Europe and the Things of Dwelling *

Heribert Boeder

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To begin with, a confession: a dilettante is talking here—that is to say, one who has no idea about the circumstances surrounding the planning of television programs but who nevertheless at least has the tendency to watch something every now and again; one who therefore checks daily to see what ARTE 1 has scheduled. And sometimes he takes pleasure in a find such as the recent program on Ionesco.

Though occasionally a certain dissatisfaction with the offerings makes him ask: why, out of the truly rich variety of what today is regarded as a manifestation of culture, why, more precisely, out of the astonishing multiplicity of what people have even expressly arranged and produced for viewing, do they show this sort of thing again and again? Why ‘again and again’, when in fact a different theme is set for almost every evening? Do ARTE’s selections reveal a one-sidedness, broad though it may be? The motive for such a question is dark since it is not at all conspicuous—perhaps it cannot be due to habit—that what comes into view on television, alongside various documentaries about nature and art, is predominantly the world of actions—whether staged artistically or recorded directly. It is certainly safe to assume that man regards himself as the most interesting object. But is he therefore capable of viewing himself only as an agent? Has he not always seen himself in the things of his dwelling, as is expressly attested in various ways by their attractive formation?

One might think these questions trivial. But let us listen more closely. Do they in any way express an interest held by society today? If so, how would one discern it? Now—it has already been discerned, since the fundamental pluralistic trait of contemporary society has already found its articulation. The chief interest in force there is in the violence of men against others and against themselves, of men against so-called nature, and especially against the natural environment. The reflection on such violence determines it first to be economic; then to be sub-economic, that is to say: to be the violence of the orders of discourse, which tend to be exclusive; and, finally, to be the violence of the so-called master thinkers of our tradition—with the unifying, universalizing, systematizing violence of what they represent as the first ground or as origin. The key proponents of this interpretation are Merleau-Ponty, Foucault, and Derrida. Their respective thoughts are constitutive of what can be regarded as the philosophy of so-called postmodernity. 2 Whether this name pleases our contemporaries or not, in philosophy it aptly testifies to a separation from the sense-explications of modernity. 3

Yet pluralism, with its necessary thematization of both non-violence and violence, is not the only fundamental trait of contemporary society. The other is communication as it has been disclosed by the scientific disciplines of pure linguistics, semiology, and structural anthropology. Here the decisive positions are those of Jakobson, Barthes, and Lévi-Strauss, the latter having recently been paid tribute on ARTE.

Of concern in this other dimension is not the overcoming of humanism and its egocentricity, not the dissolution of the face that man assumed for himself in the modern human sciences, not the expunction of his λόγος- or ratio-based understanding of himself, but rather the establishment and unfolding of his linguistic character as it is alone human. Starting with the speech of “wild thinking,” which is still in effect in civilized thinking. The first thought and thus the first word is a negation, a prohibition, a taboo. The negativity of the first gesture of speech is so thoroughgoing that it underpins the gesture’s instrumental­ity—negating the independent significance of individual sounds. Accordingly, the humane­ness of the use of instruments begins first of all with the manufacture of secondary ones, that is, those for the manufacture of other instruments. An interest in things becomes apparent here that respond, in their instrumentality, to properly human speech. Especially insofar as they can become objects of semiology.

If the things of dwelling join the instruments of production and action, it nevertheless has to remain open here whether they are sufficiently grasped thereby as instruments. Should we define them? Even disregarding Wittgenstein’s objection to such a procedure, it would be imprudent to seek to do so for historical reasons, which we shall have to pass over here. At any rate, the following exposition can rely on the illusion of immediate familiarity, an illusion that dwelling, along with its things, has for everyone. Is it not precisely this general familiarity that speaks against its presentation on television? What interest could a table and a bed arouse on their own—without being, say, the props of a story? But, prior to this, one would have to ask: can dwelling even be shown? To do so, would it not be necessary for a story or an action, such as familial discord, first to be introduced into it? Or might it be possible to access dwelling solely by way of its things—by way of a house and a garden and their arrangement?

Dwelling is familiar to everyone but difficult to grasp. Can it be broken down into parts, much as an action into individual actions? Can it be completed like actions? Does it display an inherent architectonic of grounds and causes? Presumably not, for otherwise philosophy would have attended to it, and dwelling would not first have become thematic only after the separation of the sense-explication from philosophy at the limit of modernity, and in fact for Heidegger. 4 Let us leave this semblance of familiarity and turn to the things of dwelling.

