theory; for it is so simple and comprehensible that it does not require
them, and everything ludicrous which the reader may remember is equally
valuable as a proof of it. But the theory is confirmed and illustrated by
distinguishing two species into which the ludicrous is divided, and which
result from the theory. Either, we have previously known two or more very
different real objects, ideas of sense-perception, and have intentionally
identified them through the unity of a concept which comprehends them
both; this species of the ludicrous is called _wit_. Or, conversely, the
concept is first present in knowledge, and we pass from it to reality, and
to operation upon it, to action: objects which in other respects are
fundamentally different, but which are all thought in that one concept,
are now regarded and treated in the same way, till, to the surprise and
astonishment of the person acting, the great difference of their other
aspects appears: this species of the ludicrous is called _folly_.
Therefore everything ludicrous is either a flash of wit or a foolish
action, according as the procedure has been from the discrepancy of the
objects to the identity of the concept, or the converse; the former always
intentional, the latter always unintentional, and from without. To seem to
reverse the starting-point, and to conceal wit with the mask of folly, is
the art of the jester and the clown. Being quite aware of the diversity of
the objects, the jester unites them, with secret wit, under one concept,
and then starting from this concept he receives from the subsequently
discovered diversity of the objects the surprise which he himself
prepared. It follows from this short but sufficient theory of the
ludicrous, that, if we set aside the last case, that of the jester, wit
must always show itself in words, folly generally in actions, though also
in words, when it only expresses an intention and does not actually carry
it out, or when it shows itself merely in judgments and opinions.
_Pedantry_ is a form of folly. It arises in this way: a man lacks
confidence in his own understanding, and, therefore, does not wish to
trust to it, to recognise what is right directly in the particular case.
He, therefore, puts it entirely under the control of the reason, and seeks
to be guided by reason in everything; that is to say, he tries always to
proceed from general concepts, rules, and maxims, and to confine himself
strictly to them in life, in art, and even in moral conduct. Hence that
clinging to the form, to the manner, to the expression and word which is
characteristic of pedantry, and which with it takes the place of the real
nature of the matter. The incongruity then between the concept and reality
soon shows itself here, and it becomes evident that the former never
condescends to the particular case, and that with its generality and rigid
definiteness it can never accurately apply to the fine distinctions of
difference and innumerable modifications of the actual. Therefore, the
pedant, with his general maxims, almost always misses the mark in life,
shows himself to be foolish, awkward, useless. In art, in which the
concept is unfruitful, he produces lifeless, stiff, abortive mannerisms.
Even with regard to ethics, the purpose to act rightly or nobly cannot
always be carried out in accordance with abstract maxims; for in many
cases the excessively nice distinctions in the nature of the circumstances
necessitate a choice of the right proceeding directly from the character;
for the application of mere abstract maxims sometimes gives false results,
because the maxims only half apply; and sometimes cannot be carried out,
because they are foreign to the individual character of the actor, and
this never allows itself to be entirely discovered; therefore,
inconsistencies arise. Since then Kant makes it a condition of the moral
worth of an action, that it shall proceed from pure rational abstract
maxims, without any inclination or momentary emotion, we cannot entirely
absolve him from the reproach of encouraging moral pedantry. This reproach
is the significance of Schiller’s epigram, entitled “Scruples of
Conscience.” When we speak, especially in connection with politics, of
doctrinaires, theorists, savants, and so forth, we mean pedants, that is,
persons who know the things well in the abstract, but not in the concrete.
Abstraction consists in thinking away the less general predicates; but it
is precisely upon these that so much depends in practice.
To complete our theory it remains for us to mention a spurious kind of
wit, the play upon words, the _calembourg_, the pun, to which may be added
the equivocation, the _double entendre_, the chief use of which is the
expression of what is obscene. Just as the witticism brings two very
different real objects under one concept, the pun brings two different
concepts, by the assistance of accident, under one word. The same contrast
appears, only familiar and more superficial, because it does not spring
from the nature of things, but merely from the accident of nomenclature.
In the case of the witticism the identity is in the concept, the
difference in the reality, but in the case of the pun the difference is in
the concepts and the identity in the reality, for the terminology is here
the reality. It would only be a somewhat far-fetched comparison if we were
to say that the pun is related to the witticism as the parabola (_sic_) of
the upper inverted cone to that of the lower. The misunderstanding of the
word or the _quid pro quo_ is the unintentional pun, and is related to it
exactly as folly is to wit. Thus the deaf man often affords occasion for
laughter, just as much as the fool, and inferior writers of comedy often
use the former for the latter to raise a laugh.
