PREFACE TO THE FIRST EDITION, 1781
Human reason, in one sphere of its cognition, is called upon to
consider questions, which it cannot decline, as they are presented by its own
nature, but which it cannot answer, as they transcend every faculty of the mind.
It falls into this difficulty without any fault of its own. It
begins with principles, which cannot be dispensed with in the field of
experience, and the truth and sufficiency of which are, at the same time,
insured by experience. With these principles it rises, in obedience to the laws
of its own nature, to ever higher and more remote conditions. But it quickly
discovers that, in this way, its labours must remain ever incomplete, because
new questions never cease to present themselves; and thus it finds itself
compelled to have recourse to principles which transcend the region of
experience, while they are regarded by common sense without distrust. It thus
falls into confusion and contradictions, from which it conjectures the presence
of latent errors, which, however, it is unable to discover, because the
principles it employs, transcending the limits of experience, cannot be tested
by that criterion. The arena of these endless contests is called Metaphysic.
Time was, when she was the queen of all the sciences; and, if we
take the will for the deed, she certainly deserves, so far as regards the high
importance of her object-matter, this title of honour. Now, it is the fashion of
the time to heap contempt and scorn upon her; and the matron mourns, forlorn and
forsaken, like Hecuba:
Modo maxima rerum,
Tot generis, natisque potens…
Nunc trahor exul, inops.
— Ovid, Metamorphoses. xiii
At first, her government, under the administration of the
dogmatists, was an absolute despotism. But, as the legislative continued to show
traces of the ancient barbaric rule, her empire gradually broke up, and
intestine wars introduced the reign of anarchy; while the sceptics, like nomadic
tribes, who hate a permanent habitation and settled mode of living, attacked
from time to time those who had organized themselves into civil communities. But
their number was, very happily, small; and thus they could not entirely put a
stop to the exertions of those who persisted in raising new edifices, although
on no settled or uniform plan. In recent times the hope dawned upon us of seeing
those disputes settled, and the legitimacy of her claims established by a kind
of physiology of the human understanding—that of the celebrated Locke. But it
was found that—although it was affirmed that this so-called queen could not
refer her descent to any higher source than that of common experience, a
circumstance which necessarily brought suspicion on her claims—as this genealogy
was incorrect, she persisted in the advancement of her claims to sovereignty.
Thus metaphysics necessarily fell back into the antiquated and rotten
constitution of dogmatism, and again became obnoxious to the contempt from which
efforts had been made to save it. At present, as all methods, according to the
general persuasion, have been tried in vain, there reigns nought but weariness
and complete indifferentism—the mother of chaos and night in the scientific
world, but at the same time the source of, or at least the prelude to, the
re-creation and reinstallation of a science, when it has fallen into confusion,
obscurity, and disuse from ill directed effort.
For it is in reality vain to profess indifference in regard to
such inquiries, the object of which cannot be indifferent to humanity. Besides,
these pretended indifferentists, however much they may try to disguise
themselves by the assumption of a popular style and by changes on the language
of the schools, unavoidably fall into metaphysical declarations and
propositions, which they profess to regard with so much contempt. At the same
time, this indifference, which has arisen in the world of science, and which
relates to that kind of knowledge which we should wish to see destroyed the
last, is a phenomenon that well deserves our attention and reflection. It is
plainly not the effect of the levity, but of the matured judgement* of the age,
which refuses to be any longer entertained with illusory knowledge, It is, in
fact, a call to reason, again to undertake the most laborious of all tasks—that
of self-examination, and to establish a tribunal, which may secure it in its
well-grounded claims, while it pronounces against all baseless assumptions and
pretensions, not in an arbitrary manner, but according to its own eternal and
unchangeable laws. This tribunal is nothing less than the critical investigation
of pure reason.
[*Footnote: We very often hear complaints of the shallowness of
the present age, and of the decay of profound science. But I do not think that
those which rest upon a secure foundation, such as mathematics, physical
science, etc., in the least deserve this reproach, but that they rather maintain
their ancient fame, and in the latter case, indeed, far surpass it. The same
would be the case with the other kinds of cognition, if their principles were
but firmly established. In the absence of this security, indifference, doubt,
and finally, severe criticism are rather signs of a profound habit of thought.
Our age is the age of criticism, to which everything must be subjected. The
sacredness of religion, and the authority of legislation, are by many regarded
as grounds of exemption from the examination of this tribunal. But, if they on
they are exempted, they become the subjects of just suspicion, and cannot lay
claim to sincere respect, which reason accords only to that which has stood the
test of a free and public examination.]
I do not mean by this a criticism of books and systems, but a
critical inquiry into the faculty of reason, with reference to the cognitions to
which it strives to attain without the aid of experience; in other words, the
solution of the question regarding the possibility or impossibility of
metaphysics, and the determination of the origin, as well as of the extent and
limits of this science. All this must be done on the basis of principles.
This path—the only one now remaining—has been entered upon by
me; and I flatter myself that I have, in this way, discovered the cause of—and
consequently the mode of removing—all the errors which have hitherto set reason
at variance with itself, in the sphere of non-empirical thought. I have not
returned an evasive answer to the questions of reason, by alleging the inability
and limitation of the faculties of the mind; I have, on the contrary, examined
them completely in the light of principles, and, after having discovered the
cause of the doubts and contradictions into which reason fell, have solved them
to its perfect satisfaction. It is true, these questions have not been solved as
dogmatism, in its vain fancies and desires, had expected; for it can only be
satisfied by the exercise of magical arts, and of these I have no knowledge. But
neither do these come within the compass of our mental powers; and it was the
duty of philosophy to destroy the illusions which had their origin in
misconceptions, whatever darling hopes and valued expectations may be ruined by
its explanations. My chief aim in this work has been thoroughness; and I make
bold to say that there is not a single metaphysical problem that does not find
its solution, or at least the key to its solution, here. Pure reason is a
perfect unity; and therefore, if the principle presented by it prove to be
insufficient for the solution of even a single one of those questions to which
the very nature of reason gives birth, we must reject it, as we could not be
perfectly certain of its sufficiency in the case of the others.
While I say this, I think I see upon the countenance of the
reader signs of dissatisfaction mingled with contempt, when he hears
declarations which sound so boastful and extravagant; and yet they are beyond
comparison more moderate than those advanced by the commonest author of the
commonest philosophical programme, in which the dogmatist professes to
demonstrate the simple nature of the soul, or the necessity of a primal being.
Such a dogmatist promises to extend human knowledge beyond the limits of
possible experience; while I humbly confess that this is completely beyond my
power. Instead of any such attempt, I confine myself to the examination of
reason alone and its pure thought; and I do not need to seek far for the
sum-total of its cognition, because it has its seat in my own mind. Besides,
common logic presents me with a complete and systematic catalogue of all the
simple operations of reason; and it is my task to answer the question how far
reason can go, without the material presented and the aid furnished by
experience.
So much for the completeness and thoroughness necessary in the
execution of the present task. The aims set before us are not arbitrarily
proposed, but are imposed upon us by the nature of cognition itself.
The above remarks relate to the matter of our critical inquiry.
As regards the form, there are two indispensable conditions, which any one who
undertakes so difficult a task as that of a critique of pure reason, is bound to
fulfil. These conditions are certitude and clearness.
As regards certitude, I have fully convinced myself that, in
this sphere of thought, opinion is perfectly inadmissible, and that everything
which bears the least semblance of an hypothesis must be excluded, as of no
value in such discussions. For it is a necessary condition of every cognition
that is to be established upon a priori grounds that it shall be held to be
absolutely necessary; much more is this the case with an attempt to determine
all pure a priori cognition, and to furnish the standard—and consequently an
example— of all apodeictic (philosophical) certitude. Whether I have succeeded
in what I professed to do, it is for the reader to determine; it is the author's
business merely to adduce grounds and reasons, without determining what
influence these ought to have on the mind of his judges. But, lest anything he
may have said may become the innocent cause of doubt in their minds, or tend to
weaken the effect which his arguments might otherwise produce—he may be allowed
to point out those passages which may occasion mistrust or difficulty, although
these do not concern the main purpose of the present work. He does this solely
with the view of removing from the mind of the reader any doubts which might
affect his judgement of the work as a whole, and in regard to its ultimate aim.
I know no investigations more necessary for a full insight into
the nature of the faculty which we call understanding, and at the same time for
the determination of the rules and limits of its use, than those undertaken in
the second chapter of the "Transcendental Analytic," under the title of
"Deduction of the Pure Conceptions of the Understanding"; and they have also
cost me by far the greatest labour—labour which, I hope, will not remain
uncompensated. The view there taken, which goes somewhat deeply into the
subject, has two sides, The one relates to the objects of the pure
understanding, and is intended to demonstrate and to render comprehensible the
objective validity of its a priori conceptions; and it forms for this reason an
essential part of the Critique. The other considers the pure understanding
itself, its possibility and its powers of cognition—that is, from a subjective
point of view; and, although this exposition is of great importance, it does not
belong essentially to the main purpose of the work, because the grand question
is what and how much can reason and understanding, apart from experience,
cognize, and not, how is the faculty of thought itself possible? As the latter
is an inquiry into the cause of a given effect, and has thus in it some
semblance of an hypothesis (although, as I shall show on another occasion, this
is really not the fact), it would seem that, in the present instance, I had
allowed myself to enounce a mere opinion, and that the reader must therefore be
at liberty to hold a different opinion. But I beg to remind him that, if my
subjective deduction does not produce in his mind the conviction of its
certitude at which I aimed, the objective deduction, with which alone the
present work is properly concerned, is in every respect satisfactory.
As regards clearness, the reader has a right to demand, in the
first place, discursive or logical clearness, that is, on the basis of
conceptions, and, secondly, intuitive or aesthetic clearness, by means of
intuitions, that is, by examples or other modes of illustration in concreto. I
have done what I could for the first kind of intelligibility. This was essential
to my purpose; and it thus became the accidental cause of my inability to do
complete justice to the second requirement. I have been almost always at a loss,
during the progress of this work, how to settle this question. Examples and
illustrations always appeared to me necessary, and, in the first sketch of the
Critique, naturally fell into their proper places. But I very soon became aware
of the magnitude of my task, and the numerous problems with which I should be
engaged; and, as I perceived that this critical investigation would, even if
delivered in the driest scholastic manner, be far from being brief, I found it
unadvisable to enlarge it still more with examples and explanations, which are
necessary only from a popular point of view. I was induced to take this course
from the consideration also that the present work is not intended for popular
use, that those devoted to science do not require such helps, although they are
always acceptable, and that they would have materially interfered with my
present purpose. Abbe Terrasson remarks with great justice that, if we estimate
the size of a work, not from the number of its pages, but from the time which we
require to make ourselves master of it, it may be said of many a book that it
would be much shorter, if it were not so short. On the other hand, as regards
the comprehensibility of a system of speculative cognition, connected under a
single principle, we may say with equal justice: many a book would have been
much clearer, if it had not been intended to be so very clear. For explanations
and examples, and other helps to intelligibility, aid us in the comprehension of
parts, but they distract the attention, dissipate the mental power of the
reader, and stand in the way of his forming a clear conception of the whole; as
he cannot attain soon enough to a survey of the system, and the colouring and
embellishments bestowed upon it prevent his observing its articulation or
organization—which is the most important consideration with him, when he comes
to judge of its unity and stability.
The reader must naturally have a strong inducement to co-operate
with the present author, if he has formed the intention of erecting a complete
and solid edifice of metaphysical science, according to the plan now laid before
him. Metaphysics, as here represented, is the only science which admits of
completion—and with little labour, if it is united, in a short time; so that
nothing will be left to future generations except the task of illustrating and
applying it didactically. For this science is nothing more than the inventory of
all that is given us by pure reason, systematically arranged. Nothing can escape
our notice; for what reason produces from itself cannot lie concealed, but must
be brought to the light by reason itself, so soon as we have discovered the
common principle of the ideas we seek. The perfect unity of this kind of
cognitions, which are based upon pure conceptions, and uninfluenced by any
empirical element, or any peculiar intuition leading to determinate experience,
renders this completeness not only practicable, but also necessary.
Tecum habita, et noris quam sit tibi curta supellex.
— Persius. Satirae iv. 52.
Such a system of pure speculative reason I hope to be able to
publish under the title of Metaphysic of Nature*. The content of this work
(which will not be half so long) will be very much richer than that of the
present Critique, which has to discover the sources of this cognition and expose
the conditions of its possibility, and at the same time to clear and level a fit
foundation for the scientific edifice. In the present work, I look for the
patient hearing and the impartiality of a judge; in the other, for the good-will
and assistance of a co-labourer. For, however complete the list of principles
for this system may be in the Critique, the correctness of the system requires
that no deduced conceptions should be absent. These cannot be presented a
priori, but must be gradually discovered; and, while the synthesis of
conceptions has been fully exhausted in the Critique, it is necessary that, in
the proposed work, the same should be the case with their analysis. But this
will be rather an amusement than a labour.
[*Footnote: In contradistinction to the Metaphysic of Ethics.
This work was never published.]
PREFACE TO THE SECOND EDITION, 1787
Whether the treatment of that portion of our knowledge which
lies within the province of pure reason advances with that undeviating certainty
which characterizes the progress of science, we shall be at no loss to
determine. If we find those who are engaged in metaphysical pursuits, unable to
come to an understanding as to the method which they ought to follow; if we find
them, after the most elaborate preparations, invariably brought to a stand
before the goal is reached, and compelled to retrace their steps and strike into
fresh paths, we may then feel quite sure that they are far from having attained
to the certainty of scientific progress and may rather be said to be merely
groping about in the dark. In these circumstances we shall render an important
service to reason if we succeed in simply indicating the path along which it
must travel, in order to arrive at any results—even if it should be found
necessary to abandon many of those aims which, without reflection, have been
proposed for its attainment.
That logic has advanced in this sure course, even from the
earliest times, is apparent from the fact that, since Aristotle, it has been
unable to advance a step and, thus, to all appearance has reached its
completion. For, if some of the moderns have thought to enlarge its domain by
introducing psychological discussions on the mental faculties, such as
imagination and wit, metaphysical, discussions on the origin of knowledge and
the different kinds of certitude, according to the difference of the objects
(idealism, scepticism, and so on), or anthropological discussions on prejudices,
their causes and remedies: this attempt, on the part of these authors, only
shows their ignorance of the peculiar nature of logical science. We do not
enlarge but disfigure the sciences when we lose sight of their respective limits
and allow them to run into one another. Now logic is enclosed within limits
which admit of perfectly clear definition; it is a science which has for its
object nothing but the exposition and proof of the formal laws of all thought,
whether it be a priori or empirical, whatever be its origin or its object, and
whatever the difficulties—natural or accidental— which it encounters in the
human mind.
The early success of logic must be attributed exclusively to the
narrowness of its field, in which abstraction may, or rather must, be made of
all the objects of cognition with their characteristic distinctions, and in
which the understanding has only to deal with itself and with its own forms. It
is, obviously, a much more difficult task for reason to strike into the sure
path of science, where it has to deal not simply with itself, but with objects
external to itself. Hence, logic is properly only a propaedeutic—forms, as it
were, the vestibule of the sciences; and while it is necessary to enable us to
form a correct judgement with regard to the various branches of knowledge, still
the acquisition of real, substantive knowledge is to be sought only in the
sciences properly so called, that is, in the objective sciences.
Now these sciences, if they can be termed rational at all, must
contain elements of a priori cognition, and this cognition may stand in a
twofold relation to its object. Either it may have to determine the conception
of the object—which must be supplied extraneously, or it may have to establish
its reality. The former is theoretical, the latter practical, rational
cognition. In both, the pure or a priori element must be treated first, and must
be carefully distinguished from that which is supplied from other sources. Any
other method can only lead to irremediable confusion.
Mathematics and physics are the two theoretical sciences which
have to determine their objects a priori. The former is purely a priori, the
latter is partially so, but is also dependent on other sources of cognition.
In the earliest times of which history affords us any record,
mathematics had already entered on the sure course of science, among that
wonderful nation, the Greeks. Still it is not to be supposed that it was as easy
for this science to strike into, or rather to construct for itself, that royal
road, as it was for logic, in which reason has only to deal with itself. On the
contrary, I believe that it must have remained long—chiefly among the
Egyptians—in the stage of blind groping after its true aims and destination, and
that it was revolutionized by the happy idea of one man, who struck out and
determined for all time the path which this science must follow, and which
admits of an indefinite advancement. The history of this intellectual
revolution—much more important in its results than the discovery of the passage
round the celebrated Cape of Good Hope—and of its author, has not been
preserved. But Diogenes Laertius, in naming the supposed discoverer of some of
the simplest elements of geometrical demonstration—elements which, according to
the ordinary opinion, do not even require to be proved—makes it apparent that
the change introduced by the first indication of this new path, must have seemed
of the utmost importance to the mathematicians of that age, and it has thus been
secured against the chance of oblivion. A new light must have flashed on the
mind of the first man (Thales, or whatever may have been his name) who
demonstrated the properties of the isosceles triangle. For he found that it was
not sufficient to meditate on the figure, as it lay before his eyes, or the
conception of it, as it existed in his mind, and thus endeavour to get at the
knowledge of its properties, but that it was necessary to produce these
properties, as it were, by a positive a priori construction; and that, in order
to arrive with certainty at a priori cognition, he must not attribute to the
object any other properties than those which necessarily followed from that
which he had himself, in accordance with his conception, placed in the object.
A much longer period elapsed before physics entered on the
highway of science. For it is only about a century and a half since the wise
Bacon gave a new direction to physical studies, or rather—as others were already
on the right track—imparted fresh vigour to the pursuit of this new direction.
Here, too, as in the case of mathematics, we find evidence of a rapid
intellectual revolution. In the remarks which follow I shall confine myself to
the empirical side of natural science.
When Galilei experimented with balls of a definite weight on the
inclined plane, when Torricelli caused the air to sustain a weight which he had
calculated beforehand to be equal to that of a definite column of water, or when
Stahl, at a later period, converted metals into lime, and reconverted lime into
metal, by the addition and subtraction of certain elements; [Footnote: I do not
here follow with exactness the history of the experimental method, of which,
indeed, the first steps are involved in some obscurity.] a light broke upon all
natural philosophers. They learned that reason only perceives that which it
produces after its own design; that it must not be content to follow, as it
were, in the leading-strings of nature, but must proceed in advance with
principles of judgement according to unvarying laws, and compel nature to reply
its questions. For accidental observations, made according to no preconceived
plan, cannot be united under a necessary law. But it is this that reason seeks
for and requires. It is only the principles of reason which can give to
concordant phenomena the validity of laws, and it is only when experiment is
directed by these rational principles that it can have any real utility. Reason
must approach nature with the view, indeed, of receiving information from it,
not, however, in the character of a pupil, who listens to all that his master
chooses to tell him, but in that of a judge, who compels the witnesses to reply
to those questions which he himself thinks fit to propose. To this single idea
must the revolution be ascribed, by which, after groping in the dark for so many
centuries, natural science was at length conducted into the path of certain
progress.
We come now to metaphysics, a purely speculative science, which
occupies a completely isolated position and is entirely independent of the
teachings of experience. It deals with mere conceptions—not, like mathematics,
with conceptions applied to intuition—and in it, reason is the pupil of itself
alone. It is the oldest of the sciences, and would still survive, even if all
the rest were swallowed up in the abyss of an all-destroying barbarism. But it
has not yet had the good fortune to attain to the sure scientific method. This
will be apparent; if we apply the tests which we proposed at the outset. We find
that reason perpetually comes to a stand, when it attempts to gain a priori the
perception even of those laws which the most common experience confirms. We find
it compelled to retrace its steps in innumerable instances, and to abandon the
path on which it had entered, because this does not lead to the desired result.
We find, too, that those who are engaged in metaphysical pursuits are far from
being able to agree among themselves, but that, on the contrary, this science
appears to furnish an arena specially adapted for the display of skill or the
exercise of strength in mock-contests— a field in which no combatant ever yet
succeeded in gaining an inch of ground, in which, at least, no victory was ever
yet crowned with permanent possession.
This leads us to inquire why it is that, in metaphysics, the
sure path of science has not hitherto been found. Shall we suppose that it is
impossible to discover it? Why then should nature have visited our reason with
restless aspirations after it, as if it were one of our weightiest concerns?
Nay, more, how little cause should we have to place confidence in our reason, if
it abandons us in a matter about which, most of all, we desire to know the
truth—and not only so, but even allures us to the pursuit of vain phantoms, only
to betray us in the end? Or, if the path has only hitherto been missed, what
indications do we possess to guide us in a renewed investigation, and to enable
us to hope for greater success than has fallen to the lot of our predecessors?
It appears to me that the examples of mathematics and natural
philosophy, which, as we have seen, were brought into their present condition by
a sudden revolution, are sufficiently remarkable to fix our attention on the
essential circumstances of the change which has proved so advantageous to them,
and to induce us to make the experiment of imitating them, so far as the analogy
which, as rational sciences, they bear to metaphysics may permit. It has
hitherto been assumed that our cognition must conform to the objects; but all
attempts to ascertain anything about these objects a priori, by means of
conceptions, and thus to extend the range of our knowledge, have been rendered
abortive by this assumption. Let us then make the experiment whether we may not
be more successful in metaphysics, if we assume that the objects must conform to
our cognition. This appears, at all events, to accord better with the
possibility of our gaining the end we have in view, that is to say, of arriving
at the cognition of objects a priori, of determining something with respect to
these objects, before they are given to us. We here propose to do just what
Copernicus did in attempting to explain the celestial movements. When he found
that he could make no progress by assuming that all the heavenly bodies revolved
round the spectator, he reversed the process, and tried the experiment of
assuming that the spectator revolved, while the stars remained at rest. We may
make the same experiment with regard to the intuition of objects. If the
intuition must conform to the nature of the objects, I do not see how we can
know anything of them a priori. If, on the other hand, the object conforms to
the nature of our faculty of intuition, I can then easily conceive the
possibility of such an a priori knowledge. Now as I cannot rest in the mere
intuitions, but—if they are to become cognitions—must refer them, as
representations, to something, as object, and must determine the latter by means
of the former, here again there are two courses open to me. Either, first, I may
assume that the conceptions, by which I effect this determination, conform to
the object—and in this case I am reduced to the same perplexity as before; or
secondly, I may assume that the objects, or, which is the same thing, that
experience, in which alone as given objects they are cognized, conform to my
conceptions—and then I am at no loss how to proceed. For experience itself is a
mode of cognition which requires understanding. Before objects, are given to me,
that is, a priori, I must presuppose in myself laws of the understanding which
are expressed in conceptions a priori. To these conceptions, then, all the
objects of experience must necessarily conform. Now there are objects which
reason thinks, and that necessarily, but which cannot be given in experience,
or, at least, cannot be given so as reason thinks them. The attempt to think
these objects will hereafter furnish an excellent test of the new method of
thought which we have adopted, and which is based on the principle that we only
cognize in things a priori that which we ourselves place in them.*
[*Footnote: This method, accordingly, which we have borrowed
from the natural philosopher, consists in seeking for the elements of pure
reason in that which admits of confirmation or refutation by experiment. Now the
propositions of pure reason, especially when they transcend the limits of
possible experience, do not admit of our making any experiment with their
objects, as in natural science. Hence, with regard to those conceptions and
principles which we assume a priori, our only course ill be to view them from
two different sides. We must regard one and the same conception, on the one
hand, in relation to experience as an object of the senses and of the
understanding, on the other hand, in relation to reason, isolated and
transcending the limits of experience, as an object of mere thought. Now if we
find that, when we regard things from this double point of view, the result is
in harmony with the principle of pure reason, but that, when we regard them from
a single point of view, reason is involved in self-contradiction, then the
experiment will establish the correctness of this distinction.]
This attempt succeeds as well as we could desire, and promises
to metaphysics, in its first part—that is, where it is occupied with conceptions
a priori, of which the corresponding objects may be given in experience—the
certain course of science. For by this new method we are enabled perfectly to
explain the possibility of a priori cognition, and, what is more, to demonstrate
satisfactorily the laws which lie a priori at the foundation of nature, as the
sum of the objects of experience—neither of which was possible according to the
procedure hitherto followed. But from this deduction of the faculty of a priori
cognition in the first part of metaphysics, we derive a surprising result, and
one which, to all appearance, militates against the great end of metaphysics, as
treated in the second part. For we come to the conclusion that our faculty of
cognition is unable to transcend the limits of possible experience; and yet this
is precisely the most essential object of this science. The estimate of our
rational cognition a priori at which we arrive is that it has only to do with
phenomena, and that things in themselves, while possessing a real existence, lie
beyond its sphere. Here we are enabled to put the justice of this estimate to
the test. For that which of necessity impels us to transcend the limits of
experience and of all phenomena is the unconditioned, which reason absolutely
requires in things as they are in themselves, in order to complete the series of
conditions. Now, if it appears that when, on the one hand, we assume that our
cognition conforms to its objects as things in themselves, the unconditioned
cannot be thought without contradiction, and that when, on the other hand, we
assume that our representation of things as they are given to us, does not
conform to these things as they are in themselves, but that these objects, as
phenomena, conform to our mode of representation, the contradiction disappears:
we shall then be convinced of the truth of that which we began by assuming for
the sake of experiment; we may look upon it as established that the
unconditioned does not lie in things as we know them, or as they are given to
us, but in things as they are in themselves, beyond the range of our cognition.*
[*Footnote: This experiment of pure reason has a great
similarity to that of the chemists, which they term the experiment of reduction,
or, more usually, the synthetic process. The analysis of the metaphysician
separates pure cognition a priori into two heterogeneous elements, viz., the
cognition of things as phenomena, and of things in themselves. Dialectic
combines these again into harmony with the necessary rational idea of the
unconditioned, and finds that this harmony never results except through the
above distinction, which is, therefore, concluded to be just.]
But, after we have thus denied the power of speculative reason
to make any progress in the sphere of the supersensible, it still remains for
our consideration whether data do not exist in practical cognition which may
enable us to determine the transcendent conception of the unconditioned, to rise
beyond the limits of all possible experience from a practical point of view, and
thus to satisfy the great ends of metaphysics. Speculative reason has thus, at
least, made room for such an extension of our knowledge: and, if it must leave
this space vacant, still it does not rob us of the liberty to fill it up, if we
can, by means of practical data—nay, it even challenges us to make the attempt.*
[*Footnote: So the central laws of the movements of the heavenly
bodies established the truth of that which Copernicus, first, assumed only as a
hypothesis, and, at the same time, brought to light that invisible force
(Newtonian attraction) which holds the universe together. The latter would have
remained forever undiscovered, if Copernicus had not ventured on the
experiment—contrary to the senses but still just— of looking for the observed
movements not in the heavenly bodies, but in the spectator. In this Preface I
treat the new metaphysical method as a hypothesis with the view of rendering
apparent the first attempts at such a change of method, which are always
hypothetical. But in the Critique itself it will be demonstrated, not
hypothetically, but apodeictically, from the nature of our representations of
space and time, and from the elementary conceptions of the understanding.]
This attempt to introduce a complete revolution in the procedure
of metaphysics, after the example of the geometricians and natural philosophers,
constitutes the aim of the Critique of Pure Speculative Reason. It is a treatise
on the method to be followed, not a system of the science itself. But, at the
same time, it marks out and defines both the external boundaries and the
internal structure of this science. For pure speculative reason has this
peculiarity, that, in choosing the various objects of thought, it is able to
define the limits of its own faculties, and even to give a complete enumeration
of the possible modes of proposing problems to itself, and thus to sketch out
the entire system of metaphysics. For, on the one hand, in cognition a priori,
nothing must be attributed to the objects but what the thinking subject derives
from itself; and, on the other hand, reason is, in regard to the principles of
cognition, a perfectly distinct, independent unity, in which, as in an organized
body, every member exists for the sake of the others, and all for the sake of
each, so that no principle can be viewed, with safety, in one relationship,
unless it is, at the same time, viewed in relation to the total use of pure
reason. Hence, too, metaphysics has this singular advantage—an advantage which
falls to the lot of no other science which has to do with objects—that, if once
it is conducted into the sure path of science, by means of this criticism, it
can then take in the whole sphere of its cognitions, and can thus complete its
work, and leave it for the use of posterity, as a capital which can never
receive fresh accessions. For metaphysics has to deal only with principles and
with the limitations of its own employment as determined by these principles. To
this perfection it is, therefore, bound, as the fundamental science, to attain,
and to it the maxim may justly be applied:
Nil actum reputans, si quid superesset agendum.
But, it will be asked, what kind of a treasure is this that we
propose to bequeath to posterity? What is the real value of this system of
metaphysics, purified by criticism, and thereby reduced to a permanent
condition? A cursory view of the present work will lead to the supposition that
its use is merely negative, that it only serves to warn us against venturing,
with speculative reason, beyond the limits of experience. This is, in fact, its
primary use. But this, at once, assumes a positive value, when we observe that
the principles with which speculative reason endeavours to transcend its limits
lead inevitably, not to the extension, but to the contraction of the use of
reason, inasmuch as they threaten to extend the limits of sensibility, which is
their proper sphere, over the entire realm of thought and, thus, to supplant the
pure (practical) use of reason. So far, then, as this criticism is occupied in
confining speculative reason within its proper bounds, it is only negative; but,
inasmuch as it thereby, at the same time, removes an obstacle which impedes and
even threatens to destroy the use of practical reason, it possesses a positive
and very important value. In order to admit this, we have only to be convinced
that there is an absolutely necessary use of pure reason—the moral use—in which
it inevitably transcends the limits of sensibility, without the aid of
speculation, requiring only to be insured against the effects of a speculation
which would involve it in contradiction with itself. To deny the positive
advantage of the service which this criticism renders us would be as absurd as
to maintain that the system of police is productive of no positive benefit,
since its main business is to prevent the violence which citizen has to
apprehend from citizen, that so each may pursue his vocation in peace and
security. That space and time are only forms of sensible intuition, and hence
are only conditions of the existence of things as phenomena; that, moreover, we
have no conceptions of the understanding, and, consequently, no elements for the
cognition of things, except in so far as a corresponding intuition can be given
to these conceptions; that, accordingly, we can have no cognition of an object,
as a thing in itself, but only as an object of sensible intuition, that is, as
phenomenon—all this is proved in the analytical part of the Critique; and from
this the limitation of all possible speculative cognition to the mere objects of
experience, follows as a necessary result. At the same time, it must be
carefully borne in mind that, while we surrender the power of cognizing, we
still reserve the power of thinking objects, as things in themselves.* For,
otherwise, we should require to affirm the existence of an appearance, without
something that appears—which would be absurd. Now let us suppose, for a moment,
that we had not undertaken this criticism and, accordingly, had not drawn the
necessary distinction between things as objects of experience and things as they
are in themselves. The principle of causality, and, by consequence, the
mechanism of nature as determined by causality, would then have absolute
validity in relation to all things as efficient causes. I should then be unable
to assert, with regard to one and the same being, e.g., the human soul, that its
will is free, and yet, at the same time, subject to natural necessity, that is,
not free, without falling into a palpable contradiction, for in both
propositions I should take the soul in the same signification, as a thing in
general, as a thing in itself—as, without previous criticism, I could not but
take it. Suppose now, on the other hand, that we have undertaken this criticism,
and have learnt that an object may be taken in two senses, first, as a
phenomenon, secondly, as a thing in itself; and that, according to the deduction
of the conceptions of the understanding, the principle of causality has
reference only to things in the first sense. We then see how it does not involve
any contradiction to assert, on the one hand, that the will, in the phenomenal
sphere—in visible action—is necessarily obedient to the law of nature, and, in
so far, not free; and, on the other hand, that, as belonging to a thing in
itself, it is not subject to that law, and, accordingly, is free. Now, it is
true that I cannot, by means of speculative reason, and still less by empirical
observation, cognize my soul as a thing in itself and consequently, cannot
cognize liberty as the property of a being to which I ascribe effects in the
world of sense. For, to do so, I must cognize this being as existing, and yet
not in time, which—since I cannot support my conception by any intuition—is
impossible. At the same time, while I cannot cognize, I can quite well think
freedom, that is to say, my representation of it involves at least no
contradiction, if we bear in mind the critical distinction of the two modes of
representation (the sensible and the intellectual) and the consequent limitation
of the conceptions of the pure understanding and of the principles which flow
from them. Suppose now that morality necessarily presupposed liberty, in the
strictest sense, as a property of our will; suppose that reason contained
certain practical, original principles a priori, which were absolutely
impossible without this presupposition; and suppose, at the same time, that
speculative reason had proved that liberty was incapable of being thought at
all. It would then follow that the moral presupposition must give way to the
speculative affirmation, the opposite of which involves an obvious
contradiction, and that liberty and, with it, morality must yield to the
mechanism of nature; for the negation of morality involves no contradiction,
except on the presupposition of liberty. Now morality does not require the
speculative cognition of liberty; it is enough that I can think it, that its
conception involves no contradiction, that it does not interfere with the
mechanism of nature. But even this requirement we could not satisfy, if we had
not learnt the twofold sense in which things may be taken; and it is only in
this way that the doctrine of morality and the doctrine of nature are confined
within their proper limits. For this result, then, we are indebted to a
criticism which warns us of our unavoidable ignorance with regard to things in
themselves, and establishes the necessary limitation of our theoretical
cognition to mere phenomena.
[*Footnote: In order to cognize an object, I must be able to
prove its possibility, either from its reality as attested by experience, or a
priori, by means of reason. But I can think what I please, provided only I do
not contradict myself; that is, provided my conception is a possible thought,
though I may be unable to answer for the existence of a corresponding object in
the sum of possibilities. But something more is required before I can attribute
to such a conception objective validity, that is real possibility—the other
possibility being merely logical. We are not, however, confined to theoretical
sources of cognition for the means of satisfying this additional requirement,
but may derive them from practical sources.]
The positive value of the critical principles of pure reason in
relation to the conception of God and of the simple nature of the soul, admits
of a similar exemplification; but on this point I shall not dwell. I cannot even
make the assumption—as the practical interests of morality require—of God,
freedom, and immortality, if I do not deprive speculative reason of its
pretensions to transcendent insight. For to arrive at these, it must make use of
principles which, in fact, extend only to the objects of possible experience,
and which cannot be applied to objects beyond this sphere without converting
them into phenomena, and thus rendering the practical extension of pure reason
impossible. I must, therefore, abolish knowledge, to make room for belief. The
dogmatism of metaphysics, that is, the presumption that it is possible to
advance in metaphysics without previous criticism, is the true source of the
unbelief (always dogmatic) which militates against morality.
Thus, while it may be no very difficult task to bequeath a
legacy to posterity, in the shape of a system of metaphysics constructed in
accordance with the Critique of Pure Reason, still the value of such a bequest
is not to be depreciated. It will render an important service to reason, by
substituting the certainty of scientific method for that random groping after
results without the guidance of principles, which has hitherto characterized the
pursuit of metaphysical studies. It will render an important service to the
inquiring mind of youth, by leading the student to apply his powers to the
cultivation of genuine science, instead of wasting them, as at present, on
speculations which can never lead to any result, or on the idle attempt to
invent new ideas and opinions. But, above all, it will confer an inestimable
benefit on morality and religion, by showing that all the objections urged
against them may be silenced for ever by the Socratic method, that is to say, by
proving the ignorance of the objector. For, as the world has never been, and, no
doubt, never will be without a system of metaphysics of one kind or another, it
is the highest and weightiest concern of philosophy to render it powerless for
harm, by closing up the sources of error.
This important change in the field of the sciences, this loss of
its fancied possessions, to which speculative reason must submit, does not prove
in any way detrimental to the general interests of humanity. The advantages
which the world has derived from the teachings of pure reason are not at all
impaired. The loss falls, in its whole extent, on the monopoly of the schools,
but does not in the slightest degree touch the interests of mankind. I appeal to
the most obstinate dogmatist, whether the proof of the continued existence of
the soul after death, derived from the simplicity of its substance; of the
freedom of the will in opposition to the general mechanism of nature, drawn from
the subtle but impotent distinction of subjective and objective practical
necessity; or of the existence of God, deduced from the conception of an ens
realissimum—the contingency of the changeable, and the necessity of a prime
mover, has ever been able to pass beyond the limits of the schools, to penetrate
the public mind, or to exercise the slightest influence on its convictions. It
must be admitted that this has not been the case and that, owing to the
unfitness of the common understanding for such subtle speculations, it can never
be expected to take place. On the contrary, it is plain that the hope of a
future life arises from the feeling, which exists in the breast of every man,
that the temporal is inadequate to meet and satisfy the demands of his nature.
In like manner, it cannot be doubted that the clear exhibition of duties in
opposition to all the claims of inclination, gives rise to the consciousness of
freedom, and that the glorious order, beauty, and providential care, everywhere
displayed in nature, give rise to the belief in a wise and great Author of the
Universe. Such is the genesis of these general convictions of mankind, so far as
they depend on rational grounds; and this public property not only remains
undisturbed, but is even raised to greater importance, by the doctrine that the
schools have no right to arrogate to themselves a more profound insight into a
matter of general human concernment than that to which the great mass of men,
ever held by us in the highest estimation, can without difficulty attain, and
that the schools should, therefore, confine themselves to the elaboration of
these universally comprehensible and, from a moral point of view, amply
satisfactory proofs. The change, therefore, affects only the arrogant
pretensions of the schools, which would gladly retain, in their own exclusive
possession, the key to the truths which they impart to the public.
Quod mecum nescit, solus vult scire videri.
At the same time it does not deprive the speculative philosopher
of his just title to be the sole depositor of a science which benefits the
public without its knowledge—I mean, the Critique of Pure Reason. This can never
become popular and, indeed, has no occasion to be so; for finespun arguments in
favour of useful truths make just as little impression on the public mind as the
equally subtle objections brought against these truths. On the other hand, since
both inevitably force themselves on every man who rises to the height of
speculation, it becomes the manifest duty of the schools to enter upon a
thorough investigation of the rights of speculative reason and, thus, to prevent
the scandal which metaphysical controversies are sure, sooner or later, to cause
even to the masses. It is only by criticism that metaphysicians (and, as such,
theologians too) can be saved from these controversies and from the consequent
perversion of their doctrines. Criticism alone can strike a blow at the root of
materialism, fatalism, atheism, free-thinking, fanaticism, and superstition,
which are universally injurious—as well as of idealism and scepticism, which are
dangerous to the schools, but can scarcely pass over to the public. If
governments think proper to interfere with the affairs of the learned, it would
be more consistent with a wise regard for the interests of science, as well as
for those of society, to favour a criticism of this kind, by which alone the
labours of reason can be established on a firm basis, than to support the
ridiculous despotism of the schools, which raise a loud cry of danger to the
public over the destruction of cobwebs, of which the public has never taken any
notice, and the loss of which, therefore, it can never feel.
This critical science is not opposed to the dogmatic procedure
of reason in pure cognition; for pure cognition must always be dogmatic, that
is, must rest on strict demonstration from sure principles a priori—but to
dogmatism, that is, to the presumption that it is possible to make any progress
with a pure cognition, derived from (philosophical) conceptions, according to
the principles which reason has long been in the habit of employing— without
first inquiring in what way and by what right reason has come into the
possession of these principles. Dogmatism is thus the dogmatic procedure of pure
reason without previous criticism of its own powers, and in opposing this
procedure, we must not be supposed to lend any countenance to that loquacious
shallowness which arrogates to itself the name of popularity, nor yet to
scepticism, which makes short work with the whole science of metaphysics. On the
contrary, our criticism is the necessary preparation for a thoroughly scientific
system of metaphysics which must perform its task entirely a priori, to the
complete satisfaction of speculative reason, and must, therefore, be treated,
not popularly, but scholastically. In carrying out the plan which the Critique
prescribes, that is, in the future system of metaphysics, we must have recourse
to the strict method of the celebrated Wolf, the greatest of all dogmatic
philosophers. He was the first to point out the necessity of establishing fixed
principles, of clearly defining our conceptions, and of subjecting our
demonstrations to the most severe scrutiny, instead of rashly jumping at
conclusions. The example which he set served to awaken that spirit of profound
and thorough investigation which is not yet extinct in Germany. He would have
been peculiarly well fitted to give a truly scientific character to metaphysical
studies, had it occurred to him to prepare the field by a criticism of the
organum, that is, of pure reason itself. That he failed to perceive the
necessity of such a procedure must be ascribed to the dogmatic mode of thought
which characterized his age, and on this point the philosophers of his time, as
well as of all previous times, have nothing to reproach each other with. Those
who reject at once the method of Wolf, and of the Critique of Pure Reason, can
have no other aim but to shake off the fetters of science, to change labour into
sport, certainty into opinion, and philosophy into philodoxy.
In this second edition, I have endeavoured, as far as possible,
to remove the difficulties and obscurity which, without fault of mine perhaps,
have given rise to many misconceptions even among acute thinkers. In the
propositions themselves, and in the demonstrations by which they are supported,
as well as in the form and the entire plan of the work, I have found nothing to
alter; which must be attributed partly to the long examination to which I had
subjected the whole before offering it to the public and partly to the nature of
the case. For pure speculative reason is an organic structure in which there is
nothing isolated or independent, but every Single part is essential to all the
rest; and hence, the slightest imperfection, whether defect or positive error,
could not fail to betray itself in use. I venture, further, to hope, that this
system will maintain the same unalterable character for the future. I am led to
entertain this confidence, not by vanity, but by the evidence which the equality
of the result affords, when we proceed, first, from the simplest elements up to
the complete whole of pure reason and, and then, backwards from the whole to
each part. We find that the attempt to make the slightest alteration, in any
part, leads inevitably to contradictions, not merely in this system, but in
human reason itself. At the same time, there is still much room for improvement
in the exposition of the doctrines contained in this work. In the present
edition, I have endeavoured to remove misapprehensions of the aesthetical part,
especially with regard to the conception of time; to clear away the obscurity
which has been found in the deduction of the conceptions of the understanding;
to supply the supposed want of sufficient evidence in the demonstration of the
principles of the pure understanding; and, lastly, to obviate the
misunderstanding of the paralogisms which immediately precede the rational
psychology. Beyond this point—the end of the second main division of the
"Transcendental Dialectic"—I have not extended my alterations,* partly from want
of time, and partly because I am not aware that any portion of the remainder has
given rise to misconceptions among intelligent and impartial critics, whom I do
not here mention with that praise which is their due, but who will find that
their suggestions have been attended to in the work itself.
[*Footnote: The only addition, properly so called—and that only
in the method of proof—which I have made in the present edition, consists of a
new refutation of psychological idealism, and a strict demonstration—the only
one possible, as I believe—of the objective reality of external intuition.
However harmless idealism may be considered—although in reality it is not so—in
regard to the essential ends of metaphysics, it must still remain a scandal to
philosophy and to the general human reason to be obliged to assume, as an
article of mere belief, the existence of things external to ourselves (from
which, yet, we derive the whole material of cognition for the internal sense),
and not to be able to oppose a satisfactory proof to any one who may call it in
question. As there is some obscurity of expression in the demonstration as it
stands in the text, I propose to alter the passage in question as follows: "But
this permanent cannot be an intuition in me. For all the determining grounds of
my existence which can be found in me are representations and, as such, do
themselves require a permanent, distinct from them, which may determine my
existence in relation to their changes, that is, my existence in time, wherein
they change." It may, probably, be urged in opposition to this proof that, after
all, I am only conscious immediately of that which is in me, that is, of my
representation of external things, and that, consequently, it must always remain
uncertain whether anything corresponding to this representation does or does not
exist externally to me. But I am conscious, through internal experience, of my
existence in time (consequently, also, of the determinability of the former in
the latter), and that is more than the simple consciousness of my
representation. It is, in fact, the same as the empirical consciousness of my
existence, which can only be determined in relation to something, which, while
connected with my existence, is external to me. This consciousness of my
existence in time is, therefore, identical with the consciousness of a relation
to something external to me, and it is, therefore, experience, not fiction,
sense, not imagination, which inseparably connects the external with my internal
sense. For the external sense is, in itself, the relation of intuition to
something real, external to me; and the reality of this something, as opposed to
the mere imagination of it, rests solely on its inseparable connection with
internal experience as the condition of its possibility. If with the
intellectual consciousness of my existence, in the representation: I am, which
accompanies all my judgements, and all the operations of my understanding, I
could, at the same time, connect a determination of my existence by intellectual
intuition, then the consciousness of a relation to something external to me
would not be necessary. But the internal intuition in which alone my existence
can be determined, though preceded by that purely intellectual consciousness, is
itself sensible and attached to the condition of time. Hence this determination
of my existence, and consequently my internal experience itself, must depend on
something permanent which is not in me, which can be, therefore, only in
something external to me, to which I must look upon myself as being related.
Thus the reality of the external sense is necessarily connected with that of the
internal, in order to the possibility of experience in general; that is, I am
just as certainly conscious that there are things external to me related to my
sense as I am that I myself exist as determined in time. But in order to
ascertain to what given intuitions objects, external me, really correspond, in
other words, what intuitions belong to the external sense and not to
imagination, I must have recourse, in every particular case, to those rules
according to which experience in general (even internal experience) is
distinguished from imagination, and which are always based on the proposition
that there really is an external experience. We may add the remark that the
representation of something permanent in existence, is not the same thing as the
permanent representation; for a representation may be very variable and
changing—as all our representations, even that of matter, are—and yet refer to
something permanent, which must, therefore, be distinct from all my
representations and external to me, the existence of which is necessarily
included in the determination of my own existence, and with it constitutes one
experience—an experience which would not even be possible internally, if it were
not also at the same time, in part, external. To the question How? we are no
more able to reply, than we are, in general, to think the stationary in time,
the coexistence of which with the variable, produces the conception of change.]
In attempting to render the exposition of my views as
intelligible as possible, I have been compelled to leave out or abridge various
passages which were not essential to the completeness of the work, but which
many readers might consider useful in other respects, and might be unwilling to
miss. This trifling loss, which could not be avoided without swelling the book
beyond due limits, may be supplied, at the pleasure of the reader, by a
comparison with the first edition, and will, I hope, be more than compensated
for by the greater clearness of the exposition as it now stands.
I have observed, with pleasure and thankfulness, in the pages of
various reviews and treatises, that the spirit of profound and thorough
investigation is not extinct in Germany, though it may have been overborne and
silenced for a time by the fashionable tone of a licence in thinking, which
gives itself the airs of genius, and that the difficulties which beset the paths
of criticism have not prevented energetic and acute thinkers from making
themselves masters of the science of pure reason to which these paths conduct—a
science which is not popular, but scholastic in its character, and which alone
can hope for a lasting existence or possess an abiding value. To these deserving
men, who so happily combine profundity of view with a talent for lucid
exposition—a talent which I myself am not conscious of possessing—I leave the
task of removing any obscurity which may still adhere to the statement of my
doctrines. For, in this case, the danger is not that of being refuted, but of
being misunderstood. For my own part, I must henceforward abstain from
controversy, although I shall carefully attend to all suggestions, whether from
friends or adversaries, which may be of use in the future elaboration of the
system of this propaedeutic. As, during these labours, I have advanced pretty
far in years this month I reach my sixty-fourth year—it will be necessary for me
to economize time, if I am to carry out my plan of elaborating the metaphysics
of nature as well as of morals, in confirmation of the correctness of the
principles established in this Critique of Pure Reason, both speculative and
practical; and I must, therefore, leave the task of clearing up the obscurities
of the present work—inevitable, perhaps, at the outset—as well as, the defence
of the whole, to those deserving men, who have made my system their own. A
philosophical system cannot come forward armed at all points like a mathematical
treatise, and hence it may be quite possible to take objection to particular
passages, while the organic structure of the system, considered as a unity, has
no danger to apprehend. But few possess the ability, and still fewer the
inclination, to take a comprehensive view of a new system. By confining the view
to particular passages, taking these out of their connection and comparing them
with one another, it is easy to pick out apparent contradictions, especially in
a work written with any freedom of style. These contradictions place the work in
an unfavourable light in the eyes of those who rely on the judgement of others,
but are easily reconciled by those who have mastered the idea of the whole. If a
theory possesses stability in itself, the action and reaction which seemed at
first to threaten its existence serve only, in the course of time, to smooth
down any superficial roughness or inequality, and—if men of insight,
impartiality, and truly popular gifts, turn their attention to it—to secure to
it, in a short time, the requisite elegance also.
Konigsberg, April 1787.
INTRODUCTION
I. Of the difference between Pure and
Empirical Knowledge
That all our knowledge begins with experience there can be no
doubt. For how is it possible that the faculty of cognition should be awakened
into exercise otherwise than by means of objects which affect our senses, and
partly of themselves produce representations, partly rouse our powers of
understanding into activity, to compare to connect, or to separate these, and so
to convert the raw material of our sensuous impressions into a knowledge of
objects, which is called experience? In respect of time, therefore, no knowledge
of ours is antecedent to experience, but begins with it.
But, though all our knowledge begins with experience, it by no
means follows that all arises out of experience. For, on the contrary, it is
quite possible that our empirical knowledge is a compound of that which we
receive through impressions, and that which the faculty of cognition supplies
from itself (sensuous impressions giving merely the occasion), an addition which
we cannot distinguish from the original element given by sense, till long
practice has made us attentive to, and skilful in separating it. It is,
therefore, a question which requires close investigation, and not to be answered
at first sight, whether there exists a knowledge altogether independent of
experience, and even of all sensuous impressions? Knowledge of this kind is
called a priori, in contradistinction to empirical knowledge, which has its
sources a posteriori, that is, in experience.
But the expression, "a priori," is not as yet definite enough
adequately to indicate the whole meaning of the question above started. For, in
speaking of knowledge which has its sources in experience, we are wont to say,
that this or that may be known a priori, because we do not derive this knowledge
immediately from experience, but from a general rule, which, however, we have
itself borrowed from experience. Thus, if a man undermined his house, we say,
"he might know a priori that it would have fallen;" that is, he needed not to
have waited for the experience that it did actually fall. But still, a priori,
he could not know even this much. For, that bodies are heavy, and, consequently,
that they fall when their supports are taken away, must have been known to him
previously, by means of experience.
By the term "knowledge a priori," therefore, we shall in the
sequel understand, not such as is independent of this or that kind of
experience, but such as is absolutely so of all experience. Opposed to this is
empirical knowledge, or that which is possible only a posteriori, that is,
through experience. Knowledge a priori is either pure or impure. Pure knowledge
a priori is that with which no empirical element is mixed up. For example, the
proposition, "Every change has a cause," is a proposition a priori, but impure,
because change is a conception which can only be derived from experience.
II.
The Human Intellect, even in an Unphilosophical State, is in Possession of
Certain Cognitions "a priori".
The question now is as to a criterion, by which we may securely
distinguish a pure from an empirical cognition. Experience no doubt teaches us
that this or that object is constituted in such and such a manner, but not that
it could not possibly exist otherwise. Now, in the first place, if we have a
proposition which contains the idea of necessity in its very conception, it is a
if, moreover, it is not derived from any other proposition, unless from one
equally involving the idea of necessity, it is absolutely priori. Secondly, an
empirical judgement never exhibits strict and absolute, but only assumed and
comparative universality (by induction); therefore, the most we can say is—so
far as we have hitherto observed, there is no exception to this or that rule.
If, on the other hand, a judgement carries with it strict and absolute
universality, that is, admits of no possible exception, it is not derived from
experience, but is valid absolutely a priori.
Empirical universality is, therefore, only an arbitrary
extension of validity, from that which may be predicated of a proposition valid
in most cases, to that which is asserted of a proposition which holds good in
all; as, for example, in the affirmation, "All bodies are heavy." When, on the
contrary, strict universality characterizes a judgement, it necessarily
indicates another peculiar source of knowledge, namely, a faculty of cognition a
priori. Necessity and strict universality, therefore, are infallible tests for
distinguishing pure from empirical knowledge, and are inseparably connected with
each other. But as in the use of these criteria the empirical limitation is
sometimes more easily detected than the contingency of the judgement, or the
unlimited universality which we attach to a judgement is often a more convincing
proof than its necessity, it may be advisable to use the criteria separately,
each being by itself infallible.
Now, that in the sphere of human cognition we have judgements
which are necessary, and in the strictest sense universal, consequently pure a
priori, it will be an easy matter to show. If we desire an example from the
sciences, we need only take any proposition in mathematics. If we cast our eyes
upon the commonest operations of the understanding, the proposition, "Every
change must have a cause," will amply serve our purpose. In the latter case,
indeed, the conception of a cause so plainly involves the conception of a
necessity of connection with an effect, and of a strict universality of the law,
that the very notion of a cause would entirely disappear, were we to derive it,
like Hume, from a frequent association of what happens with that which precedes;
and the habit thence originating of connecting representations—the necessity
inherent in the judgement being therefore merely subjective. Besides, without
seeking for such examples of principles existing a priori in cognition, we might
easily show that such principles are the indispensable basis of the possibility
of experience itself, and consequently prove their existence a priori. For
whence could our experience itself acquire certainty, if all the rules on which
it depends were themselves empirical, and consequently fortuitous? No one,
therefore, can admit the validity of the use of such rules as first principles.
But, for the present, we may content ourselves with having established the fact,
that we do possess and exercise a faculty of pure a priori cognition; and,
secondly, with having pointed out the proper tests of such cognition, namely,
universality and necessity.
Not only in judgements, however, but even in conceptions, is an
a priori origin manifest. For example, if we take away by degrees from our
conceptions of a body all that can be referred to mere sensuous
experience—colour, hardness or softness, weight, even impenetrability—the body
will then vanish; but the space which it occupied still remains, and this it is
utterly impossible to annihilate in thought. Again, if we take away, in like
manner, from our empirical conception of any object, corporeal or incorporeal,
all properties which mere experience has taught us to connect with it, still we
cannot think away those through which we cogitate it as substance, or adhering
to substance, although our conception of substance is more determined than that
of an object. Compelled, therefore, by that necessity with which the conception
of substance forces itself upon us, we must confess that it has its seat in our
faculty of cognition a priori.
III. Philosophy stands in need of a
Science which shall
Determine the Possibility, Principles, and Extent of
Human Knowledge "a priori"
Of far more importance than all that has been above said, is the
consideration that certain of our cognitions rise completely above the sphere of
all possible experience, and by means of conceptions, to which there exists in
the whole extent of experience no corresponding object, seem to extend the range
of our judgements beyond its bounds. And just in this transcendental or
supersensible sphere, where experience affords us neither instruction nor
guidance, lie the investigations of reason, which, on account of their
importance, we consider far preferable to, and as having a far more elevated aim
than, all that the understanding can achieve within the sphere of sensuous
phenomena. So high a value do we set upon these investigations, that even at the
risk of error, we persist in following them out, and permit neither doubt nor
disregard nor indifference to restrain us from the pursuit. These unavoidable
problems of mere pure reason are God, freedom (of will), and immortality. The
science which, with all its preliminaries, has for its especial object the
solution of these problems is named metaphysics—a science which is at the very
outset dogmatical, that is, it confidently takes upon itself the execution of
this task without any previous investigation of the ability or inability of
reason for such an undertaking.
Now the safe ground of experience being thus abandoned, it seems
nevertheless natural that we should hesitate to erect a building with the
cognitions we possess, without knowing whence they come, and on the strength of
principles, the origin of which is undiscovered. Instead of thus trying to build
without a foundation, it is rather to be expected that we should long ago have
put the question, how the understanding can arrive at these a priori cognitions,
and what is the extent, validity, and worth which they may possess? We say,
"This is natural enough," meaning by the word natural, that which is consistent
with a just and reasonable way of thinking; but if we understand by the term,
that which usually happens, nothing indeed could be more natural and more
comprehensible than that this investigation should be left long unattempted. For
one part of our pure knowledge, the science of mathematics, has been long firmly
established, and thus leads us to form flattering expectations with regard to
others, though these may be of quite a different nature. Besides, when we get
beyond the bounds of experience, we are of course safe from opposition in that
quarter; and the charm of widening the range of our knowledge is so great that,
unless we are brought to a standstill by some evident contradiction, we hurry on
undoubtingly in our course. This, however, may be avoided, if we are
sufficiently cautious in the construction of our fictions, which are not the
less fictions on that account.
Mathematical science affords us a brilliant example, how far,
independently of all experience, we may carry our a priori knowledge. It is true
that the mathematician occupies himself with objects and cognitions only in so
far as they can be represented by means of intuition. But this circumstance is
easily overlooked, because the said intuition can itself be given a priori, and
therefore is hardly to be distinguished from a mere pure conception. Deceived by
such a proof of the power of reason, we can perceive no limits to the extension
of our knowledge. The light dove cleaving in free flight the thin air, whose
resistance it feels, might imagine that her movements would be far more free and
rapid in airless space. Just in the same way did Plato, abandoning the world of
sense because of the narrow limits it sets to the understanding, venture upon
the wings of ideas beyond it, into the void space of pure intellect. He did not
reflect that he made no real progress by all his efforts; for he met with no
resistance which might serve him for a support, as it were, whereon to rest, and
on which he might apply his powers, in order to let the intellect acquire
momentum for its progress. It is, indeed, the common fate of human reason in
speculation, to finish the imposing edifice of thought as rapidly as possible,
and then for the first time to begin to examine whether the foundation is a
solid one or no. Arrived at this point, all sorts of excuses are sought after,
in order to console us for its want of stability, or rather, indeed, to enable
Us to dispense altogether with so late and dangerous an investigation. But what
frees us during the process of building from all apprehension or suspicion, and
flatters us into the belief of its solidity, is this. A great part, perhaps the
greatest part, of the business of our reason consists in the analysation of the
conceptions which we already possess of objects. By this means we gain a
multitude of cognitions, which although really nothing more than elucidations or
explanations of that which (though in a confused manner) was already thought in
our conceptions, are, at least in respect of their form, prized as new
introspections; whilst, so far as regards their matter or content, we have
really made no addition to our conceptions, but only disinvolved them. But as
this process does furnish a real priori knowledge, which has a sure progress and
useful results, reason, deceived by this, slips in, without being itself aware
of it, assertions of a quite different kind; in which, to given conceptions it
adds others, a priori indeed, but entirely foreign to them, without our knowing
how it arrives at these, and, indeed, without such a question ever suggesting
itself. I shall therefore at once proceed to examine the difference between
these two modes of knowledge.
IV. Of the Difference Between Analytical
and Synthetical Judgements.
In all judgements wherein the relation of a subject to the
predicate is cogitated (I mention affirmative judgements only here; the
application to negative will be very easy), this relation is possible in two
different ways. Either the predicate B belongs to the subject A, as somewhat
which is contained (though covertly) in the conception A; or the predicate B
lies completely out of the conception A, although it stands in connection with
it. In the first instance, I term the judgement analytical, in the second,
synthetical. Analytical judgements (affirmative) are therefore those in which
the connection of the predicate with the subject is cogitated through identity;
those in which this connection is cogitated without identity, are called
synthetical judgements. The former may be called explicative, the latter
augmentative judgements; because the former add in the predicate nothing to the
conception of the subject, but only analyse it into its constituent conceptions,
which were thought already in the subject, although in a confused manner; the
latter add to our conceptions of the subject a predicate which was not contained
in it, and which no analysis could ever have discovered therein. For example,
when I say, "All bodies are extended," this is an analytical judgement. For I
need not go beyond the conception of body in order to find extension connected
with it, but merely analyse the conception, that is, become conscious of the
manifold properties which I think in that conception, in order to discover this
predicate in it: it is therefore an analytical judgement. On the other hand,
when I say, "All bodies are heavy," the predicate is something totally different
from that which I think in the mere conception of a body. By the addition of
such a predicate, therefore, it becomes a synthetical judgement.
Judgements of experience, as such, are always synthetical. For
it would be absurd to think of grounding an analytical judgement on experience,
because in forming such a judgement I need not go out of the sphere of my
conceptions, and therefore recourse to the testimony of experience is quite
unnecessary. That "bodies are extended" is not an empirical judgement, but a
proposition which stands firm a priori. For before addressing myself to
experience, I already have in my conception all the requisite conditions for the
judgement, and I have only to extract the predicate from the conception,
according to the principle of contradiction, and thereby at the same time become
conscious of the necessity of the judgement, a necessity which I could never
learn from experience. On the other hand, though at first I do not at all
include the predicate of weight in my conception of body in general, that
conception still indicates an object of experience, a part of the totality of
experience, to which I can still add other parts; and this I do when I recognize
by observation that bodies are heavy. I can cognize beforehand by analysis the
conception of body through the characteristics of extension, impenetrability,
shape, etc., all which are cogitated in this conception. But now I extend my
knowledge, and looking back on experience from which I had derived this
conception of body, I find weight at all times connected with the above
characteristics, and therefore I synthetically add to my conceptions this as a
predicate, and say, "All bodies are heavy." Thus it is experience upon which
rests the possibility of the synthesis of the predicate of weight with the
conception of body, because both conceptions, although the one is not contained
in the other, still belong to one another (only contingently, however), as parts
of a whole, namely, of experience, which is itself a synthesis of intuitions.
But to synthetical judgements a priori, such aid is entirely
wanting. If I go out of and beyond the conception A, in order to recognize
another B as connected with it, what foundation have I to rest on, whereby to
render the synthesis possible? I have here no longer the advantage of looking
out in the sphere of experience for what I want. Let us take, for example, the
proposition, "Everything that happens has a cause." In the conception of
"something that happens," I indeed think an existence which a certain time
antecedes, and from this I can derive analytical judgements. But the conception
of a cause lies quite out of the above conception, and indicates something
entirely different from "that which happens," and is consequently not contained
in that conception. How then am I able to assert concerning the general
conception—"that which happens"—something entirely different from that
conception, and to recognize the conception of cause although not contained in
it, yet as belonging to it, and even necessarily? what is here the unknown = X,
upon which the understanding rests when it believes it has found, out of the
conception A a foreign predicate B, which it nevertheless considers to be
connected with it? It cannot be experience, because the principle adduced
annexes the two representations, cause and effect, to the representation
existence, not only with universality, which experience cannot give, but also
with the expression of necessity, therefore completely a priori and from pure
conceptions. Upon such synthetical, that is augmentative propositions, depends
the whole aim of our speculative knowledge a priori; for although analytical
judgements are indeed highly important and necessary, they are so, only to
arrive at that clearness of conceptions which is requisite for a sure and
extended synthesis, and this alone is a real acquisition.
V. In all Theoretical Sciences of
Reason, Synthetical Judgements "a priori" are contained as Principles.
1. Mathematical judgements are always synthetical. Hitherto this
fact, though incontestably true and very important in its consequences, seems to
have escaped the analysts of the human mind, nay, to be in complete opposition
to all their conjectures. For as it was found that mathematical conclusions all
proceed according to the principle of contradiction (which the nature of every
apodeictic certainty requires), people became persuaded that the fundamental
principles of the science also were recognized and admitted in the same way. But
the notion is fallacious; for although a synthetical proposition can certainly
be discerned by means of the principle of contradiction, this is possible only
when another synthetical proposition precedes, from which the latter is deduced,
but never of itself.
Before all, be it observed, that proper mathematical
propositions are always judgements a priori, and not empirical, because they
carry along with them the conception of necessity, which cannot be given by
experience. If this be demurred to, it matters not; I will then limit my
assertion to pure mathematics, the very conception of which implies that it
consists of knowledge altogether non-empirical and a priori.
We might, indeed at first suppose that the proposition 7 + 5 =
12 is a merely analytical proposition, following (according to the principle of
contradiction) from the conception of a sum of seven and five. But if we regard
it more narrowly, we find that our conception of the sum of seven and five
contains nothing more than the uniting of both sums into one, whereby it cannot
at all be cogitated what this single number is which embraces both. The
conception of twelve is by no means obtained by merely cogitating the union of
seven and five; and we may analyse our conception of such a possible sum as long
as we will, still we shall never discover in it the notion of twelve. We must go
beyond these conceptions, and have recourse to an intuition which corresponds to
one of the two—our five fingers, for example, or like Segner in his Arithmetic
five points, and so by degrees, add the units contained in the five given in the
intuition, to the conception of seven. For I first take the number 7, and, for
the conception of 5 calling in the aid of the fingers of my hand as objects of
intuition, I add the units, which I before took together to make up the number
5, gradually now by means of the material image my hand, to the number 7, and by
this process, I at length see the number 12 arise. That 7 should be added to 5,
I have certainly cogitated in my conception of a sum = 7 + 5, but not that this
sum was equal to 12. Arithmetical propositions are therefore always synthetical,
of which we may become more clearly convinced by trying large numbers. For it
will thus become quite evident that, turn and twist our conceptions as we may,
it is impossible, without having recourse to intuition, to arrive at the sum
total or product by means of the mere analysis of our conceptions. Just as
little is any principle of pure geometry analytical. "A straight line between
two points is the shortest," is a synthetical proposition. For my conception of
straight contains no notion of quantity, but is merely qualitative. The
conception of the shortest is therefore fore wholly an addition, and by no
analysis can it be extracted from our conception of a straight line. Intuition
must therefore here lend its aid, by means of which, and thus only, our
synthesis is possible.
Some few principles preposited by geometricians are, indeed,
really analytical, and depend on the principle of contradiction. They serve,
however, like identical propositions, as links in the chain of method, not as
principles—for example, a = a, the whole is equal to itself, or (a+b) > a, the
whole is greater than its part. And yet even these principles themselves, though
they derive their validity from pure conceptions, are only admitted in
mathematics because they can be presented in intuition. What causes us here
commonly to believe that the predicate of such apodeictic judgements is already
contained in our conception, and that the judgement is therefore analytical, is
merely the equivocal nature of the expression. We must join in thought a certain
predicate to a given conception, and this necessity cleaves already to the
conception. But the question is, not what we must join in thought to the given
conception, but what we really think therein, though only obscurely, and then it
becomes manifest that the predicate pertains to these conceptions, necessarily
indeed, yet not as thought in the conception itself, but by virtue of an
intuition, which must be added to the conception.
2. The science of natural philosophy (physics) contains in
itself synthetical judgements a priori, as principles. I shall adduce two
propositions. For instance, the proposition, "In all changes of the material
world, the quantity of matter remains unchanged"; or, that, "In all
communication of motion, action and reaction must always be equal." In both of
these, not only is the necessity, and therefore their origin a priori clear, but
also that they are synthetical propositions. For in the conception of matter, I
do not cogitate its permanency, but merely its presence in space, which it
fills. I therefore really go out of and beyond the conception of matter, in
order to think on to it something a priori, which I did not think in it. The
proposition is therefore not analytical, but synthetical, and nevertheless
conceived a priori; and so it is with regard to the other propositions of the
pure part of natural philosophy.
3. As to metaphysics, even if we look upon it merely as an
attempted science, yet, from the nature of human reason, an indispensable one,
we find that it must contain synthetical propositions a priori. It is not merely
the duty of metaphysics to dissect, and thereby analytically to illustrate the
conceptions which we form a priori of things; but we seek to widen the range of
our a priori knowledge. For this purpose, we must avail ourselves of such
principles as add something to the original conception—something not identical
with, nor contained in it, and by means of synthetical judgements a priori,
leave far behind us the limits of experience; for example, in the proposition,
"the world must have a beginning," and such like. Thus metaphysics, according to
the proper aim of the science, consists merely of synthetical propositions a
priori.
VI. The Universal Problem of Pure
Reason.
It is extremely advantageous to be able to bring a number of
investigations under the formula of a single problem. For in this manner, we not
only facilitate our own labour, inasmuch as we define it clearly to ourselves,
but also render it more easy for others to decide whether we have done justice
to our undertaking. The proper problem of pure reason, then, is contained in the
question: "How are synthetical judgements a priori possible?"
That metaphysical science has hitherto remained in so
vacillating a state of uncertainty and contradiction, is only to be attributed
to the fact that this great problem, and perhaps even the difference between
analytical and synthetical judgements, did not sooner suggest itself to
philosophers. Upon the solution of this problem, or upon sufficient proof of the
impossibility of synthetical knowledge a priori, depends the existence or
downfall of the science of metaphysics. Among philosophers, David Hume came the
nearest of all to this problem; yet it never acquired in his mind sufficient
precision, nor did he regard the question in its universality. On the contrary,
he stopped short at the synthetical proposition of the connection of an effect
with its cause (principium causalitatis), insisting that such proposition a
priori was impossible. According to his conclusions, then, all that we term
metaphysical science is a mere delusion, arising from the fancied insight of
reason into that which is in truth borrowed from experience, and to which habit
has given the appearance of necessity. Against this assertion, destructive to
all pure philosophy, he would have been guarded, had he had our problem before
his eyes in its universality. For he would then have perceived that, according
to his own argument, there likewise could not be any pure mathematical science,
which assuredly cannot exist without synthetical propositions a priori—an
absurdity from which his good understanding must have saved him.
In the solution of the above problem is at the same time
comprehended the possibility of the use of pure reason in the foundation and
construction of all sciences which contain theoretical knowledge a priori of
objects, that is to say, the answer to the following questions:
How is pure mathematical science possible?
How is pure natural science possible?
Respecting these sciences, as they do certainly exist, it may
with propriety be asked, how they are possible?—for that they must be possible
is shown by the fact of their really existing.* But as to metaphysics, the
miserable progress it has hitherto made, and the fact that of no one system yet
brought forward, far as regards its true aim, can it be said that this science
really exists, leaves any one at liberty to doubt with reason the very
possibility of its existence.
[*Footnote: As to the existence of pure natural science, or
physics, perhaps many may still express doubts. But we have only to look at the
different propositions which are commonly treated of at the commencement of
proper (empirical) physical science—those, for example, relating to the
permanence of the same quantity of matter, the vis inertiae, the equality of
action and reaction, etc.—to be soon convinced that they form a science of pure
physics (physica pura, or rationalis), which well deserves to be separately
exposed as a special science, in its whole extent, whether that be great or
confined.]
Yet, in a certain sense, this kind of knowledge must
unquestionably be looked upon as given; in other words, metaphysics must be
considered as really existing, if not as a science, nevertheless as a natural
disposition of the human mind (metaphysica naturalis). For human reason, without
any instigations imputable to the mere vanity of great knowledge, unceasingly
progresses, urged on by its own feeling of need, towards such questions as
cannot be answered by any empirical application of reason, or principles derived
therefrom; and so there has ever really existed in every man some system of
metaphysics. It will always exist, so soon as reason awakes to the exercise of
its power of speculation. And now the question arises: "How is metaphysics, as a
natural disposition, possible?" In other words, how, from the nature of
universal human reason, do those questions arise which pure reason proposes to
itself, and which it is impelled by its own feeling of need to answer as well as
it can?
But as in all the attempts hitherto made to answer the questions
which reason is prompted by its very nature to propose to itself, for example,
whether the world had a beginning, or has existed from eternity, it has always
met with unavoidable contradictions, we must not rest satisfied with the mere
natural disposition of the mind to metaphysics, that is, with the existence of
the faculty of pure reason, whence, indeed, some sort of metaphysical system
always arises; but it must be possible to arrive at certainty in regard to the
question whether we know or do not know the things of which metaphysics treats.
We must be able to arrive at a decision on the subjects of its questions, or on
the ability or inability of reason to form any judgement respecting them; and
therefore either to extend with confidence the bounds of our pure reason, or to
set strictly defined and safe limits to its action. This last question, which
arises out of the above universal problem, would properly run thus: "How is
metaphysics possible as a science?"
Thus, the critique of reason leads at last, naturally and
necessarily, to science; and, on the other hand, the dogmatical use of reason
without criticism leads to groundless assertions, against which others equally
specious can always be set, thus ending unavoidably in scepticism.
Besides, this science cannot be of great and formidable
prolixity, because it has not to do with objects of reason, the variety of which
is inexhaustible, but merely with Reason herself and her problems; problems
which arise out of her own bosom, and are not proposed to her by the nature of
outward things, but by her own nature. And when once Reason has previously
become able completely to understand her own power in regard to objects which
she meets with in experience, it will be easy to determine securely the extent
and limits of her attempted application to objects beyond the confines of
experience.
We may and must, therefore, regard the attempts hitherto made to
establish metaphysical science dogmatically as non-existent. For what of
analysis, that is, mere dissection of conceptions, is contained in one or other,
is not the aim of, but only a preparation for metaphysics proper, which has for
its object the extension, by means of synthesis, of our a priori knowledge. And
for this purpose, mere analysis is of course useless, because it only shows what
is contained in these conceptions, but not how we arrive, a priori, at them; and
this it is her duty to show, in order to be able afterwards to determine their
valid use in regard to all objects of experience, to all knowledge in general.
But little self-denial, indeed, is needed to give up these pretensions, seeing
the undeniable, and in the dogmatic mode of procedure, inevitable contradictions
of Reason with herself, have long since ruined the reputation of every system of
metaphysics that has appeared up to this time. It will require more firmness to
remain undeterred by difficulty from within, and opposition from without, from
endeavouring, by a method quite opposed to all those hitherto followed, to
further the growth and fruitfulness of a science indispensable to human reason—a
science from which every branch it has borne may be cut away, but whose roots
remain indestructible.
VII. Idea and Division of a Particular
Science, under the
Name of a Critique of Pure Reason.
From all that has been said, there results the idea of a
particular science, which may be called the Critique of Pure Reason. For reason
is the faculty which furnishes us with the principles of knowledge a priori.
Hence, pure reason is the faculty which contains the principles of cognizing
anything absolutely a priori. An organon of pure reason would be a compendium of
those principles according to which alone all pure cognitions a priori can be
obtained. The completely extended application of such an organon would afford us
a system of pure reason. As this, however, is demanding a great deal, and it is
yet doubtful whether any extension of our knowledge be here possible, or, if so,
in what cases; we can regard a science of the mere criticism of pure reason, its
sources and limits, as the propaedeutic to a system of pure reason. Such a
science must not be called a doctrine, but only a critique of pure reason; and
its use, in regard to speculation, would be only negative, not to enlarge the
bounds of, but to purify, our reason, and to shield it against error—which alone
is no little gain. I apply the term transcendental to all knowledge which is not
so much occupied with objects as with the mode of our cognition of these
objects, so far as this mode of cognition is possible a priori. A system of such
conceptions would be called transcendental philosophy. But this, again, is still
beyond the bounds of our present essay. For as such a science must contain a
complete exposition not only of our synthetical a priori, but of our analytical
a priori knowledge, it is of too wide a range for our present purpose, because
we do not require to carry our analysis any farther than is necessary to
understand, in their full extent, the principles of synthesis a priori, with
which alone we have to do. This investigation, which we cannot properly call a
doctrine, but only a transcendental critique, because it aims not at the
enlargement, but at the correction and guidance, of our knowledge, and is to
serve as a touchstone of the worth or worthlessness of all knowledge a priori,
is the sole object of our present essay. Such a critique is consequently, as far
as possible, a preparation for an organon; and if this new organon should be
found to fail, at least for a canon of pure reason, according to which the
complete system of the philosophy of pure reason, whether it extend or limit the
bounds of that reason, might one day be set forth both analytically and
synthetically. For that this is possible, nay, that such a system is not of so
great extent as to preclude the hope of its ever being completed, is evident.
For we have not here to do with the nature of outward objects, which is
infinite, but solely with the mind, which judges of the nature of objects, and,
again, with the mind only in respect of its cognition a priori. And the object
of our investigations, as it is not to be sought without, but, altogether
within, ourselves, cannot remain concealed, and in all probability is limited
enough to be completely surveyed and fairly estimated, according to its worth or
worthlessness. Still less let the reader here expect a critique of books and
systems of pure reason; our present object is exclusively a critique of the
faculty of pure reason itself. Only when we make this critique our foundation,
do we possess a pure touchstone for estimating the philosophical value of
ancient and modern writings on this subject; and without this criterion, the
incompetent historian or judge decides upon and corrects the groundless
assertions of others with his own, which have themselves just as little
foundation.
Transcendental philosophy is the idea of a science, for which
the Critique of Pure Reason must sketch the whole plan architectonically, that
is, from principles, with a full guarantee for the validity and stability of all
the parts which enter into the building. It is the system of all the principles
of pure reason. If this Critique itself does not assume the title of
transcendental philosophy, it is only because, to be a complete system, it ought
to contain a full analysis of all human knowledge a priori. Our critique must,
indeed, lay before us a complete enumeration of all the radical conceptions
which constitute the said pure knowledge. But from the complete analysis of
these conceptions themselves, as also from a complete investigation of those
derived from them, it abstains with reason; partly because it would be deviating
from the end in view to occupy itself with this analysis, since this process is
not attended with the difficulty and insecurity to be found in the synthesis, to
which our critique is entirely devoted, and partly because it would be
inconsistent with the unity of our plan to burden this essay with the
vindication of the completeness of such an analysis and deduction, with which,
after all, we have at present nothing to do. This completeness of the analysis
of these radical conceptions, as well as of the deduction from the conceptions a
priori which may be given by the analysis, we can, however, easily attain,
provided only that we are in possession of all these radical conceptions, which
are to serve as principles of the synthesis, and that in respect of this main
purpose nothing is wanting.
To the Critique of Pure Reason, therefore, belongs all that
constitutes transcendental philosophy; and it is the complete idea of
transcendental philosophy, but still not the science itself; because it only
proceeds so far with the analysis as is necessary to the power of judging
completely of our synthetical knowledge a priori.
The principal thing we must attend to, in the division of the
parts of a science like this, is that no conceptions must enter it which contain
aught empirical; in other words, that the knowledge a priori must be completely
pure. Hence, although the highest principles and fundamental conceptions of
morality are certainly cognitions a priori, yet they do not belong to
transcendental philosophy; because, though they certainly do not lay the
conceptions of pain, pleasure, desires, inclinations, etc. (which are all of
empirical origin), at the foundation of its precepts, yet still into the
conception of duty—as an obstacle to be overcome, or as an incitement which
should not be made into a motive—these empirical conceptions must necessarily
enter, in the construction of a system of pure morality. Transcendental
philosophy is consequently a philosophy of the pure and merely speculative
reason. For all that is practical, so far as it contains motives, relates to
feelings, and these belong to empirical sources of cognition.
If we wish to divide this science from the universal point of
view of a science in general, it ought to comprehend, first, a Doctrine of the
Elements, and, secondly, a Doctrine of the Method of pure reason. Each of these
main divisions will have its subdivisions, the separate reasons for which we
cannot here particularize. Only so much seems necessary, by way of introduction
of premonition, that there are two sources of human knowledge (which probably
spring from a common, but to us unknown root), namely, sense and understanding.
By the former, objects are given to us; by the latter, thought. So far as the
faculty of sense may contain representations a priori, which form the conditions
under which objects are given, in so far it belongs to transcendental
philosophy. The transcendental doctrine of sense must form the first part of our
science of elements, because the conditions under which alone the objects of
human knowledge are given must precede those under which they are thought.
I. TRANSCENDENTAL DOCTRINE OF ELEMENTS.
FIRST PART. TRANSCENDENTAL AESTHETIC.
SS I. Introductory.
In whatsoever mode, or by whatsoever means, our knowledge may
relate to objects, it is at least quite clear that the only manner in which it
immediately relates to them is by means of an intuition. To this as the
indispensable groundwork, all thought points. But an intuition can take place
only in so far as the object is given to us. This, again, is only possible, to
man at least, on condition that the object affect the mind in a certain manner.
The capacity for receiving representations (receptivity) through the mode in
which we are affected by objects, objects, is called sensibility. By means of
sensibility, therefore, objects are given to us, and it alone furnishes us with
intuitions; by the understanding they are thought, and from it arise
conceptions. But an thought must directly, or indirectly, by means of certain
signs, relate ultimately to intuitions; consequently, with us, to sensibility,
because in no other way can an object be given to us.
The effect of an object upon the faculty of representation, so
far as we are affected by the said object, is sensation. That sort of intuition
which relates to an object by means of sensation is called an empirical
intuition. The undetermined object of an empirical intuition is called
phenomenon. That which in the phenomenon corresponds to the sensation, I term
its matter; but that which effects that the content of the phenomenon can be
arranged under certain relations, I call its form. But that in which our
sensations are merely arranged, and by which they are susceptible of assuming a
certain form, cannot be itself sensation. It is, then, the matter of all
phenomena that is given to us a posteriori; the form must lie ready a priori for
them in the mind, and consequently can be regarded separately from all
sensation.
I call all representations pure, in the transcendental meaning
of the word, wherein nothing is met with that belongs to sensation. And
accordingly we find existing in the mind a priori, the pure form of sensuous
intuitions in general, in which all the manifold content of the phenomenal world
is arranged and viewed under certain relations. This pure form of sensibility I
shall call pure intuition. Thus, if I take away from our representation of a
body all that the understanding thinks as belonging to it, as substance, force,
divisibility, etc., and also whatever belongs to sensation, as impenetrability,
hardness, colour, etc.; yet there is still something left us from this empirical
intuition, namely, extension and shape. These belong to pure intuition, which
exists a priori in the mind, as a mere form of sensibility, and without any real
object of the senses or any sensation.
The science of all the principles of sensibility a priori, I
call transcendental aesthetic.* There must, then, be such a science forming the
first part of the transcendental doctrine of elements, in contradistinction to
that part which contains the principles of pure thought, and which is called
transcendental logic.
[Footnote: The Germans are the only people who at present use
this word to indicate what others call the critique of taste. At the foundation
of this term lies the disappointed hope, which the eminent analyst, Baumgarten,
conceived, of subjecting the criticism of the beautiful to principles of reason,
and so of elevating its rules into a science. But his endeavours were vain. For
the said rules or criteria are, in respect to their chief sources, merely
empirical, consequently never can serve as determinate laws a priori, by which
our judgement in matters of taste is to be directed. It is rather our judgement
which forms the proper test as to the correctness of the principles. On this
account it is advisable to give up the use of the term as designating the
critique of taste, and to apply it solely to that doctrine, which is true
science—the science of the laws of sensibility—and thus come nearer to the
language and the sense of the ancients in their well-known division of the
objects of cognition into aiotheta kai noeta, or to share it with speculative
philosophy, and employ it partly in a transcendental, partly in a psychological
signification.]
In the science of transcendental aesthetic accordingly, we shall
first isolate sensibility or the sensuous faculty, by separating from it all
that is annexed to its perceptions by the conceptions of understanding, so that
nothing be left but empirical intuition. In the next place we shall take away
from this intuition all that belongs to sensation, so that nothing may remain
but pure intuition, and the mere form of phenomena, which is all that the
sensibility can afford a priori. From this investigation it will be found that
there are two pure forms of sensuous intuition, as principles of knowledge a
priori, namely, space and time. To the consideration of these we shall now
proceed.
SECTION I. Of Space.
SS 2. Metaphysical Exposition of this Conception.
By means of the external sense (a property of the mind), we
represent to ourselves objects as without us, and these all in space. Herein
alone are their shape, dimensions, and relations to each other determined or
determinable. The internal sense, by means of which the mind contemplates itself
or its internal state, gives, indeed, no intuition of the soul as an object; yet
there is nevertheless a determinate form, under which alone the contemplation of
our internal state is possible, so that all which relates to the inward
determinations of the mind is represented in relations of time. Of time we
cannot have any external intuition, any more than we can have an internal
intuition of space. What then are time and space? Are they real existences? Or,
are they merely relations or determinations of things, such, however, as would
equally belong to these things in themselves, though they should never become
objects of intuition; or, are they such as belong only to the form of intuition,
and consequently to the subjective constitution of the mind, without which these
predicates of time and space could not be attached to any object? In order to
become informed on these points, we shall first give an exposition of the
conception of space. By exposition, I mean the clear, though not detailed,
representation of that which belongs to a conception; and an exposition is
metaphysical when it contains that which represents the conception as given a
priori.
1. Space is not a conception which has been derived from outward
experiences. For, in order that certain sensations may relate to something
without me (that is, to something which occupies a different part of space from
that in which I am); in like manner, in order that I may represent them not
merely as without, of, and near to each other, but also in separate places, the
representation of space must already exist as a foundation. Consequently, the
representation of space cannot be borrowed from the relations of external
phenomena through experience; but, on the contrary, this external experience is
itself only possible through the said antecedent representation.
2. Space then is a necessary representation a priori, which
serves for the foundation of all external intuitions. We never can imagine or
make a representation to ourselves of the non-existence of space, though we may
easily enough think that no objects are found in it. It must, therefore, be
considered as the condition of the possibility of phenomena, and by no means as
a determination dependent on them, and is a representation a priori, which
necessarily supplies the basis for external phenomena.
3. Space is no discursive, or as we say, general conception of
the relations of things, but a pure intuition. For, in the first place, we can
only represent to ourselves one space, and, when we talk of divers spaces, we
mean only parts of one and the same space. Moreover, these parts cannot antecede
this one all-embracing space, as the component parts from which the aggregate
can be made up, but can be cogitated only as existing in it. Space is
essentially one, and multiplicity in it, consequently the general notion of
spaces, of this or that space, depends solely upon limitations. Hence it follows
that an a priori intuition (which is not empirical) lies at the root of all our
conceptions of space. Thus, moreover, the principles of geometry—for example,
that "in a triangle, two sides together are greater than the third," are never
deduced from general conceptions of line and triangle, but from intuition, and
this a priori, with apodeictic certainty.
4. Space is represented as an infinite given quantity. Now every
conception must indeed be considered as a representation which is contained in
an infinite multitude of different possible representations, which, therefore,
comprises these under itself; but no conception, as such, can be so conceived,
as if it contained within itself an infinite multitude of representations.
Nevertheless, space is so conceived of, for all parts of space are equally
capable of being produced to infinity. Consequently, the original representation
of space is an intuition a priori, and not a conception.
SS 3. Transcendental Exposition of the
Conception of Space.
By a transcendental exposition, I mean the explanation of a
conception, as a principle, whence can be discerned the possibility of other
synthetical a priori cognitions. For this purpose, it is requisite, firstly,
that such cognitions do really flow from the given conception; and, secondly,
that the said cognitions are only possible under the presupposition of a given
mode of explaining this conception.
Geometry is a science which determines the properties of space
synthetically, and yet a priori. What, then, must be our representation of
space, in order that such a cognition of it may be possible? It must be
originally intuition, for from a mere conception, no propositions can be deduced
which go out beyond the conception, and yet this happens in geometry. (Introd.
V.) But this intuition must be found in the mind a priori, that is, before any
perception of objects, consequently must be pure, not empirical, intuition. For
geometrical principles are always apodeictic, that is, united with the
consciousness of their necessity, as: "Space has only three dimensions." But
propositions of this kind cannot be empirical judgements, nor conclusions from
them. (Introd. II.) Now, how can an external intuition anterior to objects
themselves, and in which our conception of objects can be determined a priori,
exist in the human mind? Obviously not otherwise than in so far as it has its
seat in the subject only, as the formal capacity of the subject's being affected
by objects, and thereby of obtaining immediate representation, that is,
intuition; consequently, only as the form of the external sense in general.
Thus it is only by means of our explanation that the possibility
of geometry, as a synthetical science a priori, becomes comprehensible. Every
mode of explanation which does not show us this possibility, although in
appearance it may be similar to ours, can with the utmost certainty be
distinguished from it by these marks.
SS 4. Conclusions from the foregoing
Conceptions.
(a) Space does not represent any property of objects as things
in themselves, nor does it represent them in their relations to each other; in
other words, space does not represent to us any determination of objects such as
attaches to the objects themselves, and would remain, even though all subjective
conditions of the intuition were abstracted. For neither absolute nor relative
determinations of objects can be intuited prior to the existence of the things
to which they belong, and therefore not a priori.
(b) Space is nothing else than the form of all phenomena of the
external sense, that is, the subjective condition of the sensibility, under
which alone external intuition is possible. Now, because the receptivity or
capacity of the subject to be affected by objects necessarily antecedes all
intuitions of these objects, it is easily understood how the form of all
phenomena can be given in the mind previous to all actual perceptions, therefore
a priori, and how it, as a pure intuition, in which all objects must be
determined, can contain principles of the relations of these objects prior to
all experience.
It is therefore from the human point of view only that we can
speak of space, extended objects, etc. If we depart from the subjective
condition, under which alone we can obtain external intuition, or, in other
words, by means of which we are affected by objects, the representation of space
has no meaning whatsoever. This predicate is only applicable to things in so far
as they appear to us, that is, are objects of sensibility. The constant form of
this receptivity, which we call sensibility, is a necessary condition of all
relations in which objects can be intuited as existing without us, and when
abstraction of these objects is made, is a pure intuition, to which we give the
name of space. It is clear that we cannot make the special conditions of
sensibility into conditions of the possibility of things, but only of the
possibility of their existence as far as they are phenomena. And so we may
correctly say that space contains all which can appear to us externally, but not
all things considered as things in themselves, be they intuited or not, or by
whatsoever subject one will. As to the intuitions of other thinking beings, we
cannot judge whether they are or are not bound by the same conditions which
limit our own intuition, and which for us are universally valid. If we join the
limitation of a judgement to the conception of the subject, then the judgement
will possess unconditioned validity. For example, the proposition, "All objects
are beside each other in space," is valid only under the limitation that these
things are taken as objects of our sensuous intuition. But if I join the
condition to the conception and say, "All things, as external phenomena, are
beside each other in space," then the rule is valid universally, and without any
limitation. Our expositions, consequently, teach the reality (i.e., the
objective validity) of space in regard of all which can be presented to us
externally as object, and at the same time also the ideality of space in regard
to objects when they are considered by means of reason as things in themselves,
that is, without reference to the constitution of our sensibility. We maintain,
therefore, the empirical reality of space in regard to all possible external
experience, although we must admit its transcendental ideality; in other words,
that it is nothing, so soon as we withdraw the condition upon which the
possibility of all experience depends and look upon space as something that
belongs to things in themselves.
