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In Hegel’s philosophical system, Nature is the Idea in its external manifestation, in the form of “otherness.” This is widely interpreted as implying that the realm of the Idea extends beyond the boundaries set by the Logic, permeating other parts of the system. On this reading, Nature functions solely as an extension of the Idea, with no intrinsic significance beyond this role. This chapter challenges this interpretation, showing that in Hegel’s system, Nature possesses an independent reality and cannot be reduced to a mere “function” or “mirror” of the Idea. As an autonomous and self-sufficient entity, Nature operates according to its own laws, distinct from the laws of Logic. Thus, what Hegel offers in his Philosophy of Nature is a metaphysical (philosophical) account of the conceptual structure of nature itself, of what it ultimately is. The account of nature that arises from Hegel’s philosophical inquiry into the natural world is not only realistic, it also offers a systematic image of nature in its dynamic development aligned with growing complexity. This underpins Hegel’s emergentist agenda, which differs substantially from the one proposed by traditional Naturphilosophie. Hegel’s version of emergentism aims to demonstrate why a particular set of concepts and principles is sufficient for comprehending natural phenomena at a specific level of complexity and how these concepts and principles logically necessitate the emergence of the succeeding level. This “system of stages” is not propelled by external factors such as divine command or preordination; instead, it operates internally and metalogically, driven by its own inherent logic and principles.
Serving as an introduction to the collection, this chapter underscores the significance of Hegel’s philosophy of nature within his comprehensive philosophical system and its relevance to contemporary philosophical engagement with empirical sciences. It explores the reception history of Hegel’s Philosophy of Nature, discussing several efforts to revitalize it over the last century and highlighting significant instances of its positive reception despite prevailing skepticism. Tracing the theoretical roots of Hegel’s philosophical interest in the natural world, from post-Kantian thought and the Romantic science movement, the chapter highlights Hegel’s engagement with figures such as Goethe and Schiller, which shaped his organicist views of nature. It examines Hegel’s evolving approach to nature, tracing the emergence of his own natural philosophy and its subsequent refinement in the Dissertatio, the Jena System Drafts, the Phenomenology, and the Encyclopaedia, all of which constitute the important stages of its development. Through successive revisions in the Encyclopaedia, Hegel incorporated advancements in scientific understanding, emphasizing the interplay between empirical observation and philosophical inquiry. In its final section, this chapter outlines the objectives and structure of the volume, emphasizing the revitalization of Hegel’s philosophy of nature beyond its historical context. It argues that Hegel’s approach provides insights into the intricate interplay between humanity and nature, recognizing its depth beyond mere physical needs. Therefore, reassessing his concepts from a modern perspective could generate new viewpoints on the relationship between nature and human culture.
Since the Greeks, our world has been understood in terms of one of two root metaphors – the world as an organism (“organicism”) and the world as a machine (“mechanism”). With the coming of evolutionary ideas in the eighteenth century, we see that there are interpretations in terms of both metaphors.
we have a moral code that meshes with Christianity, why then are we so often non-social and why do we so blatantly disobey the dictates of Jesus Christ? “Love your enemies, bless them that curse you, do good to them that hate you, and pray for them which despitefully use you, and persecute you” (Matthew 5:43–4). Think about it. The Great War (later called the First World War), 1914–1918, between (depending how you count) 20 and 40 million dead. The Second World War, 1939–1945, 60 to 80 million dead. The Russian Civil War, 1917–1922, 5 to 10 million dead. The Chinese Civil War, 1927–1949, 10 million dead. And so it goes. We are not yet at the pogroms, from the Turks killing Armenians, Stalin and the Kulaks, Hitler and the Jews, down to Rwanda and the killing of the Tutsis, not to mention half a million women raped as a preliminary to grotesque mutilation of genitals.
“Just the facts, ma’am. Just the facts!” This famous directive by Sergeant Joe Friday – apparently never actually made in this form – is from the television series Dragnet. Unfortunately, while this may be adequate for detecting and solving crime, not so elsewhere. The idea that science is simply a matter of recording empirical experience is hopelessly inadequate and misleading. Science is about empirical experience, but it is about such experience as encountered and interpreted – and with effort and good fortune – as explained by us.
Let us return to the address to the American Association for the Advancement of Science given in 1967 (later published in Science), by medieval historian Lynn White Jr. He threw down the gauntlet. The son of a Presbyterian minister and himself a lifelong active Presbyterian, White felt nevertheless that his religion had given rise to much that needed answering. “Christianity bears a huge burden of guilt.” White’s thesis is relatively straightforward. Modern science and technology – and the appalling environmental consequences – are the children of the Christian faith. But we get ahead of ourselves. Let’s plunge right into looking at some of these environmental consequences, using as our exemplar the most pressing environmental issue of them all: global warming.
