HOW TO ATTAIN TO AN ADEQUATE EXPRESSION OF OUR IDEAS.

Youn complaint, dearest friend, that you can seldom satisfy yourself perfectly, in expression and execution, when you attempt to impart weighty and interesting truth, may, likely enough, be well founded; but I am not yet convinced, that this arises from any deficiency of language. All words, especially dead words on paper, to which indeed the physiognomy is wanting, to assist expression, are but very imperfect signs of our thoughts and feelings, and we are often more affected by another's silence, than by the finest written discourse. But these signs, too, have their accompaniments, to the feeling and thinking reader; and as he who understands music, does not employ the notes slavishly, so the reader, who has the necessary capacity, can, by the help of written words, accompany the writer in his elevation, and draw out of his soul, all that remained behind.

I should rather say, that your thoughts and feelings were not sufficiently developed, when you made an attempt to express them. Most writers content themselves with thinking over their subject calmly, then forming what they call a plan, and handling their theme accordingly; or they avail themselves of the heat of the first impulse; and their glowing imagination presents us a fresh painting, often glaring and powerful enough, and yet the result disappoints their expectations. But indispensable as it is, that he, who would express forcibly a great truth, should revolve it beforehand, order his expressions, and handle his theme, according to its nature, with all energy; this is not yet the precise method by which we can attain to a powerful expression of our sentiments.

However evident to me a truth may be, after I have gained instruction on the subject from books and my own reflections, and however well acquainted with it I may seem to myself, I do not venture to form my plan immediately and to treat it accordingly. I rather reflect, that it has innumerable windings and aspects not directly obvious, and I must first strive to master as many of these as possible, before I communicate myself, or consider the plan and expression. Accordingly, as soon as I feel inspired by my subject and prepared for utterance, I first throw all that comes into my mind upon paper. Another day, if the subject attracts me anew, I proceed in the same way, and this I repeat so long as the fire and the impulse last, penetrating ever deeper into the subject. So soon as I have put something on paper and relieved the mind of its first burden, it gradually extends its grasp and gains new views, which nearer images at first concealed. The farther it penetrates, and the more it discovers, the more fiery and passionate it becomes in behalf of its beloved object. It is continually discovering more beauti* i. e. with a slavish confinement to the written signs.

Tr.

ful relations, feels itself lighter and freer in comparison, gets acquainted and familiar with all parts, dwells upon and delights in their contemplation, and does not desist, till the last grace is bestowed.

And now when I have got so far, and have commonly spent many days and nights,-morn. ing and evening hours,-while I lay down the pen at the least appearance of languor, I begin, in the hours of business, to read over what I have written and to reflect how I shall arrange my plan. Generally, during this employment, the best method of arrangement discloses itself, or if I cannot decide upon it, I lay my paper aside and wait for a happier hour, which must come wholly of itself, and does come readily, after one has once become familiar with a truth. But the best way of presenting the subject, is always that, and that only, which grows out of the subject itself during the process. Thus I begin to arrange gradually all I have gained in this way out of my own mind, to strike out what is not appropriate, and bring every thing into its place.

Commonly, all that I first set down, comes to nothing; but there are scattered particulars which I now find necessary to note, with the general result. I retain more of the subsequent efforts in which there is a tendency to greater precision; and the final improvements conduce, for the most part, only to the perspicuity and ease of my essay. The order or arrangement of the argument follows of itself, the main design, and the colouring I leave to the hand which, without the necessity of special guidance, paints with power and warmth what the heated imagination feels with increasing force.

Yet I will not say, that, in this respect, you can immediately trust yourself. Every principle has its own place, and it does not operate with one as with another. Suppose I would prove to you the doubtful value of previous preparation, and should begin by saying, "Garrick admired Clairon, as the greatest actress of France, but thought it rather small in her, that she could decide in her own room, in cold blood, upon the degree of rage to which she would rise, as Medea." You might easily discern the justness of the comparison, but not feel all I wish you to feel in reading it. Garrick never disposed his parts beforehand; he merely wrought himself up into the situation of the person he had to represent, and then left it to his mighty soul, to exercise all its art, according to the feeling of the moment. And so must every one do, who would conceive forcibly great sentiments.