But, with the exception of space, there is no representation,
subjective and referring to something external to us, which could be called
objective a priori. For there are no other subjective representations from which
we can deduce synthetical propositions a priori, as we can from the intuition of
space. (See SS 3.) Therefore, to speak accurately, no ideality whatever belongs
to these, although they agree in this respect with the representation of space,
that they belong merely to the subjective nature of the mode of sensuous
perception; such a mode, for example, as that of sight, of hearing, and of
feeling, by means of the sensations of colour, sound, and heat, but which,
because they are only sensations and not intuitions, do not of themselves give
us the cognition of any object, least of all, an a priori cognition. My purpose,
in the above remark, is merely this: to guard any one against illustrating the
asserted ideality of space by examples quite insufficient, for example, by
colour, taste, etc.; for these must be contemplated not as properties of things,
but only as changes in the subject, changes which may be different in different
men. For, in such a case, that which is originally a mere phenomenon, a rose,
for example, is taken by the empirical understanding for a thing in itself,
though to every different eye, in respect of its colour, it may appear
different. On the contrary, the transcendental conception of phenomena in space
is a critical admonition, that, in general, nothing which is intuited in space
is a thing in itself, and that space is not a form which belongs as a property
to things; but that objects are quite unknown to us in themselves, and what we
call outward objects, are nothing else but mere representations of our
sensibility, whose form is space, but whose real correlate, the thing in itself,
is not known by means of these representations, nor ever can be, but respecting
which, in experience, no inquiry is ever made.
SECTION II. Of Time.
SS 5. Metaphysical Exposition of this Conception.
1. Time is not an empirical conception. For neither coexistence
nor succession would be perceived by us, if the representation of time did not
exist as a foundation a priori. Without this presupposition we could not
represent to ourselves that things exist together at one and the same time, or
at different times, that is, contemporaneously, or in succession.
2. Time is a necessary representation, lying at the foundation
of all our intuitions. With regard to phenomena in general, we cannot think away
time from them, and represent them to ourselves as out of and unconnected with
time, but we can quite well represent to ourselves time void of phenomena. Time
is therefore given a priori. In it alone is all reality of phenomena possible.
These may all be annihilated in thought, but time itself, as the universal
condition of their possibility, cannot be so annulled.
3. On this necessity a priori is also founded the possibility of
apodeictic principles of the relations of time, or axioms of time in general,
such as: "Time has only one dimension," "Different times are not coexistent but
successive" (as different spaces are not successive but coexistent). These
principles cannot be derived from experience, for it would give neither strict
universality, nor apodeictic certainty. We should only be able to say, "so
common experience teaches us," but not "it must be so." They are valid as rules,
through which, in general, experience is possible; and they instruct us
respecting experience, and not by means of it.
4. Time is not a discursive, or as it is called, general
conception, but a pure form of the sensuous intuition. Different times are
merely parts of one and the same time. But the representation which can only be
given by a single object is an intuition. Besides, the proposition that
different times cannot be coexistent could not be derived from a general
conception. For this proposition is synthetical, and therefore cannot spring out
of conceptions alone. It is therefore contained immediately in the intuition and
representation of time.
5. The infinity of time signifies nothing more than that every
determined quantity of time is possible only through limitations of one time
lying at the foundation. Consequently, the original representation, time, must
be given as unlimited. But as the determinate representation of the parts of
time and of every quantity of an object can only be obtained by limitation, the
complete representation of time must not be furnished by means of conceptions,
for these contain only partial representations. Conceptions, on the contrary,
must have immediate intuition for their basis.
SS 6 Transcendental Exposition of the
Conception of Time.
I may here refer to what is said above (SS 5, 3), where, for or
sake of brevity, I have placed under the head of metaphysical exposition, that
which is properly transcendental. Here I shall add that the conception of
change, and with it the conception of motion, as change of place, is possible
only through and in the representation of time; that if this representation were
not an intuition (internal) a priori, no conception, of whatever kind, could
render comprehensible the possibility of change, in other words, of a
conjunction of contradictorily opposed predicates in one and the same object,
for example, the presence of a thing in a place and the non-presence of the same
thing in the same place. It is only in time that it is possible to meet with two
contradictorily opposed determinations in one thing, that is, after each other.
Thus our conception of time explains the possibility of so much synthetical
knowledge a priori, as is exhibited in the general doctrine of motion, which is
not a little fruitful.
SS 7. Conclusions from the above
Conceptions.
(a) Time is not something which subsists of itself, or which
inheres in things as an objective determination, and therefore remains, when
abstraction is made of the subjective conditions of the intuition of things. For
in the former case, it would be something real, yet without presenting to any
power of perception any real object. In the latter case, as an order or
determination inherent in things themselves, it could not be antecedent to
things, as their condition, nor discerned or intuited by means of synthetical
propositions a priori. But all this is quite possible when we regard time as
merely the subjective condition under which all our intuitions take place. For
in that case, this form of the inward intuition can be represented prior to the
objects, and consequently a priori.
(b) Time is nothing else than the form of the internal sense,
that is, of the intuitions of self and of our internal state. For time cannot be
any determination of outward phenomena. It has to do neither with shape nor
position; on the contrary, it determines the relation of representations in our
internal state. And precisely because this internal intuition presents to us no
shape or form, we endeavour to supply this want by analogies, and represent the
course of time by a line progressing to infinity, the content of which
constitutes a series which is only of one dimension; and we conclude from the
properties of this line as to all the properties of time, with this single
exception, that the parts of the line are coexistent, whilst those of time are
successive. From this it is clear also that the representation of time is itself
an intuition, because all its relations can be expressed in an external
intuition.
(c) Time is the formal condition a priori of all phenomena
whatsoever. Space, as the pure form of external intuition, is limited as a
condition a priori to external phenomena alone. On the other hand, because all
representations, whether they have or have not external things for their
objects, still in themselves, as determinations of the mind, belong to our
internal state; and because this internal state is subject to the formal
condition of the internal intuition, that is, to time—time is a condition a
priori of all phenomena whatsoever—the immediate condition of all internal, and
thereby the mediate condition of all external phenomena. If I can say a priori,
"All outward phenomena are in space, and determined a priori according to the
relations of space," I can also, from the principle of the internal sense,
affirm universally, "All phenomena in general, that is, all objects of the
senses, are in time and stand necessarily in relations of time."
If we abstract our internal intuition of ourselves and all
external intuitions, possible only by virtue of this internal intuition and
presented to us by our faculty of representation, and consequently take objects
as they are in themselves, then time is nothing. It is only of objective
validity in regard to phenomena, because these are things which we regard as
objects of our senses. It no longer objective we, make abstraction of the
sensuousness of our intuition, in other words, of that mode of representation
which is peculiar to us, and speak of things in general. Time is therefore
merely a subjective condition of our (human) intuition (which is always
sensuous, that is, so far as we are affected by objects), and in itself,
independently of the mind or subject, is nothing. Nevertheless, in respect of
all phenomena, consequently of all things which come within the sphere of our
experience, it is necessarily objective. We cannot say, "All things are in
time," because in this conception of things in general, we abstract and make no
mention of any sort of intuition of things. But this is the proper condition
under which time belongs to our representation of objects. If we add the
condition to the conception, and say, "All things, as phenomena, that is,
objects of sensuous intuition, are in time," then the proposition has its sound
objective validity and universality a priori.
What we have now set forth teaches, therefore, the empirical
reality of time; that is, its objective validity in reference to all objects
which can ever be presented to our senses. And as our intuition is always
sensuous, no object ever can be presented to us in experience, which does not
come under the conditions of time. On the other hand, we deny to time all claim
to absolute reality; that is, we deny that it, without having regard to the form
of our sensuous intuition, absolutely inheres in things as a condition or
property. Such properties as belong to objects as things in themselves never can
be presented to us through the medium of the senses. Herein consists, therefore,
the transcendental ideality of time, according to which, if we abstract the
subjective conditions of sensuous intuition, it is nothing, and cannot be
reckoned as subsisting or inhering in objects as things in themselves,
independently of its relation to our intuition. This ideality, like that of
space, is not to be proved or illustrated by fallacious analogies with
sensations, for this reason—that in such arguments or illustrations, we make the
presupposition that the phenomenon, in which such and such predicates inhere,
has objective reality, while in this case we can only find such an objective
reality as is itself empirical, that is, regards the object as a mere
phenomenon. In reference to this subject, see the remark in Section I (SS 4)
SS 8. Elucidation.
Against this theory, which grants empirical reality to time, but
denies to it absolute and transcendental reality, I have heard from intelligent
men an objection so unanimously urged that I conclude that it must naturally
present itself to every reader to whom these considerations are novel. It runs
thus: "Changes are real" (this the continual change in our own representations
demonstrates, even though the existence of all external phenomena, together with
their changes, is denied). Now, changes are only possible in time, and therefore
time must be something real. But there is no difficulty in answering this. I
grant the whole argument. Time, no doubt, is something real, that is, it is the
real form of our internal intuition. It therefore has subjective reality, in
reference to our internal experience, that is, I have really the representation
of time and of my determinations therein. Time, therefore, is not to be regarded
as an object, but as the mode of representation of myself as an object. But if I
could intuite myself, or be intuited by another being, without this condition of
sensibility, then those very determinations which we now represent to ourselves
as changes, would present to us a knowledge in which the representation of time,
and consequently of change, would not appear. The empirical reality of time,
therefore, remains, as the condition of all our experience. But absolute
reality, according to what has been said above, cannot be granted it. Time is
nothing but the form of our internal intuition.* If we take away from it the
special condition of our sensibility, the conception of time also vanishes; and
it inheres not in the objects themselves, but solely in the subject (or mind)
which intuites them.
[*Footnote: I can indeed say "my representations follow one
another, or are successive"; but this means only that we are conscious of them
as in a succession, that is, according to the form of the internal sense. Time,
therefore, is not a thing in itself, nor is it any objective determination
pertaining to, or inherent in things.]
But the reason why this objection is so unanimously brought
against our doctrine of time, and that too by disputants who cannot start any
intelligible arguments against the doctrine of the ideality of space, is
this—they have no hope of demonstrating apodeictically the absolute reality of
space, because the doctrine of idealism is against them, according to which the
reality of external objects is not capable of any strict proof. On the other
hand, the reality of the object of our internal sense (that is, myself and my
internal state) is clear immediately through consciousness. The former—external
objects in space—might be a mere delusion, but the latter—the object of my
internal perception—is undeniably real. They do not, however, reflect that both,
without question of their reality as representations, belong only to the genus
phenomenon, which has always two aspects, the one, the object considered as a
thing in itself, without regard to the mode of intuiting it, and the nature of
which remains for this very reason problematical, the other, the form of our
intuition of the object, which must be sought not in the object as a thing in
itself, but in the subject to which it appears— which form of intuition
nevertheless belongs really and necessarily to the phenomenal object.
Time and space are, therefore, two sources of knowledge, from
which, a priori, various synthetical cognitions can be drawn. Of this we find a
striking example in the cognitions of space and its relations, which form the
foundation of pure mathematics. They are the two pure forms of all intuitions,
and thereby make synthetical propositions a priori possible. But these sources
of knowledge being merely conditions of our sensibility, do therefore, and as
such, strictly determine their own range and purpose, in that they do not and
cannot present objects as things in themselves, but are applicable to them
solely in so far as they are considered as sensuous phenomena. The sphere of
phenomena is the only sphere of their validity, and if we venture out of this,
no further objective use can be made of them. For the rest, this formal reality
of time and space leaves the validity of our empirical knowledge unshaken; for
our certainty in that respect is equally firm, whether these forms necessarily
inhere in the things themselves, or only in our intuitions of them. On the other
hand, those who maintain the absolute reality of time and space, whether as
essentially subsisting, or only inhering, as modifications, in things, must find
themselves at utter variance with the principles of experience itself. For, if
they decide for the first view, and make space and time into substances, this
being the side taken by mathematical natural philosophers, they must admit two
self-subsisting nonentities, infinite and eternal, which exist (yet without
there being anything real) for the purpose of containing in themselves
everything that is real. If they adopt the second view of inherence, which is
preferred by some metaphysical natural philosophers, and regard space and time
as relations (contiguity in space or succession in time), abstracted from
experience, though represented confusedly in this state of separation, they find
themselves in that case necessitated to deny the validity of mathematical
doctrines a priori in reference to real things (for example, in space)—at all
events their apodeictic certainty. For such certainty cannot be found in an a
posteriori proposition; and the conceptions a priori of space and time are,
according to this opinion, mere creations of the imagination, having their
source really in experience, inasmuch as, out of relations abstracted from
experience, imagination has made up something which contains, indeed, general
statements of these relations, yet of which no application can be made without
the restrictions attached thereto by nature. The former of these parties gains
this advantage, that they keep the sphere of phenomena free for mathematical
science. On the other hand, these very conditions (space and time) embarrass
them greatly, when the understanding endeavours to pass the limits of that
sphere. The latter has, indeed, this advantage, that the representations of
space and time do not come in their way when they wish to judge of objects, not
as phenomena, but merely in their relation to the understanding. Devoid,
however, of a true and objectively valid a priori intuition, they can neither
furnish any basis for the possibility of mathematical cognitions a priori, nor
bring the propositions of experience into necessary accordance with those of
mathematics. In our theory of the true nature of these two original forms of the
sensibility, both difficulties are surmounted.
In conclusion, that transcendental aesthetic cannot contain any
more than these two elements—space and time, is sufficiently obvious from the
fact that all other conceptions appertaining to sensibility, even that of
motion, which unites in itself both elements, presuppose something empirical.
Motion, for example, presupposes the perception of something movable. But space
considered in itself contains nothing movable, consequently motion must be
something which is found in space only through experience— in other words, an
empirical datum. In like manner, transcendental aesthetic cannot number the
conception of change among its data a priori; for time itself does not change,
but only something which is in time. To acquire the conception of change,
therefore, the perception of some existing object and of the succession of its
determinations, in one word, experience, is necessary.
SS 9. General Remarks on Transcendental
Aesthetic.
I. In order to prevent any misunderstanding, it will be
requisite, in the first place, to recapitulate, as clearly as possible, what our
opinion is with respect to the fundamental nature of our sensuous cognition in
general. We have intended, then, to say that all our intuition is nothing but
the representation of phenomena; that the things which we intuite, are not in
themselves the same as our representations of them in intuition, nor are their
relations in themselves so constituted as they appear to us; and that if we take
away the subject, or even only the subjective constitution of our senses in
general, then not only the nature and relations of objects in space and time,
but even space and time themselves disappear; and that these, as phenomena,
cannot exist in themselves, but only in us. What may be the nature of objects
considered as things in themselves and without reference to the receptivity of
our sensibility is quite unknown to us. We know nothing more than our mode of
perceiving them, which is peculiar to us, and which, though not of necessity
pertaining to every animated being, is so to the whole human race. With this
alone we have to do. Space and time are the pure forms thereof; sensation the
matter. The former alone can we cognize a priori, that is, antecedent to all
actual perception; and for this reason such cognition is called pure intuition.
The latter is that in our cognition which is called cognition a posteriori, that
is, empirical intuition. The former appertain absolutely and necessarily to our
sensibility, of whatsoever kind our sensations may be; the latter may be of very
diversified character. Supposing that we should carry our empirical intuition
even to the very highest degree of clearness, we should not thereby advance one
step nearer to a knowledge of the constitution of objects as things in
themselves. For we could only, at best, arrive at a complete cognition of our
own mode of intuition, that is of our sensibility, and this always under the
conditions originally attaching to the subject, namely, the conditions of space
and time; while the question: "What are objects considered as things in
themselves?" remains unanswerable even after the most thorough examination of
the phenomenal world.
To say, then, that all our sensibility is nothing but the
confused representation of things containing exclusively that which belongs to
them as things in themselves, and this under an accumulation of characteristic
marks and partial representations which we cannot distinguish in consciousness,
is a falsification of the conception of sensibility and phenomenization, which
renders our whole doctrine thereof empty and useless. The difference between a
confused and a clear representation is merely logical and has nothing to do with
content. No doubt the conception of right, as employed by a sound understanding,
contains all that the most subtle investigation could unfold from it, although,
in the ordinary practical use of the word, we are not conscious of the manifold
representations comprised in the conception. But we cannot for this reason
assert that the ordinary conception is a sensuous one, containing a mere
phenomenon, for right cannot appear as a phenomenon; but the conception of it
lies in the understanding, and represents a property (the moral property) of
actions, which belongs to them in themselves. On the other hand, the
representation in intuition of a body contains nothing which could belong to an
object considered as a thing in itself, but merely the phenomenon or appearance
of something, and the mode in which we are affected by that appearance; and this
receptivity of our faculty of cognition is called sensibility, and remains toto
caelo different from the cognition of an object in itself, even though we should
examine the content of the phenomenon to the very bottom.
It must be admitted that the Leibnitz-Wolfian philosophy has
assigned an entirely erroneous point of view to all investigations into the
nature and origin of our cognitions, inasmuch as it regards the distinction
between the sensuous and the intellectual as merely logical, whereas it is
plainly transcendental, and concerns not merely the clearness or obscurity, but
the content and origin of both. For the faculty of sensibility not only does not
present us with an indistinct and confused cognition of objects as things in
themselves, but, in fact, gives us no knowledge of these at all. On the
contrary, so soon as we abstract in thought our own subjective nature, the
object represented, with the properties ascribed to it by sensuous intuition,
entirely disappears, because it was only this subjective nature that determined
the form of the object as a phenomenon.
In phenomena, we commonly, indeed, distinguish that which
essentially belongs to the intuition of them, and is valid for the sensuous
faculty of every human being, from that which belongs to the same intuition
accidentally, as valid not for the sensuous faculty in general, but for a
particular state or organization of this or that sense. Accordingly, we are
accustomed to say that the former is a cognition which represents the object
itself, whilst the latter presents only a particular appearance or phenomenon
thereof. This distinction, however, is only empirical. If we stop here (as is
usual), and do not regard the empirical intuition as itself a mere phenomenon
(as we ought to do), in which nothing that can appertain to a thing in itself is
to be found, our transcendental distinction is lost, and we believe that we
cognize objects as things in themselves, although in the whole range of the
sensuous world, investigate the nature of its objects as profoundly as we may,
we have to do with nothing but phenomena. Thus, we call the rainbow a mere
appearance of phenomenon in a sunny shower, and the rain, the reality or thing
in itself; and this is right enough, if we understand the latter conception in a
merely physical sense, that is, as that which in universal experience, and under
whatever conditions of sensuous perception, is known in intuition to be so and
so determined, and not otherwise. But if we consider this empirical datum
generally, and inquire, without reference to its accordance with all our senses,
whether there can be discovered in it aught which represents an object as a
thing in itself (the raindrops of course are not such, for they are, as
phenomena, empirical objects), the question of the relation of the
representation to the object is transcendental; and not only are the raindrops
mere phenomena, but even their circular form, nay, the space itself through
which they fall, is nothing in itself, but both are mere modifications or
fundamental dispositions of our sensuous intuition, whilst the transcendental
object remains for us utterly unknown.
The second important concern of our aesthetic is that it does
not obtain favour merely as a plausible hypothesis, but possess as undoubted a
character of certainty as can be demanded of any theory which is to serve for an
organon. In order fully to convince the reader of this certainty, we shall
select a case which will serve to make its validity apparent, and also to
illustrate what has been said in SS 3.
Suppose, then, that space and time are in themselves objective,
and conditions of the—possibility of objects as things in themselves. In the
first place, it is evident that both present us, with very many apodeictic and
synthetic propositions a priori, but especially space—and for this reason we
shall prefer it for investigation at present. As the propositions of geometry
are cognized synthetically a priori, and with apodeictic certainty, I inquire:
Whence do you obtain propositions of this kind, and on what basis does the
understanding rest, in order to arrive at such absolutely necessary and
universally valid truths?
There is no other way than through intuitions or conceptions, as
such; and these are given either a priori or a posteriori. The latter, namely,
empirical conceptions, together with the empirical intuition on which they are
founded, cannot afford any synthetical proposition, except such as is itself
also empirical, that is, a proposition of experience. But an empirical
proposition cannot possess the qualities of necessity and absolute universality,
which, nevertheless, are the characteristics of all geometrical propositions. As
to the first and only means to arrive at such cognitions, namely, through mere
conceptions or intuitions a priori, it is quite clear that from mere conceptions
no synthetical cognitions, but only analytical ones, can be obtained. Take, for
example, the proposition: "Two straight lines cannot enclose a space, and with
these alone no figure is possible," and try to deduce it from the conception of
a straight line and the number two; or take the proposition: "It is possible to
construct a figure with three straight lines," and endeavour, in like manner, to
deduce it from the mere conception of a straight line and the number three. All
your endeavours are in vain, and you find yourself forced to have recourse to
intuition, as, in fact, geometry always does. You therefore give yourself an
object in intuition. But of what kind is this intuition? Is it a pure a priori,
or is it an empirical intuition? If the latter, then neither an universally
valid, much less an apodeictic proposition can arise from it, for experience
never can give us any such proposition. You must, therefore, give yourself an
object a priori in intuition, and upon that ground your synthetical proposition.
Now if there did not exist within you a faculty of intuition a priori; if this
subjective condition were not in respect to its form also the universal
condition a priori under which alone the object of this external intuition is
itself possible; if the object (that is, the triangle) were something in itself,
without relation to you the subject; how could you affirm that that which lies
necessarily in your subjective conditions in order to construct a triangle, must
also necessarily belong to the triangle in itself? For to your conceptions of
three lines, you could not add anything new (that is, the figure); which,
therefore, must necessarily be found in the object, because the object is given
before your cognition, and not by means of it. If, therefore, space (and time
also) were not a mere form of your intuition, which contains conditions a
priori, under which alone things can become external objects for you, and
without which subjective conditions the objects are in themselves nothing, you
could not construct any synthetical proposition whatsoever regarding external
objects. It is therefore not merely possible or probable, but indubitably
certain, that space and time, as the necessary conditions of all our external
and internal experience, are merely subjective conditions of all our intuitions,
in relation to which all objects are therefore mere phenomena, and not things in
themselves, presented to us in this particular manner. And for this reason, in
respect to the form of phenomena, much may be said a priori, whilst of the thing
in itself, which may lie at the foundation of these phenomena, it is impossible
to say anything.
II. In confirmation of this theory of the ideality of the
external as well as internal sense, consequently of all objects of sense, as
mere phenomena, we may especially remark that all in our cognition that belongs
to intuition contains nothing more than mere relations. (The feelings of pain
and pleasure, and the will, which are not cognitions, are excepted.) The
relations, to wit, of place in an intuition (extension), change of place
(motion), and laws according to which this change is determined (moving forces).
That, however, which is present in this or that place, or any operation going
on, or result taking place in the things themselves, with the exception of
change of place, is not given to us by intuition. Now by means of mere
relations, a thing cannot be known in itself; and it may therefore be fairly
concluded, that, as through the external sense nothing but mere representations
of relations are given us, the said external sense in its representation can
contain only the relation of the object to the subject, but not the essential
nature of the object as a thing in itself.
The same is the case with the internal intuition, not only
because, in the internal intuition, the representation of the external senses
constitutes the material with which the mind is occupied; but because time, in
which we place, and which itself antecedes the consciousness of, these
representations in experience, and which, as the formal condition of the mode
according to which objects are placed in the mind, lies at the foundation of
them, contains relations of the successive, the coexistent, and of that which
always must be coexistent with succession, the permanent. Now that which, as
representation, can antecede every exercise of thought (of an object), is
intuition; and when it contains nothing but relations, it is the form of the
intuition, which, as it presents us with no representation, except in so far as
something is placed in the mind, can be nothing else than the mode in which the
mind is affected by its own activity, to wit—its presenting to itself
representations, consequently the mode in which the mind is affected by itself;
that is, it can be nothing but an internal sense in respect to its form.
Everything that is represented through the medium of sense is so far phenomenal;
consequently, we must either refuse altogether to admit an internal sense, or
the subject, which is the object of that sense, could only be represented by it
as phenomenon, and not as it would judge of itself, if its intuition were pure
spontaneous activity, that is, were intellectual. The difficulty here lies
wholly in the question: How can the subject have an internal intuition of
itself? But this difficulty is common to every theory. The consciousness of self
(apperception) is the simple representation of the "ego"; and if by means of
that representation alone, all the manifold representations in the subject were
spontaneously given, then our internal intuition would be intellectual. This
consciousness in man requires an internal perception of the manifold
representations which are previously given in the subject; and the manner in
which these representations are given in the mind without spontaneity, must, on
account of this difference (the want of spontaneity), be called sensibility. If
the faculty of self-consciousness is to apprehend what lies in the mind, it must
all act that and can in this way alone produce an intuition of self. But the
form of this intuition, which lies in the original constitution of the mind,
determines, in the representation of time, the manner in which the manifold
representations are to combine themselves in the mind; since the subject
intuites itself, not as it would represent itself immediately and spontaneously,
but according to the manner in which the mind is internally affected,
consequently, as it appears, and not as it is.
III. When we say that the intuition of external objects, and
also the self-intuition of the subject, represent both, objects and subject, in
space and time, as they affect our senses, that is, as they appear—this is by no
means equivalent to asserting that these objects are mere illusory appearances.
For when we speak of things as phenomena, the objects, nay, even the properties
which we ascribe to them, are looked upon as really given; only that, in so far
as this or that property depends upon the mode of intuition of the subject, in
the relation of the given object to the subject, the object as phenomenon is to
be distinguished from the object as a thing in itself. Thus I do not say that
bodies seem or appear to be external to me, or that my soul seems merely to be
given in my self-consciousness, although I maintain that the properties of space
and time, in conformity to which I set both, as the condition of their
existence, abide in my mode of intuition, and not in the objects in themselves.
It would be my own fault, if out of that which I should reckon as phenomenon, I
made mere illusory appearance.* But this will not happen, because of our
principle of the ideality of all sensuous intuitions. On the contrary, if we
ascribe objective reality to these forms of representation, it becomes
impossible to avoid changing everything into mere appearance. For if we regard
space and time as properties, which must be found in objects as things in
themselves, as sine quibus non of the possibility of their existence, and
reflect on the absurdities in which we then find ourselves involved, inasmuch as
we are compelled to admit the existence of two infinite things, which are
nevertheless not substances, nor anything really inhering in substances, nay, to
admit that they are the necessary conditions of the existence of all things, and
moreover, that they must continue to exist, although all existing things were
annihilated— we cannot blame the good Berkeley for degrading bodies to mere
illusory appearances. Nay, even our own existence, which would in this case
depend upon the self-existent reality of such a mere nonentity as time, would
necessarily be changed with it into mere appearance—an absurdity which no one
has as yet been guilty of.
[*Footnote: The predicates of the phenomenon can be affixed to
the object itself in relation to our sensuous faculty; for example, the red
colour or the perfume to the rose. But (illusory) appearance never can be
attributed as a predicate to an object, for this very reason, that it attributes
to this object in itself that which belongs to it only in relation to our
sensuous faculty, or to the subject in general, e.g., the two handles which were
formerly ascribed to Saturn. That which is never to be found in the object
itself, but always in the relation of the object to the subject, and which
moreover is inseparable from our representation of the object, we denominate
phenomenon. Thus the predicates of space and time are rightly attributed to
objects of the senses as such, and in this there is no illusion. On the
contrary, if I ascribe redness of the rose as a thing in itself, or to Saturn
his handles, or extension to all external objects, considered as things in
themselves, without regarding the determinate relation of these objects to the
subject, and without limiting my judgement to that relation—then, and then only,
arises illusion.]
IV. In natural theology, where we think of an object—God—which
never can be an object of intuition to us, and even to himself can never be an
object of sensuous intuition, we carefully avoid attributing to his intuition
the conditions of space and time—and intuition all his cognition must be, and
not thought, which always includes limitation. But with what right can we do
this if we make them forms of objects as things in themselves, and such,
moreover, as would continue to exist as a priori conditions of the existence of
things, even though the things themselves were annihilated? For as conditions of
all existence in general, space and time must be conditions of the existence of
the Supreme Being also. But if we do not thus make them objective forms of all
things, there is no other way left than to make them subjective forms of our
mode of intuition—external and internal; which is called sensuous, because it is
not primitive, that is, is not such as gives in itself the existence of the
object of the intuition (a mode of intuition which, so far as we can judge, can
belong only to the Creator), but is dependent on the existence of the object, is
possible, therefore, only on condition that the representative faculty of the
subject is affected by the object.
It is, moreover, not necessary that we should limit the mode of
intuition in space and time to the sensuous faculty of man. It may well be that
all finite thinking beings must necessarily in this respect agree with man
(though as to this we cannot decide), but sensibility does not on account of
this universality cease to be sensibility, for this very reason, that it is a
deduced (intuitus derivativus), and not an original (intuitus originarius),
consequently not an intellectual intuition, and this intuition, as such, for
reasons above mentioned, seems to belong solely to the Supreme Being, but never
to a being dependent, quoad its existence, as well as its intuition (which its
existence determines and limits relatively to given objects). This latter
remark, however, must be taken only as an illustration, and not as any proof of
the truth of our aesthetical theory.
SS 10. Conclusion of the Transcendental
Aesthetic.
We have now completely before us one part of the solution of the
grand general problem of transcendental philosophy, namely, the question: "How
are synthetical propositions a priori possible?" That is to say, we have shown
that we are in possession of pure a priori intuitions, namely, space and time,
in which we find, when in a judgement a priori we pass out beyond the given
conception, something which is not discoverable in that conception, but is
certainly found a priori in the intuition which corresponds to the conception,
and can be united synthetically with it. But the judgements which these pure
intuitions enable us to make, never reach farther than to objects of the senses,
and are valid only for objects of possible experience.
SECOND PART. TRANSCENDENTAL LOGIC.
INTRODUCTION. Idea of a Transcendental Logic.
I. Of Logic in General.
Our knowledge springs from two main sources in the mind, first
of which is the faculty or power of receiving representations (receptivity for
impressions); the second is the power of cognizing by means of these
representations (spontaneity in the production of conceptions). Through the
first an object is given to us; through the second, it is, in relation to the
representation (which is a mere determination of the mind), thought. Intuition
and conceptions constitute, therefore, the elements of all our knowledge, so
that neither conceptions without an intuition in some way corresponding to them,
nor intuition without conceptions, can afford us a cognition. Both are either
pure or empirical. They are empirical, when sensation (which presupposes the
actual presence of the object) is contained in them; and pure, when no sensation
is mixed with the representation. Sensations we may call the matter of sensuous
cognition. Pure intuition consequently contains merely the form under which
something is intuited, and pure conception only the form of the thought of an
object. Only pure intuitions and pure conceptions are possible a priori; the
empirical only a posteriori.
We apply the term sensibility to the receptivity of the mind for
impressions, in so far as it is in some way affected; and, on the other hand, we
call the faculty of spontaneously producing representations, or the spontaneity
of cognition, understanding. Our nature is so constituted that intuition with us
never can be other than sensuous, that is, it contains only the mode in which we
are affected by objects. On the other hand, the faculty of thinking the object
of sensuous intuition is the understanding. Neither of these faculties has a
preference over the other. Without the sensuous faculty no object would be given
to us, and without the understanding no object would be thought. Thoughts
without content are void; intuitions without conceptions, blind. Hence it is as
necessary for the mind to make its conceptions sensuous (that is, to join to
them the object in intuition), as to make its intuitions intelligible (that is,
to bring them under conceptions). Neither of these faculties can exchange its
proper function. Understanding cannot intuite, and the sensuous faculty cannot
think. In no other way than from the united operation of both, can knowledge
arise. But no one ought, on this account, to overlook the difference of the
elements contributed by each; we have rather great reason carefully to separate
and distinguish them. We therefore distinguish the science of the laws of
sensibility, that is, aesthetic, from the science of the laws of the
understanding, that is, logic.
Now, logic in its turn may be considered as twofold—namely, as
logic of the general, or of the particular use of the understanding. The first
contains the absolutely necessary laws of thought, without which no use
whatsoever of the understanding is possible, and gives laws therefore to the
understanding, without regard to the difference of objects on which it may be
employed. The logic of the particular use of the understanding contains the laws
of correct thinking upon a particular class of objects. The former may be called
elemental logic—the latter, the organon of this or that particular science. The
latter is for the most part employed in the schools, as a propaedeutic to the
sciences, although, indeed, according to the course of human reason, it is the
last thing we arrive at, when the science has been already matured, and needs
only the finishing touches towards its correction and completion; for our
knowledge of the objects of our attempted science must be tolerably extensive
and complete before we can indicate the laws by which a science of these objects
can be established.
General logic is again either pure or applied. In the former, we
abstract all the empirical conditions under which the understanding is
exercised; for example, the influence of the senses, the play of the fantasy or
imagination, the laws of the memory, the force of habit, of inclination, etc.,
consequently also, the sources of prejudice—in a word, we abstract all causes
from which particular cognitions arise, because these causes regard the
understanding under certain circumstances of its application, and, to the
knowledge of them experience is required. Pure general logic has to do,
therefore, merely with pure a priori principles, and is a canon of understanding
and reason, but only in respect of the formal part of their use, be the content
what it may, empirical or transcendental. General logic is called applied, when
it is directed to the laws of the use of the understanding, under the subjective
empirical conditions which psychology teaches us. It has therefore empirical
principles, although, at the same time, it is in so far general, that it applies
to the exercise of the understanding, without regard to the difference of
objects. On this account, moreover, it is neither a canon of the understanding
in general, nor an organon of a particular science, but merely a cathartic of
the human understanding.
In general logic, therefore, that part which constitutes pure
logic must be carefully distinguished from that which constitutes applied
(though still general) logic. The former alone is properly science, although
short and dry, as the methodical exposition of an elemental doctrine of the
understanding ought to be. In this, therefore, logicians must always bear in
mind two rules:
1. As general logic, it makes abstraction of all content of the
cognition of the understanding, and of the difference of objects, and has to do
with nothing but the mere form of thought.
2. As pure logic, it has no empirical principles, and
consequently draws nothing (contrary to the common persuasion) from psychology,
which therefore has no influence on the canon of the understanding. It is a
demonstrated doctrine, and everything in it must be certain completely a priori.
What I called applied logic (contrary to the common acceptation
of this term, according to which it should contain certain exercises for the
scholar, for which pure logic gives the rules), is a representation of the
understanding, and of the rules of its necessary employment in concreto, that is
to say, under the accidental conditions of the subject, which may either hinder
or promote this employment, and which are all given only empirically. Thus
applied logic treats of attention, its impediments and consequences, of the
origin of error, of the state of doubt, hesitation, conviction, etc., and to it
is related pure general logic in the same way that pure morality, which contains
only the necessary moral laws of a free will, is related to practical ethics,
which considers these laws under all the impediments of feelings, inclinations,
and passions to which men are more or less subjected, and which never can
furnish us with a true and demonstrated science, because it, as well as applied
logic, requires empirical and psychological principles.
II. Of Transcendental Logic.
General logic, as we have seen, makes abstraction of all content
of cognition, that is, of all relation of cognition to its object, and regards
only the logical form in the relation of cognitions to each other, that is, the
form of thought in general. But as we have both pure and empirical intuitions
(as transcendental aesthetic proves), in like manner a distinction might be
drawn between pure and empirical thought (of objects). In this case, there would
exist a kind of logic, in which we should not make abstraction of all content of
cognition; for or logic which should comprise merely the laws of pure thought
(of an object), would of course exclude all those cognitions which were of
empirical content. This kind of logic would also examine the origin of our
cognitions of objects, so far as that origin cannot be ascribed to the objects
themselves; while, on the contrary, general logic has nothing to do with the
origin of our cognitions, but contemplates our representations, be they given
primitively a priori in ourselves, or be they only of empirical origin, solely
according to the laws which the understanding observes in employing them in the
process of thought, in relation to each other. Consequently, general logic
treats of the form of the understanding only, which can be applied to
representations, from whatever source they may have arisen.
And here I shall make a remark, which the reader must bear well
in mind in the course of the following considerations, to wit, that not every
cognition a priori, but only those through which we cognize that and how certain
representations (intuitions or conceptions) are applied or are possible only a
priori; that is to say, the a priori possibility of cognition and the a priori
use of it are transcendental. Therefore neither is space, nor any a priori
geometrical determination of space, a transcendental Representation, but only
the knowledge that such a representation is not of empirical origin, and the
possibility of its relating to objects of experience, although itself a priori,
can be called transcendental. So also, the application of space to objects in
general would be transcendental; but if it be limited to objects of sense it is
empirical. Thus, the distinction of the transcendental and empirical belongs
only to the critique of cognitions, and does not concern the relation of these
to their object.
Accordingly, in the expectation that there may perhaps be
conceptions which relate a priori to objects, not as pure or sensuous
intuitions, but merely as acts of pure thought (which are therefore conceptions,
but neither of empirical nor aesthetical origin)—in this expectation, I say, we
form to ourselves, by anticipation, the idea of a science of pure understanding
and rational cognition, by means of which we may cogitate objects entirely a
priori. A science of this kind, which should determine the origin, the extent,
and the objective validity of such cognitions, must be called transcendental
logic, because it has not, like general logic, to do with the laws of
understanding and reason in relation to empirical as well as pure rational
cognitions without distinction, but concerns itself with these only in an a
priori relation to objects.
III. Of the Division of General Logic
into Analytic and Dialectic.
The old question with which people sought to push logicians into
a corner, so that they must either have recourse to pitiful sophisms or confess
their ignorance, and consequently the vanity of their whole art, is this: "What
is truth?" The definition of the word truth, to wit, "the accordance of the
cognition with its object," is presupposed in the question; but we desire to be
told, in the answer to it, what is the universal and secure criterion of the
truth of every cognition.
To know what questions we may reasonably propose is in itself a
strong evidence of sagacity and intelligence. For if a question be in itself
absurd and unsusceptible of a rational answer, it is attended with the
danger—not to mention the shame that falls upon the person who proposes it—of
seducing the unguarded listener into making absurd answers, and we are presented
with the ridiculous spectacle of one (as the ancients said) "milking the
he-goat, and the other holding a sieve."
If truth consists in the accordance of a cognition with its
object, this object must be, ipso facto, distinguished from all others; for a
cognition is false if it does not accord with the object to which it relates,
although it contains something which may be affirmed of other objects. Now an
universal criterion of truth would be that which is valid for all cognitions,
without distinction of their objects. But it is evident that since, in the case
of such a criterion, we make abstraction of all the content of a cognition (that
is, of all relation to its object), and truth relates precisely to this content,
it must be utterly absurd to ask for a mark of the truth of this content of
cognition; and that, accordingly, a sufficient, and at the same time universal,
test of truth cannot possibly be found. As we have already termed the content of
a cognition its matter, we shall say: "Of the truth of our cognitions in respect
of their matter, no universal test can be demanded, because such a demand is
self-contradictory."
On the other hand, with regard to our cognition in respect of
its mere form (excluding all content), it is equally manifest that logic, in so
far as it exhibits the universal and necessary laws of the understanding, must
in these very laws present us with criteria of truth. Whatever contradicts these
rules is false, because thereby the understanding is made to contradict its own
universal laws of thought; that is, to contradict itself. These criteria,
however, apply solely to the form of truth, that is, of thought in general, and
in so far they are perfectly accurate, yet not sufficient. For although a
cognition may be perfectly accurate as to logical form, that is, not
self-contradictory, it is notwithstanding quite possible that it may not stand
in agreement with its object. Consequently, the merely logical criterion of
truth, namely, the accordance of a cognition with the universal and formal laws
of understanding and reason, is nothing more than the conditio sine qua non, or
negative condition of all truth. Farther than this logic cannot go, and the
error which depends not on the form, but on the content of the cognition, it has
no test to discover.
General logic, then, resolves the whole formal business of
understanding and reason into its elements, and exhibits them as principles of
all logical judging of our cognitions. This part of logic may, therefore, be
called analytic, and is at least the negative test of truth, because all
cognitions must first of an be estimated and tried according to these laws
before we proceed to investigate them in respect of their content, in order to
discover whether they contain positive truth in regard to their object. Because,
however, the mere form of a cognition, accurately as it may accord with logical
laws, is insufficient to supply us with material (objective) truth, no one, by
means of logic alone, can venture to predicate anything of or decide concerning
objects, unless he has obtained, independently of logic, well-grounded
information about them, in order afterwards to examine, according to logical
laws, into the use and connection, in a cohering whole, of that information, or,
what is still better, merely to test it by them. Notwithstanding, there lies so
seductive a charm in the possession of a specious art like this—an art which
gives to all our cognitions the form of the understanding, although with respect
to the content thereof we may be sadly deficient—that general logic, which is
merely a canon of judgement, has been employed as an organon for the actual
production, or rather for the semblance of production, of objective assertions,
and has thus been grossly misapplied. Now general logic, in its assumed
character of organon, is called dialectic.
Different as are the significations in which the ancients used
this term for a science or an art, we may safely infer, from their actual
employment of it, that with them it was nothing else than a logic of illusion—a
sophistical art for giving ignorance, nay, even intentional sophistries, the
colouring of truth, in which the thoroughness of procedure which logic requires
was imitated, and their topic employed to cloak the empty pretensions. Now it
may be taken as a safe and useful warning, that general logic, considered as an
organon, must always be a logic of illusion, that is, be dialectical, for, as it
teaches us nothing whatever respecting the content of our cognitions, but merely
the formal conditions of their accordance with the understanding, which do not
relate to and are quite indifferent in respect of objects, any attempt to employ
it as an instrument (organon) in order to extend and enlarge the range of our
knowledge must end in mere prating; any one being able to maintain or oppose,
with some appearance of truth, any single assertion whatever.
Such instruction is quite unbecoming the dignity of philosophy.
For these reasons we have chosen to denominate this part of logic dialectic, in
the sense of a critique of dialectical illusion, and we wish the term to be so
understood in this place.
IV. Of the Division of Transcendental
Logic into Transcendental
Analytic and Dialectic.
In transcendental logic we isolate the understanding (as in
transcendental aesthetic the sensibility) and select from our cognition merely
that part of thought which has its origin in the understanding alone. The
exercise of this pure cognition, however, depends upon this as its condition,
that objects to which it may be applied be given to us in intuition, for without
intuition the whole of our cognition is without objects, and is therefore quite
void. That part of transcendental logic, then, which treats of the elements of
pure cognition of the understanding, and of the principles without which no
object at all can be thought, is transcendental analytic, and at the same time a
logic of truth. For no cognition can contradict it, without losing at the same
time all content, that is, losing all reference to an object, and therefore all
truth. But because we are very easily seduced into employing these pure
cognitions and principles of the understanding by themselves, and that even
beyond the boundaries of experience, which yet is the only source whence we can
obtain matter (objects) on which those pure conceptions may be
employed—understanding runs the risk of making, by means of empty sophisms, a
material and objective use of the mere formal principles of the pure
understanding, and of passing judgements on objects without distinction—objects
which are not given to us, nay, perhaps cannot be given to us in any way. Now,
as it ought properly to be only a canon for judging of the empirical use of the
understanding, this kind of logic is misused when we seek to employ it as an
organon of the universal and unlimited exercise of the understanding, and
attempt with the pure understanding alone to judge synthetically, affirm, and
determine respecting objects in general. In this case the exercise of the pure
understanding becomes dialectical. The second part of our transcendental logic
must therefore be a critique of dialectical illusion, and this critique we shall
term transcendental dialectic— not meaning it as an art of producing
dogmatically such illusion (an art which is unfortunately too current among the
practitioners of metaphysical juggling), but as a critique of understanding and
reason in regard to their hyperphysical use. This critique will expose the
groundless nature of the pretensions of these two faculties, and invalidate
their claims to the discovery and enlargement of our cognitions merely by means
of transcendental principles, and show that the proper employment of these
faculties is to test the judgements made by the pure understanding, and to guard
it from sophistical delusion.
TRANSCENDENTAL LOGIC. FIRST DIVISION.
TRANSCENDENTAL ANALYTIC.
SS I.
Transcendental analytic is the dissection of the whole of our a
priori knowledge into the elements of the pure cognition of the understanding.
In order to effect our purpose, it is necessary: (1) That the conceptions be
pure and not empirical; (2) That they belong not to intuition and sensibility,
but to thought and understanding; (3) That they be elementary conceptions, and
as such, quite different from deduced or compound conceptions; (4) That our
table of these elementary conceptions be complete, and fill up the whole sphere
of the pure understanding. Now this completeness of a science cannot be accepted
with confidence on the guarantee of a mere estimate of its existence in an
aggregate formed only by means of repeated experiments and attempts. The
completeness which we require is possible only by means of an idea of the
totality of the a priori cognition of the understanding, and through the thereby
determined division of the conceptions which form the said whole; consequently,
only by means of their connection in a system. Pure understanding distinguishes
itself not merely from everything empirical, but also completely from all
sensibility. It is a unity self-subsistent, self-sufficient, and not to be
enlarged by any additions from without. Hence the sum of its cognition
constitutes a system to be determined by and comprised under an idea; and the
completeness and articulation of this system can at the same time serve as a
test of the correctness and genuineness of all the parts of cognition that
belong to it. The whole of this part of transcendental logic consists of two
books, of which the one contains the conceptions, and the other the principles
of pure understanding.
BOOK I.
SS 2. Analytic of Conceptions.
By the term Analytic of Conceptions, I do not understand the
analysis of these, or the usual process in philosophical investigations of
dissecting the conceptions which present themselves, according to their content,
and so making them clear; but I mean the hitherto little attempted dissection of
the faculty of understanding itself, in order to investigate the possibility of
conceptions a priori, by looking for them in the understanding alone, as their
birthplace, and analysing the pure use of this faculty. For this is the proper
duty of a transcendental philosophy; what remains is the logical treatment of
the conceptions in philosophy in general. We shall therefore follow up the pure
conceptions even to their germs and beginnings in the human understanding, in
which they lie, until they are developed on occasions presented by experience,
and, freed by the same understanding from the empirical conditions attaching to
them, are set forth in their unalloyed purity.
CHAPTER I. Of the Transcendental Clue
to the Discovery of all Pure Conceptions of the Understanding.
SS 3. Introductory.
When we call into play a faculty of cognition, different
conceptions manifest themselves according to the different circumstances, and
make known this faculty, and assemble themselves into a more or less extensive
collection, according to the time or penetration that has been applied to the
consideration of them. Where this process, conducted as it is mechanically, so
to speak, will end, cannot be determined with certainty. Besides, the
conceptions which we discover in this haphazard manner present themselves by no
means in order and systematic unity, but are at last coupled together only
according to resemblances to each other, and arranged in series, according to
the quantity of their content, from the simpler to the more complex—series which
are anything but systematic, though not altogether without a certain kind of
method in their construction.
Transcendental philosophy has the advantage, and moreover the
duty, of searching for its conceptions according to a principle; because these
conceptions spring pure and unmixed out of the understanding as an absolute
unity, and therefore must be connected with each other according to one
conception or idea. A connection of this kind, however, furnishes us with a
ready prepared rule, by which its proper place may be assigned to every pure
conception of the understanding, and the completeness of the system of all be
determined a priori—both which would otherwise have been dependent on mere
choice or chance.
SS 4. SECTION 1. Of defined above Use of
understanding in General.
The understanding was defined above only negatively, as a
non-sensuous faculty of cognition. Now, independently of sensibility, we cannot
possibly have any intuition; consequently, the understanding is no faculty of
intuition. But besides intuition there is no other mode of cognition, except
through conceptions; consequently, the cognition of every, at least of every
human, understanding is a cognition through conceptions—not intuitive, but
discursive. All intuitions, as sensuous, depend on affections; conceptions,
therefore, upon functions. By the word function I understand the unity of the
act of arranging diverse representations under one common representation.
Conceptions, then, are based on the spontaneity of thought, as sensuous
intuitions are on the receptivity of impressions. Now, the understanding cannot
make any other use of these conceptions than to judge by means of them. As no
representation, except an intuition, relates immediately to its object, a
conception never relates immediately to an object, but only to some other
representation thereof, be that an intuition or itself a conception. A
judgement, therefore, is the mediate cognition of an object, consequently the
representation of a representation of it. In every judgement there is a
conception which applies to, and is valid for many other conceptions, and which
among these comprehends also a given representation, this last being immediately
connected with an object. For example, in the judgement— "All bodies are
divisible," our conception of divisible applies to various other conceptions;
among these, however, it is here particularly applied to the conception of body,
and this conception of body relates to certain phenomena which occur to us.
These objects, therefore, are mediately represented by the conception of
divisibility. All judgements, accordingly, are functions of unity in our
representations, inasmuch as, instead of an immediate, a higher representation,
which comprises this and various others, is used for our cognition of the
object, and thereby many possible cognitions are collected into one. But we can
reduce all acts of the understanding to judgements, so that understanding may be
represented as the faculty of judging. For it is, according to what has been
said above, a faculty of thought. Now thought is cognition by means of
conceptions. But conceptions, as predicates of possible judgements, relate to
some representation of a yet undetermined object. Thus the conception of body
indicates something—for example, metal—which can be cognized by means of that
conception. It is therefore a conception, for the reason alone that other
representations are contained under it, by means of which it can relate to
objects. It is therefore the predicate to a possible judgement; for example:
"Every metal is a body." All the functions of the understanding therefore can be
discovered, when we can completely exhibit the functions of unity in judgements.
And that this may be effected very easily, the following section will show.
SS 5. SECTION II. Of the Logical
Function of the Understanding in
Judgements.
If we abstract all the content of a judgement, and consider only
the intellectual form thereof, we find that the function of thought in a
judgement can be brought under four heads, of which each contains three momenta.
These may be conveniently represented in the following table:
1
Quantity of judgements
Universal
Particular
Singular
2 3
Quality Relation
Affirmative Categorical
Negative Hypothetical
Infinite Disjunctive
4
Modality
Problematical
Assertorical
Apodeictical
As this division appears to differ in
some, though not essential points, from the usual technique of logicians, the
following observations, for the prevention of otherwise possible
misunderstanding, will not be without their use.
1. Logicians say, with justice, that in the use of judgements in
syllogisms, singular judgements may be treated like universal ones. For,
precisely because a singular judgement has no extent at all, its predicate
cannot refer to a part of that which is contained in the conception of the
subject and be excluded from the rest. The predicate is valid for the whole
conception just as if it were a general conception, and had extent, to the whole
of which the predicate applied. On the other hand, let us compare a singular
with a general judgement, merely as a cognition, in regard to quantity. The
singular judgement relates to the general one, as unity to infinity, and is
therefore in itself essentially different. Thus, if we estimate a singular
judgement (judicium singulare) not merely according to its intrinsic validity as
a judgement, but also as a cognition generally, according to its quantity in
comparison with that of other cognitions, it is then entirely different from a
general judgement (judicium commune), and in a complete table of the momenta of
thought deserves a separate place—though, indeed, this would not be necessary in
a logic limited merely to the consideration of the use of judgements in
reference to each other.
2. In like manner, in transcendental logic, infinite must be
distinguished from affirmative judgements, although in general logic they are
rightly enough classed under affirmative. General logic abstracts all content of
the predicate (though it be negative), and only considers whether the said
predicate be affirmed or denied of the subject. But transcendental logic
considers also the worth or content of this logical affirmation—an affirmation
by means of a merely negative predicate, and inquires how much the sum total of
our cognition gains by this affirmation. For example, if I say of the soul, "It
is not mortal"—by this negative judgement I should at least ward off error. Now,
by the proposition, "The soul is not mortal," I have, in respect of the logical
form, really affirmed, inasmuch as I thereby place the soul in the unlimited
sphere of immortal beings. Now, because of the whole sphere of possible
existences, the mortal occupies one part, and the immortal the other, neither
more nor less is affirmed by the proposition than that the soul is one among the
infinite multitude of things which remain over, when I take away the whole
mortal part. But by this proceeding we accomplish only this much, that the
infinite sphere of all possible existences is in so far limited that the mortal
is excluded from it, and the soul is placed in the remaining part of the extent
of this sphere. But this part remains, notwithstanding this exception, infinite,
and more and more parts may be taken away from the whole sphere, without in the
slightest degree thereby augmenting or affirmatively determining our conception
of the soul. These judgements, therefore, infinite in respect of their logical
extent, are, in respect of the content of their cognition, merely limitative;
and are consequently entitled to a place in our transcendental table of all the
momenta of thought in judgements, because the function of the understanding
exercised by them may perhaps be of importance in the field of its pure a priori
cognition.
3. All relations of thought in judgements are those (a) of the
predicate to the subject; (b) of the principle to its consequence; (c) of the
divided cognition and all the members of the division to each other. In the
first of these three classes, we consider only two conceptions; in the second,
two judgements; in the third, several judgements in relation to each other. The
hypothetical proposition, "If perfect justice exists, the obstinately wicked are
punished," contains properly the relation to each other of two propositions,
namely, "Perfect justice exists," and "The obstinately wicked are punished."
Whether these propositions are in themselves true is a question not here
decided. Nothing is cogitated by means of this judgement except a certain
consequence. Finally, the disjunctive judgement contains a relation of two or
more propositions to each other—a relation not of consequence, but of logical
opposition, in so far as the sphere of the one proposition excludes that of the
other. But it contains at the same time a relation of community, in so far as
all the propositions taken together fill up the sphere of the cognition. The
disjunctive judgement contains, therefore, the relation of the parts of the
whole sphere of a cognition, since the sphere of each part is a complemental
part of the sphere of the other, each contributing to form the sum total of the
divided cognition. Take, for example, the proposition, "The world exists either
through blind chance, or through internal necessity, or through an external
cause." Each of these propositions embraces a part of the sphere of our possible
cognition as to the existence of a world; all of them taken together, the whole
sphere. To take the cognition out of one of these spheres, is equivalent to
placing it in one of the others; and, on the other hand, to place it in one
sphere is equivalent to taking it out of the rest. There is, therefore, in a
disjunctive judgement a certain community of cognitions, which consists in this,
that they mutually exclude each other, yet thereby determine, as a whole, the
true cognition, inasmuch as, taken together, they make up the complete content
of a particular given cognition. And this is all that I find necessary, for the
sake of what follows, to remark in this place.
4. The modality of judgements is a quite peculiar function, with
this distinguishing characteristic, that it contributes nothing to the content
of a judgement (for besides quantity, quality, and relation, there is nothing
more that constitutes the content of a judgement), but concerns itself only with
the value of the copula in relation to thought in general. Problematical
judgements are those in which the affirmation or negation is accepted as merely
possible (ad libitum). In the assertorical, we regard the proposition as real
(true); in the apodeictical, we look on it as necessary.* Thus the two
judgements (antecedens et consequens), the relation of which constitutes a
hypothetical judgement, likewise those (the members of the division) in whose
reciprocity the disjunctive consists, are only problematical. In the example
above given the proposition, "There exists perfect justice," is not stated
assertorically, but as an ad libitum judgement, which someone may choose to
adopt, and the consequence alone is assertorical. Hence such judgements may be
obviously false, and yet, taken problematically, be conditions of our cognition
of the truth. Thus the proposition, "The world exists only by blind chance," is
in the disjunctive judgement of problematical import only: that is to say, one
may accept it for the moment, and it helps us (like the indication of the wrong
road among all the roads that one can take) to find out the true proposition.
The problematical proposition is, therefore, that which expresses only logical
possibility (which is not objective); that is, it expresses a free choice to
admit the validity of such a proposition—a merely arbitrary reception of it into
the understanding. The assertorical speaks of logical reality or truth; as, for
example, in a hypothetical syllogism, the antecedens presents itself in a
problematical form in the major, in an assertorical form in the minor, and it
shows that the proposition is in harmony with the laws of the understanding. The
apodeictical proposition cogitates the assertorical as determined by these very
laws of the understanding, consequently as affirming a priori, and in this
manner it expresses logical necessity. Now because all is here gradually
incorporated with the understanding—inasmuch as in the first place we judge
problematically; then accept assertorically our judgement as true; lastly,
affirm it as inseparably united with the understanding, that is, as necessary
and apodeictical— we may safely reckon these three functions of modality as so
many momenta of thought.
[*Footnote: Just as if thought were in the first instance a
function of the understanding; in the second, of judgement; in the third, of
reason. A remark which will be explained in the sequel.]
SS 6. SECTION III. Of the Pure
Conceptions of the Understanding, or
Categories.
General logic, as has been repeatedly said, makes abstraction of
all content of cognition, and expects to receive representations from some other
quarter, in order, by means of analysis, to convert them into conceptions. On
the contrary, transcendental logic has lying before it the manifold content of a
priori sensibility, which transcendental aesthetic presents to it in order to
give matter to the pure conceptions of the understanding, without which
transcendental logic would have no content, and be therefore utterly void. Now
space and time contain an infinite diversity of determinations of pure a priori
intuition, but are nevertheless the condition of the mind's receptivity, under
which alone it can obtain representations of objects, and which, consequently,
must always affect the conception of these objects. But the spontaneity of
thought requires that this diversity be examined after a certain manner,
received into the mind, and connected, in order afterwards to form a cognition
out of it. This Process I call synthesis.
By the word synthesis, in its most general signification, I
understand the process of joining different representations to each other and of
comprehending their diversity in one cognition. This synthesis is pure when the
diversity is not given empirically but a priori (as that in space and time). Our
representations must be given previously to any analysis of them; and no
conceptions can arise, quoad their content, analytically. But the synthesis of a
diversity (be it given a priori or empirically) is the first requisite for the
production of a cognition, which in its beginning, indeed, may be crude and
confused, and therefore in need of analysis—still, synthesis is that by which
alone the elements of our cognitions are collected and united into a certain
content, consequently it is the first thing on which we must fix our attention,
if we wish to investigate the origin of our knowledge.
Synthesis, generally speaking, is, as we shall afterwards see,
the mere operation of the imagination—a blind but indispensable function of the
soul, without which we should have no cognition whatever, but of the working of
which we are seldom even conscious. But to reduce this synthesis to conceptions
is a function of the understanding, by means of which we attain to cognition, in
the proper meaning of the term.
Pure synthesis, represented generally, gives us the pure
conception of the understanding. But by this pure synthesis, I mean that which
rests upon a basis of a priori synthetical unity. Thus, our numeration (and this
is more observable in large numbers) is a synthesis according to conceptions,
because it takes place according to a common basis of unity (for example, the
decade). By means of this conception, therefore, the unity in the synthesis of
the manifold becomes necessary.
By means of analysis different representations are brought under
one conception—an operation of which general logic treats. On the other hand,
the duty of transcendental logic is to reduce to conceptions, not
representations, but the pure synthesis of representations. The first thing
which must be given to us for the sake of the a priori cognition of all objects,
is the diversity of the pure intuition; the synthesis of this diversity by means
of the imagination is the second; but this gives, as yet, no cognition. The
conceptions which give unity to this pure synthesis, and which consist solely in
the representation of this necessary synthetical unity, furnish the third
requisite for the cognition of an object, and these conceptions are given by the
understanding.
The same function which gives unity to the different
representation in a judgement, gives also unity to the mere synthesis of
different representations in an intuition; and this unity we call the pure
conception of the understanding. Thus, the same understanding, and by the same
operations, whereby in conceptions, by means of analytical unity, it produced
the logical form of a judgement, introduces, by means of the synthetical unity
of the manifold in intuition, a transcendental content into its representations,
on which account they are called pure conceptions of the understanding, and they
apply a priori to objects, a result not within the power of general logic.
In this manner, there arise exactly so many pure conceptions of
the understanding, applying a priori to objects of intuition in general, as
there are logical functions in all possible judgements. For there is no other
function or faculty existing in the understanding besides those enumerated in
that table. These conceptions we shall, with Aristotle, call categories, our
purpose being originally identical with his, notwithstanding the great
difference in the execution.
TABLE OF THE CATEGORIES
1 2
Of Quantity Of Quality
Unity Reality
Plurality Negation
Totality Limitation
3
Of Relation
Of Inherence and Subsistence (substantia et accidens)
Of Causality and Dependence (cause and effect)
Of Community (reciprocity between the agent and patient)
4
Of Modality
Possibility—Impossibility
Existence—Non-existence
Necessity—Contingence
This, then, is a catalogue of all the
originally pure conceptions of the synthesis which the understanding contains a
priori, and these conceptions alone entitle it to be called a pure
understanding; inasmuch as only by them it can render the manifold of intuition
conceivable, in other words, think an object of intuition. This division is made
systematically from a common principle, namely the faculty of judgement (which
is just the same as the power of thought), and has not arisen rhapsodically from
a search at haphazard after pure conceptions, respecting the full number of
which we never could be certain, inasmuch as we employ induction alone in our
search, without considering that in this way we can never understand wherefore
precisely these conceptions, and none others, abide in the pure understanding.
It was a design worthy of an acute thinker like Aristotle, to search for these
fundamental conceptions. Destitute, however, of any guiding principle, he picked
them up just as they occurred to him, and at first hunted out ten, which he
called categories (predicaments). Afterwards be believed that he had discovered
five others, which were added under the name of post predicaments. But his
catalogue still remained defective. Besides, there are to be found among them
some of the modes of pure sensibility (quando, ubi, situs, also prius, simul),
and likewise an empirical conception (motus)—which can by no means belong to
this genealogical register of the pure understanding. Moreover, there are
deduced conceptions (actio, passio) enumerated among the original conceptions,
and, of the latter, some are entirely wanting.
With regard to these, it is to be remarked, that the categories,
as the true primitive conceptions of the pure understanding, have also their
pure deduced conceptions, which, in a complete system of transcendental
philosophy, must by no means be passed over; though in a merely critical essay
we must be contented with the simple mention of the fact.
Let it be allowed me to call these pure, but deduced conceptions
of the understanding, the predicables of the pure understanding, in
contradistinction to predicaments. If we are in possession of the original and
primitive, the deduced and subsidiary conceptions can easily be added, and the
genealogical tree of the understanding completely delineated. As my present aim
is not to set forth a complete system, but merely the principles of one, I
reserve this task for another time. It may be easily executed by any one who
will refer to the ontological manuals, and subordinate to the category of
causality, for example, the predicables of force, action, passion; to that of
community, those of presence and resistance; to the categories of modality,
those of origination, extinction, change; and so with the rest. The categories
combined with the modes of pure sensibility, or with one another, afford a great
number of deduced a priori conceptions; a complete enumeration of which would be
a useful and not unpleasant, but in this place a perfectly dispensable,
occupation.
I purposely omit the definitions of the categories in this
treatise. I shall analyse these conceptions only so far as is necessary for the
doctrine of method, which is to form a part of this critique. In a system of
pure reason, definitions of them would be with justice demanded of me, but to
give them here would only bide from our view the main aim of our investigation,
at the same time raising doubts and objections, the consideration of which,
without injustice to our main purpose, may be very well postponed till another
opportunity. Meanwhile, it ought to be sufficiently clear, from the little we
have already said on this subject, that the formation of a complete vocabulary
of pure conceptions, accompanied by all the requisite explanations, is not only
a possible, but an easy undertaking. The compartments already exist; it is only
necessary to fill them up; and a systematic topic like the present, indicates
with perfect precision the proper place to which each conception belongs, while
it readily points out any that have not yet been filled up.
SS 7.
Our table of the categories suggests considerations of some
importance, which may perhaps have significant results in regard to the
scientific form of all rational cognitions. For, that this table is useful in
the theoretical part of philosophy, nay, indispensable for the sketching of the
complete plan of a science, so far as that science rests upon conceptions a
priori, and for dividing it mathematically, according to fixed principles, is
most manifest from the fact that it contains all the elementary conceptions of
the understanding, nay, even the form of a system of these in the understanding
itself, and consequently indicates all the momenta, and also the internal
arrangement of a projected speculative science, as I have elsewhere shown.
[Footnote: In the Metaphysical Principles of Natural Science.] Here follow some
of these observations.
I. This table, which contains four classes of conceptions of the
understanding, may, in the first instance, be divided into two classes, the
first of which relates to objects of intuition—pure as well as empirical; the
second, to the existence of these objects, either in relation to one another, or
to the understanding.
The former of these classes of categories I would entitle the
mathematical, and the latter the dynamical categories. The former, as we see,
has no correlates; these are only to be found in the second class. This
difference must have a ground in the nature of the human understanding.
II. The number of the categories in each class is always the
same, namely, three—a fact which also demands some consideration, because in all
other cases division a priori through conceptions is necessarily dichotomy. It
is to be added, that the third category in each triad always arises from the
combination of the second with the first.
Thus totality is nothing else but plurality contemplated as
unity; limitation is merely reality conjoined with negation; community is the
causality of a substance, reciprocally determining, and determined by other
substances; and finally, necessity is nothing but existence, which is given
through the possibility itself. Let it not be supposed, however, that the third
category is merely a deduced, and not a primitive conception of the pure
understanding. For the conjunction of the first and second, in order to produce
the third conception, requires a particular function of the understanding, which
is by no means identical with those which are exercised in the first and second.
Thus, the conception of a number (which belongs to the category of totality) is
not always possible, where the conceptions of multitude and unity exist (for
example, in the representation of the infinite). Or, if I conjoin the conception
of a cause with that of a substance, it does not follow that the conception of
influence, that is, how one substance can be the cause of something in another
substance, will be understood from that. Thus it is evident that a particular
act of the understanding is here necessary; and so in the other instances.
III. With respect to one category, namely, that of community,
which is found in the third class, it is not so easy as with the others to
detect its accordance with the form of the disjunctive judgement which
corresponds to it in the table of the logical functions.
In order to assure ourselves of this accordance, we must observe
that in every disjunctive judgement, the sphere of the judgement (that is, the
complex of all that is contained in it) is represented as a whole divided into
parts; and, since one part cannot be contained in the other, they are cogitated
as co-ordinated with, not subordinated to each other, so that they do not
determine each other unilaterally, as in a linear series, but reciprocally, as
in an aggregate—(if one member of the division is posited, all the rest are
excluded; and conversely).
Now a like connection is cogitated in a whole of things; for one
thing is not subordinated, as effect, to another as cause of its existence, but,
on the contrary, is co-ordinated contemporaneously and reciprocally, as a cause
in relation to the determination of the others (for example, in a body—the parts
of which mutually attract and repel each other). And this is an entirely
different kind of connection from that which we find in the mere relation of the
cause to the effect (the principle to the consequence), for in such a connection
the consequence does not in its turn determine the principle, and therefore does
not constitute, with the latter, a whole—just as the Creator does not with the
world make up a whole. The process of understanding by which it represents to
itself the sphere of a divided conception, is employed also when we think of a
thing as divisible; and in the same manner as the members of the division in the
former exclude one another, and yet are connected in one sphere, so the
understanding represents to itself the parts of the latter, as having—each of
them—an existence (as substances), independently of the others, and yet as
united in one whole.
SS 8.
In the transcendental philosophy of the ancients there exists
one more leading division, which contains pure conceptions of the understanding,
and which, although not numbered among the categories, ought, according to them,
as conceptions a priori, to be valid of objects. But in this case they would
augment the number of the categories; which cannot be. These are set forth in
the proposition, so renowned among the schoolmen—"Quodlibet ens est UNUM, VERUM,
BONUM." Now, though the inferences from this principle were mere tautological
propositions, and though it is allowed only by courtesy to retain a place in
modern metaphysics, yet a thought which maintained itself for such a length of
time, however empty it seems to be, deserves an investigation of its origin, and
justifies the conjecture that it must be grounded in some law of the
understanding, which, as is often the case, has only been erroneously
interpreted. These pretended transcendental predicates are, in fact, nothing but
logical requisites and criteria of all cognition of objects, and they employ, as
the basis for this cognition, the categories of quantity, namely, unity,
plurality, and totality. But these, which must be taken as material conditions,
that is, as belonging to the possibility of things themselves, they employed
merely in a formal signification, as belonging to the logical requisites of all
cognition, and yet most unguardedly changed these criteria of thought into
properties of objects, as things in themselves. Now, in every cognition of an
object, there is unity of conception, which may be called qualitative unity, so
far as by this term we understand only the unity in our connection of the
manifold; for example, unity of the theme in a play, an oration, or a story.
Secondly, there is truth in respect of the deductions from it. The more true
deductions we have from a given conception, the more criteria of its objective
reality. This we might call the qualitative plurality of characteristic marks,
which belong to a conception as to a common foundation, but are not cogitated as
a quantity in it. Thirdly, there is perfection—which consists in this, that the
plurality falls back upon the unity of the conception, and accords completely
with that conception and with no other. This we may denominate qualitative
completeness. Hence it is evident that these logical criteria of the possibility
of cognition are merely the three categories of quantity modified and
transformed to suit an unauthorized manner of applying them. That is to say, the
three categories, in which the unity in the production of the quantum must be
homogeneous throughout, are transformed solely with a view to the connection of
heterogeneous parts of cognition in one act of consciousness, by means of the
quality of the cognition, which is the principle of that connection. Thus the
criterion of the possibility of a conception (not of its object) is the
definition of it, in which the unity of the conception, the truth of all that
may be immediately deduced from it, and finally, the completeness of what has
been thus deduced, constitute the requisites for the reproduction of the whole
conception. Thus also, the criterion or test of an hypothesis is the
intelligibility of the received principle of explanation, or its unity (without
help from any subsidiary hypothesis)—the truth of our deductions from it
(consistency with each other and with experience)—and lastly, the completeness
of the principle of the explanation of these deductions, which refer to neither
more nor less than what was admitted in the hypothesis, restoring analytically
and a posteriori, what was cogitated synthetically and a priori. By the
conceptions, therefore, of unity, truth, and perfection, we have made no
addition to the transcendental table of the categories, which is complete
without them. We have, on the contrary, merely employed the three categories of
quantity, setting aside their application to objects of experience, as general
logical laws of the consistency of cognition with itself.
CHAPTER II Of the Deduction of the Pure
Conceptions of the Understanding.
SS 9. SECTION I Of the
Principles of a Transcendental Deduction in general.
Teachers of jurisprudence, when speaking of rights and claims,
distinguish in a cause the question of right (quid juris) from the question of
fact (quid facti), and while they demand proof of both, they give to the proof
of the former, which goes to establish right or claim in law, the name of
deduction. Now we make use of a great number of empirical conceptions, without
opposition from any one; and consider ourselves, even without any attempt at
deduction, justified in attaching to them a sense, and a supposititious
signification, because we have always experience at hand to demonstrate their
objective reality. There exist also, however, usurped conceptions, such as
fortune, fate, which circulate with almost universal indulgence, and yet are
occasionally challenged by the question, "quid juris?" In such cases, we have
great difficulty in discovering any deduction for these terms, inasmuch as we
cannot produce any manifest ground of right, either from experience or from
reason, on which the claim to employ them can be founded.
Among the many conceptions, which make up the very variegated
web of human cognition, some are destined for pure use a priori, independent of
all experience; and their title to be so employed always requires a deduction,
inasmuch as, to justify such use of them, proofs from experience are not
sufficient; but it is necessary to know how these conceptions can apply to
objects without being derived from experience. I term, therefore, an examination
of the manner in which conceptions can apply a priori to objects, the
transcendental deduction of conceptions, and I distinguish it from the empirical
deduction, which indicates the mode in which conception is obtained through
experience and reflection thereon; consequently, does not concern itself with
the right, but only with the fact of our obtaining conceptions in such and such
a manner. We have already seen that we are in possession of two perfectly
different kinds of conceptions, which nevertheless agree with each other in
this, that they both apply to objects completely a priori. These are the
conceptions of space and time as forms of sensibility, and the categories as
pure conceptions of the understanding. To attempt an empirical deduction of
either of these classes would be labour in vain, because the distinguishing
characteristic of their nature consists in this, that they apply to their
objects, without having borrowed anything from experience towards the
representation of them. Consequently, if a deduction of these conceptions is
necessary, it must always be transcendental.
Meanwhile, with respect to these conceptions, as with respect to
all our cognition, we certainly may discover in experience, if not the principle
of their possibility, yet the occasioning causes of their production. It will be
found that the impressions of sense give the first occasion for bringing into
action the whole faculty of cognition, and for the production of experience,
which contains two very dissimilar elements, namely, a matter for cognition,
given by the senses, and a certain form for the arrangement of this matter,
arising out of the inner fountain of pure intuition and thought; and these, on
occasion given by sensuous impressions, are called into exercise and produce
conceptions. Such an investigation into the first efforts of our faculty of
cognition to mount from particular perceptions to general conceptions is
undoubtedly of great utility; and we have to thank the celebrated Locke for
having first opened the way for this inquiry. But a deduction of the pure a
priori conceptions of course never can be made in this way, seeing that, in
regard to their future employment, which must be entirely independent of
experience, they must have a far different certificate of birth to show from
that of a descent from experience. This attempted physiological derivation,
which cannot properly be called deduction, because it relates merely to a
quaestio facti, I shall entitle an explanation of the possession of a pure
cognition. It is therefore manifest that there can only be a transcendental
deduction of these conceptions and by no means an empirical one; also, that all
attempts at an empirical deduction, in regard to pure a priori conceptions, are
vain, and can only be made by one who does not understand the altogether
peculiar nature of these cognitions.
But although it is admitted that the only possible deduction of
pure a priori cognition is a transcendental deduction, it is not, for that
reason, perfectly manifest that such a deduction is absolutely necessary. We
have already traced to their sources the conceptions of space and time, by means
of a transcendental deduction, and we have explained and determined their
objective validity a priori. Geometry, nevertheless, advances steadily and
securely in the province of pure a priori cognitions, without needing to ask
from philosophy any certificate as to the pure and legitimate origin of its
fundamental conception of space. But the use of the conception in this science
extends only to the external world of sense, the pure form of the intuition of
which is space; and in this world, therefore, all geometrical cognition, because
it is founded upon a priori intuition, possesses immediate evidence, and the
objects of this cognition are given a priori (as regards their form) in
intuition by and through the cognition itself. With the pure conceptions of
understanding, on the contrary, commences the absolute necessity of seeking a
transcendental deduction, not only of these conceptions themselves, but likewise
of space, because, inasmuch as they make affirmations concerning objects not by
means of the predicates of intuition and sensibility, but of pure thought a
priori, they apply to objects without any of the conditions of sensibility.
Besides, not being founded on experience, they are not presented with any object
in a priori intuition upon which, antecedently to experience, they might base
their synthesis. Hence results, not only doubt as to the objective validity and
proper limits of their use, but that even our conception of space is rendered
equivocal; inasmuch as we are very ready with the aid of the categories, to
carry the use of this conception beyond the conditions of sensuous
intuition—and, for this reason, we have already found a transcendental deduction
of it needful. The reader, then, must be quite convinced of the absolute
necessity of a transcendental deduction, before taking a single step in the
field of pure reason; because otherwise he goes to work blindly, and after he
has wondered about in all directions, returns to the state of utter ignorance
from which he started. He ought, moreover, clearly to recognize beforehand the
unavoidable difficulties in his undertaking, so that he may not afterwards
complain of the obscurity in which the subject itself is deeply involved, or
become too soon impatient of the obstacles in his path; because we have a choice
of only two things—either at once to give up all pretensions to knowledge beyond
the limits of possible experience, or to bring this critical investigation to
completion.
We have been able, with very little trouble, to make it
comprehensible how the conceptions of space and time, although a priori
cognitions, must necessarily apply to external objects, and render a synthetical
cognition of these possible, independently of all experience. For inasmuch as
only by means of such pure form of sensibility an object can appear to us, that
is, be an object of empirical intuition, space and time are pure intuitions,
which contain a priori the condition of the possibility of objects as phenomena,
and an a priori synthesis in these intuitions possesses objective validity.
On the other hand, the categories of the understanding do not
represent the conditions under which objects are given to us in intuition;
objects can consequently appear to us without necessarily connecting themselves
with these, and consequently without any necessity binding on the understanding
to contain a priori the conditions of these objects. Thus we find ourselves
involved in a difficulty which did not present itself in the sphere of
sensibility, that is to say, we cannot discover how the subjective conditions of
thought can have objective validity, in other words, can become conditions of
the possibility of all cognition of objects; for phenomena may certainly be
given to us in intuition without any help from the functions of the
understanding. Let us take, for example, the conception of cause, which
indicates a peculiar kind of synthesis, namely, that with something, A,
something entirely different, B, is connected according to a law. It is not a
priori manifest why phenomena should contain anything of this kind (we are of
course debarred from appealing for proof to experience, for the objective
validity of this conception must be demonstrated a priori), and it hence remains
doubtful a priori, whether such a conception be not quite void and without any
corresponding object among phenomena. For that objects of sensuous intuition
must correspond to the formal conditions of sensibility existing a priori in the
mind is quite evident, from the fact that without these they could not be
objects for us; but that they must also correspond to the conditions which
understanding requires for the synthetical unity of thought is an assertion, the
grounds for which are not so easily to be discovered. For phenomena might be so
constituted as not to correspond to the conditions of the unity of thought; and
all things might lie in such confusion that, for example, nothing could be met
with in the sphere of phenomena to suggest a law of synthesis, and so correspond
to the conception of cause and effect; so that this conception would be quite
void, null, and without significance. Phenomena would nevertheless continue to
present objects to our intuition; for mere intuition does not in any respect
stand in need of the functions of thought.
If we thought to free ourselves from the labour of these
investigations by saying: "Experience is constantly offering us examples of the
relation of cause and effect in phenomena, and presents us with abundant
opportunity of abstracting the conception of cause, and so at the same time of
corroborating the objective validity of this conception"; we should in this case
be overlooking the fact, that the conception of cause cannot arise in this way
at all; that, on the contrary, it must either have an a priori basis in the
understanding, or be rejected as a mere chimera. For this conception demands
that something, A, should be of such a nature that something else, B, should
follow from it necessarily, and according to an absolutely universal law. We may
certainly collect from phenomena a law, according to which this or that usually
happens, but the element of necessity is not to be found in it. Hence it is
evident that to the synthesis of cause and effect belongs a dignity, which is
utterly wanting in any empirical synthesis; for it is no mere mechanical
synthesis, by means of addition, but a dynamical one; that is to say, the effect
is not to be cogitated as merely annexed to the cause, but as posited by and
through the cause, and resulting from it. The strict universality of this law
never can be a characteristic of empirical laws, which obtain through induction
only a comparative universality, that is, an extended range of practical
application. But the pure conceptions of the understanding would entirely lose
all their peculiar character, if we treated them merely as the productions of
experience.
SS 10. Transition to the Transcendental
Deduction of the
Categories.
There are only two possible ways in which synthetical
representation and its objects can coincide with and relate necessarily to each
other, and, as it were, meet together. Either the object alone makes the
representation possible, or the representation alone makes the object possible.
In the former case, the relation between them is only empirical, and an a priori
representation is impossible. And this is the case with phenomena, as regards
that in them which is referable to mere sensation. In the latter case—although
representation alone (for of its causality, by means of the will, we do not here
speak) does not produce the object as to its existence, it must nevertheless be
a priori determinative in regard to the object, if it is only by means of the
representation that we can cognize anything as an object. Now there are only two
conditions of the possibility of a cognition of objects; firstly, intuition, by
means of which the object, though only as phenomenon, is given; secondly,
conception, by means of which the object which corresponds to this intuition is
thought. But it is evident from what has been said on aesthetic that the first
condition, under which alone objects can be intuited, must in fact exist, as a
formal basis for them, a priori in the mind. With this formal condition of
sensibility, therefore, all phenomena necessarily correspond, because it is only
through it that they can be phenomena at all; that is, can be empirically
intuited and given. Now the question is whether there do not exist, a priori in
the mind, conceptions of understanding also, as conditions under which alone
something, if not intuited, is yet thought as object. If this question be
answered in the affirmative, it follows that all empirical cognition of objects
is necessarily conformable to such conceptions, since, if they are not
presupposed, it is impossible that anything can be an object of experience. Now
all experience contains, besides the intuition of the senses through which an
object is given, a conception also of an object that is given in intuition.
Accordingly, conceptions of objects in general must lie as a priori conditions
at the foundation of all empirical cognition; and consequently, the objective
validity of the categories, as a priori conceptions, will rest upon this, that
experience (as far as regards the form of thought) is possible only by their
means. For in that case they apply necessarily and a priori to objects of
experience, because only through them can an object of experience be thought.
The whole aim of the transcendental deduction of all a priori
conceptions is to show that these conceptions are a priori conditions of the
possibility of all experience. Conceptions which afford us the objective
foundation of the possibility of experience are for that very reason necessary.
But the analysis of the experiences in which they are met with is not deduction,
but only an illustration of them, because from experience they could never
derive the attribute of necessity. Without their original applicability and
relation to all possible experience, in which all objects of cognition present
themselves, the relation of the categories to objects, of whatever nature, would
be quite incomprehensible.
The celebrated Locke, for want of due reflection on these
points, and because he met with pure conceptions of the understanding in
experience, sought also to deduce them from experience, and yet proceeded so
inconsequently as to attempt, with their aid, to arrive it cognitions which lie
far beyond the limits of all experience. David Hume perceived that, to render
this possible, it was necessary that the conceptions should have an a priori
origin. But as he could not explain how it was possible that conceptions which
are not connected with each other in the understanding must nevertheless be
thought as necessarily connected in the object—and it never occurred to him that
the understanding itself might, perhaps, by means of these conceptions, be the
author of the experience in which its objects were presented to it—he was forced
to drive these conceptions from experience, that is, from a subjective necessity
arising from repeated association of experiences erroneously considered to be
objective— in one word, from habit. But he proceeded with perfect consequence
and declared it to be impossible, with such conceptions and the principles
arising from them, to overstep the limits of experience. The empirical
derivation, however, which both of these philosophers attributed to these
conceptions, cannot possibly be reconciled with the fact that we do possess
scientific a priori cognitions, namely, those of pure mathematics and general
physics.
The former of these two celebrated men opened a wide door to
extravagance—(for if reason has once undoubted right on its side, it will not
allow itself to be confined to set limits, by vague recommendations of
moderation); the latter gave himself up entirely to scepticism—a natural
consequence, after having discovered, as he thought, that the faculty of
cognition was not trustworthy. We now intend to make a trial whether it be not
possible safely to conduct reason between these two rocks, to assign her
determinate limits, and yet leave open for her the entire sphere of her
legitimate activity.
I shall merely premise an explanation of what the categories
are. They are conceptions of an object in general, by means of which its
intuition is contemplated as determined in relation to one of the logical
functions of judgement. The following will make this plain. The function of the
categorical judgement is that of the relation of subject to predicate; for
example, in the proposition: "All bodies are divisible." But in regard to the
merely logical use of the understanding, it still remains undetermined to which
Of these two conceptions belongs the function Of subject and to which that of
predicate. For we could also say: "Some divisible is a body." But the category
of substance, when the conception of a body is brought under it, determines
that; and its empirical intuition in experience must be contemplated always as
subject and never as mere predicate. And so with all the other categories.
SS 11. SECTION II Transcendental
Deduction of the pure Conceptions of
the Understanding.
Of the Possibility of a Conjunction of the manifold
representations given by Sense.
The manifold content in our representations can be given in an
intuition which is merely sensuous—in other words, is nothing but
susceptibility; and the form of this intuition can exist a priori in our faculty
of representation, without being anything else but the mode in which the subject
is affected. But the conjunction (conjunctio) of a manifold in intuition never
can be given us by the senses; it cannot therefore be contained in the pure form
of sensuous intuition, for it is a spontaneous act of the faculty of
representation. And as we must, to distinguish it from sensibility, entitle this
faculty understanding; so all conjunction whether conscious or unconscious, be
it of the manifold in intuition, sensuous or non-sensuous, or of several
conceptions—is an act of the understanding. To this act we shall give the
general appellation of synthesis, thereby to indicate, at the same time, that we
cannot represent anything as conjoined in the object without having previously
conjoined it ourselves. Of all mental notions, that of conjunction is the only
one which cannot be given through objects, but can be originated only by the
subject itself, because it is an act of its purely spontaneous activity. The
reader will easily enough perceive that the possibility of conjunction must be
grounded in the very nature of this act, and that it must be equally valid for
all conjunction, and that analysis, which appears to be its contrary, must,
nevertheless, always presuppose it; for where the understanding has not
previously conjoined, it cannot dissect or analyse, because only as conjoined by
it, must that which is to be analysed have been given to our faculty of
representation.
But the conception of conjunction includes, besides the
conception of the manifold and of the synthesis of it, that of the unity of it
also. Conjunction is the representation of the synthetical unity of the
manifold.* This idea of unity, therefore, cannot arise out of that of
conjunction; much rather does that idea, by combining itself with the
representation of the manifold, render the conception of conjunction possible.
This unity, which a priori precedes all conceptions of conjunction, is not the
category of unity (SS 6); for all the categories are based upon logical
functions of judgement, and in these functions we already have conjunction, and
consequently unity of given conceptions. It is therefore evident that the
category of unity presupposes conjunction. We must therefore look still higher
for this unity (as qualitative, SS 8), in that, namely, which contains the
ground of the unity of diverse conceptions in judgements, the ground,
consequently, of the possibility of the existence of the understanding, even in
regard to its logical use.
[*Footnote: Whether the representations are in themselves
identical, and consequently whether one can be thought analytically by means of
and through the other, is a question which we need not at present consider. Our
Consciousness of the one, when we speak of the manifold, is always
distinguishable from our consciousness of the other; and it is only respecting
the synthesis of this (possible) consciousness that we here treat.]
SS 12. Of the Originally Synthetical
Unity of Apperception.
The "I think" must accompany all my representations, for
otherwise something would be represented in me which could not be thought; in
other words, the representation would either be impossible, or at least be, in
relation to me, nothing. That representation which can be given previously to
all thought is called intuition. All the diversity or manifold content of
intuition, has, therefore, a necessary relation to the "I think," in the subject
in which this diversity is found. But this representation, "I think," is an act
of spontaneity; that is to say, it cannot be regarded as belonging to mere
sensibility. I call it pure apperception, in order to distinguish it from
empirical; or primitive apperception, because it is self-consciousness which,
whilst it gives birth to the representation "I think," must necessarily be
capable of accompanying all our representations. It is in all acts of
consciousness one and the same, and unaccompanied by it, no representation can
exist for me. The unity of this apperception I call the transcendental unity of
self-consciousness, in order to indicate the possibility of a priori cognition
arising from it. For the manifold representations which are given in an
intuition would not all of them be my representations, if they did not all
belong to one self-consciousness, that is, as my representations (even although
I am not conscious of them as such), they must conform to the condition under
which alone they can exist together in a common self-consciousness, because
otherwise they would not all without exception belong to me. From this primitive
conjunction follow many important results.
For example, this universal identity of the apperception of the
manifold given in intuition contains a synthesis of representations and is
possible only by means of the consciousness of this synthesis. For the empirical
consciousness which accompanies different representations is in itself
fragmentary and disunited, and without relation to the identity of the subject.
This relation, then, does not exist because I accompany every representation
with consciousness, but because I join one representation to another, and am
conscious of the synthesis of them. Consequently, only because I can connect a
variety of given representations in one consciousness, is it possible that I can
represent to myself the identity of consciousness in these representations; in
other words, the analytical unity of apperception is possible only under the
presupposition of a synthetical unity.* The thought, "These representations
given in intuition belong all of them to me," is accordingly just the same as,
"I unite them in one self-consciousness, or can at least so unite them"; and
although this thought is not itself the consciousness of the synthesis of
representations, it presupposes the possibility of it; that is to say, for the
reason alone that I can comprehend the variety of my representations in one
consciousness, do I call them my representations, for otherwise I must have as
many-coloured and various a self as are the representations of which I am
conscious. Synthetical unity of the manifold in intuitions, as given a priori,
is therefore the foundation of the identity of apperception itself, which
antecedes a priori all determinate thought. But the conjunction of
representations into a conception is not to be found in objects themselves, nor
can it be, as it were, borrowed from them and taken up into the understanding by
perception, but it is on the contrary an operation of the understanding itself,
which is nothing more than the faculty of conjoining a priori and of bringing
the variety of given representations under the unity of apperception. This
principle is the highest in all human cognition.
