Jacobi represents this attitude in several of his writings, with great elevation of soul, and especially in the _Woldemar_ (1779, 1794-96), the most lively protest that has ever been made against law in the name of the individual. Here the question treated is precisely whether we should follow the inspirations of our own conscience or the laws of our own people. Sides are taken against "the compulsion and violence exercised by usages, customs, habits, and against those who do not think, save by means of those laws, holding them sacred, with resolute soul and mind inert"; and "that audacious heroic spirit is celebrated, which raises itself above the laws and common morality that it may produce a new order of things." "His heart alone tells man immediately what is good; his heart alone, his instincts only, can tell him immediately: to love it is his life. Reflection teaches him to know and to practise what leads to good. Habit assures and makes his the wisdom that he has acquired." "But this individual initiative," he observes, "may be the cause of abuse and misunderstandings." "Without doubt," replied Jacobi, "but what cannot be misunderstood has little meaning, and what cannot be abused has but little force in use." Men may be divided into two classes; the one exaggerates fear, the other hope and courage. The former are circumspect, always in doubt, they fear the truth because it may be misunderstood, they fear great qualities, lofty virtue, because of the aberrations to which it may give rise; and they have evil always before their eyes. The latter are the bold (who could be called the irreflective in the Platonic sense) and they behave with less exactitude; they are not so perplexed, they trust rather to the voice of their heart than to any word from without; they build rather upon courage than upon virtue, which generally keeps them waiting too long. They sometimes ask themselves with Young: Is virtue then alone baptized and are the passions pagan? "If," says Jacobi, "I must keep to one of these classes, I choose the second." "Yes," he exclaims elsewhere, opposing the abstractness of Kant,--"yes, I am atheist and impious, yes, I will to lie, in opposition to the will that wills nothing, as Desdemona lied when dying, I will to lie and to deceive like Pylades, when he slew himself for the sake of Orestes; I will to slay like Timoleon; to break laws and oaths like Epaminondas and John de Witt; to commit suicide like Otho; to despoil the temple like David; to pluck ears of corn on the Sabbath day, if only because I am hungry and the law is made for man, not man for the law. By the sacrosanct conscience that I have within me, I know that the _privilegium aggratiandi_ for such crimes against the pure letter of the law, rational, absolute and universal, is the sovran right of man himself, the seal of his dignity, of his divine nature."[31] But it must be remarked upon reading these effusions (most sincere, as all that came