The colouring is easier when separated from the general tone, but, in connexion with it, more difficult. On this subject, it is not easy to furnish rules. It is mastered only by attentive observation of nature, and much experience of what should be adopted or rejected, expressed strongly or slightly. Subordination in the grouping is the principal thing, and if you are happy and accurate in this, the various stand-points, from

A SLIGHT acquaintance with the German literature of the last half-century, discovers the vast influence, on all its productions, of the critical and transcendental philosophies. These terms, which are sometimes confounded, designate two distinct branches of speculation. The critical philosophy begins and ends with Kant. The transcendental, to which it gave birth, developed itself with various phases in the systems of those philosophers, who, after him, attained successively the highest eminence, as metaphysicians; particularly, Fichte, Schelling, Hegel. The transcendental philosophy, although, in one sense, the offspring of the critical, differs from it in its positive, systematic and constructive character; whereas, in the critical, the negative and destructive tendency predominates. Kant has, properly speaking, no system; he is analytic, not synthetic. Both these philosophies, however, are parts of one movement, and may properly enough be comprised under one denomination. The term transcendental, according to the current use, has this comprehension at present, and is likely to retain it.

The history of European philosophy exhibits perhaps no other instance of a movement so succinct, so defined and complete;-so epic as that represented by the four names which have been mentioned. Kant, the critic, prepares the way by analyzing our cognitions, and disencumbering the ground of traditionary errors. Fichte, the idealist, pursues to its last results the subjective path of philosophical inquiry. Schelling, the pantheistic realist, takes the objective direction. Finally, Hegel, the encyclopedist, describes the outermost circle and lays the ground-plan which embraces and classifies all branches and topics of philosophy in one comprehensive system.

To the influence of this philosophy on the national mind, German literature owes some of its most distinctive features; in particular, that thoughtful tone and that profound spirit which so strongly characterize it. If it be inferior to others in some particulars; if it has less of creative genius and

affluence than the English, less of grace and plausibility than the French, of artistic perfection than the Italian, of romantic and popular interest than the Spanish; it is superior to all these in intensity and depth. It presents a greater amount of ideas in proportion to its extent, acts more powerfully on the mind in proportion to the genius embarked in it; has more of that quality which is called suggestive than any literature of modern Europe. And for these properties it is principally indebted to the efforts and speculations of those great men who have labored so assiduously to found a science of absolute truth.*

Immanuel Kant was born at Königsberg, in old Prussia, April 22d, 1724. His father pursued the business of a saddler in one of the suburbs of that city. In his ninth year, he was put to school at the Collegium Fredericianum, where he distinguished himself by his application, and laid the foundation of that vast erudition by which he was afterwards distinguished. In 1740, he entered the university of his native city, where he first studied theology, and afterwards applied himself to philosophy and the exact sciences. After leaving the university, he held the office of private tutor in several families, and resided for nine years with Count Hüllesen of Arnsdorf. In 1755, he returned to Königsberg, and took the degree of Master of Arts. For fifteen years he lectured, in connection with the university, on logic, metaphysics, physics, and mathematics. In 1770, he was made Professor ordinarius of logic and metaphysics; which office he retained till 1794; refusing several more lucrative offers from other universities. He died, February 12th, 1804, in his eightieth year; having never travelled above seven miles from

* "German literature is inextricably interwoven with German philosophy. There is not a fairy-tale of Tieck, not a song of Goethe, not a play of Schiller, not a criticism of Schlegel, not a description of Humboldt, in which this undercurrent is not perceptible. Nay, however para. doxical it may appear, I will venture to affirm that German music has received much of its peculiar character from the same source, that the compositions of Beethoven, Weber, Spohr. Mendelssohn, are deeply tinctured with the same spirit."—Mrs. Austin.

virtues hold their even way with the civilities. Nothing compels feeling and decision. Interest in the public good slackens, and all goes on so indifferently well, that even the greatest genius is only half developed. But if want breaks in, if peril demands heroes, and a universal call summons the soul; if the State is striving against its downfall; if its dangers are increasing with every neglected moment; if the most frightful crisis can only be diverted by the greatest sacrifice; then all is action and greatness; the orator waxes mighty, the genius surpasses his own hopes, courage and constancy inspire the friend; heart and hand open with equal promptitude; performance follows resolve, and the soul is astonished at its own powers. It finds in itself unknown virtues, mounts ever higher, and discerns from new elevations an ever widening field of duty. Great things, and things adored in a state of tranquillity, vanish with its flight; and man shows himself once more a creature worthy of the Godhead.

