Analytic of Principles.

General logic is constructed upon a plan which coincides exactly
with the division of the higher faculties of cognition. These are,
understanding, judgement, and reason. This science, accordingly,
treats in its analytic of conceptions, judgements, and conclusions
in exact correspondence with the functions and order of those mental
powers which we include generally under the generic denomination of
understanding.

As this merely formal logic makes abstraction of all content of
cognition, whether pure or empirical, and occupies itself with the
mere form of thought (discursive cognition), it must contain in its
analytic a canon for reason. For the form of reason has its law,
which, without taking into consideration the particular nature of
the cognition about which it is employed, can be discovered a
priori, by the simple analysis of the action of reason into its
momenta.

Transcendental logic, limited as it is to a determinate content,
that of pure a priori cognitions, to wit, cannot imitate general logic
in this division. For it is evident that the transcendental employment
of reason is not objectively valid, and therefore does not belong to
the logic of truth (that is, to analytic), but as a logic of illusion,
occupies a particular department in the scholastic system under the
name of transcendental dialectic.

Understanding and judgement accordingly possess in transcendental
logic a canon of objectively valid, and therefore true exercise, and
are comprehended in the analytical department of that logic. But
reason, in her endeavours to arrive by a priori means at some true
statement concerning objects and to extend cognition beyond the bounds
of possible experience, is altogether dialectic, and her illusory
assertions cannot be constructed into a canon such as an analytic
ought to contain.

Accordingly, the analytic of principles will be merely a canon for
the faculty of judgement, for the instruction of this faculty in its
application to phenomena of the pure conceptions of the understanding,
which contain the necessary condition for the establishment of a
priori laws. On this account, although the subject of the following
chapters is the especial principles of understanding, I shall make
use of the term Doctrine of the faculty of judgement, in order to define
more particularly my present purpose.



INTRODUCTION. Of the Transcendental Faculty of judgement in General.

If understanding in general be defined as the faculty of laws or
rules, the faculty of judgement may be termed the faculty of
subsumption under these rules; that is, of distinguishing whether this
or that does or does not stand under a given rule (casus datae legis).
General logic contains no directions or precepts for the faculty of
judgement, nor can it contain any such. For as it makes abstraction
of all content of cognition, no duty is left for it, except that of
exposing analytically the mere form of cognition in conceptions,
judgements, and conclusions, and of thereby establishing formal
rules for all exercise of the understanding. Now if this logic
wished to give some general direction how we should subsume under
these rules, that is, how we should distinguish whether this or that
did or did not stand under them, this again could not be done
otherwise than by means of a rule. But this rule, precisely because
it is a rule, requires for itself direction from the faculty of
judgement. Thus, it is evident that the understanding is capable of
being instructed by rules, but that the judgement is a peculiar
talent, which does not, and cannot require tuition, but only exercise.
This faculty is therefore the specific quality of the so-called mother
wit, the want of which no scholastic discipline can compensate.

For although education may furnish, and, as it were, engraft upon
a limited understanding rules borrowed from other minds, yet the power
of employing these rules correctly must belong to the pupil himself;
and no rule which we can prescribe to him with this purpose is, in
the absence or deficiency of this gift of nature, secure from misuse.*
A physician therefore, a judge or a statesman, may have in his head
many admirable pathological, juridical, or political rules, in a degree
that may enable him to be a profound teacher in his particular
science, and yet in the application of these rules he may very
possibly blunder--either because he is wanting in natural judgement
(though not in understanding) and, whilst he can comprehend the
general in abstracto, cannot distinguish whether a particular case
in concreto ought to rank under the former; or because his faculty
of judgement has not been sufficiently exercised by examples and
real practice. Indeed, the grand and only use of examples, is to
sharpen the judgement. For as regards the correctness and precision
of the insight of the understanding, examples are commonly injurious
rather than otherwise, because, as casus in terminis they seldom
adequately fulfil the conditions of the rule. Besides, they often
weaken the power of our understanding to apprehend rules or laws in
their universality, independently of particular circumstances of
experience; and hence, accustom us to employ them more as formulae
than as principles. Examples are thus the go-cart of the judgement,
which he who is naturally deficient in that faculty cannot afford to
dispense with.

[*Footnote: Deficiency in judgement is properly that which is called
stupidity; and for such a failing we know no remedy. A dull or
narrow-minded person, to whom nothing is wanting but a proper degree
of understanding, may be improved by tuition, even so far as to deserve
the epithet of learned. But as such persons frequently labour under
a deficiency in the faculty of judgement, it is not uncommon to find
men extremely learned who in the application of their science betray
a lamentable degree this irremediable want.]

But although general logic cannot give directions to the faculty
of judgement, the case is very different as regards transcendental
logic, insomuch that it appears to be the especial duty of the
latter to secure and direct, by means of determinate rules, the
faculty of judgement in the employment of the pure understanding. For,
as a doctrine, that is, as an endeavour to enlarge the sphere of the
understanding in regard to pure a priori cognitions, philosophy is
worse than useless, since from all the attempts hitherto made,
little or no ground has been gained. But, as a critique, in order to
guard against the mistakes of the faculty of judgement (lapsus
judicii) in the employment of the few pure conceptions of the
understanding which we possess, although its use is in this case
purely negative, philosophy is called upon to apply all its
acuteness and penetration.

But transcendental philosophy has this peculiarity, that besides
indicating the rule, or rather the general condition for rules,
which is given in the pure conception of the understanding, it can,
at the same time, indicate a priori the case to which the rule must
be applied. The cause of the superiority which, in this respect,
transcendental philosophy possesses above all other sciences except
mathematics, lies in this: it treats of conceptions which must
relate a priori to their objects, whose objective validity
consequently cannot be demonstrated a posteriori, and is, at the
same time, under the obligation of presenting in general but
sufficient tests, the conditions under which objects can be given in
harmony with those conceptions; otherwise they would be mere logical
forms, without content, and not pure conceptions of the understanding.

Our transcendental doctrine of the faculty of judgement will contain
two chapters. The first will treat of the sensuous condition under
which alone pure conceptions of the understanding can be employed--
that is, of the schematism of the pure understanding. The second
will treat of those synthetical judgements which are derived a
priori from pure conceptions of the understanding under those
conditions, and which lie a priori at the foundation of all other
cognitions, that is to say, it will treat of the principles of the
pure understanding.



TRANSCENDENTAL DOCTRINE OF THE FACULTY OF JUDGEMENT
OR, ANALYTIC OF PRINCIPLES.

CHAPTER I. Of the Schematism at of the Pure Conceptions
           of the Understanding.

In all subsumptions of an object under a conception, the
representation of the object must be homogeneous with the
conception; in other words, the conception must contain that which
is represented in the object to be subsumed under it. For this is
the meaning of the expression: "An object is contained under a
conception." Thus the empirical conception of a plate is homogeneous
with the pure geometrical conception of a circle, inasmuch as the
roundness which is cogitated in the former is intuited in the latter.

But pure conceptions of the understanding, when compared with
empirical intuitions, or even with sensuous intuitions in general,
are quite heterogeneous, and never can be discovered in any intuition.
How then is the subsumption of the latter under the former, and
consequently the application of the categories to phenomena,
possible?--For it is impossible to say, for example: "Causality can
be intuited through the senses and is contained in the phenomenon."--This
natural and important question forms the real cause of the necessity
of a transcendental doctrine of the faculty of judgement, with the
purpose, to wit, of showing how pure conceptions of the
understanding can be applied to phenomena. In all other sciences,
where the conceptions by which the object is thought in the general
are not so different and heterogeneous from those which represent
the object in concreto--as it is given, it is quite unnecessary to
institute any special inquiries concerning the application of the
former to the latter.

Now it is quite clear that there must be some third thing, which
on the one side is homogeneous with the category, and with the
phenomenon on the other, and so makes the application of the former
to the latter possible. This mediating representation must be pure
(without any empirical content), and yet must on the one side be
intellectual, on the other sensuous. Such a representation is the
transcendental schema.

The conception of the understanding contains pure synthetical
unity of the manifold in general. Time, as the formal condition of
the manifold of the internal sense, consequently of the conjunction
of all representations, contains a priori a manifold in the pure intuition.
Now a transcendental determination of time is so far homogeneous
with the category, which constitutes the unity thereof, that it is
universal and rests upon a rule a priori. On the other hand, it is
so far homogeneous with the phenomenon, inasmuch as time is
contained in every empirical representation of the manifold. Thus an
application of the category to phenomena becomes possible, by means
of the transcendental determination of time, which, as the schema of
the conceptions of the understanding, mediates the subsumption of
the latter under the former.

After what has been proved in our deduction of the categories, no
one, it is to be hoped, can hesitate as to the proper decision of
the question, whether the employment of these pure conceptions of
the understanding ought to be merely empirical or also transcendental;
in other words, whether the categories, as conditions of a possible
experience, relate a priori solely to phenomena, or whether, as
conditions of the possibility of things in general, their
application can be extended to objects as things in themselves. For
we have there seen that conceptions are quite impossible, and utterly
without signification, unless either to them, or at least to the
elements of which they consist, an object be given; and that,
consequently, they cannot possibly apply to objects as things in
themselves without regard to the question whether and how these may
be given to us; and, further, that the only manner in which objects
can be given to us is by means of the modification of our sensibility;
and, finally, that pure a priori conceptions, in addition to the
function of the understanding in the category, must contain a priori
formal conditions of sensibility (of the internal sense, namely),
which again contain the general condition under which alone the
category can be applied to any object. This formal and pure
condition of sensibility, to which the conception of the understanding
is restricted in its employment, we shall name the schema of the
conception of the understanding, and the procedure of the
understanding with these schemata we shall call the schematism of
the pure understanding.

The schema is, in itself, always a mere product of the
imagination. But, as the synthesis of imagination has for its aim no
single intuition, but merely unity in the determination of
sensibility, the schema is clearly distinguishable from the image.
Thus, if I place five points one after another .... this is an image
of the number five. On the other hand, if I only think a number in
general, which may be either five or a hundred, this thought is rather
the representation of a method of representing in an image a sum
(e.g., a thousand) in conformity with a conception, than the image
itself, an image which I should find some little difficulty in
reviewing, and comparing with the conception. Now this
representation of a general procedure of the imagination to present
its image to a conception, I call the schema of this conception.

In truth, it is not images of objects, but schemata, which lie at
the foundation of our pure sensuous conceptions. No image could ever
be adequate to our conception of a triangle in general. For the
generalness of the conception it never could attain to, as this
includes under itself all triangles, whether right-angled,
acute-angled, etc., whilst the image would always be limited to a
single part of this sphere. The schema of the triangle can exist
nowhere else than in thought, and it indicates a rule of the synthesis
of the imagination in regard to pure figures in space. Still less is
an object of experience, or an image of the object, ever to the
empirical conception. On the contrary, the conception always relates
immediately to the schema of the imagination, as a rule for the
determination of our intuition, in conformity with a certain general
conception. The conception of a dog indicates a rule, according to
which my imagination can delineate the figure of a four-footed
animal in general, without being limited to any particular
individual form which experience presents to me, or indeed to any
possible image that I can represent to myself in concreto. This
schematism of our understanding in regard to phenomena and their
mere form, is an art, hidden in the depths of the human soul, whose
true modes of action we shall only with difficulty discover and
unveil. Thus much only can we say: "The image is a product of the
empirical faculty of the productive imagination--the schema of
sensuous conceptions (of figures in space, for example) is a
product, and, as it were, a monogram of the pure imagination a priori,
whereby and according to which images first become possible, which,
however, can be connected with the conception only mediately by
means of the schema which they indicate, and are in themselves never
fully adequate to it." On the other hand, the schema of a pure
conception of the understanding is something that cannot be reduced
into any image--it is nothing else than the pure synthesis expressed
by the category, conformably, to a rule of unity according to
conceptions. It is a transcendental product of the imagination, a
product which concerns the determination of the internal sense,
according to conditions of its form (time) in respect to all
representations, in so far as these representations must be
conjoined a priori in one conception, conformably to the unity of
apperception.

Without entering upon a dry and tedious analysis of the essential
requisites of transcendental schemata of the pure conceptions of the
understanding, we shall rather proceed at once to give an
explanation of them according to the order of the categories, and in
connection therewith.

For the external sense the pure image of all quantities
(quantorum) is space; the pure image of all objects of sense in
general, is time. But the pure schema of quantity (quantitatis) as
a conception of the understanding, is number, a representation which
comprehends the successive addition of one to one (homogeneous
quantities). Thus, number is nothing else than the unity of the
synthesis of the manifold in a homogeneous intuition, by means of my
generating time itself in my apprehension of the intuition.

Reality, in the pure conception of the understanding, is that
which corresponds to a sensation in general; that, consequently, the
conception of which indicates a being (in time). Negation is that
the conception of which represents a not-being (in time). The
opposition of these two consists therefore in the difference of one
and the same time, as a time filled or a time empty. Now as time is
only the form of intuition, consequently of objects as phenomena, that
which in objects corresponds to sensation is the transcendental matter
of all objects as things in themselves (Sachheit, reality). Now
every sensation has a degree or quantity by which it can fill time,
that is to say, the internal sense in respect of the representation
of an object, more or less, until it vanishes into nothing (= 0 =
negatio). Thus there is a relation and connection between reality
and negation, or rather a transition from the former to the latter,
which makes every reality representable to us as a quantum; and the
schema of a reality as the quantity of something in so far as it fills
time, is exactly this continuous and uniform generation of the reality
in time, as we descend in time from the sensation which has a
certain degree, down to the vanishing thereof, or gradually ascend
from negation to the quantity thereof.

The schema of substance is the permanence of the real in time;
that is, the representation of it as a substratum of the empirical
determination of time; a substratum which therefore remains, whilst
all else changes. (Time passes not, but in it passes the existence
of the changeable. To time, therefore, which is itself unchangeable
and permanent, corresponds that which in the phenomenon is
unchangeable in existence, that is, substance, and it is only by it
that the succession and coexistence of phenomena can be determined
in regard to time.)

The schema of cause and of the causality of a thing is the real
which, when posited, is always followed by something else. It
consists, therefore, in the succession of the manifold, in so far as
that succession is subjected to a rule.

The schema of community (reciprocity of action and reaction), or the
reciprocal causality of substances in respect of their accidents, is
the coexistence of the determinations of the one with those of the
other, according to a general rule.

The schema of possibility is the accordance of the synthesis of
different representations with the conditions of time in general
(as, for example, opposites cannot exist together at the same time
in the same thing, but only after each other), and is therefore the
determination of the representation of a thing at any time.

The schema of reality is existence in a determined time.

The schema of necessity is the existence of an object in all time.

It is clear, from all this, that the schema of the category of
quantity contains and represents the generation (synthesis) of time
itself, in the successive apprehension of an object; the schema of
quality the synthesis of sensation with the representation of time,
or the filling up of time; the schema of relation the relation of
perceptions to each other in all time (that is, according to a rule
of the determination of time): and finally, the schema of modality
and its categories, time itself, as the correlative of the determination
of an object--whether it does belong to time, and how. The schemata,
therefore, are nothing but a priori determinations of time according
to rules, and these, in regard to all possible objects, following
the arrangement of the categories, relate to the series in time, the
content in time, the order in time, and finally, to the complex or
totality in time.

Hence it is apparent that the schematism of the understanding, by
means of the transcendental synthesis of the imagination, amounts to
nothing else than the unity of the manifold of intuition in the
internal sense, and thus indirectly to the unity of apperception, as
a function corresponding to the internal sense (a receptivity). Thus,
the schemata of the pure conceptions of the understanding are the true
and only conditions whereby our understanding receives an
application to objects, and consequently significance. Finally,
therefore, the categories are only capable of empirical use,
inasmuch as they serve merely to subject phenomena to the universal
rules of synthesis, by means of an a priori necessary unity (on
account of the necessary union of all consciousness in one original
apperception); and so to render them susceptible of a complete
connection in one experience. But within this whole of possible
experience lie all our cognitions, and in the universal relation to
this experience consists transcendental truth, which antecedes all
empirical truth, and renders the latter possible.

It is, however, evident at first sight, that although the schemata
of sensibility are the sole agents in realizing the categories, they
do, nevertheless, also restrict them, that is, they limit the
categories by conditions which lie beyond the sphere of understanding--
namely, in sensibility. Hence the schema is properly only the
phenomenon, or the sensuous conception of an object in harmony with
the category. (Numerus est quantitas phaenomenon--sensatio realitas
phaenomenon; constans et perdurabile rerum substantia phaenomenon--
aeternitas, necessitas, phaenomena, etc.) Now, if we remove a
restrictive condition, we thereby amplify, it appears, the formerly
limited conception. In this way, the categories in their pure
signification, free from all conditions of sensibility, ought to be
valid of things as they are, and not, as the schemata represent
them, merely as they appear; and consequently the categories must have
a significance far more extended, and wholly independent of all
schemata. In truth, there does always remain to the pure conceptions
of the understanding, after abstracting every sensuous condition, a
value and significance, which is, however, merely logical. But in this
case, no object is given them, and therefore they have no meaning
sufficient to afford us a conception of an object. The notion of
substance, for example, if we leave out the sensuous determination
of permanence, would mean nothing more than a something which can be
cogitated as subject, without the possibility of becoming a
predicate to anything else. Of this representation I can make nothing,
inasmuch as it does not indicate to me what determinations the thing
possesses which must thus be valid as premier subject. Consequently,
the categories, without schemata are merely functions of the
understanding for the production of conceptions, but do not
represent any object. This significance they derive from
sensibility, which at the same time realizes the understanding and
restricts it.



CHAPTER II. System of all Principles of the Pure Understanding.

In the foregoing chapter we have merely considered the general
conditions under which alone the transcendental faculty of judgement
is justified in using the pure conceptions of the understanding for
synthetical judgements. Our duty at present is to exhibit in
systematic connection those judgements which the understanding
really produces a priori. For this purpose, our table of the
categories will certainly afford us the natural and safe guidance.
For it is precisely the categories whose application to possible
experience must constitute all pure a priori cognition of the
understanding; and the relation of which to sensibility will, on
that very account, present us with a complete and systematic catalogue
of all the transcendental principles of the use of the understanding.

Principles a priori are so called, not merely because they contain
in themselves the grounds of other judgements, but also because they
themselves are not grounded in higher and more general cognitions.
This peculiarity, however, does not raise them altogether above the
need of a proof. For although there could be found no higher
cognition, and therefore no objective proof, and although such a
principle rather serves as the foundation for all cognition of the
object, this by no means hinders us from drawing a proof from the
subjective sources of the possibility of the cognition of an object.
Such a proof is necessary, moreover, because without it the
principle might be liable to the imputation of being a mere gratuitous
assertion.

In the second place, we shall limit our investigations to those
principles which relate to the categories. For as to the principles
of transcendental aesthetic, according to which space and time are
the conditions of the possibility of things as phenomena, as also the
restriction of these principles, namely, that they cannot be applied
to objects as things in themselves--these, of course, do not fall
within the scope of our present inquiry. In like manner, the
principles of mathematical science form no part of this system,
because they are all drawn from intuition, and not from the pure
conception of the understanding. The possibility of these
principles, however, will necessarily be considered here, inasmuch
as they are synthetical judgements a priori, not indeed for the
purpose of proving their accuracy and apodeictic certainty, which is
unnecessary, but merely to render conceivable and deduce the
possibility of such evident a priori cognitions.

But we shall have also to speak of the principle of analytical
judgements, in opposition to synthetical judgements, which is the
proper subject of our inquiries, because this very opposition will
free the theory of the latter from all ambiguity, and place it clearly
before our eyes in its true nature.



SYSTEM OF THE PRINCIPLES OF THE PURE UNDERSTANDING.

SECTION I. Of the Supreme Principle of all Analytical Judgements.

Whatever may be the content of our cognition, and in whatever manner
our cognition may be related to its object, the universal, although
only negative conditions of all our judgements is that they do not
contradict themselves; otherwise these judgements are in themselves
(even without respect to the object) nothing. But although there may
exist no contradiction in our judgement, it may nevertheless connect
conceptions in such a manner that they do not correspond to the
object, or without any grounds either a priori or a posteriori for
arriving at such a judgement, and thus, without being
self-contradictory, a judgement may nevertheless be either false or
groundless.

Now, the proposition: "No subject can have a predicate that
contradicts it," is called the principle of contradiction, and is a
universal but purely negative criterion of all truth. But it belongs
to logic alone, because it is valid of cognitions, merely as
cognitions and without respect to their content, and declares that
the contradiction entirely nullifies them. We can also, however, make
a positive use of this principle, that is, not merely to banish
falsehood and error (in so far as it rests upon contradiction), but
also for the cognition of truth. For if the judgement is analytical,
be it affirmative or negative, its truth must always be recognizable
by means of the principle of contradiction. For the contrary of that
which lies and is cogitated as conception in the cognition of the
object will be always properly negatived, but the conception itself
must always be affirmed of the object, inasmuch as the contrary
thereof would be in contradiction to the object.

We must therefore hold the principle of contradiction to be the
universal and fully sufficient Principle of all analytical
cognition. But as a sufficient criterion of truth, it has no further
utility or authority. For the fact that no cognition can be at
variance with this principle without nullifying itself, constitutes
this principle the sine qua non, but not the determining ground of
the truth of our cognition. As our business at present is properly
with the synthetical part of our knowledge only, we shall always be
on our guard not to transgress this inviolable principle; but at the
same time not to expect from it any direct assistance in the
establishment of the truth of any synthetical proposition.

There exists, however, a formula of this celebrated principle--a
principle merely formal and entirely without content--which contains
a synthesis that has been inadvertently and quite unnecessarily mixed
up with it. It is this: "It is impossible for a thing to be and not
to be at the same time." Not to mention the superfluousness of the
addition of the word impossible to indicate the apodeictic
certainty, which ought to be self-evident from the proposition itself,
the proposition is affected by the condition of time, and as it were
says: "A thing = A, which is something = B, cannot at the same time
be non-B." But both, B as well as non-B, may quite well exist in
succession. For example, a man who is young cannot at the same time
be old; but the same man can very well be at one time young, and at
another not young, that is, old. Now the principle of contradiction
as a merely logical proposition must not by any means limit its
application merely to relations of time, and consequently a formula
like the preceding is quite foreign to its true purpose. The
misunderstanding arises in this way. We first of all separate a
predicate of a thing from the conception of the thing, and
afterwards connect with this predicate its opposite, and hence do
not establish any contradiction with the subject, but only with its
predicate, which has been conjoined with the subject synthetically--
a contradiction, moreover, which obtains only when the first and
second predicate are affirmed in the same time. If I say: "A man who
is ignorant is not learned," the condition "at the same time" must
be added, for he who is at one time ignorant, may at another be
learned. But if I say: "No ignorant man is a learned man," the
proposition is analytical, because the characteristic ignorance is
now a constituent part of the conception of the subject; and in this
case the negative proposition is evident immediately from the
proposition of contradiction, without the necessity of adding the
condition "the same time." This is the reason why I have altered the
formula of this principle--an alteration which shows very clearly
the nature of an analytical proposition.



SECTION II. Of the Supreme Principle of all Synthetical Judgements.

The explanation of the possibility of synthetical judgements is a task
with which general logic has nothing to do; indeed she needs not even
be acquainted with its name. But in transcendental logic it is the most
important matter to be dealt with--indeed the only one, if the question
is of the possibility of synthetical judgements a priori, the
conditions and extent of their validity. For when this question is
fully decided, it can reach its aim with perfect ease, the
determination, to wit, of the extent and limits of the pure
understanding.

In an analytical judgement I do not go beyond the given conception, in
order to arrive at some decision respecting it. If the judgement is
affirmative, I predicate of the conception only that which was already
cogitated in it; if negative, I merely exclude from the conception its
contrary. But in synthetical judgements, I must go beyond the given
conception, in order to cogitate, in relation with it, something quite
different from that which was cogitated in it, a relation which is
consequently never one either of identity or contradiction, and by
means of which the truth or error of the judgement cannot be discerned
merely from the judgement itself.

Granted, then, that we must go out beyond a given conception, in
order to compare it synthetically with another, a third thing is
necessary, in which alone the synthesis of two conceptions can
originate. Now what is this tertium quid that is to be the medium of
all synthetical judgements? It is only a complex in which all our
representations are contained, the internal sense to wit, and its form
a priori, time.

The synthesis of our representations rests upon the imagination;
their synthetical unity (which is requisite to a judgement), upon
the unity of apperception. In this, therefore, is to be sought the
possibility of synthetical judgements, and as all three contain the
sources of a priori representations, the possibility of pure
synthetical judgements also; nay, they are necessary upon these
grounds, if we are to possess a knowledge of objects, which rests
solely upon the synthesis of representations.

If a cognition is to have objective reality, that is, to relate to
an object, and possess sense and meaning in respect to it, it is
necessary that the object be given in some way or another. Without
this, our conceptions are empty, and we may indeed have thought by
means of them, but by such thinking we have not, in fact, cognized
anything, we have merely played with representation. To give an
object, if this expression be understood in the sense of "to
present" the object, not mediately but immediately in intuition, means
nothing else than to apply the representation of it to experience,
be that experience real or only possible. Space and time themselves,
pure as these conceptions are from all that is empirical, and
certain as it is that they are represented fully a priori in the mind,
would be completely without objective validity, and without sense
and significance, if their necessary use in the objects of
experience were not shown. Nay, the representation of them is a mere
schema, that always relates to the reproductive imagination, which
calls up the objects of experience, without which they have no
meaning. And so it is with all conceptions without distinction.

The possibility of experience is, then, that which gives objective
reality to all our a priori cognitions. Now experience depends upon
the synthetical unity of phenomena, that is, upon a synthesis
according to conceptions of the object of phenomena in general, a
synthesis without which experience never could become knowledge, but
would be merely a rhapsody of perceptions, never fitting together into
any connected text, according to rules of a thoroughly united
(possible) consciousness, and therefore never subjected to the
transcendental and necessary unity of apperception. Experience has
therefore for a foundation, a priori principles of its form, that is
to say, general rules of unity in the synthesis of phenomena, the
objective reality of which rules, as necessary conditions even of
the possibility of experience can which rules, as necessary
conditions--even of the possibility of experience--can always be shown
in experience. But apart from this relation, a priori synthetical
propositions are absolutely impossible, because they have no third
term, that is, no pure object, in which the synthetical unity can
exhibit the objective reality of its conceptions.

Although, then, respecting space, or the forms which productive
imagination describes therein, we do cognize much a priori in
synthetical judgements, and are really in no need of experience for
this purpose, such knowledge would nevertheless amount to nothing
but a busy trifling with a mere chimera, were not space to be
considered as the condition of the phenomena which constitute the
material of external experience. Hence those pure synthetical
judgements do relate, though but mediately, to possible experience,
or rather to the possibility of experience, and upon that alone is
founded the objective validity of their synthesis.

While then, on the one hand, experience, as empirical synthesis,
is the only possible mode of cognition which gives reality to all
other synthesis; on the other hand, this latter synthesis, as
cognition a priori, possesses truth, that is, accordance with its
object, only in so far as it contains nothing more than what is
necessary to the synthetical unity of experience.

Accordingly, the supreme principle of all synthetical judgements is:
"Every object is subject to the necessary conditions of the
synthetical unity of the manifold of intuition in a possible
experience."

A priori synthetical judgements are possible when we apply the
formal conditions of the a priori intuition, the synthesis of the
imagination, and the necessary unity of that synthesis in a
transcendental apperception, to a possible cognition of experience,
and say: "The conditions of the possibility of experience in general
are at the same time conditions of the possibility of the objects of
experience, and have, for that reason, objective validity in an a
priori synthetical judgement."



SECTION III. Systematic Representation of all Synthetical
             Principles of the Pure Understanding.

That principles exist at all is to be ascribed solely to the pure
understanding, which is not only the faculty of rules in regard to
that which happens, but is even the source of principles according
to which everything that can be presented to us as an object is
necessarily subject to rules, because without such rules we never
could attain to cognition of an object. Even the laws of nature, if
they are contemplated as principles of the empirical use of the
understanding, possess also a characteristic of necessity, and we
may therefore at least expect them to be determined upon grounds which
are valid a priori and antecedent to all experience. But all laws of
nature, without distinction, are subject to higher principles of the
understanding, inasmuch as the former are merely applications of the
latter to particular cases of experience. These higher principles
alone therefore give the conception, which contains the necessary
condition, and, as it were, the exponent of a rule; experience, on
the other hand, gives the case which comes under the rule.

There is no danger of our mistaking merely empirical principles
for principles of the pure understanding, or conversely; for the
character of necessity, according to conceptions which distinguish
the latter, and the absence of this in every empirical proposition,
how extensively valid soever it may be, is a perfect safeguard against
confounding them. There are, however, pure principles a priori,
which nevertheless I should not ascribe to the pure understanding--for
this reason, that they are not derived from pure conceptions, but
(although by the mediation of the understanding) from pure intuitions.
But understanding is the faculty of conceptions. Such principles
mathematical science possesses, but their application to experience,
consequently their objective validity, nay the possibility of such
a priori synthetical cognitions (the deduction thereof) rests entirely
upon the pure understanding.

On this account, I shall not reckon among my principles those of
mathematics; though I shall include those upon the possibility and
objective validity a priori, of principles of the mathematical
science, which, consequently, are to be looked upon as the principle
of these, and which proceed from conceptions to intuition, and not
from intuition to conceptions.

In the application of the pure conceptions of the understanding to
possible experience, the employment of their synthesis is either
mathematical or dynamical, for it is directed partly on the
intuition alone, partly on the existence of a phenomenon. But the a
priori conditions of intuition are in relation to a possible
experience absolutely necessary, those of the existence of objects
of a possible empirical intuition are in themselves contingent.
Hence the principles of the mathematical use of the categories will
possess a character of absolute necessity, that is, will be
apodeictic; those, on the other hand, of the dynamical use, the
character of an a priori necessity indeed, but only under the
condition of empirical thought in an experience, therefore only
mediately and indirectly. Consequently they will not possess that
immediate evidence which is peculiar to the former, although their
application to experience does not, for that reason, lose its truth
and certitude. But of this point we shall be better able to judge at
the conclusion of this system of principles.

The table of the categories is naturally our guide to the table of
principles, because these are nothing else than rules for the
objective employment of the former. Accordingly, all principles of
the pure understanding are:

                                1
                              Axioms
                           of Intuition

               2                                    3
          Anticipations                          Analogies
          of Perception                        of Experience
                                4
                          Postulates of
                        Empirical Thought
                           in general


These appellations I have chosen advisedly, in order that we might
not lose sight of the distinctions in respect of the evidence and
the employment of these principles. It will, however, soon appear
that--a fact which concerns both the evidence of these principles,
and the a priori determination of phenomena--according to the categories
of quantity and quality (if we attend merely to the form of these),
the principles of these categories are distinguishable from those of
the two others, in as much as the former are possessed of an
intuitive, but the latter of a merely discursive, though in both
instances a complete, certitude. I shall therefore call the former
mathematical, and the latter dynamical principles.* It must be
observed, however, that by these terms I mean just as little in the
one case the principles of mathematics as those of general
(physical) dynamics in the other. I have here in view merely the
principles of the pure understanding, in their application to the
internal sense (without distinction of the representations given
therein), by means of which the sciences of mathematics and dynamics
become possible. Accordingly, I have named these principles rather
with reference to their application than their content; and I shall
now proceed to consider them in the order in which they stand in the
table.


[*Footnote: All combination (conjunctio) is either composition
(compositio) or connection (nexus). The former is the synthesis of a
manifold, the parts of which do not necessarily belong to each other.
For example, the two triangles into which a square is divided by a
diagonal, do not necessarily belong to each other, and of this kind is
the synthesis of the homogeneous in everything that can be
mathematically considered. This synthesis can be divided into those of
aggregation and coalition, the former of which is applied to extensive,
the latter to intensive quantities. The second sort of combination
(nexus) is the synthesis of a manifold, in so far as its parts do
belong necessarily to each other; for example, the accident to a
substance, or the effect to the cause. Consequently it is a synthesis
of that which though heterogeneous, is represented as connected a
priori. This combination--not an arbitrary one--I entitle dynamical
because it concerns the connection of the existence of the manifold.
This, again, may be divided into the physical synthesis, of the
phenomena divided among each other, and the metaphysical synthesis, or
the connection of phenomena a priori in the faculty of cognition.]


1. AXIOMS OF INTUITION.


The principle of these is: All Intuitions are Extensive Quantities.


PROOF.


All phenomena contain, as regards their form, an intuition in
space and time, which lies a priori at the foundation of all without
exception. Phenomena, therefore, cannot be apprehended, that is,
received into empirical consciousness otherwise than through the
synthesis of a manifold, through which the representations of a
determinate space or time are generated; that is to say, through the
composition of the homogeneous and the consciousness of the
synthetical unity of this manifold (homogeneous). Now the
consciousness of a homogeneous manifold in intuition, in so far as
thereby the representation of an object is rendered possible, is the
conception of a quantity (quanti). Consequently, even the perception
of an object as phenomenon is possible only through the same
synthetical unity of the manifold of the given sensuous intuition,
through which the unity of the composition of the homogeneous manifold
in the conception of a quantity is cogitated; that is to say, all
phenomena are quantities, and extensive quantities, because as
intuitions in space or time they must be represented by means of the
same synthesis through which space and time themselves are determined.

An extensive quantity I call that wherein the representation of
the parts renders possible (and therefore necessarily antecedes) the
representation of the whole. I cannot represent to myself any line,
however small, without drawing it in thought, that is, without
generating from a point all its parts one after another, and in this
way alone producing this intuition. Precisely the same is the case
with every, even the smallest, portion of time. I cogitate therein
only the successive progress from one moment to another, and hence,
by means of the different portions of time and the addition of them,
a determinate quantity of time is produced. As the pure intuition in
all phenomena is either time or space, so is every phenomenon in its
character of intuition an extensive quantity, inasmuch as it can
only be cognized in our apprehension by successive synthesis (from
part to part). All phenomena are, accordingly, to be considered as
aggregates, that is, as a collection of previously given parts;
which is not the case with every sort of quantities, but only with
those which are represented and apprehended by us as extensive.

On this successive synthesis of the productive imagination, in the
generation of figures, is founded the mathematics of extension, or
geometry, with its axioms, which express the conditions of sensuous
intuition a priori, under which alone the schema of a pure
conception of external intuition can exist; for example, "be tween
two points only one straight line is possible," "two straight lines
cannot enclose a space," etc. These are the axioms which properly relate
only to quantities (quanta) as such.

But, as regards the quantity of a thing (quantitas), that is to say,
the answer to the question: "How large is this or that object?"
although, in respect to this question, we have various propositions
synthetical and immediately certain (indemonstrabilia); we have, in
the proper sense of the term, no axioms. For example, the
propositions: "If equals be added to equals, the wholes are equal";
"If equals be taken from equals, the remainders are equal"; are
analytical, because I am immediately conscious of the identity of
the production of the one quantity with the production of the other;
whereas axioms must be a priori synthetical propositions. On the other
hand, the self-evident propositions as to the relation of numbers,
are certainly synthetical but not universal, like those of geometry,
and for this reason cannot be called axioms, but numerical formulae.
That 7 + 5 = 12 is not an analytical proposition. For neither in the
representation of seven, nor of five, nor of the composition of the
two numbers, do I cogitate the number twelve. (Whether I cogitate
the number in the addition of both, is not at present the question;
for in the case of an analytical proposition, the only point is
whether I really cogitate the predicate in the representation of the
subject.) But although the proposition is synthetical, it is
nevertheless only a singular proposition. In so far as regard is
here had merely to the synthesis of the homogeneous (the units), it
cannot take place except in one manner, although our use of these
numbers is afterwards general. If I say: "A triangle can be
constructed with three lines, any two of which taken together are
greater than the third," I exercise merely the pure function of the
productive imagination, which may draw the lines longer or shorter
and construct the angles at its pleasure. On the contrary, the number
seven is possible only in one manner, and so is likewise the number
twelve, which results from the synthesis of seven and five. Such
propositions, then, cannot be termed axioms (for in that case we
should have an infinity of these), but numerical formulae.

This transcendental principle of the mathematics of phenomena
greatly enlarges our a priori cognition. For it is by this principle
alone that pure mathematics is rendered applicable in all its
precision to objects of experience, and without it the validity of
this application would not be so self-evident; on the contrary,
contradictions and confusions have often arisen on this very point.
Phenomena are not things in themselves. Empirical intuition is
possible only through pure intuition (of space and time);
consequently, what geometry affirms of the latter, is indisputably
valid of the former. All evasions, such as the statement that
objects of sense do not conform to the rules of construction in
space (for example, to the rule of the infinite divisibility of
lines or angles), must fall to the ground. For, if these objections
hold good, we deny to space, and with it to all mathematics, objective
validity, and no longer know wherefore, and how far, mathematics can
be applied to phenomena. The synthesis of spaces and times as the
essential form of all intuition, is that which renders possible the
apprehension of a phenomenon, and therefore every external experience,
consequently all cognition of the objects of experience; and
whatever mathematics in its pure use proves of the former, must
necessarily hold good of the latter. All objections are but the
chicaneries of an ill-instructed reason, which erroneously thinks to
liberate the objects of sense from the formal conditions of our
sensibility, and represents these, although mere phenomena, as
things in themselves, presented as such to our understanding. But in
this case, no a priori synthetical cognition of them could be
possible, consequently not through pure conceptions of space and the
science which determines these conceptions, that is to say,
geometry, would itself be impossible.



2. ANTICIPATIONS OF PERCEPTION.

The principle of these is: In all phenomena the Real, that
which is an object of sensation, has Intensive Quantity,
that is, has a Degree.


PROOF.


Perception is empirical consciousness, that is to say, a
consciousness which contains an element of sensation. Phenomena as
objects of perception are not pure, that is, merely formal intuitions,
like space and time, for they cannot be perceived in themselves.
[Footnote: They can be perceived only as phenomena, and some part of
them must always belong to the non-ego; whereas pure intuitions are
entirely the products of the mind itself, and as such are coguized
IN THEMSELVES.--Tr] They contain, then, over and above the intuition,
the materials for an object (through which is represented something
existing in space or time), that is to say, they contain the real of
sensation, as a representation merely subjective, which gives us merely
the consciousness that the subject is affected, and which we refer
to some external object. Now, a gradual transition from empirical
consciousness to pure consciousness is possible, inasmuch as the
real in this consciousness entirely vanishes, and there remains a
merely formal consciousness (a priori) of the manifold in time and
space; consequently there is possible a synthesis also of the
production of the quantity of a sensation from its commencement,
that is, from the pure intuition = 0 onwards up to a certain
quantity of the sensation. Now as sensation in itself is not an
objective representation, and in it is to be found neither the
intuition of space nor of time, it cannot possess any extensive
quantity, and yet there does belong to it a quantity (and that by
means of its apprehension, in which empirical consciousness can within
a certain time rise from nothing = 0 up to its given amount),
consequently an intensive quantity. And thus we must ascribe intensive
quantity, that is, a degree of influence on sense to all objects of
perception, in so far as this perception contains sensation.

All cognition, by means of which I am enabled to cognize and
determine a priori what belongs to empirical cognition, may be
called an anticipation; and without doubt this is the sense in which
Epicurus employed his expression prholepsis. But as there is in
phenomena something which is never cognized a priori, which on this
account constitutes the proper difference between pure and empirical
cognition, that is to say, sensation (as the matter of perception),
it follows, that sensation is just that element in cognition which
cannot be at all anticipated. On the other hand, we might very well
term the pure determinations in space and time, as well in regard to
figure as to quantity, anticipations of phenomena, because they represent
a priori that which may always be given a posteriori in experience.
But suppose that in every sensation, as sensation in general,
without any particular sensation being thought of, there existed
something which could be cognized a priori, this would deserve to be
called anticipation in a special sense--special, because it may seem
surprising to forestall experience, in that which concerns the
matter of experience, and which we can only derive from itself. Yet
such really is the case here.

Apprehension*, by means of sensation alone, fills only one moment,
that is, if I do not take into consideration a succession of many
sensations. As that in the phenomenon, the apprehension of which is
not a successive synthesis advancing from parts to an entire
representation, sensation has therefore no extensive quantity; the
want of sensation in a moment of time would represent it as empty,
consequently = 0. That which in the empirical intuition corresponds
to sensation is reality (realitas phaenomenon); that which corresponds
to the absence of it, negation = 0. Now every sensation is capable
of a diminution, so that it can decrease, and thus gradually disappear.
Therefore, between reality in a phenomenon and negation, there
exists a continuous concatenation of many possible intermediate
sensations, the difference of which from each other is always
smaller than that between the given sensation and zero, or complete
negation. That is to say, the real in a phenomenon has always a
quantity, which however is not discoverable in apprehension,
inasmuch as apprehension take place by means of mere sensation in
one instant, and not by the successive synthesis of many sensations,
and therefore does not progress from parts to the whole. Consequently,
it has a quantity, but not an extensive quantity.

[*Footnote: Apprehension is the Kantian word for preception, in the
largest sense in which we employ that term. It is the genus which
includes under i, as species, perception proper and sensation proper--Tr]

Now that quantity which is apprehended only as unity, and in which
plurality can be represented only by approximation to negation = O,
I term intensive quantity. Consequently, reality in a phenomenon has
intensive quantity, that is, a degree. if we consider this reality
as cause (be it of sensation or of another reality in the
phenomenon, for example, a change), we call the degree of reality in
its character of cause a momentum, for example, the momentum of
weight; and for this reason, that the degree only indicates that
quantity the apprehension of which is not successive, but
instantaneous. This, however, I touch upon only in passing, for with
causality I have at present nothing to do.

Accordingly, every sensation, consequently every reality in
phenomena, however small it may be, has a degree, that is, an
intensive quantity, which may always be lessened, and between
reality and negation there exists a continuous connection of
possible realities, and possible smaller perceptions. Every colour--
for example, red--has a degree, which, be it ever so small, is never
the smallest, and so is it always with heat, the momentum of weight,
etc.

This property of quantities, according to which no part of them is
the smallest possible (no part simple), is called their continuity.
Space and time are quanta continua, because no part of them can be
given, without enclosing it within boundaries (points and moments),
consequently, this given part is itself a space or a time. Space,
therefore, consists only of spaces, and time of times. Points and
moments are only boundaries, that is, the mere places or positions
of their limitation. But places always presuppose intuitions which
are to limit or determine them; and we cannot conceive either space
or time composed of constituent parts which are given before space
or time. Such quantities may also be called flowing, because synthesis
(of the productive imagination) in the production of these
quantities is a progression in time, the continuity of which we are
accustomed to indicate by the expression flowing.

All phenomena, then, are continuous quantities, in respect both to
intuition and mere perception (sensation, and with it reality). In
the former case they are extensive quantities; in the latter, intensive.
When the synthesis of the manifold of a phenomenon is interrupted,
there results merely an aggregate of several phenomena, and not
properly a phenomenon as a quantity, which is not produced by the mere
continuation of the productive synthesis of a certain kind, but by
the repetition of a synthesis always ceasing. For example, if I call
thirteen dollars a sum or quantity of money, I employ the term quite
correctly, inasmuch as I understand by thirteen dollars the value of
a mark in standard silver, which is, to be sure, a continuous
quantity, in which no part is the smallest, but every part might
constitute a piece of money, which would contain material for still
smaller pieces. If, however, by the words thirteen dollars I
understand so many coins (be their value in silver what it may), it
would be quite erroneous to use the expression a quantity of
dollars; on the contrary, I must call them aggregate, that is, a
number of coins. And as in every number we must have unity as the
foundation, so a phenomenon taken as unity is a quantity, and as
such always a continuous quantity (quantum continuum).

Now, seeing all phenomena, whether considered as extensive or
intensive, are continuous quantities, the proposition: "All change
(transition of a thing from one state into another) is continuous,"
might be proved here easily, and with mathematical evidence, were it
not that the causality of a change lies, entirely beyond the bounds
of a transcendental philosophy, and presupposes empirical principles.
For of the possibility of a cause which changes the condition of things,
that is, which determines them to the contrary to a certain given
state, the understanding gives us a priori no knowledge; not merely
because it has no insight into the possibility of it (for such insight
is absent in several a priori cognitions), but because the notion of
change concerns only certain determinations of phenomena, which
experience alone can acquaint us with, while their cause lies in the
unchangeable. But seeing that we have nothing which we could here
employ but the pure fundamental conceptions of all possible
experience, among which of course nothing empirical can be admitted,
we dare not, without injuring the unity of our system, anticipate
general physical science, which is built upon certain fundamental
experiences.

Nevertheless, we are in no want of proofs of the great influence
which the principle above developed exercises in the anticipation of
perceptions, and even in supplying the want of them, so far as to
shield us against the false conclusions which otherwise we might
rashly draw.

If all reality in perception has a degree, between which and
negation there is an endless sequence of ever smaller degrees, and
if, nevertheless, every sense must have a determinate degree of
receptivity for sensations; no perception, and consequently no
experience is possible, which can prove, either immediately or
mediately, an entire absence of all reality in a phenomenon; in
other words, it is impossible ever to draw from experience a proof
of the existence of empty space or of empty time. For in the first
place, an entire absence of reality in a sensuous intuition cannot
of course be an object of perception; secondly, such absence cannot
be deduced from the contemplation of any single phenomenon, and the
difference of the degrees in its reality; nor ought it ever to be
admitted in explanation of any phenomenon. For if even the complete
intuition of a determinate space or time is thoroughly real, that
is, if no part thereof is empty, yet because every reality has its
degree, which, with the extensive quantity of the phenomenon
unchanged, can diminish through endless gradations down to nothing
(the void), there must be infinitely graduated degrees, with which
space or time is filled, and the intensive quantity in different
phenomena may be smaller or greater, although the extensive quantity
of the intuition remains equal and unaltered.

We shall give an example of this. Almost all natural philosophers,
remarking a great difference in the quantity of the matter of
different kinds in bodies with the same volume (partly on account of
the momentum of gravity or weight, partly on account of the momentum
of resistance to other bodies in motion), conclude unanimously that
this volume (extensive quantity of the phenomenon) must be void in
all bodies, although in different proportion. But who would suspect
that these for the most part mathematical and mechanical inquirers
into nature should ground this conclusion solely on a metaphysical
hypothesis--a sort of hypothesis which they profess to disparage and
avoid? Yet this they do, in assuming that the real in space (I must
not here call it impenetrability or weight, because these are
empirical conceptions) is always identical, and can only be
distinguished according to its extensive quantity, that is,
multiplicity. Now to this presupposition, for which they can have no
ground in experience, and which consequently is merely metaphysical,
I oppose a transcendental demonstration, which it is true will not
explain the difference in the filling up of spaces, but which
nevertheless completely does away with the supposed necessity of the
above-mentioned presupposition that we cannot explain the said
difference otherwise than by the hypothesis of empty spaces. This
demonstration, moreover, has the merit of setting the understanding
at liberty to conceive this distinction in a different manner, if the
explanation of the fact requires any such hypothesis. For we
perceive that although two equal spaces may be completely filled by
matters altogether different, so that in neither of them is there left
a single point wherein matter is not present, nevertheless, every
reality has its degree (of resistance or of weight), which, without
diminution of the extensive quantity, can become less and less ad
infinitum, before it passes into nothingness and disappears. Thus an
expansion which fills a space--for example, caloric, or any other
reality in the phenomenal world--can decrease in its degrees to
infinity, yet without leaving the smallest part of the space empty;
on the contrary, filling it with those lesser degrees as completely
as another phenomenon could with greater. My intention here is by no
means to maintain that this is really the case with the difference
of matters, in regard to their specific gravity; I wish only to prove,
from a principle of the pure understanding, that the nature of our
perceptions makes such a mode of explanation possible, and that it
is erroneous to regard the real in a phenomenon as equal quoad its
degree, and different only quoad its aggregation and extensive
quantity, and this, too, on the pretended authority of an a priori
principle of the understanding.

Nevertheless, this principle of the anticipation of perception
must somewhat startle an inquirer whom initiation into
transcendental philosophy has rendered cautious. We must naturally
entertain some doubt whether or not the understanding can enounce
any such synthetical proposition as that respecting the degree of
all reality in phenomena, and consequently the possibility of the
internal difference of sensation itself--abstraction being made of
its empirical quality. Thus it is a question not unworthy of solution:
"How the understanding can pronounce synthetically and a priori
respecting phenomena, and thus anticipate these, even in that which
is peculiarly and merely empirical, that, namely, which concerns
sensation itself?"

The quality of sensation is in all cases merely empirical, and
cannot be represented a priori (for example, colours, taste, etc.).
But the real--that which corresponds to sensation--in opposition to
negation = 0, only represents something the conception of which in
itself contains a being (ein seyn), and signifies nothing but the
synthesis in an empirical consciousness. That is to say, the empirical
consciousness in the internal sense can be raised from 0 to every
higher degree, so that the very same extensive quantity of
intuition, an illuminated surface, for example, excites as great a
sensation as an aggregate of many other surfaces less illuminated.
We can therefore make complete abstraction of the extensive quantity
of a phenomenon, and represent to ourselves in the mere sensation in
a certain momentum, a synthesis of homogeneous ascension from 0 up
to the given empirical consciousness, All sensations therefore as such
are given only a posteriori, but this property thereof, namely, that
they have a degree, can be known a priori. It is worthy of remark,
that in respect to quantities in general, we can cognize a priori only
a single quality, namely, continuity; but in respect to all quality
(the real in phenomena), we cannot cognize a priori anything more than
the intensive quantity thereof, namely, that they have a degree. All
else is left to experience.



3. ANALOGIES OF EXPERIENCE.

The principle of these is: Experience is possible only
through the representation of a necessary connection of Perceptions.


PROOF.


Experience is an empirical cognition; that is to say, a cognition
which determines an object by means of perceptions. It is therefore
a synthesis of perceptions, a synthesis which is not itself
contained in perception, but which contains the synthetical unity of
the manifold of perception in a consciousness; and this unity
constitutes the essential of our cognition of objects of the senses,
that is, of experience (not merely of intuition or sensation). Now
in experience our perceptions come together contingently, so that no
character of necessity in their connection appears, or can appear from
the perceptions themselves, because apprehension is only a placing
together of the manifold of empirical intuition, and no representation
of a necessity in the connected existence of the phenomena which
apprehension brings together, is to be discovered therein. But as
experience is a cognition of objects by means of perceptions, it
follows that the relation of the existence of the existence of the
manifold must be represented in experience not as it is put together
in time, but as it is objectively in time. And as time itself cannot
be perceived, the determination of the existence of objects in time
can only take place by means of their connection in time in general,
consequently only by means of a priori connecting conceptions. Now
as these conceptions always possess the character of necessity,
experience is possible only by means of a representation of the
necessary connection of perception.

The three modi of time are permanence, succession, and
coexistence. Accordingly, there are three rules of all relations of
time in phenomena, according to which the existence of every
phenomenon is determined in respect of the unity of all time, and
these antecede all experience and render it possible.

The general principle of all three analogies rests on the
necessary unity of apperception in relation to all possible
empirical consciousness (perception) at every time, consequently, as
this unity lies a priori at the foundation of all mental operations,
the principle rests on the synthetical unity of all phenomena
according to their relation in time. For the original apperception
relates to our internal sense (the complex of all representations),
and indeed relates a priori to its form, that is to say, the
relation of the manifold empirical consciousness in time. Now this
manifold must be combined in original apperception according to
relations of time--a necessity imposed by the a priori
transcendental unity of apperception, to which is subjected all that
can belong to my (i.e., my own) cognition, and therefore all that
can become an object for me. This synthetical and a priori
determined unity in relation of perceptions in time is therefore the
rule: "All empirical determinations of time must be subject to rules
of the general determination of time"; and the analogies of
experience, of which we are now about to treat, must be rules of
this nature.

These principles have this peculiarity, that they do not concern
phenomena, and the synthesis of the empirical intuition thereof, but
merely the existence of phenomena and their relation to each other
in regard to this existence. Now the mode in which we apprehend a
thing in a phenomenon can be determined a priori in such a manner that
the rule of its synthesis can give, that is to say, can produce this
a priori intuition in every empirical example. But the existence of
phenomena cannot be known a priori, and although we could arrive by
this path at a conclusion of the fact of some existence, we could
not cognize that existence determinately, that is to say, we should
be incapable of anticipating in what respect the empirical intuition
of it would be distinguishable from that of others.

The two principles above mentioned, which I called mathematical,
in consideration of the fact of their authorizing the application of
mathematic phenomena, relate to these phenomena only in regard to
their possibility, and instruct us how phenomena, as far as regards
their intuition or the real in their perception, can be generated
according to the rules of a mathematical synthesis. Consequently,
numerical quantities, and with them the determination of a
phenomenon as a quantity, can be employed in the one case as well as
in the other. Thus, for example, out of 200,000 illuminations by the
moon, I might compose and give a priori, that is construct, the degree
of our sensations of the sun-light.* We may therefore entitle these
two principles constitutive.

[*Footnote: Kant's meaning is: The two principles enunciated under
the heads of "Axioms of Intuition," and "Anticipations of Perception,"
authorize the application to phenomena of determinations of size and
number, that is of mathematic. For exampkle, I may compute the light
of the sun, and say that its quantity is a certain number of times
greater than that of the moon. In the same way, heat is measured by
the comparison of its different effects on water, &c., and on mercury
in a thermometer.--Tr]

The case is very different with those principles whose province it
is to subject the existence of phenomena to rules a priori. For as
existence does not admit of being constructed, it is clear that they
must only concern the relations of existence and be merely
regulative principles. In this case, therefore, neither axioms nor
anticipations are to be thought of. Thus, if a perception is given
us, in a certain relation of time to other (although undetermined)
perceptions, we cannot then say a priori, what and how great (in
quantity) the other perception necessarily connected with the former
is, but only how it is connected, quoad its existence, in this given
modus of time. Analogies in philosophy mean something very different
from that which they represent in mathematics. In the latter they
are formulae, which enounce the equality of two relations of quantity,
and are always constitutive, so that if two terms of the proportion
are given, the third is also given, that is, can be constructed by
the aid of these formulae. But in philosophy, analogy is not the
equality of two quantitative but of two qualitative relations. In this
case, from three given terms, I can give a priori and cognize the
relation to a fourth member, but not this fourth term itself, although
I certainly possess a rule to guide me in the search for this fourth
term in experience, and a mark to assist me in discovering it. An
analogy of experience is therefore only a rule according to which
unity of experience must arise out of perceptions in respect to
objects (phenomena) not as a constitutive, but merely as a
regulative principle. The same holds good also of the postulates of
empirical thought in general, which relate to the synthesis of mere
intuition (which concerns the form of phenomena), the synthesis of
perception (which concerns the matter of phenomena), and the synthesis
of experience (which concerns the relation of these perceptions).
For they are only regulative principles, and clearly distinguishable
from the mathematical, which are constitutive, not indeed in regard
to the certainty which both possess a priori, but in the mode of evidence
thereof, consequently also in the manner of demonstration.

But what has been observed of all synthetical propositions, and must
be particularly remarked in this place, is this, that these
analogies possess significance and validity, not as principles of
the transcendental, but only as principles of the empirical use of
the understanding, and their truth can therefore be proved only as
such, and that consequently the phenomena must not be subjoined directly
under the categories, but only under their schemata. For if the
objects to which those principles must be applied were things in
themselves, it would be quite impossible to cognize aught concerning
them synthetically a priori. But they are nothing but phenomena; a
complete knowledge of which--a knowledge to which all principles a
priori must at last relate--is the only possible experience. It
follows that these principles can have nothing else for their aim than
the conditions of the empirical cognition in the unity of synthesis
of phenomena. But this synthesis is cogitated only in the schema of
the pure conception of the understanding, of whose unity, as that of
a synthesis in general, the category contains the function
unrestricted by any sensuous condition. These principles will
therefore authorize us to connect phenomena according to an analogy,
with the logical and universal unity of conceptions, and
consequently to employ the categories in the principles themselves;
but in the application of them to experience, we shall use only
their schemata, as the key to their proper application, instead of
the categories, or rather the latter as restricting conditions, under
the title of "formulae" of the former.



A. FIRST ANALOGY.

Principle of the Permanence of Substance.

In all changes of phenomena, substance is permanent, and the
quantum thereof in nature is neither increased nor diminished.


PROOF.


All phenomena exist in time, wherein alone as substratum, that is,
as the permanent form of the internal intuition, coexistence and
succession can be represented. Consequently time, in which all changes
of phenomena must be cogitated, remains and changes not, because it
is that in which succession and coexistence can be represented only
as determinations thereof. Now, time in itself cannot be an object
of perception. It follows that in objects of perception, that is, in
phenomena, there must be found a substratum which represents time in
general, and in which all change or coexistence can be perceived by
means of the relation of phenomena to it. But the substratum of all
reality, that is, of all that pertains to the existence of things,
is substance; all that pertains to existence can be cogitated only
as a determination of substance. Consequently, the permanent, in
relation to which alone can all relations of time in phenomena be
determined, is substance in the world of phenomena, that is, the
real in phenomena, that which, as the substratum of all change,
remains ever the same. Accordingly, as this cannot change in
existence, its quantity in nature can neither be increased nor
diminished.

Our apprehension of the manifold in a phenomenon is always
successive, is Consequently always changing. By it alone we could,
therefore, never determine whether this manifold, as an object of
experience, is coexistent or successive, unless it had for a
foundation something fixed and permanent, of the existence of which
all succession and coexistence are nothing but so many modes (modi
of time). Only in the permanent, then, are relations of time
possible (for simultaneity and succession are the only relations in
time); that is to say, the permanent is the substratum of our
empirical representation of time itself, in which alone all
determination of time is possible. Permanence is, in fact, just
another expression for time, as the abiding correlate of all existence
of phenomena, and of all change, and of all coexistence. For change
does not affect time itself, but only the phenomena in time (just as
coexistence cannot be regarded as a modus of time itself, seeing
that in time no parts are coexistent, but all successive). If we
were to attribute succession to time itself, we should be obliged to
cogitate another time, in which this succession would be possible.
It is only by means of the permanent that existence in different parts
of the successive series of time receives a quantity, which we entitle
duration. For in mere succession, existence is perpetually vanishing
and recommencing, and therefore never has even the least quantity.
Without the permanent, then, no relation in time is possible. Now,
time in itself is not an object of perception; consequently the
permanent in phenomena must be regarded as the substratum of all
determination of time, and consequently also as the condition of the
possibility of all synthetical unity of perceptions, that is, of
experience; and all existence and all change in time can only be
regarded as a mode in the existence of that which abides unchangeably.
Therefore, in all phenomena, the permanent is the object in itself,
that is, the substance (phenomenon); but all that changes or can
change belongs only to the mode of the existence of this substance
or substances, consequently to its determinations.

I find that in all ages not only the philosopher, but even the
common understanding, has preposited this permanence as a substratum
of all change in phenomena; indeed, I am compelled to believe that
they will always accept this as an indubitable fact. Only the
philosopher expresses himself in a more precise and definite manner,
when he says: "In all changes in the world, the substance remains,
and the accidents alone are changeable." But of this decidedly synthetical
proposition, I nowhere meet with even an attempt at proof; nay, it
very rarely has the good fortune to stand, as it deserves to do, at
the head of the pure and entirely a priori laws of nature. In truth,
the statement that substance is permanent, is tautological. For this
very permanence is the ground on which we apply the category of
substance to the phenomenon; and we should have been obliged to
prove that in all phenomena there is something permanent, of the
existence of which the changeable is nothing but a determination.
But because a proof of this nature cannot be dogmatical, that is,
cannot be drawn from conceptions, inasmuch as it concerns a
synthetical proposition a priori, and as philosophers never
reflected that such propositions are valid only in relation to
possible experience, and therefore cannot be proved except by means
of a deduction of the possibility of experience, it is no wonder that
while it has served as the foundation of all experience (for we feel
the need of it in empirical cognition), it has never been supported
by proof.