[*Footnote: All general conceptions—as such—depend, for their
existence, on the analytical unity of consciousness. For example, when I think
of red in general, I thereby think to myself a property which (as a
characteristic mark) can be discovered somewhere, or can be united with other
representations; consequently, it is only by means of a forethought possible
synthetical unity that I can think to myself the analytical. A representation
which is cogitated as common to different representations, is regarded as
belonging to such as, besides this common representation, contain something
different; consequently it must be previously thought in synthetical unity with
other although only possible representations, before I can think in it the
analytical unity of consciousness which makes it a conceptas communis. And thus
the synthetical unity of apperception is the highest point with which we must
connect every operation of the understanding, even the whole of logic, and after
it our transcendental philosophy; indeed, this faculty is the understanding
itself.]
This fundamental principle of the necessary unity of
apperception is indeed an identical, and therefore analytical, proposition; but
it nevertheless explains the necessity for a synthesis of the manifold given in
an intuition, without which the identity of self-consciousness would be
incogitable. For the ego, as a simple representation, presents us with no
manifold content; only in intuition, which is quite different from the
representation ego, can it be given us, and by means of conjunction it is
cogitated in one self-consciousness. An understanding, in which all the manifold
should be given by means of consciousness itself, would be intuitive; our
understanding can only think and must look for its intuition to sense. I am,
therefore, conscious of my identical self, in relation to all the variety of
representations given to me in an intuition, because I call all of them my
representations. In other words, I am conscious myself of a necessary a priori
synthesis of my representations, which is called the original synthetical unity
of apperception, under which rank all the representations presented to me, but
that only by means of a synthesis.
SS
13. The Principle of the Synthetical Unity of Apperception is the highest
Principle of all exercise of the Understanding.
The supreme principle of the possibility of all intuition in
relation to sensibility was, according to our transcendental aesthetic, that all
the manifold in intuition be subject to the formal conditions of space and time.
The supreme principle of the possibility of it in relation to the understanding
is that all the manifold in it be subject to conditions of the originally
synthetical unity or apperception.* To the former of these two principles are
subject all the various representations of intuition, in so far as they are
given to us; to the latter, in so far as they must be capable of conjunction in
one consciousness; for without this nothing can be thought or cognized, because
the given representations would not have in common the act Of the apperception
"I think" and therefore could not be connected in one self-consciousness.
[*Footnote: Space and time, and all portions thereof, are
intuitions; consequently are, with a manifold for their content, single
representations. (See the Transcendental Aesthetic.) Consequently, they are not
pure conceptions, by means of which the same consciousness is found in a great
number of representations; but, on the contrary, they are many representations
contained in one, the consciousness of which is, so to speak, compounded. The
unity of consciousness is nevertheless synthetical and, therefore, primitive.
From this peculiar character of consciousness follow many important
consequences. (See SS 21.)]
Understanding is, to speak generally, the faculty Of cognitions.
These consist in the determined relation of given representation to an object.
But an object is that, in the conception of which the manifold in a given
intuition is united. Now all union of representations requires unity of
consciousness in the synthesis of them. Consequently, it is the unity of
consciousness alone that constitutes the possibility of representations relating
to an object, and therefore of their objective validity, and of their becoming
cognitions, and consequently, the possibility of the existence of the
understanding itself.
The first pure cognition of understanding, then, upon which is
founded all its other exercise, and which is at the same time perfectly
independent of all conditions of mere sensuous intuition, is the principle of
the original synthetical unity of apperception. Thus the mere form of external
sensuous intuition, namely, space, affords us, per se, no cognition; it merely
contributes the manifold in a priori intuition to a possible cognition. But, in
order to cognize something in space (for example, a line), I must draw it, and
thus produce synthetically a determined conjunction of the given manifold, so
that the unity of this act is at the same time the unity of consciousness (in
the conception of a line), and by this means alone is an object (a determinate
space) cognized. The synthetical unity of consciousness is, therefore, an
objective condition of all cognition, which I do not merely require in order to
cognize an object, but to which every intuition must necessarily be subject, in
order to become an object for me; because in any other way, and without this
synthesis, the manifold in intuition could not be united in one consciousness.
This proposition is, as already said, itself analytical,
although it constitutes the synthetical unity, the condition of all thought; for
it states nothing more than that all my representations in any given intuition
must be subject to the condition which alone enables me to connect them, as my
representation with the identical self, and so to unite them synthetically in
one apperception, by means of the general expression, "I think."
But this principle is not to be regarded as a principle for
every possible understanding, but only for the understanding by means of whose
pure apperception in the thought I am, no manifold content is given. The
understanding or mind which contained the manifold in intuition, in and through
the act itself of its own self-consciousness, in other words, an understanding
by and in the representation of which the objects of the representation should
at the same time exist, would not require a special act of synthesis of the
manifold as the condition of the unity of its consciousness, an act of which the
human understanding, which thinks only and cannot intuite, has absolute need.
But this principle is the first principle of all the operations of our
understanding, so that we cannot form the least conception of any other possible
understanding, either of one such as should be itself intuition, or possess a
sensuous intuition, but with forms different from those of space and time.
SS 14. What Objective Unity of
Self-consciousness is.
It is by means of the transcendental unity of apperception that
all the manifold, given in an intuition is united into a conception of the
object. On this account it is called objective, and must be distinguished from
the subjective unity of consciousness, which is a determination of the internal
sense, by means of which the said manifold in intuition is given empirically to
be so united. Whether I can be empirically conscious of the manifold as
coexistent or as successive, depends upon circumstances, or empirical
conditions. Hence the empirical unity of consciousness by means of association
of representations, itself relates to a phenomenal world and is wholly
contingent. On the contrary, the pure form of intuition in time, merely as an
intuition, which contains a given manifold, is subject to the original unity of
consciousness, and that solely by means of the necessary relation of the
manifold in intuition to the "I think," consequently by means of the pure
synthesis of the understanding, which lies a priori at the foundation of all
empirical synthesis. The transcendental unity of apperception is alone
objectively valid; the empirical which we do not consider in this essay, and
which is merely a unity deduced from the former under given conditions in
concreto, possesses only subjective validity. One person connects the notion
conveyed in a word with one thing, another with another thing; and the unity of
consciousness in that which is empirical, is, in relation to that which is given
by experience, not necessarily and universally valid.
SS 15. The Logical Form of all
Judgements consists in the Objective
Unity of Apperception of the Conceptions contained therein.
I could never satisfy myself with the definition which logicians
give of a judgement. It is, according to them, the representation of a relation
between two conceptions. I shall not dwell here on the faultiness of this
definition, in that it suits only for categorical and not for hypothetical or
disjunctive judgements, these latter containing a relation not of conceptions
but of judgements themselves— a blunder from which many evil results have
followed.* It is more important for our present purpose to observe, that this
definition does not determine in what the said relation consists.
[*Footnote: The tedious doctrine of the four syllogistic figures
concerns only categorical syllogisms; and although it is nothing more than an
artifice by surreptitiously introducing immediate conclusions (consequentiae
immediatae) among the premises of a pure syllogism, to give ism' give rise to an
appearance of more modes of drawing a conclusion than that in the first figure,
the artifice would not have had much success, had not its authors succeeded in
bringing categorical judgements into exclusive respect, as those to which all
others must be referred—a doctrine, however, which, according to SS 5, is
utterly false.]
But if I investigate more closely the relation of given
cognitions in every judgement, and distinguish it, as belonging to the
understanding, from the relation which is produced according to laws of the
reproductive imagination (which has only subjective validity), I find that
judgement is nothing but the mode of bringing given cognitions under the
objective unit of apperception. This is plain from our use of the term of
relation is in judgements, in order to distinguish the objective unity of given
representations from the subjective unity. For this term indicates the relation
of these representations to the original apperception, and also their necessary
unity, even although the judgement is empirical, therefore contingent, as in the
judgement: "All bodies are heavy." I do not mean by this, that these
representations do necessarily belong to each other in empirical intuition, but
that by means of the necessary unity of appreciation they belong to each other
in the synthesis of intuitions, that is to say, they belong to each other
according to principles of the objective determination of all our
representations, in so far as cognition can arise from them, these principles
being all deduced from the main principle of the transcendental unity of
apperception. In this way alone can there arise from this relation a judgement,
that is, a relation which has objective validity, and is perfectly distinct from
that relation of the very same representations which has only subjective
validity—a relation, to wit, which is produced according to laws of association.
According to these laws, I could only say: "When I hold in my hand or carry a
body, I feel an impression of weight"; but I could not say: "It, the body, is
heavy"; for this is tantamount to saying both these representations are
conjoined in the object, that is, without distinction as to the condition of the
subject, and do not merely stand together in my perception, however frequently
the perceptive act may be repeated.
SS
16. All Sensuous Intuitions are subject to the Categories, as Conditions under
which alone the manifold Content of them can be united in one Consciousness.
The manifold content given in a sensuous intuition comes
necessarily under the original synthetical unity of apperception, because
thereby alone is the unity of intuition possible (SS 13). But that act of the
understanding, by which the manifold content of given representations (whether
intuitions or conceptions) is brought under one apperception, is the logical
function of judgements (SS 15). All the manifold, therefore, in so far as it is
given in one empirical intuition, is determined in relation to one of the
logical functions of judgement, by means of which it is brought into union in
one consciousness. Now the categories are nothing else than these functions of
judgement so far as the manifold in a given intuition is determined in relation
to them (SS 9). Consequently, the manifold in a given intuition is necessarily
subject to the categories of the understanding.
SS 17. Observation.
The manifold in an intuition, which I call mine, is represented
by means of the synthesis of the understanding, as belonging to the necessary
unity of self-consciousness, and this takes place by means of the category.* The
category indicates accordingly that the empirical consciousness of a given
manifold in an intuition is subject to a pure self-consciousness a priori, in
the same manner as an empirical intuition is subject to a pure sensuous
intuition, which is also a priori. In the above proposition, then, lies the
beginning of a deduction of the pure conceptions of the understanding. Now, as
the categories have their origin in the understanding alone, independently of
sensibility, I must in my deduction make abstraction of the mode in which the
manifold of an empirical intuition is given, in order to fix my attention
exclusively on the unity which is brought by the understanding into the
intuition by means of the category. In what follows (SS 22), it will be shown,
from the mode in which the empirical intuition is given in the faculty of
sensibility, that the unity which belongs to it is no other than that which the
category (according to SS 16) imposes on the manifold in a given intuition, and
thus, its a priori validity in regard to all objects of sense being established,
the purpose of our deduction will be fully attained.
[*Footnote: The proof of this rests on the represented unity of
intuition, by means of which an object is given, and which always includes in
itself a synthesis of the manifold to be intuited, and also the relation of this
latter to unity of apperception.]
But there is one thing in the above demonstration of which I
could not make abstraction, namely, that the manifold to be intuited must be
given previously to the synthesis of the understanding, and independently of it.
How this takes place remains here undetermined. For if I cogitate an
understanding which was itself intuitive (as, for example, a divine
understanding which should not represent given objects, but by whose
representation the objects themselves should be given or produced), the
categories would possess no significance in relation to such a faculty of
cognition. They are merely rules for an understanding, whose whole power
consists in thought, that is, in the act of submitting the synthesis of the
manifold which is presented to it in intuition from a very different quarter, to
the unity of apperception; a faculty, therefore, which cognizes nothing per se,
but only connects and arranges the material of cognition, the intuition, namely,
which must be presented to it by means of the object. But to show reasons for
this peculiar character of our understandings, that it produces unity of
apperception a priori only by means of categories, and a certain kind and number
thereof, is as impossible as to explain why we are endowed with precisely so
many functions of judgement and no more, or why time and space are the only
forms of our intuition.
SS
18. In Cognition, its Application to Objects of Experience is the only
legitimate use of the Category.
To think an object and to cognize an object are by no means the
same thing. In cognition there are two elements: firstly, the conception,
whereby an object is cogitated (the category); and, secondly, the intuition,
whereby the object is given. For supposing that to the conception a
corresponding intuition could not be given, it would still be a thought as
regards its form, but without any object, and no cognition of anything would be
possible by means of it, inasmuch as, so far as I knew, there existed and could
exist nothing to which my thought could be applied. Now all intuition possible
to us is sensuous; consequently, our thought of an object by means of a pure
conception of the understanding, can become cognition for us only in so far as
this conception is applied to objects of the senses. Sensuous intuition is
either pure intuition (space and time) or empirical intuition—of that which is
immediately represented in space and time by means of sensation as real. Through
the determination of pure intuition we obtain a priori cognitions of objects, as
in mathematics, but only as regards their form as phenomena; whether there can
exist things which must be intuited in this form is not thereby established. All
mathematical conceptions, therefore, are not per se cognition, except in so far
as we presuppose that there exist things which can only be represented
conformably to the form of our pure sensuous intuition. But things in space and
time are given only in so far as they are perceptions (representations
accompanied with sensation), therefore only by empirical representation.
Consequently the pure conceptions of the understanding, even when they are
applied to intuitions a priori (as in mathematics), produce cognition only in so
far as these (and therefore the conceptions of the understanding by means of
them) can be applied to empirical intuitions. Consequently the categories do
not, even by means of pure intuition afford us any cognition of things; they can
only do so in so far as they can be applied to empirical intuition. That is to
say, the categories serve only to render empirical cognition possible. But this
is what we call experience. Consequently, in cognition, their application to
objects of experience is the only legitimate use of the categories.
SS 19.
The foregoing proposition is of the utmost importance, for it
determines the limits of the exercise of the pure conceptions of the
understanding in regard to objects, just as transcendental aesthetic determined
the limits of the exercise of the pure form of our sensuous intuition. Space and
time, as conditions of the possibility of the presentation of objects to us, are
valid no further than for objects of sense, consequently, only for experience.
Beyond these limits they represent to us nothing, for they belong only to sense,
and have no reality apart from it. The pure conceptions of the understanding are
free from this limitation, and extend to objects of intuition in general, be the
intuition like or unlike to ours, provided only it be sensuous, and not
intellectual. But this extension of conceptions beyond the range of our
intuition is of no advantage; for they are then mere empty conceptions of
objects, as to the possibility or impossibility of the existence of which they
furnish us with no means of discovery. They are mere forms of thought, without
objective reality, because we have no intuition to which the synthetical unity
of apperception, which alone the categories contain, could be applied, for the
purpose of determining an object. Our sensuous and empirical intuition can alone
give them significance and meaning.
If, then, we suppose an object of a non-sensuous intuition to be
given we can in that case represent it by all those predicates which are implied
in the presupposition that nothing appertaining to sensuous intuition belongs to
it; for example, that it is not extended, or in space; that its duration is not
time; that in it no change (the effect of the determinations in time) is to be
met with, and so on. But it is no proper knowledge if I merely indicate what the
intuition of the object is not, without being able to say what is contained in
it, for I have not shown the possibility of an object to which my pure
conception of understanding could be applicable, because I have not been able to
furnish any intuition corresponding to it, but am only able to say that our
intuition is not valid for it. But the most important point is this, that to a
something of this kind not one category can be found applicable. Take, for
example, the conception of substance, that is, something that can exist as
subject, but never as mere predicate; in regard to this conception I am quite
ignorant whether there can really be anything to correspond to such a
determination of thought, if empirical intuition did not afford me the occasion
for its application. But of this more in the sequel.
SS 20. Of the Application of the
Categories to Objects of the
Senses in general.
The pure conceptions of the understanding apply to objects of
intuition in general, through the understanding alone, whether the intuition be
our own or some other, provided only it be sensuous, but are, for this very
reason, mere forms of thought, by means of which alone no determined object can
be cognized. The synthesis or conjunction of the manifold in these conceptions
relates, we have said, only to the unity of apperception, and is for this reason
the ground of the possibility of a priori cognition, in so far as this cognition
is dependent on the understanding. This synthesis is, therefore, not merely
transcendental, but also purely intellectual. But because a certain form of
sensuous intuition exists in the mind a priori which rests on the receptivity of
the representative faculty (sensibility), the understanding, as a spontaneity,
is able to determine the internal sense by means of the diversity of given
representations, conformably to the synthetical unity of apperception, and thus
to cogitate the synthetical unity of the apperception of the manifold of
sensuous intuition a priori, as the condition to which must necessarily be
submitted all objects of human intuition. And in this manner the categories as
mere forms of thought receive objective reality, that is, application to objects
which are given to us in intuition, but that only as phenomena, for it is only
of phenomena that we are capable of a priori intuition.
This synthesis of the manifold of sensuous intuition, which is
possible and necessary a priori, may be called figurative (synthesis speciosa),
in contradistinction to that which is cogitated in the mere category in regard
to the manifold of an intuition in general, and is called connection or
conjunction of the understanding (synthesis intellectualis). Both are
transcendental, not merely because they themselves precede a priori all
experience, but also because they form the basis for the possibility of other
cognition a priori.
But the figurative synthesis, when it has relation only to the
originally synthetical unity of apperception, that is to the transcendental
unity cogitated in the categories, must, to be distinguished from the purely
intellectual conjunction, be entitled the transcendental synthesis of
imagination. Imagination is the faculty of representing an object even without
its presence in intuition. Now, as all our intuition is sensuous, imagination,
by reason of the subjective condition under which alone it can give a
corresponding intuition to the conceptions of the understanding, belongs to
sensibility. But in so far as the synthesis of the imagination is an act of
spontaneity, which is determinative, and not, like sense, merely determinable,
and which is consequently able to determine sense a priori, according to its
form, conformably to the unity of apperception, in so far is the imagination a
faculty of determining sensibility a priori, and its synthesis of intuitions
according to the categories must be the transcendental synthesis of the
imagination. It is an operation of the understanding on sensibility, and the
first application of the understanding to objects of possible intuition, and at
the same time the basis for the exercise of the other functions of that faculty.
As figurative, it is distinguished from the merely intellectual synthesis, which
is produced by the understanding alone, without the aid of imagination. Now, in
so far as imagination is spontaneity, I sometimes call it also the productive
imagination, and distinguish it from the reproductive, the synthesis of which is
subject entirely to empirical laws, those of association, namely, and which,
therefore, contributes nothing to the explanation of the possibility of a priori
cognition, and for this reason belongs not to transcendental philosophy, but to
psychology.
We have now arrived at the proper place for explaining the
paradox which must have struck every one in our exposition of the internal sense
(SS 6), namely—how this sense represents us to our own consciousness, only as we
appear to ourselves, not as we are in ourselves, because, to wit, we intuite
ourselves only as we are inwardly affected. Now this appears to be
contradictory, inasmuch as we thus stand in a passive relation to ourselves; and
therefore in the systems of psychology, the internal sense is commonly held to
be one with the faculty of apperception, while we, on the contrary, carefully
distinguish them.
That which determines the internal sense is the understanding,
and its original power of conjoining the manifold of intuition, that is, of
bringing this under an apperception (upon which rests the possibility of the
understanding itself). Now, as the human understanding is not in itself a
faculty of intuition, and is unable to exercise such a power, in order to
conjoin, as it were, the manifold of its own intuition, the synthesis of
understanding is, considered per se, nothing but the unity of action, of which,
as such, it is self-conscious, even apart from sensibility, by which, moreover,
it is able to determine our internal sense in respect of the manifold which may
be presented to it according to the form of sensuous intuition. Thus, under the
name of a transcendental synthesis of imagination, the understanding exercises
an activity upon the passive subject, whose faculty it is; and so we are right
in saying that the internal sense is affected thereby. Apperception and its
synthetical unity are by no means one and the same with the internal sense. The
former, as the source of all our synthetical conjunction, applies, under the
name of the categories, to the manifold of intuition in general, prior to all
sensuous intuition of objects. The internal sense, on the contrary, contains
merely the form of intuition, but without any synthetical conjunction of the
manifold therein, and consequently does not contain any determined intuition,
which is possible only through consciousness of the determination of the
manifold by the transcendental act of the imagination (synthetical influence of
the understanding on the internal sense), which I have named figurative
synthesis.
This we can indeed always perceive in ourselves. We cannot
cogitate a geometrical line without drawing it in thought, nor a circle without
describing it, nor represent the three dimensions of space without drawing three
lines from the same point perpendicular to one another. We cannot even cogitate
time, unless, in drawing a straight line (which is to serve as the external
figurative representation of time), we fix our attention on the act of the
synthesis of the manifold, whereby we determine successively the internal sense,
and thus attend also to the succession of this determination. Motion as an act
of the subject (not as a determination of an object),* consequently the
synthesis of the manifold in space, if we make abstraction of space and attend
merely to the act by which we determine the internal sense according to its
form, is that which produces the conception of succession. The understanding,
therefore, does by no means find in the internal sense any such synthesis of the
manifold, but produces it, in that it affects this sense. At the same time, how
"I who think" is distinct from the "I" which intuites itself (other modes of
intuition being cogitable as at least possible), and yet one and the same with
this latter as the same subject; how, therefore, I am able to say: "I, as an
intelligence and thinking subject, cognize myself as an object thought, so far
as I am, moreover, given to myself in intuition—only, like other phenomena, not
as I am in myself, and as considered by the understanding, but merely as I
appear"—is a question that has in it neither more nor less difficulty than the
question—"How can I be an object to myself?" or this—"How I can be an object of
my own intuition and internal perceptions?" But that such must be the fact, if
we admit that space is merely a pure form of the phenomena of external sense,
can be clearly proved by the consideration that we cannot represent time, which
is not an object of external intuition, in any other way than under the image of
a line, which we draw in thought, a mode of representation without which we
could not cognize the unity of its dimension, and also that we are necessitated
to take our determination of periods of time, or of points of time, for all our
internal perceptions from the changes which we perceive in outward things. It
follows that we must arrange the determinations of the internal sense, as
phenomena in time, exactly in the same manner as we arrange those of the
external senses in space. And consequently, if we grant, respecting this latter,
that by means of them we know objects only in so far as we are affected
externally, we must also confess, with regard to the internal sense, that by
means of it we intuite ourselves only as we are internally affected by
ourselves; in other words, as regards internal intuition, we cognize our own
subject only as phenomenon, and not as it is in itself.*[2]
[*Footnote: Motion of an object in space
does not belong to a pure science, consequently not to geometry; because, that a
thing is movable cannot be known a priori, but only from experience. But motion,
considered as the description of a space, is a pure act of the successive
synthesis of the manifold in external intuition by means of productive
imagination, and belongs not only to geometry, but even to transcendental
philosophy.]
[*[2]Footnote: I do not see why so much difficulty should be
found in admitting that our internal sense is affected by ourselves. Every act
of attention exemplifies it. In such an act the understanding determines the
internal sense by the synthetical conjunction which it cogitates, conformably to
the internal intuition which corresponds to the manifold in the synthesis of the
understanding. How much the mind is usually affected thereby every one will be
able to perceive in himself.]
SS 21.
On the other hand, in the transcendental synthesis of the
manifold content of representations, consequently in the synthetical unity of
apperception, I am conscious of myself, not as I appear to myself, nor as I am
in myself, but only that "I am." This representation is a thought, not an
intuition. Now, as in order to cognize ourselves, in addition to the act of
thinking, which subjects the manifold of every possible intuition to the unity
of apperception, there is necessary a determinate mode of intuition, whereby
this manifold is given; although my own existence is certainly not mere
phenomenon (much less mere illusion), the determination of my existence* Can
only take place conformably to the form of the internal sense, according to the
particular mode in which the manifold which I conjoin is given in internal
intuition, and I have therefore no knowledge of myself as I am, but merely as I
appear to myself. The consciousness of self is thus very far from a knowledge of
self, in which I do not use the categories, whereby I cogitate an object, by
means of the conjunction of the manifold in one apperception. In the same way as
I require, for the sake of the cognition of an object distinct from myself, not
only the thought of an object in general (in the category), but also an
intuition by which to determine that general conception, in the same way do I
require, in order to the cognition of myself, not only the consciousness of
myself or the thought that I think myself, but in addition an intuition of the
manifold in myself, by which to determine this thought. It is true that I exist
as an intelligence which is conscious only of its faculty of conjunction or
synthesis, but subjected in relation to the manifold which this intelligence has
to conjoin to a limitative conjunction called the internal sense. My
intelligence (that is, I) can render that conjunction or synthesis perceptible
only according to the relations of time, which are quite beyond the proper
sphere of the conceptions of the understanding and consequently cognize itself
in respect to an intuition (which cannot possibly be intellectual, nor given by
the understanding), only as it appears to itself, and not as it would cognize
itself, if its intuition were intellectual.
[*Footnote: The "I think" expresses the
act of determining my own existence. My existence is thus already given by the
act of consciousness; but the mode in which I must determine my existence, that
is, the mode in which I must place the manifold belonging to my existence, is
not thereby given. For this purpose intuition of self is required, and this
intuition possesses a form given a priori, namely, time, which is sensuous, and
belongs to our receptivity of the determinable. Now, as I do not possess another
intuition of self which gives the determining in me (of the spontaneity of which
I am conscious), prior to the act of determination, in the same manner as time
gives the determinable, it is clear that I am unable to determine my own
existence as that of a spontaneous being, but I am only able to represent to
myself the spontaneity of my thought, that is, of my determination, and my
existence remains ever determinable in a purely sensuous manner, that is to say,
like the existence of a phenomenon. But it is because of this spontaneity that I
call myself an intelligence.]
SS
22. Transcendental Deduction of the universally possible employment in
experience of the Pure Conceptions of the Understanding.
In the metaphysical deduction, the a priori origin of categories
was proved by their complete accordance with the general logical of thought; in
the transcendental deduction was exhibited the possibility of the categories as
a priori cognitions of objects of an intuition in general (SS 16 and 17).At
present we are about to explain the possibility of cognizing, a priori, by means
of the categories, all objects which can possibly be presented to our senses,
not, indeed, according to the form of their intuition, but according to the laws
of their conjunction or synthesis, and thus, as it were, of prescribing laws to
nature and even of rendering nature possible. For if the categories were
inadequate to this task, it would not be evident to us why everything that is
presented to our senses must be subject to those laws which have an a priori
origin in the understanding itself.
I premise that by the term synthesis of apprehension I
understand the combination of the manifold in an empirical intuition, whereby
perception, that is, empirical consciousness of the intuition (as phenomenon),
is possible.
We have a priori forms of the external and internal sensuous
intuition in the representations of space and time, and to these must the
synthesis of apprehension of the manifold in a phenomenon be always comformable,
because the synthesis itself can only take place according to these forms. But
space and time are not merely forms of sensuous intuition, but intuitions
themselves (which contain a manifold), and therefore contain a priori the
determination of the unity of this manifold.* (See the Transcendent Aesthetic.)
Therefore is unity of the synthesis of the manifold without or within us,
consequently also a conjunction to which all that is to be represented as
determined in space or time must correspond, given a priori along with (not in)
these intuitions, as the condition of the synthesis of all apprehension of them.
But this synthetical unity can be no other than that of the conjunction of the
manifold of a given intuition in general, in a primitive act of consciousness,
according to the categories, but applied to our sensuous intuition. Consequently
all synthesis, whereby alone is even perception possible, is subject to the
categories. And, as experience is cognition by means of conjoined perceptions,
the categories are conditions of the possibility of experience and are therefore
valid a priori for all objects of experience.
[*Footnote: Space represented as an object (as geometry really
requires it to be) contains more than the mere form of the intuition; namely, a
combination of the manifold given according to the form of sensibility into a
representation that can be intuited; so that the form of the intuition gives us
merely the manifold, but the formal intuition gives unity of representation. In
the aesthetic, I regarded this unity as belonging entirely to sensibility, for
the purpose of indicating that it antecedes all conceptions, although it
presupposes a synthesis which does not belong to sense, through which alone,
however, all our conceptions of space and time are possible. For as by means of
this unity alone (the understanding determining the sensibility) space and time
are given as intuitions, it follows that the unity of this intuition a priori
belongs to space and time, and not to the conception of the understanding (SS
20).]
When, then, for example, I make the empirical intuition of a
house by apprehension of the manifold contained therein into a perception, the
necessary unity of space and of my external sensuous intuition lies at the
foundation of this act, and I, as it were, draw the form of the house
conformably to this synthetical unity of the manifold in space. But this very
synthetical unity remains, even when I abstract the form of space, and has its
seat in the understanding, and is in fact the category of the synthesis of the
homogeneous in an intuition; that is to say, the category of quantity, to which
the aforesaid synthesis of apprehension, that is, the perception, must be
completely conformable.*
[*Footnote: In this manner it is proved, that the synthesis of
apprehension, which is empirical, must necessarily be conformable to the
synthesis of apperception, which is intellectual, and contained a priori in the
category. It is one and the same spontaneity which at one time, under the name
of imagination, at another under that of understanding, produces conjunction in
the manifold of intuition.]
To take another example, when I perceive the freezing of water,
I apprehend two states (fluidity and solidity), which, as such, stand toward
each other mutually in a relation of time. But in the time, which I place as an
internal intuition, at the foundation of this phenomenon, I represent to myself
synthetical unity of the manifold, without which the aforesaid relation could
not be given in an intuition as determined (in regard to the succession of
time). Now this synthetical unity, as the a priori condition under which I
conjoin the manifold of an intuition, is, if I make abstraction of the permanent
form of my internal intuition (that is to say, of time), the category of cause,
by means of which, when applied to my sensibility, I determine everything that
occurs according to relations of time. Consequently apprehension in such an
event, and the event itself, as far as regards the possibility of its
perception, stands under the conception of the relation of cause and effect: and
so in all other cases.
Categories are conceptions which prescribe laws a priori to
phenomena, consequently to nature as the complex of all phenomena (natura
materialiter spectata). And now the question arises— inasmuch as these
categories are not derived from nature, and do not regulate themselves according
to her as their model (for in that case they would be empirical)—how it is
conceivable that nature must regulate herself according to them, in other words,
how the categories can determine a priori the synthesis of the manifold of
nature, and yet not derive their origin from her. The following is the solution
of this enigma.
It is not in the least more difficult to conceive how the laws
of the phenomena of nature must harmonize with the understanding and with its a
priori form—that is, its faculty of conjoining the manifold—than it is to
understand how the phenomena themselves must correspond with the a priori form
of our sensuous intuition. For laws do not exist in the phenomena any more than
the phenomena exist as things in themselves. Laws do not exist except by
relation to the subject in which the phenomena inhere, in so far as it possesses
understanding, just as phenomena have no existence except by relation to the
same existing subject in so far as it has senses. To things as things in
themselves, conformability to law must necessarily belong independently of an
understanding to cognize them. But phenomena are only representations of things
which are utterly unknown in respect to what they are in themselves. But as mere
representations, they stand under no law of conjunction except that which the
conjoining faculty prescribes. Now that which conjoins the manifold of sensuous
intuition is imagination, a mental act to which understanding contributes unity
of intellectual synthesis, and sensibility, manifoldness of apprehension. Now as
all possible perception depends on the synthesis of apprehension, and this
empirical synthesis itself on the transcendental, consequently on the
categories, it is evident that all possible perceptions, and therefore
everything that can attain to empirical consciousness, that is, all phenomena of
nature, must, as regards their conjunction, be subject to the categories. And
nature (considered merely as nature in general) is dependent on them, as the
original ground of her necessary conformability to law (as natura formaliter
spectata). But the pure faculty (of the understanding) of prescribing laws a
priori to phenomena by means of mere categories, is not competent to enounce
other or more laws than those on which a nature in general, as a conformability
to law of phenomena of space and time, depends. Particular laws, inasmuch as
they concern empirically determined phenomena, cannot be entirely deduced from
pure laws, although they all stand under them. Experience must be superadded in
order to know these particular laws; but in regard to experience in general, and
everything that can be cognized as an object thereof, these a priori laws are
our only rule and guide.
SS 23. Result of this Deduction of the
Conceptions of the
Understanding.
We cannot think any object except by means of the categories; we
cannot cognize any thought except by means of intuitions corresponding to these
conceptions. Now all our intuitions are sensuous, and our cognition, in so far
as the object of it is given, is empirical. But empirical cognition is
experience; consequently no a priori cognition is possible for us, except of
objects of possible experience.*
[Footnote: Lest my readers should stumble at this assertion, and
the conclusions that may be too rashly drawn from it, I must remind them that
the categories in the act of thought are by no means limited by the conditions
of our sensuous intuition, but have an unbounded sphere of action. It is only
the cognition of the object of thought, the determining of the object, which
requires intuition. In the absence of intuition, our thought of an object may
still have true and useful consequences in regard to the exercise of reason by
the subject. But as this exercise of reason is not always directed on the
determination of the object, in other words, on cognition thereof, but also on
the determination of the subject and its volition, I do not intend to treat of
it in this place.]
But this cognition, which is limited to objects of experience,
is not for that reason derived entirely, from, experience, but—and this is
asserted of the pure intuitions and the pure conceptions of the
understanding—there are, unquestionably, elements of cognition, which exist in
the mind a priori. Now there are only two ways in which a necessary harmony of
experience with the conceptions of its objects can be cogitated. Either
experience makes these conceptions possible, or the conceptions make experience
possible. The former of these statements will not bold good with respect to the
categories (nor in regard to pure sensuous intuition), for they are a priori
conceptions, and therefore independent of experience. The assertion of an
empirical origin would attribute to them a sort of generatio aequivoca.
Consequently, nothing remains but to adopt the second alternative (which
presents us with a system, as it were, of the epigenesis of pure reason),
namely, that on the part of the understanding the categories do contain the
grounds of the possibility of all experience. But with respect to the questions
how they make experience possible, and what are the principles of the
possibility thereof with which they present us in their application to
phenomena, the following section on the transcendental exercise of the faculty
of judgement will inform the reader.
It is quite possible that someone may propose a species of
preformation-system of pure reason—a middle way between the two—to wit, that the
categories are neither innate and first a priori principles of cognition, nor
derived from experience, but are merely subjective aptitudes for thought
implanted in us contemporaneously with our existence, which were so ordered and
disposed by our Creator, that their exercise perfectly harmonizes with the laws
of nature which regulate experience. Now, not to mention that with such an
hypothesis it is impossible to say at what point we must stop in the employment
of predetermined aptitudes, the fact that the categories would in this case
entirely lose that character of necessity which is essentially involved in the
very conception of them, is a conclusive objection to it. The conception of
cause, for example, which expresses the necessity of an effect under a
presupposed condition, would be false, if it rested only upon such an arbitrary
subjective necessity of uniting certain empirical representations according to
such a rule of relation. I could not then say—"The effect is connected with its
cause in the object (that is, necessarily)," but only, "I am so constituted that
I can think this representation as so connected, and not otherwise." Now this is
just what the sceptic wants. For in this case, all our knowledge, depending on
the supposed objective validity of our judgement, is nothing but mere illusion;
nor would there be wanting people who would deny any such subjective necessity
in respect to themselves, though they must feel it. At all events, we could not
dispute with any one on that which merely depends on the manner in which his
subject is organized.
Short view of the above Deduction.
The foregoing deduction is an exposition of the pure conceptions
of the understanding (and with them of all theoretical a priori cognition), as
principles of the possibility of experience, but of experience as the
determination of all phenomena in space and time in general—of experience,
finally, from the principle of the original synthetical unity of apperception,
as the form of the understanding in relation to time and space as original forms
of sensibility.
I consider the division by paragraphs to be necessary only up to
this point, because we had to treat of the elementary conceptions. As we now
proceed to the exposition of the employment of these, I shall not designate the
chapters in this manner any further.
BOOK II.
Analytic of Principles.
General logic is constructed upon a plan which coincides exactly
with the division of the higher faculties of cognition. These are,
understanding, judgement, and reason. This science, accordingly, treats in its
analytic of conceptions, judgements, and conclusions in exact correspondence
with the functions and order of those mental powers which we include generally
under the generic denomination of understanding.
As this merely formal logic makes abstraction of all content of
cognition, whether pure or empirical, and occupies itself with the mere form of
thought (discursive cognition), it must contain in its analytic a canon for
reason. For the form of reason has its law, which, without taking into
consideration the particular nature of the cognition about which it is employed,
can be discovered a priori, by the simple analysis of the action of reason into
its momenta.
Transcendental logic, limited as it is to a determinate content,
that of pure a priori cognitions, to wit, cannot imitate general logic in this
division. For it is evident that the transcendental employment of reason is not
objectively valid, and therefore does not belong to the logic of truth (that is,
to analytic), but as a logic of illusion, occupies a particular department in
the scholastic system under the name of transcendental dialectic.
Understanding and judgement accordingly possess in
transcendental logic a canon of objectively valid, and therefore true exercise,
and are comprehended in the analytical department of that logic. But reason, in
her endeavours to arrive by a priori means at some true statement concerning
objects and to extend cognition beyond the bounds of possible experience, is
altogether dialectic, and her illusory assertions cannot be constructed into a
canon such as an analytic ought to contain.
Accordingly, the analytic of principles will be merely a canon
for the faculty of judgement, for the instruction of this faculty in its
application to phenomena of the pure conceptions of the understanding, which
contain the necessary condition for the establishment of a priori laws. On this
account, although the subject of the following chapters is the especial
principles of understanding, I shall make use of the term Doctrine of the
faculty of judgement, in order to define more particularly my present purpose.
INTRODUCTION. Of the Transcendental
Faculty of judgement in General.
If understanding in general be defined as the faculty of laws or
rules, the faculty of judgement may be termed the faculty of subsumption under
these rules; that is, of distinguishing whether this or that does or does not
stand under a given rule (casus datae legis). General logic contains no
directions or precepts for the faculty of judgement, nor can it contain any
such. For as it makes abstraction of all content of cognition, no duty is left
for it, except that of exposing analytically the mere form of cognition in
conceptions, judgements, and conclusions, and of thereby establishing formal
rules for all exercise of the understanding. Now if this logic wished to give
some general direction how we should subsume under these rules, that is, how we
should distinguish whether this or that did or did not stand under them, this
again could not be done otherwise than by means of a rule. But this rule,
precisely because it is a rule, requires for itself direction from the faculty
of judgement. Thus, it is evident that the understanding is capable of being
instructed by rules, but that the judgement is a peculiar talent, which does
not, and cannot require tuition, but only exercise. This faculty is therefore
the specific quality of the so-called mother wit, the want of which no
scholastic discipline can compensate.
For although education may furnish, and, as it were, engraft
upon a limited understanding rules borrowed from other minds, yet the power of
employing these rules correctly must belong to the pupil himself; and no rule
which we can prescribe to him with this purpose is, in the absence or deficiency
of this gift of nature, secure from misuse.* A physician therefore, a judge or a
statesman, may have in his head many admirable pathological, juridical, or
political rules, in a degree that may enable him to be a profound teacher in his
particular science, and yet in the application of these rules he may very
possibly blunder—either because he is wanting in natural judgement (though not
in understanding) and, whilst he can comprehend the general in abstracto, cannot
distinguish whether a particular case in concreto ought to rank under the
former; or because his faculty of judgement has not been sufficiently exercised
by examples and real practice. Indeed, the grand and only use of examples, is to
sharpen the judgement. For as regards the correctness and precision of the
insight of the understanding, examples are commonly injurious rather than
otherwise, because, as casus in terminis they seldom adequately fulfil the
conditions of the rule. Besides, they often weaken the power of our
understanding to apprehend rules or laws in their universality, independently of
particular circumstances of experience; and hence, accustom us to employ them
more as formulae than as principles. Examples are thus the go-cart of the
judgement, which he who is naturally deficient in that faculty cannot afford to
dispense with.
[*Footnote: Deficiency in judgement is properly that which is
called stupidity; and for such a failing we know no remedy. A dull or
narrow-minded person, to whom nothing is wanting but a proper degree of
understanding, may be improved by tuition, even so far as to deserve the epithet
of learned. But as such persons frequently labour under a deficiency in the
faculty of judgement, it is not uncommon to find men extremely learned who in
the application of their science betray a lamentable degree this irremediable
want.]
But although general logic cannot give directions to the faculty
of judgement, the case is very different as regards transcendental logic,
insomuch that it appears to be the especial duty of the latter to secure and
direct, by means of determinate rules, the faculty of judgement in the
employment of the pure understanding. For, as a doctrine, that is, as an
endeavour to enlarge the sphere of the understanding in regard to pure a priori
cognitions, philosophy is worse than useless, since from all the attempts
hitherto made, little or no ground has been gained. But, as a critique, in order
to guard against the mistakes of the faculty of judgement (lapsus judicii) in
the employment of the few pure conceptions of the understanding which we
possess, although its use is in this case purely negative, philosophy is called
upon to apply all its acuteness and penetration.
But transcendental philosophy has this peculiarity, that besides
indicating the rule, or rather the general condition for rules, which is given
in the pure conception of the understanding, it can, at the same time, indicate
a priori the case to which the rule must be applied. The cause of the
superiority which, in this respect, transcendental philosophy possesses above
all other sciences except mathematics, lies in this: it treats of conceptions
which must relate a priori to their objects, whose objective validity
consequently cannot be demonstrated a posteriori, and is, at the same time,
under the obligation of presenting in general but sufficient tests, the
conditions under which objects can be given in harmony with those conceptions;
otherwise they would be mere logical forms, without content, and not pure
conceptions of the understanding.
Our transcendental doctrine of the faculty of judgement will
contain two chapters. The first will treat of the sensuous condition under which
alone pure conceptions of the understanding can be employed— that is, of the
schematism of the pure understanding. The second will treat of those synthetical
judgements which are derived a priori from pure conceptions of the understanding
under those conditions, and which lie a priori at the foundation of all other
cognitions, that is to say, it will treat of the principles of the pure
understanding.
TRANSCENDENTAL DOCTRINE OF THE FACULTY
OF JUDGEMENT OR, ANALYTIC OF PRINCIPLES.
CHAPTER I. Of the Schematism at of the Pure Conceptions of the
Understanding.
In all subsumptions of an object under a conception, the
representation of the object must be homogeneous with the conception; in other
words, the conception must contain that which is represented in the object to be
subsumed under it. For this is the meaning of the expression: "An object is
contained under a conception." Thus the empirical conception of a plate is
homogeneous with the pure geometrical conception of a circle, inasmuch as the
roundness which is cogitated in the former is intuited in the latter.
But pure conceptions of the understanding, when compared with
empirical intuitions, or even with sensuous intuitions in general, are quite
heterogeneous, and never can be discovered in any intuition. How then is the
subsumption of the latter under the former, and consequently the application of
the categories to phenomena, possible?—For it is impossible to say, for example:
"Causality can be intuited through the senses and is contained in the
phenomenon."—This natural and important question forms the real cause of the
necessity of a transcendental doctrine of the faculty of judgement, with the
purpose, to wit, of showing how pure conceptions of the understanding can be
applied to phenomena. In all other sciences, where the conceptions by which the
object is thought in the general are not so different and heterogeneous from
those which represent the object in concreto—as it is given, it is quite
unnecessary to institute any special inquiries concerning the application of the
former to the latter.
Now it is quite clear that there must be some third thing, which
on the one side is homogeneous with the category, and with the phenomenon on the
other, and so makes the application of the former to the latter possible. This
mediating representation must be pure (without any empirical content), and yet
must on the one side be intellectual, on the other sensuous. Such a
representation is the transcendental schema.
The conception of the understanding contains pure synthetical
unity of the manifold in general. Time, as the formal condition of the manifold
of the internal sense, consequently of the conjunction of all representations,
contains a priori a manifold in the pure intuition. Now a transcendental
determination of time is so far homogeneous with the category, which constitutes
the unity thereof, that it is universal and rests upon a rule a priori. On the
other hand, it is so far homogeneous with the phenomenon, inasmuch as time is
contained in every empirical representation of the manifold. Thus an application
of the category to phenomena becomes possible, by means of the transcendental
determination of time, which, as the schema of the conceptions of the
understanding, mediates the subsumption of the latter under the former.
After what has been proved in our deduction of the categories,
no one, it is to be hoped, can hesitate as to the proper decision of the
question, whether the employment of these pure conceptions of the understanding
ought to be merely empirical or also transcendental; in other words, whether the
categories, as conditions of a possible experience, relate a priori solely to
phenomena, or whether, as conditions of the possibility of things in general,
their application can be extended to objects as things in themselves. For we
have there seen that conceptions are quite impossible, and utterly without
signification, unless either to them, or at least to the elements of which they
consist, an object be given; and that, consequently, they cannot possibly apply
to objects as things in themselves without regard to the question whether and
how these may be given to us; and, further, that the only manner in which
objects can be given to us is by means of the modification of our sensibility;
and, finally, that pure a priori conceptions, in addition to the function of the
understanding in the category, must contain a priori formal conditions of
sensibility (of the internal sense, namely), which again contain the general
condition under which alone the category can be applied to any object. This
formal and pure condition of sensibility, to which the conception of the
understanding is restricted in its employment, we shall name the schema of the
conception of the understanding, and the procedure of the understanding with
these schemata we shall call the schematism of the pure understanding.
The schema is, in itself, always a mere product of the
imagination. But, as the synthesis of imagination has for its aim no single
intuition, but merely unity in the determination of sensibility, the schema is
clearly distinguishable from the image. Thus, if I place five points one after
another …. this is an image of the number five. On the other hand, if I only
think a number in general, which may be either five or a hundred, this thought
is rather the representation of a method of representing in an image a sum
(e.g., a thousand) in conformity with a conception, than the image itself, an
image which I should find some little difficulty in reviewing, and comparing
with the conception. Now this representation of a general procedure of the
imagination to present its image to a conception, I call the schema of this
conception.
In truth, it is not images of objects, but schemata, which lie
at the foundation of our pure sensuous conceptions. No image could ever be
adequate to our conception of a triangle in general. For the generalness of the
conception it never could attain to, as this includes under itself all
triangles, whether right-angled, acute-angled, etc., whilst the image would
always be limited to a single part of this sphere. The schema of the triangle
can exist nowhere else than in thought, and it indicates a rule of the synthesis
of the imagination in regard to pure figures in space. Still less is an object
of experience, or an image of the object, ever to the empirical conception. On
the contrary, the conception always relates immediately to the schema of the
imagination, as a rule for the determination of our intuition, in conformity
with a certain general conception. The conception of a dog indicates a rule,
according to which my imagination can delineate the figure of a four-footed
animal in general, without being limited to any particular individual form which
experience presents to me, or indeed to any possible image that I can represent
to myself in concreto. This schematism of our understanding in regard to
phenomena and their mere form, is an art, hidden in the depths of the human
soul, whose true modes of action we shall only with difficulty discover and
unveil. Thus much only can we say: "The image is a product of the empirical
faculty of the productive imagination—the schema of sensuous conceptions (of
figures in space, for example) is a product, and, as it were, a monogram of the
pure imagination a priori, whereby and according to which images first become
possible, which, however, can be connected with the conception only mediately by
means of the schema which they indicate, and are in themselves never fully
adequate to it." On the other hand, the schema of a pure conception of the
understanding is something that cannot be reduced into any image—it is nothing
else than the pure synthesis expressed by the category, conformably, to a rule
of unity according to conceptions. It is a transcendental product of the
imagination, a product which concerns the determination of the internal sense,
according to conditions of its form (time) in respect to all representations, in
so far as these representations must be conjoined a priori in one conception,
conformably to the unity of apperception.
Without entering upon a dry and tedious analysis of the
essential requisites of transcendental schemata of the pure conceptions of the
understanding, we shall rather proceed at once to give an explanation of them
according to the order of the categories, and in connection therewith.
For the external sense the pure image of all quantities
(quantorum) is space; the pure image of all objects of sense in general, is
time. But the pure schema of quantity (quantitatis) as a conception of the
understanding, is number, a representation which comprehends the successive
addition of one to one (homogeneous quantities). Thus, number is nothing else
than the unity of the synthesis of the manifold in a homogeneous intuition, by
means of my generating time itself in my apprehension of the intuition.
Reality, in the pure conception of the understanding, is that
which corresponds to a sensation in general; that, consequently, the conception
of which indicates a being (in time). Negation is that the conception of which
represents a not-being (in time). The opposition of these two consists therefore
in the difference of one and the same time, as a time filled or a time empty.
Now as time is only the form of intuition, consequently of objects as phenomena,
that which in objects corresponds to sensation is the transcendental matter of
all objects as things in themselves (Sachheit, reality). Now every sensation has
a degree or quantity by which it can fill time, that is to say, the internal
sense in respect of the representation of an object, more or less, until it
vanishes into nothing (= 0 = negatio). Thus there is a relation and connection
between reality and negation, or rather a transition from the former to the
latter, which makes every reality representable to us as a quantum; and the
schema of a reality as the quantity of something in so far as it fills time, is
exactly this continuous and uniform generation of the reality in time, as we
descend in time from the sensation which has a certain degree, down to the
vanishing thereof, or gradually ascend from negation to the quantity thereof.
The schema of substance is the permanence of the real in time;
that is, the representation of it as a substratum of the empirical determination
of time; a substratum which therefore remains, whilst all else changes. (Time
passes not, but in it passes the existence of the changeable. To time,
therefore, which is itself unchangeable and permanent, corresponds that which in
the phenomenon is unchangeable in existence, that is, substance, and it is only
by it that the succession and coexistence of phenomena can be determined in
regard to time.)
The schema of cause and of the causality of a thing is the real
which, when posited, is always followed by something else. It consists,
therefore, in the succession of the manifold, in so far as that succession is
subjected to a rule.
The schema of community (reciprocity of action and reaction), or
the reciprocal causality of substances in respect of their accidents, is the
coexistence of the determinations of the one with those of the other, according
to a general rule.
The schema of possibility is the accordance of the synthesis of
different representations with the conditions of time in general (as, for
example, opposites cannot exist together at the same time in the same thing, but
only after each other), and is therefore the determination of the representation
of a thing at any time.
The schema of reality is existence in a determined time.
The schema of necessity is the existence of an object in all
time.
It is clear, from all this, that the schema of the category of
quantity contains and represents the generation (synthesis) of time itself, in
the successive apprehension of an object; the schema of quality the synthesis of
sensation with the representation of time, or the filling up of time; the schema
of relation the relation of perceptions to each other in all time (that is,
according to a rule of the determination of time): and finally, the schema of
modality and its categories, time itself, as the correlative of the
determination of an object—whether it does belong to time, and how. The
schemata, therefore, are nothing but a priori determinations of time according
to rules, and these, in regard to all possible objects, following the
arrangement of the categories, relate to the series in time, the content in
time, the order in time, and finally, to the complex or totality in time.
Hence it is apparent that the schematism of the understanding,
by means of the transcendental synthesis of the imagination, amounts to nothing
else than the unity of the manifold of intuition in the internal sense, and thus
indirectly to the unity of apperception, as a function corresponding to the
internal sense (a receptivity). Thus, the schemata of the pure conceptions of
the understanding are the true and only conditions whereby our understanding
receives an application to objects, and consequently significance. Finally,
therefore, the categories are only capable of empirical use, inasmuch as they
serve merely to subject phenomena to the universal rules of synthesis, by means
of an a priori necessary unity (on account of the necessary union of all
consciousness in one original apperception); and so to render them susceptible
of a complete connection in one experience. But within this whole of possible
experience lie all our cognitions, and in the universal relation to this
experience consists transcendental truth, which antecedes all empirical truth,
and renders the latter possible.
It is, however, evident at first sight, that although the
schemata of sensibility are the sole agents in realizing the categories, they
do, nevertheless, also restrict them, that is, they limit the categories by
conditions which lie beyond the sphere of understanding— namely, in sensibility.
Hence the schema is properly only the phenomenon, or the sensuous conception of
an object in harmony with the category. (Numerus est quantitas
phaenomenon—sensatio realitas phaenomenon; constans et perdurabile rerum
substantia phaenomenon— aeternitas, necessitas, phaenomena, etc.) Now, if we
remove a restrictive condition, we thereby amplify, it appears, the formerly
limited conception. In this way, the categories in their pure signification,
free from all conditions of sensibility, ought to be valid of things as they
are, and not, as the schemata represent them, merely as they appear; and
consequently the categories must have a significance far more extended, and
wholly independent of all schemata. In truth, there does always remain to the
pure conceptions of the understanding, after abstracting every sensuous
condition, a value and significance, which is, however, merely logical. But in
this case, no object is given them, and therefore they have no meaning
sufficient to afford us a conception of an object. The notion of substance, for
example, if we leave out the sensuous determination of permanence, would mean
nothing more than a something which can be cogitated as subject, without the
possibility of becoming a predicate to anything else. Of this representation I
can make nothing, inasmuch as it does not indicate to me what determinations the
thing possesses which must thus be valid as premier subject. Consequently, the
categories, without schemata are merely functions of the understanding for the
production of conceptions, but do not represent any object. This significance
they derive from sensibility, which at the same time realizes the understanding
and restricts it.
CHAPTER II. System of all Principles of
the Pure Understanding.
In the foregoing chapter we have merely considered the general
conditions under which alone the transcendental faculty of judgement is
justified in using the pure conceptions of the understanding for synthetical
judgements. Our duty at present is to exhibit in systematic connection those
judgements which the understanding really produces a priori. For this purpose,
our table of the categories will certainly afford us the natural and safe
guidance. For it is precisely the categories whose application to possible
experience must constitute all pure a priori cognition of the understanding; and
the relation of which to sensibility will, on that very account, present us with
a complete and systematic catalogue of all the transcendental principles of the
use of the understanding.
Principles a priori are so called, not merely because they
contain in themselves the grounds of other judgements, but also because they
themselves are not grounded in higher and more general cognitions. This
peculiarity, however, does not raise them altogether above the need of a proof.
For although there could be found no higher cognition, and therefore no
objective proof, and although such a principle rather serves as the foundation
for all cognition of the object, this by no means hinders us from drawing a
proof from the subjective sources of the possibility of the cognition of an
object. Such a proof is necessary, moreover, because without it the principle
might be liable to the imputation of being a mere gratuitous assertion.
In the second place, we shall limit our investigations to those
principles which relate to the categories. For as to the principles of
transcendental aesthetic, according to which space and time are the conditions
of the possibility of things as phenomena, as also the restriction of these
principles, namely, that they cannot be applied to objects as things in
themselves—these, of course, do not fall within the scope of our present
inquiry. In like manner, the principles of mathematical science form no part of
this system, because they are all drawn from intuition, and not from the pure
conception of the understanding. The possibility of these principles, however,
will necessarily be considered here, inasmuch as they are synthetical judgements
a priori, not indeed for the purpose of proving their accuracy and apodeictic
certainty, which is unnecessary, but merely to render conceivable and deduce the
possibility of such evident a priori cognitions.
But we shall have also to speak of the principle of analytical
judgements, in opposition to synthetical judgements, which is the proper subject
of our inquiries, because this very opposition will free the theory of the
latter from all ambiguity, and place it clearly before our eyes in its true
nature.
SYSTEM OF THE PRINCIPLES OF THE PURE
UNDERSTANDING.
SECTION I. Of the Supreme Principle of all Analytical
Judgements.
Whatever may be the content of our cognition, and in whatever
manner our cognition may be related to its object, the universal, although only
negative conditions of all our judgements is that they do not contradict
themselves; otherwise these judgements are in themselves (even without respect
to the object) nothing. But although there may exist no contradiction in our
judgement, it may nevertheless connect conceptions in such a manner that they do
not correspond to the object, or without any grounds either a priori or a
posteriori for arriving at such a judgement, and thus, without being
self-contradictory, a judgement may nevertheless be either false or groundless.
Now, the proposition: "No subject can have a predicate that
contradicts it," is called the principle of contradiction, and is a universal
but purely negative criterion of all truth. But it belongs to logic alone,
because it is valid of cognitions, merely as cognitions and without respect to
their content, and declares that the contradiction entirely nullifies them. We
can also, however, make a positive use of this principle, that is, not merely to
banish falsehood and error (in so far as it rests upon contradiction), but also
for the cognition of truth. For if the judgement is analytical, be it
affirmative or negative, its truth must always be recognizable by means of the
principle of contradiction. For the contrary of that which lies and is cogitated
as conception in the cognition of the object will be always properly negatived,
but the conception itself must always be affirmed of the object, inasmuch as the
contrary thereof would be in contradiction to the object.
We must therefore hold the principle of contradiction to be the
universal and fully sufficient Principle of all analytical cognition. But as a
sufficient criterion of truth, it has no further utility or authority. For the
fact that no cognition can be at variance with this principle without nullifying
itself, constitutes this principle the sine qua non, but not the determining
ground of the truth of our cognition. As our business at present is properly
with the synthetical part of our knowledge only, we shall always be on our guard
not to transgress this inviolable principle; but at the same time not to expect
from it any direct assistance in the establishment of the truth of any
synthetical proposition.
There exists, however, a formula of this celebrated principle—a
principle merely formal and entirely without content—which contains a synthesis
that has been inadvertently and quite unnecessarily mixed up with it. It is
this: "It is impossible for a thing to be and not to be at the same time." Not
to mention the superfluousness of the addition of the word impossible to
indicate the apodeictic certainty, which ought to be self-evident from the
proposition itself, the proposition is affected by the condition of time, and as
it were says: "A thing = A, which is something = B, cannot at the same time be
non-B." But both, B as well as non-B, may quite well exist in succession. For
example, a man who is young cannot at the same time be old; but the same man can
very well be at one time young, and at another not young, that is, old. Now the
principle of contradiction as a merely logical proposition must not by any means
limit its application merely to relations of time, and consequently a formula
like the preceding is quite foreign to its true purpose. The misunderstanding
arises in this way. We first of all separate a predicate of a thing from the
conception of the thing, and afterwards connect with this predicate its
opposite, and hence do not establish any contradiction with the subject, but
only with its predicate, which has been conjoined with the subject
synthetically— a contradiction, moreover, which obtains only when the first and
second predicate are affirmed in the same time. If I say: "A man who is ignorant
is not learned," the condition "at the same time" must be added, for he who is
at one time ignorant, may at another be learned. But if I say: "No ignorant man
is a learned man," the proposition is analytical, because the characteristic
ignorance is now a constituent part of the conception of the subject; and in
this case the negative proposition is evident immediately from the proposition
of contradiction, without the necessity of adding the condition "the same time."
This is the reason why I have altered the formula of this principle—an
alteration which shows very clearly the nature of an analytical proposition.
SECTION II. Of the Supreme Principle of
all Synthetical Judgements.
The explanation of the possibility of synthetical judgements is
a task with which general logic has nothing to do; indeed she needs not even be
acquainted with its name. But in transcendental logic it is the most important
matter to be dealt with—indeed the only one, if the question is of the
possibility of synthetical judgements a priori, the conditions and extent of
their validity. For when this question is fully decided, it can reach its aim
with perfect ease, the determination, to wit, of the extent and limits of the
pure understanding.
In an analytical judgement I do not go beyond the given
conception, in order to arrive at some decision respecting it. If the judgement
is affirmative, I predicate of the conception only that which was already
cogitated in it; if negative, I merely exclude from the conception its contrary.
But in synthetical judgements, I must go beyond the given conception, in order
to cogitate, in relation with it, something quite different from that which was
cogitated in it, a relation which is consequently never one either of identity
or contradiction, and by means of which the truth or error of the judgement
cannot be discerned merely from the judgement itself.
Granted, then, that we must go out beyond a given conception, in
order to compare it synthetically with another, a third thing is necessary, in
which alone the synthesis of two conceptions can originate. Now what is this
tertium quid that is to be the medium of all synthetical judgements? It is only
a complex in which all our representations are contained, the internal sense to
wit, and its form a priori, time.
The synthesis of our representations rests upon the imagination;
their synthetical unity (which is requisite to a judgement), upon the unity of
apperception. In this, therefore, is to be sought the possibility of synthetical
judgements, and as all three contain the sources of a priori representations,
the possibility of pure synthetical judgements also; nay, they are necessary
upon these grounds, if we are to possess a knowledge of objects, which rests
solely upon the synthesis of representations.
If a cognition is to have objective reality, that is, to relate
to an object, and possess sense and meaning in respect to it, it is necessary
that the object be given in some way or another. Without this, our conceptions
are empty, and we may indeed have thought by means of them, but by such thinking
we have not, in fact, cognized anything, we have merely played with
representation. To give an object, if this expression be understood in the sense
of "to present" the object, not mediately but immediately in intuition, means
nothing else than to apply the representation of it to experience, be that
experience real or only possible. Space and time themselves, pure as these
conceptions are from all that is empirical, and certain as it is that they are
represented fully a priori in the mind, would be completely without objective
validity, and without sense and significance, if their necessary use in the
objects of experience were not shown. Nay, the representation of them is a mere
schema, that always relates to the reproductive imagination, which calls up the
objects of experience, without which they have no meaning. And so it is with all
conceptions without distinction.
The possibility of experience is, then, that which gives
objective reality to all our a priori cognitions. Now experience depends upon
the synthetical unity of phenomena, that is, upon a synthesis according to
conceptions of the object of phenomena in general, a synthesis without which
experience never could become knowledge, but would be merely a rhapsody of
perceptions, never fitting together into any connected text, according to rules
of a thoroughly united (possible) consciousness, and therefore never subjected
to the transcendental and necessary unity of apperception. Experience has
therefore for a foundation, a priori principles of its form, that is to say,
general rules of unity in the synthesis of phenomena, the objective reality of
which rules, as necessary conditions even of the possibility of experience can
which rules, as necessary conditions—even of the possibility of experience—can
always be shown in experience. But apart from this relation, a priori
synthetical propositions are absolutely impossible, because they have no third
term, that is, no pure object, in which the synthetical unity can exhibit the
objective reality of its conceptions.
Although, then, respecting space, or the forms which productive
imagination describes therein, we do cognize much a priori in synthetical
judgements, and are really in no need of experience for this purpose, such
knowledge would nevertheless amount to nothing but a busy trifling with a mere
chimera, were not space to be considered as the condition of the phenomena which
constitute the material of external experience. Hence those pure synthetical
judgements do relate, though but mediately, to possible experience, or rather to
the possibility of experience, and upon that alone is founded the objective
validity of their synthesis.
While then, on the one hand, experience, as empirical synthesis,
is the only possible mode of cognition which gives reality to all other
synthesis; on the other hand, this latter synthesis, as cognition a priori,
possesses truth, that is, accordance with its object, only in so far as it
contains nothing more than what is necessary to the synthetical unity of
experience.
Accordingly, the supreme principle of all synthetical judgements
is: "Every object is subject to the necessary conditions of the synthetical
unity of the manifold of intuition in a possible experience."
A priori synthetical judgements are possible when we apply the
formal conditions of the a priori intuition, the synthesis of the imagination,
and the necessary unity of that synthesis in a transcendental apperception, to a
possible cognition of experience, and say: "The conditions of the possibility of
experience in general are at the same time conditions of the possibility of the
objects of experience, and have, for that reason, objective validity in an a
priori synthetical judgement."
SECTION III. Systematic Representation
of all Synthetical Principles of the Pure Understanding.
That principles exist at all is to be ascribed solely to the
pure understanding, which is not only the faculty of rules in regard to that
which happens, but is even the source of principles according to which
everything that can be presented to us as an object is necessarily subject to
rules, because without such rules we never could attain to cognition of an
object. Even the laws of nature, if they are contemplated as principles of the
empirical use of the understanding, possess also a characteristic of necessity,
and we may therefore at least expect them to be determined upon grounds which
are valid a priori and antecedent to all experience. But all laws of nature,
without distinction, are subject to higher principles of the understanding,
inasmuch as the former are merely applications of the latter to particular cases
of experience. These higher principles alone therefore give the conception,
which contains the necessary condition, and, as it were, the exponent of a rule;
experience, on the other hand, gives the case which comes under the rule.
There is no danger of our mistaking merely empirical principles
for principles of the pure understanding, or conversely; for the character of
necessity, according to conceptions which distinguish the latter, and the
absence of this in every empirical proposition, how extensively valid soever it
may be, is a perfect safeguard against confounding them. There are, however,
pure principles a priori, which nevertheless I should not ascribe to the pure
understanding—for this reason, that they are not derived from pure conceptions,
but (although by the mediation of the understanding) from pure intuitions. But
understanding is the faculty of conceptions. Such principles mathematical
science possesses, but their application to experience, consequently their
objective validity, nay the possibility of such a priori synthetical cognitions
(the deduction thereof) rests entirely upon the pure understanding.
On this account, I shall not reckon among my principles those of
mathematics; though I shall include those upon the possibility and objective
validity a priori, of principles of the mathematical science, which,
consequently, are to be looked upon as the principle of these, and which proceed
from conceptions to intuition, and not from intuition to conceptions.
In the application of the pure conceptions of the understanding
to possible experience, the employment of their synthesis is either mathematical
or dynamical, for it is directed partly on the intuition alone, partly on the
existence of a phenomenon. But the a priori conditions of intuition are in
relation to a possible experience absolutely necessary, those of the existence
of objects of a possible empirical intuition are in themselves contingent. Hence
the principles of the mathematical use of the categories will possess a
character of absolute necessity, that is, will be apodeictic; those, on the
other hand, of the dynamical use, the character of an a priori necessity indeed,
but only under the condition of empirical thought in an experience, therefore
only mediately and indirectly. Consequently they will not possess that immediate
evidence which is peculiar to the former, although their application to
experience does not, for that reason, lose its truth and certitude. But of this
point we shall be better able to judge at the conclusion of this system of
principles.
The table of the categories is naturally our guide to the table
of principles, because these are nothing else than rules for the objective
employment of the former. Accordingly, all principles of the pure understanding
are:
1
Axioms
of Intuition
2 3
Anticipations Analogies
of Perception of Experience
4
Postulates of
Empirical Thought
in general
These appellations I have chosen
advisedly, in order that we might not lose sight of the distinctions in respect
of the evidence and the employment of these principles. It will, however, soon
appear that—a fact which concerns both the evidence of these principles, and the
a priori determination of phenomena—according to the categories of quantity and
quality (if we attend merely to the form of these), the principles of these
categories are distinguishable from those of the two others, in as much as the
former are possessed of an intuitive, but the latter of a merely discursive,
though in both instances a complete, certitude. I shall therefore call the
former mathematical, and the latter dynamical principles.* It must be observed,
however, that by these terms I mean just as little in the one case the
principles of mathematics as those of general (physical) dynamics in the other.
I have here in view merely the principles of the pure understanding, in their
application to the internal sense (without distinction of the representations
given therein), by means of which the sciences of mathematics and dynamics
become possible. Accordingly, I have named these principles rather with
reference to their application than their content; and I shall now proceed to
consider them in the order in which they stand in the table.
[*Footnote: All combination (conjunctio)
is either composition (compositio) or connection (nexus). The former is the
synthesis of a manifold, the parts of which do not necessarily belong to each
other. For example, the two triangles into which a square is divided by a
diagonal, do not necessarily belong to each other, and of this kind is the
synthesis of the homogeneous in everything that can be mathematically
considered. This synthesis can be divided into those of aggregation and
coalition, the former of which is applied to extensive, the latter to intensive
quantities. The second sort of combination (nexus) is the synthesis of a
manifold, in so far as its parts do belong necessarily to each other; for
example, the accident to a substance, or the effect to the cause. Consequently
it is a synthesis of that which though heterogeneous, is represented as
connected a priori. This combination—not an arbitrary one—I entitle dynamical
because it concerns the connection of the existence of the manifold. This,
again, may be divided into the physical synthesis, of the phenomena divided
among each other, and the metaphysical synthesis, or the connection of phenomena
a priori in the faculty of cognition.]
1. AXIOMS OF INTUITION.
The principle of these is: All
Intuitions are Extensive Quantities.
PROOF.
All phenomena contain, as regards their
form, an intuition in space and time, which lies a priori at the foundation of
all without exception. Phenomena, therefore, cannot be apprehended, that is,
received into empirical consciousness otherwise than through the synthesis of a
manifold, through which the representations of a determinate space or time are
generated; that is to say, through the composition of the homogeneous and the
consciousness of the synthetical unity of this manifold (homogeneous). Now the
consciousness of a homogeneous manifold in intuition, in so far as thereby the
representation of an object is rendered possible, is the conception of a
quantity (quanti). Consequently, even the perception of an object as phenomenon
is possible only through the same synthetical unity of the manifold of the given
sensuous intuition, through which the unity of the composition of the
homogeneous manifold in the conception of a quantity is cogitated; that is to
say, all phenomena are quantities, and extensive quantities, because as
intuitions in space or time they must be represented by means of the same
synthesis through which space and time themselves are determined.
An extensive quantity I call that wherein the representation of
the parts renders possible (and therefore necessarily antecedes) the
representation of the whole. I cannot represent to myself any line, however
small, without drawing it in thought, that is, without generating from a point
all its parts one after another, and in this way alone producing this intuition.
Precisely the same is the case with every, even the smallest, portion of time. I
cogitate therein only the successive progress from one moment to another, and
hence, by means of the different portions of time and the addition of them, a
determinate quantity of time is produced. As the pure intuition in all phenomena
is either time or space, so is every phenomenon in its character of intuition an
extensive quantity, inasmuch as it can only be cognized in our apprehension by
successive synthesis (from part to part). All phenomena are, accordingly, to be
considered as aggregates, that is, as a collection of previously given parts;
which is not the case with every sort of quantities, but only with those which
are represented and apprehended by us as extensive.
On this successive synthesis of the productive imagination, in
the generation of figures, is founded the mathematics of extension, or geometry,
with its axioms, which express the conditions of sensuous intuition a priori,
under which alone the schema of a pure conception of external intuition can
exist; for example, "be tween two points only one straight line is possible,"
"two straight lines cannot enclose a space," etc. These are the axioms which
properly relate only to quantities (quanta) as such.
But, as regards the quantity of a thing (quantitas), that is to
say, the answer to the question: "How large is this or that object?" although,
in respect to this question, we have various propositions synthetical and
immediately certain (indemonstrabilia); we have, in the proper sense of the
term, no axioms. For example, the propositions: "If equals be added to equals,
the wholes are equal"; "If equals be taken from equals, the remainders are
equal"; are analytical, because I am immediately conscious of the identity of
the production of the one quantity with the production of the other; whereas
axioms must be a priori synthetical propositions. On the other hand, the
self-evident propositions as to the relation of numbers, are certainly
synthetical but not universal, like those of geometry, and for this reason
cannot be called axioms, but numerical formulae. That 7 + 5 = 12 is not an
analytical proposition. For neither in the representation of seven, nor of five,
nor of the composition of the two numbers, do I cogitate the number twelve.
(Whether I cogitate the number in the addition of both, is not at present the
question; for in the case of an analytical proposition, the only point is
whether I really cogitate the predicate in the representation of the subject.)
But although the proposition is synthetical, it is nevertheless only a singular
proposition. In so far as regard is here had merely to the synthesis of the
homogeneous (the units), it cannot take place except in one manner, although our
use of these numbers is afterwards general. If I say: "A triangle can be
constructed with three lines, any two of which taken together are greater than
the third," I exercise merely the pure function of the productive imagination,
which may draw the lines longer or shorter and construct the angles at its
pleasure. On the contrary, the number seven is possible only in one manner, and
so is likewise the number twelve, which results from the synthesis of seven and
five. Such propositions, then, cannot be termed axioms (for in that case we
should have an infinity of these), but numerical formulae.
This transcendental principle of the mathematics of phenomena
greatly enlarges our a priori cognition. For it is by this principle alone that
pure mathematics is rendered applicable in all its precision to objects of
experience, and without it the validity of this application would not be so
self-evident; on the contrary, contradictions and confusions have often arisen
on this very point. Phenomena are not things in themselves. Empirical intuition
is possible only through pure intuition (of space and time); consequently, what
geometry affirms of the latter, is indisputably valid of the former. All
evasions, such as the statement that objects of sense do not conform to the
rules of construction in space (for example, to the rule of the infinite
divisibility of lines or angles), must fall to the ground. For, if these
objections hold good, we deny to space, and with it to all mathematics,
objective validity, and no longer know wherefore, and how far, mathematics can
be applied to phenomena. The synthesis of spaces and times as the essential form
of all intuition, is that which renders possible the apprehension of a
phenomenon, and therefore every external experience, consequently all cognition
of the objects of experience; and whatever mathematics in its pure use proves of
the former, must necessarily hold good of the latter. All objections are but the
chicaneries of an ill-instructed reason, which erroneously thinks to liberate
the objects of sense from the formal conditions of our sensibility, and
represents these, although mere phenomena, as things in themselves, presented as
such to our understanding. But in this case, no a priori synthetical cognition
of them could be possible, consequently not through pure conceptions of space
and the science which determines these conceptions, that is to say, geometry,
would itself be impossible.
2. ANTICIPATIONS OF PERCEPTION.
The principle of these is: In all phenomena the Real, that which
is an object of sensation, has Intensive Quantity, that is, has a Degree.
PROOF.
Perception is empirical consciousness,
that is to say, a consciousness which contains an element of sensation.
Phenomena as objects of perception are not pure, that is, merely formal
intuitions, like space and time, for they cannot be perceived in themselves.
[Footnote: They can be perceived only as phenomena, and some part of them must
always belong to the non-ego; whereas pure intuitions are entirely the products
of the mind itself, and as such are coguized IN THEMSELVES.—Tr] They contain,
then, over and above the intuition, the materials for an object (through which
is represented something existing in space or time), that is to say, they
contain the real of sensation, as a representation merely subjective, which
gives us merely the consciousness that the subject is affected, and which we
refer to some external object. Now, a gradual transition from empirical
consciousness to pure consciousness is possible, inasmuch as the real in this
consciousness entirely vanishes, and there remains a merely formal consciousness
(a priori) of the manifold in time and space; consequently there is possible a
synthesis also of the production of the quantity of a sensation from its
commencement, that is, from the pure intuition = 0 onwards up to a certain
quantity of the sensation. Now as sensation in itself is not an objective
representation, and in it is to be found neither the intuition of space nor of
time, it cannot possess any extensive quantity, and yet there does belong to it
a quantity (and that by means of its apprehension, in which empirical
consciousness can within a certain time rise from nothing = 0 up to its given
amount), consequently an intensive quantity. And thus we must ascribe intensive
quantity, that is, a degree of influence on sense to all objects of perception,
in so far as this perception contains sensation.
All cognition, by means of which I am enabled to cognize and
determine a priori what belongs to empirical cognition, may be called an
anticipation; and without doubt this is the sense in which Epicurus employed his
expression prholepsis. But as there is in phenomena something which is never
cognized a priori, which on this account constitutes the proper difference
between pure and empirical cognition, that is to say, sensation (as the matter
of perception), it follows, that sensation is just that element in cognition
which cannot be at all anticipated. On the other hand, we might very well term
the pure determinations in space and time, as well in regard to figure as to
quantity, anticipations of phenomena, because they represent a priori that which
may always be given a posteriori in experience. But suppose that in every
sensation, as sensation in general, without any particular sensation being
thought of, there existed something which could be cognized a priori, this would
deserve to be called anticipation in a special sense—special, because it may
seem surprising to forestall experience, in that which concerns the matter of
experience, and which we can only derive from itself. Yet such really is the
case here.
Apprehension*, by means of sensation alone, fills only one
moment, that is, if I do not take into consideration a succession of many
sensations. As that in the phenomenon, the apprehension of which is not a
successive synthesis advancing from parts to an entire representation, sensation
has therefore no extensive quantity; the want of sensation in a moment of time
would represent it as empty, consequently = 0. That which in the empirical
intuition corresponds to sensation is reality (realitas phaenomenon); that which
corresponds to the absence of it, negation = 0. Now every sensation is capable
of a diminution, so that it can decrease, and thus gradually disappear.
Therefore, between reality in a phenomenon and negation, there exists a
continuous concatenation of many possible intermediate sensations, the
difference of which from each other is always smaller than that between the
given sensation and zero, or complete negation. That is to say, the real in a
phenomenon has always a quantity, which however is not discoverable in
apprehension, inasmuch as apprehension take place by means of mere sensation in
one instant, and not by the successive synthesis of many sensations, and
therefore does not progress from parts to the whole. Consequently, it has a
quantity, but not an extensive quantity.
[*Footnote: Apprehension is the Kantian word for preception, in
the largest sense in which we employ that term. It is the genus which includes
under i, as species, perception proper and sensation proper—Tr]
Now that quantity which is apprehended only as unity, and in
which plurality can be represented only by approximation to negation = O, I term
intensive quantity. Consequently, reality in a phenomenon has intensive
quantity, that is, a degree. If we consider this reality as cause (be it of
sensation or of another reality in the phenomenon, for example, a change), we
call the degree of reality in its character of cause a momentum, for example,
the momentum of weight; and for this reason, that the degree only indicates that
quantity the apprehension of which is not successive, but instantaneous. This,
however, I touch upon only in passing, for with causality I have at present
nothing to do.
Accordingly, every sensation, consequently every reality in
phenomena, however small it may be, has a degree, that is, an intensive
quantity, which may always be lessened, and between reality and negation there
exists a continuous connection of possible realities, and possible smaller
perceptions. Every colour— for example, red—has a degree, which, be it ever so
small, is never the smallest, and so is it always with heat, the momentum of
weight, etc.
This property of quantities, according to which no part of them
is the smallest possible (no part simple), is called their continuity. Space and
time are quanta continua, because no part of them can be given, without
enclosing it within boundaries (points and moments), consequently, this given
part is itself a space or a time. Space, therefore, consists only of spaces, and
time of times. Points and moments are only boundaries, that is, the mere places
or positions of their limitation. But places always presuppose intuitions which
are to limit or determine them; and we cannot conceive either space or time
composed of constituent parts which are given before space or time. Such
quantities may also be called flowing, because synthesis (of the productive
imagination) in the production of these quantities is a progression in time, the
continuity of which we are accustomed to indicate by the expression flowing.
All phenomena, then, are continuous quantities, in respect both
to intuition and mere perception (sensation, and with it reality). In the former
case they are extensive quantities; in the latter, intensive. When the synthesis
of the manifold of a phenomenon is interrupted, there results merely an
aggregate of several phenomena, and not properly a phenomenon as a quantity,
which is not produced by the mere continuation of the productive synthesis of a
certain kind, but by the repetition of a synthesis always ceasing. For example,
if I call thirteen dollars a sum or quantity of money, I employ the term quite
correctly, inasmuch as I understand by thirteen dollars the value of a mark in
standard silver, which is, to be sure, a continuous quantity, in which no part
is the smallest, but every part might constitute a piece of money, which would
contain material for still smaller pieces. If, however, by the words thirteen
dollars I understand so many coins (be their value in silver what it may), it
would be quite erroneous to use the expression a quantity of dollars; on the
contrary, I must call them aggregate, that is, a number of coins. And as in
every number we must have unity as the foundation, so a phenomenon taken as
unity is a quantity, and as such always a continuous quantity (quantum
continuum).
Now, seeing all phenomena, whether considered as extensive or
intensive, are continuous quantities, the proposition: "All change (transition
of a thing from one state into another) is continuous," might be proved here
easily, and with mathematical evidence, were it not that the causality of a
change lies, entirely beyond the bounds of a transcendental philosophy, and
presupposes empirical principles. For of the possibility of a cause which
changes the condition of things, that is, which determines them to the contrary
to a certain given state, the understanding gives us a priori no knowledge; not
merely because it has no insight into the possibility of it (for such insight is
absent in several a priori cognitions), but because the notion of change
concerns only certain determinations of phenomena, which experience alone can
acquaint us with, while their cause lies in the unchangeable. But seeing that we
have nothing which we could here employ but the pure fundamental conceptions of
all possible experience, among which of course nothing empirical can be
admitted, we dare not, without injuring the unity of our system, anticipate
general physical science, which is built upon certain fundamental experiences.
Nevertheless, we are in no want of proofs of the great influence
which the principle above developed exercises in the anticipation of
perceptions, and even in supplying the want of them, so far as to shield us
against the false conclusions which otherwise we might rashly draw.
If all reality in perception has a degree, between which and
negation there is an endless sequence of ever smaller degrees, and if,
nevertheless, every sense must have a determinate degree of receptivity for
sensations; no perception, and consequently no experience is possible, which can
prove, either immediately or mediately, an entire absence of all reality in a
phenomenon; in other words, it is impossible ever to draw from experience a
proof of the existence of empty space or of empty time. For in the first place,
an entire absence of reality in a sensuous intuition cannot of course be an
object of perception; secondly, such absence cannot be deduced from the
contemplation of any single phenomenon, and the difference of the degrees in its
reality; nor ought it ever to be admitted in explanation of any phenomenon. For
if even the complete intuition of a determinate space or time is thoroughly
real, that is, if no part thereof is empty, yet because every reality has its
degree, which, with the extensive quantity of the phenomenon unchanged, can
diminish through endless gradations down to nothing (the void), there must be
infinitely graduated degrees, with which space or time is filled, and the
intensive quantity in different phenomena may be smaller or greater, although
the extensive quantity of the intuition remains equal and unaltered.
We shall give an example of this. Almost all natural
philosophers, remarking a great difference in the quantity of the matter of
different kinds in bodies with the same volume (partly on account of the
momentum of gravity or weight, partly on account of the momentum of resistance
to other bodies in motion), conclude unanimously that this volume (extensive
quantity of the phenomenon) must be void in all bodies, although in different
proportion. But who would suspect that these for the most part mathematical and
mechanical inquirers into nature should ground this conclusion solely on a
metaphysical hypothesis—a sort of hypothesis which they profess to disparage and
avoid? Yet this they do, in assuming that the real in space (I must not here
call it impenetrability or weight, because these are empirical conceptions) is
always identical, and can only be distinguished according to its extensive
quantity, that is, multiplicity. Now to this presupposition, for which they can
have no ground in experience, and which consequently is merely metaphysical, I
oppose a transcendental demonstration, which it is true will not explain the
difference in the filling up of spaces, but which nevertheless completely does
away with the supposed necessity of the above-mentioned presupposition that we
cannot explain the said difference otherwise than by the hypothesis of empty
spaces. This demonstration, moreover, has the merit of setting the understanding
at liberty to conceive this distinction in a different manner, if the
explanation of the fact requires any such hypothesis. For we perceive that
although two equal spaces may be completely filled by matters altogether
different, so that in neither of them is there left a single point wherein
matter is not present, nevertheless, every reality has its degree (of resistance
or of weight), which, without diminution of the extensive quantity, can become
less and less ad infinitum, before it passes into nothingness and disappears.
Thus an expansion which fills a space—for example, caloric, or any other reality
in the phenomenal world—can decrease in its degrees to infinity, yet without
leaving the smallest part of the space empty; on the contrary, filling it with
those lesser degrees as completely as another phenomenon could with greater. My
intention here is by no means to maintain that this is really the case with the
difference of matters, in regard to their specific gravity; I wish only to
prove, from a principle of the pure understanding, that the nature of our
perceptions makes such a mode of explanation possible, and that it is erroneous
to regard the real in a phenomenon as equal quoad its degree, and different only
quoad its aggregation and extensive quantity, and this, too, on the pretended
authority of an a priori principle of the understanding.
Nevertheless, this principle of the anticipation of perception
must somewhat startle an inquirer whom initiation into transcendental philosophy
has rendered cautious. We must naturally entertain some doubt whether or not the
understanding can enounce any such synthetical proposition as that respecting
the degree of all reality in phenomena, and consequently the possibility of the
internal difference of sensation itself—abstraction being made of its empirical
quality. Thus it is a question not unworthy of solution: "How the understanding
can pronounce synthetically and a priori respecting phenomena, and thus
anticipate these, even in that which is peculiarly and merely empirical, that,
namely, which concerns sensation itself?"
The quality of sensation is in all cases merely empirical, and
cannot be represented a priori (for example, colours, taste, etc.). But the
real—that which corresponds to sensation—in opposition to negation = 0, only
represents something the conception of which in itself contains a being (ein
seyn), and signifies nothing but the synthesis in an empirical consciousness.
That is to say, the empirical consciousness in the internal sense can be raised
from 0 to every higher degree, so that the very same extensive quantity of
intuition, an illuminated surface, for example, excites as great a sensation as
an aggregate of many other surfaces less illuminated. We can therefore make
complete abstraction of the extensive quantity of a phenomenon, and represent to
ourselves in the mere sensation in a certain momentum, a synthesis of
homogeneous ascension from 0 up to the given empirical consciousness, All
sensations therefore as such are given only a posteriori, but this property
thereof, namely, that they have a degree, can be known a priori. It is worthy of
remark, that in respect to quantities in general, we can cognize a priori only a
single quality, namely, continuity; but in respect to all quality (the real in
phenomena), we cannot cognize a priori anything more than the intensive quantity
thereof, namely, that they have a degree. All else is left to experience.
3. ANALOGIES OF EXPERIENCE.
The principle of these is: Experience is possible only through
the representation of a necessary connection of Perceptions.
PROOF.
Experience is an empirical cognition;
that is to say, a cognition which determines an object by means of perceptions.
It is therefore a synthesis of perceptions, a synthesis which is not itself
contained in perception, but which contains the synthetical unity of the
manifold of perception in a consciousness; and this unity constitutes the
essential of our cognition of objects of the senses, that is, of experience (not
merely of intuition or sensation). Now in experience our perceptions come
together contingently, so that no character of necessity in their connection
appears, or can appear from the perceptions themselves, because apprehension is
only a placing together of the manifold of empirical intuition, and no
representation of a necessity in the connected existence of the phenomena which
apprehension brings together, is to be discovered therein. But as experience is
a cognition of objects by means of perceptions, it follows that the relation of
the existence of the existence of the manifold must be represented in experience
not as it is put together in time, but as it is objectively in time. And as time
itself cannot be perceived, the determination of the existence of objects in
time can only take place by means of their connection in time in general,
consequently only by means of a priori connecting conceptions. Now as these
conceptions always possess the character of necessity, experience is possible
only by means of a representation of the necessary connection of perception.
The three modi of time are permanence, succession, and
coexistence. Accordingly, there are three rules of all relations of time in
phenomena, according to which the existence of every phenomenon is determined in
respect of the unity of all time, and these antecede all experience and render
it possible.
The general principle of all three analogies rests on the
necessary unity of apperception in relation to all possible empirical
consciousness (perception) at every time, consequently, as this unity lies a
priori at the foundation of all mental operations, the principle rests on the
synthetical unity of all phenomena according to their relation in time. For the
original apperception relates to our internal sense (the complex of all
representations), and indeed relates a priori to its form, that is to say, the
relation of the manifold empirical consciousness in time. Now this manifold must
be combined in original apperception according to relations of time—a necessity
imposed by the a priori transcendental unity of apperception, to which is
subjected all that can belong to my (i.e., my own) cognition, and therefore all
that can become an object for me. This synthetical and a priori determined unity
in relation of perceptions in time is therefore the rule: "All empirical
determinations of time must be subject to rules of the general determination of
time"; and the analogies of experience, of which we are now about to treat, must
be rules of this nature.
These principles have this peculiarity, that they do not concern
phenomena, and the synthesis of the empirical intuition thereof, but merely the
existence of phenomena and their relation to each other in regard to this
existence. Now the mode in which we apprehend a thing in a phenomenon can be
determined a priori in such a manner that the rule of its synthesis can give,
that is to say, can produce this a priori intuition in every empirical example.
But the existence of phenomena cannot be known a priori, and although we could
arrive by this path at a conclusion of the fact of some existence, we could not
cognize that existence determinately, that is to say, we should be incapable of
anticipating in what respect the empirical intuition of it would be
distinguishable from that of others.
The two principles above mentioned, which I called mathematical,
in consideration of the fact of their authorizing the application of mathematic
phenomena, relate to these phenomena only in regard to their possibility, and
instruct us how phenomena, as far as regards their intuition or the real in
their perception, can be generated according to the rules of a mathematical
synthesis. Consequently, numerical quantities, and with them the determination
of a phenomenon as a quantity, can be employed in the one case as well as in the
other. Thus, for example, out of 200,000 illuminations by the moon, I might
compose and give a priori, that is construct, the degree of our sensations of
the sun-light.* We may therefore entitle these two principles constitutive.
[*Footnote: Kant's meaning is: The two principles enunciated
under the heads of "Axioms of Intuition," and "Anticipations of Perception,"
authorize the application to phenomena of determinations of size and number,
that is of mathematic. For exampkle, I may compute the light of the sun, and say
that its quantity is a certain number of times greater than that of the moon. In
the same way, heat is measured by the comparison of its different effects on
water, &c., and on mercury in a thermometer.—Tr]
The case is very different with those principles whose province
it is to subject the existence of phenomena to rules a priori. For as existence
does not admit of being constructed, it is clear that they must only concern the
relations of existence and be merely regulative principles. In this case,
therefore, neither axioms nor anticipations are to be thought of. Thus, if a
perception is given us, in a certain relation of time to other (although
undetermined) perceptions, we cannot then say a priori, what and how great (in
quantity) the other perception necessarily connected with the former is, but
only how it is connected, quoad its existence, in this given modus of time.
Analogies in philosophy mean something very different from that which they
represent in mathematics. In the latter they are formulae, which enounce the
equality of two relations of quantity, and are always constitutive, so that if
two terms of the proportion are given, the third is also given, that is, can be
constructed by the aid of these formulae. But in philosophy, analogy is not the
equality of two quantitative but of two qualitative relations. In this case,
from three given terms, I can give a priori and cognize the relation to a fourth
member, but not this fourth term itself, although I certainly possess a rule to
guide me in the search for this fourth term in experience, and a mark to assist
me in discovering it. An analogy of experience is therefore only a rule
according to which unity of experience must arise out of perceptions in respect
to objects (phenomena) not as a constitutive, but merely as a regulative
principle. The same holds good also of the postulates of empirical thought in
general, which relate to the synthesis of mere intuition (which concerns the
form of phenomena), the synthesis of perception (which concerns the matter of
phenomena), and the synthesis of experience (which concerns the relation of
these perceptions). For they are only regulative principles, and clearly
distinguishable from the mathematical, which are constitutive, not indeed in
regard to the certainty which both possess a priori, but in the mode of evidence
thereof, consequently also in the manner of demonstration.
