Main Text



Mind, developing in its ideality, is mind as cognitive. Cognition, however, is conceived here not merely as a determinacy of the logical Idea (§223), but in the way in which the concrete mind determines itself to cognition.1

Subjective mind is:

  1. (A) In itself or immediate: a soul or natural mind—the theme of Anthropology.

  2. (B) For itself or mediated: still as identical reflection into itself and into the other: mind in relationship or particularization: consciousness—the theme of the Phenomenology of Mind.

  3. (C) Mind determining itself in itself, as a subject for itself—the theme of Psychology.

In the soul consciousness awakes: consciousness posits itself as reason, which has immediately awoken to become self-knowing reason; and by its activity reason emancipates itself to objectivity, to consciousness of its concept.2

[Remark] In the concept in general the determinacy occurring in it is an advance of development; and so in mind too every determinacy in which it presents itself is a moment of the development and, in its continuing determination, a step forward towards its goal, namely, to make itself into, and to become for itself, what it is in itself. The same process takes place within each stage, and its product is that what the mind was in itself, or consequently only for us, at the beginning of the stage, is now for the mind itself—i.e. for the mind in the form which it has at that stage.3 The ordinary method of psychology is to state, in a narrative fashion, what the mind or the soul is, what happens to it, what it does. The soul is presupposed as a ready-made subject, in which such determinations come to light only as expressions, from which we are supposed to learn what it is, what sort of faculties and powers it possesses—entirely unconscious of the fact that the expression of what the soul is posits in its concept this very thing for the soul itself, and thereby the soul has acquired a higher determination.4 We must, however, distinguish and exclude from the progression to be studied here what is in fact cultivation and education. The sphere of education is concerned only with individual subjects as such: its aim is to bring the universal mind to existence in them. In the philosophical view of the mind as such, the mind itself is regarded as educating and pg 26 instructing itself in accordance with its concept; and its expressions are seen as moments of its bringing-itself-forth-to-itself, of its joining-together-with-itself, whereby it first becomes actual mind.5

Zusatz. In §385 we distinguished the three main forms of mind: subjective, objective, and absolute mind, and also indicated the necessity of the advance from the first to the second and from this to the third. We called the first form of mind we have to consider subjective mind, because here mind is still in its undeveloped concept, has not as yet made its concept an object for itself. But in this its subjectivity mind is at the same time objective, has an immediate reality by the sublation of which it first becomes for itself, attains to itself, to a grasp of its concept, of its subjectivity. We could therefore just as well say that mind is, to begin with, objective and has to become subjective, as conversely, that it is first subjective and has to make itself objective. Consequently, we must not regard the distinction between subjective and objective mind as a rigid distinction. Even at the beginning, we have to grasp mind not as mere concept, as something merely subjective, but as Idea, as a unity of the subjective and the objective, and every advance from this beginning is a movement beyond the first simple subjectivity of mind, a progress in the development of its reality or objectivity.6 This development brings forth a series of formations; these, it is true, must be indicated by empirical research, but in philosophical inquiry they cannot remain externally juxtaposed, but are to be recognized as the appropriate expression of a necessary series of determinate concepts, and they are of interest to philosophical thinking only in so far as they express such a series of concepts. However, initially we can only indicate dogmatically the different formations of subjective mind; their necessity will emerge only from the determinate development of subjective mind.7

The three main forms of subjective mind are: (1) soul, (2) consciousness, and (3) mind as such. As soul, mind has the form of abstract universality; as consciousness, that of particularization; and as mind that is for itself, that of individuality. This is how subjective mind in its development exhibits the development of the concept.8 The reason why, in the above Paragraph, the names anthropology, phenomenology, and psychology have been given to the parts of science corresponding to these three forms of subjective mind, will become evident from a more detailed, preliminary statement of the content of the science of subjective mind.

We must begin our treatment with immediate mind; but this is natural mind, soul. To suppose that we should begin with the mere concept of mind would be a mistake; for as we have already said, mind is always Idea, therefore actualized concept. But at the beginning, the concept of mind cannot as yet have the mediated reality which it acquires in abstract thinking; of course, even at the beginning its reality must already be an abstract reality—only in this way does it correspond to the ideality of mind; but it is necessarily a reality that is still unmediated, not yet posited, consequently a reality that just is, external to mind, a reality given pg 27 by nature. We must begin, therefore, with the mind still in the grip of nature, related to its bodiliness, mind that is not as yet together with itself, not yet free.9 This foundation of man (if we may so express it) is the theme of anthropology. In this part of the science of subjective mind, the concept of mind, as conceived by thought, is only in us, the inquirers, not as yet in the object itself; what forms the object of our inquiry here is the concept of mind that at first merely is, the mind that has not yet grasped its concept and is still external to itself.10

The first stage in anthropology is the qualitatively determined soul tied to its natural determinations (racial differences, for example, belong here). Out of this immediate oneness with its naturalness, soul enters into opposition and conflict with it (the states of derangement and somnambulism belong here). The outcome of this conflict is the triumph of the soul over its bodiliness, the process of reducing, and the accomplished reduction, of this bodiliness to a sign, to the portrayal of the soul. The ideality of the soul thus emerges in its bodiliness and this reality of the mind is posited ideally, but still in a bodily manner.11

In phenomenology, the soul, by the negation of its bodiliness, raises itself to pure ideal self-identity, becomes consciousness, becomes I, is for itself over against its Other. But this first being-for-self of mind is still conditioned by the Other from which the mind originates. The I is still completely empty, an entirely abstract subjectivity; it posits all the content of immediate mind outside itself and relates to it as to a world it finds before it. Thus what was initially only our object, does indeed become an object for mind itself, but the I does not yet know that what confronts it is the natural mind itself. Therefore, the I, in spite of its being-for-self, is at the same time not for itself, for it is only in relation to an Other, to something given. The freedom of the I is consequently only an abstract, conditioned, relative freedom.12 True, mind here is no longer immersed in nature but reflected into itself and related to nature, but it only appears, stands only in relation to actuality, is not yet actual mind. Therefore, we call the part of the science in which this form of mind is treated, phenomenology.13 But now the I, in reflecting itself into itself out of its relation to Other, becomes self-consciousness. In this form, the I initially knows itself only as the unfulfilled I, and all concrete content as an Other. Here the activity of the I consists in filling the void of its abstract subjectivity, in building the objective into itself but, on the other hand, in making the subjective objective. In this way, self-consciousness sublates the one-sidedness of its subjectivity, emerges from its particularity, from its opposition to the objective, into the universality embracing both sides, and displays within itself the unity of itself with consciousness; for the content of mind here becomes an objective content, as in consciousness, and at the same time, as in self-consciousness, a subjective content.14 This universal self-consciousness is, in itself or for us, reason; but it is only in the third part of the science of subjective mind that reason becomes an object to itself.15

This third part, psychology, treats of mind as such, the mind as it relates itself, in the object, only to itself, has to do therein only with its own determinations, pg 28 grasps its own concept. Thus mind comes to truth; for the unity of the subjective and the objective which, in mere soul, is still immediate, still abstract, is now, by sublation of the opposition arising in consciousness between these determinations, restored as a mediated unity; thus the Idea of mind emerges from its contradictory form of simple concept, and from the equally contradictory separation of its moments, to mediated unity and accordingly to true actuality.16 In this shape, mind is reason that is for itself. Mind and reason stand in the same relationship to each other as body and heaviness, as will and freedom. Reason forms the substantial nature of mind; it is only another expression for truth or the Idea, which constitutes the essence of mind; but it is only mind as such that knows that its nature is reason and truth.17 The mind that embraces both sides, subjectivity and objectivity, now posits itself firstly in the form of subjectivity, and then it is intelligence; secondly, in the form of objectivity, and then it is will. Intelligence, which is itself initially still unfulfilled, sublates its form of subjectivity, which does not conform to the concept of mind, in the following way: it measures the objective content confronting it, still burdened with the form of givenness and individuality, by the absolute standard of reason, it imposes rationality on this content, informs it with the Idea, transforms it into a concrete universal, and thus receives it into itself. Intelligence thereby reaches the point where what it knows is not an abstraction but the objective concept, and where, on the other hand, the object loses the form of a given and acquires the shape of a content pertaining to mind itself.18 But intelligence, in attaining consciousness that it takes the content from itself, becomes practical mind which posits only itself for its goal, becomes will, which, unlike intelligence, does not begin with an individual given from outside, but with the sort of individual that it knows to be its own. Then, reflecting itself into itself out of this content, out of urges, inclinations, it relates the content to a universal; and finally it raises itself to the willing of the universal in and for itself, of freedom, of its concept. Having reached this goal, mind has returned to its beginning, to unity with itself, but equally it has progressed to absolute unity with itself, a unity genuinely determined within itself, a unity in which the determinations are determinations not of nature but of the concept.19

pg 29A. Anthropology, The Soul


Mind has come into being as the truth of nature. In the Idea in general this result has the meaning of the truth and of what is prior, rather than posterior, as compared with what precedes it. But, besides this, becoming or transition has, in the concept, the more determinate meaning of free judgement. The mind that has come into being means, therefore, that nature in its own self sublates itself as what is untrue, and mind thus presupposes itself as this universality that is no longer self-externalized in bodily individuality, but simple in its concretion and totality. In this universality it is not yet mind, but soul.1


The soul is not only immaterial for itself. It is the universal immateriality of nature, its simple ideal life.1 Soul is the substance, the absolute foundation of all the particularizing and individualizing of mind, so that it is in the soul that mind finds all the stuff of its determination, and the soul remains the pervading, identical ideality of this determination. But in this still abstract determination, the soul is only the sleep of mind—the passive ν‎oûs of Aristotle, which is potentially all things.2

[Remark] The question of the immateriality of the soul is no longer of interest, unless matter, on the one hand, is represented as something true, and mind, on the other, is represented as a thing. But in modern times even the physicists have found matter grown thinner in their hands; they have hit upon imponderable matters, such as heat, light, etc., to which they could easily add space and time as well. These imponderables, which have lost the property (characteristic of matter) of weight and, in a sense, even the capacity of offering resistance, have still, however, a sensory reality, a self-externality; whereas the vital matter, which may also be found counted among them, not only lacks weight, but even every other reality which would lead us to count it as material. The fact is that in the Idea of life the self-externality of nature is already sublated in itself, and the concept, the substance of life takes the form of subjectivity, but only in such a way that its existence or objectivity is at the same time still under the sway of self-externality. But mind is the concept whose existence is not immediate individuality, but absolute negativity, freedom, so that the object or the reality of the concept is pg 30 the concept itself. So in mind self-externality, which constitutes the fundamental determination of matter, has completely evaporated into the subjective ideality of the concept, into universality. Mind is the existent truth of matter—the truth that matter itself has no truth.3

A related question is that of the communion of the soul and the physical body. This communion was accepted as a fact, and the only problem was how to comprehend it. What can be regarded as the usual answer, was that it is an incomprehensible mystery. For, in fact, if we presuppose them to be absolutely independent of each other, they are as impenetrable to each other as any piece of matter is to another, each being assumed to be found only in their reciprocal non-being, in the pores of the other. Hence Epicurus, when assigning the gods a residence in the pores, was consistent in not imposing on them any communion with the world. An answer that cannot be regarded as equivalent to this one has been given by all philosophers ever since this relationship came up for discussion. Descartes, Malebranche, Spinoza, and Leibniz have all specified God as this relation. They did so in the sense that matter and the finitude of the soul are only ideal determinations in respect of each other and have no truth; and so for these philosophers God is not, as is often the case, merely another word for this incomprehensibility, but rather is conceived as the sole true identity of soul and matter. However, this identity is either too abstract, as Spinoza's identity is, or it is, like Leibniz's monad of monads, creative as well, but is so only by a judgement. In the latter case, we get as far as a distinction between the soul and the bodily (or material), but the identity is only like the copula of a judgement and does not proceed to the development and system of the absolute syllogism.4

Zusatz. In the introduction to the philosophy of mind, we noted how nature itself sublates its externality and individualization, its materiality, as an untruth which is inadequate to the concept dwelling in it, and by thus acquiring immateriality it passes over into mind. That is why, in the above Paragraph, immediate mind, the soul, is determined not merely as immaterial for itself, but as the universal immateriality of nature, and also as substance, as unity of thinking and being. This unity constitutes the fundamental intuition even in orientalism. Light, which in the Persian religion was regarded as the absolute, had the meaning of a spiritual entity just as much as a physical entity.5 Spinoza conceived this unity more determinately as the absolute foundation of everything. Even though mind may withdraw into itself, may take its stand at the extreme point of its subjectivity, yet it is implicitly in that unity. But it cannot stop there; it attains to absolute being-for-self, to a perfectly adequate form, only by developing in an immanent manner the difference, which in substance is still simple, into an actual difference, and by bringing this difference back into unity; only by doing this does it break free of the state of sleep, which belongs to it as soul. For in soul, the difference is still shrouded in the form of undifferentiatedness and therefore of unconsciousness. The defect of Spinoza's philosophy pg 31 consists, therefore, just in this: in it substance does not advance to its immanent development, the manifold is added to substance only in an external manner.6 The same unity of thought and being is contained in the ν‎oûs of Anaxagoras; but this ν‎oûs failed even more than Spinoza's substance to achieve a development of its own.7 Pantheism fails altogether to advance to an organization and systematization. Where pantheism appears in the form of representation, it is a reeling life, an intuitive bacchanalian vision, which does not let the individual shapes of the universe emerge in their articulation but perpetually submerges them in the universal again and inflates them into the sublime and the monstrous. This intuition, however, forms a natural starting-point for every stout heart. In youth especially, we feel a kinship and sympathy with the whole of nature through a life which ensouls ourselves and everything around us and so we have a sensation of the world-soul, of the unity of mind and nature, of the immateriality of the latter.8

But when we leave feeling behind and go on to reflection, then the opposition of soul and matter, of my subjective I and its bodiliness, becomes for us a fixed opposition, and the reciprocal relation of body and soul becomes an interaction of independent entities. The usual physiological and psychological treatment does not know how to overcome the rigidity of this opposition. In that treatment, the I as thoroughly simple and unitary, this abyss of all representations, and matter as the many, the composite, confront each other in absolute abruptness, and the answer to the question, how this many is united with that abstract one, is naturally declared to be impossible.9

The immateriality of one side of this opposition, namely, of the soul, is readily conceded; but the other side of it, the material, remains standing for us, at the standpoint of merely reflective thinking, as a fixture, as something that we accept along with the immateriality of the soul; so we ascribe to the material the same being as to the immaterial and hold both to be equally substantial and absolute. This mode of treatment also prevailed in former metaphysics. This metaphysics, however, though firmly holding the opposition between the material and the immaterial to be insuperable, yet, on the other hand, unwittingly sublated the opposition again by making the soul into a thing, consequently into something which, though entirely abstract, was nonetheless straight away determined by sensory relationships. This metaphysics achieved this effect by its question about the seat of the soul—it thereby placed the soul in space; similarly by its question about the origin and decease of the soul—it was thereby placed in time; and thirdly, by its question about the properties of the soul, for the soul is thereby regarded as something static, fixed, as the focal point of these determinations.10 Even Leibniz treated soul as a thing, in making it, like everything else, into a monad; the monad is just as static as a thing, and the entire difference between the soul and the material, according to Leibniz, consists only in soul's being a somewhat more distinct, more developed, monad than the rest of matter—a pg 32 representation by which the material is doubtless exalted, but soul is reduced to, rather than distinguished from, a material entity.11

Speculative logic lifts us above the whole of this merely reflective way of looking at things simply by showing that all these determinations applied to the soul—such as thing, simplicity, indivisibility, one—are, when conceived in an abstract way, untrue and veer round into their opposites. But the philosophy of mind continues this proof of the untruth of such categories of the intellect by demonstrating how all fixed determinations are sublated in the mind by its ideality.12

Now as regards the other side of the opposition in question, namely matter, we have already remarked that externality, individualization, multiplicity are regarded as its fixed determination, and the unity of this multiplicity is therefore declared to be only a superficial bond, a composition, and accordingly everything material to be separable. We must, of course, admit that whereas with mind, the concrete unity is the essential and the multiplicity is a semblance, with matter the reverse is the case; the old metaphysics already showed an awareness of this when it asked whether, in the case of the mind, the one or the many has priority.13 That the externality and multiplicity of matter cannot be overcome by nature is a presupposition which, at our standpoint, at the standpoint of speculative philosophy, we have here long since left behind us as invalid. The philosophy of nature teaches us how nature sublates its externality by stages, how matter already refutes the independence of the individual, of the many, by gravity, and how this refutation begun by gravity, and still more by simple, indivisible light, is completed by animal life, by the sentient creature, since this reveals to us the omnipresence of the one soul at every point of its bodiliness, and so the sublatedness of the asunderness of matter. Since, then, everything material is sublated by the mind that is in itself and at work within nature, and this sublation is consummated in the substance of soul, the soul emerges as the ideality of everything material, as all immateriality, so that everything called matter, however much it simulates independence to representation, is known to have no independence in the face of mind.14

The opposition of soul and body must, of course, be made. Just as the indeterminate universal soul determines itself, individualizes itself, just as mind thereby becomes consciousness—and it necessarily advances to consciousness— so the mind places itself at the standpoint of opposition between itself and its Other, its Other appears to it as something real, something external to mind and to itself, something material.15 At this standpoint, the question about the possibility of the communion of the soul and the physical body is an entirely natural one. If soul and body are absolutely opposed to each other, as intellectual consciousness maintains, then there is no possibility of any communion between them. Now this communion was recognized by the old metaphysics as an undeniable fact. Therefore, the question arose as to how the contradiction, pg 33 that entities that are absolutely independent, for themselves, are yet in unity with each other, could be solved. When the question was posed in this way, it was impossible to answer. But it is just this way of posing it that must be recognized as inadmissible; for in truth the immaterial is not related to the material as a particular is to a particular, but as the genuine universal which overarches particularity is related to the particular; the material in its particularization has no truth, no independence in face of the immaterial. Consequently, the standpoint of separation is not to be regarded as final, as absolutely true. On the contrary, the separation of the material and the immaterial can be explained only on the basis of the original unity of both. Therefore, in the philosophies of Descartes, Malebranche, and Spinoza, a return is made to such a unity of thinking and being, of mind and matter, and this unity is placed in God. Malebranche said: We see everything in God. He treated God as the mediation, as the positive medium, between what thinks and what does not think, and, indeed, as the immanent, pervasive essence in which both sides are sublated,—consequently, not as a third term over against two extremes which themselves have an actuality; for in that case the question would again arise as to how that third term comes together with these two extremes. But in placing the unity of the material and the immaterial in God, who is to be conceived essentially as mind, the philosophers mentioned wished to convey that this unity must not be taken as something neutral in which two extremes of equal significance and independence come together, since the material has no meaning at all beyond that of a negative over against mind and over against itself, or must be described—as Plato and other ancient philosophers expressed it—as the 'Other of itself ', whereas we must recognize the nature of mind as the positive, as the speculative, because the mind freely pervades the material, which lacks independence in face of it, mind overarches this its Other, does not accept it as something genuinely real but idealizes it and reduces it to somethingmediated.16

Confronting this speculative conception of the opposition between mind and matter stands materialism, which portrays thinking as a result of the material, derives the simplicity of thinking from the manifold. There is nothing more unsatisfactory than the discussions conducted in materialistic writings of the various relationships and combinations by which a result such as thinking is supposed to be produced. Such discussions entirely overlook the fact that, just as the cause is sublated in the effect, and the means in the accomplished end, so too that from which thinking is supposed to result is conversely sublated in thinking, and that mind as such is not produced by an Other, but raises itself from its being-in-itself to being-for-itself, from its concept to actuality, and makes that by which mind is supposed to be posited into something posited by mind. All the same, we must recognize in materialism the enthusiastic endeavour to transcend the dualism which assumes two different worlds as equally substantial and true, to sublate this dismemberment of what is originally one.17

pg 34§390

The soul is at first:

  1. (a) in its immediate natural determinacy—the natural soul, which only is;

  2. (b) as individual, it enters into relationship with its immediate being, and, in the determinacies of that being, is abstractly for itselffeeling soul;

  3. (c) its immediate being, as its bodiliness, is moulded into it, and the soul is thus actual soul.1

Zusatz. The first part of Anthropology indicated in this Paragraph, which comprises the natural soul, the soul that simply is, in turn splits up into three sections. In the first section we have initially to deal with the still entirely universal, immediate substance of mind, with the simple pulsation, the mere inward stirring, of soul. In this first mental life no distinction is yet posited, either of individuality in contrast to universality or of soul in contrast to the natural. This simple life has its explication in nature and in mind; it itself as such just is, it has as yet no reality, no determinate being, no particularization, no actuality. But just as, in logic, being must pass over into determinate being, so soul too necessarily progresses from its indeterminacy to determinacy. This determinacy initially has, as already noted earlier, the form of naturalness. But the natural determinacy of soul is to be conceived as a totality, as a copy of the concept. The first stage here is therefore the entirely universal, qualitative determinations of soul. Here belong especially the racial differences, both physical and mental, of humanity and also the differences of national mentality.2

These divergent universal particularizations or varieties are then—and this forms the transition to the second section—taken back into the unity of soul or, what is the same thing, promoted to individualization. Just as light splinters into an infinite host of stars, so too the universal natural soul splinters into an infinite host of individual souls, only with the difference, that whereas light has the semblance of a subsistence independent of the stars, the universal natural soul attains actuality only in the individual souls.3 Now since the diverging universal qualities considered in the first section, are taken back, as we said above, into the unity of the individual human soul, instead of the form of externality they acquire the shape of natural alterations of the individual subject who persists in them. These alterations, which are also both mental and physical, emerge in the course of the stages of life. Here the difference ceases to be an external one. But it is in the sexual relationship that the difference becomes actual particularization, real opposition of the individual to itself. From this point on, the soul in general enters into opposition to its natural qualities, to its universal being, which, by this very fact, is reduced to the Other of the soul, to a mere aspect, to a transitory state, namely, to the state of sleep. Thus originates natural waking, the opening out of the soul. But here in Anthropology we have not yet to consider the fulfilment that accrues to waking consciousness but waking only in so far as it is a natural state.4

pg 35 From this relationship of opposition, or of real particularization, soul now returns, in the third section, to unity with itself, by removing from its Other too the fixity of a state, and dissolving the Other in the soul's ideality. Soul has thus progressed from merely universal individuality, which is only in itself, to actual individuality that is for itself ; and in doing this it has progressed to sensation. Initially, we have to deal here only with the form of sensing. What the soul senses is to be specified only in the second part of Anthropology. The transition to this part is formed by the expansion of sensation within itself to the boding soul.5



The universal soul must not be fixed, in the form of a world-soul, as a sort of subject; for the universal soul is only the universal substance, which has its actual truth only as individuality, subjectivity. Thus it presents itself as an individual soul, but immediately only as a soul which just is, with natural determinacies in it. These determinacies have, so to speak, behind their ideality a free existence: i.e. they are natural objects for consciousness, though the soul as such does not respond to them as external objects. Rather, these determinations are natural qualities which it has in itself.1

Zusatz. The soul, when contrasted with the macrocosm of nature as a whole, can be described as the microcosm into which the macrocosm compresses itself and thereby sublates its asunderness. Accordingly the same determinations which in outer nature appear as freely disengaged spheres, as a series of independent shapes, are in the soul demoted to mere qualities. The soul stands midway between the nature which lies behind it, on the one hand, and the world of ethical freedom which extricates itself from natural mind, on the other hand. The simple determinations of soul-life have their dispersed counterpart in the universal life of nature; similarly, that which in the individual man has the form of subjectivity, of a particular urge, and is within him unconsciously, as simply something he is, unfolds in the political state into a system of distinct spheres of freedom, into a world created by self-conscious human reason.2

(α‎) Natural Qualities


(1) In its substance, in the natural soul, the mind takes part in the universal planetary life, feels the difference of climates, the changes of the seasons, the periods of the day, etc. In the mind this life of nature emerges only in occasional dark moods.1

[Remark] In recent times a good deal has been said of the cosmic, sidereal, and telluric life of man.2 Animals essentially live in such a sympathy with nature: pg 36their specific characters and the particular ways in which they develop are connected with it, in many cases completely, and always to some extent. In the case of man, the more cultivated he is and the more his whole condition rests on a free, spiritual foundation, the less the significance that such connections have. World history is not connected with revolutions in the solar system, any more than the destinies of individuals are tied to the positions of the planets.3 Differences of climate involve a more solid and vigorous determinacy. But the response to changes of the seasons and hours of the day is found only in feeble moods, which can become especially prominent only in illnesses (including derangement) and in the depression of self-conscious life.4 Alongside popular superstitions and the aberrations of the feeble intellect, there are also to be found, among peoples less advanced in spiritual freedom and therefore living more in unison with nature, some actual cases of such connections, and, based on them, what seem to be marvellous prophetic visions of states of affairs and of events linked to them. But as freedom of mind gets a deeper grasp of itself, even these few and slight dispositions, based on participation in the life of nature, disappear.5 Animals and plants, by contrast, remain subject to such influences.

Zusatz. It is clear from §391 and its Zusatz that the universal life of nature is also the life of the soul, that the soul lives in sympathy with that universal life. But it would be a complete mistake to make this participation of the soul in the life of the whole universe into the highest object of the science of mind. For the activity of mind essentially consists just in raising itself above this entanglement in merely natural life, in grasping itself in its independence, subjecting the world to its thinking and creating it from the concept. In mind, therefore, the universal life of nature is only an entirely subordinate moment; the cosmic and telluric powers are dominated by mind, they can produce in it only an insignificant mood.

Now the universal life of nature is first, the life of the solar system generally, and secondly, the life of the earth, in which the life of the solar system acquires a more individual form.

As regards the relation of the soul to the solar system, we may note that astrology links the destinies of humanity and of individuals with the configurations and positions of the planets (as, in modern times, the world in general has been considered as a mirror of mind in the sense that the the mind can be explained from the world).6 The content of astrology is to be rejected as superstition; but science is under an obligation to indicate the determinate ground for this rejection. This ground must not be located merely in the fact that the planets are bodies and remote from us, but more specifically in the fact that the planetary life of the solar system is only a life of motion, in other words, is a life in which space and time constitute the determining factor; for space and time are the moments of motion. The laws of the motion of the planets are determined solely by the concept of space and of time; it is, therefore, in the planets that absolutely free motion has its actuality. But even in what is physically individual this abstract pg 37 motion is something completely subordinate; the individual in general makes its own space and time; its alteration is determined by its concrete nature. The animal body attains to even greater independence than the merely physical individual; the course of its development is quite independent of the motion of the planets, the measure of its lifespan is not determined by them; its health and the course of its disease do not depend on the planets; periodic fevers, for example, have their own determinate measure; in fevers the determinant is not time as time, but the animal organism. But for mind the abstract determinations of space and time, the free mechanism, have no significance and no power whatsoever; the determinations of self-conscious mind are infinitely more substantial, more concrete, than the abstract determinations of juxtaposition and succession. Mind, as embodied, is indeed in a definite place and in a definite time; but it is nevertheless elevated above space and time. Of course, the life of man is conditioned by a determinate measure of the distance of the earth from the sun; he could not live at either a greater or a lesser distance from the sun; but the influence of the position of the earth on mankind does not extend any further.7

Even the strictly terrestrial relationships—the annual revolution of the earth round the sun, the daily axial rotation of the earth, the inclination of the earth's axis to the course of its movement round the sun—all these determinations belonging to the earth's individuality, though not without influence on mankind, are unimportant for the mind as such. The Church itself has therefore rightly rejected as superstitious and unethical the belief in a power exercised over the human spirit by these terrestrial and cosmic relationships. Man should regard himself as free from such relationships of nature; but in that superstition he regards himself as a natural entity. Accordingly, we must also brand as worthless the undertaking of those who have endeavoured to bring the evolutionary epochs of the earth into connection with the epochs of human history, to discover the origin of religions and their images in the realm of astronomy and then too in the physical realm, and have there hit upon the groundless and baseless notion that just as the equinox moved forward from the Bull to the Ram, Apis worship had necessarily to be followed by Christianity, by the worship of the Lamb.8

But as regards the influence actually exerted by terrestrial relationships on man, here we can only mention the main factors, since the details belong to the natural history of man and the earth. In the seasons and the times of the day, the process of the motion of the earth acquires a physical significance. These alternations do, of course, affect man; the merely natural mind, the soul, lives in sympathy with the mood of the season and of the time of day. But whereas plants are completely bound to the alternation of the seasons and even animals are unconsciously dominated by it, being instinctively impelled to mate and some to migration, in the human soul this alternation does not produce any excitations to which man is involuntarily subjected. The disposition of winter is the disposition of withdrawal into oneself, of composing oneself, of family life, of the worship of the penates. In the summer, on the other hand, we feel particularly pg 38 inclined to travel, we feel drawn into the open air, and the common people go off in a crowd on pilgrimages. Yet there is nothing merely instinctive about either this more intimate family life or these pilgrimages and journeys. The Christian festivals are linked with the alternation of the seasons; the festival of the birth of Christ is celebrated at the time when the sun seems to go forth again; the resurrection of Christ is placed at the beginning of spring, in the period of nature's awakening. But similarly this association of the religious with the natural is one made consciously, not instinctively.

As regards the phases of the moon, these have only a limited influence even on the physical nature of man. Such an influence has been observed on lunatics; but in them also the power of nature is dominant, not the free mind.9 Moreover the times of day, of course, bring with them a characteristic disposition of the soul. We are in different moods in the morning and evening. In the morning seriousness prevails, the mind is still more in identity with itself and with nature. The day belongs to opposition, to work. In the evening, reflection and fancy predominate. At midnight, mind retires into itself from the distractions of the day, is alone with itself and inclined to contemplation. Most people die after midnight; human nature is there unable to start yet another day. There is also a certain relation between the times of day and the public life of peoples. The ancients, who were more drawn to nature than we are, held their public assemblies in the morning; in England, on the contrary, in keeping with the introverted character of the English, parliamentary proceedings are started in the evening and sometimes continued far into the night. But these moods produced by the times of the day are modified by climate; in hot countries, for example, one feels at midday more disposed to rest than to activity.

With respect to the influence of meteorological changes we can mention the following. Sensitivity to these phenomena is distinctly noticeable in plants and animals. Thus animals have presentiments of thunderstorms and earthquakes, i.e. they feel atmospheric changes which have not yet become apparent to us. Human beings, too, sense in wounds changes in the weather not yet indicated by the barometer; the weak spot formed by the wound allows the power of nature to become more noticeable. What is thus determining for the organism has also a significance for weak minds and is sensed as an effect. Indeed whole peoples, the Greeks and Romans, made their decisions depend on natural phenomena which to them seemed to be connected with meteorological changes. As we know, they consulted not only the priests, but also the entrails and feed of animals, for advice on affairs of state. On the day of the battle of Plataea, for example, when the freedom of Greece, perhaps of the whole of Europe, the repulse of oriental despotism, was at stake, Pausanias tortured himself the whole morning about good signs from sacrificial animals.10 This seems to stand in complete contradiction with the mindfulness of the Greeks in art, religion, and science, but it can be very well explained from the standpoint of the Greek mind. It is characteristic of moderns, in everything which prudence declares advisable in such and such circumstances, pg 39 to make a decision for themselves; private persons as well as princes take their decisions for themselves; with us the subjective will cuts off all grounds of deliberation and determines itself to the deed. The ancients, by contrast, who had not yet attained to this power of subjectivity, to this strength of self-certainty, let their affairs be determined by oracles, by external phenomena, in which they sought confirmation and verification of their plans and intentions.11 Now as regards the case of battle in particular, it depends not merely on the ethical disposition but also on the mood of buoyancy, on the feeling of physical strength. But with the ancients, this disposition was of far greater importance than it is with the moderns, with whom the main thing is the discipline of the army and the talent of the commander, whereas with the ancients, who still lived more in unity with nature, the bravery of individuals, the courage that always has something physical as its source, made the largest contribution to the decision of the battle. Now the mood of courage is connected with other physical dispositions, e.g. with the disposition of the region, of the atmosphere, of the season, of the climate. But the sympathetic moods of ensouled life become more visibly apparent in animals than in human beings, since animals live in an even closer unity with nature. For this reason the Greek commander only went into battle when he believed he had found in the animals healthy dispositions, which seemed to permit an inference to good dispositions of men.12 Thus Xenophon, who conducts himself so shrewdly in his famous retreat, sacrifices daily and determines his military measures in accordance with the result of the sacrifice.13 But the ancients took this search for a connection between the natural and the spiritual too far. Their superstition saw more in the animals' entrails than is there to be seen. In this, the I surrendered its independence, subjected itself to the circumstances and determinations of externality, made them into determinations of mind.


(2) The universal planetary life of the natural mind particularizes itself into the concrete differences of the earth and breaks up into the particular natural minds which, on the whole, express the nature of the geographical regions of the world and constitute the diversities of race.

[Remark] The opposition of terrestrial polarity, in virtue of which the land towards the north is more concentrated and predominates over the sea, whereas in the southern hemisphere it tapers off into separate sharp points, introduces into the differences of world-regions a further modification which Treviranus (Biology, Vol. II) has demonstrated in the case of the flora and fauna.1

Zusatz. With respect to the diversity of races of mankind it must be noticed first of all that the merely historical question, whether all human races sprang from one couple or from several, is of no concern whatever to us in philosophy.2 Importance was attached to this question because it was believed that by assuming descent from several couples, the mental superiority of one human stock over pg 40 another could be explained, indeed, it was hoped to prove that human beings are by nature so diverse in their mental capacities that some may be dominated like animals. But descent affords no ground for the entitlement or non-entitlement of human beings to freedom and to dominion. Man is implicitly rational; herein lies the possibility of equality of right for all men,—the futility of a rigid distinction between races that have rights and those that have none.3—The difference between the races of mankind is still a natural difference, that is, a difference that initially concerns the natural soul. As such, the difference is connected with the geographical differences of the territory where human beings congregate in large masses. These differences of territory are what we call world-regions. In these subdivisions of the earth-individual something necessary prevails, the detailed discussion of which belongs to geography. The basic division of the earth is into the Old and the New World. Initially, this distinction relates to the earlier or later knowledge of the continents in world history. Here, this meaning is for us a matter of indifference. What concerns us here is the determinacy which constitutes the distinctive character of the world-regions. In this respect, it must be said that America has a younger aspect than the Old World and lags behind it in its historical formation. America exhibits only the general difference of north and south with a quite narrow middle between the two extremes. The indigenous peoples of this world-region are dying out; the Old World is refashioning itself in the New. The Old World differs from America in that it presents itself as sundered into determinate differences, divides into three continents, of which one, Africa, taken as a whole, appears as a mass belonging to compact unity, as a lofty mountain range shutting off the coast; the second, Asia, succumbs to the opposition of highlands and great valleys irrigated by broad rivers; while the third, Europe, reveals the unity of the undifferentiated unity of Africa and the unmediated opposition of Asia, since here mountain and valley are not juxtaposed as two great halves of the continent as in Asia, but constantly penetrate each other. These three continents lie around the Mediterranean, but they are linked together by it, not separated. North Africa up to the boundary of the sandy desert already by its character belongs to Europe; the inhabitants of this part of Africa are not yet strictly Africans, that is, negroes, but are akin to Europeans. Similarly the whole of Western Asia is European in character; the Asiatic race proper, the Mongols, inhabit the Far East.4

After having thus attempted to show that the differences between the continents are not contingent but necessary,5 we wish to determine, in a physical and spiritual respect, the racial diversities of humanity connected with these geographical differences. In the physical respect, physiology distinguishes the Caucasian, Ethiopian, and Mongolian races, and there are also the race of Malaya and of America, though these form an aggregate of infinitely various particularities rather than a sharply distinct race. Now the physical difference between all these races is shown mainly in the formation of the skull and the pg 41 face. The formation of the skull is to be determined by a horizontal and a vertical line, the former running from the outside of the auditory canal to the root of the nose, the latter from the frontal bone to the upper jaw. It is by the angle formed by these two lines that the head of the animal is distinguished from the human head; in animals this angle is extremely acute. Another important factor in establishing racial differences, noted by Blumenbach, concerns the greater or lesser prominence of the cheek-bones. The arching and width of the forehead is also a determining factor here.6

Now in the Caucasian race the aforesaid angle is almost or entirely a right angle. This applies particularly to the Italian, Georgian, and Circassian physiognomy. In this race the skull is spherical on top, the forehead gently arched, the cheek-bones pushed back, the front teeth in both jaws perpendicular, the skin white with red cheeks and the hair long and soft.

The characteristic of the Mongolian race is shown in the prominence of the cheek-bones, in the eyes which are not round but narrow-slit, in the compressed nose, in the yellow colour of the skin and in the short stiff black hair.

Negroes have narrower skulls than Mongols and Caucasians, their foreheads are arched but bulging, their jaw-bones are prominent and the teeth slope, their lower jaw juts well out, their skin is more or less black, their hair is woolly and black.

The Malayan and American race are less sharply distinguished in their physical formation than the races just described; the skin of the Malayan race is brown and that of the American race copper-coloured.

In a spiritual respect the races referred to differ in the following way.

Negroes are to be regarded as a nation of children who remain immersed in their uninterested and indifferent naїveté. They are sold, and let themselves be sold, without any reflection on whether this is right or not. Their religion has something childlike about it. They sense a higher being, but they do not keep a firm hold on it; it passes only fleetingly through their heads. This higher being they transfer to the first stone they come across, thus making it their fetish and they discard this fetish if it fails to help them. Entirely good-natured and harmless when in a state of calm, they can become suddenly agitated and then commit the most frightful cruelties. They cannot be denied a capacity for education; not only have they, here and there, adopted Christianity with the greatest gratitude and spoken with emotion of the freedom they have acquired through Christianity after a long spiritual servitude, but in Haiti they have even formed a state on Christian principles. But they do not show an inner impulse towards culture. In their native country the most shocking despotism prevails. There they do not attain to the feeling of man's personality,—their mind is entirely dormant, it remains sunk within itself, it makes no progress, and thus corresponds to the compact, undifferentiated mass of the African land.7 The Mongols, on the other hand, rise above this childish naїveté; they reveal as their characteristic pg 42 feature a restless mobility which comes to no fixed result and impels them to spread like monstrous locust swarms over other nations and then gives way to the thoughtless indifference and dull inertia which preceded this outburst. Similarly, the Mongols display in themselves an acute contrast between the sublime and immense, on the one hand, and the most petty pedantry, on the other. Their religion already contains the representation of a universal which they venerate as God. But this God is not yet endured as an invisible God; he is present in human shape, or at least announces himself through some human being or other. This occurs with the Tibetans, where often a child is chosen as the present god, and when such a god dies, the monks seek another god among mankind; but all these gods enjoy the profoundest veneration one after the other. The essentials of this religion reach as far as the Indians, among whom a human being, the Brahman, is likewise regarded as God, and the withdrawal of the human mind into its indeterminate universality is held to be the divine, to be the immediate identity with God. So in the Asiatic race mind is certainly already beginning to awake, to separate itself from naturalness. But this separation is not yet clear-cut, not yet absolute. Mind does not yet grasp itself in its absolute freedom, does not yet know itself as the concrete universal that is for itself, has not yet made its concept into its object in the form of thought. For this reason mind still exists in the form of immediate individuality, a form in contradiction with mind. God does indeed become an object for them, but not in the form of the absolutely free thought, but in that of an immediately existent finite mind. With this is connected the worship of the dead that occurs here. This involves an elevation above naturalness, for in the dead naturalness has perished; the remembrance of them holds fast only to the universal that appeared in them and thus rises above the individuality of the appearance. But the universal is always, on the one hand, held fast only as an entirely abstract universal, and on the other hand, is viewed only in a thoroughly contingent, immediate existence. The Indians, for example, regard the universal God as present in the whole of nature, in rivers and mountains just as in men. Asia displays then, both in a physical and a spiritual respect, the moment of opposition, unmediated opposition, the mediationless collision of opposed determinations. Here, on the one hand, mind separates itself from nature, and yet on the other hand, falls back again into the naturalness, since it does not yet attain actuality within itself but only in nature. In this identity of mind with nature true freedom is impossible. Here man cannot yet attain to consciousness of his personality, in his individuality he still has no value and no entitlement, neither with the Indians nor the Chinese; the latter have no compunction in exposing or simply destroying their children.8

It is in the Caucasian race that mind first attains to absolute unity with itself; here for the first time mind enters into complete opposition to naturalness, apprehends itself in its absolute independence, breaks free from the oscillation between one extreme and the other, achieves self-determination, self-development, and thereby produces world-history. The Mongols, as we have already mentioned, pg 43 have for their character only the outwards-storming activity of an inundation, which dies away as quickly as it came, acts only destructively, constructs nothing, produces no advance in world-history. This advance comes about only through the Caucasian race.

In the Caucasian race, however, we have to distinguish two sides, the Western Asiatics and the Europeans; this distinction now coincides with the distinction of Mohammedans and Christians.

In Mohammedanism the narrow principle of the Jews is expanded into universality and thereby overcome. Here, God is no longer, as in the Far East, regarded as existent in an immediately sensory way but is conceived as the one infinite power elevated above all the multiplicity of the world. Mohammedanism is, therefore, in the strictest sense of the word, the religion of sublimity. The character of the western Asiatics, particularly the Arabs, is completely in accord with this religion. This people is, in its aspiration to the one God, indifferent to everything finite, to all misery, and gives generously of its life and its goods; even today its courage and charity earns our recognition. But the western Asiatic mind which clings to the abstract One does not get as far as the determination, the particularization, of the universal nor, consequently, to a concrete formation. By this mind, it is true, the caste system that dominates everything in the Far East is here annihilated, each individual among the mohammedan West Asiatics is free; despotism proper does not occur among them. Political life, however, does not here yet attain to an articulated organism, to the differentiation into particular state powers. And as regards individuals they do, on the one hand, keep sublimely aloof from subjective, finite purposes, but again, on the other hand, they also hurl themselves with unbridled impulse into the pursuit of such purposes, which, with them, lack all trace of the universal because here the universal does not yet attain to an immanent particularization. So here, alongside the most sublime sentiments, there occur the greatest vindictiveness and guile.9

Europeans, on the contrary, have for their principle and character the concrete universal, the self-determining thought. The Christian God is not merely the undifferentiated One, but the triune God who contains difference within himself, who has become man, who reveals himself. In this religious representation the opposition of universal and particular, of thought and reality, has supreme intensity and is nevertheless brought back to unity. Here, then, the particular is not left so quiescent in its immediacy as in Mohammedanism; on the contrary, it is determined by thought, just as, conversely, the universal here develops itself to particularization. The principle of the European mind is, therefore, self-conscious reason, which has the confidence in itself that for it nothing can be an insuperable barrier, and which therefore invades everything in order to become present to itself therein. The European mind opposes the world to itself, makes itself free of it, but again sublates this opposition, takes its Other, the manifold, back into itself, into its simplicity. Here, therefore, there prevails this infinite thirst for knowledge, which is alien to the other races. The European is interested pg 44 in the world, he wants to know it, to make this Other confronting him his own, to bring into his view the genus, the law, the universal, the thought, the inner rationality, in the particularizations of the world.—As in the theoretical, so too in the practical sphere, the European mind strives after the unity to be produced between itself and the external world. It subjects the external world to its ends with an energy which has secured for it the mastery of the world. In his particular actions the individual here proceeds from firm universal principles; and in Europe the political state exhibits more or less the unfolding and actualization of freedom through rational institutions, exempted from the wilfulness of a despot.10

But finally, with regard to the original Americans, we have to remark that they are a vanishing, feeble breed. It is true that in some parts of America at the time of its discovery, a considerable culture was to be found; this, however, was not comparable with European culture and has disappeared with the original inhabitants. In addition, the dullest savages dwell there, e.g. the Pecherais and Eskimos. The Caribs of earlier times are almost completely extinct. When made familiar with brandy and fire-arms, these savages become extinct. In South America, it is the Creoles who have made themselves independent of Spain; the Indians proper would have been incapable of it. In Paraguay, they were just like small children and were even treated as such by the Jesuits. The Americans are, therefore, clearly not in a position to hold their own against the Europeans. The Europeans will begin a new culture there on the soil they have conquered from the natives.


This differentiation descends into particularities, which may be termed local minds, shown in the outward modes of life, occupation, bodily structure and disposition, but still more in the inner tendency and capacity of the intellectual and ethical character of the several peoples.

[Remark] As far back as the history of peoples extends, we see the particular nations each possessing a persistent type of its own.

Zusatz. The racial variations depicted in the Zusatz to §393 are the essential differences, the differences, determined by the concept, of the universal natural mind. But the natural mind does not stop at this universal differentiation of itself; the naturalness of mind does not have the power to assert itself as the pure copy of the determinations of the concept; it proceeds to a further particularization of these universal differences and so descends into the plurality of local or national minds. The detailed characterization of these minds belongs partly to the natural history of man and partly to the philosophy of world-history. The former science depicts the disposition of national character as affected by natural conditions, the bodily formation, the mode of life, occupation, and also the particular directions taken by the intelligence and the will of nations. Philosophy of history, by contrast, has as its object the world-historical significance of peoples, that pg 45 is—if we take world-history in the most comprehensive sense of the word—the highest development to which the original disposition of the national character attains, the most spiritual form to which the natural mind dwelling in the nations ascends. Here in philosophical anthropology we cannot go into the details, the consideration of which is the responsibility of the two sciences just mentioned. We have here to consider national character only in so far as it contains the germ from which the history of nations develops.1

First and foremost it can be remarked that national differences are just as fixed as the racial diversity of mankind,—that the Arabs, for example, still everywhere exhibit the same characteristics as are related of them in the remotest times. The unchangeableness of climate, of the whole character of the country in which a nation has its permanent abode, contributes to the unchangeableness of the national character. A desert, proximity to the sea or remoteness from it,—all these circumstances can have an influence on the national character. Particularly important in this context is the connection with the sea. In the interior of Africa proper, surrounded by high mountains in the coastal regions and in this way cut off from this free element of the sea, the mind of the natives remains closed, feels no urge to freedom and endures without resistance universal slavery. Proximity to the sea cannot, however, of itself alone make the mind free. This is proved by the Indians, who have slavishly submitted to the ban obtaining among them from earliest times on sailing the sea that nature has opened to them, and so, separated by despotism from this wide, free element, from this natural embodiment of universality, they reveal no power to free themselves from the freedom-destroying ossification of the class divisions, which obtain in the caste system and which would be intolerable to a nation sailing the sea on its own initiative.2

But now as regards the determinate difference of the national minds, in the African race this is insignificant in the highest degree and even in the Asiatic race proper it stands out much less than in Europeans, in whom the mind first emerges from its abstract universality to the unfolded fullness of particularization. For this reason, we propose to speak here only of the varied character of the European nations and, among them, we will not characterize in their mutual relations those peoples that are principally distinguished from each other by their world-historical role, namely, the Greeks, the Romans, and the Germanic peoples; this task we have to leave to the philosophy of history. We can however indicate here the differences that have come into prominence within the Greek nation and among the Christian peoples of Europe more or less permeated by Germanic elements.3

As regards the Greeks, the particularly outstanding peoples among them in the period of their full world-historical development—the Lacedemonians, the Thebans, and the Athenians—are distinguished from each other as follows. With the Lacedemonians, the upright undifferentiated life in the ethical substance predominates: with them, therefore, property and the family relationship do not pg 46receive their due.4 With the Thebans, on the other hand, the opposite principle emerges; with them the subjective, sentimentality, so far as the Greeks can yet be credited with this at all, preponderates. The finest lyrical poet of the Greeks, Pindar, belongs to the Thebans. The friendship-league of youths, bound to each other in life and in death, which developed among the Thebans, also affords evidence of the withdrawal into the inwardness of sentiment which prevailed among this people.5 The Athenian people, however, display the unity of these opposites; in them, mind has emerged from the Theban subjectivity without losing itself in the Spartan objectivity of ethical life; with the Athenians the rights of the state and of the individual found as perfect a unification as was possible at all at the standpoint of the Greeks. But just as Athens, through this mediation of the Spartan and Theban minds forms the unity of northern and southern Greece, so also we see in that state the union of the eastern and western Greeks, in so far as Plato in Athens defined the absolute as the Idea, in which both the natural element made into the absolute in Ionian philosophy, and the wholly abstract thought forming the principle of Italic philosophy, are reduced to moments. With these intimations regarding the character of the principal peoples of Greece we must be content here; to develop further what has been intimated would encroach on the territory of world-history and especially of the history of philosophy too.6

An even greater diversity of national character is to be seen in the Christian peoples of Europe. The fundamental determination in the nature of these peoples is the predominant inwardness, the subjectivity firm within itself. This is modified mainly according to the southern or northern situation of the countries inhabited by these peoples. In the south, individuality uninhibitedly emerges in its idiosyncrasy. This is especially true of the Italians; with them the individual character will not be other than just what it is; universal purposes do not disturb its uninhibitedness.7 Such a character is more appropriate to the feminine nature than to the masculine. Italian individuality has, therefore, flowered into its finest beauty in feminine individuality; not infrequently Italian women and maidens, who were unhappy in love, have died of grief in a single instant; so much had their whole nature entered into the individual relationship, whose breaking-off annihilated them. Connected with this uninhibitedness of individuality is also the strong gesticulation of the Italians; their mind spills over without reserve into its bodiliness. The charm of their behaviour has the same ground. The same predominance of idiosyncracy, of the individual also shows itself in the political life of the Italians. Even before the Roman domination as well as after its disappearance, we see Italy disintegrated into a collection of small states. In the Middle Ages we see there the many individual communities everywhere so torn by factions that half of the citizens of such states almost always lived in exile. The general interest of the state could not prevail over the predominant party spirit. The individuals who set themselves up as the sole representatives of the commonweal, themselves pursued mainly their own ends, and sometimes in the most tyrannical, cruel manner. Neither in these autocracies nor in the republics torn pg 47 by party conflict could political right develop into a firm, rational structure. Only Roman civil law was studied and set up as a makeshift barrier against the tyranny alike of individuals and of the many.

With the Spaniards similarly we find the predominance of individuality; but this does not have the Italian uninhibitedness but is already associated more with reflection. The individual content which is here asserted already bears the form of universality. That is why we see honour in particular to be the driving principle with Spaniards. Here the individual demands recognition, not in his immediate idiosyncracy, but on account of the agreement of his actions and conduct with certain fixed principles which, according to the conception of the nation, must be law for every man of honour. But since the Spaniard is guided in all his activity by these principles which transcend the whims of the individual and have not yet been undermined by the sophistry of the intellect, he attains to greater steadfastness than the Italian, who obeys more the inspirations of the moment and lives more in sentiment than in firm representations. This difference between the two peoples is specially prominent in connection with religion. The Italian does not let religious scruples especially interfere with his cheerful enjoyment of life. The Spaniard, on the other hand, has hitherto adhered with fanatical zeal to the letter of Catholic doctrine and for centuries, through the Inquisition, has persecuted with African inhumanity those suspected of deviating from this letter.8 In a political connection too the two peoples differ in a manner that accords with the character attributed to them. Italian national unity, which Petrarch already ardently wished for, is today still a dream; this land is still split up into a collection of states which trouble themselves very little about each other. In Spain, on the contrary, where as we have said, the universal attains to some degree of mastery over the individual, the individual states which formerly subsisted in that country have already been welded into a single state, though the provinces indeed still seek to assert too great a measure of independence.

Now whereas with the Italians mobility of sentiment predominates, and in Spaniards firmness of representative thinking, the French display both firmness of intellect and mobility of wit. The French have always been reproached with frivolity, also with vanity, the desire to please. But through striving to please, they have brought social culture to an extreme of refinement and by virtue of just this have raised themselves in a remarkable way above the crude selfishness of the natural man; for this culture consists precisely in not forgetting the others, with whom one is dealing, in favour of oneself, but in taking them into account and showing oneself well disposed towards them. Both to the individual and to the public, the French—be they statesmen, artists, or scholars—accord the most respectful attention in all their actions and works. Yet occasionally this deference to the opinion of others has of course degenerated into the effort to please at all costs, even at the expense of truth. This striving has also given rise to ideal chatterboxes. But what the French regard as the surest means of giving universal pleasure is what they call esprit. This esprit is restricted in superficial pg 48 natures to associating ideas only remotely connected, but in intelligent men, such as Montesquieu and Voltaire for example, esprit becomes, by bringing together what the intellect has separated, a brilliant form of the rational; for the essential feature of the rational is just to bring together what is separated. But this form of the rational is still not that of conceptual cognition; the profound, clever thoughts which are to be found in abundance in men like those we have mentioned, are not developed from one universal thought, from the concept of the subject-matter, but are thrown out like flashes of lightning.9 The acuteness of the French intellect is revealed in the clarity and determinacy of expression, in speech and writings alike. Their rigorously rule-governed language corresponds to the orderliness and conciseness of their thoughts. The French have thereby become models of political and juristic exposition. But in their political dealings, too, one cannot fail to detect the acuteness of their intellect. In the midst of the storm of revolutionary passion, their intellect showed itself in the decisiveness with which they succeeded in producing the new ethical world-order in face of the powerful alliance of the numerous adherents of the old order, actualizing one after another all moments of the new political life to be developed, in their most extreme determinacy and opposition. Just because they pushed these moments to the limit of one-sidedness, pursued each one-sided political principle to its ultimate consequences, they have been brought by the dialectic of world-historical reason to a political condition in which all the previous one-sidednesses in the life of the state appear sublated.10

The English could be called the people of intellectual intuition. They recognize the rational less in the form of universality than in that of individuality. Thus their poets rank far higher than their philosophers. Originality of personality is a very prominent feature with the English. But their originality is not naïve and natural, but stems from thought, from the will. In this the individual wills to be self-dependent in every respect, to relate to the universal only by way of his idiosyncracy. For this reason, political freedom with the English mainly takes the form of privileges, of rights which are traditional, not derived from universal thoughts. The sending of deputies to Parliament by the individual English municipalities and counties is everywhere based on particular privileges, not on universal principles consistently carried out. Certainly the Englishman is proud of the honour and freedom of his whole nation, but his national pride is founded mainly on the consciousness that in England the individual can retain and exercise his particularity. Associated with this tenacity of individuality, which, though pursuing the universal, in its relation with the universal holds fast to itself, is the conspicuous aptitude of the English for trade.11

The Germans usually think of the Germans last, either from modesty or because one saves the best till the end. We have the reputation of being profound, though not infrequently obscure, thinkers; we aim at comprehending the innermost nature of things and their necessary connection; therefore, we go pg 49 extremely systematically to work in science, only in doing so we occasionally lapse into the formalism of an external, arbitrary construction. Our mind, more than that of any other European nation, is in general turned inwards. We prefer to live in the inwardness of emotion and of thinking. In this still life, in this hermit-like solitude of spirit, we first busy ourselves before we act with carefully determining the principles on which we propose to act. That is why we are somewhat slow in proceeding to action, occasionally, in cases which demand a quick decision, remain undecided and with the sincere wish to do the thing really well, often fail to achieve anything at all. The French proverb, le meilleur tue le bien, can therefore rightly be applied to the Germans. Everything that is supposed to be done must, with the Germans, be justified by grounds. But since grounds can be found for everything, this justification often becomes mere formalism, in which the universal thought of right does not reach its immanent development but remains an abstraction into which the particular arbitrarily intrudes from outside.12 This formalism has also shown itself in the Germans in the circumstance that they have sometimes been content for centuries to preserve certain political rights merely by protestations.13 But while in this way the subjects accomplished very little for themselves, on the other hand they often did extremely little for the government. Living in the inwardness of emotion, the Germans have indeed always liked to speak of their loyalty and integrity; often, however, this substantial disposition of theirs could not be put to the test; on the contrary, they have, without misgivings and regardless of their excellent opinion of their loyalty and integrity, used the general statutory codes against prince and emperor, merely to conceal their disinclination to do something for the state. But although their political spirit, their patriotism, was mostly not very lively, yet from early times they have been animated by an inordinate desire for the honour of an official post and have been of the opinion that office and title make the man, that the importance of persons and the respect due to them could in almost every case be measured with perfect certainty by the difference of title. This has made the Germans so ridiculous that the only parallel to be found in Europe is the Spaniard's mania for a long string of names.


(3) The soul is differentiated into the individual subject. But this subjectivity comes into consideration here only as an individualization of natural determinacy. This determinacy becomes the mode of the varying temperament, talent, character, physiognomy, and other dispositions and idiosyncrasies, in families or in single individuals.

Zusatz. As we have seen, the natural mind first divides up into the universal differences of the races of mankind, and reaches, in the minds of peoples, a difference that has the form of particularization. The third stage is that the natural mind pg 50 proceeds to its individualization, and as individual soul opposes itself to itself. But the opposition arising here is not yet the opposition which belongs to the essence of consciousness. Here in anthropology the singularity or individuality of the soul comes into account only as a natural determinacy.1

Now first of all we must remark that it is in the individual soul that the sphere of the contingent begins, for only the universal is the necessary. Individual souls are distinguished from each other by an infinite number of contingent modifications. But this infinity belongs to the bad kind of infinite. One should not therefore rate the peculiarity of people too highly. On the contrary, the assertion that the teacher should carefully adjust himself to the individuality of each of his pupils, studying and developing it, must be proclaimed to be a piece of idle prattle that leads up the garden path. The teacher has simply no time for this. The peculiarity of children is tolerated within the family circle; but at school begins a life subject to universal regulations, to a rule common to all; at school the mind must be induced to lay aside its idiosyncrasies, to know and to will the universal, to accept the current universal culture. This reshaping of the soul, this alone is what education means. The more cultivated a man is, the less his behaviour exhibits anything peculiar only to him, anything therefore contingent.2

Now the peculiarity of the individual has various aspects. These are distinguished as the determinations of predisposition, temperament, and character.

