In this way, Schlegel also seeks to close the gap between empiricism and theory. By bringing history into philosophy, and locating necessity within history, he does nothing less than unite empirical knowledge and philosophical or theoretical necessity—a goal, he remarks, which can only be accomplished through history (KFSA 12, 96–7).
In spite of similarities to Hegel’s later thought, Schlegel’s understanding of the history of philosophy is not ultimately driven to achieve closure or provide an absolute perspective. Instead, he maintains that a final perspective can never be achieved, because knowledge is infinitely perfectible. This means that no system can be complete, and instead we must accept an incomplete or infinitely perfectible system (KFSA 18, 100, no. 857).28
Schlegel’s notion of an ‘incomplete’ system does not—at least at first sight—seem to make sense. After all, the very concept of system appears to negate the notion of incompletion. The question then is: in what way did Schlegel understand his system to be incomplete? And, what did Schlegel mean by ‘system’?
4.4 A ‘SYSTEM OF FRAGMENTS’
Throughout his early writings, Schlegel was interested in the idea of a system and systematic knowledge. This interest, however, was accompanied by a sense of caution toward systematicity and by scepticism toward first principles and deductive reasoning. Indeed, his use of the fragment illustrates a resistance to systematic completion and confirms his critical attitude toward closure. In the ‘Athenäum Fragments’ [Athenäums-Fragmente], Schlegel famously remarks that ‘it is equally deadly for the spirit to have a system and not to have one. It must therefore decide to unite them both’ (KFSA 2, 173, no. 53).
However, even on the basis of this critical remark, it is clear that Schlegel was not entirely opposed to systematicity. In fact, he often described his work as systematic and characterized himself as a systematic thinker: in notes from 1798, he writes that ‘since everywhere in poetry and philosophy I have from the beginning steered toward the system, then I suppose I am a universal systematist’ (KFSA 18, 38, no. 214).
Already in 1793, Schlegel began to formulate his conception of a system, describing it to his brother as a ‘many-sided’ system that cannot be reduced to a singular or final meaning (KFSA 23, 129–39; 143). It was not until the end of 1796 and beginning of 1797, however, that Schlegel developed his idea of system in more detail. This may not be a coincidence, given that it was at that time that he began to think about the fragment, and composed his first collection of fragments, the ‘Critical Fragments’ [Kritische Fragmente; also known as the Lyceum-Fragmente]. Indeed, it was in 1797 that Schlegel described his system as a ‘system of fragments’ and spoke of himself as a ‘fragmentary systematician’ (KFSA 18, 100, no. 857; KFSA 18, 97, no. 815).29 In turn, in 1798 and 1799 Schlegel composed the ‘Athenäum Fragments’, which include fragments by Novalis, Schleiermacher, and A. W. Schlegel, and the ‘Ideas’ [Ideen]. Although he abandoned the form of the fragment after 1799, and published only these three collections, the fragment played a central role in Schlegel’s thought. For him, the fragment was not only an important literary and philosophical concept, but also a significant tool for developing his ideal system.
While the fragmentary form of an ancient fragment is unintentional—primarily due to historical circumstance—the modern fragment is intentionally or consciously a fragment.30 The modern fragment aims to remain open, and thus consciously resists closure. The distinctive characteristic of the fragment is its form, which instantiates a tension that is foreign to a self-enclosed system. In contrast to a principle (Satz) in a completed system, or a moment within a self-enclosed whole, the fragment refuses to be subsumed under a higher concept, refuses to be cancelled within a higher unity. A hierarchical system functions through the supersession of lesser principles into higher, more universal principles. The fragment, however, cannot be subsumed by higher concepts precisely because it resists a final or singular meaning. Thus the fragment, unlike a moment within a completed system, retains a degree of independence from the whole, and resists the systematic goal of arriving at a final and unchangeable meaning.