Now such things are presented, of course, on television in commercials—as on every market, so too on this one: as wares. They extol the things’ merits in utility as well as in design. Yet the market has to be left to its own global habits of advertising. Advertisement has to take care of itself and is no business of public television, most certainly not of ARTE. At any rate, the contemporary market also reveals that, as with other things, here too it is not only their market value that can be discerned but also the specification of each thing’s use in dwelling; and, what is more, a manner of design that suggests a judgment about the thing’s attractiveness—as it were, an answer that may depart from the judgment about its utility. Such distinction is older than Europe. We mention here only a Hittite ewer from the early second millennium B.C. and a Northern Chinese vase from the same period, each of which possesses, for a contemporary eye at least, an exquisite form—this ever among a mass of average products. In their attractiveness, such things are not merely things of use but are to be read as signs—as signs of the most modest interest of man in himself, and in fact in his faculty of judgment. It is precisely on account of this that we shall now talk of Europe and the things of dwelling.

Of which Europe? We should first look—as is fitting—to our contemporaries for an answer to this. In the dimension of the reflection on the fundamental pluralistic trait of its society, there is much talk of Eurocentrism. Such is, as is well-known, a reproach and testifies to a Europe that is at odds with itself—stricken, as it were, with a bad conscience. Why? Not long ago, the widespread aspersions cast on the distant Columbus made the contemporary basis of judgment perspicuous: social violence or non-violence. And how could it be otherwise in light of what we said at the outset? The Europe of violence against the rest of the world—once again, first regarding the world market with its political substructure; then regarding the predominance of its orders of discourse, including their legal manifestations; and, finally, regarding the claim of the superiority of its culture, especially its logocentric culture.

The postmoderns are at odds with their Europe of colonial modernity, especially with that of the violently imposed European world market. This is manifest in another way with respect to the aforementioned sciences of communication—concretized in structural anthropology. To disclose wild thinking, to recover its remnants, which have not yet been transformed by civilization, the researcher must effect—as Lévi-Strauss calls it—a “dis-placement” (dépaysement), a departure from the established customs of his or her country and the ways of thinking of his or her people, the expunction of all feelings of superiority.

Regarding overt or covert violence, no one speaks of Sino-centrism, although China has always been far more intensely centered on itself, also in its self-esteem, than Europe has been. Even Leibniz’s offer to the Imperial Court to exchange European mathematics for China’s technical know-how came to nothing. 5 At any rate, a Europe other than that of the capitalistic world market, a Europe that understands itself geographically and geo­politically, surfaces here—a Europe not of our world but one belonging to a closed history, closed by the concluding of the reason proper to it. It has to remain concealed so long as its history is instead projected as a continuum extending back from Europe’s seemingly revolting present.

The other, but in truth first, Europe is not old according to its self-conception, not much older than the world powers characterized as European and the postmodern rejection of this Europe. It was Napoleon who completed its political formation. Which Europe is that? In his Reflections on the Government of Poland and on its Projected Reforma­tion, Rousseau writes: “There are no more Frenchmen, Germans, Spaniards, even English­men, nowadays, regardless of what people may say; there are only Europeans” 6—they being understood, however, in a negative sense in the wake of the dissolution of national institu­tions. At any rate, a Europe is known here, though chiefly in the resistance to its cosmopolitan dissolution. 7

Neither the Greeks nor the Romans nor their Carolingian or Salian descendants understood themselves to be Europeans. But the Greek and the Roman worlds come to fruition in a European self-conception, and in fact as a result of a political constitution that seems to accommodate Rousseau’s principle of freedom—as becomes obvious in the text cited above. By the development and standard of this principle, Europe here posits its historical beginning. In accordance with that beginning, the principle is also completed as a historical construct—despite all contemporary continuation in the hollow repetition of concepts such as ‘human dignity’ and ‘human rights’, which in the world of modernity and especially in the speech of postmodernity have been divested of their rational ground. It is precisely on account of this that it may be a task for television—contrary to the usual desire to “establish proximity” or “make accessible”—to leave the history of this Europe, despite the reigning lack of distance, in its remoteness—and this most appropriately with regard to the things of dwelling of concern here.

