Alexander von Humboldt - "Equinoctial Regions of America V2"

E. M. Forster - "Howards End"

John Fox, Jr. - "The Trail of the Lonesome Pine"

Mrs. J.C. Yule (Pamela S. Vining) - "Poems of the Heart and Home"

New Philadelphia Book Publisher Highlights Local Talent
Book and Publishing News from Publishers Newswire(tm)

Looking for Child to be on Cover of a New Book, 'The Model Child'
PHILADELPHIA, Pa. -- The Philadelphia literary world will celebrate the launch of two new players today, April 10th: Kay Square Press, a new publishing company focused on Philadelphia-area artists, their stories, and their art; and Kay Square's first release, 'With the Rich and Mighty: Emlen Etting of Philadelphia' (ISBN: 978-0-9815129-0-7), a critical biography by Kenneth C. Kaleta.

FlatSigned Press Alleges Don Imus Remarks Damage Legacy of President Gerald R. Ford
NEW YORK, N.Y. -- Nathan Yungerberg, an accomplished model scout and professional child photographer is launching a nation-wide casting call to find the cover model for his highly anticipated book release, 'The Model Child: A Parents Guide to the Child Modeling Industry' (ISBN: 978-0-9817018-0-6).

Books: Literary and Philosophical Essays

V >> Various >> Literary and Philosophical Essays




Now from this source issue for man two opposite exigencies, the two
fundamental laws of sensuous-rational nature. The first has for its
object absolute reality; it must make a world of what is only form,
manifest all that in it is only a force. The second law has for its
object absolute formality; it must destroy in him all that is only
world, and carry out harmony in all changes. In other terms, he must
manifest all that is internal, and give form to all that is
external. Considered in its most lofty accomplishment, this twofold
labour brings us back to the idea of humanity which was my starting-
point.

LETTER XII.

This twofold labour or task, which consists in making the necessary
pass into reality in us and in making out of us reality subject to
the law of necessity, is urged upon us as a duty by two opposing
forces, which are justly styled impulsions or instincts, because
they impel us to realise their object. The first of these
impulsions, which I shall call the sensuous instinct, issues from
the physical existence of roan, or from sensuous nature; and it is
this instinct which tends to enclose him in the limits of time and
to make of him a material being; I do not say to give him matter,
for to do that a certain free activity of the personality would be
necessary, which, receiving matter, distinguishes it from the Ego,
or what is permanent. By matter I only understand in this place the
change or reality that fills time. Consequently the instinct
requires that there should be change, and that time should contain
something. This simply filled state of time is named sensation, and
it is only in this state that physical existence manifests itself.

As all that is in time is successive, it follows by that fact alone
that something is: all the remainder is excluded. When one note on
an instrument is touched, among all those that it virtually offers,
this note alone is real. When man is actually modified, the infinite
possibility of all his modifications is limited to this single mode
of existence. Thus, then, the exclusive action of sensuous impulsion
has for its necessary consequence the narrowest limitation. In this
state man is only a unity of magnitude, a complete moment in time;
or, to speak more correctly, he is not, for his personality is
suppressed as long as sensation holds sway over him and carries time
along with it.

This instinct extends its domains over the entire sphere of the
finite in man, and as form is only revealed in matter, and the
absolute by means of its limits, the total manifestation of human
nature is connected on a close analysis with the sensuous instinct.
But though it is only this instinct that awakens and develops what
exists virtually in man, it is nevertheless this very instinct which
renders his perfection impossible. It binds down to the world of
sense by indestructible ties the spirit that tends higher and it
calls back to the limits of the present, abstraction Which had its
free development in the sphere of the infinite. No doubt, thought
can escape it for a moment, and a firm will victoriously resists its
exigencies; but soon compressed nature resumes her rights to give an
imperious reality to our existence, to give it contents, substance,
knowledge, and an aim for our activity.

The second impulsion, which may be named the formal instinct, issues
from the absolute existence of man, or from his rational nature, and
tends to set free, and bring harmony into the diversity of its
manifestations, and to maintain personality notwithstanding all the
changes of state. As this personality, being an absolute and
indivisible unity, can never be in contradiction with itself, as we
are ourselves for ever, this impulsion, which tends to maintain
personality, can never exact in one time anything but what it exacts
and requires for ever. It therefore decides for always what it
decides now, and orders now what it orders for ever. Hence it
embraces the whole series of times, or what comes to the same thing,
it suppresses time and change. It wishes the real to be necessary
and eternal, and it wishes the eternal and the necessary to be real;
in other terms, it tends to truth and justice.