Furthermore, Schlegel argues, a fragment is neither a static object nor an abstract concept, but ‘a self-determined and self-determining thought’ (KFSA 18, 305, no. 1333). Echoing Novalis’ view that a fragment is a ‘seed’ for further thought, Schlegel describes the fragment as a ‘living idea’ that incites thought and thus individuation: through the fragment, the reader is called to think and thus develop her or himself further (KFSA 18, 139, no. 204).31 In addition, Schlegel maintains that a fragment does not function as a proof in a chain of proofs; it is not a principle that can be deduced nor is its meaning evident only in relation to further proof. Rather, as a ‘self-determining thought’, a fragment achieves a certain unity, which can only be described as ‘individual’ (KFSA 18, 305, no. 1338; KFSA 18, 139, no. 204).
In the Jena Lectures, Schlegel explains that the individual arises when undifferentiated unity (‘substance’) transforms itself through differentiation (KFSA 12, 34).32 The individual is thus at once unified and differentiated, or as Schlegel puts it, ‘the individual as substance is a whole and the parts which arise out of duplicity’ (KFSA 12, 39). This ‘unity in difference’ is the essence of a self-forming or self-determining individual. For this reason, Schlegel goes on, ‘the individual is the expression of form’ (KFSA 12, 39).
As the source of both unity and difference, form is the source of self-determination or self-formation (KFSA 12, 37). The kind of unity that arises through self-determination defies closure precisely because it depends on internal (or self-) differentiation, transformation, openness. In other words, it is a unity that implies difference, such that transformation is an inherent aspect of the unity. Thus, as self-forming, the fragment remains open to transformation and new meaning. But how exactly does this take place? To answer this question, we must take a closer look at Schlegel’s notion of a ‘system of fragments’.
On the basis of Schlegel’s understanding of the fragment, it is clear that the ‘system of fragments’ cannot be a closed whole or an all-subsuming unity that resolves into one final moment or principle. However, it remains unclear as to whether the system of fragments is an aggregate (rather than a unity) composed of mutually exclusive, infinitely contradictory terms.
Throughout 1797 and 1798 Schlegel was occupied with understanding the nature of the relations between fragments and developing ‘harmony’ within a system of fragments.33 In a letter to his brother from the beginning of December 1797, he explains that his goal in ordering fragments for the Athenäum is to ‘seek universality in an orderly way, not separate philosophical and critical fragments, as in the Lyceum…but mix [them], and to that also add moral [fragments]’ (KFSA 24, 51–2). On 5 December, he once again brings up the question of ‘grouping’ the fragments, this time describing it in musical terms. The relations between fragments, he writes, must be like ‘many voices or instruments harmonizing in music’ (KFSA 24, 56). And in March of 1798, as the brothers were putting the final touches to the first volume of the Athenäum, Schlegel emphasizes the significance of grouping the fragments in a particular way such that they present ‘a whole’ and employs the musical metaphor to explain his particular ordering (KFSA 24, 102). He draws parallels between ordering fragments and the arrangement of a ‘great symphony’ and an ‘overture’ (KFSA 24, 103 and 44).
Schlegel also employs the metaphor of a natural organism to describe the system of fragments, writing, for instance, ‘the more organic, the more systematic’ (KFSA 16, 164, no. 940), and again, ‘systems must grow; the seeds in each system must be organic’ (KFSA 16, 165, no. 953). This is not surprising given his characterization of the fragment as a ‘living idea’.
The unity that underlies the natural organism and the musical work is not a predetermined unity, a blueprint that precedes and thus informs or forms the parts. Rather, it is a unity that emerges in and through the simultaneous harmonizing of the parts and
their relations. In both cases, the whole is composed of distinctive and independent parts that are nonetheless unified. On the one hand, each of the parts contributes to the development of the whole (the organism or the piece of music), such that this development determines the different roles and relations of the parts. On the other hand, the development does not cancel the distinctiveness of each of the parts, nor does it undermine their particular contributions to the whole.
The kind of unity exhibited in a work of music or a natural organism is thus neither a hegemonic, undifferentiated substance nor an overarching, abstract concept—both of which are cases of externally imposed unities. It is, rather, an absolutely immanent unity that cannot be separated from the parts, their developments and their relations. Furthermore, no part is negated on account of the other parts; rather, each part offers a distinctive expression of the whole. The parts are not superseded for the sake of the whole—or for the sake of a final (absolute) realization—but maintain their distinctive character.
