(1951)
It is not just before our own eyes but also in our own hands that the world of technology is fashioned and subsists. There is nothing about it that we might first have to accept as given to be able to penetrate it cognitively. Technical reality is such that its translation into actuality is enacted only by reason and virtue of cognition accomplished and calculations made. If this altogether calculable matter in today’s world should nonetheless confront us with a problem, and indeed one of the darkest and most urgent problems of these times, it must belong to a different level than the matter of discerning the conditions under which technical contrivances function. Yet even though we are aware of a set of problems aggregating in an ever more foreboding fashion, we are still far from reaching so much as an approximation of a guiding question; indeed, we do not even know in what specific realm of possible questions this particular one might be unfolded and broached.
Initially, we might expect all possible questions concerning this matter to form a branch of the natural sciences. Technology has historically constituted itself as applied natural science—as a constructive extension of nature—and this structural continuity would seem to determine the character and methodology of its problems once and for all.
The historical reality of human life with technology has failed to confirm this basic assumption, however. Technology, as an objective domain within the modern world, has more and more visibly separated itself from its functional continuity with nature and has entered into new constellations that are sui generis and, indeed, diametrical opposites to natural reality. From the mere use of nature for eking out a living through to the increasing exploitation of nature as a reservoir of energy and natural resources, the development of technical consciousness and the technical will tend toward making a claim for the radical and total transformation of nature as mere materia prima for the exercise of human power.
This being so, an examination of this complex will show man to be the principle in which the relationship between nature and technology is founded as posited [Setzung] by an act of will. As a being whose existence is not vouchsafed by its organic adaptation to the natural environment, and thus as a being that is forced into self-assertion and into producing for itself the conditions of its life as a mode of existence, man brings forth technology in answer to the specific problems of his being. Man is a technical being; technical reality corresponds to a deficiency in his natural endowment. Modern technology is thus not a development unique in and to human history but merely the conscious and deliberate implementation of a necessity rooted in human nature.
Yet even this anthropological approach proves unequal to the phenomenon of technology. What is increasingly emerging as the defining trait of the technical sphere is its autonomy, its increasing intractability to man, the way his decisions, wishes, and needs come to be overlaid by a dynamic inherent in technology, which imprints on the entire life of an epoch an unmistakable homogeneous style. The outward and inward domination that technology has attained over present-day man is reflected in the common metaphor of the “demonism of technology” [Dämonie der Technik], which provides the clearest testimony to the unresolved state of the issue. Talk of technology’s autonomy and demonism, its inescapable perfection, prepares and justifies an imminent capitulation to a supposed necessity. Such talk solidifies a resigned equanimity in the face of the aporia, the predicament, and it cuts off the properly philosophical path that leads from the aporia to the framing of the problem. If, however, philosophy refuses to let its claims be curtailed by the precipitate positing of absolutes, it might at least be able to preserve awareness of how questionable the commonplace formulations are in which the stupefying poison of resignation is taken.
What estimate to give of the possibilities of philosophy in this situation is a question that is thrown into relief only against a broader historical horizon.
According to the Greeks’ understanding of being, being and nature—ousia and physis—are concepts of nearly identical meaning. That which constitutes what is [das Seiende] as an entity [Seiendes] is that which rests on itself, by itself—and not on anything that might interpose or insinuate itself; what is as an entity is that which it is by its essence, its character of subsisting in itself (ousia). This basic trait of the entity qua entity, however, is gleaned from the essence of nature: the natural entity contains the principle of its being and becoming (entelecheia) in itself.1 Plants and animals autonomously become and are what they are able to become and be, within the genetic nexus of nature. This genetic nexus is self-sufficient, requiring no contribution from the outside: again and again, each entity descends from another entity of the same specific imprint (eidos). The unity of nature, as such a genetic nexus of constant basic forms, has no need for questions concerning a beginning; it may be understood by itself, specifically and only as the unity of a temporally infinite nexus: “All things … come to be from what is” [ex ontos gignetai panta].2 The concept of “nature” coincides with and fulfills the concept of being.