A philosopher was asked: "What is the weight of smoke?" He answered:
"Subtract from the weight of the burnt wood the weight of the
remaining ashes, and you will have the weight of the smoke." Thus he
presumed it to be incontrovertible that even in fire the matter
(substance) does not perish, but that only the form of it undergoes
a change. In like manner was the saying: "From nothing comes nothing,"
only another inference from the principle or permanence, or rather
of the ever-abiding existence of the true subject in phenomena. For
if that in the phenomenon which we call substance is to be the proper
substratum of all determination of time, it follows that all existence
in past as well as in future time, must be determinable by means of
it alone. Hence we are entitled to apply the term substance to a
phenomenon, only because we suppose its existence in all time, a
notion which the word permanence does not fully express, as it seems
rather to be referable to future time. However, the internal necessity
perpetually to be, is inseparably connected with the necessity
always to have been, and so the expression may stand as it is.
"Gigni de nihilo nihil; in nihilum nil posse reverti,"* are two
propositions which the ancients never parted, and which people
nowadays sometimes mistakenly disjoin, because they imagine that the
propositions apply to objects as things in themselves, and that the
former might be inimical to the dependence (even in respect of its
substance also) of the world upon a supreme cause. But this
apprehension is entirely needless, for the question in this case is
only of phenomena in the sphere of experience, the unity of which
never could be possible, if we admitted the possibility that new
things (in respect of their substance) should arise. For in that case,
we should lose altogether that which alone can represent the unity
of time, to wit, the identity of the substratum, as that through which
alone all change possesses complete and thorough unity. This
permanence is, however, nothing but the manner in which we represent
to ourselves the existence of things in the phenomenal world.

[*Footnote: Persius, Satirae, iii.83-84.]

The determinations of a substance, which are only particular modes
of its existence, are called accidents. They are always real,
because they concern the existence of substance (negations are only
determinations, which express the non-existence of something in the
substance). Now, if to this real in the substance we ascribe a
particular existence (for example, to motion as an accident of
matter), this existence is called inherence, in contradistinction to
the existence of substance, which we call subsistence. But hence arise
many misconceptions, and it would be a more accurate and just mode
of expression to designate the accident only as the mode in which
the existence of a substance is positively determined. Meanwhile, by
reason of the conditions of the logical exercise of our understanding,
it is impossible to avoid separating, as it were, that which in the
existence of a substance is subject to change, whilst the substance
remains, and regarding it in relation to that which is properly
permanent and radical. On this account, this category of substance
stands under the title of relation, rather because it is the condition
thereof than because it contains in itself any relation.

Now, upon this notion of permanence rests the proper notion of the
conception change. Origin and extinction are not changes of that which
originates or becomes extinct. Change is but a mode of existence,
which follows on another mode of existence of the same object; hence
all that changes is permanent, and only the condition thereof changes.
Now since this mutation affects only determinations, which can have
a beginning or an end, we may say, employing an expression which seems
somewhat paradoxical: "Only the permanent (substance) is subject to
change; the mutable suffers no change, but rather alternation, that
is, when certain determinations cease, others begin."

Change, when, cannot be perceived by us except in substances, and
origin or extinction in an absolute sense, that does not concern
merely a determination of the permanent, cannot be a possible
perception, for it is this very notion of the permanent which
renders possible the representation of a transition from one state
into another, and from non-being to being, which, consequently, can
be empirically cognized only as alternating determinations of that
which is permanent. Grant that a thing absolutely begins to be; we
must then have a point of time in which it was not. But how and by
what can we fix and determine this point of time, unless by that which
already exists? For a void time--preceding--is not an object of
perception; but if we connect this beginning with objects which
existed previously, and which continue to exist till the object in
question in question begins to be, then the latter can only be a
determination of the former as the permanent. The same holds good of
the notion of extinction, for this presupposes the empirical
representation of a time, in which a phenomenon no longer exists.

Substances (in the world of phenomena) are the substratum of all
determinations of time. The beginning of some, and the ceasing to be
of other substances, would utterly do away with the only condition
of the empirical unity of time; and in that case phenomena would
relate to two different times, in which, side by side, existence would
pass; which is absurd. For there is only one time in which all
different times must be placed, not as coexistent, but as successive.

Accordingly, permanence is a necessary condition under which alone
phenomena, as things or objects, are determinable in a possible
experience. But as regards the empirical criterion of this necessary
permanence, and with it of the substantiality of phenomena, we shall
find sufficient opportunity to speak in the sequel.



B. SECOND ANALOGY.

Principle of the Succession of Time According to the Law of Causality.
All changes take place according to the law of the connection of Cause
and Effect.


PROOF.


(That all phenomena in the succession of time are only changes, that
is, a successive being and non-being of the determinations of
substance, which is permanent; consequently that a being of
substance itself which follows on the non-being thereof, or a
non-being of substance which follows on the being thereof, in other
words, that the origin or extinction of substance itself, is
impossible--all this has been fully established in treating of the
foregoing principle. This principle might have been expressed as
follows: "All alteration (succession) of phenomena is merely
change"; for the changes of substance are not origin or extinction,
because the conception of change presupposes the same subject as
existing with two opposite determinations, and consequently as
permanent. After this premonition, we shall proceed to the proof.)

I perceive that phenomena succeed one another, that is to say, a
state of things exists at one time, the opposite of which existed in
a former state. In this case, then, I really connect together two
perceptions in time. Now connection is not an operation of mere
sense and intuition, but is the product of a synthetical faculty of
imagination, which determines the internal sense in respect of a
relation of time. But imagination can connect these two states in
two ways, so that either the one or the other may antecede in time;
for time in itself cannot be an object of perception, and what in an
object precedes and what follows cannot be empirically determined in
relation to it. I am only conscious, then, that my imagination
places one state before and the other after; not that the one state
antecedes the other in the object. In other words, the objective
relation of the successive phenomena remains quite undetermined by
means of mere perception. Now in order that this relation may be
cognized as determined, the relation between the two states must be
so cogitated that it is thereby determined as necessary, which of them
must be placed before and which after, and not conversely. But the
conception which carries with it a necessity of synthetical unity,
can be none other than a pure conception of the understanding which
does not lie in mere perception; and in this case it is the conception
of "the relation of cause and effect," the former of which determines
the latter in time, as its necessary consequence, and not as something
which might possibly antecede (or which might in some cases not be
perceived to follow). It follows that it is only because we subject
the sequence of phenomena, and consequently all change, to the law
of causality, that experience itself, that is, empirical cognition
of phenomena, becomes possible; and consequently, that phenomena
themselves, as objects of experience, are possible only by virtue of
this law.

Our apprehension of the manifold of phenomena is always
successive. The representations of parts succeed one another.
Whether they succeed one another in the object also, is a second point
for reflection, which was not contained in the former. Now we may
certainly give the name of object to everything, even to every
representation, so far as we are conscious thereof; but what this word
may mean in the case of phenomena, not merely in so far as they (as
representations) are objects, but only in so far as they indicate an
object, is a question requiring deeper consideration. In so far as
they, regarded merely as representations, are at the same time objects
of consciousness, they are not to be distinguished from
apprehension, that is, reception into the synthesis of imagination,
and we must therefore say: "The manifold of phenomena is always
produced successively in the mind." If phenomena were things in
themselves, no man would be able to conjecture from the succession
of our representations how this manifold is connected in the object;
for we have to do only with our representations. How things may be
in themselves, without regard to the representations through which
they affect us, is utterly beyond the sphere of our cognition. Now
although phenomena are not things in themselves, and are
nevertheless the only thing given to us to be cognized, it is my
duty to show what sort of connection in time belongs to the manifold
in phenomena themselves, while the representation of this manifold
in apprehension is always successive. For example, the apprehension
of the manifold in the phenomenon of a house which stands before me,
is successive. Now comes the question whether the manifold of this
house is in itself successive--which no one will be at all willing
to grant. But, so soon as I raise my conception of an object to the
transcendental signification thereof, I find that the house is not
a thing in itself, but only a phenomenon, that is, a representation,
the transcendental object of which remains utterly unknown. What then
am I to understand by the question: "How can the manifold be connected
in the phenomenon itself--not considered as a thing in itself, but
merely as a phenomenon?" Here that which lies in my successive apprehension
is regarded as representation, whilst the phenomenon which is given
me, notwithstanding that it is nothing more than a complex of these
representations, is regarded as the object thereof, with which my
conception, drawn from the representations of apprehension, must
harmonize. It is very soon seen that, as accordance of the cognition
with its object constitutes truth, the question now before us can only
relate to the formal conditions of empirical truth; and that the
phenomenon, in opposition to the representations of apprehension,
can only be distinguished therefrom as the object of them, if it is
subject to a rule which distinguishes it from every other
apprehension, and which renders necessary a mode of connection of
the manifold. That in the phenomenon which contains the condition of
this necessary rule of apprehension, is the object.

Let us now proceed to our task. That something happens, that is to
say, that something or some state exists which before was not,
cannot be empirically perceived, unless a phenomenon precedes, which
does not contain in itself this state. For a reality which should
follow upon a void time, in other words, a beginning, which no state
of things precedes, can just as little be apprehended as the void time
itself. Every apprehension of an event is therefore a perception which
follows upon another perception. But as this is the case with all
synthesis of apprehension, as I have shown above in the example of
a house, my apprehension of an event is not yet sufficiently
distinguished from other apprehensions. But I remark also that if in
a phenomenon which contains an occurrence, I call the antecedent state
of my perception, A, and the following state, B, the perception B
can only follow A in apprehension, and the perception A cannot
follow B, but only precede it. For example, I see a ship float down
the stream of a river. My perception of its place lower down follows
upon my perception of its place higher up the course of the river,
and it is impossible that, in the apprehension of this phenomenon,
the vessel should be perceived first below and afterwards higher up
the stream. Here, therefore, the order in the sequence of perceptions
in apprehension is determined; and by this order apprehension is
regulated. In the former example, my perceptions in the apprehension
of a house might begin at the roof and end at the foundation, or
vice versa; or I might apprehend the manifold in this empirical
intuition, by going from left to right, and from right to left.
Accordingly, in the series of these perceptions, there was no
determined order, which necessitated my beginning at a certain
point, in order empirically to connect the manifold. But this rule
is always to be met with in the perception of that which happens,
and it makes the order of the successive perceptions in the
apprehension of such a phenomenon necessary.

I must, therefore, in the present case, deduce the subjective
sequence of apprehension from the objective sequence of phenomena,
for otherwise the former is quite undetermined, and one phenomenon
is not distinguishable from another. The former alone proves nothing
as to the connection of the manifold in an object, for it is quite
arbitrary. The latter must consist in the order of the manifold in
a phenomenon, according to which order the apprehension of one thing
(that which happens) follows that of another thing (which precedes),
in conformity with a rule. In this way alone can I be authorized to
say of the phenomenon itself, and not merely of my own apprehension,
that a certain order or sequence is to be found therein. That is, in
other words, I cannot arrange my apprehension otherwise than in this
order.

In conformity with this rule, then, it is necessary that in that
which antecedes an event there be found the condition of a rule,
according to which in this event follows always and necessarily; but
I cannot reverse this and go back from the event, and determine (by
apprehension) that which antecedes it. For no phenomenon goes back
from the succeeding point of time to the preceding point, although
it does certainly relate to a preceding point of time; from a given
time, on the other hand, there is always a necessary progression to
the determined succeeding time. Therefore, because there certainly
is something that follows, I must of necessity connect it with
something else, which antecedes, and upon which it follows, in
conformity with a rule, that is necessarily, so that the event, as
conditioned, affords certain indication of a condition, and this
condition determines the event.

Let us suppose that nothing precedes an event, upon which this event
must follow in conformity with a rule. All sequence of perception
would then exist only in apprehension, that is to say, would be merely
subjective, and it could not thereby be objectively determined what
thing ought to precede, and what ought to follow in perception. In
such a case, we should have nothing but a play of representations,
which would possess no application to any object. That is to say, it
would not be possible through perception to distinguish one phenomenon
from another, as regards relations of time; because the succession
in the act of apprehension would always be of the same sort, and
therefore there would be nothing in the phenomenon to determine the
succession, and to render a certain sequence objectively necessary.
And, in this case, I cannot say that two states in a phenomenon follow
one upon the other, but only that one apprehension follows upon
another. But this is merely subjective, and does not determine an
object, and consequently cannot be held to be cognition of an
object--not even in the phenomenal world.

Accordingly, when we know in experience that something happens, we
always presuppose that something precedes, whereupon it follows in
conformity with a rule. For otherwise I could not say of the object
that it follows; because the mere succession in my apprehension, if
it be not determined by a rule in relation to something preceding,
does not authorize succession in the object. Only, therefore, in
reference to a rule, according to which phenomena are determined in
their sequence, that is, as they happen, by the preceding state, can
I make my subjective synthesis (of apprehension) objective, and it
is only under this presupposition that even the experience of an event
is possible.

No doubt it appears as if this were in thorough contradiction to all
the notions which people have hitherto entertained in regard to the
procedure of the human understanding. According to these opinions,
it is by means of the perception and comparison of similar
consequences following upon certain antecedent phenomena that the
understanding is led to the discovery of a rule, according to which
certain events always follow certain phenomena, and it is only by this
process that we attain to the conception of cause. Upon such a
basis, it is clear that this conception must be merely empirical,
and the rule which it furnishes us with--"Everything that happens must
have a cause"--would be just as contingent as experience itself. The
universality and necessity of the rule or law would be perfectly
spurious attributes of it. Indeed, it could not possess universal
validity, inasmuch as it would not in this case be a priori, but
founded on deduction. But the same is the case with this law as with
other pure a priori representations (e.g., space and time), which we
can draw in perfect clearness and completeness from experience, only
because we had already placed them therein, and by that means, and
by that alone, had rendered experience possible. Indeed, the logical
clearness of this representation of a rule, determining the series
of events, is possible only when we have made use thereof in
experience. Nevertheless, the recognition of this rule, as a condition
of the synthetical unity of phenomena in time, was the ground of
experience itself and consequently preceded it a priori.

It is now our duty to show by an example that we never, even in
experience, attribute to an object the notion of succession or
effect (of an event--that is, the happening of something that did
not exist before), and distinguish it from the subjective succession
of apprehension, unless when a rule lies at the foundation, which
compels us to observe this order of perception in preference to any
other, and that, indeed, it is this necessity which first renders
possible the representation of a succession in the object.

We have representations within us, of which also we can be
conscious. But, however widely extended, however accurate and
thoroughgoing this consciousness may be, these representations are
still nothing more than representations, that is, internal
determinations of the mind in this or that relation of time. Now how
happens it that to these representations we should set an object, or
that, in addition to their subjective reality, as modifications, we
should still further attribute to them a certain unknown objective
reality? It is clear that objective significancy cannot consist in
a relation to another representation (of that which we desire to term
object), for in that case the question again arises: "How does this
other representation go out of itself, and obtain objective
significancy over and above the subjective, which is proper to it,
as a determination of a state of mind?" If we try to discover what
sort of new property the relation to an object gives to our subjective
representations, and what new importance they thereby receive, we
shall find that this relation has no other effect than that of
rendering necessary the connection of our representations in a certain
manner, and of subjecting them to a rule; and that conversely, it is
only because a certain order is necessary in the relations of time
of our representations, that objective significancy is ascribed to
them.

In the synthesis of phenomena, the manifold of our representations
is always successive. Now hereby is not represented an object, for
by means of this succession, which is common to all apprehension, no
one thing is distinguished from another. But so soon as I perceive
or assume that in this succession there is a relation to a state
antecedent, from which the representation follows in accordance with
a rule, so soon do I represent something as an event, or as a thing
that happens; in other words, I cognize an object to which I must assign
a certain determinate position in time, which cannot be altered,
because of the preceding state in the object. When, therefore, I
perceive that something happens, there is contained in this
representation, in the first place, the fact, that something
antecedes; because, it. is only in relation to this that the
phenomenon obtains its proper relation of time, in other words, exists
after an antecedent time, in which it did not exist. But it can
receive its determined place in time only by the presupposition that
something existed in the foregoing state, upon which it follows
inevitably and always, that is, in conformity with a rule. From all
this it is evident that, in the first place, I cannot reverse the
order of succession, and make that which happens precede that upon
which it follows; and that, in the second place, if the antecedent
state be posited, a certain determinate event inevitably and
necessarily follows. Hence it follows that there exists a certain
order in our representations, whereby the present gives a sure
indication of some previously existing state, as a correlate, though
still undetermined, of the existing event which is given--a
correlate which itself relates to the event as its consequence,
conditions it, and connects it necessarily with itself in the series
of time.

If then it be admitted as a necessary law of sensibility, and
consequently a formal condition of all perception, that the
preceding necessarily determines the succeeding time (inasmuch as I
cannot arrive at the succeeding except through the preceding), it must
likewise be an indispensable law of empirical representation of the
series of time that the phenomena of the past determine all
phenomena in the succeeding time, and that the latter, as events,
cannot take place, except in so far as the former determine their
existence in time, that is to say, establish it according to a rule.
For it is of course only in phenomena that we can empirically
cognize this continuity in the connection of times.

For all experience and for the possibility of experience,
understanding is indispensable, and the first step which it takes in
this sphere is not to render the representation of objects clear,
but to render the representation of an object in general, possible.
It does this by applying the order of time to phenomena, and their
existence. In other words, it assigns to each phenomenon, as a
consequence, a place in relation to preceding phenomena, determined
a priori in time, without which it could not harmonize with time
itself, which determines a place a priori to all its parts. This
determination of place cannot be derived from the relation of
phenomena to absolute time (for it is not an object of perception);
but, on the contrary, phenomena must reciprocally determine the places
in time of one another, and render these necessary in the order of
time. In other words, whatever follows or happens, must follow in
conformity with a universal rule upon that which was contained in
the foregoing state. Hence arises a series of phenomena, which, by
means of the understanding, produces and renders necessary exactly
the same order and continuous connection in the series of our possible
perceptions, as is found a priori in the form of internal intuition
(time), in which all our perceptions must have place.

That something happens, then, is a perception which belongs to a
possible experience, which becomes real only because I look upon the
phenomenon as determined in regard to its place in time,
consequently as an object, which can always be found by means of a
rule in the connected series of my perceptions. But this rule of the
determination of a thing according to succession in time is as
follows: "In what precedes may be found the condition, under which
an event always (that is, necessarily) follows." From all this it is
obvious that the principle of cause and effect is the principle of
possible experience, that is, of objective cognition of phenomena,
in regard to their relations in the succession of time.

The proof of this fundamental proposition rests entirely on the
following momenta of argument. To all empirical cognition belongs
the synthesis of the manifold by the imagination, a synthesis which
is always successive, that is, in which the representations therein
always follow one another. But the order of succession in
imagination is not determined, and the series of successive
representations may be taken retrogressively as well as progressively.
But if this synthesis is a synthesis of apprehension (of the
manifold of a given phenomenon), then the order is determined in the
object, or to speak more accurately, there is therein an order of
successive synthesis which determines an object, and according to
which something necessarily precedes, and when this is posited,
something else necessarily follows. If, then, my perception is to
contain the cognition of an event, that is, of something which
really happens, it must be an empirical judgement, wherein we think
that the succession is determined; that is, it presupposes another
phenomenon, upon which this event follows necessarily, or in
conformity with a rule. If, on the contrary, when I posited the
antecedent, the event did not necessarily follow, I should be
obliged to consider it merely as a subjective play of my
imagination, and if in this I represented to myself anything as
objective, I must look upon it as a mere dream. Thus, the relation
of phenomena (as possible perceptions), according to which that
which happens is, as to its existence, necessarily determined in
time by something which antecedes, in conformity with a rule--in other
words, the relation of cause and effect--is the condition of the
objective validity of our empirical judgements in regard to the
sequence of perceptions, consequently of their empirical truth, and
therefore of experience. The principle of the relation of causality
in the succession of phenomena is therefore valid for all objects of
experience, because it is itself the ground of the possibility of
experience.

Here, however, a difficulty arises, which must be resolved. The
principle of the connection of causality among phenomena is limited
in our formula to the succession thereof, although in practice we find
that the principle applies also when the phenomena exist together in
the same time, and that cause and effect may be simultaneous. For
example, there is heat in a room, which does not exist in the open
air. I look about for the cause, and find it to be the fire, Now the
fire as the cause is simultaneous with its effect, the heat of the
room. In this case, then, there is no succession as regards time,
between cause and effect, but they are simultaneous; and still the
law holds good. The greater part of operating causes in nature are
simultaneous with their effects, and the succession in time of the
latter is produced only because the cause cannot achieve the total
of its effect in one moment. But at the moment when the effect first
arises, it is always simultaneous with the causality of its cause,
because, if the cause had but a moment before ceased to be, the effect
could not have arisen. Here it must be specially remembered that we
must consider the order of time and not the lapse thereof. The
relation remains, even though no time has elapsed. The time between
the causality of the cause and its immediate effect may entirely
vanish, and the cause and effect be thus simultaneous, but the
relation of the one to the other remains always determinable according
to time. If, for example, I consider a leaden ball, which lies upon
a cushion and makes a hollow in it, as a cause, then it is
simultaneous with the effect. But I distinguish the two through the
relation of time of the dynamical connection of both. For if I lay
the ball upon the cushion, then the hollow follows upon the before
smooth surface; but supposing the cushion has, from some cause or
another, a hollow, there does not thereupon follow a leaden ball.

Thus, the law of succession of time is in all instances the only
empirical criterion of effect in relation to the causality of the
antecedent cause. The glass is the cause of the rising of the water
above its horizontal surface, although the two phenomena are
contemporaneous. For, as soon as I draw some water with the glass from
a larger vessel, an effect follows thereupon, namely, the change of
the horizontal state which the water had in the large vessel into a
concave, which it assumes in the glass.

This conception of causality leads us to the conception of action;
that of action, to the conception of force; and through it, to the
conception of substance. As I do not wish this critical essay, the
sole purpose of which is to treat of the sources of our synthetical
cognition a priori, to be crowded with analyses which merely
explain, but do not enlarge the sphere of our conceptions, I reserve
the detailed explanation of the above conceptions for a future
system of pure reason. Such an analysis, indeed, executed with great
particularity, may already be found in well-known works on this
subject. But I cannot at present refrain from making a few remarks
on the empirical criterion of a substance, in so far as it seems to
be more evident and more easily recognized through the conception of
action than through that of the permanence of a phenomenon.

Where action (consequently activity and force) exists, substance
also must exist, and in it alone must be sought the seat of that
fruitful source of phenomena. Very well. But if we are called upon
to explain what we mean by substance, and wish to avoid the vice of
reasoning in a circle, the answer is by no means so easy. How shall
we conclude immediately from the action to the permanence of that which
acts, this being nevertheless an essential and peculiar criterion of
substance (phenomenon)? But after what has been said above, the
solution of this question becomes easy enough, although by the
common mode of procedure--merely analysing our conceptions--it would
be quite impossible. The conception of action indicates the relation
of the subject of causality to the effect. Now because all effect
consists in that which happens, therefore in the changeable, the
last subject thereof is the permanent, as the substratum of all that
changes, that is, substance. For according to the principle of
causality, actions are always the first ground of all change in
phenomena and, consequently, cannot be a property of a subject which
itself changes, because if this were the case, other actions and
another subject would be necessary to determine this change. From
all this it results that action alone, as an empirical criterion, is
a sufficient proof of the presence of substantiality, without any
necessity on my part of endeavouring to discover the permanence of
substance by a comparison. Besides, by this mode of induction we could
not attain to the completeness which the magnitude and strict
universality of the conception requires. For that the primary
subject of the causality of all arising and passing away, all origin
and extinction, cannot itself (in the sphere of phenomena) arise and
pass away, is a sound and safe conclusion, a conclusion which leads
us to the conception of empirical necessity and permanence in
existence, and consequently to the conception of a substance as
phenomenon.

When something happens, the mere fact of the occurrence, without
regard to that which occurs, is an object requiring investigation.
The transition from the non-being of a state into the existence of
it, supposing that this state contains no quality which previously
existed in the phenomenon, is a fact of itself demanding inquiry. Such
an event, as has been shown in No. A, does not concern substance (for
substance does not thus originate), but its condition or state. It
is therefore only change, and not origin from nothing. If this
origin be regarded as the effect of a foreign cause, it is termed
creation, which cannot be admitted as an event among phenomena,
because the very possibility of it would annihilate the unity of
experience. If, however, I regard all things not as phenomena, but
as things in themselves and objects of understanding alone, they,
although substances, may be considered as dependent, in respect of
their existence, on a foreign cause. But this would require a very
different meaning in the words, a meaning which could not apply to
phenomena as objects of possible experience.

How a thing can be changed, how it is possible that upon one state
existing in one point of time, an opposite state should follow in
another point of time--of this we have not the smallest conception
a priori. There is requisite for this the knowledge of real powers,
which can only be given empirically; for example, knowledge of
moving forces, or, in other words, of certain successive phenomena
(as movements) which indicate the presence of such forces. But the
form of every change, the condition under which alone it can take place
as the coming into existence of another state (be the content of the
change, that is, the state which is changed, what it may), and
consequently the succession of the states themselves can very well
be considered a priori, in relation to the law of causality and the
conditions of time.*

[*Footnote: It must be remarked that I do not speak of the change of
certain relations, but of the change of the state. Thus, when a body
moves in a uniform manner, it does not change its state (of motion);
but only when all motion increases or decreases.]

When a substance passes from one state, a, into another state, b,
the point of time in which the latter exists is different from, and
subsequent to that in which the former existed. In like manner, the
second state, as reality (in the phenomenon), differs from the
first, in which the reality of the second did not exist, as b from
zero. That is to say, if the state, b, differs from the state, a, only
in respect to quantity, the change is a coming into existence of
b - a, which in the former state did not exist, and in relation to
which that state is = O.

Now the question arises how a thing passes from one state = a,
into another state = b. Between two moments there is always a
certain time, and between two states existing in these moments there
is always a difference having a certain quantity (for all parts of
phenomena are in their turn quantities). Consequently, every
transition from one state into another is always effected in a time
contained between two moments, of which the first determines the state
which leaves, and the second determines the state into the thing
passes. the thing leaves, and the second determines the state into
which the thing Both moments, then, are limitations of the time of
a change, consequently of the intermediate state between both, and
as such they belong to the total of the change. Now every change has
a cause, which evidences its causality in the whole time during which
the charge takes place. The cause, therefore, does not produce the
change all at once or in one moment, but in a time, so that, as the
time gradually increases from the commencing instant, a, to its
completion at b, in like manner also, the quantity of the reality
(b - a) is generated through the lesser degrees which are contained
between the first and last. All change is therefore possible only
through a continuous action of the causality, which, in so far as it
is uniform, we call a momentum. The change does not consist of these
momenta, but is generated or produced by them as their effect.

Such is the law of the continuity of all change, the ground of which
is that neither time itself nor any phenomenon in time consists of
parts which are the smallest possible, but that, notwithstanding,
the state of a thing passes in the process of a change through all
these parts, as elements, to its second state. There is no smallest
degree of reality in a phenomenon, just as there is no smallest degree
in the quantity of time; and so the new state of reality grows up
out of the former state, through all the infinite degrees thereof,
the differences of which one from another, taken all together, are
less than the difference between o and a.

It is not our business to inquire here into the utility of this
principle in the investigation of nature. But how such a
proposition, which appears so greatly to extend our knowledge of
nature, is possible completely a priori, is indeed a question which
deserves investigation, although the first view seems to demonstrate
the truth and reality of the principle, and the question, how it is
possible, may be considered superfluous. For there are so many
groundless pretensions to the enlargement of our knowledge by pure
reason that we must take it as a general rule to be mistrustful of
all such, and without a thoroughgoing and radical deduction, to believe
nothing of the sort even on the clearest dogmatical evidence.

Every addition to our empirical knowledge, and every advance made in
the exercise of our perception, is nothing more than an extension of
the determination of the internal sense, that is to say, a progression
in time, be objects themselves what they may, phenomena, or pure
intuitions. This progression in time determines everything, and is
itself determined by nothing else. That is to say, the parts of the
progression exist only in time, and by means of the synthesis thereof,
and are not given antecedently to it. For this reason, every
transition in perception to anything which follows upon another in
time, is a determination of time by means of the production of this
perception. And as this determination of time is, always and in all
its parts, a quantity, the perception produced is to be considered
as a quantity which proceeds through all its degrees--no one of
which is the smallest possible--from zero up to its determined degree.
From this we perceive the possibility of cognizing a priori a law of
changes--a law, however, which concerns their form merely. We merely
anticipate our own apprehension, the formal condition of which,
inasmuch as it is itself to be found in the mind antecedently to all
given phenomena, must certainly be capable of being cognized a priori.

Thus, as time contains the sensuous condition a priori of the
possibility of a continuous progression of that which exists to that
which follows it, the understanding, by virtue of the unity of
apperception, contains the condition a priori of the possibility of
a continuous determination of the position in time of all phenomena,
and this by means of the series of causes and effects, the former of
which necessitate the sequence of the latter, and thereby render
universally and for all time, and by consequence, objectively, valid
the empirical cognition of the relations of time.



C. THIRD ANALOGY.

Principle of Coexistence, According to the Law of Reciprocity or Community.

All substances, in so far as they can be perceived in space
at the same time, exist in a state of complete reciprocity of action.


PROOF.


Things are coexistent, when in empirical intuition the perception of
the one can follow upon the perception of the other, and vice versa--
which cannot occur in the succession of phenomena, as we have shown
in the explanation of the second principle. Thus I can perceive the
moon and then the earth, or conversely, first the earth and then the
moon; and for the reason that my perceptions of these objects can
reciprocally follow each other, I say, they exist contemporaneously.
Now coexistence is the existence of the manifold in the same time.
But time itself is not an object of perception; and therefore we cannot
conclude from the fact that things are placed in the same time, the
other fact, that the perception of these things can follow each
other reciprocally. The synthesis of the imagination in apprehension
would only present to us each of these perceptions as present in the
subject when the other is not present, and contrariwise; but would
not show that the objects are coexistent, that is to say, that, if
the one exists, the other also exists in the same time, and that this
is necessarily so, in order that the perceptions may be capable of
following each other reciprocally. It follows that a conception of
the understanding or category of the reciprocal sequence of the
determinations of phenomena (existing, as they do, apart from each
other, and yet contemporaneously), is requisite to justify us in
saying that the reciprocal succession of perceptions has its
foundation in the object, and to enable us to represent coexistence
as objective. But that relation of substances in which the one contains
determinations the ground of which is in the other substance, is the
relation of influence. And, when this influence is reciprocal, it is
the relation of community or reciprocity. Consequently the coexistence
of substances in space cannot be cognized in experience otherwise than
under the precondition of their reciprocal action. This is therefore
the condition of the possibility of things themselves as objects of
experience.

Things are coexistent, in so far as they exist in one and the same
time. But how can we know that they exist in one and the same time?
Only by observing that the order in the synthesis of apprehension of
the manifold is arbitrary and a matter of indifference, that is to
say, that it can proceed from A, through B, C, D, to E, or
contrariwise from E to A. For if they were successive in time (and
in the order, let us suppose, which begins with A), it is quite
impossible for the apprehension in perception to begin with E and go
backwards to A, inasmuch as A belongs to past time and, therefore,
cannot be an object of apprehension.

Let us assume that in a number of substances considered as phenomena
each is completely isolated, that is, that no one acts upon another.
Then I say that the coexistence of these cannot be an object of
possible perception and that the existence of one cannot, by any
mode of empirical synthesis, lead us to the existence of another.
For we imagine them in this case to be separated by a completely
void space, and thus perception, which proceeds from the one to the
other in time, would indeed determine their existence by means of a
following perception, but would be quite unable to distinguish whether
the one phenomenon follows objectively upon the first, or is
coexistent with it.

Besides the mere fact of existence, then, there must be something by
means of which A determines the position of B in time and, conversely,
B the position of A; because only under this condition can
substances be empirically represented as existing contemporaneously.
Now that alone determines the position of another thing in time
which is the cause of it or of its determinations. Consequently
every substance (inasmuch as it can have succession predicated of it
only in respect of its determinations) must contain the causality of
certain determinations in another substance, and at the same time
the effects of the causality of the other in itself. That is to say,
substances must stand (mediately or immediately) in dynamical
community with each other, if coexistence is to be cognized in any
possible experience. But, in regard to objects of experience, that
is absolutely necessary without which the experience of these
objects would itself be impossible. Consequently it is absolutely
necessary that all substances in the world of phenomena, in so far
as they are coexistent, stand in a relation of complete community of
reciprocal action to each other.

The word community has in our language [Footnote: German] two meanings,
and contains the two notions conveyed in the Latin communio and
commercium. We employ it in this place in the latter sense--that of a
dynamical community, without which even the community of place
(communio spatii) could not be empirically cognized. In our experiences
it is easy to observe that it is only the continuous influences in all
parts of space that can conduct our senses from one object to another;
that the light which plays between our eyes and the heavenly bodies
produces a mediating community between them and us, and thereby
evidences their coexistence with us; that we cannot empirically change our
position (perceive this change), unless the existence of matter throughout
the whole of space rendered possible the perception of the positions
we occupy; and that this perception can prove the contemporaneous
existence of these places only through their reciprocal influence,
and thereby also the coexistence of even the most remote objects--although
in this case the proof is only mediate. Without community, every
perception (of a phenomenon in space) is separated from every other
and isolated, and the chain of empirical representations, that is,
of experience, must, with the appearance of a new object, begin
entirely de novo, without the least connection with preceding
representations, and without standing towards these even in the
relation of time. My intention here is by no means to combat the
notion of empty space; for it may exist where our perceptions cannot
exist, inasmuch as they cannot reach thereto, and where, therefore,
no empirical perception of coexistence takes place. But in this case
it is not an object of possible experience.

The following remarks may be useful in the way of explanation. In
the mind, all phenomena, as contents of a possible experience, must
exist in community (communio) of apperception or consciousness, and
in so far as it is requisite that objects be represented as coexistent
and connected, in so far must they reciprocally determine the position
in time of each other and thereby constitute a whole. If this
subjective community is to rest upon an objective basis, or to be
applied to substances as phenomena, the perception of one substance
must render possible the perception of another, and conversely. For
otherwise succession, which is always found in perceptions as
apprehensions, would be predicated of external objects, and their
representation of their coexistence be thus impossible. But this is
a reciprocal influence, that is to say, a real community
(commercium) of substances, without which therefore the empirical
relation of coexistence would be a notion beyond the reach of our
minds. By virtue of this commercium, phenomena, in so far as they
are apart from, and nevertheless in connection with each other,
constitute a compositum reale. Such composita are possible in many
different ways. The three dynamical relations then, from which all
others spring, are those of inherence, consequence, and composition.

These, then, are the three analogies of experience. They are nothing
more than principles of the determination of the existence of
phenomena in time, according to the three modi of this
determination; to wit, the relation to time itself as a quantity
(the quantity of existence, that is, duration), the relation in time
as a series or succession, finally, the relation in time as the
complex of all existence (simultaneity). This unity of determination
in regard to time is thoroughly dynamical; that is to say, time is
not considered as that in which experience determines immediately to
every existence its position; for this is impossible, inasmuch as absolute
time is not an object of perception, by means of which phenomena can
be connected with each other. On the contrary, the rule of the
understanding, through which alone the existence of phenomena can
receive synthetical unity as regards relations of time, determines
for every phenomenon its position in time, and consequently a priori,
and with validity for all and every time.

By nature, in the empirical sense of the word, we understand the
totality of phenomena connected, in respect of their existence,
according to necessary rules, that is, laws. There are therefore
certain laws (which are moreover a priori) which make nature possible;
and all empirical laws can exist only by means of experience, and by
virtue of those primitive laws through which experience itself becomes
possible. The purpose of the analogies is therefore to represent to
us the unity of nature in the connection of all phenomena under certain
exponents, the only business of which is to express the relation of
time (in so far as it contains all existence in itself) to the unity
of apperception, which can exist in synthesis only according to rules.
The combined expression of all is this: "All phenomena exist in one
nature, and must so exist, inasmuch as without this a priori unity,
no unity of experience, and consequently no determination of objects
in experience, is possible."

As regards the mode of proof which we have employed in treating of
these transcendental laws of nature, and the peculiar character of
we must make one remark, which will at the same time be important as
a guide in every other attempt to demonstrate the truth of
intellectual and likewise synthetical propositions a priori. Had we
endeavoured to prove these analogies dogmatically, that is, from
conceptions; that is to say, had we employed this method in attempting
to show that everything which exists, exists only in that which is
permanent--that every thing or event presupposes the existence of
something in a preceding state, upon which it follows in conformity
with a rule--lastly, that in the manifold, which is coexistent, the
states coexist in connection with each other according to a rule-
all our labour would have been utterly in vain. For more conceptions
of things, analyse them as we may, cannot enable us to conclude from
the existence of one object to the existence of another. What other
course was left for us to pursue? This only, to demonstrate the
possibility of experience as a cognition in which at last all
objects must be capable of being presented to us, if the
representation of them is to possess any objective reality. Now in
this third, this mediating term, the essential form of which
consists in the synthetical unity of the apperception of all
phenomena, we found a priori conditions of the universal and necessary
determination as to time of all existences in the world of
phenomena, without which the empirical determination thereof as to
time would itself be impossible, and we also discovered rules of
synthetical unity a priori, by means of which we could anticipate
experience. For want of this method, and from the fancy that it was
possible to discover a dogmatical proof of the synthetical
propositions which are requisite in the empirical employment of the
understanding, has it happened that a proof of the principle of
sufficient reason has been so often attempted, and always in vain.
The other two analogies nobody has ever thought of, although they have
always been silently employed by the mind,* because the guiding thread
furnished by the categories was wanting, the guide which alone can
enable us to discover every hiatus, both in the system of
conceptions and of principles.

[*Footnote: The unity of the universe, in which all phenomena to be
connected, is evidently a mere consequence of the admitted principle
of the community of all substances which are coexistent. For were
substances isolated, they could not as parts constitute a whole, and
were their connection (reciprocal action of the manifold) not
necessary from the very fact of coexistence, we could not conclude
from the fact of the latter as a merely ideal relation to the former
as a real one. We have, however, shown in its place that community
is the proper ground of the possibility of an empirical cognition of
coexistence, and that we may therefore properly reason from the latter
to the former as its condition.]



4. THE POSTULATES OF EMPIRICAL THOUGHT.

1. That which agrees with the formal conditions (intuition and
conception) of experience, is possible.

2. That which coheres with the material conditions of experience
(sensation), is real.

3. That whose coherence with the real is determined according to
universal conditions of experience is (exists) necessary.


Explanation.


The categories of modality possess this peculiarity, that they do
not in the least determine the object, or enlarge the conception to
which they are annexed as predicates, but only express its relation
to the faculty of cognition. Though my conception of a thing is in
itself complete, I am still entitled to ask whether the object of it
is merely possible, or whether it is also real, or, if the latter,
whether it is also necessary. But hereby the object itself is not more
definitely determined in thought, but the question is only in what
relation it, including all its determinations, stands to the
understanding and its employment in experience, to the empirical
faculty of judgement, and to the reason of its application to
experience.

For this very reason, too, the categories of modality are nothing
more than explanations of the conceptions of possibility, reality,
and necessity, as employed in experience, and at the same time,
restrictions of all the categories to empirical use alone, not
authorizing the transcendental employment of them. For if they are
to have something more than a merely logical significance, and to be
something more than a mere analytical expression of the form of
thought, and to have a relation to things and their possibility,
reality, or necessity, they must concern possible experience and its
synthetical unity, in which alone objects of cognition can be given.

The postulate of the possibility of things requires also, that the
conception of the things agree with the formal conditions of our
experience in general. But this, that is to say, the objective form
of experience, contains all the kinds of synthesis which are requisite
for the cognition of objects. A conception which contains a
synthesis must be regarded as empty and, without reference to an
object, if its synthesis does not belong to experience--either as
borrowed from it, and in this case it is called an empirical
conception, or such as is the ground and a priori condition of
experience (its form), and in this case it is a pure conception, a
conception which nevertheless belongs to experience, inasmuch as its
object can be found in this alone. For where shall we find the
criterion or character of the possibility of an object which is
cogitated by means of an a priori synthetical conception, if not in
the synthesis which constitutes the form of empirical cognition of
objects? That in such a conception no contradiction exists is indeed
a necessary logical condition, but very far from being sufficient to
establish the objective reality of the conception, that is, the
possibility of such an object as is thought in the conception. Thus,
in the conception of a figure which is contained within two straight
lines, there is no contradiction, for the conceptions of two
straight lines and of their junction contain no negation of a
figure. The impossibility in such a case does not rest upon the
conception in itself, but upon the construction of it in space, that
is to say, upon the conditions of space and its determinations. But
these have themselves objective reality, that is, they apply to
possible things, because they contain a priori the form of
experience in general.

And now we shall proceed to point out the extensive utility and
influence of this postulate of possibility. When I represent to myself
a thing that is permanent, so that everything in it which changes
belongs merely to its state or condition, from such a conception alone
I never can cognize that such a thing is possible. Or, if I
represent to myself something which is so constituted that, when it
is posited, something else follows always and infallibly, my thought
contains no self-contradiction; but whether such a property as
causality is to be found in any possible thing, my thought alone
affords no means of judging. Finally, I can represent to myself
different things (substances) which are so constituted that the
state or condition of one causes a change in the state of the other,
and reciprocally; but whether such a relation is a property of
things cannot be perceived from these conceptions, which contain a
merely arbitrary synthesis. Only from the fact, therefore, that
these conceptions express a priori the relations of perceptions in
every experience, do we know that they possess objective reality, that
is, transcendental truth; and that independent of experience, though
not independent of all relation to form of an experience in general
and its synthetical unity, in which alone objects can be empirically
cognized.

But when we fashion to ourselves new conceptions of substances,
forces, action, and reaction, from the material presented to us by
perception, without following the example of experience in their
connection, we create mere chimeras, of the possibility of which we
cannot discover any criterion, because we have not taken experience
for our instructress, though we have borrowed the conceptions from
her. Such fictitious conceptions derive their character of possibility
not, like the categories, a priori, as conceptions on which all
experience depends, but only, a posteriori, as conceptions given by
means of experience itself, and their possibility must either be
cognized a posteriori and empirically, or it cannot be cognized at
all. A substance which is permanently present in space, yet without
filling it (like that tertium quid between matter and the thinking
subject which some have tried to introduce into metaphysics), or a
peculiar fundamental power of the mind of intuiting the future by
anticipation (instead of merely inferring from past and present
events), or, finally, a power of the mind to place itself in community
of thought with other men, however distant they may be--these are
conceptions the possibility of which has no ground to rest upon. For
they are not based upon experience and its known laws; and, without
experience, they are a merely arbitrary conjunction of thoughts,
which, though containing no internal contradiction, has no claim to
objective reality, neither, consequently, to the possibility of such
an object as is thought in these conceptions. As far as concerns
reality, it is self-evident that we cannot cogitate such a possibility
in concreto without the aid of experience; because reality is
concerned only with sensation, as the matter of experience, and not
with the form of thought, with which we can no doubt indulge in
shaping fancies.

But I pass by everything which derives its possibility from
reality in experience, and I purpose treating here merely of the
possibility of things by means of a priori conceptions. I maintain,
then, that the possibility of things is not derived from such
conceptions per se, but only when considered as formal and objective
conditions of an experience in general.

It seems, indeed, as if the possibility of a triangle could be
cognized from the conception of it alone (which is certainly
independent of experience); for we can certainly give to the
conception a corresponding object completely a priori, that is to say,
we can construct it. But as a triangle is only the form of an
object, it must remain a mere product of the imagination, and the
possibility of the existence of an object corresponding to it must
remain doubtful, unless we can discover some other ground, unless we
know that the figure can be cogitated under the conditions upon
which all objects of experience rest. Now, the facts that space is
a formal condition a priori of external experience, that the formative
synthesis, by which we construct a triangle in imagination, is the
very same as that we employ in the apprehension of a phenomenon for
the purpose of making an empirical conception of it, are what alone
connect the notion of the possibility of such a thing, with the
conception of it. In the same manner, the possibility of continuous
quantities, indeed of quantities in general, for the conceptions of
them are without exception synthetical, is never evident from the
conceptions in themselves, but only when they are considered as the
formal conditions of the determination of objects in experience. And
where, indeed, should we look for objects to correspond to our
conceptions, if not in experience, by which alone objects are
presented to us? It is, however, true that without antecedent
experience we can cognize and characterize the possibility of
things, relatively to the formal conditions, under which something
is determined in experience as an object, consequently, completely
a priori. But still this is possible only in relation to experience
and within its limits.

The postulate concerning the cognition of the reality of things
requires perception, consequently conscious sensation, not indeed
immediately, that is, of the object itself, whose existence is to be
cognized, but still that the object have some connection with a real
perception, in accordance with the analogies of experience, which
exhibit all kinds of real connection in experience.

From the mere conception of a thing it is impossible to conclude its
existence. For, let the conception be ever so complete, and containing
a statement of all the determinations of the thing, the existence of
it has nothing to do with all this, but only with thew question
whether such a thing is given, so that the perception of it can in
every case precede the conception. For the fact that the conception
of it precedes the perception, merely indicates the possibility of
its existence; it is perception which presents matter to the conception,
that is the sole criterion of reality. Prior to the perception of
the thing, however, and therefore comparatively a priori, we are
able to cognize its existence, provided it stands in connection with
some perceptions according to the principles of the empirical
conjunction of these, that is, in conformity with the analogies of
perception. For, in this case, the existence of the supposed thing
is connected with our perception in a possible experience, and we
are able, with the guidance of these analogies, to reason in the
series of possible perceptions from a thing which we do really
perceive to the thing we do not perceive. Thus, we cognize the
existence of a magnetic matter penetrating all bodies from the
perception of the attraction of the steel-filings by the magnet,
although the constitution of our organs renders an immediate
perception of this matter impossible for us. For, according to the
laws of sensibility and the connected context of our perceptions, we
should in an experience come also on an immediate empirical
intuition of this matter, if our senses were more acute--but this
obtuseness has no influence upon and cannot alter the form of possible
experience in general. Our knowledge of the existence of things
reaches as far as our perceptions, and what may be inferred from
them according to empirical laws, extend. If we do not set out from
experience, or do not proceed according to the laws of the empirical
connection of phenomena, our pretensions to discover the existence
of a thing which we do not immediately perceive are vain. Idealism,
however, brings forward powerful objections to these rules for proving
existence mediately. This is, therefore, the proper place for its
refutation.



REFUTATION OF IDEALISM.

Idealism--I mean material idealism--is the theory which declares the
existence of objects in space without us to be either () doubtful
and indemonstrable, or (2) false and impossible. The first is the
problematical idealism of Descartes, who admits the undoubted
certainty of only one empirical assertion (assertio), to wit, "I
am." The second is the dogmatical idealism of Berkeley, who
maintains that space, together with all the objects of which it is
the inseparable condition, is a thing which is in itself impossible,
and that consequently the objects in space are mere products of the
imagination. The dogmatical theory of idealism is unavoidable, if we
regard space as a property of things in themselves; for in that case
it is, with all to which it serves as condition, a nonentity. But
the foundation for this kind of idealism we have already destroyed
in the transcendental aesthetic. Problematical idealism, which makes
no such assertion, but only alleges our incapacity to prove the
existence of anything besides ourselves by means of immediate
experience, is a theory rational and evidencing a thorough and
philosophical mode of thinking, for it observes the rule not to form
a decisive judgement before sufficient proof be shown. The desired
proof must therefore demonstrate that we have experience of external
things, and not mere fancies. For this purpose, we must prove, that
our internal and, to Descartes, indubitable experience is itself
possible only under the previous assumption of external experience.



THEOREM.

The simple but empirically determined consciousness of
my own existence proves the existence of external objects in space.


PROOF


I am conscious of my own existence as determined in time. All
determination in regard to time presupposes the existence of something
permanent in perception. But this permanent something cannot be
something in me, for the very reason that my existence in time is
itself determined by this permanent something. It follows that the
perception of this permanent existence is possible only through a
thing without me and not through the mere representation of a thing
without me. Consequently, the determination of my existence in time
is possible only through the existence of real things external to me.
Now, consciousness in time is necessarily connected with the
consciousness of the possibility of this determination in time.
Hence it follows that consciousness in time is necessarily connected
also with the existence of things without me, inasmuch as the
existence of these things is the condition of determination in time.
That is to say, the consciousness of my own existence is at the same
time an immediate consciousness of the existence of other things
without me.

Remark I. The reader will observe, that in the foregoing proof the
game which idealism plays is retorted upon itself, and with more
justice. It assumed that the only immediate experience is internal
and that from this we can only infer the existence of external things.
But, as always happens, when we reason from given effects to
determined causes, idealism has reasoned with too much haste and
uncertainty, for it is quite possible that the cause of our
representations may lie in ourselves, and that we ascribe it falsely
to external things. But our proof shows that external experience is
properly immediate,* that only by virtue of it--not, indeed, the
consciousness of our own existence, but certainly the determination
of our existence in time, that is, internal experience--is possible.
It is true, that the representation "I am," which is the expression
of the consciousness which can accompany all my thoughts, is that which
immediately includes the existence of a subject. But in this
representation we cannot find any knowledge of the subject, and
therefore also no empirical knowledge, that is, experience. For
experience contains, in addition to the thought of something existing,
intuition, and in this case it must be internal intuition, that is,
time, in relation to which the subject must be determined. But the
existence of external things is absolutely requisite for this purpose,
so that it follows that internal experience is itself possible only
mediately and through external experience.

[*Footnote: The immediate consciousness of the existence of external
things is, in the preceding theorem, not presupposed, but proved, by
the possibility of this consciousness understood by us or not. The
question as to the possibility of it would stand thus: "Have we an
internal sense, but no external sense, and is our belief in external
perception a mere delusion?" But it is evident that, in order merely
to fancy to ourselves anything as external, that is, to present it
to the sense in intuition we must already possess an external sense,
and must thereby distinguish immediately the mere receptivity of an
external intuition from the spontaneity which characterizes every
act of imagination. For merely to imagine also an external sense,
would annihilate the faculty of intuition itself which is to be
determined by the imagination.]

Remark II. Now with this view all empirical use of our faculty of
cognition in the determination of time is in perfect accordance. Its
truth is supported by the fact that it is possible to perceive a
determination of time only by means of a change in external
relations (motion) to the permanent in space (for example, we become
aware of the sun's motion by observing the changes of his relation
to the objects of this earth). But this is not all. We find that we
possess nothing permanent that can correspond and be submitted to
the conception of a substance as intuition, except matter. This idea
of permanence is not itself derived from external experience, but is
an a priori necessary condition of all determination of time,
consequently also of the internal sense in reference to our own
existence, and that through the existence of external things. In the
representation "I," the consciousness of myself is not an intuition,
but a merely intellectual representation produced by the spontaneous
activity of a thinking subject. It follows, that this "I" has not
any predicate of intuition, which, in its character of permanence,
could serve as correlate to the determination of time in the
internal sense--in the same way as impenetrability is the correlate
of matter as an empirical intuition.

Remark III. From the fact that the existence of external things is
a necessary condition of the possibility of a determined consciousness
of ourselves, it does not follow that every intuitive representation
of external things involves the existence of these things, for their
representations may very well be the mere products of the
imagination (in dreams as well as in madness); though, indeed, these
are themselves created by the reproduction of previous external
perceptions, which, as has been shown, are possible only through the
reality of external objects. The sole aim of our remarks has, however,
been to prove that internal experience in general is possible only
through external experience in general. Whether this or that
supposed experience be purely imaginary must be discovered from its
particular determinations and by comparing these with the criteria
of all real experience.

Finally, as regards the third postulate, it applies to material
necessity in existence, and not to merely formal and logical necessity
in the connection of conceptions. Now as we cannot cognize completely a
priori the existence of any object of sense, though we can do so
comparatively a priori, that is, relatively to some other previously
given existence--a cognition, however, which can only be of such an
existence as must be contained in the complex of experience, of which
the previously given perception is a part--the necessity of existence
can never be cognized from conceptions, but always, on the contrary,
from its connection with that which is an object of perception. But the
only existence cognized, under the condition of other given phenomena,
as necessary, is the existence of effects from given causes in
conformity with the laws of causality. It is consequently not the
necessity of the existence of things (as substances), but the necessity
of the state of things that we cognize, and that not immediately, but
by means of the existence of other states given in perception,
according to empirical laws of causality. Hence it follows that the
criterion of necessity is to be found only in the law of possible
experience--that everything which happens is determined a priori in the
phenomenon by its cause. Thus we cognize only the necessity of effects
in nature, the causes of which are given us. Moreover, the criterion of
necessity in existence possesses no application beyond the field of
possible experience, and even in this it is not valid of the existence
of things as substances, because these can never be considered as
empirical effects, or as something that happens and has a beginning.
Necessity, therefore, regards only the relations of phenomena according
to the dynamical law of causality, and the possibility grounded
thereon, of reasoning from some given existence (of a cause) a priori
to another existence (of an effect). "Everything that happens is
hypothetically necessary," is a principle which subjects the changes
that take place in the world to a law, that is, to a rule of necessary
existence, without which nature herself could not possibly exist. Hence
the proposition, "Nothing happens by blind chance (in mundo non datur
casus)," is an a priori law of nature. The case is the same with the
proposition, "Necessity in nature is not blind," that is, it is
conditioned, consequently intelligible necessity (non datur fatum).
Both laws subject the play of change to "a nature of things (as
phenomena)," or, which is the same thing, to the unity of the
understanding, and through the understanding alone can changes belong
to an experience, as the synthetical unity of phenomena. Both belong to
the class of dynamical principles. The former is properly a consequence
of the principle of causality--one of the analogies of experience. The
latter belongs to the principles of modality, which to the
determination of causality adds the conception of necessity, which is
itself, however, subject to a rule of the understanding. The principle
of continuity forbids any leap in the series of phenomena regarded as
changes (in mundo non datur saltus); and likewise, in the complex of
all empirical intuitions in space, any break or hiatus between two
phenomena (non datur hiatus)- for we can so express the principle, that
experience can admit nothing which proves the existence of a vacuum, or
which even admits it as a part of an empirical synthesis. For, as
regards a vacuum or void, which we may cogitate as out and beyond the
field of possible experience (the world), such a question cannot come
before the tribunal of mere understanding, which decides only upon
questions that concern the employment of given phenomena for the
construction of empirical cognition. It is rather a problem for ideal
reason, which passes beyond the sphere of a possible experience and
aims at forming a judgement of that which surrounds and circumscribes
it, and the proper place for the consideration of it is the
transcendental dialectic. These four propositions, "In mundo non datur
hiatus, non datur saltus, non datur casus, non datur fatum," as well as
all principles of transcendental origin, we could very easily exhibit
in their proper order, that is, in conformity with the order of the
categories, and assign to each its proper place. But the already
practised reader will do this for himself, or discover the clue to such
an arrangement. But the combined result of all is simply this, to admit
into the empirical synthesis nothing which might cause a break in or be
foreign to the understanding and the continuous connection of all
phenomena, that is, the unity of the conceptions of the understanding.
For in the understanding alone is the unity of experience, in which all
perceptions must have their assigned place, possible.

Whether the field of possibility be greater than that of reality, and
whether the field of the latter be itself greater than that of
necessity, are interesting enough questions, and quite capable of
synthetic solution, questions, however, which come under the
jurisdiction of reason alone. For they are tantamount to asking whether
all things as phenomena do without exception belong to the complex and
connected whole of a single experience, of which every given perception
is a part which therefore cannot be conjoined with any other
phenomena--or, whether my perceptions can belong to more than one
possible experience? The understanding gives to experience, according
to the subjective and formal conditions, of sensibility as well as of
apperception, the rules which alone make this experience possible.
Other forms of intuition besides those of space and time, other forms
of understanding besides the discursive forms of thought, or of
cognition by means of conceptions, we can neither imagine nor make
intelligible to ourselves; and even if we could, they would still not
belong to experience, which is the only mode of cognition by which
objects are presented to us. Whether other perceptions besides those
which belong to the total of our possible experience, and consequently
whether some other sphere of matter exists, the understanding has no
power to decide, its proper occupation being with the synthesis of that
which is given. Moreover, the poverty of the usual arguments which go
to prove the existence of a vast sphere of possibility, of which all
that is real (every object of experience) is but a small part, is very
remarkable. "All real is possible"; from this follows naturally,
according to the logical laws of conversion, the particular
proposition: "Some possible is real." Now this seems to be equivalent
to: "Much is possible that is not real." No doubt it does seem as if we
ought to consider the sum of the possible to be greater than that of
the real, from the fact that something must be added to the former to
constitute the latter. But this notion of adding to the possible is
absurd. For that which is not in the sum of the possible, and
consequently requires to be added to it, is manifestly impossible. In
addition to accordance with the formal conditions of experience, the
understanding requires a connection with some perception; but that
which is connected with this perception is real, even although it is
not immediately perceived. But that another series of phenomena, in
complete coherence with that which is given in perception, consequently
more than one all-embracing experience is possible, is an inference
which cannot be concluded from the data given us by experience, and
still less without any data at all. That which is possible only under
conditions which are themselves merely possible, is not possible in any
respect. And yet we can find no more certain ground on which to base
the discussion of the question whether the sphere of possibility is
wider than that of experience.

I have merely mentioned these questions, that in treating of the
conception of the understanding, there might be no omission of
anything that, in the common opinion, belongs to them. In reality,
however, the notion of absolute possibility (possibility which is
valid in every respect) is not a mere conception of the understanding,
which can be employed empirically, but belongs to reason alone,
which passes the bounds of all empirical use of the understanding.
We have, therefore, contented ourselves with a merely critical remark,
leaving the subject to be explained in the sequel.

Before concluding this fourth section, and at the same time the system
of all principles of the pure understanding, it seems proper to mention
the reasons which induced me to term the principles of modality
postulates. This expression I do not here use in the sense which some
more recent philosophers, contrary to its meaning with mathematicians,
to whom the word properly belongs, attach to it--that of a
proposition, namely, immediately certain, requiring neither deduction
nor proof. For if, in the case of synthetical propositions, however
evident they may be, we accord to them without deduction, and merely on
the strength of their own pretensions, unqualified belief, all critique
of the understanding is entirely lost; and, as there is no want of bold
pretensions, which the common belief (though for the philosopher this
is no credential) does not reject, the understanding lies exposed to
every delusion and conceit, without the power of refusing its assent to
those assertions, which, though illegitimate, demand acceptance as
veritable axioms. When, therefore, to the conception of a thing an a
priori determination is synthetically added, such a proposition must
obtain, if not a proof, at least a deduction of the legitimacy of its
assertion.

The principles of modality are, however, not objectively
synthetical, for the predicates of possibility, reality, and necessity
do not in the least augment the conception of that of which they are
affirmed, inasmuch as they contribute nothing to the representation
of the object. But as they are, nevertheless, always synthetical, they
are so merely subjectively. That is to say, they have a reflective
power, and apply to the conception of a thing, of which, in other
respects, they affirm nothing, the faculty of cognition in which the
conception originates and has its seat. So that if the conception
merely agree with the formal conditions of experience, its object is
called possible; if it is in connection with perception, and
determined thereby, the object is real; if it is determined
according to conceptions by means of the connection of perceptions,
the object is called necessary. The principles of modality therefore
predicate of a conception nothing more than the procedure of the
faculty of cognition which generated it. Now a postulate in
mathematics is a practical proposition which contains nothing but
the synthesis by which we present an object to ourselves, and
produce the conception of it, for example--"With a given line, to
describe a circle upon a plane, from a given point"; and such a
proposition does not admit of proof, because the procedure, which it
requires, is exactly that by which alone it is possible to generate
the conception of such a figure. With the same right, accordingly,
can we postulate the principles of modality, because they do not
augment* the conception of a thing but merely indicate the manner in
which it is connected with the faculty of cognition.

[*Footnote: When I think the reality of a thing, I do really think
more than the possibility, but not in the thing; for that can never
contain more in reality than was contained in its complete possibility.
But while the notion of possibility is merely the notion of a position
of thing in relation to the understanding (its empirical use), reality
is the conjunction of the thing with perception.]



GENERAL REMARK ON THE SYSTEM OF PRINCIPLES.