I have treated laughter here only from the psychical side; with regard to
the physical side, I refer to what is said on the subject in the
“Parerga,” vol. II. ch. vi., § 98.(18)
§ 14. By means of these various discussions it is hoped that both the
difference and the relation between the process of knowledge that belongs
to the reason, rational knowledge, the concept on the one hand, and the
direct knowledge in purely sensuous, mathematical intuition or perception,
and apprehension by the understanding on the other hand, has been clearly
brought out. This remarkable relation of our kinds of knowledge led us
almost inevitably to give, in passing, explanations of feeling and of
laughter, but from all this we now turn back to the further consideration
of science as the third great benefit which reason confers on man, the
other two being speech and deliberate action. The general discussion of
science which now devolves upon us, will be concerned partly with its
form, partly with the foundation of its judgments, and lastly with its
content.
We have seen that, with the exception of the basis of pure logic, rational
knowledge in general has not its source in the reason itself; but having
been otherwise obtained as knowledge of perception, it is stored up in the
reason, for through reason it has entirely changed its character, and has
become abstract knowledge. All rational knowledge, that is, knowledge that
has been raised to consciousness in the abstract, is related to science
strictly so called, as a fragment to the whole. Every one has gained a
rational knowledge of many different things through experience, through
consideration of the individual objects presented to him, but only he who
sets himself the task of acquiring a complete knowledge in the abstract of
a particular class of objects, strives after science. This class can only
be marked off by means of a concept; therefore, at the beginning of every
science there stands a concept, and by means of it the class of objects
concerning which this science promises a complete knowledge in the
abstract, is separated in thought from the whole world of things. For
example, the concept of space-relations, or of the action of unorganised
bodies upon each other, or of the nature of plants, or of animals, or of
the successive changes of the surface of the globe, or of the changes of
the human race as a whole, or of the construction of a language, and so
forth. If science sought to obtain the knowledge of its object, by
investigating each individual thing that is thought through the concept,
till by degrees it had learned the whole, no human memory would be equal
to the task, and no certainty of completeness would be obtainable.
Therefore, it makes use of that property of concept-spheres explained
above, that they include each other, and it concerns itself mainly with
the wider spheres which lie within the concept of its object in general.
When the relations of these spheres to each other have been determined,
all that is thought in them is also generally determined, and can now be
more and more accurately determined by the separation of smaller and
smaller concept-spheres. In this way it is possible for a science to
comprehend its object completely. This path which it follows to knowledge,
the path from the general to the particular, distinguishes it from
ordinary rational knowledge; therefore, systematic form is an essential
and characteristic feature of science. The combination of the most general
concept-spheres of every science, that is, the knowledge of its first
principles, is the indispensable condition of mastering it; how far we
advance from these to the more special propositions is a matter of choice,
and does not increase the thoroughness but only the extent of our
knowledge of the science. The number of the first principles to which all
the rest are subordinated, varies greatly in the different sciences, so
that in some there is more subordination, in others more co-ordination;
and in this respect, the former make greater claims upon the judgment, the
latter upon the memory. It was known to the schoolmen,(19) that, as the
syllogism requires two premises, no science can proceed from a single
first principle which cannot be the subject of further deduction, but must
have several, at least two. The specially classifying sciences: Zoology,
Botany, and also Physics and Chemistry, inasmuch as they refer all
inorganic action to a few fundamental forces, have most subordination;
history, on the other hand, has really none at all; for the general in it
consists merely in the survey of the principal periods, from which,
however, the particular events cannot be deduced, and are only
subordinated to them according to time, but according to the concept are
co-ordinate with them. Therefore, history, strictly speaking, is certainly
rational knowledge, but is not science. In mathematics, according to
Euclid’s treatment, the axioms alone are indemonstrable first principles,
and all demonstrations are in gradation strictly subordinated to them. But
this method of treatment is not essential to mathematics, and in fact each
proposition introduces quite a new space construction, which in itself is
independent of those which precede it, and indeed can be completely
comprehended from itself, quite independently of them, in the pure
intuition or perception of space, in which the most complicated
construction is just as directly evident as the axiom; but of this more
fully hereafter. Meanwhile every mathematical proposition remains always a
universal truth, which is valid for innumerable particular cases; and a
graduated process from the simple to the complicated propositions which
are to be deduced from them, is also essential to mathematics; therefore,
in every respect mathematics is a science. The completeness of a science
as such, that is, in respect of form, consists in there being as much
subordination and as little co-ordination of the principles as possible.