Moreover, in both the work of music and the natural organism, the unity involves a developing process, such that it emerges only through a successive unfolding in time. It is thus more apt to speak of musical unity as movement. Similarly, the unity of the organism must be understood in terms of natural metamorphosis, where each part evidences a moment in the development of the whole—each part is a member of an unfolding sequence. In turn, the temporality that is at work in music and organic nature is not merely futural—that is, a work of music does not simply move linearly toward the future. Rather, it is a simultaneous looking back and moving forward. For it is only through anticipating what is to come and reflecting on what has already come, that the unity of the work emerges.
This means, first, that the kind of unity that Schlegel was after emerges through difference and transformation.34 Furthermore, it is dynamic, such that the relations between its parts emerge in time. It is, furthermore, composed of individuals that actively contribute to a living, developing process. They are inherently connected to one another; however, their connection is not based on deduction or derivation, but on participation in a dynamic and organized movement or development. The system of fragments, then, is a process, which emerges through the participation of its individual members. It is at once the ground of relations—that which makes the relations possible—and their realization.
Schlegel characterizes his system as a circle, and thus contrasts it from a linear deductive system, based on a first principle or an original cause (KFSA 18, 518, no. 16).35 ‘A true system’, he writes, ‘is an integrated, structured unity of scientific stuff [wissenschaftlicher Stoff], in thorough reciprocity [Wechselwirkung] and organic connection [Zusammenhang]’ (KFSA 18, 12, no. 84). The parts within this system do not relate to one another linearly or mechanically, because within an organic whole there is not one ultimate cause from which all the parts are derived. Rather, all the parts are both cause and effect, such that they are in a relation of reciprocal determination. For this reason Schlegel notes that ‘the whole of fundamental knowledge must be based on two ideas, principles, concepts, intuitions’, that is, on the principle of reciprocal determination, as opposed to the notion of an unconditioned cause or final proof (KFSA 18, 518, no. 16).
4.5 SCHLEGEL’S CRITIQUE OF FIRST PRINCIPLES
Already in 1796, Schlegel challenged the view that philosophy must be based on an unconditioned principle. In his review of Jacobi’s novel, Woldemar, he agrees with Jacobi’s critique of first principles, although he does not agree with his solution. ‘What if’, Schlegel suggestively remarks, ‘the ground of philosophy were an externally unconditioned, but reciprocally conditioned and self-conditioning Wechselerweis [reciprocal proof or alternating principle]?’ (KFSA 2, 72).36 In the place of an unconditioned ground or first principle from which all knowledge is derived, Schlegel offers the idea of reciprocally conditioned and conditioning grounds. He repeats this in notes taken during his time in Jena in 1796: ‘in my system the first principle is a Wechselerweis. In Fichte’s a postulate and an unconditioned principle’ (KFSA 18, 521, no. 22).
Schlegel considered the source of the problem in both Fichte and Schelling’s systems to be their continued reliance on mathematics and mathematical construction as the model for philosophical system-building. Although Kant had distinguished mathematics and philosophy, Fichte and Schelling reclaimed its role in the development of philosophical knowledge and the generation of a system of philosophy.37 In contrast, Schlegel repeatedly argued that philosophical systematicity must not be modelled on mathematical construction. Rather, he writes, ‘a philosophical system has more similarities with a poetic and historical system than with a mathematical one, which is always considered to be uniquely [ausschließend] systematic’ (KFSA 18, 84, no. 650). In fact, Schlegel contests the very idea that mathematical knowledge yields systematicity at all—at least the kind of systematicity that he considered essential for philosophy: ‘as soon as philosophy becomes science, then there is history. Everything systematic is historical and vice versa. The mathematical method is exactly the anti-systematic’ (KFSA 18, 86, no. 671).