But how can the character of being of something manufactured be related to this basic conception? The origin of a manufactured thing is skill (technē); as such, it seems not to reside in nature’s self-sufficient and infinite nexus but to begin in an act of positing that represents a leap in the continuum of specific formations. Only by a deeper interpretation of the ancient concept of technē can it be shown that what is manufactured also depends for its character of being on the inner nexus of nature; what comes into being by technē can be called an entity only by virtue of that nexus. Man as bearer of technē is not the radical principle of technical reality (technē onta). He himself is what he essentially is entirely as a link in the genetic unity of nature, so much so that he can constantly be invoked as a paradigm of self-sufficient relatedness: “All things … come to be from what is” [ex ontos gignetai panta]—“human begets human” [anthrōpos gar anthrōpon genna] (Met., 12.3.1070a8). Man is a link in the kosmos and nothing above or beside it. The human animal is set apart from other species of this genus by possession of logos (zōon logon echon).3 Logos epitomizes man’s special relationship to the kosmos, which consists in his ability to “convene” [versammeln] the being of the kosmos within himself as understanding and cognition (legein originally meaning “to gather” [sammeln]). All potentialities of this “human” are governed by and founded on its possession of logos, including technē, the skill at manufacturing works. In being related to nature, this skill sheds the appearance of spontaneous, originary radicalism and brute force: technē is possible only as the enactment of man’s relation to nature—its setting itself to work—which is founded in logos. This finds confirmation, for example, in Aristotle, who will admit only to a gradual and not an essential difference between the work (ergon) of man and the “work” of plants and animals.4 Logos only allows for additional possibilities but no essential difference in terms of work as action [Wirken]. Only by virtue of resting on natural being [pyhsei on], then, is technical being [technē on] itself an entity (ousia), a secondary mode of natural being.5 For technical being to escape from this secondary mode of natural being would be against logos and thus against human nature—futile violence (bia) against the entity and theft (steresis) of its being.
Upon this interpretation of the relationship between nature and technology, which is guided by a particular understanding of that which is as something founded on itself, rests the ancient view of the hierarchy of human behavior: theōria [theory] is placed before and above praxis, not only as an instrumental condition but insofar as it is theory that makes praxis possible in the first place. Theory, by having authentic and essential access to being, prepares the ground for any work-like [werkhaft] manner in which praxis may depend on or be derived from theory while excluding sheer violence. Accordingly, freedom is also clearly assigned its rank and scope.
Man’s self-understanding as a link in the homogeneous nexus of nature, freedom’s meaning derived from the scope of the given shape of the world, technē founded on the kosmos as gathered within logos—these were the corresponding aspects of the ancient understanding of being, according to which “being,” in the precise sense, can only be infinitely self-fashioning nature that manifests its constant creation of form in the genetic nexus, while a work-like entity qua entity can only be understood as being derived from that realm of meaning. A radically new view of the relation between nature and technology, and thus the opening of a much-extended scope for technical freedom, will consequently be able to develop only on the ground of a changed understanding of being.
In what does the radicalism of this transformation, the opening of new possibilities of thought and action, consist? What can be said in a preliminary way is that the self-sufficiency of nature and its effective context as the fundamental ontological dimension is ruptured. The clearest expression of this rupture is that the nexus of nature must now be conceived of as a temporal, finite one, and that the question of the principles and structures of its immanent course are superseded by the question concerning a beginning. Only from the circumstance that being and the cosmos are no longer congruent, that the kosmos no longer itself is or contains the divine being [theion on] but can be understood only in terms of, and as having its origin in, an other does this question draw its meaning and its urgency. No longer is the being of entities fully absorbed in, and sufficiently founded on, its genetic nexus. Instead, nature as a unity of physei onta is now itself a technē on. Nature’s genesis, traced back by deduction, breaks off amid the nothingness, which is the impossibility of its self-sufficient foundation, from which it was seized by the act of divine force of the creatio ex nihilo [creation from nothingness]. The creatio ex nihilo is a technical primary act in the most precise sense—the most radical leap—which thought can comprehend only as the boundary of its rational possibility. At the same time, here originates the stark inversion of the relationship between nature and technology that must be considered the epitome of the “conversion” (conversio) of ancient ontology. Freedom no longer receives its meaning from being given as nature; conversely, nature’s meaning derives from the divine freedom expressed in the primal, founding act of the creation decision—God’s will [quia voluit]—which is impervious to further questioning.6
But where does man stand within this new relationship between nature and technology? Man is no longer to be understood as a link in the genetic nexus of nature; he is no longer simply “nature,” and no longer is his essence reliant on the grounding provided by nature. Yet by no means does his singularity—an aspect usually maintained at the expense of others—reside foremost in being chosen and destined for salvation, a destiny that might also draw him out of a primal rootedness in the natural whole. Instead, this uniqueness exists already by virtue of his origins, which are not simply coeval with the entirety of creation; rather, each individual human being begins primally as a singular, originary, and unmediated creature of divine power. That the individual human soul should issue forth not in the course of the natural act of conception but from a discrete and particular act of creation by the hand of God means nothing less than the foundation of man’s radical autonomy, his having grown independently [Eigenwüchsigkeit] within nature as a whole, in which he is nonetheless phenomenally rooted. That man, according to his essence, should be capable of confronting and opposing nature—of relating to it through power and violation—is a possibility that can be understood only against the horizon of Christian ontology. The difference between Christian creationism and ancient generationism with regard to the origin of the soul is of unforeseeable latent consequence for the manner in which Western man will one day relate to the world. Only a human being, who, by virtue of his being, is placed into nature, rather than having emerged from it, and who thus finds no “natural” and hence unquestioned prefiguration of his existence therein, can potentially be a “technical” human being, forced to live in confrontation with nature.