The myth of Europa already calls to mind the fact that European dwelling is marked by the legal relations that shelter it. Europe is a young culture and thus the myth bespeaks a pre-European provenance, namely, ex oriente. Europa is carried from Phoenicia to Crete and becomes the wife of Zeus, who for the first time linked violence with right. By contrast, the linking of violence with right is a state of affairs that excites the postmoderns, a fact recently confirmed by Derrida’s text “Force of Law.” 8 Europa’s three sons become kings who administer justice—ultimately in the underworld.

Still linked with the kingdom of the old Orient in this myth, Europe comes into its own with legal relations that are literally political, namely, where word and deed are to be answered for, what is more: to be justified, in public discussion. This Europe of our history becomes visible for the first time in the works of Homer and Hesiod, and finally of Solon, who is the first to constitute a πόλις, to devise—in Greek terms—a κόσμος for it. This κόσμος is a posit, is as such revocable, and is preserved not by the legitimation of royal judges but rather in the giving and taking of reasons for why it is better to proceed in one way rather than in another. Here matures with early philosophy what Hegel called the “judgment of the concept”—that is to say: this is good, this is beautiful, according to the knowledge of what an action, what a thing, was destined to be. Here the rational intention to appreciate something in view of its perfection is realized. Such was the proper motive of European formation. With respect to this motive, Europe proved the suitability of its name: the “wide-eyed”—like an archaic κορή.

It is precisely the culture of such judgment that time and again has widely extended its gaze beyond the bounds of the habitual for what is exceptional in other cultures. This is attested just as much by a 6th-century B.C. Corinthian jug decorated with an animal frieze as by a Sicilian ivory box from the Hohenstaufen period or by a blue and white delft bowl from the 17th century. All are appropriations and translations that remain unrivaled in the open-minded appreciation of foreign achievements, an appreciation of more than the usual influences—for instance, of Chinese ceramics on 15th-century Persian ceramics. In what sense unrivaled? European technologies were grounded in European science. And the latter, in the science of reason.

It is established, with early philosophy, through the attempt to ground the political κόσμος on the pregiven κόσμος of contrary natures. Something similar to this may be found in China; and this as well: thinking the κόσμος as a harmony. But not this: thinking it as an invisible and yet mathematically representable harmony, which also is to be traced back to a λόγος, a ratio, and in fact as the proportion of all proportions—most richly embodied in the buildings that, for the Greeks, alone bear the name ‘dwelling’: ναός, that is, temple. From them the architectonic of public buildings is learned. The family house remains architecturally of vanishing significance. As for domestic things, however, we know them in their attractive formation mainly from burial objects: vase painting.

This first Europe is open-minded not only in taking but just as much in giving. Uninhibited by ethnic divisions, the Hellenic πόλεις offered that which alone was binding for their entire οἰκουμένη, their world of the housed—namely, ἑλληνίζειν: a way of life of free sociability based on a common language and education. This was understood as such not only in the Hellenistic empires but also by the decisive heirs of their culture, namely, the Romans.

With the res privata’s achievement of independence from the res publica—a distinc­tion first made by Epicurus—a new fertility of interest in the things of dwelling appears, one that can still be seen today in the remains of Pompeii and Roman villas. The ordo that came into force there says something other than κόσμος: it emphasizes the central intention of a differentiated way of life in the second Europe—again with the distinction of reason itself: directed first to one’s obligations to the community, which is structured in keeping with the natural whole; then to the relief of the body, in the company of like-minded individuals, from its burdens and of the soul from disturbances; and finally to the perfect life in the sense of the religiosi, above all in the monastic community.

This second Europe also has proved itself, according to the diverse intentions of its ways of life, in the acknowledgment of foreign excellence in the usefulness and formation of the things of dwelling—be it in its appropriation and development of Syrian glass art into objects that are still exemplary or of Sassanian silverware, Byzantine fabrics, or Arabic metalwork.