It is very remarkable that we cannot perceive the possibility of a
thing from the category alone, but must always have an intuition, by
which to make evident the objective reality of the pure conception
of the understanding. Take, for example, the categories of relation.
How (1) a thing can exist only as a subject, and not as a mere
determination of other things, that is, can be substance; or how
(2), because something exists, some other thing must exist,
consequently how a thing can be a cause; or how (3), when several
things exist, from the fact that one of these things exists, some
consequence to the others follows, and reciprocally, and in this way
a community of substances can be possible--are questions whose
solution cannot be obtained from mere conceptions. The very same is
the case with the other categories; for example, how a thing can be
of the same sort with many others, that is, can be a quantity, and
so on. So long as we have not intuition we cannot know whether we do
really think an object by the categories, and where an object can anywhere
be found to cohere with them, and thus the truth is established, that
the categories are not in themselves cognitions, but mere forms of
thought for the construction of cognitions from given intuitions. For
the same reason is it true that from categories alone no synthetical
proposition can be made. For example: "In every existence there is
substance," that is, something that can exist only as a subject and
not as mere predicate; or, "Everything is a quantity"--to construct
propositions such as these, we require something to enable us to go
out beyond the given conception and connect another with it. For the
same reason the attempt to prove a synthetical proposition by means
of mere conceptions, for example: "Everything that exists contingently
has a cause," has never succeeded. We could never get further than
proving that, without this relation to conceptions, we could not
conceive the existence of the contingent, that is, could not a
priori through the understanding cognize the existence of such a
thing; but it does not hence follow that this is also the condition
of the possibility of the thing itself that is said to be contingent.
If, accordingly; we look back to our proof of the principle of
causality, we shall find that we were able to prove it as valid only
of objects of possible experience, and, indeed, only as itself the
principle of the possibility of experience, Consequently of the
cognition of an object given in empirical intuition, and not from mere
conceptions. That, however, the proposition: "Everything that is
contingent must have a cause," is evident to every one merely from
conceptions, is not to be denied. But in this case the conception of
the contingent is cogitated as involving not the category of
modality (as that the non-existence of which can be conceived) but
that of relation (as that which can exist only as the consequence of
something else), and so it is really an identical proposition: "That
which can exist only as a consequence, has a cause." In fact, when
we have to give examples of contingent existence, we always refer to
changes, and not merely to the possibility of conceiving the
opposite.* But change is an event, which, as such, is possible only
through a cause, and considered per se its non-existence is
therefore possible, and we become cognizant of its contingency from
the fact that it can exist only as the effect of a cause. Hence, if
a thing is assumed to be contingent, it is an analytical proposition
to say, it has a cause.

[*Footnote: We can easily conceive the non-existence of matter; but
the ancients did not thence infer its contingency. But even the
alternation of the existence and non-existence of a given state in
a thing, in which all change consists, by no means proves the
contingency of that state--the ground of proof being the reality of
its opposite. For example, a body is in a state of rest after
motion, but we cannot infer the contingency of the motion from the
fact that the former is the opposite of the latter. For this
opposite is merely a logical and not a real opposite to the other.
If we wish to demonstrate the contingency of the motion, what we ought
to prove is that, instead of the motion which took place in the
preceding point of time, it was possible for the body to have been
then in rest, not, that it is afterwards in rest; for in this case,
both opposites are perfectly consistent with each other.]

But it is still more remarkable that, to understand the possibility of
things according to the categories and thus to demonstrate the
objective reality of the latter, we require not merely intuitions, but
external intuitions. If, for example, we take the pure conceptions of
relation, we find that (1) for the purpose of presenting to the
conception of substance something permanent in intuition corresponding
thereto and thus of demonstrating the objective reality of this
conception, we require an intuition (of matter) in space, because space
alone is permanent and determines things as such, while time, and with
it all that is in the internal sense, is in a state of continual flow;
(2) in order to represent change as the intuition corresponding to the
conception of causality, we require the representation of motion as
change in space; in fact, it is through it alone that changes, the
possibility of which no pure understanding can perceive, are capable of
being intuited. Change is the connection of determinations
contradictorily opposed to each other in the existence of one and the
same thing. Now, how it is possible that out of a given state one quite
opposite to it in the same thing should follow, reason without an
example can not only not conceive, but cannot even make intelligible
without intuition; and this intuition is the motion of a point in
space; the existence of which in different spaces (as a consequence of
opposite determinations) alone makes the intuition of change possible.
For, in order to make even internal change cognitable, we require to
represent time, as the form of the internal sense, figuratively by a
line, and the internal change by the drawing of that line (motion), and
consequently are obliged to employ external intuition to be able to
represent the successive existence of ourselves in different states.
The proper ground of this fact is that all change to be perceived as
change presupposes something permanent in intuition, while in the
internal sense no permanent intuition is to be found. Lastly, the
objective possibility of the category of community cannot be conceived
by mere reason, and consequently its objective reality cannot be
demonstrated without an intuition, and that external in space. For how
can we conceive the possibility of community, that is, when several
substances exist, that some effect on the existence of the one follows
from the existence of the other, and reciprocally, and therefore that,
because something exists in the latter, something else must exist in
the former, which could not be understood from its own existence alone?
For this is the very essence of community--which is inconceivable as a
property of things which are perfectly isolated. Hence, Leibnitz, in
attributing to the substances of the world--as cogitated by the
understanding alone--a community, required the mediating aid of a
divinity; for, from their existence, such a property seemed to him with
justice inconceivable. But we can very easily conceive the possibility
of community (of substances as phenomena) if we represent them to
ourselves as in space, consequently in external intuition. For external
intuition contains in itself a priori formal external relations, as the
conditions of the possibility of the real relations of action and
reaction, and therefore of the possibility of community. With the same
ease can it be demonstrated, that the possibility of things as
quantities, and consequently the objective reality of the category of
quantity, can be grounded only in external intuition, and that by its
means alone is the notion of quantity appropriated by the internal
sense. But I must avoid prolixity, and leave the task of illustrating
this by examples to the reader's own reflection.

The above remarks are of the greatest importance, not only for the
confirmation of our previous confutation of idealism, but still more
when the subject of self-cognition by mere internal consciousness
and the determination of our own nature without the aid of external
empirical intuitions is under discussion, for the indication of the
grounds of the possibility of such a cognition.

The result of the whole of this part of the analytic of principles
is, therefore: "All principles of the pure understanding are nothing
more than a priori principles of the possibility of experience, and
to experience alone do all a priori synthetical propositions apply
and relate"; indeed, their possibility itself rests entirely on this
relation.

FIRST CONFLICT OF THE TRANSCENDENTAL IDEAS.

THESIS.

PROOF.

As regards the second, let us take the opposite for granted. In this case, the world must be an infinite given total of coexistent things. Now we cannot cogitate the dimensions of a quantity, which is not given within certain limits of an intuition,* in any other way than by means of the synthesis of its parts, and the total of such a quantity only by means of a completed synthesis, or the repeated addition of unity to itself. Accordingly, to cogitate the world, which fills all spaces, as a whole, the successive synthesis of the parts of an infinite world must be looked upon as completed, that is to say, an infinite time must be regarded as having elapsed in the enumeration of all co-existing things; which is impossible. For this reason an infinite aggregate of actual things cannot be considered as a given whole, consequently, not as a contemporaneously given whole. The world is consequently, as regards extension in space, not infinite, but enclosed in limits. And this was the second thing to be proved.

[*Footnote: We may consider an undetermined quantity as a whole, when it is enclosed within limits, although we cannot construct or ascertain its totality by measurement, that is, by the successive synthesis of its parts. For its limits of themselves determine its completeness as a whole.]

ANTITHESIS.

PROOF.

As regards the second statement, let us first take the opposite for granted--that the world is finite and limited in space; it follows that it must exist in a void space, which is not limited. We should therefore meet not only with a relation of things in space, but also a relation of things to space. Now, as the world is an absolute whole, out of and beyond which no object of intuition, and consequently no correlate to which can be discovered, this relation of the world to a void space is merely a relation to no object. But such a relation, and consequently the limitation of the world by void space, is nothing. Consequently, the world, as regards space, is not limited, that is, it is infinite in regard to extension.*

[*Footnote: Space is merely the form of external intuition (formal intuition), and not a real object which can be externally perceived. Space, prior to all things which determine it (fill or limit it), or, rather, which present an empirical intuition conformable to it, is, under the title of absolute space, nothing but the mere possibility of external phenomena, in so far as they either exist in themselves, or can annex themselves to given intuitions. Empirical intuition is therefore not a composition of phenomena and space (of perception and empty intuition). The one is not the correlate of the other in a synthesis, but they are vitally connected in the same empirical intuition, as matter and form. If we wish to set one of these two apart from the other--space from phenomena--there arise all sorts of empty determinations of external intuition, which are very far from being possible perceptions. For example, motion or rest of the world in an infinite empty space, or a determination of the mutual relation of both, cannot possibly be perceived, and is therefore merely the predicate of a notional entity.]

OBSERVATIONS ON THE FIRST ANTINOMY.

ON THE THESIS.

The thesis might also have been unfairly demonstrated, by the introduction of an erroneous conception of the infinity of a given quantity. A quantity is infinite, if a greater than itself cannot possibly exist. The quantity is measured by the number of given units- which are taken as a standard--contained in it. Now no number can be the greatest, because one or more units can always be added. It follows that an infinite given quantity, consequently an infinite world (both as regards time and extension) is impossible. It is, therefore, limited in both respects. In this manner I might have conducted my proof; but the conception given in it does not agree with the true conception of an infinite whole. In this there is no representation of its quantity, it is not said how large it is; consequently its conception is not the conception of a maximum. We cogitate in it merely its relation to an arbitrarily assumed unit, in relation to which it is greater than any number. Now, just as the unit which is taken is greater or smaller, the infinite will be greater or smaller; but the infinity, which consists merely in the relation to this given unit, must remain always the same, although the absolute quantity of the whole is not thereby cognized.

The true (transcendental) conception of infinity is: that the successive synthesis of unity in the measurement of a given quantum can never be completed.* Hence it follows, without possibility of mistake, that an eternity of actual successive states up to a given (the present) moment cannot have elapsed, and that the world must therefore have a beginning.

[*Footnote: The quantum in this sense contains a congeries of given units, which is greater than any number--and this is the mathematical conception of the infinite.]

In regard to the second part of the thesis, the difficulty as to an infinite and yet elapsed series disappears; for the manifold of a world infinite in extension is contemporaneously given. But, in order to cogitate the total of this manifold, as we cannot have the aid of limits constituting by themselves this total in intuition, we are obliged to give some account of our conception, which in this case cannot proceed from the whole to the determined quantity of the parts, but must demonstrate the possibility of a whole by means of a successive synthesis of the parts. But as this synthesis must constitute a series that cannot be completed, it is impossible for us to cogitate prior to it, and consequently not by means of it, a totality. For the conception of totality itself is in the present case the representation of a completed synthesis of the parts; and this completion, and consequently its conception, is impossible.

ON THE ANTITHESIS.

[*Footnote: It is evident that what is meant here is, that empty space, in so far as it is limited by phenomena--space, that is, within the world--does not at least contradict transcendental principles, and may therefore, as regards them, be admitted, although its possibility cannot on that account be affirmed.]

For, as regards the subterfuge adopted by those who endeavour to evade the consequence--that, if the world is limited as to space and time, the infinite void must determine the existence of actual things in regard to their dimensions--it arises solely from the fact that instead of a sensuous world, an intelligible world--of which nothing is known--is cogitated; instead of a real beginning (an existence, which is preceded by a period in which nothing exists), an existence which presupposes no other condition than that of time; and, instead of limits of extension, boundaries of the universe. But the question relates to the mundus phaenomenon, and its quantity; and in this case we cannot make abstraction of the conditions of sensibility, without doing away with the essential reality of this world itself. The world of sense, if it is limited, must necessarily lie in the infinite void. If this, and with it space as the a priori condition of the possibility of phenomena, is left out of view, the whole world of sense disappears. In our problem is this alone considered as given. The mundus intelligibilis is nothing but the general conception of a world, in which abstraction has been made of all conditions of intuition, and in relation to which no synthetical proposition--either affirmative or negative--is possible.

SECOND CONFLICT OF TRANSCENDENTAL IDEAS.

THESIS.

Every composite substance in the world consists of simple parts; and
there exists nothing that is not either itself simple, or composed
of simple parts.


PROOF.

For, grant that composite substances do not consist of simple parts;
in this case, if all combination or composition were annihilated in
thought, no composite part, and (as, by the supposition, there do
not exist simple parts) no simple part would exist. Consequently, no
substance; consequently, nothing would exist. Either, then, it is
impossible to annihilate composition in thought; or, after such
annihilation, there must remain something that subsists without
composition, that is, something that is simple. But in the former case
the composite could not itself consist of substances, because with
substances composition is merely a contingent relation, apart from
which they must still exist as self-subsistent beings. Now, as this
case contradicts the supposition, the second must contain the truth-
that the substantial composite in the world consists of simple parts.

It follows, as an immediate inference, that the things in the
world are all, without exception, simple beings--that composition is
merely an external condition pertaining to them--and that, although
we never can separate and isolate the elementary substances from the
state of composition, reason must cogitate these as the primary
subjects of all composition, and consequently, as prior thereto--and
as simple substances.


ANTITHESIS.

No composite thing in the world consists of simple parts; and
there does not exist in the world any simple substance.


PROOF.

Let it be supposed that a composite thing (as substance) consists of
simple parts. Inasmuch as all external relation, consequently all
composition of substances, is possible only in space; the space,
occupied by that which is composite, must consist of the same number
of parts as is contained in the composite. But space does not
consist of simple parts, but of spaces. Therefore, every part of the
composite must occupy a space. But the absolutely primary parts of
what is composite are simple. It follows that what is simple
occupies a space. Now, as everything real that occupies a space,
contains a manifold the parts of which are external to each other,
and is consequently composite--and a real composite, not of accidents
(for these cannot exist external to each other apart from substance),
but of substances--it follows that the simple must be a substantial
composite, which is self-contradictory.

The second proposition of the antithesis--that there exists in the
world nothing that is simple--is here equivalent to the following:
The existence of the absolutely simple cannot be demonstrated from
any experience or perception either external or internal; and the
absolutely simple is a mere idea, the objective reality of which
cannot be demonstrated in any possible experience; it is consequently,
in the exposition of phenomena, without application and object. For,
let us take for granted that an object may be found in experience
for this transcendental idea; the empirical intuition of such an
object must then be recognized to contain absolutely no manifold
with its parts external to each other, and connected into unity.
Now, as we cannot reason from the non-consciousness of such a manifold
to the impossibility of its existence in the intuition of an object,
and as the proof of this impossibility is necessary for the
establishment and proof of absolute simplicity; it follows that this
simplicity cannot be inferred from any perception whatever. As,
therefore, an absolutely simple object cannot be given in any
experience, and the world of sense must be considered as the sum total
of all possible experiences: nothing simple exists in the world.

This second proposition in the antithesis has a more extended aim
than the first. The first merely banishes the simple from the
intuition of the composite; while the second drives it entirely out
of nature. Hence we were unable to demonstrate it from the conception
of a given object of external intuition (of the composite), but we
were obliged to prove it from the relation of a given object to a
possible experience in general.



OBSERVATIONS ON THE SECOND ANTINOMY.

THESIS.

When I speak of a whole, which necessarily consists of simple parts,
I understand thereby only a substantial whole, as the true
composite; that is to say, I understand that contingent unity of the
manifold which is given as perfectly isolated (at least in thought),
placed in reciprocal connection, and thus constituted a unity. Space
ought not to be called a compositum but a totum, for its parts are
possible in the whole, and not the whole by means of the parts. It
might perhaps be called a compositum ideale, but not a compositum
reale. But this is of no importance. As space is not a composite of
substances (and not even of real accidents), if I abstract all
composition therein--nothing, not even a point, remains; for a point
is possible only as the limit of a space--consequently of a composite.
Space and time, therefore, do not consist of simple parts. That
which belongs only to the condition or state of a substance, even
although it possesses a quantity (motion or change, for example),
likewise does not consist of simple parts. That is to say, a certain
degree of change does not originate from the addition of many simple
changes. Our inference of the simple from the composite is valid
only of self-subsisting things. But the accidents of a state are not
self-subsistent. The proof, then, for the necessity of the simple,
as the component part of all that is substantial and composite, may
prove a failure, and the whole case of this thesis be lost, if we
carry the proposition too far, and wish to make it valid of everything
that is composite without distinction--as indeed has really now and
then happened. Besides, I am here speaking only of the simple, in so
far as it is necessarily given in the composite--the latter being
capable of solution into the former as its component parts. The proper
signification of the word monas (as employed by Leibnitz) ought to
relate to the simple, given immediately as simple substance (for
example, in consciousness), and not as an element of the composite.
As an clement, the term atomus would be more appropriate. And as I
wish to prove the existence of simple substances, only in relation
to, and as the elements of, the composite, I might term the antithesis
of the second Antinomy, transcendental Atomistic. But as this word
has long been employed to designate a particular theory of corporeal
phenomena (moleculae), and thus presupposes a basis of empirical
conceptions, I prefer calling it the dialectical principle of
Monadology.


ANTITHESIS.

Against the assertion of the infinite subdivisibility of matter
whose ground of proof is purely mathematical, objections have been
alleged by the Monadists. These objections lay themselves open, at
first sight, to suspicion, from the fact that they do not recognize
the clearest mathematical proofs as propositions relating to the
constitution of space, in so far as it is really the formal
condition of the possibility of all matter, but regard them merely
as inferences from abstract but arbitrary conceptions, which cannot
have any application to real things. just as if it were possible to
imagine another mode of intuition than that given in the primitive
intuition of space; and just as if its a priori determinations did
not apply to everything, the existence of which is possible, from the
fact alone of its filling space. If we listen to them, we shall find
ourselves required to cogitate, in addition to the mathematical point,
which is simple--not, however, a part, but a mere limit of space-
physical points, which are indeed likewise simple, but possess the
peculiar property, as parts of space, of filling it merely by their
aggregation. I shall not repeat here the common and clear
refutations of this absurdity, which are to be found everywhere in
numbers: every one knows that it is impossible to undermine the
evidence of mathematics by mere discursive conceptions; I shall only
remark that, if in this case philosophy endeavours to gain an
advantage over mathematics by sophistical artifices, it is because
it forgets that the discussion relates solely to Phenomena and their
conditions. It is not sufficient to find the conception of the
simple for the pure conception of the composite, but we must
discover for the intuition of the composite (matter), the intuition
of the simple. Now this, according to the laws of sensibility, and
consequently in the case of objects of sense, is utterly impossible.
In the case of a whole composed of substances, which is cogitated
solely by the pure understanding, it may be necessary to be in
possession of the simple before composition is possible. But this does
not hold good of the Totum substantiale phaenomenon, which, as an
empirical intuition in space, possesses the necessary property of
containing no simple part, for the very reason that no part of space
is simple. Meanwhile, the Monadists have been subtle enough to
escape from this difficulty, by presupposing intuition and the
dynamical relation of substances as the condition of the possibility
of space, instead of regarding space as the condition of the
possibility of the objects of external intuition, that is, of
bodies. Now we have a conception of bodies only as phenomena, and,
as such, they necessarily presuppose space as the condition of all
external phenomena. The evasion is therefore in vain; as, indeed, we
have sufficiently shown in our Aesthetic. If bodies were things in
themselves, the proof of the Monadists would be unexceptionable.

The second dialectical assertion possesses the peculiarity of having
opposed to it a dogmatical proposition, which, among all such
sophistical statements, is the only one that undertakes to prove in
the case of an object of experience, that which is properly a
transcendental idea--the absolute simplicity of substance. The
proposition is that the object of the internal sense, the thinking
Ego, is an absolute simple substance. Without at present entering upon
this subject--as it has been considered at length in a former chapter-
I shall merely remark that, if something is cogitated merely as an
object, without the addition of any synthetical determination of its
intuition--as happens in the case of the bare representation, I--it
is certain that no manifold and no composition can be perceived in
such a representation. As, moreover, the predicates whereby I cogitate
this object are merely intuitions of the internal sense, there cannot
be discovered in them anything to prove the existence of a manifold
whose parts are external to each other, and, consequently, nothing
to prove the existence of real composition. Consciousness, therefore,
is so constituted that, inasmuch as the thinking subject is at the
same time its own object, it cannot divide itself--although it can
divide its inhering determinations. For every object in relation to
itself is absolute unity. Nevertheless, if the subject is regarded
externally, as an object of intuition, it must, in its character of
phenomenon, possess the property of composition. And it must always
be regarded in this manner, if we wish to know whether there is or
is not contained in it a manifold whose parts are external to each
other.



THIRD CONFLICT OF THE TRANSCENDENTAL IDEAS.

THESIS.

Causality according to the laws of nature, is not the only causality
operating to originate the phenomena of the world. A causality of
freedom is also necessary to account fully for these phenomena.


PROOF.

Let it be supposed, that there is no other kind of causality than
that according to the laws of nature. Consequently, everything that
happens presupposes a previous condition, which it follows with
absolute certainty, in conformity with a rule. But this previous
condition must itself be something that has happened (that has
arisen in time, as it did not exist before), for, if it has always
been in existence, its consequence or effect would not thus
originate for the first time, but would likewise have always
existed. The causality, therefore, of a cause, whereby something
happens, is itself a thing that has happened. Now this again
presupposes, in conformity with the law of nature, a previous
condition and its causality, and this another anterior to the
former, and so on. If, then, everything happens solely in accordance
with the laws of nature, there cannot be any real first beginning of
things, but only a subaltern or comparative beginning. There cannot,
therefore, be a completeness of series on the side of the causes which
originate the one from the other. But the law of nature is that
nothing can happen without a sufficient a priori determined cause.
The proposition therefore--if all causality is possible only in accordance
with the laws of nature--is, when stated in this unlimited and general
manner, self-contradictory. It follows that this cannot be the only
kind of causality.

From what has been said, it follows that a causality must be
admitted, by means of which something happens, without its cause being
determined according to necessary laws by some other cause
preceding. That is to say, there must exist an absolute spontaneity
of cause, which of itself originates a series of phenomena which proceeds
according to natural laws--consequently transcendental freedom,
without which even in the course of nature the succession of phenomena
on the side of causes is never complete.


ANTITHESIS.

There is no such thing as freedom, but everything in the world
happens solely according to the laws of nature.


PROOF.

Granted, that there does exist freedom in the transcendental
sense, as a peculiar kind of causality, operating to produce events
in the world--a faculty, that is to say, of originating a state, and
consequently a series of consequences from that state. In this case,
not only the series originated by this spontaneity, but the
determination of this spontaneity itself to the production of the
series, that is to say, the causality itself must have an absolute
commencement, such that nothing can precede to determine this action
according to unvarying laws. But every beginning of action presupposes
in the acting cause a state of inaction; and a dynamically primal
beginning of action presupposes a state, which has no connection--as
regards causality--with the preceding state of the cause--which does
not, that is, in any wise result from it. Transcendental freedom is
therefore opposed to the natural law of cause and effect, and such
a conjunction of successive states in effective causes is destructive
of the possibility of unity in experience and for that reason not to
be found in experience--is consequently a mere fiction of thought.

We have, therefore, nothing but nature to which we must look for
connection and order in cosmical events. Freedom--independence of
the laws of nature--is certainly a deliverance from restraint, but
it is also a relinquishing of the guidance of law and rule. For it
cannot be alleged that, instead of the laws of nature, laws of freedom
may be introduced into the causality of the course of nature. For,
if freedom were determined according to laws, it would be no longer
freedom, but merely nature. Nature, therefore, and transcendental
freedom are distinguishable as conformity to law and lawlessness.
The former imposes upon understanding the difficulty of seeking the
origin of events ever higher and higher in the series of causes,
inasmuch as causality is always conditioned thereby; while it
compensates this labour by the guarantee of a unity complete and in
conformity with law. The latter, on the contrary, holds out to the
understanding the promise of a point of rest in the chain of causes,
by conducting it to an unconditioned causality, which professes to
have the power of spontaneous origination, but which, in its own utter
blindness, deprives it of the guidance of rules, by which alone a
completely connected experience is possible.



OBSERVATIONS ON THE THIRD ANTINOMY.

ON THE THESIS.

The transcendental idea of freedom is far from constituting the
entire content of the psychological conception so termed, which is
for the most part empirical. It merely presents us with the conception
of spontaneity of action, as the proper ground for imputing freedom
to the cause of a certain class of objects. It is, however, the true
stumbling-stone to philosophy, which meets with unconquerable
difficulties in the way of its admitting this kind of unconditioned
causality. That element in the question of the freedom of the will,
which has for so long a time placed speculative reason in such
perplexity, is properly only transcendental, and concerns the
question, whether there must be held to exist a faculty of spontaneous
origination of a series of successive things or states. How such a
faculty is possible is not a necessary inquiry; for in the case of
natural causality itself, we are obliged to content ourselves with
the a priori knowledge that such a causality must be presupposed, although
we are quite incapable of comprehending how the being of one thing
is possible through the being of another, but must for this
information look entirely to experience. Now we have demonstrated this
necessity of a free first beginning of a series of phenomena, only
in so far as it is required for the comprehension of an origin of
the world, all following states being regarded as a succession
according to laws of nature alone. But, as there has thus been
proved the existence of a faculty which can of itself originate a
series in time--although we are unable to explain how it can exist--we
feel ourselves authorized to admit, even in the midst of the natural
course of events, a beginning, as regards causality, of different
successions of phenomena, and at the same time to attribute to all
substances a faculty of free action. But we ought in this case not
to allow ourselves to fall into a common misunderstanding, and to
suppose that, because a successive series in the world can only have
a comparatively first beginning--another state or condition of things
always preceding--an absolutely first beginning of a series in the
course of nature is impossible. For we are not speaking here of an
absolutely first beginning in relation to time, but as regards
causality alone. When, for example, I, completely of my own free will,
and independently of the necessarily determinative influence of
natural causes, rise from my chair, there commences with this event,
including its material consequences in infinitum, an absolutely new
series; although, in relation to time, this event is merely the
continuation of a preceding series. For this resolution and act of
mine do not form part of the succession of effects in nature, and
are not mere continuations of it; on the contrary, the determining
causes of nature cease to operate in reference to this event, which
certainly succeeds the acts of nature, but does not proceed from them.
For these reasons, the action of a free agent must be termed, in
regard to causality, if not in relation to time, an absolutely
primal beginning of a series of phenomena.

The justification of this need of reason to rest upon a free act
as the first beginning of the series of natural causes is evident from
the fact, that all philosophers of antiquity (with the exception of
the Epicurean school) felt themselves obliged, when constructing a
theory of the motions of the universe, to accept a prime mover, that
is, a freely acting cause, which spontaneously and prior to all
other causes evolved this series of states. They always felt the
need of going beyond mere nature, for the purpose of making a first
beginning comprehensible.



ON THE ANTITHESIS.

The assertor of the all-sufficiency of nature in regard to causality
(transcendental Physiocracy), in opposition to the doctrine of
freedom, would defend his view of the question somewhat in the
following manner. He would say, in answer to the sophistical arguments
of the opposite party: If you do not accept a mathematical first, in
relation to time, you have no need to seek a dynamical first, in
regard to causality. Who compelled you to imagine an absolutely primal
condition of the world, and therewith an absolute beginning of the
gradually progressing successions of phenomena--and, as some
foundation for this fancy of yours, to set bounds to unlimited nature?
Inasmuch as the substances in the world have always existed--at
least the unity of experience renders such a supposition quite
necessary--there is no difficulty in believing also, that the
changes in the conditions of these substances have always existed;
and, consequently, that a first beginning, mathematical or
dynamical, is by no means required. The possibility of such an
infinite derivation, without any initial member from which all the
others result, is certainly quite incomprehensible. But, if you are
rash enough to deny the enigmatical secrets of nature for this reason,
you will find yourselves obliged to deny also the existence of many
fundamental properties of natural objects (such as fundamental
forces), which you can just as little comprehend; and even the
possibility of so simple a conception as that of change must present
to you insuperable difficulties. For if experience did not teach you
that it was real, you never could conceive a priori the possibility
of this ceaseless sequence of being and non-being.

But if the existence of a transcendental faculty of freedom is
granted--a faculty of originating changes in the world--this faculty
must at least exist out of and apart from the world; although it is
certainly a bold assumption, that, over and above the complete content
of all possible intuitions, there still exists an object which
cannot be presented in any possible perception. But, to attribute to
substances in the world itself such a faculty, is quite
inadmissible; for, in this case; the connection of phenomena
reciprocally determining and determined according to general laws,
which is termed nature, and along with it the criteria of empirical
truth, which enable us to distinguish experience from mere visionary
dreaming, would almost entirely disappear. In proximity with such a
lawless faculty of freedom, a system of nature is hardly cogitable;
for the laws of the latter would be continually subject to the
intrusive influences of the former, and the course of phenomena, which
would otherwise proceed regularly and uniformly, would become
thereby confused and disconnected.



FOURTH CONFLICT OF THE TRANSCENDENTAL IDEAS.

THESIS.

There exists either in, or in connection with the world--either as
a part of it, or as the cause of it--an absolutely necessary being.


PROOF.

The world of sense, as the sum total of all phenomena, contains a
series of changes. For, without such a series, the mental
representation of the series of time itself, as the condition of the
possibility of the sensuous world, could not be presented to us.*
But every change stands under its condition, which precedes it in time
and renders it necessary. Now the existence of a given condition
presupposes a complete series of conditions up to the absolutely
unconditioned, which alone is absolutely necessary. It follows that
something that is absolutely necessary must exist, if change exists
as its consequence. But this necessary thing itself belongs to the
sensuous world. For suppose it to exist out of and apart from it,
the series of cosmical changes would receive from it a beginning,
and yet this necessary cause would not itself belong to the world of
sense. But this is impossible. For, as the beginning of a series in
time is determined only by that which precedes it in time, the supreme
condition of the beginning of a series of changes must exist in the
time in which this series itself did not exist; for a beginning
supposes a time preceding, in which the thing that begins to be was
not in existence. The causality of the necessary cause of changes,
and consequently the cause itself, must for these reasons belong to
time--and to phenomena, time being possible only as the form of
phenomena. Consequently, it cannot be cogitated as separated from
the world of sense--the sum total of all phenomena. There is,
therefore, contained in the world, something that is absolutely
necessary--whether it be the whole cosmical series itself, or only
a part of it.

[*Footnote: Objectively, time, as the formal condition of the possibility
of change, precedes all changes; but subjectively, and in
consciousness, the representation of time, like every other, is
given solely by occasion of perception.]


ANTITHESIS.

An absolutely necessary being does not exist, either in the world,
or out of it--as its cause.


PROOF.

Grant that either the world itself is necessary, or that there is
contained in it a necessary existence. Two cases are possible.
First, there must either be in the series of cosmical changes a
beginning, which is unconditionally necessary, and therefore uncaused-
which is at variance with the dynamical law of the determination of
all phenomena in time; or, secondly, the series itself is without
beginning, and, although contingent and conditioned in all its
parts, is nevertheless absolutely necessary and unconditioned as a
whole--which is self-contradictory. For the existence of an
aggregate cannot be necessary, if no single part of it possesses
necessary existence.

Grant, on the other band, that an absolutely necessary cause
exists out of and apart from the world. This cause, as the highest
member in the series of the causes of cosmical changes, must originate
or begin* the existence of the latter and their series. In this case
it must also begin to act, and its causality would therefore belong
to time, and consequently to the sum total of phenomena, that is, to
the world. It follows that the cause cannot be out of the world; which
is contradictory to the hypothesis. Therefore, neither in the world,
nor out of it (but in causal connection with it), does there exist
any absolutely necessary being.

[*Footnote: The word begin is taken in two senses. The first is active--
the cause being regarded as beginning a series of conditions as its
effect (infit). The second is passive--the causality in the cause itself
beginning to operate (fit). I reason here from the first to the second.]



OBSERVATIONS ON THE FOURTH ANTINOMY.

ON THE THESIS.

To demonstrate the existence of a necessary being, I cannot be
permitted in this place to employ any other than the cosmological
argument, which ascends from the conditioned in phenomena to the
unconditioned in conception--the unconditioned being considered the
necessary condition of the absolute totality of the series. The proof,
from the mere idea of a supreme being, belongs to another principle
of reason and requires separate discussion.

The pure cosmological proof demonstrates the existence of a
necessary being, but at the same time leaves it quite unsettled,
whether this being is the world itself, or quite distinct from it.
To establish the truth of the latter view, principles are requisite,
which are not cosmological and do not proceed in the series of
phenomena. We should require to introduce into our proof conceptions
of contingent beings--regarded merely as objects of the understanding,
and also a principle which enables us to connect these, by means of
mere conceptions, with a necessary being. But the proper place for
all such arguments is a transcendent philosophy, which has unhappily
not yet been established.

But, if we begin our proof cosmologically, by laying at the
foundation of it the series of phenomena, and the regress in it
according to empirical laws of causality, we are not at liberty to
break off from this mode of demonstration and to pass over to
something which is not itself a member of the series. The condition
must be taken in exactly the same signification as the relation of
the conditioned to its condition in the series has been taken, for
the series must conduct us in an unbroken regress to this supreme
condition. But if this relation is sensuous, and belongs to the
possible empirical employment of understanding, the supreme
condition or cause must close the regressive series according to the
laws of sensibility and consequently, must belong to the series of
time. It follows that this necessary existence must be regarded as
the highest member of the cosmical series.

Certain philosophers have, nevertheless, allowed themselves the
liberty of making such a saltus (metabasis eis allo gonos). From the
changes in the world they have concluded their empirical
contingency, that is, their dependence on empirically-determined
causes, and they thus admitted an ascending series of empirical
conditions: and in this they are quite right. But as they could not
find in this series any primal beginning or any highest member, they
passed suddenly from the empirical conception of contingency to the
pure category, which presents us with a series--not sensuous, but
intellectual--whose completeness does certainly rest upon the
existence of an absolutely necessary cause. Nay, more, this
intellectual series is not tied to any sensuous conditions; and is
therefore free from the condition of time, which requires it
spontaneously to begin its causality in time. But such a procedure
is perfectly inadmissible, as will be made plain from what follows.

In the pure sense of the categories, that is contingent the
contradictory opposite of which is possible. Now we cannot reason from
empirical contingency to intellectual. The opposite of that which is
changed--the opposite of its state--is actual at another time, and
is therefore possible. Consequently, it is not the contradictory
opposite of the former state. To be that, it is necessary that, in
the same time in which the preceding state existed, its opposite could
have existed in its place; but such a cognition is not given us in
the mere phenomenon of change. A body that was in motion = A, comes
into a state of rest = non-A. Now it cannot be concluded from the fact
that a state opposite to the state A follows it, that the contradictory
opposite of A is possible; and that A is therefore contingent. To
prove this, we should require to know that the state of rest could
have existed in the very same time in which the motion took place.
Now we know nothing more than that the state of rest was actual in
the time that followed the state of motion; consequently, that it was
also possible. But motion at one time, and rest at another time, are
not contradictorily opposed to each other. It follows from what has
been said that the succession of opposite determinations, that is,
change, does not demonstrate the fact of contingency as represented
in the conceptions of the pure understanding; and that it cannot,
therefore, conduct us to the fact of the existence of a necessary
being. Change proves merely empirical contingency, that is to say,
that the new state could not have existed without a cause, which
belongs to the preceding time. This cause--even although it is
regarded as absolutely necessary--must be presented to us in time,
and must belong to the series of phenomena.


ON THE ANTITHESIS.

The difficulties which meet us, in our attempt to rise through the
series of phenomena to the existence of an absolutely necessary
supreme cause, must not originate from our inability to establish
the truth of our mere conceptions of the necessary existence of a
thing. That is to say, our objections not be ontological, but must
be directed against the causal connection with a series of phenomena
of a condition which is itself unconditioned. In one word, they must
be cosmological and relate to empirical laws. We must show that the
regress in the series of causes (in the world of sense) cannot
conclude with an empirically unconditioned condition, and that the
cosmological argument from the contingency of the cosmical state--a
contingency alleged to arise from change--does not justify us in
accepting a first cause, that is, a prime originator of the cosmical
series.

The reader will observe in this antinomy a very remarkable contrast.
The very same grounds of proof which established in the thesis the
existence of a supreme being, demonstrated in the antithesis--and with
equal strictness--the non-existence of such a being. We found,
first, that a necessary being exists, because the whole time past
contains the series of all conditions, and with it, therefore, the
unconditioned (the necessary); secondly, that there does not exist
any necessary being, for the same reason, that the whole time past
contains the series of all conditions--which are themselves,
therefore, in the aggregate, conditioned. The cause of this seeming
incongruity is as follows. We attend, in the first argument, solely
to the absolute totality of the series of conditions, the one of which
determines the other in time, and thus arrive at a necessary
unconditioned. In the second, we consider, on the contrary, the
contingency of everything that is determined in the series of time-
for every event is preceded by a time, in which the condition itself
must be determined as conditioned--and thus everything that is
unconditioned or absolutely necessary disappears. In both, the mode
of proof is quite in accordance with the common procedure of human
reason, which often falls into discord with itself, from considering
an object from two different points of view. Herr von Mairan
regarded the controversy between two celebrated astronomers, which
arose from a similar difficulty as to the choice of a proper
standpoint, as a phenomenon of sufficient importance to warrant a
separate treatise on the subject. The one concluded: the moon revolves
on its own axis, because it constantly presents the same side to the
earth; the other declared that the moon does not revolve on its own
axis, for the same reason. Both conclusions were perfectly correct,
according to the point of view from which the motions of the moon were
considered.



SECTION III. Of the Interest of Reason in these Self-contradictions.

We have thus completely before us the dialectical procedure of the
cosmological ideas. No possible experience can present us with an
object adequate to them in extent. Nay, more, reason itself cannot
cogitate them as according with the general laws of experience. And
yet they are not arbitrary fictions of thought. On the contrary,
reason, in its uninterrupted progress in the empirical synthesis, is
necessarily conducted to them, when it endeavours to free from all
conditions and to comprehend in its unconditioned totality that
which can only be determined conditionally in accordance with the laws
of experience. These dialectical propositions are so many attempts
to solve four natural and unavoidable problems of reason. There are
neither more, nor can there be less, than this number, because there
are no other series of synthetical hypotheses, limiting a priori the
empirical synthesis.

The brilliant claims of reason striving to extend its dominion
beyond the limits of experience, have been represented above only in
dry formulae, which contain merely the grounds of its pretensions.
They have, besides, in conformity with the character of a
transcendental philosophy, been freed from every empirical element;
although the full splendour of the promises they hold out, and the
anticipations they excite, manifests itself only when in connection
with empirical cognitions. In the application of them, however, and
in the advancing enlargement of the employment of reason, while
struggling to rise from the region of experience and to soar to
those sublime ideas, philosophy discovers a value and a dignity,
which, if it could but make good its assertions, would raise it far
above all other departments of human knowledge--professing, as it
does, to present a sure foundation for our highest hopes and the
ultimate aims of all the exertions of reason. The questions: whether
the world has a beginning and a limit to its extension in space;
whether there exists anywhere, or perhaps, in my own thinking Self,
an indivisible and indestructible unity--or whether nothing but what
is divisible and transitory exists; whether I am a free agent, or,
like other beings, am bound in the chains of nature and fate; whether,
finally, there is a supreme cause of the world, or all our thought
and speculation must end with nature and the order of external things--are
questions for the solution of which the mathematician would
willingly exchange his whole science; for in it there is no
satisfaction for the highest aspirations and most ardent desires of
humanity. Nay, it may even be said that the true value of mathematics-
that pride of human reason--consists in this: that she guides reason
to the knowledge of nature--in her greater as well as in her less
manifestations--in her beautiful order and regularity--guides her,
moreover, to an insight into the wonderful unity of the moving
forces in the operations of nature, far beyond the expectations of
a philosophy building only on experience; and that she thus encourages
philosophy to extend the province of reason beyond all experience,
and at the same time provides it with the most excellent materials
for supporting its investigations, in so far as their nature admits,
by adequate and accordant intuitions.

Unfortunately for speculation--but perhaps fortunately for the
practical interests of humanity--reason, in the midst of her highest
anticipations, finds herself hemmed in by a press of opposite and
contradictory conclusions, from which neither her honour nor her
safety will permit her to draw back. Nor can she regard these
conflicting trains of reasoning with indifference as mere passages
at arms, still less can she command peace; for in the subject of the
conflict she has a deep interest. There is no other course left open
to her than to reflect with herself upon the origin of this disunion
in reason--whether it may not arise from a mere misunderstanding.
After such an inquiry, arrogant claims would have to be given up on
both sides; but the sovereignty of reason over understanding and sense
would be based upon a sure foundation.

We shall at present defer this radical inquiry and, in the meantime,
consider for a little what side in the controversy we should most
willingly take, if we were obliged to become partisans at all. As,
in this case, we leave out of sight altogether the logical criterion
of truth, and merely consult our own interest in reference to the
question, these considerations, although inadequate to settle the
question of right in either party, will enable us to comprehend how
those who have taken part in the struggle, adopt the one view rather
than the other--no special insight into the subject, however, having
influenced their choice. They will, at the same time, explain to us
many other things by the way--for example, the fiery zeal on the one
side and the cold maintenance of their cause on the other; why the
one party has met with the warmest approbations, and the other has
always been repulsed by irreconcilable prejudices.

There is one thing, however, that determines the proper point of
view, from which alone this preliminary inquiry can be instituted
and carried on with the proper completeness--and that is the
comparison of the principles from which both sides, thesis and
antithesis, proceed. My readers would remark in the propositions of
the antithesis a complete uniformity in the mode of thought and a
perfect unity of principle. Its principle was that of pure empiricism,
not only in the explication of the phenomena in the world, but also
in the solution of the transcendental ideas, even of that of the universe
itself. The affirmations of the thesis, on the contrary, were based,
in addition to the empirical mode of explanation employed in the
series of phenomena, on intellectual propositions; and its
principles were in so far not simple. I shall term the thesis, in view
of its essential characteristic, the dogmatism of pure reason.

On the side of Dogmatism, or of the thesis, therefore, in the
determination of the cosmological ideas, we find:

1. A practical interest, which must be very dear to every
right-thinking man. That the word has a beginning--that the nature
of my thinking self is simple, and therefore indestructible--that I
am a free agent, and raised above the compulsion of nature and her
laws--and, finally, that the entire order of things, which form the
world, is dependent upon a Supreme Being, from whom the whole receives
unity and connection--these are so many foundation-stones of
morality and religion. The antithesis deprives us of all these
supports--or, at least, seems so to deprive us.

2. A speculative interest of reason manifests itself on this side.
For, if we take the transcendental ideas and employ them in the manner
which the thesis directs, we can exhibit completely a priori the
entire chain of conditions, and understand the derivation of the
conditioned--beginning from the unconditioned. This the antithesis
does not do; and for this reason does not meet with so welcome a
reception. For it can give no answer to our question respecting the
conditions of its synthesis--except such as must be supplemented by
another question, and so on to infinity. According to it, we must rise
from a given beginning to one still higher; every part conducts us
to a still smaller one; every event is preceded by another event which
is its cause; and the conditions of existence rest always upon other
and still higher conditions, and find neither end nor basis in some
self-subsistent thing as the primal being.

3. This side has also the advantage of popularity; and this
constitutes no small part of its claim to favour. The common
understanding does not find the least difficulty in the idea of the
unconditioned beginning of all synthesis--accustomed, as it is, rather
to follow our consequences than to seek for a proper basis for
cognition. In the conception of an absolute first, moreover--the
possibility of which it does not inquire into--it is highly
gratified to find a firmly-established point of departure for its
attempts at theory; while in the restless and continuous ascent from
the conditioned to the condition, always with one foot in the air,
it can find no satisfaction.

On the side of the antithesis, or Empiricism, in the determination
of the cosmological ideas:

1. We cannot discover any such practical interest arising from
pure principles of reason as morality and religion present. On the
contrary, pure empiricism seems to empty them of all their power and
influence. If there does not exist a Supreme Being distinct from the
world--if the world is without beginning, consequently without a
Creator--if our wills are not free, and the soul is divisible and
subject to corruption just like matter--the ideas and principles of
morality lose all validity and fall with the transcendental ideas
which constituted their theoretical support.

2. But empiricism, in compensation, holds out to reason, in its
speculative interests, certain important advantages, far exceeding
any that the dogmatist can promise us. For, when employed by the
empiricist, understanding is always upon its proper ground of
investigation--the field of possible experience, the laws of which
it can explore, and thus extend its cognition securely and with
clear intelligence without being stopped by limits in any direction.
Here can it and ought it to find and present to intuition its proper
object--not only in itself, but in all its relations; or, if it employ
conceptions, upon this ground it can always present the
corresponding images in clear and unmistakable intuitions. It is quite
unnecessary for it to renounce the guidance of nature, to attach
itself to ideas, the objects of which it cannot know; because, as mere
intellectual entities, they cannot be presented in any intuition. On
the contrary, it is not even permitted to abandon its proper
occupation, under the pretence that it has been brought to a
conclusion (for it never can be), and to pass into the region of
idealizing reason and transcendent conceptions, which it is not
required to observe and explore the laws of nature, but merely to
think and to imagine--secure from being contradicted by facts, because
they have not been called as witnesses, but passed by, or perhaps
subordinated to the so-called higher interests and considerations of
pure reason.

Hence the empiricist will never allow himself to accept any epoch of
nature for the first--the absolutely primal state; he will not believe
that there can be limits to his outlook into her wide domains, nor
pass from the objects of nature, which he can satisfactorily explain
by means of observation and mathematical thought--which he can
determine synthetically in intuition, to those which neither sense
nor imagination can ever present in concreto; he will not concede the
existence of a faculty in nature, operating independently of the
laws of nature--a concession which would introduce uncertainty into
the procedure of the understanding, which is guided by necessary
laws to the observation of phenomena; nor, finally, will he permit
himself to seek a cause beyond nature, inasmuch as we know nothing
but it, and from it alone receive an objective basis for all our
conceptions and instruction in the unvarying laws of things.

In truth, if the empirical philosopher had no other purpose in the
establishment of his antithesis than to check the presumption of a
reason which mistakes its true destination, which boasts of its
insight and its knowledge, just where all insight and knowledge
cease to exist, and regards that which is valid only in relation to
a practical interest, as an advancement of the speculative interests
of the mind (in order, when it is convenient for itself, to break
the thread of our physical investigations, and, under pretence of
extending our cognition, connect them with transcendental ideas, by
means of which we really know only that we know nothing)--if, I say,
the empiricist rested satisfied with this benefit, the principle
advanced by him would be a maxim recommending moderation in the
pretensions of reason and modesty in its affirmations, and at the same
time would direct us to the right mode of extending the province of
the understanding, by the help of the only true teacher, experience.
In obedience to this advice, intellectual hypotheses and faith would
not be called in aid of our practical interests; nor should we
introduce them under the pompous titles of science and insight. For
speculative cognition cannot find an objective basis any other where
than in experience; and, when we overstep its limits our synthesis,
which requires ever new cognitions independent of experience, has no
substratum of intuition upon which to build.

But if--as often happens--empiricism, in relation to ideas,
becomes itself dogmatic and boldly denies that which is above the
sphere of its phenomenal cognition, it falls itself into the error
of intemperance--an error which is here all the more reprehensible,
as thereby the practical interest of reason receives an irreparable
injury.

And this constitutes the opposition between Epicureanism* and
Platonism.

[*Footnote: It is, however, still a matter of doubt whether Epicurus
ever propounded these principles as directions for the objective employment
of the understanding. If, indeed, they were nothing more than maxims
for the speculative exercise of reason, he gives evidence therein a
more genuine philosophic spirit than any of the philosophers of
antiquity. That, in the explanation of phenomena, we must proceed as
if the field of inquiry had neither limits in space nor commencement
in time; that we must be satisfied with the teaching of experience
in reference to the material of which the world is posed; that we must
not look for any other mode of the origination of events than that
which is determined by the unalterable laws of nature; and finally,
that we not employ the hypothesis of a cause distinct from the world
to account for a phenomenon or for the world itself--are principles
for the extension of speculative philosophy, and the discovery of
the true sources of the principles of morals, which, however little
conformed to in the present day, are undoubtedly correct. At the
same time, any one desirous of ignoring, in mere speculation, these
dogmatical propositions, need not for that reason be accused of
denying them.]

Both Epicurus and Plato assert more in their systems than they know.
The former encourages and advances science--although to the
prejudice of the practical; the latter presents us with excellent
principles for the investigation of the practical, but, in relation
to everything regarding which we can attain to speculative cognition,
permits reason to append idealistic explanations of natural phenomena,
to the great injury of physical investigation.

3. In regard to the third motive for the preliminary choice of a
party in this war of assertions, it seems very extraordinary that
empiricism should be utterly unpopular. We should be inclined to
believe that the common understanding would receive it with
pleasure--promising as it does to satisfy it without passing the
bounds of experience and its connected order; while transcendental
dogmatism obliges it to rise to conceptions which far surpass the
intelligence and ability of the most practised thinkers. But in
this, in truth, is to be found its real motive. For the common
understanding thus finds itself in a situation where not even the most
learned can have the advantage of it. If it understands little or
nothing about these transcendental conceptions, no one can boast of
understanding any more; and although it may not express itself in so
scholastically correct a manner as others, it can busy itself with
reasoning and arguments without end, wandering among mere ideas, about
which one can always be very eloquent, because we know nothing about
them; while, in the observation and investigation of nature, it
would be forced to remain dumb and to confess its utter ignorance.
Thus indolence and vanity form of themselves strong recommendations
of these principles. Besides, although it is a hard thing for a
philosopher to assume a principle, of which he can give to himself
no reasonable account, and still more to employ conceptions, the
objective reality of which cannot be established, nothing is more
usual with the common understanding. It wants something which will
allow it to go to work with confidence. The difficulty of even
comprehending a supposition does not disquiet it, because--not knowing
what comprehending means--it never even thinks of the supposition it
may be adopting as a principle; and regards as known that with which
it has become familiar from constant use. And, at last, all
speculative interests disappear before the practical interests which
it holds dear; and it fancies that it understands and knows what its
necessities and hopes incite it to assume or to believe. Thus the
empiricism of transcendentally idealizing reason is robbed of all
popularity; and, however prejudicial it may be to the highest
practical principles, there is no fear that it will ever pass the
limits of the schools, or acquire any favour or influence in society
or with the multitude.

Human reason is by nature architectonic. That is to say, it
regards all cognitions as parts of a possible system, and hence
accepts only such principles as at least do not incapacitate a
cognition to which we may have attained from being placed along with
others in a general system. But the propositions of the antithesis
are of a character which renders the completion of an edifice of
cognitions impossible. According to these, beyond one state or epoch
of the world there is always to be found one more ancient; in every
part always other parts themselves divisible; preceding every event
another, the origin of which must itself be sought still higher; and
everything in existence is conditioned, and still not dependent on
an unconditioned and primal existence. As, therefore, the antithesis
will not concede the existence of a first beginning which might be
available as a foundation, a complete edifice of cognition, in the
presence of such hypothesis, is utterly impossible. Thus the
architectonic interest of reason, which requires a unity--not
empirical, but a priori and rational--forms a natural recommendation
for the assertions of the thesis in our antinomy.

But if any one could free himself entirely from all considerations
of interest, and weigh without partiality the assertions of reason,
attending only to their content, irrespective of the consequences
which follow from them; such a person, on the supposition that he knew
no other way out of the confusion than to settle the truth of one or
other of the conflicting doctrines, would live in a state of continual
hesitation. Today, he would feel convinced that the human will is
free; to-morrow, considering the indissoluble chain of nature, he
would look on freedom as a mere illusion and declare nature to be
all-in-all. But, if he were called to action, the play of the merely
speculative reason would disappear like the shapes of a dream, and
practical interest would dictate his choice of principles. But, as
it well befits a reflective and inquiring being to devote certain
periods of time to the examination of its own reason--to divest itself
of all partiality, and frankly to communicate its observations for
the judgement and opinion of others; so no one can be blamed for, much
less prevented from, placing both parties on their trial, with
permission to end themselves, free from intimidation, before
intimidation, before a sworn jury of equal condition with
themselves--the condition of weak and fallible men.



SECTION IV. Of the necessity imposed upon Pure Reason of
            presenting a Solution of its Transcendental Problems.

To avow an ability to solve all problems and to answer all questions
would be a profession certain to convict any philosopher of
extravagant boasting and self-conceit, and at once to destroy the
confidence that might otherwise have been reposed in him. There are,
however, sciences so constituted that every question arising within
their sphere must necessarily be capable of receiving an answer from
the knowledge already possessed, for the answer must be received
from the same sources whence the question arose. In such sciences it
is not allowable to excuse ourselves on the plea of necessary and
unavoidable ignorance; a solution is absolutely requisite. The rule
of right and wrong must help us to the knowledge of what is right or
wrong in all possible cases; otherwise, the idea of obligation or duty
would be utterly null, for we cannot have any obligation to that which
we cannot know. On the other hand, in our investigations of the
phenomena of nature, much must remain uncertain, and many questions
continue insoluble; because what we know of nature is far from being
sufficient to explain all the phenomena that are presented to our
observation. Now the question is: "Whether there is in
transcendental philosophy any question, relating to an object
presented to pure reason, which is unanswerable by this reason; and
whether we must regard the subject of the question as quite uncertain,
so far as our knowledge extends, and must give it a place among
those subjects, of which we have just so much conception as is
sufficient to enable us to raise a question--faculty or materials
failing us, however, when we attempt an answer. the world

Now I maintain that, among all speculative cognition, the
peculiarity of transcendental philosophy is that there is no question,
relating to an object presented to pure reason, which is insoluble
by this reason; and that the profession of unavoidable ignorance-
the problem being alleged to be beyond the reach of our faculties-
cannot free us from the obligation to present a complete and
satisfactory answer. For the very conception which enables us to raise
the question must give us the power of answering it; inasmuch as the
object, as in the case of right and wrong, is not to be discovered
out of the conception.

But, in transcendental philosophy, it is only the cosmological
questions to which we can demand a satisfactory answer in relation
to the constitution of their object; and the philosopher is not
permitted to avail himself of the pretext of necessary ignorance and
impenetrable obscurity. These questions relate solely to the
cosmological ideas. For the object must be given in experience, and
the question relates to the adequateness of the object to an idea.
If the object is transcendental and therefore itself unknown; if the
question, for example, is whether the object--the something, the
phenomenon of which (internal--in ourselves) is thought--that is to
say, the soul, is in itself a simple being; or whether there is a
cause of all things, which is absolutely necessary--in such cases we
are seeking for our idea an object, of which we may confess that it
is unknown to us, though we must not on that account assert that it
is impossible.* The cosmological ideas alone posses the peculiarity
that we can presuppose the object of them and the empirical
synthesis requisite for the conception of that object to be given;
and the question, which arises from these ideas, relates merely to
the progress of this synthesis, in so far as it must contain absolute
totality--which, however, is not empirical, as it cannot be given in
any experience. Now, as the question here is solely in regard to a
thing as the object of a possible experience and not as a thing in
itself, the answer to the transcendental cosmological question need
not be sought out of the idea, for the question does not regard an
object in itself. The question in relation to a possible experience
is not, "What can be given in an experience in concreto" but "what
is contained in the idea, to which the empirical synthesis must
approximate." The question must therefore be capable of solution
from the idea alone. For the idea is a creation of reason itself,
which therefore cannot disclaim the obligation to answer or refer us
to the unknown object.

[*Footnote: The question, "What is the constitution of a transcendental
object?" is unanswerable--we are unable to say what it is; but we
can perceive that the question itself is nothing; because it does
not relate to any object that can be presented to us. For this reason,
we must consider all the questions raised in transcendental psychology
as answerable and as really answered; for they relate to the
transcendental subject of all internal phenomena, which is not
itself phenomenon and consequently not given as an object, in which,
moreover, none of the categories--and it is to them that the
question is properly directed--find any conditions of its application.
Here, therefore, is a case where no answer is the only proper
answer. For a question regarding the constitution of a something which
cannot be cogitated by any determined predicate, being completely
beyond the sphere of objects and experience, is perfectly null and
void.]

It is not so extraordinary, as it at first sight appears, that a
science should demand and expect satisfactory answers to all the
questions that may arise within its own sphere (questiones
domesticae), although, up to a certain time, these answers may not
have been discovered. There are, in addition to transcendental
philosophy, only two pure sciences of reason; the one with a
speculative, the other with a practical content--pure mathematics
and pure ethics. Has any one ever heard it alleged that, from our
complete and necessary ignorance of the conditions, it is uncertain
what exact relation the diameter of a circle bears to the circle in
rational or irrational numbers? By the former the sum cannot be
given exactly, by the latter only approximately; and therefore we
decide that the impossibility of a solution of the question is
evident. Lambert presented us with a demonstration of this. In the
general principles of morals there can be nothing uncertain, for the
propositions are either utterly without meaning, or must originate
solely in our rational conceptions. On the other hand, there must be
in physical science an infinite number of conjectures, which can never
become certainties; because the phenomena of nature are not given as
objects dependent on our conceptions. The key to the solution of
such questions cannot, therefore, be found in our conceptions, or in
pure thought, but must lie without us and for that reason is in many
cases not to be discovered; and consequently a satisfactory
explanation cannot be expected. The questions of transcendental
analytic, which relate to the deduction of our pure cognition, are
not to be regarded as of the same kind as those mentioned above; for
we are not at present treating of the certainty of judgements in relation
to the origin of our conceptions, but only of that certainty in
relation to objects.

We cannot, therefore, escape the responsibility of at least a
critical solution of the questions of reason, by complaints of the
limited nature of our faculties, and the seemingly humble confession
that it is beyond the power of our reason to decide, whether the world
has existed from all eternity or had a beginning--whether it is
infinitely extended, or enclosed within certain limits--whether
anything in the world is simple, or whether everything must be capable
of infinite divisibility--whether freedom can originate phenomena,
or whether everything is absolutely dependent on the laws and order
of nature--and, finally, whether there exists a being that is
completely unconditioned and necessary, or whether the existence of
everything is conditioned and consequently dependent on something
external to itself, and therefore in its own nature contingent. For
all these questions relate to an object, which can be given nowhere
else than in thought. This object is the absolutely unconditioned
totality of the synthesis of phenomena. If the conceptions in our
minds do not assist us to some certain result in regard to these
problems, we must not defend ourselves on the plea that the object
itself remains hidden from and unknown to us. For no such thing or
object can be given--it is not to be found out of the idea in our
minds. We must seek the cause of our failure in our idea itself, which
is an insoluble problem and in regard to which we obstinately assume
that there exists a real object corresponding and adequate to it. A
clear explanation of the dialectic which lies in our conception,
will very soon enable us to come to a satisfactory decision in
regard to such a question.

The pretext that we are unable to arrive at certainty in regard to
these problems may be met with this question, which requires at
least a plain answer: "From what source do the ideas originate, the
solution of which involves you in such difficulties? Are you seeking
for an explanation of certain phenomena; and do you expect these ideas
to give you the principles or the rules of this explanation?" Let it
be granted, that all nature was laid open before you; that nothing
was hid from your senses and your consciousness. Still, you could not
cognize in concreto the object of your ideas in any experience. For
what is demanded is not only this full and complete intuition, but
also a complete synthesis and the consciousness of its absolute
totality; and this is not possible by means of any empirical
cognition. It follows that your question--your idea--is by no means
necessary for the explanation of any phenomenon; and the idea cannot
have been in any sense given by the object itself. For such an
object can never be presented to us, because it cannot be given by
any possible experience. Whatever perceptions you may attain to, you
are still surrounded by conditions--in space, or in time--and you cannot
discover anything unconditioned; nor can you decide whether this
unconditioned is to be placed in an absolute beginning of the
synthesis, or in an absolute totality of the series without beginning.
A whole, in the empirical signification of the term, is always
merely comparative. The absolute whole of quantity (the universe),
of division, of derivation, of the condition of existence, with the
question--whether it is to be produced by finite or infinite
synthesis, no possible experience can instruct us concerning. You will
not, for example, be able to explain the phenomena of a body in the
least degree better, whether you believe it to consist of simple, or
of composite parts; for a simple phenomenon--and just as little an
infinite series of composition--can never be presented to your
perception. Phenomena require and admit of explanation, only in so
far as the conditions of that explanation are given in perception;
but the sum total of that which is given in phenomena, considered as
an absolute whole, is itself a perception--and we cannot therefore
seek for explanations of this whole beyond itself, in other perceptions.
The explanation of this whole is the proper object of the
transcendental problems of pure reason.

