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 à 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.[50]
[50] 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,[51] 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.
[51] 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.[52]
[52] 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.[53] 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.
[53] 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)[54] 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.
[54] 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 à 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 element, 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 à 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 Æsthetic. 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 à 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
à 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 à 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.[55]
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.
[55] 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 hand, 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[56]
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.
[56] 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.