freedom can be found, and even in the most cultivated, features are not wanting that remind us of that dismal natural condition.  It is possible for man, at one and the same time, to unite the highest and the lowest in his nature; and if his dignity depends on a strict separation of one from the other, his happiness depends on a skilful removal of this separation.  The culture which is to bring his dignity into agreement with his happiness will therefore have to provide for the greatest purity of these two principles in their most intimate combination.

Consequently the first appearance of reason in man is not the beginning of humanity.  This is first decided by his freedom, and reason begins first by making his sensuous dependence boundless; a phenomenon that does not appear to me to have been sufficiently elucidated, considering its importance and universality.  We know that the reason makes itself known to man by the demand for the absolute—­the self-dependent and necessary.  But as this want of the reason cannot be satisfied in any separate or single state of his physical life, he is obliged to leave the physical entirely and to rise from a limited reality to ideas.  But although the true meaning of that demand of the reason is to withdraw him from the limits of time and to lead him up from the world of sense to an ideal world, yet this same demand of reason, by a misapplication—­scarcely to be avoided in this age, prone to sensuousness—­can direct him to physical life, and, instead of making man free, plunge him in the most terrible slavery.

Facts verify this supposition.  Man raised on the wings of imagination leaves the narrow limits of the present, in which mere animality is enclosed, in order to strive on to an unlimited future.  But while the limitless is unfolded to his dazed imagination, his heart has not ceased to live in the separate, and to serve the moment.  The impulse towards the absolute seizes him suddenly in the midst of his animality, and as in this cloddish condition all his efforts aim only at the material and temporal, and are limited by his individuality, he is only led by that demand of the reason to extend his individuality into the infinite, instead of to abstract from it.  He will be led to seek instead of form an inexhaustible matter, instead of the unchangeable an everlasting change and an absolute securing of his temporal existence.  The same impulse which, directed to his thought and action, ought to lead to truth and morality, now directed to his passion and emotional state, produces nothing but an unlimited desire and an absolute want.  The first fruits, therefore, that he reaps in the world of spirits, are cares and fear—­both operations of the reason; not of sensuousness, but of a reason that mistakes its object and applies its categorical imperative to matter.  All unconditional systems of happiness are fruits of this tree, whether they have for their object the present day or the