But what has been observed of all synthetical propositions, and
must be particularly remarked in this place, is this, that these analogies
possess significance and validity, not as principles of the transcendental, but
only as principles of the empirical use of the understanding, and their truth
can therefore be proved only as such, and that consequently the phenomena must
not be subjoined directly under the categories, but only under their schemata.
For if the objects to which those principles must be applied were things in
themselves, it would be quite impossible to cognize aught concerning them
synthetically a priori. But they are nothing but phenomena; a complete knowledge
of which—a knowledge to which all principles a priori must at last relate—is the
only possible experience. It follows that these principles can have nothing else
for their aim than the conditions of the empirical cognition in the unity of
synthesis of phenomena. But this synthesis is cogitated only in the schema of
the pure conception of the understanding, of whose unity, as that of a synthesis
in general, the category contains the function unrestricted by any sensuous
condition. These principles will therefore authorize us to connect phenomena
according to an analogy, with the logical and universal unity of conceptions,
and consequently to employ the categories in the principles themselves; but in
the application of them to experience, we shall use only their schemata, as the
key to their proper application, instead of the categories, or rather the latter
as restricting conditions, under the title of "formulae" of the former.
A. FIRST ANALOGY.
Principle of the Permanence of Substance.
In all changes of phenomena, substance is permanent, and the
quantum thereof in nature is neither increased nor diminished.
PROOF.
All phenomena exist in time, wherein
alone as substratum, that is, as the permanent form of the internal intuition,
coexistence and succession can be represented. Consequently time, in which all
changes of phenomena must be cogitated, remains and changes not, because it is
that in which succession and coexistence can be represented only as
determinations thereof. Now, time in itself cannot be an object of perception.
It follows that in objects of perception, that is, in phenomena, there must be
found a substratum which represents time in general, and in which all change or
coexistence can be perceived by means of the relation of phenomena to it. But
the substratum of all reality, that is, of all that pertains to the existence of
things, is substance; all that pertains to existence can be cogitated only as a
determination of substance. Consequently, the permanent, in relation to which
alone can all relations of time in phenomena be determined, is substance in the
world of phenomena, that is, the real in phenomena, that which, as the
substratum of all change, remains ever the same. Accordingly, as this cannot
change in existence, its quantity in nature can neither be increased nor
diminished.
Our apprehension of the manifold in a phenomenon is always
successive, is Consequently always changing. By it alone we could, therefore,
never determine whether this manifold, as an object of experience, is coexistent
or successive, unless it had for a foundation something fixed and permanent, of
the existence of which all succession and coexistence are nothing but so many
modes (modi of time). Only in the permanent, then, are relations of time
possible (for simultaneity and succession are the only relations in time); that
is to say, the permanent is the substratum of our empirical representation of
time itself, in which alone all determination of time is possible. Permanence
is, in fact, just another expression for time, as the abiding correlate of all
existence of phenomena, and of all change, and of all coexistence. For change
does not affect time itself, but only the phenomena in time (just as coexistence
cannot be regarded as a modus of time itself, seeing that in time no parts are
coexistent, but all successive). If we were to attribute succession to time
itself, we should be obliged to cogitate another time, in which this succession
would be possible. It is only by means of the permanent that existence in
different parts of the successive series of time receives a quantity, which we
entitle duration. For in mere succession, existence is perpetually vanishing and
recommencing, and therefore never has even the least quantity. Without the
permanent, then, no relation in time is possible. Now, time in itself is not an
object of perception; consequently the permanent in phenomena must be regarded
as the substratum of all determination of time, and consequently also as the
condition of the possibility of all synthetical unity of perceptions, that is,
of experience; and all existence and all change in time can only be regarded as
a mode in the existence of that which abides unchangeably. Therefore, in all
phenomena, the permanent is the object in itself, that is, the substance
(phenomenon); but all that changes or can change belongs only to the mode of the
existence of this substance or substances, consequently to its determinations.
I find that in all ages not only the philosopher, but even the
common understanding, has preposited this permanence as a substratum of all
change in phenomena; indeed, I am compelled to believe that they will always
accept this as an indubitable fact. Only the philosopher expresses himself in a
more precise and definite manner, when he says: "In all changes in the world,
the substance remains, and the accidents alone are changeable." But of this
decidedly synthetical proposition, I nowhere meet with even an attempt at proof;
nay, it very rarely has the good fortune to stand, as it deserves to do, at the
head of the pure and entirely a priori laws of nature. In truth, the statement
that substance is permanent, is tautological. For this very permanence is the
ground on which we apply the category of substance to the phenomenon; and we
should have been obliged to prove that in all phenomena there is something
permanent, of the existence of which the changeable is nothing but a
determination. But because a proof of this nature cannot be dogmatical, that is,
cannot be drawn from conceptions, inasmuch as it concerns a synthetical
proposition a priori, and as philosophers never reflected that such propositions
are valid only in relation to possible experience, and therefore cannot be
proved except by means of a deduction of the possibility of experience, it is no
wonder that while it has served as the foundation of all experience (for we feel
the need of it in empirical cognition), it has never been supported by proof.
A philosopher was asked: "What is the weight of smoke?" He
answered: "Subtract from the weight of the burnt wood the weight of the
remaining ashes, and you will have the weight of the smoke." Thus he presumed it
to be incontrovertible that even in fire the matter (substance) does not perish,
but that only the form of it undergoes a change. In like manner was the saying:
"From nothing comes nothing," only another inference from the principle or
permanence, or rather of the ever-abiding existence of the true subject in
phenomena. For if that in the phenomenon which we call substance is to be the
proper substratum of all determination of time, it follows that all existence in
past as well as in future time, must be determinable by means of it alone. Hence
we are entitled to apply the term substance to a phenomenon, only because we
suppose its existence in all time, a notion which the word permanence does not
fully express, as it seems rather to be referable to future time. However, the
internal necessity perpetually to be, is inseparably connected with the
necessity always to have been, and so the expression may stand as it is. "Gigni
de nihilo nihil; in nihilum nil posse reverti,"* are two propositions which the
ancients never parted, and which people nowadays sometimes mistakenly disjoin,
because they imagine that the propositions apply to objects as things in
themselves, and that the former might be inimical to the dependence (even in
respect of its substance also) of the world upon a supreme cause. But this
apprehension is entirely needless, for the question in this case is only of
phenomena in the sphere of experience, the unity of which never could be
possible, if we admitted the possibility that new things (in respect of their
substance) should arise. For in that case, we should lose altogether that which
alone can represent the unity of time, to wit, the identity of the substratum,
as that through which alone all change possesses complete and thorough unity.
This permanence is, however, nothing but the manner in which we represent to
ourselves the existence of things in the phenomenal world.
[*Footnote: Persius, Satirae, iii.83-84.]
The determinations of a substance, which are only particular
modes of its existence, are called accidents. They are always real, because they
concern the existence of substance (negations are only determinations, which
express the non-existence of something in the substance). Now, if to this real
in the substance we ascribe a particular existence (for example, to motion as an
accident of matter), this existence is called inherence, in contradistinction to
the existence of substance, which we call subsistence. But hence arise many
misconceptions, and it would be a more accurate and just mode of expression to
designate the accident only as the mode in which the existence of a substance is
positively determined. Meanwhile, by reason of the conditions of the logical
exercise of our understanding, it is impossible to avoid separating, as it were,
that which in the existence of a substance is subject to change, whilst the
substance remains, and regarding it in relation to that which is properly
permanent and radical. On this account, this category of substance stands under
the title of relation, rather because it is the condition thereof than because
it contains in itself any relation.
Now, upon this notion of permanence rests the proper notion of
the conception change. Origin and extinction are not changes of that which
originates or becomes extinct. Change is but a mode of existence, which follows
on another mode of existence of the same object; hence all that changes is
permanent, and only the condition thereof changes. Now since this mutation
affects only determinations, which can have a beginning or an end, we may say,
employing an expression which seems somewhat paradoxical: "Only the permanent
(substance) is subject to change; the mutable suffers no change, but rather
alternation, that is, when certain determinations cease, others begin."
Change, when, cannot be perceived by us except in substances,
and origin or extinction in an absolute sense, that does not concern merely a
determination of the permanent, cannot be a possible perception, for it is this
very notion of the permanent which renders possible the representation of a
transition from one state into another, and from non-being to being, which,
consequently, can be empirically cognized only as alternating determinations of
that which is permanent. Grant that a thing absolutely begins to be; we must
then have a point of time in which it was not. But how and by what can we fix
and determine this point of time, unless by that which already exists? For a
void time—preceding—is not an object of perception; but if we connect this
beginning with objects which existed previously, and which continue to exist
till the object in question in question begins to be, then the latter can only
be a determination of the former as the permanent. The same holds good of the
notion of extinction, for this presupposes the empirical representation of a
time, in which a phenomenon no longer exists.
Substances (in the world of phenomena) are the substratum of all
determinations of time. The beginning of some, and the ceasing to be of other
substances, would utterly do away with the only condition of the empirical unity
of time; and in that case phenomena would relate to two different times, in
which, side by side, existence would pass; which is absurd. For there is only
one time in which all different times must be placed, not as coexistent, but as
successive.
Accordingly, permanence is a necessary condition under which
alone phenomena, as things or objects, are determinable in a possible
experience. But as regards the empirical criterion of this necessary permanence,
and with it of the substantiality of phenomena, we shall find sufficient
opportunity to speak in the sequel.
B. SECOND ANALOGY.
Principle of the Succession of Time According to the Law of
Causality. All changes take place according to the law of the connection of
Cause and Effect.
PROOF.
(That all phenomena in the succession of
time are only changes, that is, a successive being and non-being of the
determinations of substance, which is permanent; consequently that a being of
substance itself which follows on the non-being thereof, or a non-being of
substance which follows on the being thereof, in other words, that the origin or
extinction of substance itself, is impossible—all this has been fully
established in treating of the foregoing principle. This principle might have
been expressed as follows: "All alteration (succession) of phenomena is merely
change"; for the changes of substance are not origin or extinction, because the
conception of change presupposes the same subject as existing with two opposite
determinations, and consequently as permanent. After this premonition, we shall
proceed to the proof.)
I perceive that phenomena succeed one another, that is to say, a
state of things exists at one time, the opposite of which existed in a former
state. In this case, then, I really connect together two perceptions in time.
Now connection is not an operation of mere sense and intuition, but is the
product of a synthetical faculty of imagination, which determines the internal
sense in respect of a relation of time. But imagination can connect these two
states in two ways, so that either the one or the other may antecede in time;
for time in itself cannot be an object of perception, and what in an object
precedes and what follows cannot be empirically determined in relation to it. I
am only conscious, then, that my imagination places one state before and the
other after; not that the one state antecedes the other in the object. In other
words, the objective relation of the successive phenomena remains quite
undetermined by means of mere perception. Now in order that this relation may be
cognized as determined, the relation between the two states must be so cogitated
that it is thereby determined as necessary, which of them must be placed before
and which after, and not conversely. But the conception which carries with it a
necessity of synthetical unity, can be none other than a pure conception of the
understanding which does not lie in mere perception; and in this case it is the
conception of "the relation of cause and effect," the former of which determines
the latter in time, as its necessary consequence, and not as something which
might possibly antecede (or which might in some cases not be perceived to
follow). It follows that it is only because we subject the sequence of
phenomena, and consequently all change, to the law of causality, that experience
itself, that is, empirical cognition of phenomena, becomes possible; and
consequently, that phenomena themselves, as objects of experience, are possible
only by virtue of this law.
Our apprehension of the manifold of phenomena is always
successive. The representations of parts succeed one another. Whether they
succeed one another in the object also, is a second point for reflection, which
was not contained in the former. Now we may certainly give the name of object to
everything, even to every representation, so far as we are conscious thereof;
but what this word may mean in the case of phenomena, not merely in so far as
they (as representations) are objects, but only in so far as they indicate an
object, is a question requiring deeper consideration. In so far as they,
regarded merely as representations, are at the same time objects of
consciousness, they are not to be distinguished from apprehension, that is,
reception into the synthesis of imagination, and we must therefore say: "The
manifold of phenomena is always produced successively in the mind." If phenomena
were things in themselves, no man would be able to conjecture from the
succession of our representations how this manifold is connected in the object;
for we have to do only with our representations. How things may be in
themselves, without regard to the representations through which they affect us,
is utterly beyond the sphere of our cognition. Now although phenomena are not
things in themselves, and are nevertheless the only thing given to us to be
cognized, it is my duty to show what sort of connection in time belongs to the
manifold in phenomena themselves, while the representation of this manifold in
apprehension is always successive. For example, the apprehension of the manifold
in the phenomenon of a house which stands before me, is successive. Now comes
the question whether the manifold of this house is in itself successive—which no
one will be at all willing to grant. But, so soon as I raise my conception of an
object to the transcendental signification thereof, I find that the house is not
a thing in itself, but only a phenomenon, that is, a representation, the
transcendental object of which remains utterly unknown. What then am I to
understand by the question: "How can the manifold be connected in the phenomenon
itself—not considered as a thing in itself, but merely as a phenomenon?" Here
that which lies in my successive apprehension is regarded as representation,
whilst the phenomenon which is given me, notwithstanding that it is nothing more
than a complex of these representations, is regarded as the object thereof, with
which my conception, drawn from the representations of apprehension, must
harmonize. It is very soon seen that, as accordance of the cognition with its
object constitutes truth, the question now before us can only relate to the
formal conditions of empirical truth; and that the phenomenon, in opposition to
the representations of apprehension, can only be distinguished therefrom as the
object of them, if it is subject to a rule which distinguishes it from every
other apprehension, and which renders necessary a mode of connection of the
manifold. That in the phenomenon which contains the condition of this necessary
rule of apprehension, is the object.
Let us now proceed to our task. That something happens, that is
to say, that something or some state exists which before was not, cannot be
empirically perceived, unless a phenomenon precedes, which does not contain in
itself this state. For a reality which should follow upon a void time, in other
words, a beginning, which no state of things precedes, can just as little be
apprehended as the void time itself. Every apprehension of an event is therefore
a perception which follows upon another perception. But as this is the case with
all synthesis of apprehension, as I have shown above in the example of a house,
my apprehension of an event is not yet sufficiently distinguished from other
apprehensions. But I remark also that if in a phenomenon which contains an
occurrence, I call the antecedent state of my perception, A, and the following
state, B, the perception B can only follow A in apprehension, and the perception
A cannot follow B, but only precede it. For example, I see a ship float down the
stream of a river. My perception of its place lower down follows upon my
perception of its place higher up the course of the river, and it is impossible
that, in the apprehension of this phenomenon, the vessel should be perceived
first below and afterwards higher up the stream. Here, therefore, the order in
the sequence of perceptions in apprehension is determined; and by this order
apprehension is regulated. In the former example, my perceptions in the
apprehension of a house might begin at the roof and end at the foundation, or
vice versa; or I might apprehend the manifold in this empirical intuition, by
going from left to right, and from right to left. Accordingly, in the series of
these perceptions, there was no determined order, which necessitated my
beginning at a certain point, in order empirically to connect the manifold. But
this rule is always to be met with in the perception of that which happens, and
it makes the order of the successive perceptions in the apprehension of such a
phenomenon necessary.
I must, therefore, in the present case, deduce the subjective
sequence of apprehension from the objective sequence of phenomena, for otherwise
the former is quite undetermined, and one phenomenon is not distinguishable from
another. The former alone proves nothing as to the connection of the manifold in
an object, for it is quite arbitrary. The latter must consist in the order of
the manifold in a phenomenon, according to which order the apprehension of one
thing (that which happens) follows that of another thing (which precedes), in
conformity with a rule. In this way alone can I be authorized to say of the
phenomenon itself, and not merely of my own apprehension, that a certain order
or sequence is to be found therein. That is, in other words, I cannot arrange my
apprehension otherwise than in this order.
In conformity with this rule, then, it is necessary that in that
which antecedes an event there be found the condition of a rule, according to
which in this event follows always and necessarily; but I cannot reverse this
and go back from the event, and determine (by apprehension) that which antecedes
it. For no phenomenon goes back from the succeeding point of time to the
preceding point, although it does certainly relate to a preceding point of time;
from a given time, on the other hand, there is always a necessary progression to
the determined succeeding time. Therefore, because there certainly is something
that follows, I must of necessity connect it with something else, which
antecedes, and upon which it follows, in conformity with a rule, that is
necessarily, so that the event, as conditioned, affords certain indication of a
condition, and this condition determines the event.
Let us suppose that nothing precedes an event, upon which this
event must follow in conformity with a rule. All sequence of perception would
then exist only in apprehension, that is to say, would be merely subjective, and
it could not thereby be objectively determined what thing ought to precede, and
what ought to follow in perception. In such a case, we should have nothing but a
play of representations, which would possess no application to any object. That
is to say, it would not be possible through perception to distinguish one
phenomenon from another, as regards relations of time; because the succession in
the act of apprehension would always be of the same sort, and therefore there
would be nothing in the phenomenon to determine the succession, and to render a
certain sequence objectively necessary. And, in this case, I cannot say that two
states in a phenomenon follow one upon the other, but only that one apprehension
follows upon another. But this is merely subjective, and does not determine an
object, and consequently cannot be held to be cognition of an object—not even in
the phenomenal world.
Accordingly, when we know in experience that something happens,
we always presuppose that something precedes, whereupon it follows in conformity
with a rule. For otherwise I could not say of the object that it follows;
because the mere succession in my apprehension, if it be not determined by a
rule in relation to something preceding, does not authorize succession in the
object. Only, therefore, in reference to a rule, according to which phenomena
are determined in their sequence, that is, as they happen, by the preceding
state, can I make my subjective synthesis (of apprehension) objective, and it is
only under this presupposition that even the experience of an event is possible.
No doubt it appears as if this were in thorough contradiction to
all the notions which people have hitherto entertained in regard to the
procedure of the human understanding. According to these opinions, it is by
means of the perception and comparison of similar consequences following upon
certain antecedent phenomena that the understanding is led to the discovery of a
rule, according to which certain events always follow certain phenomena, and it
is only by this process that we attain to the conception of cause. Upon such a
basis, it is clear that this conception must be merely empirical, and the rule
which it furnishes us with—"Everything that happens must have a cause"—would be
just as contingent as experience itself. The universality and necessity of the
rule or law would be perfectly spurious attributes of it. Indeed, it could not
possess universal validity, inasmuch as it would not in this case be a priori,
but founded on deduction. But the same is the case with this law as with other
pure a priori representations (e.g., space and time), which we can draw in
perfect clearness and completeness from experience, only because we had already
placed them therein, and by that means, and by that alone, had rendered
experience possible. Indeed, the logical clearness of this representation of a
rule, determining the series of events, is possible only when we have made use
thereof in experience. Nevertheless, the recognition of this rule, as a
condition of the synthetical unity of phenomena in time, was the ground of
experience itself and consequently preceded it a priori.
It is now our duty to show by an example that we never, even in
experience, attribute to an object the notion of succession or effect (of an
event—that is, the happening of something that did not exist before), and
distinguish it from the subjective succession of apprehension, unless when a
rule lies at the foundation, which compels us to observe this order of
perception in preference to any other, and that, indeed, it is this necessity
which first renders possible the representation of a succession in the object.
We have representations within us, of which also we can be
conscious. But, however widely extended, however accurate and thoroughgoing this
consciousness may be, these representations are still nothing more than
representations, that is, internal determinations of the mind in this or that
relation of time. Now how happens it that to these representations we should set
an object, or that, in addition to their subjective reality, as modifications,
we should still further attribute to them a certain unknown objective reality?
It is clear that objective significancy cannot consist in a relation to another
representation (of that which we desire to term object), for in that case the
question again arises: "How does this other representation go out of itself, and
obtain objective significancy over and above the subjective, which is proper to
it, as a determination of a state of mind?" If we try to discover what sort of
new property the relation to an object gives to our subjective representations,
and what new importance they thereby receive, we shall find that this relation
has no other effect than that of rendering necessary the connection of our
representations in a certain manner, and of subjecting them to a rule; and that
conversely, it is only because a certain order is necessary in the relations of
time of our representations, that objective significancy is ascribed to them.
In the synthesis of phenomena, the manifold of our
representations is always successive. Now hereby is not represented an object,
for by means of this succession, which is common to all apprehension, no one
thing is distinguished from another. But so soon as I perceive or assume that in
this succession there is a relation to a state antecedent, from which the
representation follows in accordance with a rule, so soon do I represent
something as an event, or as a thing that happens; in other words, I cognize an
object to which I must assign a certain determinate position in time, which
cannot be altered, because of the preceding state in the object. When,
therefore, I perceive that something happens, there is contained in this
representation, in the first place, the fact, that something antecedes; because,
it is only in relation to this that the phenomenon obtains its proper relation
of time, in other words, exists after an antecedent time, in which it did not
exist. But it can receive its determined place in time only by the
presupposition that something existed in the foregoing state, upon which it
follows inevitably and always, that is, in conformity with a rule. From all this
it is evident that, in the first place, I cannot reverse the order of
succession, and make that which happens precede that upon which it follows; and
that, in the second place, if the antecedent state be posited, a certain
determinate event inevitably and necessarily follows. Hence it follows that
there exists a certain order in our representations, whereby the present gives a
sure indication of some previously existing state, as a correlate, though still
undetermined, of the existing event which is given—a correlate which itself
relates to the event as its consequence, conditions it, and connects it
necessarily with itself in the series of time.
If then it be admitted as a necessary law of sensibility, and
consequently a formal condition of all perception, that the preceding
necessarily determines the succeeding time (inasmuch as I cannot arrive at the
succeeding except through the preceding), it must likewise be an indispensable
law of empirical representation of the series of time that the phenomena of the
past determine all phenomena in the succeeding time, and that the latter, as
events, cannot take place, except in so far as the former determine their
existence in time, that is to say, establish it according to a rule. For it is
of course only in phenomena that we can empirically cognize this continuity in
the connection of times.
For all experience and for the possibility of experience,
understanding is indispensable, and the first step which it takes in this sphere
is not to render the representation of objects clear, but to render the
representation of an object in general, possible. It does this by applying the
order of time to phenomena, and their existence. In other words, it assigns to
each phenomenon, as a consequence, a place in relation to preceding phenomena,
determined a priori in time, without which it could not harmonize with time
itself, which determines a place a priori to all its parts. This determination
of place cannot be derived from the relation of phenomena to absolute time (for
it is not an object of perception); but, on the contrary, phenomena must
reciprocally determine the places in time of one another, and render these
necessary in the order of time. In other words, whatever follows or happens,
must follow in conformity with a universal rule upon that which was contained in
the foregoing state. Hence arises a series of phenomena, which, by means of the
understanding, produces and renders necessary exactly the same order and
continuous connection in the series of our possible perceptions, as is found a
priori in the form of internal intuition (time), in which all our perceptions
must have place.
That something happens, then, is a perception which belongs to a
possible experience, which becomes real only because I look upon the phenomenon
as determined in regard to its place in time, consequently as an object, which
can always be found by means of a rule in the connected series of my
perceptions. But this rule of the determination of a thing according to
succession in time is as follows: "In what precedes may be found the condition,
under which an event always (that is, necessarily) follows." From all this it is
obvious that the principle of cause and effect is the principle of possible
experience, that is, of objective cognition of phenomena, in regard to their
relations in the succession of time.
The proof of this fundamental proposition rests entirely on the
following momenta of argument. To all empirical cognition belongs the synthesis
of the manifold by the imagination, a synthesis which is always successive, that
is, in which the representations therein always follow one another. But the
order of succession in imagination is not determined, and the series of
successive representations may be taken retrogressively as well as
progressively. But if this synthesis is a synthesis of apprehension (of the
manifold of a given phenomenon), then the order is determined in the object, or
to speak more accurately, there is therein an order of successive synthesis
which determines an object, and according to which something necessarily
precedes, and when this is posited, something else necessarily follows. If,
then, my perception is to contain the cognition of an event, that is, of
something which really happens, it must be an empirical judgement, wherein we
think that the succession is determined; that is, it presupposes another
phenomenon, upon which this event follows necessarily, or in conformity with a
rule. If, on the contrary, when I posited the antecedent, the event did not
necessarily follow, I should be obliged to consider it merely as a subjective
play of my imagination, and if in this I represented to myself anything as
objective, I must look upon it as a mere dream. Thus, the relation of phenomena
(as possible perceptions), according to which that which happens is, as to its
existence, necessarily determined in time by something which antecedes, in
conformity with a rule—in other words, the relation of cause and effect—is the
condition of the objective validity of our empirical judgements in regard to the
sequence of perceptions, consequently of their empirical truth, and therefore of
experience. The principle of the relation of causality in the succession of
phenomena is therefore valid for all objects of experience, because it is itself
the ground of the possibility of experience.
Here, however, a difficulty arises, which must be resolved. The
principle of the connection of causality among phenomena is limited in our
formula to the succession thereof, although in practice we find that the
principle applies also when the phenomena exist together in the same time, and
that cause and effect may be simultaneous. For example, there is heat in a room,
which does not exist in the open air. I look about for the cause, and find it to
be the fire, Now the fire as the cause is simultaneous with its effect, the heat
of the room. In this case, then, there is no succession as regards time, between
cause and effect, but they are simultaneous; and still the law holds good. The
greater part of operating causes in nature are simultaneous with their effects,
and the succession in time of the latter is produced only because the cause
cannot achieve the total of its effect in one moment. But at the moment when the
effect first arises, it is always simultaneous with the causality of its cause,
because, if the cause had but a moment before ceased to be, the effect could not
have arisen. Here it must be specially remembered that we must consider the
order of time and not the lapse thereof. The relation remains, even though no
time has elapsed. The time between the causality of the cause and its immediate
effect may entirely vanish, and the cause and effect be thus simultaneous, but
the relation of the one to the other remains always determinable according to
time. If, for example, I consider a leaden ball, which lies upon a cushion and
makes a hollow in it, as a cause, then it is simultaneous with the effect. But I
distinguish the two through the relation of time of the dynamical connection of
both. For if I lay the ball upon the cushion, then the hollow follows upon the
before smooth surface; but supposing the cushion has, from some cause or
another, a hollow, there does not thereupon follow a leaden ball.
Thus, the law of succession of time is in all instances the only
empirical criterion of effect in relation to the causality of the antecedent
cause. The glass is the cause of the rising of the water above its horizontal
surface, although the two phenomena are contemporaneous. For, as soon as I draw
some water with the glass from a larger vessel, an effect follows thereupon,
namely, the change of the horizontal state which the water had in the large
vessel into a concave, which it assumes in the glass.
This conception of causality leads us to the conception of
action; that of action, to the conception of force; and through it, to the
conception of substance. As I do not wish this critical essay, the sole purpose
of which is to treat of the sources of our synthetical cognition a priori, to be
crowded with analyses which merely explain, but do not enlarge the sphere of our
conceptions, I reserve the detailed explanation of the above conceptions for a
future system of pure reason. Such an analysis, indeed, executed with great
particularity, may already be found in well-known works on this subject. But I
cannot at present refrain from making a few remarks on the empirical criterion
of a substance, in so far as it seems to be more evident and more easily
recognized through the conception of action than through that of the permanence
of a phenomenon.
Where action (consequently activity and force) exists, substance
also must exist, and in it alone must be sought the seat of that fruitful source
of phenomena. Very well. But if we are called upon to explain what we mean by
substance, and wish to avoid the vice of reasoning in a circle, the answer is by
no means so easy. How shall we conclude immediately from the action to the
permanence of that which acts, this being nevertheless an essential and peculiar
criterion of substance (phenomenon)? But after what has been said above, the
solution of this question becomes easy enough, although by the common mode of
procedure—merely analysing our conceptions—it would be quite impossible. The
conception of action indicates the relation of the subject of causality to the
effect. Now because all effect consists in that which happens, therefore in the
changeable, the last subject thereof is the permanent, as the substratum of all
that changes, that is, substance. For according to the principle of causality,
actions are always the first ground of all change in phenomena and,
consequently, cannot be a property of a subject which itself changes, because if
this were the case, other actions and another subject would be necessary to
determine this change. From all this it results that action alone, as an
empirical criterion, is a sufficient proof of the presence of substantiality,
without any necessity on my part of endeavouring to discover the permanence of
substance by a comparison. Besides, by this mode of induction we could not
attain to the completeness which the magnitude and strict universality of the
conception requires. For that the primary subject of the causality of all
arising and passing away, all origin and extinction, cannot itself (in the
sphere of phenomena) arise and pass away, is a sound and safe conclusion, a
conclusion which leads us to the conception of empirical necessity and
permanence in existence, and consequently to the conception of a substance as
phenomenon.
When something happens, the mere fact of the occurrence, without
regard to that which occurs, is an object requiring investigation. The
transition from the non-being of a state into the existence of it, supposing
that this state contains no quality which previously existed in the phenomenon,
is a fact of itself demanding inquiry. Such an event, as has been shown in No.
A, does not concern substance (for substance does not thus originate), but its
condition or state. It is therefore only change, and not origin from nothing. If
this origin be regarded as the effect of a foreign cause, it is termed creation,
which cannot be admitted as an event among phenomena, because the very
possibility of it would annihilate the unity of experience. If, however, I
regard all things not as phenomena, but as things in themselves and objects of
understanding alone, they, although substances, may be considered as dependent,
in respect of their existence, on a foreign cause. But this would require a very
different meaning in the words, a meaning which could not apply to phenomena as
objects of possible experience.
How a thing can be changed, how it is possible that upon one
state existing in one point of time, an opposite state should follow in another
point of time—of this we have not the smallest conception a priori. There is
requisite for this the knowledge of real powers, which can only be given
empirically; for example, knowledge of moving forces, or, in other words, of
certain successive phenomena (as movements) which indicate the presence of such
forces. But the form of every change, the condition under which alone it can
take place as the coming into existence of another state (be the content of the
change, that is, the state which is changed, what it may), and consequently the
succession of the states themselves can very well be considered a priori, in
relation to the law of causality and the conditions of time.*
[*Footnote: It must be remarked that I do not speak of the
change of certain relations, but of the change of the state. Thus, when a body
moves in a uniform manner, it does not change its state (of motion); but only
when all motion increases or decreases.]
When a substance passes from one state, a, into another state,
b, the point of time in which the latter exists is different from, and
subsequent to that in which the former existed. In like manner, the second
state, as reality (in the phenomenon), differs from the first, in which the
reality of the second did not exist, as b from zero. That is to say, if the
state, b, differs from the state, a, only in respect to quantity, the change is
a coming into existence of b - a, which in the former state did not exist, and
in relation to which that state is = O.
Now the question arises how a thing passes from one state = a,
into another state = b. Between two moments there is always a certain time, and
between two states existing in these moments there is always a difference having
a certain quantity (for all parts of phenomena are in their turn quantities).
Consequently, every transition from one state into another is always effected in
a time contained between two moments, of which the first determines the state
which leaves, and the second determines the state into the thing passes. The
thing leaves, and the second determines the state into which the thing Both
moments, then, are limitations of the time of a change, consequently of the
intermediate state between both, and as such they belong to the total of the
change. Now every change has a cause, which evidences its causality in the whole
time during which the charge takes place. The cause, therefore, does not produce
the change all at once or in one moment, but in a time, so that, as the time
gradually increases from the commencing instant, a, to its completion at b, in
like manner also, the quantity of the reality (b - a) is generated through the
lesser degrees which are contained between the first and last. All change is
therefore possible only through a continuous action of the causality, which, in
so far as it is uniform, we call a momentum. The change does not consist of
these momenta, but is generated or produced by them as their effect.
Such is the law of the continuity of all change, the ground of
which is that neither time itself nor any phenomenon in time consists of parts
which are the smallest possible, but that, notwithstanding, the state of a thing
passes in the process of a change through all these parts, as elements, to its
second state. There is no smallest degree of reality in a phenomenon, just as
there is no smallest degree in the quantity of time; and so the new state of
reality grows up out of the former state, through all the infinite degrees
thereof, the differences of which one from another, taken all together, are less
than the difference between o and a.
It is not our business to inquire here into the utility of this
principle in the investigation of nature. But how such a proposition, which
appears so greatly to extend our knowledge of nature, is possible completely a
priori, is indeed a question which deserves investigation, although the first
view seems to demonstrate the truth and reality of the principle, and the
question, how it is possible, may be considered superfluous. For there are so
many groundless pretensions to the enlargement of our knowledge by pure reason
that we must take it as a general rule to be mistrustful of all such, and
without a thoroughgoing and radical deduction, to believe nothing of the sort
even on the clearest dogmatical evidence.
Every addition to our empirical knowledge, and every advance
made in the exercise of our perception, is nothing more than an extension of the
determination of the internal sense, that is to say, a progression in time, be
objects themselves what they may, phenomena, or pure intuitions. This
progression in time determines everything, and is itself determined by nothing
else. That is to say, the parts of the progression exist only in time, and by
means of the synthesis thereof, and are not given antecedently to it. For this
reason, every transition in perception to anything which follows upon another in
time, is a determination of time by means of the production of this perception.
And as this determination of time is, always and in all its parts, a quantity,
the perception produced is to be considered as a quantity which proceeds through
all its degrees—no one of which is the smallest possible—from zero up to its
determined degree. From this we perceive the possibility of cognizing a priori a
law of changes—a law, however, which concerns their form merely. We merely
anticipate our own apprehension, the formal condition of which, inasmuch as it
is itself to be found in the mind antecedently to all given phenomena, must
certainly be capable of being cognized a priori.
Thus, as time contains the sensuous condition a priori of the
possibility of a continuous progression of that which exists to that which
follows it, the understanding, by virtue of the unity of apperception, contains
the condition a priori of the possibility of a continuous determination of the
position in time of all phenomena, and this by means of the series of causes and
effects, the former of which necessitate the sequence of the latter, and thereby
render universally and for all time, and by consequence, objectively, valid the
empirical cognition of the relations of time.
C. THIRD ANALOGY.
Principle of Coexistence, According to the Law of Reciprocity or
Community.
All substances, in so far as they can be perceived in space at
the same time, exist in a state of complete reciprocity of action.
PROOF.
Things are coexistent, when in empirical
intuition the perception of the one can follow upon the perception of the other,
and vice versa— which cannot occur in the succession of phenomena, as we have
shown in the explanation of the second principle. Thus I can perceive the moon
and then the earth, or conversely, first the earth and then the moon; and for
the reason that my perceptions of these objects can reciprocally follow each
other, I say, they exist contemporaneously. Now coexistence is the existence of
the manifold in the same time. But time itself is not an object of perception;
and therefore we cannot conclude from the fact that things are placed in the
same time, the other fact, that the perception of these things can follow each
other reciprocally. The synthesis of the imagination in apprehension would only
present to us each of these perceptions as present in the subject when the other
is not present, and contrariwise; but would not show that the objects are
coexistent, that is to say, that, if the one exists, the other also exists in
the same time, and that this is necessarily so, in order that the perceptions
may be capable of following each other reciprocally. It follows that a
conception of the understanding or category of the reciprocal sequence of the
determinations of phenomena (existing, as they do, apart from each other, and
yet contemporaneously), is requisite to justify us in saying that the reciprocal
succession of perceptions has its foundation in the object, and to enable us to
represent coexistence as objective. But that relation of substances in which the
one contains determinations the ground of which is in the other substance, is
the relation of influence. And, when this influence is reciprocal, it is the
relation of community or reciprocity. Consequently the coexistence of substances
in space cannot be cognized in experience otherwise than under the precondition
of their reciprocal action. This is therefore the condition of the possibility
of things themselves as objects of experience.
Things are coexistent, in so far as they exist in one and the
same time. But how can we know that they exist in one and the same time? Only by
observing that the order in the synthesis of apprehension of the manifold is
arbitrary and a matter of indifference, that is to say, that it can proceed from
A, through B, C, D, to E, or contrariwise from E to A. For if they were
successive in time (and in the order, let us suppose, which begins with A), it
is quite impossible for the apprehension in perception to begin with E and go
backwards to A, inasmuch as A belongs to past time and, therefore, cannot be an
object of apprehension.
Let us assume that in a number of substances considered as
phenomena each is completely isolated, that is, that no one acts upon another.
Then I say that the coexistence of these cannot be an object of possible
perception and that the existence of one cannot, by any mode of empirical
synthesis, lead us to the existence of another. For we imagine them in this case
to be separated by a completely void space, and thus perception, which proceeds
from the one to the other in time, would indeed determine their existence by
means of a following perception, but would be quite unable to distinguish
whether the one phenomenon follows objectively upon the first, or is coexistent
with it.
Besides the mere fact of existence, then, there must be
something by means of which A determines the position of B in time and,
conversely, B the position of A; because only under this condition can
substances be empirically represented as existing contemporaneously. Now that
alone determines the position of another thing in time which is the cause of it
or of its determinations. Consequently every substance (inasmuch as it can have
succession predicated of it only in respect of its determinations) must contain
the causality of certain determinations in another substance, and at the same
time the effects of the causality of the other in itself. That is to say,
substances must stand (mediately or immediately) in dynamical community with
each other, if coexistence is to be cognized in any possible experience. But, in
regard to objects of experience, that is absolutely necessary without which the
experience of these objects would itself be impossible. Consequently it is
absolutely necessary that all substances in the world of phenomena, in so far as
they are coexistent, stand in a relation of complete community of reciprocal
action to each other.
The word community has in our language [Footnote: German] two
meanings, and contains the two notions conveyed in the Latin communio and
commercium. We employ it in this place in the latter sense—that of a dynamical
community, without which even the community of place (communio spatii) could not
be empirically cognized. In our experiences it is easy to observe that it is
only the continuous influences in all parts of space that can conduct our senses
from one object to another; that the light which plays between our eyes and the
heavenly bodies produces a mediating community between them and us, and thereby
evidences their coexistence with us; that we cannot empirically change our
position (perceive this change), unless the existence of matter throughout the
whole of space rendered possible the perception of the positions we occupy; and
that this perception can prove the contemporaneous existence of these places
only through their reciprocal influence, and thereby also the coexistence of
even the most remote objects—although in this case the proof is only mediate.
Without community, every perception (of a phenomenon in space) is separated from
every other and isolated, and the chain of empirical representations, that is,
of experience, must, with the appearance of a new object, begin entirely de
novo, without the least connection with preceding representations, and without
standing towards these even in the relation of time. My intention here is by no
means to combat the notion of empty space; for it may exist where our
perceptions cannot exist, inasmuch as they cannot reach thereto, and where,
therefore, no empirical perception of coexistence takes place. But in this case
it is not an object of possible experience.
The following remarks may be useful in the way of explanation.
In the mind, all phenomena, as contents of a possible experience, must exist in
community (communio) of apperception or consciousness, and in so far as it is
requisite that objects be represented as coexistent and connected, in so far
must they reciprocally determine the position in time of each other and thereby
constitute a whole. If this subjective community is to rest upon an objective
basis, or to be applied to substances as phenomena, the perception of one
substance must render possible the perception of another, and conversely. For
otherwise succession, which is always found in perceptions as apprehensions,
would be predicated of external objects, and their representation of their
coexistence be thus impossible. But this is a reciprocal influence, that is to
say, a real community (commercium) of substances, without which therefore the
empirical relation of coexistence would be a notion beyond the reach of our
minds. By virtue of this commercium, phenomena, in so far as they are apart
from, and nevertheless in connection with each other, constitute a compositum
reale. Such composita are possible in many different ways. The three dynamical
relations then, from which all others spring, are those of inherence,
consequence, and composition.
These, then, are the three analogies of experience. They are
nothing more than principles of the determination of the existence of phenomena
in time, according to the three modi of this determination; to wit, the relation
to time itself as a quantity (the quantity of existence, that is, duration), the
relation in time as a series or succession, finally, the relation in time as the
complex of all existence (simultaneity). This unity of determination in regard
to time is thoroughly dynamical; that is to say, time is not considered as that
in which experience determines immediately to every existence its position; for
this is impossible, inasmuch as absolute time is not an object of perception, by
means of which phenomena can be connected with each other. On the contrary, the
rule of the understanding, through which alone the existence of phenomena can
receive synthetical unity as regards relations of time, determines for every
phenomenon its position in time, and consequently a priori, and with validity
for all and every time.
By nature, in the empirical sense of the word, we understand the
totality of phenomena connected, in respect of their existence, according to
necessary rules, that is, laws. There are therefore certain laws (which are
moreover a priori) which make nature possible; and all empirical laws can exist
only by means of experience, and by virtue of those primitive laws through which
experience itself becomes possible. The purpose of the analogies is therefore to
represent to us the unity of nature in the connection of all phenomena under
certain exponents, the only business of which is to express the relation of time
(in so far as it contains all existence in itself) to the unity of apperception,
which can exist in synthesis only according to rules. The combined expression of
all is this: "All phenomena exist in one nature, and must so exist, inasmuch as
without this a priori unity, no unity of experience, and consequently no
determination of objects in experience, is possible."
As regards the mode of proof which we have employed in treating
of these transcendental laws of nature, and the peculiar character of we must
make one remark, which will at the same time be important as a guide in every
other attempt to demonstrate the truth of intellectual and likewise synthetical
propositions a priori. Had we endeavoured to prove these analogies dogmatically,
that is, from conceptions; that is to say, had we employed this method in
attempting to show that everything which exists, exists only in that which is
permanent—that every thing or event presupposes the existence of something in a
preceding state, upon which it follows in conformity with a rule—lastly, that in
the manifold, which is coexistent, the states coexist in connection with each
other according to a rule, all our labour would have been utterly in vain. For
more conceptions of things, analyse them as we may, cannot enable us to conclude
from the existence of one object to the existence of another. What other course
was left for us to pursue? This only, to demonstrate the possibility of
experience as a cognition in which at last all objects must be capable of being
presented to us, if the representation of them is to possess any objective
reality. Now in this third, this mediating term, the essential form of which
consists in the synthetical unity of the apperception of all phenomena, we found
a priori conditions of the universal and necessary determination as to time of
all existences in the world of phenomena, without which the empirical
determination thereof as to time would itself be impossible, and we also
discovered rules of synthetical unity a priori, by means of which we could
anticipate experience. For want of this method, and from the fancy that it was
possible to discover a dogmatical proof of the synthetical propositions which
are requisite in the empirical employment of the understanding, has it happened
that a proof of the principle of sufficient reason has been so often attempted,
and always in vain. The other two analogies nobody has ever thought of, although
they have always been silently employed by the mind,* because the guiding thread
furnished by the categories was wanting, the guide which alone can enable us to
discover every hiatus, both in the system of conceptions and of principles.
[*Footnote: The unity of the universe, in which all phenomena to
be connected, is evidently a mere consequence of the admitted principle of the
community of all substances which are coexistent. For were substances isolated,
they could not as parts constitute a whole, and were their connection
(reciprocal action of the manifold) not necessary from the very fact of
coexistence, we could not conclude from the fact of the latter as a merely ideal
relation to the former as a real one. We have, however, shown in its place that
community is the proper ground of the possibility of an empirical cognition of
coexistence, and that we may therefore properly reason from the latter to the
former as its condition.]
4. THE POSTULATES OF EMPIRICAL THOUGHT.
1. That which agrees with the formal conditions (intuition and
conception) of experience, is possible.
2. That which coheres with the material conditions of experience
(sensation), is real.
3. That whose coherence with the real is determined according to
universal conditions of experience is (exists) necessary.
Explanation.
The categories of modality possess this
peculiarity, that they do not in the least determine the object, or enlarge the
conception to which they are annexed as predicates, but only express its
relation to the faculty of cognition. Though my conception of a thing is in
itself complete, I am still entitled to ask whether the object of it is merely
possible, or whether it is also real, or, if the latter, whether it is also
necessary. But hereby the object itself is not more definitely determined in
thought, but the question is only in what relation it, including all its
determinations, stands to the understanding and its employment in experience, to
the empirical faculty of judgement, and to the reason of its application to
experience.
For this very reason, too, the categories of modality are
nothing more than explanations of the conceptions of possibility, reality, and
necessity, as employed in experience, and at the same time, restrictions of all
the categories to empirical use alone, not authorizing the transcendental
employment of them. For if they are to have something more than a merely logical
significance, and to be something more than a mere analytical expression of the
form of thought, and to have a relation to things and their possibility,
reality, or necessity, they must concern possible experience and its synthetical
unity, in which alone objects of cognition can be given.
The postulate of the possibility of things requires also, that
the conception of the things agree with the formal conditions of our experience
in general. But this, that is to say, the objective form of experience, contains
all the kinds of synthesis which are requisite for the cognition of objects. A
conception which contains a synthesis must be regarded as empty and, without
reference to an object, if its synthesis does not belong to experience—either as
borrowed from it, and in this case it is called an empirical conception, or such
as is the ground and a priori condition of experience (its form), and in this
case it is a pure conception, a conception which nevertheless belongs to
experience, inasmuch as its object can be found in this alone. For where shall
we find the criterion or character of the possibility of an object which is
cogitated by means of an a priori synthetical conception, if not in the
synthesis which constitutes the form of empirical cognition of objects? That in
such a conception no contradiction exists is indeed a necessary logical
condition, but very far from being sufficient to establish the objective reality
of the conception, that is, the possibility of such an object as is thought in
the conception. Thus, in the conception of a figure which is contained within
two straight lines, there is no contradiction, for the conceptions of two
straight lines and of their junction contain no negation of a figure. The
impossibility in such a case does not rest upon the conception in itself, but
upon the construction of it in space, that is to say, upon the conditions of
space and its determinations. But these have themselves objective reality, that
is, they apply to possible things, because they contain a priori the form of
experience in general.
And now we shall proceed to point out the extensive utility and
influence of this postulate of possibility. When I represent to myself a thing
that is permanent, so that everything in it which changes belongs merely to its
state or condition, from such a conception alone I never can cognize that such a
thing is possible. Or, if I represent to myself something which is so
constituted that, when it is posited, something else follows always and
infallibly, my thought contains no self-contradiction; but whether such a
property as causality is to be found in any possible thing, my thought alone
affords no means of judging. Finally, I can represent to myself different things
(substances) which are so constituted that the state or condition of one causes
a change in the state of the other, and reciprocally; but whether such a
relation is a property of things cannot be perceived from these conceptions,
which contain a merely arbitrary synthesis. Only from the fact, therefore, that
these conceptions express a priori the relations of perceptions in every
experience, do we know that they possess objective reality, that is,
transcendental truth; and that independent of experience, though not independent
of all relation to form of an experience in general and its synthetical unity,
in which alone objects can be empirically cognized.
But when we fashion to ourselves new conceptions of substances,
forces, action, and reaction, from the material presented to us by perception,
without following the example of experience in their connection, we create mere
chimeras, of the possibility of which we cannot discover any criterion, because
we have not taken experience for our instructress, though we have borrowed the
conceptions from her. Such fictitious conceptions derive their character of
possibility not, like the categories, a priori, as conceptions on which all
experience depends, but only, a posteriori, as conceptions given by means of
experience itself, and their possibility must either be cognized a posteriori
and empirically, or it cannot be cognized at all. A substance which is
permanently present in space, yet without filling it (like that tertium quid
between matter and the thinking subject which some have tried to introduce into
metaphysics), or a peculiar fundamental power of the mind of intuiting the
future by anticipation (instead of merely inferring from past and present
events), or, finally, a power of the mind to place itself in community of
thought with other men, however distant they may be—these are conceptions the
possibility of which has no ground to rest upon. For they are not based upon
experience and its known laws; and, without experience, they are a merely
arbitrary conjunction of thoughts, which, though containing no internal
contradiction, has no claim to objective reality, neither, consequently, to the
possibility of such an object as is thought in these conceptions. As far as
concerns reality, it is self-evident that we cannot cogitate such a possibility
in concreto without the aid of experience; because reality is concerned only
with sensation, as the matter of experience, and not with the form of thought,
with which we can no doubt indulge in shaping fancies.
But I pass by everything which derives its possibility from
reality in experience, and I purpose treating here merely of the possibility of
things by means of a priori conceptions. I maintain, then, that the possibility
of things is not derived from such conceptions per se, but only when considered
as formal and objective conditions of an experience in general.
It seems, indeed, as if the possibility of a triangle could be
cognized from the conception of it alone (which is certainly independent of
experience); for we can certainly give to the conception a corresponding object
completely a priori, that is to say, we can construct it. But as a triangle is
only the form of an object, it must remain a mere product of the imagination,
and the possibility of the existence of an object corresponding to it must
remain doubtful, unless we can discover some other ground, unless we know that
the figure can be cogitated under the conditions upon which all objects of
experience rest. Now, the facts that space is a formal condition a priori of
external experience, that the formative synthesis, by which we construct a
triangle in imagination, is the very same as that we employ in the apprehension
of a phenomenon for the purpose of making an empirical conception of it, are
what alone connect the notion of the possibility of such a thing, with the
conception of it. In the same manner, the possibility of continuous quantities,
indeed of quantities in general, for the conceptions of them are without
exception synthetical, is never evident from the conceptions in themselves, but
only when they are considered as the formal conditions of the determination of
objects in experience. And where, indeed, should we look for objects to
correspond to our conceptions, if not in experience, by which alone objects are
presented to us? It is, however, true that without antecedent experience we can
cognize and characterize the possibility of things, relatively to the formal
conditions, under which something is determined in experience as an object,
consequently, completely a priori. But still this is possible only in relation
to experience and within its limits.
The postulate concerning the cognition of the reality of things
requires perception, consequently conscious sensation, not indeed immediately,
that is, of the object itself, whose existence is to be cognized, but still that
the object have some connection with a real perception, in accordance with the
analogies of experience, which exhibit all kinds of real connection in
experience.
From the mere conception of a thing it is impossible to conclude
its existence. For, let the conception be ever so complete, and containing a
statement of all the determinations of the thing, the existence of it has
nothing to do with all this, but only with thew question whether such a thing is
given, so that the perception of it can in every case precede the conception.
For the fact that the conception of it precedes the perception, merely indicates
the possibility of its existence; it is perception which presents matter to the
conception, that is the sole criterion of reality. Prior to the perception of
the thing, however, and therefore comparatively a priori, we are able to cognize
its existence, provided it stands in connection with some perceptions according
to the principles of the empirical conjunction of these, that is, in conformity
with the analogies of perception. For, in this case, the existence of the
supposed thing is connected with our perception in a possible experience, and we
are able, with the guidance of these analogies, to reason in the series of
possible perceptions from a thing which we do really perceive to the thing we do
not perceive. Thus, we cognize the existence of a magnetic matter penetrating
all bodies from the perception of the attraction of the steel-filings by the
magnet, although the constitution of our organs renders an immediate perception
of this matter impossible for us. For, according to the laws of sensibility and
the connected context of our perceptions, we should in an experience come also
on an immediate empirical intuition of this matter, if our senses were more
acute—but this obtuseness has no influence upon and cannot alter the form of
possible experience in general. Our knowledge of the existence of things reaches
as far as our perceptions, and what may be inferred from them according to
empirical laws, extend. If we do not set out from experience, or do not proceed
according to the laws of the empirical connection of phenomena, our pretensions
to discover the existence of a thing which we do not immediately perceive are
vain. Idealism, however, brings forward powerful objections to these rules for
proving existence mediately. This is, therefore, the proper place for its
refutation.
REFUTATION OF IDEALISM.
Idealism—I mean material idealism—is the theory which declares
the existence of objects in space without us to be either () doubtful and
indemonstrable, or (2) false and impossible. The first is the problematical
idealism of Descartes, who admits the undoubted certainty of only one empirical
assertion (assertio), to wit, "I am." The second is the dogmatical idealism of
Berkeley, who maintains that space, together with all the objects of which it is
the inseparable condition, is a thing which is in itself impossible, and that
consequently the objects in space are mere products of the imagination. The
dogmatical theory of idealism is unavoidable, if we regard space as a property
of things in themselves; for in that case it is, with all to which it serves as
condition, a nonentity. But the foundation for this kind of idealism we have
already destroyed in the transcendental aesthetic. Problematical idealism, which
makes no such assertion, but only alleges our incapacity to prove the existence
of anything besides ourselves by means of immediate experience, is a theory
rational and evidencing a thorough and philosophical mode of thinking, for it
observes the rule not to form a decisive judgement before sufficient proof be
shown. The desired proof must therefore demonstrate that we have experience of
external things, and not mere fancies. For this purpose, we must prove, that our
internal and, to Descartes, indubitable experience is itself possible only under
the previous assumption of external experience.
THEOREM.
The simple but empirically determined consciousness of my own
existence proves the existence of external objects in space.
PROOF
I am conscious of my own existence as
determined in time. All determination in regard to time presupposes the
existence of something permanent in perception. But this permanent something
cannot be something in me, for the very reason that my existence in time is
itself determined by this permanent something. It follows that the perception of
this permanent existence is possible only through a thing without me and not
through the mere representation of a thing without me. Consequently, the
determination of my existence in time is possible only through the existence of
real things external to me. Now, consciousness in time is necessarily connected
with the consciousness of the possibility of this determination in time. Hence
it follows that consciousness in time is necessarily connected also with the
existence of things without me, inasmuch as the existence of these things is the
condition of determination in time. That is to say, the consciousness of my own
existence is at the same time an immediate consciousness of the existence of
other things without me.
Remark I. The reader will observe, that in the foregoing proof
the game which idealism plays is retorted upon itself, and with more justice. It
assumed that the only immediate experience is internal and that from this we can
only infer the existence of external things. But, as always happens, when we
reason from given effects to determined causes, idealism has reasoned with too
much haste and uncertainty, for it is quite possible that the cause of our
representations may lie in ourselves, and that we ascribe it falsely to external
things. But our proof shows that external experience is properly immediate,*
that only by virtue of it—not, indeed, the consciousness of our own existence,
but certainly the determination of our existence in time, that is, internal
experience—is possible. It is true, that the representation "I am," which is the
expression of the consciousness which can accompany all my thoughts, is that
which immediately includes the existence of a subject. But in this
representation we cannot find any knowledge of the subject, and therefore also
no empirical knowledge, that is, experience. For experience contains, in
addition to the thought of something existing, intuition, and in this case it
must be internal intuition, that is, time, in relation to which the subject must
be determined. But the existence of external things is absolutely requisite for
this purpose, so that it follows that internal experience is itself possible
only mediately and through external experience.
[*Footnote: The immediate consciousness of the existence of
external things is, in the preceding theorem, not presupposed, but proved, by
the possibility of this consciousness understood by us or not. The question as
to the possibility of it would stand thus: "Have we an internal sense, but no
external sense, and is our belief in external perception a mere delusion?" But
it is evident that, in order merely to fancy to ourselves anything as external,
that is, to present it to the sense in intuition we must already possess an
external sense, and must thereby distinguish immediately the mere receptivity of
an external intuition from the spontaneity which characterizes every act of
imagination. For merely to imagine also an external sense, would annihilate the
faculty of intuition itself which is to be determined by the imagination.]
Remark II. Now with this view all empirical use of our faculty
of cognition in the determination of time is in perfect accordance. Its truth is
supported by the fact that it is possible to perceive a determination of time
only by means of a change in external relations (motion) to the permanent in
space (for example, we become aware of the sun's motion by observing the changes
of his relation to the objects of this earth). But this is not all. We find that
we possess nothing permanent that can correspond and be submitted to the
conception of a substance as intuition, except matter. This idea of permanence
is not itself derived from external experience, but is an a priori necessary
condition of all determination of time, consequently also of the internal sense
in reference to our own existence, and that through the existence of external
things. In the representation "I," the consciousness of myself is not an
intuition, but a merely intellectual representation produced by the spontaneous
activity of a thinking subject. It follows, that this "I" has not any predicate
of intuition, which, in its character of permanence, could serve as correlate to
the determination of time in the internal sense—in the same way as
impenetrability is the correlate of matter as an empirical intuition.
Remark III. From the fact that the existence of external things
is a necessary condition of the possibility of a determined consciousness of
ourselves, it does not follow that every intuitive representation of external
things involves the existence of these things, for their representations may
very well be the mere products of the imagination (in dreams as well as in
madness); though, indeed, these are themselves created by the reproduction of
previous external perceptions, which, as has been shown, are possible only
through the reality of external objects. The sole aim of our remarks has,
however, been to prove that internal experience in general is possible only
through external experience in general. Whether this or that supposed experience
be purely imaginary must be discovered from its particular determinations and by
comparing these with the criteria of all real experience.
Finally, as regards the third postulate, it applies to material
necessity in existence, and not to merely formal and logical necessity in the
connection of conceptions. Now as we cannot cognize completely a priori the
existence of any object of sense, though we can do so comparatively a priori,
that is, relatively to some other previously given existence—a cognition,
however, which can only be of such an existence as must be contained in the
complex of experience, of which the previously given perception is a part—the
necessity of existence can never be cognized from conceptions, but always, on
the contrary, from its connection with that which is an object of perception.
But the only existence cognized, under the condition of other given phenomena,
as necessary, is the existence of effects from given causes in conformity with
the laws of causality. It is consequently not the necessity of the existence of
things (as substances), but the necessity of the state of things that we
cognize, and that not immediately, but by means of the existence of other states
given in perception, according to empirical laws of causality. Hence it follows
that the criterion of necessity is to be found only in the law of possible
experience—that everything which happens is determined a priori in the
phenomenon by its cause. Thus we cognize only the necessity of effects in
nature, the causes of which are given us. Moreover, the criterion of necessity
in existence possesses no application beyond the field of possible experience,
and even in this it is not valid of the existence of things as substances,
because these can never be considered as empirical effects, or as something that
happens and has a beginning. Necessity, therefore, regards only the relations of
phenomena according to the dynamical law of causality, and the possibility
grounded thereon, of reasoning from some given existence (of a cause) a priori
to another existence (of an effect). "Everything that happens is hypothetically
necessary," is a principle which subjects the changes that take place in the
world to a law, that is, to a rule of necessary existence, without which nature
herself could not possibly exist. Hence the proposition, "Nothing happens by
blind chance (in mundo non datur casus)," is an a priori law of nature. The case
is the same with the proposition, "Necessity in nature is not blind," that is,
it is conditioned, consequently intelligible necessity (non datur fatum). Both
laws subject the play of change to "a nature of things (as phenomena)," or,
which is the same thing, to the unity of the understanding, and through the
understanding alone can changes belong to an experience, as the synthetical
unity of phenomena. Both belong to the class of dynamical principles. The former
is properly a consequence of the principle of causality—one of the analogies of
experience. The latter belongs to the principles of modality, which to the
determination of causality adds the conception of necessity, which is itself,
however, subject to a rule of the understanding. The principle of continuity
forbids any leap in the series of phenomena regarded as changes (in mundo non
datur saltus); and likewise, in the complex of all empirical intuitions in
space, any break or hiatus between two phenomena (non datur hiatus)—for we can
so express the principle, that experience can admit nothing which proves the
existence of a vacuum, or which even admits it as a part of an empirical
synthesis. For, as regards a vacuum or void, which we may cogitate as out and
beyond the field of possible experience (the world), such a question cannot come
before the tribunal of mere understanding, which decides only upon questions
that concern the employment of given phenomena for the construction of empirical
cognition. It is rather a problem for ideal reason, which passes beyond the
sphere of a possible experience and aims at forming a judgement of that which
surrounds and circumscribes it, and the proper place for the consideration of it
is the transcendental dialectic. These four propositions, "In mundo non datur
hiatus, non datur saltus, non datur casus, non datur fatum," as well as all
principles of transcendental origin, we could very easily exhibit in their
proper order, that is, in conformity with the order of the categories, and
assign to each its proper place. But the already practised reader will do this
for himself, or discover the clue to such an arrangement. But the combined
result of all is simply this, to admit into the empirical synthesis nothing
which might cause a break in or be foreign to the understanding and the
continuous connection of all phenomena, that is, the unity of the conceptions of
the understanding. For in the understanding alone is the unity of experience, in
which all perceptions must have their assigned place, possible.
Whether the field of possibility be greater than that of
reality, and whether the field of the latter be itself greater than that of
necessity, are interesting enough questions, and quite capable of synthetic
solution, questions, however, which come under the jurisdiction of reason alone.
For they are tantamount to asking whether all things as phenomena do without
exception belong to the complex and connected whole of a single experience, of
which every given perception is a part which therefore cannot be conjoined with
any other phenomena—or, whether my perceptions can belong to more than one
possible experience? The understanding gives to experience, according to the
subjective and formal conditions, of sensibility as well as of apperception, the
rules which alone make this experience possible. Other forms of intuition
besides those of space and time, other forms of understanding besides the
discursive forms of thought, or of cognition by means of conceptions, we can
neither imagine nor make intelligible to ourselves; and even if we could, they
would still not belong to experience, which is the only mode of cognition by
which objects are presented to us. Whether other perceptions besides those which
belong to the total of our possible experience, and consequently whether some
other sphere of matter exists, the understanding has no power to decide, its
proper occupation being with the synthesis of that which is given. Moreover, the
poverty of the usual arguments which go to prove the existence of a vast sphere
of possibility, of which all that is real (every object of experience) is but a
small part, is very remarkable. "All real is possible"; from this follows
naturally, according to the logical laws of conversion, the particular
proposition: "Some possible is real." Now this seems to be equivalent to: "Much
is possible that is not real." No doubt it does seem as if we ought to consider
the sum of the possible to be greater than that of the real, from the fact that
something must be added to the former to constitute the latter. But this notion
of adding to the possible is absurd. For that which is not in the sum of the
possible, and consequently requires to be added to it, is manifestly impossible.
In addition to accordance with the formal conditions of experience, the
understanding requires a connection with some perception; but that which is
connected with this perception is real, even although it is not immediately
perceived. But that another series of phenomena, in complete coherence with that
which is given in perception, consequently more than one all-embracing
experience is possible, is an inference which cannot be concluded from the data
given us by experience, and still less without any data at all. That which is
possible only under conditions which are themselves merely possible, is not
possible in any respect. And yet we can find no more certain ground on which to
base the discussion of the question whether the sphere of possibility is wider
than that of experience.
I have merely mentioned these questions, that in treating of the
conception of the understanding, there might be no omission of anything that, in
the common opinion, belongs to them. In reality, however, the notion of absolute
possibility (possibility which is valid in every respect) is not a mere
conception of the understanding, which can be employed empirically, but belongs
to reason alone, which passes the bounds of all empirical use of the
understanding. We have, therefore, contented ourselves with a merely critical
remark, leaving the subject to be explained in the sequel.
Before concluding this fourth section, and at the same time the
system of all principles of the pure understanding, it seems proper to mention
the reasons which induced me to term the principles of modality postulates. This
expression I do not here use in the sense which some more recent philosophers,
contrary to its meaning with mathematicians, to whom the word properly belongs,
attach to it—that of a proposition, namely, immediately certain, requiring
neither deduction nor proof. For if, in the case of synthetical propositions,
however evident they may be, we accord to them without deduction, and merely on
the strength of their own pretensions, unqualified belief, all critique of the
understanding is entirely lost; and, as there is no want of bold pretensions,
which the common belief (though for the philosopher this is no credential) does
not reject, the understanding lies exposed to every delusion and conceit,
without the power of refusing its assent to those assertions, which, though
illegitimate, demand acceptance as veritable axioms. When, therefore, to the
conception of a thing an a priori determination is synthetically added, such a
proposition must obtain, if not a proof, at least a deduction of the legitimacy
of its assertion.
The principles of modality are, however, not objectively
synthetical, for the predicates of possibility, reality, and necessity do not in
the least augment the conception of that of which they are affirmed, inasmuch as
they contribute nothing to the representation of the object. But as they are,
nevertheless, always synthetical, they are so merely subjectively. That is to
say, they have a reflective power, and apply to the conception of a thing, of
which, in other respects, they affirm nothing, the faculty of cognition in which
the conception originates and has its seat. So that if the conception merely
agree with the formal conditions of experience, its object is called possible;
if it is in connection with perception, and determined thereby, the object is
real; if it is determined according to conceptions by means of the connection of
perceptions, the object is called necessary. The principles of modality
therefore predicate of a conception nothing more than the procedure of the
faculty of cognition which generated it. Now a postulate in mathematics is a
practical proposition which contains nothing but the synthesis by which we
present an object to ourselves, and produce the conception of it, for
example—"With a given line, to describe a circle upon a plane, from a given
point"; and such a proposition does not admit of proof, because the procedure,
which it requires, is exactly that by which alone it is possible to generate the
conception of such a figure. With the same right, accordingly, can we postulate
the principles of modality, because they do not augment* the conception of a
thing but merely indicate the manner in which it is connected with the faculty
of cognition.
[*Footnote: When I think the reality of a thing, I do really
think more than the possibility, but not in the thing; for that can never
contain more in reality than was contained in its complete possibility. But
while the notion of possibility is merely the notion of a position of thing in
relation to the understanding (its empirical use), reality is the conjunction of
the thing with perception.]
GENERAL REMARK ON THE SYSTEM OF
PRINCIPLES.
It is very remarkable that we cannot perceive the possibility of
a thing from the category alone, but must always have an intuition, by which to
make evident the objective reality of the pure conception of the understanding.
Take, for example, the categories of relation. How (1) a thing can exist only as
a subject, and not as a mere determination of other things, that is, can be
substance; or how (2), because something exists, some other thing must exist,
consequently how a thing can be a cause; or how (3), when several things exist,
from the fact that one of these things exists, some consequence to the others
follows, and reciprocally, and in this way a community of substances can be
possible—are questions whose solution cannot be obtained from mere conceptions.
The very same is the case with the other categories; for example, how a thing
can be of the same sort with many others, that is, can be a quantity, and so on.
So long as we have not intuition we cannot know whether we do really think an
object by the categories, and where an object can anywhere be found to cohere
with them, and thus the truth is established, that the categories are not in
themselves cognitions, but mere forms of thought for the construction of
cognitions from given intuitions. For the same reason is it true that from
categories alone no synthetical proposition can be made. For example: "In every
existence there is substance," that is, something that can exist only as a
subject and not as mere predicate; or, "Everything is a quantity"—to construct
propositions such as these, we require something to enable us to go out beyond
the given conception and connect another with it. For the same reason the
attempt to prove a synthetical proposition by means of mere conceptions, for
example: "Everything that exists contingently has a cause," has never succeeded.
We could never get further than proving that, without this relation to
conceptions, we could not conceive the existence of the contingent, that is,
could not a priori through the understanding cognize the existence of such a
thing; but it does not hence follow that this is also the condition of the
possibility of the thing itself that is said to be contingent. If, accordingly;
we look back to our proof of the principle of causality, we shall find that we
were able to prove it as valid only of objects of possible experience, and,
indeed, only as itself the principle of the possibility of experience,
Consequently of the cognition of an object given in empirical intuition, and not
from mere conceptions. That, however, the proposition: "Everything that is
contingent must have a cause," is evident to every one merely from conceptions,
is not to be denied. But in this case the conception of the contingent is
cogitated as involving not the category of modality (as that the non-existence
of which can be conceived) but that of relation (as that which can exist only as
the consequence of something else), and so it is really an identical
proposition: "That which can exist only as a consequence, has a cause." In fact,
when we have to give examples of contingent existence, we always refer to
changes, and not merely to the possibility of conceiving the opposite.* But
change is an event, which, as such, is possible only through a cause, and
considered per se its non-existence is therefore possible, and we become
cognizant of its contingency from the fact that it can exist only as the effect
of a cause. Hence, if a thing is assumed to be contingent, it is an analytical
proposition to say, it has a cause.
[*Footnote: We can easily conceive the non-existence of matter;
but the ancients did not thence infer its contingency. But even the alternation
of the existence and non-existence of a given state in a thing, in which all
change consists, by no means proves the contingency of that state—the ground of
proof being the reality of its opposite. For example, a body is in a state of
rest after motion, but we cannot infer the contingency of the motion from the
fact that the former is the opposite of the latter. For this opposite is merely
a logical and not a real opposite to the other. If we wish to demonstrate the
contingency of the motion, what we ought to prove is that, instead of the motion
which took place in the preceding point of time, it was possible for the body to
have been then in rest, not, that it is afterwards in rest; for in this case,
both opposites are perfectly consistent with each other.]
But it is still more remarkable that, to understand the
possibility of things according to the categories and thus to demonstrate the
objective reality of the latter, we require not merely intuitions, but external
intuitions. If, for example, we take the pure conceptions of relation, we find
that (1) for the purpose of presenting to the conception of substance something
permanent in intuition corresponding thereto and thus of demonstrating the
objective reality of this conception, we require an intuition (of matter) in
space, because space alone is permanent and determines things as such, while
time, and with it all that is in the internal sense, is in a state of continual
flow; (2) in order to represent change as the intuition corresponding to the
conception of causality, we require the representation of motion as change in
space; in fact, it is through it alone that changes, the possibility of which no
pure understanding can perceive, are capable of being intuited. Change is the
connection of determinations contradictorily opposed to each other in the
existence of one and the same thing. Now, how it is possible that out of a given
state one quite opposite to it in the same thing should follow, reason without
an example can not only not conceive, but cannot even make intelligible without
intuition; and this intuition is the motion of a point in space; the existence
of which in different spaces (as a consequence of opposite determinations) alone
makes the intuition of change possible. For, in order to make even internal
change cognitable, we require to represent time, as the form of the internal
sense, figuratively by a line, and the internal change by the drawing of that
line (motion), and consequently are obliged to employ external intuition to be
able to represent the successive existence of ourselves in different states. The
proper ground of this fact is that all change to be perceived as change
presupposes something permanent in intuition, while in the internal sense no
permanent intuition is to be found. Lastly, the objective possibility of the
category of community cannot be conceived by mere reason, and consequently its
objective reality cannot be demonstrated without an intuition, and that external
in space. For how can we conceive the possibility of community, that is, when
several substances exist, that some effect on the existence of the one follows
from the existence of the other, and reciprocally, and therefore that, because
something exists in the latter, something else must exist in the former, which
could not be understood from its own existence alone? For this is the very
essence of community—which is inconceivable as a property of things which are
perfectly isolated. Hence, Leibnitz, in attributing to the substances of the
world—as cogitated by the understanding alone—a community, required the
mediating aid of a divinity; for, from their existence, such a property seemed
to him with justice inconceivable. But we can very easily conceive the
possibility of community (of substances as phenomena) if we represent them to
ourselves as in space, consequently in external intuition. For external
intuition contains in itself a priori formal external relations, as the
conditions of the possibility of the real relations of action and reaction, and
therefore of the possibility of community. With the same ease can it be
demonstrated, that the possibility of things as quantities, and consequently the
objective reality of the category of quantity, can be grounded only in external
intuition, and that by its means alone is the notion of quantity appropriated by
the internal sense. But I must avoid prolixity, and leave the task of
illustrating this by examples to the reader's own reflection.
The above remarks are of the greatest importance, not only for
the confirmation of our previous confutation of idealism, but still more when
the subject of self-cognition by mere internal consciousness and the
determination of our own nature without the aid of external empirical intuitions
is under discussion, for the indication of the grounds of the possibility of
such a cognition.
The result of the whole of this part of the analytic of
principles is, therefore: "All principles of the pure understanding are nothing
more than a priori principles of the possibility of experience, and to
experience alone do all a priori synthetical propositions apply and relate";
indeed, their possibility itself rests entirely on this relation.
CHAPTER III Of the Ground of the
Division of all Objects into Phenomena and Noumena.
We have now not only traversed the region of the pure
understanding and carefully surveyed every part of it, but we have also measured
it, and assigned to everything therein its proper place. But this land is an
island, and enclosed by nature herself within unchangeable limits. It is the
land of truth (an attractive word), surrounded by a wide and stormy ocean, the
region of illusion, where many a fog-bank, many an iceberg, seems to the
mariner, on his voyage of discovery, a new country, and, while constantly
deluding him with vain hopes, engages him in dangerous adventures, from which he
never can desist, and which yet he never can bring to a termination. But before
venturing upon this sea, in order to explore it in its whole extent, and to
arrive at a certainty whether anything is to be discovered there, it will not be
without advantage if we cast our eyes upon the chart of the land that we are
about to leave, and to ask ourselves, firstly, whether we cannot rest perfectly
contented with what it contains, or whether we must not of necessity be
contented with it, if we can find nowhere else a solid foundation to build upon;
and, secondly, by what title we possess this land itself, and how we hold it
secure against all hostile claims? Although, in the course of our analytic, we
have already given sufficient answers to these questions, yet a summary
recapitulation of these solutions may be useful in strengthening our conviction,
by uniting in one point the momenta of the arguments.
We have seen that everything which the understanding draws from
itself, without borrowing from experience, it nevertheless possesses only for
the behoof and use of experience. The principles of the pure understanding,
whether constitutive a priori (as the mathematical principles), or merely
regulative (as the dynamical), contain nothing but the pure schema, as it were,
of possible experience. For experience possesses its unity from the synthetical
unity which the understanding, originally and from itself, imparts to the
synthesis of the imagination in relation to apperception, and in a priori
relation to and agreement with which phenomena, as data for a possible
cognition, must stand. But although these rules of the understanding are not
only a priori true, but the very source of all truth, that is, of the accordance
of our cognition with objects, and on this ground, that they contain the basis
of the possibility of experience, as the ensemble of all cognition, it seems to
us not enough to propound what is true—we desire also to be told what we want to
know. If, then, we learn nothing more by this critical examination than what we
should have practised in the merely empirical use of the understanding, without
any such subtle inquiry, the presumption is that the advantage we reap from it
is not worth the labour bestowed upon it. It may certainly be answered that no
rash curiosity is more prejudicial to the enlargement of our knowledge than that
which must know beforehand the utility of this or that piece of information
which we seek, before we have entered on the needful investigations, and before
one could form the least conception of its utility, even though it were placed
before our eyes. But there is one advantage in such transcendental inquiries
which can be made comprehensible to the dullest and most reluctant learner—this,
namely, that the understanding which is occupied merely with empirical exercise,
and does not reflect on the sources of its own cognition, may exercise its
functions very well and very successfully, but is quite unable to do one thing,
and that of very great importance, to determine, namely, the bounds that limit
its employment, and to know what lies within or without its own sphere. This
purpose can be obtained only by such profound investigations as we have
instituted. But if it cannot distinguish whether certain questions lie within
its horizon or not, it can never be sure either as to its claims or possessions,
but must lay its account with many humiliating corrections, when it
transgresses, as it unavoidably will, the limits of its own territory, and loses
itself in fanciful opinions and blinding illusions.
That the understanding, therefore, cannot make of its a priori
principles, or even of its conceptions, other than an empirical use, is a
proposition which leads to the most important results. A transcendental use is
made of a conception in a fundamental proposition or principle, when it is
referred to things in general and considered as things in themselves; an
empirical use, when it is referred merely to phenomena, that is, to objects of a
possible experience. That the latter use of a conception is the only admissible
one is evident from the reasons following. For every conception are requisite,
firstly, the logical form of a conception (of thought) general; and, secondly,
the possibility of presenting to this an object to which it may apply. Failing
this latter, it has no sense, and utterly void of content, although it may
contain the logical function for constructing a conception from certain data.
Now, object cannot be given to a conception otherwise than by intuition, and,
even if a pure intuition antecedent to the object is a priori possible, this
pure intuition can itself obtain objective validity only from empirical
intuition, of which it is itself but the form. All conceptions, therefore, and
with them all principles, however high the degree of their a priori possibility,
relate to empirical intuitions, that is, to data towards a possible experience.
Without this they possess no objective validity, but are mere play of
imagination or of understanding with images or notions. Let us take, for
example, the conceptions of mathematics, and first in its pure intuitions.
"Space has three dimensions"—"Between two points there can be only one straight
line," etc. Although all these principles, and the representation of the object
with which this science occupies itself, are generated in the mind entirely a
priori, they would nevertheless have no significance if we were not always able
to exhibit their significance in and by means of phenomena (empirical objects).
Hence it is requisite that an abstract conception be made sensuous, that is,
that an object corresponding to it in intuition be forthcoming, otherwise the
conception remains, as we say, without sense, that is, without meaning.
Mathematics fulfils this requirement by the construction of the figure, which is
a phenomenon evident to the senses. The same science finds support and
significance in number; this in its turn finds it in the fingers, or in
counters, or in lines and points. The conception itself is always produced a
priori, together with the synthetical principles or formulas from such
conceptions; but the proper employment of them, and their application to
objects, can exist nowhere but in experience, the possibility of which, as
regards its form, they contain a priori.
That this is also the case with all of the categories and the
principles based upon them is evident from the fact that we cannot render
intelligible the possibility of an object corresponding to them without having
recourse to the conditions of sensibility, consequently, to the form of
phenomena, to which, as their only proper objects, their use must therefore be
confined, inasmuch as, if this condition is removed, all significance, that is,
all relation to an object, disappears, and no example can be found to make it
comprehensible what sort of things we ought to think under such conceptions.
The conception of quantity cannot be explained except by saying
that it is the determination of a thing whereby it can be cogitated how many
times one is placed in it. But this "how many times" is based upon successive
repetition, consequently upon time and the synthesis of the homogeneous therein.
Reality, in contradistinction to negation, can be explained only by cogitating a
time which is either filled therewith or is void. If I leave out the notion of
permanence (which is existence in all time), there remains in the conception of
substance nothing but the logical notion of subject, a notion of which I
endeavour to realize by representing to myself something that can exist only as
a subject. But not only am I perfectly ignorant of any conditions under which
this logical prerogative can belong to a thing, I can make nothing out of the
notion, and draw no inference from it, because no object to which to apply the
conception is determined, and we consequently do not know whether it has any
meaning at all. In like manner, if I leave out the notion of time, in which
something follows upon some other thing in conformity with a rule, I can find
nothing in the pure category, except that there is a something of such a sort
that from it a conclusion may be drawn as to the existence of some other thing.
But in this case it would not only be impossible to distinguish between a cause
and an effect, but, as this power to draw conclusions requires conditions of
which I am quite ignorant, the conception is not determined as to the mode in
which it ought to apply to an object. The so-called principle: "Everything that
is contingent has a cause," comes with a gravity and self-assumed authority that
seems to require no support from without. But, I ask, what is meant by
contingent? The answer is that the non-existence of which is possible. But I
should like very well to know by what means this possibility of non-existence is
to be cognized, if we do not represent to ourselves a succession in the series
of phenomena, and in this succession an existence which follows a non-existence,
or conversely, consequently, change. For to say, that the non-existence of a
thing is not self-contradictory is a lame appeal to a logical condition, which
is no doubt a necessary condition of the existence of the conception, but is far
from being sufficient for the real objective possibility of non-existence. I can
annihilate in thought every existing substance without self-contradiction, but I
cannot infer from this their objective contingency in existence, that is to say,
the possibility of their non-existence in itself. As regards the category of
community, it may easily be inferred that, as the pure categories of substance
and causality are incapable of a definition and explanation sufficient to
determine their object without the aid of intuition, the category of reciprocal
causality in the relation of substances to each other (commercium) is just as
little susceptible thereof. Possibility, existence, and necessity nobody has
ever yet been able to explain without being guilty of manifest tautology, when
the definition has been drawn entirely from the pure understanding. For the
substitution of the logical possibility of the conception—the condition of which
is that it be not self-contradictory, for the transcendental possibility of
things—the condition of which is that there be an object corresponding to the
conception, is a trick which can only deceive the inexperienced.*
[*Footnote: In one word, to none of these conceptions belongs a
corresponding object, and consequently their real possibility cannot be
demonstrated, if we take away sensuous intuition—the only intuition which we
possess—and there then remains nothing but the logical possibility, that is, the
fact that the conception or thought is possible—which, however, is not the
question; what we want to know being, whether it relates to an object and thus
possesses any meaning.]
It follows incontestably, that the pure conceptions of the
understanding are incapable of transcendental, and must always be of empirical
use alone, and that the principles of the pure understanding relate only to the
general conditions of a possible experience, to objects of the senses, and never
to things in general, apart from the mode in which we intuite them.
Transcendental analytic has accordingly this important result,
to wit, that the understanding is competent' effect nothing a priori, except the
anticipation of the form of a possible experience in general, and that, as that
which is not phenomenon cannot be an object of experience, it can never overstep
the limits of sensibility, within which alone objects are presented to us. Its
principles are merely principles of the exposition of phenomena, and the proud
name of an ontology, which professes to present synthetical cognitions a priori
of things in general in a systematic doctrine, must give place to the modest
title of analytic of the pure understanding.
Thought is the act of referring a given intuition to an object.
If the mode of this intuition is unknown to us, the object is merely
transcendental, and the conception of the understanding is employed only
transcendentally, that is, to produce unity in the thought of a manifold in
general. Now a pure category, in which all conditions of sensuous intuition—as
the only intuition we possess—are abstracted, does not determine an object, but
merely expresses the thought of an object in general, according to different
modes. Now, to employ a conception, the function of judgement is required, by
which an object is subsumed under the conception, consequently the at least
formal condition, under which something can be given in intuition. Failing this
condition of judgement (schema), subsumption is impossible; for there is in such
a case nothing given, which may be subsumed under the conception. The merely
transcendental use of the categories is therefore, in fact, no use at all and
has no determined, or even, as regards its form, determinable object. Hence it
follows that the pure category is incompetent to establish a synthetical a
priori principle, and that the principles of the pure understanding are only of
empirical and never of transcendental use, and that beyond the sphere of
possible experience no synthetical a priori principles are possible.
It may be advisable, therefore, to express ourselves thus. The
pure categories, apart from the formal conditions of sensibility, have a merely
transcendental meaning, but are nevertheless not of transcendental use, because
this is in itself impossible, inasmuch as all the conditions of any employment
or use of them (in judgements) are absent, to wit, the formal conditions of the
subsumption of an object under these conceptions. As, therefore, in the
character of pure categories, they must be employed empirically, and cannot be
employed transcendentally, they are of no use at all, when separated from
sensibility, that is, they cannot be applied to an object. They are merely the
pure form of the employment of the understanding in respect of objects in
general and of thought, without its being at the same time possible to think or
to determine any object by their means. But there lurks at the foundation of
this subject an illusion which it is very difficult to avoid. The categories are
not based, as regards their origin, upon sensibility, like the forms of
intuition, space, and time; they seem, therefore, to be capable of an
application beyond the sphere of sensuous objects. But this is not the case.
They are nothing but mere forms of thought, which contain only the logical
faculty of uniting a priori in consciousness the manifold given in intuition.
Apart, then, from the only intuition possible for us, they have still less
meaning than the pure sensuous forms, space and time, for through them an object
is at least given, while a mode of connection of the manifold, when the
intuition which alone gives the manifold is wanting, has no meaning at all. At
the same time, when we designate certain objects as phenomena or sensuous
existences, thus distinguishing our mode of intuiting them from their own nature
as things in themselves, it is evident that by this very distinction we as it
were place the latter, considered in this their own nature, although we do not
so intuite them, in opposition to the former, or, on the other hand, we do so
place other possible things, which are not objects of our senses, but are
cogitated by the understanding alone, and call them intelligible existences
(noumena). Now the question arises whether the pure conceptions of our
understanding do possess significance in respect of these latter, and may
possibly be a mode of cognizing them.
But we are met at the very commencement with an ambiguity, which
may easily occasion great misapprehension. The understanding, when it terms an
object in a certain relation phenomenon, at the same time forms out of this
relation a representation or notion of an object in itself, and hence believes
that it can form also conceptions of such objects. Now as the understanding
possesses no other fundamental conceptions besides the categories, it takes for
granted that an object considered as a thing in itself must be capable of being
thought by means of these pure conceptions, and is thereby led to hold the
perfectly undetermined conception of an intelligible existence, a something out
of the sphere of our sensibility, for a determinate conception of an existence
which we can cognize in some way or other by means of the understanding.
If, by the term noumenon, we understand a thing so far as it is
not an object of our sensuous intuition, thus making abstraction of our mode of
intuiting it, this is a noumenon in the negative sense of the word. But if we
understand by it an object of a non-sensuous intuition, we in this case assume a
peculiar mode of intuition, an intellectual intuition, to wit, which does not,
however, belong to us, of the very possibility of which we have no notion—and
this is a noumenon in the positive sense.
The doctrine of sensibility is also the doctrine of noumena in
the negative sense, that is, of things which the understanding is obliged to
cogitate apart from any relation to our mode of intuition, consequently not as
mere phenomena, but as things in themselves. But the understanding at the same
time comprehends that it cannot employ its categories for the consideration of
things in themselves, because these possess significance only in relation to the
unity of intuitions in space and time, and that they are competent to determine
this unity by means of general a priori connecting conceptions only on account
of the pure ideality of space and time. Where this unity of time is not to be
met with, as is the case with noumena, the whole use, indeed the whole meaning
of the categories is entirely lost, for even the possibility of things to
correspond to the categories is in this case incomprehensible. On this point, I
need only refer the reader to what I have said at the commencement of the
General Remark appended to the foregoing chapter. Now, the possibility of a
thing can never be proved from the fact that the conception of it is not
self-contradictory, but only by means of an intuition corresponding to the
conception. If, therefore, we wish to apply the categories to objects which
cannot be regarded as phenomena, we must have an intuition different from the
sensuous, and in this case the objects would be a noumena in the positive sense
of the word. Now, as such an intuition, that is, an intellectual intuition, is
no part of our faculty of cognition, it is absolutely impossible for the
categories to possess any application beyond the limits of experience. It may be
true that there are intelligible existences to which our faculty of sensuous
intuition has no relation, and cannot be applied, but our conceptions of the
understanding, as mere forms of thought for our sensuous intuition, do not
extend to these. What, therefore, we call noumenon must be understood by us as
such in a negative sense.
If I take away from an empirical intuition all thought (by means
of the categories), there remains no cognition of any object; for by means of
mere intuition nothing is cogitated, and, from the existence of such or such an
affection of sensibility in me, it does not follow that this affection or
representation has any relation to an object without me. But if I take away all
intuition, there still remains the form of thought, that is, the mode of
determining an object for the manifold of a possible intuition. Thus the
categories do in some measure really extend further than sensuous intuition,
inasmuch as they think objects in general, without regard to the mode (of
sensibility) in which these objects are given. But they do not for this reason
apply to and determine a wider sphere of objects, because we cannot assume that
such can be given, without presupposing the possibility of another than the
sensuous mode of intuition, a supposition we are not justified in making.
I call a conception problematical which contains in itself no
contradiction, and which is connected with other cognitions as a limitation of
given conceptions, but whose objective reality cannot be cognized in any manner.
The conception of a noumenon, that is, of a thing which must be cogitated not as
an object of sense, but as a thing in itself (solely through the pure
understanding), is not self-contradictory, for we are not entitled to maintain
that sensibility is the only possible mode of intuition. Nay, further, this
conception is necessary to restrain sensuous intuition within the bounds of
phenomena, and thus to limit the objective validity of sensuous cognition; for
things in themselves, which lie beyond its province, are called noumena for the
very purpose of indicating that this cognition does not extend its application
to all that the understanding thinks. But, after all, the possibility of such
noumena is quite incomprehensible, and beyond the sphere of phenomena, all is
for us a mere void; that is to say, we possess an understanding whose province
does problematically extend beyond this sphere, but we do not possess an
intuition, indeed, not even the conception of a possible intuition, by means of
which objects beyond the region of sensibility could be given us, and in
reference to which the understanding might be employed assertorically. The
conception of a noumenon is therefore merely a limitative conception and
therefore only of negative use. But it is not an arbitrary or fictitious notion,
but is connected with the limitation of sensibility, without, however, being
capable of presenting us with any positive datum beyond this sphere.
The division of objects into phenomena and noumena, and of the
world into a mundus sensibilis and intelligibilis is therefore quite
inadmissible in a positive sense, although conceptions do certainly admit of
such a division; for the class of noumena have no determinate object
corresponding to them, and cannot therefore possess objective validity. If we
abandon the senses, how can it be made conceivable that the categories (which
are the only conceptions that could serve as conceptions for noumena) have any
sense or meaning at all, inasmuch as something more than the mere unity of
thought, namely, a possible intuition, is requisite for their application to an
object? The conception of a noumenon, considered as merely problematical, is,
however, not only admissible, but, as a limitative conception of sensibility,
absolutely necessary. But, in this case, a noumenon is not a particular
intelligible object for our understanding; on the contrary, the kind of
understanding to which it could belong is itself a problem, for we cannot form
the most distant conception of the possibility of an understanding which should
cognize an object, not discursively by means of categories, but intuitively in a
non-sensuous intuition. Our understanding attains in this way a sort of negative
extension. That is to say, it is not limited by, but rather limits, sensibility,
by giving the name of noumena to things, not considered as phenomena, but as
things in themselves. But it at the same time prescribes limits to itself, for
it confesses itself unable to cognize these by means of the categories, and
hence is compelled to cogitate them merely as an unknown something.
