of the objectification of will, and we call every such grade an eternal
_Idea_ in Plato’s sense. But a _law of nature_ is the relation of the Idea
to the form of its manifestation. This form is time, space, and causality,
which are necessarily and inseparably connected and related to each other.
Through time and space the Idea multiplies itself in innumerable
phenomena, but the order according to which it enters these forms of
multiplicity is definitely determined by the law of causality; this law is
as it were the norm of the limit of these phenomena of different Ideas, in
accordance with which time, space, and matter are assigned to them. This
norm is therefore necessarily related to the identity of the aggregate of
existing matter, which is the common substratum of all those different
phenomena. If all these were not directed to that common matter in the
possession of which they must be divided, there would be no need for such
a law to decide their claims. They might all at once and together fill a
boundless space throughout an endless time. Therefore, because all these
phenomena of the eternal Ideas are directed to one and the same matter,
must there be a rule for their appearance and disappearance; for if there
were not, they would not make way for each other. Thus the law of
causality is essentially bound up with that of the permanence of
substance; they reciprocally derive significance from each other. Time and
space, again, are related to them in the same way. For time is merely the
possibility of conflicting states of the same matter, and space is merely
the possibility of the permanence of the same matter under all sorts of
conflicting states. Accordingly, in the preceding book we explained matter
as the union of space and time, and this union shows itself as change of
the accidents in the permanence of the substance, of which causality or
becoming is the universal possibility. And accordingly, we said that
matter is through and through causality. We explained the understanding as
the subjective correlative of causality, and said matter (and thus the
whole world as idea) exists only for the understanding; the understanding
is its condition, its supporter as its necessary correlative. I repeat all
this in passing, merely to call to mind what was demonstrated in the First
Book, for it is necessary for the complete understanding of these two
books that their inner agreement should be observed, since what is
inseparably united in the actual world as its two sides, will and idea,
has, in order that we might understand each of them more clearly in
isolation, been dissevered in these two books.
It may not perhaps be superfluous to elucidate further by an example how
the law of causality has meaning only in relation to time and space, and
the matter which consists in the union of the two. For it determines the
limits in accordance with which the phenomena of the forces of nature
divide themselves in the possession of matter, while the original forces
of nature, as the immediate objectification of will, which, as a thing in
itself, is not subordinated to the principle of sufficient reason, lie
outside these forms, within which alone all etiological explanation has
validity and meaning, and just on that account can never lead us to the
inner reality of nature. For this purpose let us think of some kind of
machine constructed according to the laws of mechanics. Iron weights begin
the motion by their gravity; copper wheels resist by their rigidity,
affect and raise each other and the lever by their impenetrability, and so
on. Here gravity, rigidity, and impenetrability are original unexplained
forces; mechanics only gives us the condition under which, and the manner
in which, they manifest themselves, appear, and govern a definite matter,
time, and place. If, now, a strong magnet is made to attract the iron of
the weight, and overcome its gravity, the movement of the machine stops,
and the matter becomes forthwith the scene of quite a different force of
nature—magnetism, of which etiology again gives no further explanation
than the condition under which it appears. Or let us suppose that the
copper discs of such a machine are laid upon zinc plates, and an acid
solution introduced between them. At once the same matter of the machine
has become subject to another original force, galvanism, which now governs
it according to its own laws, and reveals itself in it through its
phenomena; and etiology can again tell us nothing about this force except
the conditions under which, and the laws in accordance with which, it
manifests itself. Let us now raise the temperature and add pure acid; the
whole machine burns; that is to say, once more an entirely different force
of nature, chemical energy, asserts at this time and in this place
irresistible claims to this particular matter, and reveals itself in it as
Idea, as a definite grade of the objectification of will. The calcined
metal thus produced now unites with an acid, and a salt is obtained which
forms itself into crystals. These are the phenomena of another Idea, which
in itself is again quite inexplicable, while the appearance of its
phenomena is dependent upon certain conditions which etiology can give us.
