One has only as much morality as one has philosophy and poetry.

“One has only as much morality as one has philosophy and poetry.” Thus declares Karl Wilhelm Friedrich Schlegel, prophet of Romantic thought, who sought to bind reason and imagination into one flame. In this saying, he gives us a truth both startling and profound: that true morality does not arise from obedience to law or custom, but from the union of philosophy and poetry. Without thought to guide and vision to inspire, morality is hollow. With them, it is living, radiant, and enduring.

The meaning of this wisdom lies in the recognition that philosophy provides the grounding of morality, the rational search for truth and the questioning of what is right. But poetry gives morality its heart, its fire, its capacity to move the soul beyond cold calculation. Philosophy without poetry becomes dry, rigid, a lifeless code; poetry without philosophy becomes sentiment without anchor. Only when the two are joined—reason and imagination, truth and beauty—does morality take root in the human being, not as command, but as conviction.

History proves this union. Consider Socrates, who lived and died for the examined life. His philosophy was the questioning of justice, the probing of virtue. Yet he also lived with the spirit of a poet, for his words and his martyrdom carried the force of myth, stirring the imagination of generations. Socrates’ morality was not imposed from without; it arose from the marriage of thought and vision. Thus, when Athens condemned him, he chose death rather than betray the truth within. His morality was as wide as his philosophy, as deep as his poetry.

Another example shines in Mahatma Gandhi. He was steeped in philosophy—the Bhagavad Gita, Tolstoy, and the reasoning of nonviolence. But he was also a poet of life, shaping his struggle with beauty, symbols, and parables that moved the hearts of millions. His morality was not a rulebook but a lived poem of resistance, woven with reason and imagination. Had he embraced only philosophy, he might have remained an academic; had he embraced only poetry, he might have remained a dreamer. But in their union, he became a moral force that shook an empire.

The origin of Schlegel’s words lies in the Romantic conviction that morality is not mechanical. The Enlightenment exalted reason, but Romanticism insisted that the full human being is made of thought and imagination together. Schlegel saw that only when we cultivate both do we rise to true morality, for morality must not only be known—it must be felt. It must sing in the conscience and shine in the imagination, or it is nothing more than dry law.

The lesson for us is luminous: if you wish to be moral, do not merely obey, and do not merely feel. Instead, cultivate your philosophy, questioning the why of your actions, searching for truth. And also cultivate your poetry, the imagination that lets you see the beauty in others, the dignity of their lives, the sorrow in their suffering. Let your morality be born not of habit but of vision, not of fear but of conviction.

Practically, this means: read deeply, both the philosophers and the poets. Let Plato and Kant sharpen your reason, but let Rilke and Whitman stir your heart. Reflect on justice with logic, but also walk among the people and hear their stories, for that too is poetry. And in your own life, when choices arise, ask not only what is right in law, but what sings in truth and beauty together.

Thus the teaching endures: one has only as much morality as one has philosophy and poetry. For morality is not a mask worn before the world, but the harmony of reason and imagination within. Nurture both, and your life will be a living poem of wisdom, a philosophy made flesh, a morality unshaken by time.