By predisposition is understood the natural aptitudes of a man in contrast to what he has become by his own activity.3 These aptitudes include talent and genius. Both words express a definite direction which the individual mind has been given by nature. Genius, however, is wider in scope than talent; talent produces novelty only in the province of the particular, whereas genius creates a new genre. But since talent and genius are initially mere aptitudes, they must be developed—if they are not to go to waste, to decay, to degenerate into bad originality—by universally valid procedures. Only by such development do these aptitudes demonstrate their presence, their power and their range. Before such development one can be deceived about the reality of a talent; an early occupation with painting, for example, may seem to betray talent for this art and yet this hobby may come to nothing. Mere talent is, therefore, not to be valued more highly than reason which by its own activity has come to knowledge of its concept,—than absolutely free thinking and willing. In philosophy, mere genius does not get one very far; here it must submit to the strict discipline of logical thinking; it is only by this submission that genius there achieves its complete freedom.4 As regards the will, however, one cannot say that there is a genius for virtue; for virtue is something universal, to be required of all men and nothing innate but something to be produced in the individual by his own activity. Differences in predisposition have, therefore, no importance whatever for the theory of virtue; they would come into consideration, if we may so express ourselves, only in a natural history ofmind.5

pg 51 The various kinds of talent and genius are distinguished from each other by the different realms of mind in which they operate. Difference of temperaments, by contrast, has no such relation outwards. It is difficult to say what is meant by temperament. Temperament does not relate to the ethical nature of action, nor to the talent revealed in the action, nor finally to passion, which always has a determinate content. It is therefore best to define temperament as the entirely universal mode and manner in which the individual is active, objectifies himself, maintains himself in actuality.6 From this definition it emerges that for the free mind, temperament is not so important as was formerly supposed. In a time of greater cultivation, the various contingent mannerisms of conduct and action disappear, and with them the varieties of temperament, in just the same way that, in such a time, the restricted characters in comedies of a less cultivated epoch—the completely frivolous, the ridiculously absentminded, the stingy misers—become much rarer. The attempts to distinguish between temperaments involve such indeterminacy that one hardly knows how to apply them to individuals, since the temperaments portrayed separately are, in individuals, found more or less combined with each other. Just as virtue was distinguished into four cardinal virtues, so too, as we know, four temperaments were assumed: the choleric, the sanguine, the phlegmatic, and the melancholic. Kant has a great deal to say about them. The main difference between these temperaments is based on whether someone devotes himself to the matter in hand or whether he is more concerned with his own individuality. The former case occurs with the sanguine and phlegmatic, the latter with the choleric and melancholic. The sanguine individual forgets himself in what he is doing, and more specifically in such way that by virtue of his superficial versatility, he gets involved in a variety of concerns; the phlegmatic individual, on the contrary, steadfastly applies himself to one concern. But in the choleric and the melancholic, as we have already indicated, close attachment to subjectivity is predominant; however, these two temperaments are in turn distinguished from each other by the fact that in the choleric, versatility predominates, and in the melancholic, inertia; so that in this connection the choleric temperament corresponds to the sanguine and the melancholic to the phlegmatic.7

We have already remarked that difference of temperament loses its importance in a period when the mode and manner of conduct and of the activity of individuals is established by the universal culture. Character, on the other hand, remains something which always differentiates people. Only by character does the individual attain his stable determinacy. Character requires, firstly, a formal element, the energy with which a man, without letting himself be diverted, pursues his aims and interests and in all his actions preserves his harmony with himself. Without character a man does not emerge from his indeterminacy or he slides from one direction to the opposite. Every human being should therefore be required to show character. A man with character impresses others because they pg 52 know the kind of man they are dealing with. But besides formal energy character requires, secondly, a substantial, universal content of the will. Only by carrying out great aims does a man reveal a great character, making him a beacon for others; and his aims must be inwardly justified if his character is to exhibit the absolute unity of the content and the formal activity of the will and thus to have complete truth. If, on the contrary, the will clings to mere details, to the insubstantial, then it becomes obstinacy. Obstinacy has only the form, not the content, of character. Through obstinacy, this parody of character, the individuality of a man is accentuated to a point where it spoils companionship with others.8

Of a still more individual kind are the so-called idiosyncrasies, which occur both in the physical and in the mental nature of man. Some people, for example, scent the presence of cats near them. Others are quite peculiarly affected by certain diseases. King James I of England fainted if he saw a rapier. Mental idiosyncrasies are displayed especially in youth, e.g. in the incredible rapidity of mental arithmetic in particular children. Incidentally, it is not merely individuals who are distinguished from each other by the forms of mind's natural determinacy discussed above, but to some extent families too, especially when they have intermarried among themselves and not with outsiders, as has been the case, for example, in Bern and in quite a few of the free German cities.9

Now that we have depicted the three forms of the qualitative natural determinacy of the individual soul—predisposition, temperament, and character—we have still to indicate the rational necessity for the fact that this natural determinacy has just these three forms and no others, and for the fact that these forms are to be considered in the order we have followed. We began with predisposition, more specifically with talent and genius, because in the predisposition the qualitative natural determinacy of the individual soul has predominantly the form of something that merely is, something immediately fixed and of such a sort that its differentiation within itself is related to a difference present outside it. In temperament, on the other hand, this natural determinacy loses the shape of something so fixed; for whereas either one talent prevails exclusively in the individual, or several talents subsist alongside each other in him quiescently and without passing into each other, one and the same individual can pass over from any temperamental mood into another, so that no temperamental mood has a fixed being in him. At the same time in temperaments the difference of the natural determinacy in question is reflected out of the relation to something present outside the individual soul into the interior of the soul. But in character we see the fixity of the predisposition united with the changeableness of the temperamental moods, the predominant relation to the outside in the predisposition, united with the reflectedness-into-self of the soul prevailing in the temperamental moods. The fixity of character is not so immediate, not so innate, as the fixity of predisposition, but has to be developed by the will. Character consists in something more than an even blending of the various temperaments. All the same, it pg 53 cannot be denied that it has a natural foundation, that some people are more naturally prone to a strong character than others. For this reason, we had the right to speak of character here in Anthropology, although it is only in the sphere of free mind that it obtains its full unfolding.10

(β‎) Natural Alterations


In the soul determined as an individual, the differences take the form of alterations in it, in the single subject persisting in the alterations, and of moments in its development. As they are at once physical and mental differences, a concrete definition or description of them would require us to anticipate an acquaintance with the cultivatedmind.1

[Remark] (1) The first type of alteration is the natural course of the ages of life. It begins with the child, the mind wrapped up in itself. The next step is the developed opposition, the tension between a universality which is still subjective (ideals, imaginings, moral demands, hopes, etc.) and immediate individuality, i.e. both the existing world, which fails to meet the ideals, and the position in it of the individual himself, who, in his current state, still lacks independence and intrinsic maturity (the youth). Next there is the genuine relationship: recognition of the objective necessity and rationality of the world as we find it, a world no longer incomplete, but able, in the work which it accomplishes in and for itself, to afford the individual a share and a confirmation for his activity. This makes the individual somebody, with actual presence and objective value (the man). Last of all comes the completion of the unity with this objectivity: a unity which, while in its reality it passes into the inertia of deadening habit, in its ideality gains freedom from the limited interests and entanglements of the external present (old age).2

Zusatz. When the soul, which at first is completely universal, particularizes itself in the way we have indicated and finally determines itself to singularity, to individuality, it enters into opposition to its inner universality, to its substance. This contradiction between the immediate individuality and the substantial universality implicitly present in it, establishes the life-process of the individual soul, a process by which the immediate individuality of the soul is brought into conformity with the universal, the universal is actualized in the soul and thus the initial, simple unity of the soul with itself is raised to a unity mediated by the opposition, and the initially abstract universality of the soul is developed to concrete universality.3 This process of development is education. Even merely animal life in its way exhibits this process implicitly. But, as we saw earlier, it does not have the power genuinely to actualize the genus within itself; its immediate, abstract individuality, an individuality that simply is, always remains in contradiction pg 54 with its genus, both excluding it from itself and including it within itself. By this inability to exhibit the genus perfectly, the mere living creature perishes. In the animal, the genus proves to be a power in face of which the animal must pass away. Therefore, in the death of the individual, the genus attains an actualization which is just as abstract as the individuality of merely animal life and excludes that individuality just as much as the genus remains excluded from the living individuality.4—The genus genuinely actualizes itself, on the other hand, in mind, in thinking, in this element which is homogeneous with the genus. But in the anthropological sphere this actualization, since it takes place in the natural individual mind, still has the mode of naturalness. Consequently it falls into time. Thus arises a series of distinct states through which the individual as such passes, a sequence of differences which no longer have the fixity of the immediate differences of the universal natural mind which prevail in the various races of mankind and in the national minds, but appear in one and the same individual as transient forms, passing into each other.5

This sequence of distinct states is the series of the ages of life.

It begins with the immediate, still undifferentiated unity of the genus and the individuality, with the abstract emergence of the immediate individuality, with the birth of the individual, and ends with the impression of the genus into the individuality, or of the individuality into the genus, with the victory of the genus over the individuality, with the abstract negation of the individuality,—with death.6

What the genus is in life as such, rationality is in the realm of mind; for the genus already has inner universality, the determination pertaining to the rational. This unity of the genus and the rational explains why the mental phenomena appearing in the course of the ages of life correspond to the physical alterations that also develop in the course of the individual's life. The agreement of the mental and the physical is here more determinate than in the case of racial differences, where we have to do only with the universal fixed differences of the natural mind and with the equally fixed physical differences of men, whereas here the determinate alterations of the individual soul and of its bodiliness are under consideration. But, on the other hand, we must not go so far as to look for the marked counterpart of the individual's mental unfolding in his physiological development; for in the former, the opposition emerging in it and the unity to be engendered from that opposition, have a far higher significance than in the physiological sphere. Mind here reveals its independence of its bodiliness in the fact that it can develop earlier than the body. Children have often shown a mental development far in advance of their physical maturity. This has mainly occurred with outstanding artistic talents, especially musical geniuses. Such precocity is not infrequently shown too in connection with an easy assimilation of various kinds of information, especially in the field of mathematics, and also in connection with intellectual argumentation, even on ethical and religious themes. In general, however, it must be admitted that the intellect does not come before its pg 55time. It is almost solely in the case of artistic talents that their premature appearance has indicated excellence. On the other hand, the premature development of intelligence generally observed in several children has not, as a rule, been the inception of a mind attaining great distinction inmanhood.7

Now the process of development of the natural human individual splits up into a series of processes whose difference rests on the different relationship of the individual to the genus and establishes the difference between the child, the man, and the elderly. These differences are presentations of the differences of the concept. Childhood is, therefore, the time of natural harmony, of the peace of the individual with himself and with the world,—the oppositionless beginning, just as old age is the oppositionless end. The oppositions which may emerge in childhood remain without deeper interest. The child lives in innocence, without lasting pain, in the love it has for its parents and in the feeling of being loved by them. This immediate and therefore unspiritual, purely natural unity of the individual with its genus and with the world generally, must be sublated; the individual must advance to the point where he opposes himself to the universal as the finished and subsisting substance that is in and for itself, to the point where he apprehends himself in his independence. But this independence, this opposition, at first appears in just as one-sided a shape as does the unity of the subjective and the objective in the child. The youth dissects the Idea actualized in the world, in the following manner: to himself he ascribes the true and the good, the determination of the substantial which belongs to the nature of the Idea; to the world, by contrast, he ascribes the determination of the contingent, accidental. We cannot come to a standstill at this untrue opposition; the youth must rise above it to the insight that, on the contrary, the world is to be viewed as the substantial, and the individual by contrast only as an accident,—that therefore man can find his essential activity and satisfaction only in the world that pursues its steady course independently in face of him, and that for this reason he must acquire the skill necessary for the substance.—Reaching this standpoint, the youth has become a man. Complete within himself, the man views the ethical world-order too as an order that does not first need to be produced by him, but as essentially complete. Thus he is active for, not against, the substance, he has an interest for the substance, not against it, he has thus risen above the one-sided subjectivity of youth to the standpoint of objective mindfulness.—Old age, by contrast, is the return to a lack of interest in things; the old man has lived his way into things and just because of this unity with things, in which the opposition is lost, he abandons active interest in things.8—We now propose to determine in more detail the differences of the ages of man that we have thus indicated in general.

Childhood we can differentiate again into three stages, or if we wish to include in the sphere of our treatment the unborn child which is identical with its mother, into four stages.

The unborn child has as yet no proper individuality, no individuality to enter into relationship with particular objects in a particular manner or to draw in an pg 56 external thing at a determinate point of its organism. The life of the unborn child resembles the life of a plant. Just as a plant has no interrupted intussusception but a continuous stream of nutriment, so too the child feeds at first by a continual sucking and as yet possesses no interrupted respiration.

When the child is brought into the world out of this vegetative state in which it resides in the womb, it passes into the animal mode of life. Birth is, therefore, a tremendous leap. By it the child emerges from the state of a completely oppositionless life into the state of separation,—into the relationship to light and air and into a continually developing relationship to individualized objects in general and especially to individualized nourishment. The first way in which the child establishes its independence is breathing, the inhalation and exhalation of air at an individual point of its body, a process that interrupts the elemental flow. Immediately after the birth of the child, its body already shows itself as almost fully organized; only single details alter in it. Thus, for example, the so-called foramen ovale closes up only later. The main alteration in the child's body consists in growth. In connection with this alteration it is hardly necessary to recall that in animal life generally, in contrast to vegetable life, growth is not a coming-out-of-itself, not an extrusion beyond itself, not a production of new structures, but is only a development of the organism and produces merely quantitative, formal difference, which relates both to the degree of strength and to the extension. Nor do we need here (what has already been done in the appropriate place in the philosophy of nature) to explain at length that the completeness of bodily structure which is lacking in the plant and first comes about in the animal organism, this leading back of all the members to the negative, simple unity of life, is the basis of the self-feeling that arises in the animal, and therefore also in the child.9 We must emphasize here however that in man the animal organism reaches its most perfect form. Even the most complete animal is unable to exhibit this delicately organized, infinitely pliable body which we already discern in the newly born child. At first, however, the child appears in a far greater dependency and need than animals. Yet in this, too, its higher nature already reveals itself. At once need announces itself in unruly, stormy, and peremptory fashion. Whereas the animal is silent or expresses its pain only by groaning, the child expresses the feeling of its needs by screaming. By this ideal activity the child shows that it is straightaway imbued with the certainty that it has a right to demand from the external world the satisfaction of its needs,—that the independence of the external world in face of man is void.10

Now as regards the mental development of the child in this first stage of its life, it can be said that man never learns more than in this period. Here the child makes itself gradually familiar with all specifications of the sensory. The external world now becomes an actuality for it. It progresses from sensation to intuition. Initially the child has only a sensation of light by which things are manifest to it. This mere sensation misleads the child into reaching out for something distant as if it were near. But through the sense of feeling the child orientates itself in regard pg 57 to distances. Thus it gains an eye for distance, in general it casts the external out of itself. In this period, too, the child learns that external things offer resistance.11

The transition from childhood to boyhood is to be located in the development of the child's activity towards the external world; the child, in gaining a feeling of the actuality of the external world, begins to become an actual human being itself and to feel itself as such; but in doing so it passes on to the practical tendency to put itself to the test in this actuality. The child is equipped for this practical response by growing teeth, by learning to stand, to walk, and to speak. The first thing to be learnt here is to stand upright. This is peculiar to man and can only be effected by his will; a man stands only in so far as he wills to stand; as soon as we no longer will to stand, we collapse; standing is, therefore, the habit of the will to stand. Man acquires an even freer relationship to the external world by walking; by this he sublates the asunderness of space and gives himself his own place. But speech enables man to apprehend things as universal, to attain to the consciousness of his own universality, to the enunciation of the I. This apprehension of its I-hood is a supremely important point in the mental development of the child; at this point it begins to reflect itself into itself out of its immersion in the external world. Initially this incipient independence expresses itself in the child's learning to play with sensory things. But the most rational thing that children can do with their toys is to break them.12

In passing from play to the serious business of learning, the child becomes a boy. At this stage children start to become inquisitive, especially for stories; what they have to deal with is ideas that do not present themselves to them in an immediate way. But here the main thing is the awakening feeling in them that they are not yet what they ought to be,—and the lively wish to become as the adults are, in whose environment they are living. This wish gives rise to the imitativeness of children. Whereas the feeling of immediate unity with the parents is the spiritual mother's milk on which children thrive, the children's own need to grow up is what makes them grow up. This striving after education on the part of children themselves is the immanent moment of all education. But since the boy is still at the standpoint of immediacy, the higher level to which he is to ascend appears to him, not in the form of universality or of the substance, but in the shape of a given, of an individual, an authority. It is this or that man who forms the ideal which the boy strives to know and to imitate; at this standpoint the child intuits its own essence only in this concrete manner. What the boy has to learn must therefore be given to him on and with authority; he has the feeling that what is thus given to him is higher than himself. This feeling must be carefully fostered in education. Thus we must brand as a complete perversion the playful pedagogy, which wants to see serious matters delivered to children as play and demands that the educator should lower himself to the childish mentality of the pupils instead of raising them to the seriousness of the substance. This playful education can have the consequence that for his whole life the boy treats everything with a disdainful attitude. Such a regrettable result can also be introduced by constantly pg 58 inciting children to argumentation, as intellectually deficient pedagogues recommend; by this children easily acquire a bit of impudence. The children's own thinking must, of course, be aroused; but the dignity of the substance should not be put at the mercy of their immature, vain intellect.13

With regard to one of the two aspects of education, discipline, the boy should not be allowed to follow his own inclination; he must obey in order to learn to command. Obedience is the beginning of all wisdom; for through obedience the will that does not yet know the true, the objective, that does not make this its goal and therefore far from being genuinely independent and free is still immature, accepts within itself the rational will coming to it from outside and gradually makes this its own will. On the other hand, if one allows children to do as they please, if one commits the additional folly of handing over to them reasons for their whims, then one falls into the worst mode of education, children develop a deplorable absorption in particular likes and dislikes, in peculiar cleverness, in self-centred interest,—the root of all evil. By nature, the child is neither evil nor good, since it starts without any knowledge either of good or of evil. To regard this unknowing innocence as an ideal and to yearn to return to it would be silly; it is without value and of short duration. Self-will and evil soon emerge in the child. This self-will must be broken by discipline, this seed of evil must be annihilated by it.14

With regard to the other side of education, instruction, it is to be noted that this rationally begins with the most abstract thing that the child's mind can grasp. This is the alphabet. This presupposes an abstraction to which entire races, for example, even the Chinese, have not attained. Language in general is this airy element, this sensory-unsensory, by increasing knowledge of which the child's mind rises more and more above the sensory, the individual, to the universal, to thinking. This growing capacity for thinking is the greatest benefit of primary education. But the child only gets as far as representational thinking; the world is only for his representation; he learns the qualities of things, becomes acquainted with the circumstances of the worlds of nature and mind, develops an interest in things, but does not yet cognize the world in its inner connectedness. This knowledge comes only with manhood. But it cannot be denied that the boy has an imperfect understanding of the natural and the mental. One must therefore describe as an error the claim that a boy as yet understands nothing whatever of religion and right, that therefore he must not be bothered with these matters, that on no account must ideas be forced on him, but on the contrary he must be provided with experiences of his own and one must be content to let him be stimulated by what is sensorily present. Even the ancients did not allow children to dwell for long on the sensory. But the modern mind involves a wholly different elevation above the sensory, a much deeper absorption in its own inwardness, than the ancient mind. Therefore, the supersensory world should now be presented to the boy's imagination at an early age. This happens in a much higher degree through the school than in the family. In the family the child is accepted pg 59 in its immediate individuality, is loved whether its behaviour is good or bad. In school, on the other hand, the immediacy of the child no longer counts; here it is esteemed only according to its worth, according to its achievements; here it is no longer merely loved but criticized and guided in accordance with universal determinations, moulded by the objects of instruction according to fixed rules, in general, subjected to a universal order which forbids much that is innocent in itself, because it cannot be permitted that everyone does it. The school thus forms the transition from the family into civil society. But to civil society the boy has at first only an indeterminate relationship; his interest is still divided between learning and playing.15

The boy matures into a youth, when with the onset of puberty the life of the genus begins to stir in him and to seek satisfaction. The youth turns, in general, to the substantial universal; his ideal no longer appears to him, as it does to the boy, in the person of a man, but is conceived by him as a universal, independent of such individuality. But in the youth this ideal still has a more or less subjective shape, whether it lives in him as an ideal of love and friendship or as an ideal of a universal state of the world. In this subjectivity of the substantial content of such an ideal lies not only its opposition to the current world, but also the urge to sublate this opposition by actualizing the ideal. The content of the ideal instills into the youth the feeling of energy; he therefore fancies himself called and qualified to transform the world, or at least to readjust the world that seems to him to be out of joint. That the substantial universal contained in his ideal has, in keeping with its essence, already attained to development and actualization in the world, is not discerned by the zealous mind of the youth. To him the actualization of that universal seems a lapse from it. Therefore he feels that both his ideal and his own personality are not recognized by the world Thus the peace in which the child lives with the world is broken by the youth. Because of this direction towards the ideal, youth has the semblance of a nobler sense and greater selflessness than is seen in the man, who attends to his particular, temporal interests. As against this, it must be pointed out that the man is no longer wrapped up in his particular impulses and subjective views and occupied only with his personal development; on the contrary, he has plunged into the reason of actuality and proves himself active for the world. The youth necessarily arrives at this goal. His immediate aim is to cultivate himself in order to equip himself for the actualization of his ideals. In attempting this actualization he becomes a man.16

At first, the transition from his ideal life into civil society can appear to the youth as a painful transition into the life of the philistine. The youth, who hitherto has been occupied only with universal objects and has worked only for himself, now that he is growing into manhood and entering into practical life, must be active for others and attend to individual details. Now, however much this lies in the nature of things—since if one is to act, one must get down to the individual case—, the occupation with details can at first be very distressing to a human being, and the impossibility of an immediate actualization of his pg 60 ideals can make him hypochondriac. This hypochondria, however inconspicuous it may be in many cases, is not easy for anyone to escape. The later the age at which it attacks a man, the more serious are its symptoms. In weak natures it can persist throughout the entire lifetime. In this diseased mood the man will not give up his subjectivity, is unable to overcome his aversion to actuality, and by this very fact resides in a state of relative incapacity which easily becomes an actual incapacity. If, therefore, the man does not want to perish, then he must recognize the world as an independent, essentially complete world, accept the conditions set for him by it and wrest from its obduracy what he wills to have for himself. As a rule, the man believes that he must agree to this compliance only from necessity. But, in truth, this unity with the world must be recognized not as a relationship of necessity, but as the rational relationship. The rational, the divine, possesses the absolute power to actualize itself and has, right from the beginning, fulfilled itself; it is not so impotent that it would have to wait for the beginning of its actualization. The world is this actualization of divine reason; it is only on its surface that the play of contingencies prevails. The world can lay claim, therefore, with at least as much right as the individual becoming a man, indeed with even greater right, to be regarded as complete and independent; and therefore the man acts entirely rationally in abandoning his plan for a complete transformation of the world and in striving to actualize his personal aims, passions, and interests only in his connection to the world. Even so, this leaves him scope for an honourable, far-reaching and creative activity. For although the world must be recognized as essentially complete, yet it is not a dead, absolutely inert world but, like the life-process, a world that perpetually produces itself anew, a world that, in simply preserving itself, at the same time progresses. It is in this preserving production and continuance of the world that the man's work consists. Therefore, on the one hand we can say that the man only produces what is already there. Yet on the other hand, his activity must also bring about an advance. But the world's progress occurs only on the large scale and is only noticeable in a great sum total of what has been produced. If the man after a labour of fifty years looks back on his past, he will already recognize the progress. This knowledge, as well as insight into the rationality of the world, liberates him from sorrow over the destruction of his ideals. What is true in these ideals is preserved in the practical activity; what the man must work out of his system is only what is untrue, the empty abstractions. The scope and type of his business can vary considerably; but the substantial element in all human occupations is the same, namely, the lawful, the ethical, and the religious. Therefore, people can find satisfaction and honour in all spheres of their practical activity if they accomplish all that is rightly required of them in the particular sphere to which they belong by chance, external necessity, or free choice. For this it is necessary above all things that the education of the youth coming to manhood be completed, that he has finished his studies, and secondly, that he resolve to provide for his own subsistence by beginning to become active pg 61 on behalf of others. Education alone does not make him a completely mature man; he becomes this only through his own intelligent concern for his temporal interests; just as peoples only come of age when they have reached the point where they are not excluded by a so-called paternal government from looking after their material and spiritual interests.17

When the man now passes into practical life, he may well be vexed and morose about the state of the world and lose hope of any improvement; but in spite of this he finds his place in objective conditions and becomes habituated to them and to his occupation. The objects with which he has to occupy himself are, it is true, individual, changeable, in their peculiarity more or less new. But at the same time, these individual details contain a universal, a rule, something lawful. The longer the man is now active in his occupation, the more this universal emerges out of all the particularities. In this way he gets to be completely at home in his field, to immerse himself thoroughly in his destiny. The essential element in all the objects of his occupation is then entirely familiar to him and only the individual, the inessential can occasionally present him with something new. By the very fact, however, that his activity has become so completely appropriate to his business, that his activity no longer meets with any resistance in its objects, precisely by this completed cultivation of his activity, the vitality of the activity expires; for the interest of the subject in the object disappears together with the opposition between the subject and the object. Thus by the habit of mental life, as well as by the dulling of the activity of his physical organism, the man becomes an old man.18

The old man lives without any definite interest, for he has abandoned the hope of actualizing the ideals he cherished earlier and the future seems to promise him nothing new at all; on the contrary, he believes that he already knows the universal, the essential in anything he may still encounter. The mind of the old man is thus turned only towards this universal and to the past to which he owes the knowledge of this universal. But in thus living in recollection of the past and of the substantial, he loses his memory for details of the present and for what is arbitrary, names for example, in the same measure that, conversely, he firmly retains in his mind the wise teachings of experience and feels obliged to preach to those younger than himself. But this wisdom, this lifeless, complete coincidence of subjective activity with its world, leads back to oppositionless childhood, in the same way that the growth of the activity of his physical organism into a static habit leads on to the abstract negation of the living individuality, to death.19

The course of the ages of man's life thus rounds itself off into a concept-determined totality of alterations which are produced by the interaction of the genus with the individuality.

As in the description of the racial varieties of mankind and in the characterization of the national mind, here too, in order to speak in a determinate way about the course of the ages of life of the human individual, we have had to anticipate a knowledge of what is not yet to be considered in anthropology, a knowledge of pg 62 concrete mind (since this enters into that process of development), and to make use of this knowledge for distinguishing the different stages of that process.


(2) The moment of real opposition of the individual to itself, so that it seeks and finds itself in another individual. This is the sexual relationship, a natural distinction between, on the one hand, subjectivity remaining harmonious with itself in the sentiment of ethical life, love, etc. and not advancing to the other extreme, of universal purposes, political, scientific, or artistic; and on the other hand, the activity tensing itself for the opposition of universal, objective interests to the existing condition both of itself and of the external world, and actualizing universal principles in the existing conditions to form a unity that is now produced for the first time. The sexual relationship acquires its spiritual and ethical significance and determination in the family.1


(3) When individuality distinguishes, by immediate judgement, its being for itself from its mere being, this is the awakening of the soul, which initially confronts its self-absorbed natural life as one natural determinacy and state confronts another state, sleep.1—It is not merely for us or externally that waking is distinguished from sleep; waking is itself the judgement of the individual soul, whose being-for-self is for the soul itself the relation of this determination of it, its being-for-self, to its mere being, its distinguishing of itself from its still undifferentiated universality. The waking state includes generally all self-conscious and rational activity of the mind's distinguishing, a distinguishing that is for itself.2—Sleep is an invigoration of this activity, not as a merely negative rest from it, but as a return from the world of determinacies, from dispersion and solidification in individual details, into the universal essence of subjectivity, which is the substance of those determinacies and the absolute power over them.3

[Remark] The distinction between sleep and waking is one of those teasers, as they may be called, which are often addressed to philosophy. Even Napoleon, on a visit to the University of Pavia, put this question to the class on ideology.4 The determinacy given in the Paragraph is abstract; it primarily treats waking as a natural state, in which the mind is of course involved implicitly, but is not yet posited in its embodied reality. If we were to speak more concretely of this distinction (which in its fundamental determination remains the same), the being-for-self of the individual soul would already have to be determined as the I of consciousness and taken as intelligent mind. The difficulty raised by the distinction of the two states only really arises, in so far as we also take into account dreaming in sleep and then determine the representations of sober waking consciousness only as representations, which is what dreams are too. In this superficial pg 63 determination of representations the two states of course agree, because we have thereby overlooked the difference between them; and in the case of any proposed differentiation of waking consciousness, we can always return to the trivial observation that after all this too involves only representations.—But the being-for-self of the waking soul, concretely conceived, is consciousness and intellect, and the world of intellectual consciousness is something quite different from a pictorial composition of mere representations and images. The latter, as such, are in the main only externally connected, in an unintelligent way, by the so-called laws of the so-called association of Ideas; though here and there of course categories may also be at work. But in waking we essentially comport ourselves as a concrete I, as intellect; and in virtue of the intellect intuition stands before us as a concrete totality of determinations in which each member, each point, occupies its place, a place determined by, and also with, all the others. So the content gets its confirmation, not by just subjectively representing the content and distinguishing it from the person as something external to him, but from the concrete interconnection in which each part of this complex stands with all the other parts. Waking is the concrete consciousness of this reciprocal corroboration of each individual moment of its content by all the others in the pictorial composition of intuition. This consciousness here need not be clearly developed, but this comprehensive determinacy is involved and present in concrete self-feeling.5—In order to recognize the difference between dreaming and waking we need only keep in view the Kantian distinction between objectivity of representation (its determination by categories) and subjectivity of representation; but we must also realize, as we noted just now, that what is actually present in the mind need not be therefore posited in its consciousness in an explicit way, any more than, say, the ascent of the feeling mind to God need stand before consciousness in the form of proofs of God's reality, although, as we explained earlier, these proofs do no more than express the kernel and content of that feeling.6

Zusatz. Through waking, the natural soul of the human individual enters into a relationship to its substance which must be regarded as the truth, as the unity, of the two relations established between the individuality of man and his substantial universality or genus, one of them in the development that produces the course of the ages of life, and the other in the sexual relationship. For whereas in the course of life the soul appears as the single persisting subject, the differences emerging in it being only alterations, hence only transient, not lasting differences, and whereas in the sexual relationship by contrast the individual reaches a fixed difference, real opposition to itself, and the relation of the individual to the genus active in it develops into a relation to an individual of the opposite sex,—whereas therefore in the first case simple unity predominates, and in the second fixed opposition, in the waking soul we see a relation of the soul to itself that is not merely simple, but mediated by opposition; but in this being-for-self of the soul the difference is seen to be neither so transient as in the course of the ages of life nor so fixed pg 64 as in the sexual relationship, but the self-producing enduring alternation of the states of sleep and waking in one and the same individual. The necessity of the dialectical progression from the sexual relationship to the waking of the soul lies, however, more exactly in the fact that since each of the individuals standing in a sexual relation to each other finds, in virtue of their implicit unity, itself again in the other, the soul emerges from its being-in-itself to being-for-itself, that is, precisely from its sleep to waking. What in the sexual relationship is divided between two individuals, namely, a subjectivity remaining in immediate unity with its substance and a subjectivity entering into opposition to this substance, is, in the waking soul, unified, and so has lost the fixity of its opposition and acquired that fluidity of the difference by which it becomes mere states.7 Sleep is the state of the soul's immersion in its undifferentiated unity, waking by contrast is the state of the soul's having entered into opposition to this simple unity. Here the natural life of mind still has its subsistence; for although the first immediacy of the soul is already sublated and is now reduced to a mere state, yet the soul's being-for-self resulting from the negation of that immediacy likewise still appears in the shape of a mere state. The being-for-self, the soul's subjectivity, is not yet combined with its implicit substantiality; the two determinations still appear as mutually exclusive, alternating states. Of course, genuinely mental activity—will and intelligence—is comprised in the waking state. Here however we have not yet to consider waking in this concrete meaning but only as a state, consequently, as something essentially distinct from will and intelligence. But that the mind which, in its truth, is to be grasped as pure activity has in itself the states of sleep and waking stems from the fact that mind is also soul and, as soul, descends to the form of a natural, an immediate, a passive entity. In this shape, mind only suffers its becoming-for-itself. We can say, therefore, that awaking is brought about by the fact that the lightning of subjectivity pierces through the form of mind's immediacy. The free mind can indeed also determine itself to awaking; but here in anthropology we consider awaking only in so far as it is a happening and in fact this still entirely indeterminate happening: the mind simply finds itself and a world in general confronting it,—a self-finding that initially only gets as far as sensation, and still remains far removed from the concrete determination of intelligence and will. It is just in this fact, that the soul on awaking merely finds itself and the world—this duality, this opposition—, that the naturalness of mind here consists.8

Now the distinguishing carried out by the soul, on awaking, between itself and the world is, owing to the soul's naturalness, connected with a physical distinction, namely with the alternation of day and night. It is natural for man to wake by day and sleep by night; for as sleep is the state of the soul's undifferentiatedness, so night obscures the difference between things; and as awaking displays the soul's distinguishing-itself-from-itself, so the light of day lets the differences of things emerge.9

pg 65 But not only in physical nature but also in the human organism a distinction is to be found which corresponds to the distinction between the sleeping and the waking of the soul. In the animal organism it is essential to distinguish the side of its remaining-within-itself from the side of its other-directedness. Bichat has called the former side organic life, the latter animal life. As organic life he counts the reproductive system: digestion, blood-circulation, perspiration, breathing. This life continues in sleep; it ends only with death. Animal life by contrast, which according to Bichat comprises the system of sensibility and of irritability, nervous and muscular activity,—this theoretical and practical outward-directedness ceases in sleep, which is why even the ancients portrayed sleep and death as brothers. The only way in which the animal organism in sleep is still related to the external world is breathing, this wholly abstract relationship to the undifferentiated element of air. With particularized externality by contrast the healthy human organism in sleep no longer stands in any relation. If, therefore, a man in sleep becomes active outwardly, then he is ill. This occurs with sleep-walkers. They move about with the utmost confidence; some have written letters and sealed them. Yet in sleep-walking the sense of sight is paralysed, the eye in a cataleptic state.

In what Bichat calls animal life, then, an alternation of rest and activity prevails, hence, as in waking, an opposition, while the organic life that does not participate in that alternation corresponds to the undifferentiatedness of the soul present in sleep.10

But besides this difference in the organism's activity, we must also note a difference in the structure of the organs of the internal and the outward-directed life, a difference corresponding to the difference between sleeping and waking. The outer organs, the eyes, the ears, as well as the extremities, the hands and feet, are symmetrically doubled, and we may remark in passing that this symmetry renders them capable of becoming a theme of art. The internal organs, by contrast, display either no doubling at all or only an unsymmetrical doubling. We have only one stomach. The lung, it is true, has two lobes, as the heart has two ventricles; but both heart and lungs already involve the relation of the organism to an opposite, to the external world. Besides, neither the lobes of the lung nor the cardiac ventricles are as symmetrical as the outer organs.11

As regards the mental difference of waking from sleeping we may also add the following remarks to what has been said about it in the above Paragraph. We have defined sleep as the state in which the soul distinguishes itself neither within itself nor from the external world. This definition, which is necessary in and for itself, is confirmed by experience. For when our soul goes on sensing or representing only one and the same thing, it becomes sleepy. Thus the uniform motion of rocking, monotonous singing, the murmuring of a brook, can induce somnolence in us. The same effect is produced by drivel, by disconnected pointless stories. Our mind only feels fully awake when it is presented with pg 66something interesting, something both new and meaningful, something intelligently differentiated and coherent within itself; for in such an object it finds itself again. The vitality of wakefulness requires, therefore, the opposition and the unity of mind with the object. If, on the contrary, the mind does not find again in the Other the internally differentiated totality which it is itself, then it withdraws from this objectivity into its undifferentiated unity with itself, gets bored, and falls asleep. But it is already implied in the foregoing remark that it is not mind in general, but more specifically intellectual and rational thinking that must be stimulated by the object, if wakefulness is to be present in all the sharpness of its distinctness from sleep and from dreaming. In waking, if we take the word in its abstract sense, we can be very bored; and, conversely, it is possible for us to have a lively interest in something in a dream. But in a dream it is only our representational thinking, not our intellectual thinking, whose interest is aroused.12

But if the indeterminate idea of being interested in objects is insufficient for distinguishing waking from dreaming, neither can the determination of clarity appear any more adequate for this distinction. For firstly this determination is only a quantitative one; it expresses only the immediacy of intuition and consequently not the genuine core. We only have that before us when we convince ourselves that what is intuited is a rational totality within itself. And secondly, we know quite well that dreaming is not even invariably distinguished from waking by inferior clarity, but on the contrary is often clearer than waking, especially in diseases and in visionaries.13

Finally, no satisfactory distinction would be given by the entirely indeterminate claim that it is only in waking that man thinks. For thinking in general is so much inherent in the nature of man that he always thinks, even in sleep. In all forms of mind, in feeling, in intuition, as well as representation, thinking remains the foundation. In so far, therefore, as thinking is this indeterminate foundation, it is unaffected by the alternation of sleep and waking; it does not constitute exclusively one side of the alteration here, but is the wholly universal activity that stands above both sides of this alternation.14 On the other hand, the position is different as regards thinking in so far as thinking contrasts with other forms of the mind as a distinct form of mental activity. In this sense, thinking ceases in sleep and dreaming. Intellect and reason, the modes of thinking proper, are active only in waking. Only in the intellect does the abstract determination, pertaining to the awaking soul, of self-distinguishing from the natural, from its undifferentiated substance and from the external world, have its intensive, concrete meaning; since intellect is the infinite being-within-self which has developed into totality, and has in just this way freed itself from the individuality of the external world. But when the I is free within itself, it also makes the objects independent of its subjectivity, considers them likewise as totalities and as members of a totality embracing them all. Now in what is external, the totality takes the form not of free Idea, but of an interconnection of necessity. pg 67 It is this objective interconnection that essentially distinguishes the representations we have in waking from those that occur in dreams. If, therefore, in waking I encounter something whose connection with the general state of the external world I am not yet able to discover, then I can ask: Am I awake or dreaming? In dreams our attitude is only representational; there our representations are not governed by the categories of the intellect. But mere representation wrests things completely out of their concrete interconnection, individualizes them. Hence in dreams everything drifts apart, criss-crosses in wild disorder, objects lose all necessary, objective, intellectual, rational interconnection and only enter into an entirely superficial, contingent and subjective combination. Thus it happens that we bring something we hear in sleep into an entirely different context from what it has in actuality. One hears, for example, a door slam, believes a shot has been fired, and now pictures a story of robbers. Or while asleep, one senses a pressure on one's chest and explains it to oneself by the incubus. The occurrence of such false representations in sleep is possible because in this state the mind is not the totality for itself, with which, in waking, it compares all its sensations, intuitions, and representations, in order to ascertain, from the agreement or non-agreement of the individual sensations, intuitions, and representations with its totality, a totality that is for itself, the objectivity or nonobjectivity of that content. It is true that when awake a man can give himself up to the nonsense of quite empty, subjective representations; but if he has not taken leave of his senses, he knows at the same time that these representations are only representations because they stand in contradiction with his present totality.15

Only occasionally does something occur in a dream that has a significant connection with actuality. This is especially so with dreams before midnight; in these the representations can still to some extent be held in an orderly connection with the actuality with which we have occupied ourselves in the daytime. At midnight, as thieves very well know, we sleep soundest; the soul has then withdrawn into itself away from all tension with the external world. After midnight, dreams become even more arbitrary then before. Occasionally, however, we feel in dreams a presentiment of something which in the distraction of waking consciousness we do not notice. Thus sluggish blood can evoke in a man the definite feeling of an illness of which, in waking, he has not yet had an inkling. Similarly in a dream the smell of something smouldering can in sleep provoke dreams of conflagrations which do not break out until several days later and whose signs we have not noticed in waking.16

Finally we must add that waking, as a natural state, as a natural tension between the individual soul and the external world, has a limit, a measure, that therefore the activity of the waking mind gets tired and so induces sleep which, on its side, likewise has a limit and must progress to its opposite. This double transition is the way in which, in this sphere, the unity of the soul's substantiality, which is in itself, with its individuality, which is for itself, makes its appearance.

pg 68(γ‎) Sensation


Sleep and waking are initially, in fact, not mere alterations, but alternating states (a progression to infinity). This is their formal, negative relationship; but in it the affirmative relationship is also present. Being is contained as an ideal moment in the being-for-self of the waking soul; the determinacies of the content of its sleeping nature, where they are implicitly as in their substance, are thus found by the waking soul within its own self and, indeed, for itself. This particular material, since it is determinacy, is distinct from the self-identity of being-for-self, and at the same time simply contained in its simplicity: sensation.1

Zusatz. As regards the dialectical progress from the awaking soul to sensation we have to make the following remarks. The sleep that follows waking is the natural mode of the soul's return from difference to distinctionless unity with itself. In so far as mind remains entangled in the bonds of naturalness, this return exhibits nothing but the empty repetition of the beginning—a boring cycle. But in itself, or according to the concept, this return at the same time involves an advance. For the transition of sleep into waking and of waking into sleep, has for us a result which is no less positive than negative: both the undifferentiated substantial being of the soul present in sleep and the still quite abstract, still quite empty being-for-self of the soul achieved in awaking prove to be, in their separateness, one-sided, untrue determinations and let their concrete unity emerge as their truth. In the repeated alternation of sleep and waking, these determinations are always only striving towards their concrete unity without ever reaching it; in this alternation each of the determinations always only falls from its own one-sidedness into the one-sidedness of the opposite determination. But this unity always only striven for in that alternation comes to actuality in the sentient soul. When the soul senses, it deals with an immediate determination that just is, a determination only found by the soul, not yet produced by it, internally or externally given and so not dependent on it. But at the same time this determination is immersed in the soul's universality and is thereby negated in its immediacy and so posited ideally. Consequently the sentient soul claims this Other of itself as its own, returns to itself in it, and in the immediacy, the being, that it senses, is together with itself. Thus the abstract being-for-self present in awaking obtains its first fulfilment through the determinations which are implicitly contained in the soul's sleeping nature, in the soul's substantial being. Actualized, assured, by this fulfilment, the soul proves to itself its being-for-self, its awokenness: it not merely is for itself, it also posits itself as for itself, as subjectivity, as negativity of its immediate determinations. Thus the soul has first attained its genuine individuality. This subjective point of the soul now no longer stands isolated, confronting the immediacy of the soul, but asserts itself in the manifold which is contained, in potentiality, in that immediacy. The sentient soul pg 69 posits the manifold in its inwardness and thus sublates the opposition between its being-for-self or its subjectivity, and its immediacy or its substantial being-in-itself; not, however, in such a manner that, as in the return of awaking into sleep, its being-for-self makes room for its opposite, that mere being-in-itself, but so that its being-for-self preserves itself in the alteration, in the Other, develops and proves itself, and the soul's immediacy is reduced from the form of a state present alongside that being-for-self to a determination subsisting only in that being-for-self, reduced, consequently, to a semblance.2 By sensation, therefore, the soul has reached the stage where the universal constituting its nature becomes for the soul in an immediate determinacy. Only by this becoming-for-itself is the soul sentient. The non-animal does not sense precisely because in it the universal remains immersed in the determinacy, does not become for itself in the determinacy. Coloured water, for example, is distinct from its colouredness and from its uncolouredness only for us. If one and the same water were at the same time universal and coloured water, then this distinguishing determinacy would be for the water itself, which therefore, would have sensation; for something has sensation by maintaining itself as a universal in its determinacy.3

In the above discussion of the essence of sensation it is already implied that if, in §398, awaking could be called a judgement of the individual soul—because this state produces a division of the soul into a soul which is for itself and a soul which merely is, and at the same time an immediate relation of the soul's subjectivity to an Other—we can assert the presence in sensation of a syllogism, and from that derive the assurance of wakefulness achieved by means of sensation. On awaking, we find ourselves initially in an entirely indeterminate distinguishedness from the external world generally. Only when we start to sense does this distinction become a determinate distinction. In order, therefore, to attain to full wakefulness and certainty of it, we open our eyes, take hold of ourselves, in a word, examine whether some determinate Other, something determinately distinct from ourselves, is for us. In this examination we no longer relate ourselves directly to the Other, but mediately. Thus, for example, contact is the mediation between myself and the Other, since though it is different from these two sides of the opposition, yet at the same time it unites them both. So here, as in sensation generally, the soul by the mediation of something standing between itself and the Other, joins together with itself in the sensed content, reflects itself out of the Other into itself, separates itself from the Other and thereby confirms to itself its being-for-self. This joining of the soul together with itself is the advance that the soul, after dividing itself in awaking, makes by its transition to sensation.4


Sensation is the form in which the mind weaves its sombre web in its unconscious and unintellectual individuality, where every determinacy is still immediate, posited in an undeveloped way both in its content and as an objective counterpart to pg 70 the subject, belonging as it does to the subject's own most particular, natural peculiarity. The content of sensation is, by this very fact, restricted and transient, since it belongs to natural, immediate being, thus to what is qualitative and finite.1

[Remark] Everything is in sensation, and, if you like, everything that emerges in the conscious mind and in reason has its source and origin in sensation; for source and origin just mean the first, most immediate manner in which something appears. It is not enough, they say, to have principles, religion, etc. only in the head: they must also be in the heart, in sentiment. In fact, what we thus have in the head is in consciousness in general and the content is an object of consciousness. So that although the content is posited in me, in the abstract I, it can equally be kept at a distance from me, from my concrete subjectivity. In sentiment, by contrast, such a content is determinacy of my entire being-for-self, dull as it is in such a form; it is thus posited as something of my very own. What is my own is something unseparated from the actual concrete I, and this immediate unity of the soul with its substance and with the determinate content of the substance is just this unseparatedness, in so far as it is not determined as far as the I of consciousness, still less to the freedom of the mind's rationality. It is, by the way, a commonly held view that will, conscience, and character possess an entirely different intensity and steadfastness of being-my-own, than sentiment in general and the aggregate of sentiment, heart. Of course it is correct to say that above all the heart must be good. But sentiment and heart is not the form by which anything is justified as religious, ethical, true, just, etc., and an appeal to heart and sentiment either means nothing or means something bad. We should hardly need to be reminded of this. There can be nothing more commonplace than the experience that at least there are also bad, evil, godless, mean, etc. sentiments and hearts. In fact, that the heart is the source only of this type of content is expressed in the words: 'For out of the heart proceed evil thoughts, murders, adulteries, fornications, false witness, blasphemies, etc.' In times when scientific theology and philosophy make heart and sentiment the criterion of what is good, ethical, and religious, it becomes necessary to recall this commonplace experience; just as it is nowadays necessary to remind ourselves that thinking is what is our very own, is what distinguishes man from animals, and that man has sensibility in common with them.2

Zusatz. Although the peculiarly human content belonging to free mind also assumes the form of sensibility, yet this form as such is a form common to the animal soul and the human soul and not, therefore, appropriate to that content. The contradiction between mental content and sentiment consists in the fact that the content is a universal in and for itself, necessary, genuinely objective, whereas sentiment is individualized, contingent, one-sidedly subjective. We propose to explain briefly here to what extent the above-mentioned determinations must be predicated of sentiment. As we have already remarked, what is sensed has essentially the form of immediacy, of a mere being, no matter whether it stems pg 71 from the free mind or from the sensory world. The idealization that the things of external nature undergo in being sensed is a still entirely superficial idealization, far removed from the complete sublation of the immediacy of this content. But the mental material, in itself opposed to this content that just is, becomes in the sentient soul an existent in the mode of immediacy. Now since what is unmediated is an individualized item, everything sensed has the form of individualization. This is readily admitted of sensations of the external, but it must also be asserted of the sensations of the internal. When the spiritual, the rational, the lawful, ethical, and religious assume the form of sentiment, it gets the shape of a sensory item, of something disconnected, lying asunder, and thus acquires a similarity to what is externally sensed, which, though of course sensed only in individualities, e.g. in individual colours, yet, like the spiritual, in itself involves a universal, e.g. colour in general. The more comprehensive, higher nature of the spiritual does not therefore emerge in sentiment, only in conceptual thinking. But in the individualization of the sensed content, its contingency and its one-sided subjective form are also grounded. The subjectivity of sentiment must not be sought in an indeterminate way in the fact that by sentiment man posits something within himself—for in thinking, too, he posits something within himself—but more determinately in the fact that he posits something in his natural, immediate, individual subjectivity, not in his free, spiritual, universal subjectivity. This natural subjectivity is not yet a self-determining subjectivity following its own law and acting in a necessary manner, but a subjectivity determined from outside, tied to this space and to this time, dependent on contingent circumstances. Therefore, by transposition into this subjectivity every content becomes a contingent content and acquires determinations belonging only to this individual subject. It is thus quite inadmissible to appeal to one's mere sentiments. Whoever does this withdraws from the realm, common to all, of grounds, of thinking, and of objectivity, into his individual subjectivity, into which, since it is essentially passive, the most unintelligent and bad content can work its way, as well as the intelligent and the good. It is evident from all this that sentiment is the worst form for the mental and that it can spoil the best content.3—At the same time, it is already implied in the above that the opposition between a senser and a sensed, a subjective and an objective, still remains foreign to mere sensation. The subjectivity of the sentient soul is such an immediate subjectivity, so undeveloped, so little self-determining and self-differentiating, that the soul, in so far as it only senses, does not yet apprehend itself as a subjective confronting an objective. This distinction belongs only to consciousness, only emerges when the soul has attained to the abstract thought of its I, of its infinite being-for-self. Of this distinction therefore we have first to speak in the Phenomenology. Here in Anthropology we have only to consider the distinction given by the content of sensation. This we shall do in the following Paragraph.4

pg 72§401

What the sentient soul finds within itself is, on the one hand, the natural and immediate, as within the soul ideally and made its own. On the other hand, and conversely, what originally belongs to being-for-self (i.e. to what is, when further deepened and absorbed in itself, free mind and the I of consciousness) is determined to natural bodiliness, and is thus sensed.1 In this way two distinct spheres of sensation emerge. One type of sensation is at first a determination of bodiliness (e.g. of the eye or of any physical part whatever), which becomes sensation by being driven inward, recollected in the soul's being-for-self. The other is the sphere of determinacies originating in the mind and belonging to it, which, in order to be sensed, in order to be as if found, become embodied. Thus the determinacy is posited in the subject, namely in the soul. The subdivision into species of the first type of sensation is seen in the system of the senses. The other, inwardly originated, determinacies of sensation necessarily also form a system; and their embodiment, as posited in the living, concretely developed natural structure, takes place in a particular system or organ of the body, corresponding to the particular content of the mental determination.2

[Remark] Sensation in general is the healthy participation of the individual mind in its bodiliness. The senses form the simple system of specific corporeal functions: (1) Physical ideality divides into two, because in such immediate and not yet subjective ideality, distinction appears as diversity: the senses of determinate light (cf. §§317 ff.) and of sound (cf. §300). (2) Diffusive reality is for its own part immediately a double reality: the senses of smell and taste (§§321, 322). (3) the sense of solid reality, of heavy matter, of heat (§303), of shape (§310). Around the centre of the sentient individuality these specifications arrange themselves more simply than in the development of natural corporeality.3

The system of internal sensation in the particularization of its self-embodiment would deserve to be treated in detail in a specific science of its own, a psychical physiology. Something of a relation of this type is already contained in the sensation of the appropriateness or inappropriateness of an immediate sensation to the sensory interior with a determination of its own—the pleasant or unpleasant; as also in the determinate comparison in the use of sensations, e.g. of colours, sounds, smells, as symbols. But the most interesting aspect of a psychical physiology would be to study not mere sympathy, but more specifically the embodiment assumed by mental determinations, especially as emotions. We should have to comprehend the connection by which anger and courage are felt in the breast, in the blood, in the irritable system, just as contemplation and mental preoccupation are sensed or felt in the head, the centre of the sensitive system. We should require a more thorough understanding than hitherto of the most familiar connections by which tears, and voice in general, namely speech, laughter, sighs, with many other particularizations lying in the direction of pathognomy pg 73and physiognomy, are formed from out of the soul. In physiology the viscera and the organs are regarded as moments only of the animal organism; but they form at the same time a system of embodiment of the mental, and in this way get an entirely different interpretation.4

Zusatz. The content of sensation is either a content stemming from the external world or one belonging to the interior of the soul; a sensation is thus either an external or an internal sensation. Here we have to consider the second type of sensations only in so far as they become embodied; on the side of their inwardness they belong to the sphere of psychology. The external sensations, by contrast, are an object of Anthropology exclusively.5

The first thing to be said about the last-named type of sensations is that we obtain them through the various senses. The senser is here determined from outside, i.e., his bodiliness is determined by something external. The various modes of this determination constitute the various external sensations. Each of these various modes is a universal possibility of being determined, a circle of individual sensations. Seeing, for example, contains the indeterminate possibility of a multiplicity of visual sensations. The universal nature of the ensouled individual is also displayed in the fact that in the determinate modes of sensing the individual is not tied to some single item but embraces a circle of individualities. If, on the contrary, I could see only what was blue, this limitation would be a quality of mine. But since, in contrast to natural things, I am the universal that is together with itself in the determinacy, I see the coloured in general, or rather all the varieties of the coloured.6

The general modes of sensing are related to the various physical and chemical determinacies of the natural, the necessity of which is to be demonstrated in philosophy of nature, and these modes are mediated by the various sense organs. The fact that in general sensation of the external divides up into such diverse, mutually indifferent modes of sensing, lies in the nature of its content, since this is a sensory content, and the sensory is so closely synonymous with the self-external that even internal sensations by their mutual externality become something sensory.7

Now why we have just the familiar five senses—no more and no fewer, and differing in the way they do—, the rational necessity of this must, in a philosophical treatment, be demonstrated. This happens when we conceive the senses as presentations of the concept's moments. These moments are, as we know, only three. But the quintet of senses reduces quite naturally to three classes of senses. The first is formed by the senses of physical ideality, the second by those of real difference; in the third class falls the sense of earthly totality.8

As presentations of the concept's moments, each of these three classes must form a totality within itself. But now the first class contains the sense of the abstractly universal, of the abstractly ideal, and therefore of what is not genuinely total. Here, therefore, the totality cannot be present as a concrete totality, only pg 74 as a sundered totality, a totality divided within itself, distributed to two abstract moments. Hence the first class embraces two senses—seeing and hearing. For seeing, the ideal takes the form of simply relating to itself, for hearing it takes the form of producing itself by the negation of the material.—The second class, being the class of difference, exhibits the sphere of process, of the decomposition and dissolution of concrete corporeality. But from the determination of difference, a doubling of the senses of this class at once follows. The second class contains, therefore, the senses of smell and taste. The first is the sense of the abstract process, the second the sense of the concrete process. Lastly the third class includes only one sense, feeling, because feeling is the sense of the concrete totality.9

Let us now consider more closely the individual senses.

Sight is the sense of the physical ideal that we call light. We can say of light that it is, as it were, space become physical. For light, like space, is indivisible, a limpid ideality, absolutely determinationless extension, without any reflection-into-self, and consequently without inwardness. Light manifests its Other and this manifesting constitutes its essence; but within itself it is abstract self-identity, the opposite of nature's asunderness emerging within nature itself, and therefore immaterial matter. Hence light offers no resistance, has no limitation within itself, expands on all sides into the immeasureable distance, is absolutely weightless, imponderable. Sight has to do only with this ideal element and with its obscuration by the dark, i.e. with colour. Colour is what is seen, light is the medium of seeing. The strictly material aspect of corporeality, by contrast, does not yet concern us in seeing. Therefore the objects we see can be far from us. In seeing we have, as it were, a merely theoretical, not yet a practical, relationship to things; for in seeing we let things subsist calmly as beings and relate ourselves only to their ideal side. Owing to this independence of sight of corporeality proper, it can be called the noblest sense. On the other hand, sight is a very imperfect sense because by it a body does not come to us immediately as a spatial totality, as body, always only as surface, only according to the two dimensions of width and height, and we only get to see a body successively in all its dimensions, in its total shape by adopting various points of view towards it. The most distant objects originally appear to sight, as we can observe in children, on one and the same surface as those nearest to us, just because sight does not immediately see depth. Only when we notice that to the depth perceived by feeling there corresponds something dark, a shadow, do we come to believe that where a shadow becomes visible to us we see a depth. Connected with this is the fact that we do not immediately perceive by sight the measure of the distance of bodies but can only infer it from the smaller or greater appearance of objects.10

In contrast to sight, which is the sense of ideality devoid of inwardness, hearing is the sense of the pure inwardness of the corporeal. Just as sight is related to space become physical, to light, so hearing is related to time become physical, to sound. For sound is the temporal positedness of corporeality, the movement, the vibration of a body within itself, a trembling, a mechanical tremor in which pg 75 the body, without having to alter its relative place as a whole body, moves only its parts, posits its inner spatiality temporally, thus sublates its indifferent asunderness and by this sublation lets its pure inwardness emerge, but immediately restores itself from the superficial alteration it has undergone from the mechanical tremor. But the medium through which sound reaches our hearing is not merely the element of air but in still greater measure the concrete corporeality located between us and the sounding object, for example the earth: when held to the earth the ear has occasionally heard cannonades which could not be heard through the mere mediation of air.11

The senses of the second class enter into relation with real corporeality. But they do not yet have to do with it in so far as it is for itself, offers resistance, but only in so far as it is in the course of dissolution, enters into its process. This process is something necessary. Bodies are, of course, destroyed partly by external, contingent causes; but apart from this contingent downfall bodies perish by their own nature, consume themselves, but in such a manner that their ruin has the semblance of coming to them from outside. Thus it is the air whose action gives rise to the process of the silent, imperceptible dissipation of all bodies, the evaporation of vegetable and animal formations. Now although both smell and taste stand in relation to self-dissolving corporeality, yet these two senses are distinguished from each other by the fact that smell receives a body in the abstract, simple, indeterminate process of dissipation or evaporation; whereas taste is related to the real, concrete process of the body and to the chemical determinacies emerging in this process: the sweet, the bitter, the alkaline, the acidic, and the salty. With taste, a direct contact with the object is necessary, whereas even the sense of smell does not yet need such contact. In hearing, such contact is even less necessary and in seeing it does not occur at all.12

As already remarked, the third class contains only the one sense of feeling. In so far as this resides primarily in the fingers it is also called the sense of touch. Feeling is the most concrete of all the senses. For its distinctive essentiality consists in its relation, not to the physical as abstractly universal or ideal, nor to the determinacies of the corporeal as they separate out from it, but to the solid reality of the corporeal. Only for feeling, therefore, is there strictly an Other subsisting for itself, an individual entity for itself, confronting the senser as a similarly individual entity for itself. Hence feeling includes the impression of heaviness, i.e. of the unity sought by bodies as they persist for themselves and do not enter into the process of dissolution but offer resistance. In general, it is material being-for-self that is for feeling. But to the various modes of this being-for-self belong not only weight but also the type of cohesion: the hard, the soft, the rigid, the brittle, the rough, the smooth. However, along with persisting, firm corporeality, the negativity of the material as subsisting for itself—namely, heat—is also for feeling. By heat, the specific gravity and the cohesion of bodies are altered. Hence, this alteration affects that by which the body is essentially a body. To that extent we can therefore say that even in the impression of heat, solid corporeality is for pg 76 feeling. Finally, shape in its three dimensions falls in the province of feeling; for the mechanical determinacy in general pertains entirely to feeling.13

Besides the indicated qualitative differences, the senses have also a quantitative determination of sensation, its strength or weakness. Here quantity necessarily appears as intensive magnitude because the sensation is a simple entity. Thus, for example, the sensation of pressure exerted by a determinate mass on the sense of feeling is something intensive, although this intensity also exists extensively, measured in pounds, etc. But the quantitative side of sensation affords no interest for philosophical treatment in so far as this quantitative determination becomes also qualitative and thereby forms a measure, beyond which the sensation becomes too strong and therefore painful, and below which it becomes imperceptible.14

On the other hand, the relation of outer sensations to the interior of the sentient subject becomes important for philosophical anthropology. This interior is not something entirely indeterminate, undifferentiated. The very fact that the magnitude of the sensation is an intensive magnitude and must have a certain measure, involves a relation of the impression to the subject's determinedness-in-and-for-itself, a certain determinacy of the subject's sensitivity,—a reaction of subjectivity to externality, and so the germ or beginning of inner sensation. Already by this internal determinacy of the subject, man's outer sensing is distinguished more or less from that of animals. Some animals can, in certain circumstances, have sensations of something external that is not yet present for human sensation. Camels, for example, can even scent springs and streams miles away.15

But it is more by its relation to the mental interior than by this peculiar measure of sensitivity that outer sensation becomes something peculiarly anthropological. Now this relation has manifold aspects, though not all of them pertain to our consideration here yet. In particular, the determination of a sensation as a pleasant or unpleasant one remains excluded from consideration here—this comparison, more or less interwoven with reflection, of outer sensation with our nature determined in and for itself, whose satisfaction or non-satisfaction by an impression makes the impression in the first case a pleasant, in the second case an unpleasant, sensation. Just as little can the arousal of urges by impressions be drawn into the field of our inquiry. This arousal belongs to the realm of practical mind which still lies far ahead. What we have to consider at this stage is simply and solely the unconscious relatedness of outer sensation to the mental interior. Through this relation there arises in us what we call mood,—an appearance of the mind of which, admittedly, we find an analogue in animals (just as we find an analogue of the sensation of the pleasant or unpleasant and of the arousal of urges by impressions), but which (like the above-named other mental appearances) at the same time has a peculiarly human character and which moreover becomes something anthropological, in the narrower sense we have indicated, by being something not yet known with full consciousness by the subject. Even when we were considering the natural soul not yet advanced to individuality, pg 77 we had to talk about its moods, which correspond to an external factor. At that stage, this external factor was still entirely universal circumstances, of which one really cannot say, precisely owing to their indeterminate universality, that they are sensed. By contrast, at the standpoint to which we have so far brought the development of the soul, external sensation itself is what arouses the mood. But this effect is produced by outer sensation in so far as an inner meaning is immediately, i.e. without conscious intelligence needing to intervene, associated with it. By this meaning, the external sensation becomes something symbolic. We must note, however, that what we have here is not yet a symbol in the proper meaning of the word; for strictly speaking a symbol requires an external object distinct from us in which we become conscious of an internal determinacy, or which we generally relate to such a determinacy. But in a mood aroused by an external sensation we are not yet in relationship to an external object distinct from us, we are not yet consciousness. Consequently, as we have said, the symbolic does not yet appear here in its proper shape.16

Now the mental sympathies aroused by the symbolic nature of impressions are something entirely familiar. We get that sort of thing from colours, sounds, smells, tastes, and also from what is for the sense of feeling.—As regards colours, there are grave, gay, fiery, cold, sad, and soothing colours. Definite colours are therefore chosen as signs of our present mood. Thus for the expression of grief, of inner gloom, of the nightfall of the mind, we take the colour of night, of the darkness not brightened by light, colourless black. Solemnity and dignity are also denoted by black, because in it the play of contingency, of manifoldness and mutability finds no place. Pure, luminous, serene white, on the other hand, corresponds to the simplicity and serenity of innocence. The proper colours have, so to speak, a more concrete meaning than black and white. Thus purple has ranked from time immemorial as the royal colour; for this is the most powerful colour, the most striking to the eye,—the interpenetration of bright and dark in the full strength of their unity and their opposition. Blue, by contrast, as the simple unity of bright and dark inclining towards the passive dark, is the symbol of gentleness, of femininity, of love and fidelity, and that is why painters, too, have almost always painted the queen of heaven in a blue garment. Yellow is not merely the symbol of ordinary gaiety but also of jaundiced envy. Of course, the choice of colour for clothing can be very much a matter of convention; though at the same time, as we have observed, a rational sense reveals itself in that choice. There is also something symbolic in the lustre and dullness of colour; lustre corresponds to the usually cheerful mood of people in dazzling situations,—dullness of colour, on the other hand, to the splendour-scorning simplicity and tranquillity of character. In white itself there is a difference of lustre and dullness depending on whether it appears, for example, on linen, on cotton, or on silk; and one finds in many peoples a definite feeling for the symbolism of this distinction.17

Besides colours, it is particularly sounds which produce in us a corresponding mood. This is especially true of the human voice; for this is the principal way in pg 78 which a human being discloses his interior; what he is, he puts into his voice. In the melodious-sounding voice, therefore, we believe we can safely recognize the beauty of soul of the speaker, and in the harshness of his voice, a coarse feeling. In the first case, the sound evokes our sympathy, in the latter case our antipathy. Blind people are particularly attentive to the symbolism of the human voice. It is even affirmed that they claim to detect someone's physical beauty in the melodious sound of the voice,—that they even think they hear pockmarks in faint speaking through the nose.