Although, therefore, the solution of these problems is
unattainable through experience, we must not permit ourselves to say
that it is uncertain how the object of our inquiries is constituted.
For the object is in our own mind and cannot be discovered in
experience; and we have only to take care that our thoughts are
consistent with each other, and to avoid falling into the amphiboly
of regarding our idea as a representation of an object empirically
given, and therefore to be cognized according to the laws of experience.
A dogmatical solution is therefore not only unsatisfactory but
impossible. The critical solution, which may be a perfectly certain
one, does not consider the question objectively, but proceeds by
inquiring into the basis of the cognition upon which the question
rests.



SECTION V. Sceptical Exposition of the Cosmological Problems
           presented in the four Transcendental Ideas.

We should be quite willing to desist from the demand of a dogmatical
answer to our questions, if we understood beforehand that, be the
answer what it may, it would only serve to increase our ignorance,
to throw us from one incomprehensibility into another, from one
obscurity into another still greater, and perhaps lead us into
irreconcilable contradictions. If a dogmatical affirmative or negative
answer is demanded, is it at all prudent to set aside the probable
grounds of a solution which lie before us and to take into
consideration what advantage we shall gain, if the answer is to favour
the one side or the other? If it happens that in both cases the answer
is mere nonsense, we have in this an irresistible summons to institute
a critical investigation of the question, for the purpose of
discovering whether it is based on a groundless presupposition and
relates to an idea, the falsity of which would be more easily
exposed in its application and consequences than in the mere
representation of its content. This is the great utility of the
sceptical mode of treating the questions addressed by pure reason to
itself. By this method we easily rid ourselves of the confusions of
dogmatism, and establish in its place a temperate criticism, which,
as a genuine cathartic, will successfully remove the presumptuous notions
of philosophy and their consequence--the vain pretension to
universal science.

If, then, I could understand the nature of a cosmological idea and
perceive, before I entered on the discussion of the subject at all,
that, whatever side of the question regarding the unconditioned of
the regressive synthesis of phenomena it favoured--it must either be
too great or too small for every conception of the understanding--I
would be able to comprehend how the idea, which relates to an object
of experience--an experience which must be adequate to and in
accordance with a possible conception of the understanding--must be
completely void and without significance, inasmuch as its object is
inadequate, consider it as we may. And this is actually the case
with all cosmological conceptions, which, for the reason above
mentioned, involve reason, so long as it remains attached to them,
in an unavoidable antinomy. For suppose:

First, that the world has no beginning--in this case it is too large
for our conception; for this conception, which consists in a
successive regress, cannot overtake the whole eternity that has
elapsed. Grant that it has a beginning, it is then too small for the
conception of the understanding. For, as a beginning presupposes a
time preceding, it cannot be unconditioned; and the law of the
empirical employment of the understanding imposes the necessity of
looking for a higher condition of time; and the world is, therefore,
evidently too small for this law.

The same is the case with the double answer to the question
regarding the extent, in space, of the world. For, if it is infinite
and unlimited, it must be too large for every possible empirical
conception. If it is finite and limited, we have a right to ask: "What
determines these limits?" Void space is not a self-subsistent
correlate of things, and cannot be a final condition--and still less
an empirical condition, forming a part of a possible experience. For
how can we have any experience or perception of an absolute void?
But the absolute totality of the empirical synthesis requires that
the unconditioned be an empirical conception. Consequently, a finite
world is too small for our conception.

Secondly, if every phenomenon (matter) in space consists of an
infinite number of parts, the regress of the division is always too
great for our conception; and if the division of space must cease with
some member of the division (the simple), it is too small for the idea
of the unconditioned. For the member at which we have discontinued
our division still admits a regress to many more parts contained in
the object.

Thirdly, suppose that every event in the world happens in accordance
with the laws of nature; the causality of a cause must itself be an
event and necessitates a regress to a still higher cause, and
consequently the unceasing prolongation of the series of conditions
a parte priori. Operative nature is therefore too large for every
conception we can form in the synthesis of cosmical events.

If we admit the existence of spontaneously produced events, that is,
of free agency, we are driven, in our search for sufficient reasons,
on an unavoidable law of nature and are compelled to appeal to the
empirical law of causality, and we find that any such totality of
connection in our synthesis is too small for our necessary empirical
conception.

Fourthly, if we assume the existence of an absolutely necessary
being--whether it be the world or something in the world, or the cause
of the world--we must place it in a time at an infinite distance
from any given moment; for, otherwise, it must be dependent on some
other and higher existence. Such an existence is, in this case, too
large for our empirical conception, and unattainable by the
continued regress of any synthesis.

But if we believe that everything in the world--be it condition or
conditioned--is contingent; every given existence is too small for
our conception. For in this case we are compelled to seek for some
other existence upon which the former depends.

We have said that in all these cases the cosmological idea is either
too great or too small for the empirical regress in a synthesis, and
consequently for every possible conception of the understanding. Why
did we not express ourselves in a manner exactly the reverse of this
and, instead of accusing the cosmological idea of over stepping or
of falling short of its true aim, possible experience, say that, in
the first case, the empirical conception is always too small for the
idea, and in the second too great, and thus attach the blame of
these contradictions to the empirical regress? The reason is this.
Possible experience can alone give reality to our conceptions; without
it a conception is merely an idea, without truth or relation to an
object. Hence a possible empirical conception must be the standard
by which we are to judge whether an idea is anything more than an idea
and fiction of thought, or whether it relates to an object in the
world. If we say of a thing that in relation to some other thing it
is too large or too small, the former is considered as existing for
the sake of the latter, and requiring to be adapted to it. Among the
trivial subjects of discussion in the old schools of dialectics was
this question: "If a ball cannot pass through a hole, shall we say
that the ball is too large or the hole too small?" In this case it
is indifferent what expression we employ; for we do not know which
exists for the sake of the other. On the other hand, we cannot say:
"The man is too long for his coat"; but: "The coat is too short for
the man."

We are thus led to the well-founded suspicion that the
cosmological ideas, and all the conflicting sophistical assertions
connected with them, are based upon a false and fictitious
conception of the mode in which the object of these ideas is presented
to us; and this suspicion will probably direct us how to expose the
illusion that has so long led us astray from the truth.



SECTION VI. Transcendental Idealism as the Key to the
            Solution of Pure Cosmological Dialectic.

In the transcendental aesthetic we proved that everything intuited
in space and time, all objects of a possible experience, are nothing
but phenomena, that is, mere representations; and that these, as
presented to us--as extended bodies, or as series of changes--have
no self-subsistent existence apart from human thought. This doctrine
I call Transcendental Idealism.* The realist in the transcendental
sense regards these modifications of our sensibility, these mere
representations, as things subsisting in themselves.

[*Footnote: I have elsewhere termed this theory formal idealism, to
distinguish it from material idealism, which doubts or denies the
existence of external things. To avoid ambiguity, it seems advisable
in many cases to employ this term instead of that mentioned in the text.]

It would be unjust to accuse us of holding the long-decried theory
of empirical idealism, which, while admitting the reality of space,
denies, or at least doubts, the existence of bodies extended in it,
and thus leaves us without a sufficient criterion of reality and
illusion. The supporters of this theory find no difficulty in
admitting the reality of the phenomena of the internal sense in
time; nay, they go the length of maintaining that this internal
experience is of itself a sufficient proof of the real existence of
its object as a thing in itself.

Transcendental idealism allows that the objects of external
intuition--as intuited in space, and all changes in time--as
represented by the internal sense, are real. For, as space is the form
of that intuition which we call external, and, without objects in
space, no empirical representation could be given us, we can and ought
to regard extended bodies in it as real. The case is the same with
representations in time. But time and space, with all phenomena
therein, are not in themselves things. They are nothing but
representations and cannot exist out of and apart from the mind.
Nay, the sensuous internal intuition of the mind (as the object of
consciousness), the determination of which is represented by the
succession of different states in time, is not the real, proper
self, as it exists in itself--not the transcendental subject--but only
a phenomenon, which is presented to the sensibility of this, to us,
unknown being. This internal phenomenon cannot be admitted to be a
self-subsisting thing; for its condition is time, and time cannot be
the condition of a thing in itself. But the empirical truth of
phenomena in space and time is guaranteed beyond the possibility of
doubt, and sufficiently distinguished from the illusion of dreams or
fancy--although both have a proper and thorough connection in an
experience according to empirical laws. The objects of experience then
are not things in themselves, but are given only in experience, and
have no existence apart from and independently of experience. That
there may be inhabitants in the moon, although no one has ever
observed them, must certainly be admitted; but this assertion means
only, that we may in the possible progress of experience discover them
at some future time. For that which stands in connection with a
perception according to the laws of the progress of experience is
real. They are therefore really existent, if they stand in empirical
connection with my actual or real consciousness, although they are
not in themselves real, that is, apart from the progress of experience.

There is nothing actually given--we can be conscious of nothing as
real, except a perception and the empirical progression from it to
other possible perceptions. For phenomena, as mere representations,
are real only in perception; and perception is, in fact, nothing but
the reality of an empirical representation, that is, a phenomenon.
To call a phenomenon a real thing prior to perception means either
that we must meet with this phenomenon in the progress of
experience, or it means nothing at all. For I can say only of a
thing in itself that it exists without relation to the senses and
experience. But we are speaking here merely of phenomena in space
and time, both of which are determinations of sensibility, and not
of things in themselves. It follows that phenomena are not things in
themselves, but are mere representations, which if not given in us--in
perception--are non-existent.

The faculty of sensuous intuition is properly a receptivity--a
capacity of being affected in a certain manner by representations,
the relation of which to each other is a pure intuition of space and
time--the pure forms of sensibility. These representations, in so far
as they are connected and determinable in this relation (in space and
time) according to laws of the unity of experience, are called
objects. The non-sensuous cause of these representations is completely
unknown to us and hence cannot be intuited as an object. For such an
object could not be represented either in space or in time; and
without these conditions intuition or representation is impossible.
We may, at the same time, term the non-sensuous cause of phenomena
the transcendental object--but merely as a mental correlate to
sensibility, considered as a receptivity. To this transcendental
object we may attribute the whole connection and extent of our
possible perceptions, and say that it is given and exists in itself
prior to all experience. But the phenomena, corresponding to it, are
not given as things in themselves, but in experience alone. For they
are mere representations, receiving from perceptions alone
significance and relation to a real object, under the condition that
this or that perception--indicating an object--is in complete
connection with all others in accordance with the rules of the unity
of experience. Thus we can say: "The things that really existed in
past time are given in the transcendental object of experience." But
these are to me real objects, only in so far as I can represent to
my own mind, that a regressive series of possible perceptions-
following the indications of history, or the footsteps of cause and
effect--in accordance with empirical laws--that, in one word, the
course of the world conducts us to an elapsed series of time as the
condition of the present time. This series in past time is represented
as real, not in itself, but only in connection with a possible
experience. Thus, when I say that certain events occurred in past
time, I merely assert the possibility of prolonging the chain of
experience, from the present perception, upwards to the conditions
that determine it according to time.

If I represent to myself all objects existing in all space and time,
I do not thereby place these in space and time prior to all
experience; on the contrary, such a representation is nothing more
than the notion of a possible experience, in its absolute
completeness. In experience alone are those objects, which are nothing
but representations, given. But, when I say they existed prior to my
experience, this means only that I must begin with the perception
present to me and follow the track indicated until I discover them
in some part or region of experience. The cause of the empirical
condition of this progression--and consequently at what member therein
I must stop, and at what point in the regress I am to find this
member--is transcendental, and hence necessarily incognizable. But
with this we have not to do; our concern is only with the law of
progression in experience, in which objects, that is, phenomena, are
given. It is a matter of indifference, whether I say, "I may in the
progress of experience discover stars, at a hundred times greater
distance than the most distant of those now visible," or, "Stars at
this distance may be met in space, although no one has, or ever will
discover them." For, if they are given as things in themselves,
without any relation to possible experience, they are for me
non-existent, consequently, are not objects, for they are not
contained in the regressive series of experience. But, if these
phenomena must be employed in the construction or support of the
cosmological idea of an absolute whole, and when we are discussing
a question that oversteps the limits of possible experience, the
proper distinction of the different theories of the reality of
sensuous objects is of great importance, in order to avoid the
illusion which must necessarily arise from the misinterpretation of
our empirical conceptions.



SECTION VII. Critical Solution of the Cosmological Problem.

The antinomy of pure reason is based upon the following
dialectical argument: "If that which is conditioned is given, the
whole series of its conditions is also given; but sensuous objects
are given as conditioned; consequently..." This syllogism, the major
of which seems so natural and evident, introduces as many cosmological
ideas as there are different kinds of conditions in the synthesis of
phenomena, in so far as these conditions constitute a series. These
ideas require absolute totality in the series, and thus place reason
in inextricable embarrassment. Before proceeding to expose the fallacy
in this dialectical argument, it will be necessary to have a correct
understanding of certain conceptions that appear in it.

In the first place, the following proposition is evident, and
indubitably certain: "If the conditioned is given, a regress in the
series of all its conditions is thereby imperatively required." For
the very conception of a conditioned is a conception of something
related to a condition, and, if this condition is itself
conditioned, to another condition--and so on through all the members
of the series. This proposition is, therefore, analytical and has
nothing to fear from transcendental criticism. It is a logical
postulate of reason: to pursue, as far as possible, the connection
of a conception with its conditions.

If, in the second place, both the conditioned and the condition
are things in themselves, and if the former is given, not only is
the regress to the latter requisite, but the latter is really given
with the former. Now, as this is true of all the members of the
series, the entire series of conditions, and with them the
unconditioned, is at the same time given in the very fact of the
conditioned, the existence of which is possible only in and through
that series, being given. In this case, the synthesis of the
conditioned with its condition, is a synthesis of the understanding
merely, which represents things as they are, without regarding whether
and how we can cognize them. But if I have to do with phenomena,
which, in their character of mere representations, are not given, if
I do not attain to a cognition of them (in other words, to themselves,
for they are nothing more than empirical cognitions), I am not
entitled to say: "If the conditioned is given, all its conditions
(as phenomena) are also given." I cannot, therefore, from the fact
of a conditioned being given, infer the absolute totality of the
series of its conditions. For phenomena are nothing but an empirical
synthesis in apprehension or perception, and are therefore given
only in it. Now, in speaking of phenomena it does not follow that,
if the conditioned is given, the synthesis which constitutes its
empirical condition is also thereby given and presupposed; such a
synthesis can be established only by an actual regress in the series
of conditions. But we are entitled to say in this case that a
regress to the conditions of a conditioned, in other words, that a
continuous empirical synthesis is enjoined; that, if the conditions
are not given, they are at least required; and that we are certain
to discover the conditions in this regress.

We can now see that the major, in the above cosmological
syllogism, takes the conditioned in the transcendental signification
which it has in the pure category, while the minor speaks of it in
the empirical signification which it has in the category as applied
to phenomena. There is, therefore, a dialectical fallacy in the
syllogism--a sophisma figurae dictionis. But this fallacy is not a
consciously devised one, but a perfectly natural illusion of the
common reason of man. For, when a thing is given as conditioned, we
presuppose in the major its conditions and their series,
unperceived, as it were, and unseen; because this is nothing more than
the logical requirement of complete and satisfactory premisses for
a given conclusion. In this case, time is altogether left out in the
connection of the conditioned with the condition; they are supposed
to be given in themselves, and contemporaneously. It is, moreover,
just as natural to regard phenomena (in the minor) as things in
themselves and as objects presented to the pure understanding, as in
the major, in which complete abstraction was made of all conditions
of intuition. But it is under these conditions alone that objects are
given. Now we overlooked a remarkable distinction between the
conceptions. The synthesis of the conditioned with its condition,
and the complete series of the latter (in the major) are not limited
by time, and do not contain the conception of succession. On the
contrary, the empirical synthesis and the series of conditions in
the phenomenal world--subsumed in the minor--are necessarily
successive and given in time alone. It follows that I cannot
presuppose in the minor, as I did in the major, the absolute
totality of the synthesis and of the series therein represented; for
in the major all the members of the series are given as things in
themselves--without any limitations or conditions of time, while in
the minor they are possible only in and through a successive
regress, which cannot exist, except it be actually carried into
execution in the world of phenomena.

After this proof of the viciousness of the argument commonly
employed in maintaining cosmological assertions, both parties may
now be justly dismissed, as advancing claims without grounds or title.
But the process has not been ended by convincing them that one or both
were in the wrong and had maintained an assertion which was without
valid grounds of proof. Nothing seems to be clearer than that, if
one maintains: "The world has a beginning," and another: "The world
has no beginning," one of the two must be right. But it is likewise
clear that, if the evidence on both sides is equal, it is impossible
to discover on what side the truth lies; and the controversy
continues, although the parties have been recommended to peace
before the tribunal of reason. There remains, then, no other means
of settling the question than to convince the parties, who refute each
other with such conclusiveness and ability, that they are disputing
about nothing, and that a transcendental illusion has been mocking
them with visions of reality where there is none. The mode of
adjusting a dispute which cannot be decided upon its own merits, we
shall now proceed to lay before our readers.

Zeno of Elea, a subtle dialectician, was severely reprimanded by
Plato as a sophist, who, merely from the base motive of exhibiting
his skill in discussion, maintained and subverted the same proposition
by arguments as powerful and convincing on the one side as on the
other. He maintained, for example, that God (who was probably
nothing more, in his view, than the world) is neither finite nor
infinite, neither in motion nor in rest, neither similar nor
dissimilar to any other thing. It seemed to those philosophers who
criticized his mode of discussion that his purpose was to deny
completely both of two self-contradictory propositions--which is
absurd. But I cannot believe that there is any justice in this
accusation. The first of these propositions I shall presently consider
in a more detailed manner. With regard to the others, if by the word
of God he understood merely the Universe, his meaning must have
been--that it cannot be permanently present in one place--that is,
at rest--nor be capable of changing its place--that is, of moving-
because all places are in the universe, and the universe itself is,
therefore, in no place. Again, if the universe contains in itself
everything that exists, it cannot be similar or dissimilar to any
other thing, because there is, in fact, no other thing with which it
can be compared. If two opposite judgements presuppose a contingent
impossible, or arbitrary condition, both--in spite of their opposition
(which is, however, not properly or really a contradiction)--fall
away; because the condition, which ensured the validity of both, has
itself disappeared.

If we say: "Everybody has either a good or a bad smell," we have
omitted a third possible judgement--it has no smell at all; and thus
both conflicting statements may be false. If we say: "It is either
good-smelling or not good-smelling (vel suaveolens vel
non-suaveolens)," both judgements are contradictorily opposed; and
the contradictory opposite of the former judgement--some bodies are
not good-smelling--embraces also those bodies which have no smell at
all. In the preceding pair of opposed judgements (per disparata),
the contingent condition of the conception of body (smell) attached
to both conflicting statements, instead of having been omitted in the
latter, which is consequently not the contradictory opposite of the
former.

If, accordingly, we say: "The world is either infinite in extension,
or it is not infinite (non est infinitus)"; and if the former
proposition is false, its contradictory opposite--the world is not
infinite--must be true. And thus I should deny the existence of an
infinite, without, however affirming the existence of a finite
world. But if we construct our proposition thus: "The world is
either infinite or finite (non-infinite)," both statements may be
false. For, in this case, we consider the world as per se determined
in regard to quantity, and while, in the one judgement, we deny its
infinite and consequently, perhaps, its independent existence; in
the other, we append to the world, regarded as a thing in itself, a
certain determination--that of finitude; and the latter may be false
as well as the former, if the world is not given as a thing in itself,
and thus neither as finite nor as infinite in quantity. This kind of
opposition I may be allowed to term dialectical; that of
contradictories may be called analytical opposition. Thus then, of
two dialectically opposed judgements both may be false, from the fact,
that the one is not a mere contradictory of the other, but actually
enounces more than is requisite for a full and complete contradiction.

When we regard the two propositions--"The world is infinite in
quantity," and, "The world is finite in quantity," as contradictory
opposites, we are assuming that the world--the complete series of
phenomena--is a thing in itself. For it remains as a permanent
quantity, whether I deny the infinite or the finite regress in the
series of its phenomena. But if we dismiss this assumption--this
transcendental illusion--and deny that it is a thing in itself, the
contradictory opposition is metamorphosed into a merely dialectical
one; and the world, as not existing in itself--independently of the
regressive series of my representations--exists in like manner neither
as a whole which is infinite nor as a whole which is finite in itself.
The universe exists for me only in the empirical regress of the series
of phenomena and not per se. If, then, it is always conditioned, it
is never completely or as a whole; and it is, therefore, not an
unconditioned whole and does not exist as such, either with an
infinite, or with a finite quantity.

What we have here said of the first cosmological idea--that of the
absolute totality of quantity in phenomena--applies also to the
others. The series of conditions is discoverable only in the
regressive synthesis itself, and not in the phenomenon considered as
a thing in itself--given prior to all regress. Hence I am compelled
to say: "The aggregate of parts in a given phenomenon is in itself
neither finite nor infinite; and these parts are given only in the
regressive synthesis of decomposition--a synthesis which is never
given in absolute completeness, either as finite, or as infinite."
The same is the case with the series of subordinated causes, or of
the conditioned up to the unconditioned and necessary existence, which
can never be regarded as in itself, ind in its totality, either as
finite or as infinite; because, as a series of subordinate
representations, it subsists only in the dynamical regress and
cannot be regarded as existing previously to this regress, or as a
self-subsistent series of things.

Thus the antinomy of pure reason in its cosmological ideas
disappears. For the above demonstration has established the fact
that it is merely the product of a dialectical and illusory
opposition, which arises from the application of the idea of
absolute totality--admissible only as a condition of things in
themselves--to phenomena, which exist only in our representations,
and--when constituting a series--in a successive regress. This
antinomy of reason may, however, be really profitable to our
speculative interests, not in the way of contributing any dogmatical
addition, but as presenting to us another material support in our
critical investigations. For it furnishes us with an indirect proof
of the transcendental ideality of phenomena, if our minds were not
completely satisfied with the direct proof set forth in the
Trancendental Aesthetic. The proof would proceed in the following
dilemma. If the world is a whole existing in itself, it must be either
finite or infinite. But it is neither finite nor infinite--as has been
shown, on the one side, by the thesis, on the other, by the
antithesis. Therefore the world--the content of all phenomena--is
not a whole existing in itself. It follows that phenomena are nothing,
apart from our representations. And this is what we mean by
transcendental ideality.

This remark is of some importance. It enables us to see that the
proofs of the fourfold antinomy are not mere sophistries--are not
fallacious, but grounded on the nature of reason, and valid--under
the supposition that phenomena are things in themselves. The opposition
of the judgements which follow makes it evident that a fallacy lay
in the initial supposition, and thus helps us to discover the true
constitution of objects of sense. This transcendental dialectic does
not favour scepticism, although it presents us with a triumphant
demonstration of the advantages of the sceptical method, the great
utility of which is apparent in the antinomy, where the arguments of
reason were allowed to confront each other in undiminished force.
And although the result of these conflicts of reason is not what we
expected--although we have obtained no positive dogmatical addition
to metaphysical science--we have still reaped a great advantage in
the correction of our judgements on these subjects of thought.



SECTION VIII. Regulative Principle of Pure Reason in relation
              to the Cosmological Ideas.

The cosmological principle of totality could not give us any certain
knowledge in regard to the maximum in the series of conditions in
the world of sense, considered as a thing in itself. The actual
regress in the series is the only means of approaching this maximum.
This principle of pure reason, therefore, may still be considered as
valid--not as an axiom enabling us to cogitate totality in the
object as actual, but as a problem for the understanding, which
requires it to institute and to continue, in conformity with the
idea of totality in the mind, the regress in the series of the
conditions of a given conditioned. For in the world of sense, that
is, in space and time, every condition which we discover in our
investigation of phenomena is itself conditioned; because sensuous
objects are not things in themselves (in which case an absolutely
unconditioned might be reached in the progress of cognition), but
are merely empirical representations the conditions of which must
always be found in intuition. The principle of reason is therefore
properly a mere rule--prescribing a regress in the series of
conditions for given phenomena, and prohibiting any pause or rest on
an absolutely unconditioned. It is, therefore, not a principle of
the possibility of experience or of the empirical cognition of
sensuous objects--consequently not a principle of the understanding;
for every experience is confined within certain proper limits
determined by the given intuition. Still less is it a constitutive
principle of reason authorizing us to extend our conception of the
sensuous world beyond all possible experience. It is merely a
principle for the enlargement and extension of experience as far as
is possible for human faculties. It forbids us to consider any
empirical limits as absolute. It is, hence, a principle of reason,
which, as a rule, dictates how we ought to proceed in our empirical
regress, but is unable to anticipate or indicate prior to the
empirical regress what is given in the object itself. I have termed
it for this reason a regulative principle of reason; while the
principle of the absolute totality of the series of conditions, as
existing in itself and given in the object, is a constitutive
cosmological principle. This distinction will at once demonstrate
the falsehood of the constitutive principle, and prevent us from
attributing (by a transcendental subreptio) objective reality to an
idea, which is valid only as a rule.

In order to understand the proper meaning of this rule of pure
reason, we must notice first that it cannot tell us what the object
is, but only how the empirical regress is to be proceeded with in
order to attain to the complete conception of the object. If it gave
us any information in respect to the former statement, it would be
a constitutive principle--a principle impossible from the nature of
pure reason. It will not therefore enable us to establish any such
conclusions as: "The series of conditions for a given conditioned is
in itself finite." or, "It is infinite." For, in this case, we
should be cogitating in the mere idea of absolute totality, an
object which is not and cannot be given in experience; inasmuch as
we should be attributing a reality objective and independent of the
empirical synthesis, to a series of phenomena. This idea of reason
cannot then be regarded as valid--except as a rule for the
regressive synthesis in the series of conditions, according to which
we must proceed from the conditioned, through all intermediate and
subordinate conditions, up to the unconditioned; although this goal
is unattained and unattainable. For the absolutely unconditioned cannot
be discovered in the sphere of experience.

We now proceed to determine clearly our notion of a synthesis
which can never be complete. There are two terms commonly employed
for this purpose. These terms are regarded as expressions of different
and distinguishable notions, although the ground of the distinction
has never been clearly exposed. The term employed by the mathematicians
is progressus in infinitum. The philosophers prefer the expression
progressus in indefinitum. Without detaining the reader with an
examination of the reasons for such a distinction, or with remarks
on the right or wrong use of the terms, I shall endeavour clearly to
determine these conceptions, so far as is necessary for the purpose
in this Critique.

We may, with propriety, say of a straight line, that it may be
produced to infinity. In this case the distinction between a
progressus in infinitum and a progressus in indefinitum is a mere
piece of subtlety. For, although when we say, "Produce a straight
line," it is more correct to say in indefinitum than in infinitum;
because the former means, "Produce it as far as you please," the
second, "You must not cease to produce it"; the expression in
infinitum is, when we are speaking of the power to do it, perfectly
correct, for we can always make it longer if we please--on to
infinity. And this remark holds good in all cases, when we speak of
a progressus, that is, an advancement from the condition to the
conditioned; this possible advancement always proceeds to infinity.
We may proceed from a given pair in the descending line of generation
from father to son, and cogitate a never-ending line of descendants
from it. For in such a case reason does not demand absolute totality
in the series, because it does not presuppose it as a condition and
as given (datum), but merely as conditioned, and as capable of being
given (dabile).

Very different is the case with the problem: "How far the regress,
which ascends from the given conditioned to the conditions, must
extend"; whether I can say: "It is a regress in infinitum," or only
"in indefinitum"; and whether, for example, setting out from the human
beings at present alive in the world, I may ascend in the series of
their ancestors, in infinitum--mr whether all that can be said is,
that so far as I have proceeded, I have discovered no empirical ground
for considering the series limited, so that I am justified, and
indeed, compelled to search for ancestors still further back, although
I am not obliged by the idea of reason to presuppose them.

My answer to this question is: "If the series is given in
empirical intuition as a whole, the regress in the series of its
internal conditions proceeds in infinitum; but, if only one member
of the series is given, from which the regress is to proceed to
absolute totality, the regress is possible only in indefinitum." For
example, the division of a portion of matter given within certain
limits--of a body, that is--proceeds in infinitum. For, as the
condition of this whole is its part, and the condition of the part
a part of the part, and so on, and as in this regress of decomposition
an unconditioned indivisible member of the series of conditions is
not to be found; there are no reasons or grounds in experience for
stopping in the division, but, on the contrary, the more remote
members of the division are actually and empirically given prior to
this division. That is to say, the division proceeds to infinity. On
the other hand, the series of ancestors of any given human being is
not given, in its absolute totality, in any experience, and yet the
regress proceeds from every genealogical member of this series to
one still higher, and does not meet with any empirical limit
presenting an absolutely unconditioned member of the series. But as
the members of such a series are not contained in the empirical
intuition of the whole, prior to the regress, this regress does not
proceed to infinity, but only in indefinitum, that is, we are called
upon to discover other and higher members, which are themselves always
conditioned.

In neither case--the regressus in infinitum, nor the regressus in
indefinitum, is the series of conditions to be considered as
actually infinite in the object itself. This might be true of things
in themselves, but it cannot be asserted of phenomena, which, as
conditions of each other, are only given in the empirical regress
itself. Hence, the question no longer is, "What is the quantity of
this series of conditions in itself--is it finite or infinite?" for
it is nothing in itself; but, "How is the empirical regress to be
commenced, and how far ought we to proceed with it?" And here a signal
distinction in the application of this rule becomes apparent. If the
whole is given empirically, it is possible to recede in the series
of its internal conditions to infinity. But if the whole is not given,
and can only be given by and through the empirical regress, I can only
say: "It is possible to infinity, to proceed to still higher
conditions in the series." In the first case, I am justified in
asserting that more members are empirically given in the object than
I attain to in the regress (of decomposition). In the second case,
I am justified only in saying, that I can always proceed further in
the regress, because no member of the series. is given as absolutely
conditioned, and thus a higher member is possible, and an inquiry with
regard to it is necessary. In the one case it is necessary to find
other members of the series, in the other it is necessary to inquire
for others, inasmuch as experience presents no absolute limitation
of the regress. For, either you do not possess a perception which
absolutely limits your empirical regress, and in this case the regress
cannot be regarded as complete; or, you do possess such a limitative
perception, in which case it is not a part of your series (for that
which limits must be distinct from that which is limited by it), and
it is incumbent you to continue your regress up to this condition,
and so on.

These remarks will be placed in their proper light by their
application in the following section.



SECTION IX. Of the Empirical Use of the Regulative Principle
            of Reason with regard to the Cosmological Ideas.

We have shown that no transcendental use can be made either of the
conceptions of reason or of understanding. We have shown, likewise,
that the demand of absolute totality in the series of conditions in
the world of sense arises from a transcendental employment of
reason, resting on the opinion that phenomena are to be regarded as
things in themselves. It follows that we are not required to answer
the question respecting the absolute quantity of a series--whether
it is in itself limited or unlimited. We are only called upon to
determine how far we must proceed in the empirical regress from
condition to condition, in order to discover, in conformity with the
rule of reason, a full and correct answer to the questions proposed
by reason itself.

This principle of reason is hence valid only as a rule for the
extension of a possible experience--its invalidity as a principle
constitutive of phenomena in themselves having been sufficiently
demonstrated. And thus, too, the antinomial conflict of reason with
itself is completely put an end to; inasmuch as we have not only
presented a critical solution of the fallacy lurking in the opposite
statements of reason, but have shown the true meaning of the ideas
which gave rise to these statements. The dialectical principle of
reason has, therefore, been changed into a doctrinal principle. But
in fact, if this principle, in the subjective signification which we
have shown to be its only true sense, may be guaranteed as a principle
of the unceasing extension of the employment of our understanding,
its influence and value are just as great as if it were an axiom for
the a priori determination of objects. For such an axiom could not
exert a stronger influence on the extension and rectification of our
knowledge, otherwise than by procuring for the principles of the
understanding the most widely expanded employment in the field of
experience.



I. Solution of the Cosmological Idea of the Totality of the
   Composition of Phenomena in the Universe.

Here, as well as in the case of the other cosmological problems, the
ground of the regulative principle of reason is the proposition that
in our empirical regress no experience of an absolute limit, and
consequently no experience of a condition, which is itself
absolutely unconditioned, is discoverable. And the truth of this
proposition itself rests upon the consideration that such an
experience must represent to us phenomena as limited by nothing or
the mere void, on which our continued regress by means of perception
must abut--which is impossible.

Now this proposition, which declares that every condition attained
in the empirical regress must itself be considered empirically
conditioned, contains the rule in terminis, which requires me, to
whatever extent I may have proceeded in the ascending series, always
to look for some higher member in the series--whether this member is
to become known to me through experience, or not.

Nothing further is necessary, then, for the solution of the first
cosmological problem, than to decide, whether, in the regress to the
unconditioned quantity of the universe (as regards space and time),
this never limited ascent ought to be called a regressus in
infinitum or indefinitum.

The general representation which we form in our minds of the
series of all past states or conditions of the world, or of all the
things which at present exist in it, is itself nothing more than a
possible empirical regress, which is cogitated--although in an
undetermined manner--in the mind, and which gives rise to the
conception of a series of conditions for a given object.* Now I have
a conception of the universe, but not an intuition--that is, not an
intuition of it as a whole. Thus I cannot infer the magnitude of the
regress from the quantity or magnitude of the world, and determine
the former by means of the latter; on the contrary, I must first of
all form a conception of the quantity or magnitude of the world from
the magnitude of the empirical regress. But of this regress I know
nothing more than that I ought to proceed from every given member of
the series of conditions to one still higher. But the quantity of the
universe is not thereby determined, and we cannot affirm that this
regress proceeds in infinitum. Such an affirmation would anticipate
the members of the series which have not yet been reached, and
represent the number of them as beyond the grasp of any empirical
synthesis; it would consequently determine the cosmical quantity prior
to the regress (although only in a negative manner)--which is
impossible. For the world is not given in its totality in any
intuition: consequently, its quantity cannot be given prior to the
regress. It follows that we are unable to make any declaration
respecting the cosmical quantity in itself--not even that the
regress in it is a regress in infinitum; we must only endeavour to
attain to a conception of the quantity of the universe, in
conformity with the rule which determines the empirical regress in
it. But this rule merely requires us never to admit an absolute limit
to our series--how far soever we may have proceeded in it, but always,
on the contrary, to subordinate every phenomenon to some other as its
condition, and consequently to proceed to this higher phenomenon. Such
a regress is, therefore, the regressus in indefinitum, which, as not
determining a quantity in the object, is clearly distinguishable
from the regressus in infinitum.

[*Footnote: The cosmical series can neither be greater nor smaller
than the possible empirical regress, upon which its conception is based.
And as this regress cannot be a determinate infinite regress, still
less a determinate finite (absolutely limited), it is evident that
we cannot regard the world as either finite or infinite, because the
regress, which gives us the representation of the world, is neither
finite nor infinite.]

It follows from what we have said that we are not justified in
declaring the world to be infinite in space, or as regards past
time. For this conception of an infinite given quantity is
empirical; but we cannot apply the conception of an infinite
quantity to the world as an object of the senses. I cannot say, "The
regress from a given perception to everything limited either in
space or time, proceeds in infinitum," for this presupposes an
infinite cosmical quantity; neither can I say, "It is finite," for
an absolute limit is likewise impossible in experience. It follows
that I am not entitled to make any assertion at all respecting the
whole object of experience--the world of sense; I must limit my
declarations to the rule according to which experience or empirical
knowledge is to be attained.

To the question, therefore, respecting the cosmical quantity, the
first and negative answer is: "The world has no beginning in time,
and no absolute limit in space."

For, in the contrary case, it would be limited by a void time on the
one hand, and by a void space on the other. Now, since the world, as
a phenomenon, cannot be thus limited in itself for a phenomenon is
not a thing in itself; it must be possible for us to have a perception
of this limitation by a void time and a void space. But such a
perception--such an experience is impossible; because it has no
content. Consequently, an absolute cosmical limit is empirically,
and therefore absolutely, impossible.*

[*Footnote: The reader will remark that the proof presented above is
very different from the dogmatical demonstration given in the antithesis
of the first antinomy. In that demonstration, it was taken for granted
that the world is a thing in itself--given in its totality prior to
all regress, and a determined position in space and time was denied
to it--if it was not considered as occupying all time and all space.
Hence our conclusion differed from that given above; for we inferred
in the antithesis the actual infinity of the world.]

From this follows the affirmative answer: "The regress in the series
of phenomena--as a determination of the cosmical quantity, proceeds
in indefinitum." This is equivalent to saying: "The world of sense
has no absolute quantity, but the empirical regress (through which
alone the world of sense is presented to us on the side of its conditions)
rests upon a rule, which requires it to proceed from every member of
the series, as conditioned, to one still more remote (whether
through personal experience, or by means of history, or the chain of
cause and effect), and not to cease at any point in this extension
of the possible empirical employment of the understanding." And this
is the proper and only use which reason can make of its principles.

The above rule does not prescribe an unceasing regress in one kind
of phenomena. It does not, for example, forbid us, in our ascent
from an individual human being through the line of his ancestors, to
expect that we shall discover at some point of the regress a
primeval pair, or to admit, in the series of heavenly bodies, a sun
at the farthest possible distance from some centre. All that it demands
is a perpetual progress from phenomena to phenomena, even although
an actual perception is not presented by them (as in the case of our
perceptions being so weak as that we are unable to become conscious
of them), since they, nevertheless, belong to possible experience.

Every beginning is in time, and all limits to extension are in
space. But space and time are in the world of sense. Consequently
phenomena in the world are conditionally limited, but the world itself
is not limited, either conditionally or unconditionally.

For this reason, and because neither the world nor the cosmical
series of conditions to a given conditioned can be completely given,
our conception of the cosmical quantity is given only in and through
the regress and not prior to it--in a collective intuition. But the
regress itself is really nothing more than the determining of the
cosmical quantity, and cannot therefore give us any determined
conception of it--still less a conception of a quantity which is, in
relation to a certain standard, infinite. The regress does not,
therefore, proceed to infinity (an infinity given), but only to an
indefinite extent, for or the of presenting to us a quantity--realized
only in and through the regress itself.



II. Solution of the Cosmological Idea of the Totality of
    the Division of a Whole given in Intuition.

When I divide a whole which is given in intuition, I proceed from
a conditioned to its conditions. The division of the parts of the
whole (subdivisio or decompositio) is a regress in the series of these
conditions. The absolute totality of this series would be actually
attained and given to the mind, if the regress could arrive at
simple parts. But if all the parts in a continuous decomposition are
themselves divisible, the division, that is to say, the regress,
proceeds from the conditioned to its conditions in infinitum;
because the conditions (the parts) are themselves contained in the
conditioned, and, as the latter is given in a limited intuition, the
former are all given along with it. This regress cannot, therefore,
be called a regressus in indefinitum, as happened in the case of the
preceding cosmological idea, the regress in which proceeded from the
conditioned to the conditions not given contemporaneously and along
with it, but discoverable only through the empirical regress. We are
not, however, entitled to affirm of a whole of this kind, which is
divisible in infinitum, that it consists of an infinite number of
parts. For, although all the parts are contained in the intuition of
the whole, the whole division is not contained therein. The division
is contained only in the progressing decomposition--in the regress
itself, which is the condition of the possibility and actuality of
the series. Now, as this regress is infinite, all the members (parts)
to which it attains must be contained in the given whole as an aggregate.
But the complete series of division is not contained therein. For this
series, being infinite in succession and always incomplete, cannot
represent an infinite number of members, and still less a
composition of these members into a whole.

To apply this remark to space. Every limited part of space presented
to intuition is a whole, the parts of which are always spaces--to
whatever extent subdivided. Every limited space is hence divisible
to infinity.

Let us again apply the remark to an external phenomenon enclosed
in limits, that is, a body. The divisibility of a body rests upon
the divisibility of space, which is the condition of the possibility
of the body as an extended whole. A body is consequently divisible
to infinity, though it does not, for that reason, consist of an
infinite number of parts.

It certainly seems that, as a body must be cogitated as substance in
space, the law of divisibility would not be applicable to it as
substance. For we may and ought to grant, in the case of space, that
division or decomposition, to any extent, never can utterly annihilate
composition (that is to say, the smallest part of space must still
consist of spaces); otherwise space would entirely cease to exist-
which is impossible. But, the assertion on the other band that when
all composition in matter is annihilated in thought, nothing
remains, does not seem to harmonize with the conception of
substance, which must be properly the subject of all composition and
must remain, even after the conjunction of its attributes in space-
which constituted a body--is annihilated in thought. But this is not
the case with substance in the phenomenal world, which is not a
thing in itself cogitated by the pure category. Phenomenal substance
is not an absolute subject; it is merely a permanent sensuous image,
and nothing more than an intuition, in which the unconditioned is
not to be found.

But, although this rule of progress to infinity is legitimate and
applicable to the subdivision of a phenomenon, as a mere occupation
or filling of space, it is not applicable to a whole consisting of
a number of distinct parts and constituting a quantum discretum--that
is to say, an organized body. It cannot be admitted that every part
in an organized whole is itself organized, and that, in analysing it
to infinity, we must always meet with organized parts; although we
may allow that the parts of the matter which we decompose in infinitum,
may be organized. For the infinity of the division of a phenomenon
in space rests altogether on the fact that the divisibility of a
phenomenon is given only in and through this infinity, that is, an
undetermined number of parts is given, while the parts themselves
are given and determined only in and through the subdivision; in a
word, the infinity of the division necessarily presupposes that the
whole is not already divided in se. Hence our division determines a
number of parts in the whole--a number which extends just as far as
the actual regress in the division; while, on the other hand, the very
notion of a body organized to infinity represents the whole as already
and in itself divided. We expect, therefore, to find in it a
determinate, but at the same time, infinite, number of parts--which
is self-contradictory. For we should thus have a whole containing a
series of members which could not be completed in any regress--which
is infinite, and at the same time complete in an organized
composite. Infinite divisibility is applicable only to a quantum
continuum, and is based entirely on the infinite divisibility of
space, But in a quantum discretum the multitude of parts or units is
always determined, and hence always equal to some number. To what
extent a body may be organized, experience alone can inform us; and
although, so far as our experience of this or that body has
extended, we may not have discovered any inorganic part, such parts
must exist in possible experience. But how far the transcendental
division of a phenomenon must extend, we cannot know from
experience--it is a question which experience cannot answer; it is
answered only by the principle of reason which forbids us to
consider the empirical regress, in the analysis of extended body, as
ever absolutely complete.



Concluding Remark on the Solution of the Transcendental
Mathematical Ideas--and Introductory to the
Solution of the Dynamical Ideas.

We presented the antinomy of pure reason in a tabular form, and we
endeavoured to show the ground of this self-contradiction on the
part of reason, and the only means of bringing it to a conclusion-
znamely, by declaring both contradictory statements to be false. We
represented in these antinomies the conditions of phenomena as
belonging to the conditioned according to relations of space and time-
which is the usual supposition of the common understanding. In this
respect, all dialectical representations of totality, in the series
of conditions to a given conditioned, were perfectly homogeneous. The
condition was always a member of the series along with the
conditioned, and thus the homogeneity of the whole series was assured.
In this case the regress could never be cogitated as complete; or,
if this was the case, a member really conditioned was falsely regarded
as a primal member, consequently as unconditioned. In such an
antinomy, therefore, we did not consider the object, that is, the
conditioned, but the series of conditions belonging to the object,
and the magnitude of that series. And thus arose the difficulty--a
difficulty not to be settled by any decision regarding the claims of
the two parties, but simply by cutting the knot--by declaring the
series proposed by reason to be either too long or too short for the
understanding, which could in neither case make its conceptions
adequate with the ideas.

But we have overlooked, up to this point, an essential difference
existing between the conceptions of the understanding which reason
endeavours to raise to the rank of ideas--two of these indicating a
mathematical, and two a dynamical synthesis of phenomena. Hitherto,
it was necessary to signalize this distinction; for, just as in our
general representation of all transcendental ideas, we considered them
under phenomenal conditions, so, in the two mathematical ideas, our
discussion is concerned solely with an object in the world of
phenomena. But as we are now about to proceed to the consideration
of the dynamical conceptions of the understanding, and their
adequateness with ideas, we must not lose sight of this distinction.
We shall find that it opens up to us an entirely new view of the
conflict in which reason is involved. For, while in the first two
antinomies, both parties were dismissed, on the ground of having
advanced statements based upon false hypothesis; in the present case
the hope appears of discovering a hypothesis which may be consistent
with the demands of reason, and, the judge completing the statement
of the grounds of claim, which both parties had left in an unsatisfactory
state, the question may be settled on its own merits, not by
dismissing the claimants, but by a comparison of the arguments on both
sides. If we consider merely their extension, and whether they are
adequate with ideas, the series of conditions may be regarded as all
homogeneous. But the conception of the understanding which lies at
the basis of these ideas, contains either a synthesis of the homogeneous
(presupposed in every quantity--in its composition as well as in its
division) or of the heterogeneous, which is the case in the
dynamical synthesis of cause and effect, as well as of the necessary
and the contingent.

Thus it happens that in the mathematical series of phenomena no
other than a sensuous condition is admissible--a condition which is
itself a member of the series; while the dynamical series of
sensuous conditions admits a heterogeneous condition, which is not
a member of the series, but, as purely intelligible, lies out of and
beyond it. And thus reason is satisfied, and an unconditioned placed
at the head of the series of phenomena, without introducing
confusion into or discontinuing it, contrary to the principles of
the understanding.

Now, from the fact that the dynamical ideas admit a condition of
phenomena which does not form a part of the series of phenomena,
arises a result which we should not have expected from an antinomy.
In former cases, the result was that both contradictory dialectical
statements were declared to be false. In the present case, we find
the conditioned in the dynamical series connected with an empirically
unconditioned, but non-sensuous condition; and thus satisfaction is
done to the understanding on the one hand and to the reason on the
other.* While, moreover, the dialectical arguments for unconditioned
totality in mere phenomena fall to the ground, both propositions of
reason may be shown to be true in their proper signification. This
could not happen in the case of the cosmological ideas which
demanded a mathematically unconditioned unity; for no condition
could be placed at the head of the series of phenomena, except one
which was itself a phenomenon and consequently a member of the series.

[*Footnote: For the understanding cannot admit among phenomena a condition
which is itself empirically unconditioned. But if it is possible to
cogitate an intelligible condition--one which is not a member of the
series of phenomena--for a conditioned phenomenon, without breaking
the series of empirical conditions, such a condition may be admissible
as empirically unconditioned, and the empirical regress continue
regular, unceasing, and intact.]



III. Solution of the Cosmological Idea of the Totality of
     the Deduction of Cosmical Events from their Causes.

There are only two modes of causality cogitable--the causality of
nature or of freedom. The first is the conjunction of a particular
state with another preceding it in the world of sense, the former
following the latter by virtue of a law. Now, as the causality of
phenomena is subject to conditions of time, and the preceding state,
if it had always existed, could not have produced an effect which
would make its first appearance at a particular time, the causality
of a cause must itself be an effect--must itself have begun to be,
and therefore, according to the principle of the understanding, itself
requires a cause.

We must understand, on the contrary, by the term freedom, in the
cosmological sense, a faculty of the spontaneous origination of a
state; the causality of which, therefore, is not subordinated to
another cause determining it in time. Freedom is in this sense a
pure transcendental idea, which, in the first place, contains no
empirical element; the object of which, in the second place, cannot
be given or determined in any experience, because it is a universal
law of the very possibility of experience, that everything which happens
must have a cause, that consequently the causality of a cause, being
itself something that has happened, must also have a cause. In this
view of the case, the whole field of experience, how far soever it
may extend, contains nothing that is not subject to the laws of nature.
But, as we cannot by this means attain to an absolute totality of
conditions in reference to the series of causes and effects, reason
creates the idea of a spontaneity, which can begin to act of itself,
and without any external cause determining it to action, according
to the natural law of causality.

It is especially remarkable that the practical conception of freedom
is based upon the transcendental idea, and that the question of the
possibility of the former is difficult only as it involves the
consideration of the truth of the latter. Freedom, in the practical
sense, is the independence of the will of coercion by sensuous
impulses. A will is sensuous, in so far as it is pathologically
affected (by sensuous impulses); it is termed animal (arbitrium
brutum), when it is pathologically necessitated. The human will is
certainly an arbitrium sensitivum, not brutum, but liberum; because
sensuousness does not necessitate its action, a faculty existing in
man of self-determination, independently of all sensuous coercion.

It is plain that, if all causality in the world of sense were
natural--and natural only--every event would be determined by
another according to necessary laws, and that, consequently,
phenomena, in so far as they determine the will, must necessitate
every action as a natural effect from themselves; and thus all
practical freedom would fall to the ground with the transcendental
idea. For the latter presupposes that although a certain thing has
not happened, it ought to have happened, and that, consequently, its
phenomenal cause was not so powerful and determinative as to exclude
the causality of our will--a causality capable of producing effects
independently of and even in opposition to the power of natural
causes, and capable, consequently, of spontaneously originating a
series of events.

Here, too, we find it to be the case, as we generally found in the
self-contradictions and perplexities of a reason which strives to pass
the bounds of possible experience, that the problem is properly not
physiological, but transcendental. The question of the possibility
of freedom does indeed concern psychology; but, as it rests upon
dialectical arguments of pure reason, its solution must engage the
attention of transcendental philosophy. Before attempting this
solution, a task which transcendental philosophy cannot decline, it
will be advisable to make a remark with regard to its procedure in
the settlement of the question.

If phenomena were things in themselves, and time and space forms
of the existence of things, condition and conditioned would always
be members of the same series; and thus would arise in the present
case the antinomy common to all transcendental ideas--that their
series is either too great or too small for the understanding. The
dynamical ideas, which we are about to discuss in this and the
following section, possess the peculiarity of relating to an object,
not considered as a quantity, but as an existence; and thus, in the
discussion of the present question, we may make abstraction of the
quantity of the series of conditions, and consider merely the
dynamical relation of the condition to the conditioned. The
question, then, suggests itself, whether freedom is possible; and,
if it is, whether it can consist with the universality of the
natural law of causality; and, consequently, whether we enounce a
proper disjunctive proposition when we say: "Every effect must have
its origin either in nature or in freedom," or whether both cannot
exist together in the same event in different relations. The principle
of an unbroken connection between all events in the phenomenal
world, in accordance with the unchangeable laws of nature, is a
well-established principle of transcendental analytic which admits
of no exception. The question, therefore, is: "Whether an effect,
determined according to the laws of nature, can at the same time be
produced by a free agent, or whether freedom and nature mutually
exclude each other?" And here, the common but fallacious hypothesis
of the absolute reality of phenomena manifests its injurious influence
in embarrassing the procedure of reason. For if phenomena are things
in themselves, freedom is impossible. In this case, nature is the
complete and all-sufficient cause of every event; and condition and
conditioned, cause and effect are contained in the same series, and
necessitated by the same law. If, on the contrary, phenomena are
held to be, as they are in fact, nothing more than mere
representations, connected with each other in accordance with
empirical laws, they must have a ground which is not phenomenal. But
the causality of such an intelligible cause is not determined or
determinable by phenomena; although its effects, as phenomena, must
be determined by other phenomenal existences. This cause and its
causality exist therefore out of and apart from the series of
phenomena; while its effects do exist and are discoverable in the
series of empirical conditions. Such an effect may therefore be
considered to be free in relation to its intelligible cause, and
necessary in relation to the phenomena from which it is a necessary
consequence--a distinction which, stated in this perfectly general
and abstract manner, must appear in the highest degree subtle and obscure.
The sequel will explain. It is sufficient, at present, to remark that,
as the complete and unbroken connection of phenomena is an unalterable
law of nature, freedom is impossible--on the supposition that
phenomena are absolutely real. Hence those philosophers who adhere
to the common opinion on this subject can never succeed in reconciling
the ideas of nature and freedom.



Possibility of Freedom in Harmony with the Universal Law
of Natural Necessity.

That element in a sensuous object which is not itself sensuous, I
may be allowed to term intelligible. If, accordingly, an object
which must be regarded as a sensuous phenomenon possesses a faculty
which is not an object of sensuous intuition, but by means of which
it is capable of being the cause of phenomena, the causality of an
object or existence of this kind may be regarded from two different
points of view. It may be considered to be intelligible, as regards
its action--the action of a thing which is a thing in itself, and
sensuous, as regards its effects--the effects of a phenomenon
belonging to the sensuous world. We should accordingly, have to form
both an empirical and an intellectual conception of the causality of
such a faculty or power--both, however, having reference to the same
effect. This twofold manner of cogitating a power residing in a
sensuous object does not run counter to any of the conceptions which
we ought to form of the world of phenomena or of a possible
experience. Phenomena--not being things in themselves--must have a
transcendental object as a foundation, which determines them as mere
representations; and there seems to be no reason why we should not
ascribe to this transcendental object, in addition to the property
of self-phenomenization, a causality whose effects are to be met
with in the world of phenomena, although it is not itself a
phenomenon. But every effective cause must possess a character, that
is to say, a law of its causality, without which it would cease to
be a cause. In the above case, then, every sensuous object would
possess an empirical character, which guaranteed that its actions,
as phenomena, stand in complete and harmonious connection, conformably
to unvarying natural laws, with all other phenomena, and can be
deduced from these, as conditions, and that they do thus, in
connection with these, constitute a series in the order of nature.
This sensuous object must, in the second place, possess an
intelligible character, which guarantees it to be the cause of those
actions, as phenomena, although it is not itself a phenomenon nor
subordinate to the conditions of the world of sense. The former may
be termed the character of the thing as a phenomenon, the latter the
character of the thing as a thing in itself.

Now this active subject would, in its character of intelligible
subject, be subordinate to no conditions of time, for time is only
a condition of phenomena, and not of things in themselves. No action
would begin or cease to be in this subject; it would consequently be
free from the law of all determination of time--the law of change,
namely, that everything which happens must have a cause in the
phenomena of a preceding state. In one word, the causality of the
subject, in so far as it is intelligible, would not form part of the
series of empirical conditions which determine and necessitate an
event in the world of sense. Again, this intelligible character of
a thing cannot be immediately cognized, because we can perceive
nothing but phenomena, but it must be capable of being cogitated in
harmony with the empirical character; for we always find ourselves
compelled to place, in thought, a transcendental object at the basis
of phenomena although we can never know what this object is in itself.

In virtue of its empirical character, this subject would at the same
time be subordinate to all the empirical laws of causality, and, as
a phenomenon and member of the sensuous world, its effects would
have to be accounted for by a reference to preceding phenomena.
Eternal phenomena must be capable of influencing it; and its
actions, in accordance with natural laws, must explain to us how its
empirical character, that is, the law of its causality, is to be
cognized in and by means of experience. In a word, all requisites
for a complete and necessary determination of these actions must be
presented to us by experience.

In virtue of its intelligible character, on the other hand (although
we possess only a general conception of this character), the subject
must be regarded as free from all sensuous influences, and from all
phenomenal determination. Moreover, as nothing happens in this
subject--for it is a noumenon, and there does not consequently exist
in it any change, demanding the dynamical determination of time, and
for the same reason no connection with phenomena as causes--this
active existence must in its actions be free from and independent of
natural necessity, for or necessity exists only in the world of
phenomena. It would be quite correct to say that it originates or
begins its effects in the world of sense from itself, although the
action productive of these effects does not begin in itself. We should
not be in this case affirming that these sensuous effects began to
exist of themselves, because they are always determined by prior
empirical conditions--by virtue of the empirical character, which is
the phenomenon of the intelligible character--and are possible only
as constituting a continuation of the series of natural causes. And
thus nature and freedom, each in the complete and absolute
signification of these terms, can exist, without contradiction or
disagreement, in the same action to



Exposition of the Cosmological Idea of Freedom in Harmony
with the Universal Law of Natural Necessity.

I have thought it advisable to lay before the reader at first merely
a sketch of the solution of this transcendental problem, in order to
enable him to form with greater ease a clear conception of the
course which reason must adopt in the solution. I shall now proceed
to exhibit the several momenta of this solution, and to consider them
in their order.

The natural law that everything which happens must have a cause,
that the causality of this cause, that is, the action of the cause
(which cannot always have existed, but must be itself an event, for
it precedes in time some effect which it has originated), must have
itself a phenomenal cause, by which it is determined and, and,
consequently, all events are empirically determined in an order of
nature--this law, I say, which lies at the foundation of the
possibility of experience, and of a connected system of phenomena or
nature is a law of the understanding, from which no departure, and
to which no exception, can be admitted. For to except even a single
phenomenon from its operation is to exclude it from the sphere of
possible experience and thus to admit it to be a mere fiction of
thought or phantom of the brain.

Thus we are obliged to acknowledge the existence of a chain of
causes, in which, however, absolute totality cannot be found. But we
need not detain ourselves with this question, for it has already
been sufficiently answered in our discussion of the antinomies into
which reason falls, when it attempts to reach the unconditioned in
the series of phenomena. If we permit ourselves to be deceived by the
illusion of transcendental idealism, we shall find that neither nature
nor freedom exists. Now the question is: "Whether, admitting the
existence of natural necessity in the world of phenomena, it is
possible to consider an effect as at the same time an effect of nature
and an effect of freedom--or, whether these two modes of causality
are contradictory and incompatible?"

No phenomenal cause can absolutely and of itself begin a series.
Every action, in so far as it is productive of an event, is itself
an event or occurrence, and presupposes another preceding state, in
which its cause existed. Thus everything that happens is but a
continuation of a series, and an absolute beginning is impossible in
the sensuous world. The actions of natural causes are, accordingly,
themselves effects, and presuppose causes preceding them in time. A
primal action which forms an absolute beginning, is beyond the
causal power of phenomena.

Now, is it absolutely necessary that, granting that all effects
are phenomena, the causality of the cause of these effects must also
be a phenomenon and belong to the empirical world? Is it not rather
possible that, although every effect in the phenomenal world must be
connected with an empirical cause, according to the universal law of
nature, this empirical causality may be itself the effect of a
non-empirical and intelligible causality--its connection with
natural causes remaining nevertheless intact? Such a causality would
be considered, in reference to phenomena, as the primal action of a
cause, which is in so far, therefore, not phenomenal, but, by reason
of this faculty or power, intelligible; although it must, at the
same time, as a link in the chain of nature, be regarded as
belonging to the sensuous world.

A belief in the reciprocal causality of phenomena is necessary, if
we are required to look for and to present the natural conditions of
natural events, that is to say, their causes. This being admitted as
unexceptionably valid, the requirements of the understanding, which
recognizes nothing but nature in the region of phenomena, are
satisfied, and our physical explanations of physical phenomena may
proceed in their regular course, without hindrance and without
opposition. But it is no stumbling-block in the way, even assuming
the idea to be a pure fiction, to admit that there are some natural
causes in the possession of a faculty which is not empirical, but
intelligible, inasmuch as it is not determined to action by
empirical conditions, but purely and solely upon grounds brought
forward by the understanding--this action being still, when the
cause is phenomenized, in perfect accordance with the laws of
empirical causality. Thus the acting subject, as a causal
phenomenon, would continue to preserve a complete connection with
nature and natural conditions; and the phenomenon only of the
subject (with all its phenomenal causality) would contain certain
conditions, which, if we ascend from the empirical to the
transcendental object, must necessarily be regarded as intelligible.
For, if we attend, in our inquiries with regard to causes in the world
of phenomena, to the directions of nature alone, we need not trouble
ourselves about the relation in which the transcendental subject,
which is completely unknown to us, stands to these phenomena and their
connection in nature. The intelligible ground of phenomena in this
subject does not concern empirical questions. It has to do only with
pure thought; and, although the effects of this thought and action
of the pure understanding are discoverable in phenomena, these
phenomena must nevertheless be capable of a full and complete
explanation, upon purely physical grounds and in accordance with
natural laws. And in this case we attend solely to their empirical
and omit all consideration of their intelligible character (which is
the transcendental cause of the former) as completely unknown, except
in so far as it is exhibited by the latter as its empirical symbol.
Now let us apply this to experience. Man is a phenomenon of the sensuous
world and, at the same time, therefore, a natural cause, the causality
of which must be regulated by empirical laws. As such, he must possess
an empirical character, like all other natural phenomena. We remark
this empirical character in his actions, which reveal the presence
of certain powers and faculties. If we consider inanimate or merely
animal nature, we can discover no reason for ascribing to ourselves
any other than a faculty which is determined in a purely sensuous
manner. But man, to whom nature reveals herself only through sense,
cognizes himself not only by his senses, but also through pure
apperception; and this in actions and internal determinations, which
he cannot regard as sensuous impressions. He is thus to himself, on
the one hand, a phenomenon, but on the other hand, in respect of
certain faculties, a purely intelligible object--intelligible, because
its action cannot be ascribed to sensuous receptivity. These faculties
are understanding and reason. The latter, especially, is in a peculiar
manner distinct from all empirically-conditioned faculties, for it
employs ideas alone in the consideration of its objects, and by
means of these determines the understanding, which then proceeds to
make an empirical use of its own conceptions, which, like the ideas
of reason, are pure and non-empirical.