Now, on the ground of the Christian understanding of being, the heterogeneity between man and nature is exacerbated to the point of a tragic hiatus through the consciousness—which suffuses Christian existence—of man’s primal decision, by which a failure to measure up to how he ought originally to be became the defining trait of his existence. Man, who set his freedom against being as God had intended being, is nonetheless unable to escape the necessity of having to make a life with and from this being. Original sin makes nature the antagonist of man’s self-possession; his life is thus characterized, as is already clear from the third chapter of Genesis, by the effort, severity, and labor of the and yet [Und doch] of having to live in nature—nature, which, to him, is no longer the ground supporting his existence and the ready wellspring of life, but that into which he is instead thrown like a person banished.7 The irreconcilable difference between freedom and necessity, the consequence of sin, predestines him to an existence that is largely effort, work, use of force, and violence—that is to say, “technical”—and which sets his will the target, which is as unattainable as it is impossible to relinquish, of nonetheless bringing into effortless harmony existence and nature, compulsion and choice, freedom and necessity. It is no coincidence that the origin of the modern age is marked not just by the ascent of scientific thinking as a means of technical realization but also by the Reformation’s deepening of the sense of sinfulness and thus of the hiatus between existence and nature. Modern technology may be the application of modern knowledge of nature, yet such a dynamic transposition of knowledge into reality is not sufficiently justified by this underlying connection between science and technology; rather, it is a consequence of that understanding of the position of existence within nature. These connections have been thoroughly explored with regard to the emergence of the specifically modern form of economy, yet we are still lacking an analysis of the intellectual-historical background of the origins of technology.
A formidable objection to this account may now be raised: How, with these fundamental conditions in place, could the Middle Ages—the historical sphere of a Christian ontology—be such an untechnical era, in phenomenal terms? Against this objection, it must be brought to bear not only that the genuinely Christian driving forces in the Middle Ages were decisively hidden and kept latent by the impact of ancient metaphysics, which is hardly to be overestimated, but also that against a dynamic realization of these forces stood a peculiarity of the Middle Ages, which was to curtail the exigencies of the world and secular existence sub specie æternitatis [under the aspect of eternity]. Augustine’s formulation, according to which relations with the world were restricted to uti (use) while reserving frui (enjoyment) for the consummation of being in the hereafter as the absolute goal, provides the clearest illustration of this view.8 The significance of this reservation in keeping latent the impulses stimulating technology finds confirmation when viewed from that era’s end: among the decisive preconditions for the specific technical and economic development of the modern age is the abrogation of the difference between uti and frui, between use and enjoyment. The necessary use of nature finds fulfillment in its free and self-sufficient enjoyment.
