that everything t h a t is t o be valued has t o justify itself before this inner tribunal of thought. I n this way Socrates discovered w h a t is essential (das Eigentliche), w h a t is called morality. Socrates is frequendy called a moral teacher. But he felt morality more t h a n taught i t , for the Greeks knew well what was ethical. Ethical life was present i n the entire objective content [of their society] and was k n o w n i n every relationship. | But the position at which Socrates arrived is that human beings must essentially seek and find this w i t h i n themselves, determining i t f r o m conviction and reasons f o r action. H e is no mere agitator (Aufregender) and pedagogue (Bildender); rather conversation (das Gesagte) is his essential principle. 77
By this p r i n c i p l e , the discontinuity i n w h i c h an inner w o r l d has f o u n d firm f o o t i n g is expressed, an inner w o r l d that sets itself apart f r o m w h a t previously h a d been the sole objective w o r l d . The prior actual w o r l d is n o w defined as exterior vis-à-vis this interior w o r l d . Because h u m a n beings find their t r i b u n a l i n their inwardness, the process began whereby f r o m n o w o n individuals sustained themselves i n w a r d l y , could find satisfaction i n an ideal m o d a l i t y , t a k i n g part i n the life of the state w i t h o u t fettering themselves to the state. T h o u g h t began to w a n t the validity o f everything t o be justified i n its o w n eyes. N o w padupia [lack of passion] was introduced, and the question was raised as to whether there are gods and what they are. T h i s is w h e n Plato bans the poets H o m e r and Hesiod f r o m his state:
76. An allusion to the view attributed to Protagoras-'the human being is the measure of all dungs' (see Lectures on the History of Philosophy, i i . 121). 77. Socrates (469-399 BC) began teaching in Athens at about the tune of the beginning ol the Peloponnesian War, 431. Plato was born during the War, about 427 *c, and Anstotle twenty years after its end, m 384. The irony .s that the greatest philosophers of Greece emerged at the * of its political destruction. Q n
417
THE
LECTURES
OF 182
2-3
THE
thought of the absolute is required instead of sensible representation of i t . Thus this higher principle of thought, of subjectivity, comes on the scene at this p o i n t . 7 8
383
The fate o f Socrates is that of highest tragedy. H e was condemned by the court. H i s death can be seen as the highest injustice because he completely discharged his duties to his native land and opened u p for his people an inner w o r l d . O n his o w n behalf he had the justification of thought; but f o r their part the Athenian people were completely i n the right t o o : they must have been deeply aware that respect for the l a w of the state w o u l d be weakened and the Athenian state destroyed by the principle that justification resides i n one's o w n inwardness. Thus | i t is quite correct that the teaching of Socrates appeared t o the people as high treason; accordingly they condemned him to death, and Socrates' death was the highest justice. One of the peculiarities of Greek life is that the formative principle of the state is custom, something immediately v a l i d , the u n i t y of the subjective and the objective. Our political life is organized quite otherwise f r o m that of the Athenian people a n d can regard the subjective disposition or inner life [of individuals]—even when i t opposes religion—rather indifferently. W h a t is inward and moral is not a matter for the state. But the Athenian political life is still somewhat similar t o that of the Asian, i n that objectivity a n d subjectivity are inseparably united. Aristophanes understood i n the most fundamental way what the Socratic principle i n v o l v e d . The A t h e n i a n people necessarily felt remorse over the condemnation of Socrates, inasmuch as they must have realized that w h a t they had condemned was indeed p a r t of themselves. Thus they had condemned themselves t o o . Thus Socrates did n o t die an innocent man; if he had, that w o u l d not be tragic but merely m o v i n g . The great tragic figures are those w h o d o n o t die innocently. I n Socrates the higher principle appears in its purest and freest f o r m , that of thought. This is the break between actuality and t h o u g h t 79
Thought constitutes on the one side a break w i t h actuality a n d o n the other side a pure presence to self, identity w i t h self, the ideality o f peace. Thought has broken w i t h actuality, and one can say: the heart of the w o r l d must first break and only then w i l l reconciliation in the spirit come about. This is [what has happened through] Socrates. I n Socrates the break w i t h actuality is still abstract, and reconciliation is still an abstract thought.
78. Plato kt/mbhc 377d, 388c, 398a (The Collected Dialogues of Fhto, Hamilton and Huntington Cairns (Princeton, 19801,624,633 642-3i 79. See Aristophanes, The Clouds. 418
GREEK W O R L D
A r t itself is n o w w h a t destroys the beautiful religion. | A r t makes everything t h a t is sensible manifest. I f the material itself does not transcend the nature and idea of a n , and i f art has sprung w h o l l y f r o m itself and has w h o l l y perfected i t [the material], then everything sensible is made manifest, and the object itself is no longer o f interest. The only content that revelation can express and spirit can produce is the content that, for the understanding and sensible experience, is revealed and at the same time still remains hidden. A n d such an understanding is the higher content of speculative religion, a content that does not lose itself in exteriority. But this n o longer happens i n Greek religion. It is also the case w i t h the Athenian people that a n itself reaches the p o i n t at w h i c h its content loses interest, at which its principle itself ceases t o have an interest i n being the content of religion. I t is ludicrous t o say of Plato that he wanted to ban art and poetry. What Plato banned is not art and poetry i n general, but w h a t art [ i n his day] represented as the highest, w h i c h is said t o be recognized as the absolute. Plato d i d not ban art, b u t he no longer let it have divine status.
384
80
The political aspect is similar. Democracy overshoots itself and on its o w n falls into contradiction because [on the one hand) individuality must be impelled to the highest extreme i n order t o be actual, and [on the other hand) the people itself is said to rule. Democracy requires points of individuality i n order to carry o u t its decrees, and thus it contradicts itself because individuality is necessary t o carry out the decision of the many. Thus if democracy is the political system not of an unrefined people but of a highly refined one, it can only be of short duration. Individuality was sacrificed by Pericles. I n the individuality of [the rule of] Pericles, universality (this highest pinnacle) was actual i n this one beautiful, plastic whole, i n which the people at the same t i m e ruled. But this can happen only once, and after him the state was sacrificed to the individuality of particular [persons], I just as previously individuality was sacrificed t o the state. We have said that interioriry. subjectivity can exist as universality, as thought, for example as i n Socrates; but it can also exist as private concerns, as passion, as the greed of individuals, and this latter aspect is principally the greed of corruption. This is the case w i t h the Athenians t o o ; but w i t h them individuality also appears in a more ideal a n d suitable f o r m . So these [Athenian] individualities still belong to the state. The dark aspects of the principle, such as private concerns, thus are more moderate among the Athenian people than, for example, among the Spartans. W i t h the latter, the principle appears as the naked destruction
cd. Edith 80. See Plato. Republic 2.377-83 (Hamilton and Caims, pp. 623-30). Plato ob,ec«d to d * Po«s' depiction of gods and goddesses (who should be role models) as unmoral and fickle. 419
3fl5
THE
THE
L E C T U R E S OF 1 8 2 2 - 3
o f lands, as the naked principle o f the self-serving private concerns o f the subject and its inner v o l i t i o n , as their power-seeking and greed. But w i t h the Athenians w e see that they acknowledged their c o r r u p t i o n , made light o f their shortcomings and depravity, played them d o w n and ridiculed themselves. I n n o other people d o we f i n d this a b i l i t y t o laugh at and
ridicule
Greece h a d achieved
GREEK W O R L D
based o n these beginnings. T h e great w o r k o f
Alexander, his great and i m m o r t a l deed, is that he made the Near East into a Greece. We must not repeat w h a t is usually said, and w h a t one historian has said: although there is nothing but bloodshed, still, Alexander is great. One must
themselves. I t is not f o u n d among the Romans, except f o r the soldiers'
be prepared f o r blood and strife I when one turns t o w o r l d history, f o r they
mockery o f the generals. The Roman people saw Julius Caesar in triumphal
are the means by w h i c h the w o r l d spirit drives itself f o r w a r d ; they come
procession mocked as one o f themselves.
f r o m the concept. We must also not say that after Alexander's death this empire declined and broke up. To be sure, his dynasty d i d n o t remain, d i d not continue t o rule; w h a t remained, however, is the Greek d o m i n i o n ,
The End o f Greek life and the Age o f Alexander the Great We still have t o t o u c h upon the end of Greek life. A f t e r the h u m i l i a t i o n o f the Athenians, Sparta ruled, but only for a brief period inasmuch as i t was defeated by Thebes. But the The bans d i d n o t r u l e for long either; they were conquered by the Phocians, w h o plundered a n d destroyed the Temple o f A p o l l o at D e l p h i i n a godless f a s h i o n .
81
This completed the w h o l e process: the determining w i l l t h a t was destroyed i n these temples, no longer ideally protected f r o m [attack by) other peoples, now had t o come f r o m outside and provide
actual
protection. A n d
since this w i l l n o longer existed i n the f o r m o f an oracle, a foreign k i n g had, 386
by actual w i l l i n g , to | be the decisive factor, t o become the master o f Greece. Thus there had t o be a transition f r o m the oracle t o an actual k i n g . The nature o f this transition announced itself i n the simplest way. This foreign k i n g , Philip [of Macedon], established his p o w e r and authority i n Greece; the power he assumed was odious. H i s son received the power and had a free hand t o use i t . T h i s second y o u t h o f Greece gathered this land under his n e w banner—a land that had matured i n every aptitude but was n o longer effectual, that had lost the political life i t developed w i t h i n itself; [he] became its determining w i l l . H e consolidated the still-existing agitation, the inner impulse o f Greek
although his son, his w i f e Roxana together w i t h her posthumous son {ihrem Postumo),
were k i l l e d .
8 2
Alexander's greatness and his fame repre-
sent the pinnacle of Greek individuality. H e could indeed establish a Greek w o r l d empire, but n o t a family dynasty just because he was an individual decidedly set apart. The time had not yet arrived for such a family d y n a s t y — that such a t h i n g should be an essential element o f state control. The possibility o f building an abstract unity, o f founding a unitary empire, n o longer resided i n the Greek principle; i t w o u l d have t o w a i t for the Romans. Alexander's empire embraced present-day Turkey, transforming i t into a Greek w o r l d . A n even closer connection can be f o u n d w i t h Turkey. Alexander t o o k bis wife Roxana, the most beautiful w o m a n o f Asia, f r o m Sogdiana i n B a c t r i a ,
83
where the Turkish tribes first lived. We could thus
indeed say t h a t the people o f the husband ruled and possessed the land [i.e. Turkey] that is n o w ruled by the people of the w i f e . Alexander lived for t w o years i n Bactria and advanced t o the [land of the] Scythians, going to war w i t h them, etc. I f we had a historian o f these events like Herodotus, | w e w o u l d have m u c h i n f o r m a t i o n about the condition o f the peoples living there and about the broad connection between these peoples a n d j h o s e w h o m w e later see t u r n i n g up i n Europe, such as the later Huns. The
life, hence t u r n i n g i t against the motherland o f Greece, the East, the O r i e n t , and bringing t o a n end, f o r this era, the old antagonism between East and West, w h i c h had broken out again after a lengthy hiatus. I n one respect, Alexander avenged the evil that had befallen Greece a t the hands o f the O r i e n t ; i n another respect, however, he repaid a thousandfold all the good that Greece had received f r o m the O r i e n t i n t h e f o r m o f early c u l t u r a l impulses. I n part, he elevated the East t o the m a t u r i t y a n d well-being that
JL^.r.V.r !^ * f 0
d t k 5
*
Ainphittrony that
was invoh-ed in the three
82. Roxana was the daughter of Oxyartes, a Bactrian baron. Alexander married ^ 327 BC u> consolidate his power in Persia. After his sudden death in 323, she bore htm > P « * « » » * son, Alexander IV. Roxana and her son became involved in various p o ^ ^ g u e s after the collapse of the Alexandrian empire until they were both assassinated about WV. 83. bactria was an ancient kingdom in the vicinity of what was once easrerr, Persu^ and « now Uzbekistan and northern Afghanistan. Sogdiana lay between the A " " * * * * ^ Darva Rivers t o the north of Bactria and well east of the Turkey f..e. the Ottoman Emprre) of Hegel's day. The TuAish tribes originated from broad regions of central AM*. 84. Herodotus, writing a century before Alexander's ^
^
t
^ HunTr^dK
Wars (of the 6m-4th cents. K:), ,n winch the shnne was held, gaa.ed, or Jost by vanous groups. The fhocuu, force, under Phalaecus ptllaged u * shnne dtrdof these wars.
P^whooriginatedmnorthcen^ *n empire there Arola, thru *reat«t leader, had his p«Uw « prceut^T Hungary. Sevrral
420
421
m
T H E L E C T U R E S OF 1 8 2 2 - 3
T H E GREEK W O R L D
Bactrian kingdom lasted t w o hundred years, u n t i l it fell t o the Romans. Greek kingdoms i n Asia M i n o r , i n A r m e n i a , a n d i n Egypt flourished for centuries. They became kingdoms i n keeping w i t h the nature o f those regions.
perfected the instruments of power. These he handed ready-made over t o his
In Greece itself the earlier circumstances,
including external political
relationships, remained unchanged. Greek kings honored the republic in these small states, and considered themselves h o n o r e d t o have descended f r o m them. They had their principal estates i n the cities i n w h i c h they believed themselves t o be revered because of their [efforts o n behalf of) preserving the city. Fame and glory came f r o m liberating Greece; ['liberator o f Greece') n o w became a title of honor. It became a slogan, but it only meant that the Greek states and communities were maintained i n a condit i o n o f weakness; each individual city was isolated, and the whole was dissolved and split up i n t o a countless m u l t i t u d e o f insignificant c i t i e s
85
fruitful and most p r o f o u n d philosopher of antiquity, w h o , by means of his most p r o f o u n d philosophy, his p r o f o u n d metaphysics (which even today many professors o f metaphysics d o not understand), conducted Alexander into an understanding of the nature of history. H e d i d not educate him as a prince b u t taught h i m w o r t h w h i l e things i n a serious manner. Alexander's disposition, his p r o f o u n d genius, was thus liberated i n the element o f thought i n such a w a y t h a t , by his being open-minded, he could devote himself w h o l l y t o the deed. His great genius for, and extensive grasp of, ruling led h i m boldly t o make Asia into a credit to Greece, and t o found Alexandria, f o r many centuries a great w o r l d city. Equally commendable was his relationship w i t h his troops, w h o m he led as a prince a n d
field
Furthermore, having a broad outlook and
and communities. Thus Rome too challenged Greece, and the R o m a n prin-
his goal i n his sights, he knew h o w to speak t o his troops as Pericles d i d t o
ciple prevailed over the Greek.
the Athenians. W h a t he imposed on the soldiers enlarged the sphere o f their
I f w e compare the c o n d i t i o n of these states earlier and later, the persona l i t y o f Alexander is o f central interest. Earlier the chief h i s t o r i c a l interest focused on Greece, and individuals were singled o u t o n l y inasmuch as they labored for the state. Such distinction for such services necessarily aroused envy i n a democracy, just as reward f o r m e r i t o r i o u s service m o t i vated individuals t o serve. I t was, however, subjective personality that was already rising to such importance. A f t e r Alexander, on the contrary, it is n o t the destiny o f states that is o f m a j o r interest; rather i t i s interest i n 389
son. O n the other hand, Alexander was educated by Aristotle, the most
individuals | on w h o m this destiny n o w depends—the destiny that determines things for g o o d or i l l . W i t h Alexander the greatness o f t h e people and o f individuals is i n e q u i l i b r i u m . The enterprise
(das Werk) is the
personal
greatness o f mdividuals; the individual is precisely w h a t belonged t o such an enterprise. Likewise, the enterprise was only t o be undertaken, and was necessarily carried o u t , by this particular individual. T h e individual, Alexander, is the pivotal point i n this transition. Through political and petty deal-malting, his father, Philip, had t o assem-
lives. H e h a d a more difficult relationship w i t h the o l d subordinates o f his father. These former subordinates were accomplished men, and such men regarded their preceding accomplishments as o f supreme value. They were jealous 1 of the y o u n g man w h o engaged i n great works. I t was hunuhaung for them t o acknowledge that the deeds o f the youth were greater, that he was accomplishing something greater than the basis for their fame, greater than w h a t they had thought about, w h a t they had developed. W i t h Citrus in Bactria, this jealously boiled over into the blind rage and f u r y o f indignat i o n , t o w h i c h there was a f u l l response, one perhaps entirely deserved but still unfortunate. Alexander's great personal bravery was renowned; he was always the first i n battle and to confront every danger. Equally great,^finally, is Alexander's death. Lying on his death bed, speaking to his army, he bade farewell t o his friends; he died, like Achilles, at the right n m e . H i s w o r k was finished, his image sealed, and he left his accomplishments behind for us. The g r a n d a n d unsurpassable image o f this personality was o f a stature that could at most be tarnished by petty reproaches.
ble the means and had judiciousness and attention to detail; his son no
This i n d i v i d u a l i t y could arise and come to prominence only u G eecc
longer needed to concern himself w i t h these means because his father had
But such i n d i v i d u a l i t y c o u l d not be borne and sustained by a Greek pol.nca constitution. Plato's deep insight grasped this very w e l l and truly.
Z^^Z^i^
m
F u - o - U g r c peop^ from b^vood ^ Magyar, 'late. e n ^ L ™ ^ ' - Hegd may s i n X m e a n that the Huns entered Europe laier than the events described i n dus paragraph. 85. ^ G r i e s l ^ s l i g b U v a h ^
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86. Chtus, a Macedonian officer, remarks to Alexander, who in a drunken rage killed him on the spot- > a « . his action and even considered suicide. 87. Plato discusses these matters generally in the RepuWC423
rrjrened
THE GREEK WORLD
THE L E C T U R E S OF 1822-3
pictured a constitutioii as simply apprehending a n d p o r t r a y i n g the actuality o f Greek ethical l i f e ; the actual nature of Greek ethical life is not an ideal but rather w h a t Greek life expresses. B u t since he observed that the corruption of subjectivity threatened this p r i n c i p l e , he w a n t e d t o exclude subjectivity f r o m the f a m i l y and private p r o p e r t y ; he banished i t and portrayed a situation i n w h i c h o n l y substantial ethicality should rule. In this subjectivity, i n this personality, however, lay the kernel a n d principle of the Bpirit o f higher freedom—the p r i n c i p l e t h a t should n o w enter into w o r l d history. 391
392
Just as the particular personalities o f individuals have become free, and cannot endure a n d abide Greek life, so | t o o particular qualities now defined the individual shapes i n t o w h i c h the Greek states h a d differentiated themselves. It was [like] a distinctiveness between beautiful gods, i n which the differences i n shape were not detrimental t o their divinity. I f , however, t h e n connecting links fall away, then only a distorted, barren, abstract particularity remains, focusing obstinately and inflexibly o n itself, and it stands m conflict w i t h other such particularities. Greek history presents us w i t h this spectacle for a century and a half after Alexander's death, u p to about the year 146. T h e situation i n this interim p e r i o d is regrettable. O n the one hand, the relationship between the states is diplomatic i n such a way that only a wholly artificial w e b and play of various combinations could preserve the states. O n the other h a n d , in this p e r i o d there are particular personalities o n w h o m the destiny o f states n o w depends; t h r o u g h the Paracuku- interests and passions o f these individuals, the state is n o w inwardly torn asunder i n t o parties a n d factions, each o f w h i c h seeks t o acquire o u t w a r d prominence i n order t o appeal t o the favor o f the k i n g and_ bring it t o bear o n the conduct o f the state. Athens still retained a modest position; i n the sciences Athens still enjoyed respect. T h e Aetolian Confederation was an association of robbers. From the outset, the Achaean o r cloponnesian League was properly a n d w o r t h i l y maintained for a l o n g tune w i t h fame and honor u n t i l i t was reduced t o , a n d collapsed under, the baseness of its chiefs, w h o then found s u p p o n f r o m the Ronrnns.
biographical writings of Plutarch and P o l y b i u s . Polybius gives us the history of the states at that time, but this is of less interest because then individuals were of primary importance. Plutarch's Lives is renowned as great scholarship. The biographies of older writers such as Theseus are partly m y t h o l o g i c a l , and partly their lives are intertwined w i t h the state. (At least i n f o r m e r times b o t h of these authors were popular reading.) The best accounts f a l l i n t o the period that w e are n o w considenng. Two states, Sparta a n d the Achaean Confederation, furnish the best examples. Persons loyal to their native land also had t o contend w i t h inner factions that always found outside support and were enemies of the state. T w o kings, Agis and Leomdas, sought t o resist evil, but w i t h o u t success since they could not avoid creating enemies w i t h i n and w i t h o u t . The Achaean Confederation provides g o o d examples f r o m w h i c h , through The Histories ofTol^ms, we gain the impression how, i n such circumstances and after futile efforts good and practical persons must either despair or w i t h d r a w . A n d such circumstances, together w i t h such personalities, call f o r a power t o which they themselves finally succumb—a power that judges and discloses the impotence o f the o l d ways. Over against these parochial concerns, a n d the fixation i n these finite circumstances i n which all that is particular m states and personalities rigidities itself, a destiny appears | that can only negate what has gone before; i t is b l i n d , harsh, and abstract. A n d the R o m a n Empire plays the role of this fate. 88
89
Potybius, The Hitories (which covered the M e d k e ^ w c ^ ^ W o ^ 2 0 ^ ^ 8*. A ptobabk reference to the Spartan ^ ^ ^ S ^ ^ U ^ ^ nation of power in large estates and burnt mortgages that bound tne o also a Spartan king (254-235 BC), but in a different dynasty.
w h a t suit mterests us i n this period are the great personalities, the great tragic characters. However, the best they could d o was w a r d o f f h a r m ; t l u ^ u g h then- adrnmistration and s k i l l , chiefly directed o u t w a r d l y , they preserved then native land for a while b u t were unable t o establish a secure and sound state of affairs. They failed i n these efforts and struggles, w i t h o u t the vmdicauon of having provided peace and security t o m e i n a t i v e l a n d ; and thus we cannot determine whether they always conducted themselves i n a pure and appropriate manner. W h a t interests us i n this p e r i o d are the (
424
425
THE ROMAN WORLD
The Roman World THE
ROMAN
SPIRIT
Introduction Napoleon said t o Goethe that w h a t is o f interest in tragedy is destiny (Scbicksal), and since we no longer have this fate (Fatum) o f the ancients, w h a t takes its place for us is p o l i t i c s . Merely private concerns and personalities must be subject to the irresistible authority o f t w o factors—the purpose and the authority o f the state, this irresistible e n t i t y — a n d politics as p o w e r cannot take individuals into account but instead must sacrifice them. 1
The achievement of the Roman Empire is power as purely abstract universality, through w h i c h destiny, w h i c h is abstractly universal, entered into the w o r l d . I n the Roman Empire the life o f private concerns was severely constrained (m Banden gescblagen). I n the Pantheon o f its w o r l d dominion Rome assembled and sequestered a l l the gods and spirits, amassing every misfortune and all suffering. Rome broke the heart o f the w o r l d , and o n l y out o f the world's heartfelt misery, o u t o f this wretchedness o f spirit's natural state, could free spirit develop and arise. In the Greek w o r l d we have individuality; i n the R o m a n Empire we have abstract universality. W h a t is concrete i n this universality is just self-seeking, is prosaic, practical d o m i n i o n . I n the case o f the Romans we are n o t dealing w i t h any inherently spiritual, free life; j o y is envisaged theoretically, yet there is only a lifeless existence, a vitality that has, as its exclusive purpose, practical understanding, the validating o f w h a t is inflexibly universal, a universality that sticks t o practical matters. | For that reason w e can be bnef, because the m a n i f o l d materials are reducible t o these characteristics.
The Origins o f Rome The locus o f the w o r l d spirit is m o v i n g more to the West. I t is still o n the far side of the A l p s [ f r o m Germany], i n the Mediterranean theater, a n d only later does i t make its way t o the n o r t h . Rome was founded along a river, but this river is n o longer the w a r m , incubating element as i n the East; i t forms no Asian river valley. Instead the river is of interest i n virtue o f its l i n k to the sea. Rome has a f i r m basis directly i n the land and is set back f r o m the sea, whereas Tyre a n d Carthage had t o take shape exclusively along the sea. We should state, however, that the particular land i n which the R o m a n Empire had its o r i g i n is not a major factor, and we can say that Rome t o o k shape abroad. T h a t is because i n this case the hub was the starting p o i n t , the reverse of the situation i n Greece, and w h a t ensued was the expansion outward f r o m this center. Three territories came together at this point, those of the Latins, the Sabines, and the Etruscans, and so i t is a matter o f indifference as t o w h i c h one o f them Rome more belongs. Rome first becomes evident i n this confluence [of peoples]. Here there is no starting out f r o m a family or a patriarchal f o r m , and n o t even a u n i t i n g o r intermingling for the purpose o f a peaceful life. Instead the vacant land is the goal o f a robber band i n circumstances also involving Romulus, Aeneas, N u m i t o r , and so f o r t h . The historical point is that R o m u lus and Remus founded here a new historical hub, the kingdom. A n ancient connection w i t h T r o y is something very widespread in the t r a d i t i o n , I a n d later o n it became a truly literal fancy o f the Italians that their lineage stems f r o m T r o y . L i v y refers t o four places that are called Troy. Thus according to Livy his native city is a colony o f Antenor's, and we find a comparable fancy i n ancient German legends. So in chronicles even the ancient Germans 2
3
4
tJi~ ,3 ' S > conversation with Napoleon, Sept. 1808. Goethe reports as touows: The emperor.. .returned to the topic of drama and made vei^gruficant observations, ui particular about how someone who studies the tragic stage with the greatest attention, like a cnrmoaJ court dgc, in d o i i , so would be very profoundly a ware o» bow F , r « b theater departs born nature and truth. Thus he came with disapproval to the plays concerning destiny or fatt. Itaey would have bcbnged to a more obscure rime. He said; "What does one intend today by
2. Numitor is the legendary grandfather of Romulus and Remus, and ts fang o* Alba, a town on M t . Alba, a place sacred to the U n a s . Much of the information m this a r ^ subsequent footnotes is obtained from entries in The Oxford Classical Dictionary (Oxford, 1*771. 3. The Aeneui of Virgil builds on earlier stores of how the Trojan hero Aeneas wandered about the Mediterranean after the war, eventually coming to the later stte of Rome- Vlrgu 170-19 scl turned this material into an epic of ihe founding of Rome. . .... 4. See L,vy, Ab urbe condita hbri, book 1 ; a. B. 0 . Foster, in Un i Loeb Q^Ubnm Cambridge, Mass., and London, 1919), 1.1.1-1.3.U (Foster, PP'^^^^'T. Trojans, Aeneas and Antenor, founded colonies i n Italy after the Trojan Witt, A n y r o a d * Adriatic (where the people are called Veneti) and Aeneas at U u r e n r ^ ^ t h e ^ r r r « u a n coastl. and that both places are called Troy'. He states that Arnea. founded L a v t n W , that Aeneas' son suhsequendy went from Uvinium to ewablnh a colony a._AJha Longa, and that the aty of Rome ultimately denved from Alba Long*. Uvy ™ "
, ^ ''-" Wolfgang Goethe Samtliche Werke, div. 1, vol. xvii, ed. Irrntraut Scnm>d (rranfcfurt am Main, 1994), 381.
correct. Antenor, a Trojan elder, was spared by the Greeks, anflnn »w
The first thing we have t o speak about is the R o m a n spirit as such.
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427
,
T H E L E C T U R E S OF 1822-3
T H E ROMAN WORLD
are descended from Troy; however, we [Germans) are spiritual descendants of
harshness o r severity t o w a r d the family, w i t h the result that harshness
the Greeks, not of the Trojans. Rome's connection w i t h Troy be as it may,
t o w a r d f a m i l i a l instincts remains the rule f r o m this point o n w a r d .
Rome t o o k shape as a brotherhood o f shepherds a n d bandits, formed by
For the Romans there are t w o ways i n particular that a w o m a n entered
Romulus and Remus. This initial c o m m u n i t y expanded to include castoffs
i n t o marriage. One way was marriage accomplished by a solemn ceremony
(colluvies),
5
and in doing so made itself i n t o a free c i t y f o r a l l these convergent
[confarreatio)
people, into a sanctuary city for all (urhs omnis asyle), for the emancipated,
mancipium),
those w i t h no homeland, and criminals.
loco:
t h r o u g h w h i c h she came t o be a legal possession (in
t h a t is, she became a slave and thus mater familias, that is, ftliae
she t o o k up the legal status o í a daughter. The husband became
the complete owner o f w h a t is hers, o f the dowry (dos)
and w h a t she
Marriage and the Social Order
otherwise was heiress t o ; i n ancient times he himself was even master over
A t r a d i t i o n just as specific is that the first Romans had n o wives. Being
the life and death o f the w i f e (and could take her life on account o f her
wifeless, they invited the neighboring peoples t o a religious festival. The
drunkenness o r adultery). This is the most ancient k i n d o f marriage.
only ones to come were the Sabines, a m o u n t a i n people; the Etruscans and
The other k i n d was marriage by continued use (usus), by acquiring the
Latins d i d not. Since these peoples, even i n later times, had n o bonds of
w o m a n , by t a k i n g possession or m a k i n g use o f her, by ownership based on
marriage w i t h their w o m e n and d i d n o t w i s h t o , the Romans robbed these
continued possession (usucapió).
people o f their w o m e n , revealing thereby how the Romans understood the
year w i t h o u t being apart f r o m h i m for three nights, she was then his wife
use o f religion as a subterfuge. This expresses the m a i n character o f R o m a n
w i t h o u t f u r t h e r ceremony, was under the control (in manu) o f the husband.
religion, that its purpose is political i n nature. Here we have the genesis o f
But then she was just called m a t r o n (matrona),
the community, and i t is typical for a l l the subsequent history o f Rome. We
owner of the w o m a n ' s goods, o f her property. H e r sons d i d not have the legal
I f i n fact a w o m a n lived w i t h a man f o r a
and the husband was not the
see these t w o factors, the locale that is isolated by b o t h choice and circum-
rights i n holy matters (in sacris)
stance (activ und passtv),
remained apart f r o m h i m f o r three nights, then she d i d not become a slave
and then the method o f abduction by w h i c h the
that those of the mater familias d i d . I f she
and she was h e l d i n honor and dignity. To be independent of the husband
community was enlarged. The third thing t o notice is the direct consequence o f such a b o n d : the marriage relationship for the Romans. I n the Greek case the forerunner o f the genesis o f the state was not a patriarchal relationship, but w a s nevertheless the family relationship. Also, the Greeks u n i t e d for peaceful purposes 396
manum,
because, I i n contrast to the marauding Romans, they required the f o r m a -
involved having legal rights over against the husband m virtue of liberation f r o m his a u t h o r i t y , the reverse f r o m h o w it is i n our day. For us the w i f e has honor i n being one w i t h the husband. A t h i r d k i n d [ o f marriage], through purchase, later came t o replace the first k i n d .
|
3 9 7
tion o f defenses o f the land, for then t o o the eradication o f pirates was the
Sons a n d daughters t o o stood i n the same relationship as t h a t o f the wives
primary requisite for their prosperity. Quite the reverse, R o m u l u s a n d
w h o were slaves o r were t o t a l l y dependent, as legal possessions (in mana-
Remus were expelled f r o m the f a m i l y , and so t o o Romans acquired rheir
pio) o f the father, having n o possessions and authoritative status of their
wives not legitimately via courtship, but instead by force and a b d u c t i o n . So
o w n , and t h e y c o u l d not even free themselves f r o m paternal authority in
they are far removed f r o m the instinct o f natural ethical life, and this leads t o
virtue o f their h o l d i n g offices. O n l y the flamen dialis or priest o f Jupiter and
6
the vestal v i r g i n s were exempt f r o m paternal authority, because they were the property (manctpia)
o f the temple, of the priests. Likewise, later on
people were also extremely capricious in the making o f w i l l s So we see
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h o w ethical life became w h o l l y unnatural, and an unshakable status was given t o the husband over against the family. This harshness o n the husband's o w n part (activ) correlates w i t h the passive harshness that is his lot, a l o t in which the Romans find themselves i n relation t o the state, for an abstract commanding brings with it an abstract subjection. Those w h o o n the one hand are despots are, on the other hand, •29
T H E L E C T U R E S OF 182
ruled over themselves. T h e f a n that the Romans thus f o u n d themselves i n a political bond that sacrifices a l l natural and concrete ethical life is the greatness of Rome. This abstract oneness w i t h the state a n d this utter subordination t o i t — a p p r o x i m a t i n g t o h o w i n o u r case things are in the military, although we still keep distinct the civilian life of someone in the military—constitutes the greatness o f Rome. For the Romans, however, civilian life too was pervaded by this harshness.
3Bfl
If we want t o take a closer look at this relationship, w e must consider the Romans i n their role as warriors. I n this instance it seems t o be magnificent how, without flinching or yielding, the Romans keep their focus o n the state and its dictates. This feature appears f r o m one angle t o be the virtue of Rome. From another angle we must likewise consider h o w this characteristic appears not only in external affairs | but also w i t h i n Rome itself, for Rome owes its strength t o maintaining i t . I n the dissensions arising between the plebeians and the Senate and leading t o rebellion, dissensions i n w h i c h public order and respect f o r the laws was suspended and the legal cohesiveness shattered, there was almost always respect f o r the f o r m [ o f l a w ) , w i t h the result that reverence for order restored order among the plebeians, putting a halt t o their l a w f u l and u n l a w f u l demands. Often, even though there was no war, someone was made dictator, someone w h o then conscripted the citizens as soldiers and led t h e m as soldiers f r o m the city. The laws of Ucinius are of the greatest importance f o r the relationships of the plebeians to the patricians. Ten years were indeed required for their implementation, people w h o were his followers were kept w a i t i n g for ten years and more, by the objection o f a few tribunes, before these laws were adopted and put i n t o o p e r a t i o n . We d o n o t find the story of this dissension conceivable unless w e also see this obedience t o , o r respect for, the dictates of the state. The circumstance of R o m a n origins has indeed its seed, a n d thus its inherent prerequisites, for a c o n d i t i o n or an obedience o f this s o n to be able to come about, since o n l y by strict measures can those w i t h no native land be held together as one. a
n
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7
A further point w o u l d be t o demonstrate the more specific, internal, natural S » » e harshness o f such a b o n d , of such hostilities, and its natural possibility w o u l d then be sought and found i n the life o f ^ a n ^ n t Italian peoples f r o m whose convergence | the R o m a n c o m m u nity t o o k ,ts shape. But, o w i n g t o the spiritless character of the Roman p m
THE ROMAN WORLD
2-3
r e s s , o n
historians w h o , unlike the Greek historians, do not describe the lives of enemy peoples, we k n o w little about these ancient [Italian] peoples. We have remarked i n general terms that we proceeded f r o m East t o West, setting o u t f r o m that Eastern conversion of all fmitude i n t o infinitude, f r o m the inability of individuals to k n o w themselves as autonomous, and likewise from the conversion of the determinateness of natural objects into something w i t h o u t measure. So w h a t comes first is this immeasurability, a n d w h a t is second, i n Greece, is animation (Beseeiung) and limitation in beautiful individuality. The Greek revered w h a t is bounded, and at the same time gave it life (beseelt). The t h i r d element exhibits for us the consciousness of finitude, the holding fast t o fmitude. Over against the poetry of the Greeks, which constantly oscillates between the indeterminate and the determinate, there now emerges the [Roman] prose of life, the element of the finite, the abstraction o f the understanding as something ultimate, i n that thts prose, this abstract element, is w h a t is ultimate. The f a m i l y i n its inflexibility does not extend itself o u t w a r d , for instead the harsh u n i t y remains. This same principle is evident i n Etruscan art. W h a t we k n o w of i t , insofar as the works themselves are recognized as genuine and are not f r o m a more developed f o r m of art, exhibits completeness, a developed state ot mechanical technique and execution but w i t h o u t the idealized beauty of the Greeks; it lacks the ideal nature of Greek art. I t consists of specific, prosaic, a n d imitative p o r t r a i t u r e . So one consistent feature is the external prose and internal abstraction. I Life's relationships too were entered into, and situated i n , this andity, i n this specificity of the understanding. Here we have separation, but not i n t o families, f o r there were none, because love was not a factor; mstead under this specific heading we have also t o mention the separate existence {Ab¬ scheidung) o f the gens. A gens of this k i n d was somethmg established o n its o w n account also w i t h reference t o its political charactenst.es, and for centuries these gentes maintained their o w n distinctive characters i n their outlook and means. Each gens had its o w n lares and penam ^ o l d godsj, its o w n sacra [rites], and had become something absolu^ly fixed; * » fixity t o o k the shape of something religious, something fixed ^ » ' « " ^ W i t h the Greeks too families had their household gods and d.smct.ve rites, although this was more a matter of the worship and pnesthood of a 8
8. A gens is a clan or group of reUted families c c ^ 7. On the lidniM-Sexnar. Laws, see betow, o. 20. 430
common ancestor and share a common name. 431
of freeborn persc~ who daun a
4O0
THE ROMAN WORLD
THE LECTURES OF 1822-3
god i n which the whole populace t o o k p a r t . I n Rome, however, each iarnily had its o w n set religious rites. Related t o this fixed character is the Roman restriction or exclusion of marriages between patricians and plebeians, inheritance between t h e m , and the like. The limites [boundaries] of a f a r m field were something sacred and fixed t o o (see, for instance, Cicero's Pro domo sua ). Just as sacred were certain minor matters that are equally insignificant. We should not look upon this as a matter o f piety, b u t instead quite the c o n t r a r y : there is n o t h i n g necessarily sacred i n this practice of m a k i n g something profane i n t o an absolute, and making such disparate things to be sacred, things that are themselves devoid o f spirit. 9
The development o f R o m a n l a w is related t o this fixing of distinctions based on the understanding. W h a t becomes firmly fixed here are abstract persons o n their o w n account. We owe the development of l a w in the juridical sense to the constricted [tmfrei), | unfeeling understanding of the Romans, to the constricted, unfeeling Roman w o r l d . Although this law is a great gift, a law o f this kind is n o t t o be viewed as the ultimate of w i s d o m o r reason. Previously we saw, f o r instance, that i n the Oriental w o r l d ethical Ufe and morality and religion were made into l a w i n the juridical sense, a n d this even t o o k place w i t h the Greeks. Because of that the political constitution therefore rested o n ethics and then subsequently o n fickle inwardness, the inner being o f subjectivity. The Romans brought about the great separation [ o f these factors]. They are famous for inventing juridical l a w , the unfeeling sphere of abstract personality, and they developed i t . But they themselves were sacrificed t o i t , thus preparing the way f o r their successor races t o a t t a i n freedom o f spirit a n d t o be relieved of a thankless labor. A t the same rime, however, the Romans d i d not yet have spirit, heart, and religion. They have n o t set spirit, heart, and religion apart f r o m l a w i n a f o r m a l sense, although they have developed f o r m a l law independently, a n d i n doing so they parted ways w i t h these other aspects, cutting themselves off completely f r o m t h e m . A r t t o o has its technical aspect. Those w h o have the technique c a n a l l o w free beauty to come w i t h i n their purview and can freely develop fine art- But t o be deplored are those hapless persons w h o suppose that the essence of a n 9 The usual name of Cicero's treatise is De domo sua (The Speech Concerning his House Dehvered before the College of Pontiffs'). Cicero's speech, given after his return from exik. includes a lengthy protest against the seizure of his house and land by Clodius Pukher, who bad been r e s p o n s e fot Cicero's exile (§§ 100-47). In the course of the speech Cicero makes numerous references to rmial 'omsecration' of the site. See Gcero, x i , tr. N . H . Warn (Loeb Classical Library; Cambridge, Mass., and London, 1923), 132-311. 432
lies in this technique and w h o believe that the sublime is t o be f o u n d i n it. For craftsmanship i n art is not the starting point but is instead only w h a t encompasses the external aspect. In recent times the Enlightenment [mode of] understanding has, in the same fashion, seized upon the content of religion, first making it explicit and believing t h a t , i n d o i n g so, it possesses the whole of religion. To the contrary, however, | w h a t necessarily happened was that the higher aspect of religion and philosophy separated itself off f r o m that understanding, inasmuch as religion and philosophy have the understanding to thank for the fact that, by its intertwining [its version of] religion w i t h the understanding, the understanding itself has put an end t o this mtcrtwining of w h a t is merely finite and n a r r o w - m i n d e d w i t h reason, and has left the finite t o develop a particular d o m a i n on its o w n . So the Romans by themselves h a d nothing but jurists; proceeding f r o m the jurists, religion here was able to make its w a y into determinate existence. Roman Religion, Utility, and the Aristocracy So n o w w e have t o pass over t o Roman religion. We have seen the Romans placing their confidence i n the understanding of finitude; w e saw them b o u n d to the determinacy of the understanding. This character also applies t o their religion. Cicero derives religio f r o m religare, 'to bind', and i n doing so he is content w i t h the t r u t h o f the majorum ( m u l t i t u d e ) . For the Romans there is in fact a 'being b o u n d ' , whereas for the Greeks religion is free fantasy, the freedom o f beauty, and for the Christians it is the freedom o f spirit. Greek religion and R o m a n religion are n o t the same, although there is a retention of names. A l o n g w i t h the Roman principle of discord w i t h i n oneself, w i t h this b i f u r c a t i o n , w h a t developed and became decisive is the constraint {Beschränktheit) a n d the particularity w i t h i n the Roman state as such. 10
This negative element, this constrained condition w i t h i n spirit as such and more specifically i n w i l l i n g on the part o f spirit, is a finite, constrained purpose. For the Roman spirit the d t i m a t e vocation is a finite purpose. For the Romans there is no free enjoyment of ethical life. In theit case we see no free, ethical life, but instead the greatest seriousness o n behalf of the
10. In De aomo sua, § 141 (Watts, pp. 302-3), Cicero rithcules the ntual blunder arid nUgkws f f i c y of bis enemy's attempt at p e r f o r m * * a consecrate r ^ and says: Great is the p o that resides i n the dispensation of the immortal gods, yes, and m On Roman religion see the 1821 Lectures on the Philosophy of fUhgxm (Oxford, 2007), ii. 190-231. i n e
a C
w e t
433
402
THE ROMAN WORLD
THE LECTURES OF 1822-3
«3
constrained interest in their purposes; whereas w i t h the Greeks there is a
and so f o r t h .
more p r o f o u n d seriousness. For this reason the Romans are more thor-
such mundane circumstances and arts. They held Juno to be the goddess
oughly practical; they are people w h o have t o accomplish goals, and they
M o n e t a , the goddess o f c o i n s ,
are not theoretical i n the setting o f those goals. Theory calls for disinterested
the goddess o f universal life. So they came to envisage the essence of coinage
activity and orientation t o w a r d w h a t is objective; i t requires a free objec-
as something divine. The further point, then, is that we see the gods en-
tiviry. |
treated f r o m a c o n d i t i o n o f need, that i n their need the Romans made their
Other deities include Peace, Tranquillitas, Sorrow, and other 12
whereas [her Greek counterpart] Hera was
Hence the d i v i n i t y o r piety o f the Romans is not something tree but is
promises and vows and thus allowed gods to be imported f r o m abroad, w i t h
instead something internally constrained, so that they themselves are not
the result t h a t a l l their festivals are memorials o f events. Almost all their
free in relation to i t , and i t is not free i n relation t o t h e m .
festivals are based o n specific occasions and almost a l l their temples are
But w h a t then begins [to exist] i n them too, together w i t h this constraint, is an inwardness, a restraint (Festhalten)
w i t h respect t o oneself, w i t h i n one's
inner self, internally. This restraint is a separation, t h a t is, a determinacy, o f
erected o u t o f necessity, as a result o f vows. W h a t is useful or o f constrained purpose was the f o u n d a t i o n o f their festivals and temples. There is no disinterested, general thankfulness t o w a r d , or exaltation and invocation
oneself w i t h i n oneself, brought about by the constrained nature of the
of, w h a t is higher, for w h a t we have instead is w h a t is srwcifkally expedient.
rnirpose, and it is f o r that reason that, together w i t h this constraint, i n w a r d -
We saw that the Greeks based their temples and religious worship o n love
ness itself as such becomes a factor. So the Romans are this seriousness o f
f o r the beautiful and the divine. I n the Roman dramas w e see the same
constrained purpose and are practical, because this constraint of theirs is the
[aforementioned] character.
ultimate thing. The Orientals exist in p l a c i d indolence, in substantial u n i t y
whereas the performers or actors were emancipated persons, subject
The Romans
were simply the
spectators,
w i t h self, immersed i n self, untroubled by w h a t is particular. The Greeks are
peoples, and slaves, ones held i n contempt, just as later on the performers
ceaselessly i n m o t i o n , are light-hearted w i t h o u t purpose, are moved only in a
were the gladiators w h o were condemned t o die. Nero got most o f the blame
transitory way by constrained purposes. T h a t is because, insofar as spirit
f o r this
posits a purpose f o r itself, spirit still immediately exists w i t h i n itself i n a set
were an o u t w a r d l y exotic spectacle targeting these people; they degenerated
condition (Festigkeit)
o f its o w n , over and above this purpose. The Romans,
i n t o the introduction o f animals that tore human beings t o pieces, and i n t o
however, are enchained i n superstition, and earnestly so. W h a t they l o o k
people slaying one another. I n one day 600 lions came into the Circus
upon as absolute is itself something i n bondage, n o t something liberated
[ M a x i m u s ] , as well as crocodiles, elephants, bears, and animals f r o m all
f r o m the constraint of particular purposes.
parts o f the w o r l d . M o s t o f the gladiators had already been condemned t o
We d o of course see i n Roman religion many Greek gods and others adopted by the Greeks, although even this practice o f a d o p t i o n has a h o l l o w ring t o i t . We are disheartened when the Romans speak of something external; i t leaves us cold. The Romans d o also have a few unsophisticated
•KM
1 1
| because he frequented the theater himself. The performances
death, so the 5,000 w h o approached the royal seat cried out: 'We greet y o u , emperor, as those doomed t o die'. A l l those doomed t o die had to provide the Romans w i t h the spectacle of murder. So, in order to hold their interest, the Romans needed for there t o be actual suffering, actual cruelty.
nature festivals o f r u r a l simplicity that introduce a cheerful element, ones
To the Romans the suffering of these people, their pain, thus became
involving a more cheerful and deeper devotion. But t h e main characteristic is
theoretical, became a theoretical purpose. This suffering inherent in the
the set condition of a specific w i l l i n g and purpose rhat they demand o f theit
Romans f r o m their very origins onwards became objective t o them in this
gods, and for the sake of which they worship the gods.
way. The meaning o f this direction taken by the Roman spectacles lies in
| So R o m a n
religion is a religion of purposiveness, utility, and constraint.
the fact that the Romans [themselvesl d i d n o t take an active part i n these
We see a host of prosaic deities of [special] circumstances, o f c o m m o n -
dramas and festivals. Roman earnestness militated against the exhibiting of
place skills and sentiments, deities drawn f r o m the useful arts and similar
one's o w n personality, and it presupposes that an inner purpose, an inner value,
specific domains (Bestimmungen),
a
deities that the mundane fantasies of the
gmtntas, an explicit restraint, has taken shape w i t h i n oneself, a restraint that
Romans make authoritative and worship as something ultimate. Altars are erected to plague and famine, even the goddess Fornax is worshiped.