If the sensuous instinct only produces ACCIDENTS, the formal
instinct gives laws, laws for every judgment when it is a question
of knowledge, laws for every will when it is a question of action.
Whether, therefore, we recognise an object or conceive an objective
value to a state of the subject, whether we act in virtue of
knowledge or make of the objective the determining principle of our
state; in both cases we withdraw this state from the jurisdiction of
time, and we attribute to it reality for all men and for all time,
that is, universality and necessity. Feeling can only say: "That is
true FOR THIS SUBJECT AND AT THIS MOMENT," and there may come
another moment, another subject, which withdraws the affirmation
from the actual feeling. But when once thought pronounces and says:
"THAT IS" it decides for ever and ever, and the validity of its
decision is guaranteed by the personality itself, which defies all
change. Inclination can only say: "That is good FOR YOUR
INDIVIDUALITY and PRESENT NECESSITY?" but the changing current of
affairs will sweep them away, and what you ardently desire to-day
will form the object of your aversion to-morrow. But when the moral
feeling says: "That ought to be," it decides for ever. If you
confess the truth because it is the truth, and if you practice
justice because it is justice, you have made of a particular case
the law of all possible cases, and treated one moment of your life
as eternity.

Accordingly, when the formal impulse holds sway and the pure object
acts in us, the being attains its highest expansion, all barriers
disappear, and from the unity of magnitude in which man was enclosed
by a narrow sensuousness, he rises to the UNITY OF IDEA, which
embraces and keeps subject the entire sphere of phenomena. During
this operation we are no longer in time, but time is in us with its
infinite succession. We are no longer individuals but a species; the
judgment of all spirits is expressed by our own, and the choice of
all hearts is represented by our own act.

LETTER XIII.

On a first survey, nothing appears more opposed than these two
impulsions; one having for its object change, the other
immutability, and yet it is these two notions that exhaust the
notion of humanity, and a third FUNDAMENTAL IMPULSION, holding a
medium between them, is quite inconceivable. How then shall we re-
establish the unity of human nature, a unity that appears completely
destroyed by this primitive and radical opposition?

I admit these two tendencies are contradictory, but it should be
noticed that they are not so in the SAME OBJECTS. But things that do
not meet cannot come into collision. No doubt the sensuous impulsion
desires change; but it does not wish that it should extend to
personality and its field, nor that there should be a change of
principles. The formal impulsion seeks unity and permanence, but it
does not wish the condition to remain fixed with the person, that
there should be identity of feeling. Therefore these two impulsions
are not divided by nature, and if, nevertheless, they appear so, it
is because they have become divided by transgressing nature freely,
by ignoring themselves, and by confounding their spheres. The office
of culture is to watch over them and to secure to each one its
proper LIMITS; therefore culture has to give equal justice to both,
and to defend not only the rational impulsion against the sensuous,
but also the latter against the former. Hence she has to act a
twofold part: first, to protect sense against the attacks of
freedom; secondly, to secure personality against the power of
sensations. One of these ends is attained by the cultivation of the
sensuous, the other by that of the reason.

Since the world is developed in time, or change, the perfection of
the faculty that places men in relation with the world will
necessarily be the greatest possible mutability and extensiveness.
Since personality is permanence in change, the perfection of this
faculty, which must be opposed to change, will be the greatest
possible freedom of action (autonomy) and intensity. The more the
receptivity is developed under manifold aspects, the more it is
movable and offers surfaces to phaenomena, the larger is the part of
the world seized upon by man, and the more virtualities he develops
in himself. Again, in proportion as man gains strength and depth,
and depth and reason gain in freedom, in that proportion man TAKES
IN a larger share of the world, and throws out forms outside
himself. Therefore his culture will consist, first, in placing his
receptivity on contact with the world in the greatest number of
points possible, and is raising passivity to the highest exponent on
the side of feeling; secondly, in procuring for the determining
faculty the greatest possible amount of independence, in relation to
the receptive power, and in raising activity to the highest degree
on the side of reason. By the union of these two qualities man will
associate the highest degree of self-spontaneity (autonomy) and of
freedom with the fullest plenitude of existence, and instead of
abandoning himself to the world so as to get lost in it, he will
rather absorb it in himself, with all the infinitude of its
phenomena, and subject it to the unity of his reason.