So much for the relation of external sensations to the mental interior. We have already seen in considering this relation that the interior of the senser is not a complete void, not entirely indeterminate, but on the contrary that it is determined in and for itself. This is true even of the animal soul, but it is true in incomparably higher measure of the human interior. The human interior therefore contains a content that is for itself an internal, not an external content. But for this content to be sensed two things are necessary, first an external occasion and secondly an embodiment of the internal content, thus a transformation or a relation of it that constitutes the opposite of the relation into which the content given by the external senses is placed by its symbolic nature. Just as outer sensations make themselves into symbols, i.e. are related to the mental interior, so inner sensations necessarily externalize, embody, themselves because they belong to the natural soul, consequently are simply in being, and so must acquire an immediate reality in which the soul becomes for itself. When we speak of the inner determination of the sentient subject, without reference to the embodiment of this determination, we consider this subject in the way in which it is only for us, but not yet how it is for itself together with itself in its determination, how it senses itself in it. Only by the embodiment of inner determinations does the subject get to the stage of sensing them; for before they can be sensed it is necessary that they be posited both as distinct from the subject and as identical with it; but this happens only by the externalization, by the embodiment of the inner determinations of the senser. The embodying of these manifold inner determinations presupposes a realm of bodiliness in which this takes place. This realm, this restricted sphere, is my corporeal body. This thus determines itself as a sphere of sensation, both for the inner and for the outer determinations of the soul. The vitality of this corporeal body of mine consists in this, that its materiality is unable to be for itself, can offer no resistance to me, but is subordinate to me, is pervaded through and through by my soul for which it is an ideality. Since this is the nature of my corporeal body the embodiment of my sensations thereby becomes possible and necessary,—the movements of my soul immediately become movements of my corporeality.18

Now inner sensations are of two kinds:

First, those which concern my immediate individuality situated in some particular relationship or state; here, for example, belong anger, revenge, envy, shame, remorse.

pg 79 Secondly, those which are related to a universal in and for itself, to right, ethics, religion, to the beautiful and true.

Both kinds of inner sensation, as we have already remarked, have this in common, that they are determinations which my immediately individual, my natural mind finds within itself. On the one hand, the two kinds can come close to each other either when the sensed content of right, ethics, and religion acquires more and more the form of individualization, or when, conversely, sensations that initially concern the individual subject get a stronger addition of universal content. On the other hand, the difference between the two kinds of inner sensation becomes more and more pronounced the more the feelings of right, ethics, and religion are freed from the admixture of the subject's particularity and are thereby raised to pure forms of the universal in and for itself. But in the same measure that the individuality in inner sensations yields to the universal, these sensations are spiritualized and their expression thus loses some of the bodiliness of its appearance.19

We have already stated above that the more precise content of internal sensation cannot yet be an object of our discussion here in Anthropology. Just as we accepted the content of outer sensations from the philosophy of nature now behind us, where the rational necessity of that content had been demonstrated, so here we must anticipate as far as it is necessary the content of inner sensations, which finds its proper place only in the third part of the theory of subjective mind. Our object for now is only the embodiment of inner sensations, and more specifically only the embodiment occurring involuntarily, not the will-dependent embodiment of my sensations by means of gesture. This second kind of embodiment does not yet belong here because it presupposes that mind has already become master of its bodiliness, has consciously made it into an expression of its internal sensations— something which has here not yet taken place. At this point, as we have said, we have only to consider the immediate transition of internal sensation into the bodily mode of reality, an embodiment that can indeed also become visible to others, can develop into a sign of the inner sensation, but does not necessarily become such a sign—and does so, at any rate, without the will of the senser.20

Now just as mind employs the members of its outward-directed life, of its animal life (as Bichat expresses it), the face, the hands, and the feet, for the display, occurring with regard to others, of its interior by means of gesture, so, on the other hand, it is especially the members of the inward-turned life, the so-called 'precious viscera', that must be designated as the organs in which the inner sensations of the sentient subject are embodied for himself, but not necessarily for others, in an immediate, involuntary manner.21

The main phenomena of this embodiment are already familiar to everyone through language, which contains a good deal bearing on this topic which cannot very well be explained away as an age-old error. In general, it may be noted that inner sensations can be either beneficial or harmful and even ruinous, both to soul and to the whole body. Cheerfulness preserves health, grief undermines it. pg 80 An impediment arising in the soul from grief and pain and bringing itself to existence in a bodily mode can, if it occurs suddenly and exceeds a certain limit, lead to death or the loss of intellect. Equally dangerous is sudden excessive joy; like overwhelming pain, this gives rise for representation to such a stark contradiction between the preceding and the present circumstances of the sentient subject, to such a rupture of the interior, that its embodiment can result in the fracture of the organism, death, or derangement. A man of character, however, is much less exposed than others to such effects, since his mind has made itself much freer of his bodiliness and has acquired a much firmer composure than a natural man, poor in representations and thoughts, who does not possess the power to endure the negativity of a sudden invasion of violent pain.22

But even if this embodiment does not have a stimulating or depressing effect to a devastating degree, yet it will assail more or less immediately the whole organism, since in this all organs and all systems are in a living unity with each other. All the same, it is not to be denied that inner sensations, in accordance with the diversity of their content, also have a particular organ in which they are initially and principally embodied. This connection between a determinate sensation and its particular bodily mode of appearance cannot be refuted by individual cases running counter to the rule. Such exceptions, chargeable to the impotence of nature, do not justify ascribing this connection to pure contingency and supposing perhaps that anger could equally well be felt in the belly or the head as in the heart. Even language has sufficient understanding to employ heart for courage, head for intelligence, and not heart, say, for intelligence. But science is bound to show the necessary relation prevailing between a determinate inner sensation and the physiological significance of the organ in which it is embodied. We propose here to touch briefly on the most universal phenomena concerning this point. It is one of the most undeniable experiences that grief, this impotent burying of the soul within itself, embodies itself mainly as an abdominal illness, hence in the reproductive system, consequently in that system which displays the negative return of the animal subject to itself. Courage and anger, by contrast, this negative directedness-outwards against an alien force, against an injury which enrages us, has its immediate seat in the breast, in the heart, the focal point of irritability, of negative expulsion. In anger the heart throbs, the blood gets hotter and mounts to the face, and the muscles get tense. Here, particularly in annoyance, where the anger remains internal rather than discharging itself violently, the bile already belonging to the reproductive system can of course overflow, and indeed to such a degree that jaundice occurs. But we must remark on this that bile is, as it were, the fiery stuff, by emission of which the reproductive system, so to say, vents its anger, its irritability, on food, dissolving and consuming it with the aid of the animal water poured out by the pancreas.—Shame, which is closely akin to anger, is likewise embodied in the blood system. Shame is an incipient, a subdued anger of a man about himself; for it involves a reaction to the contradiction between my appearance and what I ought and will to be,—thus a defence of my pg 81 interior against my incongruous appearance. This mental outward-directedness is embodied by the blood being driven into the face, so that one blushes and in this way alters one's appearance. In contrast to shame, terror, this shrinking into itself of the soul in face of a seemingly insurmountable negative, expresses itself by the blood receding from the cheeks, by blanching, as well as by trembling. If, however, nature is perverse enough to create some people who blanch from shame and blush from fear, science must not let such inconsistencies of nature deter it from recognizing the opposite of these irregularities as law.—Finally, thinking, too, in so far as it is a temporal occurrence and belongs to the immediate individuality, has a bodily appearance, is sensed, and indeed particularly in the head, in the brain, in general in the system of sensibility, of the simple universal being-within-itself of the sentient subject.23

In all the embodiments of the mental just considered, only that externalization of soul-motions occurs which is necessary for them to be sensed or can serve to show the interior. But this externalization is only complete when it becomes an elimination, an expulsion of internal sensations. Such an alienating embodiment of the interior is shown in laughter, even more so in weeping, in sighing and sobbing, in general in the voice, even before this is articulated, even before it becomes speech.24

To comprehend the connection between these physiological phenomena and the motions of the soul corresponding to them is a matter of no little difficulty.

As regards the mental side of these phenomena, we know with regard to laughter that it is generated by an immediately obvious contradiction, by something turning at once into its opposite, hence by something immediately self-annihilating,—assuming that we are not involved in this null content, do not regard it as our own; for if we felt ourselves injured by the destruction of this content, then we should weep. If, for example, someone proudly striding along falls over, this can give rise to laughter over it, because he experiences in his person the simple dialectic that what happens to him is the opposite of what he intended. Hence what provokes laughter in genuine comedies also essentially lies in the immediate veering round of a purpose in itself null into its opposite; whereas in tragedy it is substantial purposes which destroy themselves in their mutual opposition. With the dialectic befalling the object of comedy, the subjectivity of the spectator or listener attains to a serene and untroubled enjoyment of itself, since it is the absolute ideality, the infinite power over every limited content, consequently the pure dialectic by which, in fact, the comic object is annihilated. Herein lies the ground of the gaiety into which we are transported by the comic. But the physiological appearance of this gaiety, which particularly interests us here, is in harmony with this ground. For in laughter, the subjectivity attaining to untroubled enjoyment of itself, this pure self, this spiritual light, embodies itself as a glow spreading over the countenance, and at the same time the spiritual act by which the soul repels the ridiculous from itself finds a bodily expression in the forcibly interrupted expulsion of pg 82 the breath.—Incidentally, though laughter pertains to the natural soul, hence is anthropological, it ranges from the vulgar peals of side-splitting guffaw of someone empty or coarse to the gentle smile of the noble soul, smiling through tears, a series of gradations in which laughter frees itself more and more from its naturalness until in smiling it becomes a gesture, thus something originating in free will. The various modes of laughter indicate, therefore, the cultural level of individuals in a very characteristic manner. A man of reflection never, or only rarely, abandons himself to peals of laughter; Pericles, for example, is supposed not to have laughed any more after he had dedicated himself to public affairs. Excessive laughter is rightly held to be evidence of dullness, of a foolish mentality that is insensitive to all great, genuinely substantial interests and regards them as external and alien to it.25

Weeping, as we know, is the opposite of laughter. Just as the harmony of the subject with itself, sensed at the expense of the comic object, reaches its embodiment in laughter, so the internal conflict of the senser, produced by a negative— pain—expresses itself in weeping. Tears are the critical outburst,—so not merely the expression but also the elimination of pain; accordingly, they have just as beneficial an effect on health in the presence of significant tribulations of the soul, as pain that does not dissolve in tears can be harmful to health and life.26 In tears, pain, the feeling of the rending opposition that has penetrated the heart, becomes water, a neutral, indifferent stuff, and this neutral material itself into which pain is transformed is discharged by the soul from its bodiliness. In this discharge, as in that embodiment, lies the cause of the therapeutic effect of weeping.—But that precisely the eyes should be the organ from which the pain pouring out in tears surges forth, this lies the fact that the eye has a twofold determination: on the one hand, it is the organ of sight, thus of the sensation of external objects; and secondly it is the place where the soul reveals itself in the simplest manner, since the eye's expression displays the fleeting, as it were exhaled, portrait of the soul,—and that is why people, in order to know each other, start by looking each other in the eye. Now the negativity which someone senses in pain inhibits his activity, reduces him to passivity, clouds the ideality, the light of his soul, and more or less dissolves the soul's firm unity with itself; accordingly, this state of soul embodies itself by a dimming of the eyes, and still more by a moistening of them which can act so obstructively on the function of sight, on this ideal activity of the eye, that the eye can no longer stand looking out.

A still more perfect embodiment and also expulsion of internal sensations than occurs in laughing and in crying is produced by the voice. For in voice it is not that, as in laughing, something present externally is merely formed, nor that, as in crying, a real material is extruded, but that an ideal, a, so to say, incorporeal bodiliness, is generated, thus the sort of material in which the inwardness of the subject thoroughly retains the character of inwardness, the soul's ideality that is for itself receives an external reality fully corresponding to it—a reality which is immediately sublated in its arising, since the propagation of sound is just as pg 83 much its disappearance. By the voice therefore sensation obtains an embodiment in which it dies away just as fast as it expresses itself. This is the ground of the higher power present in the voice of eliminating what is sensed internally. That is why the Romans, who were well acquainted with this power, intentionally let women wail at funerals in order to make the pain that had emerged in them into something alien to them.27

Now the abstract bodiliness of the voice can of course become a sign for others, who recognize it as such; but here, at the standpoint of the natural soul, the voice is not yet a sign produced by the free will, not yet speech articulated by the energy of intelligence and of will, but only a sounding immediately produced by sensation, which, though lacking articulation, still already shows itself capable of various modifications. Animals, in the expression of their sensations, only get as far as the inarticulate voice, as far as the cry of pain or pleasure, and many animals even achieve this ideal expression of their inwardness only in extreme need. Man, however, does not stop short at this animal mode of expressing himself; he creates articulate speech by which internal sensations get a word in, are expressed in their entire determinacy, become an object to the subject, and at the same time external and alien to him. Articulate speech is thus the highest mode in which man eliminates from himself his internal sensations. It is, therefore, with good reason that on the occasion of someone's death funeral hymns are sung and condolences conveyed; and even though occasionally these may seem or be burdensome, yet they have the advantage, that by the repeated talk about the loss that has occurred they lift the grief over it out of its cramped lodging in the heart into representation and so make it into an object, into something confronting the grief-stricken subject. But poetic composition in particular has the power to liberate from oppressive feelings. Goethe, for instance, more than once restored his spiritual freedom by pouring out his pain in a poem.28

Here, however, in Anthropology we can speak only in anticipation of the expression and the externalization of internal sensations by articulate speech.

What remains to be mentioned in this place is the physiological aspect of voice. Regarding this point, we know that the voice, this simple vibration of the animal organism, commences in the diaphragm, but then also stands in close connection with the respiratory organs and receives its final formation from the mouth, which has a dual function, first of initiating the immediate conversion of food into structures of the living animal organism and on the other hand, in contrast to this internalizing of the external, of completing the objectification of subjectivity occurring in the voice.


Because they are immediate and just found, sensations are individual and transient determinations, alterations in the substantiality of the soul, posited in the soul's being-for-self, which is identical to its substantiality. But this being-for-self pg 84 is not merely a formal moment of sensation; the soul is implicitly a reflected totality of sensation—sensation within itself of the total substantiality which it is in itself,—feeling soul.1

[Remark] In ordinary linguistic usage, sensation and feeling are not sharply distinguished. Still we do not speak of the sensation of right, self-sensation, etc. but of the feeling of right, self-feeling. Sensation is connected with sensitivity; it seems plausible therefore that sensation emphasizes more the aspect of passivity, of finding, i.e. the immediacy of the determinacy in feeling, whereas feeling looks more to the selfishness involved in it.2

Zusatz. With what we have said in the preceding Paragraph, we have completed the first part of Anthropology. In that part, we had at first to do with the wholly qualitatively determined soul, or with soul in its immediate determinacy. By the immanent advance of the development of our object we have finally arrived at the soul which posits its determinacy ideally and in this returns to itself and becomes for itself, i.e. the sentient individual soul. This gives us the transition to the second part of Anthropology, a part as difficult as it is interesting and in which the soul opposes its substantiality, confronts itself, and in its determinate sensations at the same time attains to the feeling of itself or to the not yet objective, but only subjective consciousness of its totality, and thus, since sensation is tied to the individual, ceases to be merely sentient. In this part, because the soul here appears at the standpoint of its rupture with itself, we have to consider it in its diseased state. In this sphere, there prevails a contradiction between the freedom and unfreedom of the soul; for, on the one hand, soul is still fettered to its substantiality, conditioned by its naturalness, while, on the other hand, it is already beginning to separate itself from its substance, from its naturalness, and thus rises to the intermediate stage between its immediate natural life and objective, free consciousness. How far the soul now enters this intermediate stage we propose to elucidate briefly here.3

Mere sensation, as we have just remarked, has to do only with what is individual and contingent, with what is immediately given and present; and this content appears to the sentient soul as its own concrete actuality.—When by contrast I rise to the standpoint of consciousness, I enter into relationship with a world outside me, with an objective totality, with an internally interconnected sphere of manifold and complex objects confronting me. As objective consciousness I certainly have initially an immediate sensation, but at the same time what is thus sensed is for me a point in the universal interconnection of things, something, therefore, which points out beyond its sensory individuality and immediate presence. So little is objective consciousness tied to the sensory presence of things that I can also be aware of something that is not sensibly present to me, as for example a distant country familiar to me only through books. But consciousness activates its independence from the material of sensation by raising it from the form of individuality into the form of universality, omitting what is purely pg 85 contingent and indifferent in it and holding on to the essential; by this transformation, what is sensed becomes something represented. This alteration effected by abstract consciousness is something subjective, which can go as far as wilfulness and unreality, can generate representations with no actuality corresponding to them.4—Now the soul that feels or glimpses itself in its totality and universality and which we have now to consider in the second part of Anthropology, stands in the middle between representing consciousness on the one hand, and immediate sensation on the other. That the universal is sensed seems a contradiction; for sensation as such has, as we know, only what is individual for its content. But this contradiction does not affect what we call the feeling soul; for this is neither involved in immediate sensory sensation and dependent on immediate, sensory presence, nor, conversely, is it related to the pure universal which is to be grasped only through the mediation of pure thinking, but rather has a content that has not yet developed as far as the separation of the universal and the individual, the subjective and the objective. At this standpoint, what I sense, I am, and what I am, I sense. I am here immediately present in the content, which only subsequently, when I become objective consciousness, appears to me as a self-dependent world confronting me. This content is still related to the feeling soul as accidents to substance; the soul still appears as the subject and centre of all determinations of content, as the power which in an immediate way reigns over the world of feeling.5

Now the transition to the second part of Anthropology makes itself more determinate in the following way. First of all, we must note that the distinction between external and internal sensations considered by us in the preceding Paragraph is only for us, i.e., is for the reflecting consciousness, and is definitely not for the soul itself. The simple unity of the soul, its serene ideality, does not yet grasp itself in its distinction from an external reality. But though the soul has not yet any consciousness of this its ideal nature, it is none the less the ideality or negativity of all the various kinds of sensations, each of which in the soul seems to be for itself and indifferent to the others. Just as objectivity displays itself to our intuition not as something separated out into different aspects, but as a concrete divided into distinct objects, each of which is in turn for itself a concrete, a complex of the most diverse determinations, so the soul itself is a totality of infinitely many distinct determinacies which in the soul unite into one, so that in them the soul remains, in itself, infinite being-for-itself. In this totality or ideality, in the timeless, undifferentiated interior of the soul, the sensations which crowd each other out do not, however, vanish absolutely without trace, but remain in the soul as sublated, obtain in it their subsistence, as an initially merely possible content, which only advances from its possibility to actuality by becoming for the soul or by the soul's becoming for itself in it. Thus the soul retains the content of sensation, even if not for itself, yet within itself. This preservation, relating only to a content internal for itself, to an affection of myself, to mere sensation, is still remote from recollection proper, since this sets out from the intuition of an externally posited pg 86 object which is to be made internal, and here such an object, as already noted, does not yet exist for the soul.6

But there is yet another side to the soul's fulfilment besides the content that already has been in sensation and of which we spoke initially. Besides this material we are, as actual individuality, in ourselves also a world of concrete content with an infinite periphery,—we have within us a countless host of relations and connections which are always within us even if they do not enter into our sensation and representation, and which, no matter how much these relations can alter, even without our knowledge, none the less belong to the concrete content of the human soul; so that the soul, in virtue of the infinite wealth of its content, may be described as the soul of a world, as an individually determined world-soul. Because the human soul is an individual soul, a soul determined on all sides and therefore limited, it also stands in relationship to a universe determined in accordance with the soul's individual standpoint. This counterpart of the soul is not something external to it. On the contrary, the totality of relationships in which the individual human soul stands, constitutes its actual vitality and subjectivity and accordingly has grown together with it just as firmly as, to use an image, the leaves grow with the tree; the leaves, though distinct from the tree, yet belong to it so essentially that the tree dies if they are repeatedly torn off. Of course, more self-dependent human natures that have attained to a life rich in deeds and experience, are far better able to endure the loss of a part of what constitutes their world than people who have grown up in simple circumstances and are incapable of continual striving; in people of this second type the feeling of being alive is sometimes so firmly bound up with their native habitat that in foreign parts they are stricken by home-sickness and resemble a plant which can thrive only in a definite soil. All the same, the concrete self-feeling of even the strongest natures requires a certain range of external relationships, an adequate piece, so to speak, of universe; for without such an individual world the human soul, as we have said, would have no actuality at all, would not attain to a determinately distinct individuality.7 But the human soul does not merely have natural differences, it differentiates itself within itself, separates its substantial totality, its individual world, from itself, sets this over against itself as the subjective. Its aim here is that what the mind is in itself should become for the soul or for the mind,—that the cosmos contained, in itself, within the mind should enter into mind's consciousness. But as we have likewise already noted, at the standpoint of soul, of the not yet free mind, there is no place for objective consciousness, for awareness of the world as a world actually projected out of myself. The feeling soul communes merely with its internal determinations. The opposition between itself and that which is for it, remains still enclosed within it. Only when the soul has negatively posited the manifold, immediate content of its individual world, made it into a simple entity, into an abstract universal, hence only when a pure universal is for the universality of the soul and the soul has in this way developed into the I that is for itself, its own object, into this self-related perfect universal (a development which the soul pg 87 as such still lacks), only then, after reaching this goal, does the soul emerge from its subjective feeling to genuinely objective consciousness; for it is only the I that is for itself, liberated, at least in an abstract way initially, from immediate material, that also allows the material the freedom of subsistence outside the I. What we have therefore to consider up to the attainment of this goal, is the struggle for liberation which the soul has to wage against the immediacy of its substantial content in order to become completely in control of itself and corresponding to its concept,—to make itself into what it is in itself or by its concept, namely, into that self-related, simple subjectivity existing in the I.8 The elevation to this level of development displays a sequence of three stages which can here be indicated schematically in advance.

At the first stage we see the soul involved in the dreaming away and intimation of its concrete natural life. In order to comprehend the wonder of this soul-form, which in recent times has received universal attention, we must bear in mind that here the soul still lies in immediate, undifferentiated unity with its objectivity.

The second stage is the standpoint of derangement, i.e. of the soul divided against itself, on the one hand already in control of itself, on the other hand not yet in control of itself, but held fast in an individual particularity in which it has its actuality.

At the third stage finally, the soul becomes master of its natural individuality, of its bodiliness, reduces this to a subservient means, and projects out of itself as an objective world that content of its substantial totality which does not belong to its bodiliness. Reaching this goal, the soul emerges in the abstract freedom of the I and thus becomes consciousness.

But about all these stages we have to remark, as we already had to remark in the case of the earlier stages of the soul's development, that here too activities of mind which can only later be considered in their free shape, must be mentioned in advance, since they are already at work in the feeling soul.9



The feeling individual is the simple ideality, subjectivity, of sensation. What it has to do is to posit its substantiality, its merely implicit fulfilment, as subjectivity, to take possession of itself, and to become for itself as the power over itself. As feeling, the soul is no longer a merely natural, but an inward, individuality; its being-for-self, which in the merely substantial totality is only formal, is to be liberated and made independent.1

[Remark] Nowhere else is it of such essential importance for our understanding to keep hold of the determination of ideality as it is in the case of the soul and still more of the mind. Ideality is the negation of the real, but the real is also pg 88stored up, virtually retained, although it does not exist. It is this determination that we have before us in respect of representations, memory. Every individual is an infinite treasury of sensation-determinations, representations, information, thoughts, etc.; yet I am for all that an entirely simple entity,—a cavern without determinations, in which all this is stored up, without existing. It is only when I recall one representation, that I bring it out of that interior to existence, before consciousness. Sometimes, in sickness, representations or information, supposed to have been forgotten years ago, because for all that time they have not been brought into consciousness, once more come to light. They were not in our possession, nor perhaps by such reproduction as occurs in sickness do they for the future come into our possession; and yet they were in us and remain in us from now on. Thus a person can never know how much information he really has in him, even if he has forgotten it. It belongs not to his actuality, not to his subjectivity as such, but only to his implicit being. The individuality is and remains this simple inwardness, amidst all the determinacy and mediation of consciousness that is later installed in it.2 Here we must keep in mind that the soul to which this simplicity belongs is at first the feeling soul, in which bodiliness is contained, and we must resist the idea suggested by consciousness and the intellect, that this bodiliness is a materiality outside the soul and with its parts external to each other. Just as the number and variety of representations does not establish an asunderness and real plurality in the I, so the real apartness of bodiliness has no truth for the feeling soul. As sentient, the soul is determined immediately, and so in a natural and bodily way, but this asunderness and sensory multiplicity of the bodily does not count for the soul, any more than it does for the concept, as anything real, or therefore as a barrier. The soul is the existent concept, the existence of the speculative. Thus in the bodily the soul is simple, omnipresent unity. For representation the body is one representation, and the infinite variety of its material structure and organization has won through to the simplicity of a determinate concept; similarly in the feeling soul, bodiliness, and all the asunderness that belongs to its sphere, is reduced to ideality, to the truth of the natural multiplicity. The soul is in itself the totality of nature, as an individual soul it is a monad; it is itself the posited totality of its particular world, so that this world is included in it, its fulfilment; in relating to this world it relates only to itself.3


As individual, the soul is altogether exclusive and it posits difference within itself. What is differentiated from it is not yet an external object, as in consciousness, but only the determinations of its sentient totality. In this judgement, the soul is the subject in general; its object is its substance, which is at the same time its predicate. This substance is not the content of its natural life, but becomes the content of the individual sensation-packed soul; but since the soul is in that pg 89 content at the same time particular, the content is its particular world, in so far as that world is, in an implicit way, included in the ideality of the subject.1

[Remark] For itself, this stage of mind is the stage of its darkness: its determinations do not develop to conscious and intelligent content; in this respect it is altogether formal. It acquires a peculiar interest in so far as it becomes a form and thus a state (§380), to which the soul that has already advanced to consciousness and intellect, may again sink down. The more genuine form of the mind, existing in a more subordinate and abstract form, involves a discrepancy, which is disease. In this sphere we must consider, first, the abstract formations of the soul for themselves, and then consider them as diseased states of mind, since the latter can only be understood in terms of the former.2

(α‎) The Feeling Soul in its Immediacy


(1) Initially the feeling individuality is indeed a monadic individual, but, being immediate, it is not yet Itself, not a subject reflected into itself, and is therefore passive. Hence its selfish individuality is a subject different from it, a subject that may even be another individual. In relation to this subject it takes the form of a substance, which is only a dependent predicate; the subject's selfishness sets it in vibration and determines it without the least resistance. This subject may be called its genius.1

[Remark] In immediate existence this is the relationship of the child in its mother's womb, a relationship neither merely bodily nor merely mental, but psychical— a relationship of the soul. Here are two individuals, yet still in undivided soul-unity: the one is still no self, not yet impenetrable, incapable of resistance; the other is its subject, the single self of both.—The mother is the genius of the child; for by genius we commonly mean the selfish totality of the mind, in so far as it exists for itself, and constitutes the subjective substantiality of another, which is only externally posited as an individual; the latter has only a formal being-for-self. The substance of the genius is the whole totality of reality, of life, and of character, not as a mere possibility, or capacity, or in-itself, but as activity and activation, as concrete subjectivity.2

If we look only at the spatial and material aspects of the child's existence as an embryo in its particular integuments, etc. and of its connection with the mother by means of umbilical cord, placenta, etc., all that is presented to the senses and reflection is its external anatomical and physiological existence; for the essential matter, the psychical relationship, these sensory and material externalities and mediations have no truth. What ought to be noted about this connection is not merely the remarkable way in which determinations are communicated to and stamped upon the child by violent emotions, injuries, etc., of the mother, but the whole psychical judgement of the substance, by which the female nature can (like pg 90 the monocotyledons in the vegetable kingdom) within itself break in two and in which the child does not merely get by communication, but originally receives in itself, susceptibility to illnesses as well as other predispositions of form, temperament, character, talent, idiosyncrasies, etc.3

Sporadic examples and traces of this magic relationship appear elsewhere in the area of sober conscious life, say between friends, especially female friends with delicate nerves (a relationship which may develop into magnetic phenomena), between husband and wife and between members of the same family.4

The totality of feeling has for its self a different subjectivity, which, in the aforementioned form of immediate existence of this life of feeling, is also another individual confronting it. But the totality of feeling is destined to elevate its being-for-self out of itself to subjectivity in one and the same individuality; this subjectivity is then its indwelling consciousness, sober, intelligent, and rational. For such a consciousness the life of feeling is the substantial and merely implicit material, whose rational, self-conscious, determining genius has become sober subjectivity. But this nucleus, this being of feeling, contains not only the intrinsically unconscious predisposition, temperament, etc. but it also receives into its enveloping simplicity (in habit, see below) all further ties and essential relationships, fortunes, principles—in general everything belonging to the character, and in whose elaboration self-conscious activity has played its most important part. The being of feeling is thus intrinsically a completely determinate soul. The totality of the individual in this compressed form is distinct from the existing unfolding of its consciousness, its view of the world, developed interests, inclinations, etc. In contrast to this mediated asunderness this intensive form of individuality has been called the genius, which has the final determination in the show of mediations, intentions, reasons, in which the developed consciousness indulges. This concentrated individuality also makes an appearance in the form of what is called the heart or breast. A man is said to be heartless when he thinks and acts with sober consciousness in accordance with his determinate purposes, whether they be great substantial aims or petty and unjust interests; a good-hearted man means rather one who gives free rein to the individuality of his feeling, even if it is restricted in scope, and throws himself with his whole individuality into its particularities and is completely fulfilled by them. But of such a good nature it may be said that it is not so much the genius itself as the policy of indulgere genio.5

Zusatz. What we described in the Zusatz to §402 as the soul involved in the dreaming away and intimation of its individual world, has been called in the heading of the above Paragraph 'the feeling soul in its immediacy'. We propose to portray this developmental form of the human soul more determinately than we did in the above Remark. Already in the Remark to §404 it was said that the stage of dreaming and intimation also constitutes a form to which, as a state of disease, even the mind that has already developed into consciousness and intellect can again relapse. Both modes of mind—healthy, intellectual consciousness pg 91 on the one hand, dreaming and intimation on the other—can now, in the first developmental stage of the feeling soul here under discussion, exist as more or less mutually interpenetrating, since the peculiarity of this stage consists precisely in the fact that here the dull, subjective or glimpsing consciousness is not yet posited in direct opposition to the free, objective or intellectual consciousness, as it is at the second stage of feeling soul, at the standpoint of derangement, but has rather only the relationship to it of something different, of something therefore that can be mixed with intellectual consciousness. Mind at this stage therefore does not yet exist as the contradiction within its own self; the two sides which, in derangement, fall into contradiction with each other still stand here in an unconstrained relation to each other. This standpoint can be called the magical relationship of the feeling soul, for with this expression one denotes a mediation-free relationship of the inner to an outer or to an other in general. A magical force is one whose effect is not determined by the interconnection, the conditions and mediations of objective relationships; and 'the feeling soul in its immediacy' is such a force working withoutmediation.6

For an understanding of this stage in the soul's development it will not be superfluous to explain in more detail the concept of magic. Absolute magic would be the magic of mind as such. This, too, exerts a magical infection on objects, acts magically on another mind. But in this relationship immediacy is only one moment; mediation effected by thinking and intuition, as well as by speech and gesture, forms the other moment in it. The child is, of course, infected in a predominantly immediate way by the mind of the adults it sees around it; at the same time, however, this relationship is mediated by consciousness and by the incipient independence of the child. Among adults, a superior mind exerts a magical force over the weaker mind; thus, for example, Lear over Kent, who felt himself irresistibly drawn to the unhappy monarch because the king seemed to him to have something in his countenance which he, as he puts it, 'would fain call master'. A similar answer, too, was given by a queen of France who, when accused of having practised sorcery on her husband, replied that she had used no other magical force against him than that which nature bestows on the stronger mind over the weaker. In the cases cited, the magic consists in an immediate influence of one mind on another mind, and generally in magic or sorcery, even when it related to merely natural objects like the sun and moon, the idea has always been in play that sorcery occurs essentially by the immediate operation of the force of the mind, and in fact by the power of the diabolical mind, not the divine mind, so in the very same measure that someone possesses the power of sorcery, he is subservient to the devil.7

Now the most mediation-free magic is more exactly that which the individual mind exerts over its own bodiliness, when it makes this a subservient, unresisting executant of its will. But also over animals man exerts an extremely mediation free magical force, for these cannot endure the gaze of man.8

pg 92 Besides the magical modes of mind's activity just cited, which actually occur, people have by contrast falsely ascribed to humankind a primitive magical state in which the mind of man, without developed consciousness, gained knowledge quite immediately of the laws of external nature and of its own genuine essence, and also of the nature of God, in a much more perfect manner than now. This whole idea is quite as contrary to the Bible as to reason; for in the myth of the Fall, the Bible expressly declares that knowledge of the truth was granted to man only through the disruption of that original paradisiac unity of man with nature. The fabled mass of primitive men's knowledge of astronomy and other matters dwindles to nothing on closer examination. It can, of course, be said of the mysteries that they contain the remnants of an earlier knowledge; traces of reason instinctively at work are found in the earliest and rudest times. But such instinctive productions of human reason, lacking the form of thought, must not be taken as proofs of a primitive scientific knowledge; on the contrary, they are necessarily something thoroughly unscientific, belonging merely to sensation and intuition, since science cannot be the alpha, only the omega.9

So much for the essence of the magical in general. But as regards the precise way in which it appears in the sphere of Anthropology, we here have to distinguish two different forms of the magical relationship of the soul.

The first of these forms can be designated as the formal subjectivity of life. This subjectivity is formal, because far from laying a claim to what belongs to objective consciousness, this subjectivity itself constitutes a moment of objective life. For this reason it is no more something that ought not to be, something diseased, than, for example, cutting one's teeth; on the contrary, it is only to be expected in a healthy human being. But the formal nature, the undifferentiated simplicity, of this subjectivity, at the same time implies that there can be no question here even of a relationship of two self-subsistent personalities to each other, let alone the direct opposition of subjective consciousness to objective consciousness, which is only prevalent in derangement and is completely excluded here; such a relationship will only present itself to us with the second form of the magical state of the soul.

The first form of this state to be discussed next contains, on its part, three different states:

αα‎) natural dreaming;

ββ‎) the life of the child in the womb; and

γγ‎) the relationship of our conscious life to our secret inner life, to our determinate mental nature, or to what has been called the genius of man.10

αα‎) Dreaming. In dealing with the awaking of the individual soul in §398 and more precisely in establishing the determinate distinction between sleep and waking, we already had to speak of natural dreaming in anticipation, because this is a moment of sleep, and on a superficial inspection can be regarded as proof of the identical nature of sleep and waking; against this superficiality we had to insist on the essential distinction between these two states even with regard to dreaming. pg 93 But the proper place to consider the last-named soul-activity is with the beginning made in §405 of the development of the soul involved in the dreaming away and intimation of its concrete natural life. Now since we refer here to what has already been said in the Remark and Zusatz to §398 about the thoroughly subjective nature of dreams, bereft of intellectual objectivity, the only thing we have to add is that in the state of dreaming the human soul is filled not merely with individualized impressions but it attains, more than is usually the case in the distractions of the waking soul, to a profound, powerful feeling of its whole individual nature, of the entire compass of its past, present, and future; and that the fact that the individual totality of the soul is sensed in this way is precisely the reason why dreaming must be mentioned in our consideration of the soul that feels itself.11

ββ‎) The child in the womb. Whereas in dreaming the individual attaining to the feeling of itself is involved in a simple, immediate relation to itself and this, its being-for-itself, has entirely the form of subjectivity, the child in the womb by contrast shows us a soul that is actually for itself not in the child, but only in the mother, and cannot yet support itself but is supported only by the mother's soul; so that here, instead of that simple relation of the soul to itself present in dreaming, there exists an equally simple, immediate relation to another individual in whom the still selfless soul of the foetus finds its self. For the intellect, with its inability to comprehend the unity of what is distinct, there is something marvellous in this relationship, for here we see an immediate merging of two lives, an undivided soul-unity of two individuals, one of which is an actual self that is for its own self, while the other has at least a formal being-for-self and comes ever closer to actual being-for-self. But for philosophical thinking this undivided soul-unity contains nothing incomprehensible, especially as the self of the child cannot yet put up any resistance to the self of the mother, but is completely open to the immediate influence of the mother's soul. This influence reveals itself in those phenomena called birthmarks. Much of what is classed under this heading may of course have a purely organic cause. But as regards many physiological phenomena there can be no doubt that these are posited by the mother's sensation and that, therefore, a psychical cause underlies them. There are, for example, reports of children coming into the world with an injured arm because the mother either had actually broken an arm or at least had knocked it so severely that she feared it was broken, or, finally, because she had been scared by the sight of someone else's broken arm. Similar examples are too familiar for many of them to need to be cited here. Such an embodiment of the mother's inner impressions can be explained on the one hand by the unresisting weakness of the foetus, and on the other by the fact that in the mother enfeebled by pregnancy and no longer having a completely independent life for itself but imparting her life to the child, sensations acquire an unusual degree of vitality and strength, overpowering the mother herself. To this power of the mother's sensation even the infant is still very much subjected; unpleasant emotions can, as we know, spoil the mother's pg 94 milk and thus adversely affect the child suckled by her. On the other hand, in the relationship of parents to their grown-up children something magical has in fact shown itself whenever children and parents who had long been separated and did not know each other, unconsciously felt a mutual attraction; we cannot say, however, that this feeling is anything universal and necessary, for there are examples of fathers killing their sons in battle and sons their fathers, in circumstances where they would have been able to avoid this killing, if they had had any suspicion of their natural connection.12

γβ‎) The relationship of the individual to its genius. The third way in which the human soul arrives at the feeling of its totality is the relationship of the individual to its genius. By genius, we are to understand the particularity of the individual, which in all situations and relationships decides its conduct and fate. That is to say, I am a twofold entity within myself: on the one hand, what I am aware of myself as being in my external life and in my universal representations, and on the other hand, what I am in my interior, determined in a particular way. This particularity of my interior constitutes my destiny, for it is the oracle on whose pronouncement all resolutions of the individual depend; it forms the objectivity which asserts itself from out of the interior of the individual's character. That the circumstances and relationships in which the individual is situated turn his fate in just this direction, and no other—this lies not merely in the circumstances and relationships, in their peculiarity, nor even merely in the universal nature of the individual, but also in his particularity. This determinate individual reacts differently to the same circumstances from a hundred other individuals; certain circumstances can have a magical effect on one individual, while another individual will not be forced by them off his usual path. Circumstances, therefore, blend with the interior of individuals in a contingent, particular manner; so that individuals become what becomes of them partly by circumstances and by what is universally valid, and partly by their own particular inner determination. Of course, the particularity of the individual provides grounds, thus universally valid determinations, for its acts and omissions; but it always does this only in a particular way, since its attitude here essentially involves feeling. Consequently, even wide-awake, intellectual consciousness operating in universal determinations is determined by its genius in such an overpowering manner that the individual here appears in a relationship of dependency, a relationship that can be compared to the dependence of the foetus on the mother's soul, or to the passive way in which the soul, in dreams, attains to the representation of its individual world. But on the other hand, the relationship of the individual to his genius is distinguished from the two relationships of the feeling soul considered earlier, by the fact that it is their unity, that it unites into one the moment of the simple unity of the soul with itself contained in natural dreaming, and the moment of the duality of soul-life present in the relationship of the foetus to the mother, since the genius, on the one hand, is a selfish other confronting the individual, like the mother's soul in relation to the foetus, and, on the other hand, forms a unity with pg 95the individual just as inseparable, as the unity of the soul with the world of its dreams.13


(2) The life of feeling, when it becomes a form, a state, of the self-conscious, educated, sober human being, is a disease, in which the individual stands in unmediated relationship with the concrete content of its own self and has its sober consciousness of itself and of the intelligibly ordered world as a state distinct from its feeling-life. This is seen in magnetic somnambulism and related states.1

[Remark] In this summary encyclopaedic exposition it is impossible to supply what would need to be supplied for a proof of the determination we have given of the remarkable state aroused chiefly by animal magnetism, to show, in other words, that the experiences correspond to it. For this the phenomena, intrinsically so complex and so very different one from another, would have first of all to be brought under their universal points of view. The facts, it might seem, are above all in need of verification. But such a verification would, after all, be superfluous for those on whose behalf it was needed; for they make the inquiry extremely easy for themselves by flatly declaring the accounts—infinitely numerous though they be and authenticated by the education, character, etc., of the witnesses—to be mere deception and imposture. They are so fixed in their a priori intellect that no authentication can make any headway against it, and they have even denied what they have seen with their own eyes. In order to believe in this area even what one sees with one's own eyes, and still more to comprehend it, the first requisite is not to be in bondage to the categories of the intellect.2 The main points of importance may be given here:

αα‎) To the concrete being of an individual belongs the entirety of his fundamental interests, the essential and the particular empirical relationships in which he stands to other men and to the world at large. This totality constitutes his actuality, in the sense that it is immanent in him; just now we called it his genius. This genius is not the free mind that wills and thinks; the form of feeling, in which the individual under consideration here is immersed, is, on the contrary, a surrender of his existence as mental self-possession. The first conclusion to be drawn from the account we have given bears on the content: in somnambulism only the sphere of the individually determined world, of particular interests and restricted relationships, enter into consciousness. Scientific discoveries or philosophical concepts and universal truths require a different terrain, thinking that has developed out of the haze of feeling life to free consciousness. It is foolish to expect revelations about Ideas from the somnambulist state.3

ββ‎) The man of sound sense and intellect is aware in a self-conscious, intelligent way of this actuality of his which makes up the concrete fulfilment of his individuality; he has an alert awareness of it in the form of the interconnection between himself and the determinations of that actuality as an external world pg 96 distinct from himself, and he is similarly aware of this world as a network of intelligible interconnections. In his subjective ideas and plans he has also before his eyes these intelligible interconnexions of his world and the mediation of his ideas and purposes with the objective existences, which are thoroughly mediated among themselves (cf. §398 Remark). At the same time, this world outside him has its threads in him in such a way that what he actually is for himself, consists of these threads; so that he too would die away internally together with the disappearance of these externalities, unless religion, subjective reason, and character make him more expressly self-supporting and independent of them. In this case he is less susceptible to the form of the state of which here we speak. For the phenomenon of that identity we can recall the effect that the death of beloved relatives, friends, etc. can have on those left behind, so that the one dies or fades away with the loss of the other. (Thus Cato, after the downfall of the Roman republic, could live no longer: his inner actuality was neither wider nor higher than it.) Compare home-sickness, and the like.4

γβ‎) But when the fulfilment of consciousness, its external world and its relationship to that world, is under a veil, and the soul is thus sunk in sleep (in magnetic sleep, catalepsy, and other diseases, for example, those connected with female development, or at the approach of death, etc.), then that immanent actuality of the individual remains the same substantial totality in the form of a life of feeling, which is inwardly seeing, inwardly aware. Because it is the developed, adult, educated consciousness which is reduced to this state of feeling, it does retain along with its content the formality of its being-for-self, a formal intuition and awareness, which, however, does not get as far as the judgement of consciousness by which the content of consciousness, when it is healthy and awake, presents itself to it as outer objectivity. The individual is thus a monad which is inwardly aware of its actuality, the self-intuition of the genius. Thus the characteristic feature in such awareness is that the individual can be immediately aware of, intuit, the content in this immanence—the very same content which is objective for healthy consciousness as intelligible actuality, and to be aware of which consciousness in its sober state needs intelligible mediation in the whole of its real expansion. This intuition is a sort of clairvoyance; for it is awareness in the unseparated substantiality of the genius, and is situated in the essential core of the interconnexion, and so is not subject to the series of mediating conditions, external one to another, which sober consciousness has to go through and in view of which it is restricted in its own external individuality. But such clairvoyance, because, in its hazy obscurity, the content is not set out in an intelligible interconnection, is at the mercy of all its own contingency of feeling, of imagining, etc., not to mention that ideas of others (see below) intrude into its vision. It is thus impossible to make out whether clairvoyants see correctly more than they get wrong, or vice versa.—But it is absurd to regard this visionary state as an pg 97 elevation of the mind and as a more genuine state, inherently capable of discovering universal truths.*5

δδ‎) An essential determination in this life of feeling, which lacks the intellect and will of a person, is this: it is a state of passivity, like that of the child in the womb. The diseased subject accordingly falls into, and after the state continues in, the power of another, the magnetizer; so that when the two are in this psychical connexion, the selfless individual, not actually a person, has for his subjective consciousness the consciousness of the self-possessed individual, that this other individual is its current subjective soul, its genius, which can even fill it with content. That the somnambulistic individual senses in himself tastes and smells which are present in the individual with whom he is in rapport, that he is aware of his other current intuitions and inner ideas, but as if they were his own, shows the substantial identity with another, which the soul (which even in its concreteness is genuinely immaterial) is capable of. In this substantial identity there is only one subjectivity of consciousness, and the individuality of the patient is indeed a being-for-self, but it is an empty being-for-self, not present to itself, not actual; this formal self accordingly has its fulfilments in the sensations and ideas of the other, it sees, smells, tastes, reads, and hears also in the other. It is further to be noted on this point that the somnambulist in this way comes to stand in a relationship with two genii and a twofold content, his own and that of the magnetizer. Which sensations or visions he, in this formal perception, receives, intuits, and brings to awareness from his own interior, and which from the representation of the individual with whom he stands in rapport, is indeterminate. This uncertainty may be the source of many deceptions, and accounts among other things for the diversity that has inevitably come to light among somnambulists from different countries and in rapport with persons of different education, as regards their views on diseased states and ways of curing them, on medicines, as well as on scientific and intellectual categories, etc.7

εε) In this feeling substantiality the contrast to external objectivity is absent. Similarly within itself the subject has a unity, in which the particularities of feeling have disappeared, so that, when the activity of the sense-organs is asleep, the pg 98 common feeling adapts itself to the particular functions; one sees, hears, etc. with the fingers, and especially with the pit of the stomach.8

To comprehend means, for intellectual reflexion, to recognize the series of mediations between a phenomenon and another reality with which it is connected, to discern what is called the course of nature, i.e. in accordance with the laws and relationships of the intellect, for example, causality, grounds, etc. The life of feeling, even when it still retains a merely formal awareness, as in the diseased states mentioned, is just that form of immediacy, in which the distinctions of the subjective and objective, of intelligent personality in contrast to an external world, and those relationships of finitude between them, are absent. The comprehension of this interconnexion, devoid of relationships and yet completely fulfilled, is made intrinsically impossible by the presupposition of independent personalities, contrasting with each other and with the content in the form of an objective world, and by the presupposition of the absoluteness of spatial and material asunderness in general.9

Zusatz. In the Zusatz to §405 we said that two different forms of the magical relationship of the feeling soul are to be distinguished and that the first of these forms can be called the formal subjectivity of life. Consideration of this first form was concluded in the Zusatz just mentioned. We therefore now have to consider the second form of that magical relationship, namely the real subjectivity of the feeling soul. We call this subjectivity real because here, instead of the inseparable, substantial soul-unity dominant in dreaming and also in the state of the foetus and in the relationship of the individual to his genius, there emerges an actually twofold soul-life, which releases its two sides to a peculiar reality of their own. The first of these two sides is the unmediated relationship of the feeling soul to its individual world and substantial actuality; the second side, by contrast, is the mediated relation of the soul to its objectively interconnected world. When these two sides diverge and break loose from their reliance on each other, this must be designated an illness, since this divergence, in contrast to the modes of formal subjectivity considered in the Zusatz to §405, does not constitute a moment of objective life itself. Just as bodily illness consists in the fixation of an organ or system in opposition to the universal harmony of the individual life and such obstruction and separation sometimes advances so far that the particular activity of a system makes itself into a centre concentrating into itself the rest of the organism's activity, into a rampant growth, so too in the soul-life illness results if the merely soulful side of the organism, becoming independent of the power of mental consciousness, usurps the latter's function and the mind, in losing control of the soulful component belonging to it, no longer remains in command of itself but itself sinks to the form of the soulful and in this way surrenders the objective relationship to the actual world essential to the sound mind, i.e., the relationship mediated by sublation of what is externally posited. That it is possible for the soulful side to become independent in relation to the mind and even to usurp its pg 99 function lies in the fact that the soulful is both distinct from the mind and in itself identical with it. When it separates from the mind and posits itself for itself, the soulful gives itself the semblance of being what the mind in truth is, namely, the soul that is for itself in the form of universality. But the illness of soul arising from that separation is not merely to be compared with bodily illness, but is more or less bound up with it, because when the soulful breaks loose from the mind, the bodiliness necessary for the empirical existence of the mind as well as of the soulful, is divided between these two diverging sides and accordingly itself becomes something separated within itself and therefore diseased.10

Now the diseased states in which such a separation of the soulful from mental consciousness emerges are very varied in kind; almost any illness can advance to the point of this separation. But here in the philosophical treatment of our subject we do not have to pursue this indeterminate multiplicity of diseased states but only to establish the main forms of the universal which shapes itself in them in various ways. Among the illnesses in which this universal can appear are sleepwalking, catalepsy, the onset of puberty in young women, the state of pregnancy, also St Vitus's dance, and the moment of approaching death as well, if death brings about the relevant splitting of life into a weakening healthy, mediated consciousness and a soulful awareness approaching ever closer to complete ascendancy; but especially we must examine here the state which has been called animal magnetism, both when it develops by itself in an individual and when it is produced in a particular manner in the individual by another individual. Mental causes, particularly religious and political exaltation, can also bring about the relevant separation of soul-life. In the war of the Cevennes, for example, the free emergence of the soulful showed up as a prophetic gift present to a high degree in children, in girls and especially in old people. But the most remarkable example of such exaltation is the famous Jeanne d'Arc, in whom we can see, on the one hand, the patriotic enthusiasm of a quite pure, simple soul and, on the other, a kind of magnetic state.11

After these preliminary remarks we propose to consider here the main individual forms in which a divergence of the soulful and objective consciousness shows up. We hardly need recall here what we have already said about the difference between these two modes of man's response to his world: namely, that objective consciousness is aware of the world as an objectivity external to it, infinitely manifold, but at all its points necessarily interconnected, containing nothing unmediated within it; and it responds to the world in a corresponding way, i.e., in an equally manifold, determinate, mediated, and necessary way, and is therefore able to enter into relation with a determinate form of external objectivity only by a determinate sense organ, for example, is able to see only with the eyes; whereas feeling, or the subjective mode of awareness, can dispense wholly, or at least in part, with the mediations and conditions indispensable to objective awareness, can, for example, perceive visible things without the aid of the eyes and without the mediation of light.

pg 100 αα‎) This immediate awareness appears first and foremost in so-called metal-and water-diviners. By this we understand people who in a fully waking state, without the mediation of the sense of sight, detect metal or water lying under the ground. The not infrequent occurrence of such people is beyond any doubt. Amoretti has, he assures us, discovered this peculiarity of feeling in more than four hundred individuals, some of them entirely healthy.12 Besides metal and water, salt is also sensed by some people with no mediation at all, since salt, if it is present in a large quantity, arouses nausea and uneasiness in them. In looking for hidden water and metals, and salt too, individuals of the type we have in mind also employ a divining-rod. This is a hazel twig shaped like a fork, the two prongs being held in both hands and the other end bending down towards the objects just mentioned. It goes without saying that this movement of the wood does not somehow have its ground in the wood itself but is determined solely by the sensation of the individual; just as, in what is called pendulation too—although here, in case of the application of several metals, a certain reciprocal action between them can take place—the sensation of the individual is always the main determinant; for if, for example, one holds a gold ring over a glass of water and the ring strikes the rim of the glass as many times as the clock shows hours, this stems solely from the fact that if, for example, eleven o'clock strikes and I know that it is eleven o'clock, my knowing this is sufficient to stop the pendulum.—But feeling, armed with the divining-rod, is supposed to have occasionally extended beyond the discovery of dead natural things and especially to have served for detecting thieves and murderers. However much charlatanism there may after all be in the stories available about this point, some of the cases mentioned in them seem worthy of credence, particularly, for example, the case in which a French farmer living in the seventeenth century was suspected of murder, and when taken into the cellar where the murder had been committed, there broke out in a cold sweat and got a feeling of the murderers in virtue of which he detected the route they had taken on their flight and the places they had stayed at. He discovered one of the murderers in a prison in southern France and pursued the second up to the Spanish frontier where he was forced to turn back. Such an individual has a sensation as sharp as a dog which follows its master's trail for miles.

ββ‎) The second phenomenon to be considered here of immediate or feeling awareness, has this in common with the first just discussed: in both an object is sensed without the mediation of the specific sense to which the object is mainly related. But at the same time, this second phenomenon is distinguished from the first by the fact that in it a response takes place that is not so entirely unmediated as in the first, since the specific sense in question is replaced either by the common sense active mainly in the pit of the stomach, or by the sense of touch. Such feeling is displayed both in catalepsy in general, a state in which the organs are paralysed, and especially in sleep-walking, a kind of cataleptic state in which dreaming expresses itself not merely in speech but also in walking about and gives rise to other actions, underlying which there is an often accurate feeling of the pg 101 relationships of surrounding objects. As regards the emergence of this state, it can be produced, when there is a determinate disposition to it, by purely external things, for example, by certain foods eaten in the evening. After the emergence of this state, the soul remains just as dependent on external things; for example, the sound of music near sleep-walkers has induced them to recite whole novels in their sleep. But with regard to the activity of the senses in this state, it must be noted that proper sleep-walkers may well hear and feel, but that their eye by contrast, whether it is open or shut, is fixed, that therefore the sense for which, in particular, objects recede to the distance from me necessary for the genuine relationship of consciousness, ceases to be active in this state, where the separation of the subjective and objective is not present. As already noted, in sleep-walking sight is extinguished and replaced by the sense of feeling—a replacement that also occurs in really blind people, only to a lesser extent, and, incidentally, in both cases must not be understood to mean that by the dulling of one sense an intensification accrues to the other sense in a purely physical way, since this intensification rather arises merely from the soul's throwing itself into the sense of feeling with undivided force. However, the sense of feeling by no means always guides sleep-walkers correctly; their complex actions are a contingent matter. Such persons do occasionally write letters in their sleep-walking; often however they are deceived by their feeling, when they believe for example that they are mounted on a horse when in fact they are on a roof. But besides the marvellous intensification of the sense of feeling, in cataleptic states, as also already noted, the common sense too, mainly in the pit of the stomach, reaches such a degree of heightened activity that it takes the place of sight, hearing, or even taste. Thus at a time when animal magnetism was not yet well-known, a French doctor in Lyons treated a sick person who could hear and read only in the pit of his stomach and who could read a book held by someone in another room who was put in contact with the individual standing by the pit of the sick person's stomach by a chain of persons standing in between, as arranged by the doctor. Such seeing at a distance has, incidentally, been described in various ways by those in whom it occurred. They often say that they see the objects internally, or they assert that it seems to them as if the objects emitted rays. But as regards the above-mentioned replacement of taste by the common sense, there are instances of persons' tasting food placed on their stomachs.13

γγ‎) The third phenomenon of immediate awareness is this. Without the involvement of any specific sense and without the common sense becoming active in an individual part of the body, an indeterminate sensation gives rise to an intimation or clairvoyance, a vision of something not sensibly near but distant in space or in time, of something future or past. Now though it is often difficult to distinguish merely subjective visions relating to non-existent objects from those visions which have something actual for their content, yet this distinction must be maintained here. The first kind of vision too does occur in somnambulism, but mostly in a predominantly physical state of illness, for example in the heat of pg 102 a fever, even in waking consciousness. An example of such a subjective vision is Friedrich Nicolai, who, in a waking state, saw with perfectly clarity other houses in the street than those actually present there, and yet knew that this was an illusion. The predominantly physical ground of the poetic illusion of this otherwise thoroughly prosaic individual revealed itself when the illusion was dispelled by the application of leeches to the rectum.14

But in our anthropological consideration we have to keep in view mainly the second kind of visions, those which relate to actually existent objects. In order to comprehend the wonder of the phenomena belonging here it is important to bear in mind the following points regarding our view of the soul.

The soul is the all-pervading, not existing merely in a particular individual; for as we have already said earlier, the soul must be conceived as the truth, as the ideality, of everything material, as the entirely universal in which all differences are only ideal and which does not one-sidedly confront the Other, but overarches the Other.15But the soul is, at the same time, an individual soul, determined in a particular way; it has therefore various determinations or particularizations within itself; these appear, for example, as urges and inclinations. These determinations, though distinct from each other, are nevertheless for themselves only something universal. Only in me as a determinate individual do they first acquire a determinate content. Thus, for example, love for parents, relatives, friends, etc. becomes individualized in me; for I cannot be a friend, etc. in general, I am necessarily this friend living with these friends in this place at this time and in this situation. All the universal soul-determinations individualized in me and experienced by me constitute my actuality, are therefore not left to my discretion but rather form the powers of my life and belong to my actual being just as much as my head or my breast belong to my living embodiment. I am this whole circle of determinations: they have coalesced with my individuality; each individual point in this circle—for example, the fact that I am now sitting here—shows itself exempt from the wilfulness of my representation by the fact that it is placed in the totality of my self-feeling as a link in a chain of determinations or, in other words, is embraced by the feeling of the totality of my actuality. But in so far as I am at first only a feeling soul, not yet waking, free self-consciousness, I am aware of this actuality of mine, of this world of mine, in a wholly immediate, quite abstractly positive manner, since, as already noted, at this standpoint I have not yet detached the world from myself, not yet posited it as an external entity, and my awareness of it is therefore not yet mediated by the opposition of the subjective and objective and by sublation of this opposition.16

The content of this clairvoyant awareness, we must now determine in more detail.

(1) First, there are states in which the soul is aware of a content it had long since forgotten and which, in waking, it is no longer able to bring into consciousness. This phenomenon occurs in various illnesses. The most striking phenomenon of this kind is when, in illnesses, people talk in a language which, though they pg 103 have studied it in early youth, they can no longer speak in their waking state. It also happens that common folk, who normally are used to speaking only Low German with ease, in the magnetic state speak in High German without effort. An equally indisputable case is where people in such a state recite with perfect facility something they had read a considerable time before, which they have never learned by rote and which has vanished from their waking consciousness. For instance, someone recited from Young's Night Thoughts a long passage of which he no longer knew anything when awake.17 A particularly remarkable instance too is a boy who, while quite young, was operated on for a brain injury caused by a fall and gradually lost his memory until he no longer knew what he had done an hour earlier; when put into a magnetic state, however, he regained his memory so completely that he could state the cause of his illness, the instruments used in the operation he had undergone, and the persons who had participated in it.

(2) But what can seem even more wonderful than the awareness, just considered, of a content already deposited in the interior of the soul, is the unmediated awareness of events which are still external to the feeling subject. For with respect to this second content of the clairvoyant soul, we know that the existence of the external is tied to space and time, and our ordinary consciousness is mediated by these two forms of asunderness.

First, as regards what is spatially distant from us, we can be aware of it in so far as we are waking consciousness only on condition that we sublate the distance in a mediated way. But this condition does not obtain for the clairvoyant soul. Space pertains not to the soul but to external nature; and this externality, in being apprehended by the soul, ceases to be spatial, since, transformed by the soul's ideality, it remains external neither to itself nor to us. Consequently, when free intellectual consciousness sinks to the form of the merely feeling soul, the subject is no longer tied to space. Instances of this independence of the soul from space have occurred in great number. Here we must distinguish two cases. Either the events are absolutely external to the clairvoyant subject who is aware of them without any mediation; or, on the contrary, they have already begun to acquire for the subject the form of something internal, therefore of something non- alien to it, of something mediated, through being known in an entirely objective manner by another subject, between whom and the clairvoyant individual there subsists such a complete unity of souls that what is in the objective consciousness of the former also penetrates the soul of the latter. We have to consider the form of clairvoyance mediated by the consciousness of another subject only later, with the magnetic state proper. Here, however, we must deal with the first-mentioned case, that of thoroughly unmediated awareness of spatially remote, external events.18

Instances of this kind of clairvoyance occurred more frequently in earlier times, in times of a more soulful life, than in the modern period in which the independence of the intellectual consciousness has developed much further. The old chronicles, which are not to be too hastily charged with error and falsehood, relate many a case coming under this heading. In the intimation of the spatially pg 104 distant the consciousness can, by the way, be at one time more obscure, at another more lucid. This fluctuation in the clarity of clairvoyance was shown, for example, in a girl who had a brother in Spain but in her waking consciousness did not know this; in her clairvoyance she saw this brother in a hospital, at first only indistinctly, but then clearly; after that she believed she saw him dead and opened up, but subsequently alive again; and, as emerged later, she had seen correctly, in that at the time of her vision her brother had actually been in a hospital at Valladolid, but that she was mistaken in thinking she saw him dead, since it was not this brother who had died but another person next to him at the time. In Spain and Italy, where the natural life of man is more universal than with us, visions such as the one just mentioned, especially visions had by women and friends relating to distant friends and husbands, are not a rarity.