434
405
11. Fornax is the goddess of ovens. 12. In Rome, money was coined in the temple of Juno Moneta. 435
THE LECTURES
THE ROMAN WORLD
OF 1 8 2 2 - 3
cannot develop itself in externality, one that cannot simply present itself i n this
THE
FORMATION
OF ROMAN
POWER
sensibility; whereas beautiful individuality, entirely f r o m out o f itself, gives shape to what is w i t h i n it. When people have formed an internal purposiveness
Early Kings, Patricians, and Plebeians
w i t h i n themselves, then this [individual expression! '
We have already spoken about the first epoch, that of Rome's o r i g i n s .
s n
o
longer possible. The
beautiful gods appear wholly as what they are; in the gravitas [of individuals!, however, there is something different w i t h i n them that becomes external. The auspices and the Sibylline books, the auguries, display superstition i n
406
15
Between it a n d the epoch of R o m a n emergence as a world-historical people on a world-historical stage there comes the development of the inner p r i n c i ple to the apex of its greatest strength.
its utter intensity, and have as their exclusive p u r p o s e — w i t h these ceremo
Rome made its beginning as a state by means of sovereign authority.
nies becoming only means t o this purpose—dominance by the patricians, i n
Roman chronology puts the beginning i n 754 BC. The Greek Olympiads
the way that then, for instance, Cicero too regards t h e m expressly as means
originated i n 776 BC. M o s t o f the Roman kings were outsiders. Romulus,
for deceiving the p e o p l e .
N u m a Pompilius, Hostilius, the Tarquins, Servius, and those w h o f o l l o w e d ,
13
|
So the religion is a religion of u t i l i t y in w h i c h particularity is made absolute. This sanchfication
were f o r the most p a n foreigners. * So the kings were mostly outsiders. 1
of different things, this constraint and (its
I n R o m a n history, then, there is no beautiful mythological antecedent as
is also pertinent t o the governing principle of
i n Greece, n o [mythological] powers either natural or ethical. For the Greek
the political constitution. The entire principle, the inequality of lineages,
spirit these powers came t o have physical and ethical definition in a m y t h i c a l
entails the fact that there can be no democracy of equality, no concrete vitality
way. There are no echoes of this i n Roman history. W h a t is most ancient
of the kind there is in Greece. The basic feature is the overwhelming d o m i
simply begins i n a specific w a y that one cannot take t o be poetry. This
nance of one sector o f the gentes. I n the same way too no monarchy is possible
material is legendary, t o be sure, but there is nothing of a poetic nature i n
here, because monarchy presupposes the spirit of the free evolving of partic
these accounts. The accounts concerning the 'centuries'
ularity. A n d here purpose is still something constrained w i t h i n w h i c h , as the
we must accept as historical, are specific and so little poetic that instead the
purpose of the state, individuals are bound. The R o m a n principle or the
most specific understanding expresses itself directly i n them. The Romans
Roman political constitution lends itself only to aristocracy, w h i c h is, h o w
derived p a r t l y f r o m the Etruscans and the Latins, and the [faculty of]
ever, also by the same token something internally hostile and constrained, and
understanding was directly apparent i n their institutions. The kings were
even i n the most complete existence aristocracy cannot be the explicitly
soon expelled as being superfluous. The cause of this expulsion was said
accomplished
t o be the v i o l a t i o n o f a w o m a n , and this violation of the maiden subse
ensuing] complications,
shape; instead it accordingly has opposition a n d struggle
w i t h i n i t , and is a shape that can be made good o n l y for the t i m e being, as a
quently brought about the revolution
17
and the like, ones
I and occasioned the banishing of
result of unhappiness and necessity. Aristocracy is in fact something that does not lend itself t o internal unity and that can be unified o n l y by harsh measures.
THE PERIODS
OF ROMAN
below, on the periods of the Germanic World. Actually, Hegel's treatment of the arrival of Christianity, occurring in the second period of the Roman World, adds a fourth element to this arrangement; see p. 447, below, with n. 37. Hegel devotes more attention to Christianity here than he does t o Roman dominion itself.
HISTORY
N o w we have t o examine things f r o m a historical perspective. Here too there are three periods. We already saw the epochs as those of Rome's origins, its 407
reference to the East, and its relation t o the principle that ensues.
14
I
13. See De domo sua, g 39-42 (Warn, pp. 180-7) for Cicero's arrack on the misuses of augury and the auspices. 14 See above, p. 372, for a similar penodization of the Greek worid; 'Three periods are found m the Greek Worid, and this is the case with every peuple thereafter'. See also p. 467.
436
15. See above, pp. 427-8. ,, . . . 16. Accotd.ng lo tradition, Romulus was the first king. He was followed by smothers^ the list, most of whom were probably Etruscans and rustorical figures: Numa ^ P ' ^ ¿3^ • Tullus Hostilius (673-642), Ancus Marcus (642-616), Tarquinius Pnscos f™ Tullius (578-535), Tarquinius Superbus (534-ilO). After the expulsion of the Ust of these kings, power passed from the Etruscans and the Romans established a republic based on an P
,
1 5
\ff~W< ı
,
1 1 6
aristocratic society. , „ . . . 17. Servius Tullius. the sixth king, is said to have arranged the Roman people into 193 centuries', or divisions. That is likely the pouu to which Hegel refers here. Later on a century was a Roman army unit of 100 soldiers, one-sixtieth of a legion. 437
we
THE LECTURES OF 1821-3
THE R O M A N WORLD
the decemviri. I n such times we see the most p r o f o u n d l y i n w a r d violation as being the violation of honor and family unity, for i n these times honor is what is innermost, just as i n later ages conscience is the innermost and most profound aspect. I n this instance, however, the interesting p o i n t is the deference {Pietdt} w i t h i n the family.
sustenance via public w o r k s . A second deficiency was that the administrat i o n o f justice w a s i n the hands o f the patricians, there being no specific written laws; they also held all other authority in the state. The decemvirs remedied this deficiency by c o m m i t t i n g the unwritten l a w t o w r i t i n g . But they abused their authority, and this abuse could only be checked by revolution. The impoverishment of the people was i n part temporarily ended by the partial cancellation o f their debts t o the patricians. Another means was the assistance provided by the agrarian laws.
The kings were driven o u t w i t h vicious hostility, w i t h vicious hatred, precipitated by a criminal violation. A t first glance the change appears t o be an important one, although this transition f r o m monarchy t o republicanism is n o t so very significant because i n n o sense had there been a [genuine) monarchy. 'Republic' is an indefinite t e r m t o o , since here i n the Roman case w h a t existed was simply aristocracy and n o t a splendid democracy. Hence nothing i n fact changed after the kings were expelled. K i n g l y power was given t o the aristocrats, a n d i n k i n d (in specie) t o the consuls.
409
O n e aspect o f the further development involved the administrative authority, the fact t h a t particular occupations were set apart o r detached f r o m the highest authority, namely, t h e 'personal jurisdictions'. T h e chief factor i n the further progression consisted o f the distinction between, and relationship of, patricians and plebeians. The expulsion of the kings p u t the plebeians in an unfavorable position. They gained n o t h i n g by the expulsion of the kings. Beforehand the kings had even been averse t o , and detested by, the patricians—especially so, Ancus Marcius. The kings bad been favorable t o w a r d the populace and exalted i t , giving i t at least a certain place i n the legal, c i v i l society. | The patricians were averse t o the kings, even t o the last ones, because the kings had impeded their subjugation of the plebeians. This impediment was n o w removed. A n d i t is a constant, perpetual circumstance i n every state that the populace has its friend i n the higher royal power; i t has protection provided by the kings, and yet i t allows itself t o be deceived and aligns itself w i t h the middle class, cleaving to the m i d d l e ranks t o its o w n disadvantage, since they become its oppressors. I n the nation, then, all the offices and positions, a n d almost a l l the landed property, were concentrated in few hands {vereint). The people h a d no lands of their o w n , and so their lot was poverty. Livy gratefully praised the final policy o f Tarquinius [Superbus], w h i c h enabled the people t o gain
T 'J ' ^ k * ^ " ' o* »'' and was used for various panels of magistrates. Tradition holds that the constitution was suspended in 451 BC, and ten patricians were appointed t o construct a new law code. Hegel jumps from the expulsion of the kings to a later episode in which the decemvir Appius Claudius lusted after a voung woman named Vergi.ua, and her own father killed her to prevent her from being yictiraiied bv the decern*. This event precipitated die overthrow of the decemviri m a revolution m 449 ne. The w b o k story u legend rather than accurate history. d
e
C
m
v
i
m
e
a
n
s
t e n
6
438
1 9
One sector o f the plebeians themselves, o r at least the sector t h a t later came t o consist mostly of plebeians, f o u n d itself i n a client relationship w i t h the patricians, one like the later feudal relationship existing among the Germanic peoples. Despite a l l efforts [ t o understand i t ] , this relationship has still not become entirely cleat This client relationship involved the clients having t o pay a t a x t o their patron when the patron's daughter marries, and having t o ransom his captive sons when they are prisoners o f war, | as well as underwriting, o r acting o n behalf of, the p a t r o n himself when he is i n debt, loses a court case, and so f o r t h . These clients, then, may have been part o f the plebeians, w h o were a definite social class, a class on the one h a n d i n harsh subjection, and o n the other hand so numerous as clients that the patricians were at a disadvantage if i t came t o armed conflict. Later o n , then, the plebeians were allowed use of the government's l a n d , o r a p o r t i o n of the landed estates, o r were fully granted property. A l l this was gained, however, o n l y by the most violent conflicts, and the fact t h a t they gained this advantage constituted a major turning point. O n l y later, as a w a y t o prevent indigence, came occupations and disbursements derived f r o m the public treasury. W i t h regard t o rights, the popular assemblies gained c i v i l and political weight by the introduction of tribunes of the people, so that the people n o w t o an extent made decisions o n their own—some made by themselves alone, some made i n conjunction w i t h the Senate, w i t h some made by the Senate alone. However, the tribunes of the people could check the decisions o f the populace by their o w n veto power, and the Senate and the consuls could i n any event likewise override the assemblies, since the auguries and auspices were under their control. I n addition to the tribunes of
19. Livy describes the temples and other structures that Tarquinius ^ P " * " * beians build (1.15.1-1.16.3; Foster, pp. 190-5). He states mat 'the plebeians * * * " « ' at having to build w i t h their own hands the temples of the gods, than they d.d when Jey carne to be transferred to other tasks also, which, while less in show, were yet rather more labonous . Tret L i w has Luous lutuus Brutus, the denouncer of wicked deeds cwrmutted by Tanjaumt. complain: The men of Rome,...the conquerors of all the naooas round a b o u n d been transformed from warriors into artisans and stooe-curters' (1.16.9; Foster, pp. 206-/1. 1
43?
b
u
411
THE LECTURES OF 1822-3
THE ROMAN WORLD
the people, and the importance o f the people's decisions, a major p o i n t was that all positions and all state official posts ultimately were opened up t o the plebeians, something the patricians sought t o prevent almost as tenaciously as they d i d the agrarian laws.
extremes are not distinctions existent for their o w n sake; w h a t exists instead is just this t h i r d factor, the equilibrium. But that is not the case here, where this equilibrium i n the Roman state was for that reason only palliative and temporary; and
| the breach subsequently emerged all the more appallingly. The
412
(Still i n Cicero's day only the patricians held the priestly offices.) This was
equilibrium i n w h i c h the antitheses positioned themselves brought forth its
the practice for a thousand years after the conquest of the city. The elevation i n
outward orientation, and i n one respect this equilibrium brought good fortune,
status of the plebeians was accomplished w i t h i n the first four hundred years.
riches, and fame, the very things that contributed t o holding together the weak
The Licinian Laws fall approximately |
Iscblecht) b o n d ; b u t at the same time it introduced appalling unhappiness and
intheyear389Bqaccordingtothem
the plebeians gained agricultural land, as they also d i d later under the C u m l i a n
exigency, the very things that, t o be sure, unite the abstract sides, although only
Laws.
for a period of time.
This was the point of greatest strength for the Roman people, because
henceforth the demands of the plebeians were satisfied. A t this time the common interests of the state were the universal focus. Weary of the internal struggle, w i t h their restlessness taking a different t u r n , the people t u r n outward, and this is the point at w h i c h they are strongest. Internally placated, their energies t u r n o u t w a r d . Despite its being so inadequate i n its content, the satisfied stare of affairs nevertheless seems, for the moment at least, t o suffice. Later on, however, this inadequacy made itself all the more appallingly evident. Upon examining this Roman political constitution, we can say that, as anstocracy, i t is the worst constimtion, even though Aristotle wants the 'best people' (oi dpioro.) t o be allowed to r u l e . 'The best ought to rule' is a splendid 21
tenet, although if the a > o ™ are 'best' i n a merely f o r m a l [i.e. not actual] sense and they become bad, then this is the w o r s t of constitutions. However, the Roman aristocracy was not as lifeless as perhaps was that of Venice; instead i t even generated its o w n internal opposition, and so produced practical results. So we see here an aristocracy but also w h a t is opposed t o i t , t w o extremes that posinoned themselves as counterweights, a n d for the time being that produced an equilibnum. This, however, is the worst sort of relationship, because this very equilibrium is a third factor, is what is essential. I t is w h a t must exist, must itself be present and actual, not the t w o extremes that produce i t . Beauty is luVewise an equilibrium of the spiritual and the sensual, but not in such a w a y that those aspects east o n their o w n ; instead, they occur i n such a w a y that the
Expansion a n d Conquest Another and second situation to be examined is the o u t w a r d expansion of Rome, [achieved] i n its wars. The m a i n element here is steadfast solidarity, obedience t o the laws of the state, an obedience t h a t is the seat of Roman virtue; the fact is that the Romans had their mainstay i n this patriotism, in this submissiveness t o , and absolute sacrifice for, one thing, that w h i c h the state commands.
This
solidarity often saved Rome and set i t apart f r o m the other Italian nations that d i d n o t have this abstract solidarity as their principle. T h e m i l i t a r y tactics and strategy o f the Romans constitute a second and related feature, one equally characteristic of them. Every great
general
has introduced more or less his o w n mode of military strategy, has nearly always introduced a new k i n d of tactics. The usual battle arrangement o f the Macedonians was the phalanx, one-eighth o f w h i c h , equipped w i t h i r o n pikes, stood t o the fore. The Roman legions have a close array o f this sort. T h e R o m a n battle order was indeed that sort o f massed troops t o o , although they were arranged and subdivided internally. I t d i d n o t have the t w o extremes, o f compactness and the fragmentation of the light troops, but instead was something stable and whole that was internally I arranged and mobile, similar t o the principle of more recent military science too. We note that going over or analyzing the various forms of Roman warfare is a tedious business. Especially tedious is Livy's arid rhetoric and his re-
in f
^
^
T
L S i ^ l ,
^twT
T
° f ^ "ibunes of the people (376-367 BC), L^ntan-Sexttan laws that made various reforms favorable to the plebeians, <«e of the two consuls to be a plebeian, although i t is perhaps doubtful mat, W l
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S e X l , U S
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^ ^ A a m f e e a curule or a curule aedile, an official associated with the conduct of the games m the Orcus. Among the other duties of these aediles was overeght of the com laws. Vanous aeddes authored agnculrural reform laws in the 2nd and I s . 2006 Z O ^ T S s ^ *" °" "* ° MUxophy (Oxford, (
cenT^.
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f
marks that they always positively have right on their side. There are,
22. The phalanx was a Macedonian massed formation that, m me form « " ^ ^ and Alexander, put a portion of its members t o the fore m battle ^ ° £ ^ ^ ^ Hegel's comment is mat the Roman formation, h i c h proved battle, was similariy massed and was organized internally m t o M b u t these on. were rrot physically separated from one another by pips in the batueneio. W
W
441
P
'^^J^^^T
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413
THE
L E C T U R E S OF
THE
1822-3
however, always t w o sides t o the story. Tedious t o o is the rhetorical mode of the historians in their constantly stating t h a t the Romans are just dealing w i t h the abstraction of 'enemies', so that w e learn o n l y the name o f a people but nothing about the individuality of its language, ethics, m i l i t a r y science, constitution, and so on. In this second period of conquest there are the R o m a n virtues and these grand, virtuous characters w h o seek t o be w h a t they are simply f o r the sake of the state.
THE
WORLD-DOMINION
OF
ROME
Rome's Place on the World Stage
414
As i t grows stronger Rome enters i n t o a second p e r i o d , since by piling up smaller amounts of wealth (Kapitalien) the Romans, through their might, had come t o be very wealthy (großen Kapitalisten). N o w they enter i n t o then- second period a n d into a w o r l d theater that is r o u n d about them like a panorama, putting them in contact w i t h G a u l , Spain, Carthage, Italy, M a cedonia, the vast expanses i n Asia M i n o r , Greece, a n d then w i t h Egypt and Epines — i n short, therefore, w i t h the entire perimeter o f the M e d i t e n a nean; here things develop i n an interconnected w a y . Polybius, an Achaean, grasped this era and portrayed i t . H e became a sacrifice to the partisanship and baseness o f his countrymen a n d , o n the other side, t o the R o m a n s . I 24
Carthage was one of the major powers against which the Romans fought. The greatness of Carthage lay i n its relation t o the sea, since it h a d n o proper land forces or national army. H a n n i b a l " drew the large resources w i t h which he beset Rome f r o m the forceful combining o f nations such as the
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After this victory over Carthage, corruption broke out on a large scale and individual personality became diverse, but no longer can it possess greatness. T h e greatness of individuals becomes intensified i n striking events, but it is no longer capable of being consonant w i t h the meaning of thenfatherland. This period of magnificent splendor, w h i c h did n o t develop itself inwardly as something ideal, was not foUowed by spiritual consummation as happened w i t h the Greeks; instead there was a burgeoning of private interests. The tension that exhibited itself as hostility t o w a r d the 'other' s u b s i d e d , for the Romans no longer found it necessary t o be warriors. N o w they were allowed t o be more concrete, since their abstract task was completed 1 his oneness of abstraction w i t h I the state d i d indeed cease; but they d i d n o t w o r k out beautiful concrete shapes, for what broke out o n all sides instead was suppressed particularity w i t h its utter bitterness. W h a t transpire n o w (146 BC) are the plundering of Spam and the conquests i n Asia M i n o r and Greece, while t u r m o i l is brewing concurrendy w i t h i n and w i t h o u t . The t u r m o i l and testiveness of the Greeks the j u g u r t h i n e War, the wars w i t h the Cimbri and the Teutones, [and w i t h ] Saxtorius, the federal state o f M a r i u s and Sulla, a l l lay bare the total 2 7
l e a d
Canfcapni*. genera! whose father, Hamdcar Barca, made him ^
Second ^ t b t
f
War ,218-20!) w ^ R o t n , The War (264-241). Their
'™
^ ™* 219^ Perhaps the year < M W o w tn our text) that Hannibal 'had been i n Italy for thirty-six years', up t o Hannibal's deosive defeat in 202. w h e o
Nurmdians and others. But these sources had no enduring character; they were held together simply by his subjective genius. After he had been i n Italy for thirty-six years and w h e n they had become exhausted, Hannibal f o u n d no means for besieging the Romans, either w i t h his countrymen i n his native land, o r w i t h the Greeks and the armies of Macedonians and Syrians w h i c h were l o n g since i n internal disarray. The human stock f r o m Greece and its provinces had dried u p and faded away. So Rome became mistress o f the Mediterranean Sea and all the lands around i t , and then only had t o w o r k her way f r o m this periphery farther i n t o the breadth of the lands. I n thts period we find the ethical, successful, and eminent individuals o f the Scipios, who lived during an ethical and healthy condition o O h e i r fatherland; although the great Scipio t o o died unhappy and i n exile.
C O n f U c K
Car^jaThai ^ 2 1 ° ^ D^edT™ <^ S^ wlTZTT " T ^ T m
WORLD
rise
* * ° chn^ucfcd the of Roman powet « - ^ ™ Pan of the Roman sphere o f * * » « * Romans thereafter. Polybius was Achaeans deported to Rome and detuned there. Subsequendy be f
ROMAN
b
ta
442
2
3
7
i a D d
26. There were numerous tnfluendal members of the
^ ^ j ^ ^ ^ L S
with trials of members of his family by their pol.ncal opponents, and he «hed an embmerex. while i n self-imposed exUe from the crty of Rome M^cedmua. 27. In 146 sc much of Greece wa< mcorporated ™ ^ ™ i u „ ^ h d ™ l C o n q u e r About the same time Roman after in Asia Minor occurred over an extended p w w d , and were not complete
P - ^ ' ° ^ ^ ^ C c^Suntrl scJuT
this. 443
4«
THE R O M A N WORLD
THE LECTURES OF 1822-3
depravity of the R o m a n aristocracy. The slave u p r i s i n g under Spartacus, the wars w i t h M i t h r a d a t e s — a l l sorts o f misfortune ensued f o r fifty to one hundred years. This turmoil of fifty t o one hundred years d u r a t i o n displays the individuals w h o became the major figures, f o r n o w revolving around them are the concerns of the Roman state as to whether it should exist as such and how it ought t o be. This is once again a time of extraordinary individuality like that i n Greece after the death of Alexander. Interest n o w revolves around M a r i u s , the Gracchi, and Cicero. Finally Caesar emerges. Caesar is the consummate image of Roman purposiveness, an artless, simple human being w h o wishes n o t h i n g else t h a n to be the ruler a n d is undeterred by any constraints or passion. 28
25
30
The gallery of these colossal figures very much merits closer examination. Great individuals grapple w i t h misfortune, and their o w n p r i n c i p a l misfortune is that they d o not keep clearly t o w h a t is ethical a n d are unable t o resist immorality. Even the most noble ones, such as the G r a c c h i , fell v i c t i m not only t o the injustice of the outer w o r l d but also t o their o w n inner injustice, since they were compelled to trample underfoot w h a t they had lived for. The great elements of life come t o the fore i n these individuals. W h e n H a r i n i b a l returns t o Carthage, | his first act is that he must cast the orator f r o m the podium f o r finding f a u l t w i t h the peace t h a t H a n n i b a l a c h i e v e d . M a r i u s , 31
32
28. j u g u t t b i , of the ioyal family in the Roman province of Numidia i n Africa, precipitated various conflicts but finally surrendered to forces under Marius i n 104 BC. The Cimbri and the Teutones were Germanic tribes who caused the Romans difficulty i n Spain and Italy until they were defeated by Marius i n 102-101 *c. 'Sartorius' is likely intended to be Sertorius. Quinrus Sertonus, praetor i n charge o f Spain, i n 80 BC led a rebellion against Rome lasting until 72 sc. Gains Manus (157-86 BC) and Lucius Cornelius Sulla Felut (138-78 BC} were Roman officers who served toother but l a i n fought one another in protracted and complex conflicts over rule of the state. 29. Spartacos, a gladiator from Thrace, led a prolonged revolt in 73-71 BC. 30. Mrthradato V I < 120-63 BC), ruler of territone* i n Asia Minor, fought three wars again** me Romans, in particular as an antagonist, of Sulla. 3 L Tiberius Sempronius Gracchus (163-133 BC) and his younger brothei; Gaius Semptomus Oracchus {153-121 ec), enacted agrarian laws that redistributed land to poor citizens and made other reforms. Tiberius was killed by some who thought be would gain tyrannical power, and Oaius madvertenuy brought into being a new and oppressive social class of knights teamto) mat, together with the Senate, dominated the plebeians. 32. After his long wars with Rome and his ultimate defeat by Scipio Af ricanus in 202 BC at the battle of Zama, Hannibal returned to Carthage and advocated peace with the Romans. Ine (^rtnaginians sought peace and sent envoys to the Romans with proposed terms. Polybins. H i s t o r y 1S.1B-19, tepom the terms as well as the specific incident mentioned by Hegel. The later version m Livy, 30.37.7-10, states: 'Gisgo came forward to oppose the peace. -. Hannibal indignant that such things should be said and heard at so critical a moment, seized G a p and wuh his own hand dragged him down from the platform.- Tr by Frank Gardner Moore, mLit^vm (Loeb Classical Library; Cambridge, Mass. and London, 1949), 506-7. 444
the victor over the C i m b r i and the Teutones, has t o hide out in the reeds and must take his seat on ruins, the remnants of Carthage. Caesar, pacing up and d o w n the bank of the Rubicon for long hours i n the n i g h t , ponders the destiny of the w o r l d and suddenly becomes resolute, and i n the end is wounded [and slain] by twenty-three wounds. History is replete w i t h such moments. We find this i n P l u t a r c h , and the representations envisage the sort of conflicting states (Kontraste) the human breast is k n o w n t o endure. 33
34
The Emperors: One W i l l Dominates A l l Caesar bore the weight of this colossal juxtaposition (Auseinander zusam¬ men). Outside [the Roman sphere], beyond the Alps, he had made inroads into Gaul and Germania, had pressed into the Nordic w o r l d and, i n doing so, discovered a n d opened u p a new w o r l d . The other factor was that he then positioned himself at the apex of the Roman w o r l d , but not as Sulla d i d by a civil war in the F o r u m , not by struggle between factions; instead he conquered the R o m a n w o r l d i n all its parts. His o w n struggle d i d not resemble a private struggle, for instead he went against the republic, w h i c h remained a republic i n name only, the banner under whose aegis all the petty, h u m d r u m factions operated. Caesar moved freely and openly against them; he w o n for himself the p o w e r a n d the banner of the republic, and set a free w i l l of private interest i n place of the many particular elements and over the many arbitrary w i l l s . One must rule over many. A l l affairs had become rife w i t h factions; all was passion and particularity. Caesar set himself u p i n place o f these base, petty, private interests, and he then cleansed Rome of them. N o t h i n g was more necessary than this dominance o n the part o f unalloyed free w i l l . However, Caesar was murdered by I twenty-three wounds, i n virtue of a striking and unusual misunderstanding o n the part of aristocratic individuals, as soon became evident. Clearly the reining in of one individual personality d i d n o t succeed. Cicero himself, this father of the fatherland, was able t o envisage the salvation of the state only i n particular persons and t o let it rest there; and then a change is always necessary. Such a great change had to take place twice, the fact that one person came t o be the ruler. We say that 'once does not count', i n the sense that what takes place once can happen by
33. When h.s rival, Sulla, usurped power (88 « 0 , Marius fled to North Africa, ro the protection of Africans who had served with him iu earlier wars. . . „ . „ ^ r k , 34. The famous account of Caesar in Cisalpme Gaul, deüberatong before RubKon and advance on Rome with his army ('Let me » "fJ^St^jSSf Lives, vii, t r Bernadorte Petrin (Loeb Classical library; Cambridge, Mass., and London, 1919). 520-3.
445
417
T H E LECTURES OF 1 822-3
THE ROMAN WORLD
chance. Thus Augustus had t o follow, just as Napoleon had t o be dethroned twice. Augustus first of a l l , and then Tiberius, brought about the continuance of the f o r m o f the state.
it is, for sheer finirude is the goal. I n this secure being, however, there is an externality of spirit—a p r o f o u n d breach is present here.
35
418
This is how the Roman political constitution came i n t o being, as merely formal and something inherently lacking i n substance. Issues of power and rule, of authority, were removed f r o m i t a n d passed i n t o the hands of a free will that made itself authoritative. The mechanism o f rulership was very simple. The 'Caesars* assumed the leadership of the Senate, but they had an encampment o r legions close to Rome and arranged for uncooperative senators t o be murdered. Soon they f o u n d even this mechanism t o be unnecessary. Here i n the emperor we see then particular subjectivity as self-impelled in the most utterly unlimited w a y . Death is the o n l y constraint or bounds to personal particularity, and death was made i n t o a sheer drama. Nero's demise can surely stand as an example of indifference i n the face of death, where there is no fear, no future, nothing more t h a n the desire o f unbounded caprice in the present. There is no restraint against w i l l i n g otherwise, against w i l l i n g something universal; the circumstances of rulership are unconstrained. I n the whole w o r l d there is no w i l l equal t o that o f the emperor. The emperors, these Caesars, express spirit's complete comingout-of-itself, the utter, intentional, deliberate finitude that is w i t h o u t constraint. Under this rulership | everything is i n order just as i t is; f o r w h a t is needed is only the harmony or agreement of all w i t h the rulership and the will of this one being. The concrete features of the emperor are of n o interest. These concrete features do not matter i n their case; even the noble features of the figures of the g o o d emperors arouse n o interest. These features are a fortunate happenstance that leaves conditions just as they are, passing by and vanishing w i t h o u t a trace. The emperors have o n l y to w i l l , f o r g o o d o r for i l l . In this case there is no opposition, no thought, n o t h i n g t h a t ought t o be produced. Hence it d i d not occur even t o the Antonines t o establish any institutions, for they instead stuck t o private interests, t o particular w i l l . I n virtue of this pinnacle of utter particularity the R o m a n w o r l d is secure and i n order. This extreme particularity is so secure that virtue and vice seem a matter o f indifference; there is no longer any antithesis, m y t h i n g v a l i d , f o r both virtue and vice are just matters of private concern. A l l is i n order just as 3 6
35. Gaius Julius Caesar (100-44 BC), ruled 49-44 B C Gaius Octavius (63 BC-AD 14), 'Ooavian\ was a triumvir with Antony and Lepidus until be became 'Augustus', and was emperor 27 SC-AD 14. Tiberius (42 BC-AD 37) was emperor AT> 14-37. 36. Antoninus Pius (ruled AD 138-61) and Marcus Aurelius Antoninus (ruled AD 161-SO)art regarded as 'good emperors'. The Stoicism of the philosopher-emperor Marcus Aurelius equips one t o face the vicisnrwles o f lift with courage and equanimity. 446
I n o p p o s i t i o n to this order, this finitude, however, the subject made its appearance. Absolute subjectivity i n itself, the infinity of being-within-self, has already broken i n over against this abstract finitude, a n d i t d i d so inconspicuously, revolutionizing everything. Spirit is utterly outside itself, and this spirit rules the w o r l d ; i t has become, and has provided, the absolute basis for this order. Since, therefore, one free w i l l dominated the entire w o r l d , the great breach was accordingly introduced. Under Augustus himself, under this consummate, single ruler, to the first one w h o began rule by particular subjectivity, t o the finitude that f o r its o w n sake counts as w h a t is ultimate, there appears its opposite, namely infinity. However, the finitude that is determinate f o r its o w n sake unites internally w i t h this (infinite] principle, yet i n such a way that finitude is only the f o r m of the appearance w h i l e the content is w h a t is absolute, w h a t is being-in-and-for-itself. W i t h that, the Christian religion, this matter of w o r l d history, comes o n the scene. |
THE
ARRIVAL
OF
CHRISTIANITY
37
T h e T r u t h of the Idea W h a t is t o be examined here and can be demonstrated here is n o t w h a t constitutes the true religion and idea of G o d , but is instead only its appearing, o r the necessity of its appearing, at this time, when the time was fulfilled; f o r history deals w i t h the appearing o f w h a t is true. The true idea is therefore to be presupposed. The absolute idea is what is universal, subsistent-in-and-for itself, w h a t exists only for thought and i n thought, although not i n such a way that w h a t is universal w o u l d be w h a t is abstract, w h a t is empty, absolute essence; instead it is w h a t is directly, endlessly, and internally determinate w i t h i n itself, is absolute negativity or w h a t is universal as having every f o r m of determinacy w i t h i n itself, albeit as infinite f o r m . This idea o f G o d is the One, the utterly universal, i n w h i c h everything natural or particular has perished. This One, however, is i n its way still abstract. But the concrete determinations must become established too, and these are not attributes, for 37. Christiamty, with its princ.ple antithetical to the Roman principle, comes on the scene during the second period, that of Rome's world-dominion, thus planting the seeds of Romes ultimate downfall. Hence it gets hs own major beading, though as a feature of the second period. 447
419
T H E LECTURES OF
1822-3
attributes are themselves always something particular (of course n o t sensible particulars like the Greek gods, f o r instead they are attributes o f the One). These attributes themselves, however have only particular content: omnipotent, all-good, and so on. But these characterizations still do not fulfill the subject. The Orientals designate their gods in diverse ways, and yet these characterizations are not exhaustive but are only attempts at being exhaustive, attempts that do not accomplish w h a t they ought t o and are only a 'bad infinite*. So attributes d o n o t exhaust the essential being of the O n e . W h e n ever the true fullness is grasped, i t is the One. I t is exhaustive, and this exhaustiveness has its basis i n the fact t h a t this deterrninateness does n o t 420
constitute multiple particular elements, | that this determination is not something particular but instead only returns i n t o itself, therefore does not project itself exclusively outside itself b u t instead draws itself t o itself too and returns into itself; it is w h a t is being-for-self. This is the infinite fullness: the One, then, is said t o be absolutely determined, t o be determined w i t h i n its o w n self. A n d this deterrninateness is absolute deterrninateness, not empty, absolutely infinite determinateness; i t is so in virtue o f b o t h factors so that, i n projecting o u t w a r d , [it consists] i n relating itself t o an other b u t likewise d r a w s itself back t o itself: this returning [to itself], w h i c h is a l i m i t that is no l i m i t . This is the fullness of the idea. The idea is this One that determines itself, t h a t particularizes itself; it brings itself f o r t h as an other t o itself but does n o t lose itself i n doing so. {It is the One that] i n this other is itself no other, f o r instead i t likewise negates this negative element t o i t , posits it as 'not-other*, and i n d o i n g so thus returns t o itself. G o d is this imfinitt life of separating the other f r o m itself and being present t o itself i n this separated element. This relationship is the speculative form. We are familiar w i t h this relationship i n many f o r m s , for instance in the seritiment i n w h i c h we k n o w i t as love, w h e n I have consciousness of myself i n another. I l o o k t o another, a m not present t o myself; I am incomplete, having a willing and k n o w i n g i n another, although i n this k n o w i n g and w i l l i n g o f mine i n another 1 a m myself; it is given back t o me for the first time in another, such t h a t the other one is n o other t o me but instead is utterly
421
I myself. Each of the t w o is an other, | reciprocally excluding and returning f r o m the other to oneself. In higher f o r m , this idea is spirit. The definition of spirit is the same, and this content is w h a t is represented as the Christian church's doctrine of the Trinity—except t h a t i n this religion the concept of spirit is proclaimed, and so God's essential being is revealed; for i t is revealed what spirit is. Christians know w h a t G o d is i n t h a t they k n o w G o d as t r i u n e . 448
THE R O M A N W O R L D
There are t w o ways t o grasp this t r u t h . One is the way of faith via representation, and the other is the way of thought that thinks the t r u t h , the w a y of knowledge via reason. Between the t w o lies the understanding, which holds fast to distinctions i t does not k n o w h o w to lead back t o unity; instead i t sticks t o w h a t is abstract. Upon approaching t r u t h , the understanding destroys w h a t is true i n i t . The understanding k n o w s nothing of God as triune, k n o w s n o t h i n g of Christ other than that he is a moral, virtuous h u m a n being, and not w h a t is divine. Whoever does n o t k n o w about G o d that G o d is triune knows nothing about Christianity. Even Muslims k n o w about Christ's virtue, the fact that he was a m o r a l and virtuous h u m a n being. A human being w h o has not the t r u t h of the Christian religion has no t r u t h at a l l ; for this is the one and only t r u t h . The Christian religion can be grasped, then, w i t h respect t o its beginnings, and in this w a y i t is a relic f r o m the past. But Christianity is likewise living, contemporary spirit that has fathomed itself f r o m that time o n w a r d , that has brought itself t o a more profound consciousness. So the fact that G o d is triune is n o t a matter of whether i t says so explicitly i n the Bible. That is literalism. The spirit o f the community, of the church, the spirit as existent there, is effective spirit, is actual spirit. Christ wills t o be in his community and to teach i t ; 'the spirit w i l l lead the w a y into all | t r u t h ' , * b u t uot by referring t o the letter o f the text. A n d so what stands i n the Bible is, as k n o w n previously, n o t yet w h a t is true. The church, the community, is w h a t recognizes t r u t h , is w h a t has received this consciousness, the spirit o f t r u t h that, f r o m out of itself, has brought itself t o determinate consciousness. This is the foundation of the Christian religion, of reason and of the speculative idea. The understanding is n o t knowledgeable about either of them, about faith or about reason. We need to remember that we are not t o be thinking of a Christianity of the m a n i n the street, as whatever anyone makes i t out t o be. 3
W h a t we have t o speak of, however, is the fact that the rirne had been fulfilled, that G o d sent his Son, namely, that doing so was i n fact necessary. The self-consciousness of the spiritual w o r l d has raised itself up t o the elements that belong t o the concept of spirit. This element [of self-consciousness] had, o n the one hand, become consciousness o f w o r l d l y consciousness, albeit as t o r n asunder by the world's understanding, and on the other hand there was nevertheless need for these elements that were split apart to be grasped as u n i t e d i n their t r u t h .
38. Set John 16-. 13: TPhen the Spirit of truth comes, be will guide you into aD the truth'. 449
THE LECTURES
OF 1822-3
The Appearance of the Idea We have to consider more closely the elements in the concept of spirit. These elements are now the governing categories of the w o r l d , and that they are such is the main point. So the first question, therefore, is: w h a t are these categories? First o f a l l , they are only categories, distecta membra [disparate components], categories o f the understanding; they are the content that possesses its truth only as comprised i n a unity.
423
One category is the being-determined o n its o w n account of finitude, the category of being-fot-self, the category o f the point relating itself t o itself, of the belief that finitude is something absolute. The other category, the opposite, is the belief | i n infinity, i n the universal t h a t sets its o w n limits. The t w o together constitute being-in-and-for-itself. When the t w o are separated we have i n one instance finitude, the absolute separateness that we see i n the R o m a n w o r l d . I n t h e harsh servitude of the Romans there is an inwardness that is practical, that is a purpose, a finitude that is not the finitude of nature but is instead an internal finitude, the harsh servitude that becomes adapted t o sensuality a n d posits a constricted purpose, one upholding legal force as something ultimate. Somet h i n g universal is accordingly posited. This is the servitude t h a t makes the finite i n t o something i n w a r d , abstract, and ultimate; i t is universal, but only finite. This harshness o f servitude exists i n the R o m a n w o r l d ; there is, however, n o freedom apart f r o m this harsh servitude, just as there is no inwardness and no love w i t h o u t fear. W i t h o u t the sense o f this negativity of the natural there is n o inwardness; only i n virtue of the submissivenessof the natural can there be freedom. I n the Roman w o r l d purpose was, first o f all, specific and constrained, and purpose i n its other aspect was established as absolute, as ultimate. We see Roman religion as the religion of finite purposiveness. This finite purpose was therefore established as absolute and was represented as the human purpose i n virtue o f which i t was binding. This inwardness is only the beginning of freedom, not freedom itself. T h a t by w h i c h h u m a n beings are bound here is something absolute but n o t h i n g universal.