There are two reasons for Schlegel’s rejection of the appropriation of mathematical construction for philosophical purposes. First, it necessitates the notion of an unconditioned first principle, an original postulate. Second, it leads to an inherently ahistorical conception of knowledge and philosophy.38 Let us begin by looking at the first of these two reasons.
An unconditioned first principle, Schlegel argues, necessarily remains outside of the system of knowledge. After all, knowledge implies synthesis and determination, and the unconditioned must remain un-determined. The unconditioned, then, grounds the system of knowledge, but remains outside of it. This has several significant implications. First, it means that although the system strives to be a totality of knowledge—a ‘science’ as Fichte put it—it ultimately fails. A system cannot be a totality, a self-grounding whole, if its ground stands outside of it. Furthermore, if the unconditioned is outside the system, then it cannot be known through the system. This once again means that the system cannot be complete, for it does not account for the principle upon which it is constructed. Knowledge of the unconditioned principle must come from a source that is outside of the system, thereby relativizing systematic (deductive, synthetic) knowledge, and the ‘science of knowledge’ in general. Finally, opposition implies determination and delimitation, which means that the unconditioned cannot be truly unconditioned if it stands outside of and thereby in opposition to the system.
The problem, Schlegel contends, has to do with the kind of thinking that underlies transcendental philosophy. While it appears that the first principle is absolutely immanent (the absolute self positing itself), as unconditioned, it is outside of the system, and thereby transcendent. Thus, rather than seeking to grasp reality from within—that is, in and through the phenomena—transcendental philosophy proceeds by positing an unconditioned that is necessarily external to the system of knowledge, that is, from without.39 Furthermore, by positing the ground of the system outside of the system, and thereby opposing it to the system, that is, to what is conditioned, transcendental philosophy unwittingly makes the unconditioned into something conditioned or determined.40 In turn, by positing an unconditioned, this mode of thought instantiates a duality between the self and the unconditioned (between the self as unconditioned and the conditioned self). This duality once again implies objectification—the (self as) unconditioned is opposed to (and thus delimited by) the (self as) conditioned. Ultimately, the notion of an unconditioned is dogmatic, because it implies positing an unjustified thing-in-itself that in turn leads to an unjustified duality between subject and object, knower and known, activity and passivity.41 For this reason, Schlegel concludes, ‘Philosophy “in the true sense” has no first principle, no object, no determined task. The Wissenschaftslehre has a determined object (I and Not-I and their relation) and a determined reciprocal ground and thus also a dete
rmined task’ (KFSA 18, 7, no. 36).
Schlegel’s rejection of an unconditioned principle goes hand in hand with his notion of a ‘system of fragments’ and its difference from a deductively achieved system. The unity of a deductive system is based on an unconditioned principle. This principle determines both the conceptual coherence of the system and the very process or method by which the construction of the system takes place. Guided by an ultimate goal or concept, deductive construction is not concerned with the place or role of a concept within a totality of concepts, but with deducing one concept from the other. Thus, the system is constructed entirely linearly, moving in a unilateral direction toward the goal of universality.
Furthermore, the deductive system proceeds through subsumption, in which a less universal concept is subsumed under a more universal concept. Universality in this case is understood to mean the opposite of particularity; the less particular, the more universal a concept, and therefore the more it can subsume. Thus, the most universal concept is also the least particular, which is to say that the most universal concept (the concept that unifies the system and determines its construction) contains no particularity, no difference within itself. The unity that is achieved in a deductive system is therefore based on the elimination of difference.
Both of these characteristics contrast with the system of fragments. In the first instance, the system of fragments cannot be determined by one ultimate, all-subsuming principle or concept in which difference and particularity are eliminated. Each fragment retains its distinctive character or meaning, such that no fragment can be reduced to or cancelled by another. Thus difference between the fragments is maintained. Furthermore, in a system of fragments, the unity is itself a process, and the system remains in a state of development. The relations between the different parts and between the parts and the whole are also determined by transformation, such that the parts cannot be reduced to particular objects or static concepts within the system, but are dynamic processes that emerge through organized interactions.
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