That reason possesses the faculty of causality, or that at least
we are compelled so to represent it, is evident from the
imperatives, which in the sphere of the practical we impose on many
of our executive powers. The words I ought express a species of
necessity, and imply a connection with grounds which nature does not
and cannot present to the mind of man. Understanding knows nothing
in nature but that which is, or has been, or will be. It would be
absurd to say that anything in nature ought to be other than it is
in the relations of time in which it stands; indeed, the ought, when
we consider merely the course of nature, bas neither application nor
meaning. The question, "What ought to happen in the sphere of nature?"
is just as absurd as the question, "What ought to be the properties
of a circle?" All that we are entitled to ask is, "What takes place
in nature?" or, in the latter case, "What are the properties of a
circle?"

But the idea of an ought or of duty indicates a possible action, the
ground of which is a pure conception; while the ground of a merely
natural action is, on the contrary, always a phenomenon. This action
must certainly be possible under physical conditions, if it is
prescribed by the moral imperative ought; but these physical or
natural conditions do not concern the determination of the will
itself, they relate to its effects alone, and the consequences of
the effect in the world of phenomena. Whatever number of motives
nature may present to my will, whatever sensuous impulses--the moral
ought it is beyond their power to produce. They may produce a
volition, which, so far from being necessary, is always conditioned--a
volition to which the ought enunciated by reason, sets an aim and a
standard, gives permission or prohibition. Be the object what it
may, purely sensuous--as pleasure, or presented by pure reason--as
good, reason will not yield to grounds which have an empirical origin.
Reason will not follow the order of things presented by experience,
but, with perfect spontaneity, rearranges them according to ideas,
with which it compels empirical conditions to agree. It declares, in
the name of these ideas, certain actions to be necessary which
nevertheless have not taken place and which perhaps never will take
place; and yet presupposes that it possesses the faculty of
causality in relation to these actions. For, in the absence of this
supposition, it could not expect its ideas to produce certain
effects in the world of experience.

Now, let us stop here and admit it to be at least possible that
reason does stand in a really causal relation to phenomena. In this
case it must--pure reason as it is--exhibit an empirical character.
For every cause supposes a rule, according to which certain
phenomena follow as effects from the cause, and every rule requires
uniformity in these effects; and this is the proper ground of the
conception of a cause--as a faculty or power. Now this conception
(of a cause) may be termed the empirical character of reason; and this
character is a permanent one, while the effects produced appear, in
conformity with the various conditions which accompany and partly
limit them, in various forms.

Thus the volition of every man has an empirical character, which
is nothing more than the causality of his reason, in so far as its
effects in the phenomenal world manifest the presence of a rule,
according to which we are enabled to examine, in their several kinds
and degrees, the actions of this causality and the rational grounds
for these actions, and in this way to decide upon the subjective
principles of the volition. Now we learn what this empirical character
is only from phenomenal effects, and from the rule of these which is
presented by experience; and for this reason all the actions of man
in the world of phenomena are determined by his empirical character,
and the co-operative causes of nature. If, then, we could
investigate all the phenomena of human volition to their lowest
foundation in the mind, there would be no action which we could not
anticipate with certainty, and recognize to be absolutely necessary
from its preceding conditions. So far as relates to this empirical
character, therefore, there can be no freedom; and it is only in the
light of this character that we can consider the human will, when we
confine ourselves to simple observation and, as is the case in
anthropology, institute a physiological investigation of the motive
causes of human actions.

But when we consider the same actions in relation to reason--not for
the purpose of explaining their origin, that is, in relation to
speculative reason, but to practical reason, as the producing cause
of these actions--we shall discover a rule and an order very different
from those of nature and experience. For the declaration of this
mental faculty may be that what has and could not but take place in
the course of nature, ought not to have taken place. Sometimes, too,
we discover, or believe that we discover, that the ideas of reason
did actually stand in a causal relation to certain actions of man;
and that these actions have taken place because they were determined,
not by empirical causes, but by the act of the will upon grounds of
reason.

Now, granting that reason stands in a causal relation to
phenomena; can an action of reason be called free, when we know
that, sensuously, in its empirical character, it is completely
determined and absolutely necessary? But this empirical character is
itself determined by the intelligible character. The latter we
cannot cognize; we can only indicate it by means of phenomena, which
enable us to have an immediate cognition only of the empirical
character.* An action, then, in so far as it is to be ascribed to an
intelligible cause, does not result from it in accordance with
empirical laws. That is to say, not the conditions of pure reason,
but only their effects in the internal sense, precede the act. Pure
reason, as a purely intelligible faculty, is not subject to the
conditions of time. The causality of reason in its intelligible
character does not begin to be; it does not make its appearance at
a certain time, for the purpose of producing an effect. If this were
not the case, the causality of reason would be subservient to the
natural law of phenomena, which determines them according to time,
and as a series of causes and effects in time; it would consequently
cease to be freedom and become a part of nature. We are therefore
justified in saying: "If reason stands in a causal relation to
phenomena, it is a faculty which originates the sensuous condition
of an empirical series of effects." For the condition, which resides
in the reason, is non-sensuous, and therefore cannot be originated,
or begin to be. And thus we find--what we could not discover in any
empirical series--a condition of a successive series of events
itself empirically unconditioned. For, in the present case, the
condition stands out of and beyond the series of phenomena--it is
intelligible, and it consequently cannot be subjected to any
sensuous condition, or to any time-determination by a preceding cause.

[*Footnote: The real morality of actions--their merit or demerit, and
even that of our own conduct, is completely unknown to us. Our estimates
can relate only to their empirical character. How much is the result
of the action of free will, how much is to be ascribed to nature and
to blameless error, or to a happy constitution of temperament (merito
fortunae), no one can discover, nor, for this reason, determine with
perfect justice.]

But, in another respect, the same cause belongs also to the series
of phenomena. Man is himself a phenomenon. His will has an empirical
character, which is the empirical cause of all his actions. There is
no condition--determining man and his volition in conformity with this
character--which does not itself form part of the series of effects
in nature, and is subject to their law--the law according to which
an empirically undetermined cause of an event in time cannot exist.
For this reason no given action can have an absolute and spontaneous
origination, all actions being phenomena, and belonging to the world
of experience. But it cannot be said of reason, that the state in
which it determines the will is always preceded by some other state
determining it. For reason is not a phenomenon, and therefore not
subject to sensuous conditions; and, consequently, even in relation
to its causality, the sequence or conditions of time do not influence
reason, nor can the dynamical law of nature, which determines the
sequence of time according to certain rules, be applied to it.

Reason is consequently the permanent condition of all actions of the
human will. Each of these is determined in the empirical character
of the man, even before it has taken place. The intelligible
character, of which the former is but the sensuous schema, knows no
before or after; and every action, irrespective of the time-relation
in which it stands with other phenomena, is the immediate effect of
the intelligible character of pure reason, which, consequently, enjoys
freedom of action, and is not dynamically determined either by
internal or external preceding conditions. This freedom must not be
described, in a merely negative manner, as independence of empirical
conditions, for in this case the faculty of reason would cease to be
a cause of phenomena; but it must be regarded, positively, as a
faculty which can spontaneously originate a series of events. At the
same time, it must not be supposed that any beginning can take place
in reason; on the contrary, reason, as the unconditioned condition
of all action of the will, admits of no time-conditions, although
its effect does really begin in a series of phenomena--a beginning
which is not, however, absolutely primal.

I shall illustrate this regulative principle of reason by an
example, from its employment in the world of experience; proved it
cannot be by any amount of experience, or by any number of facts,
for such arguments cannot establish the truth of transcendental
propositions. Let us take a voluntary action--for example, a
falsehood--by means of which a man has introduced a certain degree
of confusion into the social life of humanity, which is judged
according to the motives from which it originated, and the blame of
which and of the evil consequences arising from it, is imputed to
the offender. We at first proceed to examine the empirical character
of the offence, and for this purpose we endeavour to penetrate to
the sources of that character, such as a defective education, bad
company, a shameless and wicked disposition, frivolity, and want of
reflection--not forgetting also the occasioning causes which prevailed
at the moment of the transgression. In this the procedure is exactly
the same as that pursued in the investigation of the series of
causes which determine a given physical effect. Now, although we
believe the action to have been determined by all these circumstances,
we do not the less blame the offender. We do not blame him for his
unhappy disposition, nor for the circumstances which influenced him,
nay, not even for his former course of life; for we presuppose that
all these considerations may be set aside, that the series of
preceding conditions may be regarded as having never existed, and that
the action may be considered as completely unconditioned in relation
to any state preceding, just as if the agent commenced with it an
entirely new series of effects. Our blame of the offender is
grounded upon a law of reason, which requires us to regard this
faculty as a cause, which could have and ought to have otherwise
determined the behaviour of the culprit, independently of all
empirical conditions. This causality of reason we do not regard as
a co-operating agency, but as complete in itself. It matters not whether
the sensuous impulses favoured or opposed the action of this
causality, the offence is estimated according to its intelligible
character--the offender is decidedly worthy of blame, the moment he
utters a falsehood. It follows that we regard reason, in spite of
the empirical conditions of the act, as completely free, and
therefore, therefore, as in the present case, culpable.

The above judgement is complete evidence that we are accustomed to
think that reason is not affected by sensuous conditions, that in it
no change takes place--although its phenomena, in other words, the
mode in which it appears in its effects, are subject to change--that
in it no preceding state determines the following, and,
consequently, that it does not form a member of the series of sensuous
conditions which necessitate phenomena according to natural laws.
Reason is present and the same in all human actions and at all
times; but it does not itself exist in time, and therefore does not
enter upon any state in which it did not formerly exist. It is,
relatively to new states or conditions, determining, but not
determinable. Hence we cannot ask: "Why did not reason determine
itself in a different manner?" The question ought to be thus stated:
"Why did not reason employ its power of causality to determine certain
phenomena in a different manner?" "But this is a question which admits
of no answer. For a different intelligible character would have
exhibited a different empirical character; and, when we say that, in
spite of the course which his whole former life has taken, the
offender could have refrained from uttering the falsehood, this
means merely that the act was subject to the power and authority-
permissive or prohibitive--of reason. Now, reason is not subject in
its causality to any conditions of phenomena or of time; and a
difference in time may produce a difference in the relation of
phenomena to each other--for these are not things and therefore not
causes in themselves--but it cannot produce any difference in the
relation in which the action stands to the faculty of reason.

Thus, then, in our investigation into free actions and the causal
power which produced them, we arrive at an intelligible cause,
beyond which, however, we cannot go; although we can recognize that
it is free, that is, independent of all sensuous conditions, and that,
in this way, it may be the sensuously unconditioned condition of
phenomena. But for what reason the intelligible character generates
such and such phenomena and exhibits such and such an empirical
character under certain circumstances, it is beyond the power of our
reason to decide. The question is as much above the power and the
sphere of reason as the following would be: "Why does the
transcendental object of our external sensuous intuition allow of no
other form than that of intuition in space?" But the problem, which
we were called upon to solve, does not require us to entertain any
such questions. The problem was merely this--whether freedom and natural
necessity can exist without opposition in the same action. To this
question we have given a sufficient answer; for we have shown that,
as the former stands in a relation to a different kind of condition
from those of the latter, the law of the one does not affect the law
of the other and that, consequently, both can exist together in
independence of and without interference with each other.

The reader must be careful to remark that my intention in the
above remarks has not been to prove the actual existence of freedom,
as a faculty in which resides the cause of certain sensuous phenomena.
For, not to mention that such an argument would not have a
transcendental character, nor have been limited to the discussion of
pure conceptions--all attempts at inferring from experience what
cannot be cogitated in accordance with its laws, must ever be
unsuccessful. Nay, more, I have not even aimed at demonstrating the
possibility of freedom; for this too would have been a vain endeavour,
inasmuch as it is beyond the power of the mind to cognize the
possibility of a reality or of a causal power by the aid of mere a
priori conceptions. Freedom has been considered in the foregoing
remarks only as a transcendental idea, by means of which reason aims
at originating a series of conditions in the world of phenomena with
the help of that which is sensuously unconditioned, involving
itself, however, in an antinomy with the laws which itself
prescribes for the conduct of the understanding. That this antinomy
is based upon a mere illusion, and that nature and freedom are at least
not opposed--this was the only thing in our power to prove, and the
question which it was our task to solve.



IV. Solution of the Cosmological Idea of the Totality of
    the Dependence of Phenomenal Existences.

In the preceding remarks, we considered the changes in the world
of sense as constituting a dynamical series, in which each member is
subordinated to another--as its cause. Our present purpose is to avail
ourselves of this series of states or conditions as a guide to an
existence which may be the highest condition of all changeable
phenomena, that is, to a necessary being. Our endeavour to reach,
not the unconditioned causality, but the unconditioned existence, of
substance. The series before us is therefore a series of
conceptions, and not of intuitions (in which the one intuition is
the condition of the other).

But it is evident that, as all phenomena are subject to change and
conditioned in their existence, the series of dependent existences
cannot embrace an unconditioned member, the existence of which would
be absolutely necessary. It follows that, if phenomena were things
in themselves, and--as an immediate consequence from this supposition-
condition and conditioned belonged to the same series of phenomena,
the existence of a necessary being, as the condition of the
existence of sensuous phenomena, would be perfectly impossible.

An important distinction, however, exists between the dynamical
and the mathematical regress. The latter is engaged solely with the
combination of parts into a whole, or with the division of a whole
into its parts; and therefore are the conditions of its series parts
of the series, and to be consequently regarded as homogeneous, and
for this reason, as consisting, without exception, of phenomena. If
the former regress, on the contrary, the aim of which is not to
establish the possibility of an unconditioned whole consisting of
given parts, or of an unconditioned part of a given whole, but to
demonstrate the possibility of the deduction of a certain state from
its cause, or of the contingent existence of substance from that which
exists necessarily, it is not requisite that the condition should form
part of an empirical series along with the conditioned.

In the case of the apparent antinomy with which we are at present
dealing, there exists a way of escape from the difficulty; for it is
not impossible that both of the contradictory statements may be true
in different relations. All sensuous phenomena may be contingent,
and consequently possess only an empirically conditioned existence,
and yet there may also exist a non-empirical condition of the whole
series, or, in other words, a necessary being. For this necessary
being, as an intelligible condition, would not form a member--not even
the highest member--of the series; the whole world of sense would be
left in its empirically determined existence uninterfered with and
uninfluenced. This would also form a ground of distinction between
the modes of solution employed for the third and fourth antinomies.
For, while in the consideration of freedom in the former antinomy,
the thing itself--the cause (substantia phaenomenon)--was regarded
as belonging to the series of conditions, and only its causality to
the intelligible world--we are obliged in the present case to cogitate
this necessary being as purely intelligible and as existing entirely
apart from the world of sense (as an ens extramundanum); for otherwise
it would be subject to the phenomenal law of contingency and
dependence.

In relation to the present problem, therefore, the regulative
principle of reason is that everything in the sensuous world possesses
an empirically conditioned existence--that no property of the sensuous
world possesses unconditioned necessity--that we are bound to
expect, and, so far as is possible, to seek for the empirical
condition of every member in the series of conditions--and that
there is no sufficient reason to justify us in deducing any
existence from a condition which lies out of and beyond the
empirical series, or in regarding any existence as independent and
self-subsistent; although this should not prevent us from
recognizing the possibility of the whole series being based upon a
being which is intelligible, and for this reason free from all
empirical conditions.

But it has been far from my intention, in these remarks, to prove
the existence of this unconditioned and necessary being, or even to
evidence the possibility of a purely intelligible condition of the
existence or all sensuous phenomena. As bounds were set to reason,
to prevent it from leaving the guiding thread of empirical
conditions and losing itself in transcendent theories which are
incapable of concrete presentation; so it was my purpose, on the other
band, to set bounds to the law of the purely empirical
understanding, and to protest against any attempts on its part at
deciding on the possibility of things, or declaring the existence of
the intelligible to be impossible, merely on the ground that it is
not available for the explanation and exposition of phenomena. It has
been shown, at the same time, that the contingency of all the phenomena
of nature and their empirical conditions is quite consistent with
the arbitrary hypothesis of a necessary, although purely
intelligible condition, that no real contradiction exists between them
and that, consequently, both may be true. The existence of such an
absolutely necessary being may be impossible; but this can never be
demonstrated from the universal contingency and dependence of sensuous
phenomena, nor from the principle which forbids us to discontinue
the series at some member of it, or to seek for its cause in some
sphere of existence beyond the world of nature. Reason goes its way
in the empirical world, and follows, too, its peculiar path in the
sphere of the transcendental.

The sensuous world contains nothing but phenomena, which are mere
representations, and always sensuously conditioned; things in
themselves are not, and cannot be, objects to us. It is not to be
wondered at, therefore, that we are not justified in leaping from some
member of an empirical series beyond the world of sense, as if
empirical representations were things in themselves, existing apart
from their transcendental ground in the human mind, and the cause of
whose existence may be sought out of the empirical series. This
would certainly be the case with contingent things; but it cannot be
with mere representations of things, the contingency of which is
itself merely a phenomenon and can relate to no other regress than
that which determines phenomena, that is, the empirical. But to
cogitate an intelligible ground of phenomena, as free, moreover,
from the contingency of the latter, conflicts neither with the
unlimited nature of the empirical regress, nor with the complete
contingency of phenomena. And the demonstration of this was the only
thing necessary for the solution of this apparent antinomy. For if
the condition of every conditioned--as regards its existence--is sensuous,
and for this reason a part of the same series, it must be itself
conditioned, as was shown in the antithesis of the fourth antinomy.
The embarrassments into which a reason, which postulates the
unconditioned, necessarily falls, must, therefore, continue to
exist; or the unconditioned must be placed in the sphere of the
intelligible. In this way, its necessity does not require, nor does
it even permit, the presence of an empirical condition: and it is,
consequently, unconditionally necessary.

The empirical employment of reason is not affected by the assumption
of a purely intelligible being; it continues its operations on the
principle of the contingency of all phenomena, proceeding from
empirical conditions to still higher and higher conditions, themselves
empirical. just as little does this regulative principle exclude the
assumption of an intelligible cause, when the question regards
merely the pure employment of reason--in relation to ends or aims.
For, in this case, an intelligible cause signifies merely the
transcendental and to us unknown ground of the possibility of sensuous
phenomena, and its existence, necessary and independent of all
sensuous conditions, is not inconsistent with the contingency of
phenomena, or with the unlimited possibility of regress which exists
in the series of empirical conditions.



Concluding Remarks on the Antinomy of Pure Reason.

So long as the object of our rational conceptions is the totality of
conditions in the world of phenomena, and the satisfaction, from
this source, of the requirements of reason, so long are our ideas
transcendental and cosmological. But when we set the unconditioned-
which is the aim of all our inquiries--in a sphere which lies out of
the world of sense and possible experience, our ideas become
transcendent. They are then not merely serviceable towards the
completion of the exercise of reason (which remains an idea, never
executed, but always to be pursued); they detach themselves completely
from experience and construct for themselves objects, the material
of which has not been presented by experience, and the objective
reality of which is not based upon the completion of the empirical
series, but upon pure a priori conceptions. The intelligible object
of these transcendent ideas may be conceded, as a transcendental
object. But we cannot cogitate it as a thing determinable by certain
distinct predicates relating to its internal nature, for it has no
connection with empirical conceptions; nor are we justified in
affirming the existence of any such object. It is, consequently, a
mere product of the mind alone. Of all the cosmological ideas,
however, it is that occasioning the fourth antinomy which compels us
to venture upon this step. For the existence of phenomena, always
conditioned and never self-subsistent, requires us to look for an
object different from phenomena--an intelligible object, with which
all contingency must cease. But, as we have allowed ourselves to
assume the existence of a self-subsistent reality out of the field
of experience, and are therefore obliged to regard phenomena as merely
a contingent mode of representing intelligible objects employed by
beings which are themselves intelligences--no other course remains
for us than to follow an alogy and employ the same mode in forming
some conception of intelligible things, of which we have not the least
knowledge, which nature taught us to use in the formation of empirical
conceptions. Experience made us acquainted with the contingent. But
we are at present engaged in the discussion of things which are not
objects of experience; and must, therefore, deduce our knowledge of
them from that which is necessary absolutely and in itself, that is,
from pure conceptions. Hence the first step which we take out of the
world of sense obliges us to begin our system of new cognition with
the investigation of a necessary being, and to deduce from our
conceptions of it all our conceptions of intelligible things. This
we propose to attempt in the following chapter.




CHAPTER III. The Ideal of Pure Reason.

SECTION I. Of the Ideal in General.

We have seen that pure conceptions do not present objects to the
mind, except under sensuous conditions; because the conditions of
objective reality do not exist in these conceptions, which contain,
in fact, nothing but the mere form of thought. They may, however, when
applied to phenomena, be presented in concreto; for it is phenomena
that present to them the materials for the formation of empirical
conceptions, which are nothing more than concrete forms of the
conceptions of the understanding. But ideas are still further
removed from objective reality than categories; for no phenomenon
can ever present them to the human mind in concreto. They contain a
certain perfection, attainable by no possible empirical cognition;
and they give to reason a systematic unity, to which the unity of
experience attempts to approximate, but can never completely attain.

But still further removed than the idea from objective reality is
the Ideal, by which term I understand the idea, not in concreto, but
in individuo--as an individual thing, determinable or determined by
the idea alone. The idea of humanity in its complete perfection
supposes not only the advancement of all the powers and faculties,
which constitute our conception of human nature, to a complete
attainment of their final aims, but also everything which is requisite
for the complete determination of the idea; for of all contradictory
predicates, only one can conform with the idea of the perfect man.
What I have termed an ideal was in Plato's philosophy an idea of the
divine mind--an individual object present to its pure intuition, the
most perfect of every kind of possible beings, and the archetype of
all phenomenal existences.

Without rising to these speculative heights, we are bound to confess
that human reason contains not only ideas, but ideals, which
possess, not, like those of Plato, creative, but certainly practical
power--as regulative principles, and form the basis of the
perfectibility of certain actions. Moral conceptions are not perfectly
pure conceptions of reason, because an empirical element--of
pleasure or pain--lies at the foundation of them. In relation,
however, to the principle, whereby reason sets bounds to a freedom
which is in itself without law, and consequently when we attend merely
to their form, they may be considered as pure conceptions of reason.
Virtue and wisdom in their perfect purity are ideas. But the wise
man of the Stoics is an ideal, that is to say, a human being
existing only in thought and in complete conformity with the idea of
wisdom. As the idea provides a rule, so the ideal serves as an
archetype for the perfect and complete determination of the copy. Thus
the conduct of this wise and divine man serves us as a standard of
action, with which we may compare and judge ourselves, which may
help us to reform ourselves, although the perfection it demands can
never be attained by us. Although we cannot concede objective
reality to these ideals, they are not to be considered as chimeras;
on the contrary, they provide reason with a standard, which enables
it to estimate, by comparison, the degree of incompleteness in the
objects presented to it. But to aim at realizing the ideal in an example
in the world of experience--to describe, for instance, the character
of the perfectly wise man in a romance--is impracticable. Nay more,
there is something absurd in the attempt; and the result must be little
edifying, as the natural limitations, which are continually breaking
in upon the perfection and completeness of the idea, destroy the
illusion in the story and throw an air of suspicion even on what is
good in the idea, which hence appears fictitious and unreal.

Such is the constitution of the ideal of reason, which is always
based upon determinate conceptions, and serves as a rule and a model
for limitation or of criticism. Very different is the nature of the
ideals of the imagination. Of these it is impossible to present an
intelligible conception; they are a kind of monogram, drawn
according to no determinate rule, and forming rather a vague
picture--the production of many diverse experiences--than a
determinate image. Such are the ideals which painters and
physiognomists profess to have in their minds, and which can serve
neither as a model for production nor as a standard for
appreciation. They may be termed, though improperly, sensuous
ideals, as they are declared to be models of certain possible
empirical intuitions. They cannot, however, furnish rules or standards
for explanation or examination with

In its ideals, reason aims at complete and perfect determination
according to a priori rules; and hence it cogitates an object, which
must be completely determinable in conformity with principles,
although all empirical conditions are absent, and the conception of
the object is on this account transcendent.



SECTION II. Of the Transcendental Ideal (Prototypon Trancendentale).

Every conception is, in relation to that which is not contained in
it, undetermined and subject to the principle of determinability. This
principle is that, of every two contradictorily opposed predicates,
only one can belong to a conception. It is a purely logical principle,
itself based upon the principle of contradiction; inasmuch as it makes
complete abstraction of the content and attends merely to the
logical form of the cognition.

But again, everything, as regards its possibility, is also subject
to the principle of complete determination, according to which one
of all the possible contradictory predicates of things must belong
to it. This principle is not based merely upon that of
contradiction; for, in addition to the relation between two
contradictory predicates, it regards everything as standing in a
relation to the sum of possibilities, as the sum total of all
predicates of things, and, while presupposing this sum as an a
priori condition, presents to the mind everything as receiving the
possibility of its individual existence from the relation it bears
to, and the share it possesses in, the aforesaid sum of possibilities.*
The principle of complete determination relates the content and not
to the logical form. It is the principle of the synthesis of all the
predicates which are required to constitute the complete conception
of a thing, and not a mere principle analytical representation, which
enounces that one of two contradictory predicates must belong to a
conception. It contains, moreover, a transcendental presupposition--
that, namely, of the material for all possibility, which must
contain a priori the data for this or that particular possibility.

[*Footnote: Thus this principle declares everything to possess a
relation to a common correlate--the sum-total of possibility, which, if
discovered to exist in the idea of one individual thing, would
establish the affinity of all possible things, from the identity of the
ground of their complete determination. The determinability of every
conception is subordinate to the universality (Allgemeinheit,
universalitas) of the principle of excluded middle; the determination
of a thing to the totality (Allheit, universitas) of all possible
predicates.]

The proposition, everything which exists is completely determined,
means not only that one of every pair of given contradictory
attributes, but that one of all possible attributes, is always
predicable of the thing; in it the predicates are not merely
compared logically with each other, but the thing itself is
transcendentally compared with the sum-total of all possible
predicates. The proposition is equivalent to saying: "To attain to
a complete knowledge of a thing, it is necessary to possess a
knowledge of everything that is possible, and to determine it
thereby in a positive or negative manner." The conception of
complete determination is consequently a conception which cannot be
presented in its totality in concreto, and is therefore based upon
an idea, which has its seat in the reason--the faculty which
prescribes to the understanding the laws of its harmonious and perfect
exercise.

Now, although this idea of the sum-total of all possibility, in so
far as it forms the condition of the complete determination of
everything, is itself undetermined in relation to the predicates which
may constitute this sum-total, and we cogitate in it merely the
sum-total of all possible predicates--we nevertheless find, upon
closer examination, that this idea, as a primitive conception of the
mind, excludes a large number of predicates--those deduced and those
irreconcilable with others, and that it is evolved as a conception
completely determined a priori. Thus it becomes the conception of an
individual object, which is completely determined by and through the
mere idea, and must consequently be termed an ideal of pure reason.

When we consider all possible predicates, not merely logically,
but transcendentally, that is to say, with reference to the content
which may be cogitated as existing in them a priori, we shall find
that some indicate a being, others merely a non-being. The logical
negation expressed in the word not does not properly belong to a
conception, but only to the relation of one conception to another in
a judgement, and is consequently quite insufficient to present to the
mind the content of a conception. The expression not mortal does not
indicate that a non-being is cogitated in the object; it does not
concern the content at all. A transcendental negation, on the
contrary, indicates non-being in itself, and is opposed to
transcendental affirmation, the conception of which of itself
expresses a being. Hence this affirmation indicates a reality, because
in and through it objects are considered to be something--to be
things; while the opposite negation, on the other band, indicates a
mere want, or privation, or absence, and, where such negations alone
are attached to a representation, the non-existence of anything
corresponding to the representation.

Now a negation cannot be cogitated as determined, without cogitating
at the same time the opposite affirmation. The man born blind has
not the least notion of darkness, because he has none of light; the
vagabond knows nothing of poverty, because he has never known what
it is to be in comfort;* the ignorant man has no conception of his
ignorance, because he has no conception of knowledge. All
conceptions of negatives are accordingly derived or deduced
conceptions; and realities contain the data, and, so to speak, the
material or transcendental content of the possibility and complete
determination of all things.

[*Footnote: The investigations and calculations of astronomers have
taught us much that is wonderful; but the most important lesson we
have received from them is the discovery of the abyss of our ignorance
in relation to the universe--an ignorance the magnitude of which reason,
without the information thus derived, could never have conceived. This
discovery of our deficiencies must produce a great change in the
determination of the aims of human reason.]

If, therefore, a transcendental substratum lies at the foundation of
the complete determination of things--a substratum which is to form
the fund from which all possible predicates of things are to be
supplied, this substratum cannot be anything else than the idea of
a sum-total of reality (omnitudo realitatis). In this view, negations
are nothing but limitations--a term which could not, with propriety,
be applied to them, if the unlimited (the all) did not form the true
basis of our conception.

This conception of a sum-total of reality is the conception of a
thing in itself, regarded as completely determined; and the conception
of an ens realissimum is the conception of an individual being,
inasmuch as it is determined by that predicate of all possible
contradictory predicates, which indicates and belongs to being. It
is, therefore, a transcendental ideal which forms the basis of the
complete determination of everything that exists, and is the highest
material condition of its possibility--a condition on which must
rest the cogitation of all objects with respect to their content. Nay,
more, this ideal is the only proper ideal of which the human mind is
capable; because in this case alone a general conception of a thing
is completely determined by and through itself, and cognized as the
representation of an individuum.

The logical determination of a conception is based upon a
disjunctive syllogism, the major of which contains the logical
division of the extent of a general conception, the minor limits
this extent to a certain part, while the conclusion determines the
conception by this part. The general conception of a reality cannot
be divided a priori, because, without the aid of experience, we cannot
know any determinate kinds of reality, standing under the former as
the genus. The transcendental principle of the complete
determination of all things is therefore merely the representation
of the sum-total of all reality; it is not a conception which is the
genus of all predicates under itself, but one which comprehends them
all within itself. The complete determination of a thing is
consequently based upon the limitation of this total of reality, so
much being predicated of the thing, while all that remains over is
excluded--a procedure which is in exact agreement with that of the
disjunctive syllogism and the determination of the objects in the
conclusion by one of the members of the division. It follows that
reason, in laying the transcendental ideal at the foundation of its
determination of all possible things, takes a course in exact
analogy with that which it pursues in disjunctive syllogisms--a
proposition which formed the basis of the systematic division of all
transcendental ideas, according to which they are produced in complete
parallelism with the three modes of syllogistic reasoning employed
by the human mind.

It is self-evident that reason, in cogitating the necessary complete
determination of things, does not presuppose the existence of a
being corresponding to its ideal, but merely the idea of the ideal-
for the purpose of deducing from the unconditional totality of
complete determination, The ideal is therefore the prototype of all
things, which, as defective copies (ectypa), receive from it the
material of their possibility, and approximate to it more or less,
though it is impossible that they can ever attain to its perfection.

The possibility of things must therefore be regarded as derived-
except that of the thing which contains in itself all reality, which
must be considered to be primitive and original. For all negations-
and they are the only predicates by means of which all other things
can be distinguished from the ens realissimum--are mere limitations
of a greater and a higher--nay, the highest reality; and they
consequently presuppose this reality, and are, as regards their
content, derived from it. The manifold nature of things is only an
infinitely various mode of limiting the conception of the highest
reality, which is their common substratum; just as all figures are
possible only as different modes of limiting infinite space. The
object of the ideal of reason--an object existing only in reason
itself--is also termed the primal being (ens originarium); as having
no existence superior to him, the supreme being (ens summum); and as
being the condition of all other beings, which rank under it, the
being of all beings (ens entium). But none of these terms indicate
the objective relation of an actually existing object to other things,
but merely that of an idea to conceptions; and all our investigations
into this subject still leave us in perfect uncertainty with regard
to the existence of this being.

A primal being cannot be said to consist of many other beings with
an existence which is derivative, for the latter presuppose the
former, and therefore cannot be constitutive parts of it. It follows
that the ideal of the primal being must be cogitated as simple.

The deduction of the possibility of all other things from this
primal being cannot, strictly speaking, be considered as a limitation,
or as a kind of division of its reality; for this would be regarding
the primal being as a mere aggregate--which has been shown to be
impossible, although it was so represented in our first rough
sketch. The highest reality must be regarded rather as the ground than
as the sum-total of the possibility of all things, and the manifold
nature of things be based, not upon the limitation of the primal being
itself, but upon the complete series of effects which flow from it.
And thus all our powers of sense, as well as all phenomenal reality,
phenomenal reality, may be with propriety regarded as belonging to
this series of effects, while they could not have formed parts of
the idea, considered as an aggregate. Pursuing this track, and
hypostatizing this idea, we shall find ourselves authorized to
determine our notion of the Supreme Being by means of the mere
conception of a highest reality, as one, simple, all-sufficient,
eternal, and so on--in one word, to determine it in its
unconditioned completeness by the aid of every possible predicate.
The conception of such a being is the conception of God in its
transcendental sense, and thus the ideal of pure reason is the
object-matter of a transcendental theology.

But, by such an employment of the transcendental idea, we should
be over stepping the limits of its validity and purpose. For reason
placed it, as the conception of all reality, at the basis of the
complete determination of things, without requiring that this
conception be regarded as the conception of an objective existence.
Such an existence would be purely fictitious, and the hypostatizing
of the content of the idea into an ideal, as an individual being, is
a step perfectly unauthorized. Nay, more, we are not even called upon
to assume the possibility of such an hypothesis, as none of the
deductions drawn from such an ideal would affect the complete
determination of things in general--for the sake of which alone is
the idea necessary.

It is not sufficient to circumscribe the procedure and the dialectic
of reason; we must also endeavour to discover the sources of this
dialectic, that we may have it in our power to give a rational
explanation of this illusion, as a phenomenon of the human mind. For
the ideal, of which we are at present speaking, is based, not upon
an arbitrary, but upon a natural, idea. The question hence arises:
How happens it that reason regards the possibility of all things as
deduced from a single possibility, that, to wit, of the highest
reality, and presupposes this as existing in an individual and
primal being?

The answer is ready; it is at once presented by the procedure of
transcendental analytic. The possibility of sensuous objects is a
relation of these objects to thought, in which something (the
empirical form) may be cogitated a priori; while that which
constitutes the matter--the reality of the phenomenon (that element
which corresponds to sensation)--must be given from without, as
otherwise it could not even be cogitated by, nor could its possibility
be presentable to the mind. Now, a sensuous object is completely
determined, when it has been compared with all phenomenal
predicates, and represented by means of these either positively or
negatively. But, as that which constitutes the thing itself--the
real in a phenomenon, must be given, and that, in which the real of
all phenomena is given, is experience, one, sole, and all-embracing-
the material of the possibility of all sensuous objects must be
presupposed as given in a whole, and it is upon the limitation of this
whole that the possibility of all empirical objects, their distinction
from each other and their complete determination, are based. Now, no
other objects are presented to us besides sensuous objects, and
these can be given only in connection with a possible experience; it
follows that a thing is not an object to us, unless it presupposes
the whole or sum-total of empirical reality as the condition of its
possibility. Now, a natural illusion leads us to consider this
principle, which is valid only of sensuous objects, as valid with
regard to things in general. And thus we are induced to hold the
empirical principle of our conceptions of the possibility of things,
as phenomena, by leaving out this limitative condition, to be a
transcendental principle of the possibility of things in general.

We proceed afterwards to hypostatize this idea of the sum-total of
all reality, by changing the distributive unity of the empirical
exercise of the understanding into the collective unity of an
empirical whole--a dialectical illusion, and by cogitating this
whole or sum of experience as an individual thing, containing in
itself all empirical reality. This individual thing or being is
then, by means of the above-mentioned transcendental subreption,
substituted for our notion of a thing which stands at the head of
the possibility of all things, the real conditions of whose complete
determination it presents.*

[*Footnote: This ideal of the ens realissimum--although merely a mental
representation--is first objectivized, that is, has an objective
existence attributed to it, then hypostatized, and finally, by the
natural progress of reason to the completion of unity, personified,
as we shall show presently. For the regulative unity of experience
is not based upon phenomena themselves, but upon the connection of
the variety of phenomena by the understanding in a consciousness, and
thus the unity of the supreme reality and the complete determinability
of all things, seem to reside in a supreme understanding, and,
consequently, in a conscious intelligence.]



SECTION III. Of the Arguments employed by Speculative Reason in
             Proof of the Existence of a Supreme Being.

Notwithstanding the pressing necessity which reason feels, to form
some presupposition that shall serve the understanding as a proper
basis for the complete determination of its conceptions, the
idealistic and factitious nature of such a presupposition is too
evident to allow reason for a moment to persuade itself into a
belief of the objective existence of a mere creation of its own
thought. But there are other considerations which compel reason to
seek out some resting place in the regress from the conditioned to
the unconditioned, which is not given as an actual existence from the
mere conception of it, although it alone can give completeness to the
series of conditions. And this is the natural course of every human
reason, even of the most uneducated, although the path at first
entered it does not always continue to follow. It does not begin
from conceptions, but from common experience, and requires a basis
in actual existence. But this basis is insecure, unless it rests
upon the immovable rock of the absolutely necessary. And this
foundation is itself unworthy of trust, if it leave under and above
it empty space, if it do not fill all, and leave no room for a why
or a wherefore, if it be not, in one word, infinite in its reality.

If we admit the existence of some one thing, whatever it may be,
we must also admit that there is something which exists necessarily.
For what is contingent exists only under the condition of some other
thing, which is its cause; and from this we must go on to conclude
the existence of a cause which is not contingent, and which consequently
exists necessarily and unconditionally. Such is the argument by
which reason justifies its advances towards a primal being.

Now reason looks round for the conception of a being that may be
admitted, without inconsistency, to be worthy of the attribute of
absolute necessity, not for the purpose of inferring a priori, from
the conception of such a being, its objective existence (for if reason
allowed itself to take this course, it would not require a basis in
given and actual existence, but merely the support of pure
conceptions), but for the purpose of discovering, among all our
conceptions of possible things, that conception which possesses no
element inconsistent with the idea of absolute necessity. For that
there must be some absolutely necessary existence, it regards as a
truth already established. Now, if it can remove every existence
incapable of supporting the attribute of absolute necessity, excepting
one--this must be the absolutely necessary being, whether its
necessity is comprehensible by us, that is, deducible from the
conception of it alone, or not.

Now that, the conception of which contains a therefore to every
wherefore, which is not defective in any respect whatever, which is
all-sufficient as a condition, seems to be the being of which we can
justly predicate absolute necessity--for this reason, that, possessing
the conditions of all that is possible, it does not and cannot
itself require any condition. And thus it satisfies, in one respect
at least, the requirements of the conception of absolute necessity.
In this view, it is superior to all other conceptions, which, as
deficient and incomplete, do not possess the characteristic of
independence of all higher conditions. It is true that we cannot infer
from this that what does not contain in itself the supreme and
complete condition--the condition of all other things--must possess
only a conditioned existence; but as little can we assert the
contrary, for this supposed being does not possess the only
characteristic which can enable reason to cognize by means of an a
priori conception the unconditioned and necessary nature of its
existence.

The conception of an ens realissimum is that which best agrees
with the conception of an unconditioned and necessary being. The
former conception does not satisfy all the requirements of the latter;
but we have no choice, we are obliged to adhere to it, for we find
that we cannot do without the existence of a necessary being; and even
although we admit it, we find it out of our power to discover in the
whole sphere of possibility any being that can advance wellgrounded
claims to such a distinction.

The following is, therefore, the natural course of human reason.
It begins by persuading itself of the existence of some necessary
being. In this being it recognizes the characteristics of
unconditioned existence. It then seeks the conception of that which
is independent of all conditions, and finds it in that which is itself
the sufficient condition of all other things--in other words, in
that which contains all reality. But the unlimited all is an
absolute unity, and is conceived by the mind as a being one and
supreme; and thus reason concludes that the Supreme Being, as the
primal basis of all things, possesses an existence which is absolutely
necessary.

This conception must be regarded as in some degree satisfactory,
if we admit the existence of a necessary being, and consider that
there exists a necessity for a definite and final answer to these
questions. In such a case, we cannot make a better choice, or rather
we have no choice at all, but feel ourselves obliged to declare in
favour of the absolute unity of complete reality, as the highest
source of the possibility of things. But if there exists no motive
for coming to a definite conclusion, and we may leave the question
unanswered till we have fully weighed both sides--in other words, when
we are merely called upon to decide how much we happen to know about
the question, and how much we merely flatter ourselves that we know-
the above conclusion does not appear to be so great advantage, but,
on the contrary, seems defective in the grounds upon which it is
supported.

For, admitting the truth of all that has been said, that, namely,
the inference from a given existence (my own, for example) to the
existence of an unconditioned and necessary being is valid and
unassailable; that, in the second place, we must consider a being
which contains all reality, and consequently all the conditions of
other things, to be absolutely unconditioned; and admitting too,
that we have thus discovered the conception of a thing to which may
be attributed, without inconsistency, absolute necessity--it does not
follow from all this that the conception of a limited being, in
which the supreme reality does not reside, is therefore incompatible
with the idea of absolute necessity. For, although I do not discover
the element of the unconditioned in the conception of such a being--an
element which is manifestly existent in the sum-total of all
conditions--I am not entitled to conclude that its existence is
therefore conditioned; just as I am not entitled to affirm, in a
hypothetical syllogism, that where a certain condition does not
exist (in the present, completeness, as far as pure conceptions are
concerned), the conditioned does not exist either. On the contrary,
we are free to consider all limited beings as likewise unconditionally
necessary, although we are unable to infer this from the general
conception which we have of them. Thus conducted, this argument is
incapable of giving us the least notion of the properties of a
necessary being, and must be in every respect without result.

This argument continues, however, to possess a weight and an
authority, which, in spite of its objective insufficiency, it has
never been divested of. For, granting that certain responsibilities
lie upon us, which, as based on the ideas of reason, deserve to be
respected and submitted to, although they are incapable of a real or
practical application to our nature, or, in other words, would be
responsibilities without motives, except upon the supposition of a
Supreme Being to give effect and influence to the practical laws: in
such a case we should be bound to obey our conceptions, which,
although objectively insufficient, do, according to the standard of
reason, preponderate over and are superior to any claims that may be
advanced from any other quarter. The equilibrium of doubt would in
this case be destroyed by a practical addition; indeed, Reason would
be compelled to condemn herself, if she refused to comply with the
demands of the judgement, no superior to which we know--however
defective her understanding of the grounds of these demands might be.

This argument, although in fact transcendental, inasmuch as it rests
upon the intrinsic insufficiency of the contingent, is so simple and
natural, that the commonest understanding can appreciate its value.
We see things around us change, arise, and pass away; they, or their
condition, must therefore have a cause. The same demand must again
be made of the cause itself--as a datum of experience. Now it is
natural that we should place the highest causality just where we place
supreme causality, in that being, which contains the conditions of
all possible effects, and the conception of which is so simple as that
of an all-embracing reality. This highest cause, then, we regard as
absolutely necessary, because we find it absolutely necessary to
rise to it, and do not discover any reason for proceeding beyond it.
Thus, among all nations, through the darkest polytheism glimmer some
faint sparks of monotheism, to which these idolaters have been led,
not from reflection and profound thought, but by the study and natural
progress of the common understanding.

There are only three modes of proving the existence of a Deity, on
the grounds of speculative reason.

All the paths conducting to this end begin either from determinate
experience and the peculiar constitution of the world of sense, and
rise, according to the laws of causality, from it to the highest cause
existing apart from the world--or from a purely indeterminate
experience, that is, some empirical existence--or abstraction is
made of all experience, and the existence of a supreme cause is
concluded from a priori conceptions alone. The first is the
physicotheological argument, the second the cosmological, the third
the ontological. More there are not, and more there cannot be.

I shall show it is as unsuccessful on the one path--the empirical-
as on the other--the transcendental, and that it stretches its wings
in vain, to soar beyond the world of sense by the mere might of
speculative thought. As regards the order in which we must discuss
those arguments, it will be exactly the reverse of that in which
reason, in the progress of its development, attains to them--the order
in which they are placed above. For it will be made manifest to the
reader that, although experience presents the occasion and the
starting-point, it is the transcendental idea of reason which guides
it in its pilgrimage and is the goal of all its struggles. I shall
therefore begin with an examination of the transcendental argument,
and afterwards inquire what additional strength has accrued to this
mode of proof from the addition of the empirical element.



SECTION IV. Of the Impossibility of an Ontological Proof of
            the Existence of God.

It is evident from what has been said that the conception of an
absolutely necessary being is a mere idea, the objective reality of
which is far from being established by the mere fact that it is a need
of reason. On the contrary, this idea serves merely to indicate a
certain unattainable perfection, and rather limits the operations
than, by the presentation of new objects, extends the sphere of the
understanding. But a strange anomaly meets us at the very threshold;
for the inference from a given existence in general to an absolutely
necessary existence seems to be correct and unavoidable, while the
conditions of the understanding refuse to aid us in forming any
conception of such a being.

Philosophers have always talked of an absolutely necessary being,
and have nevertheless declined to take the trouble of conceiving
whether--and how--a being of this nature is even cogitable, not to
mention that its existence is actually demonstrable. A verbal
definition of the conception is certainly easy enough: it is something
the non-existence of which is impossible. But does this definition
throw any light upon the conditions which render it impossible to
cogitate the non-existence of a thing--conditions which we wish to
ascertain, that we may discover whether we think anything in the
conception of such a being or not? For the mere fact that I throw
away, by means of the word unconditioned, all the conditions which
the understanding habitually requires in order to regard anything as
necessary, is very far from making clear whether by means of the
conception of the unconditionally necessary I think of something, or
really of nothing at all.

Nay, more, this chance-conception, now become so current, many
have endeavoured to explain by examples which seemed to render any
inquiries regarding its intelligibility quite needless. Every
geometrical proposition--a triangle has three angles--it was said,
is absolutely necessary; and thus people talked of an object which
lay out of the sphere of our understanding as if it were perfectly
plain what the conception of such a being meant.

All the examples adduced have been drawn, without exception, from
judgements, and not from things. But the unconditioned necessity of
a judgement does not form the absolute necessity of a thing. On the
contrary, the absolute necessity of a judgement is only a
conditioned necessity of a thing, or of the predicate in a
judgement. The proposition above-mentioned does not enounce that three
angles necessarily exist, but, upon condition that a triangle
exists, three angles must necessarily exist--in it. And thus this
logical necessity has been the source of the greatest delusions.
Having formed an a priori conception of a thing, the content of
which was made to embrace existence, we believed ourselves safe in
concluding that, because existence belongs necessarily to the object
of the conception (that is, under the condition of my positing this
thing as given), the existence of the thing is also posited
necessarily, and that it is therefore absolutely necessary--merely
because its existence has been cogitated in the conception.

If, in an identical judgement, I annihilate the predicate in
thought, and retain the subject, a contradiction is the result; and
hence I say, the former belongs necessarily to the latter. But if I
suppress both subject and predicate in thought, no contradiction
arises; for there is nothing at all, and therefore no means of forming
a contradiction. To suppose the existence of a triangle and not that
of its three angles, is self-contradictory; but to suppose the
non-existence of both triangle and angles is perfectly admissible.
And so is it with the conception of an absolutely necessary being.
Annihilate its existence in thought, and you annihilate the thing
itself with all its predicates; how then can there be any room for
contradiction? Externally, there is nothing to give rise to a
contradiction, for a thing cannot be necessary externally; nor
internally, for, by the annihilation or suppression of the thing
itself, its internal properties are also annihilated. God is
omnipotent--that is a necessary judgement. His omnipotence cannot be
denied, if the existence of a Deity is posited--the existence, that
is, of an infinite being, the two conceptions being identical. But
when you say, God does not exist, neither omnipotence nor any other
predicate is affirmed; they must all disappear with the subject, and
in this judgement there cannot exist the least self-contradiction.

You have thus seen that when the predicate of a judgement is
annihilated in thought along with the subject, no internal
contradiction can arise, be the predicate what it may. There is no
possibility of evading the conclusion--you find yourselves compelled
to declare: There are certain subjects which cannot be annihilated
in thought. But this is nothing more than saying: There exist subjects
which are absolutely necessary--the very hypothesis which you are
called upon to establish. For I find myself unable to form the
slightest conception of a thing which when annihilated in thought with
all its predicates, leaves behind a contradiction; and contradiction
is the only criterion of impossibility in the sphere of pure a
priori conceptions.

Against these general considerations, the justice of which no one
can dispute, one argument is adduced, which is regarded as
furnishing a satisfactory demonstration from the fact. It is
affirmed that there is one and only one conception, in which the
non-being or annihilation of the object is self-contradictory, and
this is the conception of an ens realissimum. It possesses, you say,
all reality, and you feel yourselves justified in admitting the
possibility of such a being. (This I am willing to grant for the
present, although the existence of a conception which is not
self-contradictory is far from being sufficient to prove the
possibility of an object.)* Now the notion of all reality embraces
in it that of existence; the notion of existence lies, therefore, in
the conception of this possible thing. If this thing is annihilated
in thought, the internal possibility of the thing is also annihilated,
which is self-contradictory.

[*Footnote: A conception is always possible, if it is not
self-contradictory. This is the logical criterion of possibility,
distinguishing the object of such a conception from the nihil negativum.
But it may be, notwithstanding, an empty conception, unless the objective
reality of this synthesis, but which it is generated, is demonstrated;
and a proof of this kind must be based upon principles of possible
experience, and not upon the principle of analysis or contradiction.
This remark may be serviceable as a warning against concluding, from
the possibility of a conception--which is logical--the possibility
of a thing--which is real.]

I answer: It is absurd to introduce--under whatever term
disguised--into the conception of a thing, which is to be cogitated
solely in reference to its possibility, the conception of its
existence. If this is admitted, you will have apparently gained the
day, but in reality have enounced nothing but a mere tautology. I ask,
is the proposition, this or that thing (which I am admitting to be
possible) exists, an analytical or a synthetical proposition? If the
former, there is no addition made to the subject of your thought by
the affirmation of its existence; but then the conception in your
minds is identical with the thing itself, or you have supposed the
existence of a thing to be possible, and then inferred its existence
from its internal possibility--which is but a miserable tautology.
The word reality in the conception of the thing, and the word existence
in the conception of the predicate, will not help you out of the
difficulty. For, supposing you were to term all positing of a thing
reality, you have thereby posited the thing with all its predicates
in the conception of the subject and assumed its actual existence,
and this you merely repeat in the predicate. But if you confess, as
every reasonable person must, that every existential proposition is
synthetical, how can it be maintained that the predicate of
existence cannot be denied without contradiction?--a property which
is the characteristic of analytical propositions, alone.

I should have a reasonable hope of putting an end for ever to this
sophistical mode of argumentation, by a strict definition of the
conception of existence, did not my own experience teach me that the
illusion arising from our confounding a logical with a real
predicate (a predicate which aids in the determination of a thing)
resists almost all the endeavours of explanation and illustration.
A logical predicate may be what you please, even the subject may be
predicated of itself; for logic pays no regard to the content of a
judgement. But the determination of a conception is a predicate, which
adds to and enlarges the conception. It must not, therefore, be
contained in the conception.

Being is evidently not a real predicate, that is, a conception of
something which is added to the conception of some other thing. It
is merely the positing of a thing, or of certain determinations in
it. Logically, it is merely the copula of a judgement. The proposition,
God is omnipotent, contains two conceptions, which have a certain
object or content; the word is, is no additional predicate--it
merely indicates the relation of the predicate to the subject. Now,
if I take the subject (God) with all its predicates (omnipotence being
one), and say: God is, or, There is a God, I add no new predicate to
the conception of God, I merely posit or affirm the existence of the
subject with all its predicates--I posit the object in relation to
my conception. The content of both is the same; and there is no
addition made to the conception, which expresses merely the
possibility of the object, by my cogitating the object--in the
expression, it is--as absolutely given or existing. Thus the real
contains no more than the possible. A hundred real dollars contain
no more than a hundred possible dollars. For, as the latter indicate
the conception, and the former the object, on the supposition that
the content of the former was greater than that of the latter, my
conception would not be an expression of the whole object, and would
consequently be an inadequate conception of it. But in reckoning my
wealth there may be said to be more in a hundred real dollars than
in a hundred possible dollars--that is, in the mere conception of
them. For the real object--the dollars--is not analytically
contained in my conception, but forms a synthetical addition to my
conception (which is merely a determination of my mental state),
although this objective reality--this existence--apart from my
conceptions, does not in the least degree increase the aforesaid
hundred dollars.

By whatever and by whatever number of predicates--even to the
complete determination of it--I may cogitate a thing, I do not in
the least augment the object of my conception by the addition of the
statement: This thing exists. Otherwise, not exactly the same, but
something more than what was cogitated in my conception, would
exist, and I could not affirm that the exact object of my conception
had real existence. If I cogitate a thing as containing all modes of
reality except one, the mode of reality which is absent is not added
to the conception of the thing by the affirmation that the thing
exists; on the contrary, the thing exists--if it exist at all--with
the same defect as that cogitated in its conception; otherwise not
that which was cogitated, but something different, exists. Now, if
I cogitate a being as the highest reality, without defect or
imperfection, the question still remains--whether this being exists
or not? For, although no element is wanting in the possible real
content of my conception, there is a defect in its relation to my
mental state, that is, I am ignorant whether the cognition of the
object indicated by the conception is possible a posteriori. And
here the cause of the present difficulty becomes apparent. If the
question regarded an object of sense merely, it would be impossible
for me to confound the conception with the existence of a thing. For
the conception merely enables me to cogitate an object as according
with the general conditions of experience; while the existence of
the object permits me to cogitate it as contained in the sphere of
actual experience. At the same time, this connection with the world
of experience does not in the least augment the conception, although
a possible perception has been added to the experience of the mind.
But if we cogitate existence by the pure category alone, it is not
to be wondered at, that we should find ourselves unable to present
any criterion sufficient to distinguish it from mere possibility.

Whatever be the content of our conception of an object, it is
necessary to go beyond it, if we wish to predicate existence of the
object. In the case of sensuous objects, this is attained by their
connection according to empirical laws with some one of my
perceptions; but there is no means of cognizing the existence of
objects of pure thought, because it must be cognized completely a
priori. But all our knowledge of existence (be it immediately by
perception, or by inferences connecting some object with a perception)
belongs entirely to the sphere of experience--which is in perfect
unity with itself; and although an existence out of this sphere cannot
be absolutely declared to be impossible, it is a hypothesis the
truth of which we have no means of ascertaining.

The notion of a Supreme Being is in many respects a highly useful
idea; but for the very reason that it is an idea, it is incapable of
enlarging our cognition with regard to the existence of things. It
is not even sufficient to instruct us as to the possibility of a being
which we do not know to exist. The analytical criterion of
possibility, which consists in the absence of contradiction in
propositions, cannot be denied it. But the connection of real
properties in a thing is a synthesis of the possibility of which an
a priori judgement cannot be formed, because these realities are not
presented to us specifically; and even if this were to happen, a
judgement would still be impossible, because the criterion of the
possibility of synthetical cognitions must be sought for in the
world of experience, to which the object of an idea cannot belong.
And thus the celebrated Leibnitz has utterly failed in his attempt
to establish upon a priori grounds the possibility of this sublime
ideal being.

The celebrated ontological or Cartesian argument for the existence
of a Supreme Being is therefore insufficient; and we may as well
hope to increase our stock of knowledge by the aid of mere ideas, as
the merchant to augment his wealth by the addition of noughts to his
cash account.



SECTION V. Of the Impossibility of a Cosmological Proof
           of the Existence of God.

It was by no means a natural course of proceeding, but, on the
contrary, an invention entirely due to the subtlety of the schools,
to attempt to draw from a mere idea a proof of the existence of an
object corresponding to it. Such a course would never have been pursued,
were it not for that need of reason which requires it to suppose the
existence of a necessary being as a basis for the empirical regress,
and that, as this necessity must be unconditioned and a priori, reason
is bound to discover a conception which shall satisfy, if possible,
this requirement, and enable us to attain to the a priori cognition
of such a being. This conception was thought to be found in the idea
of an ens realissimum, and thus this idea was employed for the attainment
of a better defined knowledge of a necessary being, of the existence
of which we were convinced, or persuaded, on other grounds. Thus
reason was seduced from her natural courage; and, instead of
concluding with the conception of an ens realissimum, an attempt was
made to begin with it, for the purpose of inferring from it that
idea of a necessary existence which it was in fact called in to
complete. Thus arose that unfortunate ontological argument, which
neither satisfies the healthy common sense of humanity, nor sustains
the scientific examination of the philosopher.

The cosmological proof, which we are about to examine, retains the
connection between absolute necessity and the highest reality; but,
instead of reasoning from this highest reality to a necessary
existence, like the preceding argument, it concludes from the given.
unconditioned necessity of some being its unlimited reality. The track
it pursues, whether rational or sophistical, is at least natural,
and not only goes far to persuade the common understanding, but
shows itself deserving of respect from the speculative intellect;
while it contains, at the same time, the outlines of all the arguments
employed in natural theology--arguments which always have been, and
still will be, in use and authority. These, however adorned, and hid
under whatever embellishments of rhetoric and sentiment, are at bottom
identical with the arguments we are at present to discuss. This proof,
termed by Leibnitz the argumentum a contingentia mundi, I shall now
lay before the reader, and subject to a strict examination.

It is framed in the following manner: If something exists, an
absolutely necessary being must likewise exist. Now I, at least,
exist. Consequently, there exists an absolutely necessary being. The
minor contains an experience, the major reasons from a general
experience to the existence of a necessary being.* Thus this
argument really begins at experience, and is not completely a
priori, or ontological. The object of all possible experience being
the world, it is called the cosmological proof. It contains no
reference to any peculiar property of sensuous objects, by which
this world of sense might be distinguished from other possible worlds;
and in this respect it differs from the physico-theological proof,
which is based upon the consideration of the peculiar constitution
of our sensuous world.

[*Footnote: This inference is too well known to require more detailed
discussion. It is based upon the spurious transcendental law of
causality, that everything which is contingent has a cause, which,
if itself contingent, must also have a cause; and so on, till the
series of subordinated causes must end with an absolutely necessary
cause, without which it would not possess completeness.]

The proof proceeds thus: A necessary being can be determined only in
one way, that is, it can be determined by only one of all possible
opposed predicates; consequently, it must be completely determined
in and by its conception. But there is only a single conception of
a thing possible, which completely determines the thing a priori: that
is, the conception of the ens realissimum. It follows that the
conception of the ens realissimum is the only conception by and in
which we can cogitate a necessary being. Consequently, a Supreme Being
necessarily exists.