What emerges ever more clearly is that to define technology as the application of modern science is insufficient as an explanation of its place in the picture of the modern age. For it is not at all self-evident that understanding should not be sufficient unto itself and self-contained, and instead demands application. Classical antiquity found understanding [Erkenntnis] and the knowledge [Wissen] that came with it to be the highest good and the epitome of human striving, as the beginning of Aristotle’s Metaphysics testifies [Met., 1.1.980a22]. Why, at the outset of the modern age, knowledge came to be no longer sufficient unto itself can hence not be accounted for by saying it demanded to be applied. A more plausible interpretation is that the historical understanding of self and world virtually challenged modern science to adopt its instrumental function—indeed, that its own rise was decisively provoked by the advanced state of the technical will. From a philosophical perspective, the commonly assumed precedence of science over technology appears to be inverted.
The consequences of the abrogation of the fundamental medieval difference between use and enjoyment are fathomless. The instrumental use of the world in anticipation of consummation in the hereafter is essentially finite, whereas enjoyment of the world, into which mere use becomes absorbed, is infinite. The replacement of a finite picture of the world by an infinite one—a process in itself characteristic of the epochal threshold of the modern age—also marks this historical line. Though the consequences will only emerge much later, the decisive transition is, in principle, already made here, leading from the use of nature and the application of its laws to its unremitting exploitation and conquest through which the dynamic of technology furnishes its own meaning. How stark the inner contradiction of a foundation that has enjoyment as its goal and work for a precondition is will only become apparent at the end of technical development.
The ontological connections presented here find even stronger confirmation if the largely neglected unity of preconditions through which modern art is connected to modern technology is taken into account. The Latin word ars inherits the meanings that in Greek were denoted by the word technē: art [Kunst] and technology [Technik], in present usage, are expressions of man’s primordial ars, an art that may be understood as the unity of man’s ability to create works. The novelty that modern art and technology hold in common is man’s conception of his abilities with respect to the fulfillment of his will to enjoyment [Genußwillen]. The factor of enjoyment constitutes one defining trait of modern aesthetics, the other factor being the artist’s creative power. The new perspective, in which man becomes aware of his own ability, can only be understood against the backdrop of the intellectual-historical situation of the Late Middle Ages, which is defined by nominalism.
Here, essentially theological considerations lead to the confidence of the High Middle Ages in the power of reason to effect understanding being shaken at the very root; access to the essence of being, which was brought forth by the divine creator’s infinite freedom, is foreclosed to man’s finite reason. Only in the praxis of orientation toward the world and in coming to terms with reality is the totality of our knowledge confirmed and vindicated as “right.” Terms [Begriffe] are mere “names” [nomina] rather than “concepts” [conceptus], and “right” and “wrong” now express merely the economic function of making one’s arrangements and finding one’s way within the world. As such, however, our entire capacity for understanding has assumed, a priori, a character that may safely be called “technical”: this capacity does not perceivingly submit [vernehmend hingegeben] to what is while remaining unable to access it; instead, it is, by its very origins, creative and productive of a unity of terms and laws arranged with the sole purpose of facilitating man’s task in the world. Our understanding essentially is art and technology as one already, the very ars humana, whose division into the forms of work and expression known as “art” and “technology” in the modern sense is but a secondary development. For the first time, human autonomy reveals itself to be the defining trait of the dawning epoch. Its origin, however, lies not in man elevating and aggrandizing himself, but in answering the need imposed by his essential strangeness in this world and his falling short of its truth that is founded in God. What is primary is not the excess and ardor of power but rather an exercise of power that submits to necessity. Since the world God created cannot become mankind’s property, man is now compelled to build his own world by his own efforts.
As it is given, nature, however, which is concealed in its essence and accessible to the quantifying formulas of science only as res extensa—becomes mere raw material for ars humana. The style of relating to the world, of which the foundations are described above so profoundly imbues the spirit of the modern age that even today it continues to bridge a world divided into East and West: both here and there, the program—which is stated ever more bluntly—is to bend nature to man’s will. What a technician in an American laboratory has to say about the meaning of his work is likewise expressed in the projects propagated by the East: Here, the world is being created a second time! How hidden this self-proclamation of the technical will was, until recently, and how explicit it has today become, finds a striking illustration in the history of those surrogate, or ersatz, substances, which were originally imitated laboriously from nature but now represent an immense branch of technology in which nature is anticipated or improved upon.
