Goethe and Kant

Here’s another short take in my sequence on German idealist philosophers (see Kant and Fichte here and Fichte and Schelling here). This time I examine briefly the role of the idea in Kant’s and Goethe’s understanding of nature. I also note Schelling’s influence on Goethe’s later philosophy, closing with a few comments on how the contemporary scientific image complicates Schelling’s response to Kant’s transcendental idealism.

Goethe’s account of nature differs from Kant’s precisely over the ontological status of the archetype (the idea) in the world. Kant’s critical philosophy had argued against positions such as Goethe’s early view that the human possessed some faculty for peering directly in nature’s process as it is. Goethe in this sense was more the Platonist: For the order of nature to be comprehensible, Goethe held, some real transcendental structure must be available to the human mind. However, Goethe’s own view, as Robert J. Richards shows, would itself undergo significant transformation. This transformation will take Goethe from rationalistic realism (or what Frederick Beiser has been calling transcendental realism) to critical idealism and then to an ideal–realism, modified after Goethe’s encounters with Kant, Fichte, and especially Schelling.

In his search for the “living whole” that could connect the disconnected empirical particulars of an organism (Richards 424), Goethe was tasked with describing those archetypal ideas, or ideal structures, that lay behind and unified the phenomena of this world. Richards writes, “Such ideal structures, as Goethe would come to explicitly maintain, could not be represented by particular, empirical objects; they could not be seen with the physical eye but only with the inward eye” (424). At issue here is the status of this “inward eye” and its ability to lay claims on the ideal structures of nature’s own becoming. In the Kantian view, which Goethe would come to understand well enough, this inward eye did not gain purchase on some underlying and organizing power (or set of powers) operative in nature; rather, the inward eye sees not the organization of nature itself but the organization of reason’s own understanding as it attempts to regulate and systematize the order of its own experience. Archetypal ideas for Kant are self-referential; they tell us only about the transcendental ordering of our own experience.

Thus for Kant, what Goethe called the Urbuild (fundamental image), the Urtypus (archetype), or the allgemeiner Typus (common type) could only be a regulative ideal upon which are forced the empirical details of our common experiences. In regards to the human interpretation of organisms in particular, Kant held that this kind of thinking was an artifact of our own consciousness, rather than evidence of the organism’s own organization around some metaphysical telos, anchored by a transcendental idea active in nature. Contra this view, as Richards explains, for Goethe, “The archetype would furnish a model by which to understand the structural and developmental features of all animals. But the archetype, as he gradually came to conceive it, would be more than a simple pattern used for comparative zoology [i.e., the archetype as Kantian regulative ideal]: It would be a dynamic force actually resident in nature, under whose power creatures would come to exist and develop [i.e., the archetype as transcendental force of nature]” (440). This account of the role of the idea in nature, then, would form the crux of the dispute between Goethe’s realism and Kant’s regulative idealism. Here Richards phrases the key question clearly, “Since Goethe accepted the basic Kantian epistemology, how could he assume that a researcher might have in consciousness the same archetypal ideas used by nature in her [sic] constructions?” (457).

While Goethe would accept the Kantian challenge to separate his own ideas from those of nature, he would reject Fichte’s “idealistic unreality” (462), which jettisoned the idea of a Ding ain sich altogether, and instead follow the path laid down by Schelling. “The ideas that constituted nature’s creations,” writes Richards, “were not captives of individual minds, but stood beyond self and nature, though were realized in both” (471). On this line of argument, Goethe would agree with Schelling and affirm that the synthetic and constructed nature of experience was indeed an accurate depiction of our condition, as Kant had held, but the ongoing advance of developmental biology, morphology, and the proto-evolutionary sciences had also begun to point to a deeper continuity between the transcendental subject’s organizing capacity, in which cognition is mediated by ideas, and those ideas participant in the metaphysical structure of reality itself. As part of nature’s own becoming, Goethe and Schelling held, it is only logical to argue that the human subject could be but one more manifestation of—and thus has a certain sympathy with—nature’s own organizing powers. Thus would the ideal–real distinction find a new grounding in the primordial powers of nature whilst still honoring the synthetic character of experience so carefully revealed in the critical philosophy.

The added difficulty we have today—and which makes Schelling’s naturalistic solution to Kant’s critical philosophy all the more wanting—is that evolution, as we currently understand it, may position us humans as one species continuous with a larger natural process, but it doesn’t necessarily align our perceptual, affective, or intellectual faculties with some common underlying truth or order of reality. Rather, what we detect in nature, on this view, are not ideal structures that we share in some metaphysical sense, but rather those elements of the environment that must be a concern for us as a particular type of organism. This is what James and the pragmatists get right: Our epistemological condition is all the more deeply situated and self-referential than even Kant had thought (and hence we have the Great March of Situated Historical Contexts that 20th century philosophers will obsess over).

On the far end of this line of thinking are people who draw a sharp line between veridical perception and cognition, on the one hand, and the selective pressures that promote perceptions and cognitions tuned to utility and need, rather than some underlying cosmic truth that unites the human subject’s cognitive structure with the real’s own architecture. (See for example the this story in the Atlantic, which is based on, among other sources, this paper.) It’s quite a Kantian view, in some respects. Contrast this stance with the resurgence of a certain kind of Platonism, a kind of neo-Goethienism, and we can see that we haven’t traveled that far from our 18th and 19th century predecessors. In other words, it’s clear that we still need to think with both Kant and Schelling, with the natural and the transcendental in mind.