In this cosmological argument are assembled so many sophistical
propositions that speculative reason seems to have exerted in it all
her dialectical skill to produce a transcendental illusion of the most
extreme character. We shall postpone an investigation of this argument
for the present, and confine ourselves to exposing the stratagem by
which it imposes upon us an old argument in a new dress, and appeals
to the agreement of two witnesses, the one with the credentials of
pure reason, and the other with those of empiricism; while, in fact,
it is only the former who has changed his dress and voice, for the
purpose of passing himself off for an additional witness. That it
may possess a secure foundation, it bases its conclusions upon
experience, and thus appears to be completely distinct from the
ontological argument, which places its confidence entirely in pure
a priori conceptions. But this experience merely aids reason in making
one step--to the existence of a necessary being. What the properties
of this being are cannot be learned from experience; and therefore
reason abandons it altogether, and pursues its inquiries in the sphere
of pure conception, for the purpose of discovering what the properties
of an absolutely necessary being ought to be, that is, what among
all possible things contain the conditions (requisita) of absolute
necessity. Reason believes that it has discovered these requisites
in the conception of an ens realissimum--and in it alone, and hence
concludes: The ens realissimum is an absolutely necessary being. But
it is evident that reason has here presupposed that the conception
of an ens realissimum is perfectly adequate to the conception of a
being of absolute necessity, that is, that we may infer the
existence of the latter from that of the former--a proposition which
formed the basis of the ontological argument, and which is now
employed in the support of the cosmological argument, contrary to
the wish and professions of its inventors. For the existence of an
absolutely necessary being is given in conceptions alone. But if I
say: "The conception of the ens realissimum is a conception of this
kind, and in fact the only conception which is adequate to our idea
of a necessary being," I am obliged to admit, that the latter may be
inferred from the former. Thus it is properly the ontological argument
which figures in the cosmological, and constitutes the whole
strength of the latter; while the spurious basis of experience has
been of no further use than to conduct us to the conception of
absolute necessity, being utterly insufficient to demonstrate the
presence of this attribute in any determinate existence or thing.
For when we propose to ourselves an aim of this character, we must
abandon the sphere of experience, and rise to that of pure
conceptions, which we examine with the purpose of discovering
whether any one contains the conditions of the possibility of an
absolutely necessary being. But if the possibility of such a being
is thus demonstrated, its existence is also proved; for we may then
assert that, of all possible beings there is one which possesses the
attribute of necessity--in other words, this being possesses an
absolutely necessary existence.

All illusions in an argument are more easily detected when they
are presented in the formal manner employed by the schools, which we
now proceed to do.

If the proposition: "Every absolutely necessary being is likewise an
ens realissimum," is correct (and it is this which constitutes the
nervus probandi of the cosmological argument), it must, like all
affirmative judgements, be capable of conversion--the conversio per
accidens, at least. It follows, then, that some entia realissima are
absolutely necessary beings. But no ens realissimum is in any
respect different from another, and what is valid of some is valid
of all. In this present case, therefore, I may employ simple
conversion, and say: "Every ens realissimum is a necessary being."
But as this proposition is determined a priori by the conceptions
contained in it, the mere conception of an ens realissimum must
possess the additional attribute of absolute necessity. But this is
exactly what was maintained in the ontological argument, and not
recognized by the cosmological, although it formed the real ground
of its disguised and illusory reasoning.

Thus the second mode employed by speculative reason of demonstrating
the existence of a Supreme Being, is not only, like the first,
illusory and inadequate, but possesses the additional blemish of an
ignoratio elenchi--professing to conduct us by a new road to the
desired goal, but bringing us back, after a short circuit, to the
old path which we had deserted at its call.

I mentioned above that this cosmological argument contains a perfect
nest of dialectical assumptions, which transcendental criticism does
not find it difficult to expose and to dissipate. I shall merely
enumerate these, leaving it to the reader, who must by this time be
well practised in such matters, to investigate the fallacies
residing therein.

The following fallacies, for example, are discoverable in this
mode of proof: 1. The transcendental principle: "Everything that is
contingent must have a cause"--a principle without significance,
except in the sensuous world. For the purely intellectual conception
of the contingent cannot produce any synthetical proposition, like
that of causality, which is itself without significance or
distinguishing characteristic except in the phenomenal world. But in
the present case it is employed to help us beyond the limits of its
sphere. 2. "From the impossibility of an infinite ascending series
of causes in the world of sense a first cause is inferred"; a
conclusion which the principles of the employment of reason do not
justify even in the sphere of experience, and still less when an
attempt is made to pass the limits of this sphere. 3. Reason allows
itself to be satisfied upon insufficient grounds, with regard to the
completion of this series. It removes all conditions (without which,
however, no conception of Necessity can take place); and, as after
this it is beyond our power to form any other conceptions, it
accepts this as a completion of the conception it wishes to form of
the series. 4. The logical possibility of a conception of the total
of reality (the criterion of this possibility being the absence of
contradiction) is confound. ed with the transcendental, which requires
a principle of the practicability of such a synthesis--a principle
which again refers us to the world of experience. And so on.

The aim of the cosmological argument is to avoid the necessity of
proving the existence of a necessary being priori from mere
conceptions--a proof which must be ontological, and of which we feel
ourselves quite incapable. With this purpose, we reason from an actual
existence--an experience in general, to an absolutely necessary
condition of that existence. It is in this case unnecessary to
demonstrate its possibility. For after having proved that it exists,
the question regarding its possibility is superfluous. Now, when we
wish to define more strictly the nature of this necessary being, we
do not look out for some being the conception of which would enable
us to comprehend the necessity of its being--for if we could do this,
an empirical presupposition would be unnecessary; no, we try to
discover merely the negative condition (conditio sine qua non),
without which a being would not be absolutely necessary. Now this
would be perfectly admissible in every sort of reasoning, from a
consequence to its principle; but in the present case it unfortunately
happens that the condition of absolute necessity can be discovered
in but a single being, the conception of which must consequently
contain all that is requisite for demonstrating the presence of
absolute necessity, and thus entitle me to infer this absolute
necessity a priori. That is, it must be possible to reason conversely,
and say: The thing, to which the conception of the highest reality
belongs, is absolutely necessary. But if I cannot reason thus--and
I cannot, unless I believe in the sufficiency of the ontological
argument--I find insurmountable obstacles in my new path, and am
really no farther than the point from which I set out. The
conception of a Supreme Being satisfies all questions a priori
regarding the internal determinations of a thing, and is for this
reason an ideal without equal or parallel, the general conception of
it indicating it as at the same time an ens individuum among all
possible things. But the conception does not satisfy the question
regarding its existence--which was the purpose of all our inquiries;
and, although the existence of a necessary being were admitted, we
should find it impossible to answer the question: What of all things
in the world must be regarded as such?

It is certainly allowable to admit the existence of an
all-sufficient being--a cause of all possible effects--for the purpose
of enabling reason to introduce unity into its mode and grounds of
explanation with regard to phenomena. But to assert that such a
being necessarily exists, is no longer the modest enunciation of an
admissible hypothesis, but the boldest declaration of an apodeictic
certainty; for the cognition of that which is absolutely necessary
must itself possess that character.

The aim of the transcendental ideal formed by the mind is either
to discover a conception which shall harmonize with the idea of
absolute necessity, or a conception which shall contain that idea.
If the one is possible, so is the other; for reason recognizes that
alone as absolutely necessary which is necessary from its
conception. But both attempts are equally beyond our power--we find
it impossible to satisfy the understanding upon this point, and as
impossible to induce it to remain at rest in relation to this
incapacity.

Unconditioned necessity, which, as the ultimate support and stay
of all existing things, is an indispensable requirement of the mind,
is an abyss on the verge of which human reason trembles in dismay.
Even the idea of eternity, terrible and sublime as it is, as
depicted by Haller, does not produce upon the mental vision such a
feeling of awe and terror; for, although it measures the duration of
things, it does not support them. We cannot bear, nor can we rid
ourselves of the thought that a being, which we regard as the greatest
of all possible existences, should say to himself: I am from
eternity to eternity; beside me there is nothing, except that which
exists by my will; whence then am I? Here all sinks away from under
us; and the greatest, as the smallest, perfection, hovers without stay
or footing in presence of the speculative reason, which finds it as
easy to part with the one as with the other.

Many physical powers, which evidence their existence by their
effects, are perfectly inscrutable in their nature; they elude all
our powers of observation. The transcendental object which forms the
basis of phenomena, and, in connection with it, the reason why our
sensibility possesses this rather than that particular kind of
conditions, are and must ever remain hidden from our mental vision;
the fact is there, the reason of the fact we cannot see. But an
ideal of pure reason cannot be termed mysterious or inscrutable,
because the only credential of its reality is the need of it felt by
reason, for the purpose of giving completeness to the world of
synthetical unity. An ideal is not even given as a cogitable object,
and therefore cannot be inscrutable; on the contrary, it must, as a
mere idea, be based on the constitution of reason itself, and on
this account must be capable of explanation and solution. For the very
essence of reason consists in its ability to give an account, of all
our conceptions, opinions, and assertions--upon objective, or, when
they happen to be illusory and fallacious, upon subjective grounds.



Detection and Explanation of the Dialectical Illusion in
all Transcendental Arguments for the Existence of a
Necessary Being.

Both of the above arguments are transcendental; in other words, they
do not proceed upon empirical principles. For, although the
cosmological argument professed to lay a basis of experience for its
edifice of reasoning, it did not ground its procedure upon the
peculiar constitution of experience, but upon pure principles of
reason--in relation to an existence given by empirical
consciousness; utterly abandoning its guidance, however, for the
purpose of supporting its assertions entirely upon pure conceptions.
Now what is the cause, in these transcendental arguments, of the
dialectical, but natural, illusion, which connects the conceptions
of necessity and supreme reality, and hypostatizes that which cannot
be anything but an idea? What is the cause of this unavoidable step
on the part of reason, of admitting that some one among all existing
things must be necessary, while it falls back from the assertion of
the existence of such a being as from an abyss? And how does reason
proceed to explain this anomaly to itself, and from the wavering
condition of a timid and reluctant approbation--always again
withdrawn--arrive at a calm and settled insight into its cause?

It is something very remarkable that, on the supposition that
something exists, I cannot avoid the inference that something exists
necessarily. Upon this perfectly natural--but not on that account
reliable--inference does the cosmological argument rest. But, let me
form any conception whatever of a thing, I find that I cannot cogitate
the existence of the thing as absolutely necessary, and that nothing
prevents me--be the thing or being what it may--from cogitating its
non-existence. I may thus be obliged to admit that all existing things
have a necessary basis, while I cannot cogitate any single or
individual thing as necessary. In other words, I can never complete
the regress through the conditions of existence, without admitting
the existence of a necessary being; but, on the other hand, I cannot
make a commencement from this being.

If I must cogitate something as existing necessarily as the basis of
existing things, and yet am not permitted to cogitate any individual
thing as in itself necessary, the inevitable inference is that
necessity and contingency are not properties of things themselves-
otherwise an internal contradiction would result; that consequently
neither of these principles are objective, but merely subjective
principles of reason--the one requiring us to seek for a necessary
ground for everything that exists, that is, to be satisfied with no
other explanation than that which is complete a priori, the other
forbidding us ever to hope for the attainment of this completeness,
that is, to regard no member of the empirical world as
unconditioned. In this mode of viewing them, both principles, in their
purely heuristic and regulative character, and as concerning merely
the formal interest of reason, are quite consistent with each other.
The one says: "You must philosophize upon nature," as if there existed
a necessary primal basis of all existing things, solely for the
purpose of introducing systematic unity into your knowledge, by
pursuing an idea of this character--a foundation which is
arbitrarily admitted to be ultimate; while the other warns you to
consider no individual determination, concerning the existence of
things, as such an ultimate foundation, that is, as absolutely
necessary, but to keep the way always open for further progress in
the deduction, and to treat every determination as determined by some
other. But if all that we perceive must be regarded as conditionally
necessary, it is impossible that anything which is empirically given
should be absolutely necessary.

It follows from this that you must accept the absolutely necessary
as out of and beyond the world, inasmuch as it is useful only as a
principle of the highest possible unity in experience, and you
cannot discover any such necessary existence in the would, the
second rule requiring you to regard all empirical causes of unity as
themselves deduced.

The philosophers of antiquity regarded all the forms of nature as
contingent; while matter was considered by them, in accordance with
the judgement of the common reason of mankind, as primal and
necessary. But if they had regarded matter, not relatively--as the
substratum of phenomena, but absolutely and in itself--as an
independent existence, this idea of absolute necessity would have
immediately disappeared. For there is nothing absolutely connecting
reason with such an existence; on the contrary, it can annihilate it
in thought, always and without self-contradiction. But in thought
alone lay the idea of absolute necessity. A regulative principle must,
therefore, have been at the foundation of this opinion. In fact,
extension and impenetrability--which together constitute our
conception of matter--form the supreme empirical principle of the
unity of phenomena, and this principle, in so far as it is empirically
unconditioned, possesses the property of a regulative principle.
But, as every determination of matter which constitutes what is real
in it--and consequently impenetrability--is an effect, which must have
a cause, and is for this reason always derived, the notion of matter
cannot harmonize with the idea of a necessary being, in its
character of the principle of all derived unity. For every one of
its real properties, being derived, must be only conditionally
necessary, and can therefore be annihilated in thought; and thus the
whole existence of matter can be so annihilated or suppressed. If this
were not the case, we should have found in the world of phenomena
the highest ground or condition of unity--which is impossible,
according to the second regulative principle. It follows that
matter, and, in general, all that forms part of the world of sense,
cannot be a necessary primal being, nor even a principle of
empirical unity, but that this being or principle must have its
place assigned without the world. And, in this way, we can proceed
in perfect confidence to deduce the phenomena of the world and their
existence from other phenomena, just as if there existed no
necessary being; and we can at the same time, strive without ceasing
towards the attainment of completeness for our deduction, just as if
such a being--the supreme condition of all existences--were
presupposed by the mind.

These remarks will have made it evident to the reader that the ideal
of the Supreme Being, far from being an enouncement of the existence
of a being in itself necessary, is nothing more than a regulative
principle of reason, requiring us to regard all connection existing
between phenomena as if it had its origin from an all-sufficient
necessary cause, and basing upon this the rule of a systematic and
necessary unity in the explanation of phenomena. We cannot, at the
same time, avoid regarding, by a transcendental subreptio, this formal
principle as constitutive, and hypostatizing this unity. Precisely
similar is the case with our notion of space. Space is the primal
condition of all forms, which are properly just so many different
limitations of it; and thus, although it is merely a principle of
sensibility, we cannot help regarding it as an absolutely necessary
and self-subsistent thing--as an object given a priori in itself. In
the same way, it is quite natural that, as the systematic unity of
nature cannot be established as a principle for the empirical
employment of reason, unless it is based upon the idea of an ens
realissimum, as the supreme cause, we should regard this idea as a
real object, and this object, in its character of supreme condition,
as absolutely necessary, and that in this way a regulative should be
transformed into a constitutive principle. This interchange becomes
evident when I regard this supreme being, which, relatively to the
world, was absolutely (unconditionally) necessary, as a thing per
se. In this case, I find it impossible to represent this necessity
in or by any conception, and it exists merely in my own mind, as the
formal condition of thought, but not as a material and hypostatic
condition of existence.



SECTION VI. Of the Impossibility of a Physico-Theological Proof.

If, then, neither a pure conception nor the general experience of an
existing being can provide a sufficient basis for the proof of the
existence of the Deity, we can make the attempt by the only other
mode--that of grounding our argument upon a determinate experience
of the phenomena of the present world, their constitution and
disposition, and discover whether we can thus attain to a sound
conviction of the existence of a Supreme Being. This argument we shall
term the physico-theological argument. If it is shown to be
insufficient, speculative reason cannot present us with any
satisfactory proof of the existence of a being corresponding to our
transcendental idea.

It is evident from the remarks that have been made in the
preceding sections, that an answer to this question will be far from
being difficult or unconvincing. For how can any experience be
adequate with an idea? The very essence of an idea consists in the
fact that no experience can ever be discovered congruent or adequate
with it. The transcendental idea of a necessary and all-sufficient
being is so immeasurably great, so high above all that is empirical,
which is always conditioned, that we hope in vain to find materials
in the sphere of experience sufficiently ample for our conception,
and in vain seek the unconditioned among things that are conditioned,
while examples, nay, even guidance is denied us by the laws of empirical
synthesis.

If the Supreme Being forms a link in the chain of empirical
conditions, it must be a member of the empirical series, and, like
the lower members which it precedes, have its origin in some higher
member of the series. If, on the other hand, we disengage it from the
chain, and cogitate it as an intelligible being, apart from the series
of natural causes--how shall reason bridge the abyss that separates
the latter from the former? All laws respecting the regress from
effects to causes, all synthetical additions to our knowledge relate
solely to possible experience and the objects of the sensuous world,
and, apart from them, are without significance.

The world around us opens before our view so magnificent a spectacle
of order, variety, beauty, and conformity to ends, that whether we
pursue our observations into the infinity of space in the one
direction, or into its illimitable divisions in the other, whether
we regard the world in its greatest or its least manifestations-
even after we have attained to the highest summit of knowledge which
our weak minds can reach, we find that language in the presence of
wonders so inconceivable has lost its force, and number its power to
reckon, nay, even thought fails to conceive adequately, and our
conception of the whole dissolves into an astonishment without power
of expression--all the more eloquent that it is dumb. Everywhere
around us we observe a chain of causes and effects, of means and ends,
of death and birth; and, as nothing has entered of itself into the
condition in which we find it, we are constantly referred to some
other thing, which itself suggests the same inquiry regarding its
cause, and thus the universe must sink into the abyss of
nothingness, unless we admit that, besides this infinite chain of
contingencies, there exists something that is primal and
self-subsistent--something which, as the cause of this phenomenal
world, secures its continuance and preservation.

This highest cause--what magnitude shall we attribute to it? Of
the content of the world we are ignorant; still less can we estimate
its magnitude by comparison with the sphere of the possible. But
this supreme cause being a necessity of the human mind, what is
there to prevent us from attributing to it such a degree of perfection
as to place it above the sphere of all that is possible? This we can
easily do, although only by the aid of the faint outline of an
abstract conception, by representing this being to ourselves as
containing in itself, as an individual substance, all possible
perfection--a conception which satisfies that requirement of reason
which demands parsimony in principles, which is free from
self-contradiction, which even contributes to the extension of the
employment of reason in experience, by means of the guidance
afforded by this idea to order and system, and which in no respect
conflicts with any law of experience.

This argument always deserves to be mentioned with respect. It is
the oldest, the clearest, and that most in conformity with the
common reason of humanity. It animates the study of nature, as it
itself derives its existence and draws ever new strength from that
source. It introduces aims and ends into a sphere in which our
observation could not of itself have discovered them, and extends
our knowledge of nature, by directing our attention to a unity, the
principle of which lies beyond nature. This knowledge of nature
again reacts upon this idea--its cause; and thus our belief in a
divine author of the universe rises to the power of an irresistible
conviction.

For these reasons it would be utterly hopeless to attempt to rob
this argument of the authority it has always enjoyed. The mind,
unceasingly elevated by these considerations, which, although
empirical, are so remarkably powerful, and continually adding to their
force, will not suffer itself to be depressed by the doubts
suggested by subtle speculation; it tears itself out of this state
of uncertainty, the moment it casts a look upon the wondrous forms
of nature and the majesty of the universe, and rises from height to
height, from condition to condition, till it has elevated itself to
the supreme and unconditioned author of all.

But although we have nothing to object to the reasonableness and
utility of this procedure, but have rather to commend and encourage
it, we cannot approve of the claims which this argument advances to
demonstrative certainty and to a reception upon its own merits,
apart from favour or support by other arguments. Nor can it injure
the cause of morality to endeavour to lower the tone of the arrogant
sophist, and to teach him that modesty and moderation which are the
properties of a belief that brings calm and content into the mind,
without prescribing to it an unworthy subjection. I maintain, then,
that the physico-theological argument is insufficient of itself to
prove the existence of a Supreme Being, that it must entrust this to
the ontological argument--to which it serves merely as an
introduction, and that, consequently, this argument contains the
only possible ground of proof (possessed by speculative reason) for
the existence of this being.

The chief momenta in the physico-theological argument are as follow:
1. We observe in the world manifest signs of an arrangement full of
purpose, executed with great wisdom, and argument in whole of a
content indescribably various, and of an extent without limits. 2.
This arrangement of means and ends is entirely foreign to the things
existing in the world--it belongs to them merely as a contingent
attribute; in other words, the nature of different things could not
of itself, whatever means were employed, harmoniously tend towards
certain purposes, were they not chosen and directed for these purposes
by a rational and disposing principle, in accordance with certain
fundamental ideas. 3. There exists, therefore, a sublime and wise
cause (or several), which is not merely a blind, all-powerful
nature, producing the beings and events which fill the world in
unconscious fecundity, but a free and intelligent cause of the
world. 4. The unity of this cause may be inferred from the unity of
the reciprocal relation existing between the parts of the world, as
portions of an artistic edifice--an inference which all our
observation favours, and all principles of analogy support.

In the above argument, it is inferred from the analogy of certain
products of nature with those of human art, when it compels Nature
to bend herself to its purposes, as in the case of a house, a ship,
or a watch, that the same kind of causality--namely, understanding
and will--resides in nature. It is also declared that the internal
possibility of this freely-acting nature (which is the source of all
art, and perhaps also of human reason) is derivable from another and
superhuman art--a conclusion which would perhaps be found incapable
of standing the test of subtle transcendental criticism. But to neither
of these opinions shall we at present object. We shall only remark
that it must be confessed that, if we are to discuss the subject of
cause at all, we cannot proceed more securely than with the guidance
of the analogy subsisting between nature and such products of
design--these being the only products whose causes and modes of
organization are completely known to us. Reason would be unable to
satisfy her own requirements, if she passed from a causality which
she does know, to obscure and indemonstrable principles of explanation
which she does not know.

According to the physico-theological argument, the connection and
harmony existing in the world evidence the contingency of the form
merely, but not of the matter, that is, of the substance of the world.
To establish the truth of the latter opinion, it would be necessary
to prove that all things would be in themselves incapable of this harmony
and order, unless they were, even as regards their substance, the
product of a supreme wisdom. But this would require very different
grounds of proof from those presented by the analogy with human art.
This proof can at most, therefore, demonstrate the existence of an
architect of the world, whose efforts are limited by the
capabilities of the material with which he works, but not of a creator
of the world, to whom all things are subject. Thus this argument is
utterly insufficient for the task before us--a demonstration of the
existence of an all-sufficient being. If we wish to prove the
contingency of matter, we must have recourse to a transcendental
argument, which the physico-theological was constructed expressly to
avoid.

We infer, from the order and design visible in the universe, as a
disposition of a thoroughly contingent character, the existence of
a cause proportionate thereto. The conception of this cause must contain
certain determinate qualities, and it must therefore be regarded as
the conception of a being which possesses all power, wisdom, and so
on, in one word, all perfection--the conception, that is, of an
all-sufficient being. For the predicates of very great, astonishing,
or immeasurable power and excellence, give us no determinate
conception of the thing, nor do they inform us what the thing may be
in itself. They merely indicate the relation existing between the
magnitude of the object and the observer, who compares it with himself
and with his own power of comprehension, and are mere expressions of
praise and reverence, by which the object is either magnified, or
the observing subject depreciated in relation to the object. Where
we have to do with the magnitude (of the perfection) of a thing, we
can discover no determinate conception, except that which
comprehends all possible perfection or completeness, and it is only
the total (omnitudo) of reality which is completely determined in
and through its conception alone.

Now it cannot be expected that any one will be bold enough to
declare that he has a perfect insight into the relation which the
magnitude of the world he contemplates bears (in its extent as well
as in its content) to omnipotence, into that of the order and design
in the world to the highest wisdom, and that of the unity of the world
to the absolute unity of a Supreme Being. Physico-theology is therefore
incapable of presenting a determinate conception of a supreme cause
of the world, and is therefore insufficient as a principle of theology--a
theology which is itself to be the basis of religion.

The attainment of absolute totality is completely impossible on
the path of empiricism. And yet this is the path pursued in the
physico-theological argument. What means shall we employ to bridge
the abyss?

After elevating ourselves to admiration of the magnitude of the
power, wisdom, and other attributes of the author of the world, and
finding we can advance no further, we leave the argument on
empirical grounds, and proceed to infer the contingency of the world
from the order and conformity to aims that are observable in it.
From this contingency we infer, by the help of transcendental
conceptions alone, the existence of something absolutely necessary;
and, still advancing, proceed from the conception of the absolute
necessity of the first cause to the completely determined or
determining conception thereof--the conception of an all-embracing
reality. Thus the physico-theological, failing in its undertaking,
recurs in its embarrassment to the cosmological argument; and, as this
is merely the ontological argument in disguise, it executes its design
solely by the aid of pure reason, although it at first professed to
have no connection with this faculty and to base its entire
procedure upon experience alone.

The physico-theologians have therefore no reason to regard with such
contempt the transcendental mode of argument, and to look down upon
it, with the conceit of clear-sighted observers of nature, as the
brain-cobweb of obscure speculatists. For, if they reflect upon and
examine their own arguments, they will find that, after following
for some time the path of nature and experience, and discovering
themselves no nearer their object, they suddenly leave this path and
pass into the region of pure possibility, where they hope to reach
upon the wings of ideas what had eluded all their empirical
investigations. Gaining, as they think, a firm footing after this
immense leap, they extend their determinate conception--into the
possession of which they have come, they know not how--over the
whole sphere of creation, and explain their ideal, which is entirely
a product of pure reason, by illustrations drawn from experience--though
in a degree miserably unworthy of the grandeur of the object, while
they refuse to acknowledge that they have arrived at this cognition
or hypothesis by a very different road from that of experience.

Thus the physico-theological is based upon the cosmological, and
this upon the ontological proof of the existence of a Supreme Being;
and as besides these three there is no other path open to
speculative reason, the ontological proof, on the ground of pure
conceptions of reason, is the only possible one, if any proof of a
proposition so far transcending the empirical exercise of the
understanding is possible at all.



SECTION VII. Critique of all Theology based upon Speculative
             Principles of Reason.

If by the term theology I understand the cognition of a primal
being, that cognition is based either upon reason alone (theologia
rationalis) or upon revelation (theologia revelata). The former
cogitates its object either by means of pure transcendental
conceptions, as an ens originarium, realissimum, ens entium, and is
termed transcendental theology; or, by means of a conception derived
from the nature of our own mind, as a supreme intelligence, and must
then be entitled natural theology. The person who believes in a
transcendental theology alone, is termed a deist; he who
acknowledges the possibility of a natural theology also, a theist.
The former admits that we can cognize by pure reason alone the existence
of a Supreme Being, but at the same time maintains that our conception
of this being is purely transcendental, and that all we can say of
it is that it possesses all reality, without being able to define it
more closely. The second asserts that reason is capable of
presenting us, from the analogy with nature, with a more definite
conception of this being, and that its operations, as the cause of
all things, are the results of intelligence and free will. The former
regards the Supreme Being as the cause of the world--whether by the
necessity of his nature, or as a free agent, is left undetermined;
the latter considers this being as the author of the world.

Transcendental theology aims either at inferring the existence of
a Supreme Being from a general experience, without any closer
reference to the world to which this experience belongs, and in this
case it is called cosmotheology; or it endeavours to cognize the
existence of such a being, through mere conceptions, without the aid
of experience, and is then termed ontotheology.

Natural theology infers the attributes and the existence of an
author of the world, from the constitution of, the order and unity
observable in, the world, in which two modes of causality must be
admitted to exist--those of nature and freedom. Thus it rises from
this world to a supreme intelligence, either as the principle of all
natural, or of all moral order and perfection. In the former case it
is termed physico-theology, in the latter, ethical or moral-theology.*

[*Footnote: Not theological ethics; for this science contains ethical
laws, which presuppose the existence of a Supreme Governor of the world;
while moral-theology, on the contrary, is the expression of a
conviction of the existence of a Supreme Being, founded upon ethical
laws.]

As we are wont to understand by the term God not merely an eternal
nature, the operations of which are insensate and blind, but a Supreme
Being, who is the free and intelligent author of all things, and as
it is this latter view alone that can be of interest to humanity, we
might, in strict rigour, deny to the deist any belief in God at all,
and regard him merely as a maintainer of the existence of a primal
being or thing--the supreme cause of all other things. But, as no
one ought to be blamed, merely because he does not feel himself
justified in maintaining a certain opinion, as if he altogether denied
its truth and asserted the opposite, it is more correct--as it is less
harsh--to say, the deist believes in a God, the theist in a living
God (summa intelligentia). We shall now proceed to investigate the
sources of all these attempts of reason to establish the existence
of a Supreme Being.

It may be sufficient in this place to define theoretical knowledge
or cognition as knowledge of that which is, and practical knowledge
as knowledge of that which ought to be. In this view, the theoretical
employment of reason is that by which I cognize a priori (as
necessary) that something is, while the practical is that by which
I cognize a priori what ought to happen. Now, if it is an indubitably
certain, though at the same time an entirely conditioned truth, that
something is, or ought to happen, either a certain determinate
condition of this truth is absolutely necessary, or such a condition
may be arbitrarily presupposed. In the former case the condition is
postulated (per thesin), in the latter supposed (per hypothesin).
There are certain practical laws--those of morality--which are
absolutely necessary. Now, if these laws necessarily presuppose the
existence of some being, as the condition of the possibility of
their obligatory power, this being must be postulated, because the
conditioned, from which we reason to this determinate condition, is
itself cognized a priori as absolutely necessary. We shall at some
future time show that the moral laws not merely presuppose the
existence of a Supreme Being, but also, as themselves absolutely
necessary in a different relation, demand or postulate it--although
only from a practical point of view. The discussion of this argument
we postpone for the present.

When the question relates merely to that which is, not to that which
ought to be, the conditioned which is presented in experience is
always cogitated as contingent. For this reason its condition cannot
be regarded as absolutely necessary, but merely as relatively
necessary, or rather as needful; the condition is in itself and a
priori a mere arbitrary presupposition in aid of the cognition, by
reason, of the conditioned. If, then, we are to possess a
theoretical cognition of the absolute necessity of a thing, we
cannot attain to this cognition otherwise than a priori by means of
conceptions; while it is impossible in this way to cognize the
existence of a cause which bears any relation to an existence given
in experience.

Theoretical cognition is speculative when it relates to an object or
certain conceptions of an object which is not given and cannot be
discovered by means of experience. It is opposed to the cognition of
nature, which concerns only those objects or predicates which can be
presented in a possible experience.

The principle that everything which happens (the empirically
contingent) must have a cause, is a principle of the cognition of
nature, but not of speculative cognition. For, if we change it into
an abstract principle, and deprive it of its reference to experience
and the empirical, we shall find that it cannot with justice be
regarded any longer as a synthetical proposition, and that it is
impossible to discover any mode of transition from that which exists
to something entirely different--termed cause. Nay, more, the
conception of a cause likewise that of the contingent--loses, in
this speculative mode of employing it, all significance, for its
objective reality and meaning are comprehensible from experience
alone.

When from the existence of the universe and the things in it the
existence of a cause of the universe is inferred, reason is proceeding
not in the natural, but in the speculative method. For the principle
of the former enounces, not that things themselves or substances,
but only that which happens or their states--as empirically
contingent, have a cause: the assertion that the existence of
substance itself is contingent is not justified by experience, it is
the assertion of a reason employing its principles in a speculative
manner. If, again, I infer from the form of the universe, from the
way in which all things are connected and act and react upon each other,
the existence of a cause entirely distinct from the universe--this
would again be a judgement of purely speculative reason; because the
object in this case--the cause--can never be an object of possible
experience. In both these cases the principle of causality, which is
valid only in the field of experience--useless and even meaningless
beyond this region, would be diverted from its proper destination.

Now I maintain that all attempts of reason to establish a theology
by the aid of speculation alone are fruitless, that the principles
of reason as applied to nature do not conduct us to any theological
truths, and, consequently, that a rational theology can have no
existence, unless it is founded upon the laws of morality. For all
synthetical principles of the understanding are valid only as immanent
in experience; while the cognition of a Supreme Being necessitates
their being employed transcendentally, and of this the understanding
is quite incapable. If the empirical law of causality is to conduct
us to a Supreme Being, this being must belong to the chain of empirical
objects--in which case it would be, like all phenomena, itself
conditioned. If the possibility of passing the limits of experience
be admitted, by means of the dynamical law of the relation of an effect
to its cause, what kind of conception shall we obtain by this
procedure? Certainly not the conception of a Supreme Being, because
experience never presents us with the greatest of all possible
effects, and it is only an effect of this character that could witness
to the existence of a corresponding cause. If, for the purpose of
fully satisfying the requirements of Reason, we recognize her right
to assert the existence of a perfect and absolutely necessary being,
this can be admitted only from favour, and cannot be regarded as the
result or irresistible demonstration. The physico-theological proof
may add weight to others--if other proofs there are--by connecting
speculation with experience; but in itself it rather prepares the mind
for theological cognition, and gives it a right and natural direction,
than establishes a sure foundation for theology.

It is now perfectly evident that transcendental questions admit only
of transcendental answers--those presented a priori by pure
conceptions without the least empirical admixture. But the question
in the present case is evidently synthetical--it aims at the extension
of our cognition beyond the bounds of experience--it requires an
assurance respecting the existence of a being corresponding with the
idea in our minds, to which no experience can ever be adequate. Now
it has been abundantly proved that all a priori synthetical cognition
is possible only as the expression of the formal conditions of a
possible experience; and that the validity of all principles depends
upon their immanence in the field of experience, that is, their
relation to objects of empirical cognition or phenomena. Thus all
transcendental procedure in reference to speculative theology is
without result.

If any one prefers doubting the conclusiveness of the proofs of
our analytic to losing the persuasion of the validity of these old
and time honoured arguments, he at least cannot decline answering the
question--how he can pass the limits of all possible experience by
the help of mere ideas. If he talks of new arguments, or of improvements
upon old arguments, I request him to spare me. There is certainly no
great choice in this sphere of discussion, as all speculative
arguments must at last look for support to the ontological, and I
have, therefore, very little to fear from the argumentative
fecundity of the dogmatical defenders of a non-sensuous reason.
Without looking upon myself as a remarkably combative person, I
shall not decline the challenge to detect the fallacy and destroy
the pretensions of every attempt of speculative theology. And yet
the hope of better fortune never deserts those who are accustomed to
the dogmatical mode of procedure. I shall, therefore, restrict
myself to the simple and equitable demand that such reasoners will
demonstrate, from the nature of the human mind as well as from that
of the other sources of knowledge, how we are to proceed to extend
our cognition completely a priori, and to carry it to that point where
experience abandons us, and no means exist of guaranteeing the
objective reality of our conceptions. In whatever way the
understanding may have attained to a conception, the existence of
the object of the conception cannot be discovered in it by analysis,
because the cognition of the existence of the object depends upon
the object's being posited and given in itself apart from the
conception. But it is utterly impossible to go beyond our
conception, without the aid of experience--which presents to the
mind nothing but phenomena, or to attain by the help of mere
conceptions to a conviction of the existence of new kinds of objects
or supernatural beings.

But although pure speculative reason is far from sufficient to
demonstrate the existence of a Supreme Being, it is of the highest
utility in correcting our conception of this being--on the supposition
that we can attain to the cognition of it by some other means--in
making it consistent with itself and with all other conceptions of
intelligible objects, clearing it from all that is incompatible with
the conception of an ens summun, and eliminating from it all
limitations or admixtures of empirical elements.

Transcendental theology is still therefore, notwithstanding its
objective insufficiency, of importance in a negative respect; it is
useful as a test of the procedure of reason when engaged with pure
ideas, no other than a transcendental standard being in this case
admissible. For if, from a practical point of view, the hypothesis
of a Supreme and All-sufficient Being is to maintain its validity
without opposition, it must be of the highest importance to define
this conception in a correct and rigorous manner--as the
transcendental conception of a necessary being, to eliminate all
phenomenal elements (anthropomorphism in its most extended
signification), and at the same time to overflow all contradictory
assertions--be they atheistic, deistic, or anthropomorphic. This is
of course very easy; as the same arguments which demonstrated the
inability of human reason to affirm the existence of a Supreme Being
must be alike sufficient to prove the invalidity of its denial. For
it is impossible to gain from the pure speculation of reason
demonstration that there exists no Supreme Being, as the ground of
all that exists, or that this being possesses none of those properties
which we regard as analogical with the dynamical qualities of a
thinking being, or that, as the anthropomorphists would have us
believe, it is subject to all the limitations which sensibility
imposes upon those intelligences which exist in the world of
experience.

A Supreme Being is, therefore, for the speculative reason, a mere
ideal, though a faultless one--a conception which perfects and
crowns the system of human cognition, but the objective reality of
which can neither be proved nor disproved by pure reason. If this
defect is ever supplied by a moral theology, the problematic
transcendental theology which has preceded, will have been at least
serviceable as demonstrating the mental necessity existing for the
conception, by the complete determination of it which it has
furnished, and the ceaseless testing of the conclusions of a reason
often deceived by sense, and not always in harmony with its own ideas.
The attributes of necessity, infinitude, unity, existence apart from
the world (and not as a world soul), eternity (free from conditions
of time), omnipresence (free from conditions of space), omnipotence,
and others, are pure transcendental predicates; and thus the
accurate conception of a Supreme Being, which every theology requires,
is furnished by transcendental theology alone.



APPENDIX.

Of the Regulative Employment of the Ideas of Pure Reason.

The result of all the dialectical attempts of pure reason not only
confirms the truth of what we have already proved in our
Transcendental Analytic, namely, that all inferences which would
lead us beyond the limits of experience are fallacious and groundless,
but it at the same time teaches us this important lesson, that human
reason has a natural inclination to overstep these limits, and that
transcendental ideas are as much the natural property of the reason
as categories are of the understanding. There exists this difference,
however, that while the categories never mislead us, outward objects
being always in perfect harmony therewith, ideas are the parents of
irresistible illusions, the severest and most subtle criticism being
required to save us from the fallacies which they induce.

Whatever is grounded in the nature of our powers will be found to be
in harmony with the final purpose and proper employment of these
powers, when once we have discovered their true direction and aim.
We are entitled to suppose, therefore, that there exists a mode of
employing transcendental ideas which is proper and immanent; although,
when we mistake their meaning, and regard them as conceptions of
actual things, their mode of application is transcendent and delusive.
For it is not the idea itself, but only the employment of the idea
in relation to possible experience, that is transcendent or
immanent. An idea is employed transcendently, when it is applied to
an object falsely believed to be adequate with and to correspond to
it; imminently, when it is applied solely to the employment of the
understanding in the sphere of experience. Thus all errors of
subreptio--of misapplication, are to be ascribed to defects of
judgement, and not to understanding or reason.

Reason never has an immediate relation to an object; it relates
immediately to the understanding alone. It is only through the
understanding that it can be employed in the field of experience. It
does not form conceptions of objects, it merely arranges them and
gives to them that unity which they are capable of possessing when
the sphere of their application has been extended as widely as possible.
Reason avails itself of the conception of the understanding for the
sole purpose of producing totality in the different series. This
totality the understanding does not concern itself with; its only
occupation is the connection of experiences, by which series of
conditions in accordance with conceptions are established. The
object of reason is, therefore, the understanding and its proper
destination. As the latter brings unity into the diversity of
objects by means of its conceptions, so the former brings unity into
the diversity of conceptions by means of ideas; as it sets the final
aim of a collective unity to the operations of the understanding,
which without this occupies itself with a distributive unity alone.

I accordingly maintain that transcendental ideas can never be
employed as constitutive ideas, that they cannot be conceptions of
objects, and that, when thus considered, they assume a fallacious
and dialectical character. But, on the other hand, they are capable
of an admirable and indispensably necessary application to objects--as
regulative ideas, directing the understanding to a certain aim, the
guiding lines towards which all its laws follow, and in which they
all meet in one point. This point--though a mere idea (focus imaginarius),
that is, not a point from which the conceptions of the understanding
do really proceed, for it lies beyond the sphere of possible
experience--serves, notwithstanding, to give to these conceptions
the greatest possible unity combined with the greatest possible
extension. Hence arises the natural illusion which induces us to
believe that these lines proceed from an object which lies out of
the sphere of empirical cognition, just as objects reflected in a
mirror appear to be behind it. But this illusion--which we may
hinder from imposing upon us--is necessary and unavoidable, if we
desire to see, not only those objects which lie before us, but those
which are at a great distance behind us; that is to say, when, in
the present case, we direct the aims of the understanding, beyond
every given experience, towards an extension as great as can
possibly be attained.

If we review our cognitions in their entire extent, we shall find
that the peculiar business of reason is to arrange them into a system,
that is to say, to give them connection according to a principle. This
unity presupposes an idea--the idea of the form of a whole (of
cognition), preceding the determinate cognition of the parts, and
containing the conditions which determine a priori to every part its
place and relation to the other parts of the whole system. This
idea, accordingly, demands complete unity in the cognition of the
understanding--not the unity of a contingent aggregate, but that of
a system connected according to necessary laws. It cannot be
affirmed with propriety that this idea is a conception of an object;
it is merely a conception of the complete unity of the conceptions
of objects, in so far as this unity is available to the
understanding as a rule. Such conceptions of reason are not derived
from nature; on the contrary, we employ them for the interrogation
and investigation of nature, and regard our cognition as defective
so long as it is not adequate to them. We admit that such a thing as
pure earth, pure water, or pure air, is not to be discovered. And yet
we require these conceptions (which have their origin in the reason,
so far as regards their absolute purity and completeness) for the purpose
of determining the share which each of these natural causes has in
every phenomenon. Thus the different kinds of matter are all referred
to earths, as mere weight; to salts and inflammable bodies, as pure
force; and finally, to water and air, as the vehicula of the former,
or the machines employed by them in their operations--for the
purpose of explaining the chemical action and reaction of bodies in
accordance with the idea of a mechanism. For, although not actually
so expressed, the influence of such ideas of reason is very observable
in the procedure of natural philosophers.

If reason is the faculty of deducing the particular from the
general, and if the general be certain in se and given, it is only
necessary that the judgement should subsume the particular under the
general, the particular being thus necessarily determined. I shall
term this the demonstrative or apodeictic employment of reason. If,
however, the general is admitted as problematical only, and is a
mere idea, the particular case is certain, but the universality of
the rule which applies to this particular case remains a problem.
Several particular cases, the certainty of which is beyond doubt,
are then taken and examined, for the purpose of discovering whether
the rule is applicable to them; and if it appears that all the
particular cases which can be collected follow from the rule, its
universality is inferred, and at the same time, all the causes which
have not, or cannot be presented to our observation, are concluded
to be of the same character with those which we have observed. This
I shall term the hypothetical employment of the reason.

The hypothetical exercise of reason by the aid of ideas employed
as problematical conceptions is properly not constitutive. That is
to say, if we consider the subject strictly, the truth of the rule,
which has been employed as an hypothesis, does not follow from the
use that is made of it by reason. For how can we know all the possible
cases that may arise? some of which may, however, prove exceptions
to the universality of the rule. This employment of reason is merely
regulative, and its sole aim is the introduction of unity into the
aggregate of our particular cognitions, and thereby the
approximating of the rule to universality.

The object of the hypothetical employment of reason is therefore the
systematic unity of cognitions; and this unity is the criterion of
the truth of a rule. On the other hand, this systematic unity--as a
mere idea--is in fact merely a unity projected, not to be regarded
as given, but only in the light of a problem--a problem which serves,
however, as a principle for the various and particular exercise of
the understanding in experience, directs it with regard to those cases
which are not presented to our observation, and introduces harmony
and consistency into all its operations.

All that we can be certain of from the above considerations is
that this systematic unity is a logical principle, whose aim is to
assist the understanding, where it cannot of itself attain to rules,
by means of ideas, to bring all these various rules under one
principle, and thus to ensure the most complete consistency and
connection that can be attained. But the assertion that objects and
the understanding by which they are cognized are so constituted as
to be determined to systematic unity, that this may be postulated a
priori, without any reference to the interest of reason, and that we
are justified in declaring all possible cognitions--empirical and
others--to possess systematic unity, and to be subject to general
principles from which, notwithstanding their various character, they
are all derivable such an assertion can be founded only upon a
transcendental principle of reason, which would render this systematic
unity not subjectively and logically--in its character of a method,
but objectively necessary.

We shall illustrate this by an example. The conceptions of the
understanding make us acquainted, among many other kinds of unity,
with that of the causality of a substance, which is termed power.
The different phenomenal manifestations of the same substance appear
at first view to be so very dissimilar that we are inclined to
assume the existence of just as many different powers as there are
different effects--as, in the case of the human mind, we have feeling,
consciousness, imagination, memory, wit, analysis, pleasure, desire
and so on. Now we are required by a logical maxim to reduce these
differences to as small a number as possible, by comparing them and
discovering the hidden identity which exists. We must inquire, for
example, whether or not imagination (connected with consciousness),
memory, wit, and analysis are not merely different forms of
understanding and reason. The idea of a fundamental power, the
existence of which no effort of logic can assure us of, is the problem
to be solved, for the systematic representation of the existing
variety of powers. The logical principle of reason requires us to
produce as great a unity as is possible in the system of our
cognitions; and the more the phenomena of this and the other power
are found to be identical, the more probable does it become, that they
are nothing but different manifestations of one and the same power,
which may be called, relatively speaking, a fundamental power. And
so with other cases.

These relatively fundamental powers must again be compared with each
other, to discover, if possible, the one radical and absolutely
fundamental power of which they are but the manifestations. But this
unity is purely hypothetical. It is not maintained, that this unity
does really exist, but that we must, in the interest of reason, that
is, for the establishment of principles for the various rules
presented by experience, try to discover and introduce it, so far as
is practicable, into the sphere of our cognitions.

But the transcendental employment of the understanding would lead us
to believe that this idea of a fundamental power is not problematical,
but that it possesses objective reality, and thus the systematic unity
of the various powers or forces in a substance is demanded by the
understanding and erected into an apodeictic or necessary principle.
For, without having attempted to discover the unity of the various
powers existing in nature, nay, even after all our attempts have
failed, we notwithstanding presuppose that it does exist, and may
be, sooner or later, discovered. And this reason does, not only, as
in the case above adduced, with regard to the unity of substance, but
where many substances, although all to a certain extent homogeneous,
are discoverable, as in the case of matter in general. Here also
does reason presuppose the existence of the systematic unity of
various powers--inasmuch as particular laws of nature are
subordinate to general laws; and parsimony in principles is not merely
an economical principle of reason, but an essential law of nature.

We cannot understand, in fact, how a logical principle of unity
can of right exist, unless we presuppose a transcendental principle,
by which such a systematic unit--as a property of objects
themselves--is regarded as necessary a priori. For with what right
can reason, in its logical exercise, require us to regard the variety
of forces which nature displays, as in effect a disguised unity, and
to deduce them from one fundamental force or power, when she is free
to admit that it is just as possible that all forces should be
different in kind, and that a systematic unity is not conformable to
the design of nature? In this view of the case, reason would be
proceeding in direct opposition to her own destination, by setting
as an aim an idea which entirely conflicts with the procedure and
arrangement of nature. Neither can we assert that reason has
previously inferred this unity from the contingent nature of
phenomena. For the law of reason which requires us to seek for this
unity is a necessary law, inasmuch as without it we should not possess
a faculty of reason, nor without reason a consistent and
self-accordant mode of employing the understanding, nor, in the
absence of this, any proper and sufficient criterion of empirical
truth. In relation to this criterion, therefore, we must suppose the
idea of the systematic unity of nature to possess objective validity
and necessity.

We find this transcendental presupposition lurking in different
forms in the principles of philosophers, although they have neither
recognized it nor confessed to themselves its presence. That the
diversities of individual things do not exclude identity of species,
that the various species must be considered as merely different
determinations of a few genera, and these again as divisions of
still higher races, and so on--that, accordingly, a certain systematic
unity of all possible empirical conceptions, in so far as they can
be deduced from higher and more general conceptions, must be sought
for, is a scholastic maxim or logical principle, without which
reason could not be employed by us. For we can infer the particular
from the general, only in so far as general properties of things
constitute the foundation upon which the particular rest.

That the same unity exists in nature is presupposed by
philosophers in the well-known scholastic maxim, which forbids us
unnecessarily to augment the number of entities or principles (entia
praeter necessitatem non esse multiplicanda). This maxim asserts
that nature herself assists in the establishment of this unity of
reason, and that the seemingly infinite diversity of phenomena
should not deter us from the expectation of discovering beneath this
diversity a unity of fundamental properties, of which the aforesaid
variety is but a more or less determined form. This unity, although
a mere idea, thinkers have found it necessary rather to moderate the
desire than to encourage it. It was considered a great step when
chemists were able to reduce all salts to two main genera--acids and
alkalis; and they regard this difference as itself a mere variety,
or different manifestation of one and the same fundamental material.
The different kinds of earths (stones and even metals) chemists have
endeavoured to reduce to three, and afterwards to two; but still,
not content with this advance, they cannot but think that behind these
diversities there lurks but one genus--nay, that even salts and earths
have a common principle. It might be conjectured that this is merely
an economical plan of reason, for the purpose of sparing itself
trouble, and an attempt of a purely hypothetical character, which,
when successful, gives an appearance of probability to the principle
of explanation employed by the reason. But a selfish purpose of this
kind is easily to be distinguished from the idea, according to which
every one presupposes that this unity is in accordance with the laws
of nature, and that reason does not in this case request, but
requires, although we are quite unable to determine the proper
limits of this unity.

If the diversity existing in phenomena--a diversity not of form (for
in this they may be similar) but of content--were so great that the
subtlest human reason could never by comparison discover in them the
least similarity (which is not impossible), in this case the logical
law of genera would be without foundation, the conception of a
genus, nay, all general conceptions would be impossible, and the
faculty of the understanding, the exercise of which is restricted to
the world of conceptions, could not exist. The logical principle of
genera, accordingly, if it is to be applied to nature (by which I mean
objects presented to our senses), presupposes a transcendental
principle. In accordance with this principle, homogeneity is
necessarily presupposed in the variety of phenomena (although we are
unable to determine a priori the degree of this homogeneity),
because without it no empirical conceptions, and consequently no
experience, would be possible.

The logical principle of genera, which demands identity in
phenomena, is balanced by another principle--that of species, which
requires variety and diversity in things, notwithstanding their
accordance in the same genus, and directs the understanding to
attend to the one no less than to the other. This principle (of the
faculty of distinction) acts as a check upon the reason and reason
exhibits in this respect a double and conflicting interest--on the
one hand, the interest in the extent (the interest of generality) in
relation to genera; on the other, that of the content (the interest
of individuality) in relation to the variety of species. In the former
case, the understanding cogitates more under its conceptions, in the
latter it cogitates more in them. This distinction manifests itself
likewise in the habits of thought peculiar to natural philosophers,
some of whom--the remarkably speculative heads--may be said to be
hostile to heterogeneity in phenomena, and have their eyes always
fixed on the unity of genera, while others--with a strong empirical
tendency--aim unceasingly at the analysis of phenomena, and almost
destroy in us the hope of ever being able to estimate the character
of these according to general principles.

The latter mode of thought is evidently based upon a logical
principle, the aim of which is the systematic completeness of all
cognitions. This principle authorizes me, beginning at the genus, to
descend to the various and diverse contained under it; and in this
way extension, as in the former case unity, is assured to the system.
For if we merely examine the sphere of the conception which
indicates a genus, we cannot discover how far it is possible to
proceed in the division of that sphere; just as it is impossible, from
the consideration of the space occupied by matter, to determine how
far we can proceed in the division of it. Hence every genus must
contain different species, and these again different subspecies; and
as each of the latter must itself contain a sphere (must be of a
certain extent, as a conceptus communis), reason demands that no
species or sub-species is to be considered as the lowest possible.
For a species or sub-species, being always a conception, which contains
only what is common to a number of different things, does not
completely determine any individual thing, or relate immediately to
it, and must consequently contain other conceptions, that is, other
sub-species under it. This law of specification may be thus expressed:
entium varietates non temere sunt minuendae.

But it is easy to see that this logical law would likewise be
without sense or application, were it not based upon a
transcendental law of specification, which certainly does not
require that the differences existing phenomena should be infinite
in number, for the logical principle, which merely maintains the
indeterminateness of the logical sphere of a conception, in relation
to its possible division, does not authorize this statement; while
it does impose upon the understanding the duty of searching for
subspecies to every species, and minor differences in every
difference. For, were there no lower conceptions, neither could
there be any higher. Now the understanding cognizes only by means of
conceptions; consequently, how far soever it may proceed in
division, never by mere intuition, but always by lower and lower
conceptions. The cognition of phenomena in their complete
determination (which is possible only by means of the understanding)
requires an unceasingly continued specification of conceptions, and
a progression to ever smaller differences, of which abstraction bad
been made in the conception of the species, and still more in that
of the genus.

This law of specification cannot be deduced from experience; it
can never present us with a principle of so universal an
application. Empirical specification very soon stops in its
distinction of diversities, and requires the guidance of the
transcendental law, as a principle of the reason--a law which
imposes on us the necessity of never ceasing in our search for
differences, even although these may not present themselves to the
senses. That absorbent earths are of different kinds could only be
discovered by obeying the anticipatory law of reason, which imposes
upon the understanding the task of discovering the differences
existing between these earths, and supposes that nature is richer in
substances than our senses would indicate. The faculty of the
understanding belongs to us just as much under the presupposition of
differences in the objects of nature, as under the condition that
these objects are homogeneous, because we could not possess
conceptions, nor make any use of our understanding, were not the
phenomena included under these conceptions in some respects
dissimilar, as well as similar, in their character.

Reason thus prepares the sphere of the understanding for the
operations of this faculty: 1. By the principle of the homogeneity
of the diverse in higher genera; 2. By the principle of the variety
of the homogeneous in lower species; and, to complete the systematic
unity, it adds, 3. A law of the affinity of all conceptions which
prescribes a continuous transition from one species to every other
by the gradual increase of diversity. We may term these the principles
of the homogeneity, the specification, and the continuity of forms.
The latter results from the union of the two former, inasmuch as we
regard the systematic connection as complete in thought, in the ascent
to higher genera, as well as in the descent to lower species. For
all diversities must be related to each other, as they all spring from
one highest genus, descending through the different gradations of a
more and more extended determination.

We may illustrate the systematic unity produced by the three logical
principles in the following manner. Every conception may be regarded
as a point, which, as the standpoint of a spectator, has a certain
horizon, which may be said to enclose a number of things that may be
viewed, so to speak, from that centre. Within this horizon there
must be an infinite number of other points, each of which has its
own horizon, smaller and more circumscribed; in other words, every
species contains sub-species, according to the principle of
specification, and the logical horizon consists of smaller horizons
(subspecies), but not of points (individuals), which possess no
extent. But different horizons or genera, which include under them
so many conceptions, may have one common horizon, from which, as
from a mid-point, they may be surveyed; and we may proceed thus,
till we arrive at the highest genus, or universal and true horizon,
which is determined by the highest conception, and which contains
under itself all differences and varieties, as genera, species, and
subspecies.

To this highest standpoint I am conducted by the law of homogeneity,
as to all lower and more variously-determined conceptions by the law
of specification. Now as in this way there exists no void in the whole
extent of all possible conceptions, and as out of the sphere of
these the mind can discover nothing, there arises from the
presupposition of the universal horizon above mentioned, and its
complete division, the principle: Non datur vacuum formarum. This
principle asserts that there are not different primitive and highest
genera, which stand isolated, so to speak, from each other, but all
the various genera are mere divisions and limitations of one highest
and universal genus; and hence follows immediately the principle:
Datur continuum formarum. This principle indicates that all
differences of species limit each other, and do not admit of
transition from one to another by a saltus, but only through smaller
degrees of the difference between the one species and the other. In
one word, there are no species or sub-species which (in the view of
reason) are the nearest possible to each other; intermediate species
or sub-species being always possible, the difference of which from
each of the former is always smaller than the difference existing
between these.

The first law, therefore, directs us to avoid the notion that
there exist different primal genera, and enounces the fact of
perfect homogeneity; the second imposes a check upon this tendency
to unity and prescribes the distinction of sub-species, before
proceeding to apply our general conceptions to individuals. The
third unites both the former, by enouncing the fact of homogeneity
as existing even in the most various diversity, by means of the
gradual transition from one species to another. Thus it indicates a
relationship between the different branches or species, in so far as
they all spring from the same stem.

But this logical law of the continuum specierum (formarum logicarum)
presupposes a transcendental principle (lex continui in natura),
without which the understanding might be led into error, by
following the guidance of the former, and thus perhaps pursuing a path
contrary to that prescribed by nature. This law must, consequently,
be based upon pure transcendental, and not upon empirical,
considerations. For, in the latter case, it would come later than
the system; whereas it is really itself the parent of all that is
systematic in our cognition of nature. These principles are not mere
hypotheses employed for the purpose of experimenting upon nature;
although when any such connection is discovered, it forms a solid
ground for regarding the hypothetical unity as valid in the sphere
of nature--and thus they are in this respect not without their use.
But we go farther, and maintain that it is manifest that these
principles of parsimony in fundamental causes, variety in effects,
and affinity in phenomena, are in accordance both with reason and
nature, and that they are not mere methods or plans devised for the
purpose of assisting us in our observation of the external world.

But it is plain that this continuity of forms is a mere idea, to
which no adequate object can be discovered in experience. And this
for two reasons. First, because the species in nature are really
divided, and hence form quanta discreta; and, if the gradual
progression through their affinity were continuous, the intermediate
members lying between two given species must be infinite in number,
which is impossible. Secondly, because we cannot make any
determinate empirical use of this law, inasmuch as it does not present
us with any criterion of affinity which could aid us in determining
how far we ought to pursue the graduation of differences: it merely
contains a general indication that it is our duty to seek for and,
if possible, to discover them.

When we arrange these principles of systematic unity in the order
conformable to their employment in experience, they will stand thus:
Variety, Affinity, Unity, each of them, as ideas, being taken in the
highest degree of their completeness. Reason presupposes the existence
of cognitions of the understanding, which have a direct relation to
experience, and aims at the ideal unity of these cognitions--a unity
which far transcends all experience or empirical notions. The affinity
of the diverse, notwithstanding the differences existing between its
parts, has a relation to things, but a still closer one to the mere
properties and powers of things. For example, imperfect experience
may represent the orbits of the planets as circular. But we discover
variations from this course, and we proceed to suppose that the
planets revolve in a path which, if not a circle, is of a character
very similar to it. That is to say, the movements of those planets
which do not form a circle will approximate more or less to the
properties of a circle, and probably form an ellipse. The paths of
comets exhibit still greater variations, for, so far as our
observation extends, they do not return upon their own course in a
circle or ellipse. But we proceed to the conjecture that comets
describe a parabola, a figure which is closely allied to the
ellipse. In fact, a parabola is merely an ellipse, with its longer
axis produced to an indefinite extent. Thus these principles conduct
us to a unity in the genera of the forms of these orbits, and,
proceeding farther, to a unity as regards the cause of the motions
of the heavenly bodies--that is, gravitation. But we go on extending
our conquests over nature, and endeavour to explain all seeming
deviations from these rules, and even make additions to our system
which no experience can ever substantiate--for example, the theory,
in affinity with that of ellipses, of hyperbolic paths of comets,
pursuing which, these bodies leave our solar system and, passing
from sun to sun, unite the most distant parts of the infinite
universe, which is held together by the same moving power.

The most remarkable circumstance connected with these principles
is that they seem to be transcendental, and, although only
containing ideas for the guidance of the empirical exercise of reason,
and although this empirical employment stands to these ideas in an
asymptotic relation alone (to use a mathematical term), that is,
continually approximate, without ever being able to attain to them,
they possess, notwithstanding, as a priori synthetical propositions,
objective though undetermined validity, and are available as rules
for possible experience. In the elaboration of our experience, they
may also be employed with great advantage, as heuristic [Footnote:
From the Greek, eurhioko.] principles. A transcendental deduction of
them cannot be made; such a deduction being always impossible in the
case of ideas, as has been already shown.

We distinguished, in the Transcendental Analytic, the dynamical
principles of the understanding, which are regulative principles of
intuition, from the mathematical, which are constitutive principles
of intuition. These dynamical laws are, however, constitutive in relation
to experience, inasmuch as they render the conceptions without which
experience could not exist possible a priori. But the principles of
pure reason cannot be constitutive even in regard to empirical
conceptions, because no sensuous schema corresponding to them can be
discovered, and they cannot therefore have an object in concreto. Now,
if I grant that they cannot be employed in the sphere of experience,
as constitutive principles, how shall I secure for them employment
and objective validity as regulative principles, and in what way can
they be so employed?