The crystals dissolve, mix with other materials, and vegetation springs up
from them—a new phenomenon of will: and so the same permanent matter may
be followed _ad infinitum_, to observe how now this and now that natural
force obtains a right to it and temporarily takes possession of it, in
order to appear and reveal its own nature. The condition of this right,
the point of time and space at which it becomes valid, is given by
causality, but the explanation founded upon this law only extends thus
far. The force itself is a manifestation of will, and as such is not
subject to the forms of the principle of sufficient reason, that is, it is
groundless. It lies outside all time, is omnipresent, and seems as it were
to wait constantly till the circumstances occur under which it can appear
and take possession of a definite matter, supplanting the forces which
have reigned in it till then. All time exists only for the phenomena of
such a force, and is without significance for the force itself. Through
thousands of years chemical forces slumber in matter till the contact with
the reagents sets them free; then they appear; but time exists only for
the phenomena, not for the forces themselves. For thousands of years
galvanism slumbered in copper and zinc, and they lay quietly beside
silver, which must be consumed in flame as soon as all three are brought
together under the required conditions. Even in the organic kingdom we see
a dry seed preserve the slumbering force through three thousand years, and
when at last the favourable circumstances occur, grow up as a plant.(35)
If by this exposition the difference between a force of nature and all its
phenomena has been made quite distinct; if we have seen clearly that the
former is the will itself at this particular grade of its objectification,
but that multiplicity comes to phenomena only through time and space, and
that the law of causality is nothing but the determination of the position
of these phenomena in time and space; then we shall recognise the complete
truth and the deep meaning of Malebranche’s doctrine of occasional causes
(_causes occasionelles_). It is well worth while comparing this doctrine
of his, as he explains it in the “_Recherches de la Vérite_,” both in the
3rd Chapter of the second part of the 6th Book, and in the
_éclaircissements_ appended to this chapter, with this exposition of mine,
and observing the complete agreement of the two doctrines in the case of
such different systems of thought. Indeed I cannot help admiring how
Malebranche, though thoroughly involved in the positive dogmas which his
age inevitably forced upon him, yet, in such bonds and under such a
burden, hit the truth so happily, so correctly, and even knew how to
combine it with these dogmas, at all events verbally.
For the power of truth is incredibly great and of unspeakable endurance.
We find constant traces of it in all, even the most eccentric and absurd
dogmas, of different times and different lands,—often indeed in strange
company, curiously mixed up with other things, but still recognisable. It
is like a plant that germinates under a heap of great stones, but still
struggles up to the light, working itself through with many deviations and
windings, disfigured, worn out, stunted in its growth,—but yet, to the
light.
In any case Malebranche is right: every natural cause is only an
occasional cause. It only gives opportunity or occasion for the
manifestation of the one indivisible will which is the “in-itself” of all
things, and whose graduated objectification is the whole visible world.
Only the appearance, the becoming visible, in this place, at this time, is
brought about by the cause and is so far dependent on it, but not the
whole of the phenomenon, nor its inner nature. This is the will itself, to
which the principle of sufficient reason has not application, and which is
therefore groundless. Nothing in the world has a sufficient cause of its
existence generally, but only a cause of existence just here and just now.
That a stone exhibits now gravity, now rigidity, now electricity, now
chemical qualities, depends upon causes, upon impressions upon it from
without, and is to be explained from these. But these qualities
themselves, and thus the whole inner nature of the stone which consists in
them, and therefore manifests itself in all the ways referred to; thus, in
general, that the stone is such as it is, that it exists generally—all
this, I say, has no ground, but is the visible appearance of the
groundless will. Every cause is thus an occasional cause. We have found it
to be so in nature, which is without knowledge, and it is also precisely
the same when motives and not causes or stimuli determine the point at
which the phenomena are to appear, that is to say, in the actions of
animals and human beings. For in both cases it is one and the same will
which appears; very different in the grades of its manifestation,
multiplied in the phenomena of these grades, and, in respect of these,
subordinated to the principle of sufficient reason, but in itself free
from all this. Motives do not determine the character of man, but only the
phenomena of his character, that is, his actions; the outward fashion of
his life, not its inner meaning and content. These proceed from the
character which is the immediate manifestation of the will, and is
therefore groundless. That one man is bad and another good, does not
depend upon motives or outward influences, such as teaching and preaching,
and is in this sense quite inexplicable. But whether a bad man shows his
badness in petty acts of injustice, cowardly tricks, and low knavery which
he practises in the narrow sphere of his circumstances, or whether as a
conqueror he oppresses nations, throws a world into lamentation, and sheds
the blood of millions; this is the outward form of his manifestation, that
which is unessential to it, and depends upon the circumstances in which
fate has placed him, upon his surroundings, upon external influences, upon
motives; but his decision upon these motives can never be explained from
them; it proceeds from the will, of which this man is a manifestation. Of
this we shall speak in the Fourth Book. The manner in which the character
discloses its qualities is quite analogous to the way in which those of
every material body in unconscious nature are disclosed. Water remains
water with its intrinsic qualities, whether as a still lake it reflects
its banks, or leaps in foam from the cliffs, or, artificially confined,
spouts in a long jet into the air. All that depends upon external causes;
the one form is as natural to it as the other, but it will always show the
same form in the same circumstances; it is equally ready for any, but in
every case true to its character, and at all times revealing this alone.