But man can invert this relation, and thus fail in attaining his
destination in two ways. He can hand over to the passive force the
intensity demanded by the active force; he can encroach by material
impulsion on the formal impulsion, and convert the receptive into
the determining power. He can attribute to the active force the
extensiveness belonging to the passive force, he can encroach by the
formal impulsion on the material impulsion, and substitute the
determining for the receptive power. In the former case, he will
never be an Ego, a personality; in the second case, he will never be
a Non-Ego, and hence in both cases he will be NEITHER ONE NOR THE
OTHER, consequently he will nothing.

In fact, if the sensuous impulsion becomes determining, if the
senses become law-givers, and if the world stifles personality, he
loses as object what he gains in force. It may be said of man that
when he is only the contents of time, he is not and consequently HE
HAS no other contents. His condition is destroyed at the same time
as his personality, because these are two correlative ideas, because
change presupposes permanence, and a limited reality implies an
infinite reality. If the formal impulsion becomes receptive, that
is, if thought anticipates sensation, and the person substitutes
itself in the place of the world, it loses as a subject and
autonomous force what it gains as object, because immutability
implies change, and that to manifest itself also absolute reality
requires limits. As soon as man is only form, he has no form, and
the personality vanishes with the condition. In a word, it is only
inasmuch as he is spontaneous, autonomous, that there is reality out
of him, that he is also receptive; and it is only inasmuch as he is
receptive that there is reality in him, that he is a thinking force.

Consequently these two impulsions require limits, and looked upon as
forces, they need tempering; the former that it may not encroach on
the field of legislation, the latter that it may not invade the
ground of feeling. But this tempering and moderating the sensuous
impulsion ought not to be the effect of physical impotence or of a
blunting of sensations, which is always a matter for contempt. It
must be a free act, an activity of the person, which by its moral
intensity moderates the sensuous intensity, and by the sway of
impressions takes from them in depth what it gives them in surface
or breadth. The character must place limits to temperament, for the
senses have only the right to lose elements if it be to the
advantage of the mind. In its turn, the tempering of the formal
impulsion must not result from moral impotence, from a relaxation of
thought and will, which would degrade humanity. It is necessary that
the glorious source of this second tempering should be the fulness
of sensations; it is necessary that sensuousness itself should
defend its field with a victorious arm and resist the violence that
the invading activity of the mind would do to it. In a word, it is
necessary that the material impulsion should be contained in the
limits of propriety by personality, and the formal impulsion by
receptivity or nature.

LETTER XIV.

We have been brought to the idea of such a correlation between the
two impulsions that the action of the one establishes and limits at
the same time the action of the other, and that each of them, taken
in isolation, does arrive at its highest manifestation just because
the other is active.

No doubt this correlation of the two impulsions is simply a problem
advanced by reason, and which man will only be able to solve in the
perfection of his being. It is in the strictest signification of the
term: the idea of his humanity; accordingly, it is an infinite to
which he can approach nearer and nearer in the course of time, but
without ever reaching it. "He ought not to aim at form to the injury
of reality, nor to reality to the detriment of the form. He must
rather seek the absolute being by means of a determinate being, and
the determinate being by means of an infinite being. He must set the
world before him because he is a person, and he must be a person
because he has the world before him. He must feel because he has a
consciousness of himself, and he must have a consciousness of
himself because he feels." It is only in conformity with this idea
that he is a man in the full sense of the word; but he cannot be
convinced of this so long as he gives himself up exclusively to one
of these two impulsions, or only satisfies them one after the other.
For as long as he only feels, his absolute personality and existence
remain a mystery to him, and as long as he only thinks, his
condition or existence in time escapes him. But if there were cases
in which he could have at once this twofold experience in which he
would have the consciousness of his freedom and the feeling of his
existence together, in which he would simultaneously feel as matter
and know himself as spirit, in such cases, and in such only, would
he have a complete intuition of his humanity, and the object that
would procure him this intuition would be a symbol of his
accomplished destiny, and consequently serve to express the infinite
to him--since this destination can only be fulfilled in the fulness
of time.