I find, however, in the writings of modern authors, an entirely
different use of the expressions, mundus sensibilis and intelligibilis, which
quite departs from the meaning of the ancients—an acceptation in which, indeed,
there is to be found no difficulty, but which at the same time depends on mere
verbal quibbling. According to this meaning, some have chosen to call the
complex of phenomena, in so far as it is intuited, mundus sensibilis, but in so
far as the connection thereof is cogitated according to general laws of thought,
mundus intelligibilis. Astronomy, in so far as we mean by the word the mere
observation of the starry heaven, may represent the former; a system of
astronomy, such as the Copernican or Newtonian, the latter. But such twisting of
words is a mere sophistical subterfuge, to avoid a difficult question, by
modifying its meaning to suit our own convenience. To be sure, understanding and
reason are employed in the cognition of phenomena; but the question is, whether
these can be applied when the object is not a phenomenon and in this sense we
regard it if it is cogitated as given to the understanding alone, and not to the
senses. The question therefore is whether, over and above the empirical use of
the understanding, a transcendental use is possible, which applies to the
noumenon as an object. This question we have answered in the negative.
When therefore we say, the senses represent objects as they
appear, the understanding as they are, the latter statement must not be
understood in a transcendental, but only in an empirical signification, that is,
as they must be represented in the complete connection of phenomena, and not
according to what they may be, apart from their relation to possible experience,
consequently not as objects of the pure understanding. For this must ever remain
unknown to us. Nay, it is also quite unknown to us whether any such
transcendental or extraordinary cognition is possible under any circumstances,
at least, whether it is possible by means of our categories. Understanding and
sensibility, with us, can determine objects only in conjunction. If we separate
them, we have intuitions without conceptions, or conceptions without intuitions;
in both cases, representations, which we cannot apply to any determinate object.
If, after all our inquiries and explanations, any one still
hesitates to abandon the mere transcendental use of the categories, let him
attempt to construct with them a synthetical proposition. It would, of course,
be unnecessary for this purpose to construct an analytical proposition, for that
does not extend the sphere of the understanding, but, being concerned only about
what is cogitated in the conception itself, it leaves it quite undecided whether
the conception has any relation to objects, or merely indicates the unity of
thought—complete abstraction being made of the modi in which an object may be
given: in such a proposition, it is sufficient for the understanding to know
what lies in the conception—to what it applies is to it indifferent. The attempt
must therefore be made with a synthetical and so-called transcendental
principle, for example: "Everything that exists, exists as substance," or,
"Everything that is contingent exists as an effect of some other thing, viz., of
its cause." Now I ask, whence can the understanding draw these synthetical
propositions, when the conceptions contained therein do not relate to possible
experience but to things in themselves (noumena)? Where is to be found the third
term, which is always requisite PURE site in a synthetical proposition, which
may connect in the same proposition conceptions which have no logical
(analytical) connection with each other? The proposition never will be
demonstrated, nay, more, the possibility of any such pure assertion never can be
shown, without making reference to the empirical use of the understanding, and
thus, ipso facto, completely renouncing pure and non-sensuous judgement. Thus
the conception of pure and merely intelligible objects is completely void of all
principles of its application, because we cannot imagine any mode in which they
might be given, and the problematical thought which leaves a place open for them
serves only, like a void space, to limit the use of empirical principles,
without containing at the same time any other object of cognition beyond their
sphere.
APPENDIX.
Of the Equivocal Nature or Amphiboly of the Conceptions of
Reflection from the Confusion of the Transcendental with the Empirical use of
the Understanding.
Reflection (reflexio) is not occupied about objects themselves,
for the purpose of directly obtaining conceptions of them, but is that state of
the mind in which we set ourselves to discover the subjective conditions under
which we obtain conceptions. It is the consciousness of the relation of given
representations to the different sources or faculties of cognition, by which
alone their relation to each other can be rightly determined. The first question
which occurs in considering our representations is to what faculty of cognition
do they belong? To the understanding or to the senses? Many judgements are
admitted to be true from mere habit or inclination; but, because reflection
neither precedes nor follows, it is held to be a judgement that has its origin
in the understanding. All judgements do not require examination, that is,
investigation into the grounds of their truth. For, when they are immediately
certain (for example: "Between two points there can be only one straight line"),
no better or less mediate test of their truth can be found than that which they
themselves contain and express. But all judgement, nay, all comparisons require
reflection, that is, a distinction of the faculty of cognition to which the
given conceptions belong. The act whereby I compare my representations with the
faculty of cognition which originates them, and whereby I distinguish whether
they are compared with each other as belonging to the pure understanding or to
sensuous intuition, I term transcendental reflection. Now, the relations in
which conceptions can stand to each other are those of identity and difference,
agreement and opposition, of the internal and external, finally, of the
determinable and the determining (matter and form). The proper determination of
these relations rests on the question, to what faculty of cognition they
subjectively belong, whether to sensibility or understanding? For, on the manner
in which we solve this question depends the manner in which we must cogitate
these relations.
Before constructing any objective judgement, we compare the
conceptions that are to be placed in the judgement, and observe whether there
exists identity (of many representations in one conception), if a general
judgement is to be constructed, or difference, if a particular; whether there is
agreement when affirmative; and opposition when negative judgements are to be
constructed, and so on. For this reason we ought to call these conceptions,
conceptions of comparison (conceptus comparationis). But as, when the question
is not as to the logical form, but as to the content of conceptions, that is to
say, whether the things themselves are identical or different, in agreement or
opposition, and so on, the things can have a twofold relation to our faculty of
cognition, to wit, a relation either to sensibility or to the understanding, and
as on this relation depends their relation to each other, transcendental
reflection, that is, the relation of given representations to one or the other
faculty of cognition, can alone determine this latter relation. Thus we shall
not be able to discover whether the things are identical or different, in
agreement or opposition, etc., from the mere conception of the things by means
of comparison (comparatio), but only by distinguishing the mode of cognition to
which they belong, in other words, by means of transcendental reflection. We
may, therefore, with justice say, that logical reflection is mere comparison,
for in it no account is taken of the faculty of cognition to which the given
conceptions belong, and they are consequently, as far as regards their origin,
to be treated as homogeneous; while transcendental reflection (which applies to
the objects themselves) contains the ground of the possibility of objective
comparison of representations with each other, and is therefore very different
from the former, because the faculties of cognition to which they belong are not
even the same. Transcendental reflection is a duty which no one can neglect who
wishes to establish an a priori judgement upon things. We shall now proceed to
fulfil this duty, and thereby throw not a little light on the question as to the
determination of the proper business of the understanding.
1. Identity and Difference. When an object is presented to us
several times, but always with the same internal determinations (qualitas et
quantitas), it, if an object of pure understanding, is always the same, not
several things, but only one thing (numerica identitas); but if a phenomenon, we
do not concern ourselves with comparing the conception of the thing with the
conception of some other, but, although they may be in this respect perfectly
the same, the difference of place at the same time is a sufficient ground for
asserting the numerical difference of these objects (of sense). Thus, in the
case of two drops of water, we may make complete abstraction of all internal
difference (quality and quantity), and, the fact that they are intuited at the
same time in different places, is sufficient to justify us in holding them to be
numerically different. Leibnitz regarded phenomena as things in themselves,
consequently as intelligibilia, that is, objects of pure understanding
(although, on account of the confused nature of their representations, he gave
them the name of phenomena), and in this case his principle of the indiscernible
(principium identatis indiscernibilium) is not to be impugned. But, as phenomena
are objects of sensibility, and, as the understanding, in respect of them, must
be employed empirically and not purely or transcendentally, plurality and
numerical difference are given by space itself as the condition of external
phenomena. For one part of space, although it may be perfectly similar and equal
to another part, is still without it, and for this reason alone is different
from the latter, which is added to it in order to make up a greater space. It
follows that this must hold good of all things that are in the different parts
of space at the same time, however similar and equal one may be to another.
2. Agreement and Opposition. When reality is represented by the
pure understanding (realitas noumenon), opposition between realities is
incogitable—such a relation, that is, that when these realities are connected in
one subject, they annihilate the effects of each other and may be represented in
the formula 3 - 3 = 0. On the other hand, the real in a phenomenon (realitas
phaenomenon) may very well be in mutual opposition, and, when united in the same
subject, the one may completely or in part annihilate the effect or consequence
of the other; as in the case of two moving forces in the same straight line
drawing or impelling a point in opposite directions, or in the case of a
pleasure counterbalancing a certain amount of pain.
3. The Internal and External. In an object of the pure
understanding, only that is internal which has no relation (as regards its
existence) to anything different from itself. On the other hand, the internal
determinations of a substantia phaenomenon in space are nothing but relations,
and it is itself nothing more than a complex of mere relations. Substance in
space we are cognizant of only through forces operative in it, either drawing
others towards itself (attraction), or preventing others from forcing into
itself (repulsion and impenetrability). We know no other properties that make up
the conception of substance phenomenal in space, and which we term matter. On
the other hand, as an object of the pure understanding, every substance must
have internal determination and forces. But what other internal attributes of
such an object can I think than those which my internal sense presents to me?
That, to wit, which in either itself thought, or something analogous to it.
Hence Leibnitz, who looked upon things as noumena, after denying them everything
like external relation, and therefore also composition or combination, declared
that all substances, even the component parts of matter, were simple substances
with powers of representation, in one word, monads.
4. Matter and Form. These two conceptions lie at the foundation
of all other reflection, so inseparably are they connected with every mode of
exercising the understanding. The former denotes the determinable in general,
the second its determination, both in a transcendental sense, abstraction being
made of every difference in that which is given, and of the mode in which it is
determined. Logicians formerly termed the universal, matter, the specific
difference of this or that part of the universal, form. In a judgement one may
call the given conceptions logical matter (for the judgement), the relation of
these to each other (by means of the copula), the form of the judgement. In an
object, the composite parts thereof (essentialia) are the matter; the mode in
which they are connected in the object, the form. In respect to things in
general, unlimited reality was regarded as the matter of all possibility, the
limitation thereof (negation) as the form, by which one thing is distinguished
from another according to transcendental conceptions. The understanding demands
that something be given (at least in the conception), in order to be able to
determine it in a certain manner. Hence, in a conception of the pure
understanding, the matter precedes the form, and for this reason Leibnitz first
assumed the existence of things (monads) and of an internal power of
representation in them, in order to found upon this their external relation and
the community their state (that is, of their representations). Hence, with him,
space and time were possible—the former through the relation of substances, the
latter through the connection of their determinations with each other, as causes
and effects. And so would it really be, if the pure understanding were capable
of an immediate application to objects, and if space and time were
determinations of things in themselves. But being merely sensuous intuitions, in
which we determine all objects solely as phenomena, the form of intuition (as a
subjective property of sensibility) must antecede all matter (sensations),
consequently space and time must antecede all phenomena and all data of
experience, and rather make experience itself possible. But the intellectual
philosopher could not endure that the form should precede the things themselves
and determine their possibility; an objection perfectly correct, if we assume
that we intuite things as they are, although with confused representation. But
as sensuous intuition is a peculiar subjective condition, which is a priori at
the foundation of all perception, and the form of which is primitive, the form
must be given per se, and so far from matter (or the things themselves which
appear) lying at the foundation of experience (as we must conclude, if we judge
by mere conceptions), the very possibility of itself presupposes, on the
contrary, a given formal intuition (space and time).
REMARK ON THE AMPHIBOLY OF THE
CONCEPTIONS OF REFLECTION.
Let me be allowed to term the position which we assign to a
conception either in the sensibility or in the pure understanding, the
transcendental place. In this manner, the appointment of the position which must
be taken by each conception according to the difference in its use, and the
directions for determining this place to all conceptions according to rules,
would be a transcendental topic, a doctrine which would thoroughly shield us
from the surreptitious devices of the pure understanding and the delusions which
thence arise, as it would always distinguish to what faculty of cognition each
conception properly belonged. Every conception, every title, under which many
cognitions rank together, may be called a logical place. Upon this is based the
logical topic of Aristotle, of which teachers and rhetoricians could avail
themselves, in order, under certain titles of thought, to observe what would
best suit the matter they had to treat, and thus enable themselves to quibble
and talk with fluency and an appearance of profundity.
Transcendental topic, on the contrary, contains nothing more
than the above-mentioned four titles of all comparison and distinction, which
differ from categories in this respect, that they do not represent the object
according to that which constitutes its conception (quantity, reality), but set
forth merely the comparison of representations, which precedes our conceptions
of things. But this comparison requires a previous reflection, that is, a
determination of the place to which the representations of the things which are
compared belong, whether, to wit, they are cogitated by the pure understanding,
or given by sensibility.
Conceptions may be logically compared without the trouble of
inquiring to what faculty their objects belong, whether as noumena, to the
understanding, or as phenomena, to sensibility. If, however, we wish to employ
these conceptions in respect of objects, previous transcendental reflection is
necessary. Without this reflection I should make a very unsafe use of these
conceptions, and construct pretended synthetical propositions which critical
reason cannot acknowledge and which are based solely upon a transcendental
amphiboly, that is, upon a substitution of an object of pure understanding for a
phenomenon.
For want of this doctrine of transcendental topic, and
consequently deceived by the amphiboly of the conceptions of reflection, the
celebrated Leibnitz constructed an intellectual system of the world, or rather,
believed himself competent to cognize the internal nature of things, by
comparing all objects merely with the understanding and the abstract formal
conceptions of thought. Our table of the conceptions of reflection gives us the
unexpected advantage of being able to exhibit the distinctive peculiarities of
his system in all its parts, and at the same time of exposing the fundamental
principle of this peculiar mode of thought, which rested upon naught but a
misconception. He compared all things with each other merely by means of
conceptions, and naturally found no other differences than those by which the
understanding distinguishes its pure conceptions one from another. The
conditions of sensuous intuition, which contain in themselves their own means of
distinction, he did not look upon as primitive, because sensibility was to him
but a confused mode of representation and not any particular source of
representations. A phenomenon was for him the representation of the thing in
itself, although distinguished from cognition by the understanding only in
respect of the logical form—the former with its usual want of analysis
containing, according to him, a certain mixture of collateral representations in
its conception of a thing, which it is the duty of the understanding to separate
and distinguish. In one word, Leibnitz intellectualized phenomena, just as
Locke, in his system of noogony (if I may be allowed to make use of such
expressions), sensualized the conceptions of the understanding, that is to say,
declared them to be nothing more than empirical or abstract conceptions of
reflection. Instead of seeking in the understanding and sensibility two
different sources of representations, which, however, can present us with
objective judgements of things only in conjunction, each of these great men
recognized but one of these faculties, which, in their opinion, applied
immediately to things in themselves, the other having no duty but that of
confusing or arranging the representations of the former.
Accordingly, the objects of sense were compared by Leibnitz as
things in general merely in the understanding.
1st. He compares them in regard to their identity or difference
—as judged by the understanding. As, therefore, he considered merely the
conceptions of objects, and not their position in intuition, in which alone
objects can be given, and left quite out of sight the transcendental locale of
these conceptions—whether, that is, their object ought to be classed among
phenomena, or among things in themselves, it was to be expected that he should
extend the application of the principle of indiscernibles, which is valid solely
of conceptions of things in general, to objects of sense (mundus phaenomenon),
and that he should believe that he had thereby contributed in no small degree to
extend our knowledge of nature. In truth, if I cognize in all its inner
determinations a drop of water as a thing in itself, I cannot look upon one drop
as different from another, if the conception of the one is completely identical
with that of the other. But if it is a phenomenon in space, it has a place not
merely in the understanding (among conceptions), but also in sensuous external
intuition (in space), and in this case, the physical locale is a matter of
indifference in regard to the internal determinations of things, and one place,
B, may contain a thing which is perfectly similar and equal to another in a
place, A, just as well as if the two things were in every respect different from
each other. Difference of place without any other conditions, makes the
plurality and distinction of objects as phenomena, not only possible in itself,
but even necessary. Consequently, the above so-called law is not a law of
nature. It is merely an analytical rule for the comparison of things by means of
mere conceptions.
2nd. The principle: "Realities (as simple affirmations) never
logically contradict each other," is a proposition perfectly true respecting the
relation of conceptions, but, whether as regards nature, or things in themselves
(of which we have not the slightest conception), is without any the least
meaning. For real opposition, in which A - B is = 0, exists everywhere, an
opposition, that is, in which one reality united with another in the same
subject annihilates the effects of the other—a fact which is constantly brought
before our eyes by the different antagonistic actions and operations in nature,
which, nevertheless, as depending on real forces, must be called realitates
phaenomena. General mechanics can even present us with the empirical condition
of this opposition in an a priori rule, as it directs its attention to the
opposition in the direction of forces—a condition of which the transcendental
conception of reality can tell us nothing. Although M. Leibnitz did not announce
this proposition with precisely the pomp of a new principle, he yet employed it
for the establishment of new propositions, and his followers introduced it into
their Leibnitzio-Wolfian system of philosophy. According to this principle, for
example, all evils are but consequences of the limited nature of created beings,
that is, negations, because these are the only opposite of reality. (In the mere
conception of a thing in general this is really the case, but not in things as
phenomena.) In like manner, the upholders of this system deem it not only
possible, but natural also, to connect and unite all reality in one being,
because they acknowledge no other sort of opposition than that of contradiction
(by which the conception itself of a thing is annihilated), and find themselves
unable to conceive an opposition of reciprocal destruction, so to speak, in
which one real cause destroys the effect of another, and the conditions of whose
representation we meet with only in sensibility.
3rd. The Leibnitzian monadology has really no better foundation
than on this philosopher's mode of falsely representing the difference of the
internal and external solely in relation to the understanding. Substances, in
general, must have something inward, which is therefore free from external
relations, consequently from that of composition also. The simple—that which can
be represented by a unit—is therefore the foundation of that which is internal
in things in themselves. The internal state of substances cannot therefore
consist in place, shape, contact, or motion, determinations which are all
external relations, and we can ascribe to them no other than that whereby we
internally determine our faculty of sense itself, that is to say, the state of
representation. Thus, then, were constructed the monads, which were to form the
elements of the universe, the active force of which consists in representation,
the effects of this force being thus entirely confined to themselves.
For the same reason, his view of the possible community of
substances could not represent it but as a predetermined harmony, and by no
means as a physical influence. For inasmuch as everything is occupied only
internally, that is, with its own representations, the state of the
representations of one substance could not stand in active and living connection
with that of another, but some third cause operating on all without exception
was necessary to make the different states correspond with one another. And this
did not happen by means of assistance applied in each particular case (systema
assistentiae), but through the unity of the idea of a cause occupied and
connected with all substances, in which they necessarily receive, according to
the Leibnitzian school, their existence and permanence, consequently also
reciprocal correspondence, according to universal laws.
4th. This philosopher's celebrated doctrine of space and time,
in which he intellectualized these forms of sensibility, originated in the same
delusion of transcendental reflection. If I attempt to represent by the mere
understanding, the external relations of things, I can do so only by employing
the conception of their reciprocal action, and if I wish to connect one state of
the same thing with another state, I must avail myself of the notion of the
order of cause and effect. And thus Leibnitz regarded space as a certain order
in the community of substances, and time as the dynamical sequence of their
states. That which space and time possess proper to themselves and independent
of things, he ascribed to a necessary confusion in our conceptions of them,
whereby that which is a mere form of dynamical relations is held to be a
self-existent intuition, antecedent even to things themselves. Thus space and
time were the intelligible form of the connection of things (substances and
their states) in themselves. But things were intelligible substances
(substantiae noumena). At the same time, he made these conceptions valid of
phenomena, because he did not allow to sensibility a peculiar mode of intuition,
but sought all, even the empirical representation of objects, in the
understanding, and left to sense naught but the despicable task of confusing and
disarranging the representations of the former.
But even if we could frame any synthetical proposition
concerning things in themselves by means of the pure understanding (which is
impossible), it could not apply to phenomena, which do not represent things in
themselves. In such a case I should be obliged in transcendental reflection to
compare my conceptions only under the conditions of sensibility, and so space
and time would not be determinations of things in themselves, but of phenomena.
What things may be in themselves, I know not and need not know, because a thing
is never presented to me otherwise than as a phenomenon.
I must adopt the same mode of procedure with the other
conceptions of reflection. Matter is substantia phaenomenon. That in it which is
internal I seek to discover in all parts of space which it occupies, and in all
the functions and operations it performs, and which are indeed never anything
but phenomena of the external sense. I cannot therefore find anything that is
absolutely, but only what is comparatively internal, and which itself consists
of external relations. The absolutely internal in matter, and as it should be
according to the pure understanding, is a mere chimera, for matter is not an
object for the pure understanding. But the transcendental object, which is the
foundation of the phenomenon which we call matter, is a mere nescio quid, the
nature of which we could not understand, even though someone were found able to
tell us. For we can understand nothing that does not bring with it something in
intuition corresponding to the expressions employed. If, by the complaint of
being unable to perceive the internal nature of things, it is meant that we do
not comprehend by the pure understanding what the things which appear to us may
be in themselves, it is a silly and unreasonable complaint; for those who talk
thus really desire that we should be able to cognize, consequently to intuite,
things without senses, and therefore wish that we possessed a faculty of
cognition perfectly different from the human faculty, not merely in degree, but
even as regards intuition and the mode thereof, so that thus we should not be
men, but belong to a class of beings, the possibility of whose existence, much
less their nature and constitution, we have no means of cognizing. By
observation and analysis of phenomena we penetrate into the interior of nature,
and no one can say what progress this knowledge may make in time. But those
transcendental questions which pass beyond the limits of nature, we could never
answer, even although all nature were laid open to us, because we have not the
power of observing our own mind with any other intuition than that of our
internal sense. For herein lies the mystery of the origin and source of our
faculty of sensibility. Its application to an object, and the transcendental
ground of this unity of subjective and objective, lie too deeply concealed for
us, who cognize ourselves only through the internal sense, consequently as
phenomena, to be able to discover in our existence anything but phenomena, the
non-sensuous cause of which we at the same time earnestly desire to penetrate
to.
The great utility of this critique of conclusions arrived at by
the processes of mere reflection consists in its clear demonstration of the
nullity of all conclusions respecting objects which are compared with each other
in the understanding alone, while it at the same time confirms what we
particularly insisted on, namely, that, although phenomena are not included as
things in themselves among the objects of the pure understanding, they are
nevertheless the only things by which our cognition can possess objective
reality, that is to say, which give us intuitions to correspond with our
conceptions.
When we reflect in a purely logical manner, we do nothing more
than compare conceptions in our understanding, to discover whether both have the
same content, whether they are self-contradictory or not, whether anything is
contained in either conception, which of the two is given, and which is merely a
mode of thinking that given. But if I apply these conceptions to an object in
general (in the transcendental sense), without first determining whether it is
an object of sensuous or intellectual intuition, certain limitations present
themselves, which forbid us to pass beyond the conceptions and render all
empirical use of them impossible. And thus these limitations prove that the
representation of an object as a thing in general is not only insufficient, but,
without sensuous determination and independently of empirical conditions,
self-contradictory; that we must therefore make abstraction of all objects, as
in logic, or, admitting them, must think them under conditions of sensuous
intuition; that, consequently, the intelligible requires an altogether peculiar
intuition, which we do not possess, and in the absence of which it is for us
nothing; while, on the other hand phenomena cannot be objects in themselves.
For, when I merely think things in general, the difference in their external
relations cannot constitute a difference in the things themselves; on the
contrary, the former presupposes the latter, and if the conception of one of two
things is not internally different from that of the other, I am merely thinking
the same thing in different relations. Further, by the addition of one
affirmation (reality) to the other, the positive therein is really augmented,
and nothing is abstracted or withdrawn from it; hence the real in things cannot
be in contradiction with or opposition to itself—and so on.
The true use of the conceptions of reflection in the employment
of the understanding has, as we have shown, been so misconceived by Leibnitz,
one of the most acute philosophers of either ancient or modern times, that he
has been misled into the construction of a baseless system of intellectual
cognition, which professes to determine its objects without the intervention of
the senses. For this reason, the exposition of the cause of the amphiboly of
these conceptions, as the origin of these false principles, is of great utility
in determining with certainty the proper limits of the understanding.
It is right to say whatever is affirmed or denied of the whole
of a conception can be affirmed or denied of any part of it (dictum de omni et
nullo); but it would be absurd so to alter this logical proposition as to say
whatever is not contained in a general conception is likewise not contained in
the particular conceptions which rank under it; for the latter are particular
conceptions, for the very reason that their content is greater than that which
is cogitated in the general conception. And yet the whole intellectual system of
Leibnitz is based upon this false principle, and with it must necessarily fall
to the ground, together with all the ambiguous principles in reference to the
employment of the understanding which have thence originated.
Leibnitz's principle of the identity of indiscernibles or
indistinguishables is really based on the presupposition that, if in the
conception of a thing a certain distinction is not to be found, it is also not
to be met with in things themselves; that, consequently, all things are
completely identical (numero eadem) which are not distinguishable from each
other (as to quality or quantity) in our conceptions of them. But, as in the
mere conception of anything abstraction has been made of many necessary
conditions of intuition, that of which abstraction has been made is rashly held
to be non-existent, and nothing is attributed to the thing but what is contained
in its conception.
The conception of a cubic foot of space, however I may think it,
is in itself completely identical. But two cubic feet in space are nevertheless
distinct from each other from the sole fact of their being in different places
(they are numero diversa); and these places are conditions of intuition, wherein
the object of this conception is given, and which do not belong to the
conception, but to the faculty of sensibility. In like manner, there is in the
conception of a thing no contradiction when a negative is not connected with an
affirmative; and merely affirmative conceptions cannot, in conjunction, produce
any negation. But in sensuous intuition, wherein reality (take for example,
motion) is given, we find conditions (opposite directions)—of which abstraction
has been made in the conception of motion in general—which render possible a
contradiction or opposition (not indeed of a logical kind)—and which from pure
positives produce zero = 0. We are therefore not justified in saying that all
reality is in perfect agreement and harmony, because no contradiction is
discoverable among its conceptions.* According to mere conceptions, that which
is internal is the substratum of all relations or external determinations. When,
therefore, I abstract all conditions of intuition, and confine myself solely to
the conception of a thing in general, I can make abstraction of all external
relations, and there must nevertheless remain a conception of that which
indicates no relation, but merely internal determinations. Now it seems to
follow that in everything (substance) there is something which is absolutely
internal and which antecedes all external determinations, inasmuch as it renders
them possible; and that therefore this substratum is something which does not
contain any external relations and is consequently simple (for corporeal things
are never anything but relations, at least of their parts external to each
other); and, inasmuch as we know of no other absolutely internal determinations
than those of the internal sense, this substratum is not only simple, but also,
analogously with our internal sense, determined through representations, that is
to say, all things are properly monads, or simple beings endowed with the power
of representation. Now all this would be perfectly correct, if the conception of
a thing were the only necessary condition of the presentation of objects of
external intuition. It is, on the contrary, manifest that a permanent phenomenon
in space (impenetrable extension) can contain mere relations, and nothing that
is absolutely internal, and yet be the primary substratum of all external
perception. By mere conceptions I cannot think anything external, without, at
the same time, thinking something internal, for the reason that conceptions of
relations presuppose given things, and without these are impossible. But, as an
intuition there is something (that is, space, which, with all it contains,
consists of purely formal, or, indeed, real relations) which is not found in the
mere conception of a thing in general, and this presents to us the substratum
which could not be cognized through conceptions alone, I cannot say: because a
thing cannot be represented by mere conceptions without something absolutely
internal, there is also, in the things themselves which are contained under
these conceptions, and in their intuition nothing external to which something
absolutely internal does not serve as the foundation. For, when we have made
abstraction of all the conditions of intuition, there certainly remains in the
mere conception nothing but the internal in general, through which alone the
external is possible. But this necessity, which is grounded upon abstraction
alone, does not obtain in the case of things themselves, in so far as they are
given in intuition with such determinations as express mere relations, without
having anything internal as their foundation; for they are not things of a thing
of which we can neither for they are not things in themselves, but only
phenomena. What we cognize in matter is nothing but relations (what we call its
internal determinations are but comparatively internal). But there are some
self-subsistent and permanent, through which a determined object is given. That
I, when abstraction is made of these relations, have nothing more to think, does
not destroy the conception of a thing as phenomenon, nor the conception of an
object in abstracto, but it does away with the possibility of an object that is
determinable according to mere conceptions, that is, of a noumenon. It is
certainly startling to hear that a thing consists solely of relations; but this
thing is simply a phenomenon, and cannot be cogitated by means of the mere
categories: it does itself consist in the mere relation of something in general
to the senses. In the same way, we cannot cogitate relations of things in
abstracto, if we commence with conceptions alone, in any other manner than that
one is the cause of determinations in the other; for that is itself the
conception of the understanding or category of relation. But, as in this case we
make abstraction of all intuition, we lose altogether the mode in which the
manifold determines to each of its parts its place, that is, the form of
sensibility (space); and yet this mode antecedes all empirical causality.
[*Footnote: If any one wishes here to
have recourse to the usual subterfuge, and to say, that at least realitates
noumena cannot be in opposition to each other, it will be requisite for him to
adduce an example of this pure and non-sensuous reality, that it may be
understood whether the notion represents something or nothing. But an example
cannot be found except in experience, which never presents to us anything more
than phenomena; and thus the proposition means nothing more than that the
conception which contains only affirmatives does not contain anything negative—a
proposition nobody ever doubted.]
If by intelligible objects we understand
things which can be thought by means of the pure categories, without the need of
the schemata of sensibility, such objects are impossible. For the condition of
the objective use of all our conceptions of understanding is the mode of our
sensuous intuition, whereby objects are given; and, if we make abstraction of
the latter, the former can have no relation to an object. And even if we should
suppose a different kind of intuition from our own, still our functions of
thought would have no use or signification in respect thereof. But if we
understand by the term, objects of a non-sensuous intuition, in respect of which
our categories are not valid, and of which we can accordingly have no knowledge
(neither intuition nor conception), in this merely negative sense noumena must
be admitted. For this is no more than saying that our mode of intuition is not
applicable to all things, but only to objects of our senses, that consequently
its objective validity is limited, and that room is therefore left for another
kind of intuition, and thus also for things that may be objects of it. But in
this sense the conception of a noumenon is problematical, that is to say, it is
the notion of that it that it is possible, nor that it is impossible, inasmuch
as we do not know of any mode of intuition besides the sensuous, or of any other
sort of conceptions than the categories—a mode of intuition and a kind of
conception neither of which is applicable to a non-sensuous object. We are on
this account incompetent to extend the sphere of our objects of thought beyond
the conditions of our sensibility, and to assume the existence of objects of
pure thought, that is, of noumena, inasmuch as these have no true positive
signification. For it must be confessed of the categories that they are not of
themselves sufficient for the cognition of things in themselves and, without the
data of sensibility, are mere subjective forms of the unity of the
understanding. Thought is certainly not a product of the senses, and in so far
is not limited by them, but it does not therefore follow that it may be employed
purely and without the intervention of sensibility, for it would then be without
reference to an object. And we cannot call a noumenon an object of pure thought;
for the representation thereof is but the problematical conception of an object
for a perfectly different intuition and a perfectly different understanding from
ours, both of which are consequently themselves problematical. The conception of
a noumenon is therefore not the conception of an object, but merely a
problematical conception inseparably connected with the limitation of our
sensibility. That is to say, this conception contains the answer to the
question: "Are there objects quite unconnected with, and independent of, our
intuition?"—a question to which only an indeterminate answer can be given. That
answer is: "Inasmuch as sensuous intuition does not apply to all things without
distinction, there remains room for other and different objects." The existence
of these problematical objects is therefore not absolutely denied, in the
absence of a determinate conception of them, but, as no category is valid in
respect of them, neither must they be admitted as objects for our understanding.
Understanding accordingly limits sensibility, without at the
same time enlarging its own field. While, moreover, it forbids sensibility to
apply its forms and modes to things in themselves and restricts it to the sphere
of phenomena, it cogitates an object in itself, only, however, as a
transcendental object, which is the cause of a phenomenon (consequently not
itself a phenomenon), and which cannot be thought either as a quantity or as
reality, or as substance (because these conceptions always require sensuous
forms in which to determine an object)—an object, therefore, of which we are
quite unable to say whether it can be met with in ourselves or out of us,
whether it would be annihilated together with sensibility, or, if this were
taken away, would continue to exist. If we wish to call this object a noumenon,
because the representation of it is non-sensuous, we are at liberty to do so.
But as we can apply to it none of the conceptions of our understanding, the
representation is for us quite void, and is available only for the indication of
the limits of our sensuous intuition, thereby leaving at the same time an empty
space, which we are competent to fill by the aid neither of possible experience,
nor of the pure understanding.
The critique of the pure understanding, accordingly, does not
permit us to create for ourselves a new field of objects beyond those which are
presented to us as phenomena, and to stray into intelligible worlds; nay, it
does not even allow us to endeavour to form so much as a conception of them. The
specious error which leads to this—and which is a perfectly excusable one—lies
in the fact that the employment of the understanding, contrary to its proper
purpose and destination, is made transcendental, and objects, that is, possible
intuitions, are made to regulate themselves according to conceptions, instead of
the conceptions arranging themselves according to the intuitions, on which alone
their own objective validity rests. Now the reason of this again is that
apperception, and with it thought, antecedes all possible determinate
arrangement of representations. Accordingly we think something in general and
determine it on the one hand sensuously, but, on the other, distinguish the
general and in abstracto represented object from this particular mode of
intuiting it. In this case there remains a mode of determining the object by
mere thought, which is really but a logical form without content, which,
however, seems to us to be a mode of the existence of the object in itself
(noumenon), without regard to intuition which is limited to our senses.
Before ending this transcendental analytic, we must make an
addition, which, although in itself of no particular importance, seems to be
necessary to the completeness of the system. The highest conception, with which
a transcendental philosophy commonly begins, is the division into possible and
impossible. But as all division presupposes a divided conception, a still higher
one must exist, and this is the conception of an object in
general—problematically understood and without its being decided whether it is
something or nothing. As the categories are the only conceptions which apply to
objects in general, the distinguishing of an object, whether it is something or
nothing, must proceed according to the order and direction of the categories.
1. To the categories of quantity, that is, the conceptions of
all, many, and one, the conception which annihilates all, that is, the
conception of none, is opposed. And thus the object of a conception, to which no
intuition can be found to correspond, is = nothing. That is, it is a conception
without an object (ens rationis), like noumena, which cannot be considered
possible in the sphere of reality, though they must not therefore be held to be
impossible—or like certain new fundamental forces in matter, the existence of
which is cogitable without contradiction, though, as examples from experience
are not forthcoming, they must not be regarded as possible.
2. Reality is something; negation is nothing, that is, a
conception of the absence of an object, as cold, a shadow (nihil privativum).
3. The mere form of intuition, without substance, is in itself
no object, but the merely formal condition of an object (as phenomenon), as pure
space and pure time. These are certainly something, as forms of intuition, but
are not themselves objects which are intuited (ens imaginarium).
4. The object of a conception which is self-contradictory, is
nothing, because the conception is nothing—is impossible, as a figure composed
of two straight lines (nihil negativum).
The table of this division of the conception of nothing (the
corresponding division of the conception of something does not require special
description) must therefore be arranged as follows:
NOTHING AS
1
As Empty Conception
without object,
ens rationis
2 3
Empty object of Empty intuition
a conception, without object,
nihil privativum ens imaginarium
4
Empty object
without conception,
nihil negativum
We see that the ens rationis is
distinguished from the nihil negativum or pure nothing by the consideration that
the former must not be reckoned among possibilities, because it is a mere
fiction- though not self-contradictory, while the latter is completely opposed
to all possibility, inasmuch as the conception annihilates itself. Both,
however, are empty conceptions. On the other hand, the nihil privativum and ens
imaginarium are empty data for conceptions. If light be not given to the senses,
we cannot represent to ourselves darkness, and if extended objects are not
perceived, we cannot represent space. Neither the negation, nor the mere form of
intuition can, without something real, be an object.
TRANSCENDENTAL LOGIC. SECOND DIVISION.
TRANSCENDENTAL DIALECTIC. INTRODUCTION.
I. Of Transcendental Illusory Appearance.
We termed dialectic in general a logic of appearance. This does
not signify a doctrine of probability; for probability is truth, only cognized
upon insufficient grounds, and though the information it gives us is imperfect,
it is not therefore deceitful. Hence it must not be separated from the
analytical part of logic. Still less must phenomenon and appearance be held to
be identical. For truth or illusory appearance does not reside in the object, in
so far as it is intuited, but in the judgement upon the object, in so far as it
is thought. It is, therefore, quite correct to say that the senses do not err,
not because they always judge correctly, but because they do not judge at all.
Hence truth and error, consequently also, illusory appearance as the cause of
error, are only to be found in a judgement, that is, in the relation of an
object to our understanding. In a cognition which completely harmonizes with the
laws of the understanding, no error can exist. In a representation of the
senses—as not containing any judgement—there is also no error. But no power of
nature can of itself deviate from its own laws. Hence neither the understanding
per se (without the influence of another cause), nor the senses per se, would
fall into error; the former could not, because, if it acts only according to its
own laws, the effect (the judgement) must necessarily accord with these laws.
But in accordance with the laws of the understanding consists the formal element
in all truth. In the senses there is no judgement—neither a true nor a false
one. But, as we have no source of cognition besides these two, it follows that
error is caused solely by the unobserved influence of the sensibility upon the
understanding. And thus it happens that the subjective grounds of a judgement
and are confounded with the objective, and cause them to deviate from their
proper determination,* just as a body in motion would always of itself proceed
in a straight line, but if another impetus gives to it a different direction, it
will then start off into a curvilinear line of motion. To distinguish the
peculiar action of the understanding from the power which mingles with it, it is
necessary to consider an erroneous judgement as the diagonal between two forces,
that determine the judgement in two different directions, which, as it were,
form an angle, and to resolve this composite operation into the simple ones of
the understanding and the sensibility. In pure a priori judgements this must be
done by means of transcendental reflection, whereby, as has been already shown,
each representation has its place appointed in the corresponding faculty of
cognition, and consequently the influence of the one faculty upon the other is
made apparent.
[*Footnote: Sensibility, subjected to the understanding, as the
object upon which the understanding employs its functions, is the source of real
cognitions. But, in so far as it exercises an influence upon the action of the
understanding and determines it to judgement, sensibility is itself the cause of
error.]
It is not at present our business to treat of empirical illusory
appearance (for example, optical illusion), which occurs in the empirical
application of otherwise correct rules of the understanding, and in which the
judgement is misled by the influence of imagination. Our purpose is to speak of
transcendental illusory appearance, which influences principles—that are not
even applied to experience, for in this case we should possess a sure test of
their correctness—but which leads us, in disregard of all the warnings of
criticism, completely beyond the empirical employment of the categories and
deludes us with the chimera of an extension of the sphere of the pure
understanding. We shall term those principles the application of which is
confined entirely within the limits of possible experience, immanent; those, on
the other hand, which transgress these limits, we shall call transcendent
principles. But by these latter I do not understand principles of the
transcendental use or misuse of the categories, which is in reality a mere fault
of the judgement when not under due restraint from criticism, and therefore not
paying sufficient attention to the limits of the sphere in which the pure
understanding is allowed to exercise its functions; but real principles which
exhort us to break down all those barriers, and to lay claim to a perfectly new
field of cognition, which recognizes no line of demarcation. Thus transcendental
and transcendent are not identical terms. The principles of the pure
understanding, which we have already propounded, ought to be of empirical and
not of transcendental use, that is, they are not applicable to any object beyond
the sphere of experience. A principle which removes these limits, nay, which
authorizes us to overstep them, is called transcendent. If our criticism can
succeed in exposing the illusion in these pretended principles, those which are
limited in their employment to the sphere of experience may be called, in
opposition to the others, immanent principles of the pure understanding.
Logical illusion, which consists merely in the imitation of the
form of reason (the illusion in sophistical syllogisms), arises entirely from a
want of due attention to logical rules. So soon as the attention is awakened to
the case before us, this illusion totally disappears. Transcendental illusion,
on the contrary, does not cease to exist, even after it has been exposed, and
its nothingness clearly perceived by means of transcendental criticism. Take,
for example, the illusion in the proposition: "The world must have a beginning
in time." The cause of this is as follows. In our reason, subjectively
considered as a faculty of human cognition, there exist fundamental rules and
maxims of its exercise, which have completely the appearance of objective
principles. Now from this cause it happens that the subjective necessity of a
certain connection of our conceptions, is regarded as an objective necessity of
the determination of things in themselves. This illusion it is impossible to
avoid, just as we cannot avoid perceiving that the sea appears to be higher at a
distance than it is near the shore, because we see the former by means of higher
rays than the latter, or, which is a still stronger case, as even the astronomer
cannot prevent himself from seeing the moon larger at its rising than some time
afterwards, although he is not deceived by this illusion.
Transcendental dialectic will therefore content itself with
exposing the illusory appearance in transcendental judgements, and guarding us
against it; but to make it, as in the case of logical illusion, entirely
disappear and cease to be illusion is utterly beyond its power. For we have here
to do with a natural and unavoidable illusion, which rests upon subjective
principles and imposes these upon us as objective, while logical dialectic, in
the detection of sophisms, has to do merely with an error in the logical
consequence of the propositions, or with an artificially constructed illusion,
in imitation of the natural error. There is, therefore, a natural and
unavoidable dialectic of pure reason—not that in which the bungler, from want of
the requisite knowledge, involves himself, nor that which the sophist devises
for the purpose of misleading, but that which is an inseparable adjunct of human
reason, and which, even after its illusions have been exposed, does not cease to
deceive, and continually to lead reason into momentary errors, which it becomes
necessary continually to remove.
II. Of Pure Reason as the Seat of
Transcendental Illusory Appearance.
A. OF REASON IN GENERAL.
All our knowledge begins with sense, proceeds thence to
understanding, and ends with reason, beyond which nothing higher can be
discovered in the human mind for elaborating the matter of intuition and
subjecting it to the highest unity of thought. At this stage of our inquiry it
is my duty to give an explanation of this, the highest faculty of cognition, and
I confess I find myself here in some difficulty. Of reason, as of the
understanding, there is a merely formal, that is, logical use, in which it makes
abstraction of all content of cognition; but there is also a real use, inasmuch
as it contains in itself the source of certain conceptions and principles, which
it does not borrow either from the senses or the understanding. The former
faculty has been long defined by logicians as the faculty of mediate conclusion
in contradistinction to immediate conclusions (consequentiae immediatae); but
the nature of the latter, which itself generates conceptions, is not to be
understood from this definition. Now as a division of reason into a logical and
a transcendental faculty presents itself here, it becomes necessary to seek for
a higher conception of this source of cognition which shall comprehend both
conceptions. In this we may expect, according to the analogy of the conceptions
of the understanding, that the logical conception will give us the key to the
transcendental, and that the table of the functions of the former will present
us with the clue to the conceptions of reason.
In the former part of our transcendental logic, we defined the
understanding to be the faculty of rules; reason may be distinguished from
understanding as the faculty of principles.
The term principle is ambiguous, and commonly signifies merely a
cognition that may be employed as a principle, although it is not in itself, and
as regards its proper origin, entitled to the distinction. Every general
proposition, even if derived from experience by the process of induction, may
serve as the major in a syllogism; but it is not for that reason a principle.
Mathematical axioms (for example, there can be only one straight line between
two points) are general a priori cognitions, and are therefore rightly
denominated principles, relatively to the cases which can be subsumed under
them. But I cannot for this reason say that I cognize this property of a
straight line from principles—I cognize it only in pure intuition.
Cognition from principles, then, is that cognition in which I
cognize the particular in the general by means of conceptions. Thus every
syllogism is a form of the deduction of a cognition from a principle. For the
major always gives a conception, through which everything that is subsumed under
the condition thereof is cognized according to a principle. Now as every general
cognition may serve as the major in a syllogism, and the understanding presents
us with such general a priori propositions, they may be termed principles, in
respect of their possible use.
But if we consider these principles of the pure understanding in
relation to their origin, we shall find them to be anything rather than
cognitions from conceptions. For they would not even be possible a priori, if we
could not rely on the assistance of pure intuition (in mathematics), or on that
of the conditions of a possible experience. That everything that happens has a
cause, cannot be concluded from the general conception of that which happens; on
the contrary the principle of causality instructs us as to the mode of obtaining
from that which happens a determinate empirical conception.
Synthetical cognitions from conceptions the understanding cannot
supply, and they alone are entitled to be called principles. At the same time,
all general propositions may be termed comparative principles.
It has been a long-cherished wish—that (who knows how late), may
one day, be happily accomplished—that the principles of the endless variety of
civil laws should be investigated and exposed; for in this way alone can we find
the secret of simplifying legislation. But in this case, laws are nothing more
than limitations of our freedom upon conditions under which it subsists in
perfect harmony with itself; they consequently have for their object that which
is completely our own work, and of which we ourselves may be the cause by means
of these conceptions. But how objects as things in themselves- how the nature of
things is subordinated to principles and is to be determined, according to
conceptions, is a question which it seems well nigh impossible to answer. Be
this, however, as it may—for on this point our investigation is yet to be
made—it is at least manifest from what we have said that cognition from
principles is something very different from cognition by means of the
understanding, which may indeed precede other cognitions in the form of a
principle, but in itself—in so far as it is synthetical—is neither based upon
mere thought, nor contains a general proposition drawn from conceptions alone.
The understanding may be a faculty for the production of unity
of phenomena by virtue of rules; the reason is a faculty for the production of
unity of rules (of the understanding) under principles. Reason, therefore, never
applies directly to experience, or to any sensuous object; its object is, on the
contrary, the understanding, to the manifold cognition of which it gives a unity
a priori by means of conceptions—a unity which may be called rational unity, and
which is of a nature very different from that of the unity produced by the
understanding.
The above is the general conception of the faculty of reason, in
so far as it has been possible to make it comprehensible in the absence of
examples. These will be given in the sequel.
B. OF THE LOGICAL USE OF REASON.
A distinction is commonly made between that which is immediately
cognized and that which is inferred or concluded. That in a figure which is
bounded by three straight lines there are three angles, is an immediate
cognition; but that these angles are together equal to two right angles, is an
inference or conclusion. Now, as we are constantly employing this mode of
thought and have thus become quite accustomed to it, we no longer remark the
above distinction, and, as in the case of the so-called deceptions of sense,
consider as immediately perceived, what has really been inferred. In every
reasoning or syllogism, there is a fundamental proposition, afterwards a second
drawn from it, and finally the conclusion, which connects the truth in the first
with the truth in the second—and that infallibly. If the judgement concluded is
so contained in the first proposition that it can be deduced from it without the
meditation of a third notion, the conclusion is called immediate (consequentia
immediata); I prefer the term conclusion of the understanding. But if, in
addition to the fundamental cognition, a second judgement is necessary for the
production of the conclusion, it is called a conclusion of the reason. In the
proposition: All men are mortal, are contained the propositions: Some men are
mortal, Nothing that is not mortal is a man, and these are therefore immediate
conclusions from the first. On the other hand, the proposition: all the learned
are mortal, is not contained in the main proposition (for the conception of a
learned man does not occur in it), and it can be deduced from the main
proposition only by means of a mediating judgement.
In every syllogism I first cogitate a rule (the major) by means
of the understanding. In the next place I subsume a cognition under the
condition of the rule (and this is the minor) by means of the judgement. And
finally I determine my cognition by means of the predicate of the rule (this is
the conclusio), consequently, I determine it a priori by means of the reason.
The relations, therefore, which the major proposition, as the rule, represents
between a cognition and its condition, constitute the different kinds of
syllogisms. These are just threefold—analogously with all judgements, in so far
as they differ in the mode of expressing the relation of a cognition in the
understanding—namely, categorical, hypothetical, and disjunctive.
When as often happens, the conclusion is a judgement which may
follow from other given judgements, through which a perfectly different object
is cogitated, I endeavour to discover in the understanding whether the assertion
in this conclusion does not stand under certain conditions according to a
general rule. If I find such a condition, and if the object mentioned in the
conclusion can be subsumed under the given condition, then this conclusion
follows from a rule which is also valid for other objects of cognition. From
this we see that reason endeavours to subject the great variety of the
cognitions of the understanding to the smallest possible number of principles
(general conditions), and thus to produce in it the highest unity.
C. OF THE PURE USE OF REASON.
Can we isolate reason, and, if so, is it in this case a peculiar
source of conceptions and judgements which spring from it alone, and through
which it can be applied to objects; or is it merely a subordinate faculty, whose
duty it is to give a certain form to given cognitions—a form which is called
logical, and through which the cognitions of the understanding are subordinated
to each other, and lower rules to higher (those, to wit, whose condition
comprises in its sphere the condition of the others), in so far as this can be
done by comparison? This is the question which we have at present to answer.
Manifold variety of rules and unity of principles is a requirement of reason,
for the purpose of bringing the understanding into complete accordance with
itself, just as understanding subjects the manifold content of intuition to
conceptions, and thereby introduces connection into it. But this principle
prescribes no law to objects, and does not contain any ground of the possibility
of cognizing or of determining them as such, but is merely a subjective law for
the proper arrangement of the content of the understanding. The purpose of this
law is, by a comparison of the conceptions of the understanding, to reduce them
to the smallest possible number, although, at the same time, it does not justify
us in demanding from objects themselves such a uniformity as might contribute to
the convenience and the enlargement of the sphere of the understanding, or in
expecting that it will itself thus receive from them objective validity. In one
word, the question is: "does reason in itself, that is, does pure reason contain
a priori synthetical principles and rules, and what are those principles?"
The formal and logical procedure of reason in syllogisms gives
us sufficient information in regard to the ground on which the transcendental
principle of reason in its pure synthetical cognition will rest.
1. Reason, as observed in the syllogistic process, is not
applicable to intuitions, for the purpose of subjecting them to rules—for this
is the province of the understanding with its categories—but to conceptions and
judgements. If pure reason does apply to objects and the intuition of them, it
does so not immediately, but mediately- through the understanding and its
judgements, which have a direct relation to the senses and their intuition, for
the purpose of determining their objects. The unity of reason is therefore not
the unity of a possible experience, but is essentially different from this
unity, which is that of the understanding. That everything which happens has a
cause, is not a principle cognized and prescribed by reason. This principle
makes the unity of experience possible and borrows nothing from reason, which,
without a reference to possible experience, could never have produced by means
of mere conceptions any such synthetical unity.
2. Reason, in its logical use, endeavours to discover the
general condition of its judgement (the conclusion), and a syllogism is itself
nothing but a judgement by means of the subsumption of its condition under a
general rule (the major). Now as this rule may itself be subjected to the same
process of reason, and thus the condition of the condition be sought (by means
of a prosyllogism) as long as the process can be continued, it is very manifest
that the peculiar principle of reason in its logical use is to find for the
conditioned cognition of the understanding the unconditioned whereby the unity
of the former is completed.
But this logical maxim cannot be a principle of pure reason,
unless we admit that, if the conditioned is given, the whole series of
conditions subordinated to one another—a series which is consequently itself
unconditioned—is also given, that is, contained in the object and its
connection.
But this principle of pure reason is evidently synthetical; for,
analytically, the conditioned certainly relates to some condition, but not to
the unconditioned. From this principle also there must originate different
synthetical propositions, of which the pure understanding is perfectly ignorant,
for it has to do only with objects of a possible experience, the cognition and
synthesis of which is always conditioned. The unconditioned, if it does really
exist, must be especially considered in regard to the determinations which
distinguish it from whatever is conditioned, and will thus afford us material
for many a priori synthetical propositions.
The principles resulting from this highest principle of pure
reason will, however, be transcendent in relation to phenomena, that is to say,
it will be impossible to make any adequate empirical use of this principle. It
is therefore completely different from all principles of the understanding, the
use made of which is entirely immanent, their object and purpose being merely
the possibility of experience. Now our duty in the transcendental dialectic is
as follows. To discover whether the principle that the series of conditions (in
the synthesis of phenomena, or of thought in general) extends to the
unconditioned is objectively true, or not; what consequences result therefrom
affecting the empirical use of the understanding, or rather whether there exists
any such objectively valid proposition of reason, and whether it is not, on the
contrary, a merely logical precept which directs us to ascend perpetually to
still higher conditions, to approach completeness in the series of them, and
thus to introduce into our cognition the highest possible unity of reason. We
must ascertain, I say, whether this requirement of reason has not been regarded,
by a misunderstanding, as a transcendental principle of pure reason, which
postulates a thorough completeness in the series of conditions in objects
themselves. We must show, moreover, the misconceptions and illusions that
intrude into syllogisms, the major proposition of which pure reason has
supplied—a proposition which has perhaps more of the character of a petitio than
of a postulatum—and that proceed from experience upwards to its conditions. The
solution of these problems is our task in transcendental dialectic, which we are
about to expose even at its source, that lies deep in human reason. We shall
divide it into two parts, the first of which will treat of the transcendent
conceptions of pure reason, the second of transcendent and dialectical
syllogisms.
BOOK I.
OF THE CONCEPTIONS OF PURE REASON.
The conceptions of pure reason—we do not here speak of the
possibility of them—are not obtained by reflection, but by inference or
conclusion. The conceptions of understanding are also cogitated a priori
antecedently to experience, and render it possible; but they contain nothing but
the unity of reflection upon phenomena, in so far as these must necessarily
belong to a possible empirical consciousness. Through them alone are cognition
and the determination of an object possible. It is from them, accordingly, that
we receive material for reasoning, and antecedently to them we possess no a
priori conceptions of objects from which they might be deduced, On the other
hand, the sole basis of their objective reality consists in the necessity
imposed on them, as containing the intellectual form of all experience, of
restricting their application and influence to the sphere of experience.
But the term, conception of reason, or rational conception,
itself indicates that it does not confine itself within the limits of
experience, because its object-matter is a cognition, of which every empirical
cognition is but a part—nay, the whole of possible experience may be itself but
a part of it—a cognition to which no actual experience ever fully attains,
although it does always pertain to it. The aim of rational conceptions is the
comprehension, as that of the conceptions of understanding is the understanding
of perceptions. If they contain the unconditioned, they relate to that to which
all experience is subordinate, but which is never itself an object of
experience—that towards which reason tends in all its conclusions from
experience, and by the standard of which it estimates the degree of their
empirical use, but which is never itself an element in an empirical synthesis.
If, notwithstanding, such conceptions possess objective validity, they may be
called conceptus ratiocinati (conceptions legitimately concluded); in cases
where they do not, they have been admitted on account of having the appearance
of being correctly concluded, and may be called conceptus ratiocinantes
(sophistical conceptions). But as this can only be sufficiently demonstrated in
that part of our treatise which relates to the dialectical conclusions of
reason, we shall omit any consideration of it in this place. As we called the
pure conceptions of the understanding categories, we shall also distinguish
those of pure reason by a new name and call them transcendental ideas. These
terms, however, we must in the first place explain and justify.
SECTION I—Of Ideas in General.
Despite the great wealth of words which European languages
possess, the thinker finds himself often at a loss for an expression exactly
suited to his conception, for want of which he is unable to make himself
intelligible either to others or to himself. To coin new words is a pretension
to legislation in language which is seldom successful; and, before recourse is
taken to so desperate an expedient, it is advisable to examine the dead and
learned languages, with the hope and the probability that we may there meet with
some adequate expression of the notion we have in our minds. In this case, even
if the original meaning of the word has become somewhat uncertain, from
carelessness or want of caution on the part of the authors of it, it is always
better to adhere to and confirm its proper meaning—even although it may be
doubtful whether it was formerly used in exactly this sense—than to make our
labour vain by want of sufficient care to render ourselves intelligible.
For this reason, when it happens that there exists only a single
word to express a certain conception, and this word, in its usual acceptation,
is thoroughly adequate to the conception, the accurate distinction of which from
related conceptions is of great importance, we ought not to employ the
expression improvidently, or, for the sake of variety and elegance of style, use
it as a synonym for other cognate words. It is our duty, on the contrary,
carefully to preserve its peculiar signification, as otherwise it easily happens
that when the attention of the reader is no longer particularly attracted to the
expression, and it is lost amid the multitude of other words of very different
import, the thought which it conveyed, and which it alone conveyed, is lost with
it.
Plato employed the expression idea in a way that plainly showed
he meant by it something which is never derived from the senses, but which far
transcends even the conceptions of the understanding (with which Aristotle
occupied himself), inasmuch as in experience nothing perfectly corresponding to
them could be found. Ideas are, according to him, archetypes of things
themselves, and not merely keys to possible experiences, like the categories. In
his view they flow from the highest reason, by which they have been imparted to
human reason, which, however, exists no longer in its original state, but is
obliged with great labour to recall by reminiscence—which is called
philosophy—the old but now sadly obscured ideas. I will not here enter upon any
literary investigation of the sense which this sublime philosopher attached to
this expression. I shall content myself with remarking that it is nothing
unusual, in common conversation as well as in written works, by comparing the
thoughts which an author has delivered upon a subject, to understand him better
than he understood himself inasmuch as he may not have sufficiently determined
his conception, and thus have sometimes spoken, nay even thought, in opposition
to his own opinions.
Plato perceived very clearly that our faculty of cognition has
the feeling of a much higher vocation than that of merely spelling out phenomena
according to synthetical unity, for the purpose of being able to read them as
experience, and that our reason naturally raises itself to cognitions far too
elevated to admit of the possibility of an object given by experience
corresponding to them- cognitions which are nevertheless real, and are not mere
phantoms of the brain.
This philosopher found his ideas especially in all that is
practical,* that is, which rests upon freedom, which in its turn ranks under
cognitions that are the peculiar product of reason. He who would derive from
experience the conceptions of virtue, who would make (as many have really done)
that, which at best can but serve as an imperfectly illustrative example, a
model for or the formation of a perfectly adequate idea on the subject, would in
fact transform virtue into a nonentity changeable according to time and
circumstance and utterly incapable of being employed as a rule. On the contrary,
every one is conscious that, when any one is held up to him as a model of
virtue, he compares this so-called model with the true original which he
possesses in his own mind and values him according to this standard. But this
standard is the idea of virtue, in relation to which all possible objects of
experience are indeed serviceable as examples—proofs of the practicability in a
certain degree of that which the conception of virtue demands—but certainly not
as archetypes. That the actions of man will never be in perfect accordance with
all the requirements of the pure ideas of reason, does not prove the thought to
be chimerical. For only through this idea are all judgements as to moral merit
or demerit possible; it consequently lies at the foundation of every approach to
moral perfection, however far removed from it the obstacles in human nature-
indeterminable as to degree—may keep us.
[*Footnote: He certainly extended the application of his
conception to speculative cognitions also, provided they were given pure and
completely a priori, nay, even to mathematics, although this science cannot
possess an object otherwhere than in Possible experience. I cannot follow him in
this, and as little can I follow him in his mystical deduction of these ideas,
or in his hypostatization of them; although, in truth, the elevated and
exaggerated language which he employed in describing them is quite capable of an
interpretation more subdued and more in accordance with fact and the nature of
things.]
The Platonic Republic has become proverbial as an example—and a
striking one—of imaginary perfection, such as can exist only in the brain of the
idle thinker; and Brucker ridicules the philosopher for maintaining that a
prince can never govern well, unless he is participant in the ideas. But we
should do better to follow up this thought and, where this admirable thinker
leaves us without assistance, employ new efforts to place it in clearer light,
rather than carelessly fling it aside as useless, under the very miserable and
pernicious pretext of impracticability. A constitution of the greatest possible
human freedom according to laws, by which the liberty of every individual can
consist with the liberty of every other (not of the greatest possible happiness,
for this follows necessarily from the former), is, to say the least, a necessary
idea, which must be placed at the foundation not only of the first plan of the
constitution of a state, but of all its laws. And, in this, it not necessary at
the outset to take account of the obstacles which lie in our way—obstacles which
perhaps do not necessarily arise from the character of human nature, but rather
from the previous neglect of true ideas in legislation. For there is nothing
more pernicious and more unworthy of a philosopher, than the vulgar appeal to a
so-called adverse experience, which indeed would not have existed, if those
institutions had been established at the proper time and in accordance with
ideas; while, instead of this, conceptions, crude for the very reason that they
have been drawn from experience, have marred and frustrated all our better views
and intentions. The more legislation and government are in harmony with this
idea, the more rare do punishments become and thus it is quite reasonable to
maintain, as Plato did, that in a perfect state no punishments at all would be
necessary. Now although a perfect state may never exist, the idea is not on that
account the less just, which holds up this maximum as the archetype or standard
of a constitution, in order to bring legislative government always nearer and
nearer to the greatest possible perfection. For at what precise degree human
nature must stop in its progress, and how wide must be the chasm which must
necessarily exist between the idea and its realization, are problems which no
one can or ought to determine- and for this reason, that it is the destination
of freedom to overstep all assigned limits between itself and the idea.
But not only in that wherein human reason is a real causal agent
and where ideas are operative causes (of actions and their objects), that is to
say, in the region of ethics, but also in regard to nature herself, Plato saw
clear proofs of an origin from ideas. A plant, and animal, the regular order of
nature—probably also the disposition of the whole universe—give manifest
evidence that they are possible only by means of and according to ideas; that,
indeed, no one creature, under the individual conditions of its existence,
perfectly harmonizes with the idea of the most perfect of its kind- just as
little as man with the idea of humanity, which nevertheless he bears in his soul
as the archetypal standard of his actions; that, notwithstanding, these ideas
are in the highest sense individually, unchangeably, and completely determined,
and are the original causes of things; and that the totality of connected
objects in the universe is alone fully adequate to that idea. Setting aside the
exaggerations of expression in the writings of this philosopher, the mental
power exhibited in this ascent from the ectypal mode of regarding the physical
world to the architectonic connection thereof according to ends, that is, ideas,
is an effort which deserves imitation and claims respect. But as regards the
principles of ethics, of legislation, and of religion, spheres in which ideas
alone render experience possible, although they never attain to full expression
therein, he has vindicated for himself a position of peculiar merit, which is
not appreciated only because it is judged by the very empirical rules, the
validity of which as principles is destroyed by ideas. For as regards nature,
experience presents us with rules and is the source of truth, but in relation to
ethical laws experience is the parent of illusion, and it is in the highest
degree reprehensible to limit or to deduce the laws which dictate what I ought
to do, from what is done.
We must, however, omit the consideration of these important
subjects, the development of which is in reality the peculiar duty and dignity
of philosophy, and confine ourselves for the present to the more humble but not
less useful task of preparing a firm foundation for those majestic edifices of
moral science. For this foundation has been hitherto insecure from the many
subterranean passages which reason in its confident but vain search for
treasures has made in all directions. Our present duty is to make ourselves
perfectly acquainted with the transcendental use made of pure reason, its
principles and ideas, that we may be able properly to determine and value its
influence and real worth. But before bringing these introductory remarks to a
close, I beg those who really have philosophy at heart—and their number is but
small—if they shall find themselves convinced by the considerations following as
well as by those above, to exert themselves to preserve to the expression idea
its original signification, and to take care that it be not lost among those
other expressions by which all sorts of representations are loosely
designated—that the interests of science may not thereby suffer. We are in no
want of words to denominate adequately every mode of representation, without the
necessity of encroaching upon terms which are proper to others. The following is
a graduated list of them. The genus is representation in general
(representatio). Under it stands representation with consciousness (perceptio).
A perception which relates solely to the subject as a modification of its state,
is a sensation (sensatio), an objective perception is a cognition (cognitio). A
cognition is either an intuition or a conception (intuitus vel conceptus). The
former has an immediate relation to the object and is singular and individual;
the latter has but a mediate relation, by means of a characteristic mark which
may be common to several things. A conception is either empirical or pure. A
pure conception, in so far as it has its origin in the understanding alone, and
is not the conception of a pure sensuous image, is called notio. A conception
formed from notions, which transcends the possibility of experience, is an idea,
or a conception of reason. To one who has accustomed himself to these
distinctions, it must be quite intolerable to hear the representation of the
colour red called an idea. It ought not even to be called a notion or conception
of understanding.
SECTION II. Of Transcendental Ideas.
Transcendental analytic showed us how the mere logical form of
our cognition can contain the origin of pure conceptions a priori, conceptions
which represent objects antecedently to all experience, or rather, indicate the
synthetical unity which alone renders possible an empirical cognition of
objects. The form of judgements—converted into a conception of the synthesis of
intuitions—produced the categories which direct the employment of the
understanding in experience. This consideration warrants us to expect that the
form of syllogisms, when applied to synthetical unity of intuitions, following
the rule of the categories, will contain the origin of particular a priori
conceptions, which we may call pure conceptions of reason or transcendental
ideas, and which will determine the use of the understanding in the totality of
experience according to principles.
The function of reason in arguments consists in the universality
of a cognition according to conceptions, and the syllogism itself is a judgement
which is determined a priori in the whole extent of its condition. The
proposition: "Caius is mortal," is one which may be obtained from experience by
the aid of the understanding alone; but my wish is to find a conception which
contains the condition under which the predicate of this judgement is given—in
this case, the conception of man—and after subsuming under this condition, taken
in its whole extent (all men are mortal), I determine according to it the
cognition of the object thought, and say: "Caius is mortal."
Hence, in the conclusion of a syllogism we restrict a predicate
to a certain object, after having thought it in the major in its whole extent
under a certain condition. This complete quantity of the extent in relation to
such a condition is called universality (universalitas). To this corresponds
totality (universitas) of conditions in the synthesis of intuitions. The
transcendental conception of reason is therefore nothing else than the
conception of the totality of the conditions of a given conditioned. Now as the
unconditioned alone renders possible totality of conditions, and, conversely,
the totality of conditions is itself always unconditioned; a pure rational
conception in general can be defined and explained by means of the conception of
the unconditioned, in so far as it contains a basis for the synthesis of the
conditioned.
To the number of modes of relation which the understanding
cogitates by means of the categories, the number of pure rational conceptions
will correspond. We must therefore seek for, first, an unconditioned of the
categorical synthesis in a subject; secondly, of the hypothetical synthesis of
the members of a series; thirdly, of the disjunctive synthesis of parts in a
system.
There are exactly the same number of modes of syllogisms, each
of which proceeds through prosyllogisms to the unconditioned—one to the subject
which cannot be employed as predicate, another to the presupposition which
supposes nothing higher than itself, and the third to an aggregate of the
members of the complete division of a conception. Hence the pure rational
conceptions of totality in the synthesis of conditions have a necessary
foundation in the nature of human reason—at least as modes of elevating the
unity of the understanding to the unconditioned. They may have no valid
application, corresponding to their transcendental employment, in concreto, and
be thus of no greater utility than to direct the understanding how, while
extending them as widely as possible, to maintain its exercise and application
in perfect consistence and harmony.
But, while speaking here of the totality of conditions and of
the unconditioned as the common title of all conceptions of reason, we again
light upon an expression which we find it impossible to dispense with, and which
nevertheless, owing to the ambiguity attaching to it from long abuse, we cannot
employ with safety. The word absolute is one of the few words which, in its
original signification, was perfectly adequate to the conception it was intended
to convey—a conception which no other word in the same language exactly suits,
and the loss—or, which is the same thing, the incautious and loose employment—of
which must be followed by the loss of the conception itself. And, as it is a
conception which occupies much of the attention of reason, its loss would be
greatly to the detriment of all transcendental philosophy. The word absolute is
at present frequently used to denote that something can be predicated of a thing
considered in itself and intrinsically. In this sense absolutely possible would
signify that which is possible in itself (interne)- which is, in fact, the least
that one can predicate of an object. On the other hand, it is sometimes employed
to indicate that a thing is valid in all respects—for example, absolute
sovereignty. Absolutely possible would in this sense signify that which is
possible in all relations and in every respect; and this is the most that can be
predicated of the possibility of a thing. Now these significations do in truth
frequently coincide. Thus, for example, that which is intrinsically impossible,
is also impossible in all relations, that is, absolutely impossible. But in most
cases they differ from each other toto caelo, and I can by no means conclude
that, because a thing is in itself possible, it is also possible in all
relations, and therefore absolutely. Nay, more, I shall in the sequel show that
absolute necessity does not by any means depend on internal necessity, and that,
therefore, it must not be considered as synonymous with it. Of an opposite which
is intrinsically impossible, we may affirm that it is in all respects
impossible, and that, consequently, the thing itself, of which this is the
opposite, is absolutely necessary; but I cannot reason conversely and say, the
opposite of that which is absolutely necessary is intrinsically impossible, that
is, that the absolute necessity of things is an internal necessity. For this
internal necessity is in certain cases a mere empty word with which the least
conception cannot be connected, while the conception of the necessity of a thing
in all relations possesses very peculiar determinations. Now as the loss of a
conception of great utility in speculative science cannot be a matter of
indifference to the philosopher, I trust that the proper determination and
careful preservation of the expression on which the conception depends will
likewise be not indifferent to him.
In this enlarged signification, then, shall I employ the word
absolute, in opposition to that which is valid only in some particular respect;
for the latter is restricted by conditions, the former is valid without any
restriction whatever.
Now the transcendental conception of reason has for its object
nothing else than absolute totality in the synthesis of conditions and does not
rest satisfied till it has attained to the absolutely, that is, in all respects
and relations, unconditioned. For pure reason leaves to the understanding
everything that immediately relates to the object of intuition or rather to
their synthesis in imagination. The former restricts itself to the absolute
totality in the employment of the conceptions of the understanding and aims at
carrying out the synthetical unity which is cogitated in the category, even to
the unconditioned. This unity may hence be called the rational unity of
phenomena, as the other, which the category expresses, may be termed the unity
of the understanding. Reason, therefore, has an immediate relation to the use of
the understanding, not indeed in so far as the latter contains the ground of
possible experience (for the conception of the absolute totality of conditions
is not a conception that can be employed in experience, because no experience is
unconditioned), but solely for the purpose of directing it to a certain unity,
of which the understanding has no conception, and the aim of which is to collect
into an absolute whole all acts of the understanding. Hence the objective
employment of the pure conceptions of reason is always transcendent, while that
of the pure conceptions of the understanding must, according to their nature, be
always immanent, inasmuch as they are limited to possible experience.
I understand by idea a necessary conception of reason, to which
no corresponding object can be discovered in the world of sense. Accordingly,
the pure conceptions of reason at present under consideration are transcendental
ideas. They are conceptions of pure reason, for they regard all empirical
cognition as determined by means of an absolute totality of conditions. They are
not mere fictions, but natural and necessary products of reason, and have hence
a necessary relation to the whole sphere of the exercise of the understanding.
And, finally, they are transcendent, and overstep the limits of all experiences,
in which, consequently, no object can ever be presented that would be perfectly
adequate to a transcendental idea. When we use the word idea, we say, as regards
its object (an object of the pure understanding), a great deal, but as regards
its subject (that is, in respect of its reality under conditions of experience),
exceedingly little, because the idea, as the conception of a maximum, can never
be completely and adequately presented in concreto. Now, as in the merely
speculative employment of reason the latter is properly the sole aim, and as in
this case the approximation to a conception, which is never attained in
practice, is the same thing as if the conception were non-existent—it is
commonly said of the conception of this kind, "it is only an idea." So we might
very well say, "the absolute totality of all phenomena is only an idea," for, as
we never can present an adequate representation of it, it remains for us a
problem incapable of solution. On the other hand, as in the practical use of the
understanding we have only to do with action and practice according to rules, an
idea of pure reason can always be given really in concreto, although only
partially, nay, it is the indispensable condition of all practical employment of
reason. The practice or execution of the idea is always limited and defective,
but nevertheless within indeterminable boundaries, consequently always under the
influence of the conception of an absolute perfection. And thus the practical
idea is always in the highest degree fruitful, and in relation to real actions
indispensably necessary. In the idea, pure reason possesses even causality and
the power of producing that which its conception contains. Hence we cannot say
of wisdom, in a disparaging way, "it is only an idea." For, for the very reason
that it is the idea of the necessary unity of all possible aims, it must be for
all practical exertions and endeavours the primitive condition and rule—a rule
which, if not constitutive, is at least limitative.
Now, although we must say of the transcendental conceptions of
reason, "they are only ideas," we must not, on this account, look upon them as
superfluous and nugatory. For, although no object can be determined by them,
they can be of great utility, unobserved and at the basis of the edifice of the
understanding, as the canon for its extended and self-consistent exercise—a
canon which, indeed, does not enable it to cognize more in an object than it
would cognize by the help of its own conceptions, but which guides it more
securely in its cognition. Not to mention that they perhaps render possible a
transition from our conceptions of nature and the non-ego to the practical
conceptions, and thus produce for even ethical ideas keeping, so to speak, and
connection with the speculative cognitions of reason. The explication of all
this must be looked for in the sequel.
But setting aside, in conformity with our original purpose, the
consideration of the practical ideas, we proceed to contemplate reason in its
speculative use alone, nay, in a still more restricted sphere, to wit, in the
transcendental use; and here must strike into the same path which we followed in
our deduction of the categories. That is to say, we shall consider the logical
form of the cognition of reason, that we may see whether reason may not be
thereby a source of conceptions which enables us to regard objects in themselves
as determined synthetically a priori, in relation to one or other of the
functions of reason.
Reason, considered as the faculty of a certain logical form of
cognition, is the faculty of conclusion, that is, of mediate judgement—by means
of the subsumption of the condition of a possible judgement under the condition
of a given judgement. The given judgement is the general rule (major). The
subsumption of the condition of another possible judgement under the condition
of the rule is the minor. The actual judgement, which enounces the assertion of
the rule in the subsumed case, is the conclusion (conclusio). The rule
predicates something generally under a certain condition. The condition of the
rule is satisfied in some particular case. It follows that what was valid in
general under that condition must also be considered as valid in the particular
case which satisfies this condition. It is very plain that reason attains to a
cognition, by means of acts of the understanding which constitute a series of
conditions. When I arrive at the proposition, "All bodies are changeable," by
beginning with the more remote cognition (in which the conception of body does
not appear, but which nevertheless contains the condition of that conception),
"All compound is changeable," by proceeding from this to a less remote
cognition, which stands under the condition of the former, "Bodies are
compound," and hence to a third, which at length connects for me the remote
cognition (changeable) with the one before me, "Consequently, bodies are
changeable"—I have arrived at a cognition (conclusion) through a series of
conditions (premisses). Now every series, whose exponent (of the categorical or
hypothetical judgement) is given, can be continued; consequently the same
procedure of reason conducts us to the ratiocinatio polysyllogistica, which is a
series of syllogisms, that can be continued either on the side of the conditions
(per prosyllogismos) or of the conditioned (per episyllogismos) to an indefinite
extent.
But we very soon perceive that the chain or series of
prosyllogisms, that is, of deduced cognitions on the side of the grounds or
conditions of a given cognition, in other words, the ascending series of
syllogisms must have a very different relation to the faculty of reason from
that of the descending series, that is, the progressive procedure of reason on
the side of the conditioned by means of episyllogisms. For, as in the former
case the cognition (conclusio) is given only as conditioned, reason can attain
to this cognition only under the presupposition that all the members of the
series on the side of the conditions are given (totality in the series of
premisses), because only under this supposition is the judgement we may be
considering possible a priori; while on the side of the conditioned or the
inferences, only an incomplete and becoming, and not a presupposed or given
series, consequently only a potential progression, is cogitated. Hence, when a
cognition is contemplated as conditioned, reason is compelled to consider the
series of conditions in an ascending line as completed and given in their
totality. But if the very same condition is considered at the same time as the
condition of other cognitions, which together constitute a series of inferences
or consequences in a descending line, reason may preserve a perfect
indifference, as to how far this progression may extend a parte posteriori, and
whether the totality of this series is possible, because it stands in no need of
such a series for the purpose of arriving at the conclusion before it, inasmuch
as this conclusion is sufficiently guaranteed and determined on grounds a parte
priori. It may be the case, that upon the side of the conditions the series of
premisses has a first or highest condition, or it may not possess this, and so
be a parte priori unlimited; but it must, nevertheless, contain totality of
conditions, even admitting that we never could succeed in completely
apprehending it; and the whole series must be unconditionally true, if the
conditioned, which is considered as an inference resulting from it, is to be
held as true. This is a requirement of reason, which announces its cognition as
determined a priori and as necessary, either in itself—and in this case it needs
no grounds to rest upon—or, if it is deduced, as a member of a series of
grounds, which is itself unconditionally true.
SECTION III. System of Transcendental
Ideas.
We are not at present engaged with a logical dialectic, which
makes complete abstraction of the content of cognition and aims only at
unveiling the illusory appearance in the form of syllogisms. Our subject is
transcendental dialectic, which must contain, completely a priori, the origin of
certain cognitions drawn from pure reason, and the origin of certain deduced
conceptions, the object of which cannot be given empirically and which therefore
lie beyond the sphere of the faculty of understanding. We have observed, from
the natural relation which the transcendental use of our cognition, in
syllogisms as well as in judgements, must have to the logical, that there are
three kinds of dialectical arguments, corresponding to the three modes of
conclusion, by which reason attains to cognitions on principles; and that in all
it is the business of reason to ascend from the conditioned synthesis, beyond
which the understanding never proceeds, to the unconditioned which the
understanding never can reach.
Now the most general relations which can exist in our
representations are: 1st, the relation to the subject; 2nd, the relation to
objects, either as phenomena, or as objects of thought in general. If we connect
this subdivision with the main division, all the relations of our
representations, of which we can form either a conception or an idea, are
threefold: 1. The relation to the subject; 2. The relation to the manifold of
the object as a phenomenon; 3. The relation to all things in general.
Now all pure conceptions have to do in general with the
synthetical unity of representations; conceptions of pure reason (transcendental
ideas), on the other hand, with the unconditional synthetical unity of all
conditions. It follows that all transcendental ideas arrange themselves in three
classes, the first of which contains the absolute (unconditioned) unity of the
thinking subject, the second the absolute unity of the series of the conditions
of a phenomenon, the third the absolute unity of the condition of all objects of
thought in general.
The thinking subject is the object-matter of Psychology; the sum
total of all phenomena (the world) is the object-matter of Cosmology; and the
thing which contains the highest condition of the possibility of all that is
cogitable (the being of all beings) is the object-matter of all Theology. Thus
pure reason presents us with the idea of a transcendental doctrine of the soul
(psychologia rationalis), of a transcendental science of the world (cosmologia
rationalis), and finally of a transcendental doctrine of God (theologia
transcendentalis). Understanding cannot originate even the outline of any of
these sciences, even when connected with the highest logical use of reason, that
is, all cogitable syllogisms- for the purpose of proceeding from one object
(phenomenon) to all others, even to the utmost limits of the empirical
synthesis. They are, on the contrary, pure and genuine products, or problems, of
pure reason.
What modi of the pure conceptions of reason these transcendental
ideas are will be fully exposed in the following chapter. They follow the
guiding thread of the categories. For pure reason never relates immediately to
objects, but to the conceptions of these contained in the understanding. In like
manner, it will be made manifest in the detailed explanation of these ideas—how
reason, merely through the synthetical use of the same function which it employs
in a categorical syllogism, necessarily attains to the conception of the
absolute unity of the thinking subject—how the logical procedure in hypothetical
ideas necessarily produces the idea of the absolutely unconditioned in a series
of given conditions, and finally—how the mere form of the disjunctive syllogism
involves the highest conception of a being of all beings: a thought which at
first sight seems in the highest degree paradoxical.
An objective deduction, such as we were able to present in the
case of the categories, is impossible as regards these transcendental ideas. For
they have, in truth, no relation to any object, in experience, for the very
reason that they are only ideas. But a subjective deduction of them from the
nature of our reason is possible, and has been given in the present chapter.
It is easy to perceive that the sole aim of pure reason is the
absolute totality of the synthesis on the side of the conditions, and that it
does not concern itself with the absolute completeness on the Part of the
conditioned. For of the former alone does she stand in need, in order to
preposit the whole series of conditions, and thus present them to the
understanding a priori. But if we once have a completely (and unconditionally)
given condition, there is no further necessity, in proceeding with the series,
for a conception of reason; for the understanding takes of itself every step
downward, from the condition to the conditioned. Thus the transcendental ideas
are available only for ascending in the series of conditions, till we reach the
unconditioned, that is, principles. As regards descending to the conditioned, on
the other hand, we find that there is a widely extensive logical use which
reason makes of the laws of the understanding, but that a transcendental use
thereof is impossible; and that when we form an idea of the absolute totality of
such a synthesis, for example, of the whole series of all future changes in the
world, this idea is a mere ens rationis, an arbitrary fiction of thought, and
not a necessary presupposition of reason. For the possibility of the conditioned
presupposes the totality of its conditions, but not of its consequences.
Consequently, this conception is not a transcendental idea—and it is with these
alone that we are at present occupied.
Finally, it is obvious that there exists among the
transcendental ideas a certain connection and unity, and that pure reason, by
means of them, collects all its cognitions into one system. From the cognition
of self to the cognition of the world, and through these to the supreme being,
the progression is so natural, that it seems to resemble the logical march of
reason from the premisses to the conclusion.* Now whether there lies unobserved
at the foundation of these ideas an analogy of the same kind as exists between
the logical and transcendental procedure of reason, is another of those
questions, the answer to which we must not expect till we arrive at a more
advanced stage in our inquiries. In this cursory and preliminary view, we have,
meanwhile, reached our aim. For we have dispelled the ambiguity which attached
to the transcendental conceptions of reason, from their being commonly mixed up
with other conceptions in the systems of philosophers, and not properly
distinguished from the conceptions of the understanding; we have exposed their
origin and, thereby, at the same time their determinate number, and presented
them in a systematic connection, and have thus marked out and enclosed a
definite sphere for pure reason.
[*Footnote: The science of Metaphysics
has for the proper object of its inquiries only three grand ideas: GOD, FREEDOM,
and IMMORTALITY, and it aims at showing, that the second conception, conjoined
with the first, must lead to the third, as a necessary conclusion. All the other
subjects with which it occupies itself, are merely means for the attainment and
realization of these ideas. It does not require these ideas for the construction
of a science of nature, but, on the contrary, for the purpose of passing beyond
the sphere of nature. A complete insight into and comprehension of them would
render Theology, Ethics, and, through the conjunction of both, Religion, solely
dependent on the speculative faculty of reason. In a systematic representation
of these ideas the above-mentioned arrangement—the synthetical one—would be the
most suitable; but in the investigation which must necessarily precede it, the
analytical, which reverses this arrangement, would be better adapted to our
purpose, as in it we should proceed from that which experience immediately
presents to us—psychology, to cosmology, and thence to theology.]
BOOK II.
OF THE DIALECTICAL PROCEDURE OF PURE REASON.
It may be said that the object of a merely transcendental idea
is something of which we have no conception, although the idea may be a
necessary product of reason according to its original laws. For, in fact, a
conception of an object that is adequate to the idea given by reason, is
impossible. For such an object must be capable of being presented and intuited
in a Possible experience. But we should express our meaning better, and with
less risk of being misunderstood, if we said that we can have no knowledge of an
object, which perfectly corresponds to an idea, although we may possess a
problematical conception thereof.
Now the transcendental (subjective) reality at least of the pure
conceptions of reason rests upon the fact that we are led to such ideas by a
necessary procedure of reason. There must therefore be syllogisms which contain
no empirical premisses, and by means of which we conclude from something that we
do know, to something of which we do not even possess a conception, to which we,
nevertheless, by an unavoidable illusion, ascribe objective reality. Such
arguments are, as regards their result, rather to be termed sophisms than
syllogisms, although indeed, as regards their origin, they are very well
entitled to the latter name, inasmuch as they are not fictions or accidental
products of reason, but are necessitated by its very nature. They are sophisms,
not of men, but of pure reason herself, from which the Wisest cannot free
himself. After long labour he may be able to guard against the error, but he can
never be thoroughly rid of the illusion which continually mocks and misleads
him.
Of these dialectical arguments there are three kinds,
corresponding to the number of the ideas which their conclusions present. In the
argument or syllogism of the first class, I conclude, from the transcendental
conception of the subject contains no manifold, the absolute unity of the
subject itself, of which I cannot in this manner attain to a conception. This
dialectical argument I shall call the transcendental paralogism. The second
class of sophistical arguments is occupied with the transcendental conception of
the absolute totality of the series of conditions for a given phenomenon, and I
conclude, from the fact that I have always a self-contradictory conception of
the unconditioned synthetical unity of the series upon one side, the truth of
the opposite unity, of which I have nevertheless no conception. The condition of
reason in these dialectical arguments, I shall term the antinomy of pure reason.
Finally, according to the third kind of sophistical argument, I conclude, from
the totality of the conditions of thinking objects in general, in so far as they
can be given, the absolute synthetical unity of all conditions of the
possibility of things in general; that is, from things which I do not know in
their mere transcendental conception, I conclude a being of all beings which I
know still less by means of a transcendental conception, and of whose
unconditioned necessity I can form no conception whatever. This dialectical
argument I shall call the ideal of pure reason.
CHAPTER I. Of the Paralogisms of Pure
Reason.
The logical paralogism consists in the falsity of an argument in
respect of its form, be the content what it may. But a transcendental paralogism
has a transcendental foundation, and concludes falsely, while the form is
correct and unexceptionable. In this manner the paralogism has its foundation in
the nature of human reason, and is the parent of an unavoidable, though not
insoluble, mental illusion.
We now come to a conception which was not inserted in the
general list of transcendental conceptions, and yet must be reckoned with them,
but at the same time without in the least altering, or indicating a deficiency
in that table. This is the conception, or, if the term is preferred, the
judgement, "I think." But it is readily perceived that this thought is as it
were the vehicle of all conceptions in general, and consequently of
transcendental conceptions also, and that it is therefore regarded as a
transcendental conception, although it can have no peculiar claim to be so
ranked, inasmuch as its only use is to indicate that all thought is accompanied
by consciousness. At the same time, pure as this conception is from empirical
content (impressions of the senses), it enables us to distinguish two different
kinds of objects. "I," as thinking, am an object of the internal sense, and am
called soul. That which is an object of the external senses is called body. Thus
the expression, "I," as a thinking being, designates the object-matter of
psychology, which may be called "the rational doctrine of the soul," inasmuch as
in this science I desire to know nothing of the soul but what, independently of
all experience (which determines me in concreto), may be concluded from this
conception "I," in so far as it appears in all thought.
Now, the rational doctrine of the soul is really an undertaking
of this kind. For if the smallest empirical element of thought, if any
particular perception of my internal state, were to be introduced among the
grounds of cognition of this science, it would not be a rational, but an
empirical doctrine of the soul. We have thus before us a pretended science,
raised upon the single proposition, "I think," whose foundation or want of
foundation we may very properly, and agreeably with the nature of a
transcendental philosophy, here examine. It ought not to be objected that in
this proposition, which expresses the perception of one's self, an internal
experience is asserted, and that consequently the rational doctrine of the soul
which is founded upon it, is not pure, but partly founded upon an empirical
principle. For this internal perception is nothing more than the mere
apperception, "I think," which in fact renders all transcendental conceptions
possible, in which we say, "I think substance, cause, etc." For internal
experience in general and its possibility, or perception in general, and its
relation to other perceptions, unless some particular distinction or
determination thereof is empirically given, cannot be regarded as empirical
cognition, but as cognition of the empirical, and belongs to the investigation
of the possibility of every experience, which is certainly transcendental. The
smallest object of experience (for example, only pleasure or pain), that should
be included in the general representation of self-consciousness, would
immediately change the rational into an empirical psychology.
"I think" is therefore the only text of rational psychology,
from which it must develop its whole system. It is manifest that this thought,
when applied to an object (myself), can contain nothing but transcendental
predicates thereof; because the least empirical predicate would destroy the
purity of the science and its independence of all experience.
But we shall have to follow here the guidance of the categories-
only, as in the present case a thing, "I," as thinking being, is at first given,
we shall—not indeed change the order of the categories as it stands in the
table—but begin at the category of substance, by which at the a thing in itself
is represented and proceeds backwards through the series. The topic of the
rational doctrine of the soul, from which everything else it may contain must be
deduced, is accordingly as follows:
1 2
The Soul is SUBSTANCE As regards its quality
it is SIMPLE
3 As regards the
different times in which it exists, it is numerically identical, that is UNITY,
not Plurality.
4 It is in relation
to possible objects in space*
[*Footnote: The reader, who may not so
easily perceive the psychological sense of these expressions, taken here in
their transcendental abstraction, and cannot guess why the latter attribute of
the soul belongs to the category of existence, will find the expressions
sufficiently explained and justified in the sequel. I have, moreover, to
apologize for the Latin terms which have been employed, instead of their German
synonyms, contrary to the rules of correct writing. But I judged it better to
sacrifice elegance to perspicuity.]