Remember: “Let us make mankind in our image, in our likeness, so that they may rule over the fish in the sea and the birds in the sky, over the livestock and all the wild animals, and over all the creatures that move along the ground” (Genesis 1:26). It is there right at the beginning of the Old Testament; it is also in the New. We are unique and hence have a position superior to other animals. In the Sermon on the Mount, Jesus reaffirms this. “Behold the fowls of the air: for they sow not, neither do they reap, nor gather into barns; yet your heavenly Father feedeth them. Are ye not much better than they?” (Matthew 6:26).
Ask the basic question: Can a Christian be an organicist? And respond with the basic answer: Yes! There are Christians who welcome the idea of an organic Earth, at the least. Thomas Berry, a Catholic priest no less, had a theological vision of the world that made the organic thesis central. “The universe is not a vast smudge of matter, some jellylike substance extended indefinitely in space.
Evolution was both known and generally accepted very rapidly after the Origin. Darwinism, even. In the summer of 1860, Charles Dickens’ widely read weekly, All the Year Round, carried two anonymously published articles on the theme of the Origin (with a third early in the next year).
Chapter 2 places Hegel’s views on the nature of constitutions in the context of contemporary discussions of what may be termed constitutional transferability, engaging in particular with the French Revolution and the English constitution. It introduces Hegel’s conception of the constitution as an organism, his denial of the possibility of deriving constitutions ‘a priori’, and his simultaneous support for the introduction of written constitutions and legal codification. Hegel’s account of the nature of constitutions is interpreted as supporting a specific kind of constitutionalism while discrediting another. Through a constitutionalist approach to world history, Hegel sought to resolve the inherent tension between universal demands of reason and local particularity, inscribing the progress of world history with freedom and the representative system. By showing that he could draw on prevailing views in doing so, Hegel’s influential attempt to reconcile organic growth with the demands of reason, history with freedom, and community with the individual is lifted out of isolation. His identification of the representative system with subjective freedom, introduced in this chapter, forms a recurring theme throughout the book.
Chapter 3 considers the evolution of military disciplinary practices as military thought became ever more akin to a human science. It focusses on a key work in the theorisation of military discipline, Robert Jackson’s A Systematic View of the Formation, Discipline, and Economy of Armies (1804). Drawing on his extensive experience as a surgeon in the British army, Jackson places the medicalised body at the heart of military discipline. He insists that the soldier must be viewed as a living organism, possessed of a complex and self-governing interiority that determines how tactics operate. In Jackson’s conception, the soldier appears as a self-governing figure who functions independently and at a distance from disciplinary sites, a figure who more closely resembles the modern subject than the mechanical automatons associated with Frederick the Great’s military drill practices. More than this, however, Jackson’s book reveals how Romantic aesthetics penetrated military thought. The military’s concern with the imagination of the soldier in the field was undoubtedly a ‘shock’ to poets, Clausewitz surmised, but was nonetheless central to emergent aesthetic concerns with perception and interiority that suggest an unexplored context of wartime media surrounding a Romantic poetics and its formation of subjectivity.
Chapter 3 shifts the focus to the US East Coast. Roy Harris was one of several young Americans who studied composition in Paris with Nadia Boulanger in the 1920s; Symphony 1933 was his breakthrough work after returning home. Commissioned by Serge Koussevitzky, who anecdotally asked for a ‘big symphony from the West’, Symphony 1933 teases out the relationships between those expansionist discourses associated with the symphony indicated by Paul Bekker (1918), liberal ideology, and the imagined spaces of the American West. Examining the reception of Symphony 1933 and its music, the chapter raises questions about how the discourse around Harris’s symphony and liberalism’s spatial narratives colluded in establishing the political hegemony of white Americans and the supposed naturalness of their right to occupy the West, an acute anxiety given the disenfranchisement of white working-class Americans during the economic collapse of the early 1930s.
This essay re-examines the origins of Herman Bavinck's organic motif. Contending with a central claim of the new interpretative paradigm in Bavinck studies, this article problematises the claim that Bavinck's organic motif does not draw on German idealism but derives solely from a classical western doctrine of the Trinity. This essay argues that the denial of Schelling's influence on Bavinck's organicism misconstrues the terms on which Bavinck forges his synthesis of orthodoxy and modernity, and cloaks the degree to which Bavinck allows philosophical constructs to determine the material content of his theology.