«4
W h a t is one's o w n is thus this purpose. However, what is one's o w n , which is the predicate, also appeared as subject: spiritual personality as the principle of abstract personality, of positive, f o r m a l , absolute law. Under this law 1 am this one, having this abstract feature as my property, and i n this context I exist as infinitely this p o i n t . Posited here is the category o f r h e p o m t , t m s i r i f i n i t e | rigidity (Sprodigkeit). We then also see this finitude as the suffering o f the this one, as object o f interest a n d , o n the other side,
450
THE ROMAN WORLD
also i n t u r n w e see the this one as ultimate, as private interest in the caprice of the emperor. This positive and negative feature is w h a t counts here as ultimate. This emperor, this one, is the god o f the w o r l d . Therefore the god of the w o r l d has become this one. This is one of the categories. This category is the absolute l i m i t , is finitude; i t is likewise the boundless self-determining, although i t is this self-determining still only i n a sensible way; it is the consciousness that has arrived at this understanding or, however, o n l y at this unhappy state o f abstraction, at the unhappy state o f looking upon the bounds of constraint as what is ultimate. I t is still the onesided category o f the idea, is the absolute restriction, the direct opposite of the infinite bounds. The other category is infinite freedom, is universality, the opposite of the bounds [ o f constraint]. This is the other aspect, and i t is to be shown h o w i t was the g r o u n d (Boden) i n the w o r l d . This ground of abstract universality is t o be demonstrated. I t was at one t i m e the ground for philosophical thought. I t is principally the f o r m of Stoicism that, just like Epicureanism and Skepticism, was very widespread. As a group these philosophies departed f r o m the teaching o f Socrates, and they entail that human beings should only be inward and should be indifferent t o all things, that they should not f i n d their satisfaction i n the w o r l d but instead should achieve i t only i n solitude w i t h oneself, i n dropoffa, imperturbabilitas, i n the stolidity that is brought about o n l y by complete indifference t o all things, by holding nothing t o be true, n o t h i n g t o be | right, nothing t o be v a l i d . ' T h i s is the f o r m closest t o universality. 3
The broader universal f o r m is the one we have i n the Orient, and thus the Roman w o r l d is the connection o r linkage between this abstract rigidity o r finitude o f the West and the endless breadth, this free universality, of the Orient. This other element must, however, be present not only in the mode of thought but also essentially i n the mode of appearance, i n i n t u i t i o n . We f i n d this other element of breadth, o f vastness, i n Eastern intuition. Here, h o w ever, i t is p r i m a r i l y just a predicate and is no subject o n its o w n account. Limited objects o r intuitions become an immeasurable expanse, but this expanse is not yet established as w h a t is ultimate, is not known as existent f o r itself; instead i t is k n o w n only as a characteristic that holds good alongside the objects. So this breadth is Eastern [in nature], and thus i n
39. In the specific phrases of this sentence Hegel lump* together what are in part disuncuve features of Stoicism, Epicureanism, and Skepticism respectively. See LectufBO* ** History a. Philosophy, i i . 263-316, where he discusses the threeplulosophies in detail. Theonefeature that they share is the quest for imperturbability by turwng within, by mdiffrrence to the unserdmg features of the external world. 451
426
T H E L E C T U R E S O F 1822-3
THE ROMAN WORLD
representations it is not established explicitly as w h a t is u l t i m a t e ; i t is nothing but the supersensible i n the characteristic o f being-for-self, the supersensible as w h a t is ultimate and true. As the supersensible it emerges only i n Israelite representation as the universal G o d o f thought that exists f o r itself; i t is n o t Brahma o r the light of the Persians, but instead is stripped o f sensibility. The God of Judaism [Judas) is this One, the universal, such that only the universal is w h a t is ultimate. This is graspable sheerly in inner representation, sheerly for thought. Also, w i t h this characterization nothing is left except that G o d is the One. I n philosophy we can of course speak o f the absolute as the One, for d o i n g so involves the express thought that this One is n o t the predicate but instead is the subject, that the content i n this subjectivity is w h a t is being-for-self. D o i n g so is requisite for the determination o f G o d as the One. Here f o r the first time, at this p o i n t , this religion or this characterization o f G o d as the One becomes a world-historical principle. |
cognized their intuitions of thought by means of Western categories, God grasped i n God's infinity, i n logical purity, united w i t h the Logos.
These, then, are the t w o principles o f the idea: the One, and the envisage ment o f the rigidity of singularity, of subjectivity. These are the t w o categories of the self-consciousness of this age. The t w o principles o f East and West coalesce here for the first time externally, i n virtue o f conquest, but they also coalesce in virtue o f inner assimilation. I n isolation they are one-sided, to be understood abstractly; i n their t r u t h they are posited as one. T h i s uniting of East and West, and the assimilation of the t w o principles, t o o k place i n the Roman w o r l d . The West longed for a deeper inwardness, f o r universality, a profound vastness, and f o u n d it in the E a s t such a u n i t i n g of its principle w i t h the universal is the sort o f union that disseminated, itself i n multiple ways and gained validity i n obscure ways. T h i s unification is w h a t the times needed. Spirit, dispersed and lost in a finite purposiveness, in the finitude o f the Roman Empire, called f o r something infinite and f o u n d i t i n the East. Thus the worship of Isis and the worship of M i t h r a arose about this time throughout the Roman w o r l d . The uniting of the concreteness of the West w i t h the breadth o f the East came about i n this way. Alexandria i n particular was the focal point f o r the t w o principles, the place where the t w o principles were assimilated scientifically. Inasmuch as the Egyptian enigma w a s n o w grasped i n thought, i t was accordingly resolved. The very content o f fantasy, raised u p i n t o thought, received its resolution where w h a t is contradictory finds its unification. Therefore Alexandria was the soil o n w h i c h the u n i f i e s rion emerged i n manifold forms. I n Alexandria we find learned Jews who Jink the Eastern representations w i t h the thought of Plato, Jews w h o
452
Studying the history of this era is a most interesting aspect of religious and philosophical views, especially I after Christian formulations (Vorsteliungen) were initiated in Asia, i n Syria. I n all these countries coundess sects having one and the same impulse, one and the same longing, called for and produced one and the same thing—the same tendency, the same feeling that often w i t h admirable ingenuity comes upon w h a t is true, but also intermingles it i n r u m w i t h strange representations, w i t h strange additions. This impulse is particularly evident i n the allegorical methods o f interpretation, t o w h i c h belong i n this case the allegorical representations of Greek m y t h o l ogy that had their beginning here a n d had no other purpose than t o delve i n t o the thoughts i n this sensible mode, i n these sensible images, liberating w h a t is determinate f r o m the sensible mode and, by this inwardness and oneness, breathing fife into w h a t is concrete. These m a n i f o l d phenomena are all presentations o f this same impulse. But this idea was n o t only able to make its appearance i n this incomplete, nonautonomous mode; instead it had to present itself i n its pure and complete shape; it had t o reveal itself in such a w a y that this idea itself thus appears a n d is envisaged in a mode i n w h i c h this detennination that it contains has been consummated and w o r k e d o u t t o the ultimate point, t o the sensible presence o f this one. Thus G o d h a d t o reveal godself as human being i n human shape. The w o r l d longed f o r God t o reveal godself as human being t o h u m a n being. To this end the w o r l d longed for human being that only i n one aspect grasped itself as purpose, and knew its o w n irmnity w i t h i n itself, to be envisaged as absolute; i t longed for human being as finite t o be elevated and grasped as element of the divine essence; and, i n another aspect, i t longed for human being as G o d and, vice versa, i t longed for G o d as h u m a n being to come f o r t h f r o m his abstract remoteness into appearance and into human i n t u i t i o n . This i n t u i t i o n is w h a t constitutes the reconciliation of human beings w i t h G o d a n d o f G o d w i t h human beings, the reconciliation w i t h G o d that was thus represented as the unity I of me human and divine natures. The essential determinations i n this case are that the h u m a n being or the finite s p i r i t — n o t as one is naturally or according t o the f l e s h - f i n d s itself i n this unity w i t h the divine essence; alternatively put, that the human being i n its sheerly natural state is n o t good but is instead unspiritual, and only by renouncing natural being and w o r k i n g free f r o m it—therefore only by the negation o f this natural state that for it ought not t o be, that is said t o be a non-being, hence something evil and not something g o o d - d o e s the human being f o r the first rime come i n this w a y t o the security a n d certainty of this 453
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unity w i t h G o d , does i t come to faith. One's well-being is i n this mystical, essential being, i n this unity w i t h G o d . Faith is this certainty that the divine spirit dwells w i t h i n oneself, that one is in mystical unity w i t h the divine. This faith can come about only t h r o u g h liberation f r o m one's natural state, through w o r k i n g free f r o m one's naturalness. However, human beings w h o remain w i t h i n the n a t u r a l state, t h i n k i n g themselves g o o d just as they are, find damnation in i t . So human beings have t o supersede this n a t u r a l mode in order t o come to faith. This intuited unity also had t o be present i n a natural mode, in a natural phenomenon, i n the mode of immediate being, of the bounded state t h a t is a this one. Therefore the immediate being, the this one, belongs t o the consummation of this reconciliation. The unity, however, could appear in this way only one time, in a single individual. G o d is inherently only O n e , and God's appearing must therefore be designated utterly w i t h the predicate of oneness and so it excludes all multiplicity. T h e many h u m a n beings existing as they ought not t o be are w h a t is ungodly. 429
This appearing of the One emerges w i t h i n the Jewish people; f o r this people prayed to G o d as the One, and looked upon G o d as the O n e . | But at the same time characteristic o f this people is this noninvolvement (Vnvermiscbtheit) w i t h sensibility. This religion remained lifeless and unnoticed until it became world-historical, u n t i l spirit h a d traversed the w a y stations t o which this element gave rise and had encountered the other element, the absolutely bounded state, the element that required the boundless, the onefold, as its extreme l i m i t , a requirement i n virtue o f w h i c h t h i s other element emerged in world-historical fashion. The universal or the One can come i n t o consciousness, or arise w i t h i n consciousness, i n a t w o f o l d way. One way is instinctively \unbewusst), as in the case of children, t o w h o m wc say 'God is One' because this is easy t o grasp—and this w a y is abstract. The other w a y is when the One is something required, a result of the multiplicity that is unhappy w i t h i n itself, that is the longing f o r the One. This determination of the One must be i n this t w o f o l d mode. Thus i t [this consciousness] arises as negation of a l l boundedness. I n the world-historical setting this determination arises as result, as demand for boundaries that become too n a r r o w for i t , and i t retreats i n t o boundlessness or i n t o its o w n abstract inwardness. B u t there is also the w a y of immediate ascent, the way of its o w n immediate going-forth o r ascent within the spirit, a w a y that was present in the Jewish people. A n d so there was this ancient religion that t o o k its begiruiings w i t h A b r a h a m , w h o arrived at Brahma, the onefold, the One. H e arrived at this representation of the One by parting ways w i t h a l l t h a t is earthly. We d o n o t k n o w as historical 454
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fact just h o w he arrived at this religion by parting ways w i t h all that is foreign. Because the elevation is immediate, however, it itself is thus constrained and bounded; for elevation t o the One is only then truly unconstrained i f every constraint and fmitude is expressly negated. For the Indians the representation of G o d as the One is itself constrained. We even see t h i s constrained character of immediacy directly i n the Jewish religion, where i t has the feature that the One is not concrete internally and has no content, w i t h the result that the content, w h a t is concrete I or determinate, falls outside this One, and w h a t w e have is the sort of relationship i n w h i c h the One is related externally to the human being as something determinate, w h o constitutes spirit i n its constrained state. Spirit w i l l then be grasped only as this determinate being t o which the One is related. Therefore the O n e has n o t h i n g t o d o w i t h the universal concept of spirit. Instead G o d has t o d o w i t h the singular, the constrained, the finite. Thus God is related just t o these human beings, and so he is only the G o d of the Jewish people.
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I n this r e l i g i o n , however, there is also preserved i n any event the represen ration o f the universal nature of the human being, maintained in the story of the creation a n d fall of human beings. The fact that human beings have been created i n the image of God, and i n pursuit of knowledge have forfeited their natural well-being, the state of paradise, i n virtue of sinning, carries this t w o f o l d message: that human beings arrived at the consciousness and the knowledge o f g o o d a n d of evil. One aspect of this message involves sin; the other, however, is their creation i n the image of G o d , and their having become like G o d , i n k n o w i n g good and evil. A t the same rime, however, n o t o n l y the serpent but G o d himself says: ' A d a m has become like one o f u s ' . This statement becomes true for the first rime in Christ. 4 0
So, represented i n this story is the higher concept of human nature, a perspective o f a higher order, one considering human beings n o t as they are in their natural state but instead according t o their concept, i n their being i n the image of G o d , such that human nature is inherendy one w i t h God. We d o not find representations and thoughts of this sort i n other Oriental representations or i n Greek narratives | and myths. These [biblical] reptesentations are still n o t h i n g extravagant or Oriental; they are reason i n the f o r m of representation. I n the Jewish depiction (Anschauung), however, this narrative just stands alone at the beginning, as m y t h , and remains w i t h o u t consequences; and nowhere i n the O l d Testament d o w e find a backward glance to this concept o f the human being or an allusion t o this story, nowhere an 40. Gen. 3:22 r o d s ; ' T r ^ the Lord God sakl, "fcr^UL t t e rriar. h « beccnoe like one of us, knowing good and e v i l . . . " ' 455
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T H E L E C T U R E S O F 1 822-3 invesngation (Insichgehen) of the essence of the h u m a n being, therefore nowhere a recalling of this concept. O n l y n o w , i n this harsh servitude of fate, does i t come t o pass, only n o w is the meaning acquired, that human beings examine themselves; [this is] the meaning given by the Greeks: ' H u m a n being, k n o w thyself!* N o longer is this just a knowing, and i t does not advance merely t o the stage o f beauty. Instead w h a t is consummated and comes t o universal consciousness via representation, and is grasped as the universal nature of spirit, is t h a t G o d has become human being and thus reconciliation or liberation has come t o pass. That is the liberation that was given i n the Christian religion. We have seen, then, that w h a t has entered i n t o h u m a n consciousness via the Christian religion is [in the first place] the objective nature, o r the objective idea, of G o d . G o d was revealed according t o God's t r u t h . Abstract echoes of Greek philosophy n o w revealed themselves t o human beings i n concrete representation. I n the second place, h u m a n beings discover themselves i n this idea, i n this t r u t h . H u m a n nature is goodness, is spirit. They discover this nature t o be their o w n , and they possess this nature, their authentic essential being, i n the divine determination, more precisely envisaged i n the Son. Therefore human being, as element o f the divine essence, discovers itself as this one i n G o d . Insofar as human beings k n o w themselves as finite, they still d o k n o w themselves as ends in themselves. So, just as the divine idea has w i t h i n itself this crossover t o human being, the human being knows itself as infinity w i t h i n itself, knows itself as, i n this determination, being eternity w i t h i n itself, and indeed eternity not o n l y as a future state b u t rather as a present state. One's true existence | one thus possesses in an infinite inwardness i n opposition t o one's natural existence and w i l l i n g , and one acquires this characteristic of one's existence i n eternity only by one's labor i n breaking t h r o u g h the natural sphere. This breach is the pain o r suffering of nature. E v i l o r wickedness comes i n t o play here as a process of the divine essence itself, is n o w set in m o t i o n , and for that reason the calamity (Vnglikk) is comprehensible whereas previously i t was something incomprehensible, was no more than w h a t is the case (Seiendes). Today the calamity is called 'the fortunate f a l l ' (das Ungiückselige, die Seligkeit des Unglücks). The negative is only negative i n one aspect; conceptually it is the turning about of itself, of the evil and, as self-negating, i t is w h a t is afnrmanve, or positive. This turnabout t o the positive is not the goodness o f the human being based on nature but is instead goodness t h r o u g h its o w n self, through r u m i n g about f r o m evil; it is the engendering of itself f r o m o u t of the negativity; spirit—something inward—atones f o r itself, extricates itself, and acts only on that basis. These are the features o f the religious consciousness. 456
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Consequences of Christianity for Life and the State This highest human consciousness then proves to have w o r l d l y consequences and determines itself i n different ways i n relation to existence. So here w e begin f r o m thought and proceed t o existence. T h e first consequence for actuality is that slavery is ruled out i n Christianity; for, as Christians, human beings are considered according to w h a t they are inherently, and they are inherendy posited as something absolutely valuable, are taken u p i n t o the divine nature. Accordingly they are, in God, looked upon in a w h o l l y universal way, and all private concerns fall t o the wayside. They count n o t as Greeks, Romans, Brahmans, or Jews, as high or l o w class; instead | they have irifinite w o r t h as human beings and, i n and f o r themselves, they are destined for freedom. Insofar as Christianity is actually practiced, it can have no slavery. One must not, however, seek the backing of external history, for instance by saying that slavery was n o t abolished by councils, a n d the like; the fact that slavery still exists today is no more pertinent than is the external way in which it has ceased. Slavery is not something t h a t was done away w i t h by kings; instead, Christianity has ended i t . The a b o l i t i o n is worldly, b u t Christianity is the true humanity. For the external mode of the phenomenon is not the t r u t h [about i t ] . The second consequence, furthermore, is that the forms of ethical life have been changed [by this consciousness]. The beautiful ethical life of the Greeks cannot be present i n Christianity. W h a t is n o w ethical can be ethics a n d custom t o o , insofar as it comes f r o m w i t h i n , albeit proceeding from the One; for subjectivity has n o w become free and justified. One mode of subjectivity is private interest and caprice, and the other mode is authentic, inner, spiritual subjectivity. W i t h Christianity, however, the private interest that previously appears o n l y as corruption n o w becomes free t o o . I n this w a y Christianity indeed rids itself of contingency; but for that reason subjectivity still has its inner restraint. Everything external receives its significance t h r o u g h spirit, albeit as an externality, and i t need not be the simple, compliant expression of what is internal. I n any event the external feature i n the essence of action loses its value; the w o r t h of external existence as sheerly external, becomes insignificant a n d takes on the f o r m of something merely external. W h a t is pertinent here is that everything is mediated by tree w i l l , p a r t l y by the m i n d [Gemüt) as such, partly by the particular w n - , u s t as well by w h a t is advantageous as by general interests. Individuality no longer should be sacrificed; particular interest i n limited purpose should be valid for its o w n sake. But there is also present the spmtual, 1 higher inwardness, a n d genuine inwardness calls even more so for .ts o w n law.
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The t h i r d consequence is the establishment o f t w o w o r l d s : a supersensible, spiritual w o r l d in virtue o f the truthfulness of subjectivity, one that, as belonging t o subjective consciousness, is however at the same time temporal, one that has, and enters i n t o , determinate existence, one that stands o n earth and binds itself t o that existence, giving itself validity as the church and, i n another aspect, as the secular w o r l d , the state, which is i n the m a i n set under the regime o f f k i t u d e . So there are therefore t w o lands o f states: one that is eternal w i t h i n time, and another that embodies w o r l d l y purposes.
secure nature, sufficient w i t h i n itself, as is that external nature that stands over against self-consciousness, that abides on its o w n account even though the m i n d does not understand i t . The subject must subordinate itself t o the state as a power over i t . I n thus developing itself as this b u l w a r k , the state must be rational i n itself, even i f subjective opinion o r private interests do not acknowledge that. I t must be inherendy just, also more o r less insightfully so, such that the concept can find its satisfaction i n i t . Therefore rationality, the concept, must n o w be realized i n the state.
A f o u r t h consequence is the issue as t o w h a t is n o w the idea of the state, that is, w h a t political constitution is its goal. We have t o examine the political constitution o f the w o r l d l y state. I t is clear at the outset that this constitution cannot be Oriental despotism. Ethical life and right cannot exist at the behest o f external command or decree, any more than their link w i t h nature can be the Oriental mode of that l i n k . The h u m a n being is inwardly free; this freedom is t o be gained and maintained by one's o w n efforts, and it cannot be subverted i n t o the mode of external c o m m a n d . N o r is there the unselfconscious unity o f the ethical freedom o f Greek democracy, such that my o w n w i l l is immediately identical w i t h the w i l l of the state, that subjectivity is simply a t one w i t h the objectivity of the state. Rather, m y o w n subjective w i l l is n o w i n an i n w a r d condition that is explicitly its o w n . N o r is there the sort of servitude that exists under the constrained a n d finite purpose of the Roman aristocracy. Internal u n i t y n o w has an infinite purpose. Therefore, t o this extent the w o r l d l y a u t h o r i t y has its place i n w h a t is external, quite apart from the church, and w i t h i n its o w n d o m a i n it can no longer exercise control over morality, ethical life, a n d f a m i l y relationships, and can no longer offer up sacrifices and oppress as i t d i d in the R o m a n world. I
W h a t f o l l o w s f r o m these essential elements is that, by the state developing itself w i t h this nature, and w i t h i n the state as this implicidy and explicitly necessary w o r l d , all the elements of the idea are, i n their independence, | given b i r t h , are emergent, and are fully developed. A n d this totality of organization is the principle of monarchy of modern times. I n monarchy all the determinations of the idea by w h i c h freedom actualizes itself are thus w o r k e d out i n this way, are present i n the mode of one nature, such that each element is posited as independent power and at the same time is an organ o f the w h o l e organism.
Obedience t o the secular order, t o the secular d o m i n i o n , must n o w be a matter of negotiation w i t h i n d i v i d u a l , subjective purpose, i n virtue o f the fact t h a t the private interest o f individuals, the particular inner w i l l , like the higher spiritual w i l l maintains its o w n advantage a n d its o w n satisfaction w i t h i n the secular d o m i n i o n . For that reason also the l a w and the state must be inherently justified i n their purposes, must be independent of private interests a n d particular opinion. For the very reason that i t lends itself t o being made a vehicle f o r private interests, the state must be strong for its o w n sake, must be a w o r l d of external, actual necessity, strong f o r its o w n sake; i t must be able to accommodate this adoption o f private interests i n it, but i n such a way that at the same time the private interests w i t h i n i t are satisfied. Therefore the state must be a system that does n o t stand directly i n need of w h a t is moral, of immediate ethical life, o f religiosity; it must be of a 45*
The other observation concerns h o w such a state comes into being i n history. This o r i g i n is necessarily 'romantic', namely, taking place in such a way that w h a t occurs t o w a r d this end occurs as though unconsciously, seeming t o constitute something happening by chance; for this o r i g i n takes on the shape of external necessity. None of the modem states have had the privilege o f f r a m i n g a constitution f o r themselves i n the way that was done in such ancient states as Athens [and Sparta], under Solon and Lycurgus, o r in Rome, f o r instead all of the m o d e m states seem t o have brought themselves about by chance. This need [for a constitution] made itself evident and was satisfied by various laws. Particular passions and interests o f princes, o f social groups, o f cities, and the like, have given rise to these features, and the arrogation by various sectors of power over one another has abated. The whole t h a t came about i n this way, the purpose that spirit has, the need that spirit feels, assembles itself out of such single components—peaceably, i n part by imposition of power. The opposite [ancient mode] emerges a i l at once, where the w h o l e has become evident. So these are the w o r l d l y consequences of the Christian religion. The development of these consequences constitutes history u p t o the most recent time, and w e ourselves are situated w i t h i n this development. We have still t o recall the chief elements of the external mode of this development. I
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So we n o w have t o proceed t o the appearing of t h i s development. The Christian religion came into being during the era of the Roman w o r l d , although not among the Romans themselves but instead in a different people, one that the w o r l d spirit determined to be the bearer of this principle. That is because the different principles o f the idea, i n their existing, do so essentially i n a different n a t i o n . This principle cannot develop itself i n the Romans themselves; instead a N o r d i c people is bearer of this idea. We saw the Roman Empire and its principle progress internally t o the universal d o m i n i o n o f a b l i n d w i l l of this one, of something devoid of reason, something barren and abstract—to a d o m i n i o n o r an order that is an abstract and irrational order. Linked to this d o m i n i o n o f this one is the fact t h a t the different subjects exist as abstract persons that stand o n l y i n legal relationships [ t o one another I . The t h i r d epoch o f the Roman Empire is the one in which the Roman w o r l d comes into contact w i t h t h i s world-historical people, and via this contact meets its d o w n f a l l . The R o m a n Empire perishes. Its d o w n f a l l has three characteristics. There is its o w n corruption that i t bears w i t h i n itself, and t h r o u g h w h i c h i t turns back w i t h i n itself and destroys itself by the dereliction of spirit o n the part o f private individuals, i n that subjectivity remains static w i t h particular, private pleasures and interests, and isolates all persons. So the whole is something devoid of spirit, a phenomenon devoid of essential being, a spiridess corpse i n w h i c h there is a lot o f movement, but only by the worms. Avarice and a l l sorts o f depravity are the drivers of private caprice; all the forces of private interest are unleashed a n d end u p w i t h the f o r m u l a of private rights.
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The second feature is that spirit w i t h d r a w s i n t o itself as i n t o something higher, on the one hand i n the philosophies of Stoicism and so o n , and o n the other hand ) i n Christianity. Both undermine the status q u o and are the revolutionary element over against the R o m a n w o r l d . But they are not merely w h a t is negative vis-à-vis the c o r r u p t i o n ; instead the Christian religion is the positive element f r o m w h i c h emerges what ensues, the new w o r l d . The t h i r d feature is the d o w n f a l l as i t comes upon the Roman w o r l d externally, through the onrush o f foreign peoples, N o r d i c and eastern barbarians of the mass migrations w h o , l i k e a river, gushed f o r t h over the Roman Empire, something no dam can any longer w i t h s t a n d . Since these Nordic and eastern barbarians were called 'Gerrnanen', the world-historical people is now the Germanic people.
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The Germanic World INTRODUCTION The Idea and Historical Particularity This topic presents a number of difficulties. M o r e recent history involves the subjective difficulty that we are n o t able to approach it as impartially as we can the distant past. The greater difficulty is the objective one that in history we have here b o t h the idea as such and the particularity f r o m w h i c h fulfillment o f the absolute final end is t o emerge. The objective difficulty is due to the fact that the ends of the particular, subjective w i l l are satisfied here. The t w o sides cannot be united f r o m the beginning. Rather to begin w i t h they are essentially different and yet mediated by each other: the object is mediated by the subjectivity of the w i l l a n d the satisfaction of the parricularities, which also can only achieve their end by conforming w i t h the absolute. The ultimate goal is the unification o f the in-and-for-itself (Anundfiirsichsein) and the particular ends. | 1
Initially, the particularity cannot yet coalesce entirely w i t h the absolute final end; rather, the particular ends are still distinct, and the particular w i l l does not immediately recognize its absolute end and is engaged in a struggle. While the particular w i l l desires this end, it does not recognize this drive, its authentic inner nature; i t thrashes about in particular ends and hence is in conflict w i t h itself. I n this conflict it fights against that w h i c h it truly desires, and thus i t effects the absolute itself by fighting against it. The effective agent is then the particular w i l l , w h i c h initially has finite ends. W h a t is aumenric is the c o n d i t i o n o f being driven t o w a r d an absolute final end. The w i l l is driven
1. What Hegel writes about the tension between the idea as such and the particularity of hs means is true of history generally, but i t applies in a special way to European history because the subjectivity of will now becomes predominant. The first subsection reflects on how providence achieve* its end via the 'recalcitrant volition' of peoples, and it discusses some general characteristics of the Germanic world, such as the relationship between the independence and the unity of states. The next subsection describes bow Europe was forged out of a union of Romance, Germanic, and Slavic peoples (although the latter play virtually no role in Hegel's scenario, to say nothing of other ethnic groups such as Finns and Hungarians). On Hegel's we of the terms 'Germanic world' (gemamschf Web), 'Germanic peoples' (Gemtanen), 'German*: principle' (gerrrumisches Prmzip), etc., see the Introduction to these lectures, n. 79 (above, p. 208). One of his principal sources for the earlier material in this period is Tacitus, Germanm. For later material he draws upon Karl Friedrich Eichbom, Deutsche Stoats- tad RechUgcschkhte, 4 vols. (Gothngen, 1808-23), and Johann Stephan Putter, TeuUche fleicJxgeuJncbte in ihrem Hattptfaden entttnckeh, 3rd edn. (Gotringen, 1793).
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by that w h i c h is true; however, this being d r i v e n , this drive, is at first obscure; hence we are often forced t o judge what has happened in just the opposite way f r o m h o w it appears to be i n the history of peoples. What constitutes a people's misfortune, that w h i c h was their l o t , both the people and history termed their greatest good fortune, while good fortune was being combated as the greatest misfortune. The French say, La vérité, en la repoussant, on l'embrasse [ i n repulsing truth one embraces i t ] . This is seen i n European history t o the extent that i t arrives at its final end only by rejecting the t r u t h . This is w h a t Europe has done—it is modern humanity exhausting itself i n the bloodiest snuggles. Thus the w i l l of the modern w o r l d is clouded; t r u t h resides i n the background; and the w i l l battles against the in-and-for-itself, toiling and fmding satisfaction at the point where often the opposite of the truth is t o be found.
440
This history shows very clearly that the idea in the mode of providence ruled—providence as a veiled inner p o w e r {emgebulltes Inneres) that achieves its end and prevails v i a the recalcitrant v o l i t i o n of the peoples— so that w h a t it achieves and w h a t the peoples desire are often at odds. W i t h the Greeks and Romans the idea is not as separated [ f r o m the w i l l of the people]; I they are more correctly and t r u l y aware of, and d o not misunderstand, what they desire and ought t o d o . Associated w i t h more recent history is the fact that conditions appear to be contingent, a shifting o f many-faceted events, w h i c h have a n d produce an end result that, w h i l e indeed the inner drive [of the idea], appears t o be miraculous since the goal of these conditions was veiled. N o w let us consider the sigmficance o f this circumstance. Events and chance occurrences have a very different significance and status. Extravagant special occurrences or events wherein the greatest genius reveals itself can, w h e n seen f r o m the perspective of the idea, appear t o be insignificant a n d must be relegated to the status o f truly unimportant because they produce no result. T h i s is the case w i t h w h a t w i l l appear here as external history. Should w e wish t o apply further the character of the Roman w o r l d t o the [more recent] states, we discover that this character contributes t o the formanon of the free particularity of states, but i n such a w a y that they still have a unity a n d connection. This is the basic characteristic o f modern times. The first aspect is t h a t the states strive f o r sovereignty, f o r independence f r o m one another, and consider this their foremost glory. Europe shares this tenaciousness w i t h the Greek w o r l d . I n this regard, history must consider the formation o f the particular states w i t h respect to the opposition of church and state, and also the aspect o f the f o r m o f government. Despite their wide range of differences, all of these states still exhibit a congruity in all the 462
THE G E R M A N I C
WORLD
Germanic principles. Because of this congruity, their independence must be seen as merely f o r m a l | i n principle and in law. There is not, as is the case w i t h Greece a n d Persia, an absolute difference. The Christian states are only formally distinct f r o m one another Each state, even if subject t o o r incorporated i n t o another, loses its independence only formally, but not its religion and laws, i.e. w h a t is concrete. The extent to w h i c h this principle [of independence] is not merely f o r m a l depends on other conditions. The second aspect regarding this independence is the orientation of the states w i t h respect t o their unity. As particular, states have an orientation t o w a r d each other, a relationship, w h i c h results i n wars, hostility, and dynastic alliances. This orientation is a special k i n d of relationship. But the orientation of the states t o w a r d general unity corresponds t o w h a t was hegemony w i t h the Greeks. I n Europe, however, the aspect o f hegemony is that of the spirit, w h i c h seeks a distinctive k i n d of unity, such as was seen under Charlemagne and i n the Crusades, and i n more recent times as the H o l y Alliance. These t w o orientations, that of a particular relationship and that of general unity, are the t w o essential aspects; and the relationship between independence and unity tilts n o w i n one direction, and n o w i n the other. The t h i r d aspect of these t w o factors [independence and unity] is that once again a l l the states of Europe relate t o the outside w o r l d as a single unity. The Christian states as a whole have an outward orientation. U p t o now, the periods [of w o r l d history] involved relating to an earlier and a later world-historical people. But now, w i t h the Christian religion, the principle of the w o r l d is complete; the day of judgment has dawned f o r i t . The church does indeed p o i n t t o the beyond; i t is i n part 1 a preparation for the future. But eternity is a future only for private concerns, for individuals as particular. The church, however, also has the Spirit of G o d present w i t h i n i t ; it says t o sinners, 'Your sins are forgiven y o u ' , and they live happily o n earth as i n heaven. So individuals have enjoyment, satisfaction [Genuß). The only 2
2. In the Philosophy of Right, § 340 (Elements of the Philosophy of Right, tt H . B. Nisbet (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1991), 371), Hegel famously refers to world history as world judgment (die Weltgeschichte ist das Weltgericht). The reference is also found ID the Introduction to the Lectures of 1822-3 (see n. 32). Hegel is quoting from the penultimate stanu of Friedrich Schiller's poem 'Resignation' (1786), but his meaning is different. For Hegel, world judgment occurs wben the universal spirit of the world exercises its right, wruch is the highest right of all, through the dialectic of finite spirits in world history. The expression m the present passage is der jüngste Tag (or das jüngste Gericht, below, p. 503). The day of ludgment dawns when the universal principle of history, the concept of freedom, is fully actualized. Gebebt (iudgment) entail, the accomplishing of Recht (justice, right). However, 'dawning" seems to imply the beginning, not the completion of a process.
463
T H E LECTURES OF 1822-3
THE GERMANIC WORLD
rcUtionship mat the Christian w o r l d , as i n w a r d l y consurnmate, can have w i t h the outside w o r l d is relative; and, regarding this relationship, i t must be clarified t h a t the outside w o r l d is intrinsically overcome. For the Christian w o r l d , this relationship t o the outside is currently the w o r l d [ o f I s l a m ] . Islam n o w exists as only an inessential m o m e n t . T h e Christian w o r l d has circumnavigated the globe a n d dominates i t . For Europeans the w o r l d is round, and w h a t is n o t yet dominated is either n o t w o r t h the e f f o r t , of no value t o rule, or yet destined t o be ruled. O u t w a r d relarionships n o longer constitute epochs, are n o longer the determinative factor; the essential revolutions occur inwardly. These are the three aspects t h a t generally come under consideration.
Historically, mass migrations constitute the beginning. These w i l l not be considered here i n detail. They involve a surge of one people after another, peoples of Romance origins (romantiscb), a tidal flowing and ebbing t o no effect. T h e other peoples w h o establish something enduring are n o Asians but are Germans, coming f r o m n o r t h of the Danube and east o f the Rhine, attracted i n p a r t by the cultured w o r l d that they eventually vanquished. I As early as the Battle of Pharsalus, Germanic mercenaries made the decisive difference. They became acquainted w i t h the good things of this [cultured] w o r l d , w i t h its amenities, its religion and laws. I n part, however, these peoples were forcibly driven west and south by Asian peoples.
3
The Beginning of Europe: Three Groups of N a t i o n s Before w e consider the plan of the w h o l e , w e are led t o consider the nature o f the beginning, first i n regard t o the R o m a n a n d then t o the Germanic w o r l d . As f o r the Roman w o r l d , i t is characteristic of the beginning t h a t n o people of a more advanced nature succeeds the previous principle, breaks in upon the Roman w o r l d ; rather, i t is wave u p o n wave o f barbarians w h o bring r u i n . I n the | R o m a n w o r l d w e n o w find complete disintegration, an entirely abstract externality that is n o w invaded and t o p p l e d by a n entirely abstract intensity. Cultured Greece does honor t o the Asian w o r l d b y subjugating i t , as the cultured Roman w o r l d [ i n turn] h o n o r s the Greek. The subjugation that n o w follows is different i n that i t occurs t h r o u g h veiled intensity rather t h a n unveiled externality. The beginning of the Germanic w o r l d is also determined by the consideration that after Greece a cultured, world-historical people cannot emerge i n patriarchal fashion or start f r o m patriarchal conditions. W h i l e the Greeks banded together on the basis of a m i t y a n d the Romans abstractly as predators, t w o absolutely different principles operate w i t h the Germanic peoples. The whole h a d t o be fashioned o u t of a t w o f o l d , absolutely distinctive and disparate culture. This disparate dissimilarity marks the beginning. Three m a i n configurations take shape i n this regard: first the Western, [second] t h a t of Germany, and t h i r d the Eastern, the Slavic. 3. On Islam, see the Introduction to these lectures, above, p. 187, incl. n . 51. I n the 1824 Uctut* on the Phdosophy of Religion (Oxford, 2007), i i i . 242-«, Hegel refers to Islam as the only contemporary religious rival to Christianity, the antithesis to what he regards t o be the consummate religion- [vollemdeU Religion). He seems to have been particularly concerned about Islam in t i e early 1820s because the Greek War of Independence from the Ottoman Empire was occurring at the time. The relationship with Islam is discussed further below (see pp. 474-7.492-41.
464
4
We shall n o w mention briefly the kingdoms that arose [ i n Europe]. One part of these lands, their western a n d southern regions i n which w o r l d history is well-versed, are those that Romans had long possessed and developed in culture, commerce, arts, and life. A m o n g them were Spain, Portugal, and France, areas where the Alemanni and Suevian [Swabian] peoples had settled by the end of the sixth century. O f note later is the kingdom of the Franks, w h o pushed into France f r o m the lower Rhine and lower Germany and established themselves there. The t h i r d is Britain, to w h i c h the Angles and Saxons were d r a w n , a n d also i n part the Normans, w h o ravaged all the coasts o f Europe o r settled there. Further, Italy must be mentioned; here the k i n g d o m o f the Ostrogoths achieved greatness and splendor under Theodoric and T o t i l a , because the greatness o f the Romans and their culture seemed t o meld w i t h foreign elements, but had no staying power. I t vanished w i t h a flicker, t o r n f r o m w i t h i n , and the Lombards f r o m Pannonia, a Gothic tribe o f Scandinavian coastal o r i g i n , succeeded them and established themselves. The Goths can be traced f r o m Scandinavia as they moved [southward], invading first the eastern and then the western Roman Empire. Later, the Lombardian k i n g d o m was subjugated by the Franks, and lower Italy by the Normans; and soon the church also gained and maintained independent holdings. | T h e Franks founded a Burgundian kingdom, w h i c h later formed a buffer zone between France and Germany. Characteristic of a l l these countries is that they underwent an intermingling of barbarians w i t h cultured inhabitants. One of the m a i n results o f this enormous contrast—a contrast that the barbarians made less striking because they ravaged everything, destroying most elements of civilization—was that i n Italy there were t w o nations, w h i c h however coalesced into one.
4. Caesar defeated Pompey at Pharsahis (in Thessafy) i n 48 BC with the help of barbarian tribes. The events are recounted in an epic poem by Lucan. 465
T H E LECTURES
Germany, by contrast, remained apart o n its o w n terms. O n l y along its borders, o n the Neckar and the Danube, had i t been R o m a n . Farther to the east and the n o r t h , Germany had remained free, an integral n a t i o n (in sick eine Nation), although not a state, not a [political] w h o l e : a n a t i o n , i.e.. integral, not u n i f o r m , such that one [people] was i n each land—the Alemanni, Thuringians, Bavarians, Saxons, etc., each being distinctive. Farther east, along the Elbe, Slavic nations were t o be f o u n d , and between them, through Saxony, Bavaria, and f r o m the south, came later incursions of Hungarians, Magyars. Farther east, t o the west of Greece, are the Russians; to the southeast the Albanians, Alans, and Bulgarians—of Asian o r i g i n , Asian barbarians—who remained there. M u c h has been lost and little retained of the thrusts a n d counterthrusts of these peoples. As part of the East, this Slavic element does not come into the realm of history; even today the East is an inwardly concentrated entity.
«6
w e shall n o w examine more closely the distinctive features o f the states. One group of states or nations took f o r m out of R o m a n and Germanic natural elements. The entire intellectual existence o f the desiring and selfconscious life is | thus at its roots bifurcated. The difference established here is most easily seen in the language, w h i c h exhibits an intenningling o f early Roman and even older indigenous elements w i t h Germanic elements. This language can be designated as Romance, and, i n addition t o Italy, i t is found i n France, Spain, and Portugal. The roots of the other group of states are essentially unmixed: these three are Germany, Scandinavia, a n d Britain (the latter, as an island, saw R o m a n culture penetrate o n l y along its borders). T h e invading Saxons engaged more w i t h the indigenous people; they intermingled w i t h the people they encountered, whose k i n g was Arthur of Wales—a people w i t h w h o m they were more homogeneous. The Romans had already w i t h d r a w n f r o m B r i t a i n f o r t y years before the Saxons arrived; the latter first conquered K e n t a n d then Cornwall in the t w e l f t h century. The N o r m a n invasion came later [than the Saxon]. Nonetheless, this was an intermingling of essentially homogeneous elements. The character of these peoples, their basic characteristic, is an undivided, unruptured unity of culture—an unbroken inwardness o r subfectivity. This inwardness is t o be seen historically especially at the beginning, hut as a matter o f necessity i t is less prominent in the fermentation, in the development [that ensues]. However, the difference between these t w o groups of states, as seen i n subsequent matters, remains undeniable.
447
Such factors as religion and laws are evident earlier w i t h the first g r o u p . are disseminated prior t o Christianity, | just as the political consrimtion is established earlier t o o , because they are an amalgam of barbarians a n d 466
THE GERMANIC WORLD
OF 1822-3
cultured peoples. The legal statutes of the Ostrogoths were set d o w n as early as the fifth century. Thus, overall, these peoples are culturally more advanced by several centuries. I n regard t o literature, the second group is more distinctive; by contrast, France, Italy, and Spain all look back to R o m a n literature. In Germany it was not until later that the great writers emerged; but this second group of stares remains distinctive. This difference is then a fundamental difference that becomes ever more striking toward the end because mature culture is simply the emergence of the principles in all their d e p t h . I n later times these differences manifest themselves the most decisively.
THE
PERIODS
OF THE HISTORY
OF THE GERMANIC
WORLD
Also t o be n o t e d here are the epochs o f the history that lie before us. W e have already indicated that the beginning is the mass m i g r a t i o n of peoples. F o l l o w i n g this, three periods are |to be distinguished]: 5
[1] [The first epoch is] the rule of Charlemagne over the Franks, over the universal k i n g d o m , over the all-inclusive empire o f the Germanic peoples, w h i c h then together constitute the [ H o l y ] Roman Empire. Insofar as the Germanic k i n g d o m is considered t o be the kingdom of this totality, we can recognize here the specific repetition of earlier elements, w h i c h previously occurred independendy of one another. So earlier epochs can also be discerned here. Thus the empire of Charlemagne is comparable t o the Persian Empire, the epitome of authoritarian rule; it is closer t o the realm of substantial unity, w h i c h here no longer has the Oriental meaning b u t is rather a u n i t y of temperament, an unselfconscious unity of the intellectualspiritual w i t h the ecclesiastical-secular. | 6
[ 2 ] The second epoch is the second f o r m of unity, which, i n contrast to the first, 'real' unity, is to be defined or designated as the 'ideal' unity. I t is the age of the great Spanish monarchy of Charles V , and even more of the period before h i m w h e n the real unity no longer existed. Here all particularity has become fixed—the various kingdoms, states, and their distinctive classes 7
5. The periods (early medieval, medieval, and modern) are summarized here in very compact and abstract form as three types of unity (real, ideal, and universal) and are ccmpared with earlier periods of world history: Persian, Greek, and Roman6. Kong of the Franks from 768 to 814; Holy Roman emperor from 800 to 814. 7. Charles V (1500-58) was, as Charles i , king of Spain 1516-56 and, as Charles V, Holy Roman emperor 1519-58.