Fichte and Schelling

I’m sharing below another in my series of quick micro-takes on German idealist philosophers. This one tracks Schelling’s break with Fichte. (See my post on Kant and Fichte here.) This break in mind, it’s plain enough to see why Schelling has become such a rallying point in the Continental scene as of late. Not only because of the resurgence of speculative philosophy, mind you, but also because of related trends, such as the ongoing movement towards an environmental (or ecological) humanities. In many ways, Schelling’s problems are still our own, even if our empirical details are more numerous.

As Frederick Beiser tells it, “Schelling’s break with Fichte is largely a tale about the development of his Naturphilosophie” (483). The development of the Naturphilosophie can in turn be read as Schelling’s answer to the failure of epistemology to finally secure and describe the interaction between the mental and physical, the subjective and objective, the ideal and real, the representation and its object. In addressing the question, How do we know that our concepts correspond to the world? Schelling would break not only with Fichte but with many of the suppositions of philosophy after Descartes. As Beiser notes, “Schelling became convinced that rather than providing a presuppositionless starting point [in the Cogito, the Transcendental Ego, and so on], epistemology had some dubious presuppositions all its own” (471) such that “he recognized that the solution to the fundamental problems of epistemology requires nothing less than metaphysics” (466). Continue reading

Skills of Perception

I’ve been suggesting that the basic constituents of experience are neither ideas nor representations but activities of thought capable of generating ideas and representations. On this view, it follows that perception is grounded in the actions of the person; it is a skill of combining the manifold of sensibility into the semantically hued diorama of meaningful experience that all people experience as they navigate the world. As a skill of perception, experience can be said to consist in various levels of detail and nuance; it is shot through with skillful means at the ground level, means trainable and plastic in nature. Indeed, if one takes the position that philosophy is an activity that intervenes upon the initial order of skilled perception, then it becomes clear that philosophy is a means for acting upon action. Philosophical practice on this view is itself something like a somatic or practical activity, one that makes contemplation—in the sense of marking out a space for observation—its own kind of skilled action, executed in an environment.  Continue reading

Kant and Fichte

I’m taking a course in German idealism with the ever-busy Matt Segall. Below are a few thoughts on Fichte’s advance over Kant’s critical philosophy. I’m finding that there’s much in Fichte’s work that forms something of a historical starting point for my own work on concepts as capacities. There are substantial differences, too. For example, Fichte’s strong separation of the causal order of nature and the normative order of human freedom strikes me as implausible, and it would be hard to imagine a philosopher arguing the point with as much force today (though the exact way to think of this partition—or to not think it at all—continues to give everyone a headache).

That said, as I read them, the primary difference between Kant’s and Fichte’s philosophies lies in their differing starting points, in what a grounding for transcendental philosophy requires. If Kant was correct to say that experience has an a priori structure that conditions all possibilities of experience, he was wrong to suggest that this a priori structure—including the forms of intuition, the categories of the understanding, the ideas of reason, and the transcendental ego itself—could be taken as simply given. That is, in much the same way that Kant’s critical philosophy leads one to reject the mere givenness of empirical experience, this same rejection should be applied to the mere givenness of the a priori concepts and categories of the transcendental itself. Continue reading

The Side View Published

Cosmos and History has published ahead of schedule my essay “The Side View: Hadot and Sloterdijk on the Practice of Philosophy.”

You can read it online HERE.

The full issue is available HERE.

Many thanks to the folks at Cosmos and History for being so efficient in their efforts.

Article forthcoming in Cosmos & History

I’ve just received word that the online journal Cosmos and History will soon publish an article I completed on the work of Pierre Hadot and Peter Sloterdijk. Readers of this blog are no doubt already familiar with C&H, but if you haven’t visited their site before you’ll find a substantial and worth-while back catalogue of articles available for free. I’m told my essay will appear online in March. The article gives a fuller voice to a few ideas I’ve been ruminating on (see for example here and here). I’ll be sure to post the link to the full essay when it’s published. For now, I’m including below my abstract for the paper.


This essay describes Peter Sloterdijk’s “side view” of philosophy. That is, it describes the self-disciplines that make philosophical activity possible. Along similar lines, the paper draws on the work of Pierre Hadot, who also reads philosophy as an askēsis or exercise of self-transformation. Bringing together the work of Sloterdijk and Hadot, the essay reframes the question, What is Philosophy? by asking, Who is the philosopher? To this end, the essays synthesizes the work of Hadot and Sloterdijk, describing first the philosopher’s exercises of self-transformation, then their relation to the city and the community at a large, and finally their connection to the practice zones, enclaves, and microclimates, to use Sloterdijk’s terms, that enable the philosopher to perform certain maneuvers in thought. The paper concludes with an assessment of Sloterdijk’s global view of human practice—which he calls “the planet of the practicing”—to suggest that a planetary perspective should hold a privileged view for future philosophical inquiries. Who are the philosophers? They are the practitioners of planet Earth, the ascetic planet.

The Practice of World

“Tomorrow we shall have to invent, once more, the reality of this world” — Octavio Paz. My friend Sam Mickey ends a recent post with this great quote.

The concept of world is tricky. What is there if not a world? Its priority and consistency is the basic explanatory fact out of which our notions of the living and thinking person are formed. To suggest the opposite, that the person precedes the world, would be incoherent. However, if we accept that the only world we can know is the one that emerges on the basis of our perception, our cognitive ability, our emotional disposition, our aesthetic sensitivity, and our embodied capacity, then saying that the person precedes the world makes some sense. But this isn’t quite right, either. People do not emerge ex nihilo. They emerge in the middle of things. On this point science, religion, and myth agree. There must be a world prior to the subjects of that world, and that world must be one that supports the kind of subjects that look back upon it, if they can. But from where do they look back? Continue reading