This new collection enables students and general readers to appreciate Coleridge’s renewed relevance 250 years after his birth. An indispensable guide to his writing for twenty-first-century readers, it contains new perspectives that reframe his work in relation to slavery, race, war, post-traumatic stress disorder and ecological crisis. Through detailed engagement with Coleridge’s pioneering poetry, the reader is invited to explore fundamental questions on themes ranging from nature and trauma to gender and sexuality. Essays by leading Coleridge scholars analyse and render accessible his extraordinarily innovative thinking about dreams, psychoanalysis, genius and symbolism. Coleridge is often a direct and gripping writer, yet he is also elusive and diverse. This Companion’s great achievement is to offer a one-volume entry point into his incomparably rich and varied world.
This new collection enables students and general readers to appreciate Coleridge’s renewed relevance 250 years after his birth. An indispensable guide to his writing for twenty-first-century readers, it contains new perspectives that reframe his work in relation to slavery, race, war, post-traumatic stress disorder and ecological crisis. Through detailed engagement with Coleridge’s pioneering poetry, the reader is invited to explore fundamental questions on themes ranging from nature and trauma to gender and sexuality. Essays by leading Coleridge scholars analyse and render accessible his extraordinarily innovative thinking about dreams, psychoanalysis, genius and symbolism. Coleridge is often a direct and gripping writer, yet he is also elusive and diverse. This Companion’s great achievement is to offer a one-volume entry point into his incomparably rich and varied world.
On November 24, 1859, the English naturalist Charles Robert Darwin published On the Origin of Species by Means of Natural Selection, or the Preservation of Favoured Races in the Struggle for Life . In that book (Darwin 1859), he argued that all organisms, living and dead, were produced by a long, slow, natural process, from a very few original organisms. He called the process “natural selection,” later giving it the alternative name of “the survival of the fittest.” This first chapter is devoted to presenting (without critical comment) the argument of the Origin, very much with an eye to the place and role of natural selection. As a preliminary, it should be noted that the Origin, for all it is one of the landmark works in the history of science, was written in a remarkably “user-friendly” manner. It is not technical, the arguments are straightforward, the illustrative examples are relevant and easy to grasp, the mathematics is at a minimum, meaning non-existent. Do not be deceived. The Origin is also a very carefully structured piece of work (Ruse 1979a). Darwin knew exactly what he was doing when he set pen to paper.
Now we come to the elephant in the room. Darwin’s theory was incomplete. When the theory was completed, would natural selection prove to be that effective? Although he threw in a lot of assorted, presumed-relevant facts, no one, starting with Darwin, had much idea about the nature of variation – how it comes, what form it takes, how regular it is. And, without this knowledge, given that natural selection supposedly works on this variation, it is hard to make definite judgments about its effectiveness; especially since Darwin stressed that, although variation has causes, it is random in the sense of not appearing according to need. When he was not pushing the Lamarckian alternative, he was adamant that it is selection alone that is responsible for adaptation.
Turn now to those who think natural selection is vastly overrated as a cause of evolutionary change. It is at best a clean-up process after the real creative work has been done. It is little surprise that these critics come from within the organismic model, implicitly or explicitly. At the scientific level, we have encountered already the most (and properly) distinguished of them all, the American population geneticist Sewall Wright. Remember his “shifting balance theory,” where the key lay in genetic drift, as gene levels fluctuated randomly in small subpopulations, and then, when new adaptive features appeared, the subpopulations rejoined the larger group (probably the species), and through a form of group selection the new feature spread through the whole group. This is highly Spencerian – infused with a solid dose of Bergsonian vitalism – as equilibrium is disturbed and then regained at a higher level, part of an overall progressive process, presumably ending in humankind.
A little arbitrarily, but not entirely without reason, let us take 1959, the 100th anniversary of the Origin, as the date when the Darwinian paradigm finally came into its own. Natural selection and Mendelian genetics, now rapidly becoming molecular genetics, gave the explanation of the tree of life. If we continue to think in Kuhnian terms, what now of normal science? We should expect to see the subbranches of the consilience come into their own, as practitioners moved forward, theoretically, experimentally, and in nature, raising and solving their problems. And in major respects we do see exactly this.
In 1866, Thomas Hardy, raised a sincere member of the Church of England, wrote his sonnet “Hap.” It expressed the anxiety about – “fear of” is not too strong a term – the world into which natural selection has pitched us. No longer can we rely on a Good God to care for us, to suffer for us, to make possible eternal life. In the non-progressive world of Darwinian evolution, all is meaningless.