So will every human character under all circumstances reveal itself, but
the phenomena which proceed from it will always be in accordance with the
circumstances.
§ 27. If, from the foregoing consideration of the forces of nature and
their phenomena, we have come to see clearly how far an explanation from
causes can go, and where it must stop if it is not to degenerate into the
vain attempt to reduce the content of all phenomena to their mere form, in
which case there would ultimately remain nothing but form, we shall be
able to settle in general terms what is to be demanded of etiology as a
whole. It must seek out the causes of all phenomena in nature, _i.e._, the
circumstances under which they invariably appear. Then it must refer the
multitude of phenomena which have various forms in various circumstances
to what is active in every phenomenon, and is presupposed in the
cause,—original forces of nature. It must correctly distinguish between a
difference of the phenomenon which arises from a difference of the force,
and one which results merely from a difference of the circumstances under
which the force expresses itself; and with equal care it must guard
against taking the expressions of one and the same force under different
circumstances for the manifestations of different forces, and conversely
against taking for manifestations of one and the same force what
originally belongs to different forces. Now this is the direct work of the
faculty of judgment, and that is why so few men are capable of increasing
our insight in physics, while all are able to enlarge experience.
Indolence and ignorance make us disposed to appeal too soon to original
forces. This is exemplified with an exaggeration that savours of irony in
the entities and quidities of the schoolmen. Nothing is further from my
desire than to favour their resuscitation. We have just as little right to
appeal to the objectification of will, instead of giving a physical
explanation, as we have to appeal to the creative power of God. For
physics demands causes, and the will is never a cause. Its whole relation
to the phenomenon is not in accordance with the principle of sufficient
reason. But that which in itself is the will exists in another aspect as
idea; that is to say, is phenomenon. As such, it obeys the laws which
constitute the form of the phenomenon. Every movement, for example,
although it is always a manifestation of will, must yet have a cause from
which it is to be explained in relation to a particular time and space;
that is, not in general in its inner nature, but as a _particular_
phenomenon. In the case of the stone, this is a mechanical cause; in that
of the movement of a man, it is a motive; but in no case can it be
wanting. On the other hand, the universal common nature of all phenomena
of one particular kind, that which must be presupposed if the explanation
from causes is to have any sense and meaning, is the general force of
nature, which, in physics, must remain a _qualitas occulta_, because with
it the etiological explanation ends and the metaphysical begins. But the
chain of causes and effects is never broken by an original force to which
it has been necessary to appeal. It does not run back to such a force as
if it were its first link, but the nearest link, as well as the remotest,
presupposes the original force, and could otherwise explain nothing. A
series of causes and effects may be the manifestation of the most
different kinds of forces, whose successive visible appearances are
conducted through it, as I have illustrated above by the example of a
metal machine. But the difference of these original forces, which cannot
be referred to each other, by no means breaks the unity of that chain of
causes, and the connection between all its links. The etiology and the
philosophy of nature never do violence to each other, but go hand in hand,
regarding the same object from different points of view. Etiology gives an
account of the causes which necessarily produce the particular phenomenon
to be explained. It exhibits, as the foundation of all its explanations,
the universal forces which are active in all these causes and effects. It
accurately defines, enumerates, and distinguishes these forces, and then
indicates all the different effects in which each force appears, regulated
by the difference of the circumstances, always in accordance with its own
peculiar character, which it discloses in obedience to an invariable rule,
called _a law of nature_. When all this has been thoroughly accomplished
by physics in every particular, it will be complete, and its work will be
done. There will then remain no unknown force in unorganised nature, nor
any effect, which has not been proved to be the manifestation of one of
these forces under definite circumstances, in accordance with a law of
nature. Yet a law of nature remains merely the observed rule according to
which nature invariably proceeds whenever certain definite circumstances
occur. Therefore a law of nature may be defined as a fact expressed
generally—_un fait généralisé_—and thus a complete enumeration of all the
laws of nature would only be a complete register of facts. The
consideration of nature as a whole is thus completed in _morphology_,
which enumerates, compares, and arranges all the enduring forms of
organised nature. Of the causes of the appearance of the individual
creature it has little to say, for in all cases this is procreation (the
theory of which is a separate matter), and in rare cases the _generatio
æquivoca_. But to this last belongs, strictly speaking, the manner in
which all the lower grades of the objectification of will, that is to say,
physical and chemical phenomena, appear as individual, and it is precisely
the task of etiology to point out the conditions of this appearance.