But, secondly, the clairvoyant soul also rises above the condition of time, just as it rises above the condition of space. We have already seen above that the soul in the state of clairvoyance can make present to itself again something completely removed from its waking consciousness by time gone by. A more interesting question, however, for representation is whether people are also able to be lucidly aware of what is separated from them by future time. To this question we have the following reply. First and foremost we can say that, just as representational consciousness errs when it holds the above-discussed clairvoyant vision of an individuality entirely removed by its spatial distance from the bodily eye, to be something better than the awareness of truths of reason, so representation is involved in a similar error when it imagines that a perfectly certain and intellectual awareness of the future would be something very sublime, and that we have to look around for grounds to console ourselves for our lack of such an awareness. On the contrary, it must be said that it would drive one to despair with boredom to be aware in advance of one's fortunes with complete determinacy and then to live through them in each and every detail in succession. But a foreknowledge of this kind belongs among the impossibilities; for what is still only in the future and therefore something that is merely in itself, simply cannot become an object of perceptual, intellectual consciousness, since only what exists, only what has attained to the individuality of sensory presence, is perceived. The human mind is, of course, able to rise above an awareness concerned exclusively with sensibly present individuality; but the absolute elevation over it only takes place in the conceptual cognition of the eternal; for the eternal, unlike the sensory individual, is not affected by the alternation of coming-to-be and passing-away and is, therefore, neither past nor future, but the absolutely present, raised above time and containing sublated within itself all distinctions of time. In the magnetic state, by contrast, only a conditioned elevation above the awareness of what is immediately present can occur; the foreknowledge revealed in this state always relates only to the individual sphere of clairvoyant's existence, particularly to his individual disposition to disease, and does not have, as regards form, the necessary interconnection and determinate certainty of objective, intellectual consciousness. The pg 105 clairvoyant is in a concentrated state and intuits this veiled, pregnant life of his in a concentrated way. In the determinacy of this concentration, the determinations of space and time are also contained under a veil. However, these forms of asunderness are not apprehended for themselves by the clairvoyant's soul immersed in its inwardness; this happens only on the part of objective consciousness setting its actuality over against itself as an external world. But since the clairvoyant is at the same time a representer he must also display these determinations veiled in his concentrated life or, what is the same, cast out his state into the forms of space and time, in general lay it out in the manner of waking consciousness. It is evident from this in what sense the clairvoyant foreboding has within itself a mediation of time, while, on the other hand, it does not need this mediation and is for that very reason able to penetrate into the future. But the quantum of future time involved in the intuited state is not something fixed for itself, but a mode and manner of the quality of the glimpsed content,—something belonging to this quality, just as, for example, the period of three or four days belongs to the determinacy of the nature of fever. Displaying this time-quantum consists, therefore, in entering and developing the intensity of what is clairvoyantly seen. Now in this development endless deception is possible. The time is never indicated exactly by clairvoyants; on the contrary, for the most part the statements of such people relating to the future come to nothing, especially if these visions have for their content happenings dependent on the free will of other persons. That clairvoyants are so often deceived on the point in question is quite natural; for they intuit a future event only according to their quite indeterminate, contingent sensation, which in these circumstances is determined in one way, but in other circumstances is determined in another way, and then expound the intuited content in an equally indeterminate and contingent manner. On the other hand, however, the occurrence of extremely marvellous forebodings and visions of this kind which have actually been confirmed can of course by no means be denied. Thus persons have been awakened and impelled to leave a room or a house by a foreboding of the collapse of a house or a ceiling, which afterwards actually occurred. Sailors, too, are said sometimes to be gripped by a non-deceptive presentiment of a storm of which the intellectual consciousness does not yet notice the slightest sign. It is also asserted that many people have predicted the hour of their death. Abundant instances of premonitions of the future are found especially in the Scottish Highlands, in Holland, and in Westphalia. Particularly among the Scottish mountain-dwellers the faculty of so-called second sight is even now not uncommon. Persons endowed with this faculty see themselves double, catch sight of themselves in conditions and circumstances in which they will find themselves only subsequently. In explanation of this marvellous phenomenon the following may be said. As has been remarked, in Scotland 'second sight' used to be much more common than it is now. For its emergence therefore a peculiar stage of mental development seems to be necessary, in fact a stage equally distant from a state of savagery and from a state of advanced pg 106 culture, where people do not pursue any universal aims but are interested only in their individual circumstances, carry out their contingent, particular aims in indolent imitation of inherited tradition without deep insight into the nature of the circumstances to be dealt with, hence, unconcerned about knowledge of the universal and necessary, they attend only to the individual and contingent. Just because of this immersion of mind in what is individual and contingent people often seem to become competent in seeing an individual event still hidden in the future, particularly if the event is not a matter of indifference to them. However, it goes without saying, for these as for similar phenomena, that philosophy cannot set out to try to explain all the individual circumstances, which often are not properly authenticated but, on the contrary, extremely doubtful; we must rather restrict ourselves in a philosophical treatment, as we have done in the above, to bringing out the main points to bear in mind when looking at the phenomena in question.19

(3) Now whereas in the intuition considered under (1), the soul enclosed in its inwardness only makes present to itself again a content already belonging to it, and whereas by contrast in the material discussed under (2) the soul is immersed in the vision of an individual external circumstance, in the third case the soul, in clairvoyant awareness of its own interior, of its state of soul and physical body, returns from this relation to something external back to itself. This side of clairvoyance has a very wide range and can also attain to a considerable clarity and determinacy. However, clairvoyants will be able to give any perfectly determinate and correct information about their corporeal state only when they are medically trained, hence possess in their waking consciousness an exact knowledge of the nature of the human organism. From medically untrained clairvoyants, by contrast, one cannot expect any completely accurate anatomical and physiological information; such persons have, on the contrary, extreme difficulty in translating the concentrated intuition which they have of their corporeal state into the form of intellectual thinking, and they can always elevate what they see only into the form of their waking consciousness, i.e. of a more or less vague and ignorant consciousness. But just as in different clairvoyant individuals the immediate awareness of their corporeal state is very different, so a great difference also obtains in the intuitive knowledge of their mental interior, both as regards the form and in respect of the content. In clairvoyance—since this is a state in which the substantiality of the soul emerges—to noble natures a fullness of noble sensation, their true self, man's better mind is disclosed, and often appears to them as a particular protecting spirit. Base people, by contrast, reveal in this state their baseness and abandon themselves to it unreservedly. Finally, individuals of middling worth often go through an ethical struggle with themselves during clairvoyance, since in this new life, in this serene inner vision, the more important and nobler aspect of a character emerges and turns destructively on its defects.

(4) In addition to the intuitive awareness of one's own mental and corporeal state, there is a fourth phenomenon: clairvoyant knowledge of the state of pg 107someone else's soul and corporeal body. This case occurs particularly in magnetic somnambulism when, through the rapport set up between the subject in this state and another subject, their two spheres of life have become, as it were, a single life-sphere.

(5) Finally, when this rapport attains the highest degree of intimacy and strength, there occurs, fifthly, the phenomenon in which the clairvoyant subject knows, sees, and feels, not merely about, but in another subject and, without directly attending to the other individual, immediately shares his sensations of everything that happens to him, has within himself the sensations of the other's individuality as his own. There are the most striking examples of this phenomenon. A French doctor, for instance, treated two women who had a deep affection for each other and who, although a considerable distance apart, sensed each other's states of illness inside each other. We can also include here the case of the soldier whose mother had been tied up by thieves; although he was some distance away from her, he shared her sensation of anguish with such intensity that he felt an irresistible impulse to hasten to her without delay.

The five phenomena discussed above are the principal moments of clairvoyant awareness. They all have in common the determination of always relating to the individual world of the feeling soul. This relation does not, however, establish such an inseparable connection among them that they must always all emerge in one and the same subject. Secondly, another feature common to these phenomena is that they can arise both as a result of physical illness and also, in otherwise healthy persons, in virtue of a certain particular disposition. In both cases these phenomena are immediate natural states; it is only as such that we have so far considered them. But they can also be evoked intentionally. When this happens they constitute animal magnetism proper, with which we now have to concern ourselves.

In the first place, as regards the name 'animal magnetism', it originally arose from the fact that Mesmer began by using magnets to arouse the magnetic state. This name was subsequently retained because in animal magnetism too, as in inorganic magnetism, an immediate reciprocal relation of two existences occurs. In addition, the state in question has here and there been called mesmerism, solarism, and tellurism. However, the first of these three appellations tells us, for itself, nothing about the phenomenon, and the other two relate to an entirely different sphere from that of animal magnetism; the mental nature, to which animal magnetism lays claim, also contains within itself something entirely different from merely solar and telluric moments, from these entirely abstract determinations which we have already considered in §392 in the natural soul that has not yet developed into an individual subject.20

It was animal magnetism proper that first drew universal interest to magnetic states, for it gave us the power to elicit and develop all possible forms of these states. However, the phenomena intentionally produced in this way do not differ from the states already discussed, occurring without the participation of animal pg 108 magnetism proper; this just posits what is otherwise present as an immediate natural state.

1. Now first of all, in order to comprehend the possibility of intentionally producing the magnetic state, we need only recall what we have indicated as the fundamental concept of this entire stage of the soul. The magnetic state is an illness; for if in general the essence of disease must be posited in the separation of a particular system of the organism from the universal physiological life, and if, in virtue of this alienation of a particular system from the universal life, the animal organism exhibits its finitude, impotence and dependence on an alien power, then this universal concept of disease determines itself more specifically in relation to the magnetic state in the following way: in this peculiar illness a rupture occurs between my soulful being and my waking being, between my natural vitality with its feeling, and my mediated, intellectual consciousness, a rupture which, since everyone includes these two sides in himself, is of course contained in potentiality in even the healthiest people, but does not come into existence in all individuals, only in those who have a particular disposition to it, and it becomes an illness only when it emerges from its potentiality into actuality. But if my soulful life separates from my intellectual consciousness and takes over its business, I forfeit my freedom rooted in intellectual consciousness, I lose the capacity to shut myself off from an alien power, I become subservient to it. Now just as the spontaneously arising magnetic state ends up as dependence on an alien power, so, conversely, an external power can also form the starting-point and—by catching hold of me at the separation, present in itself within me, between my feeling life and my thinking consciousness—bring this rupture within me into existence, and so the magnetic state can be produced artificially. However, as already indicated, only those individuals, in whom a particular disposition to this state is already present, can easily and regularly become epopts; whereas people who fall into this state only from a particular illness are never perfect epopts. The alien power that generates magnetic somnambulism in a subject is mainly another subject; there are, however, also medicines, especially henbane, also water or metal, able to exercise this power. Consequently, the subject with a disposition to magnetic somnambulism is able to put himself in that state by making himself dependent on such inorganic or vegetable substances.*—Among the means for producing the magnetic state, particular mention must be made of the baquet. This consists of a vessel with iron rods which are touched by the persons to be magnetized, and forms the middle term between the magnetizer and these persons. Whereas in general metals serve to intensify the magnetic state, glass and silk conversely pg 109 produce an insulating effect. Incidentally, the power of the magnetizer acts not only on people but also on animals, for example, on dogs, cats, and monkeys; for it is quite universally the soulful life, and only the soulful life, that can be put into the magnetic state, no matter whether that life belongs to a mind or not.21

2. As regards, secondly, the mode and manner of magnetising, this varies. Usually the magnetizer works by contact. Just as in galvanism the metals act on each other by immediate contact, so the magnetizer too acts immediately on the person to be magnetized. However, the magnetizing subject, being a self-contained subject capable of controlling his will, can only operate successfully on condition that he has the uncompromising will to communicate his power to the subject to be brought into the magnetic state, to put by the act of magnetizing the two animal spheres here confronting each other, as it were, into one sphere.23

More exactly, the magnetizer operates mainly by stroking, though this need not involve actual contact and can occur with the hand of the magnetizer remaining about an inch away from the corporeal body of the magnetic person. The hand is moved from the head towards the pit of the stomach and from there towards the extremities; care must here be taken to avoid stroking backwards because this very easily gives rise to cramp. Sometimes this hand-movement can be successful when made at a greater distance from the body than that indicated, that is, at a distance of several paces, particularly when rapport has already been established; in which case the power of the magnetizer close by would often be too great and would produce harmful effects. The magnetizer can tell whether he is still effective at a definite distance by feeling a certain warmth in his hand. But stroking at a greater or less distance is not necessary in every case; the magnetic rapport can rather be induced merely by laying on the hand, especially on the head, on the stomach or the pit of the stomach; often only a pressure of the hand is needed for it. (That is why people have rightly related those miraculous cures, which are said to have been accomplished at very different times by priests and other individuals by laying on of hands, to animal magnetism.)Occasionally even a single glance and the magnetizer's invitation to magnetic sleep is sufficient to induce it. Indeed, faith and will alone are said sometimes to have produced this effect at a great distance. In this magical relationship, the main point is that a subject acts on an individual subordinate to him in freedom and independence of will. Therefore, very powerful organizations exert over weak natures the greatest power, a power often so irresistible that the latter can be put into a magnetic sleep by the former whether they wish it or not. For this same reason, strong men are particularly qualified to magnetize female persons.

3. The third point to be discussed here concerns the effects produced by magnetizing. As for these, after many various experiences of them, the matter is now so thoroughly cleared up that the occurrence of essentially new phenomena here is no longer to be expected. If one wishes to consider the phenomena of animal magnetism in their naïveté then one must mainly stick to the older magnetizers. pg 110 Among the French, men of the noblest sentiments and highest culture have concerned themselves with animal magnetism and have studied it with an open mind. Among these men, Lieutenant-General Puységur especially deserves mention. If the Germans often make fun of the faulty theories of the French, it can be asserted, at least as regards animal magnetism, that the naïve metaphysics employed by the French in considering it is much more satisfactory than the not uncommon dream-fantasies and the lame as well as distorted theorizing of German scholars. A serviceable, superficial classification of the phenomena of animal magnetism has been given by Kluge. Van Ghert, a reliable man rich in ideas and well versed in recent philosophy, has described magnetic cures in the form of a diary. Karl Schelling, a brother of the philosopher, has also published a part of his magnetic experiences. So much for the relevant literature of animal magnetism and the scope of our knowledge of the subject.24

After these preliminaries let us now turn to a brief consideration of the magnetic phenomena themselves. The proximate universal effect of magnetizing is the sinking of the magnetic person into the state of his shrouded, undifferentiated natural life, i.e., into sleep. The onset of sleep indicates the beginning of the magnetic state. However, sleep is not entirely necessary; magnetic cures can be carried out without it. What must necessarily take place here is only the sentient soul's becoming independent, its separation from the mediated, intellectual consciousness. The second point we have to consider here concerns the physiological side or basis of the magnetic state. About this it must be said that in this state the activity of the outward directed organs passes over to the inner organs, that the activity exercised by the brain in the waking and intellectual consciousness devolves upon the reproductive system during magnetic somnambulism, because in this state consciousness is demoted to the simple, internally undifferentiated naturalness of soul-life; but this simple naturalness, this shrouded life, is contradicted by the sensibility directed outwards; whereas the inward turned reproductive system, which is dominant in the simplest animal organisms and forms animality in general, is absolutely inseparable from this shrouded soul-life. This then is the reason why, during magnetic somnambulism, the soul's activity descends into the brain of the reproductive system, namely, into the ganglia, these variously nodulated nerves in the abdomen. That this is the case, was sensed by van Helmont after he had rubbed himself with henbane ointment and taken the juice of this herb. According to his description he felt as if his thinking consciousness was going from his head into his abdomen, especially into his stomach, and it seemed to him that with this transference his thinking became more acute and was associated with a particularly pleasant feeling. This concentration of the soul-life in the abdomen is considered by a famous French magnetizer to depend on the fact that during magnetic somnambulism the blood in the region of the pit of the stomach remains very fluid, even when in the other parts it is extremely thick. But the unusual arousal of the reproductive system occurring in the magnetic pg 111 state is seen not only in the mental form of clairvoyance but also in the more sensory shape of the sex-drive awakening with greater or lesser vitality, especially in female persons.25

After this mainly physiological consideration of animal magnetism we have to determine more precisely the nature of this state with respect to the soul. As in the spontaneously occurring magnetic states previously considered, so too, in intentionally induced animal magnetism, the soul immersed in its inwardness intuits its individual world not outside itself, but within itself. This sinking of the soul into its inwardness can, as already remarked, come to a halt half-way, so to speak; then sleep does not occur. But the further stage is that life is completely cut off from the outside by sleep. With this rupture, too, the course of the magnetic phenomena can come to a standstill. But the transition from magnetic sleep to clairvoyance is equally possible. Most magnetic persons will be in this clairvoyant state without recalling it. The presence of clairvoyance has often been shown only by chance; it mostly comes to light when the magnetic person is spoken to by the magnetizer; if he had not spoken, the person would perhaps only have gone on sleeping. Now though the answers of clairvoyants seem to come out of another world, yet these individuals can be aware of what they, as objective consciousness, are. Often, however, they speak of their intellectual consciousness too as if it were another person. When clairvoyance develops more determinately, magnetic persons give accounts of their bodily state and of their mental interior. But their sensations are as vague as the representations that the blind man, knowing nothing about the difference between light and dark, has of external things. What is seen in clairvoyance often only becomes clearer some days later, but is never so plain that it does not need interpretation. Sometimes, however, the magnetic person's own interpretation fails completely and, often, at least turns out to be so symbolical and bizarre that it in its turn renders necessary a further interpretation by the intellectual consciousness of the magnetizer, so that the final result of the magnetic clairvoyance mostly consists of a varied mixture of falsehood and correctness. Yet, on the other hand, it cannot be denied that clairvoyants sometimes give very determinate accounts of the nature and course of their illness, that they usually know very accurately when their paroxysms will occur, when and how long they need magnetic sleep, how long their treatment will last, and that, finally, they sometimes discover a connection between a remedy and an ailment to be removed by it, a connection perhaps still unknown to intellectual consciousness, thus making easy a cure otherwise difficult for the doctor. In this respect clairvoyants can be compared to animals, for they are instructed by their instinct which things will cure them. But as regards the further content of intentionally induced clairvoyance we need hardly remark that in this, as in natural clairvoyance, the soul is able to read and hear with the pit of the stomach. Here we want to emphasize only two more points; first, that what lies outside the context of the magnetic person's substantial life is not contacted through the somnambulistic state, that consequently clairvoyance does not, for example, pg 112 extend to foreseeing the winning numbers in a lottery, and in general cannot be used for selfish ends. Great world-events are by contrast in a different position from such contingent things. For instance it is recorded that a somnambulist on the eve of the battle at Belle-Alliance cried out in great exaltation: 'Tomorrow, he who has done us so much harm will perish either by lightning or the sword.' The second point still to be mentioned here is that since in clairvoyance the soul leads a life cut off from its intellectual consciousness, clairvoyants on awaking initially no longer have any awareness of what they have seen in the magnetic somnambulism, that they can however gain an awareness of it in around about way, namely by dreaming about what they saw and then recalling the dreams on waking. Also partial recollection of what was seen can be deliberately produced, and, to be more precise, in the following way: the doctor sets the sick during their waking state the task of firmly resolving to retain what they have sensed in the magnetic state.26

4. Fourthly, as regards the close connection and the dependence of the magnetic person on the magnetizer, there remains to be added to what was said in the Remark to §406 under δδ‎) with regard to the bodily side of this connection, that the clairvoyant person can at first hear only the magnetizer, and he can hear other individuals only when they stand in rapport with the magnetizer, though at times he loses hearing as well as sight entirely; further, in this exclusive connection of the life of the magnetic person with his magnetizer, being touched by a third person can become extremely dangerous, producing convulsions and catalepsy.— But with respect to the mental connection between the magnetizer and the magnetic person, we may also mention that clairvoyants, if the magnetizer's awareness becomes their own, often acquire the capacity to know something that is not immediately seen by themselves internally. Thus they can, for example, say what time it is without any direct sensation of their own, provided that the magnetizer has certainty on this point. Knowledge of the intimate community in question protects us from the folly of astonishment at the wisdom sometimes unearthed by clairvoyants; this wisdom very often properly belongs not to the magnetic persons but to the individual in rapport with them.—Besides this community of awareness the magnetic person can, particularly with the lengthy continuation of clairvoyance, also enter into other mental relations with the magnetizer, into relations involving manner, passion, and character. In particular the vanity of clairvoyants can be easily aroused if one makes the mistake of letting them believe that one attaches great importance to their words. Somnambulists are then overcome by a craze to speak about anything and everything, even if they have no corresponding intuitions of them whatsoever. In this case, clairvoyance is completely useless and, in fact, becomes something suspect. Therefore the question has often been discussed among magnetizers whether clairvoyance should be cultivated and preserved when it has arisen spontaneously, and, in the converse case, intentionally induced, or whether, on the contrary, efforts should be made to prevent it. As already mentioned, clairvoyance comes to light and pg 113 to development as a result of repeated questioning of the magnetic person. Now if the questioning concerns very diverse objects, the magnetic person can easily become distracted, more or less lose the concentration on himself, and so become less able to describe his illness and to indicate the remedy to be employed, thereby considerably delaying the cure. For this reason the magnetizer must, in his questions, take the greatest care to avoid arousing the vanity and the distraction of the magnetic person. But in particular the magnetizer must not let himself on his part fall into a relationship of dependence on the magnetic person. This mishap occurred more frequently earlier, when magnetizers drew more on their own strength than since the time when they have used the baquet. With the use of this instrument, the magnetizer is less entangled in the state of the magnetic person. Even so, a great deal depends on the strength of the mind, the character and the physical body of the magnetizers. If they give in to the whims of the magnetic person, which is particularly the case with non-doctors, if they have not the courage to contradict and stand up to him and in this way the magnetic person gets the feeling of a strong influence on his part on the magnetizer, then like a spoilt child he gives himself up to every whim, gets the strangest notions, and unconsciously pulls the magnetizer's leg, thus hindering his own cure.—However, it is not merely in this bad sense that the magnetic person can acquire a certain independence; if he normally possesses an ethical character, he retains even in the magnetic state a firmness of ethical feeling on which any impure intentions of the magnetizer founder. For instance, a magnetized woman declared that she need not obey the magnetizer's request to undress in front of him.

5. The fifth and last point that we have to touch on in animal magnetism concerns the real aim of magnetic treatment, cure. Undoubtedly many cures that happened in earlier times and were regarded as miracles must be viewed as nothing other than effects of animal magnetism. But we do not need to appeal to such stories of miracles wrapped in the obscurity of the distant past; for in recent times men of unimpeachable integrity have performed so many cures by magnetic treatment that anyone forming an unbiased judgement can no longer doubt the fact of the curative power of animal magnetism. Consequently, all that we have to do now is to show the mode and manner in which magnetism effects a cure. To this end we can recall that even the ordinary medical cure consists in removing the interference with the identity of animal life that constitutes the disease, in restoring the fluid-being-within-itself of the organism. Now in magnetic treatment this goal is achieved by producing either sleep and clairvoyance or just a general immersion of the individual life within itself, its return to its simple universality. Just as natural sleep brings about a strengthening of healthy life, since it withdraws the entire man from the enfeebling fragmentation of activity directed towards the external world into the substantial totality and harmony of life, so too, the sleeping magnetic state, since by it the internally disrupted organism attains to unity with itself, is the basis of health to be restored. However, on the other hand we must not leave out of consideration here the way in which this pg 114 concentration of sentient life present in the magnetic state can, in its turn, become such a one-sided condition that it pathologically entrenches itself in opposition to the rest of organic life and to normal consciousness. It is this possibility which raises doubts about the intentional production of this concentration. If duplication of the personality is carried too far, then one acts in a way that contradicts the purpose, healing, since a separation is produced which is greater than that which the magnetic treatment is meant to remove. In such careless treatment lurks the danger that severe crises, frightful convulsions, will occur and that the opposition generating these phenomena will remain not merely corporeal but in various ways become an opposition within the somnambulistic consciousness itself. If, by contrast, one sets to work cautiously enough not to take too far the concentration of sentient life occurring in the magnetic state, then in this concentration one has, as already remarked, the foundation for a restoration of health, and one is in a position to complete the cure by gradually guiding the rest of the organism, which though still involved in separation is powerless against its concentrated life, back into its substantial unity, into its simple harmony with itself, and thereby to enable it, without detriment to its inner unity, to involve itself once more in separation and opposition.27

(β‎) Self-feeling


(1) The feeling totality, as individuality, is essentially this: distinguishing itself within itself, and awakening to the judgement within itself, in virtue of which it has particular feelings and stands as a subject in respect of these determinations of itself. The subject as such posits them within itself as its feelings. It is immersed in this particularity of sensations, and at the same time, through the ideality of the particular, in them it joins together with itself as a subjective unit. In this way it is self-feeling,—and yet it is this only in the particular feeling.1


(2) Owing to the immediacy in which self-feeling is still determined, i.e. owing to the moment of bodiliness which in self-feeling is still undetached from the mind, and since too the feeling itself is a particular feeling, thus a particular embodiment, the subject, though educated to intellectual consciousness, is still susceptible to the disease of remaining fast in a particularity of its self-feeling, unable to refine it to ideality and overcome it. The fully furnished self of intellectual consciousness is the subject as an internally consistent consciousness, which orders and conducts itself in accordance with its individual position and its connection with the likewise internally ordered external world. But when it remains ensnared in a particular determinacy, it fails to assign that content the intelligible place and the subordinate position belonging to it in the individual world-system pg 115 which a subject is. In this way the subject finds itself in the contradiction between its totality systematized in its consciousness, and the particular determinacy in that consciousness, which is not pliable and integrated into an overarching order. This is derangement.1

[Remark] In considering derangement we must likewise anticipate the cultivated, intellectual consciousness, the subject which is at the same time the natural self of self-feeling. In this determination it is capable of falling into the contradiction between its subjectivity, free for itself, and a particularity which does not become ideal in subjectivity and remains fixed in self-feeling. Mind is free, and therefore not susceptible for itself to this disease. But in earlier metaphysics it was regarded as soul, as a thing; and only as a thing, i.e. as something natural and in being, is it liable to derangement, to the finitude lodged in it. Derangement is therefore a psychical disease, i.e. a disease of body and mind alike; the commencement may seem to proceed from onemore than the other, and somay the cure.2

The sober and healthy subject has an alert consciousness of the ordered totality of its individual world, into the system of which it subsumes each particular content of sensation, idea, desire, inclination, etc., as it arises, and inserts in its intelligible place in the system. It is the dominant genius over these particularities. The difference is like that between waking and dreaming, but here the dream falls within waking life itself, so that it belongs to actual self-feeling. Error and the like is a content consistently admitted into this objective interconnection. In the concrete, however, it is often difficult to say where error begins to become madness. Thus an intense passion of hatred, etc., based on trivial reasons, may, in contrast to a presupposed higher self-possession and stability, seem like going out of one's mind with madness. But madness essentially involves the contradiction in which a feeling that has come into being in a bodily form confronts the totality of mediations that is the concrete consciousness. The mind that is determined as merely being, in so far as such being is undissolved in its consciousness, is diseased.—The content which is set free into its natural state is the self-seeking determinations of the heart, vanity, pride, and the subject's other passions and imaginings, hopes, love and hatred. This earthly throng gets free, when self-possession and the universal, theoretical or moral principles, lose their power over the natural forces that they usually suppress and keep concealed; for this evil is implicitly present within the heart, because the heart, being immediate, is natural and selfish. It is the evil genius of man that becomes dominant in derangement, but in opposition and in contradiction to the better and more intellectual side, which is also in man. Hence this state is a breakdown and distress within the mind itself.—The genuine psychical treatment therefore keeps firmly in view the fact that derangement is not an abstract loss of reason, whether in respect of intelligence or of the will and its responsibility, but only derangement, only a contradiction within the reason that is still present, just as physical disease is not an abstract, i.e. complete, loss of health (that would be death), but a pg 116contradiction within health. This humane treatment, i.e. a treatment that is both benevolent and rational (the services of Pinel towards which deserve the highest acknowledgement), presupposes the patient's rationality, and makes that a firm basis for dealing with him on his rational side, just as in the case of bodily disease the doctor bases his treatment on the vitality which as such still contains health.3

Zusatz. What follows may serve to elucidate the above Paragraph:

Already in the Zusatz to §402, we interpreted derangement as the second of the three developmental stages passed through by the feeling soul in its struggle with the immediacy of its substantial content in order to rise to the simple subjectivity, relating itself to itself, present in the I, and thereby become completely conscious and in control of itself. This conception of derangement as a necessarily emerging form or stage in the development of the soul is naturally not to be understood as if we were asserting that every mind, every soul, must go through this stage of extreme disruption. Such an assertion would be as absurd as to assume that because crime is considered in the Philosophy of Right as a necessary appearance of the human will, therefore the commission of crime is supposed to be made an inevitable necessity for every individual. Crime and derangement are extremes which the human mind in general has to overcome in the course of its development, but which do not appear as extremes in every individual but only in the shape of limitations, errors, follies, and of non-criminal wrongdoing. This is sufficient to justify our consideration of derangement as an essential stage in the development of the soul.4

But as regards the determination of the concept of derangement, we have already indicated in the Zusatz to §405 the peculiarity of this state—in contrast to magnetic somnambulism, the first of the three stages in the development of the feeling soul we considered—to the effect that in derangement the relationship of the soulful to objective consciousness is no longer one of mere difference, but of direct opposition, and therefore the soulful no longer mixes with objective consciousness. We will demonstrate here the truth of this statement by a further discussion and thereby also prove the rational necessity of the progression of our exposition from magnetic states to derangement. The necessity of this progression lies in the fact that the soul is already in itself the contradiction of being an individual, a single entity, and yet at the same time immediately identical with the universal natural soul, with its substance. This opposition existing in the contradictory form of identity, must be posited as opposition, as contradiction. This first happens in derangement; for in derangement the subjectivity of the soul first separates from its substance, which in somnambulism is still immediately identical with it, and not only that: it comes into direct opposition to it, into complete contradiction with the objective, thereby becoming a purely formal, empty, abstract subjectivity, and in this its one-sidedness claims for itself the significance of a veritable unity of the subjective and objective. Therefore, the unity and separation, present in derangement, of the opposed sides just mentioned is still an imperfect pg 117 unity. This unity and this separation only reach their perfect shape in rational, in actually objective consciousness. When I have risen to rational thinking I am not only for myself, an object to myself, and therefore a subjective identity of the subjective and objective, but I have, secondly, disconnected this identity from myself, placed it over against myself as an actually objective identity. In order to achieve this complete separation, the feeling soul must overcome its immediacy, its naturalness, bodiliness, must posit them ideally, make them its own, thereby transforming them into an objective unity of the subjective and objective and thus discharging its Other from its immediate identity with the feeling soul as well as at the same time freeing itself from this Other. But the soul has not yet reached this goal at the standpoint at which we are now considering it. In so far as it is deranged, it clings to a merely subjective identity of the subjective and objective, rather than to an objective unity of these two sides; and only in so far as, with all its folly and all its madness, it is still at the same time rational and stands therefore on another level than the one now to be considered, does the soul attain to an objective unity of the subjective and objective. For in the state of derangement proper both modes of finite mind—on the one hand rational consciousness developed within itself, with its objective world, on the other hand inner sensation clinging to itself and having its objectivity within itself—are cultivated, each for itself, into the totality, into a personality. The objective consciousness of the deranged shows itself in the most diverse ways: they are aware, e.g., that they are in a lunatic asylum; they know their attendants; are also aware with regard to others that they are fools; make fun of each other's folly; are employed on all kinds of tasks, sometimes even appointed overseers. But at the same time they are dreaming while awake and are captivated by a particular idea that cannot be unified with their objective consciousness. This waking dreaming of theirs has an affinity with somnambulism; but the two states are also distinct from each other. In somnambulism the two personalities present in one individual make no contact with each other, the somnambulistic consciousness, on the contrary, is so separated from the waking consciousness that neither of them is aware of the other, and the duality of personalities also appears as a duality of states. In derangement proper, by contrast, the two different personalities are not two different states but are in one and the same state; so that these reciprocally negative personalities—soulful consciousness and intellectual consciousness—have mutual contact and are aware of each other. The deranged subject is therefore together with itself in the negative of itself; i.e., in its consciousness the negative of that consciousness is immediately present. This negative is not overcome by the deranged individual, the duality into which he splits up is not brought to unity. Consequently, though the deranged individual is in himself one and the same subject, yet, as an object for himself, he is not an internally undivided subject, concordant with itself, but a subject diverging into two different personalities.5

The determinate sense of this disruption, of this being-together-with-itself of the mind in the negative of itself, needs still further development. In derangement pg 118 this negative acquires a more concrete meaning than the negative of the soul has had in our exposition so far, just as the mind's being-together-with-itself must be taken here in a more replete sense than the being-for-itself of the soul that has so far been achieved.6

In the first place, therefore, we must distinguish this negative characteristic of derangement from other sorts of negative of the soul. To this end we can note that when we endure, e.g., hardships we are also together with ourselves in a negative, but we need not therefore be fools. We become fools only if we endure hardships when we have no rational aim to be attained only in this way. A journey, e.g., to the Holy Sepulchre undertaken for the purpose of fortifying one's soul may be regarded as a madness, because such a journey is quite useless for the end in view and is therefore not a necessary means for procuring it. For the same reason, the journeys across whole countries made by Indians crawling on their stomachs can be pronounced a derangement. The negative endured in derangement is, therefore, one in which only the sentient consciousness, not the intellectual and rational consciousness, finds itself again.7

But in the deranged state the negative constitutes, as we have just said, a determination which befalls both the soulful consciousness and the intellectual consciousness in their mutual relation. This relation of these two opposed modes of the mind's being-together-with-itself likewise needs a more precise characterization to prevent its being confused with the relationship in which mere error and folly stand to the objective, rational consciousness.8

To clarify this point, let us recall that when the soul becomes consciousness, there arises for it, by the separation of what in the natural soul is unified in an immediate way, the opposition of a subjective thinking and externality,—two worlds which are in truth identical with one another ('ordo rerum atque idearum idem est', says Spinoza), but which to the merely reflective consciousness, to finite thinking, appear as essentially different and independent of one another. Consequently, the soul, as consciousness, enters the sphere of finitude and contingency, of the self-external, hence individualized. What I am aware of at this level, I amaware of initially as something individualized, unmediated, consequently as something contingent, as something given, found. What is found and sensed, I transform into representations, at the same time making it into an external object. But at the same time I then recognize this content, in so far as the activity of my intellect and reason are directed on it, as not merely individualized and contingent but a moment of a great interconnection, as standing in infinite mediation with other contents, and by this mediation becoming something necessary. Only if I proceed in the way just indicated am I using my intellect, while the content with which I am filled gains on its part the form of objectivity. Just as this objectivity is the goal of my theoretical striving, it also forms the norm of my practical conduct. If, therefore, I want to transfer my aims and interests, thus representations proceeding from me, out of their subjectivity into objectivity, then I must, if I am to apply my intellect, represent to myself the material, the reality confronting me pg 119 in which I intend to actualize this content, in the way that it is in truth. But just as I must have a correct representation of the objectivity confronting me if I am to behave intelligently, so too must I have a correct representation of myself, i.e., a representation that harmonizes with the totality of my actuality, with my infinitely determined individuality as distinct from my substantial being.9

Now, of course, I can be mistaken, both about the external world and about myself. Unintelligent people have empty, subjective representations, unrealizable wishes, which all the same they hope to actualize in the future. They confine themselves to entirely individualized aims and interests, cling to one-sided principles and thereby come into conflict with actuality. But this narrow-mindedness and those mistakes are still not in the least deranged if the unintelligent are at the same time aware that their subjectivity does not yet exist objectively. Error and folly only become derangement in the case where someone believes he has his merely subjective representation objectively present to him and clings to it in face of the actual objectivity standing in contradiction with it. To the deranged, their mere subjectivity is quite as certain as objectivity is; in their merely subjective representation,— for example in the illusion that they are someone who, in fact, they are not—they have the certainty of themselves, their being hangs on it. Therefore when someone's speaks in a deranged way, the first thing is always to remind him of the whole range of his circumstances, of his concrete actuality. Then if he nevertheless sticks to his false representation, even though that objective interconnection has been presented to his representation and he has been made aware of it, the derangement of such a person is not open to any doubt.10

It follows from what has just been said that the deranged representation can be called an empty abstraction and mere possibility regarded by the deranged as something concrete and actual; for as we have seen, this representation precisely involves abstraction from the concrete actuality of the deranged. If, e.g., I, who am very far from being a king, nonetheless take myself to be a king, this representation, which contradicts the totality of my actuality and is therefore deranged, has no other ground and content whatever than the indeterminate universal possibility that since a man, in general, can be a king, I myself, this determinate man, am a king.11

But the reason why such a fixation on a particular representation, irreconcilable with my concrete actuality, can arise in me lies in the fact that I am initially a wholly abstract, completely indeterminate I , an I thus standing open to any content whatever. In so far as I amsuch an I, I can frame formyself the emptiest representations, take myself, e.g., to be a dog (in fairy-tales men have indeed been turned into dogs), or imagine that I am able to fly, because there is enough room to do this and other living creatures are able to fly. As soon as I become a concrete I, by contrast, and acquire determinate thoughts of actuality, as soon as, e.g., in the last-mentioned case I think of my heaviness, then I see the impossibility of my flying. Only man gets as far as grasping himself in this complete abstraction of the I. This is why he has, so to speak, the privilege of folly and madness. But this illness pg 120 only develops in the concrete, sober self-consciousness in so far as this descends to the impotent, passive, abstract I of which we have just spoken. By this descent the concrete I loses its absolute power over the entire system of its determinations, forfeits the ability to put everything coming to the soul in the right place, to remain perfectly present to itself in each of its representations; and by letting itself be captivated by a particular, merely subjective representation, is driven out of its wits, is shifted out from the centre of its actuality and, since it also still retains a consciousness of its actuality, acquires two centres, one in the remnants of its intellectual consciousness, the other in its deranged representation.12

In the deranged consciousness the abstract universality of the immediate I, the I that just is, stands in unresolved contradiction with a representation torn off from the totality of actuality, and consequently individualized. This consciousness is, therefore, not genuine being-together-with-itself but being-together-with-itself stuck fast in the negative of the I. An equally unresolved contradiction prevails here between, on the one hand, this individualized representation and the abstract universality of the I and, on the other hand, the internally harmonious total actuality. It is clear from this that the proposition, 'What I think is true', which is rightly defended by conceptual reason, acquires in the deranged a deranged sense and becomes something just as untrue as the assertion pitted against that proposition by the unintelligence of the intellect, the assertion of the absolute divorce between the subjective and objective. Over this unintelligence, as well as over derangement, even the mere sensation of the healthy soul has the advantage of rationality, in so far as the actual unity of the subjective and objective is present in it. As we have already said above, however, this unity only acquires its perfect form in conceptual reason; for only what is thought by conceptual reason is something true in regard both to its form and its content,—a perfect unity of what is thought and what is. In derangement, by contrast, the unity and the difference of the subjective and objective are still something merely formal, excluding the concrete content of actuality.13

Because of the context and also for even greater clarification, we want at this point to repeat in a more condensed and, if possible, more determinate form, something which has already been touched on several times in the above Paragraph and in the Remark to it. We mean the point that derangement must be conceived essentially as an illness at once mental and bodily, and for this reason: the unity of the subjective and objective prevailing in derangement is still wholly immediate and has not yet gone through infinite mediation, the I affected by derangement, no matter how acute this tip of self-feeling may be, is still natural, immediate, a being, and consequently what is distinct from it can take root in it as a being; or, still more determinately, in derangement a particular feeling contradicting the objective consciousness of the deranged is held fast as something objective in the face of that consciousness, is not posited ideally, this feeling consequently having the form of a being, hence of a bodily entity, and in this way a duality of being emerges in the deranged which is not overcome by his objective pg 121 consciousness, a divergence which just is and which becomes for the deranged soul a fixed barrier.14

Further, as regards the other question which likewise has already been raised in the above Paragraph, 'How does mind come to be deranged?', we may supplement the answer given there by remarking that this question already presupposes the firm, objective consciousness not yet attained by the soul at its present stage of development; and that, at the point we have now reached in our inquiry, it is rather the converse question that should be answered, namely the question: 'How does the soul that is enclosed in its inwardness and is immediately identical with its individual world, emerge from the merely formal, empty difference of the subjective and objective and attain to the actual difference of these two sides, and thus to the genuinely objective, intellectual and rational consciousness?' The answer to this will be given in the last four Paragraphs of the first part of the theory of subjective mind.15

From what was said at the beginning of this Anthropology about the necessity of starting the philosophical consideration of subjective mind with the natural mind, and from the concept of derangement developed above in all its aspects, it will incidentally be sufficiently clear why derangement must be dealt with before the healthy, intellectual consciousness, although it has the intellect for its presupposition and is nothing other than the extremity of the diseased condition into which the intellect can descend. We had to settle the discussion of this condition already in Anthropology because in derangement the soulful, the natural self, the abstract, formal subjectivity, gains the upper hand over the objective, rational, concrete consciousness, and consideration of the abstract, natural self must precede the exposition of concrete, free mind. However, in order that this progression from something abstract to the concrete that contains it in potentiality may not have the look of an isolated and therefore suspect phenomenon, we can recall that in the Philosophy of Right a similar progression has to take place. In this science too, we begin with something abstract, namely with the concept of the will; we then proceed to the ensuing actualization of the still abstract will in an external reality, to the sphere of formal right; from there we go on to the will reflected into itself out of external reality, to the realm of morality; and thirdly and lastly we come to the will that unites within itself these two abstract moments and is therefore concrete, ethical will. In the sphere of ethics itself we then begin again from an immediacy, from the natural, undeveloped shape that the ethical mind has in the family; then we come to the rupture of the ethical substance in civil society; and finally we reach the unity and truth, present in the political state, of those two one-sided forms of the ethical mind. However, from this course taken by our inquiry it does not follow in the least that we wanted to make ethical life something later in time than right and morality, or to explain the family and civil society as something preceding the state in actuality. We are well aware that ethical life is the foundation of right and morality, as also that the family and civil society with their well-ordered differentiations already presuppose the presence of the state. In the philosophical pg 122 development of the ethical, however, we cannot begin with the state, since in the state the ethical has unfolded into its most concrete form, whereas the beginning is necessarily something abstract. For this reason too morality must be considered before ethics, although morality in a way emerges in ethics only as a sickness. And for the same reason too we have had, in the realm of Anthropology, to discuss derangement before the concrete, objective consciousness, since derangement, as we have seen, consists in an abstraction held on to in opposition to the concrete objective consciousness of the deranged.16—This concludes the remarks we had to make here about the concept of derangement in general.

As regards the particular varieties of the deranged condition, people usually differentiate them not so much by an inner determinacy as by the outward expressions of this illness. This is not adequate for philosophical inquiry. We have to recognize even derangement as something differentiated within itself in a necessary and in that respect rational manner. But a necessary differentiation of this condition of the soul cannot be derived from the particular content of the formal unity of the subjective and objective present in derangement; for this content is something infinitely manifold and therefore contingent. On the contrary, therefore, we must keep our eye on the entirely universal differences of form emerging in derangement. For this purpose we must refer back to our previous description of derangement as a closure of the mind, as a submergence within itself, whose peculiarity, in contrast to the being-within-itself of mind present in somnambulism, consists in its being no longer in immediate connection with actuality but in having decidedly cut itself off from it.17

Now this submergence within itself is, on the one hand, the universal in every variety of derangement; on the other hand, when it remains in its indeterminacy, in its emptiness, it forms a particular variety of the deranged state. It is with this that we have to begin our consideration of the various kinds of derangement.18

But if this quite indeterminate being-within-itself acquires a determinate content, binds itself to a merely subjective, particular representation and takes this to be something objective, then we see the second form of derangement.19

The third and last main form of this illness emerges when that which confronts the soul's delusion is likewise for the soul, when the deranged compares his merely subjective representation with his objective consciousness, discovers the acute opposition obtaining between the two, and thus arrives at the unhappy feeling of his contradiction with himself. Here we see the soul in the more or less despairing endeavour to escape from the discord, already present in the second form of derangement but there felt only slightly or not at all, and to regain concrete identity with itself, the inner harmony of the self-consciousness persisting imperturbably in the one centre of its actuality.20

Let us now consider in somewhat more detail these three main forms of derangement.

αα‎) Imbecility, absent-mindedness, rambling. The first of these three main forms, the quite indeterminate submergence in oneself, appears at first as pg 123imbecility. This takes different forms. There is natural imbecility. This is incurable. Particularly what is called cretinism belongs here, a state that is partly sporadic in its occurrence and partly endemic in certain regions, especially in narrow valleys and marshy places. Cretins are misshapen, deformed people, often afflicted with goitre; conspicuous by a completely stupid facial expression; their undeveloped soul often cannot go beyond entirely inarticulate sounds.—But besides this natural imbecility we also find an imbecility into which someone descends by undeserved misfortune or by his own fault. With regard to the former case, Pinel cites the example of a congenital imbecile whose dull-wittedness was believed to be the result of an extremely severe fright which her mother had had when she was pregnant with her. Imbecility is often a consequence of frenzy, in which case cure becomes highly improbable; epilepsy, too, often terminates in the state of imbecility. But the same state is no less frequently brought on by excess of dissipation.—With regard to the appearance of imbecility we can also mention that it occasionally reveals itself as catalepsy, as a complete paralysis of both corporeal and mental activity.—Incidentally, imbecility occurs not merely as a permanent state, but also as a transitory state. An Englishman, e.g., sank into indifference to all things, first to politics and then to his own affairs and to his family. He would sit quietly, looking straight in front of him and for years did not speak a word, and showed an insensitivity that made it doubtful whether he knew his wife and children or not. He was cured when someone else, dressed exactly like him, sat opposite him and imitated him in everything he did. This threw the patient into a violent frenzy which forced him to attend to things outside of him and drove him permanently out of his self-absorption.21

A further modification of the first main form of the deranged state under discussion is absent-mindedness. This consists in a non-awareness of the immediate present. This non-awareness often forms the beginning of madness; yet there is also a lofty absent-mindedness far removed from madness. This can occur when the mind is withdrawn by profound meditations from attention to everything relatively unimportant. Thus Archimedes was once so absorbed in a geometrical problem that for several days he seemed to have forgotten all other things and had to be wrenched by force out of this concentration of his mind on a single point. But absent-mindedness proper is a submergence into entirely abstract self-feeling, into a suspension of sober, objective consciousness, into an unaware nonpresence of the mind at things at which it should be present. The subject in this state confuses his true situation in the individual case with a false one, and conceives outer circumstances in a one-sided manner, not in the totality of their relations. Among many other examples, a delightful example of this state of soul is a French count who, when his wig got caught on a chandelier, laughed heartily over it with the others present and looked around to discover whose wig had been pulled off, who was left with a bald pate. Another instance of this kind is supplied by Newton. This scholar is supposed once to have taken hold of a lady's pg 124 finger in order to use it as a tobacco-stopper for his pipe. Such absent-mindedness can be the result of excessive study; it is found quite often in scholars, especially in those of an earlier time. However, absent-mindedness often arises also, when people want to be held in high esteem everywhere, and consequently keep their subjectivity in view constantly, which makes them forget objectivity.22

Absent-mindedness stands in contrast to the rambling that takes an interest in everything. Rambling springs from inability to fix attention on anything determinate, and consists in the illness of stumbling from one object to another. This ailment is mostly incurable. Fools of this kind are the most troublesome. Pinel tells of such a subject who was a perfect image of chaos. He says: 'This subject approaches me and overwhelms me with his chatter. Straight afterwards he does the same to someone else. When this individual comes into a room he turns everything in it upside down, shakes chairs and tables and moves them about without any apparent particular purpose. You only have to take your eyes off him for a second and this subject is already out on the adjoining promenade, busying himself there just as aimlessly as in the room, chattering, throwing stones, pulling off foliage, going on further, turning round again, without knowing why.'—Rambling always stems from a weakness of the power of intellectual consciousness to hold together the entirety of its representations. But ramblers often already suffer from delirium—therefore, not merely from non-awareness of what is immediately present but from an unconscious reversal of it. So much for the first main form of the deranged state.23

ββ‎) The second main form of it, madness proper, arises when the closure-within-itself of the natural mind, whose various modifications we considered above, acquires a determinate content and this content becomes a fixed idea, because the mind not yet in complete control of itself becomes just as absorbed in it as, in imbecility, it is absorbed in its own self, in the abyss of its indeterminacy. It is hard to say with precision where madness proper begins. For example, in small towns one finds people, especially women, who are so absorbed in an extremely limited circle of particular interests and who feel so comfortable in this parochialism of theirs that we rightly call such individuals crazy people. But madness in the narrower sense of the word implies that the mind sticks fast in an individual, merely subjective representation and regards it as something objective. This state of soul mostly comes about when someone shuts himself up in his subjectivity out of dissatisfaction with actuality. The passion of vanity and pride is the chief cause of this self-cocooning of the soul within itself. Then the mind thus nestled in its inwardness easily loses its understanding of actuality and finds its way around only in its subjective representations. This conduct can soon give rise to complete madness. For if there is still any vitality present in it, this eremitic consciousness easily takes the step of creating some content or other from its own resources and regarding this purely subjective item as something objective and fixing it in place. That is, whereas, as we have seen, in imbecility and in rambling as well, the soul does not possess the power to hold on to pg 125 anything determinate, madness proper by contrast displays this ability and by this very fact demonstrates that it is still consciousness, that in madness, therefore, a differentiation of the soul from its firmly entrenched content still takes place. Therefore, although on the one hand the madman's consciousness has coalesced with that content, yet, on the other hand, in virtue of its universal nature consciousness transcends the particular content of the deranged representation. Therefore the mad have, alongside their craziness in relation to one point, at the same time a good, coherent consciousness, a correct conception of things and the capacity for intelligent action. This, in addition to the mistrustful reserve of the mad, makes it possible that sometimes a madman is not at once recognized as such and, in particular, that there are doubts about whether the cure of the madness has succeeded, hence about whether the discharge of the mental patient can take place.24

The differences between the mad are mainly determined by the variety of the representations that become entrenched in them.

Weariness with life can be reckoned as the most indeterminate madness when it is not occasioned by the loss of loved and worthy persons and of ethical relationships. An indeterminate, groundless disgust with life is not indifference to it, for in indifference life is endured; rather it is the inability to endure it, a fluctuation to and fro between inclination and aversion towards everything pertaining to actuality, a captivation by the fixed idea of the loathsomeness of life and at the same time a striving to overcome this idea. It is mostly the English who succumb to this disgust with actuality, arising without any rational ground, as well as to other modes of madness; perhaps because with this nation induration into subjective particularity is so prevalent. In the English, this weariness with life appears mainly as melancholy, the mind's constant brooding over its unhappy representation, never rising to the vitality of thought and action. Not infrequently this state of soul gives rise to an irrepressible impulse to suicide; on occasions this impulse could only be eradicated by violently wrenching the despairing individual out of himself. For instance, the story is told of an Englishman who was on the point of drowning himself in the Thames when he was attacked by robbers; he offered the fiercest resistance and by the suddenly awakening feeling of the value of life, he lost all suicidal thoughts. Another Englishman who had hanged himself, on being cut down by his servant not only regained the desire to live but also the disease of avarice; for when discharging the servant, he deducted twopence from his wages because the man had acted without instructions in cutting the rope in question.25

In contrast to the indeterminate form of deranged soul-state just described, killing off all vitality, stands an endless throng, coupled with lively interests and even with passion, of madnesses having an individualized content. This content depends in part on the particular passion from which the madness sprang; but it can also be determined contingently by something else. The first case will have to be assumed with those madmen who, for example, have taken themselves to be God, or Christ, or a king. The second case, by contrast, will occur pg 126 when, for example, madmen suppose themselves to be a barleycorn, or a dog, or to have a carriage in their body. But in both cases the madman as such has no determinate consciousness of the contradiction obtaining between his fixed idea and objectivity. Only we are aware of this contradiction; such a madman himself is not tormented by the feeling of his inner disruption.

γγ‎) Only when the third main form of the deranged state is present, mania or insanity, do we have the phenomenon that the deranged subject himself is aware of being torn apart into two mutually contradictory modes of consciousness, that the mental patient himself has a vivid feeling of the contradiction between his merely subjective representation and objectivity, and yet cannot give up this representation but insists on making it an actuality or annihilating what is actual. It is implied in the concept of mania just indicated that it need not spring from an empty illusion, but can be brought about particularly by a stroke of great misfortune, by a derangement of someone's individual world, or by the violent upheaval and coming out-of-joint of the universal state of the world if the individual lives with his heart exclusively in the past and thus becomes unable to reconcile himself to the present by which he feels himself at once rejected and bound. In the French revolution, for example, many people became insane by the collapse of almost all civic relationships. The same effect is often produced by religious causes in the most frightful manner, when the individual is plunged into absolute uncertainty whether he has been accepted by God into grace.

But in the insane the feeling of their inner disruption may be a tranquil pain, but equally it can also advance to a rage of reason against unreason and of unreason against reason, and thus become frenzy. For this unhappy feeling is very easily accompanied in the insane not only by a hypochondriacal mood tormented by fancies and whims, but also by a suspicious, false, jealous, mischievous, and malicious disposition, a fury over its hindrance by the surrounding actuality, over those from whom it suffers a limitation of its will; just as, conversely, in spoilt people, individuals who are accustomed to getting their own way in everything, their rambling obstinacy easily turns to insanity when the rational will that wills the universal erects against them a dam, which their rearing subjectivity is unable to jump over or to break through. Traces of malice occur in everyone; however, ethical or at least prudent people know how to suppress them. But in insanity, where a particular representation usurps power over the rational mind, then in general the particularity of the subject emerges without restraint, and so then the impulses belonging to this particularity, natural impulses and those developed by reflection, throw off the yoke of the ethical laws rooted in the genuinely universal will,—then consequently the dark, subterranean powers of the heart get free. The fury of the insane often becomes a positive mania for injuring others, in fact even a suddenly awakening desire to kill, which with irresistible force compels those in its grip, despite the abhorrence of murder perhaps present in them, to kill even those whom otherwise they love tenderly. As we have just indicated, however, the malice of the insane does not exclude moral and ethical feelings; pg 127 on the contrary, just because of the distress of the insane, because of the unmediated opposition dominant in them, these feelings can have an increased intensity. Pinel expressly says that nowhere has he seen more affectionate spouses and fathers than in the lunatic asylum.26

As regards the physical side of insanity, its appearance often shows a connection with general changes in nature, especially with the course of the sun. Very hot and very cold seasons exert particular influence in this regard. It has also been noticed that the approach of storms and great changes in the weather produce temporary disturbances and outbursts of the insane. With regard to phases of life, it has been observed that insanity does not usually occur before the fifteenth year. As for other corporeal differences, we are aware that in strong muscular people with black hair, fits of rage are usually more violent than in blond persons. But to what extent derangement is connected with an unhealthy nervous system, is a point which eludes the eye of the doctor considering it from outside, as well as that of the anatomist.

The cure of derangement. The last point we have to discuss in connection with insanity and derangement relates to the course of treatment to be applied to both diseased states. The treatment is partly physical and partly psychological. At times the former by itself alone is sufficient; mostly however it is necessary to supplement this by psychological treatment which, likewise, can sometimes be sufficient by itself alone. No universally applicable prescription for the physical side of cure can be indicated. The medical remedies employed are, on the contrary, very much an empirical matter and therefore unreliable. But this much is certain, that the worst procedure of all is the one formerly practised at Bedlam which was limited to a thorough purging of the insane every three months. Sometimes, incidentally, the mentally ill have been cured in a physical way by the very thing that is liable to cause derangement in those not afflicted, namely, by falling heavily on their heads. The celebrated Montfaucon, e.g., is supposed to have been freed of his listlessness in this way in his youth.

But psychological treatment always remains the main thing. While this can have no effect on imbecility, it can often be successful in the treatment of madness proper and insanity because in these soul-states a vitality of consciousness is still present, and alongside derangement related to a particular representation, in its other representations a rational consciousness still subsists, which a skillful psychiatrist can develop into a power over that particularity. (It is the merit of Pinel in particular to have conceived this residue of rationality present in the mad and the insane as the foundation of cure and to have conducted his treatment of the mentally ill in accordance with this conception. His publication on this subject must be declared the best that exists in this field.)

In the psychological course of treatment, what matters above all things is to gain the confidence of the mad. This can be won because the deranged are still ethical beings. But the surest way to get possession of their confidence is to observe an open demeanour towards them without however letting this pg 128 openness degenerate into a direct attack on the deranged representation. Pinel relates an example of this method of treatment and its successful outcome. A hitherto amiable man became deranged, and since he did crazy stuff, possibly harmful to others, he had to be locked up. This put him in a rage and he was therefore tied up, but then fell into a higher degree of fury. He was therefore taken to a lunatic asylum. Here the warden entered into a calm conversation with the new arrival and gave in to his perverse utterances and thus calmed him down. He then ordered his bonds to be untied, led him into his new apartment and by continuing this procedure cured this mental patient in next to no time.—After winning the confidence of the insane, one must try to gain a just authority over them and to awaken in them the feeling that there is, in general, something of importance and worth. The deranged feel their mental weakness, their dependence on rational people. This makes it possible for the latter to win their respect. In learning to respect the one who is treating him, the deranged individual acquires the capacity to apply force to his subjectivity standing in contradiction with objectivity. So long as he is unable to do this himself others have to exert force against him. Therefore if, for example, someone deranged refuses to eat anything, or if he even destroys things around him, then it goes without saying that such things cannot be tolerated. It is particularly necessary—and this is often very difficult in the case of persons of rank, such as George III—to humble the self-conceit of the arrogant insane by making them feel their dependence. Of this case and the procedure to be observed here the following noteworthy example is found in Pinel. Someone who took himself to be Mahomet arrived at the lunatic asylum proud and self-important, demanded homage, issued daily a mass of banishment- and death-sentences and raved in royal fashion. Now although his delusion was not contradicted, he was forbidden to give way to raving as this was unseemly, and when he did not obey they locked him up and made representations to him about his conduct. He promised to improve, was discharged, but again flew into a maniacal rage. Now they took this Mahomet forcibly in hand, locked him up once more, and announced to him that he must no longer hope for mercy. However, the warden's wife by an agreed arrangement let herself be moved by his earnest entreaties for liberty and asked him to promise faithfully not to abuse his freedom with outbursts of rage because by this he would get her into trouble. She released him after he had made that promise. From this moment on he behaved well. If he still got an attack of rage, a glance from the warden's wife was enough to send him to his room to hide his rage there. The respect he had for this woman and his will to conquer his fits of rage restored him to sanity in six months.