467
THE
w i t h their particular situations and privileges. Since the real u n i t y has disintegrated, outer relationships are purely external-political. Thus the relationship is diplomatic; n o state can exist w i t h o u t the others. The n o t i o n arises of the balance of power i n Europe. This u n i t y is purely external or ideal, i n the subordinate s^nifkance o r the sense that the higher o r ideal unity is that of spirit, is w h a t proceeds from spirit; spirit goes back i n t o itself, away f r o m the passion and apathy of consciousness—reverts to the p o i n t i n rime at w h i c h the w o r l d becomes transparent, i n its external extent too. A t this point the discovery o f America occurs. Religion interprets and transfigures itself in a r t , becomes transparent t o itself i n the sensible element. But, i n contrast, religion also then becomes transparent to itself exclusively in the element of the innermost spirit, i n the Reformation. This period, this epoch, can be compared w i t h the Greek w o r l d in the age of Pericles. Just as Pericles can be compared t o Leo X , so too can the inferiority of Socrates be compared t o Luther. O f course, there is n o Pericles presiding over this age. 8
•W9
THE
L E C T U R E S OF 1822-3
Charles V had astounding material means at his disposal, but he lacked what made Pericles a ruler: he lacked the inner spirit, the absolute means f o r ruling freely. This period is thus the ideal unity, the process of spirit becoming transparent t o itself. This is the epoch o f real separation, a n d here is I where the au^ady-indicated differences i n the Germanic w o r l d emerge. [ 3 ] The t h i r d period is that of modernity, w h i c h w e could compare w i t h the R o m a n w o r l d , f o r i t exhibits a unify o f the universal but not a hegemony of abstract universaUty; rather, i t exhibits a hegemony of self-conscious thought—thought that wills and knows the universal and rules the w o r l d . N o w this universal is the intelligible end (verständige Zweck) t h a t governments achieve. The intelligible end of the state is at hand. Privileges disappear or dissolve i n the face of this end; peoples gain the consciousness of, a n d are entided t o , vrilhhg n o t privilege but w h a t is right i n a n d f o r itself. Thus it is n o t treaties (Traktate) that h o l d peoples together; rather treaties now rest o n fundamental principles. Similarly, religion can put u p w i t h thought, the comprehending of absolute being. O r if i t does not, religion can manage w i t h o u t having achieved thought, the absolute concept, a n d i t can w i t h d r a w f r o m the externality of the reflecting understanding into the identity of feeling, into f a i t h ; but i n d o i n g so it can also proceed t o the point of superstition, since this identity occurs either because of shallowness o r because o f a higher need, a despair i n regard to thought. The very need, however, has then been produced by thought. 8. Bom Giovanni de' Medici, he was pope 1513-21 and became mvolvtd m early coono versjes with Lurher. 468
GERMANIC WORLD
These, then, are the three periods. W i t h this continuing development of unity as such, the outer relationship also develops, but it no longer determines the epochs. T h e elements of this relationship w i l l be elaborated upon later a n d specified briefly at the appropriate point. |
THE
PREPARATION
OF THE EARLY
MIDDLE
*50
ACES
9
C o m m o n a l i t y and Individuality First we shall review the elements of the beginning up until the first epoch. The ancient p e r i o d , w h e n the Germanic peoples lay outside the sphere of w o r l d history, w i l l not be mentioned. We began directly by delimiting the epoch at the p o i n t where the Germanic peoples lived by themselves outside the context of w o r l d history; and we have not treated the distinction among the Germanic peoples that was apparent to the peoples themselves. The essential aspect for the Alemanni tribes was the commonality o f association for the sole purpose o f securing the necessities of life and o u t w a r d relations by contrast, each group of the Saxons isolated itself and remained entrenched u n t i l the Franks became their intermediary. This long-standing distinction is due t o the uncultured condition and is its natural consequence. The genuine distinction is based o n the circumstances o f their unification that we already indicated. Both c o m m o n a l i t y (Getneinsarnketi) and individualization (Veremzehmg) are p a r t o f the concrete situation. The abstract distinction between isolation (Isolierung) and commonality must combine i n t o one. The outw a r d ciraimstances already necessitate the disposition to seek commonality. This c o m m o n bond, w h i c h previously exhibited itself more i n just one aspect o f the Germanic peoples, must even be a common feature of every people m outside relations. W i t h the Germanic peoples, this orientation o u t w a r d stems f r o m an independent streak, f r o m a free affiliation w i t h a leader, this, then, is the origin of the disparity mentioned above of remaining m the homeland versus migrating. So the Germanic people g r o w in numbers: we see East a n d West Franks i n France, Suevian and Alemanni tribes i n Spam and Germany, Saxons i n England and Germany; also Normans in Denmark,
9. Trus semen covers the penod from the fall of the Roman £ ^ * * > > Charlemagne (800-14). Hegel dscusses the r e l a t K ^ p between
"J*!***?
-ty fr«doml, the latter being the disttnguishrrtg ^ ^ ^ e T S l ^ ^ S ^ •s concerned with relations between rhe Ocodem and the Onent, the latter now bong oom, l
nated by Islam (see below, n. 14). 469
THE
LECTURES
OF 1822-3
who remained where they were I a n d , as knights of the sea, also in t u r n ravaged the shores of all o f Europe, settling t h e i r tribes everywhere. As different as their fates initially were—namely, t h a t some o f the tribes migrated while others remained where they were—common to a l l the Germanic peoples was t h i s goal, this advance f r o m their initial circumstances, however different these might have been. The c o m m o n goal of b o t h groups was t o evolve i n t o a state. The three characteristics that we first saw in this development t o w a r d a state and t o w a r d constitutionality must here o f necessity j o i n together in a concrete life. The first, independent characteristic is the development of commonality, which single individuals initiate, but w h i c h does n o t deprive t h e m o f their individuality o f w i l l . The second characteristic is the development t h r o u g h and t o a focal point, a sovereign, a king, d o w n w a r d f r o m w h o m o r u p w a r d toward w h o m this development proceeds, and f r o m w h o m the cohesion emanates. The t h i r d characteristic is the specific w a y of mediating b o t h aspects, the freedom of the single ones, of individuals, and the unity of the whole. These three elements w i l l n o w be examined m o r e closely. The first characteristic was the independence of individuals, and i t concerns Germany. Germany has always had free individuals; its peoples have always been famous f o r their freedom, and have been understood t o be so i n contrast t o other peoples. I n this regard the Romans immediately perceived the Germans t o contrast w i t h themselves. Freedom has always been the banner of the Ciermans. The T h i r t y Years War, the | Peace o f Westphalia, the alliance of princes against Joseph I I — a l l of these elements emanated from the principle of freedom. This was the social c o n d i t i o n . As the freedom of individuals evolves into a social element, at the infancy of statehood this development can only lead t o assemblies o f the peoples, the members o f which were all free, a n d who conferred about each and every matter. Hence, we sec w i t h the German peoples—both w i t h those w h o stayed in their homeland and w i t h those w h o streamed outwards—gatherings and c o m m u nities that were allied for all needs and circumstances i n respect to meadows, forests, fields, territories, even property and the application of the laws; the communities were also the judges. 1 0
W i t h respect to civil law, one circumstance particularly disnnguishing the Germanic peoples merits notice, namely t h a t homicide could be discharged or compensated by paying a fine. This is n o t punishment, nor is i t based on blood vengeance as found i n the Oriental w o r l d ; rather w e see here that the
THE
GERMANIC WORLD
positive existence of individuals was the main feature, the overbearing concern—that the free person should continue in the people's assembly as he was before, n o matter w h a t he may have done or w h a t he w i l l e d ; he had o n l y t o make expiation. Today this applies t o honor. N o matter what someone has done, i t does not require that he be vilified. Thus this absolutely concrete value of the individual is here a major characteristic. Just as these associations deliberated u p o n matters of law, so too the people's assembly deliberated u p o n general subjects. They were freely allied as under A n r u n i u s . The individual as a particularsubjectivity isindependentand | ultimate.The fact that the people's assembly validated the individual as particular is a fundamental t r a i t that Tacitus described, and i t was still apparent i n the M a r c h Days o f the Franks and later at the Imperial German Diet. 11
The second element validating the individual is the formation of free, enduring focal points: sovereigns, commanders-in-chief, kings. The format i o n of such a focus, even if due t o the external factor of b i r t h , arose o u t of a voluntary f o l l o w i n g o n the part of individuals. I t is a bond o f fealty (Tr«w|, for fealty is the banner second t o freedom on the part of the Germanic peoples. They freely attach themselves t o a person [Subfekt] and enter his service; this attachment, this characteristic fealty of the Germanic peoples, lends h o n o r t o an individual and makes this relationship something unconditional a n d unbreakable. This relationship was not found w i t h either the Romans or the Greeks. Orestes and Pylades are only a single case, more a relationship o f tender friendship t h a n of service. The kings d i d n o t serve Agamemnon b u t rather joined w i t h him for specific purposes. The principle of fealty is thus a principle o f the modem w o r l d : f r o m one's mnermost m i n d and heart to be i n association w i t h another subject. The sett, this innermost personality, is w h a t individuals ought to be drawn t o . The relationship m u s t , then, be i n the mode of subjectivity; that is, one sub,ecr must be placed above the other. Whenever action is required, individuals must be i n charge. Thus this relationship of fealty is the second banner, which above
east of the Rhine toward the Elbe. Tadtus glorified him as the noble torba^ 12. On Tacitus, see German*, tf 11-15 (Germany, ^ ¿ 1999), 25-9). The "March Days of * e Franks' tefers to the ^ ^ ^ ^ ± when the ordinances of the king were published and gained approval f r o m *
^
470
^ ^ ^ ^ » ^ 3 S ^ -
JTct^^
nally the meeting was convened for the calends of March but even early summer. See Alessandro Barbero, Otarterna^e: father of a Contment, u. Auan Cameron (Berkeley, Los Angeles, and London, ^ i ^ T ' ^ ^ Clvteiunes13. i n Greek mythology, PyUdes helped his ^ ^ 7 ^ A^^m tra, after she and her lover had slain Agamemnon. On the rdanoowup o> 5
m The Thirty Wax (1616-»8)eoded whfc thePeace of Westphalu; Joseph II was Holy Roman emperor 1765-90.
453
non at Troy, see above, pp. 379-80. 471
m
'
454
T H E L E C T U R E S OF 1 8 2 2 - 3
THE GERMANIC WORLD
all points outward whenever the necessity arises. Undertakings directed outwardly naturally involve the relationship of fealty. )
assumed by the life of the state—which for this very reason is no life of the
The purpose, then, is not t h a t of maintaining and defending w h a t is; rather, it is an orientation t o w a r d , o r an attack o n , something external. The authority (Spitze) that forms d u r i n g a conquest becomes p o w e r f u l i n itself. This authority is in charge of its o w n and becomes master over the conquered. U p o n being vanquished, the conquered must be held i n check; they must yield t o the authority and appeal t o the conqueror. T h i s makes the conqueror even more powerful. Thus an authority, a center is f o r m e d , w h i c h handles matters and distributes goods. Subordinates are necessarily a p a r t o f this arrangement. Here we see t w o ways o f relating. The first is that the individual is a member of his company of associates, where decisions are made by a w h o l l y particular w i l l . The second occurs under the authority of the master, namely t o fight for the w h o l e a n d t o t a k e action as a vassal of one's superiors. Thus an individual has t w o obligations: one f o r the c o m pany o f associates, the other as a vassal of the n i l i n g authority. Dukes can be viewed i n a t w o f o l d sense. Dukes and counts are heads o f free associates a n d at the same rime vassals o f their superiors. These are the t w o major relationships.
independencies.
The t h i r d element is the unification o f the first t w o modes of relationship; their combination turns upon the f o r m a t i o n of the state. Service o f the prince and obligation t o w a r d the individual must come together, must also be a universal duty. Here obligations and prerogatives (Rechte) arise w i t h respect to t w o initially separate aspects; the t w o must join together. The prerogatives t h a t the individual n o w has must be p a r t l y held i n c o m m o n and partly private rights; these rights must apply i n part to the private person a n d i n 455
part t o the state as universal, j The state should remain as the soul, the master, the self; i t should be the source o f the determination a n d justification of rights. A u t h o r i t y flows f r o m the universal determination. The ultimate goal is the unification of w h a t we saw t o be fealty w i t h w h a t is the particular w i l l a n d the formation of the state proceeds f r o m i t . The peculiar feature of the Germanic states is principally their particularity. I n the initial stages the t w o sides collide; the barbarian particularity of subjectivity, w h i c h is the most salient feature o f the Germanic states, constitutes the first f o r m in which a l l prerogatives and obligations are comprehended. Thus the prerogatives d o n o t take on the character of general legal statutes; rather a l l laws executed by the state are diminished to the f o r m of private privileges, and what should be a universal o r a whole splinters i n t o a particular private dependency, i n t o clusters o f private obligations. Everything splits i n t o parocular privileges and particular obligations. T h i s is the most i m p o r t a n t f o r m 472
state, since i t is merely a great cluster or collection of endlessly many private
The T r i u m p h of Particularity I t is not u n t i l later t h a t something that is universal and rational develops out of this difficult, uncontested state of affairs—a situation that is essentially composed o f a t o t a l i t y of private and intrinsically umstnictured circumstances. Individual constitutions have developed out o f private circumstances; justifications o f individual points are n o t comparable, are internally inconsistent, despite the fact that a t o t a l i t y is present. This is the case w i t h the English constitution, i n w h i c h there is no internal consistency of individual points. The earlier history of Germany is a painstaking finitude of determinations. I n Germany one has to f o l l o w a toilsome t r a i l , a painstaking scholarship pertaining t o individuality and serfdom, whereas in other histories the image of a I whole is present. The history of the Germanic peoples is, however, a collection of individual details. I t is an endless number o f forms o f dependency i n regard t o service and likewise i n regard to property; and w e also find a geographic splintering. The basic character is t h a t there is n o t h i n g simple, no history as something universal; rather, all claims and a l l property are something particular; and both of these, the demand f o r service and the h o l d i n g of property, devolve into private p r i v i lege. Little or n o t h i n g is left t o the state. The occupations and offices [of me state] become particular, come t o be i n private hands, as d o matters of service. T h e benefits enjoyed by vassalage (Dumstmanrtschaft) are privatized, a n d w h a t is t o be carried o u t is left t o the w h i m of the one w h o is t o do i t . Here we find a complete individualization, the loss of a l l sense o f the state, a complete lack of feeling for the state, and a preoccupation w i t h private advantage a n d fragmentation. I n a d d i t i o n t o this individualization, this particularity of circumstances, there comes about the particularity o f m i n d and heart, the particularity of passions i n things great and small, w h i c h result i n the worst ^ r r o a o e i Religion w i t h its sense of dread, w i t h its consolation and t r u t h , mdeed counters self-aggrandizement; but the church, living in these tiroes, acquires the most disparate of rights, jus. as others d o . The church muses souls to higher ends, thereby opposing the particularity that is mcUferent t o w a r d power and possessions, although i t acts i n its o w n mterest. I n e churens indifference t o possessions proves advantageous to i t ; i t takes up a pos-non o f p o w e r i n w h i c h n o t h i n g essential changes i n the relattonship, a n d the
473
456
T H E L E C T U R E S OF
467
THE GERMANIC WORLD
1822-3
earlier relationship persists. | W h e n the church wrests passions f r o m individuals, they elevate their spirit and renounce the w o r l d that previously was the focus of their needs. As the European w o r l d assumes a new f o r m a n d is reconfigured, as humanity becomes acquainted w i t h necessities and culture, as peoples become established i n their circumstances—then a l l relationships are denned as particular, dreary private relationships. W h a t ought t o become rules a n d laws here remains an endless number of independent contingencies. W h a t ought t o be simple becomes something exceedingly complicated, and the fundamental principles are correspondingly complex. As the peoples t u r n away f r o m the unity of the Christian religion, they take refuge in particularity. A s the universal becomes the particular, w h a t must n o w appear is a direction entirely opposed t o integration o f the w h o l e , one i n w h i c h all private matters are fragmented and the subjectivity o f everyone is purged of inner and outer limits. The Abstract U n i t y o f Islam and its Challenge to Europe The other revolution, this [other] extreme, is the Oriental w o r l d . I n the Orient the One, the onefold, became the absolute object of consciousness; i t was made into the final end o f all action, the ultimate [being] of actuality. 1 4
The One beyond all relationship became w h a t binds together a l l existence. Previously we saw the substantial u n i t y of the O r i e n t , where the unity of thought and the natural was undivided, where spirit was made captive o f nature a n d was unfree. Determinate existence, representational consciousness, disintegrates i n t o countless divinities, i n t o a great number o f gods w i t h natural bonds. N o w , however, all restrictive particularity is consumed i n the pure thought of the O n e . The pure thought of the O n e does n o t a l l o w the emergence of anything determinate or of any organization i n the w o r l d of actuality. For all particularities are, i n contrast t o the infinite comprehensiveness, merely sornething accidental; i n i t , they are accidental, o n l y 14. The reference here and in the following paragraphs is to Islam, founded in Arabia early in vT-uT ° MiibMimad. Within a century, Islam had conquered most of the Middle East and had spread across North Africa and up the Iberian peninsula into Western fcniope. As the religion o f the one absolute and abstract God, it represents for Hegel the • *f * Principle of individual freedom and subjectivity. Hegel speaks harshly of I s W -fanaticism', and his reference below to the absence of cause and effect, the lack o t a l l partjculanry, is an allusion to its so-called 'occasionalism i n which Allah's will is tegatoM as the sole and proximate cause of everything that occurs. But there are other aspectsof isian, tnat Hegel appreciates, such as the mysticism of Jalal-al Lhn RQml (see above, p. 187, nits preservation of works of classical antiquity, and the flourishing of poetry and science P r
T'Z^L,
<
p b e t
m ,
u c
1
474
hypothetical (tdeell). This is not the light of the Persians; even that is merely something n a t u r a l . The One of the Orient ( is thus much more the One of j u d a i s m , w h i c h , as consummated i n Islam, becomes the religion of the Orient as such. The other mode of consummation is k n o w n i n Christianity as this One as i n w a r d l y self-determining. This One has its truth only i n Clu-istianity, as fulfilled a n d determinate w i t h i n itself.
458
The first mode of determining the One is to grasp it as pure thought freed f r o m a l l n a t u r a l particularity. This One is thus negative over against a l l that is natural a n d every particularity. Inasmuch as this One is k n o w n as the absolute, the religion of the One must be actual, truly present. This entails that this One be w h a t is solely v a l i d and w h a t is dominant, acknowledged, and desired; i t entails that the intuition of the One be w h a t is solely acknowledged and controlling. Insofar as this One alone is valid and realized, there is a b o l i t i o n of a l l differences; there is fanaticism. The religion t h a t is this pure consciousness on the part of the individual must be fanaticism; f o r fanaticism is desiring w h a t is abstract and being negative t o w a r d eveiything particular and determinate. When this abstraction is [the focus of one's] sensibility, this sensibility is fanatical. The sensibility is that the One is set over against everything that exists objectively, for the object as such is essentially o n l y something i n w a r d l y articulated. The sensibility is fanatical w i t h respect t o this object, but not only sensibility; fanatical t o o is the representation o f the One, the abstract, w h i c h gives itself actuality. I t is Islam, then, i n its splendor i n its freedom, i n its breadth a n d serene clarity, that stands opposed t o the preoccupation of the Christian w o r l d w i t h the particular. A l l restrictions disappear. | I n this One, a l l the particularity of the Orient drops away, all caste differences, all birthrights. N o positive right exists, no political circumscription of individuals. Property and possessions, a l l particular purposes, are n u l l and v o i d . There is no establishment of cause and effect, and w h e n this n u l l i t y is realized i t becomes destructive and devastating. T h a t is w h y Islam devastates, converts, and conquers a l l Islam first appeared i n the first quarter o f the seventh century, and it constituted something i n contrast t o w h a t is seen i n the West, t o the principle of the West. Given this belief i n the One, where consciousness recognizes o n l y the One and nothing e l s e - g i v e n this fanaticism—Islam in one sense can remain passive. Insofar, however, as action is called for, and insofar as spirit disposes itself t o w a r d actuality, Islam must be essentially negative; f o r its character is fanaticism. . ,. Here actual life is concrete and determinate. The concretely determuied m the life o f Islam appears t o be something concrete, but i t shows itself only as something that is accidental and disparate; i t appears t o be built o n sand.
475
459
«o
T H E L E C T U R E S O F 1 822-3
THE GERMANIC WORLD
Everything that seeks t o emerge i n t o appearance is only something fleeting,
i n Spain f r o m contact w i t h the Arabs, w h o also disseminated the sciences
and changing fortune holds sway over all circumstances. This then is the
and the w o r k s o f classical antiquity that had influenced them. Similarly, free
foundation o f change, of constant change regarding individuals and entire
poetry and free fantasy, brought i n t o play in our day by Goethe, are based on
kingdoms. A n individual can at one time be a slave and yet in t u r n one w h o
the O r i e n t . Just recently Goethe turned to the Orient and created a collection
commands—a ruler over vast k i n g d o m s — a n d vice versa. Likewise, a king-
o f songs i n his Divan,
songs o f a passion enflamed by the Oriental fire.
dom that has sunken i n t o opulence can restore itself o u t o f its o w n resources.
This then is the general character o f the Orient and its relationship t o the
A number o f dynasties have been founded by slaves, b u t n o sooner does a
West. Never has enthusiasm had greater practical effect than this Oriental
kingdom appear t o be at peace than it is destroyed. For Islam is c o n t i n u a l l y
[IslamicJ enthusiasm. I t had no specific goal; rather i t is something purely
rejuvenating itself. T h a t an individual is a sovereign o r minister, t h a t royal
abstract, a l l encompassing, needing nothing and unstoppable. W i t h o u t any
families and dynasties exist—all o f that is mere chance. The favorites o f the
particular m i l i t a r y strategy it irresistibly conquered all, the Euphrates, the
sovereigns, those w h o are the pillars o f the throne, those t o w h o m , t o o u r
lands extending f r o m Tibet to the Mediterranean; Persia t o o and Hindustan
way o f t h i n k i n g , the greatest thanks is due, o v e r t h r o w these very sovereigns
and central Asia, d o w n into central A f r i c a , submitted, so too all of Egypt;
and install
and finally, via Spain, i t reached the middle o f southern France. N o t until
| themselves o n the throne. This is the soil o f change par
excellence: w h a t seeks t o take shape dissipates just as quickly.
Poitiers were the Arabs halted, defeated.
16
A t the same time, they turned
The t h i r d factor t h a t is also involved here is the particular, the determi-
f r o m Provence t o Italy, t o w a r d Nice. I n France they were vanquished i n 730
nate, at w h i c h the individual arrives in w h a t he comprehends; the individual
by Charles M a r t e l , the grandfather of Charlemagne; his son was Pepin,
is completely absorbed i n i t and permeated w i t h i t . This i n d i v i d u a l , the
whose son was Charlemagne. The Arabs achieved this power w i t h i n a
M u s l i m , is not like Europeans, w h o have a number o f concerns. The Euro-
century, a n d a m o n g them arose just as quickly the flowering o f poetry and
pean by contrast is a bundle o f the most diverse circumstances, w h i l e the
a l l the sciences. Under the great caliphs i n the t h i r d and fourth centuries
M u s l i m is completely one thing and o n l y t h a t . I f t h e M u s l i m is deceitful,
[after M u h a m m a d ] Egypt and the Near East
men none are more persistent i n this cuuriing, and he remains deceitful for
cities. I n the eighth century [after Christ] a wealth o f cities w i t h the most
I
were f u l l o f burgeoning
years. I f the M u s l i m is vengeful, then n o tiger is more ferocious; similarly, i f
magnificent palaces existed i n Spain. There were scholars and schools every-
be is cruel, generous, sensitive, or loving, then, especially w i t h regard to the
where. Particularly brilliant, however, was the court at Baghdad, w h i c h
tatter nothing is more concrete, heartfelt, and intense t h a n this love i n w h i c h
shone by its external opulence, poetry, and simplicity o f customs. The low-
he solely dwells. The ardor, the beauty o f love, is f o u n d a n d described t o the
liest person was equal t o the caliph; the lowliest Saracen considered the
fullest i n the Orient. A sovereign lays a l l magnificence, a l l finery at the feet o f
c a l i p h t o be his equal; the naive nature o f spirit made possible this expres-
his beloved; however, just as single-mindedly, he can sacrifice her. So i t was
sion. H o w e v e r , this extensive, magnificent empire soon disappeared; i t was
w i t h the Turkish emperor w h o saw a Christian w o m a n as he w e n t t o w a n f o r
itself o n l y something fleeting that subsided w i t h o u t a trace. Later the Turks,
four weeks he remained obsessed by her and lay immobUe. But w h e n the
w h o have p r o v e n themselves incapable o f any culture, occupied most o f that
army began to grumble, he had the beloved one b r o u g h t before t h e m a n d
extensive empire. A t the same t i m e as the great Arabian empire broke u p
dropped her veil; then he killed her a n d moved on t o engage the enemy. T h i s
i n t o many separate ones, the great k i n g d o m o f the Franks was also breaking
passion is also to be found in the poetry o f the Arabs and Saracens. I t is
up. We shall r e t u r n t o this after considering the contrasting opposites o f the
complete dedication, not mere yearning.
O r i e n t and the O c c i d e n t .
17
Just as f o r the Greeks and Romans the ' m o r n i n g ' o f a beautiful w o r l d lav in the East, so f o r the Christian w o r l d , whose natural father is the 'evening', the Western p a n of Europe, the natural aspect arose i n the West. But the East, the Orient, is the more sublime a n d spiritual father. F r o m the O r i e n t the Romans received C h n s t . a n i t y - t h e element o f freedom, o f universal461
. r y - o v e r against the N o r d i c element,
| the N o r d i c reliance on m d i v i d u a -
uzed subjectivities. The bravery o f the Europeans flowered i n t o k n i g h t h o o d 476
15. Joiuuu. Wolfgang von Goethe, West-otihcber *>**«, |«bL 1819. See BadbdesTirm* poem 2, -A« Suleika' (Goethe, Werke (Hamburg, 1949), ii. 61), q « * « l « * * * * * « • * * Philosophy of Religion, iii. 111-13, ind. n. 131. ^, , . the Bank of Poitien (or Tours) in 732 the Franks and C a r o t a ^ a * defeated tbe MusJuns, and the Carolinians began their ascendancy m Europe. _ 17. See Hegel's discussion below of the Crusades (pp. 492-4), abo pp. w -
lTTt
477
T H E L E C T U R E S O F 18
THE
MIDDLE
22-3
AGES
18
The Empire of Charlemagne
463
The second period begins in the Occident. Charlemagne brought together the large k i n g d o m called the Frankish k i n g d o m . I t was constituted by France, Spain d o w n t o the Ebro River, and Germany, where Charlemagne personally subjugated the Saxons—hence a l l of Germany and the Lombardian k i n g d o m down t o Naples. Further t o the south the L o m b a r d i a n dukes reigned, but they also extended t o h i m the sign of submission. I n the year 800 Charlemagne was made the [ H o l y ] R o m a n emperor. A l t h o u g h he was crowned i n Rome, he ruled f r o m Aachen. Aachen was | the imperial c i t y where, f o r centuries after his death, he remained enthroned at his t o m b . Thus he is the sovereign of Christendom; f o r England remained isolated. There is n o t h i n g of a special nature to note regarding the character of the empire other than that the realm or the principle o f particularity began at this time. However, c i v i l authority is still present i n the Frankish k i n g d o m . Authority still pertained t o the state and had not yet become privately held. Everything was still i n flux, and the particular powers establishing t h e m selves were still in the process o f emerging. After Charlemagne the empire was split u p a n d fell apart. Under Charlemagne his empire became a real empire, the supreme authority. For western Europe i t was n o t t o be that the empire w o u l d survive as the basis f r o m which succeeding, later developments emerged. The western empire is a spiritual one; here spirit should rule, and this is a r e t u r n t o itself. T h i s return must thus be one t h a t does n o t proceed f r o m nature lest the result w o u l d then remain burdened by the natural element. Spirit too had t o begin f r o m what is external in order t o produce itself, for it knows o n l y w h a t i t makes o f itself. This externality is, however, as we have seen, also something i m m e d i ate, w h i c h is the mdividualiry of w i l l , the intensity of soul (Gemüt). I t is h o w Charlemagne became the [ H o l y ] Roman emperor, a n d his empire i s rightly to be considered the continuation of the o l d Roman Empire. This is the case because the strength of the individuality o f w i l l , w h i c h was the ultimate
18. The period of the Middle Ages runs for Hegel front the reign of Charlcinague {early * h cent.) through the Reformation of the 16th cent. Luther in particular is still a medieval figure, but he also represents a critical trartsition t o the age of modernity. A t one point below (p. 494) Hegel indicates a threefold division of this period: the dominion of the church (our first three subheadings), the church's quest for the empirical pretence of Christ (the •this') and finding this presence outside itself (our next two headings), and spint's harmonious relationship with the external world (our last heading). Because of the importance of the transition to modernity, we present it as a separate period. 478
THE GERMANIC WORLD
thing i n the R o m a n Empire, serves the European w o r l d at its inception, was its starting p o i n t . I The Germanic w o r l d reverted t o this situation of private individualities, t o the f o r m a l legality of an endless number o f dependencies. For the Germanic w o r l d is a reaction t o an immediate determinacy, w h i c h here is not a force of nature but one o f finite spirit. Medieval Christianity The period of the M i d d l e Ages has this characteristic, that the real authority should become an ideal o n e , that Christendom should become inculcated i n the hearts [ o f people], that a t r u l y Christian w o r l d should come into being. This is above all the epoch of Clnistianity and o f the church. 19
The Germanic nations became Christian quite early, but their Christianity was superficial and did not permeate all spiritual relationships. Charlemagne forced the Saxons t o foreswear paganism, just as he had done earlier t o the Burgundians and other tribes. Their conversion, however, was merely formal. After the teachings had been presented t o them for a few days at moat, they were baptized. Hence, this f o r m of Christianity remained quite superfic i a l , w i t h respect t o both subjective faith and actual cultural permeation. Christianity is n o w said to rule the w o r l d , but i n doing so i t runs counter t o the w o r d o f Christ: ' M y k i n g d o m is not of this w o r l d ' . I n the wake o f that profane w o r l d , i t must come about that that w o r l d is abrogated, f o r w o r l d liness is separated f r o m s p i r i t u a l i t y . However, the w o r l d must then become spiritual i n nature, i.e. become rational; the ecclesiastical domain must p u r i f y itself f r o m worldliness. Ultimately both elements must take shape on their o w n account; for o n l y I i n this manner does the true unity o f both come t o pass. The church and worldliness cannot be i n direct union; rather b o t h must have formed themselves i n t o totalities i n order t o constitute roe true unity. I n the M i d d l e Ages, therefore, the church becomes worldly. This is neither t o be underemphasized nor t o be overemphasized, for this unity is n o t yet t r u e unity. 2 0
21
T h e other matter that must be considered is that, instead of this real empire, the ideal, spiritual empire is forming; spirit is deepening itself w i t h i n itself, immersing itself o r entering i n t o the t r u t h of the Christian religion, and conflating w i t h i t . I n this respect, three things must be illustrated. A complete history w o u l d have t o show h o w individuals deepened themselves m
19. See above, n. 5. 20. John 18: 3*. , , 21. WeMichkeit >s translated var.ously in this and following sentences as -profane wotM , 'this world', 'worldliness'. 479
466
T H E L E C T U R E S OF 1822-5
THE GERMANIC WORLD
religion, how religion n o w became an object o f scholarly study (wissenscbaftlich), and how its study was spread—how thought apprehended religion. Thought is the innermost aspect of spirit i n its abstract freedom. Earlier, the councils and church fathers firmly established this religion, the teachings of the church, and so completed i t . W h a t there is n o w , i n a d d i t i o n , is the elaboration of this subject o f religion by theologians of the West, w h o formulated it i n thought; these theologians were essentially philosophers. D u r i n g the M i d d l e Ages philosophy and theology are one, a n d every theology has t o be philosophical; f o r purely historical treatment does n o t address the content as t r u t h . I f theology is n o t philosophy, it does not k n o w w h a t i t seeks. Teaching is found i n the catechism, the explication o f w h i c h is philosophy. What is historical is n o t religion. I n the M i d d l e Ages i t happened
partly, however, it comes after a long struggle that is linked t o a most complex process. O f interest here are the stories of individuals that reveal how people w i t h their passions and purposes, w i t h their courage, struggle in the w o r l d but fail t o find satisfaction, are distressed by the demand of a higher a u t h o r i t y ; and i n this cleavage they either collapse or else finally find peace i n the bosom of the church through renunciation o f all their interests and passions.
that w h a t is | objective i n the teachings o f Christianity was rf»o«gfrfiJi»o«i, especially i n Scholastic philosophy. T h o u g h t has n o w applied itself t o religion. This theology was cognition (Erkenntnis) of the t r u t h , n o t i n f o r m a t i o n (Kenntnis) about historical evidence. In this respect, the science o f theology as cognition of the truth is the [principal] mode of scholarship. Paris became the primary center of this study, and England too. Germany lagged i n some areas. Italy, however, distinguished itself by its medical science i n Salerno and its jurisprudence i n Bologna. The second aspect is t h a t o f feeling, the deepening o f religion i n the hearts of individuals. T h e diffusion of Christianity brought w i t h i t the spread of convents and monastic orders. The cloister establishments and the monastic life appeal t o the hearts of individuals; w h a t presents itself here is the conversion, the suffusion, of the hearts of individuals w i t h ideals. Thus the spiritual principle turns the heart around. Even if the Germanic heart is that firm, gnarled oaken heart par excellence, i t is nonetheless split i n t w o by Chnsrianity. Here the life o f Germania is pierced by the power of the ideal. I t is the incredible power that breaks the stubborn self-will of barbarism and wrests the strength of that nature t o the g r o u n d ; it buckles the inner element m women and men, strips away innocence and beautiful love, buries this vitality, and grants i t calm and peace i n the f o r m o f yearning, a heavenly yearning. M o n k s a n d nuns had t o take an oath o f chastity, obedience, a n d poverty. The oath of chastity is directed against the ethos of marriage or family love; the oath of obedience t o superiors is against self-will; and the oath of renunciation o r poverty is directed against private possessions. Gregory V I I forbade the entire clergy class t o marry, separating the w o r l d l y
467
from the spiritual i n such a way that the clergy | are w h o l l y severed f r o m the ethos o f the family. This breaking asunder of the natural w i l l this slaying of natural desire, happens partly i n a simple way because o f cloistered life; 480
This envisaging (Embildung) of the ideal has t w o aspects, one by means of thought as universal and the other by the heart; they take on f o r m , as our t h i r d p o i n t , i n that laws as such and private laws i n particular are transformed i n accord w i t h the perspective of the church. The Christian religion therefore recasts these former perspectives, and what comes into play is an entirely different stance i n the consideration of crime. Thus murder takes o n an entirely different meaning than before, namely, as a crime. What previously was o n l y a private matter n o w assumes the status of a public crime. I n particular, the l a w governing marriage is accorded a new status. In reshaping these perspectives, the clergy confronted evil directly. N o w i t is the spiritual power that directly confronts crime i n this regard, intervening in private vengeance, feuds, etc. D u r i n g the Merovingian dynasty, crime is met w i t h crime as r e t r i b u t i o n , w h i c h of course punishes but becomes punishment or recompense i n a w o r l d l y manner. D u r i n g the Carolingian dynasty, this modification takes on quite a different f o r m ; for here I i t is mainly the pope w h o intervenes. Synods are held and assert authority. For example, that is w h a t happened w i t h Lothair and his actions regarding his lover. Hence not just the perspective of the clergy, but their spiritual power too, becomes a judicial power. This power is seen to go beyond the merely external a n d is also internal, as seen i n confession and many acts affecting individuals, the ultimate being excommunication, the most drastic act. I f we were t o l o o k at the N i b e l i m g f m l i e d in these terms—it takes place at the court of the Burgundians i n a Christian land—then OuTStianiry, the clergy, is seen t o p l a y no role i n the entire story; they do n o t play an important role u n t i l Carolingian times. Later o n , i n the Carolingian era, the church takes on 23
22. Lothair II (835-69), king of Lotharingia, divorced his wife Teutberga and toAtivdhx mistress Waldrada in 862, with the consent of a synod of Franldsh bwhops. However, Pope Nicholas I voided the decision and threatened ejoomrouiikabon. When Lothair agreed to * i e bis wife back, she expressed her desire for a divorce, but be died before the matter could be resolved. 23. The Song of the Mbefungs was a Middle High German epic by a south German pott of the early 13th cent. In Germanic mythology, the K.bemngs were an erf famfy possessing a magic board of gold.
4SI
T H E L E C T U R E S OF
THE GERMANIC
1822-3
an entirely different and far more p o w e r f u l position. Just as earlier the church intervened i n private matters, n o w it does so i n the relationships, the feuds, between dukes and subjects, sovereigns and states. Thus the power of Christianity carries weight i n a l l circumstances d u r i n g this period. Political Developments: Relations between Church a n d State The f o u r t h aspect that concerns us here is t o consider the i n c o r p o r a t i o n of Christianity i n t o the secular w o r l d , into universal, p o l i t i c a l , and historical circumstances, the fact that politics is determined by t h i s i n c o r p o r a t i o n . To comprehend this entire development i n detail one has t o recall the earlier circumstances, namely, the t w o aspects t h a t this i n c o r p o r a t i o n presupposes and h o w they came about, w h a t the distinction is that constitutes
the
essentially enduring factor i n the p o l i t i c a l development o f states. Hence we have t o return t o the historical situation as such. 469
470
The distinction d r a w n previously was t h a t the Germanic nations were o f t w o kinds. One parr | persisted where i t was in a homogeneous (einfach) principle; or else, as i n England, w h e n i t came i n t o contact w i t h other [peoples], it retained its homogeneity undisturbed by this contact. T h e other part, i n contrast, pressed o u t w a r d and, i n u n i t i n g w i t h completely different peoples, t o o k o n a heterogeneous nature; a n d its outer governing structure posited, i n its o w n inner being (Insichsein), an outer-directed existence {Aufersicbsein). The Germanic n a t i o n maintained a double nature in its innermost principle, but also f o u n d f r o m the outset the u n i t y w i t h i n itself that can tolerate a duality w i t h i n i t . This explains the f a c t that i n Romance countries, w i t h Romance peoples, the c h u r c h discovered a preexisting division o f spirit, hence could establish itself i n a temporal fashion; the result was that, w h i l e the church of course stood over against the t e m p o r a l order, i t could d o so w i t h i n the previously existing arrangement w i t h o u t disrupting the tranquility of the whole—thus leaving matters uncusrurbed while the principle o f the achieved compatibility (Zusammengehm) o f heterogeneous elements could resolve itself w i t h o u t an ensuing struggle. H o w ever, this compatibility, this unification, could only b r i n g about a superficial unity; whereas, where the demand was f o r a far-reaching unity, this compatibility w i t h the church could n o t conclude w i t h o u t a struggle. O n l y through a struggle could w h a t was inherendy different be i n later days reconciled i n t o a higher rationality. I n Germany, therefore, the relationship between church and state h a d t o generate a difficult and hostile struggle, f r o m w h i c h , to be sure, the church d i d at first emerge victorious; | but i t was o n l y a relative victory. This unification cannot yet be final, ultimate, a n d concrete.
482
WORLD
I f we consider this i n more detail historically, the following enters i n t o consideration: through conquest the secular kingdoms that we termed 'Romance* had already developed i n t o a secular unity, a stable unitary state, before Christianity and the church parlayed power i n t o secular authority. The church, spreading farther i n t o Gaul and Spain as a spiritual force, f o u n d Christianity already there. The sovereign lords, however, became overlords, a n d the church only expanded by means of their entrenched areas and achieved a l l manner of holdings and wealth-^but only i n a lesser authority since the sovereigns retained secular control. This entrenchment of secular rule was also accomplished by battles and wars; for wars are p a r t and parcel of a state's existence. These wars could be of three kinds: Christian states against Christian states, or against non-Christian states—in the latter case because o f secular circumstances (where the spiritual power could n o t function as mediator); and, thirdly, Christian powers against Christians i n such a w a y that the objective of the state is not merely secular but has w i t h i n itself a spiritual element. I f we briefly consider the fate of the states after Charlemagne's empire disintegrated, we see that Spain was faced by a Saracen enemy; this was a people completely w i t h o u t legal rights (unberecbtigt), whereas the Christian people alone h a d legal rights. I n this battle w i t h the noble Arabs, a free and magnificent people, Spain adorned itself not only w i t h the skills, arts, and sciences of the Arabs, 1 but also w i t h the noblest and purest k m g h t h o o d — a k n i g h t h o o d of such p u r i t y and excellence that i t could bear t o be parodied, even t o the p o i n t o f irony, w h i l e also retaining beauty and nobility i n D o n Quixote. 2 4
France was i n an established, secure, secular condition, b u t not thoroughly formed w i t h i n itself, it was merely secure as opposed to being a thoroughgoing state, although its secular situation was dearly entrenched. I t fell apart i n t o many principalities, but i n the process the secular principte remained intact. W i t h the weak Carolingians and after them the Capetian kings, the c r o w n and its royal office were insignificant, an insignificant power, but the secular d o m a i n and secular office were established internally a n d were secure. Because the royal office was of so little i m p o r t , it entailed the benefit that the c r o w n became a l l the easier t o hand o n . The seeds of conflict were therefore sown i n France, passing f r o m prince t o prince. France n o w seldom t u r n e d o u t w a r d . I t had in the m a i n t o face no o u t w a r d challenges. I n conquering England, W i l l i a m of Normandy was an exception. 24. Don Quixote is a satirical romance by Cervantes (1605 1615»; * e hero tries in a chivalrous but unrealistic way to rescue the oppressed and fight evil.