Presuming that cases of this kind could present themselves in
experience, they would awake in him a new impulsion, which,
precisely because the two other impulsions would co-operate in it,
would be opposed to each of them taken in isolation, and might, with
good grounds, be taken for a new impulsion. The sensuous impulsion
requires that there should be change, that time should have
contents; the formal impulsion requires that time should be
suppressed, that there should be no change. Consequently, the
impulsion in which both of the others act in concert--allow me to
call it the instinct of play, till I explain the term--the instinct
of play would have as its object to suppress time in time to
conciliate the state of transition or becoming with the absolute
being, change with identity.

The sensuous instinct wishes to be determined, it wishes to receive
an object; the formal instinct wishes to determine itself, it wishes
to produce an object. Therefore the instinct of play will endeavor
to receive as it would itself have produced, and to produce as it
aspires to receive.

The sensuous impulsion excludes from its subject all autonomy and
freedom; the formal impulsion excludes all dependence and passivity.
But the exclusion of freedom is physical necessity; the exclusion of
passivity is moral necessity. Thus the two impulsions subdue the
mind: the former to the laws of nature, the latter to the laws of
reason. It results from this that the instinct of play, which unites
the double action of the two other instincts, will content the mind
at once morally and physically. Hence, as it suppresses all that is
contingent, it will also suppress all coercion, and will set man
free physically and morally. When we welcome with effusion some one
who deserves our contempt, we feel painfully that nature is
constrained. When we have a hostile feeling against a person who
commands our esteem, we feel painfully the constraint of reason. But
if this person inspires us with interest, and also wins our esteem,
the constraint of feeling vanishes together with the constraint of
reason, and we begin to love him, that is to say, to play, to take
recreation, at once with our inclination and our esteem.

Moreover, as the sensuous impulsion controls us physically, and the
formal impulsion morally, the former makes our formal constitution
contingent, and the latter makes our material constitution
contingent, that is to say, there is contingence in the agreement of
our happiness with our perfection, and reciprocally. The instinct of
play, in which both act in concert, will render both our formal and
our material constitution contingent; accordingly, our perfection
and our happiness in like manner. And on the other hand, exactly
because it makes both of them contingent, and because the contingent
disappears with necessity, it will suppress this contingence in
both, and will thus give form to matter and reality to form. In
proportion that it will lessen the dynamic influence of feeling and
passion, it will place them in harmony with rational ideas, and by
taking from the laws of reason their moral constraint, it will
reconcile them with the interest of the senses.

LETTER XV.

I approach continually nearer to the end to which I lead you, by a
path offering few attractions. Be pleased to follow me a few steps
further, and a large horizon will open up to you and a delightful
prospect will reward you for the labour of the way.

The object of the sensuous instinct, expressed in a universal
conception, is named Life in the widest acceptation: a conception
that expresses all material existence and all that is immediately
present in the senses. The object of the formal instinct, expressed
in a universal conception, is called shape or form, as well in an
exact as in an inexact acceptation; a conception that embraces all
formal qualities of things and all relations of the same to the
thinking powers. The object of the play instinct, represented in a
general statement, may therefore bear the name of living form; a
term that serves to describe all aesthetic qualities of phaenomena,
and what people style, in the widest sense, beauty.

Beauty is neither extended to the whole field of all living things
nor merely enclosed in this field. A marble block, though it is and
remains lifeless, can nevertheless become a living form by the
architect and sculptor; a man, though he lives and has a form, is
far from being a living form on that account. For this to be the
case, it is necessary that his form should be life, and that his
life should be a form. As long as we only think of his form, it is
lifeless, a mere abstraction; as long as we only feel his life, it
is without form, a mere impression. It is only when his form lives
in our feeling, and his life in our understanding, he is the living
form, and this will everywhere be the case where we judge him to be
beautiful.