Philosophy, on the other hand, concerns itself only with the universal, in
nature as everywhere else. The original forces themselves are here its
object, and it recognises in them the different grades of the objectivity
of will, which is the inner nature, the “in-itself” of this world; and
when it regards the world apart from will, it explains it as merely the
idea of the subject. But if etiology, instead of preparing the way for
philosophy, and supplying its doctrines with practical application by
means of instances, supposes that its aim is rather to deny the existence
of all original forces, except perhaps _one_, the most general, for
example, impenetrability, which it imagines it thoroughly understands, and
consequently seeks forcibly to refer all the others to it—it forsakes its
own province and can only give us error instead of truth. The content of
nature is supplanted by its form, everything is ascribed to the
circumstances which work from without, and nothing to the inner nature of
the thing. Now if it were possible to succeed by this method, a problem in
arithmetic would ultimately, as we have already remarked, solve the riddle
of the universe. But this is the method adopted by those, referred to
above, who think that all physiological effects ought to be reduced to
form and combination, this, perhaps, to electricity, and this again to
chemism, and chemism to mechanism. The mistake of Descartes, for example,
and of all the Atomists, was of this last description. They referred the
movements of the globe to the impact of a fluid, and the qualities of
matter to the connection and form of the atoms, and hence they laboured to
explain all the phenomena of nature as merely manifestations of
impenetrability and cohesion. Although this has been given up, precisely
the same error is committed in our own day by the electrical, chemical,
and mechanical physiologists, who obstinately attempt to explain the whole
of life and all the functions of the organism from “form and combination.”
In Meckel’s “Archiv für Physiologie” (1820, vol. v. p. 185) we still find
it stated that the aim of physiological explanation is the reduction of
organic life to the universal forces with which physics deals. Lamarck
also, in his “_Philosophie Zoologique_,” explains life as merely the
effect of warmth and electricity: _le calorique et la matière électrique
suffisent parfaitement pour composer ensemble cette cause essentielle de
la vie_ (p. 16). According to this, warmth and electricity would be the
“thing-in-itself,” and the world of animals and plants its phenomenal
appearance. The absurdity of this opinion becomes glaringly apparent at
the 306th and following pages of that work. It is well known that all
these opinions, that have been so often refuted, have reappeared quite
recently with renewed confidence. If we carefully examine the foundation
of these views, we shall find that they ultimately involve the
presupposition that the organism is merely an aggregate of phenomena of
physical, chemical, and mechanical forces, which have come together here
by chance, and produced the organism as a freak of nature without further
significance. The organism of an animal or of a human being would
therefore be, if considered philosophically, not the exhibition of a
special Idea, that is, not itself immediate objectivity of the will at a
definite higher grade, but in it would appear only those Ideas which
objectify the will in electricity, in chemism, and in mechanism. Thus the
organism would be as fortuitously constructed by the concurrence of these
forces as the forms of men and beasts in clouds and stalactites, and would
therefore in itself be no more interesting than they are. However, we
shall see immediately how far the application of physical and chemical
modes of explanation to the organism may yet, within certain limits, be
allowable and useful; for I shall explain that the vital force certainly
avails itself of and uses the forces of unorganised nature; yet these
forces no more constitute the vital force than a hammer and anvil make a
blacksmith. Therefore even the most simple example of plant life can never
be explained from these forces by any theory of capillary attraction and
endosmose, much less animal life. The following observations will prepare
the way for this somewhat difficult discussion.