483
471
T H E LECTURES OF
1822-3
France h a d the good fortune and destiny t o have been concerned only internally, as one secular element versus another; i n this way the r o y a l office, although a n abstract f o u n d a t i o n of the state, became secure. England is the t h i r d of these kingdoms, and i t became a w o r l d power through conquest; it engaged widely w i t h w o r l d l y elements and preserved thereby the foundation of the state. England had o n l y secular enemies. The fate of Italy and Germany, however, is quite different. The l o t of each was either to disintegrate or t o face disintegration; a n d w h i l e there is a 472
whole, this feature | grows ever more h o l l o w a n d finally disappears. W i t h regard to Italy, although we see i t unified by the Lombards, this unificatioQ d i d n o t last for l o n g . F o l l o w i n g the break-up of the Frankish empire, Italy was t o r n by strife, f o r the p r i o r unified r u l e d i d not last. Under the Italian principle, unity could not prevail. As the land of antiquity, i t retained the natural element. The rigid individualization of the understanding, the abstract individuaUzation of the West, combining w i t h Roman abstractness, w i t h the rigidity of Rome in the r a t i o n a l sensibility of the church, indeed brings out o n the one hand lovely individuality, indeed devdops as beautiful piety a n d fine a r t , w h i l e on the other h a n d i t also brings out exuberant sensuality. Politically speaking, I t a l y is still associated w i t h the ancient R o m a n Empire, as i t existed i n the Greek w o r l d ; for the worthiest seat o f the church, w h i c h required a leader, is Rome. Regarding its temporal aspect, the church had t o have an independence, a territory, as weU. Moreover, Italy is on the sea, and m a n y points o f trade are f o u n d along its coasts. Germany's fate parallels that of Italy i n that both disintegrate, but o n the other hand it is the opposite o f Italy. The peculiar feature of Germany is that it relates t o Italy but finds its opposite there and i n the church. I n Spain the secular order does not collide w i t h the spiritual, or vice versa, nor d o they collide i n France. Italy fell apart i n a reckless fashion, unnecessarily and without the need, effort, and concern t o achieve unity; i t rashly opposed the spiritual power, so for example Florence was under the b a n for ten years. But
473
Germany's fortunes are even more distinctive. | The German kingdom emerged on its o w n f r o m Charlemagne's empire, and was internally diffuse. Shortly before the rule o f Charlemagne, and in part d u r i n g i t , Germany was Christianized, and secular d o m i n i o n f o r its o w n sake d i d not really take hold. Secular rule became reliant o n Christianiry to an extent i n general matters, especially i n regard t o various aspects of culture, of internal affairs; but Christianiry also t o an extent relied o n the established temporal sphere. Thus the church established itself w i t h the secular power and, together w i t h the secular authorities and secular princes, 484
THE GERMANIC WORLD
i t came i n t o possession [ o f secular d o m i n i o n ] . Indeed, i n France and Spain the bishops and archbishops were even advisers t o the princes and were independent members of the assemblies, although they did not become princes themselves. To the contrary, this d i d occur i n Germany: the archbishoprics a n d abbeys became secular jurisdictions. I n Germany the bishops of Cologne, M a i n z , Münster, Osnabrück, and bishoprics i n Saxony, and among the Wends a n d Slavs, were simultaneously secular authorities w i t h the same power f o r themselves as the secular princes had. Thus the clerics t o o k o n the same status as secular lords. I n this w a y a special p o w e r o f private authority was established, somet h i n g we saw earlier t o be characteristic. Here private property was at the same rime r u l e d by a spiritual center. By the bond and oversight provided by spiritual rulers, by such a thing, private property became unassailable in Germany, a feature t o w h i c h then secular rulers also | consented and in virtue of w h i c h they c o u l d hold their o w n property just as securely. O w i n g therefore t o the fact that secular rule had at the same time spiritual legitimacy, property became secured and led t o the formation o f en tines so independent t h a t they were not amenable to unification. Unity could not come about here by force, by the d y i n g out of a ruling house, or by a division [of holdings], by inheritance; f o r these centers could not be suppressed by force o r acquired i n virtue of rulers dying o u t . This fragmentation, built o n such solid g r o u n d , is w h a t has been termed 'German freedom*, i n fact right u p t o the present day—an independence of particular rule, a fragmentation, that has always been considered the dignity and honor of Germany, a n d that i n earlier time brought misfortune and ignominy t o this l a n d . Thus inwardly fragmented, Germany persists i n inwardness i n its principle, i n the principle that possession d i d n o t occur by conquest. The simple inwardness o f this principle endures. This principle seeks t o be and ought t o be internally concrete and ought, by means of a foreign element, t o unite itself. The German principle must therefore have the drive, it must be its drive, t o put itself together, t o make itself concrete, through unification w i t h something initially other t o i t , as was indeed the case w i t h other [countries! at their inception. T h u s Germany must have the drive t o unite w i t h something other; its situation is characterized by an unsuccessful striving, an inability [to accomplish i t ] . The result is the sad recognition o f impotence, the impotence o f supposed power. T h e other, foreign element w i t h w h i c h Germany is entangled and struggling, and w h i c h i t seeks t o assimilate, I is Italy. Italy too casts its eyes t o w a r d Germany, believing that i t could have its foothold in Germany. T h i s 'other Germany' is other i n b o t h secular and spiritual ways. The
485
T H E L E C T U R E S OF
1822-3
spiritual power of the church, however, is something w i t h w h i c h Germany likewise is implicitly identical, because Germany is Christian. Thus Germany is at one w i t h the church; yet Germany is also i n conflict w i t h the church, hence in complete contradiction {Inkonsequenz), i n a contradictory relationship w i t h i t .
476
I t must also be noted that, as Germany separated f r o m Charlemagne's empire, it disintegrated into numerous provinces t h a t i n fact are linked together externally; yet, in their interrelations, they were politically stable internally. Germany had been unified into a k i n g d o m that came largely f r o m Charlemagne's empire itself and t o which Germany was subjected o n l y out of necessity. When this center of the Prankish empire let go o f the provinces, this unity was of little substance and vacuous, and hence the imperial office was appropriate for this kingdom; it was most fitting f o r this vacuity. The office of (Holy) Roman emperor is described i n more splendid terms. The emperor is seen as the head of the Christian c h u r c h , as the ruler of the Christian w o r i d . H e is said t o have the undisputed first r a n k above ail secular sovereigns, t o have the right t o bestow the title of king {only a few); all nobility and all k n i g h t h o o d are said t o derive f r o m h i m . However, knighthood i n its natural and spiritual sense must derive f r o m individuals themselves. The Christian states were dependent [on h i m * i n name o n l y and d i d as they pleased. The universal validity o f the 1 imperial laws was, in theory, uncontested. P a t t e r says that i n theory the emperor had supreme power i n a l l domains but had the g o o d sense not t o assert i t . This ultimate sovereignty was of so little substance because Germany was unified i n name only. This insubstantial imperial mantle was a source o f m u c h difficulty for Germany. A n d yet they [the emperors) were astute. T h i s imperial mantle lacked the power t o summon anything o r provide any sort o f protection; in any case it merely inspired in others a magical belief i n its potency. France became a k i n g d o m on its o w n and had little contact w i t h the outside w o r l d , w h i c h was just as w e l l because its rulers d i d not become the emperor. N o t t o attain this honor was a piece of good fortune f o r France because i t was so preoccupied w i t h itself, even though its kings certainly d i d strive to achieve i t . 15
THE GERMANIC WORLD
o f S a x o n y d i d this. These long-continuing relationships w i t h Italy mostly ended disgracefully and ignominiously or calamitously. The Italians frequently called u p o n the emperors t o participate in Roman campaigns, yet often barred their German liegemen from entering the cities. German princes did indeed accompany the emperors, yet they abandoned them ignominiously or met their death collectively due t o intemperate acts; or else the emperors came w i t h too few men and other resources. The wars were calamitous and brought dire consequences. 26
T h i s f r u s t r a t i o n of the emperors, upon coming t o power in Italy, was matched by the frustration of the Italians w h o hoped for German a i d against oppression because they depended directly on the emperor, | provided that he chose t o administer law and justice, and not be simply an instrument of patronage, and o f pillage o f those calling on his aid. Thus they sought in every possible w a y t o rid themselves once more of the one called upon for help. Just as o n the one hand the Italians disappointed the emperors, o n the other hand they bitterly complained about them—as, for example, Dante d i d about the devastation that crude barbarism inflicted on the Italians and the fact t h a t the emperors were unable t o enforce the law. I n addition t o a political tie, the German emperors had a different and second tie t o Italy, i n the efforts o f the powerful Swabians, the Hohenstaufens. I t involved the subjugation of the spiritual rulers w h o had become secular princes. Foremost among these was the papal seat itself. The final decision of this at times dreadful struggle was, o n the whole, just i n a formal sense, i n that the archbishops and bishops, the spiritual powers, should be installed, selected, a n d rewarded n o t by the secular power but rather by their head, the pope, w h i k their temporal rewards and secular authority w o u l d come from the emperor. As a result o f struggles and mtrigues, however i t turned out that those things that were still dependent on the emperor, things that he had the right to reward, were n o longer w o r t h the trouble t o claim and acquire.
Germany gained its status f r o m the imperial office. The German emperors sought from the outset t o assert their rule i n Italy as [HolyJ R o m a n emperors, and to make a stand against their [Italian] 'other'. I n particular the O t t o s
W h i l e the rest of the European kingdoms were by and large at peace w i t h the church and the clergy, and only engaged in secular conflicts, Germany was i n a struggle of an entirely different sort: the emperor against the pope. T h i s was a tragedy (Trauerspiel) in w h i c h the family of the German emperor a n d the p o w e r o f the German state, | as well as the unity of Germany, were u n d e r l i n e d . The church was victorious, just as i t had prevailed peaceably in other states, in the rest of the kingdoms, and where this happened most
25. Johann Stephan Putter, TaOtcht Retcbsgescbicbte in ihrem Hauptfader, entwickelt. 3rd edn. (Güttingen, 1793).
26. Three Ottos w succession were kings of Germany and Holy Roman emperors Ibetween 936 and 1002. A fourth Otto was Holy Roman emperor 1209-18. All were engaged m various ways with Italy.
486
477
487
478
T H E L E C T U R E S OF 1822-3
THE GERMANIC WORLD
morou^hly the church established its d o m i n i o n . As large a role as i t played i n
divine nature has therefore w i t h i n itself the quality of the this. * Christ has
the M i d d l e Ages, this struggle between Germany a n d the church was of incidental importance overall and of little interest t o the rest o f Europe. The power of the church remained w i t h the c h u r c h , umdiminished by this struggle. The result was that religion and church rose t o a position of power i n all private and state affairs. A l l the drcurnstances of life a n d a l l o f scholarship came under its d o m i n i o n . I n this w a y the church asserted a u t h o r i t y over every emperor, and essential, hourly, daily life was i n one respect i n the hands of the church i n such a way that there remained n o hour o f the day i n w h i c h persons m i g h t not feel themselves engaged i n spiritual service. The point that w e have reached [ i n o u r discussion] is, therefore, the displacement
2
appeared, and this presence, this unity of the human and the divine, of divine and human nature, is w h a t the w o r l d has ever been striving for. It is the specification as such of this presence that is at stake. We have seen that the church, i n w a r d l y prospering, finds its completion as d o m i n i o n over the whole w o r l d . T h e ultimate point is that the divine always has the quality of the this, the going f o r t h [ o f the divine] i n t o the wonder of presence—that G o d is spiritual and is also present i n the Spirit. Everything hinges o n this point. I n the church this could not be something immediately natural, such as light. This presence could not exist i n an external or an irnrnediate way. The G o d , the God-man Jesus Christ, as a human being i n his inirnediacy, existed as a t e m p o r a l being and therefore is a past being. The presence
of the real kingdom by the d o m i n i o n o f this ideal k i n g d o m .
necessary f o r the spirit could n o t , f o r the spirit, be like that of a Dalai L a m a , where the g o d is present t o the h u m a n .
The Quest for the Presence o f Christ i n the Church N o w the question becomes one of w h a t was lacking i n this church. I t can be accused of transgression, abuse, c o r r u p t i o n , crimes, b u t these are merely individual shortcomings. The content is the doctrine o f Christianity, the doctrine o f the highest t r u t h and the actualization o f t h i s doctrine; and the church is the unbroken transmission and dispensing o f the treasures of the Spirit. This actualization indeed came about by w o r l d l y means b u t is fully consummated, a n d so, considered outwardly, there is evidently a need for Christendom to give itself a final, completed f o r m . This need is based on some sort o f lack, and to discover w h a t that is w e must determine the shape that the Christian religion gave t o itself. So we must return t o the nature of the Christian
479
church,
I to its distinctive f o r m and how it t o o k shape d u n n g this time.
The aspect t h a t n o w comes i n t o consideration is h o w the Christian religion has a f o o t i n g i n the presence experienced by self-consciousness. The early church councils established the objective, absolute content
27
of
CJinstianity; i t was completed long ago by the church fathers. This content was n o t altered by the Scholastic philosophy of the M i d d l e Ages, and
Christendom, c o u l d not be this D a l a i
29
The pope, the head of
I Lama, f o t the pope is not venerated
480
as this [particular] h u m a n being. That is because this h u m a n being is sentient, external, natural, and w h a t is merely natural is accorded very httle status i n the Christian religion, and it is what is sublated. One must account f o r this. T h e ' w h y ' must be explained. What is past is no longer, but the:this should still be present. The pope as a human being stands before G o d , together w i t h the community, expressing humility t o w a r d G o d . Thus the pope is the servant of servants, and is such a servant as a single person, h u m b l i n g himself. M u c h greater, however, is the this, a single human being, an i m m o r t a l soul, an absolute a t o m , thus by itself, excluding other Singular individuals, excluding all others. I n the Christian religion the singularity of self-consciousness is no mere f o r m . I n India, i n Hinduism, God is only substance that exists i n singular, contingent w a y s - n o w this way, n o w t h a t - w h i c h are only modes (Modi)
o r accidents of substance.
I n the
Christian r e l i g i o n , however, singularity is an absolute moment, and the single h u m a n being [Christ] is therefore no mere mode but rather mfcute
philosophy i n o u r o w n time too can o n l y transpose the content i n t o the form of the concept. O n e aspect of this doctrine is that f o r humans the divine being is not a quantity (Großes)
of some k i n d , n o t a content. Rather the
fundamental quality is the unity o f the divine w i t h the human, the u n i t y of the human and divine nature, such that G o d appeared t o h u m a n i t y a n d is utterly present t o humanity. This aspect is requisite t o the infinite f o r m . The 27. The German reads: in der Gegenwart des Selbstbewußtseins. In this and the following ^ r ^ ^ r . ^ Z Z , ^ ^ P"*™'. e'> occur, e.g. gegenu^g ( present), CegerwarUgkeU ('presence-), Vergegenu,artigkeU ('realization o f presence'). t h e
t C T m
G
e
w
o
a
n
488
28. On the incarnation of God in this one single
^ S s e s
£
this- (das Dieses), which gives Christianity its concrete specmctr, at some Kngu. following paragraphs. See also above, pp. 391, 3 9 ^ 7 - ^ presence; w b m 29. Hegel takes the Dalai Lama to be God in an immediate, ^ ™ " 7 j ~ i „ Jesencc. 0 ° ^ he .s succeeded by one in a ^ ^ ^ - f ! ^ *,3n. Dalai Lama and Lamaism, see Lectures on the Philosophy of Rehpon, u . 107,307,313, - *
one larnTdies
the next
above,
140,570,576-9. See also pp. 250,299-300. . 30. Hegel ^ y b * alluding m S p m o z a ' s d o c ^ j n T ^ E r f ^ ^ as accidents of substance. See The Collected Works of Spmoza, eO. a w n (Princeton, 1985), i . 409. 489
J nodes (mod,)
481
THE LECTURES OF 1822-3
THE GERMANIC WORLD
OB his o w n account, excluding another this. Thus the single h u m a n being exists utterly on his o w n account and i n such a way that cannot be a mode of the appearance of G o d . Thus Christ as singular cannot reappear i n another person; he cannot be present as natural, f o r he is past, is himself o n l y the single appearance. But this divine singularity must be present.
Regarding this determination, i t must still be noted that Christ is k n o w n and recognized here as the this; so it is even essential that Christ is at the same time represented as something external, as the host that is consecrated by the priest. N o objection can be raised against this consecration. I t is the Spirit o f the church that takes on this external, sensible presence and thus at first imparts itself as the this. A m a i n point, however, concerns the manner by w h i c h G o d is brought to appearance, is held u p , is instated as the this— the fact that the host is supposed t o be worshiped as God, I i.e., [God] as this t h i n g , insofar as God still stands outside [us] as something external. I n the church the this is thus present every day and t o every individual; each one is intertwined w i t h the divine life, and the passion and resurrection of G o d are present at this place i n this individual.
Thus Christ cannot be present i n the church as the D a l a i L a m a . But God had to have been present i n the Christian church by w a y o f the this, a n d it is the this, the figure, the personality [of C h r i s t ] , t h a t is t o be remembered i n the church as i t was immediately present. The m a i n figure by w h i c h Christ was k n o w n and present i n the church as the this is the w a y he is i n the Mass and the Last Supper. The life, suffering, and death of the actual Christ is everpresent daily i n the Mass. | This, however, d i d n o t just occur once but happens eternally; for it is the life, suffering, a n d death of God; a n d , i n relation t o time, w h a t has being i n and f o r itself {das Anundfürsichseiende) must be eternally, therefore at the end of days and f o r every time. Thus the sacrifice takes place daily and forever and as an actual presence (wirkliche Gegenwart). I t is shallow and irreligious t o take this life, this suffering and death o f Christ, as merely historical (bloß historisch), as a happening; f o r it is divine history (gottliche Geschichte). G o d has appeared; it is the actual G o d ; this [sacrifice] must take place perpetually i n the c o m m u n i t y [ o f faith], which is itself the co-celebrant. Christ sacrifices himself w i t h i n the m a n and rises again i n h i m . This is n o t a mere representation o f C h r i s t , as i n the Reformed C h u r c h . A represented Christ is a psychological Christ, w h o remains at a distance a n d about w h o m the m i n d can evoke all manner o f psychological feelings and emotions whenever i t chooses, f o r the m i n d is then m charge. Its particular subjectivity is juxtaposed t o this representation o t the Master, keeps h i m at a distance, i f i t chooses. I t belongs then t o fate whether or not this represented Christ evokes emotions i n a n d has an mfhience o n such minds. I t is otherwise i n the [Catholic a n d Lutheran] Church because there G o d is a presence (Gegenwärtiges), not a past being (Gewesensem). Becoming other i n the m a n [Jesus] a n d being resurrected goes on forever. That is how this presence and the this are represented i n the church. 3 1
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found in later lectures as well fiii. 236, 339 n . 245, 373 n . 29). 490
482
The church might have been satisfied w i t h this presence, w i t h this worship. But once i t is established a n d conceded that God's self-disclosure is external a n d lends itself to this fixity, then i t is at this point that the o u t w a r d , sensible presence becomes an endless multiplicity, and the need for presence is boundless, producing itself i n a manner that is endless and m a n i f o l d . Christ as he appears here is apprehended or defined i n such a way that he m i g h t make himself k n o w n i n many other ways, so that, for example, his divine mother likewise disclosed herself as present i n h i m ; and other saints and blessed persons are hlcewise appearances, or effects, of divine activity. This establishes the manifold bestowals of grace associated w i t h the present appearance ]of G o d ] . These manifestations, these effects of the divine in something present, the images o f M a r y - t h e s e are all hosts, are active^ effective realizations of presence. A t h i r d and different kind of miracle, the relics that sustain the sensible presence, are sustenance for those whobelong t o heaven, i n the same w a y as the miracles express the appearances ° ' * * \ in a universal manner as law, but rather i n a particular manner. A l l o t t n i s is related t o the need for the presence of divinity. (
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I n such ages the church is a w o r l d full of miracle, and the devout community has no satisfaction in the w o r l d as such, m merely external existence, i n the rational and necessary connections of nature; rather satisfaction is f o u n d in single details o f nature as converted into a r ^ c u l a r manifestation of the divine, I as a portrayal of the divine asa this unthis place and time. The d m n e in sensible form is a miracle, for the sens,ble ,s something l i m i t e d and singular. The divine as such a single dung » a rmracle, and w i t h that i t is adimrted that the divine has appeared i n a particular way. This is the way, therefore, in w h i c h the church competes .tself mtemally that the divine appears as a tbts, that the church has me d m n e as a ^ as something immediate. The question n o w is w h a t the church itself lacks in 491
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THE GERMANIC WORLD
this situation—not w h a t we may find lacking, and h o w the church must seek t o arouse these needs w i t h i n itself. T h e c h u r c h has everything that we ask of the divine nature, [namely,] d o m i n i o n in actuality and the h o n i n g o f w h a t we saw as its o w n features. T h e question concerns w h a t the church still lacked i n its o w n principle, w h a t deficiency i t must have h a d w i t h o u t losing itself, without going beyond its principle.
leads the w a y t o the Orient as i n Alexander's day; rather Christendom is intent o n seizing the this, w i n n i n g and enjoying i t . Thus the Westerners set f o r t h t o the Orient t o conquer the this; they wanted to take possession of the place. They achieved their purpose in conquering, i n winning back, the birthplace of Bethkhem, the Jordan, Jerusalem, the H o l y Sepulcher. G o l gotha, and Gethsemane. This was their goal: to secure w h a t was most holy for them (ihr Höchstes) as a presence; it was t o see and feel, t o savor this presence. O n the one hand, Christendom was seriously engaged in going after this presence; o n the other hand, i t founded additional kingdoms and principalities, a n d an opportunity was provided t o conquer Constantinople. We have n o t yet spoken of me Greek [Byzantine] | Empire, this distinctive Christian empire that survived a thousand years longer than the Western Roman Empire. But even as they set out on their triumphal processions, the Crusaders were so inept that hundreds of thousands of their numbers fell by the wayside, met their deaths. They were similarly inept and lacking i n understanding as they set u p and governed those Oriental kingdoms.
This deficiency is t h a t miraculous images, miraculous w o r d s , etc., in which grace appears i n particular f o r m , are not o f a n absolute b u t of a limited nature and therefore must be endlessly reproduced. It is likewise w i t h the host, this higher element, as itself a l l o f these miracles, as every this, as Christ reproduced i n coundess churches. Christ himself, however, as the Son of G o d , is utterly one. As the host, this d i v i n i t y is merely substance, although transubstantiated, conveyed i n t o sensible presence, i n t o singularity. B u t this sir^ularity is at the same time a universal singularity t h a t is present i n all communities, so i t is o n l y a reflection of the universal, n o t this one singularity, spatially omnipresent (letzte in Raum), b u t is only one among m a n y and is not the utterly one, the singular. This is w h a t the church demands; this utterly one o n earth, here below (dieses schlechthin eine Diesseits), is w h a t the church must seek. The final singularity i n t o w h i c h presence gathers itself is t h a t w h i c h is in space, i n a locality. Even i f i n time the | singularity o f a person passes away, the spatial singularity remains. Christendom must discover a n d make its o w n this ultimate p o i n t of sensible singularity, the singularity that is called f o r i n space. Access t o i t is i n the hands o f u n b e l i e v e r s ; the church is blocked f r o m i t . I t is a shame and disgrace that i t should be blocked f r o m i t . Christendom was unanimous about the fact that, i n order to cast o f f this humiliation, war served n o t just any purpose b u t one alone, namely the Crusades. 32
The Crusades What impelled Christians t o the Orient was to make the sign of the cross [over this land]. W e have already seen the West d r a w n t o the East under Alexander—with truly an individual at the fore. Christendom does not have the this at the forefront [of the Crusades]. I t is not a genuine individual w h o
32. Thereferenceis to the ,kdy Land, wtuch was the hands of Muslim*. JS. lUe word 'cmsade' a from the Middle Latin cruciate, 'marked with a cross'. The German I T ^ o ? ^ 'f" <* cros*'- Nine crusades occurred between 109J and 1291. They faded the.r uh.mate objective of hold.ng the Holy Land, but they expanded Westers Hegemony in other regions. l n
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W h a t they actually gained were the sacred sites, the w o o d of the cross; but of greatest interest was the capture of the t o m b of the L o r d . I n the H o l y Sepulcher, i n any t o m b as such, all idle thoughts cease and matters become serious. I n the t o m b , i n this very n e g a t i o n of the temporal this, is where the reversal comes about. Isaiah says: T h o u dost not allow the saints t o peri s h . ' Here, i n this grave, the [idle] thoughts of Christendom had to perish and the doctrine had t o find its ultimate meaning i n the sensible this, for the response sounded a second time: ' W h y do y o u seek the living, the risen, among the dead? H e is n o t here, but has risen.' Indeed, i n the resurrection of Christ, i n the fact of his being risen, there was the rationale f o r being able t o have relics, and the impossibility of doing so. I f this rationale had been sufficient, the church w o u l d have been over and done w i t h the m a t t e t But i f Christendom had come to this purely common sense view (verständigen Anschauung), the Christian religion w o u l d have been i d o l worship. Christ is risen, sensible presence is removed and [that] speaks for itself. After Christ's I sensible presence, the H o l y Spirit w o u l d come t o lead the people into all t r u t h ; for, after Christ, the Holy Spirit came upon the 35
3 6
37
34. Hegel apparendy intends a connection between Siegeszüge (mumphal **> Kreuzzuge ( C r u s a d e s ^ ironic connection becau« bete the cross represent, nuhtary mump*, rather man suffering and death. The cross becomes a sword. . 35. Our text reads, following Griesheim m diese«, negativen Selbst HouSo reads, m Negativen . , 36. Isa.26:19 reads: 'Your dead »hall live, their corpses shall me. 37. Cf. Luke 24: 5-6.
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T H E L E C T U R E S O F 18
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conimunity—the living Spirit, not a sensible S p i r i t . T h e extremity o f subjectivity is to be sought n o t among the dead b u t among the spiritually living. 38
This is the result, the significance of the Crusades. The t o m b expelled their illusions about the meaning of the this; thus the H o l y Sepulcher and Canaan once again had to cease being the focus for the Christians. This was the blessing of the Crusades. The Crusades brought m u c h benefit and much damage. This is the stuff of empirical history. The result o f the Crusades was the blessing, the Spirit that simply is: the Spirit that comes to itself i n the negation of its immediate presence, such that the Spirit is present only in the negation of sensibility, o f immediacy. Thus the spirit of Christianity had t o reach the point of negating the sensible this, of detaching f r o m itself the meaning of the this i n the f o r m of sensible immediacy a n d placing i t outside itself, precisely because i t is external t o spirit.
487
This is the situation that n o w discloses itself i n w o r l d history. The this as sensible is n o w w h a t is external t o spirit. Spirit has yearned for the sensible this; i t is w h a t spirit wanted as its o w n , but as something external to i t . Because this externality is b o t h its o w n a n d an other, i t is n o w the w o r l d , the w o r l d of nature, that has become such a this, the object o f interest, f o r spirit. The other, nature, is its o w n ; i t itself is this nature, but as an other. Spirit has become interested i n nature, and so the pursuit of this interest is a task that is now legitimate f o r i t . Thus spirit n o w has nature as the sort o f setting i n which t o w o r k and enjoy itself. The situation is that the this is desired, but i t is t r u l y outside the spirit. This externality is nature; it is separated f r o m spint, its other, but a t the same time i t is w h a t spirit desired a n d t h a t w i t h w h i c h spirit felt justified m rxxupying itself. | It f o l l o w s f r o m this that the sensible this is not f o u n d i n the church but outside i t . The T u r n t o the External W o r l d and Nature What transpires then in the w o r l d is that human beings t u r n t o the w o r l d , freely let i t be as a this, gain confidence i n relation t o i t , deal practically w i t h it, and so freely let it be free just as they themselves are free. I n the church spint is freed f r o m the sensible this. Thus an entirely different ascent of spirit begins. This ,s the t h i r d characteristic o f this p e r i o d . The first was the dominion of the church, the second that the church seeks the this and finds it outside itself. The t h i r d is the harmonious relationship w i t h this externality, is this tranquil relation to the w o r l d and t o nature as the this, m a k i n g it
THE GERMANIC WORLD
one's o w n , envisaging it inwardly, beyond the bounds of the church. The external w o r l d is n o w outwardly set over against the church as that with which spirit n o w has t o deal, discovering i n the w o r l d its own features. This characteristic is n o w a factor i n the w o r l d and i t assumes many forms. The first o f these forms is that all manner of industry, crafts, and trade come alive, especially along the coast of Italy and i n the Italian cities. Nature was adapted t o human purposes, especially in regions of Italy, Catalonia, and Flanders, as w e l l as i n Germany along the Rhine and the Danube, where cities were founded, just as deeper into Germany cities were also established during the conflict w i t h the Slavs. The struggle against pagan cultures began in the n o r t h of Germany. This is where | the Hanseatic League and other associations for similar purposes were found. This marks the flowering of nade. T h e understanding is w o r k i n g its way into the sensible element and has a place here because that element is excluded from the church. The expansion of the limits of external existence is connected w i t h this process. This activity, expanded t o include universal viewpoints, establishes the certainty of the understanding for its o w n sake. 39
Falling w i t h i n this period are many discoveries or inventions that are primarily instrumental i n nature. For many of them the question as to where rhev were discovered is secondary. Whether that took place m the West or not' is immaterial because the characteristic thing is that now such invenuons come i n t o general use, that n o w the legitimacy of finding sansfacnon in the external w o r l d has dawned on people. T w o inventions w i l l be mentioned above a l l : gunpowder and the printing press. The most likely or best supposition is that gunpowder was invented by the m o n k S c h w a r z . This invention altered the art of warfare w i t h the: following consequences: castles were made [both] vulnerable and secure, tor good and evil purposes, and protection of the body by sturdy defensive equipment, a suit of armor or a cuirass, became obsolete. The difference between the weapons of lords and those of serfs was n o w dirnimshed, thereby eliminating the power differential between them. A common ob,ection is that the bravest could n o w be vanquished by the weak, be slam by the most cowardly. But that had always been the case, and this means, gunpowder, 40
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T H E LECTURES OF 1 8 2 2 - 3
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essentially brought about a higher level of mental, r a t i o n a l , reflective courage. | For i n present-day warfare, c o m m a n d has for this very reason become the main factor. Even w i t h the ancients, i n the ancient art of war, the individual placed his security i n the context of the w h o l e a n d i n the belief that everything depended on i t . The use o f gunpowder brought w i t h i t an end to the individual one-on-one [of battle], the individual's animosity t o w a r d the enemy [combatant]; this hostility ended, and the result was fighting and firing u p o n an abstract, generalized enemy. A s a consequence, w a r s are now less bloody because everyone can surely recognize the clanger f r o m afar. The understanding is better able t o grasp the w h o l e because the battle plays out at a distance. So one must appreciate the i n v e n t i o n o f g u n p o w d e r as a means that is essentially l i n k e d w i t h the modern understanding.
cultured, by acting i n a universal rather than a merely private fashion. Associations are founded for this external purpose, for crafts and trades {Industrie*). Besides, people knew themselves to have the right t o be engaged i n a general w a y i n these activities, i n this w o r k , and the unking factors become, i n another respect, l a w and civic freedom. I n this w a y a new element, a n e w w o r l d , arises i n the European w o r l d , i n European Christend o m . I t is a w o r l d that differs f r o m the church, w h i c h , as w e saw, shut out the outside w o r l d , thus setting it free. Likewise, the outside w o r l d n o w opposes the relationship of lordship and servitude, the system of dependent bondsmen, the feudal system, that previously held sway. Thus a new system of freedom entered the feudal system, a principle that in its content embraced r a t i o n a l freedom, a freedom t o be sure, although limited i n extent and having a l i m i t e d meaning—the freedom of property, of 1 talent, and o f w h a t ensued f r o m i t . However, w i t h i n this sphere the content is rational. I n the other system, the feudal system, there is dependence as such, and it is indeterminate, and r a n d o m , whether the content is rational or not, or is justified. I n the feudal system everything is supposed to be private privilege, even w h a t is by its nature n o t , such as droit du pucehge (privilege of v i r g i n i t y ) , as w e l l as ministerial posts, and the like. Either everything becomes private property, at odds w i t h ethical relations, o r i t is against the l a w of the state. So the chastity of maidens became the property o f their overlords; a n d , on the other side, the office of field commander became the property of [their] ministers. The new system o f civic freedom n o w contrasts w i t h this system of private property, i n which w h a t was property ought not, conceptually, t o be p r o p e r t y . . ,
The printing press advanced the desire t o stay interconnected w i t h others through ideas; this desire gave rise t o the p r i n t i n g press i n the first place. By means of printing, opinions and ideas c o u l d be easily spread, inundating Germany like a plague after its i n v e n t i o n . T h e means f o r trade and mdustry, for widespread, peaceful interconnection i n the w o r l d , had n o w armed. 41
490
Directly related [ t o this desire f o r connection] were the discoveries, the heroic sea voyages o f exploration by the Portuguese, the circumnavigation of the Cape of G o o d H o p e , and the discovery o f A m e r i c a launched f r o m Spain. Spanish k n i g h t h o o d sought a new field o f action and discovered it in a different way, seemingly l i m i t e d i n the first place t o the search f o r profitHowever, by venturing out i n this way, the k n i g h t h o o d expanded and I demonstrated its gallantry i n a w a y t h a t i n i t i a l l y appeared t o be just the opposite o f gallantly. Quite inseparably linked i n part t o this industriousness was, i n the second place, the rise o f freedom i n the cities. By people l o o k i n g t o their o w n hands and seeing their accomplishments, and by their subjective seU-consciousness setting t o w o r k i n external nature, they find i t legitimate t o do so a n d shape themselves accordingly, seeing themselves obligated t o conduct themselves m a i m i v r r s a l way, according t o the nature o f things and o f their o w n needs. T l * * * « " « of their occupation and m u s t c o m p l y w i t h the general nature o f this objective; they must conquer their sheer desue, their crudeness and awkwardness, by overcoming momentary, capricious urges and crude behavior. They become cultured, and make themselves t h e m s c l v e s
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T h i s element of rationality and rights dashes i n many ways w i t h the earlier system. I t can be seen i n the impressive Italian republics, which these days are n o longer mentioned, although each of them has its o w n interesting a n d impressive history. Republics f o r m , s o m e o f which ffounsb and are independent, while others are correspondingly unfortunate,destroying themselves internally or being t o r n apart i n uiifortunate wars. A t rimes, cities freed themselves only under the authority of pnnces, as happened so often i n France. A t this p o i n t three essential estates o r classes> {Stande) emerge: the estate of the peasants, that of the bourgeoisie, and that of the n o b i l i t y ; i n a d d i t i o n there is the estate of the clergy. These are the e s * n u a l classes that appeared i n India as castes, and that are c ^ d . t i o n e d by ba^ic physical a n d spiritual requirements. The differences are related t o hfe-
42. ^ ^ o i ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ 43. Adding 'oath' to the German so a* to read:« srvtan aegmi 497
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T H E L E C T U R E S O F 18
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circumstances. These are | therefore the classes that must emerge every where. L i k e the castes i n I n d i a , they emerge here too and become i n part distinctions of nature and of region. M o r e i m p o r t a n t l y , however, they have been legally defined a n d established. Such a legal arrangement can only come f r o m the w i l l , not f r o m nature or a purely natural arrangement; rather it is the w i l l that makes this determination that is universally and recipro cally distinguishable f r o m its opposite. Hence these essential estates are established, partly by nature and partly by law. I t is i m p o r t a n t t o note further t h a t these classes, while indeed classes o f bourgeois society, have also become distinctions and determinations under the a u t h o r i t y o f the state, w h i c h likewise is divided i n t o these estates. The t w o aspects are related. These estates, w h i c h i n i t i a l l y represent ways of l i v i n g , are also p o l i t i c a l . This distinction is very important. Today we forget that the estates have this explicitly dual character. They are usually understood solely i n their p o l i t i c a l sense rather than as distin¬ guishing particular ways of life. A s merely political, they are not also rooted in the requirements that particular ways of-life entail. T h e estates, however, are at the same time distinctions in ways of life and in political relationships. The n o b i l i t y was equally a political estate. Hence the n o b i l i t y also possessed political power, as d i d the upper aristocracy. The same was t r u e o f the inhabitants of cities, the bourgeoisie, w h o also achieved the status of a political estate; being a member of an estate entailed a political dimension and was also anchored in bourgeois life. The peasantry was more o r less excluded f r o m political life. But this was not entirely the case, as f o r example in Switzerland, where the peasantry as a whole made u p the entire state.
493
These estates | i n their dual significance became legally established, not merely under constitutional l a w but in such a w a y that the p o l i t i c a l state of affairs has at the same time the shape of private ownership. T h i s latter aspect partly contravenes the nature of the state: the fact that a l l o f these relation ships became matters of private rights t o a degree undercuts the state; on the other h a n d , however, the relationships and determinations of rights in the state also became greatly strengthened i n this way. This point demonstrates where the Occidental countries differ greatly from the O r i e n t a l , Islamic countries; i t shows where the European states contrast w i t h the Islamic states. Such a fixity of distinctions does n o t exist i n the latter; there nothing is anchored w i t h certainty. The H o l y Sepulcher is the place where the East bade farewell t o the West. For that very reason, there is order i n the state. T h i s firmness of distinc tions, an ordered state, is f o u n d only i n Europe. U n i t y i n the East is solidi fied, abstract, and fanatical, whereas i n Europe, o n the contrary, distinctions 498
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were established. A lasting, enduring, and intelligible establishment of re lationships exists and indeed is pervaded by private rights. The most impor tant point is t h a t the formation of states i n Europe obtained stability, and t h a t they were interwoven w i t h private property. I n this regard the stable heritabiliry of the throne is particularly impor tant, as is later the indivisibility of lands. The heritabiliry of the throne was a f r u i t of the system of private r i g h t s . By emphasizing this point we can, f r o m the juxtaposition of European legality t o the Oriental w o r l d , explain its distinction f r o m the disorganization of the Oriental system. A t this time, however, the determination by private rights of what detennines state a u t h o r i t y had | n o t yet given w a y t o this absolute sphere fi.e., the state]. For in the state no private legality has validity, and no legality that is private a n d apart f r o m the throne is allowed. However, t w o matters of state author ity must be anchored i n private rights: first, the royal house and the upper aristocracy as pillars of the throne; second, the consntution and freedom. 44
However, the system of private legality had not yet given way t o this sphere. T h e understanding, w h i c h established the laws and distinctions here, has previously been more closely examined. The states of this period were, as such, also reciprocally and externally i n a legally stable relationship, in virtue o f treaties determined reciprocally and legally; and through alliance they entered i n t o mutual relationships that came to be k n o w n as the balance o f p o w e r i n Europe. Previously, states had remained more isolated, whereas n o w alliances were formed. The League of Cambrai i n 1 5 0 8 was among the first, demonstrating that a single state could achieve little for itself w i t h o u t an association w i t h others. Thenceforth the states acted i n partner ship; they pursued their interests joindy. These are the major points i n this regard. W h a t we have is o n the one hand the ancient church, on the other h a n d the outside w o r l d , w i t h the understanding present there in its auton o m y (in seinem Selbstsein). This brings us t o the point of transition into modernity as the t h i r d period. 45
46
44. The term pnvaireektlich refers to die fact of certain legal matım being in ^ t u ^ d s o f particular persons or social groups, rather than under the control of the state aş such. We render it here as 'private legality' or 'private rights', although it can also mean ' a v i l U w . 45. The understanding (Verstand) has been examined several ama above. See c.&xm distinction between Verstand and Vemunft on p . 187, and the dueussaon of IB abstract individualization on p. 484. .... , „_ , y,. , 46. An alliance formed in 1508-10 by Holy Roman Emperor Maxuiuban L Kmg Loms France, Pope Julius D. King Ferdinand V of Aragon, and several Itahan c * y - * a « s , against tfcr Republic o f Venice rv check its territorial expansion.
499
T H E L E C T U R E S O F 18
THE TRANSITION
TO
THE GERMANIC WORLD
22-3
MODERNITY
47
were the standpoint and need of religion, then such a need of spirit w o u l d not find satisfaction i n relating t o something beautiful. For the most trivial
Three fundamental points must be addressed w i t h respect t o t h i s period of transition: (1) a r t , (2) the c o r r u p t i o n o f the church, and (3> the Reformation.
portrayals
| are the most expedient i n filling the need for subjugation.
Experience should even show that the truest [artistic) portrayals, such as Raphael's m a d o n n a s ,
49
do not enjoy the admiration shown to lesser ones.
Piety fails t o recognize genuine works of art. Experience also demonstrate*
Art The last matter o f w h i c h w e spoke w a s that the secular w o r l d developed itself f o r its o w n sake, that i n i t s p i r i t issued f o r t h on its o w n account. Worldliness is the principle of the this, developing itself outside the church. Spirit sought the completion o f the this, f o u n d the this for the c h u r c h — b u t i n such a way that i t cut the this o f f f r o m the church
| a n d shut o u t the
church. The church, however, retained w i t h i n itself the external this o r the sensible as such, a n d so there is a t w o f o l d sensible element as the this. Thus the sensible ekroent exists w i t h i n the church w h i l e also being excluded from the church. As the original (erste) c h u r c h , i t has i n i t the element of sensibility as immediacy that has not yet reverted t o spirituality w i t h i n i t . Because the church has this sensible element w i t h i n itself, the sensible is made i n w a r d and is even transfigured, and this transfiguration is brought a b o u t by art. A r t spiritualizes, elevates, breathes life i n t o the external, the sensible. I t elevates the external t o a f o r m that belongs t o spirit; and feeling {Cemitt) or devotion relates itself t o art n o longer as t o a mere t h i n g but instead as the soul relating to something involved w i t h soul, t o a spirit. I t is a different m a t t e r i f spirit aspires to devotion, i f spirit relates itself t o something spiritual as the veneration o f a t h i n g such as a host o r piece o f w o o d . I n a relationship o f the former k i n d , i n relating itself t o w h a t is spiritual, spirit is free, is f o r itself, is [related] t o something i n its o w n likeness. Piety can act piousfy t o w a r d a t h i n g , can have devout feelings t o w a r d something merely sensible, and divine grace can even operate by this means; but then the sensible is w h o l l y superfluous. What is t r u e must present itself i n objective shape. The thing {das Ding) is nothing objective, n o t h i n g abso-
that piety venerates t o a lesser degree genuine works erf art, for the latter lead t o an inner satisfaction and freedom, whereas piety seeks only to be poised i n a state of d u l l , insensible dependence. When the need is merely t o feel a d u l l dependency, then piety fails to recognize genuine works of a n because it feek that it is spoken to inwardly, that w h a t is foreign to it therefore consists of counterfeit v o i c e s .
50
The C o r r u p t i o n of the Church A s f o r the c o r r u p t i o n of the church, it has been noted what the church had lacked, and h o w it incorporated this deficiency. Its corruption must n o t be seen as f o r t u i t o u s ; i t is not to be taken as a chance event; rather the c o r r u p t i o n is necessary. It could be said that it arose f r o m an abuse o t power. 'Abuse i n the church' seems to say that what in itself is good is only corrupted b y subjective intentions, intentions that then only need t o be removed to salvage the situation. This implies that the setup itseh was faultless and that o n l y a person's contingent desires perverted this good i n t o a means of satisfying passion. Then the evil is seen as » * e t h m e external t o the situation. I f the situation is only abused (and .1 this in tact is only abuse), then i t is only inridental and accidental. Thus i t only happens i n i n d i v i d u a l instances. However, the principle of
c
^^
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r C S , d
the c h u r c h ; i t has infiltrated the church and lies i n the fact that w o r s h i p as something sensible and has not truly and w h o l l y
™
c
sensible element. A r t d i d not suffice t o transfigure the « ¿ f e f e
u
™ * * ^
has the f o r m o f sensibility. I n art the sensible is still justified. For art * not
lutely true, but rather something untrue; and over against it spirit is n o t free, is n o t related to a t r u t h but is utterly dependent, captive, and b o u n d . Spirit turns here to something unspintual a n d untrue, w h i l e i t is o n l y i n t r u t h t h a t spint is free.