But the genesis of beauty is by no means declared because we know
how to point out the component parts, which in their combination
produce beauty. For to this end it would be necessary to comprehend
that combination itself, which continues to defy our exploration, as
well as all mutual operation between the finite and the infinite.
The reason, on transcendental grounds, makes the following demand:
There shall be a communion between the formal impulse and the
material impulse-that is, there shall be a play instinct--because it
is only the unity of reality with the form, of the accidental with
the necessary, of the passive state with freedom, that the
conception of humanity is completed. Reason is obliged to make this
demand, because her nature impels her to completeness and to the
removal of all bounds; while every exclusive activity of one or the
other impulse leaves human nature incomplete and places a limit in
it. Accordingly, as soon as reason issues the mandate, "a humanity
shall exist," it proclaims at the same time the law, "there shall be
a beauty." Experience can answer us if there is a beauty, and we
shall know it as soon as she has taught us if a humanity can exist.
But neither reason nor experience can tell us how beauty can be, and
how a humanity is possible.

We know that man is neither exclusively matter nor exclusively
spirit. Accordingly, beauty, as the consummation of humanity, can
neither be exclusively mere life, as has been asserted by sharp-
sighted observers, who kept too close to the testimony of
experience, and to which the taste of the time would gladly degrade
it; Nor can beauty be merely form, as has been judged by speculative
sophists, who departed too far from experience, and by philosophic
artists, who were led too much by the necessity of art in explaining
beauty; it is rather the common object of both impulses, that is, of
the play instinct. The use of language completely justifies this
name, as it is wont to qualify with the word play what is neither
subjectively nor objectively accidental, and yet does not impose
necessity either externally or internally. As the mind in the
intuition of the beautiful finds itself in a happy medium between
law and necessity, it is, because it divides itself between both,
emancipated from the pressure of both. The formal impulse and the
material impulse are equally earnest in their demands, because one
relates in its cognition to things in their reality and the other to
their necessity; because in action the first is directed to the
preservation of life, the second to the preservation of dignity, and
therefore both to truth and perfection. But life becomes more
indifferent when dignity is mixed up with it, and duty no longer
coerces when inclination attracts. In like manner the mind takes in
the reality of things, material truth, more freely and tranquilly as
soon as it encounters formal truth, the law of necessity; nor does
the mind find itself strung by abstraction as soon as immediate
intuition can accompany it. In one word, when the mind comes into
communion with ideas, all reality loses its serious value because it
becomes small; and as it comes in contact with feeling, necessity
parts also with its serious value because it is easy.

But perhaps the objection has for some time occurred to you, Is not
the beautiful degraded by this, that it is made a mere play? and is
it not reduced to the level of frivolous objects which have for ages
passed under that name? Does it not contradict the conception of the
reason and the dignity of beauty, which is nevertheless regarded as
an instrument of culture, to confine it to the work of being a mere
play? and does it not contradict the empirical conception of play,
which can coexist with the exclusion of all taste, to confine it
merely to beauty?

But what is meant by a MERE PLAY, when we know that in all
conditions of humanity that very thing is play, and only that is
play which makes man complete and develops simultaneously his
twofold nature? What you style LIMITATION, according to your
representation of the matter, according to my views, which I have
justified by proofs, I name ENLARGEMENT. Consequently, I should have
said exactly the reverse: man is serious ONLY with the agreeable,
with the good, and with the perfect, but he PLAYS with beauty. In
saying this we must not indeed think of the plays that are in vogue
in real life, and which commonly refer only to his material state.
But in real life we should also seek in vain for the beauty of which
we are here speaking. The actually present beauty is worthy of the
really, of the actually, present play-impulse; but by the ideal of
beauty, which is set up by the reason, an ideal of the play-instinct
is also presented, which man ought to have before his eyes in all
his plays.

Therefore, no error will ever be incurred if we seek the ideal of
beauty on the same road on which we satisfy our play-impulse. We can
immediately understand why the ideal form of a Venus, of a Juno, and
of an Apollo, is to be sought not at Rome, but in Greece, if we
contrast the Greek population, delighting in the bloodless athletic
contests of boxing, racing, and intellectual rivalry at Olympia,
with the Roman people gloating over the agony of a gladiator. Now
the reason pronounces that the beautiful must not only be life and
form, but a living form, that is, beauty, inasmuch as it dictates to
man the twofold law of absolute formality and absolute reality.
Reason also utters the decision that man shall only PLAY with
beauty, and he SHALL ONLY PLAY with BEAUTY.