While in the later, medieval phase of this second Europe the ability to assimilate superior foreign crafts is rather slight, a corresponding talent asserts itself almost eruptively in the 15th century, thus at the outbreak of the final—and in truth first—Europe of the said history. Here we mention only the example of maiolica. The dominance of the Arabic tradition is obvious in the Hispano-Moresque ware of Valencia regarding both technique and decoration. Its tin-glaze is imported into Italy and forms the technical basis of a manner of decoration without equal in the Islamic world. The conventional figurative elements are excluded from the picture as it is taken over both thematically and structurally from indigenous painting. Here, as seldom before, things of domestic use appear as showpieces. In this period, the visual arts claim for the first time to be science and not merely craft; they posit their right, in accordance with the generality of such knowledge, to integrate all crafts productive of the things of dwelling expressly into a unified formative project—not only to construct a building but also to make its fittings, particularly the furnishings. Michelangelo’s Laurentian Library provides a first-rate example of this.

It is only in the 17th century, however, that the way of thinking proper to this epoch begins to get clear on its principle, namely, freedom as self-determination within the horizon of consciousness, thus of the relation between the ego and the object external to it. Those who today malign it under the catchword ‘egocentrism’ don’t know what they are talking about. It is precisely the objectying ego that in its elementary separation from the everyday world—as well as from its human manifestation—set an imagination free that possessed an unheard-of inventiveness, particularly regarding the things of dwelling.

Determinative here is not the κόσμος, not the ordo, but what Hegel in looking back at civil society conceived as the “system of needs.” To bring their diversification into view also in the respective things of dwelling, one need only visit an English country house, such as Holkham Hall. Here European dwelling in its commoda vitae (Bacon) most clearly parts with the dwelling proper to other cultures. By way of comparison, we mention only the Katsura Imperial Palace in Kyoto—nearly empty rooms of the most refined simplicity.

Here in the third epoch of its history of reason, we find, so to speak, the European Europe—prior to all national power constructs, it is marked by a civility that is cultivated with the said freedom first and most intensely in the Netherlands and England, a civility based on self-respect and acknowledgment by one’s peers. The extent to which its entire society is steeped in it is visible in the fact that the ethos of civil dwelling is able to pare down the representational form of furniture, for example, such that the eye is directed especially to the natural qualities of the wood, its color and grain. To a semblance of nature, as it is also proper to an English park.

For this Europe the things of dwelling explicitly become objects of a judgment that requires the cultivation of taste. This cultivation is European; it does not think of rescuing provincial idioms. Dutch glassblowers happen upon façon de venise. A Moustier tureen gets its decoration from the commedia dell’arte. Wallpaper from Lyon makes its way to England. Porcelaine de Saxe, or Meissen ware, to France. Cultivated taste does not ask: is that German, is that French? It makes no pained endeavor to understand the products of one’s neighbors, has no “tolerance” for the foreign. With open-mindedness it says, for example, with the opening words of Sterne’s Sentimental Journey: “They order ... this matter better in France.” 9 Cultivated taste asks: what is better? And it searches for a standard by which to answer that question, not least because the judgment about the beauty of a thing has its place in civil sociability. Even the demand for the “purity” of taste was able to gain acceptance in the 18th century and found such purity in what is “classical”; it thus inaugurated a relationship to the first and the second Europes, a relationship that was most definitely “inhabited” and not merely thought about. Take, for example, the architect Robert Adam: after years spent studying with Piranesi and exploring Diocletian’s palace in Spalato, he evolved its architectural and decorative doctrine, transformed it freely, purified it, and concerned himself with dwelling as a whole in his buildings, from the decoration of the rooms and furniture down to the last doorknob.

Here too we see this Europe’s open-mindedness for the superiority of other cultures: for China’s horticulture and porcelain, for India’s, Persia’s, and Turkey’s carpet-craft—and also in this case their assimilation by Cuenca, their complete redesign in the manufacture of the carpets of Savonnerie and Aubusson. But enough of this final Europe, which Leibniz saw invested with the mission: embellir la face de la terre. This earth on which we dwell has increasingly shown another face, one from which the landscape architect Humphry Repton sought to screen the views from a house in his design of the perimeter of its grounds: the industrial landscape and its miserable housing complexes.

This foreshadows the earth-shattering event in the formation of the things of dwell­ing, and in fact as regards their ware-character, more precisely: the freedom of self-realizing capital. Moved by the Marxian analysis, William Morris founded the Arts and Crafts Movement—which, significantly, no longer focused on the whole of a residential building but instead dealt with the things of a household, down to the printing and binding of its books.