I f such a state o f bondage, of unfree dependence o n a t h i n g ,
abc^e ^ h J S
° ! ii
P n Z S ^ t 7 f ^TrT^
f V
a
0
^ ^ T
49. Whfc wc.rk.ng in Flor^ce and Rome, Rapnaei ^ ^ T nas, of which the roost famous is the Sistine *^ d™*"f'™ J ^ ^ 50. H e g e r s c ^ o f F r i e d r ^ ieelmgof uner dependence graph. The 1st edn. of ScWeiennacher- Dercbmtbcht ^ ^ • published ,„ 1821-2, a year pr,or to the present ^ ^ ^ T ^ here, Schumacher's reeling of utter oepenaWe ^ ^ J ^ ^ ot a fedmg of reianve freedom toward the world. ™ a
ow
* ^ ^ U S pvrv axtaas in th*
^ ^ ^ f ^ ^ ^ S
e l W m a , 0 r f
c
n
,
!
d m s , C O S
**
i U S t
«* *
German* \Pbrid that Hegel idearifies * * *
dtnsrute h a . , separate sertwo,
500
Ag««preceded^pe«odo.
S
501
tedocu^L
~ ™ * ^ ^ n ^ ^ ^ ^ c x , ^ ^ Z i ^ see Uctm* om a
t
T H E L E C T U R E S OF 1 8 2 2 - 3
497
w h a t I satisfies the ultimate needs o f spirit, and the element of art is the sensible. Spirit, however, requires a spiritual element. The w o r l d spirit has already excluded the sensible element a n d f o r that reason indeed parted company w i t h the church; thus it stands above the church, which takes no part i n this excluding division {ausgeschlossenen Teil) but instead retains the sensible w i t h i n itself. From n o w o n , the church takes a back seat t o the w o r l d spirit precisely because the latter has indeed reached the p o i n t of dealing w i t h the sensible as such. The w o r l d spirit has n o w accepted the external as something external, and we have a subjectivity that is justified i n subordinating the external t o itself. However, the sensible has remained w i t h i n the church, a n d this situation n o w develops w i t h i n itself to the p o i n t of c o r r u p t i o n . The church no longer has o p p o s i t i o n ; i t has achieved a ruling position, and everything finds its consummation in the church itself. Everything, being internal to the church, receives [there] its dettrminate f o r m as fully consummate. This appears as a contradiction w i t h i n the church itself. Thus the c o r r u p t i o n can be understood as existing w i t h i n the piety itself, as superstition, as something t h a t is b o u n d t o a sensible this—i sensible object t h a t is supposed to be venerated as something absolute, as spirit. Bound i n this way, spirit is unfree. Belief i n miracles of the most absurd k i n d and i n the most childish fashion exemplifies this lack of freedom. The divine is expressed as existing there i n the most particular o f forms. Lust f o r power, barbarity, hypocrisy, sensuality—all passions are unleashed i n their o w n way, crudely a n d w i l d l y , erupriru; crudely i n undisciplined fashion. Virtue i n the church is, i n contrast, n o w just abstractly negative t o w a r d the sensible, taking the f o r m o f retreat, renunciation, and lifelessness. Virtue does n o t attain internal m o r a l rectitude but only retreats f r o m worldliness i n t o renunciation. I n contrast, the highest virtue is f o u n d in the realm o f the l i v i n g , i n the family.
498
I t is these contrasts w i t h i n the c h u r c h that n o w come t o prominence: on the one^ hand, crude desire and vulgar depravity; o n the other | h a n d , total renunciation by lofty, religious souls, w h o sacrifice everything. These contrasts are heightened by the antithesis, by the understanding, by the distinct states i n w h i c h a person feels caught u p . The ultimate undoing o f the church is that it is supposed t o save souls f r o m c o r r u p t i o n ; b u t because the church itself is corrupt, i t makes this salvation o r this absolute purpose itself i n i o a merely external means, and satisfies this purpose i n a w h o l l y external mannet, namely the indulgences {Ablaß der Sünden). Subjectivity seeks its greatest satisfaction i n the certainty of its oneness w i t h G o d . B u t when satisfaction is bestowed o n the soul irresponsiblv i n this w a y — a n d when the church offers this certainty externally and irresponsibly a n d does so for
502
THE GERMANIC
WORLD
external purposes, for its o w n opulent life—the soul must be outraged to the extreme and necessarily indignant over such actions. However, the purpose f o r this service [the selling of indulgences] was not opulent living but the building of St Peter's Church, the outwardly most splendid and largest church of a l l ; and things turned out here as they did in Athens. The Athenians used the money of their allies [in the Dehan League] for an and for the temple of Athena, and for this reason they lost their support. Just as this was the misfortune of Athens, so too this structure, St Peter's, which Michelangelo adorned w i t h the image o f the Last Judgment, became the last judgment on this proudest and grandest structure of the church—a last judgment o n the church itself i n its corruption. 51
The Reformation I f one wants t o l ^ o m e acqimmted w i m I only needs t o read some of Luther's w r i t i n g s ; the present-day church is by no means in the same condition, having been inwardly cleansed by the Reformation. The age-old, tried and true inwardness of the German people is what led to the fall of the old order, and f r o m this inwardness genuine unity was restored. This inwardness was said, by its efforts, to actualize the principle of freedom. This principle of spiritual freedom was preserved in the inwardness of the German spirit. A l l the other peoples ventured forth t o the East Indies, ,xo India, a n d t o America, t o achieve worldly sovereignty, as for example, d i d Spain. Whereas i n Germany there emerged a simple monk who wasconsaous that the this is to be found in the deepest recesses of the heart, i n the absolute ideality o f inwardness, w h o was clearly aware of present cOTdinoris, and whose deepest heart was distressed by the distortion of the truth. He is the one w h o recognized, kept after, and destroyed the distortion of u n c h u r c h . o
n
e
52
Luther's simple teaching is that consciousness of the this in the present is nothing sensible but something actual {ein Wirkliches) and spmtual; i t ts consciousness of an actual presence, not in the sensible realm but i n faith and p a n a k i n g (im Glauben und Genuß). This is not the consciousness of a Cod
Open l2er to the Christ™ Nobility of the ^ J ^ ^ f ^ ^ ^ Z ^ Christian Estate, and The Babylon** CaptH^ of the-Of** ^ , ^ « ^ 1 positive s t , ™ about Chnsoau ^ ^ ± T ^ ^ J ^ ^ f J L ^ presence of Christ ID the sacrament,etc, are e x e m p b b e u , ^ob-woth V
o
r
k
Christ ,aho 1520,. See m ^ f ^ ^ T ^ Z ^ ^ ^ ^ (Career o f the Reformer 1, II) (Philadelphu, l « 7 - ^ M J n « _„ also Hegel's Lectures on the History of Philosophy (Odord, 2006, 2009), u , 24, 38, 7 V 7 $
503
~
400
T H E L E C T U R E S O F 18 2 2 - 3 that is said t o exist sensibly as a t h i n g , nor is it that this object is merely imagined and not something present. Rather, G o d is actually present, although not sensibly so. For this reason, i n his doctrine of the Last Supper, Luther could make no concessions o r compromises.
500
In a d d i t i o n t o this departure f r o m the sensible nature of the this, m a n y other doctrines are central, such as the n u l l i t y of w o r k s — p r a c t i c a l w o r k s , taken as actions carried o u t n o t f r o m f a i t h but f r o m some external m o t i v e . Concerning f a i t h , one should f i r m l y grasp that L u t h e r a n f a i t h is by no means a certainty regarding w h a t is merely finite, regarding merely finite things; i t is therefore n o t a certainty that depends on the merely finite subject as such. | Faith here is not faith in something absent that has already taken place o r i s m the past; i t i s n o t , for example, believing that Moses crossed the Red Sea w i t h d r y feet, or similar kinds of spiritless externalities. These things have nothing to do w i t h faith. N o r does believing that the trumpets at Jericho h a d the effect of cannons. Such things involve certainty about temporal matters. Christ disparages the Jews for w a n t i n g to derive their faith f r o m signs and miracles. Christ himself said i t was w r o n g t o demand signs and miracles in order to believe/ that is, self-referentially to seek certainty about the divme i n an external, isolated occurrence. Faith, o n the contrary, is certainty about the eternal, about the t r u t h that subsists i n a n d for itself. 4
The certainty or truth about G o d is something entirely different f r o m such externalities. The Lutheran Church says that this certainty is produced a n d given onfy by the H o l y Spirit. For i t is the certainty that attaches not simply t o individuals according to their particularity, but instead attaches t o one's o w n essennal being, the certainty that comes f r o m the Spirit. This Lutheran dr^ctrine is thoroughly Catholic; but everything that relates t o externality is pruned away. I t is only t o the extent that the Catholic Church retains this externality that i t runs counter to Luther's dextrine. To the extent that Catholic teaching does n o t assert this externality, Lutheran doctrine is n o t opposed t o i t . One aspect still needs t o be emphasized: the distinction between the priesthood and the laity. N o w [ w i t h L u t h e r ] that distinction is abolished. (Tn the Catholic Church] the laity must still accept everything spiritual as something foreign to them, as a given, something commanded, including a l l
THE GERMANIC WORLD ethical, religious, and juridical content. The clergy, however, is i n possession of all spiritual power. This distinction drops away in the Lutheran principle. In the Lutheran Church the heart, the sensitive spirituality, the innermost consciousness or conscience, is what is said to become aware of and to possess the t r u t h — | w i t h the stipulation that the individual subject as such identifies itself w i t h this t r u t h . By this means the church gains freedom, the absolute inwardness of soul that is integral t o teligion. The this is now a spiritual matter, and consciousness of i t is not something sensible but instead something spiritual. The subjectivity o f individuals, their certainty or inwardness, is genuine subject i v i t y o n l y i n f a i t h , that is, only w h e n this subjectivity has transformed itself, having been reborn i n the knowledge of the Spirit in the t r u t h . This subjectivity is not natural subjectivity but is what is substantial. I t must be made t r u e : i t must surrender subjective opinion and make its o w n the teaching o f the church. This is without qualification, and necessarily, the doctrine o r content of the Lutheran principle. The subject must have the object as something subsisting i n and for itself. Subjective certainty, i.e. the subject's knowledge of the true, which should be for i t an objective truth, subsisting i n and for itself, only becomes authentic when, in relation to this content, particular subjectivity is surrendered; and this happens o n l y by m a k i n g the objective t r u t h one's o w n truth. What the subject makes its o w n is the t r u t h , the Spirit, the Trinity. This Spirit is the absolute being (das absolute WesenU the being of subjective spirit. The subject, the subjective spirit, becomes free i n relating to it because the subject is thereby i n w a r d l y relating t o its very being and t r u t h and negating its o w n particularity. Subjective spirit comes t o itself through this self-negation because it is absolutely at home w i t h itself (bet sich). This is how Christian freedom is actualized. If subjective freedom is based on feeling alone without this content, there is no movement beyond pure naturalness, the natural w i l l . The feeling w i l l is I the natural w i l l . Humanity is only human when undergoing the process of consciousness; i t is only spirit when paruapating i n the true, objective content, and when approprianng it w i t h i n i t s d t S i
55. See John 8: 32. . ^, „ on T V 56. In this paragraph Hegel summarizes tn bis own " " " « P ™ ^ ScUeierrnacner's ^ ^ freedom of I c t l L (sei above, n. 52»; (see emphasis on religious feeling to the exclusion of « ^ " ™ f " dependence on God, and above, n. 50). Schleiermacher'i religious feehngis a ' « ' ' ^ " " " ^ p^^ph,of UrUpcm. in Hegel s view it is an expression of the natural will (see Learn ai _ an i i i . 93 n . 93}. M h t
53. Hegel« referring io the account tn Heb. 11 29-30, which says that i t was 'by faith' that the I^aehtes passed through the Red Sea and that the walls of Jericho fell; see also ExcxL 14: :
¿1 r / r ' •* W W t h " ">» happened, which is not the same at cbe faith that empowered the Israelites to accomplish certain things. >4. See Mark 8: 11-13; Man. U: 1-4 L
C
n
D
a
s
m
o
i
o
a
i
504
^f^^^l^^
505
[
THE GERMANIC WORLD
T H E L E C T U R E S OF 1 8 2 2 - 3
This is the new and ultimate banner around w h i c h peoples gather, the flag of freedom, of the true spirit. This is the spirit o f the m o d e r n era, and it designates the m o d e m period. The ages p r i o r t o o u r age have faced but one labor, have had but one task, and that has been t o incorporate this principle into actuality, thereby achieving for this principle the f o r m of freedom, of universality. Thus there are three shapes that are n o w present i n the w o r l d . First, there is the realm o f the ancient church, w h i c h has the same content, one and true; but the content is burdened w i t h externality a n d therefore has n o t been elevated t o subjective freedom. Second, we have i n a d d i t i o n the external, temporal w o r l d i n w h i c h external nature, the necessities of life, and subjective aims are dealt w i t h ; this includes all external relationships, i n which there exist authority and civil society but i n such a w a y that the understanding establishes itself therein. A n d t h i r d , there is the modern church, the freedom o f spirit i n the shape of subjective knowledge, of subjective identity. W h a t must n o w happen is that this reconciliation o f actuality, w h i c h has happened implicitly, must be [explicitly] envisaged. This can o n l y occur i f the reconciliation itself becomes actually objective i n f o r m , t a k i n g o n the f o r m of thought. This f o r m belongs t o culture, f o r the latter is the activity o f the universal, of t h i n k i n g as such. As far as the spheres o f the finite w i l l are c o n c e r n e d - l a w , state, a d m i n i s t r a t i o n - t h e y come t o be determined i n a universal mode in accord w i t h the concept. It is i n this w a y t h a t t r u t h n o w appears t o spint m the external, natural, a n d subjective w i l l . The material o f appearance is the particular w i l l , and w h a t appears is the concept o f free w i l l , w h i c h at the same time is the concept of authentic s p i r i t . Thus i t is essential being t h a t | appears i n this element, and i t can o n l y appear t o the extent that the subject matter (Staff) is envisaged in the element o f the universal by a n d through the concept; i t can only appear t o the extent t h a t t h e i d e n t i t y of spirit takes on the f o r m of the universality of thought. 57
503
Ihus one can say that the government o f states is based o n religion. So religion constitutes the basis o f states. This does n o t mean t h a t the state makes use of religion as a means, or alternatively, that states carry o u t their r u n c f o n s .a their religious obedience. Instead, states are simply the appearance of the true content of religion. The appearance o f this new p r i n c i p l e i n the present is yet t o be discussed. v
J i J i S ^
«
?™& ""gebddet ('reconstructed-) to eingetnldet ('envisaged >, angetnldet appears again later i n this paragraph. 1
e d i t O K
U
A
506
The Constellations of Europe After the Reformation The difference between Romance [and Germanic] nations w i t h respect t o this appearance is i n t u r n evident. I n their first formation into existence as states, the Romance nations had an external focus as part and parcel of their internal being; they had a split character internally. For this specific reason i t became intrinsically necessary that they adhere to the ancient church; then there is w i t h i n them something set and positive that opposes the freedom of spirit. I n contrast, w i t h i n the other [the Germanic] nations that we said retained their age-old inwardness, the modern church has the ability t o thrive and has done so. A survey o f the European kingdoms results in the f o l l o w i n g distinctions. [1.] I n the first place, we have Italy as the present instance [of a nation] that does not succeed at defining itself through thought, through the universal. A l l that is situated beyond the bounds of determinate thought, all that is uncivilized, can fully blossom here, as well as all that is sweet and m i l d , lust as on the other hand, however, deception and vileness have their place here too. Thus we find here images of the most sublime piety, the lovehest bloom, the flowering of ethicality, but also heedless sensuality m the form of the wildest i m m o r a l i t y and lawlessness. | Just as Italy stands for subjective individuality, the Spanish represent honor and earnestness; they are the people w h o saw knighthood reach its hdlest brilliance, saw it unfold i n most brilliant fashion. However, this krughthood, this sense o f chivalry, went f o r t h i n t o a new w o r l d , to America, heedless w i t h regard t o its innermost self.So there is no industry i n me country, Spam lags m the arts; the social classes lose their independence because me m q u m n o n stifles the emergence of the self. The Inquisition had a harsh, African character and thus d i d not allow any aspect of the self t o emerge. T h e t h i r d people t o be considered here are the French-They areapeoole of thought a n d spirit that, however, remain
«
^
^
^
^
J
^
boundless culture, but whose thought is encumbered h y e ^ n n ^ l . r y t o w a r d the concrete. Spirit o n l y takes hold of the concrete abstractly^*. c o m m o n sense (Witz).
«m*
Abstract thought and common sense are the t w o
forms of consciousness encountered here.
;„™»«Ue«.
and here too they are three in number. The freedom ot me u .
58. Hegel is perhaps referring to the sterner Afncan Ternillian and (the anti-Pelagian) Augusoae-
507
Chrisnmh7 that s the heritage of Cnnaw
T H E L E C T U R E S OF 1 8 2 2 - 3
THE GERMANIC WORLD
them. To the extent that each one maintained t h i s inwardness, i t is again divided inwardly i n threefold fashion. As the first n a t i o n we can cite Great Britain, w h i c h is i n w a r d l y divided in
505
I n a d d i t i o n t o these t w o large constellations in Europe [Romance and Germanic], there is a t h i r d , the Slavic nature, which persists in its initial solidity,
j
This is Russia, w h i c h perhaps only recently, i n the last hundred
a threefold way, w i t h i n England, Scotland, a n d I r e l a n d , as the Episcopalian,
years, has approached closer t o European life and begun to resemble Euro-
Catholic, and Presbyterian Churches. Great Britain is comparable t o France.
pean culture. It has not yet had an impact on the process of European
We also see there the principle o f abstract thought, o f raisonttement,
culture; i t is a state that has remained on the outside i n art and science.
but |
more concretely, f o r it has more concrete thought and specific rights as its
F r o m an external, political perspective, however, Russia is indeed a player i n
object, and w i t h a view t o [practical] concerns.
the political sphere as this massive power, as what is firm, compact, self-
The second people are the Scandinavians, w h o are t r i p l y d i v i d e d i n t o the
enclosed, and it has even established and maintained a bond o f coexistence
nations of Denmark, N o r w a y , and Sweden. W i t h its chivalry a n d its ancient
w i t h the European kingdoms, albeit implicidy and i n fact just a passive one.
voyages o f conquest that appeared again later in another f o r m , a n d w i t h its heroes such as Gustavus Adolphus and Charles X I I ,
i ?
great knights w h o
reinstated the path o f chivalry, this people is comparable t o the Spaniards. A t
T H E HISTORY
OF
MODERNITY
61
home these leaders were at times supported by their p r o u d grandees, but at other times they were i n w a r r i n g opposition t o their nobility. The third people is G e r m a n y ,
60
w h i c h shares the same fate as Italy.
The principle of singularity, o f individuality, o f subjectivity holds sway here. The Reformation emerged here i n this focal p o i n t o f inwardness. O f a spiritual nature, this country d i d n o t k n o w h o w t o achieve p o l i t i c a l unity. Instead, it disintegrated to such an extent that, o n the one h a n d , the peasant class m Switzerland was allowed to become independent; i n Switzerland the peasants are a t o t a l i t y on their o w n account, a discrete, independent entity. O n the other hand, cities formed a league for trade and industry; and the
The history o f this modern era presents three developments that are o f interest t o us: 1 . By its very nature (Existenz), w o r l d l y , determinate existence
the modern c h u r c h acquires for itself a 62
(Dasein).
2. The principle o f the m o d e m church; i n shaping itself as i t iniaaUy exists, the subjectivity o f consciousness has the form of sensibility, o f representation; i t must therefore give itself the form of the universality o f thought. 3 . This f o r m a l universality must obtain a concrete content and be the
freedom o f city-dwellers i n the Netherlands developed i n t o independence,
determinative factor i n concrete actuality.
became w h o l l y autonomous. A s such, Germany is a microcosm o f Europe.
The W o r l d l y Existence o f the M o d e m Church: Wars o f Religion
Eastern peoples, the Slavs, attached themselves t o its large, eastern states. The m a m representatives o f the t w o European principles underlying the state, the pnnciples of the modern w o r l d , are necessarily t o be f o u n d i n Germany The principle o f the ancient church is represented i n A u s t r i a , t h a t ot the modern church i n Prussia, t o w h i c h the gaze o f freedom directed itself and ever w i l l do so. The other [states o f Germany] remain a varied g r o u p ,
The first p o i n t o f interest includes the religious wars. Great campaigns are evident even earlier, such as the Crusades, w h i c h were of widespread interest. I n addition, there were particular wars, which also continue ui ihemore recent w o r l d . W i t h the latter, however, as is generally the case I m modern times, an element o f contingency is involved. The War of the Spanish
individua] y s.tuated and more or less maintai ni ng their independence through alliance w i t h these t w o . The smaller states that have to achieve independent governments cluster about these central points
«1. In the .ectures of 1822^3, Hegel appears to have left • n s t o ome for the presentation of the material is quite compressed. I n t a ^ J J ^ German!; world (above, p. 468,, Hegel savs that Io3^5o5 ('real'> and medieval ('ideal') periods, 'exhibits a hegemony of ^ ^ ^ J ^ ~ Z . that wtlls and knows the universal and rules ^ ^ ^ Z Z I S ^ n d . through the religious wars of the 17th cent.: ^ r ^ S T E n h g h t e n m r n t a ^ ,ts concerned especially with the natural sciences; and the third e mat or me aftermath. , 62. By die tteue Ktrche Hegel means the Prottstant ChurchX
' ^ r « l e d Swedish hegemony into me T X T d T ^ T ^ ^ ^ was a man of rrnhtlrv ability 60 ST ^iT « - great power. ^ ^ ™ - s r * a k n g peoples outs.de the German r ^ r ^ i t i e s . such as Swrtzeriand, Austna, and the Netherlands (wiuch uses a ™ o l Low G ^ n ) J L ^ T Z i
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Succession is such a war i n which a particular interest was at stake, t h e main interest being whether Austrian o r French princes should gain succession t o the Spanish throne. 63
W h a t interests us are the actions o f the modern church and the fact that it creates a worldly existence f o r itself. I n this regard we must call t o m i n d the vast empire t h a t we find before us, namely the vast empire a n d imposing monarchy of Charles V , although i t is of little significance per se. This great w o r l d power is present but reveals that, as such, its t i m e , its intrinsic significance, is past. Its power is ineffectual a n d leaves no outcome o f world-historical importance. Rather i t proves t o be intrinsically impotent, unable t o unite w i t h i n itself the interests o f the era. This p o w e r coincides i n rime w i t h the Reformation but does n o t k n o w w h a t t o make o f i t . Charles V imprisoned the leaders o f the Protestant religion; he struggled w i t h them for a l o n g time w i t h o u t k n o w i n g whar t o do w i t h t h e m , and one o f t h e m finally had to prostrate himself i n order t o return t o his homeland once again. I n a war w i t h France he went so far as t o take his enemy, K i n g Francis I , prisoner, but this t o o led t o nothing. H e conquered Rome a n d plundered i t ; he besieged the pope i n San Angeio Castle, but the latter escaped secretly. Even though the center o f the Catholic w o r l d was i n his hands, nothing was gained; f r o m a l l this activity n o t h i n g was achieved. A remarkable story recounted by F r u n d s b e r g describes h o w G e r m a n soldiers staged a procession after the pope was trapped i n t h e castle, a process n i n w h i c h they made themselves out t o be the pope a n d cardinals and Luther, and i n front o f the pope they elevated ' L u t h e r ' t o the office o f pope. The Duke of A l b a then advised Emperor Charles t o shift the seat o f the empire to Rome | and to bring the pope under his power and authority, and then he w o u l d be the mightiest o f emperors; o r else he s h o u l d blame everything on the Germans; or, alternatively, he should present himself as a benevolent emperor, reinstate the pope, and restore everything as before, bringing back the o l d order. Thus A l b a h a d the idea o f keeping the head o f the church i n his power. But none of these things came t o pass; rather the 6 4
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. V * * " ° ^ P Succession (1701 -14) was the last of the general European wars caused by Kutg Louis XIV to enhance French power. The feeble condition of King Charles I I of f
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THE GERMANIC WORLD
mighty empire proved itself t o be entirely impotent. Maurice of Saxony revealed the impotence of this empire.
67
The m a i n point, however, is that the modern church also obtained a w o r l d l y existence. The ancient church had retained a firm hold on the lands i t occupied, and it was essentially in league directly with the political powers; this was due partly t o its wealth o f possessions and partly t o the immediate political arrangement i n which the state had not yet taken on a separate role. I n Germany, where the (modem) church established a determinate existence, controversies inevitably arose, and this condition could not evolve w i t h o u t dissension. Things might have evolved peacefully had there n o t been numerous clerical bishoprics, the holdings of which belonged t o the universal [i.e., Catholic] church. Here clerical principalities were also the property o f the church, belonged t o the whole church. Moreover, numerous political interests i n the pre-existing church were interwoven w i t h possession of the clerical properties. The ruling families designated their younger sons as holders o f clerical principalities and thereby succeeded in taking c o n t r o l o f them through their younger sons. The status o f these holdings naturally changed when they fell into secular hands. The interests o f the n o b i l i t y were linked t o the laws just as were those of the townspeople and the peasants; the lowliest peasant could become an abbot. The distinct i o n between the social classes was fixed, and i t was only i n the church that someone might aspire to a higher role and higher secular offices; but this was not so i n the state. Civil offices were not yet open t o the citizens. I This 509 change [brought about by the Reformation] therefore must also have had an effect on the status of those at the lowest rank. Thus i n Germany, because of the Reformation, there broke out civil strife that can even be called domestic warfare, although these events were not, on the w h o l e , revolts or wars of rebellion. However in other states that were unified countries, uprisings and veritable insurrections occurred once the opposition erupted. I n Germany, where dominion was the privilege ol the p r i n c i p a l i s , where the princes enjoyed considerable pohDcal mdependence vis-a-vis the emperor, such circumstances were not possible, and the new teaching was n o t perceived as rebellion, as it was in France. The latter was the case i n France i n particular. But even here there was n o general rebellion, a n d the unrest did not take the f o r m of rebellion everywhere; for
67. Maurice ,1521-53), duke and elector of Saxony, ^ ^ ^ ^ bu. turned against him after the emperor's ^ ^ ' ^ ^ Z , , ^ Maurice nearly captured Charles and forced him to flee. At the lreaty <* Germany was acquired for the Lutherans. 511
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As far as Germany was concerned, the w a r ended w i t h the formation of the empire, i.e. o f the constitutions of the individual established states. The peace was concluded w i t h the formation or establishment of the private rights of the various princes ((Hippolytus] a L a p i d e ) . This best illustrates the notion t h a t German freedom only involves particuiarization. There can be n o talk o f a c o m m o n end on the part o f the state; rather the notion of German freedom was only that o f the complete particulariiation and establishment o f private rights. The organization o f Germany could best be described as a n organized anarchy; | for i t was the stabilization o f an empire where all the circumstances of those in power are defined i n terms of private rights, i n such a w a y that interest lay i n the fact that individuals have safeguards o n l y f o r themselves and only in their not acting on behalf o f the w h o l e . Thus the interest of the individual parts vis-à-vis the whole, and vice versa, was preserved i n the most inviolable fashion. 71
° ° '^incai S . f o 3 c * i 5 5 ; ^ P° ^ i c t l T o establish igious freedom, pohtical change was also required 3
that this annulment w o u l d depend solely on the clergy, not the laity; the matter was n o t at all the province o f Parliament but that o f the clergy alone. So Leibniz abandoned the dispute.
«< ^ Prussian " (1627-1704) was a
The Peace o f Westphalia served as a palladium for Cerraaay, but it soon became evident w h a t i t actually meant: i t was i n fact the greatest misfortune. This was demonstrated i n particular by the ignominious w a r against the Turks, w h o threatened Vienna and were only repulsed w i t h the help o f the Poles; there was a n even more ignominious war w i t h France i n which the protective defenses o f the German empire were overrun by the French. This organization o f Germany, which brought about the demise of Germany as an empire, was the w o r k o f R i c h e l i e u . His was the fate o f many great statesmen: he achieved the opposite i n his o w n state of what he wanted t o do t o his friends, the opposite o f w h a t he accomplished i n the enemy states. He suppressed the political independence of Protestants i n his o w n country, provided security t o the empire, and was cursed for it by his fellow citizens. In Germany he brought about impotence. H e destroyed Germany's independence as an empire, and the Germans rejoiced over the organization that was attained; they blessed h i m for i t . The immediate consequence was that 72
71. 'Hippolytus a Lapide' was a pseudonym of Samuel Baron von Ptiteodcwf (1632-94), whose chief historical work, De statu imperii Germania (Geneva, 1667), described Germany as a monstrous aggregate lacking a strong imperial center. Pufeudorf apparently borrowed the pseudonym from an earlier writer, Philipp Bogislaw von Chemnitz. In Latin, lapuJo means t o throw stones at'. 72. Cardinal Richelieu (1585-1642) became the chief statesman of Louis XUJ of France. Under his influence royal power was consolidated, the Huguenots were persecuted, and alliances were made with the German Protestant states. 513
512
T H E L E C T U R E S OF 1 8 2 2 - 3
THE GERMANIC WORLD
Germany obtained its so-called organization a n d freedom of religion. I D other states, religion, the Protestant C h u r c h , was emergent as insurrectional and faced a different fate, either being completely suppressed or achieving only a troubled existence. The outcome [in Germany], Therefore, was only politically motivated, and the highest interest was satisfied i n the fact of religion's entrance i n t o determinate being. Religion n o w had a legally secured existence. |
and contributions t o churches and monasteries, the permission to behave i n such a w o r l d l y manner. It is a duplicitous existence, a double life, when someone theoretically considers it w r o n g to k i l l people in war, and wrong to live in a cotnmercial and family context. Spirit, however, is active in actual life, n o w rightly engages in such activity, and no longer needs to purchase rectitude (das Recht) or buy its w a y out through such offerings. A further issue that comes into play can be introduced by the culture of the century o f Louis X I V . The culture of that century i n France under Louis X I V is b r i l l i a n t . I t is, as the French called i t , a golden age of the arts and sciences. Evident are formal virtues, ones with the forms of dignity and grandeur, and that of the good w i l l that seeks to respect others and be pleasing t o others, and to conduct oneself in a friendly way. Prevalent are conversation and distinctions regarding conduct. The art of conversanon becomes the fluent sophistry of passion; in part w i t h a view t o their content^ these t r a d i t i o n a l virtues are emphasized i n conversation. The content of these conversations is of course traditional virtue, but it is pass.on as well. The m a i n t h i n g , however, is that no truly absolute principle holds good; there is no unity of the spiritual, or any recourse to freedom, and these virtues d o n o t emanate from absolute ethical freedom. 7 3
The Formal Universality o f Thought: The N a t u r a l Sciences The second period is that of the f o r m a l development of the understanding. Religion is complete w i t h i n itself and has legal existence, so it does not come into play. N o w particular interests come t o the fore and initiate the feuds dunng this p e r i o d . Hence they are purely political feuds. Developments i n the personal sphere differ f r o m this activity. Subjectivity, valid in itself, n o w establishes the validity, and acquires the f o r m , o f universality, and enters into the external w o r l d . Culture has been present in all ages, but i t obtains here the significance of its o w n distinctive value. For spirit on its o w n account, whose political existence is secured, also then allows the external w o r l d t o be free, n o w even allows t o the external w o r l d i t own subsistence; spirit seeks itself and the t r u t h i n this w o r l d in the way i t exists externally. The other, the external, is free only f o r free h u m a n beings; they seek the appearance of the divine not as miracle, not as something unique, but permit the external w o r l d to stand as something external. They intrinsically apply themselves partly in a practical manner through mdustnousness, and mdeed i n such a w a y that activity in the external w o r l d w o u l d be tustified on its o w n account, meaning t h a t h u m a n i t y has t o bring this u n d e r s t a n d s , the same consciousness, to bear on the external w o r l d i n the presence of G o d , and is permitted to do so.
513
Rectitude (Recbtschaffenbeit) refers to the manner i n w h i c h an individual behaves i n particular circumstances of life. This rectitude, however, must extend or advance t o a consciousness of the absolute, to the religious consciousness, and it is f r o m the latter that rectitude truly arises. In other words, G o d , the t r u t h , active in particular circumstances, is rectitude, is the realization of the true i n particular circumstances; G o d is this spirit of t r u t h , and this is no other spirit than that of religion, except that it is applied t o the particular. H u m a n i t y is absolutely i n the right (berecbtigt) i n c o m i n g before G o d w i t h this same spirit. The situation is not different i f one | sees one's moralI rectirude only as a negative f o r m of existence opposed t o w h a t the church demands. I n that case one purchases, as i t were, through offerings
514
T h e next matter t o be discussed is the form of the culture that is now constituted by the emergmg sciences. True culture is essenmUy t h a t o t science (Wtssenschaft). It is I aligned w i t h the state, not the church. 1 he church has taken the lead neither i n religious freedom nor i n the neither i n the empirical sciences of the mind (des Gedankens) nor m those of external nature. I t is primarily the natural sciences, the expenence of outer and inner nature, that develop i n England and France. These saences first emerged in France and England i n particular. Reflecuve spirit posmoued itself i n relation to nature by letting nature be [as it i s l - m this « « P ^ c a l l , d r a w n * upon the external reality that spirit had freely « * » * ™ itself. Spirit no bnger fears for itself over against d u i e x t e r n a ! ^ ^ n o find itself therein. These sciences are constituted by empirical existence, and, what is more, about the umversal I w h a t is umversal i n nature and i n the understand-^ W h a n s
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T H E L E C T U R E S O F 18
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22-3
These sciences o f the understanding are n o w accepted as valid; this science honors both humanity and G o d . The Catholic Church had not wanted to concede that science honored G o d , denying this and forcing Galileo to recant his portrayal of the Copernican system because his system appeared to contradict w h a t the Bible said (as part o f the above-mentioned faith). True faith comprises something other than this—namely, w h a t resides i n the nature o f G o d and God's inner workings. [Galileo's! demonstrat i o n plays no role i n faith, and Galileo's address was n o t lacking i n h u m i l i t y , contrary to w h a t has recently been asserted. Just a year ago the account in newspapers was that he was condemned for the arrogance of his address and his conversation, although the latter did not factor in the decision. | The story i n an Austrian newspaper, most likely based on Friedrich v o n Schlegel, recounted that when Galileo was seventy he was forced t o abjure and condemn the error that the sun was said t o be stationary. Thus the church i n its earlier f o r m was here hostile t o w a r d the sciences. A f t e r such events, a l l t h i n k i n g people distanced themselves f r o m the church. O n the other hand, however, the church was correct about the sciences, i n maintaining t h a t they lead t o materialism and atheism; for nature itself and its laws are taken t o be something ultimate, something universal unto itself. Of course one can add that G o d has created this natural w o r l d and these laws; b u t these sciences require insight i n t o w h a t is found [empirically], that all connections be looked into. But precisely i n the ascent t o G o d this bridge or linkage , n o t evident. The connection of these laws w i t h G o d is n o t expressed, and this linkage contradicts the very principle of these sciences, which is to accept only w h a t is subject t o scientific investigation. Thus a contradiction presents itself here. This knowledge has t w o aspects: first, these laws or cognitions have as their basis experience, sensible being; and second, the w a y i n w h i c h direct perception, this m a n i f o l d o f perception, is elevated m t o the f o r m of universality, is comprised i n something universal, is as laws and species or kinds of things (Gattungen). I n the laws and i n the species o r kinds t o o , i n this universal feature, spirit o r the understanding is present t o itself. Sensible material provides the matter, the content, the p o i n t of departure and then [spirit] passes over i n t o the universal; and this universa i the understanding. The understanding recognizes itself i n the universal; ,t has conformed itself t o w h a t is found o r given [empirically], has s
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THE GERMANIC WORLD
elevated the m a n i f o l d i n t o something universal. The understanding finds satisfaction in the f o r m o f the l a w because here j the understanding has before i t this identity that it itself is. This then is the activity of the understanding w i t h respect to the sciences. Our second concern has been with the emergence of this f o r m of universality. The T u r n t o Concrete Actuality: The Enhghtenment Our t h i r d p o i n t o f interest is that this universal, this knowledge that initially is theoretical, also rums t o the practical, t o actuality. The sequence proceeds initially f r o m concrete being {Seiende) to laws. A different aspect, however, is that these principles, these laws are used as standards, as fixed perspectives or assumptions against w h i c h to test what is subjected to them, what lies before t h e m . This application leads to the third point of interest. This t h i r d interest comes upon the scene when the imderstanding, with its knowledge a n d w i t h its laws, turns itself as 'enlightenment' against the spiritually concrete, the religious sphere; it does so by taking natural being as the basic principle, whether an existing being of a physical nature o r one of a spiritual nature. The understanding holds this foundation, the specific experiences, t o be w h a t is true, as the touchstone for all that is said t o have validity. Its principles are those of logical consistency, o f identity, of coherence; w i t h these i t turns against religion, and thus i t is enlightenment {Aufklärung), . The understanding holds the laws of nature to be true, and its memoa involves consistency. W h a t is presupposed o r natural, what is given for it, also includes intellect, feelings, drives, a sense of immortality, sympathy, etc. By the understanding w o r k i n g i n this way, it is enhghtenment. Thus r e p o r t cannot stand u p t o i t w h e n the understanding sticks w i t h this focus as wnat is absolutely true. For the very principle of religion I is that the natural is precisely w h a t « negative and needs t o be sublated. Furthermore, t e h p o n is speculative; it has a speculative content and thus is inconsistent abstract consistency of the understanding. For reason {Vernunft) is precisely what comprises distinctions w i t h i n itself as a unity, gmsf* d ^ t m c n o n s j a unity, as something concrete that is contrary to the identity of _the u » * r standing , y e r W ) - a n identity that is abstract and lacking d ^ n c n o n s w i t h i n itself. The understanding holds fast t o this; it says, The finite is not 75
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T H E LECTURES OF 1 8 2 2 - 3
THE GERMANIC WORLD
irifinite'. Everything mysterious, the speculative aspect of r e l i g i o n , * counts as nothing for i t . This, then, is the negative attitude of the understanding toward religion. 7
A second and different matter, however, concerns the relationship of the understanding as such t o the state. W h e n the state and government operate according to the understanding, when they comprehend their activity as a universal purpose, as a universal, then the n o t i o n of a universal purpose of the state appears—a n o t i o n of w h a t is highest and most valid. This idea of the purpose of the state must initially separate w h a t is solelv a private prerogative f r o m the affairs of the state, w h a t is merely a particular enridement t o the use o f power. As the state becomes reflective, i t adopts i n actuality a different stance. W h a t h a d been privileges are n o w , i n a n d of themselves, no longer valid i n the f o r m of private property. Bv definition and in terms of their content, all matters having the f o r m of private rights are the province of the state. This content is therefore removed f r o m the sphere of private rights. This f o r m is allowed t o comprise o n l y w h a t by its nature can be private rights.
518
The government n o w comprehends the purpose and rhe thought of the state, and since this aspect has come u p , we must cake note of Frederick I I . " He is a person of world-historical i m p o r t , k n o w n as a 'philosopher-king*, because he grasped the universal thought of the state and kept steadfastly t o its universal purpose. One can also call h i m a 'ph.losopher-k.ng' insofar as he was occupied w i t h metaphysics | o r was a philosopher as a private person. H e was a philosopher-king n o t because he was this exclusively, but tecausehe first grasped this principle and brought it t o bear in his activnv as king When this principle came to be generally accepted, philosophy was called sound human understanding. I t was Frederick w h o held t o the purpose of the state and put it i n t o force; he no longer gave heed to w h a t is parncular, to specal privileges, insofar as they were opposed or c o n t r a r y t o
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the purpose and maintenance of the state. Instead, he gave preference to arrangements that were advantageous for the whole. Foreign political operations and the wars of this period must be termed c o n s t i t u t i o n a l , whereas those of earlier periods were religious or merely political. T h e Seven Years War was surely such a w a r . It could be called a constitutional war. A t first glance it appears that the outward purpose allying all the great states or powers against Frederick was Silesia, but the truly d r i v i n g force was that a different spirit occupied the throne than previously, a spirit that introduced a new principle, a spirit of different activities and w i t h different methods. While other particular or private matters were involved, the main driving force was that a man w h o was differently animated sat o n the throne. The ensuing wars were all the more constitutional wars. 78
79
The purpose and consequences of revolution and war in modern times have been t o change governments through force from below. A revolution of this sort has its beginning and origin in thought; for thought develops by now taking hold firmly, by erecting universal representations as ultimate, and by comparing them t o what was the case. Thought rebels when it finds the status quo t o be in contradiction with that purpose. The most subiime characteristic that thought can hit upon in this setting is that of the | freedom of w i l l . A l l other principles regarding the happiness and well-being o f the state are more or less indeterminate. Freedom of rftewtH, however, is determinate i n and for itself because it is nothing other than seUdetermination. Thought has n o w grasped that the characteristic of the freedom o f the w i l l is i n actuality what is highest. The sense in which thought is correct here is to be explained elsewhere, and has a different science to establish i t . Freedom o f the w i l l is freedom of the spint i n acnou, in its orientation t o w h a t is actual. Freedom of the will emerges directly from the principle of the Protestant Church. However, the w i l l as something parncular is t o be distinguished f r o m the freedom of w i l l of which the state « the actualization. W h a t we have to understand by this is not, as one m gh suppose, a particular w i l l . Rather the freedom of will that is i n and for itself 8 0
* P * u l a " « *°eais opposed not merely to rhe b o * . th«eio.e, it isasecrer or mvsterv.... s
C t S t a n d a b l e ;
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78. B v ' c o n s o t u t i o n a l ^ ^ laws rathrr than for rrlipous or political ends. Austria (joined 1« 79. The Seven Years Wat ( 1 7 5 ^ 3 1 was waged ^ ^ Z ^ of 1763. Frederick Russia and France), ostensibly over the possession of Sdesia Art« t h e p » « promoted an alliance with Russia, which led to the e v e n w d p ^ " ^ ^ 80. Hegel is apparently referring here to his Elements on thr W. Wood t r H . RNisbet (Cambridge, %. 14T-6S. PMosopby of Spirit. 1*27-8, tr. Robert R. W i l l o w (Oxford, 2007), esp b
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is the freedom of God w i t h i n itself; i t is the freedom of spirit, n o t o f a particular spirit but o f the universal spirit as such, i n accord w i t h its essential being. Revolutions, then, have proceeded f r o m t h o u g h t . This thought has had t o d o w i t h actuality and has t u r n e d forcibly against the established order; i t has become a force against the existing order a n d this force is i n fact revolution. The question then is under w h a t circumstances and i n w h i c h f o r m this phenomenon has emerged, and r e v o l u t i o n appears. T h o u g h t has resorted t o force wherever i t f o u n d itself facing the positive as absolute force. Thus we see that revolutions have occurred i n France, Italy, Naples, the Piedmont, and finally Spain t o o — i n a l l the states, therefore, that we have called 520
Romance. I But those nations i n w h i c h the freedom of the Protestant Church had already been established remained at peace: they have undergone their political reformation or r e v o l u t i o n , together w i t h their religious one. T h e most i m p o r t a n t matter i n the Romance countries is the o v e r t h r o w of the monarchy, w h i c h had previously succeeded a n d t h e n again been undone. W i t h these revolutions it must be emphasized that they were e x c l u sively political revolutions, and no change i n religion t o o k place. However, religion either decreased o r increased i n terms o f freedom o f spirit. For w i t h o u t a change i n religion, no genuinely political change o r r e v o l u t i o n can be successful. T h e freedom of spirit, the principles of freedom, w h i c h were made principles of government in these countries, remained quite abstract themselves, for they emerged i n opposition t o the positive, existing order; they d i d n o t originate f r o m the freedom o f spirit as i t is f o u n d i n religion. Hence this is not the freedom of spirit that is f o u n d i n r e l i g i o n a n d in the divine a n d authentic freedom.
