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 à 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 à 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[57] and
Platonism.
[57] 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 à 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.