Yet despite the admiration for the workmanship of medieval crafts, the things of dwelling move into the modernity of a Europe for which nothing is foreign any longer the world over. First of all, art nouveau permeates architecture, as it were, reactively. Its forming—based not on the taste of the faculty of judgment and the reason grounding it but on the lived experience of an unreflected life—shows at once a one-sidedness. The other and superior side over against this one is the construction engineering proper to technical thinking. Wittgenstein held to his rejection of all decoration down to the last detail in his design of the Stonborough House in Vienna. He articulated the resistance to dwelling in a residential building and thereby gave a sign—even harsher than a Mackintosh chair, on which one can hardly bear to sit.

Certainly—Bauhaus and Le Corbusier found the language mediating the “functions” of dwelling. Yet it also expresses quite clearly the departure of the “system of needs” together with civil society—as well as the sociability proper to it. This holds not only of the “machines for living” in Marseilles but also of the generously laid out Villa Savoye in Poissy. The furnishings themselves testify to the predominance of industrial design, even in the paintings. This completely satisfies the intention of people who know themselves to be the “arguments” of “functions” (cf. Frege).

It is no accident that “postmodernity,” as far as its name is concerned, also comes into view and to fruition from out of architecture. Within the pluralistic mentality, the syntax of signs no longer requires any justification. Thus, the glass façade of a New York high-rise can be trimmed with a quotation of the portal of an Egyptian temple. Once all signifying things are fundamentally of equal value—once they have been reduced, so to speak, to phonemes that have no significance in themselves—the Europe marked by rational judgment becomes a mere phantasm for its adversary: precisely the unjustly “Eurocentric” Europe.

In Egypt old Solon heard from a priest: “You Greeks are always children; there is no such thing as a grizzled Greek.” 10 Never again will Europeans become children. Have they perhaps grown senile? Would they not prefer to be the heirs of the dead Europe, defined on the basis of its closed history? Yet—as Hegel says—“to hold fast to what is dead, that is what requires the greatest strength.” 11 What is dead there, however, is not what has perished but rather what has departed. To grasp the departed as such, the faculty of distinction is needed that already knows that Europe’s reason has come forth eminently with its distinction of itself—never unanimously, which is also why its philosophy was always in conflict. Such conflict is also to be provoked in “postmodernity”—disregarding the quarreling of the philosophy business and its endless continuation of problems. Such conflict is to be renewed in view of the difference, mentioned at the outset, between the reflection on the speech of violence and the sciences of the speech of communication. Incomprehensible to both sides, a third dimension of speech becomes apparent here: that of the word of the configurations of wisdom that came to fruition in Europe’s philosophy—configurations epochally distinguished as the knowledge of the Muses, of the Christian doctrine, and of that which makes one a citizen: one’s nature, present as freedom, or one’s humanity. In each epoch, the σοφίαι have awakened a corresponding “philosophi­cal” reason, have given dwelling in Europe, despite its nations, its characteristic stamp: a culture that bears a tension within itself, one that is to be animated time and again in crises. So let us encourage the crisis that always meant for its protagonists: to get clear about oneself and the world.

Now back to the things of dwelling. As we said, much stands in the way of one’s descent into that history in which a wealth of things brings the characteristically European dwelling to speech with distinction. Amid the idle talk of those who are merely ephemeral, these things cannot have their say. Would this not be the right place for a dépaysement also for television, so that we might learn to see what is our own in light of what is foreign? Such a learning becomes possible, however, only when what is sought out are not just obsolete things of prehistoric or ethnological interest, things that are somehow to speak while lacking a script, not just fossils of human dwelling, but rather things whose selection is itself alive in the judgment of a foreign culture. Such a learning allows itself to be led to what is worth seeing by the appreciation that the foreigners themselves have for such things.

In this sense, such appreciated things include a famille rose bottle, which the Emperor Chien Lung himself inscribed with a poem; and earlier still, a Ting porcelain vase from the Sung Dynasty, a celadon ewer incised with black and white flowers from Korea’s Koryo period, and a red Raku tea bowl by the Japanese potter Koetsu from around 1600 A.D. which even bears a name: Woman-Face-Moon. All such things provide a lesson in seeing but also in being quiet before the silence of a dwelling that has taken shape there.

In the first of the Four Quartets, one of the moderns, namely, Eliot, takes the movement of word and music back into a stillness which he indicates not by accident by way of the following comparison:

        as a Chinese jar still
Moves perpetually in its stillness. 12

Is anything to be added to this? No. Enough.