THE GERMANIC WORLD
CONCLUSION We have n o w briefly portrayed w o r l d history. The of history is n o t h i n g other than the actualizanon of
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that culminates in states; and [thatj the stat,:« the worldly history. O n the one hand, the true ( A .
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objective, developed system in the purity of thought; on wardly objective; rather, the same subjective smnt
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must also be present i n actuality. But this [truth]
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this objectivity; and i n the t h i r d place i t exists, this objective content of the w o r l d spmt, as m o w n that bears witness t o spirit, and i n this W h a t is i m p o r t a n t t o discern is that spirit can find f ^ d o m only in history and the p r e s e n t - a n d that what is happening ana pened does n o t just come f r o m God but is God s work. 81. The last s e a n c e reads tn German: W ^ « i r ^ GexhithU und Qegetauart befme*, * ^ ^ f w £ V g*M*t. nicbtnurvonGott kommi, sondrm Gcttes W < *
proceed f r o m discernment, f r o m the universal | purpose of the state, and must be justified thereby. This is the necessary characteristic, abstractly put. 521 520
T
that its entire course is a consistent [expression] of srnnt,
The countries belonging t o the Protestant C h u r c h have thus already completed their revolution; i n these countries the revolution is over. For i n them we find that w h a t ought t o transpire, i n virtue o f discernment, general education, and peace, has taken place. T h i s by no means contradicts the idea of a concrete purpose of the state. But in the other countries, the Romance countries, elements that r u n counter t o the characteristic purpose o f the state are so absolutely legitimated that they are capable of m o u n t i n g absolute resistance to i t . The evangelical, Protestant countries differ markedly i n the o u t w a r d f o r m of their constitutions; f o r example, D e n m a r k , England, the Netherlands, and Prussia are quite different. However, present i n a l l o f them is the essential principle that w h a t ought t o be valid in a state must 521
^
^
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^
^
^
GLOSSARY The glossary contains a selection of frequently used and/or technical terms, especially those posing problems i n translation. I t has served only as a guide, to which the translators have n o t felt obliged to adhere when context or English i d i o m has required different renderings. When more tfeaa one English w o r d is given, the generally preferred terms are listed first. 'Cf.* indicates related but distinguished German terms, which often are translated by different English equivalents. Adjectives are listed without endings. Abendland absolut Absolute allgemein Allgemeine Anderssein anerkennen
the West, the Occident absolute the absolute universal, general the universal other-being, otherness recognize, acknowledge (cf. 'erkennen')
Anerkenntnis anschauen
recognition (cf. 'Fjlrermtriis*)
Anschauung
intuition, contemplation, envisagement
intuit, envisage (cf. 'WahrnehiDung')
an
sich
in itse)i
y
implicit (cf. *in sich')
Ansich
in-irseJf, implicit being
Ansichsein
being-in-self being-in-and-for-self
Anundfürsicbsein Arbeit auffassen
comprehend, grasp (cf. 'kgreifen*, 'fassen')
Auffassung aufheben
comprehension sublate, suspend, supersede, annul
labor (cf. *Werk')
523
GLOSSARY
Aufhebung auflösen Auflösung Bedeutung Befriedigung Begebenheit Begierde
Boden Böse
resolution, dissolution, dissolving meaning, significance
darstellen Darstellung
g r o u n d , soil, land (moral) evil (cf. 'Übel') present, portray, set f o r t h presentation, portrayal, depiction, exposition
event, happening, occurrence (sensuous) desire, appetite conceive
Dasein
(cf. 'Vorstellung') existence, detenninate being, existent being
concept
Denken denkend
satisfaction, gratification
treat, deal w i t h govern
bei
w i t h self, present t o self, a t home
Beisichsein
presence w i t h (to) self, self-communion, at home w i t h self
beobachten
observe
Beobachtung
observation (cf. 'Betrachtung') justify
berechtigen Berechtigung Beschäftigung besonder Besonderheit •
•
bestehen Bestehen bestimmen w
bestimmt Bestimmtheit Bestimmung betrachten Betrachtung Bewußtsein beziehen Beziehung ¥"»•11
Btld I
sublation, suspension, supersession, annulment resolve, dissolve
begreifen Begriff behandeln beherrschen sich
-t Ml-
bildlich Bildung bloß
l
GLOSSARY
justification, rights, privilege occupation, concern particular (cf. 'partikulär') particularity subsist, endure, consist subsistence detennine, define, characterize, specify determinate, definite, specific determinateness, determinacv determination, dennition, characteristic, - i z a t i o n ) , destination, vocation, specification, a t t r i b u t e consider, treat, deal w i t h consideration, contemplation, reflection, i n q u i r y (cf. 'Beobachtung') consciousness, awareness relate, connect, refer to relation, connection, reference (cf. 'Verhältnis', 'Zusammenhang') image imaginative,
figurative
culture, f o r m a t i o n , cultural f o r m a t i o n , c u l t i v a t i o n , education (cf. ' K u l t u r ' ) mere, simple, sheer 524
(cf. 'Existenz', 'Sein') denken
deutsch eigentümlich Einbildung Eine einfach Einsichten) Einzelheit
think thirdcing, thought (cf. 'Gedanke') t h i i i k i n g , moughtful, reflective German (cf. 'germanisch') characteristic (adj.), proper imagination (cf. 'Phantasie') the One, the one simple insight, discernment, judgment; (pi.) views, opinion singularity, single (or singular) individual (cf. 'Individuum')
einzeln
single, singular
Einzelne
single individual (cf. 'Individuum')
Element empfinden
element (cf. ' M o m e n t ' )
Empfindung
sensibility, sensation, feeling, emotion (cf. 'Gefühl)
Endzweck Entfremdung
final end, final purpose (cf. 'Zweck')
Entgegensetzung Entstehung
opposition
Entwicklung erfassen
development apprehend, grasp (cf. 'aufiasen', 'fassen') elevate, raise up elevation, rising up recollection (cf. 'Gedächmis') k n o w , cognize, recognize, learn, discern (cf 'anerkennen', 'kennen', 'wissen'! cognition, knowledge, cognitive knowledge (cf. 'Anerkenntnis', 'Kenntnis', 'Wissen')
erheben Erhebung Erinnerung erkennen Erkenntnis erscheinen Erscheinung Erziehung evangelisch
sense
estrangement, alienation emergence, rise, origin, genesis
appear (cf. 'scheinen') appearance, phenomenon education Protestant, evangelical 525
GLOSSARY
GLOSSARY
Existenz existieren
existence (cf. 'Dasein') exist (cf. 'sein')
Gewalt
fassen
authority, dominion, force, power, violence (cf. ' M a c h t ' )
grasp, apprehend
Form Fortgang
f o r m (cf. ' G é s t a l o
Gewissen Gewohnheit
conscience habit, custom, practice
progress, process, advance
Fortschritt
Glauben
faith, belief
progress, progression free the free
Gleichgültigkeit
indifference, unconcern
Gliederung
articulation
Glück glücklich
happiness, fortune happy, fortunate
frei Freie Freiheit für sich Fürsich Gattung Gebiet Gedächtnis Gedanke Gefühl Gegensatz Gegenstand Gegenwart Gehalt Geist
freedom for (by, of) itself, o n its o w n account, e x p l i c i t for-itself species, type field, realm, territory memory (cf. 'Erinnerung') thought, conception (cf. 'Denken') feeling (cf. 'Empfindung') antithesis, contrast, opposition object, topic, what-stands-over-against (cf. ' O b j e k t ' ) presence, present (time) substance, content, import spirit
Glückseligkeit
bliss, happiness
Grund
ground, reasons, basis
Haruilung herleiten Herr Herrschaß
action derive master, l o r d , ruler, sovereign, nobleman dominion, power, rule, authority, command
hervortreten
emerge, come forward, step forth
hinausgehen Historie Historiker historisch
overpass, go beyond history, historical record (cf. 'Geschichte') historian (cf. 'Geschichtsschreiber') historical, historical study (cf. 'geschichtlich')
ideal
ideal (speculative reference)
Idealität
ideality idea ideal (empirical reference) individuality, individualism, individual
gelten Geltung Gemeinde
count, be valid, h o l d good
Gemüt
m i n d , heart, disposition
Genuß geoffenbart Gericht
Idee ideell Individualität
enjoyment, pleasure, c o m m u n i o n revealed (cf. 'offenbar')
Individuum
individual (cf. 'Einzelne')
judgment, court o f justice (cf. 'Recht') Germanic peoples
jenseitig
otherworldly
Jenseits
the beyond, the other w o r l d k n o w (cf. Vissen*)
Geschehene
Germanic (cf. 'deutsch') event, occurrence
kennen Kenntnis
information, acquaintance (cf. 'Erkenntnis',
Geschichte geschichtlich
history, historical narrative, story (cf. ' H i s t o r i e ' ) historical (cf. 'historisch')
Germanen germanisch
value, w o r t h , validity, consequence, importance community
'Wissen') Königreich
kingdom (cf. 'Reich') kingship
Geschichtsschreiber Geschlecht Gesetz
historian, historiographer
Königtum
k i n d , species, lineage, race law
Kraft
force, strength, energy (cf. 'Macht')
Kultur
culture, cultivation (cf.'Bildung')
Gesetzmäßigkeit Gesinnung
legality
Kultus
cultus, worship
Gestalt
conviction, disposition shape, figure (cf. 'Form')
Gestaltung
configuration, constniction, f o r m a t i o n
Land Leidenschaft Macht
land, country passion . power, authority, might, strength (cf. Oewait
526
'Kraft') 527
GLOSSARY
Mannigfaltigkeit
GLOSSARY
manifold(ness), multiplicity, diversity opinion, intention
Sache
thing (that is at w o r k , that something is about),
Schauspiel
Menschheit mit sich
human being (sometimes 'person' or 'one') humanity
spectacle, drama
Schein
semblance, show
w i t h self, integral
Mittelpunkt
center, focal p o i n t , focus
scheinbar scheinen
seeming seem
Moment Moralische
moment, element (cf. 'Element') moral sphere (cf. 'Sittliche') morality (cf. 'Sittlichkeit')
Schicksal
destiny, fate utter, simple (cf. 'absolut') anguish, sorrow, pain guilt, responsibility, culpability
Meinung Mensch
Moralität Morgenland
the East, the O r i e n t
(subject) matter, fact, case
schlechthinnig Schmerz Schuld
Nachdenken Nation Natur
meditation, meditative t h i n k i n g nation (cf. 'Staat', ' V o l k ' ) nature
Seele
Natürlichkeit
natural life, natural state, naturalness, simplicity, unaffectedness
Objekt
sein Sem
object, topic (cf. 'Gegenstand')
offenbar Offenbarung partikulär
Seite
revelatory, manifest (cf. 'geoffenbart') revelation
Selbstgefühl sinnlich
private, personal (cf. 'besonder') duty, obligation
Sinnlichkeit Sitte
fantasy, fanciful imagination (cf. ' E i n b i l d u n g ' ) the positive, positivity private property, privilege
sittlich
civil law, private right (cf. 'Staatsrecht') under civil law, private legality, private rights argumentation, reasoning real (speculative reference)
Spekulative Staat
realize (cf. 'verwirklichen') reality (cf. ' W i r k l i c h k e i t ' )
Stand(e) Stoff
Pflicht Phantasie Positive Privateigentum Pnvatrecht Privatrechtlich Räsonnement real realisieren Realität Recht
right, law, justice, prerogative, privilege (cf. 'Gericht', 'Gesetz')
Rechtschaffenheit reell
righteousness, rectitude
reflektierend reflektiert Reflexion regieren Reich Religiosität
real (empirical reference) reflective reflected reflection, reflective power rule realm, empire, k i n g d o m (cf. 'Königreich", 'Königtum') religiosity, religious piety 528
seiend Seiende(s) (verb) (noun)
Sittliche Sittlichkeit
Staatsrecht Stamm
Stufe Sub/ekt Subjektivität Tat Tätigkeit Trieb Übel Überbitding Übergang übergehen übergreifen
soul having being, subsisting, actual actual being, entity, subsisting being is, exists, occurs being side, aspect sense of self, self-reliance sensible, sentient, sensuous sensuousness, sensible nature custom, ethical practice, ethical custom ethical ethical sphere (cf. 'Moralische') ethics, ethical life, ethicality (cf. 'Moralität') the speculative, speculation (political) state constitutional law (cf. 'Privatrecht*) clan, tribe class, condition, standing; (pi.) estates material stage, step, level subject subjectivity act, action, deed activity drive, impulse, iiistinct evil (cf. 'Böse'), calamity; (pL> 'Us over-refinement transition, passing over pass over overreach 529
GLOSSARY überhaupt
generally, on the w h o l e , as such, altogether, after a l l , in fact, etc.
in Überzeugung
conviction
vorhanden vorhanden
present, at hand, extant sein
be present, be at hand, exist
unangemessen
incongruous, unsuitable, inadequate, incommensurate
Vorsehung
providence
vorstellen
represent, imagine
unbefangen 17 1 " t Unglück
naive, natural, unaffected, ingenuous misery, unhappmess
vorstellend
representational, representative
Vorstellung
representation, impression, indication, n o t i o n , v i e w
unmittelbar
immediate
wahr
true
Unmittelbarkeit
immediacy
Wahre
the true
Untergang
decline, d o w n f a l l , destruction
unterscheiden TT
.
I
'
distinguish, differentiate
I
Unterscheidung
differentiation, distinction fcf. 'Verschiedenheit') distinction
Unterschied unterschieden
distinguished, differentiated, distinct, different (cf. 'verschieden*)
Veränderung Vermutung
alteration, change (cf. '"wechser) decline, degeneration
Vereinigung \I i Vereinzelung
unification, association, union singularization, individualization
\j r Verfassung
(political) constitution, p o l i t i c a l i n s t i t u t i o n , system o f government
verhalten
attitude, comportment, behavior
Verhältnis Verhältnisse
(pl.)
Vermittlung Vernunft vernünftig f
'
1
I •
i
verschieden 17
i
Vfersianti
1/
Verwaltung verwirklichen -
J 1 r
•
Verwirklichung \f VolkIL Völkerschaft I I
„ „ I I . , .
J
vollendet
Vollendung
.
conditions, circumstances, state o f affairs mediation reason (cf. 'Verstand') rational different, distinct, diverse (cf. 'unterschieden'1
understanding (cf. ' V e m i m f t ' ) administration
i
• >
relationship, c o n d i t i o n (cf. 'Beziehung', 'Zusammenhang' )
différence, diversity, disparity (cf. 'Unterscheidune') reconciliation
Versöhnung
I I
GLOSSARY
actualize (cf. 'realisieren'i actualization (cf. ' W i r l d i c h k e i t ' ) people, tribe (cf. ' N a t i o n ' ) tribe, people
wahrhaftig)
true, genuine, authentic, t r u t h f u l
Wahrhafte
the true, the genuine
Wahrheit
truth
Wahrnehmung
(sense) perception (cf. 'Anschauung')
Wechsel
change (cf. 'Veränderung')
Weltgeist
w o r l d spirit, spirit of the w o r l d
weltlich
secular, profane, w o r l d l y
Weltlichkeit
secularity, worldliness
Weltteil
continent
Werk
w o r k (cf. ' A r b e i t ' )
Wesen
essence, being, essential being
Willkür
free w i l l , caprice, arbitrariness
wirken
effect, d o , w o r k , operate
wirklich
actual
Wirklichkeit
actuality (cf. 'Realität')
Wirksamkeit wissen
efficacy k n o w (cf. 'kennen', 'erkennen')
Wissen
knowledge, k n o w i n g (cf. 'Erkenntnis', 'Kenntnis')
Wissenschaft
science, discipline, scientific knowledge
Zeugnis
witness, testimony
ZufaÜ
chance
Zufälligkeit Zusammenhang
contingency connection, interrelationship, nexus, m a t r i x , coher-
Zustand
c o n d i t i o n , state (of affairs)
ence (cf. 'Beziehung', 'Verhältnis') Zweck
purpose, a i m , end
zweckmässig
purposeful, expedient, useful
Zweckmässigkeit
purposiveness, expediency, utility
spirit o f a people, f o l k spirit consiimrnate, perfect, complete, final consummation 530
531
BIBLIOGRAPHY
WORKS
BY H E G E L
Berliner Schriften 1818-1831, Meiner Verlag, 1956).
(GERMAN)
ed. Johannes Hoffmeister ( H a m b u r g : Felix
Gesammelte Werke, ed. the Academy o f Sciences of N o r t h Rhine-Westphalia i n association w i t h the Deutsche Forschungsgemeinschaft, 32 vols, projected ( H a m b u r g : Felix M e i n e r Verlag, 1968 f f . ) . V o l . x x v i i (in t w o or three part-volumes) w i l l contain the Vorlesungen über die Philosophie der Weltgeschichte. Vorlesungen: Ausgewählte Nachschriften und Manuskripte, ed. the staff o f the Hegel Archives, 16 vols, t o date (Hamburg: Felix Meiner Verlag, 1983 f f . ) . Contains critical edns. of the lectures o n the history o f philosophy, the philosophy o f religion, the philosophy of spirit, the philosophy of w o r l d history, etc. Vorlesungen über die Philosophie der Weltgeschichte (Berlin 1822/1823), ed. K a r l Heinz I k i n g , K a r l Brehmer, and H o o N a m Seelmann, in Vorlesungen: Ausgewählte Nachschriften und Manuskripte, x i i (Hamburg: Felix M e i n e r Verlag, 1996). Tr. i n this volume. Vorlesungen über die Philosophie der Weltgeschichte, ed. Georg Lasson, 4 vols. (Leipzig: Verlag von Felix Meiner, 1917-20). Vol. i revised and reissued by Johannes Hoffmeister, 1955. Vorlesungsmanuskripte II (1816-1831), ed. Walter Jaeschke, i n Gesammelte Werke, x v i i i ( H a m b u r g : Felix Meiner Verlag, 1995). Contains the manuscripts of Hegel's Introduction t o the Weltgeschichte. Tr. in this volume. Werke: Vollständige Ausgabe, ed. an Association o f Friends o f the Deceased, 18 vols. (Berlin: Duncker 8c H u m b l o t , 1832 f f . ) . V o l . i x contains the
533
BIBLIOGRAPHY
BIBLIOGRAPHY
Vorlesungen über die Philosophie der Weltgeschichte, 1st edn., ed. Eduard Gans (1837); 2 n d edn., ed. K a r l Hegel (1840). The 2nd edn. is repr. in the Jubiläumsausgabe, ed. H e r m a n n Glockner (3rd e d n . , Stuttgart: Fr. Frommans Verlag, 1949). W O R K S BY H E G E L Aesthetics; Lectures Press, 1975).
on Fine Art, tr. T. M . K n o x , 2 vols. ( O x f o r d : Clarendon
Encyclopedia of the Philosophical Sciences, part 1 , The Encyclopedia Logic, tr. T. F. Geraets, W. A . Suchting, and H . S. H a r r i s (Indianapolis, I n d . : Hackett Publishing Company, 1991); p a n 2, Hegel's Philosophy of Nature, tr. A . V. M i l l e r ( O x f o r d : Clarendon Press, 1970); part 3 , Hegel's Philosophy of Mind, tr. W i l l i a m Wallace and A . V. M i l l e r ( O x f o r d : Clarendon Press, 1971). Lectures on the History of Philosophy, 1825-6, ed. Robert F. B r o w n , tr. R. F. Brown and J. M . Stewart, 3 vols. ( O x f o r d : Clarendon Press, 20O6, 2009). Lectures on Natural Right and Political Science: The First Philosophy of Right, Heidelberg 1817-1818, ed. the Staff of the Hegel Archives w i t h an introduction by O t t o Poggeler, tr. J. Michael Stewart and Peter C. H o d g son (Berkeley and Los Angeles: University o f California Press, 1995). Lectures on the Philosophy of Religion, ed. Peter C. Hodgson, tr. R. F. B r o w n , P. C . Hodgson, a n d J. M . Stewart, 3 vols. ( O x f o r d : Clarendon Press, 2 0 0 7 ) . Originally published by the University of California Press, 1984-7. Lectures on the Philosophy of Spirit, 1827-8, ed. and tr. Robert R. Williams ( O x f o r d : O x f o r d University Press, 2 0 0 7 ) . History,
on the Philosophy
of World History:
Introduction:
1953). Science of Logic,
tr. A . V. M i l l e r (London: George Allen & U n w i n , 1969).
SOURCES
(ENGLISH I
Elements of the Philosophy of Right, ed. Allen W. W o o d , tr. H . B. Nisber (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1991).
Lectures
Lasson edns., by Robert S. H a r t m a n (New York: Bobbs-Merrill Co.,
Reason
,n
tr. f r o m the German edn. o f Johannes Hoffmeister by H . B.
U S E D O R A L L U D E D T O BY
(English translations referenced in the notes are included) Abel-Rémusat, Jean Pierre, Mémoires Notice
sur le premier
Oeuvres de Confucius,
volume
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2 n d e d n . , ed. N . G . L . H a m m o n a n d
H . H . Scullard ( O x f o r d : O x f o r d University Press, 1977). Patten, A l a n , Hegel's Idea of Freedom
( O x f o r d : O x f o r d University Press,
1999). Perlbns, Robert L . , ed., History and System: Hegel's Philosophy (Albany, N Y : State University o f N e w Y o r k Press, 1984).
of
History
Siebert, R u d o l f J., Hegel s Philosophy of History: Theological, Humanistic, and Scientific Elements (Washington, D C : University Press of America, 1979). Walker, John, History, Spirit and Experience: Hegel's Conception of the Historical Task of Philosophy in his Age {Frankfurt a n d N e w Y o r k : P. Lang, 1995). W h i t e , Hayden, Metahistory: The Historical Imagination in NineteenthCentury Europe (Baltimore and L o n d o n : Johns H o p k i n s University Press, 1973). WiUtins, Burleigh Taylor, Hegel's Philosophy University Press, 1974).
544
of History
(Ithaca, N Y : Cornell
Aachen 478 Abel-Remusat, Jean Pierre 113 n. 79, 121 n . 90,241 n. 94 Abraham 215, 317 n. 45, 454-5 Acamania 384 Acha emeries 309 Achilles 43, 371,376 n. 12, 379-82, 386-7,403,423 Acropolis 376 Adam 111-12,455 Adonis 39, 331-2 Aegean Sea 340, 373 Aeneas 427 Aetolia 384 Africa 29,191 n „ 193,196-7, 1*8,330, 339, 374 North Africa 3 1 , 4 0 , 5 7 Agamemnon 44, 371,376 n. 14, 379, 381-2, 403,471 Agıs İV 425 Ahriman (Angra Mainyu) 38,311-13 Akbar 298 n . 113, 308 Alba, Duke of (Ferdinand Alvarez at Toledo) 510 Alexander the Great 35, 37,43,49-50, 176,201, 255, 285, 287-8, 304 n., 309, 3 2 2 , 3 7 1 , 3 8 2 , 4 2 0 , 4 9 2 - 3 Alexandria 201,288 n. 89, 335,423, 452-3 Allahabad 288 Alps Mountains 201, 427, 445 Altai Mountains 198 Amasis 336-7, 341, 348 n., 364 Amazon River 195 Amenti 334, 360 America 31, 191 n., 192-3, 468, 496 Free States of 193 North America 193,385,413 South America 193,195
Amherst, William Pitt 235 n. 82 Ammon, oracle of 348 Amscbaspands (Amesa Spenm)_313 Amu Darya (Oxua) River 199,223,305, 306,308,319,322,323 Amur River 223 Anaxigoras H . 8 2 - 4 Ancut Marcius 437 n. 16 438 Anmietil du Perron 38, 307,309, 312 a. 22 Antenor of Troy 427 Antonine emperors of Rome w Aris 41,331,351 S o 4 2 , 4 6 , 1 « , 347 n. 36,367-8, 393,420 Apries 341 Arabia 199,289,292 Gulf of 196,292 ArtbianSea 330 Aral Sea 199,223,306 Aras (Araxes) River 199 Arbaces 323 Arcadia 384 Arctic Ocean 296 Areopagus 409 Argentina 195 Argos 376,405
£ f , A r i e r * 306 310 a
0 ^ 8 ^ 1 1 1 , 1 6 2 , 2 4 1 ,
215,306,
A r m S 309, 317,422 Arminius 471 Arrian 285,288 n. 86
3 « , 423 Central Asia 39,331
545
NAME INDEX
NAME INDEX Asia M i n o r 44,49, 52, 57, 199,294, 30fe. 325, 339, 370 n. 68, 374-8, 385, 415, 422, 442-3 Assyria 32, 38, 221, 306, 316-21 Astarte 39, 318.331-2 Astyages 324 Athena 101,106 n . 66, 180,367, 376-7, 384,401,403,503 Athens 25, 44 n. 52, 49, 73.100 n. 57, 1 6 5 , 2 0 1 , 374-6, 381, 395,401-2, 405-11,414-15, 4 2 4 , 4 5 9 , 5 0 3 Atlantic Ocean 330 Atlas Mountains 19"" Atreus 377 Australia (New Holland) 192, 195 Austria 508,519 n . 79 Ava 296 Ayodhya 285 Azerbaijan 306 Azov, Sea o f 294 Babylon, Babylonia 38, 2 2 1 , 306, 316-21,323 Bactria 38, 294, 306, 308-10, 319, 421 Baghdad 4 7 " Baikal, Lake 299 Bailly, Jean Sylvain 113 n. 80, 154 Balkh 306, 308-9,319 Baltic Sea 381 Bâmiyân 308,319 Bavaria 466 Beijing (Peking) 214 n. 6, 2 2 1 , 227-8, 242,249 Bel 317-19 Belzoni, Giovanni Battista 3 5 1 , 358 n . , 359—60 Benares 297 Bengal 223, 255, 265 Bentley, J. 289 BerUn I - f , 10,195 n . 62, 293 n. 102 Bethlehem 493 Bhutan 223, 299 n . 116 BiasofPriene 325 Black Sea 3 7 , 4 4 , 200 n . 70,294, 304 n 374 Boeotia 376-7,405, 408 Bologna 480 Bopp, Franz 263 n . 18, 293 Bossuet, Jacques Bénigne 512-13 Brahma 37, 277-9, 300, 452, 454 Brahman 35 n. 48, 36. 277-9 281 310, 333 Brazil 195 Britain, Britannia 5 2 , 1 9 4 201 465 466, 508 ' ' see also England, Scotland. Wales Bnttany 194
Buddha, the 32. 34, 37,112 n. 79, 250, 255, 278, 296-9. 347 Fo 32, 34, 296 Gautama 278, 296 Cadmus 368, 376 Caesar, Augustus 52, 341,44fe Caesar, Gaius Julius 4 , 1 6 , 5 2 , 7 0 - 1 , 9 5 - 6 , 128,135, 175, 2 0 1 . 4 4 4 - 5 Cairo 221 Cambyses 40, 309 n . 18, 328. 336-7, 339-41,351,364 Canaan 3 1 7 , 4 9 4 Canada 194 Canova, Antonio 277 Carthage 52, 330, 378, 427, 442-5 Caspian Sea 32, 1 9 9 , 2 1 1 , 2 2 3 , 294. 306-7, 322-3 Cato the Younger 175 Caucasus Mountains 200 n. 70, 376 Cecrops 376, 3 8 1 Champollion, j e a n François 335 n . 6 Chang Jiang (Yangrze) River 199. 220-1 Charlemagne 57-8, 463, 4 6 7 , 4 6 9 n., 477-8, 483, 486 Charles Martel 5 7 , 4 7 ? Charles V, H o l y Roman Emperor 467, 510,511 . Charles X I I , king of Sweden 508 Chile 195 China 5, 9, 31-S, 3 7 , 1 1 6 , 194, 200. 2 0 4 . 211-50, 2 5 1 - 2 , 256-8, 284, 2 9 1 , 304-5, 327, 344 Christ, Jesus 32, 53, 5 9 - 6 0 , 1 8 7 , 209. 273, 289, 392, 4 0 2 , 4 4 9 , 455, 479. 489-92,504 Chronos 161. 163, 349 Cicero, Marcus Tullius 82 n. 1 6 , 4 3 2 - 3 . 436, 440 Cleisthenes of Athens 409 Cleisthenes of Corinth 381 Colchis 200, 294 Comorin, Cape 256 Constantinople 2 0 1 , 4 9 3 Cornwall 3 3 1 , 466 Coromanuel Coast 262 n. 1 1 , 290 Crete 377, 385,405-6 Creuzer, Friedrich 264 n. 23, n
309 n. 16, 312 n. 25, 313 n . 28. 332 n. 89 Croesus 325, 337, 370 n. 68 Ctesias 319-21 Cyrene 339, 344, 374 Cyrus the Great 38-9, 304 n., 307, 309. 323-9. 3 3 6 - 7 , 3 7 0 n. 68 Cyrus the Younger 319 546
Daedalus 387 Dalai Lama, the 59. 299, 302, 489-90 Daniel 323 Dante Alighieri 487 Danube River 2 0 1 , 4 6 5 - 6 , 471 n . 1 1 , 495 Darius I Hystaspes 309, 328 n . 80, 329, 370, 405 D a r w i n , Charles 19, 24 Deccan Peninsula 255-6 Deioces 323 Delambre, Jean Joseph 113 n . 80. 154 n . 2 6 , 2 4 1 Delhi 35, 255 n . 4 Delphi 2 0 1 , 382 n . 26, 396, 420 Denmark 1 9 4 , 4 6 9 . 5 0 8 , 5 2 0 Deucalion 375-6 Diodorus Siculus 40, 319-20 nn. 5 3 - 9 , 3 2 1 , 335, 339,341-3, 352, 371 n . 1 Dionysius (deity) 346, 352 n . 44 Dionysius the Elder 106 n . 66,320 Dionysius the Younger 106 n . 66 Dodona (Janinna) 376, 3 9 3 ^ , 3 9 6 Don River 200, 302 Dschemschid 309 Dubois, Abbé 269 n . 3 9 , 2 7 1 , 276 n. 62. 297 n . 110 East Indies 1 9 3 , 3 0 ? Ebro River 478 Eckstein, Baron von 108 n . , 113 n . 79 Egypt 5, 31-3, 39-44, 46, 57,197, 2 2 1 , 292, 320, 3 3 1 , 334-70, 376, 385, 393—4 422 4 7 Eichhorn, Karl Friedrich 1 4 0 , 4 6 1 n . Elbe River 4 6 6 , 4 7 1 n. 11 Eleusis 395 Elis 384 Ellora 290 Elohim, the 2 4 " Elphinstonc, Mountstuart 305 England 1 9 4 , 2 0 1 . 2 2 6 , 2 6 4 - 5 , 3 5 8 , 3 6 7 , -
Fackenheira, Enul L. 17 n. 32 Far East 24,156,200,206,211,304,329. J73 n . 4 Fénelon, François de Salignac 106,230 Fichte, Johann Gottlieb 18, 78 n. 2. 102 n . 6 1 Finland 194 Firdawsi 38. 308 n. 10, 321-2 Florence 4,484, 501 n. 49 Forbes, Duncan 7 n . 13,10 Fornax 434 Forstet Georg 293 France 4, 57,107 n. 69,113 n . 7 9 , 2 0 1 , 374, 465,467,469,477-8, 483-4, 497,512, 515, 519 n. 79, 520 Francis 1, king of France 510 Francis IL, Austrian (Habsburg) emperor 207 n. Frederick D 71,136,518-19 Frundsberg, Georg von 510 Fuxi (Fo-bi, Fu-hi) 32,218,250 Galgaleh 308 Galilei, Galileo 516 Ganges River 3 1 , 35, 199, 211, 255-7, 272, 274-5, 280,288,297, 331-2, 347 Gangmu (Kang-mu) 216 Gans, Eduard 4 , 6 - 7 , 1 9 1 n. Gaubil, Antoine 216 n . 11,219 n . 26 Gaul 52, 442, 445 Genghis Khan 214. 222,299, 303 Germany, Germania 52, 57, 59, 61-2. 71, 81,183, 201,204, 312, 445,465-6. 469-70, 473-4, 478-80, 482,484-,. 495-6, 503-4,508,511-14 Ghazni 288 Goethe j o h a n n Wolfgang von 10s a , 426, 477 Good Hope, Cape of 292 496 Görres.Joseph 81 n . 10.113 n . 7 9 , 3 0 8 n . 10, 321
469, 483-4, 5 0 8 , 5 1 2 , 515, 520 Eos 335 n . 3 Epaminondas 382,415 Ephesus 370 n . 68 Epicurus 14, 82 Epirus 384 Estonia 194 Ethiopia 320 Euphrates River 3 1 , 38,199, 211, 305-6, 316-17,477 Europe 24, 29, 3 1 . 38, 56-7, 59-60, 1 9 2 , 1 9 4 , 1 9 6 - 2 0 1 , 2 0 4 , 208 n . . 216, 295, J73-4, 4 2 1 , 462-9, 478-9, 4 9 « Western Europe 62, 157
201,205,366-425.427,436,463-1. 466 Gregory VU 480 Griesheim,*. G. J. von 5 7 8, 147 19. 173 n-, 197 n., 211 n-, 214 n. 4, 220 n. 31, 222 n. 4 1 , 225 n. S l . " 3 n 248 n. 110, 263 n . 19,293 n. 103. 298 n. 113, 314 n . 34, 399 n 422 n. 25, 493 n. 35 Grosier.AH*212n,2L3n Guangdong (Canton) 22U-1 Guinea, Guif of 196 Gustasp 309 n
547
NAME INDEX Gustavus Adolphus 508 Gutenberg, Johannes 496 n . Hadrian 337 Haemus, the (the Balkans) 201 H a l d e j e a n Baptistedu 212 n . , 216 n . 11 Hamburg 193 Hammer, Joseph von 365 Hannibal 442,444 Harpagus 324, 370 n . 68 Hastings, Lord (Frances Rawden-Hastings) 266, 292 Hegel, Karl vi, 3 , 6 - 8 , 9 6 n . , 108 n . , 191 n . Helios 42, 367, 392-3 Hellen, 373 n . 5 , 3 7 6 Hephaestus 337 n . 10, 349 n. Hera 435 Heracles (Hercules) 348 a , 384 Herder Johann Gottfried 111 n . 76, 125 n . 96, 212 n., 224 n. 43,236 n. 83, 239 n. 90 Hermes 140 n . 14, 347, 355 Hermopolis (Antinoöpolis) 337 Herodotus 1 1 , 4 0 , 4 2 , 4 8 , 6 7 , 7 0 , 7 3 n . 2 1 , 106,133,134 n., 135,294,309 n . 18, 318-19, 321, 323 n . 66,324-5, 328-30, 334, 336-13, 345,347-8, 351-2, 359-61, 363-6, 370, 371 n . 1 , 375, 393-5, 397, 4 0 5 - 8 , 4 2 1 Hesiod 393,417 Himalaya Mountains 198, 2 7 4 , 2 9 6 , 299 Hindu Rush 306, 309 Hindustan 255-6, 306, 4 7 7 Hoboes, Thomas 18, 102 n . 61,152 n. 23 Hoffmeistei, Johannes 7-9, 96 n., 154 n 26,191 n . , 2 1 2 n . Hohenstaufen (Swabian) rulers 487 Holland 1 8 3 , 2 0 4 , 3 3 1 Netherlands, the 508, 512,520 Holy Land, the 59-60,492 n. 33 Horn (Haoma) 38, 316 Homer 11 n . 1 3 , 3 1 , 43, 70,105 n . , 120, 124,130,140 n . 1 4 , 1 9 1 , 2 1 5 , 230 n . 71,284,347 n . 3 6 , 3 7 1 , 3 7 5 - 6 , 379-82, 386, 391,393, 403, 411,417 Horus 346 n., 347 n. 47 Hostilius 437 Hotho, H . G . v, 5, 8, 147 n . 19,167 n„ 173 n., 197 n., 211 n . , 215 n . 8,220 n. 31,222 n . 4 1 , 267 n . 28, 399 n . , 422 n . 85 Huang H e (Huang H o ) River 199,219 221 Hugo, Gustav 140 Humboldt, Alexander von 191 n. Hungary 201,421 n. 84
548
lamblichus 355 India 5, 9, 11 n . 23, 31-7, 68 n . 5, 116, 204, 211, 2 2 1 , 223, 251-305, 320, 3 3 1 , 3 4 1 , 3 4 4 , 489, 497-8 Indian Ocean 306 Indus River 3 1 , 35, 3 7 , 1 9 9 , 2 1 1 , 2 5 5 - 6 , 264, 304 n . , 3 0 5 , 3 2 0 Ionia 191, 370 n . 68 Iran 3 0 6 , 3 1 0 , 322 Iraq 306 Ireland 508 Isaiah 493 Isis 4 1 , 3 4 6 - 8 , 3 4 9 , 393 Israel 39, 321 n . 6 1 , 326 Italy 201,373 n . 5, 3 7 4 , 4 2 7 n . 4, 4 4 2 - 3 , 465, 467, 477, 4 8 4 , 4 8 6 - 7 , 495, 507-8, 520 Jaeschke, Walter v, v i , 1 n. 1, 2 n . 4, 3 n . 6, 9, 108 n . Jagannatha 280 Jâsche, Gottlob Benjamin 121 n . 89 Java 299 Jehovah 245, 2 4 7 Jena 2 n . 3 Jericho 504 Jerusalem 2 0 1 , 4 9 3 Jones, Sir W i l l i a m 260 n. 8, 2 7 1 , 279 n . 7 1 , 286 Jordan River 493 Joseph D, Holy Roman Emperor 470 Josephus, Flavius 215 Judah 321 n . 6 1 , 326 Judea 200 Jugurtha 444 n . 28 Jumna River 255 n . 4 Jiingel, Eberhard 17 n. 32 Juno 319 JunoMoneta 435 Jupiter 161-2, 319-20, 380 Kabul 3 0 5 - 6 , 3 0 8 , 3 1 0 Kâlidâsa 272 n . 5 1 , 293 Kangxi 230, 238 n . 88, 244 n . 103, 245, 248 n . 112 Kant, Immanuel 18, 28, 97, 102 n . 6 1 , 1 8 6 n. 49, 517 n . Karakorum Mountains 299 n . 116 Kashmir 2 5 5 , 2 9 4 , 3 0 5 Kehlei; F. C. H . V. v o n v, 5, 7 Kepler Johannes 118-19 Khafre(Chephren) 338 Khorasan 306, 310, 322 Khufu (Cheops) 338 K l e u k e A j . F . 307 n n . 6-7, 309 n . 17, 312 n n . 2 3 - 4 , 315 n n . 38-40, 316 n . 4 1
N A M E INDEX Kongzi (Confucius) 125, 213 n . , 217, 240-1 Krug, Wilhelm Traugott 250 n. 121 Kurdistan 317 Lacedaemonia (Laconia) 382 n. 27, 408, 411-12 Lafayette, Marquis de 107 Lally-Tolendal, Thomas Arthur 261-2 Lammenais, Abbé 108 n . , 1 1 2 n . 79 Laozi (Lao-Tse) 34, 213 n . , 249 Laplace, Pierre Simon 241 Lares and Penates 179,185 Lasson, Georg 7-9, 96 n . , 191 n . Latvia 194 n. 61 Lebanon 330 a. 87 Leibniz, Gottfried Wilhelm 22 n . 35,85, 212 n . , 244 n . 103,512-13 Leo X (Giovanni de' Medici) 468 Leonidas 406, 425 Lessing, Gotthold Ephraim 15 a 31,88 n. 31 Lhasa 299 Libya 344 Licimus, Gaius and Lucius Sextius 430,440 Livonia 194 Livy (Titus Livius) 12, 72-4, 136-7,427, 438-9, 441-2 Locris 376 Lombardy 199,204 Lothair D 481 Louis X I V 515 Lucan, Marcus Annaeus 175,465 a. Luthet, M a r t i n 6 1 , 468,478 a , 496 n., 503-5,510 Lycurgus 4 1 2 , 4 5 9 Lydia 323 n . 65, 324 n . 73,370 n . 68, 376 Macedonia 442 Mackenzie, Cohn 265 Maharashtra 290 n . 96 M a h m u d 321 Mailla, Joseph de 212 n . , 219 n . 26 Malabar Coast 269 Manchuria 214 n . 6 Manetho 336 Marathon 405-6 Mardonius 73 n. 21,397 Marius, Gaius 443-5 Mats 348, 386 Marshman, Joshua 213 n . 2 Maurice of Saxony 511 Mecca 201 Media 38, 306, 317, 319, 321-2, 324-5 Mediterranean Sea 29, 37, 39,44, 52, 194-5, 197, 2 0 0 - 1 , 2 0 5 , 304 n . , 306, 3 3 0 , 4 2 7 , 442-3 Memnon 334, 358 n .