As happened in the case just cited, we must always remember that, for all the severity that occasionally becomes necessary towards the deranged, in general they deserve considerate treatment owing to their rationality which is not yet entirely destroyed. For this reason, the force to be applied to these unfortunates should always be of such a kind as to have the moral significance of a just punishment. pg 129Lunatics still have a feeling of what is right and good; they are aware, e.g., that one should not harm others. Consequently the wrong they have committed can be represented to them, imputed to them and punished in them, and the justice of the punishment imposed made comprehensible to them. Thereby their better self is encouraged and when this happens they gain confidence in their own ethical power . Having reached this point, they become capable of fully recuperating by associating with good people. On the other hand, the moral self-feeling of the deranged can easily be so severely wounded by harsh, arrogant, contemptuous treatment that they fly into the most furious rage and frenzy. Also one should not be so imprudent as to let anything come close to the deranged, especially religious maniacs, which could serve to strengthen their craziness. On the contrary, one should endeavour to turn the deranged to other thoughts and so make them forget their fancies. A particularly effective way of dispelling the fixed representation is to compel the mad to occupy themselves mentally and especially physically; by work they are forced out of their diseased subjectivity and impelled towards the actual. Thus the case occurred of a tenant in Scotland who became noted for curing the insane, although his procedure consisted simply and solely in harnessing them, half a dozen at a time, to a plough and making them work until they were completely tired out. Of the remedies acting initially on the body, the swing especially has proved efficacious with the deranged, especially with raving lunatics. The seesaw movement on the swing makes the lunatic giddy and unsettles his fixed representation. But a great deal can also be achieved for the recovery of the deranged by sudden and powerful action on their fixed representation. It is true that the mad are extremely distrustful when they notice people trying to wean them away from their fixed representation. Yet at the same time they are stupid and are easily taken by surprise. They can therefore often be cured by someone pretending to enter into their delusion and then suddenly doing something in which the deranged individual glimpses a liberation from his imagined ailment. There is a well-known case of a deranged Englishman who believed he had a haycart with four horses in his stomach and who was freed from his delusion by a doctor who, having assured him that he could feel the cart and horses and so gained his confidence, persuaded him that he possessed a remedy for reducing the size of the things supposedly lodged in his stomach. Finally, he gave the mental patient an emetic and made him vomit out of the window just as, with the doctor's connivance, a haycart was passing by outside which the lunatic believed he had vomited. Another way of effecting a cure of derangement consists in getting madmen to perform actions which immediately refute the peculiar madness that torments them. Thus, e.g., someone who imagined he had glass feet was cured by a feigned attack by robbers, when he found his feet extremely useful for running away. Another who took himself to be dead, remained motionless and would not eat anything, came to his senses again when someone pretended to enter into his madness. The lunatic was put in a coffin and laid in a vault in which there was another coffin occupied by a man who at first pretended to be dead but who, pg 130 soon after he was left alone with the lunatic, sat up, expressed his pleasure at now having company in death, and finally got up, ate some of the food there and told the astonished lunatic that he had already been dead a long time and therefore knew how the dead go about things. The lunatic was pacified by the assurance, likewise ate and drank and was cured. Sometimes lunacy can also be cured by a word, by a joke acting immediately on the representation. For instance, a lunatic who believed he was the Holy Ghost recovered when another lunatic said to him: How can you be the Holy Ghost, when it's me? An equally interesting instance is a watch-maker who imagined he had been guillotined although innocent. The remorseful judge ordered that his head be given back to him, but through an unfortunate confusion a different, much worse, thoroughly useless head had been put back on him. As this lunatic was once defending the legend according to which St Dionysius had kissed his own severed head, another lunatic retorted: 'You arrant fool, what is St Dionysius supposed to have kissed his head with, with his heel perhaps?' This question so shook the deranged watch-maker that he completely recovered from his quirk. A joke of this kind will, however, completely dispel the madness only if this disease has already abated in intensity.27

(γ‎) Habit


Self-feeling, immersed in the particularity of the feelings (of simple sensations, and also desires, urges, passions, and their gratifications), is not distinguished from them. But the self is implicitly a simple relation of ideality to itself, formal universality, and this is the truth of the particular; in this life of feeling the self is to be posited as this universality; thus it is the universality that distinguishes itself from particularity, the universality that is for itself. This universality is not the content-packed truth of the determinate sensations, desires, etc., for their content does not yet come into consideration here. Particularity is, in this determination, just as formal; it is only the particular being or immediacy of the soul in contrast to its equally formal, abstract being-for-self. This particular being of the soul is the moment of its bodiliness; here it breaks with this bodiliness, distinguishing from it itself as its simple being and becomes the ideal, subjective substantiality of this bodiliness, just as in its implicit concept (§389) it was the only the unqualified substance of bodiliness.1

[Remark] This abstract being-for-self of the soul in its bodiliness is not yet I, not the existence of the universal that is for the universal. It is bodiliness reduced to its pure ideality, and bodiliness thus pertains to the soul as such. That is, just as space and time as abstract asunderness, as, therefore, empty space and empty time, are only subjective forms, pure intuition; so that pure being, which, owing to the sublation in it of the particularity of bodiliness, i.e. of immediate bodiliness as such, is being-for-self, is the entirely pure intuition, unconscious, but the foundation pg 131 of consciousness. It proceeds within itself to consciousness, since it has sublated within itself the bodiliness, of which it is the subjective substance, and which is still for it and constitutes a barrier. And thus it is posited as a subject for itself.2


That the soul thus makes itself into abstract universal being, and reduces the particularity of feelings (of consciousness too) to a determination in it that just is, is habit. In this way the soul has the content in possession, and contains it in such a way that in such determinations it is not actually sentient, it does not stand in relationship to them by distinguishing itself from them, nor is it absorbed in them, but it has them in itself and moves in them, without sensation or consciousness. The soul is free of them, in so far as it is not interested in or occupied with them; while it exists in these forms as its possessions, it is at the same time open to other activity and occupations, in the sphere of sensation and the mind's consciousness in general.1

This self-incorporation of the particularity or bodiliness of the determinations of feeling into the being of the soul appears as a repetition of them, and the production of habit appears as practice. For, since this being is, in relation to the natural-particular material that is put into this form, abstract universality, it is universality of reflexion (§175): one and the same item, as an external plurality of sensation, is reduced to its unity, and this abstract unity is posited.2

[Remark] Habit, like memory, is a hard point in organization of the mind; habit is the mechanism of self-feeling, as memory is the mechanism of intelligence. The natural qualities and alterations of age, of sleeping and waking, are immediately natural; habit is the determinacy of feeling (as well as of intelligence, will, etc., in so far as they belong to self-feeling) made into something that is natural, mechanical. Habit has rightly been called a second nature: nature, because it is an immediate being of the soul, a second nature, because it is an immediacy posited by the soul, incorporating and moulding the bodiliness that pertains to the determinations of feeling as such and to the determinacies of representation and of the will in so far as they are embodied (§401).3

In habit man's mode of existence is natural, and for that reason he is unfree in it; but he is free in so far as the natural determinacy of sensation is by habit reduced to his mere being, he is no longer different from it, is indifferent to it, and so no longer interested, engaged, or dependent with respect to it. The unfreedom in habit is partly just formal, pertaining only to the being of the soul; partly only relative, in so far as it really arises only in the case of bad habits, or in so far as a habit is opposed by another purpose; the habit of right in general, of the ethical, has the content of freedom.4 The essential determination is the liberation from sensations that man gains through habit, when he is affected by them. The different forms of habit may be determined as follows:

pg 132 (a) The immediate sensation is posited as negated, as indifferent. Hardening against external sensations (frost, heat, weariness of the limbs, etc., pleasant tastes, etc.), as well as hardening of the heart against distress, is a strength by which affection by such things as frost, etc. and distress, though it is of course sensed by man, is just reduced to an externality and immediacy; the soul's universal being maintains its abstract being-for-self in it, and self-feeling as such, consciousness, reflection, and other purposes and activity, are no longer involved in it.5

(b) Indifference towards satisfaction; desires, urges are dulled by the habit of their satisfaction. This is the rational liberation from them; monkish renunciation and forcible repression do not free us from them, nor are they rational in content. It goes without saying here that urges are kept in their natural place as finite determinacies, and that they, like their satisfaction, are subordinated to the rationality of the will as moments in it.6

(c) In habit as dexterity, the abstract being of the soul is supposed not only to be held on to for itself, but to be imposed as a subjective purpose within bodiliness, which is to become subjugated and entirely pervious to it. In contrast to such internal determination of the subjective soul, bodiliness is determined as immediate external being and a barrier—the more determinate breach of the soul, as simple being-for-self within itself, with its initial naturalness and immediacy; the soul is thus no longer in its initial immediate identity and, now that it is external, must first be reduced to such identity. The embodiment of determinate sensations is, moreover, itself a determinate embodiment (§401), and the immediate bodiliness is a particular possibility (a particular aspect of its differentiated structure, a particular organ of its organic system) for a determinate purpose. The incorporation of such a purpose in the body means that the implicit ideality of the material in general, and of the determinate bodiliness, has been posited as ideality, so that the soul exists as substance in its bodiliness in accordance with the determinacy of its representing and willing. In dexterity bodiliness is then rendered pervious, made into an instrument, in such a way that as soon as the representation (e.g. a sequence of musical notes) is in me, the physical body too, unresistingly and fluently, has expressed it correctly.7

Habit is a form that embraces all kinds and stages of mind's activity. The most external of them, the individual's spatial determination, his upright stance, is made by his will into a habit, an immediate, unconscious posture which always remains a matter of his continuing will; man stands only because and in so far as he wills it, and only so long as he unconsciously wills it. Similarly seeing, and so on, is the concrete habit which immediately unites in one simple act the many determinations of sensation, consciousness, intuition, intellect, etc. Thinking, too, though wholly free, and active in the pure element of itself, likewise requires habit and familiarity, this form of immediacy, by which it is the unimpeded, pervaded possession of my individual self. Only through this habit do I exist for myself as thinking. Even this immediacy of thinking pg 133 togetherness-with-oneself involves bodiliness (deficient habituation and long continuation of thinking cause headaches); habit diminishes this sensation, by making the natural determination into an immediacy of the soul.—But when developed, and at work in the mind as such, habit is recollection and memory, and is to be considered further below.8

Habit is often spoken of disparagingly and taken to be a lifeless, contingent and particular thing. Entirely contingent content can of course, like every other content, take the form of habit, and it is the habit of living which brings on death, or, albeit in a wholly abstract way, is death itself. Yet at the same time habit is the most essential feature of the existence of all mental life in the individual subject, enabling the subject to be concrete immediacy, to be soulful ideality, enabling the content, religious content, moral content, etc., to belong to it as this self, as this soul, not in it merely implicitly (as predisposition), nor as a transient sensation or representation, nor as abstract inwardness, cut off from action and actuality, but in its very being. In scientific studies of the soul and the mind, habit is usually passed over, either as something contemptible or rather also because it is one of the most difficult determinations.9

Zusatz. We are habituated to the representation of habit; nevertheless to determine the concept of habit is difficult. For this reason we wish to give here some further elucidations of this concept.

First of all, the necessity of the dialectical progression from derangement (considered in §408) to habit (treated in §§409 and 410) must be shown. To this end we recall that in mania the soul endeavours to restore itself to perfect inner harmony of mind out of the contradiction present between its objective consciousness and its fixed representation. This restoration can just as well fail as succeed. For the individual soul, therefore, the attainment of free, internally harmonious self-feeling appears as something contingent. But in itself the absolute liberation of self-feeling, the soul's untroubled being-together-with-itself in all the particularity of its content, is something thoroughly necessary; for in itself the soul is absolute ideality, that which overarches all its determinacies; and it lies in the concept of the soul that by sublation of the particularities which have become entrenched in it, it proves to be the unlimited power over them, that it reduces what is still immediate, what is in it as a being, to a mere property, to a mere moment, in order by this absolute negation to become for its own self as a free individuality. Now we have in fact already had to consider a being-for-self of the self in the relationship of the human soul to its genius. There however this being-for-self still had the form of externality, of separation into two individualities, into a dominating and a dominated self; and between these two sides there was as yet no decided opposition, no contradiction, so that the genius, this determinate inwardness, made its appearance in the human individual unhindered. By contrast, at the stage we have now reached in the development of subjective mind, we come to a being-for-self of the soul that has been brought about by pg 134 the concept of the soul through overcoming of the mind's inner contradiction present in derangement, through sublation of the complete disruption of the self. This being-together-with-one's-own-self we call habit. In habit, the soul is no longer captivated by a merely subjective particular representation and evicted by it from the centre of its concrete actuality; it has so completely received into its ideality the immediate and individualized content presented to it, has made itself so at home in the content, that it moves about in it with freedom. That is, whereas in mere sensation I am contingently affected now by this and now by that, and in sensation the soul is immersed in its content, loses itself in it, does not sense its concrete self—as also happens with other mental activities as long as they are something to which the subject is still unaccustomed—in habit, by contrast, one enters a relationship not to a contingent individual sensation, representation, desire, etc., but to one's own self, to a universal mode of action which constitutes one's individuality, which is posited by oneself and has become one's own, and just because of that one appears as free. The universal to which the soul relates itself in habit is, however—in contrast to the self-determining concrete universal which is present only for pure thinking—only the abstract universality produced by reflection from the repetition of many individualities. It is only to this form of universal that the natural soul, dealing with the immediate and therefore with the individual, can attain. But the universal related to mutually external individualities is the necessary. Therefore although, on the one hand, by habit a man becomes free, yet, on the other hand, habit makes him its slave. Habit is not an immediate, first nature, dominated by the individuality of sensations. It is rather a second nature posited by soul. But all the same it is still a nature, something posited that assumes the shape of immediacy, an ideality of beings that is itself still burdened with the form of being, consequently something not corresponding to free mind, something merely anthropological.10

In that the soul has become self-relating ideality in the manner indicated above, namely, by overcoming its disruption, its inner contradiction, it has extruded from itself the bodiliness with which it was previously immediately identical, and at the same time exerts the power of its ideality on the bodily element thus released to immediacy. At this standpoint, therefore, we have to consider not the indeterminate separation of an interior in general from a world it finds before it, but the subjection of this bodiliness to the dominion of the soul. This subjugation of bodiliness forms the condition of the soul's liberation, of its attaining objective consciousness. Of course, in itself the individual soul is already corporeally enclosed; being alive, I have an organic physical body and this is not something alien to me; on the contrary, it belongs to my Idea, is the immediate, external reality of my concept, constitutes my individual natural life. Therefore, in passing, one must pronounce to be completely empty the idea of those who suppose that strictly man should not have an organic body because this compels him to take care of the satisfaction of his physical needs and thus diverts him from his purely spiritual life and incapacitates him for true freedom. Even the pg 135 unsophisticated religious man is far removed from this shallow view, since he holds the satisfaction of his bodily needs worthy of being the object of his petition to God, to the eternal spirit. But philosophy has to recognize that mind is only for its own self by opposing to itself materiality, both as its own bodiliness and as an external world in general, and by bringing back what is thus differentiated into unity with itself, a unity mediated by the opposition and by sublation of it. Between the mind and its own body there is naturally an even more intimate association than between the rest of the external world and mind. Just because of this necessary connection of my body with my soul, the activity immediately exerted by the soul on the body is not a finite, not a merely negative, activity. First of all, then, I have to maintain myself in this immediate harmony of my soul and my body; true, I do not have to make my body an end in itself as athletes and tightrope walkers do, but I must give my body its due, must take care of it, keep it healthy and strong, and must not therefore treat it with contempt or hostility. It is just by disregard or even maltreatment of my physical body that I would make my relationship to it one of dependence and of externally necessary connection; for in this way I would make it into something—despite its identity with me—negative towards me and consequently hostile, and would compel it to rise up against me, to take revenge on my mind. If, by contrast, I conduct myself in accordance with the laws of my bodily organism, then my soul is free in its physical body.11

Nevertheless, the soul cannot remain in this immediate unity with its body. The form of immediacy of this harmony contradicts the concept of the soul, its determination of being ideality relating to its own self. In order to come into correspondence to this its concept, the soul must do what at our standpoint it has not yet done, it must make its identity with its body into an identity posited or mediated by the mind, take possession of its body, form it into a pliant and skillful instrument of its activity, so transform it that in it soul relates to its own self and and that the body becomes an accident brought into accord with its substance, freedom. The body is the middle term by which I come together with the external world in general. So, if I want to actualize my aims, then I must make my physical body capable of carrying over this subjectivity into external objectivity. My body is not by nature fitted for this; on the contrary, it immediately does only what is appropriate to animal life. But the purely organic functions are not yet functions performed at the instigation of my mind. For this service my body must first be trained. Whereas in animals the body, in obedience to their instinct, immediately accomplishes everything made necessary by the Idea of the animal, man, by contrast, has first to make himself master of his body by his own activity. At the beginning, the human soul pervades its physical body only in a quite indeterminately universal way. For this pervasion to become a determinate pervasion, training is required. Initially the physical body here shows itself unsubmissive to the soul, its movements are unsure and are given a strength that is now too great, now too small for the purpose in hand. The correct measure of this force can only pg 136 be achieved when one directs a particular reflection on all the manifold circumstances of the externality in which one wants to actualize one's aims and measures each individual movement of one's physical body in accordance with these circumstances. Therefore, even a decided talent can get it right straightaway every time only in so far as he is technically trained.12

If the activities of the body to be performed in the service of mind are often repeated, they acquire an ever higher degree of adequacy, for the soul gains an ever greater familiarity with all the circumstances to be considered, hence becomes more and more at home in its expressions and consequently achieves a continually growing capacity for immediately embodying its inner determinations and accordingly transforms the body more and more into its own property, into its serviceable instrument; there thus arises a magical relationship, an immediate operation of mind on body.13

But since the individual activities of man acquire by repeated practice the character of habit, the form of something received into recollection, into the universality of the mental interior, the soul brings into its expressions a universal mode of acting to be handed on to others too, a rule. This universal is internally so concentrated to simplicity that in it I am no longer conscious of the particular differences between my individual activities. That this is so we see, for example, in writing. When we are learning to write we must direct our attention on every individual detail, on a vast number of mediations. By contrast, once the activity of writing has become a habit with us, then our self has so completely mastered all relevant individual details, has so infected them with its universality, that they are no longer present to us as individual details and we keep in view only their universal aspect. Thus we see, consequently, that in habit our consciousness is at the same time present in the matter-in-hand, interested in it, yet conversely absent from it, indifferent towards it; that our self just as much appropriates the matter-in-hand as, on the contrary, it withdraws from it, that the soul on the one hand completely penetrates into its expressions and on the other hand deserts them, thus giving them the shape of something mechanical, of a merely natural effect.14



The soul, when its bodiliness has been thoroughly trained and made its own, becomes an individual subject for itself; and bodiliness is thus the externality as a predicate, in which the subject is related only to itself. This externality represents not itself, but the soul, of which it is the sign. As this identity of the inner with the outer, the outer being subjugated to the inner, the soul is actual; in its bodiliness it has its free shape, in which it feels itself and makes itself felt, and which, as the soul's work of art, has human, pathognomic and physiognomic, expression.1

pg 137 [Remark] Human expression includes, e.g., the upright figure in general, the formation especially of the hand, as the absolute tool, of the mouth, laughter, weeping, etc., and the spiritual tone diffused over the whole, which at once announces the physical body as the externality of a higher nature. This tone is such a slight, indeterminate, and indescribable modification, because the figure in its externality is something immediate and natural, and can therefore only be an indeterminate and quite imperfect sign for the mind, unable to represent it in its universality for itself. For the animal, the human figure is the highest form in which the mind appears to it. But for the mind it is only its first appearance, and speech is straight away its more perfect expression. The figure is indeed the mind's proximate existence, but in its physiognomic and pathognomic determinacy it is at the same time a contingency for the mind. To want to raise physiognomy and especially cranioscopy to the rank of sciences, was therefore one of the most vacuous notions, even more vacuous than a signatura rerum, which supposed that we could recognize the healing power of a plant from its shape.2

Zusatz. As we have already baldly asserted in §390 in anticipation, the actual soul forms the third and last main section of Anthropology. We began our consideration of anthropology with the soul that just is, still unseparated from its natural determinacy; then, in the second main section, we passed on to the soul that cuts off from itself its immediate being and in the determinacies of this being is for itself in an abstract way, i.e., feeling soul; and now, in the third main section, we come, as already indicated, to the soul that has developed out of that separation into mediated unity with its naturalness, that in its bodiliness is for itself in a concrete way, hence actual soul. The transition to this stage of development is made by the concept of habit considered in the previous Paragraph. For as we have seen, in habit the ideal determinations of the soul acquire the form of a being, of something external to its own self, and conversely, bodiliness on its side becomes something unresistingly pervaded by the soul, something subjected to the liberated power of the soul's ideality. Thus there arises a unity of this inner and this outer, a unity mediated by the separation of the soul from its bodiliness and by the sublation of this separation. This unity, which from being a produced unity becomes an immediate unity, we call the actuality of the soul.

At the standpoint we have now reached, the body no longer comes into consideration with respect to its organic process, but only in so far at it is an externality posited ideally even in its reality and in so far as in it the soul, no longer restricted to the involuntary embodiment of its inner sensations, makes its appearance with as much freedom as it has won so far by overcoming what contradicts its ideality.

The involuntary embodiment of inner sensations considered at the close of the first main section of Anthropology (§401) is, in part, something that man has in common with animals. By contrast, the embodiments occurring with freedom and now to be discussed, impart to the human body a peculiar mental stamp, by which man is distinguished from animals far more than by any mere natural pg 138 determinacy. On his purely bodily side, man is not greatly different from the ape; but by the mind-pervaded aspect of his body he is distinguished from that animal to such a degree that a smaller difference obtains between the appearance of an ape and that of a bird than between the body of a man and that of an ape.

But the mental expression is concentrated mainly in the face, because the head is the real seat of the mental. In the rest of the body, which belongs more or less to naturalness as such and, therefore, among civilized peoples is clothed out of shame, the mental reveals itself particularly in the posture of the physical body. Thus the artists of antiquity, incidentally, paid very particular attention to posture in their portrayals, when they gave intuitional expression to the mind above all in its effusion into bodiliness.—So far as mental expression is produced by the facial muscles, it is called, as we know, the play of features; gestures in the narrower sense of the word proceed from the rest of the physical body.—Man's absolute gesture is his upright position; only man shows himself capable of this, whereas even the orang-outang can stand upright only with a stick. Man is not erect by nature, originally; he makes himself stand upright by the energy of his will; and although his stance, after it has become a habit, requires no further intense activity of will, yet it must always remain pervaded by our will if we are not to collapse instantly.- The human arm and especially the hand are likewise peculiar to man; no animal has such a flexible tool for external activity. The human hand, this tool of tools, is suited to serve an endless multitude of expressions of the will. As a rule we initially make gestures with the hand, then with the whole arm and the rest of the physical body.3

Expression by looks and gestures presents an interesting object of consideration. However, it is sometimes not altogether easy to discover the ground of the determinate symbolic nature of certain looks and gestures, the connection of their meaning with what they are in themselves. We do not wish to discuss here all the relevant phenomena but only the commonest of them. Nodding, for a start, means an affirmation, for by this we indicate a kind of submission. Bowing as a mark of respect is in every case done only with the upper part of the body by us Europeans, since in doing it we do not wish to surrender our independence. Orientals, by contrast, express reverence for their master by throwing themselves on the ground before him; they may not look him in the eye, for by doing so they would be asserting their being-for-self, and only the master has the right freely to survey the servant and slave. Shaking the head is a denial; for by this we indicate making something wobble, knocking it over. Tossing the head expresses contempt, elevating oneself above someone. Screwing up the nose denotes disgust as of something evil-smelling. Frowning proclaims anger, a concentration of oneself into oneself against an Other. We pull a long face when we see ourselves disappointed in our expectation; for in that case we feel, as it were, let down. The most expressive gestures have their seat in the mouth and in its surroundings, since it is from the mouth that the expression of speech proceeds, involving many and varied modifications of the lips. As for the hands, expressing astonishment by clapping pg 139 them over one's head is in a way an attempt to pull oneself together over one's own self. But shaking hands on a promise indicates, as is easy to see, unanimity. The movement of the lower extremities, gait, is also very significant. Above all things, gait must be cultivated; in it the soul must betray its mastery over the physical body. But not merely cultivation and the lack of it, but also slackness, an affected manner, vanity, hypocrisy, etc., on the one hand, and orderliness, modesty, good sense, candour, etc., on the other, express themselves in the peculiar style of walking; so that it is easy to distinguish people from one another by their gait.4

Incidentally, the cultivated man has a less animated play of looks and gestures than the uncultivated. Just as the former bids the inward storm of his passions to be calm, so he also observes outwardly a calm demeanour and imparts to the voluntary embodiment of his sensations a certain measure of moderation; whereas the uncultivated, lacking power over his interior, believes that he can make himself intelligible only by a luxuriance of looks and gestures, but is thereby sometimes seduced into grimacing and in this way acquires a comical air, because in a grimace the interior at once completely externalizes itself and one thereby lets each individual sensation pass over into one's entire reality, with the consequence that, almost like an animal, one sinks exclusively into this determinate sensation. The cultured individual does not need to be lavish with looks and gestures; he possesses in talk the worthiest and most suitable means of expressing himself; for speech is able immediately to receive and reproduce every modification of representation, which is why the ancients even went to the extreme of making their actors appear with masks on their faces, and so, content with this immobile physiognomy of character, dispensing altogether with the lively play of the actors' looks.5

Now just as the voluntary embodiments of the mental discussed here become through habit something mechanical, something requiring no particular effort of will, so too, conversely, some of the involuntary embodiments of what is sensed by the soul considered in §401 can also take place with consciousness and freedom. Above all the human voice belongs here; when the voice becomes speech, it ceases to be an involuntary expression of the soul. Similarly laughing, in the form of laughing at, becomes something produced with freedom. Sighing, too, is not so much something uncontrollable as something wilful. Herein lies the justification for discussing the soul-expressions just mentioned in two places,—with the merely sentient soul and also with the actual soul. This is also why we pointed out as far back as §401 that among the involuntary embodiments of the mental there are many 'lying in the direction of pathognomy and physiognomy'—which were to be treated in their turn in §411 above. The difference between these two determinations is that the pathognomic expression relates more to transient passions, whereas the physiognomic expression concerns the character, hence something permanent. However, the pathognomic becomes physiognomic when the passions in a man hold sway not merely temporarily but permanently. The lasting passion of anger, for example, firmly ingrains itself in the face; and so too pg 140 a sanctimonious nature gradually impresses itself in an indelible way on the face and on the whole bearing of the body.

Every man has a physiognomic aspect, appears at first sight as a pleasant or unpleasant, strong or weak, personality. According to this semblance one passes, from a certain instinct, a first universal judgement on others. However, it is easy to be mistaken in this, since this exterior, encumbered predominantly with the character of immediacy, does not perfectly correspond to the mind but only in a greater or lesser degree. Consequently, an unfavourable, like a favourable, exterior can have behind it something different from what that exterior initially leads one to suspect. The biblical saying: 'Beware of him whom God hath marked', is, therefore, often misused; and a judgement based on physiognomic expression has accordingly only the value of an immediate judgement, which can just as well be untrue as true. For this reason, people have rightly retreated from the exaggerated respect they formerly harboured for physiognomy, when Lavater created such a stir about it and when people had high hopes of a massive contribution from it to the highly regarded knowledge of human nature. Man is known much less by his outward appearance than by his actions. Even language is exposed to the fate of serving just as much to conceal as to reveal human thoughts.6


In itself matter has no truth within the soul; the soul, since it is for itself, cuts itself off from its immediate being, and places this being over against itself as bodiliness, which can offer no resistance to the soul's incorporation into it. The soul, which has set its being in opposition to itself, sublated it and determined it as its own, has lost the meaning of soul, of the immediacy of mind. The actual soul in the habit of sensation and of its concrete self-feeling is in itself the ideality of its determinacies, an ideality that is for itself; in its externality it is recollected into itself, and is infinite relation to itself. This being-for-self of free universality is the soul's higher awakening to the I, to abstract universality in so far as it is for abstract universality, which is thus thinking and subject for itself, and in fact determinately subject of its judgement in which the I excludes from itself the natural totality of its determinations as an object, as a world external to it, and relates itself to that world so that in it it is immediately reflected into itself: consciousness.1

Zusatz. The soul's pervasion of its bodiliness considered in the two previous Paragraphs is not absolute, does not completely sublate the difference of soul and body. On the contrary, the nature of the logical Idea, developing everything from itself, requires that this difference still be given its due. Something of bodiliness remains, therefore, purely organic and consequently withdrawn from the power of the soul, so that the soul's pervasion of its body is only one side of the body. The soul, when it comes to feel this limitation of its power, reflects itself into itself and expels bodiliness from itself as something alien to it. By this reflection-into-self the mind completes its liberation from the form of being, gives itself the form of pg 141 essence and becomes the I.2 It is true that the soul, in so far as it is subjectivity or selfishness, is already in itself I. But the actuality of the I involves more than the soul's immediate, natural subjectivity; for the I is this universal, this simple entity that in truth exists only when it has itself as object, when it has become the being-for-self of the simple in the simple, the relation of the universal to the universal. The universal relating to itself exists nowhere save in the I. In external nature, as we have already said in the introduction to the theory of subjective mind, the universal only attains the highest activation of its power by annihilation of the individual reality, hence does not attain to actual being-for-self. The natural soul too is initially only the real possibility of this being-for-self. Only in the I does this possibility become actuality. Therefore, in the I an awakening ensues of a higher kind than the natural awakening confined to the mere sensation of what is individual; for the I is the lightning piercing through the natural soul and consuming its naturalness; in the I, therefore, the ideality of naturalness, and so the essence of the soul, becomes for the soul.3

The whole anthropological development of the mind presses on to this goal. As we here look back on this development, we recall how the human soul, in contrast to the animal soul which remains sunk in the individuality and limitation of sensation, has raised itself above the limited content of what is sensed, a content that contradicts its implicitly infinite nature, has posited this content ideally, and particularly in habit has made it into something universal, recollected, total, into a being. But we also recall how just in this way it has filled the initially empty space of its inwardness with a content appropriate to it because of its universality, has posited being within itself, just as, on the other hand, it has transformed its body into the image of its ideality, of its freedom, and thus has reached the point of being the self-related, individually determined universal present in the I, an abstract totality that is for itself and freed from bodiliness. Whereas in the sphere of the merely sentient soul the self appears, in the shape of the genius, as a power acting on the embodied individuality only from outside and at the same time only from within, at the stage of the soul's development now reached, by contrast, the self has, as we showed earlier, actualized itself in the soul's reality, in its bodiliness, and, conversely, has posited being within itself; so that now the self or the I intuits its own self in its Other and is this self-intuiting.4

pg 142B. Phenomenology of MindCONSCIOUSNESS


Consciousness constitutes the stage of the mind's reflexion or relationship, of mind as appearance. I is the infinite relation of mind to itself, but as subjective relation, as certainty of itself; the immediate identity of the natural soul has been raised to this pure ideal self-identity; the content of the natural soul is object for this reflection that is for itself. Pure abstract freedom for itself discharges from itself its determinacy, the soul's natural life, to an equal freedom as an independent object. It is of this object, as external to it, that I is initially aware, and is thus consciousness. I, as this absolute negativity, is implicitly identity in otherness; I is itself and extends over the object as an object implicitly sublated, I is one side of the relationship and the whole relationship—the light, that manifests itself and an Other too.1

Zusatz. As we remarked in the Zusatz to the previous Paragraph, the I must be conceived as the individually determined universal which, in its determinacy, in its difference, relates itself to itself alone. This already implies that the I is immediately negative relation to itself, consequently the unmediated opposite of its universality abstracted from all determinacy, and thus is equally abstract, simple individuality.2 It is not only we, the onlookers, who thus differentiate the I into its opposed moments; the I itself, in virtue of its individuality which is universal within itself and thus differentiated from itself, is this distinguishing-itself-from-itself; for as relating itself to itself, its exclusive individuality excludes itself from itself, i.e. from individuality, and thereby posits itself as the opposite of itself immediately joined together with individuality, as universality.3 But the determination of abstractly universal individuality essential to the I constitutes its being. I and my being are therefore inseparably combined with each other; the difference of my being from me is a difference that is no difference. On the one hand, being, as the absolutely immediate, indeterminate, undifferentiated, must of course be distinguished from thinking, which differentiates itself and by sublation of difference mediates itself with itself, must be distinguished from the I; yet, on the other hand, being is identical with thinking, since thinking returns from all mediation to immediacy, from all its self-differentiation to unperturbed unity with itself. The I is, therefore, being or has being as a moment within it. When I posit pg 143 this being as an Other confronting me and at the same time as identical with me, I am awareness and have the absolute certainty of my being.4 This certainty must not be regarded—as happens on the part of mere representation—as a kind of property of the I, as a determination in its nature; it is to be conceived as the very nature of the I, for the I cannot exist without distinguishing itself from itself and being together with itself in what is distinguished from it, which simply means, without being aware of itself, without having and being the certainty of itself. Therefore, certainty is related to the I as freedom is to the will. Just as certainty constitutes the nature of the I, so freedom constitutes the nature of the will. Initially, however, certainty is to be compared only with subjective freedom, with wilfulness; only objective certainty, truth, corresponds to genuine freedom of will.5

Accordingly, the I certain of itself is, initially, still wholly simple subjectivity, the quite abstractly free, the completely indeterminate ideality or negativity of all limitation. Repelling itself from itself, the I attains, therefore, at first only to something that is formally, not actually, distinct from it. But as is shown in Logic, the difference that is in itself must also be posited, must be developed into an actual difference. This development regarding the I proceeds in this way: the I does not fall to the anthropological level, to the unconscious unity of the mental and the natural, but remains certain of itself and maintains itself in its freedom; it lets its Other unfold into a totality like the totality of the I, and just in this way makes it change from something bodily belonging to the soul into something independently confronting it, into an object in the strict sense of this word.6 The I is at first only wholly abstract subjectivity, the merely formal, contentless distinguishing-itself-from itself, and so the actual difference, the determinate content, is found outside the I and belongs to objects alone. But since in itself the I already has difference within itself or, in other words, since it is in itself the unity of itself and its Other, it is necessarily related to the difference existing in the object and immediately reflected out of this its Other into itself. The I thus overarches what is actually distinguished from it, is together with itself in this its Other, and remains, in all intuition, certain of itself. Only when I come to apprehend myself as I, does the Other become an object to me, confront me, and at the same time get posited ideally in me, and hence brought back to unity with me. That is why in the above Paragraph the I was compared to light. Just as light is the manifestation of itself and its Other, darkness, and can reveal itself only by revealing that Other, so too the I is revealed to itself only in so far as its Other becomes revealed to it in the shape of something independent of it.7

From this general discussion of the nature of the I it is already sufficiently evident that since the I enters into conflict with external objects, it is something higher than the impotent natural soul caught up in, so to speak, a childlike unity with the world, than the soul in which, just because of its impotence, fall the states of mental disease we considered earlier.

pg 144§414

The identity of the mind with itself, as it is first posited as I, is only its abstract formal ideality. As soul in the form of substantial universality, mind is now subjective reflection-into-itself, related to this substantiality as to the negative of itself, something dark and beyond it. Hence consciousness, like relationship in general, is the contradiction between the independence of the two sides and their identity, in which they are sublated. The mind as I is essence; but since reality, in the sphere of essence, is posited as in immediate being and at the same time as ideal, mind as consciousness is only the appearance of mind.1

Zusatz. The negativity which the wholly abstract I, or mere consciousness, exerts on its Other is a still thoroughly indeterminate, superficial, not an absolute negativity. Consequently, at this standpoint there arises the contradiction that the object is, on the one hand, within me, and on the other hand, has an independent status outside me, like the darkness outside the light. To consciousness the object appears not as an object posited by the I, but as an immediate, given object that just is; for consciousness does not yet know that the object is in itself identical with the mind and is released to seemingly complete independence only by a self-division of the mind. That this is so, only we know, we who have got as far as the Idea of mind and have therefore risen above the abstract, formal identity of the I.2


Since I is for itself only as formal identity, the dialectical movement of the concept, the progressive determination of consciousness, does not look to it like its own activity, but is in itself and for the I an alteration of the object. Consciousness therefore appears differently determined according to the difference of the object given, and its progressive formation appears as an alteration of the determinations of its object. I, the subject of consciousness, is thinking; the progressive logical determination of the object is what is identical in subject and object, their absolute interconnexion, that in virtue of which the object is the subject's own.1

[Remark] Kantian philosophy may be most determinately considered as having conceived the mind as consciousness, and as involving determinations only of phenomenology, not of philosophy of mind. It considers I as relation to something lying beyond, which in its abstract determination is called the thing-in-itself; and it conceives both the intelligence and the will solely according to this finitude. If, in the concept of the faculty of reflective judgement, it does get to the Idea of mind, subjectivity-objectivity, an intuitive intellect, etc., and even the Idea of nature, still this Idea itself is again demoted to an appearance, namely to a subjective maxim (see §58, Intro.). Therefore Reinhold had what is to be regarded as a correct sense of this philosophy when he conceived it as a theory of conscious- pg 145 ness, under the name faculty of representation. Fichte's philosophy takes the same standpoint, and Non-I is determined only as object of the I, only in consciousness; it remains an infinite impetus, i.e. a thing-in-itself. Both philosophies therefore show that they have not reached the concept and not reached the mind as it is in and for itself, but only as it is in relation to an Other.2

As regards Spinozism, it is to be noted against it that in the judgement by which the mind constitutes itself as I, as free subjectivity in contrast to determinacy, the mind emerges from substance, and philosophy, when it makes this judgement the absolute determination of mind, emerges from Spinozism.3

Zusatz. (1) Although the progressive determination of consciousness proceeds from its own interior and is also directed towards the object in a negative way, and the object is thus altered by consciousness, yet this alteration appears to consciousness as an alteration that comes about without its subjective activity, and the determinations that it posits in the object count for it as belonging only to the object, as determinations that just are.

(2) With Fichte there is always the difficulty of how the I is to cope with the Non-I. He does not get to any genuine unity of these two sides; this unity always remains only a unity that ought to be, because at the outset the false presupposition is made that I and Non-I in their separateness, in their finitude, are something absolute.4


The goal of mind as consciousness is to make its appearance identical with its essence, to raise the certainty of itself to truth. The existence that mind has in consciousness, has its finitude in the fact that it is the formal relation to itself, only certainty; since the object is only abstractly determined as its own, or in the object the mind is only reflected into itself as abstract I, this existence still has a content that does not present itself as the mind's own content.1

Zusatz. Mere representation does not distinguish between certainty and truth. What is certain for it, what it regards as a subjective state agreeing with the object, it calls true, no matter how trivial and bad the content of this subjective state may be. Philosophy, by contrast, must distinguish the concept of truth essentially from mere certainty; for the certainty which the mind has of itself at the standpoint of mere consciousness is still something untrue, self-contradictory, since here, along with the abstract certainty of being together with itself, mind has the directly opposite certainty of its relationship to something essentially other than itself. This contradiction must be sublated; the urge to resolve itself lies in the contradiction itself.2 Subjective certainty must not retain any barrier in the pg 146object, it must acquire genuine objectivity; and, conversely, the object, on its side, must become mine not merely in an abstract manner but in every aspect of its concrete nature. This goal is already glimpsed by reason that believes in itself, but is attained only by the reason's knowledge, by conceptual cognition.3


The stages of this elevation of certainty to truth are mind as (a) consciousness in general, which has an object as such, (b) self-consciousness, for which I is the object, (c) unity of consciousness and self-consciousness, where the mind intuits the content of the object as itself and intuits itself as determined in and for itself;—reason, the concept of mind.1

Zusatz. The three stages of the rise of consciousness to reason indicated in the above Paragraph are determined by the power of the concept, active in the subject and in the object alike, and can therefore be considered as three judgements.2 But as we already remarked earlier, the abstract I, mere consciousness, as yet knows nothing of this. Consequently when the non-I, which initially counts for consciousness as independent, is sublated by the power of the concept at work in it, when the object is given the form of a universal, of an internality, instead of the form of immediacy, externality, and individuality, and when consciousness receives this recollection into itself, then the I's own internalization, which comes about in just this way, appears to it as an internalization of the object.3 Only when the object has been internalized into the I and when consciousness has in this way developed into self-consciousness, does mind know the power of its own internality as a power present and active in the object. Thus what in the sphere of mere consciousness is only for us, the onlookers, in the sphere of self-consciousness becomes for the mind itself. Self-consciousness has consciousness for its object, hence confronts it. But at the same time consciousness is also preserved as a moment in self-consciousness itself. Self-consciousness necessarily goes on, therefore, to confront itself with another self-consciousness by repulsion of itself from itself and in this to give itself an object which is identical with it and yet at the same time independent. This object is initially an immediate, individual I. But when it is freed from the form of one-sided subjectivity still clinging to it and conceived as a reality pervaded by the subjectivity of the concept, consequently as Idea, then self-consciousness abandons its opposition to consciousness and advances to a mediated unity with it and thereby becomes the concrete being-for-self of the I, the absolutely free reason that recognizes in the objective world its own self.4

It hardly needs to be noted that reason, which in our exposition appears as the third and last term, is not merely a last term, a result emerging from something alien to it, but is, on the contrary, the foundation of consciousness and self-consciousness, therefore the first term, and by sublation of these two one-sided forms it proves to be their original unity and truth.5


(α‎) Sensory Consciousness


Consciousness is initially immediate consciousness, its relation to the object accordingly the simple, unmediated certainty of it; the object itself is therefore similarly determined as immediate, as being and reflected into itself, further as immediately individual;—sensory consciousness.1

[Remark] Consciousness as relationship involves only the categories belonging to the abstract I or to formal thinking; and these are, for it, determinations of the object (§415). Sensory consciousness is therefore aware of the object only as a being, a something, an existing thing, an individual, and so on. It appears as the richest in content, but it is the poorest in thoughts. That wealth of filling is constituted by determinations of feeling; they are the material of consciousness (§414), the substantial and qualitative element, that the soul, in the anthropological sphere, is and finds within itself. The reflection of the soul into itself, I, separates this material from itself, and gives it initially the determination of being.2—Spatial and temporal individuality, the here and the now, as I have determined the object of sensory consciousness in the Phenomenology of Mind, pp. 25 ff., strictly belongs to intuition. Here the object is initially to be taken only in accordance with the relationship which it has to consciousness, namely something external to consciousness, and is not yet to be determined as external within itself, or as being outside itself.3

Zusatz. The first of the three developmental stages of the phenomenological mind mentioned in the previous Paragraph, namely consciousness, itself has within itself three stages: α‎) sensory consciousness, β‎) perceiving consciousness, and γ‎) intellectual consciousness. In this sequence there is revealed a logical progression:

α‎) At first, the object is a wholly immediate object, which just is; it appears thus to sensory consciousness. But this immediacy has no truth; we must advance from it to the essential being of the object.4

β‎) When the essence of things becomes consciousness's object, it is no longer sensory consciousness but perceiving consciousness. At this standpoint, individual things are related to a universal, but only related to it; what occurs here is, therefore, is not yet a genuine unity of individual and universal, but only a mixture of these two sides. Herein lies a contradiction which leads on to the third stage of consciousness,5

γ‎) to intellectual consciousness, where it finds its solution in so far as there the object is reduced or elevated to the appearance of an interior that is for itself. Such an appearance is the living creature. In the contemplation of this, self-consciousness is ignited; for in the living creature the object turns into the pg 148 subjective; there consciousness discovers its own self as the essential of the object, it reflects itself out of the object into itself, becomes an object to itself.6

After this general survey of the three developmental stages of consciousness, we now turn first of all to sensory consciousness in more detail. This differs from the other modes of consciousness, not by the fact that in it alone the object comes to me through the senses, but rather by the fact that at the standpoint of sensory consciousness the object, whether it be an interior or an outer object, has no other thought-determination than firstly, that of being in general, and secondly, of being an independent Other confronting me, something reflected into itself, an individual confronting me as an individual, an immediate individual. The particular content of the sensory, for example, smell, taste, colour, etc., belongs, as we saw in §401, to sensation. But the form peculiar to the sensory, being-external-to-its-own-self, dispersion into space and time, is (as we shall see in §448) the determination of the object apprehended by intuition, in such a way that for sensory consciousness as such there remains only the above-mentioned thought-determination, in virtue of which the manifold particular content of sensations concentrates itself into a unit that is outside me, a unit that, at this standpoint, is known by me in an immediate, individualized manner, contingently now enters my consciousness and then disappears from it again; in general a unit that is, both in its existence and in its constitution, a given for me, something, therefore, of which I know neither why it is nor why it has this determinate nature, nor whether it is something true.7

It is clear from this brief account of the nature of immediate or sensory consciousness that it is a thoroughly inadequate form for the in and for itself universal content of right, of the ethical and of religion, a form that spoils such content, since in this consciousness what is absolutely necessary, eternal, infinite, and internal is given a finite, individualized, self-external shape. So when people have been willing to concede only an immediate knowledge of God, they have limited themselves to a knowledge which can assert of God that he is, that he exists outside us, and that he seems to sensation to possess such and such properties. Such a consciousness with its contingent assurances regarding the nature of the divine, which for it lies in the beyond, gets no further than supposedly religious tub-thumping and swanking.8


The sensory as something becomes an other; the reflection of the something into itself, the thing, has many properties, and as an individual in its immediacy has various predicates. The multiple individual of sensoriness thus acquires breadth—a variety of relations, determinations of reflexion, and universalities.1—These are logical determinations posited by the thinker, i.e. here by the I. But for the I, as pg 149 appearing, the object has undergone this change.2 When the object is determined in this way sensory consciousness is perception.

Zusatz. The content of sensory consciousness is in its own self dialectical. The content is supposed to be the individual; but by this very fact it is not an individual but every individual, and just by excluding from itself the Other, the individual content relates to another, shows that it goes beyond itself, that it is dependent on another, is mediated by it and has another within itself. The proximate truth of the immediately individual is therefore its relatedness to another. The determinations of this relation are what are called determinations of reflection, and the consciousness apprehending these determinations is perception.3

(β‎) Perception


Consciousness, having passed beyond sensoriness, wants to take the object in its truth, not as merely immediate, but as mediated, reflected into itself, and universal.1 The object is thus a combination of sensory determinations and extended thought-determinations of concrete relationships and connections. Hence the identity of consciousness with the object is no longer the abstract identity of certainty, but determinate identity, an awareness.2

[Remark] The more specific stage of consciousness at which Kantian philosophy conceives the mind is perception, which is in general the standpoint of our ordinary consciousness and more or less of the sciences. The sensory certainties of individual apperceptions or observations form the starting-point; these are supposed to be elevated to truth, by being considered in their relation, reflected upon, generally by becoming, in accordance with determinate categories, at the same time something necessary and universal, experiences.3

Zusatz. Although perception starts from observation of sensory material, nevertheless it does not stop there, does not confine itself to smelling, tasting, seeing, hearing, and feeling, but necessarily goes on to relate the sensory to a not immediately observable universal, to cognize each individualized entity as an internally coherent whole—in force, for example, to unify all the expressions of force—and to seek out the relations and mediations obtaining between individual things. While therefore merely sensory consciousness only shows things, i.e., merely exhibits them in their immediacy, perception by contrast apprehends the interconnection of things, demonstrates that when such and such circumstances are present such and such follows from them, and thus begins to demonstrate things as true.4 This demonstration is, however, still a defective, not a final demonstration. For that by which something is here supposed to be demonstrated is itself a presupposition, consequently in need of demonstration; so that in this sphere one goes from presuppositions to presuppositions and lapses into the progression to infinity. This is the pg 150 standpoint occupied by experience. Everything must be experienced. But if we are supposed to be talking about philosophy, then we must rise above the demonstration that remains tied to presuppositions, above empiricism's demonstration, to the proof of the absolute necessity of things.5

Already in §415 it was said in passing that the progressive cultivation of consciousness appears as an alteration of the determinations of its object. With reference to this point, it can be added here that while perceiving consciousness sublates the individuality of things, posits them ideally and thereby negates the externality of the relation of the object to the I, the I withdraws into itself and itself gains in inwardness, but consciousness regards this withdrawal into itself as falling in the object.6


This connection of the individual and universal is a mixture, since the individual remains the being that lies at the foundation and remains firm in the face of the universal, to which it is nevertheless related. The connection is therefore a many-sided contradiction—in general between the individual things of sensory apperception, which are supposed to constitute the foundation of universal experience, and the universality which is supposed rather to be the essence and the foundation,—between individuality, which constitutes independence, taken in its concrete content, and the various properties which are on the contrary free from this negative bond and from one another, and are independent universal matters (see §§123 ff.), and so on. This really comprises the contradiction of the finite running through all forms of the logical spheres, most concretely in so far as the something is determined as object (§§194 ff.).1

(γ‎) Intellect


The proximate truth of perception is that the object is rather appearance, and its reflection-into-itself is by contrast an interior and universal that is for itself. The consciousness of this object is intellect.1—This interior is, on the one hand, the sublated multiplicity of the sensory and is in this way abstract identity; but on the other hand, because of that, it contains the multiplicity too, but as inner simple difference, which remains self-identical in the change of appearances. This simple difference is the realm of the laws of appearance—a tranquil, universal copy of it.2

Zusatz. The contradiction indicated in the previous Paragraph gets its first resolution by the fact that the manifold determinations of the sensory, which are independent relatively both to one another and to the inner unity of each individual thing, are reduced to the appearance of an interior that is for itself, and the development of the object thus progresses from the contradiction of its pg 151 reflection-into-self and its reflection-into-other to the essential relationship of it to its own self. But when consciousness ascends from the observation of immediate individuality and from the mixture of the individual and the universal, to the conception of the interior of the object, and thus determines the object in a manner similar to the I, then the I becomes intellectual consciousness. Only in this non-sensory interior does the intellect believe it has what is genuinely real.3 At first, however, this interior is something abstractly identical, undifferentiated within itself; an interior of this kind is presented to us in the categories of force and of cause. The genuine interior, by contrast, must be described as concrete, as differentiated within itself. Conceived in this way, it is what we call law. For the essence of law, whether this relates to external nature or the ethical world order, consists in an inseparable unity, in a necessary interior connection, of distinct determinations. Thus through law punishment is necessarily linked with crime; to the criminal, punishment can indeed appear as something alien to him, but the concept of crime essentially involves its opposite, punishment. Similarly, as regards external nature, for example the law of planetary motion (according to which, as we know, the squares of the periods of revolution vary as the cubes of the distances) must be conceived as an inner necessary unity of distinct determinations.4 This unity is, of course, only comprehended by the speculative thinking of reason, but it is already discovered by the intellectual consciousness in the multiplicity of phenomena. Laws are the determinations of the intellect inherent in the world itself; therefore, the intellectual consciousness finds in laws its own nature again and thus becomes an object to itself.5


The law, initially the relationship of universal, permanent determinations, has, in so far as its difference is the inner difference, its necessity within itself; each of the determinations, since it is not externally distinguished from the other, itself lies immediately in the other.1 But in this way the inner distinction is what it is in truth, the distinction within itself, or the distinction which is no distinction.2—When the form is determined in this general way, consciousness has implicitly disappeared; for consciousness as such involves the independence of the subject and object relatively to each other. The I in its judgement has an object which is not distinct from it—itself;—self-consciousness.3

Zusatz. What has been said in the above Paragraph about the inner difference constituting the essence of law, namely, that this difference is a difference which is no difference, holds good equally of the difference that exists in the I as an object to itself. Just as law is something differentiated within itself and not merely relatively to something else, is something identical with itself in its difference, so, too, is the I that has itself for object, that is aware of itself. Therefore, when consciousness, as intellect, is aware of laws, it is in relationship to an object in pg 152 which the I finds again the counterpart of its own self and is thus on the point of developing into self-consciousness as such.4 But since, as we remarked in the Zusatz to §422, the merely intellectual consciousness does not as yet get as far as comprehending the unity of distinct determinations present in law, i.e. dialectically developing from one of these determinations its opposite, this unity still remains for this consciousness something dead, something, consequently, not in agreement with the activity of the I. In the living creature, by contrast, consciousness beholds the very process of positing and sublating the distinct determinations, perceives that the difference is no difference, i.e., no absolutely fixed difference. For life is that interior which does not remain an abstract interior but enters wholly into its expression; it is something mediated by the negation of the immediate, of the external, but sublates this very mediation into immediacy,—a sensory, external, and at the same time simply internal, existence, a material entity in which the asunderness of the parts appears sublated and the individual appears reduced to something ideal, to a moment, to a member of the whole; in short, life must be conceived as an end in itself, as an end which has its means within itself, as a totality in which each distinct moment is alike end and means.5 It is, therefore, in the consciousness of this dialectical, this living unity of what is distinct that self-consciousness is kindled, the consciousness of the simple ideal entity that is its own object and is thus differentiated within itself,—awareness of the truth of the natural, of the I.6



The truth of consciousness is self-consciousness and the latter is the ground of the former, so that in existence all consciousness of another object is self-consciousness; I am aware of the object as mine (it is my represention), thus in it I am aware of me.1—The expression of self-consciousness is I = I;—abstract freedom, pure ideality.—In this way it is without reality, for the I itself, which is the object of itself, is not such an object, because there is no distinction between itself and the object.2

Zusatz. In the expression, I = I, is enunciated the principle of absolute reason and freedom. Freedom and reason consist in this: I raise myself to the form of I = I, I recognize everything as mine, as I, I grasp every object as a member in the system of what I myself am,—in short, they consist in this: I have in one and the same consciousness I and the world, in the world I find myself again and, conversely, in my consciousness I have what is, what has objectivity.3 This unity of the I and the object constituting the principle of mind is, however, at first only present in an abstract way in immediate self-consciousness, and is known only by us, the onlookers, not yet by self-consciousness itself. Immediate self-consciousness does not yet have for its object the I = I, but only the I; therefore, it is free only for pg 153 us, not for itself, is not yet aware of its freedom, and has only the basis of freedom within itself, but not yet genuinely actual freedom.4


Abstract self-consciousness is the first negation of consciousness, therefore also burdened with an external object, formally with the negation of itself; thus it is at the same time the preceding stage, consciousness, and is the contradiction between itself as self-consciousness and itself as consciousness.1 Consciousness and the negation in general are already implicitly sublated in the I = I; so as this certainty of itself in contrast to the object, it is the urge to posit what it is implicitly,—i.e. to give content and objectivity to the abstract awareness of itself, and conversely to free itself from its sensoriness, to sublate the objectivity that is given and to posit it as identical to itself. The two things are one and the same, the identification of its consciousness and self-consciousness.2

Zusatz. The defect of abstract self-consciousness lies in this: it and consciousness are still two different things confronting each other, they have not yet achieved a reciprocal equilibrium. In consciousness, we see the tremendous difference, on the one side, of the I, this wholly simple entity, and on the other side, of the infinite variety of the world. This opposition of the I and the world, which does not yet come to genuine mediation here, constitutes the finitude of consciousness. Self-consciousness, by contrast, has its finitude in its still wholly abstract identity with its own self. What is present in the I = I of immediate self-consciousness is only a difference that ought to be, not yet a posited, not yet an actual difference.3

This rift between self-consciousness and consciousness forms an inner contradiction of self-consciousness with itself, because self-consciousness is also the stage directly preceding it, consciousness, and consequently is the opposite of itself. That is to say, since abstract self-consciousness is only the first, hence still conditioned, negation of the immediacy of consciousness, and not already absolute negativity, i.e., the negation of that negation, infinite affirmation, it has itself still the form of a being, of an immediate, of something that, in spite of, or rather just because of, its differenceless inwardness, is still filled by externality. Therefore, it contains negation not merely within itself but also outside itself, as an external object, as a non-I, and it is just this that makes it consciousness.4

The contradiction here outlined must be resolved, and the way in which this happens is that self-consciousness, which has itself as consciousness, as I, for its object, develops the simple ideality of the I into a real difference, and thus by sublating its one-sided subjectivity gives itself objectivity; this process is identical with the converse, by which the object is at the same time posited subjectively by the I, is immersed in the inwardness of the self, and thus the dependence, present in consciousness, of the I on an external reality is annihilated. Self-consciousness thus gets to the point where it does not have consciousness alongside it, is not externally pg 154 combined with consciousness, but genuinely pervades it and contains it dissolved within its own self.5

To reach this goal, self-consciousness has to traverse three developmental stages.

α‎) The first of these stages displays to us the individual self-consciousness that is immediate, simply identical with itself, and at the same time, in contradiction with this, related to an external object. Thus determined, self-consciousness is the certainty of itself as the being in face of which the object has the determination of something only seemingly independent, but is in fact a nullity. This is desiring self-consciousness.6

β‎) At the second stage, the objective I acquires the determination of another I, and hence arises the relationship of one self-consciousness to another self-consciousness, and between these two the process of recognition. Here, self-consciousness is no longer merely individual self-consciousness, but in it there already begins a unification of individuality and universality.7

γ‎) Furthermore, when the otherness of the selves confronting each other sublates itself and these, in their independence, nevertheless become identical with each other, the third stage emerges,—universal self-consciousness.8

(α‎) Desire


Self-consciousness, in its immediacy, is an individual and desire—the contradiction of its abstraction which is supposed to be objective, or of its immediacy, which has the shape of an external object and is supposed to be subjective. For the certainty of itself that has emerged from the sublation of consciousness, the object is determined as a nullity, and for the relation of self-consciousness to the object its abstract ideality is likewise determined as a nullity.1

Zusatz. As we have already remarked in the Zusatz to the previous Paragraph, desire is the form in which self-consciousness appears at the first stage of its development. Here in the second main part of the theory of subjective mind, desire has as yet no further determination than that of urge, in so far as urge, without being determined by thinking, is directed on an external object in which it seeks to satisfy itself. But the necessity for the urge so determined to exist in self-consciousness, lies in this: self-consciousness (as we likewise already brought to notice in the Zusatz to the previous Paragraph) is also the stage immediately preceding it, namely consciousness, and is aware of this inner contradiction. Where something identical with itself bears within itself a contradiction and is filled with the feeling of its implicit identity with itself as well as with the opposite feeling of its inner contradiction, then there necessarily emerges the urge to sublate this contradiction.2 The non-living entity has no urge because it is incapable of enduring contradiction; it perishes when the Other of itself forces its way pg 155 into it. By contrast, the ensouled creature and the mind necessarily have urge, since neither the soul nor the mind can be, without having contradiction within themselves and either feeling it or being aware of it.3 But, as indicated above, in the immediate and therefore natural, individual, exclusive self-consciousness, the shape assumed by contradiction is that self-consciousness (whose concept consists in being in relationship to its own self, in being I = I) still enters, on the contrary, into relationship to an immediate Other not posited ideally, to an external object, to a non-I, and is external to its own self, since although in itself it is a totality, a unity of the subjective and the objective, it nevertheless exists initially as a one-sided, as a merely subjective thing, which only gets to be a totality in and for itself by the satisfaction of desire. Despite this inner contradiction, however, self-consciousness remains absolutely certain of itself because it is aware that the immediate, external object has no genuine reality but is, on the contrary, a nullity in comparison to the subject, with merely seeming independence, and is, in fact, something that does not deserve and is not able to subsist for itself, but must perish by the real power of the subject.4


Self-consciousness, therefore, is aware of itself implicitly in the object, which in this relation is conformable to the urge. In the negation of the two one-sided moments as the I's own activity, this identity comes to be for the I. To this activity the object, which in itself and for self-consciousness is the selfless, can offer no resistance; the dialectic of self-sublation, which is the object's nature, exists here as this activity of the I. In this process the given object is posited subjectively, just as subjectivity divests itself of its one-sidedness and becomes objective to itself.1

Zusatz. The self-conscious subject is aware of itself as in itself identical with the external object, aware that the object contains the possibility of satisfying the desire, that the object is, therefore, conformable to the desire and that just for this reason desire is aroused by the object. Relation to the object is therefore necessary to the subject. In the object, the subject beholds its own lack, its own one-sidedness, sees in the object something belonging to its own essence and yet missing from it. Self-consciousness is in a position to sublate this contradiction since it is not just being, but absolute activity; and it sublates the contradiction by taking possession of the object whose independence is, so to speak, only a pretence, satisfies itself by consuming it and, since it is an end in itself, maintains itself in this process.2 Here the object must perish; for here both of them, the subject and the object, are immediate, and the only way in which they can be in a unity is by the negation of the immediacy, and first of all, of the immediacy of the selfless object.3 By the satisfaction of desire, the implicit identity of the subject and the object is posited, the one-sidedness of subjectivity and the seeming independence of the object are sublated. But in being annihilated by the desiring self-consciousness the object may seem to succumb to a completely alien power. pg 156 This is, however, only a semblance. For the immediate object must, by its own nature, by its concept, sublate itself. since in its individuality it does not correspond to the universality of its concept. Self-consciousness is the appearing concept of the object itself. In the annihilation of the object by self-consciousness, the object perishes, therefore, by the power of its own concept which is only internal to it and, just because of that, seems to come to it only from outside.4 The object is thus posited subjectively. But by this sublation of the object the subject, as we have already remarked, sublates its own lack, its disintegration into a distinctionless I = I and an I related to an external object, and it gives its subjectivity objectivity just as much as it makes its object subjective.


The product of this process is that I joins together with itself, and is thereby satisfied for itself, actualized. On the external side it remains, in this return, determined initially as an individual, and has maintained itself as such, because its relation to the selfless object is only negative, hence the object is only consumed. So desire in its satisfaction is in general destructive, as it is in its content self-centred, and since the satisfaction has only happened in the individual case, and this is transitory, the desire reproduces itself again in the satisfaction.1

Zusatz. The relationship of desire to the object is still completely one of self-centred destruction, not one of fashioning. In so far as self-consciousness relates as fashioning activity to the object, the object gets only the form of the subjective, a form acquiring a subsistence in it, while in its matter the object is preserved. By contrast, the satisfaction of self-consciousness caught up in desire, since this self-consciousness does not yet possess the power to endure the Other as an independent entity, destroys the independence of the object, so that the form of the subjective does not attain any subsistence in the object.2

Like the object of desire and desire itself, the satisfaction of desire, too, is necessarily something individual, transient, yielding to the incessant renewal of desire. It is an objectification constantly remaining in contradiction with the universality of the subject, and yet all the same stimulated again and again by the felt deficiency of immediate subjectivity, an objectification which never absolutely attains its goal but only gives rise to the progression ad infinitum.3


But the self-feeling which the I gets in the satisfaction does not, on the inner side or in itself, remain in abstract being-for-self or in its individuality; as the negation of immediacy and of individuality the result involves the determination of universality and of the identity of self-consciousness with its object. The judgement or diremption of this self-consciousness is the consciousness of a free object, in which I has awareness of itself as I, but which is also still outside it.

pg 157 Zusatz. On the external side, as we remarked in the Zusatz to the previous Paragraph, immediate self-consciousness remains caught up in the tedious alternation, continuing to infinity, of desire and its satisfaction, in subjectivity relapsing into itself again and again from its objectification. On the inner side, by contrast, or in accordance with the concept, self-consciousness has, by sublation of its subjectivity and of the external object, negated its own immediacy, the standpoint of desire, has posited itself with the determination of otherness towards its own self, has filled the Other with the I, has changed it from something selfless into a free, into a selfish object, into another I. It has in this way brought itself as a distinct I face to face with its own self, but in doing so has raised itself above the self-centredness of merely destructive desire.1

(β‎) Recognizant Self-consciousness


There is a self-consciousness for a self-consciousness, at first immediately, as one thing for another. In the other as I, I immediately behold my own self, but I also behold in it an immediately real object, another I absolutely independent in face of myself. The sublation of the individuality of self-consciousness was the first sublation; self-consciousness is thereby determined only as particular.1—This contradiction supplies the urge to show itself as a free self, and to be there as a free self for the other,—the process of recognition.2

Zusatz. The second stage in the development of self-consciousness, indicated in the heading of the above Paragraph, initially still has the determination of immediacy in common with the self-consciousness of the first stage of development, which is caught up in desire. In this determination lies the massive contradiction that, since the I is what is wholly universal, absolutely pervasive, interrupted by no limit, the essence common to all men, the two selves here relating to each other constitute one identity, so to speak one light, and yet they are also two selves, which subsist in complete rigidity and inflexibility towards each other, each as a reflection-into-self, absolutely distinct from and impenetrable by the other.3


The process is a combat; for I cannot be aware of myself as myself in the other, in so far as the other is an immediate other reality for me; I am consequently bent on the sublation of this immediacy of his. Equally I cannot be recognized as an immediate entity, but only in so far as I sublate the immediacy in myself, and thereby give reality to my freedom. But this immediacy is at the same time the bodiliness of self-consciousness, in which, as in its sign and tool, self-consciousness has its own self-feeling, as well as its being for others and its relation that mediates between itself and them.1

pg 158 Zusatz. The more precise shape of the contradiction indicated in the Zusatz to the previous Paragraph is this. The two self-conscious subjects in relationship to each other, since they have an immediate reality, are natural, bodily, thus exist in the manner of a thing subjected to alien power, and they approach each other as such; yet at the same time they are quite free and may not be treated by each other as only immediate realities, as merely natural entities. To overcome this contradiction, it is necessary that the two selves opposing each other should, in their reality, in their being-for-another, posit themselves as and recognize themselves as what they are in themselves or by their concept, namely, not merely natural but free beings.2 Only in this does true freedom come about; for since this consists in the identity of myself with the other, I am only genuinely free when the other is also free and is recognized by me as free.3 This freedom of the one in the other unites men in an internal manner, whereas need and necessity bring them together only externally.4 Therefore, men must will to find themselves again in one another. But this cannot happen as long as they are caught up in their immediacy, in their naturalness; for it is just this that excludes them from one another and prevents them from being free for one another. Freedom demands, therefore, that the self-conscious subject neither let his own naturalness persist nor tolerate the naturalness of others; on the contrary, indifferent towards reality, he should in individual, immediate contest put his own and the other's life at stake to win freedom. Only through combat, therefore, can freedom be won; the assurance of being free is not enough for that; at this standpoint man demonstrates his capacity for freedom only by exposing himself, and others, to the danger of death.5


The combat of recognition is thus a life and death struggle; each of the two self-consciousnesses puts the other's life in danger, and exposes itself to it—but only in danger, for each is equally bent on maintaining his life, since it is the embodiment of his freedom. The death of one, which dissolves the contradiction in one respect by the abstract, therefore crude, negation of immediacy, is thus in the essential respect, the reality of recognition which is sublated together with the death, a new contradiction and a higher one than the first.1

Zusatz. The absolute proof of freedom in the fight for recognition is death. The combatants, even by exposing themselves to the risk of death, posit the natural being of both of them as a negative, they prove that they regard it as a nullity. But by death, naturalness is negated in fact and in this way its contradiction with the spiritual, with the I, is at the same time resolved. This resolution is, however, only quite abstract, only of a negative, not a positive kind. For even if only one of two combatants fighting for mutual recognition perishes, then no recognition comes about, for the survivor exists with recognition no more than the dead. Consequently, death gives rise to the new and greater contradiction, that those pg 159 who by fighting have proved their inner freedom, have nevertheless not attained to a recognized reality of their freedom.