From these elements originate all the conceptions of pure
psychology, by combination alone, without the aid of any other principle. This
substance, merely as an object of the internal sense, gives the conception of
Immateriality; as simple substance, that of Incorruptibility; its identity, as
intellectual substance, gives the conception of Personality; all these three
together, Spirituality. Its relation to objects in space gives us the conception
of connection (commercium) with bodies. Thus it represents thinking substance as
the principle of life in matter, that is, as a soul (anima), and as the ground
of Animality; and this, limited and determined by the conception of
spirituality, gives us that of Immortality.
Now to these conceptions relate four paralogisms of a
transcendental psychology, which is falsely held to be a science of pure reason,
touching the nature of our thinking being. We can, however, lay at the
foundation of this science nothing but the simple and in itself perfectly
contentless representation "I" which cannot even be called a conception, but
merely a consciousness which accompanies all conceptions. By this "I," or "He,"
or "It," who or which thinks, nothing more is represented than a transcendental
subject of thought = x, which is cognized only by means of the thoughts that are
its predicates, and of which, apart from these, we cannot form the least
conception. Hence in a perpetual circle, inasmuch as we must always employ it,
in order to frame any judgement respecting it. And this inconvenience we find it
impossible to rid ourselves of, because consciousness in itself is not so much a
representation distinguishing a particular object, as a form of representation
in general, in so far as it may be termed cognition; for in and by cognition
alone do I think anything.
It must, however, appear extraordinary at first sight that the
condition under which I think, and which is consequently a property of my
subject, should be held to be likewise valid for every existence which thinks,
and that we can presume to base upon a seemingly empirical proposition a
judgement which is apodeictic and universal, to wit, that everything which
thinks is constituted as the voice of my consciousness declares it to be, that
is, as a self-conscious being. The cause of this belief is to be found in the
fact that we necessarily attribute to things a priori all the properties which
constitute conditions under which alone we can cogitate them. Now I cannot
obtain the least representation of a thinking being by means of external
experience, but solely through self-consciousness. Such objects are consequently
nothing more than the transference of this consciousness of mine to other things
which can only thus be represented as thinking beings. The proposition, "I
think," is, in the present case, understood in a problematical sense, not in so
far as it contains a perception of an existence (like the Cartesian "Cogito,
ergo sum"),[Footnote: "I think, therefore I am."] but in regard to its mere
possibility—for the purpose of discovering what properties may be inferred from
so simple a proposition and predicated of the subject of it.
If at the foundation of our pure rational cognition of thinking
beings there lay more than the mere Cogito—if we could likewise call in aid
observations on the play of our thoughts, and the thence derived natural laws of
the thinking self, there would arise an empirical psychology which would be a
kind of physiology of the internal sense and might possibly be capable of
explaining the phenomena of that sense. But it could never be available for
discovering those properties which do not belong to possible experience (such as
the quality of simplicity), nor could it make any apodeictic enunciation on the
nature of thinking beings: it would therefore not be a rational psychology.
Now, as the proposition "I think" (in the problematical sense)
contains the form of every judgement in general and is the constant
accompaniment of all the categories, it is manifest that conclusions are drawn
from it only by a transcendental employment of the understanding. This use of
the understanding excludes all empirical elements; and we cannot, as has been
shown above, have any favourable conception beforehand of its procedure. We
shall therefore follow with a critical eye this proposition through all the
predicaments of pure psychology; but we shall, for brevity's sake, allow this
examination to proceed in an uninterrupted connection.
Before entering on this task, however, the following general
remark may help to quicken our attention to this mode of argument. It is not
merely through my thinking that I cognize an object, but only through my
determining a given intuition in relation to the unity of consciousness in which
all thinking consists. It follows that I cognize myself, not through my being
conscious of myself as thinking, but only when I am conscious of the intuition
of myself as determined in relation to the function of thought. All the modi of
self-consciousness in thought are hence not conceptions of objects (conceptions
of the understanding—categories); they are mere logical functions, which do not
present to thought an object to be cognized, and cannot therefore present my
Self as an object. Not the consciousness of the determining, but only that of
the determinable self, that is, of my internal intuition (in so far as the
manifold contained in it can be connected conformably with the general condition
of the unity of apperception in thought), is the object.
1. In all judgements I am the determining subject of that
relation which constitutes a judgement. But that the I which thinks, must be
considered as in thought always a subject, and as a thing which cannot be a
predicate to thought, is an apodeictic and identical proposition. But this
proposition does not signify that I, as an object, am, for myself, a
self-subsistent being or substance. This latter statement- an ambitious
one—requires to be supported by data which are not to be discovered in thought;
and are perhaps (in so far as I consider the thinking self merely as such) not
to be discovered in the thinking self at all.
2. That the I or Ego of apperception, and consequently in all
thought, is singular or simple, and cannot be resolved into a plurality of
subjects, and therefore indicates a logically simple subject—this is
self-evident from the very conception of an Ego, and is consequently an
analytical proposition. But this is not tantamount to declaring that the
thinking Ego is a simple substance- for this would be a synthetical proposition.
The conception of substance always relates to intuitions, which with me cannot
be other than sensuous, and which consequently lie completely out of the sphere
of the understanding and its thought: but to this sphere belongs the affirmation
that the Ego is simple in thought. It would indeed be surprising, if the
conception of "substance," which in other cases requires so much labour to
distinguish from the other elements presented by intuition—so much trouble, too,
to discover whether it can be simple (as in the case of the parts of
matter)—should be presented immediately to me, as if by revelation, in the
poorest mental representation of all.
3. The proposition of the identity of my Self amidst all the
manifold representations of which I am conscious, is likewise a proposition
lying in the conceptions themselves, and is consequently analytical. But this
identity of the subject, of which I am conscious in all its representations,
does not relate to or concern the intuition of the subject, by which it is given
as an object. This proposition cannot therefore enounce the identity of the
person, by which is understood the consciousness of the identity of its own
substance as a thinking being in all change and variation of circumstances. To
prove this, we should require not a mere analysis of the proposition, but
synthetical judgements based upon a given intuition.
4. I distinguish my own existence, as that of a thinking being,
from that of other things external to me—among which my body also is reckoned.
This is also an analytical proposition, for other things are exactly those which
I think as different or distinguished from myself. But whether this
consciousness of myself is possible without things external to me; and whether
therefore I can exist merely as a thinking being (without being man)—cannot be
known or inferred from this proposition.
Thus we have gained nothing as regards the cognition of myself
as object, by the analysis of the consciousness of my Self in thought. The
logical exposition of thought in general is mistaken for a metaphysical
determination of the object.
Our Critique would be an investigation utterly superfluous, if
there existed a possibility of proving a priori, that all thinking beings are in
themselves simple substances, as such, therefore, possess the inseparable
attribute of personality, and are conscious of their existence apart from and
unconnected with matter. For we should thus have taken a step beyond the world
of sense, and have penetrated into the sphere of noumena; and in this case the
right could not be denied us of extending our knowledge in this sphere, of
establishing ourselves, and, under a favouring star, appropriating to ourselves
possessions in it. For the proposition: "Every thinking being, as such, is
simple substance," is an a priori synthetical proposition; because in the first
place it goes beyond the conception which is the subject of it, and adds to the
mere notion of a thinking being the mode of its existence, and in the second
place annexes a predicate (that of simplicity) to the latter conception—a
predicate which it could not have discovered in the sphere of experience. It
would follow that a priori synthetical propositions are possible and legitimate,
not only, as we have maintained, in relation to objects of possible experience,
and as principles of the possibility of this experience itself, but are
applicable to things in themselves—an inference which makes an end of the whole
of this Critique, and obliges us to fall back on the old mode of metaphysical
procedure. But indeed the danger is not so great, if we look a little closer
into the question.
There lurks in the procedure of rational Psychology a
paralogism, which is represented in the following syllogism:
That which cannot be cogitated otherwise than as subject, does
not exist otherwise than as subject, and is therefore substance.
A thinking being, considered merely as such, cannot be cogitated
otherwise than as subject.
Therefore it exists also as such, that is, as substance.
In the major we speak of a being that can be cogitated generally
and in every relation, consequently as it may be given in intuition. But in the
minor we speak of the same being only in so far as it regards itself as subject,
relatively to thought and the unity of consciousness, but not in relation to
intuition, by which it is presented as an object to thought. Thus the conclusion
is here arrived at by a Sophisma figurae dictionis.*
[*Footnote: Thought is taken in the two premisses in two totally
different senses. In the major it is considered as relating and applying to
objects in general, consequently to objects of intuition also. In the minor, we
understand it as relating merely to self-consciousness. In this sense, we do not
cogitate an object, but merely the relation to the self-consciousness of the
subject, as the form of thought. In the former premiss we speak of things which
cannot be cogitated otherwise than as subjects. In the second, we do not speak
of things, but of thought (all objects being abstracted), in which the Ego is
always the subject of consciousness. Hence the conclusion cannot be, "I cannot
exist otherwise than as subject"; but only "I can, in cogitating my existence,
employ my Ego only as the subject of the judgement." But this is an identical
proposition, and throws no light on the mode of my existence.]
That this famous argument is a mere paralogism, will be plain to
any one who will consider the general remark which precedes our exposition of
the principles of the pure understanding, and the section on noumena. For it was
there proved that the conception of a thing, which can exist per se—only as a
subject and never as a predicate, possesses no objective reality; that is to
say, we can never know whether there exists any object to correspond to the
conception; consequently, the conception is nothing more than a conception, and
from it we derive no proper knowledge. If this conception is to indicate by the
term substance, an object that can be given, if it is to become a cognition, we
must have at the foundation of the cognition a permanent intuition, as the
indispensable condition of its objective reality. For through intuition alone
can an object be given. But in internal intuition there is nothing permanent,
for the Ego is but the consciousness of my thought. If then, we appeal merely to
thought, we cannot discover the necessary condition of the application of the
conception of substance—that is, of a subject existing per se—to the subject as
a thinking being. And thus the conception of the simple nature of substance,
which is connected with the objective reality of this conception, is shown to be
also invalid, and to be, in fact, nothing more than the logical qualitative
unity of self-consciousness in thought; whilst we remain perfectly ignorant
whether the subject is composite or not.
Refutation of the Argument of
Mendelssohn for the
Substantiality or Permanence of the Soul.
This acute philosopher easily perceived the insufficiency of the
common argument which attempts to prove that the soul—it being granted that it
is a simple being—cannot perish by dissolution or decomposition; he saw it is
not impossible for it to cease to be by extinction, or disappearance. He
endeavoured to prove in his Phaedo, that the soul cannot be annihilated, by
showing that a simple being cannot cease to exist. Inasmuch as, he said, a
simple existence cannot diminish, nor gradually lose portions of its being, and
thus be by degrees reduced to nothing (for it possesses no parts, and therefore
no multiplicity), between the moment in which it is, and the moment in which it
is not, no time can be discovered—which is impossible. But this philosopher did
not consider that, granting the soul to possess this simple nature, which
contains no parts external to each other and consequently no extensive quantity,
we cannot refuse to it any less than to any other being, intensive quantity,
that is, a degree of reality in regard to all its faculties, nay, to all that
constitutes its existence. But this degree of reality can become less and less
through an infinite series of smaller degrees. It follows, therefore, that this
supposed substance—this thing, the permanence of which is not assured in any
other way, may, if not by decomposition, by gradual loss (remissio) of its
powers (consequently by elanguescence, if I may employ this expression), be
changed into nothing. For consciousness itself has always a degree, which may be
lessened.* Consequently the faculty of being conscious may be diminished; and so
with all other faculties. The permanence of the soul, therefore, as an object of
the internal sense, remains undemonstrated, nay, even indemonstrable. Its
permanence in life is evident, per se, inasmuch as the thinking being (as man)
is to itself, at the same time, an object of the external senses. But this does
not authorize the rational psychologist to affirm, from mere conceptions, its
permanence beyond life.*[2]
[*Footnote: Clearness is not, as logicians maintain, the
consciousness of a representation. For a certain degree of consciousness, which
may not, however, be sufficient for recollection, is to be met with in many dim
representations. For without any consciousness at all, we should not be able to
recognize any difference in the obscure representations we connect; as we really
can do with many conceptions, such as those of right and justice, and those of
the musician, who strikes at once several notes in improvising a piece of music.
But a representation is clear, in which our consciousness is sufficient for the
consciousness of the difference of this representation from others. If we are
only conscious that there is a difference, but are not conscious of the
difference—that is, what the difference is- the representation must be termed
obscure. There is, consequently, an infinite series of degrees of consciousness
down to its entire disappearance.]
[*[2]Footnote: There are some who think they have done enough to
establish a new possibility in the mode of the existence of souls, when they
have shown that there is no contradiction in their hypotheses on this subject.
Such are those who affirm the possibility of thought—of which they have no other
knowledge than what they derive from its use in connecting empirical intuitions
presented in this our human life—after this life has ceased. But it is very easy
to embarrass them by the introduction of counter-possibilities, which rest upon
quite as good a foundation. Such, for example, is the possibility of the
division of a simple substance into several substances; and conversely, of the
coalition of several into one simple substance. For, although divisibility
presupposes composition, it does not necessarily require a composition of
substances, but only of the degrees (of the several faculties) of one and the
same substance. Now we can cogitate all the powers and faculties of the
soul—even that of consciousness—as diminished by one half, the substance still
remaining. In the same way we can represent to ourselves without contradiction,
this obliterated half as preserved, not in the soul, but without it; and we can
believe that, as in this case every thing that is real in the soul, and has a
degree—consequently its entire existence—has been halved, a particular substance
would arise out of the soul. For the multiplicity, which has been divided,
formerly existed, but not as a multiplicity of substances, but of every reality
as the quantum of existence in it; and the unity of substance was merely a mode
of existence, which by this division alone has been transformed into a plurality
of subsistence. In the same manner several simple substances might coalesce into
one, without anything being lost except the plurality of subsistence, inasmuch
as the one substance would contain the degree of reality of all the former
substances. Perhaps, indeed, the simple substances, which appear under the form
of matter, might (not indeed by a mechanical or chemical influence upon each
other, but by an unknown influence, of which the former would be but the
phenomenal appearance), by means of such a dynamical division of the
parent-souls, as intensive quantities, produce other souls, while the former
repaired the loss thus sustained with new matter of the same sort. I am far from
allowing any value to such chimeras; and the principles of our analytic have
clearly proved that no other than an empirical use of the categories—that of
substance, for example—is possible. But if the rationalist is bold enough to
construct, on the mere authority of the faculty of thought—without any
intuition, whereby an object is given—a self-subsistent being, merely because
the unity of apperception in thought cannot allow him to believe it a composite
being, instead of declaring, as he ought to do, that he is unable to explain the
possibility of a thinking nature; what ought to hinder the materialist, with as
complete an independence of experience, to employ the principle of the
rationalist in a directly opposite manner— still preserving the formal unity
required by his opponent?]
If, now, we take the above propositions—as they must be accepted
as valid for all thinking beings in the system of rational psychology—in
synthetical connection, and proceed, from the category of relation, with the
proposition: "All thinking beings are, as such, substances," backwards through
the series, till the circle is completed; we come at last to their existence, of
which, in this system of rational psychology, substances are held to be
conscious, independently of external things; nay, it is asserted that, in
relation to the permanence which is a necessary characteristic of substance,
they can of themselves determine external things. It follows that idealism—at
least problematical idealism, is perfectly unavoidable in this rationalistic
system. And, if the existence of outward things is not held to be requisite to
the determination of the existence of a substance in time, the existence of
these outward things at all, is a gratuitous assumption which remains without
the possibility of a proof.
But if we proceed analytically—the "I think" as a proposition
containing in itself an existence as given, consequently modality being the
principle—and dissect this proposition, in order to ascertain its content, and
discover whether and how this Ego determines its existence in time and space
without the aid of anything external; the propositions of rationalistic
psychology would not begin with the conception of a thinking being, but with a
reality, and the properties of a thinking being in general would be deduced from
the mode in which this reality is cogitated, after everything empirical had been
abstracted; as is shown in the following table:
1
I think,
2 3
as Subject, as simple Subject,
4
as identical Subject,
in every state of my thought.
Now, inasmuch as it is not determined in
this second proposition, whether I can exist and be cogitated only as subject,
and not also as a predicate of another being, the conception of a subject is
here taken in a merely logical sense; and it remains undetermined, whether
substance is to be cogitated under the conception or not. But in the third
proposition, the absolute unity of apperception- the simple Ego in the
representation to which all connection and separation, which constitute thought,
relate, is of itself important; even although it presents us with no information
about the constitution or subsistence of the subject. Apperception is something
real, and the simplicity of its nature is given in the very fact of its
possibility. Now in space there is nothing real that is at the same time simple;
for points, which are the only simple things in space, are merely limits, but
not constituent parts of space. From this follows the impossibility of a
definition on the basis of materialism of the constitution of my Ego as a merely
thinking subject. But, because my existence is considered in the first
proposition as given, for it does not mean, "Every thinking being exists" (for
this would be predicating of them absolute necessity), but only, "I exist
thinking"; the proposition is quite empirical, and contains the determinability
of my existence merely in relation to my representations in time. But as I
require for this purpose something that is permanent, such as is not given in
internal intuition; the mode of my existence, whether as substance or as
accident, cannot be determined by means of this simple self-consciousness. Thus,
if materialism is inadequate to explain the mode in which I exist, spiritualism
is likewise as insufficient; and the conclusion is that we are utterly unable to
attain to any knowledge of the constitution of the soul, in so far as relates to
the possibility of its existence apart from external objects.
And, indeed, how should it be possible, merely by the aid of the
unity of consciousness—which we cognize only for the reason that it is
indispensable to the possibility of experience—to pass the bounds of experience
(our existence in this life); and to extend our cognition to the nature of all
thinking beings by means of the empirical—but in relation to every sort of
intuition, perfectly undetermined—proposition, "I think"?
There does not then exist any rational psychology as a doctrine
furnishing any addition to our knowledge of ourselves. It is nothing more than a
discipline, which sets impassable limits to speculative reason in this region of
thought, to prevent it, on the one hand, from throwing itself into the arms of a
soulless materialism, and, on the other, from losing itself in the mazes of a
baseless spiritualism. It teaches us to consider this refusal of our reason to
give any satisfactory answer to questions which reach beyond the limits of this
our human life, as a hint to abandon fruitless speculation; and to direct, to a
practical use, our knowledge of ourselves—which, although applicable only to
objects of experience, receives its principles from a higher source, and
regulates its procedure as if our destiny reached far beyond the boundaries of
experience and life.
From all this it is evident that rational psychology has its
origin in a mere misunderstanding. The unity of consciousness, which lies at the
basis of the categories, is considered to be an intuition of the subject as an
object; and the category of substance is applied to the intuition. But this
unity is nothing more than the unity in thought, by which no object is given; to
which therefore the category of substance—which always presupposes a given
intuition- cannot be applied. Consequently, the subject cannot be cognized. The
subject of the categories cannot, therefore, for the very reason that it
cogitates these, frame any conception of itself as an object of the categories;
for, to cogitate these, it must lay at the foundation its own pure
self-consciousness—the very thing that it wishes to explain and describe. In
like manner, the subject, in which the representation of time has its basis,
cannot determine, for this very reason, its own existence in time. Now, if the
latter is impossible, the former, as an attempt to determine itself by means of
the categories as a thinking being in general, is no less so.*
[*Footnote: The "I think" is, as has been already stated, an
empirical proposition, and contains the proposition, "I exist." But I cannot
say, "Everything, which thinks, exists"; for in this case the property of
thought would constitute all beings possessing it, necessary beings. Hence my
existence cannot be considered as an inference from the proposition, "I think,"
as Descartes maintained—because in this case the major premiss, "Everything,
which thinks, exists," must precede—but the two propositions are identical. The
proposition, "I think," expresses an undetermined empirical intuition, that
perception (proving consequently that sensation, which must belong to
sensibility, lies at the foundation of this proposition); but it precedes
experience, whose province it is to determine an object of perception by means
of the categories in relation to time; and existence in this proposition is not
a category, as it does not apply to an undetermined given object, but only to
one of which we have a conception, and about which we wish to know whether it
does or does not exist, out of, and apart from this conception. An undetermined
perception signifies here merely something real that has been given, only,
however, to thought in general—but not as a phenomenon, nor as a thing in itself
(noumenon), but only as something that really exists, and is designated as such
in the proposition, "I think." For it must be remarked that, when I call the
proposition, "I think," an empirical proposition, I do not thereby mean that the
Ego in the proposition is an empirical representation; on the contrary, it is
purely intellectual, because it belongs to thought in general. But without some
empirical representation, which presents to the mind material for thought, the
mental act, "I think," would not take place; and the empirical is only the
condition of the application or employment of the pure intellectual faculty.]
Thus, then, appears the vanity of the hope of establishing a
cognition which is to extend its rule beyond the limits of experience—a
cognition which is one of the highest interests of humanity; and thus is proved
the futility of the attempt of speculative philosophy in this region of thought.
But, in this interest of thought, the severity of criticism has rendered to
reason a not unimportant service, by the demonstration of the impossibility of
making any dogmatical affirmation concerning an object of experience beyond the
boundaries of experience. She has thus fortified reason against all affirmations
of the contrary. Now, this can be accomplished in only two ways. Either our
proposition must be proved apodeictically; or, if this is unsuccessful, the
sources of this inability must be sought for, and, if these are discovered to
exist in the natural and necessary limitation of our reason, our opponents must
submit to the same law of renunciation and refrain from advancing claims to
dogmatic assertion.
But the right, say rather the necessity to admit a future life,
upon principles of the practical conjoined with the speculative use of reason,
has lost nothing by this renunciation; for the merely speculative proof has
never had any influence upon the common reason of men. It stands upon the point
of a hair, so that even the schools have been able to preserve it from falling
only by incessantly discussing it and spinning it like a top; and even in their
eyes it has never been able to present any safe foundation for the erection of a
theory. The proofs which have been current among men, preserve their value
undiminished; nay, rather gain in clearness and unsophisticated power, by the
rejection of the dogmatical assumptions of speculative reason. For reason is
thus confined within her own peculiar province—the arrangement of ends or aims,
which is at the same time the arrangement of nature; and, as a practical
faculty, without limiting itself to the latter, it is justified in extending the
former, and with it our own existence, beyond the boundaries of experience and
life. If we turn our attention to the analogy of the nature of living beings in
this world, in the consideration of which reason is obliged to accept as a
principle that no organ, no faculty, no appetite is useless, and that nothing is
superfluous, nothing disproportionate to its use, nothing unsuited to its end;
but that, on the contrary, everything is perfectly conformed to its destination
in life—we shall find that man, who alone is the final end and aim of this
order, is still the only animal that seems to be excepted from it. For his
natural gifts—not merely as regards the talents and motives that may incite him
to employ them, but especially the moral law in him—stretch so far beyond all
mere earthly utility and advantage, that he feels himself bound to prize the
mere consciousness of probity, apart from all advantageous consequences— even
the shadowy gift of posthumous fame—above everything; and he is conscious of an
inward call to constitute himself, by his conduct in this world—without regard
to mere sublunary interests—the citizen of a better. This mighty, irresistible
proof—accompanied by an ever-increasing knowledge of the conformability to a
purpose in everything we see around us, by the conviction of the boundless
immensity of creation, by the consciousness of a certain illimitableness in the
possible extension of our knowledge, and by a desire commensurate
therewith—remains to humanity, even after the theoretical cognition of ourselves
has failed to establish the necessity of an existence after death.
Conclusion of the Solution of the
Psychological Paralogism.
The dialectical illusion in rational psychology arises from our
confounding an idea of reason (of a pure intelligence) with the conception—in
every respect undetermined—of a thinking being in general. I cogitate myself in
behalf of a possible experience, at the same time making abstraction of all
actual experience; and infer therefrom that I can be conscious of myself apart
from experience and its empirical conditions. I consequently confound the
possible abstraction of my empirically determined existence with the supposed
consciousness of a possible separate existence of my thinking self; and I
believe that I cognize what is substantial in myself as a transcendental
subject, when I have nothing more in thought than the unity of consciousness,
which lies at the basis of all determination of cognition.
The task of explaining the community of the soul with the body
does not properly belong to the psychology of which we are here speaking;
because it proposes to prove the personality of the soul apart from this
communion (after death), and is therefore transcendent in the proper sense of
the word, although occupying itself with an object of experience—only in so far,
however, as it ceases to be an object of experience. But a sufficient answer may
be found to the question in our system. The difficulty which lies in the
execution of this task consists, as is well known, in the presupposed
heterogeneity of the object of the internal sense (the soul) and the objects of
the external senses; inasmuch as the formal condition of the intuition of the
one is time, and of that of the other space also. But if we consider that both
kinds of objects do not differ internally, but only in so far as the one appears
externally to the other—consequently, that what lies at the basis of phenomena,
as a thing in itself, may not be heterogeneous; this difficulty disappears.
There then remains no other difficulty than is to be found in the question—how a
community of substances is possible; a question which lies out of the region of
psychology, and which the reader, after what in our analytic has been said of
primitive forces and faculties, will easily judge to be also beyond the region
of human cognition.
GENERAL REMARK
On the Transition from Rational Psychology to Cosmology.
The proposition, "I think," or, "I exist thinking," is an
empirical proposition. But such a proposition must be based on empirical
intuition, and the object cogitated as a phenomenon; and thus our theory appears
to maintain that the soul, even in thought, is merely a phenomenon; and in this
way our consciousness itself, in fact, abuts upon nothing.
Thought, per se, is merely the purely spontaneous logical
function which operates to connect the manifold of a possible intuition; and it
does not represent the subject of consciousness as a phenomenon—for this reason
alone, that it pays no attention to the question whether the mode of intuiting
it is sensuous or intellectual. I therefore do not represent myself in thought
either as I am, or as I appear to myself; I merely cogitate myself as an object
in general, of the mode of intuiting which I make abstraction. When I represent
myself as the subject of thought, or as the ground of thought, these modes of
representation are not related to the categories of substance or of cause; for
these are functions of thought applicable only to our sensuous intuition. The
application of these categories to the Ego would, however, be necessary, if I
wished to make myself an object of knowledge. But I wish to be conscious of
myself only as thinking; in what mode my Self is given in intuition, I do not
consider, and it may be that I, who think, am a phenomenon—although not in so
far as I am a thinking being; but in the consciousness of myself in mere thought
I am a being, though this consciousness does not present to me any property of
this being as material for thought.
But the proposition, "I think," in so far as it declares, "I
exist thinking," is not the mere representation of a logical function. It
determines the subject (which is in this case an object also) in relation to
existence; and it cannot be given without the aid of the internal sense, whose
intuition presents to us an object, not as a thing in itself, but always as a
phenomenon. In this proposition there is therefore something more to be found
than the mere spontaneity of thought; there is also the receptivity of
intuition, that is, my thought of myself applied to the empirical intuition of
myself. Now, in this intuition the thinking self must seek the conditions of the
employment of its logical functions as categories of substance, cause, and so
forth; not merely for the purpose of distinguishing itself as an object in
itself by means of the representation "I," but also for the purpose of
determining the mode of its existence, that is, of cognizing itself as noumenon.
But this is impossible, for the internal empirical intuition is sensuous, and
presents us with nothing but phenomenal data, which do not assist the object of
pure consciousness in its attempt to cognize itself as a separate existence, but
are useful only as contributions to experience.
But, let it be granted that we could discover, not in
experience, but in certain firmly-established a priori laws of the use of pure
reason— laws relating to our existence, authority to consider ourselves as
legislating a priori in relation to our own existence and as determining this
existence; we should, on this supposition, find ourselves possessed of a
spontaneity, by which our actual existence would be determinable, without the
aid of the conditions of empirical intuition. We should also become aware that
in the consciousness of our existence there was an a priori content, which would
serve to determine our own existence—an existence only sensuously
determinable—relatively, however, to a certain internal faculty in relation to
an intelligible world.
But this would not give the least help to the attempts of
rational psychology. For this wonderful faculty, which the consciousness of the
moral law in me reveals, would present me with a principle of the determination
of my own existence which is purely intellectual—but by what predicates? By none
other than those which are given in sensuous intuition. Thus I should find
myself in the same position in rational psychology which I formerly occupied,
that is to say, I should find myself still in need of sensuous intuitions, in
order to give significance to my conceptions of substance and cause, by means of
which alone I can possess a knowledge of myself: but these intuitions can never
raise me above the sphere of experience. I should be justified, however, in
applying these conceptions, in regard to their practical use, which is always
directed to objects of experience—in conformity with their analogical
significance when employed theoretically—to freedom and its subject. At the same
time, I should understand by them merely the logical functions of subject and
predicate, of principle and consequence, in conformity with which all actions
are so determined, that they are capable of being explained along with the laws
of nature, conformably to the categories of substance and cause, although they
originate from a very different principle. We have made these observations for
the purpose of guarding against misunderstanding, to which the doctrine of our
intuition of self as a phenomenon is exposed. We shall have occasion to perceive
their utility in the sequel.
CHAPTER II. The Antinomy of Pure
Reason.
We showed in the introduction to this part of our work, that all
transcendental illusion of pure reason arose from dialectical arguments, the
schema of which logic gives us in its three formal species of syllogisms—just as
the categories find their logical schema in the four functions of all
judgements. The first kind of these sophistical arguments related to the
unconditioned unity of the subjective conditions of all representations in
general (of the subject or soul), in correspondence with the categorical
syllogisms, the major of which, as the principle, enounces the relation of a
predicate to a subject. The second kind of dialectical argument will therefore
be concerned, following the analogy with hypothetical syllogisms, with the
unconditioned unity of the objective conditions in the phenomenon; and, in this
way, the theme of the third kind to be treated of in the following chapter will
be the unconditioned unity of the objective conditions of the possibility of
objects in general.
But it is worthy of remark that the transcendental paralogism
produced in the mind only a one-third illusion, in regard to the idea of the
subject of our thought; and the conceptions of reason gave no ground to maintain
the contrary proposition. The advantage is completely on the side of Pneumatism;
although this theory itself passes into naught, in the crucible of pure reason.
Very different is the case when we apply reason to the objective
synthesis of phenomena. Here, certainly, reason establishes, with much
plausibility, its principle of unconditioned unity; but it very soon falls into
such contradictions that it is compelled, in relation to cosmology, to renounce
its pretensions.
For here a new phenomenon of human reason meets us—a perfectly
natural antithetic, which does not require to be sought for by subtle sophistry,
but into which reason of itself unavoidably falls. It is thereby preserved, to
be sure, from the slumber of a fancied conviction—which a merely one-sided
illusion produces; but it is at the same time compelled, either, on the one
hand, to abandon itself to a despairing scepticism, or, on the other, to assume
a dogmatical confidence and obstinate persistence in certain assertions, without
granting a fair hearing to the other side of the question. Either is the death
of a sound philosophy, although the former might perhaps deserve the title of
the euthanasia of pure reason.
Before entering this region of discord and confusion, which the
conflict of the laws of pure reason (antinomy) produces, we shall present the
reader with some considerations, in explanation and justification of the method
we intend to follow in our treatment of this subject. I term all transcendental
ideas, in so far as they relate to the absolute totality in the synthesis of
phenomena, cosmical conceptions; partly on account of this unconditioned
totality, on which the conception of the world-whole is based—a conception,
which is itself an idea—partly because they relate solely to the synthesis of
phenomena—the empirical synthesis; while, on the other hand, the absolute
totality in the synthesis of the conditions of all possible things gives rise to
an ideal of pure reason, which is quite distinct from the cosmical conception,
although it stands in relation with it. Hence, as the paralogisms of pure reason
laid the foundation for a dialectical psychology, the antinomy of pure reason
will present us with the transcendental principles of a pretended pure
(rational) cosmology—not, however, to declare it valid and to appropriate it,
but—as the very term of a conflict of reason sufficiently indicates, to present
it as an idea which cannot be reconciled with phenomena and experience.
SECTION I. System of Cosmological
Ideas.
That We may be able to enumerate with systematic precision these
ideas according to a principle, we must remark, in the first place, that it is
from the understanding alone that pure and transcendental conceptions take their
origin; that the reason does not properly give birth to any conception, but only
frees the conception of the understanding from the unavoidable limitation of a
possible experience, and thus endeavours to raise it above the empirical, though
it must still be in connection with it. This happens from the fact that, for a
given conditioned, reason demands absolute totality on the side of the
conditions (to which the understanding submits all phenomena), and thus makes of
the category a transcendental idea. This it does that it may be able to give
absolute completeness to the empirical synthesis, by continuing it to the
unconditioned (which is not to be found in experience, but only in the idea).
Reason requires this according to the principle: If the conditioned is given the
whole of the conditions, and consequently the absolutely unconditioned, is also
given, whereby alone the former was possible. First, then, the transcendental
ideas are properly nothing but categories elevated to the unconditioned; and
they may be arranged in a table according to the titles of the latter. But,
secondly, all the categories are not available for this purpose, but only those
in which the synthesis constitutes a series—of conditions subordinated to, not
co-ordinated with, each other. Absolute totality is required of reason only in
so far as concerns the ascending series of the conditions of a conditioned; not,
consequently, when the question relates to the descending series of
consequences, or to the aggregate of the co-ordinated conditions of these
consequences. For, in relation to a given conditioned, conditions are
presupposed and considered to be given along with it. On the other hand, as the
consequences do not render possible their conditions, but rather presuppose
them—in the consideration of the procession of consequences (or in the descent
from the given condition to the conditioned), we may be quite unconcerned
whether the series ceases or not; and their totality is not a necessary demand
of reason.
Thus we cogitate—and necessarily—a given time completely elapsed
up to a given moment, although that time is not determinable by us. But as
regards time future, which is not the condition of arriving at the present, in
order to conceive it; it is quite indifferent whether we consider future time as
ceasing at some point, or as prolonging itself to infinity. Take, for example,
the series m, n, o, in which n is given as conditioned in relation to m, but at
the same time as the condition of o, and let the series proceed upwards from the
conditioned n to m (l, k, i, etc.), and also downwards from the condition n to
the conditioned o (p, q, r, etc.)—I must presuppose the former series, to be
able to consider n as given, and n is according to reason (the totality of
conditions) possible only by means of that series. But its possibility does not
rest on the following series o, p, q, r, which for this reason cannot be
regarded as given, but only as capable of being given (dabilis).
I shall term the synthesis of the series on the side of the
conditions—from that nearest to the given phenomenon up to the more
remote—regressive; that which proceeds on the side of the conditioned, from the
immediate consequence to the more remote, I shall call the progressive
synthesis. The former proceeds in antecedentia, the latter in consequentia. The
cosmological ideas are therefore occupied with the totality of the regressive
synthesis, and proceed in antecedentia, not in consequentia. When the latter
takes place, it is an arbitrary and not a necessary problem of pure reason; for
we require, for the complete understanding of what is given in a phenomenon, not
the consequences which succeed, but the grounds or principles which precede.
In order to construct the table of ideas in correspondence with
the table of categories, we take first the two primitive quanta of all our
intuitions, time and space. Time is in itself a series (and the formal condition
of all series), and hence, in relation to a given present, we must distinguish a
priori in it the antecedentia as conditions (time past) from the consequentia
(time future). Consequently, the transcendental idea of the absolute totality of
the series of the conditions of a given conditioned, relates merely to all past
time. According to the idea of reason, the whole past time, as the condition of
the given moment, is necessarily cogitated as given. But, as regards space,
there exists in it no distinction between progressus and regressus; for it is an
aggregate and not a series—its parts existing together at the same time. I can
consider a given point of time in relation to past time only as conditioned,
because this given moment comes into existence only through the past time rather
through the passing of the preceding time. But as the parts of space are not
subordinated, but co-ordinated to each other, one part cannot be the condition
of the possibility of the other; and space is not in itself, like time, a
series. But the synthesis of the manifold parts of space—(the syntheses whereby
we apprehend space)—is nevertheless successive; it takes place, therefore, in
time, and contains a series. And as in this series of aggregated spaces (for
example, the feet in a rood), beginning with a given portion of space, those
which continue to be annexed form the condition of the limits of the former—the
measurement of a space must also be regarded as a synthesis of the series of the
conditions of a given conditioned. It differs, however, in this respect from
that of time, that the side of the conditioned is not in itself distinguishable
from the side of the condition; and, consequently, regressus and progressus in
space seem to be identical. But, inasmuch as one part of space is not given, but
only limited, by and through another, we must also consider every limited space
as conditioned, in so far as it presupposes some other space as the condition of
its limitation, and so on. As regards limitation, therefore, our procedure in
space is also a regressus, and the transcendental idea of the absolute totality
of the synthesis in a series of conditions applies to space also; and I am
entitled to demand the absolute totality of the phenomenal synthesis in space as
well as in time. Whether my demand can be satisfied is a question to be answered
in the sequel.
Secondly, the real in space—that is, matter—is conditioned. Its
internal conditions are its parts, and the parts of parts its remote conditions;
so that in this case we find a regressive synthesis, the absolute totality of
which is a demand of reason. But this cannot be obtained otherwise than by a
complete division of parts, whereby the real in matter becomes either nothing or
that which is not matter, that is to say, the simple. Consequently we find here
also a series of conditions and a progress to the unconditioned.
Thirdly, as regards the categories of a real relation between
phenomena, the category of substance and its accidents is not suitable for the
formation of a transcendental idea; that is to say, reason has no ground, in
regard to it, to proceed regressively with conditions. For accidents (in so far
as they inhere in a substance) are co-ordinated with each other, and do not
constitute a series. And, in relation to substance, they are not properly
subordinated to it, but are the mode of existence of the substance itself. The
conception of the substantial might nevertheless seem to be an idea of the
transcendental reason. But, as this signifies nothing more than the conception
of an object in general, which subsists in so far as we cogitate in it merely a
transcendental subject without any predicates; and as the question here is of an
unconditioned in the series of phenomena—it is clear that the substantial can
form no member thereof. The same holds good of substances in community, which
are mere aggregates and do not form a series. For they are not subordinated to
each other as conditions of the possibility of each other; which, however, may
be affirmed of spaces, the limits of which are never determined in themselves,
but always by some other space. It is, therefore, only in the category of
causality that we can find a series of causes to a given effect, and in which we
ascend from the latter, as the conditioned, to the former as the conditions, and
thus answer the question of reason.
Fourthly, the conceptions of the possible, the actual, and the
necessary do not conduct us to any series—excepting only in so far as the
contingent in existence must always be regarded as conditioned, and as
indicating, according to a law of the understanding, a condition, under which it
is necessary to rise to a higher, till in the totality of the series, reason
arrives at unconditioned necessity.
There are, accordingly, only four cosmological ideas,
corresponding with the four titles of the categories. For we can select only
such as necessarily furnish us with a series in the synthesis of the manifold.
1
The absolute Completeness
of the
COMPOSITION
of the given totality of all phenomena.
2
The absolute Completeness
of the
DIVISION
of given totality in a phenomenon.
3
The absolute Completeness
of the
ORIGINATION
of a phenomenon.
4
The absolute Completeness
of the DEPENDENCE of the EXISTENCE
of what is changeable in a phenomenon.
We must here remark, in the first place,
that the idea of absolute totality relates to nothing but the exposition of
phenomena, and therefore not to the pure conception of a totality of things.
Phenomena are here, therefore, regarded as given, and reason requires the
absolute completeness of the conditions of their possibility, in so far as these
conditions constitute a series- consequently an absolutely (that is, in every
respect) complete synthesis, whereby a phenomenon can be explained according to
the laws of the understanding.
Secondly, it is properly the unconditioned alone that reason
seeks in this serially and regressively conducted synthesis of conditions. It
wishes, to speak in another way, to attain to completeness in the series of
premisses, so as to render it unnecessary to presuppose others. This
unconditioned is always contained in the absolute totality of the series, when
we endeavour to form a representation of it in thought. But this absolutely
complete synthesis is itself but an idea; for it is impossible, at least before
hand, to know whether any such synthesis is possible in the case of phenomena.
When we represent all existence in thought by means of pure conceptions of the
understanding, without any conditions of sensuous intuition, we may say with
justice that for a given conditioned the whole series of conditions subordinated
to each other is also given; for the former is only given through the latter.
But we find in the case of phenomena a particular limitation of the mode in
which conditions are given, that is, through the successive synthesis of the
manifold of intuition, which must be complete in the regress. Now whether this
completeness is sensuously possible, is a problem. But the idea of it lies in
the reason—be it possible or impossible to connect with the idea adequate
empirical conceptions. Therefore, as in the absolute totality of the regressive
synthesis of the manifold in a phenomenon (following the guidance of the
categories, which represent it as a series of conditions to a given conditioned)
the unconditioned is necessarily contained—it being still left unascertained
whether and how this totality exists; reason sets out from the idea of totality,
although its proper and final aim is the unconditioned—of the whole series, or
of a part thereof.
This unconditioned may be cogitated—either as existing only in
the entire series, all the members of which therefore would be without exception
conditioned and only the totality absolutely unconditioned—and in this case the
regressus is called infinite; or the absolutely unconditioned is only a part of
the series, to which the other members are subordinated, but which Is not itself
submitted to any other condition.* In the former case the series is a parte
priori unlimited (without beginning), that is, infinite, and nevertheless
completely given. But the regress in it is never completed, and can only be
called potentially infinite. In the second case there exists a first in the
series. This first is called, in relation to past time, the beginning of the
world; in relation to space, the limit of the world; in relation to the parts of
a given limited whole, the simple; in relation to causes, absolute spontaneity
(liberty); and in relation to the existence of changeable things, absolute
physical necessity.
[*Footnote: The absolute totality of the series of conditions to
a given conditioned is always unconditioned; because beyond it there exist no
other conditions, on which it might depend. But the absolute totality of such a
series is only an idea, or rather a problematical conception, the possibility of
which must be investigated- particularly in relation to the mode in which the
unconditioned, as the transcendental idea which is the real subject of inquiry,
may be contained therein.]
We possess two expressions, world and nature, which are
generally interchanged. The first denotes the mathematical total of all
phenomena and the totality of their synthesis—in its progress by means of
composition, as well as by division. And the world is termed nature,* when it is
regarded as a dynamical whole—when our attention is not directed to the
aggregation in space and time, for the purpose of cogitating it as a quantity,
but to the unity in the existence of phenomena. In this case the condition of
that which happens is called a cause; the unconditioned causality of the cause
in a phenomenon is termed liberty; the conditioned cause is called in a more
limited sense a natural cause. The conditioned in existence is termed
contingent, and the unconditioned necessary. The unconditioned necessity of
phenomena may be called natural necessity.
[*Footnote: Nature, understood adjective (formaliter), signifies
the complex of the determinations of a thing, connected according to an internal
principle of causality. On the other hand, we understand by nature, substantive
(materialiter), the sum total of phenomena, in so far as they, by virtue of an
internal principle of causality, are connected with each other throughout. In
the former sense we speak of the nature of liquid matter, of fire, etc., and
employ the word only adjective; while, if speaking of the objects of nature, we
have in our minds the idea of a subsisting whole.]
The ideas which we are at present engaged in discussing I have
called cosmological ideas; partly because by the term world is understood the
entire content of all phenomena, and our ideas are directed solely to the
unconditioned among phenomena; partly also, because world, in the transcendental
sense, signifies the absolute totality of the content of existing things, and we
are directing our attention only to the completeness of the synthesis—although,
properly, only in regression. In regard to the fact that these ideas are all
transcendent, and, although they do not transcend phenomena as regards their
mode, but are concerned solely with the world of sense (and not with noumena),
nevertheless carry their synthesis to a degree far above all possible
experience—it still seems to me that we can, with perfect propriety, designate
them cosmical conceptions. As regards the distinction between the mathematically
and the dynamically unconditioned which is the aim of the regression of the
synthesis, I should call the two former, in a more limited signification,
cosmical conceptions, the remaining two transcendent physical conceptions. This
distinction does not at present seem to be of particular importance, but we
shall afterwards find it to be of some value.
SECTION II. Antithetic of Pure Reason.
Thetic is the term applied to every collection of dogmatical
propositions. By antithetic I do not understand dogmatical assertions of the
opposite, but the self-contradiction of seemingly dogmatical cognitions (thesis
cum antithesis), in none of which we can discover any decided superiority.
Antithetic is not, therefore, occupied with one-sided statements, but is engaged
in considering the contradictory nature of the general cognitions of reason and
its causes. Transcendental antithetic is an investigation into the antinomy of
pure reason, its causes and result. If we employ our reason not merely in the
application of the principles of the understanding to objects of experience, but
venture with it beyond these boundaries, there arise certain sophistical
propositions or theorems. These assertions have the following peculiarities:
They can find neither confirmation nor confutation in experience; and each is in
itself not only self-consistent, but possesses conditions of its necessity in
the very nature of reason—only that, unluckily, there exist just as valid and
necessary grounds for maintaining the contrary proposition.
The questions which naturally arise in the consideration of this
dialectic of pure reason, are therefore: 1st. In what propositions is pure
reason unavoidably subject to an antinomy? 2nd. What are the causes of this
antinomy? 3rd. Whether and in what way can reason free itself from this
self-contradiction?
A dialectical proposition or theorem of pure reason must,
according to what has been said, be distinguishable from all sophistical
propositions, by the fact that it is not an answer to an arbitrary question,
which may be raised at the mere pleasure of any person, but to one which human
reason must necessarily encounter in its progress. In the second place, a
dialectical proposition, with its opposite, does not carry the appearance of a
merely artificial illusion, which disappears as soon as it is investigated, but
a natural and unavoidable illusion, which, even when we are no longer deceived
by it, continues to mock us and, although rendered harmless, can never be
completely removed.
This dialectical doctrine will not relate to the unity of
understanding in empirical conceptions, but to the unity of reason in pure
ideas. The conditions of this doctrine are—inasmuch as it must, as a synthesis
according to rules, be conformable to the understanding, and at the same time as
the absolute unity of the synthesis, to the reason—that, if it is adequate to
the unity of reason, it is too great for the understanding, if according with
the understanding, it is too small for the reason. Hence arises a mutual
opposition, which cannot be avoided, do what we will.
These sophistical assertions of dialectic open, as it were, a
battle-field, where that side obtains the victory which has been permitted to
make the attack, and he is compelled to yield who has been unfortunately obliged
to stand on the defensive. And hence, champions of ability, whether on the right
or on the wrong side, are certain to carry away the crown of victory, if they
only take care to have the right to make the last attack, and are not obliged to
sustain another onset from their opponent. We can easily believe that this arena
has been often trampled by the feet of combatants, that many victories have been
obtained on both sides, but that the last victory, decisive of the affair
between the contending parties, was won by him who fought for the right, only if
his adversary was forbidden to continue the tourney. As impartial umpires, we
must lay aside entirely the consideration whether the combatants are fighting
for the right or for the wrong side, for the true or for the false, and allow
the combat to be first decided. Perhaps, after they have wearied more than
injured each other, they will discover the nothingness of their cause of quarrel
and part good friends.
This method of watching, or rather of originating, a conflict of
assertions, not for the purpose of finally deciding in favour of either side,
but to discover whether the object of the struggle is not a mere illusion, which
each strives in vain to reach, but which would be no gain even when reached—this
procedure, I say, may be termed the sceptical method. It is thoroughly distinct
from scepticism—the principle of a technical and scientific ignorance, which
undermines the foundations of all knowledge, in order, if possible, to destroy
our belief and confidence therein. For the sceptical method aims at certainty,
by endeavouring to discover in a conflict of this kind, conducted honestly and
intelligently on both sides, the point of misunderstanding; just as wise
legislators derive, from the embarrassment of judges in lawsuits, information in
regard to the defective and ill-defined parts of their statutes. The antinomy
which reveals itself in the application of laws, is for our limited wisdom the
best criterion of legislation. For the attention of reason, which in abstract
speculation does not easily become conscious of its errors, is thus roused to
the momenta in the determination of its principles.
But this sceptical method is essentially peculiar to
transcendental philosophy, and can perhaps be dispensed with in every other
field of investigation. In mathematics its use would be absurd; because in it no
false assertions can long remain hidden, inasmuch as its demonstrations must
always proceed under the guidance of pure intuition, and by means of an always
evident synthesis. In experimental philosophy, doubt and delay may be very
useful; but no misunderstanding is possible, which cannot be easily removed; and
in experience means of solving the difficulty and putting an end to the
dissension must at last be found, whether sooner or later. Moral philosophy can
always exhibit its principles, with their practical consequences, in concreto—at
least in possible experiences, and thus escape the mistakes and ambiguities of
abstraction. But transcendental propositions, which lay claim to insight beyond
the region of possible experience, cannot, on the one hand, exhibit their
abstract synthesis in any a priori intuition, nor, on the other, expose a
lurking error by the help of experience. Transcendental reason, therefore,
presents us with no other criterion than that of an attempt to reconcile such
assertions, and for this purpose to permit a free and unrestrained conflict
between them. And this we now proceed to arrange.*
[*Footnote: The antinomies stand in the
order of the four transcendental ideas above detailed.]
FIRST CONFLICT OF THE TRANSCENDENTAL
IDEAS.
THESIS.
The world has a beginning in time, and is also limited in regard
to space.
PROOF.
Granted that the world has no beginning in time; up to every
given moment of time, an eternity must have elapsed, and therewith passed away
an infinite series of successive conditions or states of things in the world.
Now the infinity of a series consists in the fact that it never can be completed
by means of a successive synthesis. It follows that an infinite series already
elapsed is impossible and that, consequently, a beginning of the world is a
necessary condition of its existence. And this was the first thing to be proved.
As regards the second, let us take the opposite for granted. In
this case, the world must be an infinite given total of coexistent things. Now
we cannot cogitate the dimensions of a quantity, which is not given within
certain limits of an intuition,* in any other way than by means of the synthesis
of its parts, and the total of such a quantity only by means of a completed
synthesis, or the repeated addition of unity to itself. Accordingly, to cogitate
the world, which fills all spaces, as a whole, the successive synthesis of the
parts of an infinite world must be looked upon as completed, that is to say, an
infinite time must be regarded as having elapsed in the enumeration of all
co-existing things; which is impossible. For this reason an infinite aggregate
of actual things cannot be considered as a given whole, consequently, not as a
contemporaneously given whole. The world is consequently, as regards extension
in space, not infinite, but enclosed in limits. And this was the second thing to
be proved.
[*Footnote: We may consider an undetermined quantity as a whole,
when it is enclosed within limits, although we cannot construct or ascertain its
totality by measurement, that is, by the successive synthesis of its parts. For
its limits of themselves determine its completeness as a whole.]
ANTITHESIS.
The world has no beginning, and no limits in space, but is, in
relation both to time and space, infinite.
PROOF.
For let it be granted that it has a beginning. A beginning is an
existence which is preceded by a time in which the thing does not exist. On the
above supposition, it follows that there must have been a time in which the
world did not exist, that is, a void time. But in a void time the origination of
a thing is impossible; because no part of any such time contains a distinctive
condition of being, in preference to that of non-being (whether the supposed
thing originate of itself, or by means of some other cause). Consequently, many
series of things may have a beginning in the world, but the world itself cannot
have a beginning, and is, therefore, in relation to past time, infinite.
As regards the second statement, let us first take the opposite
for granted—that the world is finite and limited in space; it follows that it
must exist in a void space, which is not limited. We should therefore meet not
only with a relation of things in space, but also a relation of things to space.
Now, as the world is an absolute whole, out of and beyond which no object of
intuition, and consequently no correlate to which can be discovered, this
relation of the world to a void space is merely a relation to no object. But
such a relation, and consequently the limitation of the world by void space, is
nothing. Consequently, the world, as regards space, is not limited, that is, it
is infinite in regard to extension.*
[*Footnote: Space is merely the form of
external intuition (formal intuition), and not a real object which can be
externally perceived. Space, prior to all things which determine it (fill or
limit it), or, rather, which present an empirical intuition conformable to it,
is, under the title of absolute space, nothing but the mere possibility of
external phenomena, in so far as they either exist in themselves, or can annex
themselves to given intuitions. Empirical intuition is therefore not a
composition of phenomena and space (of perception and empty intuition). The one
is not the correlate of the other in a synthesis, but they are vitally connected
in the same empirical intuition, as matter and form. If we wish to set one of
these two apart from the other—space from phenomena—there arise all sorts of
empty determinations of external intuition, which are very far from being
possible perceptions. For example, motion or rest of the world in an infinite
empty space, or a determination of the mutual relation of both, cannot possibly
be perceived, and is therefore merely the predicate of a notional entity.]
OBSERVATIONS ON THE FIRST ANTINOMY.
ON THE THESIS.
In bringing forward these conflicting arguments, I have not been
on the search for sophisms, for the purpose of availing myself of special
pleading, which takes advantage of the carelessness of the opposite party,
appeals to a misunderstood statute, and erects its unrighteous claims upon an
unfair interpretation. Both proofs originate fairly from the nature of the case,
and the advantage presented by the mistakes of the dogmatists of both parties
has been completely set aside.
The thesis might also have been unfairly demonstrated, by the
introduction of an erroneous conception of the infinity of a given quantity. A
quantity is infinite, if a greater than itself cannot possibly exist. The
quantity is measured by the number of given units- which are taken as a
standard—contained in it. Now no number can be the greatest, because one or more
units can always be added. It follows that an infinite given quantity,
consequently an infinite world (both as regards time and extension) is
impossible. It is, therefore, limited in both respects. In this manner I might
have conducted my proof; but the conception given in it does not agree with the
true conception of an infinite whole. In this there is no representation of its
quantity, it is not said how large it is; consequently its conception is not the
conception of a maximum. We cogitate in it merely its relation to an arbitrarily
assumed unit, in relation to which it is greater than any number. Now, just as
the unit which is taken is greater or smaller, the infinite will be greater or
smaller; but the infinity, which consists merely in the relation to this given
unit, must remain always the same, although the absolute quantity of the whole
is not thereby cognized.
The true (transcendental) conception of infinity is: that the
successive synthesis of unity in the measurement of a given quantum can never be
completed.* Hence it follows, without possibility of mistake, that an eternity
of actual successive states up to a given (the present) moment cannot have
elapsed, and that the world must therefore have a beginning.
[*Footnote: The quantum in this sense contains a congeries of
given units, which is greater than any number—and this is the mathematical
conception of the infinite.]
In regard to the second part of the thesis, the difficulty as to
an infinite and yet elapsed series disappears; for the manifold of a world
infinite in extension is contemporaneously given. But, in order to cogitate the
total of this manifold, as we cannot have the aid of limits constituting by
themselves this total in intuition, we are obliged to give some account of our
conception, which in this case cannot proceed from the whole to the determined
quantity of the parts, but must demonstrate the possibility of a whole by means
of a successive synthesis of the parts. But as this synthesis must constitute a
series that cannot be completed, it is impossible for us to cogitate prior to
it, and consequently not by means of it, a totality. For the conception of
totality itself is in the present case the representation of a completed
synthesis of the parts; and this completion, and consequently its conception, is
impossible.
ON THE ANTITHESIS.
The proof in favour of the infinity of the cosmical succession
and the cosmical content is based upon the consideration that, in the opposite
case, a void time and a void space must constitute the limits of the world. Now
I am not unaware, that there are some ways of escaping this conclusion. It may,
for example, be alleged, that a limit to the world, as regards both space and
time, is quite possible, without at the same time holding the existence of an
absolute time before the beginning of the world, or an absolute space extending
beyond the actual world—which is impossible. I am quite well satisfied with the
latter part of this opinion of the philosophers of the Leibnitzian school. Space
is merely the form of external intuition, but not a real object which can itself
be externally intuited; it is not a correlate of phenomena, it is the form of
phenomena itself. Space, therefore, cannot be regarded as absolutely and in
itself something determinative of the existence of things, because it is not
itself an object, but only the form of possible objects. Consequently, things,
as phenomena, determine space; that is to say, they render it possible that, of
all the possible predicates of space (size and relation), certain may belong to
reality. But we cannot affirm the converse, that space, as something
self-subsistent, can determine real things in regard to size or shape, for it is
in itself not a real thing. Space (filled or void)* may therefore be limited by
phenomena, but phenomena cannot be limited by an empty space without them. This
is true of time also. All this being granted, it is nevertheless indisputable,
that we must assume these two nonentities, void space without and void time
before the world, if we assume the existence of cosmical limits, relatively to
space or time.
[*Footnote: It is evident that what is meant here is, that empty
space, in so far as it is limited by phenomena—space, that is, within the
world—does not at least contradict transcendental principles, and may therefore,
as regards them, be admitted, although its possibility cannot on that account be
affirmed.]
For, as regards the subterfuge adopted by those who endeavour to
evade the consequence—that, if the world is limited as to space and time, the
infinite void must determine the existence of actual things in regard to their
dimensions—it arises solely from the fact that instead of a sensuous world, an
intelligible world—of which nothing is known—is cogitated; instead of a real
beginning (an existence, which is preceded by a period in which nothing exists),
an existence which presupposes no other condition than that of time; and,
instead of limits of extension, boundaries of the universe. But the question
relates to the mundus phaenomenon, and its quantity; and in this case we cannot
make abstraction of the conditions of sensibility, without doing away with the
essential reality of this world itself. The world of sense, if it is limited,
must necessarily lie in the infinite void. If this, and with it space as the a
priori condition of the possibility of phenomena, is left out of view, the whole
world of sense disappears. In our problem is this alone considered as given. The
mundus intelligibilis is nothing but the general conception of a world, in which
abstraction has been made of all conditions of intuition, and in relation to
which no synthetical proposition—either affirmative or negative—is possible.
SECOND CONFLICT OF TRANSCENDENTAL
IDEAS.
THESIS.
Every composite substance in the world consists of simple parts;
and there exists nothing that is not either itself simple, or composed of simple
parts.
PROOF.
For, grant that composite substances do not consist of simple
parts; in this case, if all combination or composition were annihilated in
thought, no composite part, and (as, by the supposition, there do not exist
simple parts) no simple part would exist. Consequently, no substance;
consequently, nothing would exist. Either, then, it is impossible to annihilate
composition in thought; or, after such annihilation, there must remain something
that subsists without composition, that is, something that is simple. But in the
former case the composite could not itself consist of substances, because with
substances composition is merely a contingent relation, apart from which they
must still exist as self-subsistent beings. Now, as this case contradicts the
supposition, the second must contain the truth- that the substantial composite
in the world consists of simple parts.
It follows, as an immediate inference, that the things in the
world are all, without exception, simple beings—that composition is merely an
external condition pertaining to them—and that, although we never can separate
and isolate the elementary substances from the state of composition, reason must
cogitate these as the primary subjects of all composition, and consequently, as
prior thereto—and as simple substances.
ANTITHESIS.
No composite thing in the world consists of simple parts; and
there does not exist in the world any simple substance.
PROOF.
Let it be supposed that a composite thing (as substance)
consists of simple parts. Inasmuch as all external relation, consequently all
composition of substances, is possible only in space; the space, occupied by
that which is composite, must consist of the same number of parts as is
contained in the composite. But space does not consist of simple parts, but of
spaces. Therefore, every part of the composite must occupy a space. But the
absolutely primary parts of what is composite are simple. It follows that what
is simple occupies a space. Now, as everything real that occupies a space,
contains a manifold the parts of which are external to each other, and is
consequently composite—and a real composite, not of accidents (for these cannot
exist external to each other apart from substance), but of substances—it follows
that the simple must be a substantial composite, which is self-contradictory.
The second proposition of the antithesis—that there exists in
the world nothing that is simple—is here equivalent to the following: The
existence of the absolutely simple cannot be demonstrated from any experience or
perception either external or internal; and the absolutely simple is a mere
idea, the objective reality of which cannot be demonstrated in any possible
experience; it is consequently, in the exposition of phenomena, without
application and object. For, let us take for granted that an object may be found
in experience for this transcendental idea; the empirical intuition of such an
object must then be recognized to contain absolutely no manifold with its parts
external to each other, and connected into unity. Now, as we cannot reason from
the non-consciousness of such a manifold to the impossibility of its existence
in the intuition of an object, and as the proof of this impossibility is
necessary for the establishment and proof of absolute simplicity; it follows
that this simplicity cannot be inferred from any perception whatever. As,
therefore, an absolutely simple object cannot be given in any experience, and
the world of sense must be considered as the sum total of all possible
experiences: nothing simple exists in the world.
This second proposition in the antithesis has a more extended
aim than the first. The first merely banishes the simple from the intuition of
the composite; while the second drives it entirely out of nature. Hence we were
unable to demonstrate it from the conception of a given object of external
intuition (of the composite), but we were obliged to prove it from the relation
of a given object to a possible experience in general.
OBSERVATIONS ON THE SECOND ANTINOMY.
THESIS.
When I speak of a whole, which necessarily consists of simple
parts, I understand thereby only a substantial whole, as the true composite;
that is to say, I understand that contingent unity of the manifold which is
given as perfectly isolated (at least in thought), placed in reciprocal
connection, and thus constituted a unity. Space ought not to be called a
compositum but a totum, for its parts are possible in the whole, and not the
whole by means of the parts. It might perhaps be called a compositum ideale, but
not a compositum reale. But this is of no importance. As space is not a
composite of substances (and not even of real accidents), if I abstract all
composition therein—nothing, not even a point, remains; for a point is possible
only as the limit of a space—consequently of a composite. Space and time,
therefore, do not consist of simple parts. That which belongs only to the
condition or state of a substance, even although it possesses a quantity (motion
or change, for example), likewise does not consist of simple parts. That is to
say, a certain degree of change does not originate from the addition of many
simple changes. Our inference of the simple from the composite is valid only of
self-subsisting things. But the accidents of a state are not self-subsistent.
The proof, then, for the necessity of the simple, as the component part of all
that is substantial and composite, may prove a failure, and the whole case of
this thesis be lost, if we carry the proposition too far, and wish to make it
valid of everything that is composite without distinction—as indeed has really
now and then happened. Besides, I am here speaking only of the simple, in so far
as it is necessarily given in the composite—the latter being capable of solution
into the former as its component parts. The proper signification of the word
monas (as employed by Leibnitz) ought to relate to the simple, given immediately
as simple substance (for example, in consciousness), and not as an element of
the composite. As an clement, the term atomus would be more appropriate. And as
I wish to prove the existence of simple substances, only in relation to, and as
the elements of, the composite, I might term the antithesis of the second
Antinomy, transcendental Atomistic. But as this word has long been employed to
designate a particular theory of corporeal phenomena (moleculae), and thus
presupposes a basis of empirical conceptions, I prefer calling it the
dialectical principle of Monadology.
ANTITHESIS.
Against the assertion of the infinite subdivisibility of matter
whose ground of proof is purely mathematical, objections have been alleged by
the Monadists. These objections lay themselves open, at first sight, to
suspicion, from the fact that they do not recognize the clearest mathematical
proofs as propositions relating to the constitution of space, in so far as it is
really the formal condition of the possibility of all matter, but regard them
merely as inferences from abstract but arbitrary conceptions, which cannot have
any application to real things. Just as if it were possible to imagine another
mode of intuition than that given in the primitive intuition of space; and just
as if its a priori determinations did not apply to everything, the existence of
which is possible, from the fact alone of its filling space. If we listen to
them, we shall find ourselves required to cogitate, in addition to the
mathematical point, which is simple—not, however, a part, but a mere limit of
space- physical points, which are indeed likewise simple, but possess the
peculiar property, as parts of space, of filling it merely by their aggregation.
I shall not repeat here the common and clear refutations of this absurdity,
which are to be found everywhere in numbers: every one knows that it is
impossible to undermine the evidence of mathematics by mere discursive
conceptions; I shall only remark that, if in this case philosophy endeavours to
gain an advantage over mathematics by sophistical artifices, it is because it
forgets that the discussion relates solely to Phenomena and their conditions. It
is not sufficient to find the conception of the simple for the pure conception
of the composite, but we must discover for the intuition of the composite
(matter), the intuition of the simple. Now this, according to the laws of
sensibility, and consequently in the case of objects of sense, is utterly
impossible. In the case of a whole composed of substances, which is cogitated
solely by the pure understanding, it may be necessary to be in possession of the
simple before composition is possible. But this does not hold good of the Totum
substantiale phaenomenon, which, as an empirical intuition in space, possesses
the necessary property of containing no simple part, for the very reason that no
part of space is simple. Meanwhile, the Monadists have been subtle enough to
escape from this difficulty, by presupposing intuition and the dynamical
relation of substances as the condition of the possibility of space, instead of
regarding space as the condition of the possibility of the objects of external
intuition, that is, of bodies. Now we have a conception of bodies only as
phenomena, and, as such, they necessarily presuppose space as the condition of
all external phenomena. The evasion is therefore in vain; as, indeed, we have
sufficiently shown in our Aesthetic. If bodies were things in themselves, the
proof of the Monadists would be unexceptionable.
The second dialectical assertion possesses the peculiarity of
having opposed to it a dogmatical proposition, which, among all such sophistical
statements, is the only one that undertakes to prove in the case of an object of
experience, that which is properly a transcendental idea—the absolute simplicity
of substance. The proposition is that the object of the internal sense, the
thinking Ego, is an absolute simple substance. Without at present entering upon
this subject—as it has been considered at length in a former chapter- I shall
merely remark that, if something is cogitated merely as an object, without the
addition of any synthetical determination of its intuition—as happens in the
case of the bare representation, I—it is certain that no manifold and no
composition can be perceived in such a representation. As, moreover, the
predicates whereby I cogitate this object are merely intuitions of the internal
sense, there cannot be discovered in them anything to prove the existence of a
manifold whose parts are external to each other, and, consequently, nothing to
prove the existence of real composition. Consciousness, therefore, is so
constituted that, inasmuch as the thinking subject is at the same time its own
object, it cannot divide itself—although it can divide its inhering
determinations. For every object in relation to itself is absolute unity.
Nevertheless, if the subject is regarded externally, as an object of intuition,
it must, in its character of phenomenon, possess the property of composition.
And it must always be regarded in this manner, if we wish to know whether there
is or is not contained in it a manifold whose parts are external to each other.
THIRD CONFLICT OF THE TRANSCENDENTAL
IDEAS.
THESIS.
Causality according to the laws of nature, is not the only
causality operating to originate the phenomena of the world. A causality of
freedom is also necessary to account fully for these phenomena.
PROOF.
Let it be supposed, that there is no other kind of causality
than that according to the laws of nature. Consequently, everything that happens
presupposes a previous condition, which it follows with absolute certainty, in
conformity with a rule. But this previous condition must itself be something
that has happened (that has arisen in time, as it did not exist before), for, if
it has always been in existence, its consequence or effect would not thus
originate for the first time, but would likewise have always existed. The
causality, therefore, of a cause, whereby something happens, is itself a thing
that has happened. Now this again presupposes, in conformity with the law of
nature, a previous condition and its causality, and this another anterior to the
former, and so on. If, then, everything happens solely in accordance with the
laws of nature, there cannot be any real first beginning of things, but only a
subaltern or comparative beginning. There cannot, therefore, be a completeness
of series on the side of the causes which originate the one from the other. But
the law of nature is that nothing can happen without a sufficient a priori
determined cause. The proposition therefore—if all causality is possible only in
accordance with the laws of nature—is, when stated in this unlimited and general
manner, self-contradictory. It follows that this cannot be the only kind of
causality.
From what has been said, it follows that a causality must be
admitted, by means of which something happens, without its cause being
determined according to necessary laws by some other cause preceding. That is to
say, there must exist an absolute spontaneity of cause, which of itself
originates a series of phenomena which proceeds according to natural
laws—consequently transcendental freedom, without which even in the course of
nature the succession of phenomena on the side of causes is never complete.
ANTITHESIS.
There is no such thing as freedom, but everything in the world
happens solely according to the laws of nature.
PROOF.
Granted, that there does exist freedom in the transcendental
sense, as a peculiar kind of causality, operating to produce events in the
world—a faculty, that is to say, of originating a state, and consequently a
series of consequences from that state. In this case, not only the series
originated by this spontaneity, but the determination of this spontaneity itself
to the production of the series, that is to say, the causality itself must have
an absolute commencement, such that nothing can precede to determine this action
according to unvarying laws. But every beginning of action presupposes in the
acting cause a state of inaction; and a dynamically primal beginning of action
presupposes a state, which has no connection—as regards causality—with the
preceding state of the cause—which does not, that is, in any wise result from
it. Transcendental freedom is therefore opposed to the natural law of cause and
effect, and such a conjunction of successive states in effective causes is
destructive of the possibility of unity in experience and for that reason not to
be found in experience—is consequently a mere fiction of thought.
We have, therefore, nothing but nature to which we must look for
connection and order in cosmical events. Freedom—independence of the laws of
nature—is certainly a deliverance from restraint, but it is also a relinquishing
of the guidance of law and rule. For it cannot be alleged that, instead of the
laws of nature, laws of freedom may be introduced into the causality of the
course of nature. For, if freedom were determined according to laws, it would be
no longer freedom, but merely nature. Nature, therefore, and transcendental
freedom are distinguishable as conformity to law and lawlessness. The former
imposes upon understanding the difficulty of seeking the origin of events ever
higher and higher in the series of causes, inasmuch as causality is always
conditioned thereby; while it compensates this labour by the guarantee of a
unity complete and in conformity with law. The latter, on the contrary, holds
out to the understanding the promise of a point of rest in the chain of causes,
by conducting it to an unconditioned causality, which professes to have the
power of spontaneous origination, but which, in its own utter blindness,
deprives it of the guidance of rules, by which alone a completely connected
experience is possible.
OBSERVATIONS ON THE THIRD ANTINOMY.
ON THE THESIS.
The transcendental idea of freedom is far from constituting the
entire content of the psychological conception so termed, which is for the most
part empirical. It merely presents us with the conception of spontaneity of
action, as the proper ground for imputing freedom to the cause of a certain
class of objects. It is, however, the true stumbling-stone to philosophy, which
meets with unconquerable difficulties in the way of its admitting this kind of
unconditioned causality. That element in the question of the freedom of the
will, which has for so long a time placed speculative reason in such perplexity,
is properly only transcendental, and concerns the question, whether there must
be held to exist a faculty of spontaneous origination of a series of successive
things or states. How such a faculty is possible is not a necessary inquiry; for
in the case of natural causality itself, we are obliged to content ourselves
with the a priori knowledge that such a causality must be presupposed, although
we are quite incapable of comprehending how the being of one thing is possible
through the being of another, but must for this information look entirely to
experience. Now we have demonstrated this necessity of a free first beginning of
a series of phenomena, only in so far as it is required for the comprehension of
an origin of the world, all following states being regarded as a succession
according to laws of nature alone. But, as there has thus been proved the
existence of a faculty which can of itself originate a series in time—although
we are unable to explain how it can exist—we feel ourselves authorized to admit,
even in the midst of the natural course of events, a beginning, as regards
causality, of different successions of phenomena, and at the same time to
attribute to all substances a faculty of free action. But we ought in this case
not to allow ourselves to fall into a common misunderstanding, and to suppose
that, because a successive series in the world can only have a comparatively
first beginning—another state or condition of things always preceding—an
absolutely first beginning of a series in the course of nature is impossible.
For we are not speaking here of an absolutely first beginning in relation to
time, but as regards causality alone. When, for example, I, completely of my own
free will, and independently of the necessarily determinative influence of
natural causes, rise from my chair, there commences with this event, including
its material consequences in infinitum, an absolutely new series; although, in
relation to time, this event is merely the continuation of a preceding series.
For this resolution and act of mine do not form part of the succession of
effects in nature, and are not mere continuations of it; on the contrary, the
determining causes of nature cease to operate in reference to this event, which
certainly succeeds the acts of nature, but does not proceed from them. For these
reasons, the action of a free agent must be termed, in regard to causality, if
not in relation to time, an absolutely primal beginning of a series of
phenomena.
The justification of this need of reason to rest upon a free act
as the first beginning of the series of natural causes is evident from the fact,
that all philosophers of antiquity (with the exception of the Epicurean school)
felt themselves obliged, when constructing a theory of the motions of the
universe, to accept a prime mover, that is, a freely acting cause, which
spontaneously and prior to all other causes evolved this series of states. They
always felt the need of going beyond mere nature, for the purpose of making a
first beginning comprehensible.
ON THE ANTITHESIS.
The assertor of the all-sufficiency of nature in regard to
causality (transcendental Physiocracy), in opposition to the doctrine of
freedom, would defend his view of the question somewhat in the following manner.
He would say, in answer to the sophistical arguments of the opposite party: If
you do not accept a mathematical first, in relation to time, you have no need to
seek a dynamical first, in regard to causality. Who compelled you to imagine an
absolutely primal condition of the world, and therewith an absolute beginning of
the gradually progressing successions of phenomena—and, as some foundation for
this fancy of yours, to set bounds to unlimited nature? Inasmuch as the
substances in the world have always existed—at least the unity of experience
renders such a supposition quite necessary—there is no difficulty in believing
also, that the changes in the conditions of these substances have always
existed; and, consequently, that a first beginning, mathematical or dynamical,
is by no means required. The possibility of such an infinite derivation, without
any initial member from which all the others result, is certainly quite
incomprehensible. But, if you are rash enough to deny the enigmatical secrets of
nature for this reason, you will find yourselves obliged to deny also the
existence of many fundamental properties of natural objects (such as fundamental
forces), which you can just as little comprehend; and even the possibility of so
simple a conception as that of change must present to you insuperable
difficulties. For if experience did not teach you that it was real, you never
could conceive a priori the possibility of this ceaseless sequence of being and
non-being.
But if the existence of a transcendental faculty of freedom is
granted—a faculty of originating changes in the world—this faculty must at least
exist out of and apart from the world; although it is certainly a bold
assumption, that, over and above the complete content of all possible
intuitions, there still exists an object which cannot be presented in any
possible perception. But, to attribute to substances in the world itself such a
faculty, is quite inadmissible; for, in this case; the connection of phenomena
reciprocally determining and determined according to general laws, which is
termed nature, and along with it the criteria of empirical truth, which enable
us to distinguish experience from mere visionary dreaming, would almost entirely
disappear. In proximity with such a lawless faculty of freedom, a system of
nature is hardly cogitable; for the laws of the latter would be continually
subject to the intrusive influences of the former, and the course of phenomena,
which would otherwise proceed regularly and uniformly, would become thereby
confused and disconnected.
FOURTH CONFLICT OF THE TRANSCENDENTAL
IDEAS.
THESIS.
There exists either in, or in connection with the world—either
as a part of it, or as the cause of it—an absolutely necessary being.
PROOF.
The world of sense, as the sum total of all phenomena, contains
a series of changes. For, without such a series, the mental representation of
the series of time itself, as the condition of the possibility of the sensuous
world, could not be presented to us.* But every change stands under its
condition, which precedes it in time and renders it necessary. Now the existence
of a given condition presupposes a complete series of conditions up to the
absolutely unconditioned, which alone is absolutely necessary. It follows that
something that is absolutely necessary must exist, if change exists as its
consequence. But this necessary thing itself belongs to the sensuous world. For
suppose it to exist out of and apart from it, the series of cosmical changes
would receive from it a beginning, and yet this necessary cause would not itself
belong to the world of sense. But this is impossible. For, as the beginning of a
series in time is determined only by that which precedes it in time, the supreme
condition of the beginning of a series of changes must exist in the time in
which this series itself did not exist; for a beginning supposes a time
preceding, in which the thing that begins to be was not in existence. The
causality of the necessary cause of changes, and consequently the cause itself,
must for these reasons belong to time—and to phenomena, time being possible only
as the form of phenomena. Consequently, it cannot be cogitated as separated from
the world of sense—the sum total of all phenomena. There is, therefore,
contained in the world, something that is absolutely necessary—whether it be the
whole cosmical series itself, or only a part of it.
[*Footnote: Objectively, time, as the formal condition of the
possibility of change, precedes all changes; but subjectively, and in
consciousness, the representation of time, like every other, is given solely by
occasion of perception.]
ANTITHESIS.
An absolutely necessary being does not exist, either in the
world, or out of it—as its cause.
PROOF.
Grant that either the world itself is necessary, or that there
is contained in it a necessary existence. Two cases are possible. First, there
must either be in the series of cosmical changes a beginning, which is
unconditionally necessary, and therefore uncaused- which is at variance with the
dynamical law of the determination of all phenomena in time; or, secondly, the
series itself is without beginning, and, although contingent and conditioned in
all its parts, is nevertheless absolutely necessary and unconditioned as a
whole—which is self-contradictory. For the existence of an aggregate cannot be
necessary, if no single part of it possesses necessary existence.
Grant, on the other band, that an absolutely necessary cause
exists out of and apart from the world. This cause, as the highest member in the
series of the causes of cosmical changes, must originate or begin* the existence
of the latter and their series. In this case it must also begin to act, and its
causality would therefore belong to time, and consequently to the sum total of
phenomena, that is, to the world. It follows that the cause cannot be out of the
world; which is contradictory to the hypothesis. Therefore, neither in the
world, nor out of it (but in causal connection with it), does there exist any
absolutely necessary being.
[*Footnote: The word begin is taken in two senses. The first is
active— the cause being regarded as beginning a series of conditions as its
effect (infit). The second is passive—the causality in the cause itself
beginning to operate (fit). I reason here from the first to the second.]
OBSERVATIONS ON THE FOURTH ANTINOMY.
ON THE THESIS.
To demonstrate the existence of a necessary being, I cannot be
permitted in this place to employ any other than the cosmological argument,
which ascends from the conditioned in phenomena to the unconditioned in
conception—the unconditioned being considered the necessary condition of the
absolute totality of the series. The proof, from the mere idea of a supreme
being, belongs to another principle of reason and requires separate discussion.
The pure cosmological proof demonstrates the existence of a
necessary being, but at the same time leaves it quite unsettled, whether this
being is the world itself, or quite distinct from it. To establish the truth of
the latter view, principles are requisite, which are not cosmological and do not
proceed in the series of phenomena. We should require to introduce into our
proof conceptions of contingent beings—regarded merely as objects of the
understanding, and also a principle which enables us to connect these, by means
of mere conceptions, with a necessary being. But the proper place for all such
arguments is a transcendent philosophy, which has unhappily not yet been
established.
But, if we begin our proof cosmologically, by laying at the
foundation of it the series of phenomena, and the regress in it according to
empirical laws of causality, we are not at liberty to break off from this mode
of demonstration and to pass over to something which is not itself a member of
the series. The condition must be taken in exactly the same signification as the
relation of the conditioned to its condition in the series has been taken, for
the series must conduct us in an unbroken regress to this supreme condition. But
if this relation is sensuous, and belongs to the possible empirical employment
of understanding, the supreme condition or cause must close the regressive
series according to the laws of sensibility and consequently, must belong to the
series of time. It follows that this necessary existence must be regarded as the
highest member of the cosmical series.
Certain philosophers have, nevertheless, allowed themselves the
liberty of making such a saltus (metabasis eis allo gonos). From the changes in
the world they have concluded their empirical contingency, that is, their
dependence on empirically-determined causes, and they thus admitted an ascending
series of empirical conditions: and in this they are quite right. But as they
could not find in this series any primal beginning or any highest member, they
passed suddenly from the empirical conception of contingency to the pure
category, which presents us with a series—not sensuous, but intellectual—whose
completeness does certainly rest upon the existence of an absolutely necessary
cause. Nay, more, this intellectual series is not tied to any sensuous
conditions; and is therefore free from the condition of time, which requires it
spontaneously to begin its causality in time. But such a procedure is perfectly
inadmissible, as will be made plain from what follows.
In the pure sense of the categories, that is contingent the
contradictory opposite of which is possible. Now we cannot reason from empirical
contingency to intellectual. The opposite of that which is changed—the opposite
of its state—is actual at another time, and is therefore possible. Consequently,
it is not the contradictory opposite of the former state. To be that, it is
necessary that, in the same time in which the preceding state existed, its
opposite could have existed in its place; but such a cognition is not given us
in the mere phenomenon of change. A body that was in motion = A, comes into a
state of rest = non-A. Now it cannot be concluded from the fact that a state
opposite to the state A follows it, that the contradictory opposite of A is
possible; and that A is therefore contingent. To prove this, we should require
to know that the state of rest could have existed in the very same time in which
the motion took place. Now we know nothing more than that the state of rest was
actual in the time that followed the state of motion; consequently, that it was
also possible. But motion at one time, and rest at another time, are not
contradictorily opposed to each other. It follows from what has been said that
the succession of opposite determinations, that is, change, does not demonstrate
the fact of contingency as represented in the conceptions of the pure
understanding; and that it cannot, therefore, conduct us to the fact of the
existence of a necessary being. Change proves merely empirical contingency, that
is to say, that the new state could not have existed without a cause, which
belongs to the preceding time. This cause—even although it is regarded as
absolutely necessary—must be presented to us in time, and must belong to the
series of phenomena.
ON THE ANTITHESIS.
The difficulties which meet us, in our attempt to rise through
the series of phenomena to the existence of an absolutely necessary supreme
cause, must not originate from our inability to establish the truth of our mere
conceptions of the necessary existence of a thing. That is to say, our
objections not be ontological, but must be directed against the causal
connection with a series of phenomena of a condition which is itself
unconditioned. In one word, they must be cosmological and relate to empirical
laws. We must show that the regress in the series of causes (in the world of
sense) cannot conclude with an empirically unconditioned condition, and that the
cosmological argument from the contingency of the cosmical state—a contingency
alleged to arise from change—does not justify us in accepting a first cause,
that is, a prime originator of the cosmical series.
The reader will observe in this antinomy a very remarkable
contrast. The very same grounds of proof which established in the thesis the
existence of a supreme being, demonstrated in the antithesis—and with equal
strictness—the non-existence of such a being. We found, first, that a necessary
being exists, because the whole time past contains the series of all conditions,
and with it, therefore, the unconditioned (the necessary); secondly, that there
does not exist any necessary being, for the same reason, that the whole time
past contains the series of all conditions—which are themselves, therefore, in
the aggregate, conditioned. The cause of this seeming incongruity is as follows.
We attend, in the first argument, solely to the absolute totality of the series
of conditions, the one of which determines the other in time, and thus arrive at
a necessary unconditioned. In the second, we consider, on the contrary, the
contingency of everything that is determined in the series of time- for every
event is preceded by a time, in which the condition itself must be determined as
conditioned—and thus everything that is unconditioned or absolutely necessary
disappears. In both, the mode of proof is quite in accordance with the common
procedure of human reason, which often falls into discord with itself, from
considering an object from two different points of view. Herr von Mairan
regarded the controversy between two celebrated astronomers, which arose from a
similar difficulty as to the choice of a proper standpoint, as a phenomenon of
sufficient importance to warrant a separate treatise on the subject. The one
concluded: the moon revolves on its own axis, because it constantly presents the
same side to the earth; the other declared that the moon does not revolve on its
own axis, for the same reason. Both conclusions were perfectly correct,
according to the point of view from which the motions of the moon were
considered.
SECTION III. Of the Interest of Reason
in these Self-contradictions.
We have thus completely before us the dialectical procedure of
the cosmological ideas. No possible experience can present us with an object
adequate to them in extent. Nay, more, reason itself cannot cogitate them as
according with the general laws of experience. And yet they are not arbitrary
fictions of thought. On the contrary, reason, in its uninterrupted progress in
the empirical synthesis, is necessarily conducted to them, when it endeavours to
free from all conditions and to comprehend in its unconditioned totality that
which can only be determined conditionally in accordance with the laws of
experience. These dialectical propositions are so many attempts to solve four
natural and unavoidable problems of reason. There are neither more, nor can
there be less, than this number, because there are no other series of
synthetical hypotheses, limiting a priori the empirical synthesis.
The brilliant claims of reason striving to extend its dominion
beyond the limits of experience, have been represented above only in dry
formulae, which contain merely the grounds of its pretensions. They have,
besides, in conformity with the character of a transcendental philosophy, been
freed from every empirical element; although the full splendour of the promises
they hold out, and the anticipations they excite, manifests itself only when in
connection with empirical cognitions. In the application of them, however, and
in the advancing enlargement of the employment of reason, while struggling to
rise from the region of experience and to soar to those sublime ideas,
philosophy discovers a value and a dignity, which, if it could but make good its
assertions, would raise it far above all other departments of human
knowledge—professing, as it does, to present a sure foundation for our highest
hopes and the ultimate aims of all the exertions of reason. The questions:
whether the world has a beginning and a limit to its extension in space; whether
there exists anywhere, or perhaps, in my own thinking Self, an indivisible and
indestructible unity—or whether nothing but what is divisible and transitory
exists; whether I am a free agent, or, like other beings, am bound in the chains
of nature and fate; whether, finally, there is a supreme cause of the world, or
all our thought and speculation must end with nature and the order of external
things—are questions for the solution of which the mathematician would willingly
exchange his whole science; for in it there is no satisfaction for the highest
aspirations and most ardent desires of humanity. Nay, it may even be said that
the true value of mathematics- that pride of human reason—consists in this: that
she guides reason to the knowledge of nature—in her greater as well as in her
less manifestations—in her beautiful order and regularity—guides her, moreover,
to an insight into the wonderful unity of the moving forces in the operations of
nature, far beyond the expectations of a philosophy building only on experience;
and that she thus encourages philosophy to extend the province of reason beyond
all experience, and at the same time provides it with the most excellent
materials for supporting its investigations, in so far as their nature admits,
by adequate and accordant intuitions.
Unfortunately for speculation—but perhaps fortunately for the
practical interests of humanity—reason, in the midst of her highest
anticipations, finds herself hemmed in by a press of opposite and contradictory
conclusions, from which neither her honour nor her safety will permit her to
draw back. Nor can she regard these conflicting trains of reasoning with
indifference as mere passages at arms, still less can she command peace; for in
the subject of the conflict she has a deep interest. There is no other course
left open to her than to reflect with herself upon the origin of this disunion
in reason—whether it may not arise from a mere misunderstanding. After such an
inquiry, arrogant claims would have to be given up on both sides; but the
sovereignty of reason over understanding and sense would be based upon a sure
foundation.
We shall at present defer this radical inquiry and, in the
meantime, consider for a little what side in the controversy we should most
willingly take, if we were obliged to become partisans at all. As, in this case,
we leave out of sight altogether the logical criterion of truth, and merely
consult our own interest in reference to the question, these considerations,
although inadequate to settle the question of right in either party, will enable
us to comprehend how those who have taken part in the struggle, adopt the one
view rather than the other—no special insight into the subject, however, having
influenced their choice. They will, at the same time, explain to us many other
things by the way—for example, the fiery zeal on the one side and the cold
maintenance of their cause on the other; why the one party has met with the
warmest approbations, and the other has always been repulsed by irreconcilable
prejudices.
There is one thing, however, that determines the proper point of
view, from which alone this preliminary inquiry can be instituted and carried on
with the proper completeness—and that is the comparison of the principles from
which both sides, thesis and antithesis, proceed. My readers would remark in the
propositions of the antithesis a complete uniformity in the mode of thought and
a perfect unity of principle. Its principle was that of pure empiricism, not
only in the explication of the phenomena in the world, but also in the solution
of the transcendental ideas, even of that of the universe itself. The
affirmations of the thesis, on the contrary, were based, in addition to the
empirical mode of explanation employed in the series of phenomena, on
intellectual propositions; and its principles were in so far not simple. I shall
term the thesis, in view of its essential characteristic, the dogmatism of pure
reason.
On the side of Dogmatism, or of the thesis, therefore, in the
determination of the cosmological ideas, we find:
1. A practical interest, which must be very dear to every
right-thinking man. That the word has a beginning—that the nature of my thinking
self is simple, and therefore indestructible—that I am a free agent, and raised
above the compulsion of nature and her laws—and, finally, that the entire order
of things, which form the world, is dependent upon a Supreme Being, from whom
the whole receives unity and connection—these are so many foundation-stones of
morality and religion. The antithesis deprives us of all these supports—or, at
least, seems so to deprive us.
2. A speculative interest of reason manifests itself on this
side. For, if we take the transcendental ideas and employ them in the manner
which the thesis directs, we can exhibit completely a priori the entire chain of
conditions, and understand the derivation of the conditioned—beginning from the
unconditioned. This the antithesis does not do; and for this reason does not
meet with so welcome a reception. For it can give no answer to our question
respecting the conditions of its synthesis—except such as must be supplemented
by another question, and so on to infinity. According to it, we must rise from a
given beginning to one still higher; every part conducts us to a still smaller
one; every event is preceded by another event which is its cause; and the
conditions of existence rest always upon other and still higher conditions, and
find neither end nor basis in some self-subsistent thing as the primal being.
3. This side has also the advantage of popularity; and this
constitutes no small part of its claim to favour. The common understanding does
not find the least difficulty in the idea of the unconditioned beginning of all
synthesis—accustomed, as it is, rather to follow our consequences than to seek
for a proper basis for cognition. In the conception of an absolute first,
moreover—the possibility of which it does not inquire into—it is highly
gratified to find a firmly-established point of departure for its attempts at
theory; while in the restless and continuous ascent from the conditioned to the
condition, always with one foot in the air, it can find no satisfaction.