Memphis 40,337 Menelaus 376 n . 14 Menenius Agrippa 72, 73 n. 17, 137 Mercury 20,140 Merc*, Lake 338 M e m , Mount 275 Mesopotamia 317 Meton 287 Mexico 192-3, 512 Michelangelo 503 Midas 375 Middle East 3 1 , 57,200, 206,373 n. 4 Miletus 378 M i l l , James 277 n. 67, 280 n . 72 Minerva 73, 162,319,386 Minos 363, 384 Mississippi River 194 Mithra 313, 315 Mithradates VI 444 Mnemosyne 115-17,130,134 Mongolia 299 n . 116 Montesquieu, Charles de Secoadat 139 Morocco 197 Moses 504 Muhammad 289,474 a Mullet, Johannes von 73, 136-9,213 a , 215, 221 n. 35, 322 Müller, Nikolaus 286 Mumbai (Bombay) 299,307 n. 6 Muses, the 162 Mvcenae 277 Myceris (Mycerinus) 338 a 14 Mylitta 318 Nabonasser (Nabupolassar) 323-4 Nala 268,270-1 Nanking 220 Naples 478,520 Napoleon Bonaparte 77 n . 28,193, 426,446 Narbada (Nerbudda) River 256-7 Near East 49,200, 325-61,373 n . 4 , 421, 477 Neckar River 466 Neith 349 a , 367, 376 Nepal 223 Neptune 384 Nero 435,446 Nestor 379 New Holland (Australia) 192,19> Newton, Si/ Isaac.311 Niebuhi; Bartbold Georg 81 a 11, 139, 290 N f £ 4 0 - t k 2 2 1 , 2 4 5 , 345-6, 348, 358 Nile Valley 4 0 , 3 3 7 , 3 4 0 C
549
337,340,
NAME INDEX N i m r o d 319 Ninevah 317,319, 320 N.nus 319-20 Nisbet, H . B. 1 n. 1 , 7-9, 96 n. Nitocris 321 Noah 215,289 Norway 194,508 Niima Pompilius 43? Numiror 4 2 7
Plato 10,49, 82-3, 87-8, 1 0 6 , 1 6 2 , 241, 258, 314, 333 n . 90, 403 n. 48, 417-19, 4 2 3 - 1 , 452 Pliny the Elder 285 Plutarch 50, 367, 425, 445 Poitiers 477 Poland 194 n. 6 1 , 201, 519 n . 79 Polybius 12, 50, 70, 73,137, 425. 442 Pompey the Great 175 n . Pondicherry 262 n . 11 Portugal 465 Poseidon 46, 348, 392-3, 395 Proclus 367, 395 n . 4 1 , 519 n . 76 Prometheus 376 n . 10, 384 Protagoras 4 1 7 n . 76 Provence 477 Prussia 508, 518 n . 77, 519 n . 7 9 , 5 2 0 Psammenitus 336 Psammetichus 1 338-9 Ptah 349 Ptolemaeus, Claudius (Ptolemy) 2 8 5 , 2 8 8 Ptolemy H, Philadelphus 336 Pufendorf, Samuel Baron von ("Hippolytus aLapide') 513 Punjab 255, 288, 298 n . 113 Putter, Johan Stephan 461 n . , 486 Pythagoras 344, 356-7
O'Brien, George Dennis 11 n . 22 Oceanus 46, 376, 393 Odysseus 380 Oedipus 368 Olympian gods 46, 392 n . 39 Orestes 471 Ormazd (Ahu/a Mazda) 38 307 a. 7,309 n . 17, 310 n . 2 1 , 311-14, 328 Orpheus 375 Osiris 4 1 , 245, 346-9, 355, 361,393 Ottos o f Saxony, four kings of 486-7 Pacific Ocean 192 n . 56 Padua 427 n . 4 PMestine 200,317 Pandora 384 Parapanisus Mountains 294, 309 Paris 5 , 2 6 1 Patroclus 387 Paul, the Apostle 145 n. Pausanias (king o i Sparta) 397 . 44 Pausanias (Greekgeographer) 73 n . 2 1 , 371 a. 1 . 37~ Peloponnesus, the 48, 373, 375-6, 384, 411-12 Pelopidas 415 Pelops 376 Pepin 'the Short' 4 7 " Pericles 6 9 - 7 0 , 1 3 5 , 4 0 6 , 4 0 9 - 1 1 , 414 419, 468 Persia 5 , 9 , 3 1 , 3 3 , 3 7 - 4 0 , 4 2 - 3 , 1 0 6 , 2 0 0 257, 2 5 9 , 3 0 4 - 3 3 , 3 4 4 , 369,374, ' 463,47Persian Gulf 306,318 Peru 192, 195 Pharsalus 465 Phasis Rivet 200,294 Philip o f Macedon 49, 322 n . 6 4 , 4 2 0 , 422-3 Phocis 420 n . Phoenicia 4 4 , 3 3 0 - 1 , 3 7 6 , 3 7 8 Phrygia 331-2, 375 Phthiotis 376 Piedmont, the 520 Plataea 44 n . 5 2 , 4 8 , 7 3 - 4 , 382, n
Qianlong (Kien-long) 224, 230, 238 n . 88 Quixote, Don 483 Rama 263 n . 18, 27J, 285 n. 80 Ranke, Leopold von 12-13,75 Raphael 501 Red Sea 3 3 0 . 5 0 4 n . 53 Retz, Cardinal de 71,136 Rhampsinitus 364-5 Rhea 392 Rhine River 465. 495 Rhodes 376 n. 12 Richelieu, Cardinal 513 Rio de la Plata River 195 Ritter, Karl 191 n . , 195, 213 n . 3 , 218 n . 22, 220 n. 30, 221 n . 35, 2 2 2 nn. 38-9, 238 n. 88, 2 9 4 , 2 9 7 n n . 110-11 Rome 3 1 , 5 0 - 5 , 7 2 , 9 5 , 1 0 9 , 1 7 3 , 1 7 5 , 2 0 1 , 358, 407, 414, 422. 426-60. 484, 510 Romulus (and Remus) 427-8, 4 3 " Rousseau, Jean-Jacques 18, 102 n . 6 1 , 112 n . 9 0 , 1 5 2 n . 23,413 Roxana 421 Rubicon River 445 Rum, land of 322 Rumi, Jalal-al-Dln 187 n. 5 1 . 474 n. Russia 31,194 n . 6 1 , 2 0 0 - 1 . 509, 519 n . 79
550
N A M E INDEX Sahara Desert 196-7 Saint-Martin, Antoine Jean 113 n . 79 Sais 40, 42, 337, 339, 376 n. 15 Salamis 44 n. 52, 48, 406 Salerno 480 Samarkand 288 n. 87 Sardanapalus (Ashurbanipal) 320, 323 Sardinia 330. 377 Sardis 323, 325, 370 n. 68 Sartorius (Sertorius) 443,444 n. 28 Saxony 4 6 6 , 4 8 7 Scandinavia 465 Schelling, Friedrich W i l h e l m Joseph 24, 112 n . 79, 152-3 Schiller, Friedrich 4 5 . 3 9 1 , 463 n . Schlegel, Friedrich 2 4 . 1 0 8 n . , 112 nn. 7 7 - 8 , 1 1 3 n. 79,114-15 n . , 120 n. 88, 125 n . 96, 153, 272 n . 51 Schleiermacher, Friedrich 501 n. 50 Schwarz, Berthold 495 Scipio, Africanus M a j o r 443, 444 n. 32 Scorel, Jan van 253 Scotland 508 Scott, Sir Walter 75 Seelmann, H o c N a m 11 n . 25 Semiramis 3 1 9 - 2 1 Sennacherib 341 Servius Tullius 437 Sesostris 320, 337-9 Setbos 341 Shanxi 219
Spinoza, Benedict 35,121, 124.152,254, 489 n. 30 Sri Lanka (Ceylon) 237,256,296,299,301 Staunton, George T. (Lord Macartney) 212-13 n., 230, 249 n . 116 Strabo 285.297 n. 110 Suez 292 Suleiman (Zagros) Mountains 306 Sulla, Lucius Cornelius 443-5 Sußmikh, Johann Peter H i n . 76 Sweden 194,508 Switzerland (Helvetia) 193,201,498,508 Syr-Darya (laxartes) River 199, 305 Syria 38-9,199,292,306,339.378,453
Shen (Tschen) 3 4 , 2 4 7 - 8 Shenyang (Mukden) 214 n . 6 Shi Huangdi (Shi Huangti) 217, 229 Shiva 278-9, 284 Shunzhi (Chun-chi) 222 Siam 296, 301 Siberia 32, 198, 214 n . 6, 223 Sibree, John 3 n . 7, 7, 9,96 a. Sicily 74, 106 n. 66, 374, 405-6 Sidon 200 Silesia 3 0 3 , 5 1 9 Smyrna 377 Socrates 1 4 , 4 9 , 82-4, 241,368 n 63, 395, 4 0 2 - 3 . 417-19, 451,468 Sogdiana 421 Solomon 2 4 0 . 289, 321 n. 61 Solon 2 4 1 , 4 0 8 - 9 , 4 5 9 Sonnerat, Pierre 213 n . , 216 n. 12 Sophocles 162 South Seas (Pacific Ocean) 192 Spain 57, 197, 200, 330, 378,442-3, 465,467,469,477-8,483,496, 512, 520 Sparta 44 n . 52, 48-9, 173, 382 403,405,407,411-15,420,425,459 Spartacus 444
T W i d e , 11,67,69-70,741,1331,135. 162, 371 n . 1 , 375-8, 382, 384,403, 406, 410, 414 Tan(Shangdi) 34,247,249
Tacitus, Pubbus 461 n . Tarquini us Prisais 437 Tarquiniits Superbus 437-9 Taschi-Laraa 299-300 Taschi-Lumpo 299 Telemachus 106 n . 66,230 n . 71,380 Thebes (in Egypt) 40,334 n. 3,337,359 Thebes (in Greece) 368 n. 64,376. 415, 420 Theodoric 465 Thermopylae 406 Thetsites 380 Theseus 408,425 ThessaJy 48,375,405,411,465 n. 4 Thorn 355
Tigris River 3 1 , 38,199,211.305-6, 316-17,323 Timur (Tamerlane) 288,303 Titans, the 46,392-3 I r o T 41,359,382, 386.427-8 Tschudi, Aegidius 73, \5 t Turan 322. 323 n . 65, 325 299 n. 116, 300, 302 n. 123 Typbofl 346 Tyre 200, 329-30, 376, 42 Ural River 200 Venice 204.427 n. 4 , 4 4 0 , 4 9 9 n. 46 Vlkratnâditya 289 Viral 3 8 6 n . 3 1 , 4 2 Virgin Mary 253,491 7
551
NAME INDEX Vishnu 278, 279,284, 298 n. 114 Krishna 278 Vishvamirra, Prince 263 n . 18 Vistula River 199 Volga River 2 0 0 , 2 2 3 , 302 Voltaire, Francois Marie Arouetde 212 n . 214 n . 4 ' Wales 4 6 6 Washington, D C 194 West Indies 193 White, Hayden 13 n . 26, IS n. 28 Wtlford, Francis 264 n . 2 3 , 2 7 5 - 6 n 62 288-90, 308 Wilkins, Burleigh Taylor 11 n . 22 William of Normandy, "the Conqueror' 483
W i n k e l m a n n j o h a n n Joachim 343 Wolff, Christian 125 a 9 5 , 2 1 2 o., 244 n. 103 Xenopbon 7 0 , 1 3 5 , 3 2 3 n. 67, 3 2 7 n . . 3 2 8 , 403 n. 48, 4 1 4 Xerxes 297, 329, 405 Yao (Yu) 32, 216, 219-21 Yue (Yo) Mountains 246 Zaire River 198 Zeniane Akerene 311-12 Zeus 7 3 , 1 6 3 , 3 2 0 n . 5 6 , 3 4 6 n . 35, 376 n . 10, 380, 392-3, 395 Zoroaster 3 8 , 3 0 7 , 309, 310 a. 2 1 , 312-13, 316, 3 2 7
SUBJECT INDEX actions and consequences 94-6 Africa, geographical features of 196-8 agriculture 202-3, 341, 348 America, as land o f the future 193-4 aiiimals 1 4 8 - 9 , 1 5 1 , 1 5 3 , 3 4 9 - 5 4 anthropoaiDrphi sm 391 architecture 358-9 aristocracy 105-7, 183,407-9,411-12, 436 438 440 art 1234,188,243,290,357-8,383-4, 386-7,419,500-1 Asia as childhood o f w o r l d history 206 dawning o f w o r l d history in 1 9 8 , 2 0 1 , 211 incl. n. 1 geographical features o f 198-200 origin of civilization in 114-15 principle o f 156 astronomy 113, 154,241-2 beauty 45, 386-8, 400, 415-16 Bible, the account of origins i n 111-12 account of the flood in 215 Genesis 3 22 455 a. 40 Genesis 10: 8-12 319 n . 51 Exodus 14: 21-31 504 n . 53 Joshua 6 : 1 6 - 2 1 504 n . 53 Isaiah 2 6 : 1 9 493 n . 36 Daniel 2 : 4 8 - 9 323 a 68 Matthew 1 6 : 1 - 4 504 n . 54 Marie 8: 11-13 504 n. 54 Luke 24: 5-6 493 n . 37 John 8: 32 85 n . 24, 500 n . 55 John 15: 26 494 n. 38 John 1 6 : 7 494 n . 38 John 16: 13 85 n . 2 5 , 4 4 9 a 38, 494 n . 38 John 18: 36 402, 479 n . 20 :
552
5S3
Acts 17: 22-28 145 n- 17 1 Corinthians 2; 10 85 a 25 1 Corinthians 8: 3, 13: 12 85 n . 24 Philippians 2 : 6 - 7 392 a 38 Hebrews 11:20-30 504 n . 53 bibles (basic writings) of peoples 1 1 , 70, 215 Buddhism 250 incl. n. 121, 255, 295-9 castes 257-64 Catholic Church 101,479-94,501-3, 510-12, 516 chance (contingency) 14,47,82-3,108, 157,462 change (alteration) 21,107-8, 142-3, 155-6 China 31-1,211-50 its age 215 ancient wisdom of (the Gua) 218 art of 243 autonomy of 214,223 dynasties of 216-17,220-1 ethical customs of 237 Hegel's treatment o f 212-14 a 2 historical records o f 211—15 history of 213-14,219-23 language of 239-40 legal and moral spheres identical in 232-4 mandarins (public officials) i n 227—8, 236 morality in 125-6 originalbooksof (theJing) 215-19 population o f 213 powers and qualities o f the emperor in 226-8,230-2,238 principles of the Chinese state 223-32 punishment i n 235-6
SUBJECT I N D E X China (cont.) religion o f 2 4 3 - 5 0 remains unchanged 214 sciences o f 2 3 8 - 9 , 2 4 0 - 3 social conditions i n 224-6, 229-30 subjective freedom violated in 234-6 territory of 223 Christ, Jesus quest f o r presence of i n medieval church 488-92 resurrection of 493 spiritual and sensible presence of 488-94 spiritual presence o f i n faith and communion 503-4 as the this o f God 5 9 - 6 0 , 3 9 1 - 2 , 396 453-4, 456, 4 8 9 - 9 1 tomb o f 493 unity o f divine and human nature appears i n 187,489 Christianity appearance o f 4 4 7 , 4 5 0 - 6 brings changes in ethical life 457-8 brings changes in social practices 481 can have no slavery 457 consequences o f for life and state 457-9 and the Crusades 492-4 day of judgment has dawned for i t 463 incl. n . 2 develops within the Nordic/Germanic principle 460 Eastern and Western provenance o f 476 its establishment o f two worlds (supersensible, temporal) 458 and freedom 8 8 , 5 0 3 , 5 0 5 - 6 as inwardly consummate vis-à-vis the outside w o r l d 463-4 and Islam 464 and knowledge of God 145 as living and contemporary spirit 449 medieval 479-82, 488-92 medieval political involvements of 482-8 and the presence o f Christ 488-92 as a religion of unity 187 as the revealed and only true religion 151 in the Roman Empire 447-59 and the state 458-9 truth o f 447-9 unity o f divine and human nature in 3 9 0 - 1 , 453-6 world o f 157,186-9 church 479, 4 8 2 - 8 , 5 0 1 - 3 , 515-17 citizens, and rulers 105 climate 191-2 coastlands 195-6
554
commercial activities 495-6 commonality, and individuality 469-72 constitution 18, 2 7 - 8 , 104-7, 181-4, 399-404, 409, 440, 446 continents 194-5 Council of Trent 512 creation 2 1 , 24, 142-3 Crusades, the 492—4 culture 24-5, 1 0 9 - 1 0 , 1 2 2 - 1 , 155-65, 180-1,189-91,382-7 cunning 16-17, 96 n . 44, 128, 186 damton 402-3 death 359-63 democracy 1 8 , 4 7 - 8 , 105-7, 183, 399-404, 408-9, 419 dependence, feeling of 5 0 0 - 1 deserts 196-7 despotism 257 destiny 397-9 development 1 9 , 1 0 7 - 1 1 , 1 1 8 - 2 6 , 1 5 5 - 6 6 discoveries, voyages of 496 drives 148-9 Early Middle Ages 57-8, 467, 4 6 9 - 7 7 education, of the human race 15, 88 n . 3 1 Egypt 4 0 - 3 , 3 3 4 - 6 9 and agriculture 341,348 architecture of 3 5 8 - 9 art of 357-8 castes in 341 character of Egyptians oriented t o particular purpose 363-6 cycle o f Isis and Osiris i n 3 4 6 - 8 death and immortality i n 3 5 9 - 6 3 embalming (mutnmification) i n 3 6 2 enigmatic character o f 334-5, 344, 368 flood and drought i n , 340 geographical features of 339-40 and Greece 366-70 hieroglyphics i n 335, 358 history o f 336-9 juxtaposition at animal and human forms i n 354 most ancient and most rational o f peoples 337, 339 as peaceable 341 pharaohs of 338 pyramids of 359-60 its relation t o Persian Empire 3 3 6 - 7 religion o f 3 4 3 - 9 , 355-7 reverence for animal life in 349-54 sculpture of 358-9 social practices of 342-3 sphinx as symbol o f 334,368 spirit as envisaged by 355-7
SUBJECT I N D E X spirit struggles t o liberate itself from nature i n 344, 357, 367 status o f w o m e n in 343 use of symbols i n 345, 348, 352-4 Enlightenment 517-18 estates 497-8 ethical life 9 7 - 9 , 1 0 0 - 1 , 1 4 6 - 7 , 1 7 3 - 1 , 177-9, 2 0 5 - 6 , 4 5 7 - 8 Europe 183, 208 n . 79 balance of power i n 499 as center and endpoint of world history 1 9 8 , 2 0 1 geographical fearures of 200-1,204 peoples comprising (Romance, Germanic, Slavic) 464-7, 507-9 see also Germanic World evil 15-17 i n c l . n. 32, 8 5 - 6 , 9 0 , 4 5 6
its relation to seafaring 205 rise of in cities 496-7 as spirit of the modem era 506, 520 stages in the consciousness of 15,19, 87-8,110,118-19 of the will (of universal, not particular, spirit) 519-20
faith 2 1 , 6 1 , 8 3 - 4 , 1 4 5 , 449, 503-4, 516 family 1 0 3 - 4 , 1 7 9 , 1 8 9 , 2 2 4 - 6 fate, 397-9 fealty 4 7 1 - 2 feeling 148, 5 0 0 - 1 feudal system 4 9 7 final end 2 1 , 25, 85-6, 89, 97,144,167-8 actualization of 9 1 , 9 3 - 4 as glorification and honor of God 168 o f history 166-8 universal and abstract 91 versus particular ends 461-2 what G o d has willed for the world 146 nnitude 5 1 , 1 7 1 - 3 , 4 3 1 , 433, 446-7, 450-2 folk spirit (spirit o f a people) 13 n . 26, 101, 141 development, refinement, overrefinement, decline of 24-5,158-66, 372-3 modes of progress of 157-66 see also spirit free w i l l (private, subjective) 2 7 , 1 7 0 , 1 8 1 , 400-2 freedom actualized in the state 100-4, 177-81 as banner of the Germans 470-1 as being at home w i t h self i n the ob|ect or content 505 as final end 89 as goal of w o r l d history 506 in the Greek W o r l d 388-90 idea o f 146-66 as intrinsic t o spirit 87-9,146-66 misunderstandings of 89 in nature as opposed to society 102-3 and necessity 170 „ progress i n the consciousness of 15, 88 in the Reformation 503, 505-6
geography 29,191-205 Germanic peoples 208 incl. n. 79, 460, 464,466-7,470-2, 507-8 Germanic World 55-63,461-521 beginning o f 464-7 cannot be approached as impartially as the distant past 461 and Christianity 479-82,488-94 commonality and individuality in 469-72 early medieval period of 467,469-77 and Europe 183, 208 n. 79 human beings as such are free i n 88 independence and unity of states in 462-4 and Islam 474-7 medieval period of 467-8,478-99 medieval political history of 482-8 and modernity 468, 509-20 nations after the Reformation in 507-9 as old age or maturity of world history 208 periods in the history of ™ 7 - 9 post-Reformation wars of reugioo in 509-14 principle of 208-10 reconciliation accomplished in 208-10 and the Refonnation 503-6 social conditions of in kite medieval period 497-9 and subjectivity 461 . transition to modernity m 500-9 triumph of particularity m 4 / > 4 m m to external world in late medieval period 494-9 unification of idea and historical particularity in 461-4 God as absolute idea 167-8, 171 as absolute spirit 151 as absolutely determined wrthui godself 448
555
appSal^diflesh
390-1,489
Chinese view of 2 4 4 - i death of 490 as end (aim) of mstory 168 freedom of 520
SUBJECT I N D E X God {cont.) governs the world 145-6 Greek concept of 3 8 8 - 9 1 Hindu view of 276-8 for human beings their o w n essence 388, 390 incarnation of 391,489 is not a quantity but a quality (relation) 488 is not hidden in the beyond 145-6, 187-8 Jewish concept of 3 3 2 - 3 , 4 5 2 , 454 knowledge o f 14-15, 84-5, 145-6 and love 448 and natural science 516 as the One 447-8, 4 5 2 , 4 5 4 Persian view of 312 proof o f 79 n . 7 providence o f 14, 2 1 - 2 , 46-7, 83-5, 145, 396-8,462 and reason 79 revealed as human being in human shape 453 revelation of 85,145, 453 as triune 151,448-9 as unity o f human and divine nature 28, 186-8,453-4,488-9 as what has being i n and f o r itself 170 w i l l of 146 work of i n history and the present 521 Goths 465 Greek World 43-50, 371-425 and the age o f Alexander the Great 420-5 as age of youth in w o r l d history 207, 371-2 aristocracy i n 407-9, 411-12 art of 3 8 3 - * , 386-7, 419 beauty i n 386-8,400,415-16 citadels o f 377-8 city-states of 422 colonies of 374,376 constitution o f 399-404, 409 culture o f 382-7 decline and fall of 413-25 democracy i n 399-404, 408-9, 419 depiction of in Homeric poems 371, 379-80 dynasties of 377-9,381 and Egypt 366-70 emergence o f thought (philosophy) in 415-20 first social and political organization of 377-82 and freedom 388-90, 40O-2 games, song, and dance o f 387
God does not yet appear to the Greeks i n the flesh 3 8 8 , 3 9 0 - 1 God is not yet worshiped by the Greeks in spirit and truth 388-9 gods and goddesses of 380. 391-5 individuality i n 385-6, 3 8 8 , 4 0 0 , 4 0 5 ind. n. 54,419, 421,423-4 leadership i n 3 7 9 - 8 0 maturity of 404-13 mysteries of 394—5 only some are free in 87-88, 404 origins o f 373—6 peace in 385 and the Pdoponnesiao War 414—5 periods o f its history 372-3 and Persia 369-70 and the Persian Wars 405-7 its relation t o non-Greek peoples 374-6, 383-5, 393-4 religion o f 387-99, 419 rivalry between Athens and Sparta in 4 0 7 - 1 3 , 4 1 4 - 1 5 , 4 1 9 - 2 0 and slavery 404, 409, 411 spiritualized sensuality of 3 7 1 - 2 , 388-9, 392-3 spread of Greek culture to the East 420-3 its struggle for survival against Persia 405-7 subjectivity i n 389, 390, 399-400, 402, 416-17 tribes of 374-6 unity and diversity o f 381-2, 405 view o f fate or destiny i n 397-9 warfare i n 3 7 9 - 8 0 , 3 8 2 , 4 1 1 , 414-15,421 gunpowder 141, 190,495-6 happiness 2 6 , 1 7 2 , 1 7 6 heroes (great figures of history, w o r l d historical individuals) 2 6 , 9 6 , 1 2 2 , 174-6, 422-3 heterogeneity 374 hieroglyphics 3 3 5 , 3 5 8 highlands 195-6, 198-200,203 Hinduism 187, 255, 2 7 3 - 8 1 , 2 9 7 - 8 historian 6 7 - 7 1 , 7 6 - 7 , 8 1 , 1 3 3 - 4 0 historiography, types o r varieties of 11-12, 2 0 . 6 7 - 7 7 , 133-46 history absolute 167 a p r i o r i character of 1 3 , 7 8 , 8 1 , 1 1 8 - 1 9 a p r i o r i fictions in 1 4 , 8 1 as actualization of spirit culminating in states 521 beginning of 1 9 , 2 3 - 4 , 1 1 1 - 1 8 . 1 5 2 - 4 destruction, violence, and evil in 9 0 - 1
556
SUBJECT INDEX empirical 14, 81 as event and as narrative 11,19,67-8, 115, 1 3 3 , 2 1 4 , 286-7 final end of 25. 166-8 as God's w o r k 521 hermenéutica) circle in 2 1 , 81,144 inappropriate comparisons i n 120-1.124 and nature 191-2, 198 objective and subjective sides of 94 original: see original history philosophical: see philosophical world history and prehistory 114-16 produced by states 115-16 as progress in the consciousness o f freedom 1 5 , 8 8 progress o f 2 4 - 5 , 1 5 5 - 6 6 reason i n 2 1 , 8 1 , 9 4 , 1 1 9 , 1 4 4 reflective: see reflective history as ruled by providence 83-5 as slaughterhouse 1 6 , 9 0 spectacle o f 9 0 - 1 , 127-8 ultimate purpose of 144 see also w o r l d history H o l y Roman Empire 467,478 H o l y Spirit 493-4 human beings, humanity abnormal specimens of 119-20 and animais 148-9, 153, 349-54 drawn bv ideals 8 9 - 9 0 , 9 7 - 9 , 1 6 9 - 7 6 driven by passions 8 9 - 9 6 , 1 6 9 - 7 6 go out f r o m and return to themselves 150 and G o d 3 8 8 - 9 1 as infinite i n cognizing, limited in w i l l i n g 185-6 as intrinsically free 87-9,146-66 natural state o f 152-3 as political beings 178 potentiality and actuality o f 151 responsibility o f for good and evil 97-8 self-knowledge o f (know thyself!) 368,456 as thinking beings 78 in unity w i t h G o d 453-4 see also spirit idea ea absolute idea o f God as the One 447-8 diremption of 172-3 as divine idea 169 as driving force in history 1 4 7 i n c l . n . l 9 as eternal life o f G o d within itself 170 goes f o r t h i n i o antithesis 170 as guide of peoples and world 20, 140,147
557
and historical particular try 461—4 of human freedom 22-6, 146-66 as labor of spirit 154 in logic, nature, and spirit 146-7 and passions 169-76 as philosophical name for God's will 146 its role i n history as lure 17, 97-9, 169-76 as unity o f concept and objectivity, thought and sensibility 391 ind. n . 36 and unity with subjective will 176 immortality 360-3 India 34-7,251-303 art and architecture of 290 Asian peoples related t o 295-303 austerities ami sacrifices i n 279-81 Brahma, Vishnu, and Shiva i n 277-9 Brahman in 277-8,281 Brahmansin 262-3,270 castes of 257-64,267 civil legislation {Laws of Manu) in 263, 265-72 despotism in 257, 272, 282 dispersal of peoples from 293-5 ethical depravity of 271-2 fantasy (imagination, dreaming) i n 251-3,273-4 freedom lacking in 256-7,258, 271, 276, 281-2 geographic region of 255-7 incorporation of history of foreign peoples in 287-9 internal political conflicts of 283 lack of history and historical accounts i n 116-17,252,286-7 land ownership i n 265-6 language of (Sanskrit), and its relation t o other languages 293-5 marriage and treatment of women i n 268-9 myths of origin of 284 as object of desire for all peoples 251,291 . oneness (universality) and drversity (particularity) in 253-5, 260, 2/3, 277-8 pantheism of 254-5,273-4 Miitical condition of (the state) 281-9 principle of 251-5, 291 punishment in 263-4 related religions of (Buddhism, Lamaism) 295-303 religion of (Hinduism) 273-81,297-8 religious regulations in 270-1 renunciation of earthly interests m 125-6
SUBJECT I N D E X India (cont.) representation of God in 276-8 its role in world history 2 5 1 , 291-5 sensuality of 275-6 social conditions o f 257-64, 268-9 trade w i t h and travel t o 2 9 1 transmigration of souls i n 275 vast numbers of 287 individuality 388, 400, 405 incl. n . 54, 419, 4 2 1 , 423-4 and commonality 4 6 9 - 7 2 and state 178-81 as a this 396 Indo-European languages 114 incl. n . 8 1 , 293-5 indulgences 502-3 infinitude 2 8 , 5 2 , 1 4 7 n . 1 9 , 1 8 4 - 8 , 4 5 0 - 2 interests: see passions inventions 495 Islam abstract unity of 474—5 ardor o f 476 its challenge to Europe 4 7 4 - 7 and Christianity 464 incl. n . 3 conquests o f 477 and the Crusades 492-4 fanaticism o f 326,475 no fixed distinctions i n 499 as religion o f separation 187 world of 156
editions of 6 - 1 0 editorial summary of 11-63 texts (manuscripts and transcriptions( o f 1-6 translations of 7-10 life 2 1 , 1 4 2 - 3 light 310-13, 367 Lutheran Church and doctrine 503-5 marriage 1 8 9 , 2 6 8 - 9 , 4 2 8 - 9 Mass 4 9 0 - 1 materialism (atheism) 516 means and ends 89-100, 178-9 meditative thinking 1 4 , 8 1 memoirs 71,136 memory (recollection) 6 8 , 1 1 5 - 1 7 , 134, 138,145, 149 metahistory 13 i n c l . n . 26 Middle Ages 5 8 - 6 0 , 467-8, 478-99 Christianity in 479-82, 488-92 compared w i t h Greek World 468 and the empire o f Charlemagne 4 7 8 - 9 political history o f 482-8 miracle 491-2 modernity 62-3, 468, 509-20 compared w i t h Roman W o r l d 468 and Enlightenment 517-18 formal universality o f thought i n 514-15 natural sciences i n 5 1 5 - 1 7 post-Reformation ware of religion in 509-14 transition t o 6 0 - 2 , 5 0 0 - 9 turn t o concrete actuality i n 5 1 7 - 2 0 worldly existence of the Protestant Church i n 5 0 9 - 1 4 monarchy 1 8 , 5 5 , 1 0 5 - 7 , 1 8 3 , 4 0 0 , 4 5 9 monastic orders and convents 4 8 0 - 1 morality 121-2, 1 2 5 - 6 , 1 3 7 - 8 mountains 195-6, 198-200, 203 mystery, mysteries 394-5 mythologies o f origin 112-13
Jewish people, in the Persian Empire 326 Jewish religion 39, 332-3 God as the One i n 452, 454-5 God conceived as pure thought i n 332-3 ^ as religion o f separation 187 story of creation and fall of humanity in 455 transition f r o m nature t o spirit in 333 judgment 17 n . 32, 85-6, 166 incl. n. 32 363,463 incl. n . 2 Lamaism 2 5 0 incl. n . 1 2 1 , 255, 299-303 language 1 1 7 , 2 3 9 - 4 0 , 2 9 3 - 5 Last Judgment 363, 503 Lectures of 1822-1823 manuscript fragment of 2, 11-12, 67-77 transcriptions of 5 - 6 , 8-9, 20-63, 133-521 Lectures of 1830-1831 loose sheets of 4, 127-30 manuscript of 3 - 4 , 1 2 - 2 0 , 78-126 transcriptions of 3 - 4 , 6 , 8 Lectures on the Philosophy of World History
natural science 5 1 5 - 1 7 nature 2 8 , 1 0 8 , 1 5 5 - 6 andgeogtaphv 29, 191-205 and history 191-2, 198 state of 1 0 2 - 3 , 1 1 1 - 1 2 , 1 5 2 - 3 new w o r l d 192-4 nomadism 203 Nordic people 4 6 0 i o « s 82 objectivity, and subjectivity 208-10, 400. 402,417,505 old w o r l d 194-5 oracle 3 9 6 - 7 , 4 0 2 - 4 558
SUBJECT I N D E X organism 5 5 , 1 8 2 , 4 5 9 Oriental metaphysics 142-3 Oriental W o r l d 211-370 and China 2 1 1 - 2 5 0 and Egypt 334-370 and India 251-303 only one is free in 87-8 overturning of its principle 333, 368 and Persia 304-333 original history 1 1 , 6 7 - 7 1 , 1 3 3 - 6
philosophical world history 12-15, 20-2, 67,78-9,133,140-6 philosophy 123,185,188,415-20, 480, 488 Philosophy of Right 1,67,177 incl. n . 39 Phoenicia 330-2 plains 196, 199-200, 202-3 poetry 123-4 politics, as destiny 426 see also constitution, state pope 487,489, 510 portraiture, philosophical 10 prehistory 114-16, 153 presence 488-94 presupposition and result 79-80 printing 190,496 private rights and privileges 190,472, 498-9, 518 progress (advance, progression, process) 24-5,155 n . 27,155-66 proof, philosophical 79-80, 83 Protestant Church 101,509-14,519-20 providence 14, 21-2, 46-7, 83-5, 145, 396-8,462 punishment, corporeal 236, 263-4 purpose (aim, end, goal) 16, 82,144, 166-8 see also final end pyramids 359-60
pantheism 1 8 7 , 2 5 4 - 5 , 2 7 3 - 4 paradisiacal human condition 111-13, 152-4 particularity 4 6 1 - 4 , 473-4 passions as driving force i n history 16-17,25-6, 89-96, 147, 169-76 and the idea 2 6 , 1 6 9 - 7 6 as instruments of a higher end 16-17, 93-4 pastoral life 203 patriarchy 1 0 3 - 4 , 1 7 9 , 1 8 3 , 2 2 4 Peace o f Westphalia 513 Peloponnesian War 414-15 Persia 37-40, 304-33 Achaemenid dynasty in 324, 328 Assyrian and Babylonian regions of 3 1 6 - 2 1 cnltic activities in 315-16 divisions i n Hegel's treatment of 306 incl. n . 5 dualism of good and evil i n 311-13 features o f the Persian Empire 326-30 founding of the empire by Cyrus 324-5 geography o f 305-6 and the Greek World 369-70 Magi i n 3 1 0 , 3 2 3 , 3 2 8 Medes and Chaldeans i n 322-3, 324 principle of the Persian Empire 304-5 punishment in 314-15 religion of (religion o f light, Zoroastrianism) 307,310-16 sources for history o f 321-2 subjugated peoples allowed relative autonomy i n 326, 329 Syrian region o f (Phoenicia, Judea) 330-3 treatment o f women in 318 unification of the preceding principles in 305 w o r l d history proper begins with 304 Zend-Avesta o f 3 0 7 , 3 0 9 - 1 0 Zend people and books i n 307-10, 312-13 Persian Wars 4 0 5 - 7
reason o u i n i n g o f 16-17, 96 n . 4 4 , 1 2 8 governs (or rules) the w o r l d 13-14, 79-82, 85-6, 94 in history 2 1 , 8 1 , 9 4 , 1 1 9 , 1 4 4 as infinite substance and infinite power 79-80 proves itself i n world history 144 and understanding 2 8 , 1 8 7 , 5 1 7 reconciliation accomplished through conflict 17,209 as expncitfy envisaged 506 of opposhes 208-10 as theodicy 17 incl. n. 32, 85-6 as unity o f human and divine natures 453 recti rude 514 refinement (courtesy, civility) 189-90, 409-10 reflective history 11 incl. n. 2 5 , 1 2 , 7 1 - 7 , 136-40 as critical 139 as pragmatic 12, 76-7,137—9 as specialized o r abstractive 139-40 as universal (surveys or compilations) 1 2 , 7 2 - 5 , 1 3 6 - 7 Reformation 61,503-6
559
SUBJECT I N D E X religion 243-50, 273-81,295-303, 310-16, 331-3, 3 4 3 - 9 , 3 8 7 - 9 9 , 433-6 and art 5 0 0 - 1 art and philosophy as forms of 28,185 and Enlightenment 517 final end of 167-8 as ideal motive in w o r l d history 9 7 - 9 and natural science 515-18 of separation 2 8 , 1 8 7 and state 1 0 1 , 1 8 0 , 1 8 5 - 9 , 5 0 6 of unity 28, 187-8 representation 1 1 , 6 7 - 9 , 7 4 - 5 , 1 0 7 , 1 1 9 , 122,133-4,149,185 republic 106-7,193 retrogression 109-10 revolutions 519-20 rivers 194-5,198-200, 204 Roman World 5 0 - 5 , 4 2 6 - 6 0 as adulthood of w o r l d history 2 0 7 aristocracy i n 436,438, 440 and Christianity 447-59 compared w i t h Enlightenment mode of understanding 433 constitution of 440,446 deities of 434-5 downfall of 460 East and West meet i n 451-2 emperors (the Caesars) o f 445-7 festivals (spectacles) o f 435 finitude becomes dominant principle in 4 3 1 , 4 3 3 , 4 4 6 - 7 , 4 5 0 - 2 harsh servitude of spirit i n 4 2 6 , 4 5 0 kings i n 437-8 lack o f freedom in 433-4,450 law in 4 3 0 , 4 3 2 , 4 3 9 - 4 0 marriage in 428-9 military tactics of 4 4 1 one w i l l dominates all in 4 4 5 - 7 , 4 5 1 only some are free in 87-8 origins of 427-8, 437 overthrow o f the republic i n 445 patricians i n 438-40 periods o f its history 436 incl. n . 14 plebeians in 438-40 political conditions in 437-40 power as its goal 4 2 6 , 4 3 7 - 4 1 prosaic character and fbdtv of life in 431-2 religion o f 433-6, 450 social conditions i n 428-33 spirit o f 4 2 6 - 3 5 suppression o f subjectivity i n 429-30, 433 treatment of women i n 428-9 and Troy 427-8
SUBJECT I N D E X
undivided sovereignty o f 95 utility and constraint in 433—6, 450 its victory over Carthage 442-3 warriors in 430 world-dominion o f 442-" Romance peoples 465—7, 507, 520 ruins of ancient splendor 142 7
Sacbe o f history 76, 8 6 , 1 6 7 satisfaction 172, 190 science, as philosophy 185 sciences of the finite 1 9 0 - 1 sea and seafaring 204—5, 3 3 0 - 1 seed and fruit 150 shape o f freedom 1 9 , 1 1 9 shapes o f history 2 4 , 1 5 7 ship 204-5 slavery 88, 197, 404, 4 0 9 , 4 1 1 , 457 Slavic peoples 466, 509 Sophists 416-17 sorrow at spectacle o f history 9 0 - 1 speculative (concept, cognition, etc.) 13, 28, 5 3 , 6 2 , 7 8 - 9 , 9 4 , 1 5 1 , 1 5 4 , 1 6 4 , 395,517-18 spirit actualization o f i n history 15-18, 86-107 actualization o f i n the state 100-4 and animal life 349-54 basic shapes of (individual, social, universal) 13 n . 26 begins from spirit 153 character of differs i n accord w i t h geography 1 9 6 , 2 0 2 - 5 concept o f 2 3 , 1 4 7 - 5 1 development and decline o f 1 5 8 - 6 6 divine and human 186-7 elevation and transfiguration o f 143 as envisaged by Egyptians 3 5 5 - 7 eternal destiny o f 362 finds freedom o n l y i n history a n d the present 521 and freedom 8 7 - 9 , 1 0 9 , 1 4 6 - 6 6 , 5 2 0 as G o d (absolute spirit) 2 3 , 1 5 1 as humanity's o w n achievement 151 its impulse o f perfectibility 108 as infinite energy a n d movement 154 its knowledge o f and presence to itself 142 its means of actualization (passions, ideals) 89-100 its movement f r o m possibility to actuality 110-11 and nature 86, 354, 3 5 7 , 3 6 ? as opposed t o itself 109 of a people: see folk spirit as present to itself and free 5 2 1
560
stages of 156 its turn t o external w o r l d 494-5 as what i t makes o f itself 108-9,150 spirituality, and worldliness 479 St Peter's Church 503 state as actualization of freedom 177-81 and Christianity 4 5 8 - 9 and church 4 8 2 - 8 concept o f 2 7 - 9 , 177-205 and constitution 18, 27-8, 104-7, 181-1 and ethical life 1 0 0 - 1 as ethical whole (not a collection of individuals) 177-80, 182-4 evolution of i n Europe 470,472 finite aspects o f culture i n 189-91 forms of unity i n 182-3 as foundation o f culture 1 8 0 - 1 and freedom 100-4, 176 and geography 29,191-205 as material o f spirit's actualization 100-4,521 misconceptions about 18,102-4 as organic system 5 5 , 1 8 2 , 4 5 9 as principal institution o f history 17-18 as producer of history 115-16 and religion 2 8 , 1 0 1 , 1 8 0 , 185-9 and religion, art, science 2 8 , 1 8 4 - 9 rests o n religion 188-9, 506 seeks unity between private and public interests 93 as spiritual totality 107 stability o f i n Europe 498-9 and the understanding 518 and universal purpose 518—20 and worldly actualization of history 521 subjective consciousness, and universal substance 94-6, 179-81 subjectivity 208-10, 389, 390, 399-400, 402, 416-17, 4 6 1 , 505 and objectivity 208-10, 400,402, 417, 505 and truth 505 and universal w i l l 181-4 suffering 2 7 9 - 8 1 , 331-2 incl. n. 88 superstition 395-6 syllogism 172 theodicy 1 5 , 1 7 n . 3 2 , 8 5 - 6 , 5 2 1 theology and philosophy in the Middle Ages 480, 488 thinking, thought and actuality 162 as contemplating (treating) w o r l d history 1 2 - 1 3 , 7 8 - 9
561
as dissolvent 163,165 formal universality of 158, 514-15 humans as thinking beings 78,125 inwardness and independence of in Greece 416-8 meditative 14, 81,114 and spirit 142,147-9 as undoing the destruction it brings upon itself 123 Thirty Years War 470,512 time 155,161,163 fulfillment of 449 tragedy 1 7 , 2 6 , 4 2 , 4 9 , 4 1 8 Trinity 23,151,448-9, 505 Trojan War 359 truth and beauty 48,400 of Christianity 53,447-9 God as 23,168 subsists i n and for itself 2 3 , 6 1 as unity o f absolute being and subjective spirit 94,505 as unity of subjective and objective 30, 187, 209 as unity o f thought and actuality 521 understanding 28,76,187,433,449,514, 516-18 unity, abstract versus concrete 124 universal 95-6, 151,173-5,179-81 valleys 195-6,198-200,202-3 vassalage 472,473 votes 403-4 war, warfare constitutional (rather than religious or political) 519 devastation of as compared with legacy of Egypt 359 Hegel's attitude toward 42,49-50 modem 495-6 world spirit utilizes 421 water (oceans, rivers, seas) 194-5, 2 0 1 , 204-5 weapons 190,495-6 w i l l 146, 170,176, 181-4,185-6,400-2, 519-20 words, as actions 69 n . 8, 135 world 81-2, 86-7, 494-6 world-historical individuals: see heroes world history as actualization of spirit culminating in states 521 ages of (childhood, boyhood, youth, adulthood, maturity) 206-8 beginning o f 111-18
SUBJECT I N D E X world history (corat.) concept o f 13-15, 7 9 - 8 6 , 1 3 3 - 2 1 0 course of 18-20,31-63, 107-26, 128-30,211-521 development of 118-26 division o f 3 0 - 1 , 2 0 5 - 1 0 fabric of 2 3 , 1 4 6 - 7 governed by providence 1 4 , 2 1 - 2 , 83-5, 145-6 governed by reason 13-14, 79-80 Hegel's typological approach t o 39-40 moves from East t o West 3 1 , 2 0 1 , 373, 427 moves o n a higher plane than that of morality 121-2 narrative climax o f 6 1
periods i n the histories o f its peoples 372-3 philosophical 1 2 - 1 5 , 2 0 - 2 2 , 6 7 , 7 8 - 7 9 , 133,140-6 as rational process 13-14, 79-80 stages of the consciousness of freedom in 15, 1 9 , 8 7 - 8 , 1 1 0 , 1 1 8 - 1 9 and thought 12-13, 78-9 as unfolding of God's nature 145 what is better i n i t lies ahead, not behind 413 w o r l d judgment 17 n . 32, 166 incl. n. 32 w o r l d spirit 13 n . 26, 80, 99-100, 502 Zend-Avesta 3 0 7 , 3 0 9 - 1 0 Zoroastrianism 3 0 7 , 3 1 0 - 1 6
562