To prevent possible misunderstandings with regard to the standpoint just outlined, we must here add the remark that the fight for recognition in the extreme form here indicated can only occur in the state of nature, where men live only as individuals; by contrast it is absent from civil society and the political state because what constitutes the result of this combat, namely recognition, is already present there. For although the state may arise by force, it does not rest on force; force, in producing the state, has brought into existence only what is justified in and for itself, the laws, the constitution. What predominates in the state is the spirit of the people, custom, and law. There man is recognized and treated as a rational being, as free, as a person; and the individual, on his side, makes himself worthy of this recognition by overcoming the naturalness of his self-consciousness and obeying a universal, the will that is in and for itself, the law; he thus behaves towards others in a manner that is universally valid, recognizing them—as he wishes others to regard him—as free, as persons. In the state, the citizen derives his honour from the post he fills, from the trade he follows, and from his working activity of any other kind. In this way his honour has a content that is substantial, universal, objective, and no longer dependent on empty subjectivity; honour of this kind is still lacking in the state of nature where individuals, whatever they may be and whatever they may do, want to compel others to recognize them.2

But it is clear from what has just been said that duelling must definitely not be confused with the fight for recognition that constitutes a necessary moment in the development of the human mind. Unlike this fight, duelling does not belong to the natural state of men, but to a more or less developed form of civil society and the state. Duelling has its strictly world-historical place in the feudal system which was supposed to be a lawful condition, but was so only to a very small degree. There the knight, no matter what he might have done, wanted to be esteemed as not having lost face, as being completely spotless. This is what the duel was supposed to prove. Although the law of the jungle was elaborated into certain forms, yet its absolute basis was egotism. Consequently, its practice was not a proof of rational freedom and genuinely civic honour, but rather a proof of brutality and often of the shamelessness of a mentality claiming outward honour, despite its depravity. Duelling is not met with among the peoples of antiquity, for the formalism of empty subjectivity, the subject's wish to be esteemed in his immediate individuality, was completely alien to them. They had their honour only in their solid unity with that ethical relationship which is the state. But in our modern states duelling can hardly be said to be anything else but a contrived return to the brutality of the Middle Ages. At best, duelling in the former military was able to have a tolerably rational sense, namely, that the individual wished to prove that he had another and higher aim than to get himself killed for a pittance.3

pg 160§433

Because life is as essential as freedom, the combat ends initially as one-sided negation with an asymmetry: one of the combatants prefers life, maintains himself as individual self-consciousness, but surrenders his chance of recognition, while the other holds fast to his relation to himself and is recognized by the first in his subjugation: the relationship of mastery and bondage.1

[Remark] The combat of recognition and the subjugation under a master is the appearance in which man's social life, the beginning of states, emerged. Force, which is the basis in this appearance, is not on that account the basis of right, though it is the necessary and legitimate moment in the passage of the condition of self-consciousness engrossed in desire and individuality into the condition of universal self-consciousness. This moment is the external beginning of states, their beginning as it appears, not their substantial principle.2

Zusatz. The relationship of master and bondsman contains only a relative sublation of the contradiction between the particularity reflected into itself of the distinct self-conscious subjects and their mutual identity. For in this relationship the immediacy of particular self-consciousness is, initially, sublated only on the side of the bondsman, but on the master's side it is preserved. While the naturalness of life on both these sides persists, the self-will of the bondsman surrenders itself to the will of the master, receives for its content the purpose of the lord who, on his part, receives into his self-consciousness, not the bondsman's will, but only care for the support of the bondsman's natural vitality; in such a manner that in this relationship the posited identity of the self-consciousness of the subjects related to each other comes about only in a one-sided way.3

As regards the historicity of the relationship under discussion, it can be remarked that the ancient peoples, the Greeks and Romans, had not yet risen to the concept of absolute freedom, since they did not know that man as such, as this universal I, as rational self-consciousness, is entitled to freedom. On the contrary, with them man was held to be free only if he was born as a free man. With them, therefore, freedom still had the determination of naturalness. That is why there was slavery in their free states and bloody wars arose among the Romans in which the slaves tried to free themselves, to obtain recognition of their eternal human rights.4


On the one hand, this relationship is a community of need and of care for its satisfaction, since the means of mastery, the bondsman, must likewise be maintained in his life. In place of the brute destruction of the immediate object there ensues acquisition, preservation, and formation of it, as the intermediary in which the two extremes of independence and non-independence join together;—the form pg 161 of universality in satisfaction of need is a permanent means and a provision that takes care of and secures the future.1


Secondly, in line with the distinction between them, the master has in the bondsman and his service the intuition of the validity of his individual being-for-self; and he has it by means of the sublation of immediate being-for-self, a sublation, however, which occurs in another.—But this other, the bondsman, works off his individual will and self-will in the service of the master, sublates the inner immediacy of desire and in this alienation and in the fear of the master he makes a beginning of wisdom—the transition to universal self-consciousness.1

Zusatz. Since the bondsman works for the master and therefore not in the exclusive interest of his own individuality, his desire acquires the breadth of being not only the desire of a particular individual but containing within itself the desire of another. Accordingly, the bondsman rises above the selfish individuality of his natural will, and to that extent stands higher, as regards his worth, than the master who, caught up in his egotism, beholds in the bondsman only his immediate will and is recognized by an unfree consciousness in a formal way.2 This subjugation of the bondsman's egotism forms the beginning of genuine human freedom. This quaking of the individuality of the will, the feeling of the nullity of egotism, the habit of obedience, is a necessary moment in the education of every man. Without having experienced the discipline that breaks self-will, no one becomes free, rational, and capable of command.3 To become free, to acquire the capacity for self-government, all peoples must therefore undergo the severe discipline of subjection to a master. It was necessary, for example, that after Solon had given the Athenians democratic free laws, Pisistratus gained a power by which he compelled the Athenians to obey those laws. Only when this obedience had taken root did the mastery of the Pisistratids become superfluous. Thus Rome, too, had to live through the strict government of the kings before, by the breaking of natural egotism, that marvellous Roman virtue could arise, a patriotism ready for any sacrifice. Bondage and tyranny are, therefore, in the history of peoples a necessary stage and hence something relatively justified. Those who remain bondsmen suffer no absolute injustice; for he who has not the courage to risk his life to win freedom, deserves to be a slave; and if by contrast a people does not merely imagine that it wants to be free but actually has the vigorous will to freedom, then no human power will be able hold it back in the bondage of merely being governed passively.4

As we have said, this servile obedience forms only the beginning of freedom, because that to which the natural individuality of self-consciousness submits is not the genuinely universal, rational will that is in and for itself, but the individual, contingent will of another subject. Here, then, only one moment of freedom pg 162emerges, the negativity of egotistic individuality; whereas the positive side of freedom attains actuality only when, on the one hand, the servile self-consciousness, liberating itself both from the individuality of the master and from its own individuality, grasps what is in and for itself rational in its universality, independent of the particularity of the subjects; and when, on the other hand, the master's self-consciousness is brought, by the community of need and the concern for its satisfaction obtaining between him and the bondsman, and also by beholding the sublation of the immediate individual will objectified for him in the bondsman, to recognize this sublation as the truth in regard to himself too, and therefore to submit his own selfish will to the law of the will that is in and for itself.5

(γ‎) Universal Self-consciousness


Universal self-consciousness is the affirmative awareness of oneself in the other self.1 Each self as free individuality has absolute independence, but in virtue of the negation of its immediacy or desire it does not distinguish itself from the other; it is universal and objective; and it has real universality in the form of reciprocity, in that it is aware of its recognition in the free other, and is aware of this in so far as it recognizes the other and is aware that it is free.2

[Remark] This universal mirroring of self-consciousness, the concept that is aware of itself in its objectivity as subjectivity identical with itself and therefore universal, is the form of consciousness of the substance of every essential spirituality—of the family, the fatherland, the state, as well as of all virtues, of love, friendship, courage, of honour, of fame. But this appearance of the substantial may also be separated from the substantial, and be maintained for itself in baseless honour, hollow fame, etc.3

Zusatz. The result of the struggle for recognition, brought about by the concept of mind, is universal self-consciousness, which forms the third stage in this sphere, i.e. that free self-consciousness for which its object, the other self-consciousness, is no longer, as in the second stage, an unfree but an equally independent self-consciousness. At this standpoint, therefore, the mutually related self-conscious subjects, by sublation of their unequal particular individuality, have risen to the consciousness of their real universality, of their freedom befitting all, and hence to the intuition of their determinate identity with each other. The master confronting the bondsman was not yet genuinely free, for he was still far from intuiting his own self in the other. Consequently, it is only by the liberation of the bondsman that the master, too, becomes completely free.4 In this condition of universal freedom, in being reflected into myself, I am immediately reflected into the other, and, conversely, in relating myself to the other I immediately relate to my own self. Here, therefore, we have the tremendous diremption of mind into different selves which are, both in and for themselves and for one another, completely free, pg 163 independent, absolutely obdurate, resistant, and yet at the same time identical with one another, hence not self-subsistent, not impenetrable, but, as it were, merged together. This relationship is thoroughly speculative in kind; and if one supposes that the speculative is something remote and inconceivable, one need only consider the content of this relationship to convince oneself of the groundlessness of this opinion. The speculative, or rational, and true consists in the unity of the concept, or the subjective, and the objective. This unity is obviously present at the standpoint in question. It forms the substance of ethical life, especially of the family, of sexual love (there the unity has the form of particularity), of patriotism, this willing of the universal aims and interests of the state, of love towards God, of bravery too, when this is staking one's life on a universal cause, and lastly, also of honour, provided that this has for its content not the indifferent singularity of the individual but something substantial, genuinely universal.5


This unity of consciousness and self-consciousness involves in the first place the individuals as shining into each other. But in this identity the distinction between them is a wholly indeterminate diversity or rather a distinction which is no distinction. Hence their truth is the universality and objectivity of self-consciousness which are in and for themselves—reason.1

[Remark] Reason as the Idea (§213) appears here in the following determination: the general opposition between concept and reality, which are unified in the Idea, has here taken the specific form of the concept existing for itself, of consciousness and, confronting it, the externally present object.2

Zusatz. What we have called in the previous Paragraph universal self-consciousness, is in its truth the concept of reason, the concept in so far as it exists not merely as the logical Idea, but as the Idea developed into self-consciousness. For as we know from the Logic, the Idea consists in the unity of the subjective, or the concept, and objectivity. But universal self-consciousness has shown itself to us as such a unity, for we have seen that, in its absolute difference from its Other, it is yet at the same time absolutely identical with its Other. It is precisely this identity of subjectivity and objectivity that constitutes the universality now attained by self-consciousness, a universality which overarches these two sides or particularities and into which they dissolve. But self-consciousness, in attaining this universality, ceases to be self-consciousness in the strict or narrower sense of the word, since it is just this adherence to the particularity of the self that belongs to self-consciousness as such. By relinquishing this particularity, selfconsciousness becomes reason.3 In this context the name 'reason' only has the sense of the initially still abstract or formal unity of self-consciousness with its object. This unity establishes what must be called, in determinate contrast to the truthful, the merely correct. My representation is correct by mere agreement with the object, even when the object only remotely corresponds to its concept pg 164 and thus has hardly any truth at all. Only when the truthful content becomes an object for me does my intelligence acquire the significance of reason in a concrete sense. Reason in this sense will have to be considered at the close of the development of theoretical mind (§467), where, emerging from an opposition of the subjective and objective developed further than it has been so far, we shall cognize reason as the contentful unity of this opposition.4



Reason is the truth that is in and for itself, and this is the simple identity of the subjectivity of the concept with its objectivity and universality. The universality of reason, therefore, signifies the object, which in consciousness qua consciousness was only given, but is now itself universal, permeating and encompassing the I. Equally it signifies the pure I, the pure form overarching the object and encompassing it within itself.1


Self-consciousness is thus the certainty that its determinations are objective, are determinations of the essence of things, just as much as they are its own thoughts. Hence it is reason, which, since it is this identity, is not only the absolute substance, but the truth as awareness. For truth here has, as its peculiar determinacy, as its immanent form, the pure concept existing for itself, I, the certainty of itself as infinite universality. This truth that is aware is the mind.1

pg 165C. Psychology, The Mind


The mind has determined itself into the truth of soul and of consciousness, of that simple immediate totality and of this knowledge, which is now an infinite form and thus not restricted by the content derived from the soul, does not stand in relationship to it as object, but is knowledge of the substantial totality that is neither subjective nor objective. Mind, therefore, sets out only from its own being and is in relationship only with its own determinations.1

[Remark] Psychology accordingly studies the faculties or universal modes of activity of the mind as such, intuition, representing, recollecting, etc., desires, etc., disregarding both the content, which in appearance is found in empirical representation, in thinking also and in desire and will, and the forms in which the content occurs, in the soul as a natural determination, and in consciousness itself as an object of consciousness that is present for itself.2 This, however, is not an arbitrary abstraction. Mind itself is this elevation above nature and natural determinacy, and above the involvement with an external object, i.e. above the material element in general; this is what its concept has turned out to be. All it has to do now is to realize this concept of its freedom, i.e. sublate the form of immediacy with which it once more begins. The content that is elevated to intuitions is its sensations; similarly it is its intuitions that are transformed into representations, and its representations that are transformed again into thoughts, etc.3

Zusatz. Free mind, or mind as such, is reason as it divides into, on the one hand, pure infinite form, boundless knowledge, and, on the other hand, the object identical with this knowledge. Here, this knowledge still has no other content than its own self, with the determination that the knowledge embraces within itself all objectivity, that consequently the object is not something coming to the mind from outside and incomprehensible to it.4 Mind is thus the absolutely universal certainty of itself, free of any opposition whatever. Therefore, it possesses the confidence that in the world it will find its own self, that the world must be friendly to it, that, just as Adam said of Eve that she was flesh of his flesh, so mind has to seek in the world reason of its own reason. We have found reason to be the unity of the subjective and objective, the unity of the concept existing for its own self and of reality. Since therefore mind is the absolute certainty of itself, is knowledge of reason, it is knowledge of the unity of the subjective and pg 166 objective, knowledge that its object is the concept and the concept is objective.5 Free mind thereby shows itself to be the unity of the two universal stages of development considered in the first and second main parts of the theory of subjective mind, namely, of the soul, this simple spiritual substance or immediate mind, and of consciousness or appearing mind, the self-separation of this substance. For the determinations of free mind have subjectivity in common with those of the soul, and objectivity in common with those of consciousness. The principle of free mind is to posit the beings of consciousness as something soulful, and conversely to make the soulful into something objective. Free mind stands, like consciousness, as one side confronting the object, and is at the same time both sides and therefore, like the soul, a totality. Accordingly, whereas the soul was the truth only as an immediate unconscious totality, and whereas in consciousness, by contrast, this totality was divided into the I and the object external to it, so that there knowledge still had no truth, the free mind is to be cognized as the self-knowing truth.*6

However, knowledge of truth does not itself initially have the form of truth, for at the stage of development now reached, the knowledge is still something abstract, the formal identity of the subjective and objective. Only when this identity has developed into an actual difference and has made itself into the identity of itself and its difference, when mind thus emerges as a totality differentiated within itself determinately, only then has that certainty achieved its verification.8


The soul is finite, in so far as it is determined immediately or by nature. Consciousness is finite, in so far as it has an object. Mind is finite, in so far as, though it no longer has an object, it has a determinacy in its knowledge, it is finite, that pg 167 is, in virtue of its immediacy, and, what is the same thing, in virtue of being subjective or as the concept. And it makes no difference, what is determined as its concept, and what as its reality. If utterly infinite objective reason is posited as its concept, then the reality is knowledge or intelligence; or if knowledge is taken as the concept, then its reality is this reason and the realization of the knowledge, making reason its own. Hence the finitude ofmind consists in the fact that knowledge does not grasp the being-in-and-for-itself of its reason, or, equally, in the fact that reason has not attained to full manifestation in knowledge.1 Reason at the same time is only infinite reason in so far as it is absolute freedom, hence presupposes itself in advance of its knowledge and thereby makes itself finite and is the eternal movement of sublating this immediacy, of comprehending its own self and being knowledge of reason.2

Zusatz. As we have seen, free mind is by its concept perfect unity of the subjective and objective, of form and content, consequently absolute totality and therefore infinite, eternal. We have cognized it as knowledge of reason. Because free mind is this, because it has the rational for its object, it must be described as the infinite being-for-self of subjectivity. Therefore it belongs to the concept of mind that within it the absolute unity of the subjective and objective be not merely in itself, but also for itself, and therefore object of knowledge.3 On account of this conscious harmony prevailing between knowledge and its object, between form and content, a harmony that excludes all separation and so all alteration, one can call the mind, in accordance with its truth, the eternal, as well as the perfectly blessed and holy. For only that may be called holy which is rational and knows of the rational. Therefore, neither external nature nor mere sensation has a right to that name. Immediate sensation which has not been purified by rational knowing is burdened with the determinacy of the natural, the contingent, of being-externalto- its-own-self, of falling asunder. Therefore, in the content of sensation and of natural things infinity consists only in something formal, abstract. By contrast, mind is, by its concept or its truth, infinite or eternal in this concrete and real sense: that it remains absolutely self-identical in its difference. That is why we must declaremind to be the image of God, to be the divinity ofman.4

But in its immediacy—for even mind as such assumes initially the form of immediacy—mind is not yet truly mind; on the contrary, its existence does not here stand in absolute agreement with its concept, with the divine prototype, the divine in it is here only the essence which has yet to develop into complete appearance. Immediately, therefore, mind has not yet grasped its concept, it only is rational knowledge, but does not yet know itself as such. Thus mind, as was already said in the Zusatz to the previous Paragraph, is initially only the indeterminate certainty of reason, of the unity of the subjective and objective. Therefore here it still lacks determinate cognition of the rationality of the object. To attain this, mind must liberate the implicitly rational object from the form of contingency, individuality and externality which at first clings to it, and thereby free pg 168 itself from its relation to an Other. The finitude of themind gets in the way of this liberation. For so long as mind has not yet reached its goal, it does not yet know itself as absolutely identical with its object, but finds itself limited by it.5

The finitude of mind must not, however, be taken for something absolutely fixed, but must be recognized as a mode of the appearance of mind, which is nevertheless infinite by its essence. This implies that the finite mind is immediately a contradiction, an untruth, and at the same time is the process of sublating this untruth. This struggling with the finite, the overcoming of the limit, constitutes the stamp of the divine in the human mind and forms a necessary stage of the eternal mind. Therefore, if one speaks of the limits of reason, this is worse than it would be to speak of wooden iron. It is infinitemind itself that presupposes its own self as soul, as well as consciousness, thereby making itself finite, but equally posits as sublated this home-made presupposition, this finitude, the implicitly sublated opposition of consciousness to the soul on the one hand, and on the other hand to an external object.6 This sublation has a different form in free mind than in consciousness. For consciousness the progressive determination of the I assumes the semblance of an alteration of the object independent of the activity of the I, with the consequence that in the case of consciousness the logical consideration of this alteration fell only in us, whereas it is for the free mind that the mind itself produces from itself the developing and altering determinations of the object, that the mind itself makes objectivity subjective and subjectivity objective. The determinations of which it is aware are of course inherent in the object, but at the same time posited by mind. In free mind there is nothing only immediate. Therefore, when people speak of 'facts of consciousness' which for the mind are what is primary and must remain an unmediated given for it, it is to be noted on this that of course at the standpoint of consciousness a great deal of such given material is found, but the free mind has to demonstrate and so explain these facts as deeds of the mind, as a content posited by it, not leave them as independent things given to it.7


The progression of mind is development, in so far as its existence, knowledge, has within itself, as its kernel and purpose, determinedness in and for itself, i.e. the rational, and so the activity of translation is purely only a formal transition into manifestation and therein a return into itself. In so far as knowledge is encumbered with its initial determinacy, is at first only abstract or formal, the goal of mind is to produce objective fulfilment, thus at the same time producing the freedom of its knowledge.1

[Remark] Here one must not think of the development of the individual associated with anthropological development, where the faculties and powers are regarded as successively emerging and presenting themselves in existence. For a long time knowledge of this progression was highly valued (by the philosophy pg 169 of Condillac), as if such a supposed natural emergence could display the genesis of these faculties and explain them. In this procedure there is an unmistakable tendency to make the various modes of the mind's activity comprehensible in the context of a unitary mind, and to display an interconnection of necessity. But the categories employed in doing so are in general of an impoverished sort. In particular the governing principle is that the sensory is taken, no doubt rightly, as primary, as the initial foundation, but that from this starting-point the subsequent determinations appear as emerging only in an affirmative manner, and the negative aspect of mind's activity, by which this material is spiritualized and sublated in its sensoriness, is misconceived and overlooked. In this approach, the sensory is not merely what is empirically primary, but continues to serve as the genuinely substantial foundation.2

Similarly, if the activities of mind are regarded only as expressions, as forces in general, perhaps with a specification of their utility, i.e. as serving some other interest of the intelligence or the heart, then no ultimate purpose is available. The ultimate purpose can only be the concept itself, and the activity of the concept can only have the concept itself as its purpose, viz. to sublate the form of immediacy or of subjectivity, to reach and to grasp itself, to liberate itself to its own self. In this way the so-called faculties of mind in their distinctness from each other are to be seen only as stages of this liberation. And this alone is to be regarded as the rational way of considering themind and its various activities.3

Zusatz. The existence of mind, namely knowledge, is the absolute form, i.e. the form having the content within itself, or the concept that exists as concept and gives itself its own reality. That the content or object is for knowledge a given content or object, coming to it from outside, is therefore only a semblance, by sublation of which the mind proves to be what it is in itself, namely, absolute selfdetermination, the infinite negativity of what is external to mind and to itself, the ideality that produces all reality from itself. The advance of mind has, therefore, only this meaning: that this semblance be sublated, that knowledge prove itself to be the form that develops all content from itself. Thus the activity of mind, far from being restricted to a mere acceptance of the given, must, on the contrary, be called a creative activity, though the productions of the mind, in so far as it is only the subjective mind, do not yet acquire the form of immediate actuality but remain more or less ideal.4


As consciousness has as its object the preceding stage, the natural soul (§413), so mind has consciousness as its object or rather makes it its object; i.e. whereas consciousness is only in itself the identity of the I with its other (§415), the mind posits this identity for itself, so that mind is now aware of it, of this concrete unity. Its productions conform to the determination of reason, that the content be both the content that is in itself, and the mind's own content, in accordance pg 170 with freedom. Thus, when in its initial stage the mind is determined, this determinacy is twofold, a determinacy of what is and a determinacy of what is its own; by the former, the mind finds within itself something that is, by the latter it posits it only as its own.1 The way of mind is therefore

(a) to be theoretical, dealing with the rational as its immediate determinacy and now positing it as its own; or to liberate knowledge from presupposition and therefore from its abstractness, and to make the determinacy subjective. When knowledge is thus posited as determined in and for itself within itself, and the determinacy posited as its own determinacy, and thereby knowledge as free intelligence,2 it is

(b) will, practical mind, which is initially likewise formal, has a content as only its own content, immediately wills it and now liberates the determination of its will from its subjectivity, from the one-sided form of its content, so that it

(c) becomes objective to itself as free mind, in which this double one-sidedness is sublated.3

Zusatz. Whereas one cannot very well say of consciousness that it has an urge, since it has the object immediately, mind, by contrast, must be conceived as urge because it is essentially activity, and is in fact initially:

(a) the activity by which the seemingly alien object acquires—instead of the shape of something given, individualized and contingent—the form of something recollected, subjective, universal, necessary, and rational. By undertaking this alteration of the object, mind reacts against the one-sidedness of consciousness which relates to objects as immediate beings and does not know them as subjective. As such it is theoretical mind. In theoretical mind the urge to know is dominant, the craving for information. Of the content of this information I know that it is, has objectivity, and at the same time that it is in me and thus subjective. Here, therefore, the object no longer has, as at the standpoint of consciousness, the determination of a negative towards the I.4

(b) Practical mind sets out from the opposite end. Unlike theoretical mind, it does not start from the seemingly independent object, but from its own aims and interests, thus from subjective determinations, and first proceeds to make these into something objective. In doing this it reacts against the one-sided subjectivity of self-consciousness enclosed within itself, just as theoretical mind reacts against consciousness that is dependent on a given object.5

Theoretical and practical mind reciprocally complement each other precisely because they are distinct from one another in the manner indicated. This distinction is, however, not absolute; for theoretical mind, too, deals with its own determinations, with thoughts, and, conversely, the aims of the rational will are not something pertaining to the particular subject but something that is in pg 171 and for itself. Both modes of mind are forms of reason; for both in theoretical and in practical mind what is produced, albeit by different routes, is that in which reason consists: a unity of the subjective and objective.6 At the same time, however, these twin forms of subjective mind have this defect in common: in both of them the starting-point is the seeming separateness of the subjective and objective, and the unity of these opposed determinations is supposed to be first produced. This is a defect lying in the nature of mind, since mind is not a being, immediately complete, but is rather that which produces its own self, the pure activity, sublation of the presupposition of the opposition of the subjective and objective, a presupposition which, in itself, was made by themind itself.7


Both the theoretical and the practical mind are still in the sphere of the subjective mind in general. They are not to be distinguished as active and passive. Subjective mind is productive; but its productions are formal. Inwards, the theoretical mind's production is only its ideal world and the attainment of abstract self-determination within itself. Practical mind deals, it is true, only with selfdeterminations, with its own material, but a material that is likewise still formal, and thus with a restricted content, for which it gains the form of universality.1 Outwards, since the subjective mind is a unity of soul and consciousness, and is thus also a reality in being, a reality at once anthropological and conformable to consciousness, its products, in the theoretical mind, are the word, and in the practicalmind (not yet deed and action, but) enjoyment.2

[Remark] Psychology, like logic, is one of those sciences which in recent times have still derived least profit from the more general cultivation of the mind and the deeper concept of reason. It is still in an extremely poor condition. The turn effected by Kantian philosophy has indeed attached greater importance to it, even claiming that it should (and that in its empirical condition) constitute the foundation of metaphysics, a science which is to consist of nothing but the empirical apprehension and analysis of the facts of human consciousness, merely as facts, just as they are given. Assigning psychology this position, in which it is mixed with forms from the standpoint of consciousness and with anthropology, has not altered its own condition at all, but it has added one new factor: the abandonment, both for the mind as such, and for metaphysics and philosophy generally, of knowledge of the necessity of that which is in and for itself, the abandonment of the concept and the truth.3

Zusatz. Only soul is passive, the free mind is essentially active, productive. It is therefore a mistake when theoretical mind is sometimes distinguished from practical mind by describing the former as the passive and the latter as the active. In appearance this distinction is of course right enough. Theoretical mind seems pg 172 only to accept what is present, whereas practical mind is supposed to produce something not yet externally present. In truth, however, as we already indicated in the Zusatz to §442, theoretical mind is not a merely passive acceptance of an Other, of a given object, but shows itself as active by raising the implicitly rational content of the object out of the form of externality and individuality into the form of reason. But, conversely, practical mind too has a passive side, since initially its content is given to it, though it is given internally, not from outside, and so it is an immediate content, not posited by the activity of the rational will and it first has to be made such a posited content by means of thinking knowledge, thus by means of theoretical mind.4

No less than the distinction just discussed between the theoretical and practical, the distinction must be pronounced untrue, according to which intelligence is supposed to be the limited, and the will, by contrast, the unlimited. Quite the reverse: the will can be declared to be the more limited, since it engages in struggle with external, recalcitrant matter, with the exclusive individuality of the actual, and at the same time is confronted by other human wills; whereas intelligence as such only advances, in its expression, as far as the word, this fleeting, vanishing, wholly ideal realization emerging in an unresisting element, so that in its expression intelligence remains completely together with itself, satisfies itself within itself, proves to be an end in itself, the divine, and, in the form of conceptual cognition, brings about the unlimited freedom and reconciliation of mind with itself.5

Both modes of subjective mind, intelligence as well as will, initially have, however, only formal truth. For in both the content does not immediately correspond to the infinite form of knowledge, so that this form is thus still not genuinely fulfilled.

In the theoretical sphere the object does become, on the one hand, subjective but, on the other hand, a content of the object initially still remains behind outside the unity with subjectivity. And so the subjective here constitutes only a form that does not absolutely pervade the object and the object is, therefore, not something posited through and through by mind. In the practical sphere, by contrast, the subjective does not yet have immediately any genuine objectivity, since in its immediacy the subjective is not something absolutely universal, a being in and for itself, but something pertaining to the singularity of the individual.

When mind has overcome the defect just described, thus when its content no longer stands in conflict with its form, when the certainty of reason, of the unity of the subjective and objective, is no longer formal but rather fulfilled, when, therefore, the Idea forms the sole content of mind, then subjective mind has reached its goal and passes over into objective mind. Objective mind knows its freedom, recognizes that its subjectivity, in its truth, constitutes absolute objectivity itself, and it apprehends itself not merely within itself as Idea but brings itself forth as an externally present world of freedom.6



The intelligence finds itself determined; this is its semblance from which in its immediacy it sets out; but as knowledge, intelligence consists in positing what is found as its own. Its activity deals with the empty form of finding reason, and its aim is that its concept should be for the intelligence, i.e. to be reason for itself, whereby the content also becomes rational for the intelligence. This activity is cognition. The formal knowledge of certainty elevates itself, since reason is concrete, to determinate and conceptual knowledge. The course of this elevation is itself rational, and consists in a necessary transition, determined by the concept, of one determination of intelligent activity (a so-called faculty of mind) into another. The refutation, involved in cognition, of the semblance of finding the rational, sets out from the certainty, i.e. the faith of intelligence in its capacity for rational knowledge, in the possibility of being able to appropriate reason, which intelligence and the content implicitly are.1

[Remark] The differentiation of intelligence from will is often taken in the incorrect sense that each has a fixed and separate existence of its own, so that volition could be without intelligence, or the activity of intelligence could be without will. The possibility of what is called educating the intellect without the heart, and the heart without the intellect, the possibility too that there are one-sidedly intellectless hearts and heartless intellects, only indicates at most that bad, intrinsically untrue existences occur; but it is not philosophy's business to take such untruths of contingent reality and of representation for the truth, to take what is bad for the nature of the matter.—A host of other forms used of the intelligence, that it receives impressions from outside, admits them, that representations arise through influences of external things as the causes, etc., belong to a categorial standpoint which is not the standpoint of the mind or of philosophical inquiry.2

A favorite reflexion-form is that of powers and faculties of soul, intelligence, or mind. The faculty, like the power, is the fixed determinacy of a content, represented as reflexion-into-itself. The power (§136) is indeed the infinity of form, of the inner and the outer, but its essential finitude involves the indifference of content to form (ibid., Remark). In this lies the irrationality which is introduced into the mind, as well as into nature, by this reflexion-form and by regarding the mind as an assemblage of powers. Whatever can be distinguished in the mind's activity is stereotyped as an independent determinacy and the mind is in this way made an ossified mechanical collection. It here makes no difference whatsoever if we substitute the expression activities for faculties and powers. Isolating the activities similarly makes the mind just an aggregative entity and regards their relationship as an external, contingent relation.3

pg 174 The operation of intelligence as theoretical mind has been called cognition, though not in the sense that intelligence cognises among other things but in addition also intuits, represents, recollects, imagines, etc. Such a position is in the first place connected with the isolating of mental activities just criticised; but it is in addition also connected with the great question of recent times, whether genuine cognising, i.e. cognition of truth, is possible, with the implication that, if we see that it is not possible, we have to abandon this endeavour. The numerous aspects, arguments and categories with which an external reflection swells the scope of this question get cleared up in their place; the more external the approach of the intellect to the question, the more confused it finds a simple object. This is where the simple concept of cognition finds its place. It confronts the entirely universal viewpoint of that question, namely its tendency to put in question the possibility of genuine cognition in general and to present it as a possibility and option whether we pursue cognition or neglect it. The concept of cognition has turned out to be the intelligence itself, the certainty of reason; the actuality of intelligence is now cognition itself. It follows from this that it is absurd to speak of intelligence and yet at the same time of the possibility or option of cognition. Cognition is genuine, just in so far as the intelligence actualizes it, i.e. posits the concept of cognition for itself. This formal determination has its concrete sense in the same thing as cognition does. The moments of cognition's realising activity are intuition, representation, recollection, etc; these activities have no other immanent sense; their purpose is just the concept of cognition (see §445 Remark). Only if they are isolated, is it then imagined firstly that they are useful for something other than cognition, and secondly that by themselves they provide cognitive satisfaction, leading to a glorification of the delights of intuition, recollection, fantasy, etc. Of course even isolated, i.e. mindless intuition, fantasy, etc. can provide satisfaction; what is in physical nature the fundamental determinacy—self-externality, exhibiting the moments of immanent reason external to each other—can occur in the intelligence, either wilfully, or spontaneously, in so far as the intelligence is itself only natural, uncultivated. But true satisfaction, one admits, is provided only by an intuition permeated by intellect and mind, by rational representation, by productions of fantasy permeated by reason and exhibiting Ideas, etc., i.e. by cognitive intuition, representation, etc. The truth that is ascribed to such satisfaction lies in this: intuition, representation, etc. are not isolated, and are present only as moments of the totality, of cognition itself.4

Zusatz. As we have already remarked in the Zusatz to §441, even the mind mediated by the negation of soul and of consciousness has itself, initially, still the form of immediacy and consequently the semblance of being external to itself, of relating, like consciousness, to the rational as to a being outside it, only found, not mediated by mind. But by sublation of these two antecedent main stages of development, of these presuppositions made by the mind itself, mind has already shown itself pg 175 to us as that which mediates itself with itself, as that which withdraws from its Other into itself, as unity of the subjective and the objective. Consequently, the activity of mind that has come to itself, that implicitly already contains the object within itself as a sublated object, necessarily proceeds also to sublate that semblance of the immediacy of itself and of its object, the form of merely finding the object.—Accordingly intelligence's activity initially certainly appears as a formal, unfulfilled activity, and the mind consequently appears as unknowing; and the very first thing to be done is to remove this unknowingness. To this end intelligence fills itself with the object immediately given to it, which, precisely on account of its immediacy, is burdened with all the contingency, nullity and untruth of external reality. But intelligence, far from confining itself to merely accepting the immediately presented content of objects, purifies the object of that in it which shows itself to be purely external, to be contingent and null. Thus whereas, as we have seen, it seems to consciousness that its continuing cultivation starts from the alteration, occurring for itself, of the determinations of its object, intelligence, by contrast, is posited as that form of mind in which the mind itself alters the object and by the development of it also develops itself to truth. Intelligence, in altering the object from external to internal, internalizes itself. These two, the internalizing of the object and the recollection of the mind, are one and the same thing. That of which the mind has a rational knowledge becomes a rational content just in virtue of its being known in a rational way. Thus intelligence removes the form of contingency from the object, grasps its rational nature and so posits it as subjective; and, conversely, in this way it at the same time cultivates subjectivity into the form of objective rationality. Thus what is at first abstract, formal knowledge becomes concrete knowledge, filled with genuine content, hence objective knowledge. When intelligence attains this goal set for it by its concept, it is in truth what initially it only ought to be, namely, cognition.5 Cognition must surely be distinguished from mere knowledge. For even consciousness is knowledge. But free mind does not content itself with simple knowledge; it wants to cognize, i.e., it wants not only to know that an object is, and what it is both overall and in its contingent, external determinations; it wants to know what the object's determinate, substantial nature consists in. This distinction between knowing and cognition is something entirely familiar to educated thinking. Thus it is said, for example, that though we know that God is, cognition of him is beyond us. The sense of this assertion is that while we surely have an indeterminate representation of the abstract essence of God, we are supposed, by contrast, to be incapable of comprehending his determinate, concrete nature. Those who speak in this way may, as regards their own person, be perfectly right. For although even that theology which declares God to be uncognizeable goes to a great deal of trouble—exegetically, critically, and historically—over God and in this way swells up into a capacious science, yet it only gets as far as a knowledge of externals, and by contrast it excretes the substantial content of its object as something indigestible for its feeble mind and accordingly forgoes cognition of God, since, pg 176 as we have said, knowledge of external determinacies does not suffice for cognition, for which a grasp of the substantial determinacy of the object is necessary. Such a science as the one just mentioned occupies the standpoint of consciousness, not of genuine intelligence, which used to be called, rightly, the cognitive faculty as well, although the expression faculty has the inappropriate meaning of a mere possibility.6

To give a clear view of the terrain, we now schematically indicate in advance the formal course of the development of intelligence to cognition. This is as follows. First, intelligence has an immediate object, then, secondly, a recollected material reflected into itself, thirdly and finally, an object subjective and objective alike.

This gives rise to three stages:

α‎) knowledge related to an immediately individual object, material knowledge, or intuition;

β‎) intelligence withdrawing into itself from the relationship to the individuality of the object and relating the object to a universal, or representation;

γ‎) intelligence comprehending the concrete universal of objects, or thinking, in the determinate sense that what we think also is, also has objectivity.

α‎) The stage of intuition, of immediate cognition, or of consciousness posited with the determination of rationality and pervaded by the certainty of mind, again falls into three subdivisions:

1. Intelligence here starts from sensation of the immediatematerial;

2. then it develops into attention, which both fixes on the object and detaches it from itself; and

3. becomes in this way intuition proper, which posits the object as something external to its own self.

β‎) The second main stage of intelligence, representation, comprises three stages:

1. Recollection

2. Imagination

3. Memory

γ‎) Finally, the thirdmain stage in this sphere, thinking, has as content:

1. Intellect

2. Judgement, and

3. Reason.7

(α‎) Intuition


The mind as soul is naturally determined; the mind as consciousness stands in relationship to this determinacy as to an external object; but as intelligence mind pg 177 (1) finds itself determined in this way, is its sombre weaving within itself, in which it is to itself a sort of fabric and has the whole material of its knowledge. Owing to the immediacy in which the mind thus initially occurs, it here takes only the simple form of an individual and ordinary subjective mind, and thus appears as feeling mind.

[Remark] When feeling occurred earlier (§399 ff.) as a mode of the soul's existence, there the finding or the immediacy has essentially the determination of natural being or of bodiliness; but here it has just abstractly the determination of immediacy in general.

Zusatz. We have already had on two occasions to speak of feeling, but on each occasion in a different respect. First, we had to consider it in the case of the soul, and more precisely at the point where the soul, awaking from its self-enclosed natural life, finds within itself the determinations of the content of its sleeping nature and is for that very reason sentient. But by sublating the restrictedness of sensation it attains to the feeling of its self, of its totality, and finally, apprehending itself as I, awakens to consciousness. At the standpoint of consciousness, we spoke of feeling for the second time. But there the determinations of feeling were the material of consciousness, separated from the soul and appearing in the shape of an independent object. Now, thirdly and lastly, feeling has the significance of being the form which mind as such, constituting the unity and truth of soul and consciousness, initially assumes. In the mind the content of feeling is liberated from the twofold one-sidedness which it had, on the one hand, at the standpoint of soul and, on the other hand, at the standpoint of consciousness. For this content now has the determination of being in itself both subjective and objective; and mind's activity now aims only at positing the content as a unity of the subjective and the objective.1


The form of feeling is this: a feeling is indeed a determinate affection, but this determinacy is simple. Hence a feeling, however pure and true its content may be, has the form of contingent particularity, besides the fact that its content can equally well be thoroughly meagre and untrue.1

[Remark] It is a very general presupposition that the mind has in its feeling the material of its representations, but this statement is more usually understood in the opposite sense to that which it has here. In contrast to the simplicity of the feeling it is usual rather to presuppose that the judgement in general, the differentiation of consciousness into a subject and object, is the original source; then the determinacy of sentiment is derived from an independent external or internal object. Here, in the truth of mind, this standpoint of consciousness, the opposite of the mind's idealism, has passed away, and the material of feeling has rather been already posited as immanent in the mind.2 With regard to content it is a pg 178 common prejudice that there is more in feeling than in thinking; this is especially affirmed in the case of moral and religious feelings. The material, which the mind is to itself in so far as it feels, has here too proved to be the determinedness of reason in and for itself; hence all rational content and more precisely all mental content too enters into feeling. But the form of selfish individuality, which the mind has in feeling, is the lowest and worst form; in this form mind does not attain its freedom, its infinite universality; its substance and content remain in a state of contingency, subjectivity, particularity. Genuine, cultivated sentiment is the sentiment of a cultivated mind which has acquired the consciousness of determinate distinctions, essential relationships, genuine determinations, etc; in such a mind it is this amended material that enters into its feeling, i.e. obtains this form. Feeling is the immediate, as it were the closest, form in which the subject relates to a given content; the subject reacts to the content first of all with its particular self-feeling, which may well be more solid and comprehensive than a one-sided intellectual viewpoint, but may just as easily be restricted and bad; in any case feeling is the form of the particular and subjective. If a man on any topic appeals not to the nature and concept of the subject-matter, or at least to reasons, to intellectual universality, but to his feeling, the only thing to do is to let him alone, because he thereby spurns the community of rationality, withdraws into his isolated subjectivity, into particularity.3

Zusatz. In sentiment the whole of reason is present, the entire material of mind. All our representations, thoughts, and concepts of external nature, of lawfulness, of the ethical, and of the content of religion develop out of our sentient intelligence; and conversely, after they have received their complete explication, they are concentrated in the simple form of sentiment. It was, therefore, rightly said by an ancient that men have formed their gods out of their sentiments and passions. But the way in which this development of mind from sentiment is usually understood, implies that intelligence is originally thoroughly empty and therefore receives all content, as entirely alien to it, from outside. This is an error. For what the intelligence seems to receive from outside is, in truth, none other than the rational and is consequently identical with the mind and immanent in it. The activity of mind has, therefore, no other aim than, by sublation of the ostensible being-external-to-its-own-self of the implicitly rational object, to refute even the semblance of the object's externality to mind.4


(2) One of the two moments in the diremption of this immediate finding is the abstract identical direction of the mind in feeling, as in all its other subsequent determinations: attention, without which nothing is for the mind;—active recollection, the moment of its own possession, but as the still formal self-determination of the intelligence. The other moment is this: contrary to its own inwardness, the intelligence posits the determinacy of feeling as a being, but as a negative, as the pg 179 abstract otherness of its own self. Intelligence hereby determines the content of sensation as a being that is outside itself, casts it out into space and time, which are the forms in which intelligence is intuitive. According to consciousness the material is only an object of consciousness, a relative other; from mind it receives the rational determination of being the other of itself (cf. §§247, 254).1

Zusatz. The immediate and thus undeveloped unity, present in sensation and feeling, of mind with the object is still mindless. Therefore, intelligence sublates the simplicity of sensation, determines what is sensed as a negative in relation to intelligence, and thus detaches it from itself, yet at the same time posits it in its detachment as its own. Only by this dual activity of sublating and restoring the unity between myself and the other do I get to grasp the content of sensation. This happens initially in attention. Without attention, therefore, no apprehension of the object is possible; only by attention does mind become present in the subject-matter and obtain cognizance of it, though not as yet cognition of the subject-matter, for this requires a further development of mind.2 Attention constitutes, therefore, the beginning of education. But attending must be conceived more exactly as a way of filling oneself with a content that has the determination of being both objective and subjective, or, in other words, of not only being for me, but also having independent being. Therefore, in attention there necessarily occurs a separation and a unity of the subjective and the objective, a self-reflectioninto- itself of free mind and at the same time an identical direction of mind to the object.3 This already implies that attention is something dependent on my wilfulness, therefore, that I am only attentive when I will to be so.4 But it does not follow that attention is an easy matter. On the contrary, it demands an effort, since if a man wants to apprehend one specific object, he must abstract from everything else, from all the thousand and one things going round in his head, from his other interests, even from his own person; he must suppress his own vanity which would rashly pass judgement on the subject-matter before it had a chance to speak for itself, must doggedly absorb himself in the subject-matter, must let it prevail in himself or focus on it, without obtruding his own reflections. Attention involves, therefore, the negation of one's own self-assertion and devoting oneself to the subject-matter—two moments necessary for proficiency of mind, though they are usually held to be unnecessary for so-called refined culture, since this is supposed to imply precisely that one is finished and done with everything, that one has got beyond everything. This aloofness leads back, in a way, to the state of savagery. The savage attends to practically nothing; he lets everything pass him by without focusing on it. Only by cultivation of the mind does attention acquire strength and fulfilment. The botanist, for example, notices incomparably more in a plant than one ignorant of botany does in the same time. The same is naturally true in regard to all other objects of knowledge. A man of great discernment and education has at once a complete intuition of what is at issue; with him sensation has the character of recollection throughout.5

pg 180 As we have seen in the above, in attention a separation and a unity of the subjective and the objective takes place. However, in so far as attention initially emerges in feeling, the unity of the subjective and the objective is predominant in it, and accordingly the difference between these two sides is still something indeterminate. But intelligence necessarily goes on to develop this difference, to distinguish the object from the subject in a determinate way. The first form in which it does this is intuition. In intuition the difference between the subjective and objective predominates, just as much as the unity of these opposed determinations predominates in formal attention.6

We have now to examine here more closely the objectification of what is sensed that occurs in intuition. In this regard we have to discuss both inner and outer sensations.7

As regards inner sensations, it is especially true of them that in sensation man is subject to the power of his affections, but that he eludes that power if he is able to bring them to intuition. Thus we know, for example, that if someone is able to convey to his intuition, say in a poem, the feelings of joy or sorrow overwhelming him he detaches what is oppressing his mind from himself and thereby procures relief or complete freedom. For although by contemplating the many aspects of his sensations he seems to increase their power, yet he does in fact diminish this power by making his sensations into something confronting him, something becoming external to him. Goethe, for instance, particularly by his Werther, brought himself relief, whereas he subjected the readers of this novel to the power of sentiment. The cultivated man, because he contemplates what is sensed in all the aspects that present themselves, feels more deeply than the uncultivated, but is at the same time superior in his mastery over feeling because he moves especially in the element of rational thinking elevated above the narrow confines of sensation.8

Inner sensations then are, as just indicated, more or less separable from us according to the degree of intensity of reflective and rational thinking.

In the case of the external sensations, by contrast, the variation in their separability depends on the circumstance whether the object to which they are related is one that persists or disappears. In accordance with this determination the five senses range themselves in such a manner that smell and taste take their place on the one side, while sight and feeling take up a position on the other side, with hearing standing in the middle. Smell has to do with the volatilization or evaporation of the object, taste with its consumption. Thus the object presents itself to these two senses in its complete lack of independence, only in its material disappearance. Here, therefore, intuition falls into time, and the transposition of what is sensed from the subject into the object, is not so easy as with the sense of feeling which is related mainly to the resistance of the object, and also with the sense proper to intuition, with sight, which is concerned with the object as a predominantly independent entity, as persisting ideally and materially and which has only an ideal relation to it, senses only its ideal side, colour, by means of light, but leaves the pg 181material side of the object untouched. Lastly, for hearing, the object is one that subsists materially but vanishes ideally; in sound, the ear perceives the vibration, i.e., the merely ideal, not real, negation of the object's independence. Therefore, in hearing, the separability of sensation shows itself to be indeed less than in sight, but greater than in taste and smell. We must hear sound, because sound, detaching itself from the object, forces itself on us and we refer it without great difficulty to this or that object because the object maintains its independence in its vibration.9

Accordingly, the activity of intuition initially produces in general a shifting of sensation away from us, a transformation of what is sensed into an object present outside us. The content of sensation is not altered by this alteration; on the contrary, it is here still one and the same content in the mind and in the external object, so thatmind here still has no content peculiar to itself which it could compare with the content of intuition. Consequently, what comes about by intuition is merely the transformation of the form of internality into the form of externality. This constitutes the first way, itself still formal, in which intelligence becomes determining.10 About the significance of this externality two remarks must be made: first, that what is sensed, in becoming an object external to the inwardness of the mind, receives the form of something external-to-itself, since the mental or rational constitutes the objects' own nature. Secondly, we must remark that since this transformation of what is sensed proceeds from the mind as such, what is sensed thereby acquires a mental, i.e. an abstract externality and by this acquires that universality which can immediately belong to the external, namely, a still quite formal, contentless universality. But the form of the concept itself falls apart in this abstract externality. The latter therefore has the dual form of space and of time. (Cf. §§254–259.) Sensations are thus posited spatially and temporally by intuition. The spatial presents itself as the form of indifferent juxtaposition and quiescent subsistence; the temporal, by contrast, presents itself as the form of unrest, of the internally negative, of successiveness, of arising and vanishing, so that the temporal is, in that it is not, and is not, in that it is. But the two forms of abstract externality are identical with one another in the sense that each is utterly discrete within itself and at the same time utterly continuous. Their continuity, containing within itself absolute discreteness, consists precisely in the abstract universality of the external, a universality coming from the mind and not yet developed to any actual individualization.11

But when we said that what is sensed receives from the intuiting mind the form of the spatial and temporal, this statement must not be understood to mean that space and time are only subjective forms. This is what Kant wanted to make space and time. However, things are in truth themselves spatial and temporal; this double form of asunderness is not one-sidedly imposed on them by our intuition, it has already been originally imparted to them by the infinite mind that is in itself, by the creative eternal Idea. When, therefore, our intuitive mind does the determinations of sensation the honour of giving them the abstract form of pg 182 space and time, thereby making them into proper objects as well as assimilating them to itself, what happens here is by no means what happens in the opinion of subjective idealism, namely, that we receive only the subjective manner of our determining and not the determinations belonging to the object itself.12 Incidentally, we must answer those whose mental limitations lead them to attach a quite extraordinary importance to the question of the reality of space and time: space and time are extremely meagre and superficial determinations, therefore things get very little from these forms, and by the loss of them, were this in fact possible, they would thus lose very little. Cognitive thinking does not dwell on these forms; it apprehends things in their concept, which contains space and time within itself as something sublated. Just as in outer nature space and time, by the dialectic of the concept immanent in them, sublate themselves into matter (§261) as their truth, so free intelligence is the dialectic of these forms of immediate asunderness, the dialectic that is for itself.13


(3)When intelligence is this concrete unity of the two moments, and is in fact to be immediately recollected into itself in the external being of this material and in its recollection-into-itself immersed in self-externality, it is intuition.1

Zusatz. Intuition must not be confused either with representation proper, to be dealt with later, or with the merely phenomenological consciousness already discussed.

First of all, as regards the relationship of intuition to representation, intuition has only this in common with representation: in both forms of mind the object is both detached from me and at the same time my own. But that the object has the character of what is mine is present in intuition only in itself and is first posited in representation. In intuition, the objecthood of the content predominates. Only when I make the reflexion that it is I who have the intuition, only then do I occupy the standpoint of representation.2

With regard to the relationship of intuition to consciousness, the following remark must be made. In the broadest sense of the word, one could of course give the name of intuition to the immediate or sensory consciousness considered in §418. But if this name is to be taken in its proper significance, as rationally it must, then between this consciousness and intuition an essential distinctionmust be drawn: the former, in unmediated, entirely abstract certainty of itself, relates itself to the immediate individuality of the object, an individuality disintegrating into a multiplicity of aspects; whereas intuition is a consciousness filled by the certainty of reason, whose object has the determination of being something rational, consequently not an individual torn asunder into various aspects but a totality, a cohesive fullness of determinations.3 It was in this sense that Schelling formerly spoke of intellectual intuition.4 Mindless intuition is merely sensory pg 183 consciousness, remaining external to the object. Mindful, genuine intuition, by contrast, apprehends the solid substance of the object. A talented historian, for example, has before him in vivid intuition the whole of the conditions and events he is to describe; by contrast, one who possesses no talent for the portrayal of history confines himself to individual details and overlooks the substantial. It is, therefore, rightly insisted that in all branches of knowledge, and especially in philosophy too, one should speak from intuition of the subject-matter. This requires that a man enter into relationship with the subject-matter with mind, with heart and soul, briefly in his entirety, that he stand in the centre of it and give it free play. Only when thinking is firmly grounded in intuition of the substance of the object can one, without deserting the truth, go on to consider the particular which is rooted in that substance, but becomes worthless straw when detached from it. If, however, a solid intuition of the object is lacking from the outset or if it disappears again, then reflective thinking loses itself in the consideration of the manifold, individualized determinations and relationships occurring in the object, then the separating intellect tears the object apart, even when it is a living creature, a plant or an animal, by its one-sided finite categories of cause and effect, external end and means, etc., and in this manner, despite all its clever ruses, fails to comprehend the concrete nature of the object, to recognize the spiritual bond holding together all the individual details.5

But we must abandon mere intuition and the necessity for that lies in the fact that intelligence is, by its concept, cognition, whereas intuition is not yet cognitive knowledge, since intuition as such does not attain to the immanent development of the substance of the object but confines itself rather to apprehending the not yet unfolded substance still wrapped up in the inessentials of the external and contingent. Intuition is, therefore, only the beginning of cognition. It is to this position of intuition that Aristotle's saying refers, that all knowledge starts from wonder. For since subjective reason, as intuition, has the certainty, though only the indeterminate certainty, of finding its own self again in the object initially burdened with the form of unreason, the subject-matter instils into it wonder and awe. But philosophical thinking must rise above the standpoint of wonder. It is quite erroneous to suppose that one already genuinely knows the subject-matter when one has an immediate intuition of it. Complete cognition belongs only to the pure thinking of conceptual reason, and only someone who has risen to this thinking possesses a perfectly determinate, genuine intuition. With him intuition constitutes only the solid form into which his completely developed cognition is concentrated again. In immediate intuition, I do indeed have the entire matter before me; but only in the cognition that is unfolded in all its aspects and returns to the form of simple intuition does the matter stand before my mind as an internally articulated, systematic totality. In general, only the educated man has an intuition freed from the mass of contingencies and equipped with a wealth of rationality. A sensible, educated man can, even though he does not philosophize, pg 184 grasp the essentials, the core, of the matter in simple determinacy. Contemplative thinking is, however, always necessary for this. People often imagine that the poet, like the artist in general, must operate purely intuitively. This is not the case at all. On the contrary, a genuine poet, before and during the execution of his work, must meditate and think contemplatively; only in this way can he hope to extricate the heart or the soul of the matter from all the externalities in which it is shrouded and by so doing, develop his intuition organically.6


Just as essentially, intelligence directs its attention at and against its own selfexternality, and in its immediacy it is the awakening to itself, its recollection into itself in this immediacy. Thus intuition is this concretion of the material and the intelligence, the intelligence's own possession, so that it no longer needs this immediacy and the finding of the content.1

Zusatz. At the standpoint of mere intuition we are outside ourselves, in spatiality and temporality, these two forms of asunderness. Here intelligence is immersed in the external material, is one with it, and has no other content than that of the intuited object. Therefore, in intuition we can become extremely unfree. But, as we already remarked in the Zusatz to §448, intelligence is the dialectic of this immediate asunderness, a dialectic that is for itself. Accordingly, mind posits the intuition as its own, pervades it, makes it into something internal, recollects itself in it, becomes present to itself in it, and hence free. By this withdrawal into itself, intelligence raises itself to the stage of representation.2 Representational mind has intuition; intuition is sublated in mind, not vanished, not merely passed away. Therefore, when we talk about an intuition sublated to representation, language too is quite correct in saying: I have seen this. By this is expressed no mere past, but presence as well; here the past is a merely relative past,—it resides only in the comparison of immediate intuition with what we now have in representation. But the word 'have', used in the perfect tense, has quite literally the meaning of presence: what I have seen is something that I not merely had, but still have,—thus something present in me. In this use of the word 'have' can be seen a universal sign of the inwardness of the modern mind, which does not merely reflect on the fact that the past in its immediacy has passed away, but also on the fact that in the mind the past is still preserved.3

(β‎) Representation


Representation is the recollected intuition and, as such, is the mean between intelligence's immediate finding-itself-determined and intelligence in its freedom, thinking. The representation is intelligence's own possession still pg 185 with one-sided subjectivity, since this possession is not self-contained being, but still conditioned by immediacy.1 The path of intelligence in representations is to make the immediacy inward, to posit itself intuitively within itself, just as it is to sublate the subjectivity of the inwardness, and within inwardness itself to divest itself of it and to be within itself in its own externality.2 But as representing begins from the intuition and the ready-found material of intuition, this activity is still burdened with this difference, and its concrete productions within it are still syntheses, which become the concrete immanence of the concept only in thinking.3

Zusatz. The various forms of the mind as it occupies the standpoint of representation tend to be regarded, even more than is the case with the preceding stage of intelligence, as individualized, mutually independent powers or faculties. Besides the faculty of representation in general, one speaks of power of imagination and of power of memory, treating the mutual independence of these forms of mind as a foregone conclusion. But the genuinely philosophical conception of these forms just consists in comprehending the rational connection obtaining between them, in recognizing the organic development of intelligence occurring in them.4

To facilitate a survey of the stages of this development, we now propose to indicate them here in advance in a general way.