The understanding is the object of reason, as sensibility is the
object of the understanding. The production of systematic unity in
all the empirical operations of the understanding is the proper occupation
of reason; just as it is the business of the understanding to
connect the various content of phenomena by means of conceptions,
and subject them to empirical laws. But the operations of the
understanding are, without the schemata of sensibility,
undetermined; and, in the same manner, the unity of reason is
perfectly undetermined as regards the conditions under which, and
the extent to which, the understanding ought to carry the systematic
connection of its conceptions. But, although it is impossible to
discover in intuition a schema for the complete systematic unity of
all the conceptions of the understanding, there must be some
analogon of this schema. This analogon is the idea of the maximum of
the division and the connection of our cognition in one principle.
For we may have a determinate notion of a maximum and an absolutely
perfect, all the restrictive conditions which are connected with an
indeterminate and various content having been abstracted. Thus the
idea of reason is analogous with a sensuous schema, with this
difference, that the application of the categories to the schema of
reason does not present a cognition of any object (as is the case with
the application of the categories to sensuous schemata), but merely
provides us with a rule or principle for the systematic unity of the
exercise of the understanding. Now, as every principle which imposes
upon the exercise of the understanding a priori compliance with the
rule of systematic unity also relates, although only in an indirect
manner, to an object of experience, the principles of pure reason will
also possess objective reality and validity in relation to experience.
But they will not aim at determining our knowledge in regard to any
empirical object; they will merely indicate the procedure, following
which the empirical and determinate exercise of the understanding
may be in complete harmony and connection with itself--a result
which is produced by its being brought into harmony with the principle
of systematic unity, so far as that is possible, and deduced from it.

I term all subjective principles, which are not derived from
observation of the constitution of an object, but from the interest
which Reason has in producing a certain completeness in her
cognition of that object, maxims of reason. Thus there are maxims of
speculative reason, which are based solely upon its speculative
interest, although they appear to be objective principles.

When principles which are really regulative are regarded as
constitutive, and employed as objective principles, contradictions
must arise; but if they are considered as mere maxims, there is no
room for contradictions of any kind, as they then merely indicate
the different interests of reason, which occasion differences in the
mode of thought. In effect, Reason has only one single interest, and
the seeming contradiction existing between her maxims merely indicates
a difference in, and a reciprocal limitation of, the methods by
which this interest is satisfied.

This reasoner has at heart the interest of diversity--in
accordance with the principle of specification; another, the
interest of unity--in accordance with the principle of aggregation.
Each believes that his judgement rests upon a thorough insight into
the subject he is examining, and yet it has been influenced solely
by a greater or less degree of adherence to some one of the two
principles, neither of which are objective, but originate solely
from the interest of reason, and on this account to be termed maxims
rather than principles. When I observe intelligent men disputing about
the distinctive characteristics of men, animals, or plants, and even
of minerals, those on the one side assuming the existence of certain
national characteristics, certain well-defined and hereditary
distinctions of family, race, and so on, while the other side maintain
that nature has endowed all races of men with the same faculties and
dispositions, and that all differences are but the result of
external and accidental circumstances--I have only to consider for
a moment the real nature of the subject of discussion, to arrive at
the conclusion that it is a subject far too deep for us to judge of,
and that there is little probability of either party being able to
speak from a perfect insight into and understanding of the nature of
the subject itself. Both have, in reality, been struggling for the
twofold interest of reason; the one maintaining the one interest,
the other the other. But this difference between the maxims of
diversity and unity may easily be reconciled and adjusted; although,
so long as they are regarded as objective principles, they must
occasion not only contradictions and polemic, but place hinderances
in the way of the advancement of truth, until some means is discovered
of reconciling these conflicting interests, and bringing reason into
union and harmony with itself.

The same is the case with the so-called law discovered by Leibnitz, and
supported with remarkable ability by Bonnet--the law of the continuous
gradation of created beings, which is nothing more than an inference
from the principle of affinity; for observation and study of the order
of nature could never present it to the mind as an objective truth. The
steps of this ladder, as they appear in experience, are too far apart
from each other, and the so-called petty differences between different
kinds of animals are in nature commonly so wide separations that no
confidence can be placed in such views (particularly when we reflect on
the great variety of things, and the ease with which we can discover
resemblances), and no faith in the laws which are said to express the
aims and purposes of nature. On the other hand, the method of
investigating the order of nature in the light of this principle, and
the maxim which requires us to regard this order--it being still
undetermined how far it extends--as really existing in nature, is
beyond doubt a legitimate and excellent principle of reason--a
principle which extends farther than any experience or observation of
ours and which, without giving us any positive knowledge of anything in
the region of experience, guides us to the goal of systematic unity.



Of the Ultimate End of the Natural Dialectic of Human Reason.

The ideas of pure reason cannot be, of themselves and in their own
nature, dialectical; it is from their misemployment alone that
fallacies and illusions arise. For they originate in the nature of
reason itself, and it is impossible that this supreme tribunal for
all the rights and claims of speculation should be itself undeserving
of confidence and promotive of error. It is to be expected, therefore,
that these ideas have a genuine and legitimate aim. It is true, the
mob of sophists raise against reason the cry of inconsistency and
contradiction, and affect to despise the government of that faculty,
because they cannot understand its constitution, while it is to its
beneficial influences alone that they owe the position and the
intelligence which enable them to criticize and to blame its
procedure.

We cannot employ an a priori conception with certainty, until we
have made a transcendental deduction therefore. The ideas of pure
reason do not admit of the same kind of deduction as the categories.
But if they are to possess the least objective validity, and to
represent anything but mere creations of thought (entia rationis
ratiocinantis), a deduction of them must be possible. This deduction
will complete the critical task imposed upon pure reason; and it is
to this part Of our labours that we now proceed.

There is a great difference between a thing's being presented to the
mind as an object in an absolute sense, or merely as an ideal
object. In the former case I employ my conceptions to determine the
object; in the latter case nothing is present to the mind but a mere
schema, which does not relate directly to an object, not even in a
hypothetical sense, but which is useful only for the purpose of
representing other objects to the mind, in a mediate and indirect
manner, by means of their relation to the idea in the intellect.
Thus I say the conception of a supreme intelligence is a mere idea;
that is to say, its objective reality does not consist in the fact
that it has an immediate relation to an object (for in this sense we
have no means of establishing its objective validity), it is merely
a schema constructed according to the necessary conditions of the
unity of reason--the schema of a thing in general, which is useful
towards the production of the highest degree of systematic unity in
the empirical exercise of reason, in which we deduce this or that
object of experience from the imaginary object of this idea, as the
ground or cause of the said object of experience. In this way, the
idea is properly a heuristic, and not an ostensive, conception; it
does not give us any information respecting the constitution of an
object, it merely indicates how, under the guidance of the idea, we
ought to investigate the constitution and the relations of objects
in the world of experience. Now, if it can be shown that the three
kinds of transcendental ideas (psychological, cosmological, and
theological), although not relating directly to any object nor
determining it, do nevertheless, on the supposition of the existence
of an ideal object, produce systematic unity in the laws of the
empirical employment of the reason, and extend our empirical
cognition, without ever being inconsistent or in opposition with it-
it must be a necessary maxim of reason to regulate its procedure
according to these ideas. And this forms the transcendental
deduction of all speculative ideas, not as constitutive principles
of the extension of our cognition beyond the limits of our experience,
but as regulative principles of the systematic unity of empirical
cognition, which is by the aid of these ideas arranged and emended
within its own proper limits, to an extent unattainable by the
operation of the principles of the understanding alone.

I shall make this plainer. Guided by the principles involved in
these ideas, we must, in the first place, so connect all the
phenomena, actions, and feelings of the mind, as if it were a simple
substance, which, endowed with personal identity, possesses a
permanent existence (in this life at least), while its states, among
which those of the body are to be included as external conditions,
are in continual change. Secondly, in cosmology, we must investigate
the conditions of all natural phenomena, internal as well as external,
as if they belonged to a chain infinite and without any prime or
supreme member, while we do not, on this account, deny the existence
of intelligible grounds of these phenomena, although we never employ
them to explain phenomena, for the simple reason that they are not
objects of our cognition. Thirdly, in the sphere of theology, we
must regard the whole system of possible experience as forming an
absolute, but dependent and sensuously-conditioned unity, and at the
same time as based upon a sole, supreme, and all-sufficient ground
existing apart from the world itself--a ground which is a
self-subsistent, primeval and creative reason, in relation to which
we so employ our reason in the field of experience, as if all objects
drew their origin from that archetype of all reason. In other words,
we ought not to deduce the internal phenomena of the mind from a
simple thinking substance, but deduce them from each other under the
guidance of the regulative idea of a simple being; we ought not to
deduce the phenomena, order, and unity of the universe from a
supreme intelligence, but merely draw from this idea of a supremely
wise cause the rules which must guide reason in its connection of
causes and effects.

Now there is nothing to hinder us from admitting these ideas to
possess an objective and hyperbolic existence, except the cosmological
ideas, which lead reason into an antinomy: the psychological and
theological ideas are not antinomial. They contain no contradiction;
and how, then, can any one dispute their objective reality, since he
who denies it knows as little about their possibility as we who
affirm? And yet, when we wish to admit the existence of a thing, it
is not sufficient to convince ourselves that there is no positive
obstacle in the way; for it cannot be allowable to regard mere
creations of thought, which transcend, though they do not
contradict, all our conceptions, as real and determinate objects,
solely upon the authority of a speculative reason striving to
compass its own aims. They cannot, therefore, be admitted to be real
in themselves; they can only possess a comparative reality--that of
a schema of the regulative principle of the systematic unity of all
cognition. They are to be regarded not as actual things, but as in
some measure analogous to them. We abstract from the object of the
idea all the conditions which limit the exercise of our understanding,
but which, on the other hand, are the sole conditions of our
possessing a determinate conception of any given thing. And thus we
cogitate a something, of the real nature of which we have not the
least conception, but which we represent to ourselves as standing in
a relation to the whole system of phenomena, analogous to that in
which phenomena stand to each other.

By admitting these ideal beings, we do not really extend our
cognitions beyond the objects of possible experience; we extend merely
the empirical unity of our experience, by the aid of systematic unity,
the schema of which is furnished by the idea, which is therefore
valid--not as a constitutive, but as a regulative principle. For
although we posit a thing corresponding to the idea--a something, an
actual existence--we do not on that account aim at the extension of
our cognition by means of transcendent conceptions. This existence
is purely ideal, and not objective; it is the mere expression of the
systematic unity which is to be the guide of reason in the field of
experience. There are no attempts made at deciding what the ground
of this unity may be, or what the real nature of this imaginary being.

Thus the transcendental and only determinate conception of God,
which is presented to us by speculative reason, is in the strictest
sense deistic. In other words, reason does not assure us of the
objective validity of the conception; it merely gives us the idea of
something, on which the supreme and necessary unity of all
experience is based. This something we cannot, following the analogy
of a real substance, cogitate otherwise than as the cause of all
things operating in accordance with rational laws, if we regard it
as an individual object; although we should rest contented with the
idea alone as a regulative principle of reason, and make no attempt
at completing the sum of the conditions imposed by thought. This
attempt is, indeed, inconsistent with the grand aim of complete
systematic unity in the sphere of cognition--a unity to which no
bounds are set by reason.

Hence it happens that, admitting a divine being, I can have no
conception of the internal possibility of its perfection, or of the
necessity of its existence. The only advantage of this admission is
that it enables me to answer all other questions relating to the
contingent, and to give reason the most complete satisfaction as
regards the unity which it aims at attaining in the world of
experience. But I cannot satisfy reason with regard to this hypothesis
itself; and this proves that it is not its intelligence and insight
into the subject, but its speculative interest alone which induces
it to proceed from a point lying far beyond the sphere of our
cognition, for the purpose of being able to consider all objects as
parts of a systematic whole.

Here a distinction presents itself, in regard to the way in which we
may cogitate a presupposition--a distinction which is somewhat subtle,
but of great importance in transcendental philosophy. I may have
sufficient grounds to admit something, or the existence of
something, in a relative point of view (suppositio relativa),
without being justified in admitting it in an absolute sense
(suppositio absoluta). This distinction is undoubtedly requisite, in
the case of a regulative principle, the necessity of which we
recognize, though we are ignorant of the source and cause of that
necessity, and which we assume to be based upon some ultimate
ground, for the purpose of being able to cogitate the universality
of the principle in a more determinate way. For example, I cogitate
the existence of a being corresponding to a pure transcendental
idea. But I cannot admit that this being exists absolutely and in
itself, because all of the conceptions by which I can cogitate an
object in a determinate manner fall short of assuring me of its
existence; nay, the conditions of the objective validity of my
conceptions are excluded by the idea--by the very fact of its being
an idea. The conceptions of reality, substance, causality, nay, even
that of necessity in existence, have no significance out of the sphere
of empirical cognition, and cannot, beyond that sphere, determine any
object. They may, accordingly, be employed to explain the
possibility of things in the world of sense, but they are utterly
inadequate to explain the possibility of the universe itself
considered as a whole; because in this case the ground of
explanation must lie out of and beyond the world, and cannot,
therefore, be an object of possible experience. Now, I may admit the
existence of an incomprehensible being of this nature--the object of
a mere idea, relatively to the world of sense; although I have no ground
to admit its existence absolutely and in itself. For if an idea
(that of a systematic and complete unity, of which I shall presently
speak more particularly) lies at the foundation of the most extended
empirical employment of reason, and if this idea cannot be
adequately represented in concreto, although it is indispensably
necessary for the approximation of empirical unity to the highest
possible degree--I am not only authorized, but compelled, to realize
this idea, that is, to posit a real object corresponding thereto.
But I cannot profess to know this object; it is to me merely a
something, to which, as the ground of systematic unity in cognition,
I attribute such properties as are analogous to the conceptions employed
by the understanding in the sphere of experience. Following the
analogy of the notions of reality, substance, causality, and
necessity, I cogitate a being, which possesses all these attributes
in the highest degree; and, as this idea is the offspring of my reason
alone, I cogitate this being as self-subsistent reason, and as the
cause of the universe operating by means of ideas of the greatest
possible harmony and unity. Thus I abstract all conditions that
would limit my idea, solely for the purpose of rendering systematic
unity possible in the world of empirical diversity, and thus
securing the widest possible extension for the exercise of reason in
that sphere. This I am enabled to do, by regarding all connections
and relations in the world of sense, as if they were the dispositions
of a supreme reason, of which our reason is but a faint image. I then
proceed to cogitate this Supreme Being by conceptions which have,
properly, no meaning or application, except in the world of sense.
But as I am authorized to employ the transcendental hypothesis of such
a being in a relative respect alone, that is, as the substratum of
the greatest possible unity in experience--I may attribute to a being
which I regard as distinct from the world, such properties as belong
solely to the sphere of sense and experience. For I do not desire,
and am not justified in desiring, to cognize this object of my idea,
as it exists in itself; for I possess no conceptions sufficient for
or task, those of reality, substance, causality, nay, even that of
necessity in existence, losing all significance, and becoming merely
the signs of conceptions, without content and without applicability,
when I attempt to carry them beyond the limits of the world of sense.
I cogitate merely the relation of a perfectly unknown being to the
greatest possible systematic unity of experience, solely for the purpose
of employing it as the schema of the regulative principle which directs
reason in its empirical exercise.

It is evident, at the first view, that we cannot presuppose the
reality of this transcendental object, by means of the conceptions
of reality, substance, causality, and so on, because these conceptions
cannot be applied to anything that is distinct from the world of
sense. Thus the supposition of a Supreme Being or cause is purely
relative; it is cogitated only in behalf of the systematic unity of
experience; such a being is but a something, of whose existence in
itself we have not the least conception. Thus, too, it becomes
sufficiently manifest why we required the idea of a necessary being
in relation to objects given by sense, although we can never have the
least conception of this being, or of its absolute necessity.

And now we can clearly perceive the result of our transcendental
dialectic, and the proper aim of the ideas of pure reason--which
become dialectical solely from misunderstanding and inconsiderateness.
Pure reason is, in fact, occupied with itself, and not with any
object. Objects are not presented to it to be embraced in the unity
of an empirical conception; it is only the cognitions of the
understanding that are presented to it, for the purpose of receiving
the unity of a rational conception, that is, of being connected
according to a principle. The unity of reason is the unity of
system; and this systematic unity is not an objective principle,
extending its dominion over objects, but a subjective maxim, extending
its authority over the empirical cognition of objects. The
systematic connection which reason gives to the empirical employment
of the understanding not only advances the extension of that
employment, but ensures its correctness, and thus the principle of
a systematic unity of this nature is also objective, although only
in an indefinite respect (principium vagum). It is not, however, a
constitutive principle, determining an object to which it directly
relates; it is merely a regulative principle or maxim, advancing and
strengthening the empirical exercise of reason, by the opening up of
new paths of which the understanding is ignorant, while it never
conflicts with the laws of its exercise in the sphere of experience.

But reason cannot cogitate this systematic unity, without at the
same time cogitating an object of the idea--an object that cannot be
presented in any experience, which contains no concrete example of
a complete systematic unity. This being (ens rationis ratiocinatae)
is therefore a mere idea and is not assumed to be a thing which is
real absolutely and in itself. On the contrary, it forms merely the
problematical foundation of the connection which the mind introduces
among the phenomena of the sensuous world. We look upon this
connection, in the light of the above-mentioned idea, as if it drew
its origin from the supposed being which corresponds to the idea.
And yet all we aim at is the possession of this idea as a secure
foundation for the systematic unity of experience--a unity
indispensable to reason, advantageous to the understanding, and
promotive of the interests of empirical cognition.

We mistake the true meaning of this idea when we regard it as an
enouncement, or even as a hypothetical declaration of the existence
of a real thing, which we are to regard as the origin or ground of
a systematic constitution of the universe. On the contrary, it is left
completely undetermined what the nature or properties of this
so-called ground may be. The idea is merely to be adopted as a point
of view, from which this unity, so essential to reason and so
beneficial to the understanding, may be regarded as radiating. In
one word, this transcendental thing is merely the schema of a
regulative principle, by means of which Reason, so far as in her lies,
extends the dominion of systematic unity over the whole sphere of
experience.

The first object of an idea of this kind is the ego, considered
merely as a thinking nature or soul. If I wish to investigate the
properties of a thinking being, I must interrogate experience. But
I find that I can apply none of the categories to this object, the
schema of these categories, which is the condition of their
application, being given only in sensuous intuition. But I cannot thus
attain to the cognition of a systematic unity of all the phenomena
of the internal sense. Instead, therefore, of an empirical
conception of what the soul really is, reason takes the conception
of the empirical unity of all thought, and, by cogitating this unity
as unconditioned and primitive, constructs the rational conception
or idea of a simple substance which is in itself unchangeable,
possessing personal identity, and in connection with other real things
external to it; in one word, it constructs the idea of a simple
self-subsistent intelligence. But the real aim of reason in this
procedure is the attainment of principles of systematic unity for
the explanation of the phenomena of the soul. That is, reason
desires to be able to represent all the determinations of the internal
sense as existing in one subject, all powers as deduced from one
fundamental power, all changes as mere varieties in the condition of
a being which is permanent and always the same, and all phenomena in
space as entirely different in their nature from the procedure of
thought. Essential simplicity (with the other attributes predicated
of the ego) is regarded as the mere schema of this regulative
principle; it is not assumed that it is the actual ground of the
properties of the soul. For these properties may rest upon quite
different grounds, of which we are completely ignorant; just as the
above predicates could not give us any knowledge of the soul as it
is in itself, even if we regarded them as valid in respect of it,
inasmuch as they constitute a mere idea, which cannot be represented
in concreto. Nothing but good can result from a psychological idea
of this kind, if we only take proper care not to consider it as more
than an idea; that is, if we regard it as valid merely in relation
to the employment of reason, in the sphere of the phenomena of the
soul. Under the guidance of this idea, or principle, no empirical laws
of corporeal phenomena are called in to explain that which is a
phenomenon of the internal sense alone; no windy hypotheses of the
generation, annihilation, and palingenesis of souls are admitted. Thus
the consideration of this object of the internal sense is kept pure,
and unmixed with heterogeneous elements; while the investigation of
reason aims at reducing all the grounds of explanation employed in
this sphere of knowledge to a single principle. All this is best
effected, nay, cannot be effected otherwise than by means of such a
schema, which requires us to regard this ideal thing as an actual
existence. The psychological idea is, therefore, meaningless and
inapplicable, except as the schema of a regulative conception. For,
if I ask whether the soul is not really of a spiritual nature--it is
a question which has no meaning. From such a conception has been
abstracted, not merely all corporeal nature, but all nature, that
is, all the predicates of a possible experience; and consequently,
all the conditions which enable us to cogitate an object to this
conception have disappeared. But, if these conditions are absent, it
is evident that the conception is meaningless.

The second regulative idea of speculative reason is the conception
of the universe. For nature is properly the only object presented to
us, in regard to which reason requires regulative principles. Nature
is twofold--thinking and corporeal nature. To cogitate the latter in
regard to its internal possibility, that is, to determine the
application of the categories to it, no idea is required--no
representation which transcends experience. In this sphere, therefore,
an idea is impossible, sensuous intuition being our only guide; while,
in the sphere of psychology, we require the fundamental idea (I),
which contains a priori a certain form of thought namely, the unity
of the ego. Pure reason has, therefore, nothing left but nature in
general, and the completeness of conditions in nature in accordance
with some principle. The absolute totality of the series of these
conditions is an idea, which can never be fully realized in the
empirical exercise of reason, while it is serviceable as a rule for
the procedure of reason in relation to that totality. It requires
us, in the explanation of given phenomena (in the regress or ascent
in the series), to proceed as if the series were infinite in itself,
that is, were prolonged in indefinitum,; while on the other hand, where
reason is regarded as itself the determining cause (in the region of
freedom), we are required to proceed as if we had not before us an
object of sense, but of the pure understanding. In this latter case,
the conditions do not exist in the series of phenomena, but may be
placed quite out of and beyond it, and the series of conditions may
be regarded as if it had an absolute beginning from an intelligible
cause. All this proves that the cosmological ideas are nothing but
regulative principles, and not constitutive; and that their aim is
not to realize an actual totality in such series. The full discussion
of this subject will be found in its proper place in the chapter on
the antinomy of pure reason.

The third idea of pure reason, containing the hypothesis of a
being which is valid merely as a relative hypothesis, is that of the
one and all-sufficient cause of all cosmological series, in other
words, the idea of God. We have not the slightest ground absolutely
to admit the existence of an object corresponding to this idea; for
what can empower or authorize us to affirm the existence of a being
of the highest perfection--a being whose existence is absolutely
necessary--merely because we possess the conception of such a being?
The answer is: It is the existence of the world which renders this
hypothesis necessary. But this answer makes it perfectly evident
that the idea of this being, like all other speculative ideas, is
essentially nothing more than a demand upon reason that it shall
regulate the connection which it and its subordinate faculties
introduce into the phenomena of the world by principles of
systematic unity and, consequently, that it shall regard all phenomena
as originating from one all-embracing being, as the supreme and
all-sufficient cause. From this it is plain that the only aim of
reason in this procedure is the establishment of its own formal rule
for the extension of its dominion in the world of experience; that
it does not aim at an extension of its cognition beyond the limits
of experience; and that, consequently, this idea does not contain
any constitutive principle.

The highest formal unity, which is based upon ideas alone, is the
unity of all things--a unity in accordance with an aim or purpose;
and the speculative interest of reason renders it necessary to regard
all order in the world as if it originated from the intention and
design of a supreme reason. This principle unfolds to the view of
reason in the sphere of experience new and enlarged prospects, and
invites it to connect the phenomena of the world according to
teleological laws, and in this way to attain to the highest possible
degree of systematic unity. The hypothesis of a supreme
intelligence, as the sole cause of the universe--an intelligence which
has for us no more than an ideal existence--is accordingly always of
the greatest service to reason. Thus, if we presuppose, in relation
to the figure of the earth (which is round, but somewhat flattened
at the poles),* or that of mountains or seas, wise designs on the part
of an author of the universe, we cannot fail to make, by the light
of this supposition, a great number of interesting discoveries. If
we keep to this hypothesis, as a principle which is purely regulative,
even error cannot be very detrimental. For, in this case, error can
have no more serious consequences than that, where we expected to
discover a teleological connection (nexus finalis), only a
mechanical or physical connection appears. In such a case, we merely
fail to find the additional form of unity we expected, but we do not
lose the rational unity which the mind requires in its procedure in
experience. But even a miscarriage of this sort cannot affect the
law in its general and teleological relations. For although we may
convict an anatomist of an error, when he connects the limb of some
animal with a certain purpose, it is quite impossible to prove in a
single case that any arrangement of nature, be it what it may, is
entirely without aim or design. And thus medical physiology, by the
aid of a principle presented to it by pure reason, extends its very
limited empirical knowledge of the purposes of the different parts
of an organized body so far that it may be asserted with the utmost
confidence, and with the approbation of all reflecting men, that every
organ or bodily part of an animal has its use and answers a certain
design. Now, this is a supposition which, if regarded as of a
constitutive character, goes much farther than any experience or
observation of ours can justify. Hence it is evident that it is
nothing more than a regulative principle of reason, which aims at
the highest degree of systematic unity, by the aid of the idea of a
causality according to design in a supreme cause--a cause which it
regards as the highest intelligence.

[*Footnote: The advantages which a circular form, in the case of the
earth, has over every other, are well known. But few are aware that
the slight flattening at the poles, which gives it the figure of a
spheroid, is the only cause which prevents the elevations of continents
or even of mountains, perhaps thrown up by some internal convulsion,
from continually altering the position of the axis of the earth--and
that to some considerable degree in a short time. The great protuberance
of the earth under the Equator serves to overbalance the impetus of
all other masses of earth, and thus to preserve the axis of the earth,
so far as we can observe, in its present position. And yet this wise
arrangement has been unthinkingly explained from the equilibrium of
the formerly fluid mass.]

If, however, we neglect this restriction of the idea to a purely
regulative influence, reason is betrayed into numerous errors. For
it has then left the ground of experience, in which alone are to be
found the criteria of truth, and has ventured into the region of the
incomprehensible and unsearchable, on the heights of which it loses
its power and collectedness, because it has completely severed its
connection with experience.

The first error which arises from our employing the idea of a
Supreme Being as a constitutive (in repugnance to the very nature of
an idea), and not as a regulative principle, is the error of
inactive reason (ignava ratio).* We may so term every principle
which requires us to regard our investigations of nature as absolutely
complete, and allows reason to cease its inquiries, as if it had fully
executed its task. Thus the psychological idea of the ego, when
employed as a constitutive principle for the explanation of the
phenomena of the soul, and for the extension of our knowledge
regarding this subject beyond the limits of experience--even to the
condition of the soul after death--is convenient enough for the
purposes of pure reason, but detrimental and even ruinous to its
interests in the sphere of nature and experience. The dogmatizing
spiritualist explains the unchanging unity of our personality
through all changes of condition from the unity of a thinking
substance, the interest which we take in things and events that can
happen only after our death, from a consciousness of the immaterial
nature of our thinking subject, and so on. Thus he dispenses with
all empirical investigations into the cause of these internal
phenomena, and with all possible explanations of them upon purely
natural grounds; while, at the dictation of a transcendent reason,
he passes by the immanent sources of cognition in experience,
greatly to his own ease and convenience, but to the sacrifice of
all, genuine insight and intelligence. These prejudicial
consequences become still more evident, in the case of the
dogmatical treatment of our idea of a Supreme Intelligence, and the
theological system of nature (physico-theology) which is falsely based
upon it. For, in this case, the aims which we observe in nature, and
often those which we merely fancy to exist, make the investigation
of causes a very easy task, by directing us to refer such and such
phenomena immediately to the unsearchable will and counsel of the
Supreme Wisdom, while we ought to investigate their causes in the
general laws of the mechanism of matter. We are thus recommended to
consider the labour of reason as ended, when we have merely
dispensed with its employment, which is guided surely and safely
only by the order of nature and the series of changes in the world-
which are arranged according to immanent and general laws. This
error may be avoided, if we do not merely consider from the view-point
of final aims certain parts of nature, such as the division and
structure of a continent, the constitution and direction of certain
mountain-chains, or even the organization existing in the vegetable
and animal kingdoms, but look upon this systematic unity of nature
in a perfectly general way, in relation to the idea of a Supreme
Intelligence. If we pursue this advice, we lay as a foundation for
all investigation the conformity to aims of all phenomena of nature
in accordance with universal laws, for which no particular arrangement
of nature is exempt, but only cognized by us with more or less
difficulty; and we possess a regulative principle of the systematic
unity of a teleological connection, which we do not attempt to
anticipate or predetermine. All that we do, and ought to do, is to
follow out the physico-mechanical connection in nature according to
general laws, with the hope of discovering, sooner or later, the
teleological connection also. Thus, and thus only, can the principle
of final unity aid in the extension of the employment of reason in
the sphere of experience, without being in any case detrimental to
its interests.

[*Footnote: This was the term applied by the old dialecticians to a
sophistical argument, which ran thus: If it is your fate to die of
this disease, you will die, whether you employ a physician or not.
Cicero says that this mode of reasoning has received this appellation,
because, if followed, it puts an end to the employment of reason in
the affairs of life. For a similar reason, I have applied this designation
to the sophistical argument of pure reason.]

The second error which arises from the misconception of the
principle of systematic unity is that of perverted reason (perversa
ratio, usteron roteron rationis). The idea of systematic unity is
available as a regulative principle in the connection of phenomena
according to general natural laws; and, how far soever we have to
travel upon the path of experience to discover some fact or event,
this idea requires us to believe that we have approached all the
more nearly to the completion of its use in the sphere of nature,
although that completion can never be attained. But this error
reverses the procedure of reason. We begin by hypostatizing the
principle of systematic unity, and by giving an anthropomorphic
determination to the conception of a Supreme Intelligence, and then
proceed forcibly to impose aims upon nature. Thus not only does
teleology, which ought to aid in the completion of unity in accordance
with general laws, operate to the destruction of its influence, but
it hinders reason from attaining its proper aim, that is, the proof,
upon natural grounds, of the existence of a supreme intelligent cause.
For, if we cannot presuppose supreme finality in nature a priori, that
is, as essentially belonging to nature, how can we be directed to
endeavour to discover this unity and, rising gradually through its
different degrees, to approach the supreme perfection of an author
of all--a perfection which is absolutely necessary, and therefore
cognizable a priori? The regulative principle directs us to presuppose
systematic unity absolutely and, consequently, as following from the
essential nature of things--but only as a unity of nature, not
merely cognized empirically, but presupposed a priori, although only
in an indeterminate manner. But if I insist on basing nature upon
the foundation of a supreme ordaining Being, the unity of nature is
in effect lost. For, in this case, it is quite foreign and unessential
to the nature of things, and cannot be cognized from the general laws
of nature. And thus arises a vicious circular argument, what ought
to have been proved having been presupposed.

To take the regulative principle of systematic unity in nature for
a constitutive principle, and to hypostatize and make a cause out of
that which is properly the ideal ground of the consistent and
harmonious exercise of reason, involves reason in inextricable
embarrassments. The investigation of nature pursues its own path under
the guidance of the chain of natural causes, in accordance with the
general laws of nature, and ever follows the light of the idea of an
author of the universe--not for the purpose of deducing the
finality, which it constantly pursues, from this Supreme Being, but
to attain to the cognition of his existence from the finality which
it seeks in the existence of the phenomena of nature, and, if possible,
in that of all things to cognize this being, consequently, as
absolutely necessary. Whether this latter purpose succeed or not,
the idea is and must always be a true one, and its employment, when
merely regulative, must always be accompanied by truthful and
beneficial results.

Complete unity, in conformity with aims, constitutes absolute
perfection. But if we do not find this unity in the nature of the
things which go to constitute the world of experience, that is, of
objective cognition, consequently in the universal and necessary
laws of nature, how can we infer from this unity the idea of the
supreme and absolutely necessary perfection of a primal being, which
is the origin of all causality? The greatest systematic unity, and
consequently teleological unity, constitutes the very foundation of
the possibility of the most extended employment of human reason. The
idea of unity is therefore essentially and indissolubly connected with
the nature of our reason. This idea is a legislative one; and hence
it is very natural that we should assume the existence of a legislative
reason corresponding to it, from which the systematic unity of nature-
the object of the operations of reason--must be derived.

In the course of our discussion of the antinomies, we stated that it
is always possible to answer all the questions which pure reason may
raise; and that the plea of the limited nature of our cognition, which
is unavoidable and proper in many questions regarding natural
phenomena, cannot in this case be admitted, because the questions
raised do not relate to the nature of things, but are necessarily
originated by the nature of reason itself, and relate to its own
internal constitution. We can now establish this assertion, which at
first sight appeared so rash, in relation to the two questions in
which reason takes the greatest interest, and thus complete our
discussion of the dialectic of pure reason.

If, then, the question is asked, in relation to transcendental
theology,* first, whether there is anything distinct from the world,
which contains the ground of cosmical order and connection according
to general laws? The answer is: Certainly. For the world is a sum of
phenomena; there must, therefore, be some transcendental basis of
these phenomena, that is, a basis cogitable by the pure
understanding alone. If, secondly, the question is asked whether
this being is substance, whether it is of the greatest reality,
whether it is necessary, and so forth? I answer that this question
is utterly without meaning. For all the categories which aid me in
forming a conception of an object cannot be employed except in the
world of sense, and are without meaning when not applied to objects
of actual or possible experience. Out of this sphere, they are not
properly conceptions, but the mere marks or indices of conceptions,
which we may admit, although they cannot, without the help of
experience, help us to understand any subject or thing. If, thirdly,
the question is whether we may not cogitate this being, which is
distinct from the world, in analogy with the objects of experience?
The answer is: Undoubtedly, but only as an ideal, and not as a real
object. That is, we must cogitate it only as an unknown substratum
of the systematic unity, order, and finality of the world--a unity
which reason must employ as the regulative principle of its
investigation of nature. Nay, more, we may admit into the idea certain
anthropomorphic elements, which are promotive of the interests of this
regulative principle. For it is no more than an idea, which does not
relate directly to a being distinct from the world, but to the
regulative principle of the systematic unity of the world, by means,
however, of a schema of this unity--the schema of a Supreme
Intelligence, who is the wisely-designing author of the universe. What
this basis of cosmical unity may be in itself, we know not--we
cannot discover from the idea; we merely know how we ought to employ
the idea of this unity, in relation to the systematic operation of
reason in the sphere of experience.

[*Footnote: After what has been said of the psychological idea of the
ego and its proper employment as a regulative principle of the operations
of reason, I need not enter into details regarding the transcendental
illusion by which the systematic unity of all the various phenomena
of the internal sense is hypostatized. The procedure is in this case
very similar to that which has been discussed in our remarks on the
theological ideal.]

But, it will be asked again, can we on these grounds, admit the
existence of a wise and omnipotent author of the world? Without doubt;
and not only so, but we must assume the existence of such a being.
But do we thus extend the limits of our knowledge beyond the field
of possible experience? By no means. For we have merely presupposed
a something, of which we have no conception, which we do not know as
it is in itself; but, in relation to the systematic disposition of
the universe, which we must presuppose in all our observation of nature,
we have cogitated this unknown being in analogy with an intelligent
existence (an empirical conception), that is to say, we have endowed
it with those attributes, which, judging from the nature of our own
reason, may contain the ground of such a systematic unity. This idea
is therefore valid only relatively to the employment in experience
of our reason. But if we attribute to it absolute and objective
validity, we overlook the fact that it is merely an ideal being that
we cogitate; and, by setting out from a basis which is not
determinable by considerations drawn from experience, we place
ourselves in a position which incapacitates us from applying this
principle to the empirical employment of reason.

But, it will be asked further, can I make any use of this conception
and hypothesis in my investigations into the world and nature? Yes,
for this very purpose was the idea established by reason as a
fundamental basis. But may I regard certain arrangements, which seemed
to have been made in conformity with some fixed aim, as the
arrangements of design, and look upon them as proceeding from the
divine will, with the intervention, however, of certain other
particular arrangements disposed to that end? Yes, you may do so;
but at the same time you must regard it as indifferent, whether it
is asserted that divine wisdom has disposed all things in conformity
with his highest aims, or that the idea of supreme wisdom is a
regulative principle in the investigation of nature, and at the same
time a principle of the systematic unity of nature according to
general laws, even in those cases where we are unable to discover that
unity. In other words, it must be perfectly indifferent to you whether
you say, when you have discovered this unity: God has wisely willed
it so; or: Nature has wisely arranged this. For it was nothing but
the systematic unity, which reason requires as a basis for the
investigation of nature, that justified you in accepting the idea of
a supreme intelligence as a schema for a regulative principle; and,
the farther you advance in the discovery of design and finality, the
more certain the validity of your idea. But, as the whole aim of
this regulative principle was the discovery of a necessary and
systematic unity in nature, we have, in so far as we attain this, to
attribute our success to the idea of a Supreme Being; while, at the
same time, we cannot, without involving ourselves in contradictions,
overlook the general laws of nature, as it was in reference to them
alone that this idea was employed. We cannot, I say, overlook the
general laws of nature, and regard this conformity to aims
observable in nature as contingent or hyperphysical in its origin;
inasmuch as there is no ground which can justify us in the admission
of a being with such properties distinct from and above nature. All
that we are authorized to assert is that this idea may be employed
as a principle, and that the properties of the being which is
assumed to correspond to it may be regarded as systematically
connected in analogy with the causal determination of phenomena.

For the same reasons we are justified in introducing into the idea
of the supreme cause other anthropomorphic elements (for without these
we could not predicate anything of it); we may regard it as
allowable to cogitate this cause as a being with understanding, the
feelings of pleasure and displeasure, and faculties of desire and will
corresponding to these. At the same time, we may attribute to this
being infinite perfection--a perfection which necessarily transcends
that which our knowledge of the order and design in the world
authorize us to predicate of it. For the regulative law of
systematic unity requires us to study nature on the supposition that
systematic and final unity in infinitum is everywhere discoverable,
even in the highest diversity. For, although we may discover little
of this cosmical perfection, it belongs to the legislative prerogative
of reason to require us always to seek for and to expect it; while
it must always be beneficial to institute all inquiries into nature
in accordance with this principle. But it is evident that, by this
idea of a supreme author of all, which I place as the foundation of
all inquiries into nature, I do not mean to assert the existence of
such a being, or that I have any knowledge of its existence; and,
consequently, I do not really deduce anything from the existence of
this being, but merely from its idea, that is to say, from the
nature of things in this world, in accordance with this idea. A
certain dim consciousness of the true use of this idea seems to have
dictated to the philosophers of all times the moderate language used
by them regarding the cause of the world. We find them employing the
expressions wisdom and care of nature, and divine wisdom, as
synonymous--nay, in purely speculative discussions, preferring the
former, because it does not carry the appearance of greater
pretensions than such as we are entitled to make, and at the same time
directs reason to its proper field of action--nature and her
phenomena.

Thus, pure reason, which at first seemed to promise us nothing
less than the extension of our cognition beyond the limits of
experience, is found, when thoroughly examined, to contain nothing
but regulative principles, the virtue and function of which is to
introduce into our cognition a higher degree of unity than the
understanding could of itself. These principles, by placing the goal
of all our struggles at so great a distance, realize for us the most
thorough connection between the different parts of our cognition,
and the highest degree of systematic unity. But, on the other hand,
if misunderstood and employed as constitutive principles of
transcendent cognition, they become the parents of illusions and
contradictions, while pretending to introduce us to new regions of
knowledge.

Thus all human cognition begins with intuitions, proceeds from
thence to conceptions, and ends with ideas. Although it possesses,
in relation to all three elements, a priori sources of cognition,
which seemed to transcend the limits of all experience, a
thoroughgoing criticism demonstrates that speculative reason can
never, by the aid of these elements, pass the bounds of possible
experience, and that the proper destination of this highest faculty
of cognition is to employ all methods, and all the principles of these
methods, for the purpose of penetrating into the innermost secrets
of nature, by the aid of the principles of unity (among all kinds of
which teleological unity is the highest), while it ought not to
attempt to soar above the sphere of experience, beyond which there
lies nought for us but the void inane. The critical examination, in
our Transcendental Analytic, of all the propositions which professed
to extend cognition beyond the sphere of experience, completely
demonstrated that they can only conduct us to a possible experience.
If we were not distrustful even of the clearest abstract theorems,
if we were not allured by specious and inviting prospects to escape
from the constraining power of their evidence, we might spare
ourselves the laborious examination of all the dialectical arguments
which a transcendent reason adduces in support of its pretensions;
for we should know with the most complete certainty that, however honest
such professions might be, they are null and valueless, because they
relate to a kind of knowledge to which no man can by any possibility
attain. But, as there is no end to discussion, if we cannot discover
the true cause of the illusions by which even the wisest are deceived,
and as the analysis of all our transcendent cognition into its
elements is of itself of no slight value as a psychological study,
while it is a duty incumbent on every philosopher--it was found
necessary to investigate the dialectical procedure of reason in its
primary sources. And as the inferences of which this dialectic is
the parent are not only deceitful, but naturally possess a profound
interest for humanity, it was advisable at the same time, to give a
full account of the momenta of this dialectical procedure, and to
deposit it in the archives of human reason, as a warning to all future
metaphysicians to avoid these causes of speculative error.



II.

TRANSCENDENTAL DOCTRINE OF METHOD.

If we regard the sum of the cognition of pure speculative reason
as an edifice, the idea of which, at least, exists in the human
mind, it may be said that we have in the Transcendental Doctrine of
Elements examined the materials and determined to what edifice these
belong, and what its height and stability. We have found, indeed,
that, although we had purposed to build for ourselves a tower which
should reach to Heaven, the supply of materials sufficed merely for
a habitation, which was spacious enough for all terrestrial
purposes, and high enough to enable us to survey the level plain of
experience, but that the bold undertaking designed necessarily
failed for want of materials--not to mention the confusion of tongues,
which gave rise to endless disputes among the labourers on the plan
of the edifice, and at last scattered them over all the world, each
to erect a separate building for himself, according to his own plans
and his own inclinations. Our present task relates not to the
materials, but to the plan of an edifice; and, as we have had
sufficient warning not to venture blindly upon a design which may be
found to transcend our natural powers, while, at the same time, we
cannot give up the intention of erecting a secure abode for the
mind, we must proportion our design to the material which is presented
to us, and which is, at the same time, sufficient for all our wants.

I understand, then, by the transcendental doctrine of method, the
determination of the formal conditions of a complete system of pure
reason. We shall accordingly have to treat of the discipline, the
canon, the architectonic, and, finally, the history of pure reason.
This part of our Critique will accomplish, from the transcendental
point of view, what has been usually attempted, but miserably
executed, under the name of practical logic. It has been badly
executed, I say, because general logic, not being limited to any
particular kind of cognition (not even to the pure cognition of the
understanding) nor to any particular objects, it cannot, without
borrowing from other sciences, do more than present merely the
titles or signs of possible methods and the technical expressions,
which are employed in the systematic parts of all sciences; and thus
the pupil is made acquainted with names, the meaning and application
of which he is to learn only at some future time.



CHAPTER I. The Discipline of Pure Reason.

Negative judgements--those which are so not merely as regards
their logical form, but in respect of their content--are not
commonly held in especial respect. They are, on the contrary, regarded
as jealous enemies of our insatiable desire for knowledge; and it
almost requires an apology to induce us to tolerate, much less to
prize and to respect them.

All propositions, indeed, may be logically expressed in a negative
form; but, in relation to the content of our cognition, the peculiar
province of negative judgements is solely to prevent error. For this
reason, too, negative propositions, which are framed for the purpose
of correcting false cognitions where error is absolutely impossible,
are undoubtedly true, but inane and senseless; that is, they are in
reality purposeless and, for this reason, often very ridiculous.
Such is the proposition of the schoolman that Alexander could not have
subdued any countries without an army.

But where the limits of our possible cognition are very much
contracted, the attraction to new fields of knowledge great, the
illusions to which the mind is subject of the most deceptive
character, and the evil consequences of error of no inconsiderable
magnitude--the negative element in knowledge, which is useful only
to guard us against error, is of far more importance than much of that
positive instruction which makes additions to the sum of our
knowledge. The restraint which is employed to repress, and finally
to extirpate the constant inclination to depart from certain rules,
is termed discipline. It is distinguished from culture, which aims
at the formation of a certain degree of skill, without attempting to
repress or to destroy any other mental power, already existing. In
the cultivation of a talent, which has given evidence of an impulse
towards self-development, discipline takes a negative,* culture and
doctrine a positive, part.


[*Footnote: I am well aware that, in the language of the schools, the
term discipline is usually employed as synonymous with instruction.
But there are so many cases in which it is necessary to distinguish
the notion of the former, as a course of corrective training, from
that of the latter, as the communication of knowledge, and the nature
of things itself demands the appropriation of the most suitable
expressions for this distinction, that it is my desire that the former
terms should never be employed in any other than a negative
signification.]


That natural dispositions and talents (such as imagination and with,
which ask a free and unlimited development, require in many respects
the corrective influence of discipline, every one will readily
grant. But it may well appear strange that reason, whose proper duty
it is to prescribe rules of discipline to all the other powers of
the mind, should itself require this corrective. It has, in fact,
hitherto escaped this humiliation, only because, in presence of its
magnificent pretensions and high position, no one could readily
suspect it to be capable of substituting fancies for conceptions,
and words for things.

Reason, when employed in the field of experience, does not stand
in need of criticism, because its principles are subjected to the
continual test of empirical observations. Nor is criticism requisite
in the sphere of mathematics, where the conceptions of reason must
always be presented in concreto in pure intuition, and baseless or
arbitrary assertions are discovered without difficulty. But where
reason is not held in a plain track by the influence of empirical or
of pure intuition, that is, when it is employed in the
transcendental sphere of pure conceptions, it stands in great need
of discipline, to restrain its propensity to overstep the limits of
possible experience and to keep it from wandering into error. In fact,
the utility of the philosophy of pure reason is entirely of this
negative character. Particular errors may be corrected by particular
animadversions, and the causes of these errors may be eradicated by
criticism. But where we find, as in the case of pure reason, a
complete system of illusions and fallacies, closely connected with
each other and depending upon grand general principles, there seems
to be required a peculiar and negative code of mental legislation,
which, under the denomination of a discipline, and founded upon the
nature of reason and the objects of its exercise, shall constitute
a system of thorough examination and testing, which no fallacy will
be able to withstand or escape from, under whatever disguise or
concealment it may lurk.

But the reader must remark that, in this the second division of
our transcendental Critique the discipline of pure reason is not
directed to the content, but to the method of the cognition of pure
reason. The former task has been completed in the doctrine of
elements. But there is so much similarity in the mode of employing
the faculty of reason, whatever be the object to which it is applied,
while, at the same time, its employment in the transcendental sphere
is so essentially different in kind from every other, that, without
the warning negative influence of a discipline specially directed to
that end, the errors are unavoidable which spring from the
unskillful employment of the methods which are originated by reason
but which are out of place in this sphere.



SECTION I. The Discipline of Pure Reason in the Sphere of Dogmatism.

The science of mathematics presents the most brilliant example of
the extension of the sphere of pure reason without the aid of
experience. Examples are always contagious; and they exert an especial
influence on the same faculty, which naturally flatters itself that
it will have the same good fortune in other case as fell to its lot
in one fortunate instance. Hence pure reason hopes to be able to extend
its empire in the transcendental sphere with equal success and
security, especially when it applies the same method which was
attended with such brilliant results in the science of mathematics.
It is, therefore, of the highest importance for us to know whether
the method of arriving at demonstrative certainty, which is termed
mathematical, be identical with that by which we endeavour to attain
the same degree of certainty in philosophy, and which is termed in
that science dogmatical.

Philosophical cognition is the cognition of reason by means of
conceptions; mathematical cognition is cognition by means of the
construction of conceptions. The construction of a conception is the
presentation a priori of the intuition which corresponds to the
conception. For this purpose a non-empirical intuition is requisite,
which, as an intuition, is an individual object; while, as the
construction of a conception (a general representation), it must be
seen to be universally valid for all the possible intuitions which
rank under that conception. Thus I construct a triangle, by the
presentation of the object which corresponds to this conception,
either by mere imagination, in pure intuition, or upon paper, in
empirical intuition, in both cases completely a priori, without
borrowing the type of that figure from any experience. The
individual figure drawn upon paper is empirical; but it serves,
notwithstanding, to indicate the conception, even in its universality,
because in this empirical intuition we keep our eye merely on the
act of the construction of the conception, and pay no attention to
the various modes of determining it, for example, its size, the length
of its sides, the size of its angles, these not in the least affecting
the essential character of the conception.

Philosophical cognition, accordingly, regards the particular only in
the general; mathematical the general in the particular, nay, in the
individual. This is done, however, entirely a priori and by means of
pure reason, so that, as this individual figure is determined under
certain universal conditions of construction, the object of the
conception, to which this individual figure corresponds as its schema,
must be cogitated as universally determined.

The essential difference of these two modes of cognition consists,
therefore, in this formal quality; it does not regard the difference
of the matter or objects of both. Those thinkers who aim at
distinguishing philosophy from mathematics by asserting that the
former has to do with quality merely, and the latter with quantity,
have mistaken the effect for the cause. The reason why mathematical
cognition can relate only to quantity is to be found in its form
alone. For it is the conception of quantities only that is capable
of being constructed, that is, presented a priori in intuition;
while qualities cannot be given in any other than an empirical
intuition. Hence the cognition of qualities by reason is possible only
through conceptions. No one can find an intuition which shall
correspond to the conception of reality, except in experience; it
cannot be presented to the mind a priori and antecedently to the
empirical consciousness of a reality. We can form an intuition, by
means of the mere conception of it, of a cone, without the aid of
experience; but the colour of the cone we cannot know except from
experience. I cannot present an intuition of a cause, except in an
example which experience offers to me. Besides, philosophy, as well
as mathematics, treats of quantities; as, for example, of totality,
infinity, and so on. Mathematics, too, treats of the difference of
lines and surfaces--as spaces of different quality, of the
continuity of extension--as a quality thereof. But, although in such
cases they have a common object, the mode in which reason considers
that object is very different in philosophy from what it is in
mathematics. The former confines itself to the general conceptions;
the latter can do nothing with a mere conception, it hastens to
intuition. In this intuition it regards the conception in concreto,
not empirically, but in an a priori intuition, which it has
constructed; and in which, all the results which follow from the
general conditions of the construction of the conception are in all
cases valid for the object of the constructed conception.

Suppose that the conception of a triangle is given to a
philosopher and that he is required to discover, by the
philosophical method, what relation the sum of its angles bears to
a right angle. He has nothing before him but the conception of a
figure enclosed within three right lines, and, consequently, with
the same number of angles. He may analyse the conception of a right
line, of an angle, or of the number three as long as he pleases, but
he will not discover any properties not contained in these
conceptions. But, if this question is proposed to a geometrician, he
at once begins by constructing a triangle. He knows that two right
angles are equal to the sum of all the contiguous angles which proceed
from one point in a straight line; and he goes on to produce one
side of his triangle, thus forming two adjacent angles which are
together equal to two right angles. He then divides the exterior of
these angles, by drawing a line parallel with the opposite side of
the triangle, and immediately perceives that be has thus got an exterior
adjacent angle which is equal to the interior. Proceeding in this way,
through a chain of inferences, and always on the ground of
intuition, he arrives at a clear and universally valid solution of
the question.

But mathematics does not confine itself to the construction of
quantities (quanta), as in the case of geometry; it occupies itself
with pure quantity also (quantitas), as in the case of algebra,
where complete abstraction is made of the properties of the object
indicated by the conception of quantity. In algebra, a certain
method of notation by signs is adopted, and these indicate the
different possible constructions of quantities, the extraction of
roots, and so on. After having thus denoted the general conception
of quantities, according to their different relations, the different
operations by which quantity or number is increased or diminished
are presented in intuition in accordance with general rules. Thus,
when one quantity is to be divided by another, the signs which
denote both are placed in the form peculiar to the operation of
division; and thus algebra, by means of a symbolical construction of
quantity, just as geometry, with its ostensive or geometrical
construction (a construction of the objects themselves), arrives at
results which discursive cognition cannot hope to reach by the aid
of mere conceptions.

Now, what is the cause of this difference in the fortune of the
philosopher and the mathematician, the former of whom follows the path
of conceptions, while the latter pursues that of intuitions, which
he represents, a priori, in correspondence with his conceptions? The
cause is evident from what has been already demonstrated in the
introduction to this Critique. We do not, in the present case, want
to discover analytical propositions, which may be produced merely by
analysing our conceptions--for in this the philosopher would have
the advantage over his rival; we aim at the discovery of synthetical
propositions--such synthetical propositions, moreover, as can be
cognized a priori. I must not confine myself to that which I
actually cogitate in my conception of a triangle, for this is
nothing more than the mere definition; I must try to go beyond that,
and to arrive at properties which are not contained in, although
they belong to, the conception. Now, this is impossible, unless I
determine the object present to my mind according to the conditions,
either of empirical, or of pure, intuition. In the former case, I
should have an empirical proposition (arrived at by actual measurement
of the angles of the triangle), which would possess neither
universality nor necessity; but that would be of no value. In the
latter, I proceed by geometrical construction, by means of which I
collect, in a pure intuition, just as I would in an empirical
intuition, all the various properties which belong to the schema of
a triangle in general, and consequently to its conception, and thus
construct synthetical propositions which possess the attribute of
universality.

It would be vain to philosophize upon the triangle, that is, to
reflect on it discursively; I should get no further than the
definition with which I had been obliged to set out. There are
certainly transcendental synthetical propositions which are framed
by means of pure conceptions, and which form the peculiar
distinction of philosophy; but these do not relate to any particular
thing, but to a thing in general, and enounce the conditions under
which the perception of it may become a part of possible experience.
But the science of mathematics has nothing to do with such
questions, nor with the question of existence in any fashion; it is
concerned merely with the properties of objects in themselves, only
in so far as these are connected with the conception of the objects.

In the above example, we merely attempted to show the great
difference which exists between the discursive employment of reason
in the sphere of conceptions, and its intuitive exercise by means of
the construction of conceptions. The question naturally arises: What
is the cause which necessitates this twofold exercise of reason, and
how are we to discover whether it is the philosophical or the
mathematical method which reason is pursuing in an argument?

All our knowledge relates, finally, to possible intuitions, for it
is these alone that present objects to the mind. An a priori or
non-empirical conception contains either a pure intuition--and in this
case it can be constructed; or it contains nothing but the synthesis
of possible intuitions, which are not given a priori. In this latter
case, it may help us to form synthetical a priori judgements, but only
in the discursive method, by conceptions, not in the intuitive, by
means of the construction of conceptions.

The only a priori intuition is that of the pure form of phenomena-
space and time. A conception of space and time as quanta may be
presented a priori in intuition, that is, constructed, either alone
with their quality (figure), or as pure quantity (the mere synthesis
of the homogeneous), by means of number. But the matter of
phenomena, by which things are given in space and time, can be
presented only in perception, a posteriori. The only conception
which represents a priori this empirical content of phenomena is the
conception of a thing in general; and the a priori synthetical
cognition of this conception can give us nothing more than the rule
for the synthesis of that which may be contained in the
corresponding a posteriori perception; it is utterly inadequate to
present an a priori intuition of the real object, which must
necessarily be empirical.

Synthetical propositions, which relate to things in general, an a
priori intuition of which is impossible, are transcendental. For
this reason transcendental propositions cannot be framed by means of
the construction of conceptions; they are a priori, and based entirely
on conceptions themselves. They contain merely the rule, by which we
are to seek in the world of perception or experience the synthetical
unity of that which cannot be intuited a priori. But they are
incompetent to present any of the conceptions which appear in them
in an a priori intuition; these can be given only a posteriori, in
experience, which, however, is itself possible only through these
synthetical principles.

If we are to form a synthetical judgement regarding a conception, we
must go beyond it, to the intuition in which it is given. If we keep
to what is contained in the conception, the judgement is merely
analytical--it is merely an explanation of what we have cogitated in
the conception. But I can pass from the conception to the pure or
empirical intuition which corresponds to it. I can proceed to
examine my conception in concreto, and to cognize, either a priori
or a posterio, what I find in the object of the conception. The
former--a priori cognition--is rational-mathematical cognition by
means of the construction of the conception; the latter--a
posteriori cognition--is purely empirical cognition, which does not
possess the attributes of necessity and universality. Thus I may
analyse the conception I have of gold; but I gain no new information
from this analysis, I merely enumerate the different properties
which I had connected with the notion indicated by the word. My
knowledge has gained in logical clearness and arrangement, but no
addition has been made to it. But if I take the matter which is
indicated by this name, and submit it to the examination of my senses,
I am enabled to form several synthetical--although still empirical-
propositions. The mathematical conception of a triangle I should
construct, that is, present a priori in intuition, and in this way
attain to rational-synthetical cognition. But when the
transcendental conception of reality, or substance, or power is
presented to my mind, I find that it does not relate to or indicate
either an empirical or pure intuition, but that it indicates merely
the synthesis of empirical intuitions, which cannot of course be given
a priori. The synthesis in such a conception cannot proceed a
priori--without the aid of experience--to the intuition which
corresponds to the conception; and, for this reason, none of these
conceptions can produce a determinative synthetical proposition,
they can never present more than a principle of the synthesis* of
possible empirical intuitions. A transcendental proposition is,
therefore, a synthetical cognition of reason by means of pure
conceptions and the discursive method, and it renders possible all
synthetical unity in empirical cognition, though it cannot present
us with any intuition a priori.


[*Footnote: In the case of the conception of cause, I do really go
beyond the empirical conception of an event--but not to the intuition
which presents this conception in concreto, but only to the
time-conditions, which may be found in experience to correspond to
the conception. My procedure is, therefore, strictly according to
conceptions; I cannot in a case of this kind employ the construction
of conceptions, because the conception is merely a rule for the synthesis
of perceptions, which are not pure intuitions, and which, therefore,
cannot be given a priori.]


There is thus a twofold exercise of reason. Both modes have the
properties of universality and an a priori origin in common, but
are, in their procedure, of widely different character. The reason
of this is that in the world of phenomena, in which alone objects
are presented to our minds, there are two main elements--the form of
intuition (space and time), which can be cognized and determined
completely a priori, and the matter or content--that which is
presented in space and time, and which, consequently, contains a
something--an existence corresponding to our powers of sensation. As
regards the latter, which can never be given in a determinate mode
except by experience, there are no a priori notions which relate to
it, except the undetermined conceptions of the synthesis of possible
sensations, in so far as these belong (in a possible experience) to
the unity of consciousness. As regards the former, we can determine
our conceptions a priori in intuition, inasmuch as we are ourselves
the creators of the objects of the conceptions in space and time-
these objects being regarded simply as quanta. In the one case, reason
proceeds according to conceptions and can do nothing more than subject
phenomena to these--which can only be determined empirically, that
is, a posteriori--in conformity, however, with those conceptions as
the rules of all empirical synthesis. In the other case, reason proceeds
by the construction of conceptions; and, as these conceptions relate
to an a priori intuition, they may be given and determined in pure
intuition a priori, and without the aid of empirical data. The
examination and consideration of everything that exists in space or
time--whether it is a quantum or not, in how far the particular
something (which fills space or time) is a primary substratum, or a
mere determination of some other existence, whether it relates to
anything else--either as cause or effect, whether its existence is
isolated or in reciprocal connection with and dependence upon
others, the possibility of this existence, its reality and necessity
or opposites--all these form part of the cognition of reason on the
ground of conceptions, and this cognition is termed philosophical.
But to determine a priori an intuition in space (its figure), to divide
time into periods, or merely to cognize the quantity of an intuition
in space and time, and to determine it by number--all this is an
operation of reason by means of the construction of conceptions, and
is called mathematical.