On the side of the antithesis, or Empiricism, in the
determination of the cosmological ideas:
1. We cannot discover any such practical interest arising from
pure principles of reason as morality and religion present. On the contrary,
pure empiricism seems to empty them of all their power and influence. If there
does not exist a Supreme Being distinct from the world—if the world is without
beginning, consequently without a Creator—if our wills are not free, and the
soul is divisible and subject to corruption just like matter—the ideas and
principles of morality lose all validity and fall with the transcendental ideas
which constituted their theoretical support.
2. But empiricism, in compensation, holds out to reason, in its
speculative interests, certain important advantages, far exceeding any that the
dogmatist can promise us. For, when employed by the empiricist, understanding is
always upon its proper ground of investigation—the field of possible experience,
the laws of which it can explore, and thus extend its cognition securely and
with clear intelligence without being stopped by limits in any direction. Here
can it and ought it to find and present to intuition its proper object—not only
in itself, but in all its relations; or, if it employ conceptions, upon this
ground it can always present the corresponding images in clear and unmistakable
intuitions. It is quite unnecessary for it to renounce the guidance of nature,
to attach itself to ideas, the objects of which it cannot know; because, as mere
intellectual entities, they cannot be presented in any intuition. On the
contrary, it is not even permitted to abandon its proper occupation, under the
pretence that it has been brought to a conclusion (for it never can be), and to
pass into the region of idealizing reason and transcendent conceptions, which it
is not required to observe and explore the laws of nature, but merely to think
and to imagine—secure from being contradicted by facts, because they have not
been called as witnesses, but passed by, or perhaps subordinated to the
so-called higher interests and considerations of pure reason.
Hence the empiricist will never allow himself to accept any
epoch of nature for the first—the absolutely primal state; he will not believe
that there can be limits to his outlook into her wide domains, nor pass from the
objects of nature, which he can satisfactorily explain by means of observation
and mathematical thought—which he can determine synthetically in intuition, to
those which neither sense nor imagination can ever present in concreto; he will
not concede the existence of a faculty in nature, operating independently of the
laws of nature—a concession which would introduce uncertainty into the procedure
of the understanding, which is guided by necessary laws to the observation of
phenomena; nor, finally, will he permit himself to seek a cause beyond nature,
inasmuch as we know nothing but it, and from it alone receive an objective basis
for all our conceptions and instruction in the unvarying laws of things.
In truth, if the empirical philosopher had no other purpose in
the establishment of his antithesis than to check the presumption of a reason
which mistakes its true destination, which boasts of its insight and its
knowledge, just where all insight and knowledge cease to exist, and regards that
which is valid only in relation to a practical interest, as an advancement of
the speculative interests of the mind (in order, when it is convenient for
itself, to break the thread of our physical investigations, and, under pretence
of extending our cognition, connect them with transcendental ideas, by means of
which we really know only that we know nothing)—if, I say, the empiricist rested
satisfied with this benefit, the principle advanced by him would be a maxim
recommending moderation in the pretensions of reason and modesty in its
affirmations, and at the same time would direct us to the right mode of
extending the province of the understanding, by the help of the only true
teacher, experience. In obedience to this advice, intellectual hypotheses and
faith would not be called in aid of our practical interests; nor should we
introduce them under the pompous titles of science and insight. For speculative
cognition cannot find an objective basis any other where than in experience;
and, when we overstep its limits our synthesis, which requires ever new
cognitions independent of experience, has no substratum of intuition upon which
to build.
But if—as often happens—empiricism, in relation to ideas,
becomes itself dogmatic and boldly denies that which is above the sphere of its
phenomenal cognition, it falls itself into the error of intemperance—an error
which is here all the more reprehensible, as thereby the practical interest of
reason receives an irreparable injury.
And this constitutes the opposition between Epicureanism* and
Platonism.
[*Footnote: It is, however, still a matter of doubt whether
Epicurus ever propounded these principles as directions for the objective
employment of the understanding. If, indeed, they were nothing more than maxims
for the speculative exercise of reason, he gives evidence therein a more genuine
philosophic spirit than any of the philosophers of antiquity. That, in the
explanation of phenomena, we must proceed as if the field of inquiry had neither
limits in space nor commencement in time; that we must be satisfied with the
teaching of experience in reference to the material of which the world is posed;
that we must not look for any other mode of the origination of events than that
which is determined by the unalterable laws of nature; and finally, that we not
employ the hypothesis of a cause distinct from the world to account for a
phenomenon or for the world itself—are principles for the extension of
speculative philosophy, and the discovery of the true sources of the principles
of morals, which, however little conformed to in the present day, are
undoubtedly correct. At the same time, any one desirous of ignoring, in mere
speculation, these dogmatical propositions, need not for that reason be accused
of denying them.]
Both Epicurus and Plato assert more in their systems than they
know. The former encourages and advances science—although to the prejudice of
the practical; the latter presents us with excellent principles for the
investigation of the practical, but, in relation to everything regarding which
we can attain to speculative cognition, permits reason to append idealistic
explanations of natural phenomena, to the great injury of physical
investigation.
3. In regard to the third motive for the preliminary choice of a
party in this war of assertions, it seems very extraordinary that empiricism
should be utterly unpopular. We should be inclined to believe that the common
understanding would receive it with pleasure—promising as it does to satisfy it
without passing the bounds of experience and its connected order; while
transcendental dogmatism obliges it to rise to conceptions which far surpass the
intelligence and ability of the most practised thinkers. But in this, in truth,
is to be found its real motive. For the common understanding thus finds itself
in a situation where not even the most learned can have the advantage of it. If
it understands little or nothing about these transcendental conceptions, no one
can boast of understanding any more; and although it may not express itself in
so scholastically correct a manner as others, it can busy itself with reasoning
and arguments without end, wandering among mere ideas, about which one can
always be very eloquent, because we know nothing about them; while, in the
observation and investigation of nature, it would be forced to remain dumb and
to confess its utter ignorance. Thus indolence and vanity form of themselves
strong recommendations of these principles. Besides, although it is a hard thing
for a philosopher to assume a principle, of which he can give to himself no
reasonable account, and still more to employ conceptions, the objective reality
of which cannot be established, nothing is more usual with the common
understanding. It wants something which will allow it to go to work with
confidence. The difficulty of even comprehending a supposition does not disquiet
it, because—not knowing what comprehending means—it never even thinks of the
supposition it may be adopting as a principle; and regards as known that with
which it has become familiar from constant use. And, at last, all speculative
interests disappear before the practical interests which it holds dear; and it
fancies that it understands and knows what its necessities and hopes incite it
to assume or to believe. Thus the empiricism of transcendentally idealizing
reason is robbed of all popularity; and, however prejudicial it may be to the
highest practical principles, there is no fear that it will ever pass the limits
of the schools, or acquire any favour or influence in society or with the
multitude.
Human reason is by nature architectonic. That is to say, it
regards all cognitions as parts of a possible system, and hence accepts only
such principles as at least do not incapacitate a cognition to which we may have
attained from being placed along with others in a general system. But the
propositions of the antithesis are of a character which renders the completion
of an edifice of cognitions impossible. According to these, beyond one state or
epoch of the world there is always to be found one more ancient; in every part
always other parts themselves divisible; preceding every event another, the
origin of which must itself be sought still higher; and everything in existence
is conditioned, and still not dependent on an unconditioned and primal
existence. As, therefore, the antithesis will not concede the existence of a
first beginning which might be available as a foundation, a complete edifice of
cognition, in the presence of such hypothesis, is utterly impossible. Thus the
architectonic interest of reason, which requires a unity—not empirical, but a
priori and rational—forms a natural recommendation for the assertions of the
thesis in our antinomy.
But if any one could free himself entirely from all
considerations of interest, and weigh without partiality the assertions of
reason, attending only to their content, irrespective of the consequences which
follow from them; such a person, on the supposition that he knew no other way
out of the confusion than to settle the truth of one or other of the conflicting
doctrines, would live in a state of continual hesitation. Today, he would feel
convinced that the human will is free; to-morrow, considering the indissoluble
chain of nature, he would look on freedom as a mere illusion and declare nature
to be all-in-all. But, if he were called to action, the play of the merely
speculative reason would disappear like the shapes of a dream, and practical
interest would dictate his choice of principles. But, as it well befits a
reflective and inquiring being to devote certain periods of time to the
examination of its own reason—to divest itself of all partiality, and frankly to
communicate its observations for the judgement and opinion of others; so no one
can be blamed for, much less prevented from, placing both parties on their
trial, with permission to end themselves, free from intimidation, before
intimidation, before a sworn jury of equal condition with themselves—the
condition of weak and fallible men.
SECTION IV. Of the necessity imposed
upon Pure Reason of presenting a Solution of its Transcendental Problems.
To avow an ability to solve all problems and to answer all
questions would be a profession certain to convict any philosopher of
extravagant boasting and self-conceit, and at once to destroy the confidence
that might otherwise have been reposed in him. There are, however, sciences so
constituted that every question arising within their sphere must necessarily be
capable of receiving an answer from the knowledge already possessed, for the
answer must be received from the same sources whence the question arose. In such
sciences it is not allowable to excuse ourselves on the plea of necessary and
unavoidable ignorance; a solution is absolutely requisite. The rule of right and
wrong must help us to the knowledge of what is right or wrong in all possible
cases; otherwise, the idea of obligation or duty would be utterly null, for we
cannot have any obligation to that which we cannot know. On the other hand, in
our investigations of the phenomena of nature, much must remain uncertain, and
many questions continue insoluble; because what we know of nature is far from
being sufficient to explain all the phenomena that are presented to our
observation. Now the question is: Whether there is in transcendental philosophy
any question, relating to an object presented to pure reason, which is
unanswerable by this reason; and whether we must regard the subject of the
question as quite uncertain, so far as our knowledge extends, and must give it a
place among those subjects, of which we have just so much conception as is
sufficient to enable us to raise a question—faculty or materials failing us,
however, when we attempt an answer.
Now I maintain that, among all speculative cognition, the
peculiarity of transcendental philosophy is that there is no question, relating
to an object presented to pure reason, which is insoluble by this reason; and
that the profession of unavoidable ignorance- the problem being alleged to be
beyond the reach of our faculties- cannot free us from the obligation to present
a complete and satisfactory answer. For the very conception which enables us to
raise the question must give us the power of answering it; inasmuch as the
object, as in the case of right and wrong, is not to be discovered out of the
conception.
But, in transcendental philosophy, it is only the cosmological
questions to which we can demand a satisfactory answer in relation to the
constitution of their object; and the philosopher is not permitted to avail
himself of the pretext of necessary ignorance and impenetrable obscurity. These
questions relate solely to the cosmological ideas. For the object must be given
in experience, and the question relates to the adequateness of the object to an
idea. If the object is transcendental and therefore itself unknown; if the
question, for example, is whether the object—the something, the phenomenon of
which (internal—in ourselves) is thought—that is to say, the soul, is in itself
a simple being; or whether there is a cause of all things, which is absolutely
necessary—in such cases we are seeking for our idea an object, of which we may
confess that it is unknown to us, though we must not on that account assert that
it is impossible.* The cosmological ideas alone posses the peculiarity that we
can presuppose the object of them and the empirical synthesis requisite for the
conception of that object to be given; and the question, which arises from these
ideas, relates merely to the progress of this synthesis, in so far as it must
contain absolute totality—which, however, is not empirical, as it cannot be
given in any experience. Now, as the question here is solely in regard to a
thing as the object of a possible experience and not as a thing in itself, the
answer to the transcendental cosmological question need not be sought out of the
idea, for the question does not regard an object in itself. The question in
relation to a possible experience is not, "What can be given in an experience in
concreto" but "what is contained in the idea, to which the empirical synthesis
must approximate." The question must therefore be capable of solution from the
idea alone. For the idea is a creation of reason itself, which therefore cannot
disclaim the obligation to answer or refer us to the unknown object.
[*Footnote: The question, "What is the constitution of a
transcendental object?" is unanswerable—we are unable to say what it is; but we
can perceive that the question itself is nothing; because it does not relate to
any object that can be presented to us. For this reason, we must consider all
the questions raised in transcendental psychology as answerable and as really
answered; for they relate to the transcendental subject of all internal
phenomena, which is not itself phenomenon and consequently not given as an
object, in which, moreover, none of the categories—and it is to them that the
question is properly directed—find any conditions of its application. Here,
therefore, is a case where no answer is the only proper answer. For a question
regarding the constitution of a something which cannot be cogitated by any
determined predicate, being completely beyond the sphere of objects and
experience, is perfectly null and void.]
It is not so extraordinary, as it at first sight appears, that a
science should demand and expect satisfactory answers to all the questions that
may arise within its own sphere (questiones domesticae), although, up to a
certain time, these answers may not have been discovered. There are, in addition
to transcendental philosophy, only two pure sciences of reason; the one with a
speculative, the other with a practical content—pure mathematics and pure
ethics. Has any one ever heard it alleged that, from our complete and necessary
ignorance of the conditions, it is uncertain what exact relation the diameter of
a circle bears to the circle in rational or irrational numbers? By the former
the sum cannot be given exactly, by the latter only approximately; and therefore
we decide that the impossibility of a solution of the question is evident.
Lambert presented us with a demonstration of this. In the general principles of
morals there can be nothing uncertain, for the propositions are either utterly
without meaning, or must originate solely in our rational conceptions. On the
other hand, there must be in physical science an infinite number of conjectures,
which can never become certainties; because the phenomena of nature are not
given as objects dependent on our conceptions. The key to the solution of such
questions cannot, therefore, be found in our conceptions, or in pure thought,
but must lie without us and for that reason is in many cases not to be
discovered; and consequently a satisfactory explanation cannot be expected. The
questions of transcendental analytic, which relate to the deduction of our pure
cognition, are not to be regarded as of the same kind as those mentioned above;
for we are not at present treating of the certainty of judgements in relation to
the origin of our conceptions, but only of that certainty in relation to
objects.
We cannot, therefore, escape the responsibility of at least a
critical solution of the questions of reason, by complaints of the limited
nature of our faculties, and the seemingly humble confession that it is beyond
the power of our reason to decide, whether the world has existed from all
eternity or had a beginning—whether it is infinitely extended, or enclosed
within certain limits—whether anything in the world is simple, or whether
everything must be capable of infinite divisibility—whether freedom can
originate phenomena, or whether everything is absolutely dependent on the laws
and order of nature—and, finally, whether there exists a being that is
completely unconditioned and necessary, or whether the existence of everything
is conditioned and consequently dependent on something external to itself, and
therefore in its own nature contingent. For all these questions relate to an
object, which can be given nowhere else than in thought. This object is the
absolutely unconditioned totality of the synthesis of phenomena. If the
conceptions in our minds do not assist us to some certain result in regard to
these problems, we must not defend ourselves on the plea that the object itself
remains hidden from and unknown to us. For no such thing or object can be
given—it is not to be found out of the idea in our minds. We must seek the cause
of our failure in our idea itself, which is an insoluble problem and in regard
to which we obstinately assume that there exists a real object corresponding and
adequate to it. A clear explanation of the dialectic which lies in our
conception, will very soon enable us to come to a satisfactory decision in
regard to such a question.
The pretext that we are unable to arrive at certainty in regard
to these problems may be met with this question, which requires at least a plain
answer: "From what source do the ideas originate, the solution of which involves
you in such difficulties? Are you seeking for an explanation of certain
phenomena; and do you expect these ideas to give you the principles or the rules
of this explanation?" Let it be granted, that all nature was laid open before
you; that nothing was hid from your senses and your consciousness. Still, you
could not cognize in concreto the object of your ideas in any experience. For
what is demanded is not only this full and complete intuition, but also a
complete synthesis and the consciousness of its absolute totality; and this is
not possible by means of any empirical cognition. It follows that your
question—your idea—is by no means necessary for the explanation of any
phenomenon; and the idea cannot have been in any sense given by the object
itself. For such an object can never be presented to us, because it cannot be
given by any possible experience. Whatever perceptions you may attain to, you
are still surrounded by conditions—in space, or in time—and you cannot discover
anything unconditioned; nor can you decide whether this unconditioned is to be
placed in an absolute beginning of the synthesis, or in an absolute totality of
the series without beginning. A whole, in the empirical signification of the
term, is always merely comparative. The absolute whole of quantity (the
universe), of division, of derivation, of the condition of existence, with the
question—whether it is to be produced by finite or infinite synthesis, no
possible experience can instruct us concerning. You will not, for example, be
able to explain the phenomena of a body in the least degree better, whether you
believe it to consist of simple, or of composite parts; for a simple
phenomenon—and just as little an infinite series of composition—can never be
presented to your perception. Phenomena require and admit of explanation, only
in so far as the conditions of that explanation are given in perception; but the
sum total of that which is given in phenomena, considered as an absolute whole,
is itself a perception—and we cannot therefore seek for explanations of this
whole beyond itself, in other perceptions. The explanation of this whole is the
proper object of the transcendental problems of pure reason.
Although, therefore, the solution of these problems is
unattainable through experience, we must not permit ourselves to say that it is
uncertain how the object of our inquiries is constituted. For the object is in
our own mind and cannot be discovered in experience; and we have only to take
care that our thoughts are consistent with each other, and to avoid falling into
the amphiboly of regarding our idea as a representation of an object empirically
given, and therefore to be cognized according to the laws of experience. A
dogmatical solution is therefore not only unsatisfactory but impossible. The
critical solution, which may be a perfectly certain one, does not consider the
question objectively, but proceeds by inquiring into the basis of the cognition
upon which the question rests.
SECTION V. Sceptical Exposition of the
Cosmological Problems presented in the four Transcendental Ideas.
We should be quite willing to desist from the demand of a
dogmatical answer to our questions, if we understood beforehand that, be the
answer what it may, it would only serve to increase our ignorance, to throw us
from one incomprehensibility into another, from one obscurity into another still
greater, and perhaps lead us into irreconcilable contradictions. If a dogmatical
affirmative or negative answer is demanded, is it at all prudent to set aside
the probable grounds of a solution which lie before us and to take into
consideration what advantage we shall gain, if the answer is to favour the one
side or the other? If it happens that in both cases the answer is mere nonsense,
we have in this an irresistible summons to institute a critical investigation of
the question, for the purpose of discovering whether it is based on a groundless
presupposition and relates to an idea, the falsity of which would be more easily
exposed in its application and consequences than in the mere representation of
its content. This is the great utility of the sceptical mode of treating the
questions addressed by pure reason to itself. By this method we easily rid
ourselves of the confusions of dogmatism, and establish in its place a temperate
criticism, which, as a genuine cathartic, will successfully remove the
presumptuous notions of philosophy and their consequence—the vain pretension to
universal science.
If, then, I could understand the nature of a cosmological idea
and perceive, before I entered on the discussion of the subject at all, that,
whatever side of the question regarding the unconditioned of the regressive
synthesis of phenomena it favoured—it must either be too great or too small for
every conception of the understanding—I would be able to comprehend how the
idea, which relates to an object of experience—an experience which must be
adequate to and in accordance with a possible conception of the
understanding—must be completely void and without significance, inasmuch as its
object is inadequate, consider it as we may. And this is actually the case with
all cosmological conceptions, which, for the reason above mentioned, involve
reason, so long as it remains attached to them, in an unavoidable antinomy. For
suppose:
First, that the world has no beginning—in this case it is too
large for our conception; for this conception, which consists in a successive
regress, cannot overtake the whole eternity that has elapsed. Grant that it has
a beginning, it is then too small for the conception of the understanding. For,
as a beginning presupposes a time preceding, it cannot be unconditioned; and the
law of the empirical employment of the understanding imposes the necessity of
looking for a higher condition of time; and the world is, therefore, evidently
too small for this law.
The same is the case with the double answer to the question
regarding the extent, in space, of the world. For, if it is infinite and
unlimited, it must be too large for every possible empirical conception. If it
is finite and limited, we have a right to ask: "What determines these limits?"
Void space is not a self-subsistent correlate of things, and cannot be a final
condition—and still less an empirical condition, forming a part of a possible
experience. For how can we have any experience or perception of an absolute
void? But the absolute totality of the empirical synthesis requires that the
unconditioned be an empirical conception. Consequently, a finite world is too
small for our conception.
Secondly, if every phenomenon (matter) in space consists of an
infinite number of parts, the regress of the division is always too great for
our conception; and if the division of space must cease with some member of the
division (the simple), it is too small for the idea of the unconditioned. For
the member at which we have discontinued our division still admits a regress to
many more parts contained in the object.
Thirdly, suppose that every event in the world happens in
accordance with the laws of nature; the causality of a cause must itself be an
event and necessitates a regress to a still higher cause, and consequently the
unceasing prolongation of the series of conditions a parte priori. Operative
nature is therefore too large for every conception we can form in the synthesis
of cosmical events.
If we admit the existence of spontaneously produced events, that
is, of free agency, we are driven, in our search for sufficient reasons, on an
unavoidable law of nature and are compelled to appeal to the empirical law of
causality, and we find that any such totality of connection in our synthesis is
too small for our necessary empirical conception.
Fourthly, if we assume the existence of an absolutely necessary
being—whether it be the world or something in the world, or the cause of the
world—we must place it in a time at an infinite distance from any given moment;
for, otherwise, it must be dependent on some other and higher existence. Such an
existence is, in this case, too large for our empirical conception, and
unattainable by the continued regress of any synthesis.
But if we believe that everything in the world—be it condition
or conditioned—is contingent; every given existence is too small for our
conception. For in this case we are compelled to seek for some other existence
upon which the former depends.
We have said that in all these cases the cosmological idea is
either too great or too small for the empirical regress in a synthesis, and
consequently for every possible conception of the understanding. Why did we not
express ourselves in a manner exactly the reverse of this and, instead of
accusing the cosmological idea of over stepping or of falling short of its true
aim, possible experience, say that, in the first case, the empirical conception
is always too small for the idea, and in the second too great, and thus attach
the blame of these contradictions to the empirical regress? The reason is this.
Possible experience can alone give reality to our conceptions; without it a
conception is merely an idea, without truth or relation to an object. Hence a
possible empirical conception must be the standard by which we are to judge
whether an idea is anything more than an idea and fiction of thought, or whether
it relates to an object in the world. If we say of a thing that in relation to
some other thing it is too large or too small, the former is considered as
existing for the sake of the latter, and requiring to be adapted to it. Among
the trivial subjects of discussion in the old schools of dialectics was this
question: "If a ball cannot pass through a hole, shall we say that the ball is
too large or the hole too small?" In this case it is indifferent what expression
we employ; for we do not know which exists for the sake of the other. On the
other hand, we cannot say: "The man is too long for his coat"; but: "The coat is
too short for the man."
We are thus led to the well-founded suspicion that the
cosmological ideas, and all the conflicting sophistical assertions connected
with them, are based upon a false and fictitious conception of the mode in which
the object of these ideas is presented to us; and this suspicion will probably
direct us how to expose the illusion that has so long led us astray from the
truth.
SECTION VI. Transcendental Idealism as
the Key to the Solution of Pure Cosmological Dialectic.
In the transcendental aesthetic we proved that everything
intuited in space and time, all objects of a possible experience, are nothing
but phenomena, that is, mere representations; and that these, as presented to
us—as extended bodies, or as series of changes—have no self-subsistent existence
apart from human thought. This doctrine I call Transcendental Idealism.* The
realist in the transcendental sense regards these modifications of our
sensibility, these mere representations, as things subsisting in themselves.
[*Footnote: I have elsewhere termed this theory formal idealism,
to distinguish it from material idealism, which doubts or denies the existence
of external things. To avoid ambiguity, it seems advisable in many cases to
employ this term instead of that mentioned in the text.]
It would be unjust to accuse us of holding the long-decried
theory of empirical idealism, which, while admitting the reality of space,
denies, or at least doubts, the existence of bodies extended in it, and thus
leaves us without a sufficient criterion of reality and illusion. The supporters
of this theory find no difficulty in admitting the reality of the phenomena of
the internal sense in time; nay, they go the length of maintaining that this
internal experience is of itself a sufficient proof of the real existence of its
object as a thing in itself.
Transcendental idealism allows that the objects of external
intuition—as intuited in space, and all changes in time—as represented by the
internal sense, are real. For, as space is the form of that intuition which we
call external, and, without objects in space, no empirical representation could
be given us, we can and ought to regard extended bodies in it as real. The case
is the same with representations in time. But time and space, with all phenomena
therein, are not in themselves things. They are nothing but representations and
cannot exist out of and apart from the mind. Nay, the sensuous internal
intuition of the mind (as the object of consciousness), the determination of
which is represented by the succession of different states in time, is not the
real, proper self, as it exists in itself—not the transcendental subject—but
only a phenomenon, which is presented to the sensibility of this, to us, unknown
being. This internal phenomenon cannot be admitted to be a self-subsisting
thing; for its condition is time, and time cannot be the condition of a thing in
itself. But the empirical truth of phenomena in space and time is guaranteed
beyond the possibility of doubt, and sufficiently distinguished from the
illusion of dreams or fancy—although both have a proper and thorough connection
in an experience according to empirical laws. The objects of experience then are
not things in themselves, but are given only in experience, and have no
existence apart from and independently of experience. That there may be
inhabitants in the moon, although no one has ever observed them, must certainly
be admitted; but this assertion means only, that we may in the possible progress
of experience discover them at some future time. For that which stands in
connection with a perception according to the laws of the progress of experience
is real. They are therefore really existent, if they stand in empirical
connection with my actual or real consciousness, although they are not in
themselves real, that is, apart from the progress of experience.
There is nothing actually given—we can be conscious of nothing
as real, except a perception and the empirical progression from it to other
possible perceptions. For phenomena, as mere representations, are real only in
perception; and perception is, in fact, nothing but the reality of an empirical
representation, that is, a phenomenon. To call a phenomenon a real thing prior
to perception means either that we must meet with this phenomenon in the
progress of experience, or it means nothing at all. For I can say only of a
thing in itself that it exists without relation to the senses and experience.
But we are speaking here merely of phenomena in space and time, both of which
are determinations of sensibility, and not of things in themselves. It follows
that phenomena are not things in themselves, but are mere representations, which
if not given in us—in perception—are non-existent.
The faculty of sensuous intuition is properly a receptivity—a
capacity of being affected in a certain manner by representations, the relation
of which to each other is a pure intuition of space and time—the pure forms of
sensibility. These representations, in so far as they are connected and
determinable in this relation (in space and time) according to laws of the unity
of experience, are called objects. The non-sensuous cause of these
representations is completely unknown to us and hence cannot be intuited as an
object. For such an object could not be represented either in space or in time;
and without these conditions intuition or representation is impossible. We may,
at the same time, term the non-sensuous cause of phenomena the transcendental
object—but merely as a mental correlate to sensibility, considered as a
receptivity. To this transcendental object we may attribute the whole connection
and extent of our possible perceptions, and say that it is given and exists in
itself prior to all experience. But the phenomena, corresponding to it, are not
given as things in themselves, but in experience alone. For they are mere
representations, receiving from perceptions alone significance and relation to a
real object, under the condition that this or that perception—indicating an
object—is in complete connection with all others in accordance with the rules of
the unity of experience. Thus we can say: "The things that really existed in
past time are given in the transcendental object of experience." But these are
to me real objects, only in so far as I can represent to my own mind, that a
regressive series of possible perceptions- following the indications of history,
or the footsteps of cause and effect—in accordance with empirical laws—that, in
one word, the course of the world conducts us to an elapsed series of time as
the condition of the present time. This series in past time is represented as
real, not in itself, but only in connection with a possible experience. Thus,
when I say that certain events occurred in past time, I merely assert the
possibility of prolonging the chain of experience, from the present perception,
upwards to the conditions that determine it according to time.
If I represent to myself all objects existing in all space and
time, I do not thereby place these in space and time prior to all experience; on
the contrary, such a representation is nothing more than the notion of a
possible experience, in its absolute completeness. In experience alone are those
objects, which are nothing but representations, given. But, when I say they
existed prior to my experience, this means only that I must begin with the
perception present to me and follow the track indicated until I discover them in
some part or region of experience. The cause of the empirical condition of this
progression—and consequently at what member therein I must stop, and at what
point in the regress I am to find this member—is transcendental, and hence
necessarily incognizable. But with this we have not to do; our concern is only
with the law of progression in experience, in which objects, that is, phenomena,
are given. It is a matter of indifference, whether I say, "I may in the progress
of experience discover stars, at a hundred times greater distance than the most
distant of those now visible," or, "Stars at this distance may be met in space,
although no one has, or ever will discover them." For, if they are given as
things in themselves, without any relation to possible experience, they are for
me non-existent, consequently, are not objects, for they are not contained in
the regressive series of experience. But, if these phenomena must be employed in
the construction or support of the cosmological idea of an absolute whole, and
when we are discussing a question that oversteps the limits of possible
experience, the proper distinction of the different theories of the reality of
sensuous objects is of great importance, in order to avoid the illusion which
must necessarily arise from the misinterpretation of our empirical conceptions.
SECTION VII. Critical Solution of the
Cosmological Problem.
The antinomy of pure reason is based upon the following
dialectical argument: "If that which is conditioned is given, the whole series
of its conditions is also given; but sensuous objects are given as conditioned;
consequently…" This syllogism, the major of which seems so natural and evident,
introduces as many cosmological ideas as there are different kinds of conditions
in the synthesis of phenomena, in so far as these conditions constitute a
series. These ideas require absolute totality in the series, and thus place
reason in inextricable embarrassment. Before proceeding to expose the fallacy in
this dialectical argument, it will be necessary to have a correct understanding
of certain conceptions that appear in it.
In the first place, the following proposition is evident, and
indubitably certain: "If the conditioned is given, a regress in the series of
all its conditions is thereby imperatively required." For the very conception of
a conditioned is a conception of something related to a condition, and, if this
condition is itself conditioned, to another condition—and so on through all the
members of the series. This proposition is, therefore, analytical and has
nothing to fear from transcendental criticism. It is a logical postulate of
reason: to pursue, as far as possible, the connection of a conception with its
conditions.
If, in the second place, both the conditioned and the condition
are things in themselves, and if the former is given, not only is the regress to
the latter requisite, but the latter is really given with the former. Now, as
this is true of all the members of the series, the entire series of conditions,
and with them the unconditioned, is at the same time given in the very fact of
the conditioned, the existence of which is possible only in and through that
series, being given. In this case, the synthesis of the conditioned with its
condition, is a synthesis of the understanding merely, which represents things
as they are, without regarding whether and how we can cognize them. But if I
have to do with phenomena, which, in their character of mere representations,
are not given, if I do not attain to a cognition of them (in other words, to
themselves, for they are nothing more than empirical cognitions), I am not
entitled to say: "If the conditioned is given, all its conditions (as phenomena)
are also given." I cannot, therefore, from the fact of a conditioned being
given, infer the absolute totality of the series of its conditions. For
phenomena are nothing but an empirical synthesis in apprehension or perception,
and are therefore given only in it. Now, in speaking of phenomena it does not
follow that, if the conditioned is given, the synthesis which constitutes its
empirical condition is also thereby given and presupposed; such a synthesis can
be established only by an actual regress in the series of conditions. But we are
entitled to say in this case that a regress to the conditions of a conditioned,
in other words, that a continuous empirical synthesis is enjoined; that, if the
conditions are not given, they are at least required; and that we are certain to
discover the conditions in this regress.
We can now see that the major, in the above cosmological
syllogism, takes the conditioned in the transcendental signification which it
has in the pure category, while the minor speaks of it in the empirical
signification which it has in the category as applied to phenomena. There is,
therefore, a dialectical fallacy in the syllogism—a sophisma figurae dictionis.
But this fallacy is not a consciously devised one, but a perfectly natural
illusion of the common reason of man. For, when a thing is given as conditioned,
we presuppose in the major its conditions and their series, unperceived, as it
were, and unseen; because this is nothing more than the logical requirement of
complete and satisfactory premisses for a given conclusion. In this case, time
is altogether left out in the connection of the conditioned with the condition;
they are supposed to be given in themselves, and contemporaneously. It is,
moreover, just as natural to regard phenomena (in the minor) as things in
themselves and as objects presented to the pure understanding, as in the major,
in which complete abstraction was made of all conditions of intuition. But it is
under these conditions alone that objects are given. Now we overlooked a
remarkable distinction between the conceptions. The synthesis of the conditioned
with its condition, and the complete series of the latter (in the major) are not
limited by time, and do not contain the conception of succession. On the
contrary, the empirical synthesis and the series of conditions in the phenomenal
world—subsumed in the minor—are necessarily successive and given in time alone.
It follows that I cannot presuppose in the minor, as I did in the major, the
absolute totality of the synthesis and of the series therein represented; for in
the major all the members of the series are given as things in
themselves—without any limitations or conditions of time, while in the minor
they are possible only in and through a successive regress, which cannot exist,
except it be actually carried into execution in the world of phenomena.
After this proof of the viciousness of the argument commonly
employed in maintaining cosmological assertions, both parties may now be justly
dismissed, as advancing claims without grounds or title. But the process has not
been ended by convincing them that one or both were in the wrong and had
maintained an assertion which was without valid grounds of proof. Nothing seems
to be clearer than that, if one maintains: "The world has a beginning," and
another: "The world has no beginning," one of the two must be right. But it is
likewise clear that, if the evidence on both sides is equal, it is impossible to
discover on what side the truth lies; and the controversy continues, although
the parties have been recommended to peace before the tribunal of reason. There
remains, then, no other means of settling the question than to convince the
parties, who refute each other with such conclusiveness and ability, that they
are disputing about nothing, and that a transcendental illusion has been mocking
them with visions of reality where there is none. The mode of adjusting a
dispute which cannot be decided upon its own merits, we shall now proceed to lay
before our readers.
Zeno of Elea, a subtle dialectician, was severely reprimanded by
Plato as a sophist, who, merely from the base motive of exhibiting his skill in
discussion, maintained and subverted the same proposition by arguments as
powerful and convincing on the one side as on the other. He maintained, for
example, that God (who was probably nothing more, in his view, than the world)
is neither finite nor infinite, neither in motion nor in rest, neither similar
nor dissimilar to any other thing. It seemed to those philosophers who
criticized his mode of discussion that his purpose was to deny completely both
of two self-contradictory propositions—which is absurd. But I cannot believe
that there is any justice in this accusation. The first of these propositions I
shall presently consider in a more detailed manner. With regard to the others,
if by the word of God he understood merely the Universe, his meaning must have
been—that it cannot be permanently present in one place—that is, at rest—nor be
capable of changing its place—that is, of moving- because all places are in the
universe, and the universe itself is, therefore, in no place. Again, if the
universe contains in itself everything that exists, it cannot be similar or
dissimilar to any other thing, because there is, in fact, no other thing with
which it can be compared. If two opposite judgements presuppose a contingent
impossible, or arbitrary condition, both—in spite of their opposition (which is,
however, not properly or really a contradiction)—fall away; because the
condition, which ensured the validity of both, has itself disappeared.
If we say: "Everybody has either a good or a bad smell," we have
omitted a third possible judgement—it has no smell at all; and thus both
conflicting statements may be false. If we say: "It is either good-smelling or
not good-smelling (vel suaveolens vel non-suaveolens)," both judgements are
contradictorily opposed; and the contradictory opposite of the former
judgement—some bodies are not good-smelling—embraces also those bodies which
have no smell at all. In the preceding pair of opposed judgements (per
disparata), the contingent condition of the conception of body (smell) attached
to both conflicting statements, instead of having been omitted in the latter,
which is consequently not the contradictory opposite of the former.
If, accordingly, we say: "The world is either infinite in
extension, or it is not infinite (non est infinitus)"; and if the former
proposition is false, its contradictory opposite—the world is not infinite—must
be true. And thus I should deny the existence of an infinite, without, however
affirming the existence of a finite world. But if we construct our proposition
thus: "The world is either infinite or finite (non-infinite)," both statements
may be false. For, in this case, we consider the world as per se determined in
regard to quantity, and while, in the one judgement, we deny its infinite and
consequently, perhaps, its independent existence; in the other, we append to the
world, regarded as a thing in itself, a certain determination—that of finitude;
and the latter may be false as well as the former, if the world is not given as
a thing in itself, and thus neither as finite nor as infinite in quantity. This
kind of opposition I may be allowed to term dialectical; that of contradictories
may be called analytical opposition. Thus then, of two dialectically opposed
judgements both may be false, from the fact, that the one is not a mere
contradictory of the other, but actually enounces more than is requisite for a
full and complete contradiction.
When we regard the two propositions—"The world is infinite in
quantity," and, "The world is finite in quantity," as contradictory opposites,
we are assuming that the world—the complete series of phenomena—is a thing in
itself. For it remains as a permanent quantity, whether I deny the infinite or
the finite regress in the series of its phenomena. But if we dismiss this
assumption—this transcendental illusion—and deny that it is a thing in itself,
the contradictory opposition is metamorphosed into a merely dialectical one; and
the world, as not existing in itself—independently of the regressive series of
my representations—exists in like manner neither as a whole which is infinite
nor as a whole which is finite in itself. The universe exists for me only in the
empirical regress of the series of phenomena and not per se. If, then, it is
always conditioned, it is never completely or as a whole; and it is, therefore,
not an unconditioned whole and does not exist as such, either with an infinite,
or with a finite quantity.
What we have here said of the first cosmological idea—that of
the absolute totality of quantity in phenomena—applies also to the others. The
series of conditions is discoverable only in the regressive synthesis itself,
and not in the phenomenon considered as a thing in itself—given prior to all
regress. Hence I am compelled to say: "The aggregate of parts in a given
phenomenon is in itself neither finite nor infinite; and these parts are given
only in the regressive synthesis of decomposition—a synthesis which is never
given in absolute completeness, either as finite, or as infinite." The same is
the case with the series of subordinated causes, or of the conditioned up to the
unconditioned and necessary existence, which can never be regarded as in itself,
ind in its totality, either as finite or as infinite; because, as a series of
subordinate representations, it subsists only in the dynamical regress and
cannot be regarded as existing previously to this regress, or as a
self-subsistent series of things.
Thus the antinomy of pure reason in its cosmological ideas
disappears. For the above demonstration has established the fact that it is
merely the product of a dialectical and illusory opposition, which arises from
the application of the idea of absolute totality—admissible only as a condition
of things in themselves—to phenomena, which exist only in our representations,
and—when constituting a series—in a successive regress. This antinomy of reason
may, however, be really profitable to our speculative interests, not in the way
of contributing any dogmatical addition, but as presenting to us another
material support in our critical investigations. For it furnishes us with an
indirect proof of the transcendental ideality of phenomena, if our minds were
not completely satisfied with the direct proof set forth in the Trancendental
Aesthetic. The proof would proceed in the following dilemma. If the world is a
whole existing in itself, it must be either finite or infinite. But it is
neither finite nor infinite—as has been shown, on the one side, by the thesis,
on the other, by the antithesis. Therefore the world—the content of all
phenomena—is not a whole existing in itself. It follows that phenomena are
nothing, apart from our representations. And this is what we mean by
transcendental ideality.
This remark is of some importance. It enables us to see that the
proofs of the fourfold antinomy are not mere sophistries—are not fallacious, but
grounded on the nature of reason, and valid—under the supposition that phenomena
are things in themselves. The opposition of the judgements which follow makes it
evident that a fallacy lay in the initial supposition, and thus helps us to
discover the true constitution of objects of sense. This transcendental
dialectic does not favour scepticism, although it presents us with a triumphant
demonstration of the advantages of the sceptical method, the great utility of
which is apparent in the antinomy, where the arguments of reason were allowed to
confront each other in undiminished force. And although the result of these
conflicts of reason is not what we expected—although we have obtained no
positive dogmatical addition to metaphysical science—we have still reaped a
great advantage in the correction of our judgements on these subjects of
thought.
SECTION VIII. Regulative Principle of
Pure Reason in relation to the Cosmological Ideas.
The cosmological principle of totality could not give us any
certain knowledge in regard to the maximum in the series of conditions in the
world of sense, considered as a thing in itself. The actual regress in the
series is the only means of approaching this maximum. This principle of pure
reason, therefore, may still be considered as valid—not as an axiom enabling us
to cogitate totality in the object as actual, but as a problem for the
understanding, which requires it to institute and to continue, in conformity
with the idea of totality in the mind, the regress in the series of the
conditions of a given conditioned. For in the world of sense, that is, in space
and time, every condition which we discover in our investigation of phenomena is
itself conditioned; because sensuous objects are not things in themselves (in
which case an absolutely unconditioned might be reached in the progress of
cognition), but are merely empirical representations the conditions of which
must always be found in intuition. The principle of reason is therefore properly
a mere rule—prescribing a regress in the series of conditions for given
phenomena, and prohibiting any pause or rest on an absolutely unconditioned. It
is, therefore, not a principle of the possibility of experience or of the
empirical cognition of sensuous objects—consequently not a principle of the
understanding; for every experience is confined within certain proper limits
determined by the given intuition. Still less is it a constitutive principle of
reason authorizing us to extend our conception of the sensuous world beyond all
possible experience. It is merely a principle for the enlargement and extension
of experience as far as is possible for human faculties. It forbids us to
consider any empirical limits as absolute. It is, hence, a principle of reason,
which, as a rule, dictates how we ought to proceed in our empirical regress, but
is unable to anticipate or indicate prior to the empirical regress what is given
in the object itself. I have termed it for this reason a regulative principle of
reason; while the principle of the absolute totality of the series of
conditions, as existing in itself and given in the object, is a constitutive
cosmological principle. This distinction will at once demonstrate the falsehood
of the constitutive principle, and prevent us from attributing (by a
transcendental subreptio) objective reality to an idea, which is valid only as a
rule.
In order to understand the proper meaning of this rule of pure
reason, we must notice first that it cannot tell us what the object is, but only
how the empirical regress is to be proceeded with in order to attain to the
complete conception of the object. If it gave us any information in respect to
the former statement, it would be a constitutive principle—a principle
impossible from the nature of pure reason. It will not therefore enable us to
establish any such conclusions as: "The series of conditions for a given
conditioned is in itself finite," or, "It is infinite." For, in this case, we
should be cogitating in the mere idea of absolute totality, an object which is
not and cannot be given in experience; inasmuch as we should be attributing a
reality objective and independent of the empirical synthesis, to a series of
phenomena. This idea of reason cannot then be regarded as valid—except as a rule
for the regressive synthesis in the series of conditions, according to which we
must proceed from the conditioned, through all intermediate and subordinate
conditions, up to the unconditioned; although this goal is unattained and
unattainable. For the absolutely unconditioned cannot be discovered in the
sphere of experience.
We now proceed to determine clearly our notion of a synthesis
which can never be complete. There are two terms commonly employed for this
purpose. These terms are regarded as expressions of different and
distinguishable notions, although the ground of the distinction has never been
clearly exposed. The term employed by the mathematicians is progressus in
infinitum. The philosophers prefer the expression progressus in indefinitum.
Without detaining the reader with an examination of the reasons for such a
distinction, or with remarks on the right or wrong use of the terms, I shall
endeavour clearly to determine these conceptions, so far as is necessary for the
purpose in this Critique.
We may, with propriety, say of a straight line, that it may be
produced to infinity. In this case the distinction between a progressus in
infinitum and a progressus in indefinitum is a mere piece of subtlety. For,
although when we say, "Produce a straight line," it is more correct to say in
indefinitum than in infinitum; because the former means, "Produce it as far as
you please," the second, "You must not cease to produce it"; the expression in
infinitum is, when we are speaking of the power to do it, perfectly correct, for
we can always make it longer if we please—on to infinity. And this remark holds
good in all cases, when we speak of a progressus, that is, an advancement from
the condition to the conditioned; this possible advancement always proceeds to
infinity. We may proceed from a given pair in the descending line of generation
from father to son, and cogitate a never-ending line of descendants from it. For
in such a case reason does not demand absolute totality in the series, because
it does not presuppose it as a condition and as given (datum), but merely as
conditioned, and as capable of being given (dabile).
Very different is the case with the problem: "How far the
regress, which ascends from the given conditioned to the conditions, must
extend"; whether I can say: "It is a regress in infinitum," or only "in
indefinitum"; and whether, for example, setting out from the human beings at
present alive in the world, I may ascend in the series of their ancestors, in
infinitum—mr whether all that can be said is, that so far as I have proceeded, I
have discovered no empirical ground for considering the series limited, so that
I am justified, and indeed, compelled to search for ancestors still further
back, although I am not obliged by the idea of reason to presuppose them.
My answer to this question is: "If the series is given in
empirical intuition as a whole, the regress in the series of its internal
conditions proceeds in infinitum; but, if only one member of the series is
given, from which the regress is to proceed to absolute totality, the regress is
possible only in indefinitum." For example, the division of a portion of matter
given within certain limits—of a body, that is—proceeds in infinitum. For, as
the condition of this whole is its part, and the condition of the part a part of
the part, and so on, and as in this regress of decomposition an unconditioned
indivisible member of the series of conditions is not to be found; there are no
reasons or grounds in experience for stopping in the division, but, on the
contrary, the more remote members of the division are actually and empirically
given prior to this division. That is to say, the division proceeds to infinity.
On the other hand, the series of ancestors of any given human being is not
given, in its absolute totality, in any experience, and yet the regress proceeds
from every genealogical member of this series to one still higher, and does not
meet with any empirical limit presenting an absolutely unconditioned member of
the series. But as the members of such a series are not contained in the
empirical intuition of the whole, prior to the regress, this regress does not
proceed to infinity, but only in indefinitum, that is, we are called upon to
discover other and higher members, which are themselves always conditioned.
In neither case—the regressus in infinitum, nor the regressus in
indefinitum, is the series of conditions to be considered as actually infinite
in the object itself. This might be true of things in themselves, but it cannot
be asserted of phenomena, which, as conditions of each other, are only given in
the empirical regress itself. Hence, the question no longer is, "What is the
quantity of this series of conditions in itself—is it finite or infinite?" for
it is nothing in itself; but, "How is the empirical regress to be commenced, and
how far ought we to proceed with it?" And here a signal distinction in the
application of this rule becomes apparent. If the whole is given empirically, it
is possible to recede in the series of its internal conditions to infinity. But
if the whole is not given, and can only be given by and through the empirical
regress, I can only say: "It is possible to infinity, to proceed to still higher
conditions in the series." In the first case, I am justified in asserting that
more members are empirically given in the object than I attain to in the regress
(of decomposition). In the second case, I am justified only in saying, that I
can always proceed further in the regress, because no member of the series is
given as absolutely conditioned, and thus a higher member is possible, and an
inquiry with regard to it is necessary. In the one case it is necessary to find
other members of the series, in the other it is necessary to inquire for others,
inasmuch as experience presents no absolute limitation of the regress. For,
either you do not possess a perception which absolutely limits your empirical
regress, and in this case the regress cannot be regarded as complete; or, you do
possess such a limitative perception, in which case it is not a part of your
series (for that which limits must be distinct from that which is limited by
it), and it is incumbent you to continue your regress up to this condition, and
so on.
These remarks will be placed in their proper light by their
application in the following section.
SECTION IX. Of the Empirical Use of the
Regulative Principle of Reason with regard to the Cosmological Ideas.
We have shown that no transcendental use can be made either of
the conceptions of reason or of understanding. We have shown, likewise, that the
demand of absolute totality in the series of conditions in the world of sense
arises from a transcendental employment of reason, resting on the opinion that
phenomena are to be regarded as things in themselves. It follows that we are not
required to answer the question respecting the absolute quantity of a
series—whether it is in itself limited or unlimited. We are only called upon to
determine how far we must proceed in the empirical regress from condition to
condition, in order to discover, in conformity with the rule of reason, a full
and correct answer to the questions proposed by reason itself.
This principle of reason is hence valid only as a rule for the
extension of a possible experience—its invalidity as a principle constitutive of
phenomena in themselves having been sufficiently demonstrated. And thus, too,
the antinomial conflict of reason with itself is completely put an end to;
inasmuch as we have not only presented a critical solution of the fallacy
lurking in the opposite statements of reason, but have shown the true meaning of
the ideas which gave rise to these statements. The dialectical principle of
reason has, therefore, been changed into a doctrinal principle. But in fact, if
this principle, in the subjective signification which we have shown to be its
only true sense, may be guaranteed as a principle of the unceasing extension of
the employment of our understanding, its influence and value are just as great
as if it were an axiom for the a priori determination of objects. For such an
axiom could not exert a stronger influence on the extension and rectification of
our knowledge, otherwise than by procuring for the principles of the
understanding the most widely expanded employment in the field of experience.
I. Solution of the Cosmological Idea of
the Totality of the
Composition of Phenomena in the Universe.
Here, as well as in the case of the other cosmological problems,
the ground of the regulative principle of reason is the proposition that in our
empirical regress no experience of an absolute limit, and consequently no
experience of a condition, which is itself absolutely unconditioned, is
discoverable. And the truth of this proposition itself rests upon the
consideration that such an experience must represent to us phenomena as limited
by nothing or the mere void, on which our continued regress by means of
perception must abut—which is impossible.
Now this proposition, which declares that every condition
attained in the empirical regress must itself be considered empirically
conditioned, contains the rule in terminis, which requires me, to whatever
extent I may have proceeded in the ascending series, always to look for some
higher member in the series—whether this member is to become known to me through
experience, or not.
Nothing further is necessary, then, for the solution of the
first cosmological problem, than to decide, whether, in the regress to the
unconditioned quantity of the universe (as regards space and time), this never
limited ascent ought to be called a regressus in infinitum or indefinitum.
The general representation which we form in our minds of the
series of all past states or conditions of the world, or of all the things which
at present exist in it, is itself nothing more than a possible empirical
regress, which is cogitated—although in an undetermined manner—in the mind, and
which gives rise to the conception of a series of conditions for a given
object.* Now I have a conception of the universe, but not an intuition—that is,
not an intuition of it as a whole. Thus I cannot infer the magnitude of the
regress from the quantity or magnitude of the world, and determine the former by
means of the latter; on the contrary, I must first of all form a conception of
the quantity or magnitude of the world from the magnitude of the empirical
regress. But of this regress I know nothing more than that I ought to proceed
from every given member of the series of conditions to one still higher. But the
quantity of the universe is not thereby determined, and we cannot affirm that
this regress proceeds in infinitum. Such an affirmation would anticipate the
members of the series which have not yet been reached, and represent the number
of them as beyond the grasp of any empirical synthesis; it would consequently
determine the cosmical quantity prior to the regress (although only in a
negative manner)—which is impossible. For the world is not given in its totality
in any intuition: consequently, its quantity cannot be given prior to the
regress. It follows that we are unable to make any declaration respecting the
cosmical quantity in itself—not even that the regress in it is a regress in
infinitum; we must only endeavour to attain to a conception of the quantity of
the universe, in conformity with the rule which determines the empirical regress
in it. But this rule merely requires us never to admit an absolute limit to our
series—how far soever we may have proceeded in it, but always, on the contrary,
to subordinate every phenomenon to some other as its condition, and consequently
to proceed to this higher phenomenon. Such a regress is, therefore, the
regressus in indefinitum, which, as not determining a quantity in the object, is
clearly distinguishable from the regressus in infinitum.
[*Footnote: The cosmical series can neither be greater nor
smaller than the possible empirical regress, upon which its conception is based.
And as this regress cannot be a determinate infinite regress, still less a
determinate finite (absolutely limited), it is evident that we cannot regard the
world as either finite or infinite, because the regress, which gives us the
representation of the world, is neither finite nor infinite.]
It follows from what we have said that we are not justified in
declaring the world to be infinite in space, or as regards past time. For this
conception of an infinite given quantity is empirical; but we cannot apply the
conception of an infinite quantity to the world as an object of the senses. I
cannot say, "The regress from a given perception to everything limited either in
space or time, proceeds in infinitum," for this presupposes an infinite cosmical
quantity; neither can I say, "It is finite," for an absolute limit is likewise
impossible in experience. It follows that I am not entitled to make any
assertion at all respecting the whole object of experience—the world of sense; I
must limit my declarations to the rule according to which experience or
empirical knowledge is to be attained.
To the question, therefore, respecting the cosmical quantity,
the first and negative answer is: "The world has no beginning in time, and no
absolute limit in space."
For, in the contrary case, it would be limited by a void time on
the one hand, and by a void space on the other. Now, since the world, as a
phenomenon, cannot be thus limited in itself for a phenomenon is not a thing in
itself; it must be possible for us to have a perception of this limitation by a
void time and a void space. But such a perception—such an experience is
impossible; because it has no content. Consequently, an absolute cosmical limit
is empirically, and therefore absolutely, impossible.*
[*Footnote: The reader will remark that the proof presented
above is very different from the dogmatical demonstration given in the
antithesis of the first antinomy. In that demonstration, it was taken for
granted that the world is a thing in itself—given in its totality prior to all
regress, and a determined position in space and time was denied to it—if it was
not considered as occupying all time and all space. Hence our conclusion
differed from that given above; for we inferred in the antithesis the actual
infinity of the world.]
From this follows the affirmative answer: "The regress in the
series of phenomena—as a determination of the cosmical quantity, proceeds in
indefinitum." This is equivalent to saying: "The world of sense has no absolute
quantity, but the empirical regress (through which alone the world of sense is
presented to us on the side of its conditions) rests upon a rule, which requires
it to proceed from every member of the series, as conditioned, to one still more
remote (whether through personal experience, or by means of history, or the
chain of cause and effect), and not to cease at any point in this extension of
the possible empirical employment of the understanding." And this is the proper
and only use which reason can make of its principles.
The above rule does not prescribe an unceasing regress in one
kind of phenomena. It does not, for example, forbid us, in our ascent from an
individual human being through the line of his ancestors, to expect that we
shall discover at some point of the regress a primeval pair, or to admit, in the
series of heavenly bodies, a sun at the farthest possible distance from some
centre. All that it demands is a perpetual progress from phenomena to phenomena,
even although an actual perception is not presented by them (as in the case of
our perceptions being so weak as that we are unable to become conscious of
them), since they, nevertheless, belong to possible experience.
Every beginning is in time, and all limits to extension are in
space. But space and time are in the world of sense. Consequently phenomena in
the world are conditionally limited, but the world itself is not limited, either
conditionally or unconditionally.
For this reason, and because neither the world nor the cosmical
series of conditions to a given conditioned can be completely given, our
conception of the cosmical quantity is given only in and through the regress and
not prior to it—in a collective intuition. But the regress itself is really
nothing more than the determining of the cosmical quantity, and cannot therefore
give us any determined conception of it—still less a conception of a quantity
which is, in relation to a certain standard, infinite. The regress does not,
therefore, proceed to infinity (an infinity given), but only to an indefinite
extent, for or the of presenting to us a quantity—realized only in and through
the regress itself.
II.
Solution of the Cosmological Idea of the Totality of the Division of a Whole
given in Intuition.
When I divide a whole which is given in intuition, I proceed
from a conditioned to its conditions. The division of the parts of the whole
(subdivisio or decompositio) is a regress in the series of these conditions. The
absolute totality of this series would be actually attained and given to the
mind, if the regress could arrive at simple parts. But if all the parts in a
continuous decomposition are themselves divisible, the division, that is to say,
the regress, proceeds from the conditioned to its conditions in infinitum;
because the conditions (the parts) are themselves contained in the conditioned,
and, as the latter is given in a limited intuition, the former are all given
along with it. This regress cannot, therefore, be called a regressus in
indefinitum, as happened in the case of the preceding cosmological idea, the
regress in which proceeded from the conditioned to the conditions not given
contemporaneously and along with it, but discoverable only through the empirical
regress. We are not, however, entitled to affirm of a whole of this kind, which
is divisible in infinitum, that it consists of an infinite number of parts. For,
although all the parts are contained in the intuition of the whole, the whole
division is not contained therein. The division is contained only in the
progressing decomposition—in the regress itself, which is the condition of the
possibility and actuality of the series. Now, as this regress is infinite, all
the members (parts) to which it attains must be contained in the given whole as
an aggregate. But the complete series of division is not contained therein. For
this series, being infinite in succession and always incomplete, cannot
represent an infinite number of members, and still less a composition of these
members into a whole.
To apply this remark to space. Every limited part of space
presented to intuition is a whole, the parts of which are always spaces—to
whatever extent subdivided. Every limited space is hence divisible to infinity.
Let us again apply the remark to an external phenomenon enclosed
in limits, that is, a body. The divisibility of a body rests upon the
divisibility of space, which is the condition of the possibility of the body as
an extended whole. A body is consequently divisible to infinity, though it does
not, for that reason, consist of an infinite number of parts.
It certainly seems that, as a body must be cogitated as
substance in space, the law of divisibility would not be applicable to it as
substance. For we may and ought to grant, in the case of space, that division or
decomposition, to any extent, never can utterly annihilate composition (that is
to say, the smallest part of space must still consist of spaces); otherwise
space would entirely cease to exist- which is impossible. But, the assertion on
the other band that when all composition in matter is annihilated in thought,
nothing remains, does not seem to harmonize with the conception of substance,
which must be properly the subject of all composition and must remain, even
after the conjunction of its attributes in space- which constituted a body—is
annihilated in thought. But this is not the case with substance in the
phenomenal world, which is not a thing in itself cogitated by the pure category.
Phenomenal substance is not an absolute subject; it is merely a permanent
sensuous image, and nothing more than an intuition, in which the unconditioned
is not to be found.
But, although this rule of progress to infinity is legitimate
and applicable to the subdivision of a phenomenon, as a mere occupation or
filling of space, it is not applicable to a whole consisting of a number of
distinct parts and constituting a quantum discretum—that is to say, an organized
body. It cannot be admitted that every part in an organized whole is itself
organized, and that, in analysing it to infinity, we must always meet with
organized parts; although we may allow that the parts of the matter which we
decompose in infinitum, may be organized. For the infinity of the division of a
phenomenon in space rests altogether on the fact that the divisibility of a
phenomenon is given only in and through this infinity, that is, an undetermined
number of parts is given, while the parts themselves are given and determined
only in and through the subdivision; in a word, the infinity of the division
necessarily presupposes that the whole is not already divided in se. Hence our
division determines a number of parts in the whole—a number which extends just
as far as the actual regress in the division; while, on the other hand, the very
notion of a body organized to infinity represents the whole as already and in
itself divided. We expect, therefore, to find in it a determinate, but at the
same time, infinite, number of parts—which is self-contradictory. For we should
thus have a whole containing a series of members which could not be completed in
any regress—which is infinite, and at the same time complete in an organized
composite. Infinite divisibility is applicable only to a quantum continuum, and
is based entirely on the infinite divisibility of space, But in a quantum
discretum the multitude of parts or units is always determined, and hence always
equal to some number. To what extent a body may be organized, experience alone
can inform us; and although, so far as our experience of this or that body has
extended, we may not have discovered any inorganic part, such parts must exist
in possible experience. But how far the transcendental division of a phenomenon
must extend, we cannot know from experience—it is a question which experience
cannot answer; it is answered only by the principle of reason which forbids us
to consider the empirical regress, in the analysis of extended body, as ever
absolutely complete.
Concluding Remark on the Solution of the
Transcendental
Mathematical Ideas—and Introductory to the
Solution of the Dynamical Ideas.
We presented the antinomy of pure reason in a tabular form, and
we endeavoured to show the ground of this self-contradiction on the part of
reason, and the only means of bringing it to a conclusion— namely, by declaring
both contradictory statements to be false. We represented in these antinomies
the conditions of phenomena as belonging to the conditioned according to
relations of space and time- which is the usual supposition of the common
understanding. In this respect, all dialectical representations of totality, in
the series of conditions to a given conditioned, were perfectly homogeneous. The
condition was always a member of the series along with the conditioned, and thus
the homogeneity of the whole series was assured. In this case the regress could
never be cogitated as complete; or, if this was the case, a member really
conditioned was falsely regarded as a primal member, consequently as
unconditioned. In such an antinomy, therefore, we did not consider the object,
that is, the conditioned, but the series of conditions belonging to the object,
and the magnitude of that series. And thus arose the difficulty—a difficulty not
to be settled by any decision regarding the claims of the two parties, but
simply by cutting the knot—by declaring the series proposed by reason to be
either too long or too short for the understanding, which could in neither case
make its conceptions adequate with the ideas.
But we have overlooked, up to this point, an essential
difference existing between the conceptions of the understanding which reason
endeavours to raise to the rank of ideas—two of these indicating a mathematical,
and two a dynamical synthesis of phenomena. Hitherto, it was necessary to
signalize this distinction; for, just as in our general representation of all
transcendental ideas, we considered them under phenomenal conditions, so, in the
two mathematical ideas, our discussion is concerned solely with an object in the
world of phenomena. But as we are now about to proceed to the consideration of
the dynamical conceptions of the understanding, and their adequateness with
ideas, we must not lose sight of this distinction. We shall find that it opens
up to us an entirely new view of the conflict in which reason is involved. For,
while in the first two antinomies, both parties were dismissed, on the ground of
having advanced statements based upon false hypothesis; in the present case the
hope appears of discovering a hypothesis which may be consistent with the
demands of reason, and, the judge completing the statement of the grounds of
claim, which both parties had left in an unsatisfactory state, the question may
be settled on its own merits, not by dismissing the claimants, but by a
comparison of the arguments on both sides. If we consider merely their
extension, and whether they are adequate with ideas, the series of conditions
may be regarded as all homogeneous. But the conception of the understanding
which lies at the basis of these ideas, contains either a synthesis of the
homogeneous (presupposed in every quantity—in its composition as well as in its
division) or of the heterogeneous, which is the case in the dynamical synthesis
of cause and effect, as well as of the necessary and the contingent.
Thus it happens that in the mathematical series of phenomena no
other than a sensuous condition is admissible—a condition which is itself a
member of the series; while the dynamical series of sensuous conditions admits a
heterogeneous condition, which is not a member of the series, but, as purely
intelligible, lies out of and beyond it. And thus reason is satisfied, and an
unconditioned placed at the head of the series of phenomena, without introducing
confusion into or discontinuing it, contrary to the principles of the
understanding.
Now, from the fact that the dynamical ideas admit a condition of
phenomena which does not form a part of the series of phenomena, arises a result
which we should not have expected from an antinomy. In former cases, the result
was that both contradictory dialectical statements were declared to be false. In
the present case, we find the conditioned in the dynamical series connected with
an empirically unconditioned, but non-sensuous condition; and thus satisfaction
is done to the understanding on the one hand and to the reason on the other.*
While, moreover, the dialectical arguments for unconditioned totality in mere
phenomena fall to the ground, both propositions of reason may be shown to be
true in their proper signification. This could not happen in the case of the
cosmological ideas which demanded a mathematically unconditioned unity; for no
condition could be placed at the head of the series of phenomena, except one
which was itself a phenomenon and consequently a member of the series.
[*Footnote: For the understanding cannot admit among phenomena a
condition which is itself empirically unconditioned. But if it is possible to
cogitate an intelligible condition—one which is not a member of the series of
phenomena—for a conditioned phenomenon, without breaking the series of empirical
conditions, such a condition may be admissible as empirically unconditioned, and
the empirical regress continue regular, unceasing, and intact.]
III.
Solution of the Cosmological Idea of the Totality of the Deduction of Cosmical
Events from their Causes.
There are only two modes of causality cogitable—the causality of
nature or of freedom. The first is the conjunction of a particular state with
another preceding it in the world of sense, the former following the latter by
virtue of a law. Now, as the causality of phenomena is subject to conditions of
time, and the preceding state, if it had always existed, could not have produced
an effect which would make its first appearance at a particular time, the
causality of a cause must itself be an effect—must itself have begun to be, and
therefore, according to the principle of the understanding, itself requires a
cause.
We must understand, on the contrary, by the term freedom, in the
cosmological sense, a faculty of the spontaneous origination of a state; the
causality of which, therefore, is not subordinated to another cause determining
it in time. Freedom is in this sense a pure transcendental idea, which, in the
first place, contains no empirical element; the object of which, in the second
place, cannot be given or determined in any experience, because it is a
universal law of the very possibility of experience, that everything which
happens must have a cause, that consequently the causality of a cause, being
itself something that has happened, must also have a cause. In this view of the
case, the whole field of experience, how far soever it may extend, contains
nothing that is not subject to the laws of nature. But, as we cannot by this
means attain to an absolute totality of conditions in reference to the series of
causes and effects, reason creates the idea of a spontaneity, which can begin to
act of itself, and without any external cause determining it to action,
according to the natural law of causality.
It is especially remarkable that the practical conception of
freedom is based upon the transcendental idea, and that the question of the
possibility of the former is difficult only as it involves the consideration of
the truth of the latter. Freedom, in the practical sense, is the independence of
the will of coercion by sensuous impulses. A will is sensuous, in so far as it
is pathologically affected (by sensuous impulses); it is termed animal
(arbitrium brutum), when it is pathologically necessitated. The human will is
certainly an arbitrium sensitivum, not brutum, but liberum; because sensuousness
does not necessitate its action, a faculty existing in man of
self-determination, independently of all sensuous coercion.
It is plain that, if all causality in the world of sense were
natural—and natural only—every event would be determined by another according to
necessary laws, and that, consequently, phenomena, in so far as they determine
the will, must necessitate every action as a natural effect from themselves; and
thus all practical freedom would fall to the ground with the transcendental
idea. For the latter presupposes that although a certain thing has not happened,
it ought to have happened, and that, consequently, its phenomenal cause was not
so powerful and determinative as to exclude the causality of our will—a
causality capable of producing effects independently of and even in opposition
to the power of natural causes, and capable, consequently, of spontaneously
originating a series of events.
Here, too, we find it to be the case, as we generally found in
the self-contradictions and perplexities of a reason which strives to pass the
bounds of possible experience, that the problem is properly not physiological,
but transcendental. The question of the possibility of freedom does indeed
concern psychology; but, as it rests upon dialectical arguments of pure reason,
its solution must engage the attention of transcendental philosophy. Before
attempting this solution, a task which transcendental philosophy cannot decline,
it will be advisable to make a remark with regard to its procedure in the
settlement of the question.
If phenomena were things in themselves, and time and space forms
of the existence of things, condition and conditioned would always be members of
the same series; and thus would arise in the present case the antinomy common to
all transcendental ideas—that their series is either too great or too small for
the understanding. The dynamical ideas, which we are about to discuss in this
and the following section, possess the peculiarity of relating to an object, not
considered as a quantity, but as an existence; and thus, in the discussion of
the present question, we may make abstraction of the quantity of the series of
conditions, and consider merely the dynamical relation of the condition to the
conditioned. The question, then, suggests itself, whether freedom is possible;
and, if it is, whether it can consist with the universality of the natural law
of causality; and, consequently, whether we enounce a proper disjunctive
proposition when we say: "Every effect must have its origin either in nature or
in freedom," or whether both cannot exist together in the same event in
different relations. The principle of an unbroken connection between all events
in the phenomenal world, in accordance with the unchangeable laws of nature, is
a well-established principle of transcendental analytic which admits of no
exception. The question, therefore, is: "Whether an effect, determined according
to the laws of nature, can at the same time be produced by a free agent, or
whether freedom and nature mutually exclude each other?" And here, the common
but fallacious hypothesis of the absolute reality of phenomena manifests its
injurious influence in embarrassing the procedure of reason. For if phenomena
are things in themselves, freedom is impossible. In this case, nature is the
complete and all-sufficient cause of every event; and condition and conditioned,
cause and effect are contained in the same series, and necessitated by the same
law. If, on the contrary, phenomena are held to be, as they are in fact, nothing
more than mere representations, connected with each other in accordance with
empirical laws, they must have a ground which is not phenomenal. But the
causality of such an intelligible cause is not determined or determinable by
phenomena; although its effects, as phenomena, must be determined by other
phenomenal existences. This cause and its causality exist therefore out of and
apart from the series of phenomena; while its effects do exist and are
discoverable in the series of empirical conditions. Such an effect may therefore
be considered to be free in relation to its intelligible cause, and necessary in
relation to the phenomena from which it is a necessary consequence—a distinction
which, stated in this perfectly general and abstract manner, must appear in the
highest degree subtle and obscure. The sequel will explain. It is sufficient, at
present, to remark that, as the complete and unbroken connection of phenomena is
an unalterable law of nature, freedom is impossible—on the supposition that
phenomena are absolutely real. Hence those philosophers who adhere to the common
opinion on this subject can never succeed in reconciling the ideas of nature and
freedom.
Possibility of Freedom in Harmony with
the Universal Law of Natural Necessity.
That element in a sensuous object which is not itself sensuous,
I may be allowed to term intelligible. If, accordingly, an object which must be
regarded as a sensuous phenomenon possesses a faculty which is not an object of
sensuous intuition, but by means of which it is capable of being the cause of
phenomena, the causality of an object or existence of this kind may be regarded
from two different points of view. It may be considered to be intelligible, as
regards its action—the action of a thing which is a thing in itself, and
sensuous, as regards its effects—the effects of a phenomenon belonging to the
sensuous world. We should accordingly, have to form both an empirical and an
intellectual conception of the causality of such a faculty or power—both,
however, having reference to the same effect. This twofold manner of cogitating
a power residing in a sensuous object does not run counter to any of the
conceptions which we ought to form of the world of phenomena or of a possible
experience. Phenomena—not being things in themselves—must have a transcendental
object as a foundation, which determines them as mere representations; and there
seems to be no reason why we should not ascribe to this transcendental object,
in addition to the property of self-phenomenization, a causality whose effects
are to be met with in the world of phenomena, although it is not itself a
phenomenon. But every effective cause must possess a character, that is to say,
a law of its causality, without which it would cease to be a cause. In the above
case, then, every sensuous object would possess an empirical character, which
guaranteed that its actions, as phenomena, stand in complete and harmonious
connection, conformably to unvarying natural laws, with all other phenomena, and
can be deduced from these, as conditions, and that they do thus, in connection
with these, constitute a series in the order of nature. This sensuous object
must, in the second place, possess an intelligible character, which guarantees
it to be the cause of those actions, as phenomena, although it is not itself a
phenomenon nor subordinate to the conditions of the world of sense. The former
may be termed the character of the thing as a phenomenon, the latter the
character of the thing as a thing in itself.
Now this active subject would, in its character of intelligible
subject, be subordinate to no conditions of time, for time is only a condition
of phenomena, and not of things in themselves. No action would begin or cease to
be in this subject; it would consequently be free from the law of all
determination of time—the law of change, namely, that everything which happens
must have a cause in the phenomena of a preceding state. In one word, the
causality of the subject, in so far as it is intelligible, would not form part
of the series of empirical conditions which determine and necessitate an event
in the world of sense. Again, this intelligible character of a thing cannot be
immediately cognized, because we can perceive nothing but phenomena, but it must
be capable of being cogitated in harmony with the empirical character; for we
always find ourselves compelled to place, in thought, a transcendental object at
the basis of phenomena although we can never know what this object is in itself.
In virtue of its empirical character, this subject would at the
same time be subordinate to all the empirical laws of causality, and, as a
phenomenon and member of the sensuous world, its effects would have to be
accounted for by a reference to preceding phenomena. Eternal phenomena must be
capable of influencing it; and its actions, in accordance with natural laws,
must explain to us how its empirical character, that is, the law of its
causality, is to be cognized in and by means of experience. In a word, all
requisites for a complete and necessary determination of these actions must be
presented to us by experience.
In virtue of its intelligible character, on the other hand
(although we possess only a general conception of this character), the subject
must be regarded as free from all sensuous influences, and from all phenomenal
determination. Moreover, as nothing happens in this subject—for it is a
noumenon, and there does not consequently exist in it any change, demanding the
dynamical determination of time, and for the same reason no connection with
phenomena as causes—this active existence must in its actions be free from and
independent of natural necessity, for or necessity exists only in the world of
phenomena. It would be quite correct to say that it originates or begins its
effects in the world of sense from itself, although the action productive of
these effects does not begin in itself. We should not be in this case affirming
that these sensuous effects began to exist of themselves, because they are
always determined by prior empirical conditions—by virtue of the empirical
character, which is the phenomenon of the intelligible character—and are
possible only as constituting a continuation of the series of natural causes.
And thus nature and freedom, each in the complete and absolute signification of
these terms, can exist, without contradiction or disagreement, in the same
action.
Exposition of the Cosmological Idea of
Freedom in Harmony with the Universal Law of Natural Necessity.
I have thought it advisable to lay before the reader at first
merely a sketch of the solution of this transcendental problem, in order to
enable him to form with greater ease a clear conception of the course which
reason must adopt in the solution. I shall now proceed to exhibit the several
momenta of this solution, and to consider them in their order.
The natural law that everything which happens must have a cause,
that the causality of this cause, that is, the action of the cause (which cannot
always have existed, but must be itself an event, for it precedes in time some
effect which it has originated), must have itself a phenomenal cause, by which
it is determined and, and, consequently, all events are empirically determined
in an order of nature—this law, I say, which lies at the foundation of the
possibility of experience, and of a connected system of phenomena or nature is a
law of the understanding, from which no departure, and to which no exception,
can be admitted. For to except even a single phenomenon from its operation is to
exclude it from the sphere of possible experience and thus to admit it to be a
mere fiction of thought or phantom of the brain.
Thus we are obliged to acknowledge the existence of a chain of
causes, in which, however, absolute totality cannot be found. But we need not
detain ourselves with this question, for it has already been sufficiently
answered in our discussion of the antinomies into which reason falls, when it
attempts to reach the unconditioned in the series of phenomena. If we permit
ourselves to be deceived by the illusion of transcendental idealism, we shall
find that neither nature nor freedom exists. Now the question is: "Whether,
admitting the existence of natural necessity in the world of phenomena, it is
possible to consider an effect as at the same time an effect of nature and an
effect of freedom—or, whether these two modes of causality are contradictory and
incompatible?"
No phenomenal cause can absolutely and of itself begin a series.
Every action, in so far as it is productive of an event, is itself an event or
occurrence, and presupposes another preceding state, in which its cause existed.
Thus everything that happens is but a continuation of a series, and an absolute
beginning is impossible in the sensuous world. The actions of natural causes
are, accordingly, themselves effects, and presuppose causes preceding them in
time. A primal action which forms an absolute beginning, is beyond the causal
power of phenomena.
Now, is it absolutely necessary that, granting that all effects
are phenomena, the causality of the cause of these effects must also be a
phenomenon and belong to the empirical world? Is it not rather possible that,
although every effect in the phenomenal world must be connected with an
empirical cause, according to the universal law of nature, this empirical
causality may be itself the effect of a non-empirical and intelligible
causality—its connection with natural causes remaining nevertheless intact? Such
a causality would be considered, in reference to phenomena, as the primal action
of a cause, which is in so far, therefore, not phenomenal, but, by reason of
this faculty or power, intelligible; although it must, at the same time, as a
link in the chain of nature, be regarded as belonging to the sensuous world.
A belief in the reciprocal causality of phenomena is necessary,
if we are required to look for and to present the natural conditions of natural
events, that is to say, their causes. This being admitted as unexceptionably
valid, the requirements of the understanding, which recognizes nothing but
nature in the region of phenomena, are satisfied, and our physical explanations
of physical phenomena may proceed in their regular course, without hindrance and
without opposition. But it is no stumbling-block in the way, even assuming the
idea to be a pure fiction, to admit that there are some natural causes in the
possession of a faculty which is not empirical, but intelligible, inasmuch as it
is not determined to action by empirical conditions, but purely and solely upon
grounds brought forward by the understanding—this action being still, when the
cause is phenomenized, in perfect accordance with the laws of empirical
causality. Thus the acting subject, as a causal phenomenon, would continue to
preserve a complete connection with nature and natural conditions; and the
phenomenon only of the subject (with all its phenomenal causality) would contain
certain conditions, which, if we ascend from the empirical to the transcendental
object, must necessarily be regarded as intelligible. For, if we attend, in our
inquiries with regard to causes in the world of phenomena, to the directions of
nature alone, we need not trouble ourselves about the relation in which the
transcendental subject, which is completely unknown to us, stands to these
phenomena and their connection in nature. The intelligible ground of phenomena
in this subject does not concern empirical questions. It has to do only with
pure thought; and, although the effects of this thought and action of the pure
understanding are discoverable in phenomena, these phenomena must nevertheless
be capable of a full and complete explanation, upon purely physical grounds and
in accordance with natural laws. And in this case we attend solely to their
empirical and omit all consideration of their intelligible character (which is
the transcendental cause of the former) as completely unknown, except in so far
as it is exhibited by the latter as its empirical symbol. Now let us apply this
to experience. Man is a phenomenon of the sensuous world and, at the same time,
therefore, a natural cause, the causality of which must be regulated by
empirical laws. As such, he must possess an empirical character, like all other
natural phenomena. We remark this empirical character in his actions, which
reveal the presence of certain powers and faculties. If we consider inanimate or
merely animal nature, we can discover no reason for ascribing to ourselves any
other than a faculty which is determined in a purely sensuous manner. But man,
to whom nature reveals herself only through sense, cognizes himself not only by
his senses, but also through pure apperception; and this in actions and internal
determinations, which he cannot regard as sensuous impressions. He is thus to
himself, on the one hand, a phenomenon, but on the other hand, in respect of
certain faculties, a purely intelligible object—intelligible, because its action
cannot be ascribed to sensuous receptivity. These faculties are understanding
and reason. The latter, especially, is in a peculiar manner distinct from all
empirically-conditioned faculties, for it employs ideas alone in the
consideration of its objects, and by means of these determines the
understanding, which then proceeds to make an empirical use of its own
conceptions, which, like the ideas of reason, are pure and non-empirical.
That reason possesses the faculty of causality, or that at least
we are compelled so to represent it, is evident from the imperatives, which in
the sphere of the practical we impose on many of our executive powers. The words
I ought express a species of necessity, and imply a connection with grounds
which nature does not and cannot present to the mind of man. Understanding knows
nothing in nature but that which is, or has been, or will be. It would be absurd
to say that anything in nature ought to be other than it is in the relations of
time in which it stands; indeed, the ought, when we consider merely the course
of nature, has neither application nor meaning. The question, "What ought to
happen in the sphere of nature?" is just as absurd as the question, "What ought
to be the properties of a circle?" All that we are entitled to ask is, "What
takes place in nature?" or, in the latter case, "What are the properties of a
circle?"
But the idea of an ought or of duty indicates a possible action,
the ground of which is a pure conception; while the ground of a merely natural
action is, on the contrary, always a phenomenon. This action must certainly be
possible under physical conditions, if it is prescribed by the moral imperative
ought; but these physical or natural conditions do not concern the determination
of the will itself, they relate to its effects alone, and the consequences of
the effect in the world of phenomena. Whatever number of motives nature may
present to my will, whatever sensuous impulses—the moral ought it is beyond
their power to produce. They may produce a volition, which, so far from being
necessary, is always conditioned—a volition to which the ought enunciated by
reason, sets an aim and a standard, gives permission or prohibition. Be the
object what it may, purely sensuous—as pleasure, or presented by pure reason—as
good, reason will not yield to grounds which have an empirical origin. Reason
will not follow the order of things presented by experience, but, with perfect
spontaneity, rearranges them according to ideas, with which it compels empirical
conditions to agree. It declares, in the name of these ideas, certain actions to
be necessary which nevertheless have not taken place and which perhaps never
will take place; and yet presupposes that it possesses the faculty of causality
in relation to these actions. For, in the absence of this supposition, it could
not expect its ideas to produce certain effects in the world of experience.
Now, let us stop here and admit it to be at least possible that
reason does stand in a really causal relation to phenomena. In this case it
must—pure reason as it is—exhibit an empirical character. For every cause
supposes a rule, according to which certain phenomena follow as effects from the
cause, and every rule requires uniformity in these effects; and this is the
proper ground of the conception of a cause—as a faculty or power. Now this
conception (of a cause) may be termed the empirical character of reason; and
this character is a permanent one, while the effects produced appear, in
conformity with the various conditions which accompany and partly limit them, in
various forms.
Thus the volition of every man has an empirical character, which
is nothing more than the causality of his reason, in so far as its effects in
the phenomenal world manifest the presence of a rule, according to which we are
enabled to examine, in their several kinds and degrees, the actions of this
causality and the rational grounds for these actions, and in this way to decide
upon the subjective principles of the volition. Now we learn what this empirical
character is only from phenomenal effects, and from the rule of these which is
presented by experience; and for this reason all the actions of man in the world
of phenomena are determined by his empirical character, and the co-operative
causes of nature. If, then, we could investigate all the phenomena of human
volition to their lowest foundation in the mind, there would be no action which
we could not anticipate with certainty, and recognize to be absolutely necessary
from its preceding conditions. So far as relates to this empirical character,
therefore, there can be no freedom; and it is only in the light of this
character that we can consider the human will, when we confine ourselves to
simple observation and, as is the case in anthropology, institute a
physiological investigation of the motive causes of human actions.
But when we consider the same actions in relation to reason—not
for the purpose of explaining their origin, that is, in relation to speculative
reason, but to practical reason, as the producing cause of these actions—we
shall discover a rule and an order very different from those of nature and
experience. For the declaration of this mental faculty may be that what has and
could not but take place in the course of nature, ought not to have taken place.
Sometimes, too, we discover, or believe that we discover, that the ideas of
reason did actually stand in a causal relation to certain actions of man; and
that these actions have taken place because they were determined, not by
empirical causes, but by the act of the will upon grounds of reason.
Now, granting that reason stands in a causal relation to
phenomena; can an action of reason be called free, when we know that,
sensuously, in its empirical character, it is completely determined and
absolutely necessary? But this empirical character is itself determined by the
intelligible character. The latter we cannot cognize; we can only indicate it by
means of phenomena, which enable us to have an immediate cognition only of the
empirical character.* An action, then, in so far as it is to be ascribed to an
intelligible cause, does not result from it in accordance with empirical laws.
That is to say, not the conditions of pure reason, but only their effects in the
internal sense, precede the act. Pure reason, as a purely intelligible faculty,
is not subject to the conditions of time. The causality of reason in its
intelligible character does not begin to be; it does not make its appearance at
a certain time, for the purpose of producing an effect. If this were not the
case, the causality of reason would be subservient to the natural law of
phenomena, which determines them according to time, and as a series of causes
and effects in time; it would consequently cease to be freedom and become a part
of nature. We are therefore justified in saying: "If reason stands in a causal
relation to phenomena, it is a faculty which originates the sensuous condition
of an empirical series of effects." For the condition, which resides in the
reason, is non-sensuous, and therefore cannot be originated, or begin to be. And
thus we find—what we could not discover in any empirical series—a condition of a
successive series of events itself empirically unconditioned. For, in the
present case, the condition stands out of and beyond the series of phenomena—it
is intelligible, and it consequently cannot be subjected to any sensuous
condition, or to any time-determination by a preceding cause.
[*Footnote: The real morality of actions—their merit or demerit,
and even that of our own conduct, is completely unknown to us. Our estimates can
relate only to their empirical character. How much is the result of the action
of free will, how much is to be ascribed to nature and to blameless error, or to
a happy constitution of temperament (merito fortunae), no one can discover, nor,
for this reason, determine with perfect justice.]
But, in another respect, the same cause belongs also to the
series of phenomena. Man is himself a phenomenon. His will has an empirical
character, which is the empirical cause of all his actions. There is no
condition—determining man and his volition in conformity with this
character—which does not itself form part of the series of effects in nature,
and is subject to their law—the law according to which an empirically
undetermined cause of an event in time cannot exist. For this reason no given
action can have an absolute and spontaneous origination, all actions being
phenomena, and belonging to the world of experience. But it cannot be said of
reason, that the state in which it determines the will is always preceded by
some other state determining it. For reason is not a phenomenon, and therefore
not subject to sensuous conditions; and, consequently, even in relation to its
causality, the sequence or conditions of time do not influence reason, nor can
the dynamical law of nature, which determines the sequence of time according to
certain rules, be applied to it.
Reason is consequently the permanent condition of all actions of
the human will. Each of these is determined in the empirical character of the
man, even before it has taken place. The intelligible character, of which the
former is but the sensuous schema, knows no before or after; and every action,
irrespective of the time-relation in which it stands with other phenomena, is
the immediate effect of the intelligible character of pure reason, which,
consequently, enjoys freedom of action, and is not dynamically determined either
by internal or external preceding conditions. This freedom must not be
described, in a merely negative manner, as independence of empirical conditions,
for in this case the faculty of reason would cease to be a cause of phenomena;
but it must be regarded, positively, as a faculty which can spontaneously
originate a series of events. At the same time, it must not be supposed that any
beginning can take place in reason; on the contrary, reason, as the
unconditioned condition of all action of the will, admits of no time-conditions,
although its effect does really begin in a series of phenomena—a beginning which
is not, however, absolutely primal.
I shall illustrate this regulative principle of reason by an
example, from its employment in the world of experience; proved it cannot be by
any amount of experience, or by any number of facts, for such arguments cannot
establish the truth of transcendental propositions. Let us take a voluntary
action—for example, a falsehood—by means of which a man has introduced a certain
degree of confusion into the social life of humanity, which is judged according
to the motives from which it originated, and the blame of which and of the evil
consequences arising from it, is imputed to the offender. We at first proceed to
examine the empirical character of the offence, and for this purpose we
endeavour to penetrate to the sources of that character, such as a defective
education, bad company, a shameless and wicked disposition, frivolity, and want
of reflection—not forgetting also the occasioning causes which prevailed at the
moment of the transgression. In this the procedure is exactly the same as that
pursued in the investigation of the series of causes which determine a given
physical effect. Now, although we believe the action to have been determined by
all these circumstances, we do not the less blame the offender. We do not blame
him for his unhappy disposition, nor for the circumstances which influenced him,
nay, not even for his former course of life; for we presuppose that all these
considerations may be set aside, that the series of preceding conditions may be
regarded as having never existed, and that the action may be considered as
completely unconditioned in relation to any state preceding, just as if the
agent commenced with it an entirely new series of effects. Our blame of the
offender is grounded upon a law of reason, which requires us to regard this
faculty as a cause, which could have and ought to have otherwise determined the
behaviour of the culprit, independently of all empirical conditions. This
causality of reason we do not regard as a co-operating agency, but as complete
in itself. It matters not whether the sensuous impulses favoured or opposed the
action of this causality, the offence is estimated according to its intelligible
character—the offender is decidedly worthy of blame, the moment he utters a
falsehood. It follows that we regard reason, in spite of the empirical
conditions of the act, as completely free, and therefore, therefore, as in the
present case, culpable.
The above judgement is complete evidence that we are accustomed
to think that reason is not affected by sensuous conditions, that in it no
change takes place—although its phenomena, in other words, the mode in which it
appears in its effects, are subject to change—that in it no preceding state
determines the following, and, consequently, that it does not form a member of
the series of sensuous conditions which necessitate phenomena according to
natural laws. Reason is present and the same in all human actions and at all
times; but it does not itself exist in time, and therefore does not enter upon
any state in which it did not formerly exist. It is, relatively to new states or
conditions, determining, but not determinable. Hence we cannot ask: "Why did not
reason determine itself in a different manner?" The question ought to be thus
stated: "Why did not reason employ its power of causality to determine certain
phenomena in a different manner?" But this is a question which admits of no
answer. For a different intelligible character would have exhibited a different
empirical character; and, when we say that, in spite of the course which his
whole former life has taken, the offender could have refrained from uttering the
falsehood, this means merely that the act was subject to the power and
authority- permissive or prohibitive—of reason. Now, reason is not subject in
its causality to any conditions of phenomena or of time; and a difference in
time may produce a difference in the relation of phenomena to each other—for
these are not things and therefore not causes in themselves—but it cannot
produce any difference in the relation in which the action stands to the faculty
of reason.
Thus, then, in our investigation into free actions and the
causal power which produced them, we arrive at an intelligible cause, beyond
which, however, we cannot go; although we can recognize that it is free, that
is, independent of all sensuous conditions, and that, in this way, it may be the
sensuously unconditioned condition of phenomena. But for what reason the
intelligible character generates such and such phenomena and exhibits such and
such an empirical character under certain circumstances, it is beyond the power
of our reason to decide. The question is as much above the power and the sphere
of reason as the following would be: "Why does the transcendental object of our
external sensuous intuition allow of no other form than that of intuition in
space?" But the problem, which we were called upon to solve, does not require us
to entertain any such questions. The problem was merely this—whether freedom and
natural necessity can exist without opposition in the same action. To this
question we have given a sufficient answer; for we have shown that, as the
former stands in a relation to a different kind of condition from those of the
latter, the law of the one does not affect the law of the other and that,
consequently, both can exist together in independence of and without
interference with each other.
The reader must be careful to remark that my intention in the
above remarks has not been to prove the actual existence of freedom, as a
faculty in which resides the cause of certain sensuous phenomena. For, not to
mention that such an argument would not have a transcendental character, nor
have been limited to the discussion of pure conceptions—all attempts at
inferring from experience what cannot be cogitated in accordance with its laws,
must ever be unsuccessful. Nay, more, I have not even aimed at demonstrating the
possibility of freedom; for this too would have been a vain endeavour, inasmuch
as it is beyond the power of the mind to cognize the possibility of a reality or
of a causal power by the aid of mere a priori conceptions. Freedom has been
considered in the foregoing remarks only as a transcendental idea, by means of
which reason aims at originating a series of conditions in the world of
phenomena with the help of that which is sensuously unconditioned, involving
itself, however, in an antinomy with the laws which itself prescribes for the
conduct of the understanding. That this antinomy is based upon a mere illusion,
and that nature and freedom are at least not opposed—this was the only thing in
our power to prove, and the question which it was our task to solve.