* Translated by Marcus Brainard. This is a revised version of a translation first published under the same title in Heribert Boeder, Seditions: Heidegger and the Limit of Modernity, ed. and trans. Marcus Brainard (Albany, N.Y.: State University of New York Press, 1997), 265–75. The German original, “Europa und die Dinge des Wohnens,” was read at the symposium “Der Kulturkanal Arte,” held by the Internationales Fernseh-Forum für Musik (Osnabrück/Zürich) on November 11, 1992. The essay will soon be published in German for the first time in Heribert Boeder, Epoché und Epoche I: Logotektonische Schriften zur Sophia und Philosophie der Letzten Epoche, ed. Marcus Brainard (Nordhausen: Verlag Traugott Bautz).

1 Note of Translator: ARTE (Association Relative à la Télévision Européenne) is a German-French cultural station based in Strasbourg and is oriented towards the European market. It shows films, reports, and documentaries focusing on animals and nature, countries and people, and art and society; three times per week (Sunday, Tuesday, and Thursday) the evening is devoted to a specific theme; music is the subject of other programs; and plays, performances, and short-films are shown.

2 Note of Translator: Since this talk was given, the author has modified the tectonic of postmodernity, which he in fact calls ‘submodernity’ due to its structural affinities with modernity (rather than its temporal relation to the latter, as indicated by the prefix) and, in view of the anarchic character of contemporary thought, in analogy to ‘subculture’. The first two dimensions discussed here he later terms the ‘an-archic’ and the ‘structural’ reflection, respectively. To these is added a third, namely, the analytic reflection. Together, these three dimensions form the whole of submodern thought, from which Boeder’s own, “logotectonic” thought is distinguished. In addition to the work contained in later part of Seditions, the fullest account of the structure of submodernity is to be found in Heribert Boeder, Die Installationen der Submoderne. Zur Tektonik der heutigen Philosophie (Würzburg: Königshausen & Neumann, 2006). See also his essays from the New Yearbook for Phenomenology and Phenomenological Philosophy: “The Submodern Character of Linguistic Analysis,” II (2002), 117–36; “Derrida’s Endgame,” III (2003), 121–42; and “The Distinction of Speech,” VI (2006), 185–98.

3 Note of Translator: In Boeder’s thought ‘sense-explication’ renders Besinnung insofar as the latter designates a dimension of modern thought. See Seditions, xxiii–xxxii, esp. xxvi and xlviii n. 21B.

4 Note of Translator: On the break between philosophy and modernity, see the author’s Topologie der Metaphysik (Freiburg/Munich: Alber, 1980) and Das Vernunft-Gefüge der Moderne (Freiburg/Munich: Alber, 1988), as well as Seditions.

5 See, e.g., G. W. Leibniz, Leibniz korrespondiert mit China, ed. Rita Widmaier (Frankfurt a. M.: Kloster­mann, 1990).

6 Jean-Jacques Rousseau, Considérations sur le Gouvernement de Pologne et sur sa Réformation Projetée, Oeuvres Complètes III (Paris: Gallimard, 1964), 953–1041, here 960; English translation: Reflections on the Government of Poland and on its Projected Reformation, in The Social Contract and Other Later Political Writings, ed. and trans. Victor Gourevitch (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1997), 177–260, here 184.

7 See ibid., commentary ad. loc.

8 Jacques Derrida, Force de loi (Paris: Galilée, 1994); English translation: “Force of Law,” trans. Mary Quaintance, in Drucilla Cornell, Michael Rosenfeld, and David Gray Carlson, eds., Deconstruction and the Possibility of Justice (New York: Routledge, 1992), 3–67. First published in a bilingual edition in Cardozo Law Review 11 (1990), 920–1045.

9 Laurence Sterne, A Sentimental Journey through France and Italy, ed. Paul Goring (London: Penguin, 2001), 5.

10 Plato, Timaeus 22A 4.

11 G. W. F. Hegel, Phänomenologie des Geistes, Gesammelte Werke 9 (Hamburg: Meiner, 1980), 27 line 26; English translation: Phenomenology of Spirit, trans. A. V. Miller (New York: Oxford University Press, 1977), 19.

12 See T. S. Eliot, “Burnt Norton” (1935), in The Complete Poems and Plays of T. S. Eliot (London: Faber, 1969), 171–76, here 175.