The insights thus gained into the historical nexus from which modern technology emerged as an incomparable phenomenon are confirmed when one attempts to understand the wider realm of notions and concepts that mark the beginning of the modern age as forming a unity of meaning. This is the backdrop to the Renaissance argument over whether art was essentially imitatio or inventio; the concept of invention, which later was to define the technical realm, only becomes meaningful in this context. That a key figure of nascent modernity such as Leonardo da Vinci should have been both an artist and a technician is no coincidence but rather confirms the unity of origin. By the same token, the emergence of the concept of political power as a claim to a rational, technical means of handling public affairs will have to be based on these same foundations.
Theology tries to keep human autonomy within the province of Christianity by framing it as a divine command. Accordingly, Nicholas of Cusa, who is also one of the founders of the experiment—that is to say, the attempt to force nature under the conditions of human understanding—writes: “O Domine … posuisti in libertate mea ut sim, si voluero, mei ipsius. Hinc nisi sim mei ipsius, tu non es meus” [O Lord … you have placed within my freedom that I be my own if I am willing. Hence, unless I am my own, you are not mine].9 It is also in this context that the many-layered programmatic term “reformation” ought to be considered. In proclaiming it, Marsilio Ficino would have it be understood in a universal and cosmic sense, and would find its exemplary fulfillment in art: the counterpart to God’s formation of nature is human re-formatio, which concerns man because he is rooted in the original creation neither self-evidently nor as though it were his own property.10 The distance between existence and nature always provides the ontological foundation. Descartes demands that we throw away [jeter par terre] all that is presupposed [prévention] by history and nature,11 thus cleaning the slate for a project for science and nature that is altogether radical and, as it were, ex nihilo in its approach. Framing the unity of science as such a project is an essentially technical stance. Giambattista Vico merely uses another word in attempting to describe all varieties of human work and action as poietic; in doing so, he becomes the first to include history within the realm of ars humana.12
Thus emerge the outlines of an interpretation that seeks to understand the signature developments of the modern age—science, technology, art, and power—in terms of the unity of their origin in the historical process whereby meaning is imparted by being. The problem of technology cannot be torn from this unity as something to be formulated or solved on its own.
Now, a weighty objection has been leveled against an understanding of the history of modern technology as the relentless unfolding of an inner principle. In his “Thoughts on Technology,” which, even though their ontological underpinning leaves much to be desired, remain of considerable descriptive value, Ortega y Gasset points to the essential distinction that must be made within the technical realm itself between a tool and a machine.13
Can we continue to explain this ineluctable difference by appealing to an unmodified account of the ontological foundations disclosed so far, or is this the point where something radically new emerges? We have seen that modern man is situated so as to necessarily need technical world-making, a need that was recast as a virtue—that is, as the dignity, pride, and hubris of human autonomy and autarky—only by the consciousness of the strength it took to accept the task. It belongs to the inner dynamic of that task and its fulfillment that what began as makeshift has become elevated to the absolute rank of a “second creation,” manifesting itself in creations that are not essentially inferior to those of the first creation. If what was created in the first creation is to be understood as “nature”—that is to say, a creation out-of-itself of fashioning and exertion, which is grounded in itself—then the same tendency toward that very ontological rank must inhere in the second creation—that is to say, the second creation can find its fulfillment only in a “second nature.” By this logic, the distinctive property of natural being—to carry within itself the principle of its fashioning and its function—is transposed into the realm of technical work. This is where the impetus for the evolving design of automata, engines, and machines can be found, those devices in the modern world that function “out of themselves,” which could seem ever more adequate to “first nature,” to the degree that it became plausible to conceive of first nature itself as a “world apparatus.” This schema for the interpretation of nature does not spring primarily from the expansive tendency of technical man’s basic notions; rather, this schema is simply what enabled the machine to be conceived of as a technical transposition of the concept of nature.
That the machine should produce, that it might be put to industrial use, is, by comparison, only a late and secondary trait. Accordingly, the defining caesura must be sought not in the invention of industrial machines (e.g., the mechanical loom [1825]) but in the baroque “play” world of automata, the dream of the perpetual motion machine, which signifies the absolute technical “out-of-itself.” Yet the key word of this essential tendency of the technical stance toward the world is the nonconcept [Unbegriff] of “organization,” which assumes the organic to be the product of a construction.
But does the concept of a “second nature” really carry the implications of the modern age’s understanding of nature to their conclusion, to the end of all its possible consequences? Is the claim to “unconditioned production,” as Heidegger has called the technical will,14 enacted in the “second nature” of a perfected machine-world? Or does such unconditionality imply that it will suffer nothing else alongside it—which is to say that not only has “second nature” provided the potency for the nullification of the first nature but that the former’s essence also pushes toward the latter’s realization? Man’s experience of this ultimate stage of possible technical fulfillment is only just beginning.