IV.
Solution of the Cosmological Idea of the Totality of the Dependence of
Phenomenal Existences.
In the preceding remarks, we considered the changes in the world
of sense as constituting a dynamical series, in which each member is
subordinated to another—as its cause. Our present purpose is to avail ourselves
of this series of states or conditions as a guide to an existence which may be
the highest condition of all changeable phenomena, that is, to a necessary
being. Our endeavour to reach, not the unconditioned causality, but the
unconditioned existence, of substance. The series before us is therefore a
series of conceptions, and not of intuitions (in which the one intuition is the
condition of the other).
But it is evident that, as all phenomena are subject to change
and conditioned in their existence, the series of dependent existences cannot
embrace an unconditioned member, the existence of which would be absolutely
necessary. It follows that, if phenomena were things in themselves, and—as an
immediate consequence from this supposition- condition and conditioned belonged
to the same series of phenomena, the existence of a necessary being, as the
condition of the existence of sensuous phenomena, would be perfectly impossible.
An important distinction, however, exists between the dynamical
and the mathematical regress. The latter is engaged solely with the combination
of parts into a whole, or with the division of a whole into its parts; and
therefore are the conditions of its series parts of the series, and to be
consequently regarded as homogeneous, and for this reason, as consisting,
without exception, of phenomena. If the former regress, on the contrary, the aim
of which is not to establish the possibility of an unconditioned whole
consisting of given parts, or of an unconditioned part of a given whole, but to
demonstrate the possibility of the deduction of a certain state from its cause,
or of the contingent existence of substance from that which exists necessarily,
it is not requisite that the condition should form part of an empirical series
along with the conditioned.
In the case of the apparent antinomy with which we are at
present dealing, there exists a way of escape from the difficulty; for it is not
impossible that both of the contradictory statements may be true in different
relations. All sensuous phenomena may be contingent, and consequently possess
only an empirically conditioned existence, and yet there may also exist a
non-empirical condition of the whole series, or, in other words, a necessary
being. For this necessary being, as an intelligible condition, would not form a
member—not even the highest member—of the series; the whole world of sense would
be left in its empirically determined existence uninterfered with and
uninfluenced. This would also form a ground of distinction between the modes of
solution employed for the third and fourth antinomies. For, while in the
consideration of freedom in the former antinomy, the thing itself—the cause
(substantia phaenomenon)—was regarded as belonging to the series of conditions,
and only its causality to the intelligible world—we are obliged in the present
case to cogitate this necessary being as purely intelligible and as existing
entirely apart from the world of sense (as an ens extramundanum); for otherwise
it would be subject to the phenomenal law of contingency and dependence.
In relation to the present problem, therefore, the regulative
principle of reason is that everything in the sensuous world possesses an
empirically conditioned existence—that no property of the sensuous world
possesses unconditioned necessity—that we are bound to expect, and, so far as is
possible, to seek for the empirical condition of every member in the series of
conditions—and that there is no sufficient reason to justify us in deducing any
existence from a condition which lies out of and beyond the empirical series, or
in regarding any existence as independent and self-subsistent; although this
should not prevent us from recognizing the possibility of the whole series being
based upon a being which is intelligible, and for this reason free from all
empirical conditions.
But it has been far from my intention, in these remarks, to
prove the existence of this unconditioned and necessary being, or even to
evidence the possibility of a purely intelligible condition of the existence or
all sensuous phenomena. As bounds were set to reason, to prevent it from leaving
the guiding thread of empirical conditions and losing itself in transcendent
theories which are incapable of concrete presentation; so it was my purpose, on
the other band, to set bounds to the law of the purely empirical understanding,
and to protest against any attempts on its part at deciding on the possibility
of things, or declaring the existence of the intelligible to be impossible,
merely on the ground that it is not available for the explanation and exposition
of phenomena. It has been shown, at the same time, that the contingency of all
the phenomena of nature and their empirical conditions is quite consistent with
the arbitrary hypothesis of a necessary, although purely intelligible condition,
that no real contradiction exists between them and that, consequently, both may
be true. The existence of such an absolutely necessary being may be impossible;
but this can never be demonstrated from the universal contingency and dependence
of sensuous phenomena, nor from the principle which forbids us to discontinue
the series at some member of it, or to seek for its cause in some sphere of
existence beyond the world of nature. Reason goes its way in the empirical
world, and follows, too, its peculiar path in the sphere of the transcendental.
The sensuous world contains nothing but phenomena, which are
mere representations, and always sensuously conditioned; things in themselves
are not, and cannot be, objects to us. It is not to be wondered at, therefore,
that we are not justified in leaping from some member of an empirical series
beyond the world of sense, as if empirical representations were things in
themselves, existing apart from their transcendental ground in the human mind,
and the cause of whose existence may be sought out of the empirical series. This
would certainly be the case with contingent things; but it cannot be with mere
representations of things, the contingency of which is itself merely a
phenomenon and can relate to no other regress than that which determines
phenomena, that is, the empirical. But to cogitate an intelligible ground of
phenomena, as free, moreover, from the contingency of the latter, conflicts
neither with the unlimited nature of the empirical regress, nor with the
complete contingency of phenomena. And the demonstration of this was the only
thing necessary for the solution of this apparent antinomy. For if the condition
of every conditioned—as regards its existence—is sensuous, and for this reason a
part of the same series, it must be itself conditioned, as was shown in the
antithesis of the fourth antinomy. The embarrassments into which a reason, which
postulates the unconditioned, necessarily falls, must, therefore, continue to
exist; or the unconditioned must be placed in the sphere of the intelligible. In
this way, its necessity does not require, nor does it even permit, the presence
of an empirical condition: and it is, consequently, unconditionally necessary.
The empirical employment of reason is not affected by the
assumption of a purely intelligible being; it continues its operations on the
principle of the contingency of all phenomena, proceeding from empirical
conditions to still higher and higher conditions, themselves empirical. Just as
little does this regulative principle exclude the assumption of an intelligible
cause, when the question regards merely the pure employment of reason—in
relation to ends or aims. For, in this case, an intelligible cause signifies
merely the transcendental and to us unknown ground of the possibility of
sensuous phenomena, and its existence, necessary and independent of all sensuous
conditions, is not inconsistent with the contingency of phenomena, or with the
unlimited possibility of regress which exists in the series of empirical
conditions.
Concluding Remarks on the Antinomy of
Pure Reason.
So long as the object of our rational conceptions is the
totality of conditions in the world of phenomena, and the satisfaction, from
this source, of the requirements of reason, so long are our ideas transcendental
and cosmological. But when we set the unconditioned- which is the aim of all our
inquiries—in a sphere which lies out of the world of sense and possible
experience, our ideas become transcendent. They are then not merely serviceable
towards the completion of the exercise of reason (which remains an idea, never
executed, but always to be pursued); they detach themselves completely from
experience and construct for themselves objects, the material of which has not
been presented by experience, and the objective reality of which is not based
upon the completion of the empirical series, but upon pure a priori conceptions.
The intelligible object of these transcendent ideas may be conceded, as a
transcendental object. But we cannot cogitate it as a thing determinable by
certain distinct predicates relating to its internal nature, for it has no
connection with empirical conceptions; nor are we justified in affirming the
existence of any such object. It is, consequently, a mere product of the mind
alone. Of all the cosmological ideas, however, it is that occasioning the fourth
antinomy which compels us to venture upon this step. For the existence of
phenomena, always conditioned and never self-subsistent, requires us to look for
an object different from phenomena—an intelligible object, with which all
contingency must cease. But, as we have allowed ourselves to assume the
existence of a self-subsistent reality out of the field of experience, and are
therefore obliged to regard phenomena as merely a contingent mode of
representing intelligible objects employed by beings which are themselves
intelligences—no other course remains for us than to follow analogy and employ
the same mode in forming some conception of intelligible things, of which we
have not the least knowledge, which nature taught us to use in the formation of
empirical conceptions. Experience made us acquainted with the contingent. But we
are at present engaged in the discussion of things which are not objects of
experience; and must, therefore, deduce our knowledge of them from that which is
necessary absolutely and in itself, that is, from pure conceptions. Hence the
first step which we take out of the world of sense obliges us to begin our
system of new cognition with the investigation of a necessary being, and to
deduce from our conceptions of it all our conceptions of intelligible things.
This we propose to attempt in the following chapter.
CHAPTER III. The Ideal of Pure Reason.
SECTION I. Of the Ideal in General.
We have seen that pure conceptions do not present objects to the
mind, except under sensuous conditions; because the conditions of objective
reality do not exist in these conceptions, which contain, in fact, nothing but
the mere form of thought. They may, however, when applied to phenomena, be
presented in concreto; for it is phenomena that present to them the materials
for the formation of empirical conceptions, which are nothing more than concrete
forms of the conceptions of the understanding. But ideas are still further
removed from objective reality than categories; for no phenomenon can ever
present them to the human mind in concreto. They contain a certain perfection,
attainable by no possible empirical cognition; and they give to reason a
systematic unity, to which the unity of experience attempts to approximate, but
can never completely attain.
But still further removed than the idea from objective reality
is the Ideal, by which term I understand the idea, not in concreto, but in
individuo—as an individual thing, determinable or determined by the idea alone.
The idea of humanity in its complete perfection supposes not only the
advancement of all the powers and faculties, which constitute our conception of
human nature, to a complete attainment of their final aims, but also everything
which is requisite for the complete determination of the idea; for of all
contradictory predicates, only one can conform with the idea of the perfect man.
What I have termed an ideal was in Plato's philosophy an idea of the divine
mind—an individual object present to its pure intuition, the most perfect of
every kind of possible beings, and the archetype of all phenomenal existences.
Without rising to these speculative heights, we are bound to
confess that human reason contains not only ideas, but ideals, which possess,
not, like those of Plato, creative, but certainly practical power—as regulative
principles, and form the basis of the perfectibility of certain actions. Moral
conceptions are not perfectly pure conceptions of reason, because an empirical
element—of pleasure or pain—lies at the foundation of them. In relation,
however, to the principle, whereby reason sets bounds to a freedom which is in
itself without law, and consequently when we attend merely to their form, they
may be considered as pure conceptions of reason. Virtue and wisdom in their
perfect purity are ideas. But the wise man of the Stoics is an ideal, that is to
say, a human being existing only in thought and in complete conformity with the
idea of wisdom. As the idea provides a rule, so the ideal serves as an archetype
for the perfect and complete determination of the copy. Thus the conduct of this
wise and divine man serves us as a standard of action, with which we may compare
and judge ourselves, which may help us to reform ourselves, although the
perfection it demands can never be attained by us. Although we cannot concede
objective reality to these ideals, they are not to be considered as chimeras; on
the contrary, they provide reason with a standard, which enables it to estimate,
by comparison, the degree of incompleteness in the objects presented to it. But
to aim at realizing the ideal in an example in the world of experience—to
describe, for instance, the character of the perfectly wise man in a romance—is
impracticable. Nay more, there is something absurd in the attempt; and the
result must be little edifying, as the natural limitations, which are
continually breaking in upon the perfection and completeness of the idea,
destroy the illusion in the story and throw an air of suspicion even on what is
good in the idea, which hence appears fictitious and unreal.
Such is the constitution of the ideal of reason, which is always
based upon determinate conceptions, and serves as a rule and a model for
limitation or of criticism. Very different is the nature of the ideals of the
imagination. Of these it is impossible to present an intelligible conception;
they are a kind of monogram, drawn according to no determinate rule, and forming
rather a vague picture—the production of many diverse experiences—than a
determinate image. Such are the ideals which painters and physiognomists profess
to have in their minds, and which can serve neither as a model for production
nor as a standard for appreciation. They may be termed, though improperly,
sensuous ideals, as they are declared to be models of certain possible empirical
intuitions. They cannot, however, furnish rules or standards for explanation or
examination.
In its ideals, reason aims at complete and perfect determination
according to a priori rules; and hence it cogitates an object, which must be
completely determinable in conformity with principles, although all empirical
conditions are absent, and the conception of the object is on this account
transcendent.
SECTION II. Of the Transcendental Ideal
(Prototypon Trancendentale).
Every conception is, in relation to that which is not contained
in it, undetermined and subject to the principle of determinability. This
principle is that, of every two contradictorily opposed predicates, only one can
belong to a conception. It is a purely logical principle, itself based upon the
principle of contradiction; inasmuch as it makes complete abstraction of the
content and attends merely to the logical form of the cognition.
But again, everything, as regards its possibility, is also
subject to the principle of complete determination, according to which one of
all the possible contradictory predicates of things must belong to it. This
principle is not based merely upon that of contradiction; for, in addition to
the relation between two contradictory predicates, it regards everything as
standing in a relation to the sum of possibilities, as the sum total of all
predicates of things, and, while presupposing this sum as an a priori condition,
presents to the mind everything as receiving the possibility of its individual
existence from the relation it bears to, and the share it possesses in, the
aforesaid sum of possibilities.* The principle of complete determination relates
the content and not to the logical form. It is the principle of the synthesis of
all the predicates which are required to constitute the complete conception of a
thing, and not a mere principle analytical representation, which enounces that
one of two contradictory predicates must belong to a conception. It contains,
moreover, a transcendental presupposition— that, namely, of the material for all
possibility, which must contain a priori the data for this or that particular
possibility.
[*Footnote: Thus this principle declares everything to possess a
relation to a common correlate—the sum-total of possibility, which, if
discovered to exist in the idea of one individual thing, would establish the
affinity of all possible things, from the identity of the ground of their
complete determination. The determinability of every conception is subordinate
to the universality (Allgemeinheit, universalitas) of the principle of excluded
middle; the determination of a thing to the totality (Allheit, universitas) of
all possible predicates.]
The proposition, everything which exists is completely
determined, means not only that one of every pair of given contradictory
attributes, but that one of all possible attributes, is always predicable of the
thing; in it the predicates are not merely compared logically with each other,
but the thing itself is transcendentally compared with the sum-total of all
possible predicates. The proposition is equivalent to saying: "To attain to a
complete knowledge of a thing, it is necessary to possess a knowledge of
everything that is possible, and to determine it thereby in a positive or
negative manner." The conception of complete determination is consequently a
conception which cannot be presented in its totality in concreto, and is
therefore based upon an idea, which has its seat in the reason—the faculty which
prescribes to the understanding the laws of its harmonious and perfect exercise.
Now, although this idea of the sum-total of all possibility, in
so far as it forms the condition of the complete determination of everything, is
itself undetermined in relation to the predicates which may constitute this
sum-total, and we cogitate in it merely the sum-total of all possible
predicates—we nevertheless find, upon closer examination, that this idea, as a
primitive conception of the mind, excludes a large number of predicates—those
deduced and those irreconcilable with others, and that it is evolved as a
conception completely determined a priori. Thus it becomes the conception of an
individual object, which is completely determined by and through the mere idea,
and must consequently be termed an ideal of pure reason.
When we consider all possible predicates, not merely logically,
but transcendentally, that is to say, with reference to the content which may be
cogitated as existing in them a priori, we shall find that some indicate a
being, others merely a non-being. The logical negation expressed in the word not
does not properly belong to a conception, but only to the relation of one
conception to another in a judgement, and is consequently quite insufficient to
present to the mind the content of a conception. The expression not mortal does
not indicate that a non-being is cogitated in the object; it does not concern
the content at all. A transcendental negation, on the contrary, indicates
non-being in itself, and is opposed to transcendental affirmation, the
conception of which of itself expresses a being. Hence this affirmation
indicates a reality, because in and through it objects are considered to be
something—to be things; while the opposite negation, on the other band,
indicates a mere want, or privation, or absence, and, where such negations alone
are attached to a representation, the non-existence of anything corresponding to
the representation.
Now a negation cannot be cogitated as determined, without
cogitating at the same time the opposite affirmation. The man born blind has not
the least notion of darkness, because he has none of light; the vagabond knows
nothing of poverty, because he has never known what it is to be in comfort;* the
ignorant man has no conception of his ignorance, because he has no conception of
knowledge. All conceptions of negatives are accordingly derived or deduced
conceptions; and realities contain the data, and, so to speak, the material or
transcendental content of the possibility and complete determination of all
things.
[*Footnote: The investigations and calculations of astronomers
have taught us much that is wonderful; but the most important lesson we have
received from them is the discovery of the abyss of our ignorance in relation to
the universe—an ignorance the magnitude of which reason, without the information
thus derived, could never have conceived. This discovery of our deficiencies
must produce a great change in the determination of the aims of human reason.]
If, therefore, a transcendental substratum lies at the
foundation of the complete determination of things—a substratum which is to form
the fund from which all possible predicates of things are to be supplied, this
substratum cannot be anything else than the idea of a sum-total of reality
(omnitudo realitatis). In this view, negations are nothing but limitations—a
term which could not, with propriety, be applied to them, if the unlimited (the
all) did not form the true basis of our conception.
This conception of a sum-total of reality is the conception of a
thing in itself, regarded as completely determined; and the conception of an ens
realissimum is the conception of an individual being, inasmuch as it is
determined by that predicate of all possible contradictory predicates, which
indicates and belongs to being. It is, therefore, a transcendental ideal which
forms the basis of the complete determination of everything that exists, and is
the highest material condition of its possibility—a condition on which must rest
the cogitation of all objects with respect to their content. Nay, more, this
ideal is the only proper ideal of which the human mind is capable; because in
this case alone a general conception of a thing is completely determined by and
through itself, and cognized as the representation of an individuum.
The logical determination of a conception is based upon a
disjunctive syllogism, the major of which contains the logical division of the
extent of a general conception, the minor limits this extent to a certain part,
while the conclusion determines the conception by this part. The general
conception of a reality cannot be divided a priori, because, without the aid of
experience, we cannot know any determinate kinds of reality, standing under the
former as the genus. The transcendental principle of the complete determination
of all things is therefore merely the representation of the sum-total of all
reality; it is not a conception which is the genus of all predicates under
itself, but one which comprehends them all within itself. The complete
determination of a thing is consequently based upon the limitation of this total
of reality, so much being predicated of the thing, while all that remains over
is excluded—a procedure which is in exact agreement with that of the disjunctive
syllogism and the determination of the objects in the conclusion by one of the
members of the division. It follows that reason, in laying the transcendental
ideal at the foundation of its determination of all possible things, takes a
course in exact analogy with that which it pursues in disjunctive syllogisms—a
proposition which formed the basis of the systematic division of all
transcendental ideas, according to which they are produced in complete
parallelism with the three modes of syllogistic reasoning employed by the human
mind.
It is self-evident that reason, in cogitating the necessary
complete determination of things, does not presuppose the existence of a being
corresponding to its ideal, but merely the idea of the ideal- for the purpose of
deducing from the unconditional totality of complete determination, The ideal is
therefore the prototype of all things, which, as defective copies (ectypa),
receive from it the material of their possibility, and approximate to it more or
less, though it is impossible that they can ever attain to its perfection.
The possibility of things must therefore be regarded as derived-
except that of the thing which contains in itself all reality, which must be
considered to be primitive and original. For all negations- and they are the
only predicates by means of which all other things can be distinguished from the
ens realissimum—are mere limitations of a greater and a higher—nay, the highest
reality; and they consequently presuppose this reality, and are, as regards
their content, derived from it. The manifold nature of things is only an
infinitely various mode of limiting the conception of the highest reality, which
is their common substratum; just as all figures are possible only as different
modes of limiting infinite space. The object of the ideal of reason—an object
existing only in reason itself—is also termed the primal being (ens
originarium); as having no existence superior to him, the supreme being (ens
summum); and as being the condition of all other beings, which rank under it,
the being of all beings (ens entium). But none of these terms indicate the
objective relation of an actually existing object to other things, but merely
that of an idea to conceptions; and all our investigations into this subject
still leave us in perfect uncertainty with regard to the existence of this
being.
A primal being cannot be said to consist of many other beings
with an existence which is derivative, for the latter presuppose the former, and
therefore cannot be constitutive parts of it. It follows that the ideal of the
primal being must be cogitated as simple.
The deduction of the possibility of all other things from this
primal being cannot, strictly speaking, be considered as a limitation, or as a
kind of division of its reality; for this would be regarding the primal being as
a mere aggregate—which has been shown to be impossible, although it was so
represented in our first rough sketch. The highest reality must be regarded
rather as the ground than as the sum-total of the possibility of all things, and
the manifold nature of things be based, not upon the limitation of the primal
being itself, but upon the complete series of effects which flow from it. And
thus all our powers of sense, as well as all phenomenal reality, phenomenal
reality, may be with propriety regarded as belonging to this series of effects,
while they could not have formed parts of the idea, considered as an aggregate.
Pursuing this track, and hypostatizing this idea, we shall find ourselves
authorized to determine our notion of the Supreme Being by means of the mere
conception of a highest reality, as one, simple, all-sufficient, eternal, and so
on—in one word, to determine it in its unconditioned completeness by the aid of
every possible predicate. The conception of such a being is the conception of
God in its transcendental sense, and thus the ideal of pure reason is the
object-matter of a transcendental theology.
But, by such an employment of the transcendental idea, we should
be over stepping the limits of its validity and purpose. For reason placed it,
as the conception of all reality, at the basis of the complete determination of
things, without requiring that this conception be regarded as the conception of
an objective existence. Such an existence would be purely fictitious, and the
hypostatizing of the content of the idea into an ideal, as an individual being,
is a step perfectly unauthorized. Nay, more, we are not even called upon to
assume the possibility of such an hypothesis, as none of the deductions drawn
from such an ideal would affect the complete determination of things in
general—for the sake of which alone is the idea necessary.
It is not sufficient to circumscribe the procedure and the
dialectic of reason; we must also endeavour to discover the sources of this
dialectic, that we may have it in our power to give a rational explanation of
this illusion, as a phenomenon of the human mind. For the ideal, of which we are
at present speaking, is based, not upon an arbitrary, but upon a natural, idea.
The question hence arises: How happens it that reason regards the possibility of
all things as deduced from a single possibility, that, to wit, of the highest
reality, and presupposes this as existing in an individual and primal being?
The answer is ready; it is at once presented by the procedure of
transcendental analytic. The possibility of sensuous objects is a relation of
these objects to thought, in which something (the empirical form) may be
cogitated a priori; while that which constitutes the matter—the reality of the
phenomenon (that element which corresponds to sensation)—must be given from
without, as otherwise it could not even be cogitated by, nor could its
possibility be presentable to the mind. Now, a sensuous object is completely
determined, when it has been compared with all phenomenal predicates, and
represented by means of these either positively or negatively. But, as that
which constitutes the thing itself—the real in a phenomenon, must be given, and
that, in which the real of all phenomena is given, is experience, one, sole, and
all-embracing- the material of the possibility of all sensuous objects must be
presupposed as given in a whole, and it is upon the limitation of this whole
that the possibility of all empirical objects, their distinction from each other
and their complete determination, are based. Now, no other objects are presented
to us besides sensuous objects, and these can be given only in connection with a
possible experience; it follows that a thing is not an object to us, unless it
presupposes the whole or sum-total of empirical reality as the condition of its
possibility. Now, a natural illusion leads us to consider this principle, which
is valid only of sensuous objects, as valid with regard to things in general.
And thus we are induced to hold the empirical principle of our conceptions of
the possibility of things, as phenomena, by leaving out this limitative
condition, to be a transcendental principle of the possibility of things in
general.
We proceed afterwards to hypostatize this idea of the sum-total
of all reality, by changing the distributive unity of the empirical exercise of
the understanding into the collective unity of an empirical whole—a dialectical
illusion, and by cogitating this whole or sum of experience as an individual
thing, containing in itself all empirical reality. This individual thing or
being is then, by means of the above-mentioned transcendental subreption,
substituted for our notion of a thing which stands at the head of the
possibility of all things, the real conditions of whose complete determination
it presents.*
[*Footnote: This ideal of the ens realissimum—although merely a
mental representation—is first objectivized, that is, has an objective existence
attributed to it, then hypostatized, and finally, by the natural progress of
reason to the completion of unity, personified, as we shall show presently. For
the regulative unity of experience is not based upon phenomena themselves, but
upon the connection of the variety of phenomena by the understanding in a
consciousness, and thus the unity of the supreme reality and the complete
determinability of all things, seem to reside in a supreme understanding, and,
consequently, in a conscious intelligence.]
SECTION III. Of the Arguments employed
by Speculative Reason in Proof of the Existence of a Supreme Being.
Notwithstanding the pressing necessity which reason feels, to
form some presupposition that shall serve the understanding as a proper basis
for the complete determination of its conceptions, the idealistic and factitious
nature of such a presupposition is too evident to allow reason for a moment to
persuade itself into a belief of the objective existence of a mere creation of
its own thought. But there are other considerations which compel reason to seek
out some resting place in the regress from the conditioned to the unconditioned,
which is not given as an actual existence from the mere conception of it,
although it alone can give completeness to the series of conditions. And this is
the natural course of every human reason, even of the most uneducated, although
the path at first entered it does not always continue to follow. It does not
begin from conceptions, but from common experience, and requires a basis in
actual existence. But this basis is insecure, unless it rests upon the immovable
rock of the absolutely necessary. And this foundation is itself unworthy of
trust, if it leave under and above it empty space, if it do not fill all, and
leave no room for a why or a wherefore, if it be not, in one word, infinite in
its reality.
If we admit the existence of some one thing, whatever it may be,
we must also admit that there is something which exists necessarily. For what is
contingent exists only under the condition of some other thing, which is its
cause; and from this we must go on to conclude the existence of a cause which is
not contingent, and which consequently exists necessarily and unconditionally.
Such is the argument by which reason justifies its advances towards a primal
being.
Now reason looks round for the conception of a being that may be
admitted, without inconsistency, to be worthy of the attribute of absolute
necessity, not for the purpose of inferring a priori, from the conception of
such a being, its objective existence (for if reason allowed itself to take this
course, it would not require a basis in given and actual existence, but merely
the support of pure conceptions), but for the purpose of discovering, among all
our conceptions of possible things, that conception which possesses no element
inconsistent with the idea of absolute necessity. For that there must be some
absolutely necessary existence, it regards as a truth already established. Now,
if it can remove every existence incapable of supporting the attribute of
absolute necessity, excepting one—this must be the absolutely necessary being,
whether its necessity is comprehensible by us, that is, deducible from the
conception of it alone, or not.
Now that, the conception of which contains a therefore to every
wherefore, which is not defective in any respect whatever, which is
all-sufficient as a condition, seems to be the being of which we can justly
predicate absolute necessity—for this reason, that, possessing the conditions of
all that is possible, it does not and cannot itself require any condition. And
thus it satisfies, in one respect at least, the requirements of the conception
of absolute necessity. In this view, it is superior to all other conceptions,
which, as deficient and incomplete, do not possess the characteristic of
independence of all higher conditions. It is true that we cannot infer from this
that what does not contain in itself the supreme and complete condition—the
condition of all other things—must possess only a conditioned existence; but as
little can we assert the contrary, for this supposed being does not possess the
only characteristic which can enable reason to cognize by means of an a priori
conception the unconditioned and necessary nature of its existence.
The conception of an ens realissimum is that which best agrees
with the conception of an unconditioned and necessary being. The former
conception does not satisfy all the requirements of the latter; but we have no
choice, we are obliged to adhere to it, for we find that we cannot do without
the existence of a necessary being; and even although we admit it, we find it
out of our power to discover in the whole sphere of possibility any being that
can advance well-grounded claims to such a distinction.
The following is, therefore, the natural course of human reason.
It begins by persuading itself of the existence of some necessary being. In this
being it recognizes the characteristics of unconditioned existence. It then
seeks the conception of that which is independent of all conditions, and finds
it in that which is itself the sufficient condition of all other things—in other
words, in that which contains all reality. But the unlimited all is an absolute
unity, and is conceived by the mind as a being one and supreme; and thus reason
concludes that the Supreme Being, as the primal basis of all things, possesses
an existence which is absolutely necessary.
This conception must be regarded as in some degree satisfactory,
if we admit the existence of a necessary being, and consider that there exists a
necessity for a definite and final answer to these questions. In such a case, we
cannot make a better choice, or rather we have no choice at all, but feel
ourselves obliged to declare in favour of the absolute unity of complete
reality, as the highest source of the possibility of things. But if there exists
no motive for coming to a definite conclusion, and we may leave the question
unanswered till we have fully weighed both sides—in other words, when we are
merely called upon to decide how much we happen to know about the question, and
how much we merely flatter ourselves that we know- the above conclusion does not
appear to be so great advantage, but, on the contrary, seems defective in the
grounds upon which it is supported.
For, admitting the truth of all that has been said, that,
namely, the inference from a given existence (my own, for example) to the
existence of an unconditioned and necessary being is valid and unassailable;
that, in the second place, we must consider a being which contains all reality,
and consequently all the conditions of other things, to be absolutely
unconditioned; and admitting too, that we have thus discovered the conception of
a thing to which may be attributed, without inconsistency, absolute necessity—it
does not follow from all this that the conception of a limited being, in which
the supreme reality does not reside, is therefore incompatible with the idea of
absolute necessity. For, although I do not discover the element of the
unconditioned in the conception of such a being—an element which is manifestly
existent in the sum-total of all conditions—I am not entitled to conclude that
its existence is therefore conditioned; just as I am not entitled to affirm, in
a hypothetical syllogism, that where a certain condition does not exist (in the
present, completeness, as far as pure conceptions are concerned), the
conditioned does not exist either. On the contrary, we are free to consider all
limited beings as likewise unconditionally necessary, although we are unable to
infer this from the general conception which we have of them. Thus conducted,
this argument is incapable of giving us the least notion of the properties of a
necessary being, and must be in every respect without result.
This argument continues, however, to possess a weight and an
authority, which, in spite of its objective insufficiency, it has never been
divested of. For, granting that certain responsibilities lie upon us, which, as
based on the ideas of reason, deserve to be respected and submitted to, although
they are incapable of a real or practical application to our nature, or, in
other words, would be responsibilities without motives, except upon the
supposition of a Supreme Being to give effect and influence to the practical
laws: in such a case we should be bound to obey our conceptions, which, although
objectively insufficient, do, according to the standard of reason, preponderate
over and are superior to any claims that may be advanced from any other quarter.
The equilibrium of doubt would in this case be destroyed by a practical
addition; indeed, Reason would be compelled to condemn herself, if she refused
to comply with the demands of the judgement, no superior to which we
know—however defective her understanding of the grounds of these demands might
be.
This argument, although in fact transcendental, inasmuch as it
rests upon the intrinsic insufficiency of the contingent, is so simple and
natural, that the commonest understanding can appreciate its value. We see
things around us change, arise, and pass away; they, or their condition, must
therefore have a cause. The same demand must again be made of the cause
itself—as a datum of experience. Now it is natural that we should place the
highest causality just where we place supreme causality, in that being, which
contains the conditions of all possible effects, and the conception of which is
so simple as that of an all-embracing reality. This highest cause, then, we
regard as absolutely necessary, because we find it absolutely necessary to rise
to it, and do not discover any reason for proceeding beyond it. Thus, among all
nations, through the darkest polytheism glimmer some faint sparks of monotheism,
to which these idolaters have been led, not from reflection and profound
thought, but by the study and natural progress of the common understanding.
There are only three modes of proving the existence of a Deity,
on the grounds of speculative reason.
All the paths conducting to this end begin either from
determinate experience and the peculiar constitution of the world of sense, and
rise, according to the laws of causality, from it to the highest cause existing
apart from the world—or from a purely indeterminate experience, that is, some
empirical existence—or abstraction is made of all experience, and the existence
of a supreme cause is concluded from a priori conceptions alone. The first is
the physico-theological argument, the second the cosmological, the third the
ontological. More there are not, and more there cannot be.
I shall show it is as unsuccessful on the one path—the
empirical- as on the other—the transcendental, and that it stretches its wings
in vain, to soar beyond the world of sense by the mere might of speculative
thought. As regards the order in which we must discuss those arguments, it will
be exactly the reverse of that in which reason, in the progress of its
development, attains to them—the order in which they are placed above. For it
will be made manifest to the reader that, although experience presents the
occasion and the starting-point, it is the transcendental idea of reason which
guides it in its pilgrimage and is the goal of all its struggles. I shall
therefore begin with an examination of the transcendental argument, and
afterwards inquire what additional strength has accrued to this mode of proof
from the addition of the empirical element.
SECTION IV. Of the Impossibility of an
Ontological Proof of the Existence of God.
It is evident from what has been said that the conception of an
absolutely necessary being is a mere idea, the objective reality of which is far
from being established by the mere fact that it is a need of reason. On the
contrary, this idea serves merely to indicate a certain unattainable perfection,
and rather limits the operations than, by the presentation of new objects,
extends the sphere of the understanding. But a strange anomaly meets us at the
very threshold; for the inference from a given existence in general to an
absolutely necessary existence seems to be correct and unavoidable, while the
conditions of the understanding refuse to aid us in forming any conception of
such a being.
Philosophers have always talked of an absolutely necessary
being, and have nevertheless declined to take the trouble of conceiving
whether—and how—a being of this nature is even cogitable, not to mention that
its existence is actually demonstrable. A verbal definition of the conception is
certainly easy enough: it is something the non-existence of which is impossible.
But does this definition throw any light upon the conditions which render it
impossible to cogitate the non-existence of a thing—conditions which we wish to
ascertain, that we may discover whether we think anything in the conception of
such a being or not? For the mere fact that I throw away, by means of the word
unconditioned, all the conditions which the understanding habitually requires in
order to regard anything as necessary, is very far from making clear whether by
means of the conception of the unconditionally necessary I think of something,
or really of nothing at all.
Nay, more, this chance-conception, now become so current, many
have endeavoured to explain by examples which seemed to render any inquiries
regarding its intelligibility quite needless. Every geometrical proposition—a
triangle has three angles—it was said, is absolutely necessary; and thus people
talked of an object which lay out of the sphere of our understanding as if it
were perfectly plain what the conception of such a being meant.
All the examples adduced have been drawn, without exception,
from judgements, and not from things. But the unconditioned necessity of a
judgement does not form the absolute necessity of a thing. On the contrary, the
absolute necessity of a judgement is only a conditioned necessity of a thing, or
of the predicate in a judgement. The proposition above-mentioned does not
enounce that three angles necessarily exist, but, upon condition that a triangle
exists, three angles must necessarily exist—in it. And thus this logical
necessity has been the source of the greatest delusions. Having formed an a
priori conception of a thing, the content of which was made to embrace
existence, we believed ourselves safe in concluding that, because existence
belongs necessarily to the object of the conception (that is, under the
condition of my positing this thing as given), the existence of the thing is
also posited necessarily, and that it is therefore absolutely necessary—merely
because its existence has been cogitated in the conception.
If, in an identical judgement, I annihilate the predicate in
thought, and retain the subject, a contradiction is the result; and hence I say,
the former belongs necessarily to the latter. But if I suppress both subject and
predicate in thought, no contradiction arises; for there is nothing at all, and
therefore no means of forming a contradiction. To suppose the existence of a
triangle and not that of its three angles, is self-contradictory; but to suppose
the non-existence of both triangle and angles is perfectly admissible. And so is
it with the conception of an absolutely necessary being. Annihilate its
existence in thought, and you annihilate the thing itself with all its
predicates; how then can there be any room for contradiction? Externally, there
is nothing to give rise to a contradiction, for a thing cannot be necessary
externally; nor internally, for, by the annihilation or suppression of the thing
itself, its internal properties are also annihilated. God is omnipotent—that is
a necessary judgement. His omnipotence cannot be denied, if the existence of a
Deity is posited—the existence, that is, of an infinite being, the two
conceptions being identical. But when you say, God does not exist, neither
omnipotence nor any other predicate is affirmed; they must all disappear with
the subject, and in this judgement there cannot exist the least
self-contradiction.
You have thus seen that when the predicate of a judgement is
annihilated in thought along with the subject, no internal contradiction can
arise, be the predicate what it may. There is no possibility of evading the
conclusion—you find yourselves compelled to declare: There are certain subjects
which cannot be annihilated in thought. But this is nothing more than saying:
There exist subjects which are absolutely necessary—the very hypothesis which
you are called upon to establish. For I find myself unable to form the slightest
conception of a thing which when annihilated in thought with all its predicates,
leaves behind a contradiction; and contradiction is the only criterion of
impossibility in the sphere of pure a priori conceptions.
Against these general considerations, the justice of which no
one can dispute, one argument is adduced, which is regarded as furnishing a
satisfactory demonstration from the fact. It is affirmed that there is one and
only one conception, in which the non-being or annihilation of the object is
self-contradictory, and this is the conception of an ens realissimum. It
possesses, you say, all reality, and you feel yourselves justified in admitting
the possibility of such a being. (This I am willing to grant for the present,
although the existence of a conception which is not self-contradictory is far
from being sufficient to prove the possibility of an object.)* Now the notion of
all reality embraces in it that of existence; the notion of existence lies,
therefore, in the conception of this possible thing. If this thing is
annihilated in thought, the internal possibility of the thing is also
annihilated, which is self-contradictory.
[*Footnote: A conception is always possible, if it is not
self-contradictory. This is the logical criterion of possibility, distinguishing
the object of such a conception from the nihil negativum. But it may be,
notwithstanding, an empty conception, unless the objective reality of this
synthesis, but which it is generated, is demonstrated; and a proof of this kind
must be based upon principles of possible experience, and not upon the principle
of analysis or contradiction. This remark may be serviceable as a warning
against concluding, from the possibility of a conception—which is logical—the
possibility of a thing—which is real.]
I answer: It is absurd to introduce—under whatever term
disguised—into the conception of a thing, which is to be cogitated solely in
reference to its possibility, the conception of its existence. If this is
admitted, you will have apparently gained the day, but in reality have enounced
nothing but a mere tautology. I ask, is the proposition, this or that thing
(which I am admitting to be possible) exists, an analytical or a synthetical
proposition? If the former, there is no addition made to the subject of your
thought by the affirmation of its existence; but then the conception in your
minds is identical with the thing itself, or you have supposed the existence of
a thing to be possible, and then inferred its existence from its internal
possibility—which is but a miserable tautology. The word reality in the
conception of the thing, and the word existence in the conception of the
predicate, will not help you out of the difficulty. For, supposing you were to
term all positing of a thing reality, you have thereby posited the thing with
all its predicates in the conception of the subject and assumed its actual
existence, and this you merely repeat in the predicate. But if you confess, as
every reasonable person must, that every existential proposition is synthetical,
how can it be maintained that the predicate of existence cannot be denied
without contradiction?—a property which is the characteristic of analytical
propositions, alone.
I should have a reasonable hope of putting an end for ever to
this sophistical mode of argumentation, by a strict definition of the conception
of existence, did not my own experience teach me that the illusion arising from
our confounding a logical with a real predicate (a predicate which aids in the
determination of a thing) resists almost all the endeavours of explanation and
illustration. A logical predicate may be what you please, even the subject may
be predicated of itself; for logic pays no regard to the content of a judgement.
But the determination of a conception is a predicate, which adds to and enlarges
the conception. It must not, therefore, be contained in the conception.
Being is evidently not a real predicate, that is, a conception
of something which is added to the conception of some other thing. It is merely
the positing of a thing, or of certain determinations in it. Logically, it is
merely the copula of a judgement. The proposition, God is omnipotent, contains
two conceptions, which have a certain object or content; the word is, is no
additional predicate—it merely indicates the relation of the predicate to the
subject. Now, if I take the subject (God) with all its predicates (omnipotence
being one), and say: God is, or, There is a God, I add no new predicate to the
conception of God, I merely posit or affirm the existence of the subject with
all its predicates—I posit the object in relation to my conception. The content
of both is the same; and there is no addition made to the conception, which
expresses merely the possibility of the object, by my cogitating the object—in
the expression, it is—as absolutely given or existing. Thus the real contains no
more than the possible. A hundred real dollars contain no more than a hundred
possible dollars. For, as the latter indicate the conception, and the former the
object, on the supposition that the content of the former was greater than that
of the latter, my conception would not be an expression of the whole object, and
would consequently be an inadequate conception of it. But in reckoning my wealth
there may be said to be more in a hundred real dollars than in a hundred
possible dollars—that is, in the mere conception of them. For the real
object—the dollars—is not analytically contained in my conception, but forms a
synthetical addition to my conception (which is merely a determination of my
mental state), although this objective reality—this existence—apart from my
conceptions, does not in the least degree increase the aforesaid hundred
dollars.
By whatever and by whatever number of predicates—even to the
complete determination of it—I may cogitate a thing, I do not in the least
augment the object of my conception by the addition of the statement: This thing
exists. Otherwise, not exactly the same, but something more than what was
cogitated in my conception, would exist, and I could not affirm that the exact
object of my conception had real existence. If I cogitate a thing as containing
all modes of reality except one, the mode of reality which is absent is not
added to the conception of the thing by the affirmation that the thing exists;
on the contrary, the thing exists—if it exist at all—with the same defect as
that cogitated in its conception; otherwise not that which was cogitated, but
something different, exists. Now, if I cogitate a being as the highest reality,
without defect or imperfection, the question still remains—whether this being
exists or not? For, although no element is wanting in the possible real content
of my conception, there is a defect in its relation to my mental state, that is,
I am ignorant whether the cognition of the object indicated by the conception is
possible a posteriori. And here the cause of the present difficulty becomes
apparent. If the question regarded an object of sense merely, it would be
impossible for me to confound the conception with the existence of a thing. For
the conception merely enables me to cogitate an object as according with the
general conditions of experience; while the existence of the object permits me
to cogitate it as contained in the sphere of actual experience. At the same
time, this connection with the world of experience does not in the least augment
the conception, although a possible perception has been added to the experience
of the mind. But if we cogitate existence by the pure category alone, it is not
to be wondered at, that we should find ourselves unable to present any criterion
sufficient to distinguish it from mere possibility.
Whatever be the content of our conception of an object, it is
necessary to go beyond it, if we wish to predicate existence of the object. In
the case of sensuous objects, this is attained by their connection according to
empirical laws with some one of my perceptions; but there is no means of
cognizing the existence of objects of pure thought, because it must be cognized
completely a priori. But all our knowledge of existence (be it immediately by
perception, or by inferences connecting some object with a perception) belongs
entirely to the sphere of experience—which is in perfect unity with itself; and
although an existence out of this sphere cannot be absolutely declared to be
impossible, it is a hypothesis the truth of which we have no means of
ascertaining.
The notion of a Supreme Being is in many respects a highly
useful idea; but for the very reason that it is an idea, it is incapable of
enlarging our cognition with regard to the existence of things. It is not even
sufficient to instruct us as to the possibility of a being which we do not know
to exist. The analytical criterion of possibility, which consists in the absence
of contradiction in propositions, cannot be denied it. But the connection of
real properties in a thing is a synthesis of the possibility of which an a
priori judgement cannot be formed, because these realities are not presented to
us specifically; and even if this were to happen, a judgement would still be
impossible, because the criterion of the possibility of synthetical cognitions
must be sought for in the world of experience, to which the object of an idea
cannot belong. And thus the celebrated Leibnitz has utterly failed in his
attempt to establish upon a priori grounds the possibility of this sublime ideal
being.
The celebrated ontological or Cartesian argument for the
existence of a Supreme Being is therefore insufficient; and we may as well hope
to increase our stock of knowledge by the aid of mere ideas, as the merchant to
augment his wealth by the addition of noughts to his cash account.
SECTION V. Of the Impossibility of a
Cosmological Proof of the Existence of God.
It was by no means a natural course of proceeding, but, on the
contrary, an invention entirely due to the subtlety of the schools, to attempt
to draw from a mere idea a proof of the existence of an object corresponding to
it. Such a course would never have been pursued, were it not for that need of
reason which requires it to suppose the existence of a necessary being as a
basis for the empirical regress, and that, as this necessity must be
unconditioned and a priori, reason is bound to discover a conception which shall
satisfy, if possible, this requirement, and enable us to attain to the a priori
cognition of such a being. This conception was thought to be found in the idea
of an ens realissimum, and thus this idea was employed for the attainment of a
better defined knowledge of a necessary being, of the existence of which we were
convinced, or persuaded, on other grounds. Thus reason was seduced from her
natural courage; and, instead of concluding with the conception of an ens
realissimum, an attempt was made to begin with it, for the purpose of inferring
from it that idea of a necessary existence which it was in fact called in to
complete. Thus arose that unfortunate ontological argument, which neither
satisfies the healthy common sense of humanity, nor sustains the scientific
examination of the philosopher.
The cosmological proof, which we are about to examine, retains
the connection between absolute necessity and the highest reality; but, instead
of reasoning from this highest reality to a necessary existence, like the
preceding argument, it concludes from the given unconditioned necessity of some
being its unlimited reality. The track it pursues, whether rational or
sophistical, is at least natural, and not only goes far to persuade the common
understanding, but shows itself deserving of respect from the speculative
intellect; while it contains, at the same time, the outlines of all the
arguments employed in natural theology—arguments which always have been, and
still will be, in use and authority. These, however adorned, and hid under
whatever embellishments of rhetoric and sentiment, are at bottom identical with
the arguments we are at present to discuss. This proof, termed by Leibnitz the
argumentum a contingentia mundi, I shall now lay before the reader, and subject
to a strict examination.
It is framed in the following manner: If something exists, an
absolutely necessary being must likewise exist. Now I, at least, exist.
Consequently, there exists an absolutely necessary being. The minor contains an
experience, the major reasons from a general experience to the existence of a
necessary being.* Thus this argument really begins at experience, and is not
completely a priori, or ontological. The object of all possible experience being
the world, it is called the cosmological proof. It contains no reference to any
peculiar property of sensuous objects, by which this world of sense might be
distinguished from other possible worlds; and in this respect it differs from
the physico-theological proof, which is based upon the consideration of the
peculiar constitution of our sensuous world.
[*Footnote: This inference is too well known to require more
detailed discussion. It is based upon the spurious transcendental law of
causality, that everything which is contingent has a cause, which, if itself
contingent, must also have a cause; and so on, till the series of subordinated
causes must end with an absolutely necessary cause, without which it would not
possess completeness.]
The proof proceeds thus: A necessary being can be determined
only in one way, that is, it can be determined by only one of all possible
opposed predicates; consequently, it must be completely determined in and by its
conception. But there is only a single conception of a thing possible, which
completely determines the thing a priori: that is, the conception of the ens
realissimum. It follows that the conception of the ens realissimum is the only
conception by and in which we can cogitate a necessary being. Consequently, a
Supreme Being necessarily exists.
In this cosmological argument are assembled so many sophistical
propositions that speculative reason seems to have exerted in it all her
dialectical skill to produce a transcendental illusion of the most extreme
character. We shall postpone an investigation of this argument for the present,
and confine ourselves to exposing the stratagem by which it imposes upon us an
old argument in a new dress, and appeals to the agreement of two witnesses, the
one with the credentials of pure reason, and the other with those of empiricism;
while, in fact, it is only the former who has changed his dress and voice, for
the purpose of passing himself off for an additional witness. That it may
possess a secure foundation, it bases its conclusions upon experience, and thus
appears to be completely distinct from the ontological argument, which places
its confidence entirely in pure a priori conceptions. But this experience merely
aids reason in making one step—to the existence of a necessary being. What the
properties of this being are cannot be learned from experience; and therefore
reason abandons it altogether, and pursues its inquiries in the sphere of pure
conception, for the purpose of discovering what the properties of an absolutely
necessary being ought to be, that is, what among all possible things contain the
conditions (requisita) of absolute necessity. Reason believes that it has
discovered these requisites in the conception of an ens realissimum—and in it
alone, and hence concludes: The ens realissimum is an absolutely necessary
being. But it is evident that reason has here presupposed that the conception of
an ens realissimum is perfectly adequate to the conception of a being of
absolute necessity, that is, that we may infer the existence of the latter from
that of the former—a proposition which formed the basis of the ontological
argument, and which is now employed in the support of the cosmological argument,
contrary to the wish and professions of its inventors. For the existence of an
absolutely necessary being is given in conceptions alone. But if I say: "The
conception of the ens realissimum is a conception of this kind, and in fact the
only conception which is adequate to our idea of a necessary being," I am
obliged to admit, that the latter may be inferred from the former. Thus it is
properly the ontological argument which figures in the cosmological, and
constitutes the whole strength of the latter; while the spurious basis of
experience has been of no further use than to conduct us to the conception of
absolute necessity, being utterly insufficient to demonstrate the presence of
this attribute in any determinate existence or thing. For when we propose to
ourselves an aim of this character, we must abandon the sphere of experience,
and rise to that of pure conceptions, which we examine with the purpose of
discovering whether any one contains the conditions of the possibility of an
absolutely necessary being. But if the possibility of such a being is thus
demonstrated, its existence is also proved; for we may then assert that, of all
possible beings there is one which possesses the attribute of necessity—in other
words, this being possesses an absolutely necessary existence.
All illusions in an argument are more easily detected when they
are presented in the formal manner employed by the schools, which we now proceed
to do.
If the proposition: "Every absolutely necessary being is
likewise an ens realissimum," is correct (and it is this which constitutes the
nervus probandi of the cosmological argument), it must, like all affirmative
judgements, be capable of conversion—the conversio per accidens, at least. It
follows, then, that some entia realissima are absolutely necessary beings. But
no ens realissimum is in any respect different from another, and what is valid
of some is valid of all. In this present case, therefore, I may employ simple
conversion, and say: "Every ens realissimum is a necessary being." But as this
proposition is determined a priori by the conceptions contained in it, the mere
conception of an ens realissimum must possess the additional attribute of
absolute necessity. But this is exactly what was maintained in the ontological
argument, and not recognized by the cosmological, although it formed the real
ground of its disguised and illusory reasoning.
Thus the second mode employed by speculative reason of
demonstrating the existence of a Supreme Being, is not only, like the first,
illusory and inadequate, but possesses the additional blemish of an ignoratio
elenchi—professing to conduct us by a new road to the desired goal, but bringing
us back, after a short circuit, to the old path which we had deserted at its
call.
I mentioned above that this cosmological argument contains a
perfect nest of dialectical assumptions, which transcendental criticism does not
find it difficult to expose and to dissipate. I shall merely enumerate these,
leaving it to the reader, who must by this time be well practised in such
matters, to investigate the fallacies residing therein.
The following fallacies, for example, are discoverable in this
mode of proof: 1. The transcendental principle: "Everything that is contingent
must have a cause"—a principle without significance, except in the sensuous
world. For the purely intellectual conception of the contingent cannot produce
any synthetical proposition, like that of causality, which is itself without
significance or distinguishing characteristic except in the phenomenal world.
But in the present case it is employed to help us beyond the limits of its
sphere. 2. "From the impossibility of an infinite ascending series of causes in
the world of sense a first cause is inferred"; a conclusion which the principles
of the employment of reason do not justify even in the sphere of experience, and
still less when an attempt is made to pass the limits of this sphere. 3. Reason
allows itself to be satisfied upon insufficient grounds, with regard to the
completion of this series. It removes all conditions (without which, however, no
conception of Necessity can take place); and, as after this it is beyond our
power to form any other conceptions, it accepts this as a completion of the
conception it wishes to form of the series. 4. The logical possibility of a
conception of the total of reality (the criterion of this possibility being the
absence of contradiction) is confounded with the transcendental, which requires
a principle of the practicability of such a synthesis—a principle which again
refers us to the world of experience. And so on.
The aim of the cosmological argument is to avoid the necessity
of proving the existence of a necessary being priori from mere conceptions—a
proof which must be ontological, and of which we feel ourselves quite incapable.
With this purpose, we reason from an actual existence—an experience in general,
to an absolutely necessary condition of that existence. It is in this case
unnecessary to demonstrate its possibility. For after having proved that it
exists, the question regarding its possibility is superfluous. Now, when we wish
to define more strictly the nature of this necessary being, we do not look out
for some being the conception of which would enable us to comprehend the
necessity of its being—for if we could do this, an empirical presupposition
would be unnecessary; no, we try to discover merely the negative condition
(conditio sine qua non), without which a being would not be absolutely
necessary. Now this would be perfectly admissible in every sort of reasoning,
from a consequence to its principle; but in the present case it unfortunately
happens that the condition of absolute necessity can be discovered in but a
single being, the conception of which must consequently contain all that is
requisite for demonstrating the presence of absolute necessity, and thus entitle
me to infer this absolute necessity a priori. That is, it must be possible to
reason conversely, and say: The thing, to which the conception of the highest
reality belongs, is absolutely necessary. But if I cannot reason thus—and I
cannot, unless I believe in the sufficiency of the ontological argument—I find
insurmountable obstacles in my new path, and am really no farther than the point
from which I set out. The conception of a Supreme Being satisfies all questions
a priori regarding the internal determinations of a thing, and is for this
reason an ideal without equal or parallel, the general conception of it
indicating it as at the same time an ens individuum among all possible things.
But the conception does not satisfy the question regarding its existence—which
was the purpose of all our inquiries; and, although the existence of a necessary
being were admitted, we should find it impossible to answer the question: What
of all things in the world must be regarded as such?
It is certainly allowable to admit the existence of an
all-sufficient being—a cause of all possible effects—for the purpose of enabling
reason to introduce unity into its mode and grounds of explanation with regard
to phenomena. But to assert that such a being necessarily exists, is no longer
the modest enunciation of an admissible hypothesis, but the boldest declaration
of an apodeictic certainty; for the cognition of that which is absolutely
necessary must itself possess that character.
The aim of the transcendental ideal formed by the mind is either
to discover a conception which shall harmonize with the idea of absolute
necessity, or a conception which shall contain that idea. If the one is
possible, so is the other; for reason recognizes that alone as absolutely
necessary which is necessary from its conception. But both attempts are equally
beyond our power—we find it impossible to satisfy the understanding upon this
point, and as impossible to induce it to remain at rest in relation to this
incapacity.
Unconditioned necessity, which, as the ultimate support and stay
of all existing things, is an indispensable requirement of the mind, is an abyss
on the verge of which human reason trembles in dismay. Even the idea of
eternity, terrible and sublime as it is, as depicted by Haller, does not produce
upon the mental vision such a feeling of awe and terror; for, although it
measures the duration of things, it does not support them. We cannot bear, nor
can we rid ourselves of the thought that a being, which we regard as the
greatest of all possible existences, should say to himself: I am from eternity
to eternity; beside me there is nothing, except that which exists by my will;
whence then am I? Here all sinks away from under us; and the greatest, as the
smallest, perfection, hovers without stay or footing in presence of the
speculative reason, which finds it as easy to part with the one as with the
other.
Many physical powers, which evidence their existence by their
effects, are perfectly inscrutable in their nature; they elude all our powers of
observation. The transcendental object which forms the basis of phenomena, and,
in connection with it, the reason why our sensibility possesses this rather than
that particular kind of conditions, are and must ever remain hidden from our
mental vision; the fact is there, the reason of the fact we cannot see. But an
ideal of pure reason cannot be termed mysterious or inscrutable, because the
only credential of its reality is the need of it felt by reason, for the purpose
of giving completeness to the world of synthetical unity. An ideal is not even
given as a cogitable object, and therefore cannot be inscrutable; on the
contrary, it must, as a mere idea, be based on the constitution of reason
itself, and on this account must be capable of explanation and solution. For the
very essence of reason consists in its ability to give an account, of all our
conceptions, opinions, and assertions—upon objective, or, when they happen to be
illusory and fallacious, upon subjective grounds.
Detection and Explanation of the
Dialectical Illusion in all Transcendental Arguments for the Existence of a
Necessary Being.
Both of the above arguments are transcendental; in other words,
they do not proceed upon empirical principles. For, although the cosmological
argument professed to lay a basis of experience for its edifice of reasoning, it
did not ground its procedure upon the peculiar constitution of experience, but
upon pure principles of reason—in relation to an existence given by empirical
consciousness; utterly abandoning its guidance, however, for the purpose of
supporting its assertions entirely upon pure conceptions. Now what is the cause,
in these transcendental arguments, of the dialectical, but natural, illusion,
which connects the conceptions of necessity and supreme reality, and
hypostatizes that which cannot be anything but an idea? What is the cause of
this unavoidable step on the part of reason, of admitting that some one among
all existing things must be necessary, while it falls back from the assertion of
the existence of such a being as from an abyss? And how does reason proceed to
explain this anomaly to itself, and from the wavering condition of a timid and
reluctant approbation—always again withdrawn—arrive at a calm and settled
insight into its cause?
It is something very remarkable that, on the supposition that
something exists, I cannot avoid the inference that something exists
necessarily. Upon this perfectly natural—but not on that account
reliable—inference does the cosmological argument rest. But, let me form any
conception whatever of a thing, I find that I cannot cogitate the existence of
the thing as absolutely necessary, and that nothing prevents me—be the thing or
being what it may—from cogitating its non-existence. I may thus be obliged to
admit that all existing things have a necessary basis, while I cannot cogitate
any single or individual thing as necessary. In other words, I can never
complete the regress through the conditions of existence, without admitting the
existence of a necessary being; but, on the other hand, I cannot make a
commencement from this being.
If I must cogitate something as existing necessarily as the
basis of existing things, and yet am not permitted to cogitate any individual
thing as in itself necessary, the inevitable inference is that necessity and
contingency are not properties of things themselves- otherwise an internal
contradiction would result; that consequently neither of these principles are
objective, but merely subjective principles of reason—the one requiring us to
seek for a necessary ground for everything that exists, that is, to be satisfied
with no other explanation than that which is complete a priori, the other
forbidding us ever to hope for the attainment of this completeness, that is, to
regard no member of the empirical world as unconditioned. In this mode of
viewing them, both principles, in their purely heuristic and regulative
character, and as concerning merely the formal interest of reason, are quite
consistent with each other. The one says: "You must philosophize upon nature,"
as if there existed a necessary primal basis of all existing things, solely for
the purpose of introducing systematic unity into your knowledge, by pursuing an
idea of this character—a foundation which is arbitrarily admitted to be
ultimate; while the other warns you to consider no individual determination,
concerning the existence of things, as such an ultimate foundation, that is, as
absolutely necessary, but to keep the way always open for further progress in
the deduction, and to treat every determination as determined by some other. But
if all that we perceive must be regarded as conditionally necessary, it is
impossible that anything which is empirically given should be absolutely
necessary.
It follows from this that you must accept the absolutely
necessary as out of and beyond the world, inasmuch as it is useful only as a
principle of the highest possible unity in experience, and you cannot discover
any such necessary existence in the would, the second rule requiring you to
regard all empirical causes of unity as themselves deduced.
The philosophers of antiquity regarded all the forms of nature
as contingent; while matter was considered by them, in accordance with the
judgement of the common reason of mankind, as primal and necessary. But if they
had regarded matter, not relatively—as the substratum of phenomena, but
absolutely and in itself—as an independent existence, this idea of absolute
necessity would have immediately disappeared. For there is nothing absolutely
connecting reason with such an existence; on the contrary, it can annihilate it
in thought, always and without self-contradiction. But in thought alone lay the
idea of absolute necessity. A regulative principle must, therefore, have been at
the foundation of this opinion. In fact, extension and impenetrability—which
together constitute our conception of matter—form the supreme empirical
principle of the unity of phenomena, and this principle, in so far as it is
empirically unconditioned, possesses the property of a regulative principle.
But, as every determination of matter which constitutes what is real in it—and
consequently impenetrability—is an effect, which must have a cause, and is for
this reason always derived, the notion of matter cannot harmonize with the idea
of a necessary being, in its character of the principle of all derived unity.
For every one of its real properties, being derived, must be only conditionally
necessary, and can therefore be annihilated in thought; and thus the whole
existence of matter can be so annihilated or suppressed. If this were not the
case, we should have found in the world of phenomena the highest ground or
condition of unity—which is impossible, according to the second regulative
principle. It follows that matter, and, in general, all that forms part of the
world of sense, cannot be a necessary primal being, nor even a principle of
empirical unity, but that this being or principle must have its place assigned
without the world. And, in this way, we can proceed in perfect confidence to
deduce the phenomena of the world and their existence from other phenomena, just
as if there existed no necessary being; and we can at the same time, strive
without ceasing towards the attainment of completeness for our deduction, just
as if such a being—the supreme condition of all existences—were presupposed by
the mind.
These remarks will have made it evident to the reader that the
ideal of the Supreme Being, far from being an enouncement of the existence of a
being in itself necessary, is nothing more than a regulative principle of
reason, requiring us to regard all connection existing between phenomena as if
it had its origin from an all-sufficient necessary cause, and basing upon this
the rule of a systematic and necessary unity in the explanation of phenomena. We
cannot, at the same time, avoid regarding, by a transcendental subreptio, this
formal principle as constitutive, and hypostatizing this unity. Precisely
similar is the case with our notion of space. Space is the primal condition of
all forms, which are properly just so many different limitations of it; and
thus, although it is merely a principle of sensibility, we cannot help regarding
it as an absolutely necessary and self-subsistent thing—as an object given a
priori in itself. In the same way, it is quite natural that, as the systematic
unity of nature cannot be established as a principle for the empirical
employment of reason, unless it is based upon the idea of an ens realissimum, as
the supreme cause, we should regard this idea as a real object, and this object,
in its character of supreme condition, as absolutely necessary, and that in this
way a regulative should be transformed into a constitutive principle. This
interchange becomes evident when I regard this supreme being, which, relatively
to the world, was absolutely (unconditionally) necessary, as a thing per se. In
this case, I find it impossible to represent this necessity in or by any
conception, and it exists merely in my own mind, as the formal condition of
thought, but not as a material and hypostatic condition of existence.
SECTION VI. Of the Impossibility of a
Physico-Theological Proof.
If, then, neither a pure conception nor the general experience
of an existing being can provide a sufficient basis for the proof of the
existence of the Deity, we can make the attempt by the only other mode—that of
grounding our argument upon a determinate experience of the phenomena of the
present world, their constitution and disposition, and discover whether we can
thus attain to a sound conviction of the existence of a Supreme Being. This
argument we shall term the physico-theological argument. If it is shown to be
insufficient, speculative reason cannot present us with any satisfactory proof
of the existence of a being corresponding to our transcendental idea.
It is evident from the remarks that have been made in the
preceding sections, that an answer to this question will be far from being
difficult or unconvincing. For how can any experience be adequate with an idea?
The very essence of an idea consists in the fact that no experience can ever be
discovered congruent or adequate with it. The transcendental idea of a necessary
and all-sufficient being is so immeasurably great, so high above all that is
empirical, which is always conditioned, that we hope in vain to find materials
in the sphere of experience sufficiently ample for our conception, and in vain
seek the unconditioned among things that are conditioned, while examples, nay,
even guidance is denied us by the laws of empirical synthesis.
If the Supreme Being forms a link in the chain of empirical
conditions, it must be a member of the empirical series, and, like the lower
members which it precedes, have its origin in some higher member of the series.
If, on the other hand, we disengage it from the chain, and cogitate it as an
intelligible being, apart from the series of natural causes—how shall reason
bridge the abyss that separates the latter from the former? All laws respecting
the regress from effects to causes, all synthetical additions to our knowledge
relate solely to possible experience and the objects of the sensuous world, and,
apart from them, are without significance.
The world around us opens before our view so magnificent a
spectacle of order, variety, beauty, and conformity to ends, that whether we
pursue our observations into the infinity of space in the one direction, or into
its illimitable divisions in the other, whether we regard the world in its
greatest or its least manifestations- even after we have attained to the highest
summit of knowledge which our weak minds can reach, we find that language in the
presence of wonders so inconceivable has lost its force, and number its power to
reckon, nay, even thought fails to conceive adequately, and our conception of
the whole dissolves into an astonishment without power of expression—all the
more eloquent that it is dumb. Everywhere around us we observe a chain of causes
and effects, of means and ends, of death and birth; and, as nothing has entered
of itself into the condition in which we find it, we are constantly referred to
some other thing, which itself suggests the same inquiry regarding its cause,
and thus the universe must sink into the abyss of nothingness, unless we admit
that, besides this infinite chain of contingencies, there exists something that
is primal and self-subsistent—something which, as the cause of this phenomenal
world, secures its continuance and preservation.
This highest cause—what magnitude shall we attribute to it? Of
the content of the world we are ignorant; still less can we estimate its
magnitude by comparison with the sphere of the possible. But this supreme cause
being a necessity of the human mind, what is there to prevent us from
attributing to it such a degree of perfection as to place it above the sphere of
all that is possible? This we can easily do, although only by the aid of the
faint outline of an abstract conception, by representing this being to ourselves
as containing in itself, as an individual substance, all possible perfection—a
conception which satisfies that requirement of reason which demands parsimony in
principles, which is free from self-contradiction, which even contributes to the
extension of the employment of reason in experience, by means of the guidance
afforded by this idea to order and system, and which in no respect conflicts
with any law of experience.
This argument always deserves to be mentioned with respect. It
is the oldest, the clearest, and that most in conformity with the common reason
of humanity. It animates the study of nature, as it itself derives its existence
and draws ever new strength from that source. It introduces aims and ends into a
sphere in which our observation could not of itself have discovered them, and
extends our knowledge of nature, by directing our attention to a unity, the
principle of which lies beyond nature. This knowledge of nature again reacts
upon this idea—its cause; and thus our belief in a divine author of the universe
rises to the power of an irresistible conviction.
For these reasons it would be utterly hopeless to attempt to rob
this argument of the authority it has always enjoyed. The mind, unceasingly
elevated by these considerations, which, although empirical, are so remarkably
powerful, and continually adding to their force, will not suffer itself to be
depressed by the doubts suggested by subtle speculation; it tears itself out of
this state of uncertainty, the moment it casts a look upon the wondrous forms of
nature and the majesty of the universe, and rises from height to height, from
condition to condition, till it has elevated itself to the supreme and
unconditioned author of all.
But although we have nothing to object to the reasonableness and
utility of this procedure, but have rather to commend and encourage it, we
cannot approve of the claims which this argument advances to demonstrative
certainty and to a reception upon its own merits, apart from favour or support
by other arguments. Nor can it injure the cause of morality to endeavour to
lower the tone of the arrogant sophist, and to teach him that modesty and
moderation which are the properties of a belief that brings calm and content
into the mind, without prescribing to it an unworthy subjection. I maintain,
then, that the physico-theological argument is insufficient of itself to prove
the existence of a Supreme Being, that it must entrust this to the ontological
argument—to which it serves merely as an introduction, and that, consequently,
this argument contains the only possible ground of proof (possessed by
speculative reason) for the existence of this being.
The chief momenta in the physico-theological argument are as
follow: 1. We observe in the world manifest signs of an arrangement full of
purpose, executed with great wisdom, and argument in whole of a content
indescribably various, and of an extent without limits. 2. This arrangement of
means and ends is entirely foreign to the things existing in the world—it
belongs to them merely as a contingent attribute; in other words, the nature of
different things could not of itself, whatever means were employed, harmoniously
tend towards certain purposes, were they not chosen and directed for these
purposes by a rational and disposing principle, in accordance with certain
fundamental ideas. 3. There exists, therefore, a sublime and wise cause (or
several), which is not merely a blind, all-powerful nature, producing the beings
and events which fill the world in unconscious fecundity, but a free and
intelligent cause of the world. 4. The unity of this cause may be inferred from
the unity of the reciprocal relation existing between the parts of the world, as
portions of an artistic edifice—an inference which all our observation favours,
and all principles of analogy support.
In the above argument, it is inferred from the analogy of
certain products of nature with those of human art, when it compels Nature to
bend herself to its purposes, as in the case of a house, a ship, or a watch,
that the same kind of causality—namely, understanding and will—resides in
nature. It is also declared that the internal possibility of this freely-acting
nature (which is the source of all art, and perhaps also of human reason) is
derivable from another and superhuman art—a conclusion which would perhaps be
found incapable of standing the test of subtle transcendental criticism. But to
neither of these opinions shall we at present object. We shall only remark that
it must be confessed that, if we are to discuss the subject of cause at all, we
cannot proceed more securely than with the guidance of the analogy subsisting
between nature and such products of design—these being the only products whose
causes and modes of organization are completely known to us. Reason would be
unable to satisfy her own requirements, if she passed from a causality which she
does know, to obscure and indemonstrable principles of explanation which she
does not know.
According to the physico-theological argument, the connection
and harmony existing in the world evidence the contingency of the form merely,
but not of the matter, that is, of the substance of the world. To establish the
truth of the latter opinion, it would be necessary to prove that all things
would be in themselves incapable of this harmony and order, unless they were,
even as regards their substance, the product of a supreme wisdom. But this would
require very different grounds of proof from those presented by the analogy with
human art. This proof can at most, therefore, demonstrate the existence of an
architect of the world, whose efforts are limited by the capabilities of the
material with which he works, but not of a creator of the world, to whom all
things are subject. Thus this argument is utterly insufficient for the task
before us—a demonstration of the existence of an all-sufficient being. If we
wish to prove the contingency of matter, we must have recourse to a
transcendental argument, which the physico-theological was constructed expressly
to avoid.
We infer, from the order and design visible in the universe, as
a disposition of a thoroughly contingent character, the existence of a cause
proportionate thereto. The conception of this cause must contain certain
determinate qualities, and it must therefore be regarded as the conception of a
being which possesses all power, wisdom, and so on, in one word, all
perfection—the conception, that is, of an all-sufficient being. For the
predicates of very great, astonishing, or immeasurable power and excellence,
give us no determinate conception of the thing, nor do they inform us what the
thing may be in itself. They merely indicate the relation existing between the
magnitude of the object and the observer, who compares it with himself and with
his own power of comprehension, and are mere expressions of praise and
reverence, by which the object is either magnified, or the observing subject
depreciated in relation to the object. Where we have to do with the magnitude
(of the perfection) of a thing, we can discover no determinate conception,
except that which comprehends all possible perfection or completeness, and it is
only the total (omnitudo) of reality which is completely determined in and
through its conception alone.
Now it cannot be expected that any one will be bold enough to
declare that he has a perfect insight into the relation which the magnitude of
the world he contemplates bears (in its extent as well as in its content) to
omnipotence, into that of the order and design in the world to the highest
wisdom, and that of the unity of the world to the absolute unity of a Supreme
Being. Physico-theology is therefore incapable of presenting a determinate
conception of a supreme cause of the world, and is therefore insufficient as a
principle of theology—a theology which is itself to be the basis of religion.
The attainment of absolute totality is completely impossible on
the path of empiricism. And yet this is the path pursued in the
physico-theological argument. What means shall we employ to bridge the abyss?
After elevating ourselves to admiration of the magnitude of the
power, wisdom, and other attributes of the author of the world, and finding we
can advance no further, we leave the argument on empirical grounds, and proceed
to infer the contingency of the world from the order and conformity to aims that
are observable in it. From this contingency we infer, by the help of
transcendental conceptions alone, the existence of something absolutely
necessary; and, still advancing, proceed from the conception of the absolute
necessity of the first cause to the completely determined or determining
conception thereof—the conception of an all-embracing reality. Thus the
physico-theological, failing in its undertaking, recurs in its embarrassment to
the cosmological argument; and, as this is merely the ontological argument in
disguise, it executes its design solely by the aid of pure reason, although it
at first professed to have no connection with this faculty and to base its
entire procedure upon experience alone.
The physico-theologians have therefore no reason to regard with
such contempt the transcendental mode of argument, and to look down upon it,
with the conceit of clear-sighted observers of nature, as the brain-cobweb of
obscure speculatists. For, if they reflect upon and examine their own arguments,
they will find that, after following for some time the path of nature and
experience, and discovering themselves no nearer their object, they suddenly
leave this path and pass into the region of pure possibility, where they hope to
reach upon the wings of ideas what had eluded all their empirical
investigations. Gaining, as they think, a firm footing after this immense leap,
they extend their determinate conception—into the possession of which they have
come, they know not how—over the whole sphere of creation, and explain their
ideal, which is entirely a product of pure reason, by illustrations drawn from
experience—though in a degree miserably unworthy of the grandeur of the object,
while they refuse to acknowledge that they have arrived at this cognition or
hypothesis by a very different road from that of experience.
Thus the physico-theological is based upon the cosmological, and
this upon the ontological proof of the existence of a Supreme Being; and as
besides these three there is no other path open to speculative reason, the
ontological proof, on the ground of pure conceptions of reason, is the only
possible one, if any proof of a proposition so far transcending the empirical
exercise of the understanding is possible at all.
SECTION VII. Critique of all Theology
based upon Speculative Principles of Reason.
If by the term theology I understand the cognition of a primal
being, that cognition is based either upon reason alone (theologia rationalis)
or upon revelation (theologia revelata). The former cogitates its object either
by means of pure transcendental conceptions, as an ens originarium, realissimum,
ens entium, and is termed transcendental theology; or, by means of a conception
derived from the nature of our own mind, as a supreme intelligence, and must
then be entitled natural theology. The person who believes in a transcendental
theology alone, is termed a deist; he who acknowledges the possibility of a
natural theology also, a theist. The former admits that we can cognize by pure
reason alone the existence of a Supreme Being, but at the same time maintains
that our conception of this being is purely transcendental, and that all we can
say of it is that it possesses all reality, without being able to define it more
closely. The second asserts that reason is capable of presenting us, from the
analogy with nature, with a more definite conception of this being, and that its
operations, as the cause of all things, are the results of intelligence and free
will. The former regards the Supreme Being as the cause of the world—whether by
the necessity of his nature, or as a free agent, is left undetermined; the
latter considers this being as the author of the world.
Transcendental theology aims either at inferring the existence
of a Supreme Being from a general experience, without any closer reference to
the world to which this experience belongs, and in this case it is called
cosmotheology; or it endeavours to cognize the existence of such a being,
through mere conceptions, without the aid of experience, and is then termed
ontotheology.
Natural theology infers the attributes and the existence of an
author of the world, from the constitution of, the order and unity observable
in, the world, in which two modes of causality must be admitted to exist—those
of nature and freedom. Thus it rises from this world to a supreme intelligence,
either as the principle of all natural, or of all moral order and perfection. In
the former case it is termed physico-theology, in the latter, ethical or
moral-theology.*
[*Footnote: Not theological ethics; for this science contains
ethical laws, which presuppose the existence of a Supreme Governor of the world;
while moral-theology, on the contrary, is the expression of a conviction of the
existence of a Supreme Being, founded upon ethical laws.]
As we are wont to understand by the term God not merely an
eternal nature, the operations of which are insensate and blind, but a Supreme
Being, who is the free and intelligent author of all things, and as it is this
latter view alone that can be of interest to humanity, we might, in strict
rigour, deny to the deist any belief in God at all, and regard him merely as a
maintainer of the existence of a primal being or thing—the supreme cause of all
other things. But, as no one ought to be blamed, merely because he does not feel
himself justified in maintaining a certain opinion, as if he altogether denied
its truth and asserted the opposite, it is more correct—as it is less harsh—to
say, the deist believes in a God, the theist in a living God (summa
intelligentia). We shall now proceed to investigate the sources of all these
attempts of reason to establish the existence of a Supreme Being.
It may be sufficient in this place to define theoretical
knowledge or cognition as knowledge of that which is, and practical knowledge as
knowledge of that which ought to be. In this view, the theoretical employment of
reason is that by which I cognize a priori (as necessary) that something is,
while the practical is that by which I cognize a priori what ought to happen.
Now, if it is an indubitably certain, though at the same time an entirely
conditioned truth, that something is, or ought to happen, either a certain
determinate condition of this truth is absolutely necessary, or such a condition
may be arbitrarily presupposed. In the former case the condition is postulated
(per thesin), in the latter supposed (per hypothesin). There are certain
practical laws—those of morality—which are absolutely necessary. Now, if these
laws necessarily presuppose the existence of some being, as the condition of the
possibility of their obligatory power, this being must be postulated, because
the conditioned, from which we reason to this determinate condition, is itself
cognized a priori as absolutely necessary. We shall at some future time show
that the moral laws not merely presuppose the existence of a Supreme Being, but
also, as themselves absolutely necessary in a different relation, demand or
postulate it—although only from a practical point of view. The discussion of
this argument we postpone for the present.
When the question relates merely to that which is, not to that
which ought to be, the conditioned which is presented in experience is always
cogitated as contingent. For this reason its condition cannot be regarded as
absolutely necessary, but merely as relatively necessary, or rather as needful;
the condition is in itself and a priori a mere arbitrary presupposition in aid
of the cognition, by reason, of the conditioned. If, then, we are to possess a
theoretical cognition of the absolute necessity of a thing, we cannot attain to
this cognition otherwise than a priori by means of conceptions; while it is
impossible in this way to cognize the existence of a cause which bears any
relation to an existence given in experience.
Theoretical cognition is speculative when it relates to an
object or certain conceptions of an object which is not given and cannot be
discovered by means of experience. It is opposed to the cognition of nature,
which concerns only those objects or predicates which can be presented in a
possible experience.
The principle that everything which happens (the empirically
contingent) must have a cause, is a principle of the cognition of nature, but
not of speculative cognition. For, if we change it into an abstract principle,
and deprive it of its reference to experience and the empirical, we shall find
that it cannot with justice be regarded any longer as a synthetical proposition,
and that it is impossible to discover any mode of transition from that which
exists to something entirely different—termed cause. Nay, more, the conception
of a cause likewise that of the contingent—loses, in this speculative mode of
employing it, all significance, for its objective reality and meaning are
comprehensible from experience alone.
When from the existence of the universe and the things in it the
existence of a cause of the universe is inferred, reason is proceeding not in
the natural, but in the speculative method. For the principle of the former
enounces, not that things themselves or substances, but only that which happens
or their states—as empirically contingent, have a cause: the assertion that the
existence of substance itself is contingent is not justified by experience, it
is the assertion of a reason employing its principles in a speculative manner.
If, again, I infer from the form of the universe, from the way in which all
things are connected and act and react upon each other, the existence of a cause
entirely distinct from the universe—this would again be a judgement of purely
speculative reason; because the object in this case—the cause—can never be an
object of possible experience. In both these cases the principle of causality,
which is valid only in the field of experience—useless and even meaningless
beyond this region, would be diverted from its proper destination.
Now I maintain that all attempts of reason to establish a
theology by the aid of speculation alone are fruitless, that the principles of
reason as applied to nature do not conduct us to any theological truths, and,
consequently, that a rational theology can have no existence, unless it is
founded upon the laws of morality. For all synthetical principles of the
understanding are valid only as immanent in experience; while the cognition of a
Supreme Being necessitates their being employed transcendentally, and of this
the understanding is quite incapable. If the empirical law of causality is to
conduct us to a Supreme Being, this being must belong to the chain of empirical
objects—in which case it would be, like all phenomena, itself conditioned. If
the possibility of passing the limits of experience be admitted, by means of the
dynamical law of the relation of an effect to its cause, what kind of conception
shall we obtain by this procedure? Certainly not the conception of a Supreme
Being, because experience never presents us with the greatest of all possible
effects, and it is only an effect of this character that could witness to the
existence of a corresponding cause. If, for the purpose of fully satisfying the
requirements of Reason, we recognize her right to assert the existence of a
perfect and absolutely necessary being, this can be admitted only from favour,
and cannot be regarded as the result or irresistible demonstration. The
physico-theological proof may add weight to others—if other proofs there are—by
connecting speculation with experience; but in itself it rather prepares the
mind for theological cognition, and gives it a right and natural direction, than
establishes a sure foundation for theology.
It is now perfectly evident that transcendental questions admit
only of transcendental answers—those presented a priori by pure conceptions
without the least empirical admixture. But the question in the present case is
evidently synthetical—it aims at the extension of our cognition beyond the
bounds of experience—it requires an assurance respecting the existence of a
being corresponding with the idea in our minds, to which no experience can ever
be adequate. Now it has been abundantly proved that all a priori synthetical
cognition is possible only as the expression of the formal conditions of a
possible experience; and that the validity of all principles depends upon their
immanence in the field of experience, that is, their relation to objects of
empirical cognition or phenomena. Thus all transcendental procedure in reference
to speculative theology is without result.
If any one prefers doubting the conclusiveness of the proofs of
our analytic to losing the persuasion of the validity of these old and time
honoured arguments, he at least cannot decline answering the question—how he can
pass the limits of all possible experience by the help of mere ideas. If he
talks of new arguments, or of improvements upon old arguments, I request him to
spare me. There is certainly no great choice in this sphere of discussion, as
all speculative arguments must at last look for support to the ontological, and
I have, therefore, very little to fear from the argumentative fecundity of the
dogmatical defenders of a non-sensuous reason. Without looking upon myself as a
remarkably combative person, I shall not decline the challenge to detect the
fallacy and destroy the pretensions of every attempt of speculative theology.
And yet the hope of better fortune never deserts those who are accustomed to the
dogmatical mode of procedure. I shall, therefore, restrict myself to the simple
and equitable demand that such reasoners will demonstrate, from the nature of
the human mind as well as from that of the other sources of knowledge, how we
are to proceed to extend our cognition completely a priori, and to carry it to
that point where experience abandons us, and no means exist of guaranteeing the
objective reality of our conceptions. In whatever way the understanding may have
attained to a conception, the existence of the object of the conception cannot
be discovered in it by analysis, because the cognition of the existence of the
object depends upon the object's being posited and given in itself apart from
the conception. But it is utterly impossible to go beyond our conception,
without the aid of experience—which presents to the mind nothing but phenomena,
or to attain by the help of mere conceptions to a conviction of the existence of
new kinds of objects or supernatural beings.
But although pure speculative reason is far from sufficient to
demonstrate the existence of a Supreme Being, it is of the highest utility in
correcting our conception of this being—on the supposition that we can attain to
the cognition of it by some other means—in making it consistent with itself and
with all other conceptions of intelligible objects, clearing it from all that is
incompatible with the conception of an ens summun, and eliminating from it all
limitations or admixtures of empirical elements.
Transcendental theology is still therefore, notwithstanding its
objective insufficiency, of importance in a negative respect; it is useful as a
test of the procedure of reason when engaged with pure ideas, no other than a
transcendental standard being in this case admissible. For if, from a practical
point of view, the hypothesis of a Supreme and All-sufficient Being is to
maintain its validity without opposition, it must be of the highest importance
to define this conception in a correct and rigorous manner—as the transcendental
conception of a necessary being, to eliminate all phenomenal elements
(anthropomorphism in its most extended signification), and at the same time to
overflow all contradictory assertions—be they atheistic, deistic, or
anthropomorphic. This is of course very easy; as the same arguments which
demonstrated the inability of human reason to affirm the existence of a Supreme
Being must be alike sufficient to prove the invalidity of its denial. For it is
impossible to gain from the pure speculation of reason demonstration that there
exists no Supreme Being, as the ground of all that exists, or that this being
possesses none of those properties which we regard as analogical with the
dynamical qualities of a thinking being, or that, as the anthropomorphists would
have us believe, it is subject to all the limitations which sensibility imposes
upon those intelligences which exist in the world of experience.
A Supreme Being is, therefore, for the speculative reason, a
mere ideal, though a faultless one—a conception which perfects and crowns the
system of human cognition, but the objective reality of which can neither be
proved nor disproved by pure reason. If this defect is ever supplied by a moral
theology, the problematic transcendental theology which has preceded, will have
been at least serviceable as demonstrating the mental necessity existing for the
conception, by the complete determination of it which it has furnished, and the
ceaseless testing of the conclusions of a reason often deceived by sense, and
not always in harmony with its own ideas. The attributes of necessity,
infinitude, unity, existence apart from the world (and not as a world soul),
eternity (free from conditions of time), omnipresence (free from conditions of
space), omnipotence, and others, are pure transcendental predicates; and thus
the accurate conception of a Supreme Being, which every theology requires, is
furnished by transcendental theology alone.
APPENDIX.
Of the Regulative Employment of the Ideas of Pure Reason.
The result of all the dialectical attempts of pure reason not
only confirms the truth of what we have already proved in our Transcendental
Analytic, namely, that all inferences which would lead us beyond the limits of
experience are fallacious and groundless, but it at the same time teaches us
this important lesson, that human reason has a natural inclination to overstep
these limits, and that transcendental ideas are as much the natural property of
the reason as categories are of the understanding. There exists this difference,
however, that while the categories never mislead us, outward objects being
always in perfect harmony therewith, ideas are the parents of irresistible
illusions, the severest and most subtle criticism being required to save us from
the fallacies which they induce.
Whatever is grounded in the nature of our powers will be found
to be in harmony with the final purpose and proper employment of these powers,
when once we have discovered their true direction and aim. We are entitled to
suppose, therefore, that there exists a mode of employing transcendental ideas
which is proper and immanent; although, when we mistake their meaning, and
regard them as conceptions of actual things, their mode of application is
transcendent and delusive. For it is not the idea itself, but only the
employment of the idea in relation to possible experience, that is transcendent
or immanent. An idea is employed transcendently, when it is applied to an object
falsely believed to be adequate with and to correspond to it; imminently, when
it is applied solely to the employment of the understanding in the sphere of
experience. Thus all errors of subreptio—of misapplication, are to be ascribed
to defects of judgement, and not to understanding or reason.
Reason never has an immediate relation to an object; it relates
immediately to the understanding alone. It is only through the understanding
that it can be employed in the field of experience. It does not form conceptions
of objects, it merely arranges them and gives to them that unity which they are
capable of possessing when the sphere of their application has been extended as
widely as possible. Reason avails itself of the conception of the understanding
for the sole purpose of producing totality in the different series. This
totality the understanding does not concern itself with; its only occupation is
the connection of experiences, by which series of conditions in accordance with
conceptions are established. The object of reason is, therefore, the
understanding and its proper destination. As the latter brings unity into the
diversity of objects by means of its conceptions, so the former brings unity
into the diversity of conceptions by means of ideas; as it sets the final aim of
a collective unity to the operations of the understanding, which without this
occupies itself with a distributive unity alone.
I accordingly maintain that transcendental ideas can never be
employed as constitutive ideas, that they cannot be conceptions of objects, and
that, when thus considered, they assume a fallacious and dialectical character.
But, on the other hand, they are capable of an admirable and indispensably
necessary application to objects—as regulative ideas, directing the
understanding to a certain aim, the guiding lines towards which all its laws
follow, and in which they all meet in one point. This point—though a mere idea
(focus imaginarius), that is, not a point from which the conceptions of the
understanding do really proceed, for it lies beyond the sphere of possible
experience—serves, notwithstanding, to give to these conceptions the greatest
possible unity combined with the greatest possible extension. Hence arises the
natural illusion which induces us to believe that these lines proceed from an
object which lies out of the sphere of empirical cognition, just as objects
reflected in a mirror appear to be behind it. But this illusion—which we may
hinder from imposing upon us—is necessary and unavoidable, if we desire to see,
not only those objects which lie before us, but those which are at a great
distance behind us; that is to say, when, in the present case, we direct the
aims of the understanding, beyond every given experience, towards an extension
as great as can possibly be attained.
If we review our cognitions in their entire extent, we shall
find that the peculiar business of reason is to arrange them into a system, that
is to say, to give them connection according to a principle. This unity
presupposes an idea—the idea of the form of a whole (of cognition), preceding
the determinate cognition of the parts, and containing the conditions which
determine a priori to every part its place and relation to the other parts of
the whole system. This idea, accordingly, demands complete unity in the
cognition of the understanding—not the unity of a contingent aggregate, but that
of a system connected according to necessary laws. It cannot be affirmed with
propriety that this idea is a conception of an object; it is merely a conception
of the complete unity of the conceptions of objects, in so far as this unity is
available to the understanding as a rule. Such conceptions of reason are not
derived from nature; on the contrary, we employ them for the interrogation and
investigation of nature, and regard our cognition as defective so long as it is
not adequate to them. We admit that such a thing as pure earth, pure water, or
pure air, is not to be discovered. And yet we require these conceptions (which
have their origin in the reason, so far as regards their absolute purity and
completeness) for the purpose of determining the share which each of these
natural causes has in every phenomenon. Thus the different kinds of matter are
all referred to earths, as mere weight; to salts and inflammable bodies, as pure
force; and finally, to water and air, as the vehicula of the former, or the
machines employed by them in their operations—for the purpose of explaining the
chemical action and reaction of bodies in accordance with the idea of a
mechanism. For, although not actually so expressed, the influence of such ideas
of reason is very observable in the procedure of natural philosophers.
If reason is the faculty of deducing the particular from the
general, and if the general be certain in se and given, it is only necessary
that the judgement should subsume the particular under the general, the
particular being thus necessarily determined. I shall term this the
demonstrative or apodeictic employment of reason. If, however, the general is
admitted as problematical only, and is a mere idea, the particular case is
certain, but the universality of the rule which applies to this particular case
remains a problem. Several particular cases, the certainty of which is beyond
doubt, are then taken and examined, for the purpose of discovering whether the
rule is applicable to them; and if it appears that all the particular cases
which can be collected follow from the rule, its universality is inferred, and
at the same time, all the caus