Scientific talent in general is, therefore, the faculty of subordinating
the concept-spheres according to their different determinations, so that,
as Plato repeatedly counsels, a science shall not be constituted by a
general concept and an indefinite multiplicity immediately under it, but
that knowledge shall descend by degrees from the general to the
particular, through intermediate concepts and divisions, according to
closer and closer definitions. In Kantian language this is called
satisfying equally the law of homogeneity and that of specification. It
arises from this peculiar nature of scientific completeness, that the aim
of science is not greater certainty—for certainty may be possessed in just
as high a degree by the most disconnected particular knowledge—but its aim
is rather the facilitating of rational knowledge by means of its form, and
the possibility of the completeness of rational knowledge which this form
affords. It is therefore a very prevalent but perverted opinion that the
scientific character of knowledge consists in its greater certainty, and
just as false is the conclusion following from this, that, strictly
speaking, the only sciences are mathematics and logic, because only in
them, on account of their purely _a priori_ character, is there
unassailable certainty of knowledge. This advantage cannot be denied them,
but it gives them no special claim to be regarded as sciences; for the
special characteristic of science does not lie in certainty but in the
systematic form of knowledge, based on the gradual descent from the
general to the particular. The process of knowledge from the general to
the particular, which is peculiar to the sciences, involves the necessity
that in the sciences much should be established by deduction from
preceding propositions, that is to say, by demonstration; and this has
given rise to the old mistake that only what has been demonstrated is
absolutely true, and that every truth requires a demonstration; whereas,
on the contrary, every demonstration requires an undemonstrated truth,
which ultimately supports it, or it may be, its own demonstration.
Therefore a directly established truth is as much to be preferred to a
truth established by demonstration as water from the spring is to water
from the aqueduct. Perception, partly pure _a priori_, as it forms the
basis of mathematics, partly empirical _a posteriori_, as it forms the
basis of all the other sciences, is the source of all truth and the
foundation of all science. (Logic alone is to be excepted, which is not
founded upon perception but yet upon _direct_ knowledge by the reason of
its own laws.) Not the demonstrated judgments nor their demonstrations,
but judgments which are created directly out of perception, and founded
upon it rather than on any demonstrations, are to science what the sun is
to the world; for all light proceeds from them, and lighted by their light
the others give light also. To establish the truth of such primary
judgments directly from perception, to raise such strongholds of science
from the innumerable multitude of real objects, that is the work of the
_faculty of judgment_, which consists in the power of rightly and
accurately carrying over into abstract consciousness what is known in
perception, and judgment is consequently the mediator between
understanding and reason. Only extraordinary and exceptional strength of
judgment in the individual can actually advance science; but every one who
is possessed of a healthy reason is able to deduce propositions from
propositions, to demonstrate, to draw conclusions. To lay down and make
permanent for reflection, in suitable concepts, what is known through
perception, so that, on the one hand, what is common to many real objects
is thought through _one_ concept, and, on the other hand, their points of
difference are each thought through one concept, so that the different
shall be known and thought as different in spite of a partial agreement,
and the identical shall be known and thought as identical in spite of a
partial difference, all in accordance with the end and intention which in
each case is in view; all this is done by the _faculty of judgment_.
Deficiency in judgment is _silliness_. The silly man fails to grasp, now
the partial or relative difference of concepts which in one aspect are
identical, now the identity of concepts which are relatively or partially
different. To this explanation of the faculty of judgment, moreover,
Kant’s division of it into reflecting and subsuming judgment may be
applied, according as it passes from the perceived objects to the
concepts, or from the latter to the former; in both cases always mediating
between empirical knowledge of the understanding and the reflective
knowledge of the reason. There can be no truth which could be brought out
by means of syllogisms alone; and the necessity of establishing truth by
means of syllogisms is merely relative, indeed subjective. Since all
demonstration is syllogistic, in the case of a new truth we must first
seek, not for a demonstration, but for direct evidence, and only in the
absence of such evidence is a demonstration to be temporarily made use of.
No science is susceptible of demonstration throughout any more than a
building can stand in the air; all its demonstrations must ultimately rest
upon what is perceived, and consequently cannot be demonstrated, for the
whole world of reflection rests upon and is rooted in the world of
perception. All primal, that is, original, _evidence_ is a _perception_,
as the word itself indicates. Therefore it is either empirical or founded
upon the perception _a priori_ of the conditions of possible experience.
In both cases it affords only immanent, not transcendent knowledge. Every
concept has its worth and its existence only in its relation, sometimes
very indirect, to an idea of perception; what is true of the concepts is
also true of the judgments constructed out of them, and of all science.
Therefore it must in some way be possible to know directly without
demonstrations or syllogisms every truth that is arrived at through
syllogisms and communicated by demonstrations. This is most difficult in
the case of certain complicated mathematical propositions at which we only
arrive by chains of syllogisms; for example, the calculation of the chords
and tangents to all arcs by deduction from the proposition of Pythagoras.
But even such a truth as this cannot essentially and solely rest upon
abstract principles, and the space-relations which lie at its foundation
also must be capable of being so presented _a priori_ in pure intuition or
perception that the truth of their abstract expression is directly
established. But of mathematical demonstration we shall speak more fully
shortly.