How many seeds of virtue would never germinate, and how few would ripen, if there were no want, no adversity! To how many have not their own hearts been revealed by the

sight of a poor man wasting away! And how many a poor man has not been inspired by hunger, with feeling, gratitude and inclination for labour, which before he had neglected! Will not also many of our country-people discern, better than before, the worth of modera tion and frugality? and many have learnt to do without a multitude of things, which they formerly thought absolutely necessary? I do not now refer to the political uses of public calamities; that would lead to other considerations. How salutary, how instructive, as well for the heart as for the understanding, is thus the present scarcity! The good Providence seems to have ordained that this should occur, at least once, in every generation. Without this awakening, many would lead a very stupid life. The more refined part of mankind certainly take sufficient pains to deserve abundant chastisement, and-when they do not receive enough in this way-to torment themselves. But their sensibility needs but a slight occasion to call it into action; and Heaven needs not punish any land in order to chastise some few fools. Too great, or too unfeeling, to suffer by a public calamity, they are left to the martyrdom of their own imagination.

A SLIGHT acquaintance with the German literature of the last half-century, discovers the vast influence, on all its productions, of the critical and transcendental philosophies. These terms, which are sometimes confounded, designate two distinct branches of speculation. The critical philosophy begins and ends with Kant. The transcendental, to which it gave birth, developed itself with various phases in the systems of those philosophers, who, after him, attained successively the highest eminence, as metaphysicians; particularly, Fichte, Schelling, Hegel. The transcendental philosophy, although, in one sense, the offspring of the critical, differs from it in its positive, systematic and constructive character; whereas, in the critical, the negative and destructive tendency predominates. Kant has, properly speaking, no system; he is analytic, not synthetic. Both these philosophies, however, are parts of one movement, and may properly enough be comprised under one denomination. The term transcendental, according to the current use, has this comprehension at present, and is likely to retain it.

The history of European philosophy exhibits perhaps no other instance of a movement so succinct, so defined and complete;-so epic as that represented by the four names which have been mentioned. Kant, the critic, prepares the way by analyzing our cognitions, and disencumbering the ground of traditionary errors. Fichte, the idealist, pursues to its last results the subjective path of philosophical inquiry. Schelling, the pantheistic realist, takes the objective direction. Finally, Hegel, the encyclopedist, describes the outermost circle and lays the ground-plan which embraces and classifies all branches and topics of philosophy in one comprehensive system.

affluence than the English, less of grace and plausibility than the French, of artistic perfection than the Italian, of romantic and popular interest than the Spanish; it is superior to all these in intensity and depth. It presents a greater amount of ideas in proportion to its extent, acts more powerfully on the mind in proportion to the genius embarked in it; has more of that quality which is called suggestive than any literature of modern Europe. And for these properties it is principally indebted to the efforts and speculations of those great men who have labored so assiduously to found a science of absolute truth.*

Immanuel Kant was born at Königsberg, in old Prussia, April 22d, 1724. His father pursued the business of a saddler in one of the suburbs of that city. In his ninth year, he was put to school at the Collegium Fredericianum, where he distinguished himself by his application, and laid the foundation of that vast erudition by which he was afterwards distinguished. In 1740, he entered the university of his native city, where he first studied theology, and afterwards applied himself to philosophy and the exact sciences. After leaving the university, he held the office of private tutor in several families, and resided for nine years with Count Hüllesen of Arnsdorf. In 1755, he returned to Königsberg, and took the degree of Master of Arts. For fifteen years he lectured, in connection with the university, on logic, metaphysics, physics, and mathematics. In 1770, he was made Professor ordinarius of logic and metaphysics; which office he retained till 1794; refusing several more lucrative offers from other universities. He died, February 12th, 1804, in his eightieth year; having never travelled above seven miles from

*"German literature is inextricably interwoven with German philosophy. There is not a fairy-tale of Tieck, not a song of Goethe, not a play of Schiller, not a critithis undercurrent is not perceptible. Nay, however paracism of Schlegel, not a description of Humboldt, in which doxical it may appear, I will venture to affirm that German music has received much of its peculiar character from the same source, that the compositions of Beethoven,

the same spirit.”—Mrs. Austin.