Translated by Joe Paul Kroll
[Originally published as “Das Verhältnis von Natur und Technik als philosophisches Problem,” Studium Generale 4, no. 8 (1951): 461–467; from Hans Blumenberg, Ästhetische und metaphorologische Schriften, ed. Anselm Haverkamp (Frankfurt am Main: Suhrkamp, 2001), 253–265. English-language version published in Graduate Faculty Philosophy Journal 40, no. 1 (2019): 19–30.]
1. [Aristotle, De Anima, trans. C. D. C. Reeve (Indianapolis, IN: Hackett, 2017), 2.1.412a19–21.]
2. Aristotle, Metaphysics, trans. C. D. C. Reeve (Indianapolis, IN: Hackett, 2016), 12.2.1069b19.
3. [Aristotle, Politics, trans. C. D. C. Reeve (Indianapolis, IN: Hackett, 2017), 1.1.1253a10.]
4. [Aristotle, Nicomachean Ethics, trans. C. D. C. Reeve (Indianapolis, IN: Hackett, 2014), 1.7.1097b24–1098a3.]
5. [Aristotle, De Partibus Animalium I, in De Partibus Animalium I and De Generatione Animalium I, trans. David M. Balme (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 2003), 1.1.640a28–9.]
6. Augustine, On Genesis: A Refutation of the Manichees, in On Genesis, trans. Edmund Hill, ed. John E. Rotelle (Hyde Park, NY: New City Press, 2002), bk. 1, chap. 2, §4; De Genesi contra Manichæos, ed. Dorothea Weber, vol. 91 of Corpus Scriptorum Ecclesiasticorum Latinorum, ed. Kommission zur Herausgabe des Corpus der lateinischen Kirchenväter (Vienna: Verlag der Österreichischen Akademie der Wissenschaften, 1998), bk. 1, chap. 2, §4.
7. [3 Gen. 14–24, Revised Standard Version.]
8. [See Augustine, De Doctrina Christiana, trans. and ed. R. P. H. Green (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1995), bk. 1, §9.]
9. Nicholas of Cusa, On The Vision of God, in Selected Spiritual Writings, trans. H. Lawrence Bond (Mahwah, NJ: Paulist Press, 1997), chap. 7, §25; De visione Dei, ed. Heide Dorothea Riemann, vol. 6 of Nicolai de Cusa Opera Omnia, ed. Heidelberger Akademie der Wissenschaften (Hamburg: Meiner, 2000), chap. 7, §25.
10. Marsilio Ficino, “Quam decens Dei hominis que coniunctio,” in De christiana religione, in Opera Omnia, ed. Paul Oskar Kristeller and Mario Sancipriano (Turin: Bottega D’Erasmo, 1962), vol. 1, chap. 18, lines 1–2, 4–10.
11. [René Descartes, Discours de la méthode, in Discours de la méthode et essais, vol. 6 of Œuvres de Descartes, ed. Charles Adam and Paul Tannery (Paris: Léopold Cerf, 1902), 13, 18; Discourse on the Method, trans. Robert Stoothoff, in vol. 1 of The Philosophical Writings of Descartes, trans. John Cottingham, Robert Stoothoff, and Dugald Murdoch (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1985), 117, 120.]
12. [Giambattista Vico, The New Science, trans. Thomas Goddard Bergin and Max Harold Fisch (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 1948), §367.]
13. [José Ortega y Gasset, “Thoughts on Technology,” trans. Helene Weyl, in Philosophy and Technology: Readings in the Philosophical Problems of Technology, ed. Carl Mitcham and Robert Mackey (New York: Free Press, 1972), 290–313.]
14. Martin Heidegger, “Letter on Humanism,” in Pathmarks, trans. Frank A. Capuzzi, ed. William McNeill (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1998), 259; “Brief über den ‘Humanismus,’ ” in Wegmarken, ed. Friedrich Wilhelm von Herrmann, vol. 9 of Gesamtausgabe, ed. Friedrich Wilhelm von Herrmann (Frankfurt am Main: Klostermann, 1976), 340.