(1) The first of these stages we call recollection in the peculiar sense of the word according to which it consists in the involuntary arousal of a content that is already ours. Recollection forms the most abstract stage of the intelligence at work in representations. Here the represented content is still the same as in intuition; in intuition it receives its verification, just as, conversely, the content of intuition proves its worth in my representation. We have, consequently, at this stage a content which is not only intuited as it just is, but at the same time recollected, posited as mine. Determined in this way, the content is what we call an image.5

(2) The second stage in this sphere is the imagination. Here there enters the opposition between my subjective or represented content and the intuited content of the subject-matter. The imagination fashions for itself a content peculiar to it by reacting to the intuited object thinkingly, by bringing out what is universal in it, and giving it determinations that pertain to the I. In this way the imagination ceases to be merely formal recollection and becomes the recollection that affects the content, universalizes it, thus creating universal representations. Since at this stage the opposition of the subjective and objective prevails, the unity of these determinations here cannot be an immediate unity, as at the stage of mere recollection, but only a restored unity. The manner in which this restoration takes place is this: the intuited external content is subjugated to the represented content which has been raised to universality, is reduced to a sign of the represented content, while the represented content is in this way made objective, external, is rendered imageable.6

pg 186 (3) Memory is the third stage of representation. Here, on the one hand, the sign is recollected, taken up into the intelligence; on the other hand, the intelligence is thereby given the form of something external, mechanical, and in this way a unity of the subjective and objective is produced which forms the transition to thinking as such.7

(1) Recollection


Intelligence, in first recollecting the intuition, puts the content of feeling in its inwardness, in its own space and its own time. In this way the content is (αα‎) an image, liberated from its initial immediacy and abstract individuality in contrast to other things, as received into the universality of the I in general. The image no longer has the complete determinacy that the intuition has, and is wilful or contingent, in general isolated from the external place, the time, and the immediate context in which the intuition stood.1

Zusatz. Since intelligence is, by its concept, the infinite ideality or universality that is for itself, the space and the time of intelligence are universal space and universal time. Consequently, in placing the content of feeling in the inwardness of intelligence and thereby making it a representation, I lift the content out of the particularity of space and time, the particularity to which the content, in its immediacy, is bound and on which I too am dependent in sensation and intuition. From this it follows, first, that whereas the immediate presence of the thing is necessary for sensation and intuition, I can by contrast represent something to myself wherever I am, even what is remotest from me in external space and external time.2 Secondly, it follows from what we said above that everything that happens acquires duration for us only when it is taken up into representational intelligence, whereas occurrences not regarded by the intelligence as worth taking up in this way become something entirely past. However, what is represented gains this immortality only at the cost of the clarity and freshness of the immediate individuality, the all round determinacy, of what is intuited; the intuition is obscured and blurred, when it becomes an image.3

As regards time, a further remark can be made concerning the subjective character it acquires in representation. In intuition time becomes short for us when we have much to intuit, but long, when a deficiency of given material drives us to the contemplation of our empty subjectivity. In representation it is the other way round: those times in which we were occupied in various ways strike us as long, whereas those times in which we had little to do seem to be short. Here, in recollection, we keep our subjectivity, our inwardness, in view and determine the measure of the time by the interest that we took in it. In the former case, in intuition, we are immersed in contemplation of the thing; here time appears short to us when it is filled with an ever changing content, but long when nothing interrupts its uniformity.4

pg 187§453

(ββ‎) The image for itself is transient, and the intelligence itself, as attention, is its time and also its space, its when and where. But intelligence is not only consciousness and reality, but as intelligence it is the subject and the in-itself of its own determinations; recollected within intelligence, the image, no longer existing, is preserved unconsciously.1

[Remark] To conceive intelligence as this nocturnal pit in which is stored a world of infinitely many images and representations, yet without being in consciousness, is on the one hand the universal requirement to conceive the concept as concrete, as we conceive e.g. the seed as affirmatively containing, in virtual possibility, all the determinacies that come into existence only in the development of the tree. Inability to conceive this intrinsically concrete and yet steadfastly simple universal is what occasioned the talk about the preservation of particular representations in particular fibres and areas; diverse items are supposed essentially to have only an individualized spatial existence too.2—But the seed comes out of the existing determinacies and returns to its simplicity, to the existence of beingin- itself again, only in something else, in the seed of the fruit. But intelligence as such is the free existence of the being-in-itself that recollects itself into itself in its development.3 Hence intelligence is to be conceived, on the other hand, as this unconscious pit, i.e. as the existing universal in which what is diverse is not yet posited as discrete. And in fact this in-itself is the first form of universality that presents itself in representation.4

Zusatz. The image is mine, it belongs to me; but initially it has no further homogeneity with me, for it is not yet thought, not yet raised to the form of rationality. On the contrary, between it andmyself there still subsists a relationship not genuinely free, stemming from the standpoint of intuition, a relationship in which I am only internal, and the image is what is external to me. Therefore initially I do not yet have full power over the images slumbering in the depths of my inwardness, I am not yet able to summon them up again at will. No one knows what an infinite host of images of the past slumbers in him; now and then they do indeed awake by chance, but one cannot, as we say, call them to mind. Thus the images are ours only in a formal manner.5


(γγ‎) Such an abstractly stored image needs, for its reality, a real intuition; authentic recollection, as it is called, is the relation of the image to an intuition, in fact the subsumption of the immediate individual intuition under what is universal in form, under the representation which is the same content. Thus the intelligence is still internal to itself in the determinate sensation and its intuition and recognizes them as what is already its own, just as at the same time it is now aware of its initially only internal image as also an immediate image of intuition and as proved pg 188 in intuition.1—The image, which in the pit of intelligence was only its property, is now, with the determination of externality, also in its possession. The image is thereby posited both as distinguishable from the intuition and as separable from the simple night in which it is initially submerged. Intelligence is thus the power which can externalize its property and which no longer needs external intuition for the existence of the property in intelligence.2 This synthesis of the internal image with the recollected reality is representation proper, since what is internal now also comprises the determination of being able to be presented before the intelligence, of having reality in intelligence.3

Zusatz. The images of the past lying hidden in the dark depths of our interior become our actual possession in the following way. They present themselves to the intelligence in the luminous, plastic shape of an occurrent intuition of the same content, and with the help of this present intuition we recognize them as intuitions we have already had. Thus it happens, for example, that we recognize out of hundreds of thousands someone whose image has already become quite dim in our mind, as soon as we catch sight of him again. If, therefore, I am to retain something in recollection, Imust have repeated the intuition of it. To begin with, the image will of course be aroused not so much by myself as by the corresponding immediate intuition. But the image, by being frequently summoned up in this way, acquires such a great vitality and presence in me that I no longer need the external intuition in order to recollect it. In this way children pass from intuition to recollection. The more cultivated a man is, the more he lives not in immediate intuition, but, in all his intuitions, at the same time in recollections; so that he sees little that is altogether new but, on the contrary, the substantial content of most of what is new is something already familiar to him. Similarly, a cultivated man contents himself for the most part with his images and seldom feels the need of immediate intuition. The inquisitive multitude, by contrast, are always hurrying to where there is something to gape at.4

(2) Imagination


(αα‎) When it is at work in this possession intelligence is the reproductive imagination, the emergence of images from the I's own inwardness; the I is from now on the power over them. The nearest relation of the images is the relation of their external, immediate space and time, which are stored up with them.1—But in the subject, in which it is stored up, the image has only the individuality in which the determinations of its content are linked together; its immediate concretion, by contrast, i.e. the initially only spatial and temporal concretion, which it has as a unit in intuition, is dissolved.2 The content reproduced, belonging as it does to the self-identical unity of intelligence and sent out from its universal pit, has a universal representation for the associating relation of the images, of the pg 189 representations which, according to former circumstances, are more abstract or more concrete.3

[Remark] The so-called laws of the association of Ideas have commanded great interest, especially during the blossoming of empirical psychology that coincided with the decline of philosophy.4 For one thing, it is not Ideas that are associated.5 For another, these modes of relation are not laws, just for the reason that there are so many laws about the same thing, making way rather for wilfulness and contingency, the opposite of a law; it is a contingent matter whether the connecting link is something pictorial, or an intellectual category, likeness and unlikeness, ground and consequent, etc.6 Progression through images and representations in the wake of the associative imagination is in general the play of a thoughtless representing, where the determination of intelligence is still formal universality in general, but the content is the content given in the images.7—Image and representation, if we ignore the more precise determination we have given in terms of their form, are distinguished in their content by the fact that the image is the more sensorily concrete representation; representation (whether the content be something pictorial or concept and Idea) has in general the character, though belonging to intelligence, of being in respect of its content something given and immediate. The being, the finding-itself-determined, of intelligence still adheres to representation, and the universality which representing confers on that material is still abstract universality.8 The representation is the middle term in the syllogism of the ascent of intelligence, the link between the two meanings of relation-to-self, namely being and universality, which in consciousness are determined as object and subject. Intelligence supplements what is found with the meaning of universality, and supplements what is its own, the inner, with the meaning of being, but a being posited by itself.9—On the distinction between representations and thoughts, cf. Introduction, §20 Remark.

The abstraction that occurs in the representing activity by which universal representations are produced (and representations as such already have the form of universality in them), is frequently expressed as a superimposition of many similar images upon one another and is supposed in this way to become comprehensible. If this superimposing is not to be entirely a matter of chance, with no trace of a concept, a force of attraction between similar images must be assumed, or something of the sort, which at the same time would be the negative power of rubbing off their remaining unlikeness against each other. This force is in fact intelligence itself, the self-identical I which by its recollection immediately gives the images universality, and subsumes the individual intuition under the already internalized image (§453).10

Zusatz. The second stage of development of representation is, as we have already indicated in the Zusatz to §451, the imagination. The first form of representing, recollection, ascends to imagination in this way: emerging from its abstract beingwithin- itself into determinacy, the intelligence disperses the nocturnal darkness pg 190 enveloping the wealth of its images and dispels it by the luminous clarity of presence.

But imagination, in its turn, contains three forms in which it unfolds. It is, in general, the determinant of images.

At first, however, it does no more than determine the entry of images into reality. Here it is only reproductive imagination. This has the character of a merely formal activity. But, secondly, imagination does not merely summon up again the images present in it but relates them to each other and in this way raises them to universal representations. Accordingly, at this stage, imagination appears as the activity of associating images. The third stage in this sphere is the stage at which intelligence identifies its universal representations with the particularity of the image and so gives them a pictorial reality. This sensory reality has the double form of symbol and sign, so that this third stage comprises the symbolising and the sign-making fantasy, the latter of which constitutes the transition to memory.11

Reproductive Imagination. So the first thing is the formal process of reproducing images. It is true that pure thoughts can also be reproduced; imagination has to do not with them, however, but only with images. But the reproduction of images on the part of imagination occurs voluntarily and without the help of an immediate intuition. This is what distinguishes this form of representational intelligence from mere recollection, which does not operate spontaneously but requires a present intuition and lets the images emerge involuntarily.12

Associative Imagination. A higher activity than mere reproducing is the relating of images to one another. The content of the images has, on account of its immediacy or sensoriness, the form of finitude, of relation to an Other. Now since here it is I who determine or posit in general, I also posit this relation. By this relation intelligence gives the images a subjective bond instead of their objective bond. But this subjective bond still has in part the shape of externality with respect to what is connected by it. For example, I have before me the image of an object; this image is connected quite externally to the image of persons with whom I have spoken about this object, or who possess it, etc. Often the images are linked together only by space and time. Ordinary social conversation mostly weaves its way from one idea to another in a very external and contingent manner. It is only when the discussion has a definite aim that it acquires a firmer coherence.13 The various emotional moods give all representations a peculiar relation—cheerful moods give a cheerful relation, sad moods a sad relation. This is even more true of passions. The degree of intelligence also produces a difference in the way images are related; clever, witty people are therefore different from ordinary people in this respect too; someone clever seeks out images that contain something solid and profound. Wit combines ideas which, although remote from one another, nevertheless have in fact an inner connection. Punning, too, is to be included in this sphere; the deepest passion can resort to word-play; for a great mind, even in the pg 191 most unfortunate circumstances, knows how to bring everything it encounters into relation with its passion.14


Hence even the association of representations is to be conceived as subsumption of the individual representations under a universal representation, which forms the connection between them.1 But intelligence is not only universal form in them; its inwardness is intrinsically determinate, concrete subjectivity with content of its own, which derives from some interest, some concept or Idea that is in itself, in so far as we may in anticipation speak of such content. Intelligence is the power over the stock of images and representations belonging to it, and thus (??) freely combines and subsumes this stock under its own peculiar content. Thus in this stock of ideas intelligence is recollected determinately into itself and imaginatively impresses the stock on its own content:—fantasy, symbolizing, allegorizing or creative imagination. These more or less concrete, individualized structures are still syntheses, in so far as the material, in which the subjective content acquires a reality of representation, derives from what is found in intuition.2

Zusatz. Images are already more universal than intuitions; they still have, however, a sensory-concrete content whose relation to another such content is I myself. But now when I turn my attention to this relation, I arrive at universal representations, or at representations in the strict sense of this word. For what enables the individual images to relate to one another consists precisely in what is common to them. This common element is either some particular aspect of the object raised to the form of universality, such as, for example, the red colour in the rose, or the concrete universal, the genus, for example, the plant in the rose,—but in each case a representation that comes about through the dissolution, proceeding from the intelligence, of the empirical connection of the manifold determinations of the object. In the production of universal representations, the intelligence thus operates spontaneously; it is, therefore, an inept mistake to assume that universal representations arose, without any help from the mind, by the superimposition of many similar images, that, for example, the red colour of the rose picked up the red of other images situated in my head, and thus conveyed to me, a mere spectator, the universal representation of red. Of course, the particular element belonging to the image is something given; but the analysis of the concrete individuality of the image and the resultant form of universality come, as remarked, from myself.3

Abstract representations, to mention these in passing, are often called concepts. The philosophy of Fries consists essentially of such representations. When it is asserted that this sort of thing leads one to knowledge of the truth, the rejoinder must be that it does just the opposite, and that therefore someone with any sense holds on to concrete images and rightly rejects such empty scholastic wisdom. pg 192 But there is no need here to labour this point.4 No more are we concerned here with the precise nature of the content, whether this comes from the external world or from the sphere of reason, of law, ethics, and religion. The question at issue here is only the universality of the representation in general. From this point of view we have the following remark to make.

In the subjective sphere, which we now occupy, the universal representation is the internal, whereas the image is the external. These two mutually opposed determinations initially still fall apart, but in their separation each is one-sided. The representation lacks externality, pictorial vivacity, the image forgoes elevation to the expression of a determinate universal. The truth of these two sides is, therefore, their unity. More exactly, this unity, the imaging of the universal and the universalization of the image, comes about in the following way. The universal representation does not unite with the image to form a neutral, so to speak, chemical product. It actively proves itself to be the substantial power over the image, subjugating it as an accident of itself, making itself into the soul of the image; in the image it becomes for itself, recollects itself, manifests its own self. When the intelligence produces this unity of the universal and the particular, of the internal and the external, of representation and intuition, and in this way restores the totality present in intuition as a proven totality, the representational activity becomes complete within itself, in so far as it is productive imagination. This constitutes the formal aspect of art; for art displays the genuine universal or the Idea in the form of sensory reality, of the image.5


In fantasy intelligence has been perfected to self-intuition within itself, inasmuch as its content, derived from its own self, has pictorial existence. This structure of its self-intuiting is subjective; the moment of what is is still lacking. But in the structure's unity of the inner content and the material, intelligence has likewise implicitly returned to identical self-relation as immediacy. As reason, intelligence starts by appropriating what is immediately found within itself (§445, cf. §455 Remark), i.e. by determining it as a universal; correspondingly its activity as reason (§438) is, from the present point on, to determine as a being what within it has been perfected to concrete self-intuition, i.e. to make itself into being, into the thing. When active in this determination, it is self-externalising, intuitionproducing: (γγ‎) sign-making fantasy.1

[Remark] Fantasy is the midpoint in which the universal and being, one's own and being-found, the inner and outer, are completely welded into one. The preceding syntheses of intuition, recollection, etc., are unifications of the same moments; but they are syntheses; only in fantasy does intelligence present itself not as the indeterminate pit and the universal, but as individuality, i.e. as concrete subjectivity, in which the self-relation is determined to being as well as to universality.2 The structures of fantasy are everywhere recognized as such pg 193 unifications of what is the mind's own or its interior with the intuitive; theirmore determinate content belongs to different departments. Here we are to conceive of this inner workshop only in terms of these abstract moments.3—As the activity of this unification, fantasy is reason, but only formal reason, in so far as the content of fantasy as such is a matter of indifference; whereas reason as such also determines the content to truth.4

Another point calling for special emphasis is this. Fantasy brings the inner content to the image and to intuition, and this is expressed by saying that it determines the content as being. So we must not find this expression surprising either, that intelligence makes itself be, makes itself the thing; for the content of intelligence is intelligence itself, and so is the determination that it gives to this content.5 The image produced by fantasy is only subjectively intuitive; in the sign it adds intuitability proper; in mechanical memory it completes, inside itself, this form of being.6

Zusatz. As we have seen in the Zusatz to the previous Paragraph, in fantasy the universal representation constitutes the subjective element which gives itself objectivity in the image and thereby proves itself. This proof is, however, itself immediately still a subjective proof, in so far as intelligence initially still has regard to the given content of the images, is guided by it in imaging its universal representations. This activity of intelligence, which is in this way still conditioned, only relatively free, we call symbolizing fantasy. Symbolizing fantasy selects for the expression of its universal representations only that sensory material whose independent meaning corresponds to the determinate content of the universal to be imaged. Thus, for example, the strength of Jupiter is displayed by the eagle because this is regarded as being strong.—Allegory expresses the subjective element more by an ensemble of individual details.—Finally, poetic fantasy does indeed use material more freely than the plastic arts; yet it too may only select such sensorymaterial as is adequate to the content of the Idea to be exhibited.7

But intelligence necessarily progresses from the subjective proof present in the symbol and mediated by the image, to the objective proof of the universal representation, a proof that is in and for itself. For since the content of the universal representation to be proved joins together only with itself in the content of the image serving as a symbol, this mediated form of the proof, of this unity of the subjective and objective, turns into the form of immediacy. By this dialectical movement, the universal representation reaches the point where it no longer needs the content of the image for its proof, but is proved in and for its own self, is, therefore, immediately valid. Now the universal representation, liberated from the content of the image, makes itself into something intuitable in an external material wilfully chosen by itself, and thus produces what has to be called, in definite contrast to the symbol, a sign. The sign must be proclaimed a great accomplishment. When the intelligence has designated something, then it has finished with the content of intuition and has given the sensory material an alien pg 194 meaning as its soul. So for example, a cockade or a flag or a tomb-stone means something entirely different from what it immediately indicates. The wilfulness, emerging here, of the combination of the sensory material with a universal representation has the necessary consequence that the meaning of the sign must first be learned. This is especially true of linguistic signs.8


In this unity, stemming from intelligence, of an independent representation and an intuition, the matter of the intuition is of course initially something received, something immediate or given (e.g. the colour of the cockade, etc.). But in this identity the intuition does not count as positive or as representing itself, but as representing something else. It is an image that has received into itself as its soul an independent representation of the intelligence, its meaning. This intuition is the sign.1

[Remark] The sign is some immediate intuition, which represents a wholly different content from the content that it has for itself;—the pyramid into which an alien soul is transferred and preserved. The sign is different from the symbol, from an intuition whose own determinacy is, in its essence and concept, more or less the content which it expresses as symbol; in the sign as such, by contrast, the intuition's own content and the content of which it is a sign, have nothing to do with each other. In signifying therefore intelligence displays a freer wilfulness and mastery in the use of intuition than in symbolizing.2

In psychology or even in logic the sign and language are usually fitted in somewhere as an appendix, with no thought of their necessity and connections in the system of the activity of intelligence. The right place for the sign is the one indicated: intelligence—which in intuiting generates the form of time and of space, but appears as the recipient of the sensory content and as forming its representations out of this material—now gives its independent representations a determinate reality out of itself, uses the filled space and time, the intuition, as its own, deletes its immediate and peculiar content, and gives it another content as its meaning and soul.3—This sign-creating activity may be especially named productive memory (the initially abstract mnemosyne); since memory, which in ordinary life is often confused with recollection and used synonymously with it, even with representation and imagination, has in general to do with signs only.4


The intuition, which in its immediacy is initially something given and spatial, acquires, in so far as it is used as a sign, the essential determination of occurring only as sublated. Intelligence is this intrinsic negativity; thus the more appropriate shape of the intuition that is a sign is a reality in time,—a disappearance of the reality as soon as it is, and, in its further external psychical determinacy, pg 195 a positedness by intelligence, emerging from its own (anthropological) naturalness,— the sound, the fulfilled externalization of self-announcing inwardness.1 Sound articulating itself further for determinate representations, speech, and its system, language, give to sensations, intuitions, representations a second, higher reality than their immediate one, in general an existence that carries weight in the realm of representation.2

[Remark] Language here comes into consideration only in the specific determinacy of being the product of intelligence for manifesting its representations in an external element. If we were to deal with language a concrete way, we would have to revert to the anthropological, more precisely the psycho-physiological standpoint (§401) for the material of language (the lexical element), and to anticipate the standpoint of the intellect for the form (grammar). For the elementary material of language, the idea of mere contingency has disappeared, while on the other hand the principle of imitation has been restricted to its narrow range, objects that make a sound. Yet one can still hear the German language praised for its wealth on account of the many particular expressions it possesses for particular sounds. (Rauschen, Sausen, Knarren, etc.; perhaps more than a hundred of them have been collected; the whim of the moment creates new ones when it pleases.) Such an abundance in the sensory and insignificant contributes nothing to the wealth of a cultivated language. The specifically elementary material itself depends less on a symbolism relating to external objects than on inner symbolism, namely anthropological articulation, as it were a gesture of the bodily expression of speech. For each vowel and consonant, as well as for their more abstract elements (gesture of lips, of palate, of tongue) and then for their combinations, people have thus looked for the specific meaning. But these dull subconscious beginnings are modified to inconspicuousness and insignificance, by further external factors or by the needs of civilisation, but essentially by the reduction of what are themselves sensory intuitions to signs, so that their own original meaning atrophies and is extinguished.3 But the formal element of language is the work of the intellect which impresses its categories on language; this logical instinct gives rise to the grammar of language. The study of languages still in their original state, which we have first begun to get to know thoroughly in recent times, has shown on this point that they involve a highly elaborate and detailed grammar and express distinctions which are lacking or have been obliterated in the languages of more civilised peoples. It seems that the language of the most civilised peoples has the less complete grammar, and the same language has a more complete grammar when the people is in a more uncivilised state than in a more highly civilised state. Cf. Mr W. von Humboldt's On the Dual, I,10, 11.4

While on the subject of spoken language (which is the original language), we can also mention, but here only in passing, written language; this is merely a further development within the particular province of language which enlists the help of an externally practical activity.5 Written language proceeds to the field of pg 196 immediate spatial intuition, in which it takes and produces signs (§454). More precisely, hieroglyphic script designates representations with spatial figures, whereas alphabetic script designates sounds which are themselves already signs. Alphabetical writing thus consists of signs of signs, and in such a way that it analyses the concrete signs of spoken language, words, into their simple elements and designates these elements.6Leibniz allowed himself to be misled by his intellect into believing that a complete written language, formed in a hieroglyphic manner—which occurs in a partial way even in alphabetic writing (as in our signs for numbers, the planets, the chemical substances, etc.)—would be very desirable as a universal written language for the communication of peoples and especially of scholars.7 But it may be thought that it was rather the communication of peoples (as was probably the case in Phoenicia, and today happens in Canton—see Macartney's Travels by Staunton) which occasioned the need of alphabetical writing and led to its emergence.8 Anyway a comprehensive, finished hieroglyphic language is out of the question. Sensory objects no doubt admit of permanent signs, but for signs of spiritual matters the progress in the cultivation of our thoughts, the advance of logical development, lead to altered views of their internal relationships and thus of their nature, so that with this another hieroglyphic determination would also emerge. After all, this already happens with sensory objects: their signs in spoken language, their names, are frequently changed, as e.g. with chemical and mineralogical names. Ever since we have forgotten what names, as such, are, namely intrinsically senseless externalities which only have a meaning as signs, ever since we require, instead of genuine names, the expression of a sort of definition and in fact frequently also form the definition again according to choice and chance, the denomination, i.e. just the combination of signs of their generic determination or other supposedly characteristic properties, is altered according to the different views we take of the genus or of any other supposedly specific property.9—It is only a stationary spiritual culture, like the Chinese, which is suited by the hieroglyphic script of that people; in any case only that lesser portion of a people which remains in exclusive possession of spiritual culture can share in this type of written language.10—At the same time, the development of spoken language is very closely connected with the habit of alphabetic writing, which is the only way in which spoken language acquires the determinacy and purity of its articulation. The imperfection of the Chinese spoken language is well-known; a mass of its words have several utterly different meanings, as many as ten, or even twenty, so that, in speaking, the distinction is made noticeable merely by stress and intensity, by speaking more softly or crying out. Europeans beginning to speak Chinese stumble into the most ridiculous misunderstandings before they have mastered these absurd refinements of accentuation. Perfection here consists in the opposite of that parler sans accent which in Europe is rightly required for cultivated speech. Owing to hieroglyphic written pg 197 language the Chinese spoken language lacks the objective determinacy that is gained in articulation from alphabetic writing.11

Alphabetic writing is in and for itself the more intelligent form; in it the word, the worthiest mode, peculiar to the intelligence, of expressing its representations, is brought to consciousness and made an object of reflexion. In this preoccupation of intelligence with the word, the word is analysed, i.e. this sign-making is reduced to its few simple elements (the primal gestures of articulation); these are the sensory component of speech, brought to the form of universality, and at the same time acquiring in this elementary manner complete determinacy and purity.12 Alphabetic writing thereby also retains the advantage of spoken language, that in written as in spoken language representations have genuine names; the name is the simple sign for the genuine, i.e. simple representation, not resolved into its determinations and compounded out of them. Hieroglyphic language arises not from the direct analysis of sensory signs, like alphabetic writing, but from the preliminary analysis of representations. This then readily provokes the thought that all representations could be reduced to their elements, to simple logical determinations, so that from the elementary signs chosen for these (as, in the case of the Chinese kua, the simple straight stroke, and the stroke broken into two parts) hieroglyphic language would be generated by their composition.13 This circumstance, the analytical designation of representations in hieroglyphic script, which misled Leibniz into regarding it as preferable to alphabetic writing, is rather what contradicts the fundamental need of language in general, the name, to have for the immediate representation (which, whatever riches may be comprehended in its intrinsic content, is for the mind simple in the name) a simple immediate sign as well, which as a being for itself provokes no thought, having only the determination of sensorily representing and meaning the simple representation as such. It is not only the representing intelligence that dwells on the simplicity of representations and also puts them together again from the more abstract moments into which they have been analysed; thinking too reunifies the concrete content into the form of a simple thought after the analysis in which it has become a combination of many determinations. Both intelligence and thinking need to have such signs, simple in respect of their meaning, signs which, though consisting of several letters or syllables and even decomposed into them, yet do not display a combination of several representations.14—The foregoing considerations constitute the principle for deciding on the value of written languages. Then too it emerges that in hieroglyphic script the relations of concrete spiritual representations must necessarily become complicated and confused, and in any case the analysis of them (the immediate products of which are also to be analysed in turn) appears to be possible in the most various and divergent ways. Every divergence in analysis would give rise to a different formation of the written name; just as in recent times (as we have already noted) even in the sensory sphere hydrochloric acid has undergone several changes of name. A hieroglyphic pg 198 written language would require a philosophy as stationary as is the civilisation of the Chinese overall.15

It also follows from what has been said that learning to read and write an alphabetic script is to be regarded as an inestimable and not sufficiently appreciated educational instrument, in that it diverts the mind's attention from the sensorily concrete to the more formal aspect, the spoken word and its abstract elements, and makes an essential contribution to laying and clearing the ground for the subject's inwardness.16—Later too, ingrained habit effaces the peculiarity of alphabetic writing, that it appears to take, in the interest of vision, a roundabout route to representations by way of audibility; habit makes it a hieroglyphic script for us, so that in using it we need not have the mediation of the sounds before our consciousness, whereas people who are little accustomed to reading speak aloud what they read in order to understand it in its sound. Besides the fact that with the facility that transforms alphabetic script into hieroglyphics the ability in abstraction gained by the initial practice remains, hieroglyphic reading is for itself a deaf reading and a dumb writing; it is true that the audible or temporal and the visible or spatial each has its own foundation, initially of equal validity with the other; but in the case of alphabetic script there is only one foundation, and in fact it stands in the correct relationship: the visible language is related to the audible only as a sign; the intelligence expresses itself immediately and unconditionally by speaking.17—The mediation of representations by the less sensory element, sounds, also shows its peculiar essentiality for the transition that follows, from representation to thinking,—memory.18


The name, as the connection between the intuition produced by intelligence and its meaning, is initially an individual transient production, and the connection of the inner representation with the external intuition is itself external. The recollection of this externality is memory.1

(3) Memory


Intelligence, as memory, runs through the same activities of recollection regarding the intuition of the word, that intelligence, as representation in general, runs through regarding the first immediate intuition (§§45l ff.).1—?? Intelligence takes the connection, which the sign is, into its possession, and by this recollection elevates the individual connection to a universal, i.e. permanent, connection, in which name and meaning are for it objectively combined, and makes the intuition, which the name initially is, into a representation, so that the content, or meaning, and the sign are identified, are one representation, and the representing pg 199 in its inwardness is concrete, with the content as its reality: the memory that retains names.2

Zusatz. We consider memory in three forms: first, name-retaining memory; second, reproductive memory; third, mechanical memory.

The first thing here, then, is this: we retain the meaning of names, we acquire the capacity, in the case of linguistic signs, of recollecting the representations objectively linked with them. Thus when we hear or see a word belonging to a foreign language, its meaning presents itself to us; but it does not follow that the converse is true, that we can yet come up with the corresponding word-signs for our representations in that language. We learn to speak and write a language later than we understand it.3


The name is thus the thing, as the thing is available and carries weight in the realm of representation. ββ‎) Reproductive memory has and recognises the thing in the name, and with the thing it has the name, without intuition and image. The name, as existence of the content within the intelligence, is the externality of intelligence itself within itself; and the recollection of the name as the intuition produced by intelligence is at the same time the self-externalization in which intelligence posits itself inside itself.1 The association of the particular names lies in the meaning of the determinations of the sensing, representing, or thinking intelligence; the intelligence traverses series of these determinations within itself as it senses, etc.2

[Remark] Given the name lion, we need neither the intuition of such an animal, nor even its image; the name, when we understand it, is the simple image-less representation. It is in names that we think.

The mnemonics of the ancients, revived a while ago but appropriately forgotten again, consists in transforming names into images, and thus again reducing memory to imagination. The place of the power of memory is taken by a permanent tableau, fixed in the imagination, of a series of images to which is then attached the composition to be learned by heart, the sequence of representations in it. Given the heterogeneity between the content of these representations and those permanent images, and also because of the speed with which the attachment is supposed to occur, the attachment can only occur by way of shallow, silly, and utterly contingent links. Not only is the mind put to the torture of being bothered by insane stuff, but what is learnt by heart in this way is for that very reason quickly forgotten, since in any case the same tableau is used for learning by heart every other series of representations, and so those previously attached to it are obliterated again.3 Unlike what is retained in memory, what is mnemonically impressed is not produced by heart, i.e. strictly from the inside, from the deep pit pg 200 of the I, and thus recited, but is, so to speak, read off the tableau of the imagination.— Mnemonics is connected with the common prejudices which we have about memory in comparison with imagination; as if imagination were a higher, more spiritual activity than memory. On the contrary, memory no longer has to do with the image, which is derived from intuition, from the intelligence when it is determined in an immediate, unspiritual manner; it has rather to do with a reality that is the product of intelligence itself—a reality known inside out that remains enclosed in the inside of intelligence and is its outside, its existing side, only within intelligence itself.4

Zusatz. Theword as sounding vanishes in time; and so in the sounding word time proves to be abstract negativity, that is to say, merely annihilating negativity. The genuine, concrete negativity of the linguistic sign is the intelligence, since through intelligence the sign is changed from something external to something internal and is preserved in this recast form. Words thus become a reality animated by thought. This reality is absolutely necessary to our thoughts. We are only aware of our thoughts, only have determinate, actual thoughts, when we give them the form of objectivity, of being distinct from our inwardness, and thus the shape of externality, and of an externality, too, that at the same time bears the stamp of the highest inwardness. Only the articulated sound, the word, is such an internal externality. To want to think without words, as Mesmer once attempted, is, therefore, a manifest absurdity which drove this man, as he himself affirmed, to the brink of insanity. But it is also ridiculous to regard the attachment of thought to word as a defect of thought and a misfortune; for although the common opinion is that it is just the ineffable that is the most excellent, yet this opinion, nurtured by vanity, is entirely groundless, since the ineffable is, in truth, only something murky, fermenting; it only gains clarity when it can get into words. Accordingly, the word gives to thoughts their most worthy and genuine reality. Of course, one can also grapple with words, without comprehending the thing. But then what is at fault is not the word, but a defective, indeterminate, superficial thinking.5 Just as the genuine thought is the thing, so too is the word, when it is employed by genuine thinking. Intelligence therefore, in filling itself with the word, receives into itself the nature of the thing.6 But this reception has another sense too: intelligence thereby makes itself into something thingly, in such a way that subjectivity, in its distinction from the thing, becomes quite empty, a mindless container of words, it becomes mechanical memory. In this way the excess of the recollection of the word veers round, so to speak, into extreme alienation of the intelligence. As I become more familiar with the meaning of the word, as the word thus unites more closely with my inwardness, increasingly the objectivity and hence the determinacy of the meaning of the word can disappear, increasingly, therefore, the memory itself, together with the word, can become something bereft of mind.7

pg 201§463

γγ‎) In so far as the interconnection of names lies in the meaning, the connection of the meaning with their being as names is still a synthesis; and in this its externality the intelligence has not simply returned into itself.1 But intelligence is the universal; the simple truth of its particular self-externalizations, and the appropriation that it carries out, is the sublation of that distinction between meaning and name. This supreme recollection of representing is the supreme self-externalization of intelligence, in which it posits itself as the being, as the universal space of names as such, i.e. of senseless words. Ego, which is this abstract being, is, as subjectivity, at the same time the power over the various names, the empty bond which establishes within itself series of them and keeps them in stable order. So far as they just are, and intelligence within itself is here itself this being of theirs, intelligence is this power as entirely abstract subjectivity,—memory, which, on account of the complete externality in which the members of such series stand to one another, and which is itself this externality, albeit subjective externality, is called mechanical (§195).2

[Remark] We obviously do not really know a composition by heart, until we attach no sense to the words; the recitation of what is thus known by heart therefore automatically becomes accentless. If the correct stress is introduced, it aims at the sense; conversely, if the meaning, the representation, is invoked, it disturbs themechanical sequence and therefore easily messes up the recitation.3 The capacity for being able to memorise by heart series of words, whose sequence involves no intelligible principle or which are already senseless for themselves (a series of proper names), is so supremely marvellous, because it is the very essence of mind to be in its right mind, but here the mind becomes self-externalized within itself, and its activity a mechanism. But the mind is only in its right mind as unity of subjectivity and objectivity; and here in memory, after the mind is initially in intuition so external that it finds its determinations, and in representation recollects this find into itself and makes it its own, as memory it makes itself external within itself, so that what is its own presents itself as something that is found. One of the two moments of thinking, objectivity, is here posited within intelligence as a quality of intelligence itself.4—It is tempting to conceivememory as a mechanical activity, an activity of the senseless, in which case it is only justified by its use, its indispensability perhaps for other purposes and activities of mind. But in so doing we overlook the specific meaning thatmemory has in themind.5


The being as name needs something else, the meaning of the representing intelligence, in order to be the thing, the true objectivity.1 As mechanical memory, intelligence is at once that external objectivity itself and the meaning. Intelligence is thus posited as the existence of this identity, i.e. it is explicitly active as such an pg 202 identity which, as reason, intelligence implicitly is.2 Memory is in this way the transition into the activity of the thought, which has no meaning any more, i.e. the subjective is no longer something different from its objectivity, just as this inwardness is in being in its very self.3

[Remark] Our language already assigns memory (Gedächtnis), of which it has become a prejudice to speak contemptuously, the high position of immediate affinity with thought (Gedanke).—It is not a matter of chance that the young have a better memory than the old, nor is their memory exercised only for the sake of utility. The young have a good memory because they do not yet take thought in their conduct, and theirmemory is exercised intentionally or unintentionally so as to level the terrain of their inwardness to pure being, to the pure space in which the thing, the content that is in itself, can go its own way and unfold itself without the opposition of a subjective inwardness.4 A solid talent in youth is generally combined with a good memory. But empirical details of this sort give us no help in knowing what memory intrinsically is. To grasp the position and meaning of memory in the systematization of intelligence and to comprehend its organic connection with thinking is one of the hitherto entirely neglected, and in fact one of the most difficult points in the theory of mind. Memory as such is itself the merely external mode, the one-sided moment of thinking's existence; the transition is for us or in itself the identity of reason with the mode of existence, an identity which brings it about that reason now exists in the subject, as the activity of the subject. Thus reason is thinking.5

(γ‎) Thinking


Intelligence is recognitive;—it cognizes an intuition, in so far as the intuition is already its own (§454); moreover in the name it cognizes the thing (§462): but now its universal is for intelligence in the double meaning of the universal as such and the universal as immediate or as being, hence as the genuine universal which is the overarching unity of itself and its other, being.1 Thus intelligence is for itself intrinsically cognitive; intrinsically the universal; its product, the thought, is the thing; simple identity of the subjective and objective. It knows that what is thought, is; and that what is, only is in so far as it is a thought (cf. §§5, 21);—for itself; the thinking of intelligence is having thoughts; they serve as the content and object of intelligence.2

Zusatz. Thinking is the third and last main stage in the development of intelligence; for in thinking the immediate unity of the subjective and objective present in intuition, a unity that is in itself, is restored out of the opposition of these two sides arising in representation as a unity enriched by this opposition, and so as a unity that is in and for itself, the end that is accordingly bent back into the beginning. Thus at the standpoint of representation the unity of pg 203the subjective and objective is effected partly by imagination and partly by mechanical memory—though with the latter type of unity I do violence to my subjectivity—and the unity still remains something subjective. In thinking, by contrast, this unity acquires the form of a unity that is both subjective and objective, since thinking is aware of its own self as the nature of the thing.3 Of course, people who have no understanding of philosophy throw up their hands in amazement, when they hear the proposition: Thinking is being. Nevertheless, the presupposition of the unity of thinking and being underlies all our activity. It is as rational creatures, as thinking creatures that we make this presupposition. We need to distinguish, however, whether we just are thinkers, or whether we are also aware of ourselves as thinkers. We are thinkers in all circumstances; knowledge of it, by contrast, occurs in a perfect manner only when we have risen to pure thinking. Pure thinking knows that it alone, and not sensation or representation, is in a position to grasp the truth of things, and that Epicurus's claim that the genuine is what is sensed, must therefore be pronounced a complete perversion of the nature of mind.4 But of course, thinking must not remain abstract, formal thinking, for this dismembers the content of truth; it must develop into concrete thinking, into conceptual cognition.5


But thinking cognition is likewise initially formal; the universality and its being is the simple subjectivity of intelligence. The thoughts are thus not yet determined in and for themselves, and the representations recollected to thinking are to that extent still the content given.1

Zusatz. Initially, thinking knows the unity of the subjective and objective as an entirely abstract, indeterminate unity, a unity that is only certain, not fulfilled, not proven. The determinacy of the rational content is, therefore, still a determinacy external to this unity, consequently a given determinacy, and cognition is hence formal. But since this determinacy is implicitly contained in thinking cognition, this formalism contradicts thinking cognition and is therefore sublated by thinking.2


In this content, thinking is (1) formally identical intellect, which works up the recollected representations into genera, species, laws, forces, etc., in general into the categories, in the sense that thematerial only has the truth of its being in these thought-forms.1 As infinite negativity within itself, thinking is (2) essentially diremption,— judgement, which, however, no longer breaks up the concept into the previous opposition of universality and being, but differentiates in accordance with the specific interconnections of the concept,2 and (3) thinking sublates the form-determination and at the same time posits the identity of the differences:— pg 204 formal reason, concluding intellect.3 Intelligence, as thinking, cognises; and in fact when (1) the intellect explains the individual by the intellect's own universalities (the categories), then it calls itself comprehending;4 (2) when it explains the individual as a universal (genus, species), it does so in the judgement.5 In these forms the content appears as given; but (3) in the inference the intellect determines content from itself, by sublating that form-distinction. In the insight into necessity, the last immediacy still adhering to formal thinking has vanished.6

[Remark] In logic, thinking appears in its initial implicit form and as the unopposing medium in which reason develops. Thinking also occurs as a stage in consciousness (see §437 Remark). Here reason becomes the truth of the opposition as it had determined itself within the mind itself.—Thinking emerges again and again in these different parts of science, because these parts differ only in the medium and the form of the opposition; while thinking is this one, selfsame centre, to which, as to their truth, the oppositions return.7

Zusatz. Before Kant, no one among us drew a determinate distinction between intellect and reason. But if one does not want to sink to the level of the vulgar consciousness which clumsily blurs the distinct forms of pure thinking, the following distinction must be established between intellect and reason: for reason, the object is what is determined in and for itself, identity of the content and the form, of the universal and the particular; for intellect, by contrast, the object falls apart into the form and the content, into the universal and the particular, into an empty in-itself and the determinacy accruing to it from outside; thus in intellectual thinking, the content is indifferent to its form, while in rational or conceptual cognition the content produces its form from its own self.8

But though the intellect has in itself the defect just indicated, it is nevertheless a necessary moment of rational thinking. Its activity consists, in general, in abstraction. Now if it separates off the contingent from the essential it is entirely within its rights and appears as what in truth it ought to be. Therefore, someone who pursues an essential purpose is called a man of intellect. Without intellect no firmness of character is possible either, for this requires someone to hold firmly to their individual essentiality. However, the intellect can also, conversely, give to a onesided determination the form of universality and thereby become the opposite of sound common sense, endowed with a sense for the essential.9

The second moment of pure thinking is judging. Intelligence which, as intellect, tears apart from one another the various abstract determinations immediately united in the concrete individuality of the object and detaches them from the object, necessarily proceeds, first of all, to relate the object to these universal thought-determinations, and so to consider the object as relationship, as an objective interconnection, as a totality. Often this activity of intelligence is even called comprehension, but wrongly so. For at this standpoint the object is still conceived as a given, as dependent on an Other and conditioned by it. The circumstances which condition a phenomenon still count here as independent existences. Hence pg 205 the identity of the interrelated phenomena is still a merely inner, and for that very reason merely external, identity. Here, therefore, the concept does not yet show itself in its own guise, but in the form of non-conceptual necessity.10

Only at the third stage of pure thinking is the concept recognized as such. Thus this stage exhibits comprehension proper. Here the universal is recognised as particularizing its own self, and gathering itself together out of particularization into individuality; or, what is the same thing, the particular is demoted from its independence to a moment of the concept. Accordingly, the universal is here no longer a form external to the content, but the genuine form producing the content from its own self,—the self-developing concept of the thing. Consequently, at this standpoint, thinking has no other content than itself, than its own determinations, which constitute the immanent content of the form; in the object, it seeks and finds only itself. Here, therefore, the object is distinguished from thinking only by having the form of being, of subsisting-for-itself. Thus thinking stands here in a completely free relationship to the object.11

In this thinking, which is identical with its object, intelligence reaches its consummation, its goal; for now it in fact is what in its immediacy it was only supposed to be,—self-knowing truth, self-cognizing reason. Knowledge now constitutes the subjectivity of reason, and objective reason is posited as knowledge. This reciprocal interpenetration of thinking subjectivity and objective reason is the final result of the development of theoretical mind through the stages, antecedent to pure thinking, of intuition and representation.12


Intelligence, which as theoretical appropriates the immediate determinacy, is, now that it has completed taking possession, in its own property; by the last negation of immediacy it is implicitly posited that for the intelligence the content is determined through the intelligence. Thinking, as the free concept, is now also free in the content. When intelligence is aware of itself as what determines the content, which is not only determined as being but is also intelligence's own content, it is will.1

Zusatz. Pure thinking is initially a self-effacing attitude, absorbed in the thing. But this activity necessarily becomes objective to itself as well. Since conceptual cognition is absolutely together with itself in the object, it must recognize that its determinations are determinations of the thing, and that, conversely, the objectively valid determinations, the determinations that are in being, are its determinations. By this recollection, by this withdrawal-into-itself of intelligence, intelligence becomes will.2 This transition is not of course present for ordinary consciousness; for representation, thinking and will fall apart. But in truth, as we have just seen, thinking is what determines itself into will and thinking remains the substance of the will, so that without thinking there can be no will, and even the most uncultured person is will only in so far as he has taken thought; pg 206 the animal, by contrast, because it does not think, is also incapable of having a will.3



As will, the mind is aware of itself as reaching a conclusion within itself and fulfilling itself from out of itself.1 This fulfilled being-for-self or individuality constitutes the side of existence or reality for the Idea of mind; as will, the mind steps into actuality, as knowledge it is on the terrain of the universality of the concept.2—In giving itself the content, the will is together with itself, free in general; this is its determinate concept.—Its finitude consists in its formalism: its self-fulfilment is the abstract determinacy, its own determinacy in general, and is not identified with developed reason.3 The determination of the will that is in itself is to bring freedom in the formal will to existence, and therefore the purpose of the formal will is to fulfill itself with its concept, i.e. to make freedom its determinacy, its content, and purpose, as well as its reality.4 This concept, freedom, essentially takes the form of thinking; the way of the will by which it makes itself objective mind is to rise to the thinking will—to give itself the content that it can only have as a will that thinks itself.5

[Remark] True freedom is ethical life, where the will has for its purposes a universal content, not subjective, i.e. self-centred content; but such content is only possible in thinking and through thinking; it is nothing less than absurd to want to exclude thinking from ethics, religion, lawfulness, etc.6

Zusatz. Intelligence has turned out to be mind that withdraws into itself from the object, that recollects itself in the object and recognizes its inwardness as what is objective.7 The will now heads in the reverse direction, towards the objectification of its inwardness that is still burdened with the form of subjectivity. Here, however, in the sphere of subjective mind, we have to pursue this externalization only up to the point where the willing intelligence becomes objective mind, i.e. to the point where the product of the will ceases to be merely enjoyment and starts to become deed and action.8

Now in general the course of development of practicalmind is as follows.

Initially the will appears in the form of immediacy; it has not yet posited itself as intelligence freely and objectively determining, but only finds itself as such objective determining. So it is α‎) practical feeling, has an individual content and is itself immediately individual, subjective will, which, as we have just said, feels itself as objectively determining, but still lacks a content that is liberated from the form of subjectivity, a content that is genuinely objective, universal in and for itself.9 For this reason, will is initially only free in itself or by its concept. By contrast, the Idea of freedom requires that the will make its concept, freedom itself, its content or aim. When the will does this it becomes objective mind, constructs for itself pg 207 a world of its freedom, and thus gives to its genuine content an independent reality. But the will achieves this aim only by working its way out of its individuality, by developing its universality, which in individuality is only implicit, into a content that is universal in and for itself.10

The next step on this path is taken by the will when β‎) as urge, it goes on to make the agreement of its inward determinacy with objectivity, which in feeling is only given, into an agreement that ought first to be posited by the will.11

The further step consists γ‎) in the subordination of particular urges to a universal, happiness. But since this universal is only a universality of reflection, it remains something external to the particularity of urges, and is related to this particularity only by the wholly abstract individual will, by wilfulness.12 The indeterminate universal of happiness as well as the immediate particularity of urges and the abstract individuality of wilfulness are, in their mutual externality, something untrue, and that is why they come together in the will that wills the concrete universal, the concept of freedom. This will, as we have already remarked, forms the goal of practical mind.13


Practical mind initially involves, as formal or immediate will, a double ought: (1) in the opposition of the determinacy posited from out of itself to the immediate determinedness that thereby enters again, the opposition to its reality and condition, what in consciousness develops at the same time into the relationship towards external objects.1 (2) This first self-determination, being itself immediate, is not initially elevated into the universality of thinking; this universality therefore constitutes in itself the ought addressed to that self-determination in regard to form, as it can also constitute it in regard to the content;—an opposition that is initially only for us.2

(α‎) Practical Feeling


The practical mind at first has its self-determination within itself in an immediate way, and therefore formally, so that it finds itself as an individuality determined in its internal nature. It is thus practical feeling. In this, since the mind is in itself a subjectivity simply identical with reason, it does have the content of reason, but as an immediately individual, and therefore also natural, contingent and subjective content which determines itself from the particularity of need, of opinion, etc., and from the subjectivity that posits itself for itself against the universal, just as much as it can be, in itself, in conformity with reason.1

[Remark] Appeal is sometimes made to the feeling of right and morality, as well as of religion, that man allegedly has in him, to his benevolent inclinations, etc., to his heart in general, i.e. to the subject in so far as the various practical feelings pg 208 are all combined in it. This appeal has (1) the correct sense that these determinations are the subject's own, immanent determinations, (2) and then that in so far as feeling is opposed to the intellect, feeling can be the totality, in contrast to the one-sided abstractions of the intellect. But equally feeling can be one-sided, unessential, bad. The rational, which in the shape of rationality is something thought, is the same content as the good practical feeling has, but in its universality and necessity, in its objectivity and truth.

For this reason it is, on the one hand, foolish to suppose that in the transition from feeling to right and duty there is any loss of content and excellence; it is this transition that first brings feeling to its truth. It is equally foolish to regard the intelligence as superfluous, let alone harmful to feeling, heart, and will; the truth and, what is the same thing, the actual rationality of the heart and will can only reside in the universality of the intelligence, not in the individuality of feeling as such. If feelings are of the right sort, it is because of their determinacy, i.e. their content, and this is right only in so far as it is intrinsically universal, i.e. has its source in the thinking mind. The difficulty for the intellect consists in getting away from the separation that it has first wilfully made itself between the soul-faculties, feeling, the thinking mind, and arriving at the idea that in the human being there is only one reason in feeling, volition, and thinking. A difficulty connected with this is found in the fact that the Ideas, which belong only to the thinking mind,—God, right, ethics—can also be felt. But feeling is nothing but the form of the immediate, peculiar individuality of the subject, a form into which this content, like any other objective content to which consciousness also ascribes objectivity,2 can be put.

On the other hand, it is suspect, and in fact far worse, to stick to feeling and heart against thought out rationality, right, duty, law, because what more there is in feeling than in rationality is only particular subjectivity, vanity and wilfulness.— For the same reason it is inept in the scientific consideration of feelings to deal with anything more than their form, and to consider their content, since the content, when it is thought out, rather constitutes the self-determinations of the mind, rights and duties, in their universality and necessity. For the specific consideration of practical feelings and inclinations, only the self-centred, bad, and evil ones would remain; for these alone belong to the individuality which sticks to itself against the universal; their content is the opposite of the content of rights and duties, but for that very reason they maintain their precise determinacy only in opposition to rights and duties.3


Practical feeling involves the ought, its self-determination as being in itself, related to an individuality that is in being and which is allowed to count only in its adequacy to that self-determination. But as both factors, in this immediacy, still pg 209 lack objective determination, this relation of need to reality is the utterly subjective and superficial feeling of the pleasant or unpleasant.1

[Remark] Delight, joy, grief, etc., shame, remorse, contentment, etc., are in part only modifications of formal practical feeling in general, but they vary in their content, which constitutes the determinacy of the ought.2

The celebrated question about the origin of evil in the world, at least in so far as evil is understood to mean only the unpleasant and pain, comes in here, at the standpoint of formal practicality. Evil is nothing but the inadequacy of being to the ought. This ought has many meanings and, since contingent purposes likewise have the form of the ought, infinitely many. In regard to contingent purposes, evil is only the justice that is imposed on the vanity and nullity of their devising. They themselves are already what is evil.3—The finitude of life and mind falls into their judgement, in which they have the Other that is separated from them at the same time within them as their negative, and thus they are the contradiction called evil. In a dead thing there is no evil or pain, because in inorganic nature the concept does not confront its reality and does not in the distinction at the same time remain its subject. Already in life, and still more in mind, this immanent differentiation is present and thus an ought comes in; and this negativity, subjectivity, I, freedom are the principles of evil and pain.4—Jakob Böhme viewed I-hood as agony and torment, and as the source of nature and of spirit.5

Zusatz. Although in practical feeling the will has the form of simple identity with itself, nevertheless in this identity difference is already present; for though practical feeling is aware of itself, on the one hand, as objectively valid self-determining, as something determined in and for itself, yet, on the other hand, it is also aware of itself as determined immediately or from outside, as subject to the alien determinacy of affections. The feeling will is, therefore, the comparing of its immediate determinedness coming from outside, with the determinedness posited in it by its own nature. Since the latter has the meaning of what ought to be, the will demands that the affection agree with it. This agreement is the pleasant, disagreement is the unpleasant.6 But since this inner determinacy to which the affection is related is itself still an immediate determinacy belonging to my natural individuality, is still subjective, only felt, the judgement resulting from this relation can only be an entirely superficial and contingent judgement. Therefore, in the case of important things, the circumstance that something is pleasant or unpleasant tome appears as supremely indifferent.

Practical feeling receives, however, still further determinations than the superficial ones just discussed.

There are, namely, in the second place, feelings which, since their content derives from intuition or from representation, surpass in determinacy the feeling of the pleasant or unpleasant. To this class of feelings belong, for example, delight, joy, hope, fear, anguish, pain, etc. Joy consists in the feeling of accordance of pg 210 my determinedness-in-and-for-itself with an individual event, a thing, or person. Contentment, by contrast, is more a lasting, peaceful harmony without intensity. In merriment we find a more lively harmony. Fear is the feeling of my self, and at the same time of an evil that threatens to destroy my self-feeling. In terror, I sense the sudden discordance between something external and my positive self-feeling.7

All these feelings have no content immanent in them, belonging to their peculiar nature; the content enters into them from outside.8

Lastly, there is a third kind of feelings arising when the substantial content of right, morality, ethics, and religion, a content that derives from thinking, is also taken up into the feeling will. When this happens, we have to do with feelings that are distinguished from one another by their own peculiar content and gain their justification by this content. To this class also belong shame and remorse; for both have, as a rule, an ethical basis. Remorse is the feeling of the discordance between my activity and my duty, or even only my advantage, in each case, therefore, between my activity and something determined-in-and-for-itself.9

But when we said that the feelings just discussed have their own peculiar content, this must not be understood to mean that the content of right, ethics, and religion is necessarily in feeling. That this content is not inseparably conjoined with the feeling can be seen in an empirical way from the fact that remorse can be sensed even over a good deed. It is, too, very far from being absolutely necessary that in relating my action to duty, I should succumb to the agitation and heat of feeling; I can also settle the relation in representational consciousness and thus content myself with a calmconsideration of thematter.10

Just as little need the content enter into feeling in the second kind of feelings discussed above. A sensible person, a great character, can find something in harmony with his will without giving way to the feeling of joy, and, conversely, can suffer misfortune without giving way to the feeling of pain. Anyone who succumbs to such feelings is more or less caught up in the conceit of attaching particular importance to the fact that just he, this particular ego, experiences either good fortune or bad.11

(γ‎) Urges and Wilfulness


The practical ought is a real judgement. The immediate adequacy, merely found before us, of the current determinacy to the need is a negation for the selfdetermination of the will and inadequate to it. If the will, i.e. the implicit unity of the universality and the determinacy, is to satisfy itself, i.e. be for itself, the adequacy of its inner determination and the reality ought to be posited by it.1 The will, as regards the form of its content, is initially still natural will, immediately identical with its determinacy, urge and inclination; in so far as the totality of the pg 211 practical mind places itself into a single one of the many restricted determinations, posited in general with the opposite, it is passion.2

Zusatz. In practical feeling, it is a contingentmatter whether the immediate affection agrees with the inner determinacy of the will or not. This contingency, this dependence on an external objectivity, contradicts the will that knows itself to be determined-in-and-for-itself, that is aware of the objectivity contained in its subjectivity.

The will cannot, therefore, rest content with comparing its immanent determinacy with something external and just finding the agreement of these two sides; it must go on to posit objectivity as a moment of its self-determination, and therefore to produce this agreement, its satisfaction, itself. Volitional intelligence thereby develops into the urge. This is a subjective will-determination which gives itself its own objectivity.

The urge must be distinguished from mere desire. Desire belongs, as we saw in §426, to self-consciousness and so occupies the standpoint where the opposition between the subjective and objective is not yet overcome. Desire is something individual, and seeks only what is individual for an individual, momentary satisfaction.

The urge, on the other hand, since it is a form of volitional intelligence, starts from the sublated opposition of the subjective and the objective, and involves a series of satisfactions, and so is something whole, universal. At the same time, however, the urge, coming as it does from the individuality of practical feeling and forming only the first negation of it, is still something particular. That is why the man who is absorbed in urges appears as unfree.3


Inclinations and passions have the same determinations for their content as practical feelings, and likewise have, on the one hand, the rational nature of the mind as their foundation; but on the other hand, belonging as they do to the still subjective, individual will, they are afflicted with contingency, and seem in their particularity to stand both to the individual and to each other in an external relationship and thus with an unfree necessity.1

[Remark] Passion involves in its determination that it is restricted to a particularity of the determination of the will, in which the whole subjectivity of the individual immerses itself, whatever the content of that determination may be. But owing to this formality, passion is neither good nor evil; this form only expresses that a subject has placed the whole vital interest of itsmind, talent, character, enjoyment in one content. Nothing great has been and nothing great can be accomplished without passion. It is only a dead, too often, indeed, a hypocritical morality which inveighs against the very form of passion.2 But with the inclinations, the question is immediately raised, which are good and which evil, similarly, up to what point the good remain good, and, since each is a particular type contrasting with the others and there are many of them, how they must, since they all reside in one subject and, to go by experience, can hardly pg 212 all be satisfied, at least restrain themselves in the face of each other. Initially it is the same situation with these numerous urges and inclinations as with the powers of the soul, the collection of which is supposed to be the theoretical mind—a collection which is now increased by the host of urges.3 The formal rationality of the urge and the inclination consists simply in their universal urge not to be subjective, but to sublate subjectivity by the activity of the subject itself, to be realized. Their genuine rationality cannot emerge in an examination conducted by external reflexion, which presupposes independent natural determinations and immediate urges, and therefore lacks the single principle and final purpose for them. But it is the immanent reflexion of the mind itself, going beyond their particularity, beyond their natural immediacy, and giving their content rationality and objectivity, in which they become necessary relationships, rights and duties.4 It is this objectification then, which displays their content as well as their relationship to each other, in general their truth; thus it was with genuine insight that Plato showed that he could explain what justice is in and for itself only in the objective shape of justice, namely in the construction of the state as the ethical life, and also that he included the whole nature of the mind under the right of the mind.5

So the question which are the good, rational inclinations and how they are to be subordinated to each other, turns into a presentation of the relationships that the mind produces when it develops as objectivemind—a development in which the content of self-determination loses its contingency or wilfulness. The treatment of urges, inclinations, and passions in their genuine content is thus essentially the theory of legal, moral, and ethical duties.