finds certain conceptions in the mind, not only unconnected with, but, by their very nature, transcending all possibility of Experience. For example, our conceptions of God, Freedom, and Immortality, to which no possible sensuous experience can be adequate. Such conceptions Kant calls Transcendental Ideas; and the faculty conceiving them, Reuson. The Transcendental Ideas lay claim to absolute certainty and objectivity, without reference to Experience. This is evidently in contradiction to the theory of Knowledge according to the Understanding. Finite perception is deceptive, and must appeal to Experience as the test of its correctness. The claims of the Transcendental Ideas to theoretic Knowledge, therefore, must be considered as an overweening pretence, and they should rather be called transcendent, than transcendental. They cannot give us any information as to the nature of any object; but, at most, like empirical conceptions, declare some law of the subject. And in support of this he shows that every Transcendental Idea contains a contradiction; that is, when we endeavour to give it a theoretic application, to declare what it asserts concerning its object, two opposite propositions of equal apparent truth are the result. Thus our idea as to the extent of the Universe, it is equally easy to maintain that it is infinite, or that it is finite; eternal, or having originated in Time, and so on. And these Antinomies of Pure Reason, as he calls them, he shows are inherent in all Ideas.

To the Transcendental Ideas he accordingly

assigns a merely subjective application.

Wherever the Subject and the Object coincide, there, according to him, is the true province of the Transcendental Ideas, for then they have objective validity. Thus in the practical Ideas, as Kant styles them; for instance the Idea of Duty; here the conception (Subject) and the Object, (the course of life to be pursued,) coincide.

So of the idea of God. Considered theoretically, that is, if we attempt to discover his nature, we are baffled and fall into contradictions, from the weakness of human powers;-such conceptions are transcendent, not transcendental. But considering God as the foundation of the moral order of the Universe, of the idea of Duty, we are in no danger of error, for here both ends of the problem are within our reach.

Kant's skepticism is therefore wholly theoreti cal; and he consoles himself for the unwelcome results of his inquiries by the reflection that all the practical and solid interests of humanity remain untouched; and that only our vain assumption of knowledge, unsuited to our nature and position, is affected. It is of no importance whether our notions of God are correct, theoretically, or not; it is sufficient that we have a subjective (practical) knowledge of him, in the Idea of Duty.

Kant's method, as already explained, is empirical, or so to say, narrative. He begins with certain universally-admitted facts, and proceeds

to examine their consequences and relations, as they fall under his hand, but without searching out their foundation or ultimate significance.

Thus he gives us the forms, Space and Time, as if for aught he knows there may be others that he has not yet discovered. And he does not inquire why it is that these and no others should exist. They stand there without our knowing whence or how. But if we examine into their nature we discover them to be essentially connected with the nature of sensuous Perception; and they conduct us to new points of view in relation to Kant's system.

All Knowledge must presuppose some connection between the Subject and the Object; the mind and the thing; and whichever it may be that acts on the other, there is at all events a communication between them. And moreover this empirical communication must depend upon an original and essential connection. If we could imagine two essentially and primarily distinct kinds of Matter, they could not act upon each other, nor could there be any communication between them. For Matter can act or be acted upon only according to its laws. But the laws of Matter are its essence, and if they act according to the same laws they must be identical. It is necessary, therefore, and an antecedent condition of the perception of things, that both they and we should be parts of one identical nature. So too in proceeding beyond mere sensuous perception,- -the abstract rules hypotheses in Physics, presuppose a like idenformed by the Understanding, e. g. the common tity, for they are formed by generalization, and this is impossible without at least a dim idea of a common centre of all things. The reason why animals, or men reduced to a mere animal existence, do not generalize nor form rules, except to a very limited extent, is that this Idea is not present in their consciousness, (or only very dimly,) but exists outside of them, as In

stinct.

So that the simplest Experience presupposes an entire continuity throughout the Universe as its fundamental condition. This series or continuity, considered abstractly, is Space. Space is not the idea, but the abstraction of the material

Universe; for it belongs to subjective perception and Understanding, which have nothing to do with Ideas; but it is a sufficient recognition, by the sensuous faculty, of what the Reason afterwards comes to know as concrete Truth. Thus we cannot imagine a limitation of Space, nor of a place where it is not. The edge, or boundary of Space, or a vacuum where there is Extension without Space, is an absurdity. And it is equally impossible to imagine an object not in Space.

Space is in fact the abstraction of the Infinite displayed in the Finite. For Matter, though necessarily connected with and supported by Spirit, is yet its direct opposite. Every one of the qualities of Matter is antagonistic to the corresponding spiritual quality. Thus Spirit is in