It is true we often hear men speak in a lofty strain of sciences which
rest entirely upon correct conclusions drawn from sure premises, and which
are consequently unassailable. But through pure logical reasoning, however
true the premises may be, we shall never receive more than an articulate
expression and exposition of what lies already complete in the premises;
thus we shall only _explicitly_ expound what was already _implicitly_
understood. The esteemed sciences referred to are, however, specially the
mathematical sciences, particularly astronomy. But the certainty of
astronomy arises from the fact that it has for its basis the intuition or
perception of space, which is given _a priori_, and is therefore
infallible. All space-relations, however, follow from each other with a
necessity (ground of being) which affords _a priori_ certainty, and they
can therefore be safely deduced from each other. To these mathematical
properties we have only to add one force of nature, gravity, which acts
precisely in relation to the masses and the square of the distance; and,
lastly, the law of inertia, which follows from the law of causality and is
therefore true _a priori_, and with it the empirical datum of the motion
impressed, once for all, upon each of these masses. This is the whole
material of astronomy, which both by its simplicity and its certainty
leads to definite results, which are highly interesting on account of the
vastness and importance of the objects. For example, if I know the mass of
a planet and the distance of its satellite from it, I can tell with
certainty the period of the revolution of the latter according to Kepler’s
second law. But the ground of this law is, that with this distance only
this velocity will both chain the satellite to the planet and prevent it
from falling into it. Thus it is only upon such a geometrical basis, that
is, by means of an intuition or perception _a priori_, and also under the
application of a law of nature, that much can be arrived at by means of
syllogisms, for here they are merely like bridges from _one_ sensuous
apprehension to others; but it is not so with mere pure syllogistic
reasoning in the exclusively logical method. The source of the first
fundamental truths of astronomy is, however, properly induction, that is,
the comprehension of what is given in many perceptions in one true and
directly founded judgment. From this, hypotheses are afterwards
constructed, and their confirmation by experience, as induction
approaching to completeness, affords the proof of the first judgment. For
example, the apparent motion of the planets is known empirically; after
many false hypotheses with regard to the spacial connection of this motion
(planetary course) the right one was at last found, then the laws which it
obeyed (the laws of Kepler), and, lastly, the cause of these laws
(universal gravitation), and the empirically known agreement of all
observed cases with the whole of the hypotheses, and with their
consequences, that is to say, induction, established them with complete
certainty. The invention of the hypotheses was the work of the judgment,
which rightly comprehended the given facts and expressed them accordingly;
but induction, that is, a multitude of perceptions, confirmed their truth.
But their truth could also be known directly, and by a single empirical
perception, if we could pass freely through space and had telescopic eyes.
Therefore, here also syllogisms are not the essential and only source of
knowledge, but really only a makeshift.
As a third example taken from a different sphere we may mention that the
so-called metaphysical truths, that is, such truths as those to which Kant
assigns the position of the metaphysical first principles of natural
science, do not owe their evidence to demonstration. What is _a priori_
certain we know directly; as the form of all knowledge, it is known to us
with the most complete necessity. For example, that matter is permanent,
that is, can neither come into being nor pass away, we know directly as
negative truth; for our pure intuition or perception of space and time
gives the possibility of motion; in the law of causality the understanding
affords us the possibility of change of form and quality, but we lack
powers of the imagination for conceiving the coming into being or passing
away of matter. Therefore that truth has at all times been evident to all
men everywhere, nor has it ever been seriously doubted; and this could not
be the case if it had no other ground of knowledge than the abstruse and
exceedingly subtle proof of Kant. But besides this, I have found Kant’s
proof to be false (as is explained in the Appendix), and have shown above
that the permanence of matter is to be deduced, not from the share which
time has in the possibility of experience, but from the share which
belongs to space. The true foundation of all truths which in this sense
are called metaphysical, that is, abstract expressions of the necessary
and universal forms of knowledge, cannot itself lie in abstract
principles; but only in the immediate consciousness of the forms of the
idea communicating itself in apodictic assertions _a priori_, and fearing
no refutation. But if we yet desire to give a proof of them, it can only
consist in showing that what is to be proved is contained in some truth
about which there is no doubt, either as a part of it or as a
presupposition. Thus, for example, I have shown that all empirical
perception implies the application of the law of causality, the knowledge
of which is hence a condition of all experience, and therefore cannot be
first given and conditioned through experience as Hume thought.
Demonstrations in general are not so much for those who wish to learn as
for those who wish to dispute. Such persons stubbornly deny directly
established insight; now only the truth can be consistent in all
directions, and therefore we must show such persons that they admit under
_one_ form and indirectly, what they deny under another form and directly;
that is, the logically necessary connection between what is denied and
what is admitted.