The subject is the activity of satisfying urges, of formal rationality, namely of translating the content, which in this respect is purpose, from subjectivity into objectivity, in which the subject joins together with itself. In so far as the content of the urge is distinguished as the important thing from this activity of the subject, the thing which has come about contains the moment of subjective individuality and its activity: this is interest. Nothing comes about therefore without interest.1

[Remark] An action is both a purpose of the subject and also the subject's activity which carries out this purpose; it is only because the subject is in this way in even the most unselfish action, i.e. because of its interest, that there is an action at all.2—Urges and inclinations are sometimes contrasted with, on the one hand, the empty dream of a natural happiness, by which needs are supposed to find their satisfaction without the subject's activity of producing conformity between immediate existence and his inner determinations. They are sometimes contrasted quite generally, on the other hand, with duty for duty's sake, with morality. But urge and passion are nothing but the life-blood of the subject, by which the pg 213 subject itself is in his purpose and the execution of it. The ethical concerns the content, which as such is the universal, an inactive thing, that has its activating agent in the subject; the immanence of the content in the subject is interest and, if it lays claim to the whole efficacious subjectivity, passion.3

Zusatz. Even in the purest rightful, ethical, and religious will, which has only its concept, freedom, as its content, there also lies the individualization into a this, to something natural. This moment of individuality must obtain its satisfaction even in the execution of the most objective purposes; I, as this individual, do not wish, nor ought I, to perish in the execution of the purpose. This is my interest. This must not be confused with selfishness; for selfishness prefers its particular content to the objective content.4


The will, as thinking and implicitly free, distinguishes itself from the particularity of the urges, and places itself as simple subjectivity of thinking above their diversified content. It is thus reflecting will.1


Such a particularity of the urge is in this way no longer immediate, but for the first time the will's own particularity, because the will joins together with it and thus gives itself determinate individuality and actuality. The will is at the standpoint of choosing between inclinations, and is wilfulness.1


Will as wilfulness is free for itself, in that it is reflected into itself as the negativity of its merely immediate self-determination.1 However in so far as the content, in which this formal universality of the will resolves itself into actuality, is still just the content of the urges and inclinations, the will is actual only as subjective and contingent will. It is a contradiction: it actualizes itself in a particularity, which is at the same time a nullity for it, and has a satisfaction in the particularity which it has at the same time left behind. As this contradiction, it is initially the process of distraction and of sublating one inclination or pleasure by another, and of sublating the satisfaction, which is just as much no satisfaction, by another to infinity. But the truth of particular satisfactions is the universal satisfaction, which the thinking willmakes its purpose as happiness.2

(γ‎) Happiness


In this representation, produced by reflective thinking, of a universal satisfaction, the urges, in respect of their particularity, are posited as negative; and they pg 214 are supposed to be sacrificed, both sacrificed one to another for the sake of that purpose, and sacrificed to that purpose directly, in whole or in part.1 Their limitation by each other is, on the one hand, a mixture of qualitative and quantitative determination; on the other hand, as happiness has affirmative content in the urges alone, the decision lies with them, and it is subjective feeling and taste whichmust have the final say in deciding where its happiness lies.2


Happiness is only the represented, abstract universality of the content, a universality which only ought to be.1 But the truth of the particular determinacy, which just as much is as it is sublated, and of the abstract individuality, the wilfulness which both gives and does not give itself a purpose in happiness, is the universal determinacy of the will in the will itself, i.e. its very self-determination, freedom. In this way wilfulness is will only as pure subjectivity, which is pure and concrete at once, by having as its content and purpose only that infinite determinacy, freedom itself. In this truth of its self-determination, where concept and object are identical, the will is—actually free will.2



The actual free will is the unity of theoretical and practical mind; free will, which is for itself as free will, now that the formalism, the contingency and limitedness of the previous practical content have sublated themselves. By the sublation of the mediation that was involved in all this, the will is the immediate individuality posited by itself, but an individuality that is also purified to universal determination, to freedom itself.1 The will has this universal determination as its object and purpose, in that it thinks itself, is aware of this concept of itself, is will as free intelligence.2


The mind which is aware of itself as free and wills itself as this object of itself, i.e. has its essence as its determination and purpose, is first of all in general the rational will, or in itself the Idea, thus only the concept of absolute mind. Since it is abstract the Idea is again existent only in the immediate will, it is the side of reason's reality, the individual will as knowledge of that determination of itself which constitutes its content and purpose, and of which the will is only the formal activity. The Idea thus appears only in the will that is a finite will, but which is the activity of developing the Idea and of positing the Idea's self-unfolding content as reality, which, as reality of the Idea, is actuality:—objective mind.1

pg 215[Remark] No Idea is so generally recognized as indeterminate, ambiguous, and open to the greatest misconceptions, to which therefore it actually falls prey, as the Idea of freedom, and no Idea is in common circulation with so little consciousness of it. Since the free mind is the actual mind, misconceptions about it have the most tremendous practical consequences, and when individuals and peoples have once got in their heads the abstract concept of freedom that is for itself, there is nothing like it in its uncontrollable strength, just because it is the very essence of mind, and is in fact its very actuality.2 Whole continents, Africa and the East, have never had this Idea, and are without it still; the Greeks and Romans, Plato and Aristotle, even the Stoics, did not have it; on the contrary, they knew only that man is actually free by birth (as an Athenian, Spartan, etc., citizen), or by strength of character, education, by philosophy (the wise man is free even as a slave and in chains). This Idea came into the world through Christianity, according to which the individual as such has an infinite value since it is the object and aim of God's love, destined to stand in its absolute relationship with God as mind, and to have this mind dwelling in himself, i.e. man in himself is destined to supreme freedom. In religion as such man is aware of the relationship to the absolute mind as his essence, but now he has, in addition, the presence of the divine mind, even when he enters the sphere of worldly existence, as the substance of the state, of the family, etc. These relationships are developed through that mind, and are constituted in conformity to it, while by such existence the ethical disposition comes to be indwelling in the individual and then in this sphere of particular existence, of present sensation and volition, he is actually free.3

If knowledge of the Idea, i.e. of men's knowledge that their essence, purpose, and object is freedom, is speculative, then this Idea itself as such is the actuality of men, not an Idea that they have about it, but an Idea that they are.4 In its adherents Christianity has made it their actuality e.g. not to be a slave; if they were made slaves, if the decision on their property were left to someone's discretion, not to laws and law-courts, they would find the substance of their life impaired. This will to freedom is no longer an urge which demands its satisfaction, but the character,—the spiritual consciousness that has become urgeless being.5—But this freedom, which has the content and purpose of freedom, is itself initially only a concept, a principle of the mind and heart, and destined to develop into objectivity, into legal, ethical, religious actuality, as well as scientific actuality.6pg 216


* Plato had a better understanding of the relationship of prophecy in general to sober conscious awareness than do many moderns, who were quick to suppose that in Platonic conceptions of enthusiasm they had found an authority for their belief in the sublimity of the revelations of somnambulistic vision. In the Timaeus (Stephanus edition, III, pp. 71 f.) Plato says that to give the irrational part of the soul also some degree of participation in the truth, God created the liver and gave it manteia, the capacity for having apparitions. Of God's having given this power of prophecy to human irrationality, there is, he adds, this sufficient proof: no man in his right mind is blessed with a genuine apparition, unless his intellect is fettered in sleep or distracted by illness or an enthusiasm. 'What was said long ago is correct: to play one's own part and to know oneself is the privilege of sobriety'. Plato notes quite correctly the bodily aspect of such vision and awareness, and also the possibility of the truth of apparitions—but also their subordination to rational consciousness.6

* The shamans of the Mongols are already familiar with this; when they are going to prophesy they put themselves in the magnetic state by certain drinks. This happens even now among the Indians for the same purpose. Something similar probably took place with the oracle at Delphi where the priestess, sitting on a tripod over a cave, fell into an ecstasy, often gentle but sometimes very agitated, and in this state emitted more or less articulate sounds which were interpreted by the priests who lived in the intuition of the substantial conditions of the life of the Greek people.22

* Therefore, when people assert that we cannot know the truth, this is the extreme of blasphemy. People are not aware of what they are saying here. If they were aware of it they would deserve to have the truth withdrawn from them. The modern despair of the knowability of truth is alien to all speculative philosophy as well as to all genuine religiosity. A poet no less religious than thoughtful, Dante, expressed in such a pregnant fashion his belief in the knowability of truth, that we permit ourselves to convey his words here. He says in the Fourth Canto of the Paradiso, verses 124–30:

  • Io veggio ben, che giammai non si sazia
  •         Nostro intelletto, se'l Ver no lo illustra
  •         Di fuor dal qual nessun vero si spazia.
  • Posasi in esso, come fera in lustra,
  •         Tosto che giunto l'ha; e giunger puollo;—
  •         Se non, ciascun desio sarebbe frustra.
  • [I see that nought can fill the mind's vast space,
  •         Unless Truth's light dwell there as denizen,
  •         Beyond which nothing true can find a place.
  • In that it rests, like wild beast in its den,
  •         When it attains it; and it can attain,
  •         Else frustrate would be all desires of men.
  •                                 Dean Plumptre's translation]7

Notes Settings


Editor’s Note
1. These sentences present three problems: (i) Is the mind cognitive throughout its career or only at a certain stage? (ii) What is the force of 'cognitive' (erkennend)? Often, though not invariably, Hegel contrasts Erkennen, as scientific knowledge or 'cognition', with Wissen, as simple knowledge or awareness. Does it implicitly contrast with wissend here (as in §445Z.)? Or is Hegel just insisting that the mind knows itself and is not only known by an external observer? (iii) What is the relevance of these sentences to the rest of §387? Do they relate to the mind's own development, or to our philosophical cognition of this development?
Hegel's dominant thought is this: Since the mind develops 'in its ideality', it does so in virtue of knowledge, because knowing things, both itself and other entities, makes them 'ideal'. 'Cognition' as a feature of the logical Idea is primarily scientific knowledge. The mind does not have scientific knowledge throughout its career, but 'determines itself to' it by way of various more rudimentary forms of knowledge, attaining cognition proper in the third stage of subjective mind (§445). Cf. §381, n. 3 on 'cognition' (das Erkennen) as a 'determinacy' of the logical Idea, and §445, nn. 1 and 6 on Erkennen or Erkenntnis in philosophy of mind.
Editor’s Note
2. Subjective mind starts off as 'soul' (Seele), which is self-enclosed and dimly aware of its own states rather than its surroundings. It then bifurcates to become 'identical [i.e. even-handed?] reflection' into the mind itself and other things, with which it is in 'relationship' and of which it is conscious. Finally it withdraws away from objects back into itself, as a 'subject' that is 'for itself ', i.e. independent and self-reflective. This triad exemplifies the pattern: simple unity—opposition—restored unity (cf. §387, n. 14). 'Reason' (Vernunft) emerges at the end of the section on Phenomenology of Mind in §§438–9. In that context, reason combines subjectivity and objectivity, and thus forms the transition to the Psychology section, in which the mind is conscious not of external objects but of itself.
Editor’s Note
3. A 'determinacy' (Bestimmtheit) is a specific feature or differentia which, when added to a concept, makes that concept more specific. For example, if we start with the concept 'animal' and then add to it the determinacy 'herbivorous', we make an 'advance of development' of the concept 'animal' towards the concept 'horse', though we shall have to add other determinacies to the concept 'animal' before we reach our goal. But Hegel is thinking primarily not of such concepts as 'animal' or 'horse', but of the logical Idea, of which cognition is one 'determinacy' among others: cf. §387, n. 1. Something similar happens to the mind. As the mind develops it acquires more and more 'determinacies', such as 'sensation' in §399. Each such determinacy is a step towards the mind's long-term goal of becoming for itself what it is in itself, i.e. to gain complete self-knowledge. Moreover, each stage within this long-term process, such as the stage of 'soul', is itself a process of the same type. At the beginning of the stage the mind has a certain character 'in itself ' or implicitly. We (i.e. we philosophers) can see that it has this character, but the mind itself cannot. But by the end of that stage the mind itself, in the form that it has at that stage, sees what it is, and has implicitly been all along. This self-knowledge is limited, however, and does not constitute the final goal of the mind. It drives the mind on to the next stage of its development.
Editor’s Note
4. Ordinary psychology treats what the 'soul' (here equivalent to 'mind') does simply as 'expressions' of faculties that it has all along. Such psychology can therefore describe the soul only 'in a narrative fashion', i.e. unsystematically. It considers the faculties in no methodical order nor are there any systematic pathways between different faculties. For Hegel, by contrast, the soul is not a 'ready-made subject'. It develops. First it has a certain character or determinacy, then it expresses it. This expression is not just for the benefit of us psychologists, not simply our way of telling that the soul has a certain character. It also presents the soul's own character to the soul itself. It does not present it to the soul very explicitly, but only 'in its concept', in germ. The soul does not yet know as much about itself as we psychologists do. But it knows enough to be promoted to a higher level. This provides Hegel with a systematic way of studying the soul. We start with determinacy no. 1, the expression of this leads to determinacy no. 2, the expression of no. 2 leads to no. 3, and so on. The main problem is that Hegel does not make clear whether this development is a development undergone by the soul over time or whether it is simply a logical development enabling Hegel to describe what is, in effect, a 'ready-made subject': cf. §440, n. 3. Sometimes the development of Hegel's account of the mind seems to coincide, more or less, with the development over time either of the individual mind or of the human mind in general, but sometimes it does not. He gives no clear account of the relationship between the two types of development.
Editor’s Note
5. Cf. §§395Z. and 396Z., where Hegel stresses that education should initiate individuals into the the general culture of the time, i.e. the 'universal mind'. Philosophy is concerned not with individuals, but with the mind as such. It asks not 'How does the universal mind come to exist in individuals?' but 'How does the universal mind arise in the first place?' 'What is its structure and mode of development?' and 'How is it related to the individual minds that participate in it?' This gives a partial answer to the problem raised in §387, n. 4: Hegel is not much concerned with the development over time of a human individual, not at least after the time at which education proper begins.
Editor’s Note
6. Mind is at first 'subjective' for two reasons: (i) its concept or concept is 'undeveloped', i.e. the mind here is comparable to an acorn or a sapling; (ii) it has not made its concept 'an object for itself ' (sich… gegenständlich). These are connected: the mind becomes aware of its concept not by direct inspection of it, but in view of its development (rather as we learn the species of the seed from the full-grown plant), and, at least in later stages, it develops by becoming aware of its current state. The mind is never exclusively subjective; even at the start it is 'Idea', concept plus reality, hence both subjective and objective. But this 'immediate reality' is inadequate and must be overcome if the mind is to grasp its own concept or subjectivity. Why does this imply that we could 'just as well say that mind is… objective and has to become subjective'? The case of the acorn helps to explain. An acorn has two aspects. First, it contains implicitly the concept of a full-grown oak. This is its 'subjectivity'. Second, it is a small brown lump, not in the least like an oak-tree. This is its 'reality' or 'objectivity'. Because the concept is so inadequately expressed by its current reality, i.e. the small brown lump, we can say that the acorn (qua concept-container) is subjective and has to become objective, i.e. develop a reality adequate to the concept it contains. Because the acorn so inadequately expresses the concept, we can say that the acorn (qua small brown lump) is objective and has to become subjective, i.e. develop into a reality adequate to the concept. Unlike an acorn or oak-tree, a mind is also 'subjective' in another sense: it has an inner life, a dim awareness, even if not 'consciousness' in Hegel's sense. This is quite different from the concept the mind contains. The inner life of, say, an infant falls far short of its concept, of the full-grown mind of a rational adult. The mind's inner life may not be very adequately expressed in its outer life, its bodily form and behaviour, in which case the mind might also be described as only subjective (owing to its ill-expressed inner life) or as only objective (owing to its inadequately expressive outer life). Hegel may also have this sense of subjectivity in view, but it is not the dominant sense in this context.
Editor’s Note
7. The series of 'formations' are indicated empirically, but they express a series of 'determinate concepts'. The series is necessary in that it has a fixed order, and no term in it can be absent, rather like the series 1, 2, 3, … n, n + 1, … The determinate concepts are segments of the logical Idea and are thus less specific than the formations that express them. The details of a formation that go beyond its corresponding concept are known to us empirically, but the determinate concept is a priori. Hegel is not trying to deduce the mind in all its details from the logical Idea. He gives similar accounts of the collaboration of experience and a priori thought in Enc. I, §12 and in Enc. II, §246.
Editor’s Note
8. On universality, particularity, and individuality, cf. §§378, n. 11; 379, n. 6; 385, n. 2. The concept develops, in Hegel's Logic, from 'abstract universality' to individuality, by way of particularity: cf. Enc. I, §163. At the simplest level, a generic concept, e.g. 'animal', is universal; specific concepts, e.g. 'dog', 'horse', are particular; and 'Fido', 'Neddy', etc. are individual concepts. But Hegel's account involves further complexities that help to explain, if not justify, the use made of the triad here. In particular, mind that is 'for itself ' is not individual in the sense that it is the mind of Tom, Dick, or Harry. It is individual in the sense that, unlike the soul, it is intrinsically determinate and, unlike consciousness, not dependent on external objects. It stands on its own two feet.
Editor’s Note
9. 'Ideality' often refers to the mind's ability to surmount or negate distinctions, as in §379, n. 3. 'Ideality' in this sense does not contrast with 'reality', except in so far as reality presents the distinctions that are to be surmounted. Conversely, 'reality' often refers to the specific stage of development that the mind has currently reached. 'Reality' in this sense contrasts with the 'concept', but not with 'ideality' in the above-mentioned sense. Here, however, 'ideality' and 'reality' are contrasted and are roughly equivalent to 'inner life' and 'outer life' or to 'mind' and 'body'. It may be, however, that Hegel is running together two different questions:
  1. (1) Why can we not begin with the concept of mind, that is, with a general account of the mind that does not specify any particular stage of it—or, perhaps, with an account of the fully developed rational mind? Why must we start with the soul? (Aristotle raises a similar question in de anima, II. 3, 414b20–7.)

  2. (2) Why must we consider the physical side of the soul, its body, as well as its inner, mental side?

The two questions are connected at least to the following extent. Once we have decided that we have to consider not just the concept of mind, but the first stage of its actualization, we have to consider its physical embodiment. For the mind has just emerged from nature and from nature it inherits a body that is not yet 'mediated' or 'posited' by mind. It has not been shaped or trained by mind, still less has it been downgraded by 'abstract thinking', in the way that, say, philosophers attach relatively little importance to their bodies. The body is still 'abstract', i.e. ill-formed and undifferentiated, as is the 'ideality' or inner life that it has in its grip.
Editor’s Note
10. Anthropos is Greek for 'man' (covering both sexes), and Anthropologie is the study (logos) of man. 'Man' (Mensch), or 'anthropos', contrasts with 'mind', in that it also includes the body and psychical features directly related to the body. 'Anthropology' in Hegel (and Kant) is not restricted to 'ethnology'.
Editor’s Note
11. Anthropology involves a movement from immediate unity (the 'natural' soul, §§391–402) through opposition (the feeling soul, §§403–10) to restored unity (the actual soul, §§411–12). Quality is the first division of the Logic (Enc. I, §§86–86), and thus the mind is initially 'qualitatively determined', marked by qualities impressed on it by its natural surroundings: cf. §392. On racial differences cf. §393 and Z. On somnambulism cf. §§398Z. and 406 and Z. On insanity cf. §408 and Z. On the body as a 'sign' of the soul, cf. §411. Here the distinction between ideality and reality comes close to the distinction between soul and body. The reality is 'posited ideally' in so far as the soul is expressed by bodily deportment, gestures, etc.
Editor’s Note
12. While the natural soul was aware of nature only by way of the qualities nature impressed on it, the mind now extrudes the natural aspect of itself out into the external world and pares itself down to the bare 'I' or ego (das Ich, from the first-person pronoun, ich), which is conscious of its 'Other'. The natural mind is now an object for the mind itself, not just for us (philosophers), but the I does not yet recognize it as the natural mind. The I thus has 'being-for-self ' (Fürsichsein), in that it is now detached from nature and has some self-awareness. But it is not 'for itself ' (für sich), fully independent and aware only of itself, since it depends on an other. On freedom, cf. §385, n. 6.
Editor’s Note
13. Phänomenologie, from the Greek logos ('doctrine, study, etc') and phainomena, 'things that seem, appear, are manifest', is the 'doctrine of appearances'. Other philosophers (such as Husserl) use the term with reference to things that appear to the mind. But for Hegel it is primarily the mind itself that appears, not its objects. 'Appearance' (Erscheinung) and 'appear' (erscheinen) are different from 'semblance' (Schein) and 'seem' (scheinen): cf. §386, n. 1, and Enc. I, §131. That the mind 'only appears' does not mean that it only seems to be mind. Nor does it mean that the mind is manifest. It means that the mind is only 'emerging' or 'coming into view' and is not yet fully 'actual.'
Editor’s Note
14. The I is reflected back, rebounds off, the other into itself. The subjective and the objective are no longer, as in anthropology, mind and body, but the I and its other, i.e. its objects. The mind's aim, as in anthropology, is to equalize and harmonize the two sides. This is achieved especially by a rational culture that informs both the mind, filling up the empty I, and the external world, rendering it subjective as well as objective. The mediated universality of self-consciousness thus attained (cf. §§436–7) is quite different from the 'abstract universality' of the natural soul. Consciousness here follows the pattern of immediate unity (the I)—opposition (the I and its other)—restored unity (self-consciousness). Cf. §§424 ff. on self-consciousness.
Editor’s Note
15. Here 'an object' translates gegenständlich. German has two words for 'object', das Objekt and der Gegenstand, and two words for 'objective', objektiv and gegenständlich. When 'object(ive)' is contrasted with 'subject(ive)' (Subjekt, subjektiv), Hegel always uses Objekt or objektiv. What is objective in this sense, need not be known to the subject or be its object. When he means that an object is known to, or is the object of, the mind, he uses Gegenstand and gegenständlich.
Editor’s Note
16. Subjective mind as a whole, like each of its three forms, follows the pattern: immediate unity (soul)—opposition (consciousness)—restored unity (actual mind), which is also the movement: universality—particularity—individuality: cf. §387, n. 8. On truth, see §379, n. 7.
Editor’s Note
17. 'Reason' (Vernunft) is essential to mind as weight is essential to a body and freedom essential to the will. A mind is always rational, though it is only 'mind as such', the mind studied by psychology, that recognizes this. Earlier Hegel defined truth as 'agreement of the concept with its actuality': cf. §379, n. 7. 'Idea' is the concept together with its corresponding reality: cf. §377, n. 4. So 'truth' and 'Idea' roughly coincide. 'Reason' is sometimes equated with 'Idea': cf. Enc. I, §214. And when Hegel said, in the Preface to PR and again in Enc. I, §6, 'What is rational [vernünftig] is actual, and what is actual is rational', he could easily have used 'true' instead of 'actual' or instead of 'rational'. However, 'reason' is not, in Hegel's usage, always equivalent to 'truth' and 'Idea'. Reason, both as a mode of thinking and as an objective process, has a 'negative', sceptical or destructive, role as well as a positive role: cf. Enc. I, §§81–81. Only in its positive role can reason be assimilated to truth or the Idea. In its negative role it sublates untrue thoughts or things that fall short of the Idea. In its positive role it reaches the truth or the Idea itself. This happens in §§438–9. What Hegel there has in view is that the mind combines subjectivity and objectivity by imposing its own rationality on what is initially other than itself.
Editor’s Note
18. Mind as such exemplifies the pattern: immediate unity—opposition—restored unity. It begins by embracing both subjectivity and objectivity, but then bifurcates into a subjective side, 'intelligence' (Intelligenz), i.e. theoretical mind, and an objective side, will or practical mind. Intelligence imposes rationality on the scattered material given to it, i.e. simply presented to it, and transforms it into a 'concrete universal', i.e. not a thin, 'abstract' universal, whether it be a universal derived from the logical Idea (such as 'being') or a universal applicable to the untransformed empirical given (such as 'green'), but a complex universal, such as 'animal', 'horse', etc. (Cf. §393, n. 8, for a different but related conception of the abstract universal.) What the intelligence then knows is not an 'abstraction' (i.e. the untransformed given or perhaps the abstract universal) but the 'objective concept', i.e. the conceptualized world that it has helped to produce.
This account of intelligence casts doubt on the claim that it is 'subjective'. Theoretical and practical mind are regarded as respectively subjective and objective, because they are seen as proceeding in opposite directions: theoretical mind receives content from the external world, while practical mind discharges its own content into the world and thereby changes it. But Hegel rejects this sharp dichotomy. In his view, theoretical mind proceeds in the same directions as practical mind. It too projects its own content onto the world and thereby transforms it. Only then does it receive the content into itself. Intelligence thus seems objective as well as subjective.
Editor’s Note
19. Since intelligence 'imposes rationality' on the 'content' presented to it, it may be said (with some exaggeration) to derive the content from itself. When intelligence becomes aware of this, it decides to focus on itself, in particular on its 'urges, inclinations', material which is, like the preconceptual external material, 'individual' and disorderly, but which mind immediately recognizes as 'its own', before any conceptual processing. Its treatment of this material is analogous to its treatment of the external material. It reflects 'itself into itself ' out of these urges, etc., i.e. it distinguishes itself from them and does not automatically endorse them. It brings order into them by relating them to a universal, especially the idea of happiness (§§479–80.). Finally it wills the 'universal in and for itself ', etc., a rational social order that coincides with its own freedom (§§481–2.), an order whose 'determinations' are not natural but conceptual. Then mind has returned to a unity with itself comparable to the unity of the natural soul and of actual mind before its bifurcation into intelligence and will, but a unity on a higher level. This is objective mind.
Editor’s Note
1. Hegel probably means not that mind came into being in time—he has at best only a hazy conception of the temporal origins of mind—but that it has emerged in the logical order of things. On mind as the 'truth of nature', cf. §381, nn. 1 and 2. The 'Idea in general' is the logical Idea as a whole, in which a result is always prior to, and the 'truth of ', what it results from—roughly in the way that the oak-tree is the 'truth' or fulfilment of, and thus prior to, the acorn. Applied to the mind, this means that mind is the truth of and prior to what went before (namely nature). The 'concept', on the other hand, is here the third section of the logical Idea, in which the transition from one stage to the next is a 'development' or unfolding, illustrated in Enc. I, §161 by the development of a seed into a plant. However, this third section of the logical Idea also contains, as one of its subdivisions, the 'judgement'. The German for 'judgement' is Urteil, and Hegel takes this to mean an 'original division' from ur- ('original') and teilen ('divide'). (That this etymology is incorrect does not significantly impair Hegel's argument.) Hence the development characteristic of the concept can be seen as a sort of self-division of a primitive unity, in the way that a unitary seed divides into the various parts of a plant. Analogously nature can be regarded as dividing in two, one of the divisions being nature itself and the other division becoming mind. Furthermore, Hegel distinguishes several types of judgement. The highest type of judgement, in his view, is the 'judgement of the concept' (Enc. I, §178). In this type of judgement, a thing is assessed or evaluated by comparison to its concept. For example a painting is judged to be good or bad, according to whether or not it accords with the concept of a painting. This suggests that what leads nature to generate mind is an evaluation of itself, the judgement that it is 'untrue'. That this judgement is 'free' means at least that nature judges itself, and so sublates itself.
Why is nature 'untrue'? It is not obvious that it falls short of the concept of nature; it does what we would expect nature to do. But nature, in Hegel's view, embodies the logical Idea, which he often calls the concept, and this concept is not adequately expressed in nature: it is outside itself, 'self-externalized', in various bodily individuals. Something is needed to draw it back together again, something that, owing to its 'concretion' or concreteness, embodies the whole of the concept in a simple form.
In Hegel's account, the mind's emergence from nature already involves mental functions such as self-evaluation. This suggests a fairly literal interpretation of his claim that mind 'presupposes' itself, namely that mind is at work in nature all along: cf. §§381, n. 23; 384, n. 2. The mind pulls itself up by its own bootstraps.
Editor’s Note
1. 'For itself ' (für sich) here means 'by itself, independently'. The soul is not just one solitary immaterial entity among many material entities. It is, as the Zusatz explains, the 'universal immateriality' of nature in two senses. First, nature itself, as it develops, becomes increasingly 'immaterial': cf. §389, n. 3. The soul is the culmination of this development. Second, the soul 'overarches' and transfigures the whole of nature: cf. §389, n. 16.
Editor’s Note
2. Aristotle draws a distinction between passive and active 'intellect' (nous) in de anima, III. 5. Passive intellect is 'potentially all things': it can acquire the concept of anything and think about anything. But it needs the active intellect to supply concepts to it and perhaps to prod it into thinking about something in particular. However, the passive intellect is not much like the soul in Hegel's sense. It does not supply the 'stuff ' from which the active intellect forms concepts. ('Stuff ' here translates Hegel's Stoff. 'Material' would be more elegant, but too easily confused with 'material' in the sense in which it contrasts with 'immaterial', whereas 'Stoff ' is used here for matter in the more Aristotelian sense in which 'matter' or 'material' contrasts with the 'form' it takes.) This stuff is supplied, in Aristotle's view, by the five senses and then converted into concepts by the active intellect. Moreover, the passive intellect does actually think, albeit under the tutelage of the active intellect. By contrast, Hegel's soul is the lowest level of the human mind and it does not think about anything. Rather, it somehow absorbs material from its surroundings without selection or discrimination. It does not differentiate itself from the external world. This distinction is drawn only with mind's 'particularizing', when the mind becomes 'conscious' of objects which it distinguishes from itself: cf. §§413 ff. These objects are composed of the stuff that the mind absorbed as soul and which it now projects out into the external world. (This does not mean that the objects are just subjective: they really are in the external world, only the soul did not realize this.) Nor does the soul distinguish itself from other souls. This happens only with mind's 'individualizing', when the mind becomes 'self-conscious' (§424 ff.) and especially when it becomes 'actual mind' (§§440 ff.).
Editor’s Note
3. Hegel attacks the view that matter is, or is regarded as, 'something true' (ein Wahres) by arguing that types of matter form a series, whose members become progressively 'thinner', shedding, one after another, the features characteristic of matter: cf. Enc. II, §337Z. (That the soul is not a 'thing' is argued in the Zusatz: see §389, n. 10.) Heat and light (and perhaps space and time) lack weight or gravity and the power of resistance—'in a sense': a lighted or hot room is no harder to enter than a dark or cool room, but it may be too bright or hot to enter. But heat and light remain perceptible and 'self-external': they spread throughout an area. 'Vital matter' (Lebensmaterie), the matter supposedly responsible for the life of plants and animals, implicitly lacks 'self-externality' too. What Hegel perhaps has in mind is the fact that if, say, someone's hand is cut off, the hand immediately ceases to be alive, whereas it does not immediately lose its temperature: cf. Enc. I, §216Z. This suggests that 'vital matter', or whatever it is that animates the whole body, is not spread out through the body in the way that heat is. However, animal life is still closely attached to the body that constitutes its 'existence or objectivity'. This is also true of the soul, the lowest phase of human life. So Hegel now speaks of the mind instead of the soul. Here self-externality has disappeared altogether, since the mind (or the 'concept') is not related to an extended body in the way that the life of an animal is. It is related to itself. Thus mind is not material at all. It shows that matter has no truth, since it is the terminus of progressive dematerializations of matter, i.e. the 'truth of matter': cf. §389, n. 14.
Hegel's argument uses outdated science. Antoine Lavoisier (1743–94) regarded light and heat as elements and therefore material; heat was an 'imponderable fluid' called 'caloric'. Heat and light are now regarded as nonmaterial, in the sense that they are not stuffs. The idea of 'vital matter' or 'vital force' was endorsed by Jöns Jakob Berzelius (1779–1848), but is now generally rejected. However, the force of Hegel's argument does not essentially depend on these obsolete doctrines. A more serious objection is this. The mind can transcend the body in the sense that it can think about things that are remote from it in space and time or not even in space and time at all. The mind can also think about itself. Hegel tends to run together two relations that are, on the face of it, distinct: the relation of the mind to the body and the relation of the mind to the object of which it is conscious (cf. §389, n. 15). The mind's relation to itself as an object does not replace its relation to the body. The mind cannot think without a body. This body, moreover, is not 'imponderable'. It has a weight, along with-many other properties characteristic of matter.
Editor’s Note
4. Two answers are considered to the question: How do soul and body combine?
  1. (1) Soul and body are two distinct substances. Then, Hegel objects, they cannot combine, except—like two pieces of matter—by fitting into each other's 'pores' or interstices (cf. Enc. I, §130), and then they make no real contact. Epicurus (c.341–270 bc) located the gods not in the pores of bodies, but in the interstices between worlds; they therefore take no interest and play no part in human affairs, though they do appear to us in dreams.

  2. (2) Descartes (1596–1650), Malebranche (1638–1715), Spinoza (1632– 77), and Leibniz (1646–1716) located the body–soul relation in God. If body and soul were still regarded as independent substances, 'God' would just be a name for the mystery involved in (1). But their dependence on God implies that the finite soul and finite matter are not really independent substances. This enables God to relate them in a comprehensible way, as their 'identity'. However, Spinoza's God is (Hegel implies) insufficiently 'creative': see §389, n. 6. Leibniz's God, the 'monad of monads', is creative, but only by a 'judgement'. It does not advance to the syllogism or 'conclusion'.

As is often the case with Hegel's criticisms of other philosophers, it is hard to see to which of Leibniz's doctrines he is objecting. Elsewhere Hegel interprets urteilen, Urteil, 'judge(ment)', as 'original' (ur) 'division' or 'partition' (teilen) of a unitary concept: cf. §388, n. 1, and Enc. I, §166. The two parts, the subject and the predicate, are then joined together, even identified, by the copula, 'is'. The German for 'syllogism' or 'inference', Schluss, primarily means 'close, end, conclusion'. Hence Hegel regards it as joining together again what the judgement has divided. It joins them more adequately than the copula does: cf. Enc. I, §§181 ff. For whereas a judgement involves only two terms, a syllogism involves three: two extremes and a middle term that joins them together. In traditional logic, these terms are contained in judgements or propositions, of which there are usually three: two premises and a conclusion. But for Hegel what matters is just the three terms. Hence he is apt to describe any three terms, one of which joins the other two, as constituting a syllogism: see Enc. I, §198 on the individual, civil society, and the state. In the 'absolute syllogism', the three terms are the logical Idea, nature, and mind: cf. §§574–7. However, Hegel seems to have in mind a more specific objection to Leibniz than that he failed to arrive at the full-scale Hegelian philosophy. The Zusatz (cf. §389, n. 11) suggests that it is this. For Leibniz the soul and the body are not radically different. The body consists of monads that have only subliminal perceptions, while the soul or mind is the dominant monad, which has 'apperception', self-conscious awareness. The dominant monad has no causal relation to the body-monads. Mind and body are related only by a 'pre-established harmony', established, that is, by God: the perceptions of the mind and those of each body-monad harmonize with each other in a sort of psycho-physical parallelism. Hegel's objection seems to be that Leibniz has made the mind too similar to the body and too closely related to it. This results from Leibniz's exclusive reliance on 'judgement'. Once the mind and body are divided by a judgement, they have to remain similar and closely related, joined, as it were, by a copula. If the mind were to transcend the body, in the way that Hegel requires, the unity of mind and body would be lost. If, however, we bring in the syllogism, then the mind can transcend the body and become very dissimilar to it, and yet still be united, or reunited, to the body by a syllogism. Hegel's own attempt to fulfil this programme, in §§574–7, is deeply obscure and of doubtful success. But he gives in §573 a discerning account of different types of unity, especially the type that allows considerable free play to the united terms. This type of unity is relevant not only to the mind, but also to the modern state: cf. §539.
Editor’s Note
5. Hegel did say, in the Paragraph, that the soul is 'substance', but not that it is a 'unity of thinking and being'. The soul in Hegel's sense does not actually think. What he means is that the soul combines a natural, bodily element ('being') with a low-grade mind that absorbs 'stuff ' from its surroundings. It thus constitutes an underlying fund ('substance') from which the mind draws resources for its 'particularization' and 'individualization'. On Persian religion, cf. §377, n. 6, and PH, pp.173 ff.
Editor’s Note
6. In his Ethics, Spinoza argued that there is only a single substance. It has an infinity of attributes, only two of which are known to us: extension (Hegel's 'being') and thought. Thus mind is 'implicitly [an sich] in that unity' of thinking and being, though it may 'withdraw into itself ', disengaging itself in a Cartesian way from extended things. Spinoza (Hegel argues) does not show how the mind achieves this or how, in general, substance differentiates itself into a 'manifold' of various things and people. This manifold is simply tacked on to substance in an 'external manner'. What in fact happens, according to Hegel, is that substance develops the difference between thinking and being into an actual difference and then unifies it again. Showing how this occurs occupies the whole of Enc. III, but especially §§572–7. If it did not happen, mind would remain an unconscious soul and not get to 'absolute being-for-self '. Hegel is trying to explain how human beings get beyond the dim awareness of their surroundings that he supposes animals to have to a fully human understanding of the world and of themselves. Spinoza, he believes, did not explain this, primarily because he did not see that to understand something—nature, the world, even ourselves—we must first take our distance from it and then return to it.
Editor’s Note
7. Anaxagoras (c.500–428 bc) held that the cosmos was originated and is governed by a supreme intellect or nous. His view differs from that of Spinoza, who never suggests that the attribute of thought originates or governs the world and is averse to explanations of things in terms of purposes. The criticism that Anaxagoras's nous does not develop is less apt than the corresponding criticism of Spinoza. Nous does not create matter or 'seeds' but merely organizes them into an ordered cosmos. Hegel may be influenced by Socrates, who, in Plato's Phaedo, 97b10 ff., regrets that Anaxagoras did not fulfil his promise to supply purposive explanations of things, but relied instead on mechanical explanations, and invoked nous only to initiate motion.
Editor’s Note
8. 'Pantheism' is not an apt term for Anaxagoras, both because he does not identify nous with matter and because he nowhere, in the surviving fragments, calls nous 'god'. That pantheism does not systematize its content stems from its logical defects, especially that it operates only with individuality and universality, with no mediating particularity to explain their connexion. This defect is shared by Spinoza, but he is not in the least 'bacchanalian'. This aspect of pantheism emerges only when pantheism takes the more pictorial form of 'representation'. Hegel is perhaps thinking of Hinduism, which he discusses at length in §573.
Editor’s Note
9. Reflexion deals in hard and fast opposites such as the I and the body: cf. §§384, n. 2; 389, n. 12. For the sake of his argument, Hegel tends to equate the soul and the I, which belongs to a later stage of the mind's development. But the word 'soul' (Seele) fluctuates between Hegel's own sense (in which it is quite distinct from the 'I') and the sense in which it was used by the rational psychology described in §378.
Editor’s Note
10. If we regard the soul as immaterial and the body as material, both 'equally substantial', we cannot explain how they are united. The 'former metaphysics' of pre-Kantian thinkers such as Christian Wolff avoided the difficulty by making the soul a 'thing', with many of the features of a physical thing: a spatial location, a beginning and end in time, and a persistent nature capable of bearing properties (cf. §378). It is unclear why this should be supposed to resolve the difficulty, given Hegel's doubts about the possibility of combining two pieces of matter. But two bits of matter can at least fit into each other's pores, whereas a soul that had no location in space or time could hardly fit into a body at all.
Editor’s Note
11. A monad is a mind, and Leibniz really held that only minds exist, albeit minds of varying degrees of sophistication. Hegel offers two criticisms: (i) Since a soul-monad is as stable and persistent as a material thing, it is just as hard to see how it can be united to body-monads as it is to see how a soul can be united to a body or one body to another body. (ii) The difference between a soul and a material thing is made a difference of degree rather than kind, a soul-monad having perceptions that are clearer and more distinct than those of other monads. Cf. §389, n. 4.
Editor’s Note
12. On 'speculative' logic, see §378, n. 5. It contrasts with 'reflective' thinking and with the understanding or 'intellect' (Verstand): cf. §378, n. 1. Reflexion is often similar to Verstand. But Verstand is regularly contrasted with Vernunft, 'reason', and, unlike Reflexion, has no special connection with light. On the mind's ideality and its bearing on opposites, cf. §§379, n. 3; 381, nn. 4 nd 8.
Editor’s Note
13. The 'old' (alte) metaphysics may be the pre-Kantian metaphysics of Wolff, etc., but Hegel usually calls this the 'former' (vormalige) metaphysics: cf. §389, n. 10. More probably, he means 'ancient' metaphysics, and is thinking of passages such as Plato's Phaedo, 78b4 ff., where Socrates argues that the soul is non-composite and thus indissoluble. He may also have in view Plato's theory of ideas or forms, according to which each form is 'one', in contrast to the 'many' things that 'participate' in it.
Editor’s Note
14. This repeats the progressive dematerialization of matter described in §389: cf. n. 3. But earlier weight or 'gravity' (Schwere) was a feature 'characteristic of matter', while now it is the first step in overcoming it: the attraction of one body to another is a sort of 'refutation' of their separate individuality. Mind plays two roles in this: mind that is 'in itself and at work within nature' gradually overcomes materiality, and mind as soul completes the process. Given this dual use of 'mind', Hegel's conclusion is ambiguous. If the mind at work in nature overcomes materiality, then matter has no independence in face of this mind. But it does not follow that matter has no independence in face of the human soul or even the developed human mind. Gravity, heat, light, etc. are not at our beck and call. Conversely, it is not clear why we could not have such control over matter as we do have even if there is no mind implicitly at work in nature.
Editor’s Note
15. The 'indeterminate universal soul' is not the mind at work in nature, but the human soul discussed in the Paragraph. The opposition between mind and its other is an essential feature of mind, especially as consciousness of something other than itself. Hegel again tends to run together two apparently different relations: the relation between the soul or mind and the body, and the relation between the mind and the object of which it is conscious. (See also §389, n. 3.) One reason for this may be that Hegel here uses, for 'body', the word Körper. This word 'excludes any implication of human feelings, sentiments and life in its non-physical aspects. It is Leib which conveys this suggestion and is conceived as the vessel of the soul' (DGS, p. 45). Unlike Leib, Körper can apply to a piece of matter as well as to a human body. This means that the distinction between the relation of the soul to a body of which it is conscious and its relation to its body is less clear than it might be. However, the two relations are also connected. My body (Leib) is also a body (Körper). If I am to ask about the 'communion' of my soul and my body, then I must distinguish my soul or myself from my body. That is, my body must become an object of which I am conscious. So I must in general be conscious of objects 'other' than myself. For Hegel, the philosophical question about the soul's relation to the body is rooted in a fundamental and necessary capacity of the human mind, the ability to distinguish itself from other objects.
Editor’s Note
16. The material is 'particular' and the immaterial 'universal'. Thus the immaterial 'overarches' the material in something like the way in which the universal 'colour' overarches and embraces particular colours such as red and green. This might suggest the Aristotelian view that the soul is the form of the body, fitting together with the body with no special need for divine help. But Hegel neglects Aristotle here, preferring Descartes et al. and their resort to God. Mind and matter are originally united in God, wholly dependent on him, so that they are not independent substances. But since God is himself 'mind' or spirit, mind is predominant: God as mind is the universal that overarches 'particular' mind and 'particular' matter. The claim that mind 'idealizes' its other, etc. refers to our conceptual and other ways of processing the material world. God, it might be thought, is not needed for this. But Hegel (unlike Descartes et al.) does not sharply distinguish between God and man. Unlike them too, Hegel is trying to answer two questions: (i) Are mind and matter in an 'original unity' and if so, how? This is the question of Descartes et al. Hegel is less interested in it, but his answer is that they are united in nature and in the natural soul, as well as in the logical Idea. (ii) Once mind and matter have emerged from their original unity, in consciousness and other stages of the developed mind, how are they to be reunited again? To this Hegel does not reply by referring again to their original unity, but instead to the mind's idealizing activity. Thus for Hegel the mind–matter relationship follows the pattern: original unity—opposition—restored unity: cf. §387, n. 14. (Hegel might say that Descartes gave a similar answer: the mind is wrested from its 'original unity' with body by scepticism, but recovers belief in external bodies by appealing to God's veracity.)
According to Malebranche's 'occasionalism', no event causes any other event. It is God who causes all events. Thus there is no causal interaction between mind and body. Rather, whenever God causes a mental event, he causes a corresponding physical event. 'We see everything in God', because our seeing is caused by God, not by the objects seen. On Plato, Hegel is perhaps alluding to Timaeus, 35a–b, which he paraphrases at Enc. I, §92Z.
Editor’s Note
17. Hegel offers three criticisms of materialism:
  1. (1) If thought is a result of matter, the relation of matter to thought is, or resembles, a relation of cause to effect, or of means to end. But a cause is sublated in its effect: e.g. the rain that causes the wetness of the street also constitutes the wetness (cf. Enc. I, §153). The means to an end is sublated in the end once it is realized: e.g. the paint and canvas are contained in the finished painting (Enc. I, §§204 ff.). Thus if thought is a result of matter, matter is sublated in thought. (There is thus no special reason for calling such a doctrine 'materialism' rather than, say, 'mentalism'.)

  2. (2) Mind has its own peculiar way of sublating other things, including the conditions of its own emergence: it coverts them into something 'posited by itself ': cf. §379, n. 7.

  3. (3) 'Mind as such' develops of its own accord out of its 'being-in-itself ', i.e. out of its earlier forms, soul and consciousness: cf. §387, esp. n. 18.

Points (1) and (2) concern the development from its earliest beginnings. Point (3) concerns the subsequent development of mind. Hegel disagrees with traditional materialism in two essential respects. First, although mind emerges from matter, the matter from which it emerges is already pervaded by mind. Second, mind does not develop in accordance with the laws even of this mind-pervaded matter; it breaks free of it and develops autonomously.
Editor’s Note
1. On the three stages of soul, cf. §387, n. 11. That the natural soul 'only is' implies that it involves no opposition and thus does not sense or feel anything. At stage (b) the soul is related to the soul of stage (a), its immediate 'being' (Sein). This has 'determinacies' which produce feelings. Hence the soul is 'abstractly for itself ', i.e. it has a hazy self-awareness. (On 'for itself ', cf. §383, n. 1.) At stage (c) the soul takes over its body and makes it its own. Since it is expressed by the body, it is now 'actual', not merely potential.
Editor’s Note
2. The natural soul, stage (a), itself undergoes a development which Hegel divides into three phases, following the pattern of unity—opposition—restored unity. Phase I of stage (a) falls into two: (i) A wholly universal, undifferentiated, unidividualized soul, with its 'explication in nature and in mind': see §391 n. 2 for the meaning of this expression. It corresponds to pure being in the Logic (Enc. I, §86). (ii) Soul with 'universal, qualitative determinations'. They correspond to the reality or 'determinate being' (Dasein) to which 'being' (Sein) passes over in Logic (cf. Enc. I, §§89 ff.). Racial and national differences belong here, since they are deep, subconscious differences between types of soul, and not between, or within, individual souls. See §§392–5.
Editor’s Note
3. Hegel is trying to combine two different accounts of the transition from phase I to phase II of stage (a). The first sentence implies that it follows the pattern: unity (phase I: the 'universal natural soul')—opposition (transition: 'divergent universal particularizations')—restored unity (phase II: the particularizations taken back into the soul, which is then individual). This is what the correspondence to the Logic or 'concept' would suggest. But the second sentence implies that the 'universal natural soul' directly 'splinters' into individual souls, without the help of any mediating 'particularizations'. This second account is more plausible. It is hard to see how racial or national differences mediate the division of the universal soul into individual souls.
On the stars, see Enc. II, §269Z: 'This eruption of light is as little worthy of wonderment as an eruption on the skin or a swarm of flies'.
Editor’s Note
4. Three phenomena belong to phase II: (i) The 'particularizations' no longer characterize different types of soul, but different stages, or 'alterations', in the life of a single, persisting subject: cf. §396. (ii) Individuals are of different sexes. Here difference becomes 'actual particularization', because the sexes are opposite to each other in a way that different races and different ages are not: cf. §397. Individuals are explicitly distinguished from, yet related to, each other. (iii) The soul is opposed to its 'natural qualities', i.e. phase I, and relegates it to the sleeping state.
Editor’s Note
5. Phase III reunites the opposition that opened up in phase II. In phase II, the soul's other was a 'state' (Zustand), sleep, in opposition to the waking state. Now the other is made 'ideal', i.e. the object of the soul's 'sensation' (Empfindung): cf. §§399 ff. Empfindung is often closer to 'feeling' than to 'sensation'. But it needs to be translated as 'sensation' to distinguish it from Gefühl in stage (b), the 'feeling soul', the theme of the 'second part of Anthropology' (§§403 ff.). Gefühl; fühlen, 'feeling; to feel' are close to Empfindung; empfinden, but not synonymous. Hegel tries to distinguish them in §402. The 'boding soul' translates ahnende(n) Seele, which appears as the 'feeling soul in its immediacy' at the end of §402Z. and in §405 and Z. The verb ahnen is 'to foresee, suspect, etc.'. Here it is intended to suggest a vague awareness of one's surroundings, not necessarily of future events.
Editor’s Note
1. If we call the universal soul a 'world soul', we treat it as a subject. It is not a subject, but the 'universal substance' which essentially requires completion in individual subjects. (It is not unlike 'prime matter' in medieval philosophy, wholly indeterminate matter that cannot exist in isolation but only as constituting some specific kind of matter.) When it becomes an individual, it is not aware of anything other than itself: it just is. The 'natural determinacies' that it has in it play a double role: (i) They have a 'free existence' as natural features which can be objects of our consciousness (§§413 ff.). (ii) In the soul they are 'ideal', i.e. qualities in the soul itself. The soul cannot perceive them as 'external', but it is affected by them as qualities impressed on it.
Editor’s Note
2. The soul, as the microcosm, has compressed in it as qualities the phenomena that range freely in nature, the macrocosm. But the microcosm, the 'little world', stands opposed not just to one 'big world', nature, but also to the 'world of ethical freedom'. As natural phenomena are compressed in the soul, so urges, etc. are compressed in the 'individual man'. These are developed, in the 'political state', into an ethical world that is as expansive and differentiated as nature. The soul or the individual man is like a funnel, into one end of which is squeezed the natural world, while the ethical world emerges from the other end. On 'urges', see §473. They are not, in the adult, unconscious, but Hegel presumably means that an urge is not something one is conscious of as an object distinct from oneself. It is 'simply something he is' (ein Sein).
Editor’s Note
1. Here Hegel considers man's general susceptibility to his natural environment. Correspondingly, §393 considers racial differences, and §395 the temperament, etc. of individuals. Climatic variations, etc. affect the soul, but in the mind for the most part produce only 'dark', or perhaps 'vague', moods. On moods, cf. §401Z.
Editor’s Note
2. 'Cosmic' pertains to the universe as a whole, 'sidereal' to the stars, and 'telluric' (tellurischen, from the Latin tellus, 'earth') to the earth. 'Cosmic' perhaps refers more specifically to the solar system, in contrast to the earth and the stars.
Editor’s Note
3. 'World-history' is not the history of the planet Earth, but human history and, since it depends on the survival of written records, the history of relatively sophisticated humans who are fairly immune to planetary influences.
Editor’s Note
4. On insanity or 'derangement', cf. §408 and Z.
Editor’s Note
5. The soul shares in the life of the universe, but the mind does not. The mind fights back and liberates itself from nature by subjecting it to concepts. But in primitive people and psychologically disturbed people, the natural soul, the persisting substratum of our personality that usually manifests itself only in unimportant 'moods', rises to the surface in the form of intense moods, prophecy, etc. On prophecy, see §406.
Editor’s Note
6. Leibniz held that the mind and the world mirror each other. The doctrine was also expounded by philosophers of nature such as Lorenz Oken (1779–1851) and by F. W. J. Schelling (1775–1854) in e.g. On the World-Soul: A Hypothesis of the Higher Physics on the Explanation of the Universal Organism (1798). J. G. Herder was attracted by the idea, and so were Goethe, Friedrich Schlegel, and Novalis.
Editor’s Note
7. Hegel rejects astrology because he rejects physical determinism. Entities are ranged in a hierarchy, the levels of which embody increasingly complex categories and are governed by increasingly complex laws. A higher level is determined by a lower only within a certain range, never fully. At the bottom are the planets, whose motion is 'free', determined solely by (the concept of) space and time, and nothing else. (Cf. Enc. II, §§269 ff., where Hegel expresses his support for Kepler and hostility to Newton.) Above the planets is the 'physical individual'. This does not change in the same way as the planets. The time taken by e.g. a crystal to form depends not on the nature of time as such but on the nature of the crystalline substance. The angles at which the faces of a crystal meet depend not on space as such, but its chemical composition: cf. Enc. II, §§310Z. and 315Z. Higher still is the animal: on the course of fevers, see Enc. II, §372 and Z. Finally the mind is virtually exempt from the influence of abstract space and time, though not from more concrete forms of them. Hegel connects two apparently distinct questions: (i) Does the mind work on the same principles as planetary movements? (ii) Is the mind influenced by planetary movements? If the mind did work on the same principles as the planets, then even if it were not significantly influenced by them, it would nevertheless keep in step with them, and also there would be nothing, apart from distance, to insulate it against their influence. Conversely, if the mind were significantly influenced by planetary movements, then it would work on the same principles, being determined, at least indirectly, by space and time as such. It is not clear that our dependence on a certain distance from the sun amounts to dependence on a merely spatial factor, for what matters is not distance as such, but warmth and energy. Nevertheless it is a case of our dependence on a lower level in the hierarchy.
Editor’s Note
8. Apis was an Egyptian god in the form of a bull, and Hegel associates astrology with Egypt: 'All astrological and sympathetic superstition may be traced to Egypt' (PH, p. 211). (This claim is false. Astrology probably originated Babylon in the third and second centuries bc, not in Egypt.) The zodiac is a belt of the heavens outside which the sun, moon, and major planets do not pass. It is divided into twelve equal areas, each named after a constellation that once occupied it but no longer does. These names or 'signs' are usually taken from animals. ('Zodiac' comes from the Greek zôon, 'animal', and means 'circle of animals'.) One such constellation is Taurus or the bull and this is one sign of the zodiac. Another such sign is the adjacent Aries or the ram. The apparent course of the sun in relation to the zodiac changes (owing to a wobble in the earth's rotation on its axis), and this is called the 'precession of the equinoxes', since it results in a change in the positions of the equinoxes, the times at which the sun crosses the equator and day and night are of equal length. The equinoxes move back along the zodiac, traversing one constellation in 2,160 years and the whole zodiac in 25,920 years. Nowadays the vernal or spring equinox is in Pisces or the fish. From about 4000 bc to 2000 bc it was in Taurus; and about 2000 bc it moved into Aries, remaining there until well into the Christian era. Thus the view that Hegel rejects is that the movement of the spring equinox from Taurus to Aries foretells the replacement of Egyptian bull-worship by Christian lamb-worship. See also David Ulansey, The Origins of the Mithraic Mysteries (2nd edn. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1991).
Editor’s Note
9. 'Lunatic', from the Latin luna, 'moon', originally denoted a person subject to bouts of insanity supposedly influenced by phases of the moon. The German Wahnsinnigen involves no reference to the moon.
Editor’s Note
10. The Spartan Pausanias, acting as regent for his child-cousin Pleistarchus, led a force of Spartans, Athenians, and their allies against a Persian force led by Mardonius. They met at Plataea in August 479 bc. When the Persians attacked, the Greeks hesitated, since the sacrificial animals were unfavourable. Pausanias eventually turned towards the temple of Hera, prayed to her, and after this favourable omens were obtained. Such superstition was not confined to Spartans. The Athenian general Nicias postponed his departure from Sicily—with disastrous results—owing to a lunar eclipse on 27 August 413 bc.
Editor’s Note
11. Hegel's point is not that the moderns can invariably discover by rational argument what to do and when to do it, but that even in cases of uncertainty we make our own decisions and do not leave it to entrails, etc. Often there are 'grounds' or reasons for doing something and reasons for not doing it, but the 'subjective will' curtails them and decides to act. The ancients were not prepared to do this. Even when they did seem to have overwhelming reasons for doing something, they still paid heed to omens, often (like Pausanias) repeating the sacrifices to get the right result, but abandoning the project if they could not do so.
Editor’s Note
12. Hegel here gives a different account of sacrifices, etc. The morale of ancient soldiers was crucial and it depended on external conditions whose effects are more easily discernible in animals. But they still made too much of entrails owing to their superstition.
Editor’s Note
13. In 401 bc Xenophon, an Athenian, led ten thousand Greek mercenaries to help Cyrus's rebellion against his elder brother, Artaxerxes, the Persian emperor. He told the story of the expedition and the retreat in his Anabasis or 'Up-going', i.e. an expedition up from the coast.
Editor’s Note
1. Gottfried Reinhold Treviranus published his Biologie, oder Philosophie der lebenden Natur für Naturforscher und Ärzte (Biology, or Philosophy of Living Nature for Natural Scientists and Physicians) in Göttingen between 1802 and 1822. Hegel often cites him in Enc. II, e.g. §344Z.
Editor’s Note
2. It is significant that Hegel describes the question of human origins as a historische, not a geschichtliche, question. Geschichte and geschichtlich are his favoured words for 'history' and 'historical', while he often uses Historie and historisch as terms of mild contempt for what is unsystematic and merely empirical. The question of human origins could not be a question for Geschichte, since this depends onw ritten records.
Editor’s Note
3. For Hegel's view that human equality is not 'natural', cf. §539.
Editor’s Note
4. On the 'geographical basis of history', cf. PH, pp. 79 ff.
Editor’s Note
5. The most that Hegel has done to show that the differences between the continents of the Old World are 'necessary' is to suggest that they form a triad of the universal—particular—individual type. Africa is an undifferentiated unity, Asia an unmediated contrast between highlands and river valleys, and Europe a differentiated unity of interpenetrating mountains and valleys.
Editor’s Note
6. Classifications of human races were attempted by Carolus Linnaeus (1707–78) and by Georges Louis Leclerc, comte de Buffon (1707–88), but Hegel acquired his information about skulls from Johann Friedrich Blumenbach (1752–1840), an anatomist and anthropologist, who became known as the father of physical anthropology. In his De Generis Humani Varietate Nativa (1775) (On the Natural Variety of the Human Race) he distinguished five races: Caucasian, Mongolian, Ethiopian, Malayan, and American. (The name 'Caucasian' was applied to the 'white' race, which Blumenbach believed to come from the Caucasus region.) He collected sixty skulls of various races, and these were published in his Collectionis Diversorum Gentium Illustratae Decades (1790–1828) (Parts of his Collection of Crania of Various Races). Hegel's official criterion for distinguishing the races, the angle of intersection of the horizontal and vertical lines drawn within the skull, is a refinement of the 'cephalometric lines' introduced by Adriaan van der Spiegel (1578–1625). A later refinement was the 'cranial index' devised by Anders Adolf Retzius (1796–1860) in 1846, the ratio of skull width to skull length.
Editor’s Note
7. For a longer, but equally derogatory, account of Africans, see PH, pp. 91 ff. However, Hegel does not suggest that the psychological characteristics that he attributes to Africans are hereditary, as their physical characteristics are. They are connected, in a way that he does not adequately explain, with the geography of Africa.
Editor’s Note
8. On Asia and oriental religions, see §377, n. 6 and PH, pp. 111 ff. For Hegel, a religion or a conception of God is essentially related to a conception of the person, and with the value and rights assigned to the person. On the 'concrete universal' in contrast to the 'abstract universal', cf. §387, n. 18. An abstract universal is thin and empty. Hence the temptation to identify it with an individual (in Buddhism) or with nature as a whole (in Hinduism). (Hegel seems to confuse the creator god, Brahma, with a 'Brahmin', or more properly 'Brahman', a member of the caste from which priests were drawn, but who was not regarded as a god.) What is needed for a universal to be concrete is a particularization that mediates its relationship to the empirical world. But for this to occur, the universal must particularize or develop itself, and this requires that the mind become genuinely independent of nature and that it make 'its concept into its object'. This also applies, in Hegel's view, to an individual mind. An infant, with its undeveloped mind, absorbed in its immediate surroundings, is barely in control of its body and makes little sense of, and has little mastery over, the external world. As its mind becomes more independent of its immediate surroundings, and acquires more awareness of itself, it makes sense of and masters its environment. That the mind properly connects with what is other than mind only when it is fully independent of it exemplifies Hegel's principle that opposites turn into each other at their extreme points: cf. Enc. I, §81Z.(1).
Editor’s Note
9. On Mohammedanism, cf. PH, pp. 355 ff. Mohammedans have no inclination to identify God with the empirical world or with some entity in it. But their failure to particularize their abstractly universal God goes with a failure to develop a differentiated political system and a tendency to oscillate between religious self-denial and the relentless pursuit of worldly aims. It is worth noting that Hegel does not attempt to distinguish 'West Asiatics' from Europeans by physiological criteria. For him, as for his contemporaries, Mohammedanism and Judaism were primarily religious categories. In particular, the classification of Jews as a physiologically distinct race is a later development, entirely alien to the founders of physical anthropology.
Editor’s Note
10. God or 'thought' or the 'universal' is 'self-determining' and can thus unite with the 'particular', a process expressed in the 'representation' of the Trinity. Non- Christian religions do not display the immanent development characteristic of thought. Something similar happens on the secular plane. The mind frees itself from the world, then returns to imbue it with thought. It masters the world by acting on 'universal principles' and develops a differentiated state. (For a different view of the relationship between Christianity and science, see 'Religion and Science', in Anthony Quinton, From Wodehouse to Wittgenstein (Manchester: Carcanet, 1998), 3–22, arguing that modern science was made possible by the Christian idea of a rational God 'behind the perceptible surface of the world' but governing it 'in accordance with a unitary system of intelligible laws' (p. 12).)
Editor’s Note
1. The 'racial variations' of §393 are 'determined by the concept' in that Africans are abstractly and uniformly universal; Asiatics (including Mohammedans) are particularized into an abstractly universal deity and unredeemed particularity; and Europeans restore the unity of universality and particularity into something that Hegel might have called 'individuality'. The natives of America are an embarrassing afterthought, but logic is saved by their imminent extinction. (Despite his predilection for triads, Hegel often accommodates four elements by treating one as trivial or five by grouping three together: cf. §401Z. on the five senses.) Further differentiations of the natural mind, not into 'races' (Rassen) but 'peoples' (Völker), are not determined by the concept, though Hegel finds triads wherever possible. He allocates these differences to two sciences: (i) the 'natural history of man' (a science to which Hegel did not contribute) describes and explains national and local characteristics; (ii) the 'philosophy of history' portrays the spiritual climax of a people's underlying natural character, its culture and historic deeds. 'Philosophical anthropology', Hegel's current enterprise, is distinct from these sciences and supplies only as much of (i) as is required for an understanding of (ii).
Editor’s Note
2. On the Hindu caste system, see PH, pp. 144 ff.
Editor’s Note
3. PH does consider differences between China, India, etc., but not between different black African peoples. Hegel's words for 'Germanic peoples', 'germanic' are Germanen, germanisch(en), derived from the Latin germania, germanus, are quite different from the normal word for 'german', deutsch. They embrace, besides Germans proper (the Deutschen), peoples speaking Germanic languages (such as the English and Scandinavians) and also Romance-speaking peoples such as the French, Spanish, and Italians. All are germanic, because the Roman Empire was overrun by German tribes in the fifth century bc. See PH, pp. 341ff., esp. 347–55.
Editor’s Note
4. The Greek 'nation' was divided into many small city-states, of which the most important were Sparta, Thebes, and Athens. Hegel here follows the practice, common both in antiquity and today, of using 'Lacedemonians' as equivalent to 'Spartans'. He briefly describes Spartan institutions, including communal meals and restrictions on the disposal of property, at PH, pp. 262 ff., where he distinguishes the 'Spartans', the inhabitants of the city, from the 'Lacedemonians', the 'perioeci' or 'dwellers round about', who lived in the region under Spartan control, Laconia, and were dependent on Sparta in external affairs but retained considerable local autonomy. (The perioeci are distinct from the helots, serfs working the land of the Spartans.) 'Ethical substance' implicitly contrasts with 'subject', and implies that the Spartans were not developed as individuals, but immersed in their institutions. On Sparta and its institutions, see J. B. Bury and R. Meiggs, A History of Greece (4th edn., London: Macmillan, 1975), ch. 3.
Editor’s Note
5. Thebes became the dominant state in Greece after the Thebans under Epaminondas defeated the Spartans at Leuctra in. 371 bc. But Theban hegemony did not survive the death of Epaminondas in the battle of Mantinea in. 362. In PH, p. 267, Hegel takes Theban dependence on Epaminondas as one more sign of their 'subjectivity'. He regards lyric poetry, whose greatest practitioner was the fifth-century Theban Pindar, as the 'expression of subjectivity'. Around 377 bc Thebes created the 'Sacred Band', a force of 300 hoplites or heavy-armed infantry fighting in close formation, to form the spearhead of the Theban army. Each had his closest friend beside him, so that the band consisted of 150 pairs of comrades, ready to fight and die together. It is the efficacy of these 'amatory bonds' that Hegel regards as evidence of Theban subjectivity.
Editor’s Note
6. Athens is a mean between two extremes: Sparta to the south, with its 'objectivity of ethical life' and the state, and Thebes to the north, with its subjectivity and individualism. It is also a mean between the eastern, 'Ionian', Greeks of the coast of Asia Minor and its islands, and the western Greeks of Italy. The Ionian philosophers were materialists, finding the 'absolute' in some natural substance, such as water (Thales), air (Anaximenes), or fire (Heraclitus), of which they supposed everything ultimately to consist. The western philosophers found their 'principle' in an abstract thought, such as being or the one (Parmenides) or number (Pythagoras). Plato attempted to combine the 'natural element' and 'abstract thought' as 'moments' in his own philosophy. Hegel sees the Platonic 'Idea' as effecting this synthesis, since the Idea is, in Hegel's vocabulary, the 'concept' together with its 'reality': cf. §377, n. 4. Many of the Greeks in Italy originally came from the East as refugees from Lydian and, later, Persian pressure. Pythagoras left Samos, ruled by the tyrant Polycrates, and settled in Croton, in southern Italy. Xenophanes left Colophon, on the coast of Asia Minor, for Elea, on the west coast of Italy. Not all western Greek philosophers fit Hegel's stereotype: Empedocles of Akragas (Agrigento), in Sicily, was a materialist, believing things to consist of four elements: earth, air, fire, and water.
Editor’s Note
7. Hegel here uses two approximate synonyms, Individualität and Einzelheit: cf. §377, n. 7. Usually I have translated these two words and their cognates as 'individual(ity)', but here, where a distinction needs to be drawn, I have translated Individualität as 'individuality' and Einzelheit as 'idiosyncracy'. Idiosyncracy is uninhibited by 'universal purposes', whereas Individualität might be governed by general norms, even if it is not in this case.
Editor’s Note
8. 'With African inhumanity' is mit afrikanischer Unmenschlichkeit. This is probably to be associated with his account of black Africans in PH, pp. 93 ff., though it may allude to the earlier Islamic conquest of Spain.
Editor’s Note
9. 'Esprit' is the closest French equivalent of the German 'Geist'. But esprit suggests wit, while Geist suggests profundity, though it acquired the connotation of wit under the influence of esprit. Hence Hegel is here supporting his claim about French 'wit'. In bringing together what the 'intellect' (Verstand) separates, esprit resembles reason and 'the rational' (das Vernünftige), but it does not amount to 'conceptual cognition'. This is not entirely fair to Charles de Montesquieu, whose De l'Esprit des Lois (1748) (On the Spirit of the Laws) exerted a considerable influence on Hegel: cf. PR, §§3, 261