” bringing with it such revels for the feelings. They will smile, those rigorous spirits, when anyone says in their presence, “That thought elevates me, why should it not be true?” or, “That work enchants me, why should it not be beautiful?” or, “That artist enlarges me, why should he not be great?” Perhaps they will not only have a smile, but a genuine disgust for all that is thus rapturous, idealistic, feminine, and hermaphroditic, and if anyone could look into their inmost hearts, he would not easily find therein the intention to reconcile “Christian sentiments” with “antique taste,” or even with “modern parliamentarism” (the kind of reconciliation necessarily found even among philosophers in our very uncertain and consequently very conciliatory century). Critical discipline, and every habit that conduces to purity and rigour in intellectual matters, will not only be demanded from themselves by these philosophers of the future, they may even make a display thereof as their special adornment⁠—nevertheless they will not want to be called critics on that account. It will seem to them no small indignity to philosophy to have it decreed, as is so welcome nowadays, that “philosophy itself is criticism and critical science⁠—and nothing else whatever!” Though this estimate of philosophy may enjoy the approval of all the Positivists of France and Germany (and possibly it even flattered the heart and taste of