The success which attends the efforts of reason in the sphere of
mathematics naturally fosters the expectation that the same good
fortune will be its lot, if it applies the mathematical method in
other regions of mental endeavour besides that of quantities. Its
success is thus great, because it can support all its conceptions by
a priori intuitions and, in this way, make itself a master, as it
were, over nature; while pure philosophy, with its a priori discursive
conceptions, bungles about in the world of nature, and cannot accredit
or show any a priori evidence of the reality of these conceptions.
Masters in the science of mathematics are confident of the success
of this method; indeed, it is a common persuasion that it is capable
of being applied to any subject of human thought. They have hardly
ever reflected or philosophized on their favourite science--a task
of great difficulty; and the specific difference between the two modes
of employing the faculty of reason has never entered their thoughts.
Rules current in the field of common experience, and which common
sense stamps everywhere with its approval, are regarded by them as
axiomatic. From what source the conceptions of space and time, with
which (as the only primitive quanta) they have to deal, enter their
minds, is a question which they do not trouble themselves to answer;
and they think it just as unnecessary to examine into the origin of
the pure conceptions of the understanding and the extent of their
validity. All they have to do with them is to employ them. In all this
they are perfectly right, if they do not overstep the limits of the
sphere of nature. But they pass, unconsciously, from the world of
sense to the insecure ground of pure transcendental conceptions
(instabilis tellus, innabilis unda), where they can neither stand
nor swim, and where the tracks of their footsteps are obliterated by
time; while the march of mathematics is pursued on a broad and
magnificent highway, which the latest posterity shall frequent without
fear of danger or impediment.

As we have taken upon us the task of determining, clearly and
certainly, the limits of pure reason in the sphere of
transcendentalism, and as the efforts of reason in this direction
are persisted in, even after the plainest and most expressive
warnings, hope still beckoning us past the limits of experience into
the splendours of the intellectual world--it becomes necessary to
cut away the last anchor of this fallacious and fantastic hope. We
shall, accordingly, show that the mathematical method is unattended
in the sphere of philosophy by the least advantage--except, perhaps,
that it more plainly exhibits its own inadequacy--that geometry and
philosophy are two quite different things, although they go band in
hand in hand in the field of natural science, and, consequently,
that the procedure of the one can never be imitated by the other.

The evidence of mathematics rests upon definitions, axioms, and
demonstrations. I shall be satisfied with showing that none of these
forms can be employed or imitated in philosophy in the sense in
which they are understood by mathematicians; and that the
geometrician, if he employs his method in philosophy, will succeed
only in building card-castles, while the employment of the
philosophical method in mathematics can result in nothing but mere
verbiage. The essential business of philosophy, indeed, is to mark
out the limits of the science; and even the mathematician, unless his
talent is naturally circumscribed and limited to this particular
department of knowledge, cannot turn a deaf ear to the warnings of
philosophy, or set himself above its direction.

I. Of Definitions. A definition is, as the term itself indicates,
the representation, upon primary grounds, of the complete conception
of a thing within its own limits.* Accordingly, an empirical
conception cannot be defined, it can only be explained. For, as
there are in such a conception only a certain number of marks or
signs, which denote a certain class of sensuous objects, we can
never be sure that we do not cogitate under the word which indicates
the same object, at one time a greater, at another a smaller number
of signs. Thus, one person may cogitate in his conception of gold,
in addition to its properties of weight, colour, malleability, that
of resisting rust, while another person may be ignorant of this
quality. We employ certain signs only so long as we require them for
the sake of distinction; new observations abstract some and add new
ones, so that an empirical conception never remains within permanent
limits. It is, in fact, useless to define a conception of this kind.
If, for example, we are speaking of water and its properties, we do
not stop at what we actually think by the word water, but proceed to
observation and experiment; and the word, with the few signs
attached to it, is more properly a designation than a conception of
the thing. A definition in this case would evidently be nothing more
than a determination of the word. In the second place, no a priori
conception, such as those of substance, cause, right, fitness, and
so on, can be defined. For I can never be sure, that the clear
representation of a given conception (which is given in a confused
state) has been fully developed, until I know that the
representation is adequate with its object. But, inasmuch as the
conception, as it is presented to the mind, may contain a number of
obscure representations, which we do not observe in our analysis,
although we employ them in our application of the conception, I can
never be sure that my analysis is complete, while examples may make
this probable, although they can never demonstrate the fact. instead
of the word definition, I should rather employ the term exposition-
a more modest expression, which the critic may accept without
surrendering his doubts as to the completeness of the analysis of
any such conception. As, therefore, neither empirical nor a priori
conceptions are capable of definition, we have to see whether the only
other kind of conceptions--arbitrary conceptions--can be subjected
to this mental operation. Such a conception can always be defined;
for I must know thoroughly what I wished to cogitate in it, as it was
I who created it, and it was not given to my mind either by the nature
of my understanding or by experience. At the same time, I cannot say
that, by such a definition, I have defined a real object. If the
conception is based upon empirical conditions, if, for example, I have
a conception of a clock for a ship, this arbitrary conception does
not assure me of the existence or even of the possibility of the object.
My definition of such a conception would with more propriety be termed
a declaration of a project than a definition of an object. There
are no other conceptions which can bear definition, except those which
contain an arbitrary synthesis, which can be constructed a priori.
Consequently, the science of mathematics alone possesses
definitions. For the object here thought is presented a priori in
intuition; and thus it can never contain more or less than the
conception, because the conception of the object has been given by
the definition--and primarily, that is, without deriving the definition
from any other source. Philosophical definitions are, therefore,
merely expositions of given conceptions, while mathematical
definitions are constructions of conceptions originally formed by
the mind itself; the former are produced by analysis, the completeness
of which is never demonstratively certain, the latter by a
synthesis. In a mathematical definition the conception is formed, in
a philosophical definition it is only explained. From this it follows:

[*Footnote: The definition must describe the conception completely
that is, omit none of the marks or signs of which it composed; within
its own limits, that is, it must be precise, and enumerate no more
signs than belong to the conception; and on primary grounds, that is
to say, the limitations of the bounds of the conception must not be
deduced from other conceptions, as in this case a proof would be necessary,
and the so-called definition would be incapable of taking its place
at the bead of all the judgements we have to form regarding an object.]

(a) That we must not imitate, in philosophy, the mathematical
usage of commencing with definitions--except by way of hypothesis or
experiment. For, as all so-called philosophical definitions are merely
analyses of given conceptions, these conceptions, although only in
a confused form, must precede the analysis; and the incomplete
exposition must precede the complete, so that we may be able to draw
certain inferences from the characteristics which an incomplete
analysis has enabled us to discover, before we attain to the
complete exposition or definition of the conception. In one word, a
full and clear definition ought, in philosophy, rather to form the
conclusion than the commencement of our labours.* In mathematics, on
the contrary, we cannot have a conception prior to the definition;
it is the definition which gives us the conception, and it must for
this reason form the commencement of every chain of mathematical
reasoning.

[*Footnote: Philosophy abounds in faulty definitions, especially such
as contain some of the elements requisite to form a complete
definition. If a conception could not be employed in reasoning
before it had been defined, it would fare ill with all philosophical
thought. But, as incompletely defined conceptions may always be
employed without detriment to truth, so far as our analysis of the
elements contained in them proceeds, imperfect definitions, that is,
propositions which are properly not definitions, but merely
approximations thereto, may be used with great advantage. In
mathematics, definition belongs ad esse, in philosophy ad melius esse.
It is a difficult task to construct a proper definition. Jurists are
still without a complete definition of the idea of right.]

(b) Mathematical definitions cannot be erroneous. For the conception
is given only in and through the definition, and thus it contains only
what has been cogitated in the definition. But although a definition
cannot be incorrect, as regards its content, an error may sometimes,
although seldom, creep into the form. This error consists in a want
of precision. Thus the common definition of a circle--that it is a
curved line, every point in which is equally distant from another point
called the centre--is faulty, from the fact that the determination
indicated by the word curved is superfluous. For there ought to be
a particular theorem, which may be easily proved from the definition,
to the effect that every line, which has all its points at equal
distances from another point, must be a curved line--that is, that
not even the smallest part of it can be straight. Analytical
definitions, on the other hand, may be erroneous in many respects,
either by the introduction of signs which do not actually exist in
the conception, or by wanting in that completeness which forms the
essential of a definition. In the latter case, the definition is
necessarily defective, because we can never be fully certain of the
completeness of our analysis. For these reasons, the method of
definition employed in mathematics cannot be imitated in philosophy.

2. Of Axioms. These, in so far as they are immediately certain,
are a priori synthetical principles. Now, one conception cannot be
connected synthetically and yet immediately with another; because,
if we wish to proceed out of and beyond a conception, a third
mediating cognition is necessary. And, as philosophy is a cognition
of reason by the aid of conceptions alone, there is to be found in
it no principle which deserves to be called an axiom. Mathematics,
on the other hand, may possess axioms, because it can always connect
the predicates of an object a priori, and without any mediating term,
by means of the construction of conceptions in intuition. Such is the
case with the proposition: Three points can always lie in a plane.
On the other hand, no synthetical principle which is based upon
conceptions, can ever be immediately certain (for example, the
proposition: Everything that happens has a cause), because I require
a mediating term to connect the two conceptions of event and cause-
namely, the condition of time-determination in an experience, and I
cannot cognize any such principle immediately and from conceptions
alone. Discursive principles are, accordingly, very different from
intuitive principles or axioms. The former always require deduction,
which in the case of the latter may be altogether dispensed with.
Axioms are, for this reason, always self-evident, while
philosophical principles, whatever may be the degree of certainty they
possess, cannot lay any claim to such a distinction. No synthetical
proposition of pure transcendental reason can be so evident, as is
often rashly enough declared, as the statement, twice two are four.
It is true that in the Analytic I introduced into the list of
principles of the pure understanding, certain axioms of intuition;
but the principle there discussed was not itself an axiom, but served
merely to present the principle of the possibility of axioms in
general, while it was really nothing more than a principle based
upon conceptions. For it is one part of the duty of transcendental
philosophy to establish the possibility of mathematics itself.
Philosophy possesses, then, no axioms, and has no right to impose
its a priori principles upon thought, until it has established their
authority and validity by a thoroughgoing deduction.

3. Of Demonstrations. Only an apodeictic proof, based upon
intuition, can be termed a demonstration. Experience teaches us what
is, but it cannot convince us that it might not have been otherwise.
Hence a proof upon empirical grounds cannot be apodeictic. A priori
conceptions, in discursive cognition, can never produce intuitive
certainty or evidence, however certain the judgement they present
may be. Mathematics alone, therefore, contains demonstrations, because
it does not deduce its cognition from conceptions, but from the
construction of conceptions, that is, from intuition, which can be
given a priori in accordance with conceptions. The method of
algebra, in equations, from which the correct answer is deduced by
reduction, is a kind of construction--not geometrical, but by symbols-
in which all conceptions, especially those of the relations of
quantities, are represented in intuition by signs; and thus the
conclusions in that science are secured from errors by the fact that
every proof is submitted to ocular evidence. Philosophical cognition
does not possess this advantage, it being required to consider the
general always in abstracto (by means of conceptions), while
mathematics can always consider it in concreto (in an individual
intuition), and at the same time by means of a priori
representation, whereby all errors are rendered manifest to the
senses. The former--discursive proofs--ought to be termed acroamatic
proofs, rather than demonstrations, as only words are employed in
them, while demonstrations proper, as the term itself indicates,
always require a reference to the intuition of the object.

It follows from all these considerations that it is not consonant
with the nature of philosophy, especially in the sphere of pure
reason, to employ the dogmatical method, and to adorn itself with
the titles and insignia of mathematical science. It does not belong
to that order, and can only hope for a fraternal union with that science.
Its attempts at mathematical evidence are vain pretensions, which
can only keep it back from its true aim, which is to detect the
illusory procedure of reason when transgressing its proper limits,
and by fully explaining and analysing our conceptions, to conduct us
from the dim regions of speculation to the clear region of modest
self-knowledge. Reason must not, therefore, in its transcendental
endeavours, look forward with such confidence, as if the path it is
pursuing led straight to its aim, nor reckon with such security upon
its premisses, as to consider it unnecessary to take a step back, or
to keep a strict watch for errors, which, overlooked in the
principles, may be detected in the arguments themselves--in which case
it may be requisite either to determine these principles with
greater strictness, or to change them entirely.

I divide all apodeictic propositions, whether demonstrable or
immediately certain, into dogmata and mathemata. A direct
synthetical proposition, based on conceptions, is a dogma; a
proposition of the same kind, based on the construction of
conceptions, is a mathema. Analytical judgements do not teach us any
more about an object than what was contained in the conception we
had of it; because they do not extend our cognition beyond our
conception of an object, they merely elucidate the conception. They
cannot therefore be with propriety termed dogmas. Of the two kinds
of a priori synthetical propositions above mentioned, only those which
are employed in philosophy can, according to the general mode of
speech, bear this name; those of arithmetic or geometry would not be
rightly so denominated. Thus the customary mode of speaking confirms
the explanation given above, and the conclusion arrived at, that
only those judgements which are based upon conceptions, not on the
construction of conceptions, can be termed dogmatical.

Thus, pure reason, in the sphere of speculation, does not contain
a single direct synthetical judgement based upon conceptions. By means
of ideas, it is, as we have shown, incapable of producing
synthetical judgements, which are objectively valid; by means of the
conceptions of the understanding, it establishes certain indubitable
principles, not, however, directly on the basis of conceptions, but
only indirectly by means of the relation of these conceptions to
something of a purely contingent nature, namely, possible
experience. When experience is presupposed, these principles are
apodeictically certain, but in themselves, and directly, they cannot
even be cognized a priori. Thus the given conceptions of cause and
event will not be sufficient for the demonstration of the proposition:
Every event has a cause. For this reason, it is not a dogma;
although from another point of view, that of experience, it is capable
of being proved to demonstration. The proper term for such a
proposition is principle, and not theorem (although it does require
to be proved), because it possesses the remarkable peculiarity of being
the condition of the possibility of its own ground of proof, that
is, experience, and of forming a necessary presupposition in all
empirical observation.

If then, in the speculative sphere of pure reason, no dogmata are to
be found; all dogmatical methods, whether borrowed from mathematics,
or invented by philosophical thinkers, are alike inappropriate and
inefficient. They only serve to conceal errors and fallacies, and to
deceive philosophy, whose duty it is to see that reason pursues a safe
and straight path. A philosophical method may, however, be
systematical. For our reason is, subjectively considered, itself a
system, and, in the sphere of mere conceptions, a system of
investigation according to principles of unity, the material being
supplied by experience alone. But this is not the proper place for
discussing the peculiar method of transcendental philosophy, as our
present task is simply to examine whether our faculties are capable
of erecting an edifice on the basis of pure reason, and how far they
may proceed with the materials at their command.



SECTION II. The Discipline of Pure Reason in Polemics.

Reason must be subject, in all its operations, to criticism, which
must always be permitted to exercise its functions without
restraint; otherwise its interests are imperilled and its influence
obnoxious to suspicion. There is nothing, however useful, however
sacred it may be, that can claim exemption from the searching
examination of this supreme tribunal, which has no respect of persons.
The very existence of reason depends upon this freedom; for the
voice of reason is not that of a dictatorial and despotic power, it
is rather like the vote of the citizens of a free state, every member
of which must have the privilege of giving free expression to his
doubts, and possess even the right of veto.

But while reason can never decline to submit itself to the
tribunal of criticism, it has not always cause to dread the
judgement of this court. Pure reason, however, when engaged in the
sphere of dogmatism, is not so thoroughly conscious of a strict
observance of its highest laws, as to appear before a higher
judicial reason with perfect confidence. On the contrary, it must
renounce its magnificent dogmatical pretensions in philosophy.

Very different is the case when it has to defend itself, not
before a judge, but against an equal. If dogmatical assertions are
advanced on the negative side, in opposition to those made by reason
on the positive side, its justification kat authrhopon is complete,
although the proof of its propositions is kat aletheian
unsatisfactory.

By the polemic of pure reason I mean the defence of its propositions
made by reason, in opposition to the dogmatical counter-propositions
advanced by other parties. The question here is not whether its own
statements may not also be false; it merely regards the fact that
reason proves that the opposite cannot be established with
demonstrative certainty, nor even asserted with a higher degree of
probability. Reason does not hold her possessions upon sufferance;
for, although she cannot show a perfectly satisfactory title to
them, no one can prove that she is not the rightful possessor.

It is a melancholy reflection that reason, in its highest
exercise, falls into an antithetic; and that the supreme tribunal
for the settlement of differences should not be at union with
itself. It is true that we had to discuss the question of an
apparent antithetic, but we found that it was based upon a
misconception. In conformity with the common prejudice, phenomena were
regarded as things in themselves, and thus an absolute completeness
in their synthesis was required in the one mode or in the other (it
was shown to be impossible in both); a demand entirely out of place
in regard to phenomena. There was, then, no real self-contradiction
of reason in the propositions: The series of phenomena given in
themselves has an absolutely first beginning; and: This series is
absolutely and in itself without beginning. The two propositions are
perfectly consistent with each other, because phenomena as phenomena
are in themselves nothing, and consequently the hypothesis that they
are things in themselves must lead to self-contradictory inferences.

But there are cases in which a similar misunderstanding cannot be
provided against, and the dispute must remain unsettled. Take, for
example, the theistic proposition: There is a Supreme Being; and on
the other hand, the atheistic counter-statement: There exists no
Supreme Being; or, in psychology: Everything that thinks possesses
the attribute of absolute and permanent unity, which is utterly
different from the transitory unity of material phenomena; and the
counter-proposition: The soul is not an immaterial unity, and its
nature is transitory, like that of phenomena. The objects of these
questions contain no heterogeneous or contradictory elements, for they
relate to things in themselves, and not to phenomena. There would
arise, indeed, a real contradiction, if reason came forward with a
statement on the negative side of these questions alone. As regards
the criticism to which the grounds of proof on the affirmative side
must be subjected, it may be freely admitted, without necessitating
the surrender of the affirmative propositions, which have, at least,
the interest of reason in their favour--an advantage which the
opposite party cannot lay claim to.

I cannot agree with the opinion of several admirable thinkers--Sulzer
among the rest--that, in spite of the weakness of the arguments
hitherto in use, we may hope, one day, to see sufficient demonstrations
of the two cardinal propositions of pure reason--the existence of a
Supreme Being, and the immortality of the soul. I am certain, on the
contrary, that this will never be the case. For on what ground can
reason base such synthetical propositions, which do not relate to the
objects of experience and their internal possibility? But it is also
demonstratively certain that no one will ever be able to maintain the
contrary with the least show of probability. For, as he can attempt
such a proof solely upon the basis of pure reason, he is bound to prove
that a Supreme Being, and a thinking subject in the character of a pure
intelligence, are impossible. But where will he find the knowledge
which can enable him to enounce synthetical judgements in regard to
things which transcend the region of experience? We may, therefore,
rest assured that the opposite never will be demonstrated. We need not,
then, have recourse to scholastic arguments; we may always admit the
truth of those propositions which are consistent with the speculative
interests of reason in the sphere of experience, and form, moreover,
the only means of uniting the speculative with the practical interest.
Our opponent, who must not be considered here as a critic solely, we
can be ready to meet with a non liquet which cannot fail to disconcert
him; while we cannot deny his right to a similar retort, as we have on
our side the advantage of the support of the subjective maxim of
reason, and can therefore look upon all his sophistical arguments with
calm indifference.

From this point of view, there is properly no antithetic of pure
reason. For the only arena for such a struggle would be upon the field
of pure theology and psychology; but on this ground there can appear
no combatant whom we need to fear. Ridicule and boasting can be his
only weapons; and these may be laughed at, as mere child's play.
This consideration restores to Reason her courage; for what source
of confidence could be found, if she, whose vocation it is to
destroy error, were at variance with herself and without any
reasonable hope of ever reaching a state of permanent repose?

Everything in nature is good for some purpose. Even poisons are
serviceable; they destroy the evil effects of other poisons generated
in our system, and must always find a place in every complete
pharmacopoeia. The objections raised against the fallacies and
sophistries of speculative reason, are objections given by the nature
of this reason itself, and must therefore have a destination and
purpose which can only be for the good of humanity. For what purpose
has Providence raised many objects, in which we have the deepest
interest, so far above us, that we vainly try to cognize them with
certainty, and our powers of mental vision are rather excited than
satisfied by the glimpses we may chance to seize? It is very doubtful
whether it is for our benefit to advance bold affirmations regarding
subjects involved in such obscurity; perhaps it would even be
detrimental to our best interests. But it is undoubtedly always
beneficial to leave the investigating, as well as the critical reason,
in perfect freedom, and permit it to take charge of its own interests,
which are advanced as much by its limitation, as by its extension of
its views, and which always suffer by the interference of foreign
powers forcing it, against its natural tendencies, to bend to certain
preconceived designs.

Allow your opponent to say what he thinks reasonable, and combat him
only with the weapons of reason. Have no anxiety for the practical
interests of humanity--these are never imperilled in a purely
speculative dispute. Such a dispute serves merely to disclose the
antinomy of reason, which, as it has its source in the nature of
reason, ought to be thoroughly investigated. Reason is benefited by
the examination of a subject on both sides, and its judgements are
corrected by being limited. It is not the matter that may give
occasion to dispute, but the manner. For it is perfectly permissible
to employ, in the presence of reason, the language of a firmly
rooted faith, even after we have been obliged to renounce all
pretensions to knowledge.

If we were to ask the dispassionate David Hume--a philosopher
endowed, in a degree that few are, with a well-balanced judgement:
What motive induced you to spend so much labour and thought in
undermining the consoling and beneficial persuasion that reason is
capable of assuring us of the existence, and presenting us with a
determinate conception of a Supreme Being?--his answer would be:
Nothing but the desire of teaching reason to know its own powers
better, and, at the same time, a dislike of the procedure by which
that faculty was compelled to support foregone conclusions, and
prevented from confessing the internal weaknesses which it cannot
but feel when it enters upon a rigid self-examination. If, on the
other hand, we were to ask Priestley--a philosopher who had no taste
for transcendental speculation, but was entirely devoted to the
principles of empiricism--what his motives were for overturning
those two main pillars of religion--the doctrines of the freedom of
the will and the immortality of the soul (in his view the hope of a
future life is but the expectation of the miracle of resurrection)-
this philosopher, himself a zealous and pious teacher of religion,
could give no other answer than this: I acted in the interest of
reason, which always suffers, when certain objects are explained and
judged by a reference to other supposed laws than those of material
nature--the only laws which we know in a determinate manner. It
would be unfair to decry the latter philosopher, who endeavoured to
harmonize his paradoxical opinions with the interests of religion,
and to undervalue an honest and reflecting man, because he finds himself
at a loss the moment he has left the field of natural science. The
same grace must be accorded to Hume, a man not less well-disposed,
and quite as blameless in his moral character, and who pushed his abstract
speculations to an extreme length, because, as he rightly believed,
the object of them lies entirely beyond the bounds of natural science,
and within the sphere of pure ideas.

What is to be done to provide against the danger which seems in
the present case to menace the best interests of humanity? The
course to be pursued in reference to this subject is a perfectly plain
and natural one. Let each thinker pursue his own path; if he shows
talent, if be gives evidence of profound thought, in one word, if he
shows that he possesses the power of reasoning--reason is always the
gainer. If you have recourse to other means, if you attempt to
coerce reason, if you raise the cry of treason to humanity, if you
excite the feelings of the crowd, which can neither understand nor
sympathize with such subtle speculations--you will only make
yourselves ridiculous. For the question does not concern the advantage
or disadvantage which we are expected to reap from such inquiries;
the question is merely how far reason can advance in the field of
speculation, apart from all kinds of interest, and whether we may
depend upon the exertions of speculative reason, or must renounce
all reliance on it. Instead of joining the combatants, it is your part
to be a tranquil spectator of the struggle--a laborious struggle for
the parties engaged, but attended, in its progress as well as in its
result, with the most advantageous consequences for the interests of
thought and knowledge. It is absurd to expect to be enlightened by
Reason, and at the same time to prescribe to her what side of the
question she must adopt. Moreover, reason is sufficiently held in
check by its own power, the limits imposed on it by its own nature
are sufficient; it is unnecessary for you to place over it additional
guards, as if its power were dangerous to the constitution of the
intellectual state. In the dialectic of reason there is no victory
gained which need in the least disturb your tranquility.

The strife of dialectic is a necessity of reason, and we cannot
but wish that it had been conducted long ere this with that perfect
freedom which ought to be its essential condition. In this case, we
should have had at an earlier period a matured and profound criticism,
which must have put an end to all dialectical disputes, by exposing
the illusions and prejudices in which they originated.

There is in human nature an unworthy propensity--a propensity which,
like everything that springs from nature, must in its final purpose
be conducive to the good of humanity--to conceal our real sentiments,
and to give expression only to certain received opinions, which are
regarded as at once safe and promotive of the common good. It is true,
this tendency, not only to conceal our real sentiments, but to profess
those which may gain us favour in the eyes of society, has not only
civilized, but, in a certain measure, moralized us; as no one can
break through the outward covering of respectability, honour, and
morality, and thus the seemingly-good examples which we which we see
around us form an excellent school for moral improvement, so long as
our belief in their genuineness remains unshaken. But this disposition
to represent ourselves as better than we are, and to utter opinions
which are not our own, can be nothing more than a kind of provisionary
arrangement of nature to lead us from the rudeness of an uncivilized
state, and to teach us how to assume at least the appearance and
manner of the good we see. But when true principles have been
developed, and have obtained a sure foundation in our habit of
thought, this conventionalism must be attacked with earnest vigour,
otherwise it corrupts the heart, and checks the growth of good
dispositions with the mischievous weed of air appearances.

I am sorry to remark the same tendency to misrepresentation and
hypocrisy in the sphere of speculative discussion, where there is less
temptation to restrain the free expression of thought. For what can
be more prejudicial to the interests of intelligence than to falsify
our real sentiments, to conceal the doubts which we feel in regard
to our statements, or to maintain the validity of grounds of proof
which we well know to be insufficient? So long as mere personal vanity
is the source of these unworthy artifices--and this is generally the
case in speculative discussions, which are mostly destitute of
practical interest, and are incapable of complete demonstration--the
vanity of the opposite party exaggerates as much on the other side;
and thus the result is the same, although it is not brought about so
soon as if the dispute had been conducted in a sincere and upright
spirit. But where the mass entertains the notion that the aim of
certain subtle speculators is nothing less than to shake the very
foundations of public welfare and morality--it seems not only prudent,
but even praise worthy, to maintain the good cause by illusory
arguments, rather than to give to our supposed opponents the advantage
of lowering our declarations to the moderate tone of a merely
practical conviction, and of compelling us to confess our inability
to attain to apodeictic certainty in speculative subjects. But we ought
to reflect that there is nothing, in the world more fatal to the
maintenance of a good cause than deceit, misrepresentation, and
falsehood. That the strictest laws of honesty should be observed in
the discussion of a purely speculative subject is the least
requirement that can be made. If we could reckon with security even
upon so little, the conflict of speculative reason regarding the
important questions of God, immortality, and freedom, would have
been either decided long ago, or would very soon be brought to a
conclusion. But, in general, the uprightness of the defence stands
in an inverse ratio to the goodness of the cause; and perhaps more
honesty and fairness are shown by those who deny than by those who
uphold these doctrines.

I shall persuade myself, then, that I have readers who do not wish
to see a righteous cause defended by unfair arguments. Such will now
recognize the fact that, according to the principles of this Critique,
if we consider not what is, but what ought to be the case, there can
be really no polemic of pure reason. For how can two persons dispute
about a thing, the reality of which neither can present in actual or
even in possible experience? Each adopts the plan of meditating on
his idea for the purpose of drawing from the idea, if he can, what
is more than the idea, that is, the reality of the object which it
indicates. How shall they settle the dispute, since neither is able
to make his assertions directly comprehensible and certain, but must
restrict himself to attacking and confuting those of his opponent?
All statements enounced by pure reason transcend the conditions of
possible experience, beyond the sphere of which we can discover no
criterion of truth, while they are at the same time framed in
accordance with the laws of the understanding, which are applicable
only to experience; and thus it is the fate of all such speculative
discussions that while the one party attacks the weaker side of his
opponent, he infallibly lays open his own weaknesses.

The critique of pure reason may be regarded as the highest
tribunal for all speculative disputes; for it is not involved in these
disputes, which have an immediate relation to certain objects and
not to the laws of the mind, but is instituted for the purpose of
determining the rights and limits of reason.

Without the control of criticism, reason is, as it were, in a
state of nature, and can only establish its claims and assertions by
war. Criticism, on the contrary, deciding all questions according to
the fundamental laws of its own institution, secures to us the peace
of law and order, and enables us to discuss all differences in the
more tranquil manner of a legal process. In the former case,
disputes are ended by victory, which both sides may claim and which
is followed by a hollow armistice; in the latter, by a sentence, which,
as it strikes at the root of all speculative differences, ensures to
all concerned a lasting peace. The endless disputes of a dogmatizing
reason compel us to look for some mode of arriving at a settled
decision by a critical investigation of reason itself; just as
Hobbes maintains that the state of nature is a state of injustice
and violence, and that we must leave it and submit ourselves to the
constraint of law, which indeed limits individual freedom, but only
that it may consist with the freedom of others and with the common
good of all.

This freedom will, among other things, permit of our openly
stating the difficulties and doubts which we are ourselves unable to
solve, without being decried on that account as turbulent and
dangerous citizens. This privilege forms part of the native rights
of human reason, which recognizes no other judge than the universal
reason of humanity; and as this reason is the source of all progress
and improvement, such a privilege is to be held sacred and inviolable.
It is unwise, moreover, to denounce as dangerous any bold assertions
against, or rash attacks upon, an opinion which is held by the largest
and most moral class of the community; for that would be giving them
an importance which they do not deserve. When I hear that the
freedom of the will, the hope of a future life, and the existence of
God have been overthrown by the arguments of some able writer, I
feel a strong desire to read his book; for I expect that he will add
to my knowledge and impart greater clearness and distinctness to my
views by the argumentative power shown in his writings. But I am
perfectly certain, even before I have opened the book, that he has
not succeeded in a single point, not because I believe I am in
possession of irrefutable demonstrations of these important
propositions, but because this transcendental critique, which has
disclosed to me the power and the limits of pure reason, has fully
convinced me that, as it is insufficient to establish the affirmative,
it is as powerless, and even more so, to assure us of the truth of
the negative answer to these questions. From what source does this
free-thinker derive his knowledge that there is, for example, no
Supreme Being? This proposition lies out of the field of possible
experience, and, therefore, beyond the limits of human cognition.
But I would not read at, all the answer which the dogmatical
maintainer of the good cause makes to his opponent, because I know
well beforehand, that he will merely attack the fallacious grounds
of his adversary, without being able to establish his own
assertions. Besides, a new illusory argument, in the construction of
which talent and acuteness are shown, is suggestive of new ideas and
new trains of reasoning, and in this respect the old and everyday
sophistries are quite useless. Again, the dogmatical opponent of
religion gives employment to criticism, and enables us to test and
correct its principles, while there is no occasion for anxiety in
regard to the influence and results of his reasoning.

But, it will be said, must we not warn the youth entrusted to
academical care against such writings, must we not preserve them
from the knowledge of these dangerous assertions, until their
judgement is ripened, or rather until the doctrines which we wish to
inculcate are so firmly rooted in their minds as to withstand all
attempts at instilling the contrary dogmas, from whatever quarter they
may come?

If we are to confine ourselves to the dogmatical procedure in the
sphere of pure reason, and find ourselves unable to settle such
disputes otherwise than by becoming a party in them, and setting
counter-assertions against the statements advanced by our opponents,
there is certainly no plan more advisable for the moment, but, at
the same time, none more absurd and inefficient for the future, than
this retaining of the youthful mind under guardianship for a time,
and thus preserving it--for so long at least--from seduction into error.
But when, at a later period, either curiosity, or the prevalent
fashion of thought places such writings in their hands, will the
so-called convictions of their youth stand firm? The young thinker,
who has in his armoury none but dogmatical weapons with which to
resist the attacks of his opponent, and who cannot detect the latent
dialectic which lies in his own opinions as well as in those of the
opposite party, sees the advance of illusory arguments and grounds
of proof which have the advantage of novelty, against as illusory
grounds of proof destitute of this advantage, and which, perhaps,
excite the suspicion that the natural credulity of his youth has
been abused by his instructors. He thinks he can find no better
means of showing that he has out grown the discipline of his
minority than by despising those well-meant warnings, and, knowing
no system of thought but that of dogmatism, he drinks deep draughts
of the poison that is to sap the principles in which his early years
were trained.

Exactly the opposite of the system here recommended ought to be
pursued in academical instruction. This can only be effected, however,
by a thorough training in the critical investigation of pure reason.
For, in order to bring the principles of this critique into exercise
as soon as possible, and to demonstrate their perfect even in the
presence of the highest degree of dialectical illusion, the student
ought to examine the assertions made on both sides of speculative
questions step by step, and to test them by these principles. It
cannot be a difficult task for him to show the fallacies inherent in
these propositions, and thus he begins early to feel his own power
of securing himself against the influence of such sophistical
arguments, which must finally lose, for him, all their illusory power.
And, although the same blows which overturn the edifice of his
opponent are as fatal to his own speculative structures, if such he
has wished to rear; he need not feel any sorrow in regard to this
seeming misfortune, as he has now before him a fair prospect into
the practical region in which he may reasonably hope to find a more
secure foundation for a rational system.

There is, accordingly, no proper polemic in the sphere of pure
reason. Both parties beat the air and fight with their own shadows,
as they pass beyond the limits of nature, and can find no tangible
point of attack--no firm footing for their dogmatical conflict.
Fight as vigorously as they may, the shadows which they hew down,
immediately start up again, like the heroes in Walhalla, and renew
the bloodless and unceasing contest.

But neither can we admit that there is any proper sceptical
employment of pure reason, such as might be based upon the principle
of neutrality in all speculative disputes. To excite reason against
itself, to place weapons in the hands of the party on the one side
as well as in those of the other, and to remain an undisturbed and
sarcastic spectator of the fierce struggle that ensues, seems, from
the dogmatical point of view, to be a part fitting only a malevolent
disposition. But, when the sophist evidences an invincible obstinacy
and blindness, and a pride which no criticism can moderate, there is
no other practicable course than to oppose to this pride and obstinacy
similar feelings and pretensions on the other side, equally well or
ill founded, so that reason, staggered by the reflections thus
forced upon it, finds it necessary to moderate its confidence in
such pretensions and to listen to the advice of criticism. But we
cannot stop at these doubts, much less regard the conviction of our
ignorance, not only as a cure for the conceit natural to dogmatism,
but as the settlement of the disputes in which reason is involved with
itself. On the contrary, scepticism is merely a means of awakening
reason from its dogmatic dreams and exciting it to a more careful
investigation into its own powers and pretensions. But, as
scepticism appears to be the shortest road to a permanent peace in
the domain of philosophy, and as it is the track pursued by the many
who aim at giving a philosophical colouring to their contemptuous
dislike of all inquiries of this kind, I think it necessary to present
to my readers this mode of thought in its true light.



Scepticism not a Permanent State for Human Reason.

The consciousness of ignorance--unless this ignorance is
recognized to be absolutely necessary ought, instead of forming the
conclusion of my inquiries, to be the strongest motive to the
pursuit of them. All ignorance is either ignorance of things or of
the limits of knowledge. If my ignorance is accidental and not
necessary, it must incite me, in the first case, to a dogmatical
inquiry regarding the objects of which I am ignorant; in the second,
to a critical investigation into the bounds of all possible knowledge.
But that my ignorance is absolutely necessary and unavoidable, and
that it consequently absolves from the duty of all further
investigation, is a fact which cannot be made out upon empirical
grounds--from observation--but upon critical grounds alone, that is,
by a thoroughgoing investigation into the primary sources of
cognition. It follows that the determination of the bounds of reason
can be made only on a priori grounds; while the empirical limitation
of reason, which is merely an indeterminate cognition of an
ignorance that can never be completely removed, can take place only
a posteriori. In other words, our empirical knowledge is limited by
that which yet remains for us to know. The former cognition of our
ignorance, which is possible only on a rational basis, is a science;
the latter is merely a perception, and we cannot say how far the
inferences drawn from it may extend. If I regard the earth, as it
really appears to my senses, as a flat surface, I am ignorant how
far this surface extends. But experience teaches me that, how far
soever I go, I always see before me a space in which I can proceed
farther; and thus I know the limits--merely visual--of my actual
knowledge of the earth, although I am ignorant of the limits of the
earth itself. But if I have got so far as to know that the earth is
a sphere, and that its surface is spherical, I can cognize a priori
and determine upon principles, from my knowledge of a small part of
this surface--say to the extent of a degree--the diameter and
circumference of the earth; and although I am ignorant of the
objects which this surface contains, I have a perfect knowledge of
its limits and extent.

The sum of all the possible objects of our cognition seems to us
to be a level surface, with an apparent horizon--that which forms
the limit of its extent, and which has been termed by us the idea of
unconditioned totality. To reach this limit by empirical means is
impossible, and all attempts to determine it a priori according to
a principle, are alike in vain. But all the questions raised by pure
reason relate to that which lies beyond this horizon, or, at least,
in its boundary line.

The celebrated David Hume was one of those geographers of human
reason who believe that they have given a sufficient answer to all
such questions by declaring them to lie beyond the horizon of our
knowledge--a horizon which, however, Hume was unable to determine.
His attention especially was directed to the principle of causality;
and he remarked with perfect justice that the truth of this principle,
and even the objective validity of the conception of a cause, was not
commonly based upon clear insight, that is, upon a priori cognition.
Hence he concluded that this law does not derive its authority from
its universality and necessity, but merely from its general
applicability in the course of experience, and a kind of subjective
necessity thence arising, which he termed habit. From the inability
of reason to establish this principle as a necessary law for the
acquisition of all experience, he inferred the nullity of all the
attempts of reason to pass the region of the empirical.

This procedure of subjecting the facta of reason to examination,
and, if necessary, to disapproval, may be termed the censura of
reason. This censura must inevitably lead us to doubts regarding all
transcendent employment of principles. But this is only the second
step in our inquiry. The first step in regard to the subjects of
pure reason, and which marks the infancy of that faculty, is that of
dogmatism. The second, which we have just mentioned, is that of
scepticism, and it gives evidence that our judgement has been improved
by experience. But a third step is necessary--indicative of the
maturity and manhood of the judgement, which now lays a firm
foundation upon universal and necessary principles. This is the period
of criticism, in which we do not examine the facta of reason, but
reason itself, in the whole extent of its powers, and in regard to
its capability of a priori cognition; and thus we determine not merely
the empirical and ever-shifting bounds of our knowledge, but its necessary
and eternal limits. We demonstrate from indubitable principles, not
merely our ignorance in respect to this or that subject, but in regard
to all possible questions of a certain class. Thus scepticism is a
resting place for reason, in which it may reflect on its dogmatical
wanderings and gain some knowledge of the region in which it happens
to be, that it may pursue its way with greater certainty; but it
cannot be its permanent dwelling-place. It must take up its abode only
in the region of complete certitude, whether this relates to the
cognition of objects themselves, or to the limits which bound all
our cognition.

Reason is not to be considered as an indefinitely extended plane, of
the bounds of which we have only a general knowledge; it ought
rather to be compared to a sphere, the radius of which may be found
from the curvature of its surface--that is, the nature of a priori
synthetical propositions--and, consequently, its circumference and
extent. Beyond the sphere of experience there are no objects which
it can cognize; nay, even questions regarding such supposititious
objects relate only to the subjective principles of a complete
determination of the relations which exist between the
understanding-conceptions which lie within this sphere.

We are actually in possession of a priori synthetical cognitions, as
is proved by the existence of the principles of the understanding,
which anticipate experience. If any one cannot comprehend the
possibility of these principles, he may have some reason to doubt
whether they are really a priori; but he cannot on this account
declare them to be impossible, and affirm the nullity of the steps
which reason may have taken under their guidance. He can only say:
If we perceived their origin and their authenticity, we should be able
to determine the extent and limits of reason; but, till we can do
this, all propositions regarding the latter are mere random
assertions. In this view, the doubt respecting all dogmatical
philosophy, which proceeds without the guidance of criticism, is
well grounded; but we cannot therefore deny to reason the ability to
construct a sound philosophy, when the way has been prepared by a
thorough critical investigation. All the conceptions produced, and
all the questions raised, by pure reason, do not lie in the sphere
of experience, but in that of reason itself, and hence they must be
solved, and shown to be either valid or inadmissible, by that faculty.
We have no right to decline the solution of such problems, on the
ground that the solution can be discovered only from the nature of
things, and under pretence of the limitation of human faculties, for
reason is the sole creator of all these ideas, and is therefore
bound either to establish their validity or to expose their illusory
nature.

The polemic of scepticism is properly directed against the
dogmatist, who erects a system of philosophy without having examined
the fundamental objective principles on which it is based, for the
purpose of evidencing the futility of his designs, and thus bringing
him to a knowledge of his own powers. But, in itself, scepticism
does not give us any certain information in regard to the bounds of
our knowledge. All unsuccessful dogmatical attempts of reason are
facia, which it is always useful to submit to the censure of the
sceptic. But this cannot help us to any decision regarding the
expectations which reason cherishes of better success in future
endeavours; the investigations of scepticism cannot, therefore, settle
the dispute regarding the rights and powers of human reason.

Hume is perhaps the ablest and most ingenious of all sceptical
philosophers, and his writings have, undoubtedly, exerted the most
powerful influence in awakening reason to a thorough investigation
into its own powers. It will, therefore, well repay our labours to
consider for a little the course of reasoning which he followed and
the errors into which he strayed, although setting out on the path
of truth and certitude.

Hume was probably aware, although he never clearly developed the
notion, that we proceed in judgements of a certain class beyond our
conception if the object. I have termed this kind of judgement
synthetical. As regard the manner in which I pass beyond my conception
by the aid of experience, no doubts can be entertained. Experience
is itself a synthesis of perceptions; and it employs perceptions to
increment the conception, which I obtain by means of another
perception. But we feel persuaded that we are able to proceed beyond
a conception, and to extend our cognition a priori. We attempt this
in two ways--either, through the pure understanding, in relation to
that which may become an object of experience, or, through pure
reason, in relation to such properties of things, or of the
existence of things, as can never be presented in any experience. This
sceptical philosopher did not distinguish these two kinds of
judgements, as he ought to have done, but regarded this augmentation
of conceptions, and, if we may so express ourselves, the spontaneous
generation of understanding and reason, independently of the
impregnation of experience, as altogether impossible. The so-called
a priori principles of these faculties he consequently held to be
invalid and imaginary, and regarded them as nothing but subjective
habits of thought originating in experience, and therefore purely
empirical and contingent rules, to which we attribute a spurious
necessity and universality. In support of this strange assertion, he
referred us to the generally acknowledged principle of the relation
between cause and effect. No faculty of the mind can conduct us from
the conception of a thing to the existence of something else; and
hence he believed he could infer that, without experience, we
possess no source from which we can augment a conception, and no
ground sufficient to justify us in framing a judgement that is to
extend our cognition a priori. That the light of the sun, which shines
upon a piece of wax, at the same time melts it, while it hardens clay,
no power of the understanding could infer from the conceptions which
we previously possessed of these substances; much less is there any
a priori law that could conduct us to such a conclusion, which
experience alone can certify. On the other hand, we have seen in our
discussion of transcendental logic, that, although we can never
proceed immediately beyond the content of the conception which is
given us, we can always cognize completely a priori--in relation,
however, to a third term, namely, possible experience--the law of
its connection with other things. For example, if I observe that a
piece of wax melts, I can cognize a priori that there must have been
something (the sun's heat) preceding, which this law; although,
without the aid of experience, I could not cognize a priori and in
a determinate manner either the cause from the effect, or the effect
from the cause. Hume was, therefore, wrong in inferring, from the
contingency of the determination according to law, the contingency
of the law itself; and the passing beyond the conception of a thing
to possible experience (which is an a priori proceeding, constituting
the objective reality of the conception), he confounded with our synthesis
of objects in actual experience, which is always, of course,
empirical. Thus, too, he regarded the principle of affinity, which
has its seat in the understanding and indicates a necessary connection,
as a mere rule of association, lying in the imitative faculty of
imagination, which can present only contingent, and not objective
connections.

The sceptical errors of this remarkably acute thinker arose
principally from a defect, which was common to him with the
dogmatists, namely, that he had never made a systematic review of
all the different kinds of a priori synthesis performed by the
understanding. Had he done so, he would have found, to take one
example among many, that the principle of permanence was of this
character, and that it, as well as the principle of causality,
anticipates experience. In this way he might have been able to
describe the determinate limits of the a priori operations of
understanding and reason. But he merely declared the understanding
to be limited, instead of showing what its limits were; he created
a general mistrust in the power of our faculties, without giving us
any determinate knowledge of the bounds of our necessary and
unavoidable ignorance; he examined and condemned some of the
principles of the understanding, without investigating all its
powers with the completeness necessary to criticism. He denies, with
truth, certain powers to the understanding, but he goes further, and
declares it to be utterly inadequate to the a priori extension of
knowledge, although he has not fully examined all the powers which
reside in the faculty; and thus the fate which always overtakes
scepticism meets him too. That is to say, his own declarations are
doubted, for his objections were based upon facta, which are
contingent, and not upon principles, which can alone demonstrate the
necessary invalidity of all dogmatical assertions.

As Hume makes no distinction between the well-grounded claims of the
understanding and the dialectical pretensions of reason, against
which, however, his attacks are mainly directed, reason does not
feel itself shut out from all attempts at the extension of a priori
cognition, and hence it refuses, in spite of a few checks in this or
that quarter, to relinquish such efforts. For one naturally arms
oneself to resist an attack, and becomes more obstinate in the resolve
to establish the claims he has advanced. But a complete review of
the powers of reason, and the conviction thence arising that we are
in possession of a limited field of action, while we must admit the
vanity of higher claims, puts an end to all doubt and dispute, and
induces reason to rest satisfied with the undisturbed possession of
its limited domain.

To the uncritical dogmatist, who has not surveyed the sphere of
his understanding, nor determined, in accordance with principles,
the limits of possible cognition, who, consequently, is ignorant of
his own powers, and believes he will discover them by the attempts
he makes in the field of cognition, these attacks of scepticism are
not only dangerous, but destructive. For if there is one proposition
in his chain of reasoning which be he cannot prove, or the fallacy
in which be cannot evolve in accordance with a principle, suspicion
falls on all his statements, however plausible they may appear.

And thus scepticism, the bane of dogmatical philosophy, conducts
us to a sound investigation into the understanding and the reason.
When we are thus far advanced, we need fear no further
attacks; for the limits of our domain are clearly marked out, and we
can make no claims nor become involved in any disputes regarding the
region that lies beyond these limits. Thus the sceptical procedure
in philosophy does not present any solution of the problems of reason,
but it forms an excellent exercise for its powers, awakening its
circumspection, and indicating the means whereby it may most fully
establish its claims to its legitimate possessions.



SECTION III. The Discipline of Pure Reason in Hypothesis.

This critique of reason has now taught us that all its efforts to
extend the bounds of knowledge, by means of pure speculation, are
utterly fruitless. So much the wider field, it may appear, lies open
to hypothesis; as, where we cannot know with certainty, we are at
liberty to make guesses and to form suppositions.

Imagination may be allowed, under the strict surveillance of reason,
to invent suppositions; but, these must be based on something that
is perfectly certain--and that is the possibility of the object. If
we are well assured upon this point, it is allowable to have recourse
to supposition in regard to the reality of the object; but this
supposition must, unless it is utterly groundless, be connected, as
its ground of explanation, with that which is really given and
absolutely certain. Such a supposition is termed a hypothesis.

It is beyond our power to form the least conception a priori of
the possibility of dynamical connection in phenomena; and the category
of the pure understanding will not enable us to ex. cogitate any
such connection, but merely helps us to understand it, when we meet
with it in experience. For this reason we cannot, in accordance with
the categories, imagine or invent any object or any property of an
object not given, or that may not be given in experience, and employ
it in a hypothesis; otherwise, we should be basing our chain of
reasoning upon mere chimerical fancies, and not upon conceptions of
things. Thus, we have no right to assume the existence of new
powers, not existing in nature--for example, an understanding with
a non-sensuous intuition, a force of attraction without contact, or
some new kind of substances occupying space, and yet without the property
of impenetrability--and, consequently, we cannot assume that there
is any other kind of community among substances than that observable
in experience, any kind of presence than that in space, or any kind
of duration than that in time. In one word, the conditions of possible
experience are for reason the only conditions of the possibility of
things; reason cannot venture to form, independently of these
conditions, any conceptions of things, because such conceptions,
although not self-contradictory, are without object and without
application.

The conceptions of reason are, as we have already shown, mere ideas,
and do not relate to any object in any kind of experience. At the same
time, they do not indicate imaginary or possible objects. They are
purely problematical in their nature and, as aids to the heuristic
exercise of the faculties, form the basis of the regulative principles
for the systematic employment of the understanding in the field of
experience. If we leave this ground of experience, they become mere
fictions of thought, the possibility of which is quite indemonstrable;
and they cannot, consequently, be employed as hypotheses in the
explanation of real phenomena. It is quite admissible to cogitate
the soul as simple, for the purpose of enabling ourselves to employ
the idea of a perfect and necessary unity of all the faculties of
the mind as the principle of all our inquiries into its internal
phenomena, although we cannot cognize this unity in concreto. But to
assume that the soul is a simple substance (a transcendental
conception) would be enouncing a proposition which is not only
indemonstrable--as many physical hypotheses are--but a proposition
which is purely arbitrary, and in the highest degree rash. The
simple is never presented in experience; and, if by substance is
here meant the permanent object of sensuous intuition, the possibility
of a simple phenomenon is perfectly inconceivable. Reason affords no
good grounds for admitting the existence of intelligible beings, or
of intelligible properties of sensuous things, although--as we have
no conception either of their possibility or of their impossibility--it
will always be out of our power to affirm dogmatically that they do
not exist. In the explanation of given phenomena, no other things
and no other grounds of explanation can be employed than those which
stand in connection with the given phenomena according to the known
laws of experience. A transcendental hypothesis, in which a mere
idea of reason is employed to explain the phenomena of nature, would
not give us any better insight into a phenomenon, as we should be
trying to explain what we do not sufficiently understand from known
empirical principles, by what we do not understand at all. The
principles of such a hypothesis might conduce to the satisfaction of
reason, but it would not assist the understanding in its application
to objects. Order and conformity to aims in the sphere of nature
must be themselves explained upon natural grounds and according to
natural laws; and the wildest hypotheses, if they are only physical,
are here more admissible than a hyperphysical hypothesis, such as that
of a divine author. For such a hypothesis would introduce the
principle of ignava ratio, which requires us to give up the search
for causes that might be discovered in the course of experience and
to rest satisfied with a mere idea. As regards the absolute totality
of the grounds of explanation in the series of these causes, this can
be no hindrance to the understanding in the case of phenomena;
because, as they are to us nothing more than phenomena, we have no
right to look for anything like completeness in the synthesis of the
series of their conditions.

Transcendental hypotheses are therefore inadmissible; and we
cannot use the liberty of employing, in the absence of physical,
hyperphysical grounds of explanation. And this for two reasons; first,
because such hypothesis do not advance reason, but rather stop it in
its progress; secondly, because this licence would render fruitless
all its exertions in its own proper sphere, which is that of
experience. For, when the explanation of natural phenomena happens
to be difficult, we have constantly at hand a transcendental ground
of explanation, which lifts us above the necessity of investigating
nature; and our inquiries are brought to a close, not because we
have obtained all the requisite knowledge, but because we abut upon
a principle which is incomprehensible and which, indeed, is so far
back in the track of thought as to contain the conception of the
absolutely primal being.

The next requisite for the admissibility of a hypothesis is its
sufficiency. That is, it must determine a priori the consequences
which are given in experience and which are supposed to follow from
the hypothesis itself. If we require to employ auxiliary hypotheses,
the suspicion naturally arises that they are mere fictions; because
the necessity for each of them requires the same justification as in
the case of the original hypothesis, and thus their testimony is
invalid. If we suppose the existence of an infinitely perfect cause,
we possess sufficient grounds for the explanation of the conformity
to aims, the order and the greatness which we observe in the universe;
but we find ourselves obliged, when we observe the evil in the world
and the exceptions to these laws, to employ new hypothesis in
support of the original one. We employ the idea of the simple nature
of the human soul as the foundation of all the theories we may form
of its phenomena; but when we meet with difficulties in our way, when
we observe in the soul phenomena similar to the changes which take
place in matter, we require to call in new auxiliary hypotheses. These
may, indeed, not be false, but we do not know them to be true, because
the only witness to their certitude is the hypothesis which they
themselves have been called in to explain.

We are not discussing the above-mentioned assertions regarding the
immaterial unity of the soul and the existence of a Supreme Being as
dogmata, which certain philosophers profess to demonstrate a priori,
but purely as hypotheses. In the former case, the dogmatist must
take care that his arguments possess the apodeictic certainty of a
demonstration. For the assertion that the reality of such ideas is
probable is as absurd as a proof of the probability of a proposition
in geometry. Pure abstract reason, apart from all experience, can
either cognize nothing at all; and hence the judgements it enounces
are never mere opinions, they are either apodeictic certainties, or
declarations that nothing can be known on the subject. Opinions and
probable judgements on the nature of things can only be employed to
explain given phenomena, or they may relate to the effect, in
accordance with empirical laws, of an actually existing cause. In
other words, we must restrict the sphere of opinion to the world of
experience and nature. Beyond this region opinion is mere invention;
unless we are groping about for the truth on a path not yet fully
known, and have some hopes of stumbling upon it by chance.

But, although hypotheses are inadmissible in answers to the
questions of pure speculative reason, they may be employed in the
defence of these answers. That is to say, hypotheses are admissible
in polemic, but not in the sphere of dogmatism. By the defence of
statements of this character, I do not mean an attempt at
discovering new grounds for their support, but merely the refutation
of the arguments of opponents. All a priori synthetical propositions
possess the peculiarity that, although the philosopher who maintains
the reality of the ideas contained in the proposition is not in
possession of sufficient knowledge to establish the certainty of his
statements, his opponent is as little able to prove the truth of the
opposite. This equality of fortune does not allow the one party to
be superior to the other in the sphere of speculative cognition; and
it is this sphere, accordingly, that is the proper arena of these
endless speculative conflicts. But we shall afterwards show that, in
relation to its practical exercise, Reason has the right of
admitting what, in the field of pure speculation, she would not be
justified in supposing, except upon perfectly sufficient grounds;
because all such suppositions destroy the necessary completeness of
speculation--a condition which the practical reason, however, does
not consider to be requisite. In this sphere, therefore, Reason is
mistress of a possession, her title to which she does not require to
prove--which, in fact, she could not do. The burden of proof
accordingly rests upon the opponent. But as he has just as little
knowledge regarding the subject discussed, and is as little able to
prove the non-existence of the object of an idea, as the philosopher
on the other side is to demonstrate its reality, it is evident that
there is an advantage on the side of the philosopher who maintains
his proposition as a practically necessary supposition (melior est
conditio possidentis). For he is at liberty to employ, in
self-defence, the same weapons as his opponent makes use of in
attacking him; that is, he has a right to use hypotheses not for the
purpose of supporting the arguments in favour of his own propositions,
but to show that his opponent knows no more than himself regarding
the subject under 'discussion and cannot boast of any speculative
advantage.

Hypotheses are, therefore, admissible in the sphere of pure reason
only as weapons for self-defence, and not as supports to dogmatical
assertions. But the opposing party we must always seek for in
ourselves. For speculative reason is, in the sphere of
transcendentalism, dialectical in its own nature. The difficulties
and objections we have to fear lie in ourselves. They are like old
but never superannuated claims; and we must seek them out, and settle
them once and for ever, if we are to expect a permanent peace. External
tranquility is hollow and unreal. The root of these contradictions,
which lies in the nature of human reason, must be destroyed; and
this can only be done by giving it, in the first instance, freedom
to grow, nay, by nourishing it, that it may send out shoots, and
thus betray its own existence. It is our duty, therefore, to try to
discover new objections, to put weapons in the bands of our
opponent, and to grant him the most favourable position in the arena
that he can wish. We have nothing to fear from these concessions; on
the contrary, we may rather hope that we shall thus make ourselves
master of a possession which no one will ever venture to dispute.

The thinker requires, to be fully equipped, the hypotheses of pure
reason, which, although but leaden weapons (for they have not been
steeled in the armoury of experience), are as useful as any that can
be employed by his opponents. If, accordingly, we have assumed, from
a non-speculative point of view, the immaterial nature of the soul,
and are met by the objection that experience seems to prove that the
growth and decay of our mental faculties are mere modifications of
the sensuous organism--we can weaken the force of this objection by
the assumption that the body is nothing but the fundamental phenomenon,
to which, as a necessary condition, all sensibility, and consequently
all thought, relates in the present state of our existence; and that
the separation of soul and body forms the conclusion of the sensuous
exercise of our power of cognition and the beginning of the
intellectual. The body would, in this view of the question, be
regarded, not as the cause of thought, but merely as its restrictive
condition, as promotive of the sensuous and animal, but as a hindrance
to the pure and spiritual life; and the dependence of the animal
life on the constitution of the body, would not prove that the whole
life of man was also dependent on the state of the organism. We
might go still farther, and discover new objections, or carry out to
their extreme consequences those which have already been adduced.

Generation, in the human race as well as among the irrational
animals, depends on so many accidents--of occasion, of proper
sustenance, of the laws enacted by the government of a country of vice
even, that it is difficult to believe in the eternal existence of a
being whose life has begun under circumstances so mean and trivial,
and so entirely dependent upon our own control. As regards the
continuance of the existence of the whole race, we need have no
difficulties, for accident in single cases is subject to general laws;
but, in the case of each individual, it would seem as if we could
hardly expect so wonderful an effect from causes so insignificant.
But, in answer to these objections, we may adduce the transcendental
hypothesis that all life is properly intelligible, and not subject
to changes of time, and that it neither began in birth, nor will end
in death. We may assume that this life is nothing more than a sensuous
representation of pure spiritual life; that the whole world of sense
is but an image, hovering before the faculty of cognition which we
exercise in this sphere, and with no more objective reality than a
dream; and that if we could intuite ourselves and other things as they
really are, we should see ourselves in a world of spiritual natures,
our connection with which did not begin at our birth and will not
cease with the destruction of the body. And so on.

We cannot be said to know what has been above asserted, nor do we
seriously maintain the truth of these assertions; and the notions
therein indicated are not even ideas of reason, they are purely
fictitious conceptions. But this hypothetical procedure is in
perfect conformity with the laws of reason. Our opponent mistakes
the absence of empirical conditions for a proof of the complete
impossibility of all that we have asserted; and we have to show him
that be has not exhausted the whole sphere of possibility and that
he can as little compass that sphere by the laws of experience and
nature, as we can lay a secure foundation for the operations of reason
beyond the region of experience. Such hypothetical defences against
the pretensions of an opponent must not be regarded as declarations
of opinion. The philosopher abandons them, so soon as the opposite
party renounces its dogmatical conceit. To maintain a simply
negative position in relation to propositions which rest on an
insecure foundation, well befits the moderation of a true philosopher;
but to uphold the objections urged against an opponent as proofs of
the opposite statement is a proceeding just as unwarrantable and
arrogant as it is to attack the position of a philosopher who advances
affirmative propositions regarding such a subject.

It is evident, therefore, that hypotheses, in the speculative
sphere, are valid, not as independent propositions, but only
relatively to opposite transcendent assumptions. For, to make the
principles of possible experience conditions of the possibility of
things in general is just as transcendent a procedure as to maintain
the objective reality of ideas which can be applied to no objects
except such as lie without the limits of possible experience. The
judgements enounced by pure reason must be necessary, or they must
not be enounced at all. Reason cannot trouble herself with opinions.
But the hypotheses we have been discussing are merely problematical
judgements, which can neither be confuted nor proved; while,
therefore, they are not personal opinions, they are indispensable as
answers to objections which are liable to be raised. But we must
take care to confine them to this function, and guard against any
assumption on their part of absolute validity, a proceeding which
would involve reason in inextricable difficulties and contradictions.



SECTION IV. The Discipline of Pure Reason in Relation to Proofs.

It is a peculiarity, which distinguishes the proofs of transcendental
synthetical propositions from those of all other a priori synthetical
cognitions, that reason, in the case of the former, does not apply its
conceptions directly to an object, but is first obliged to prove, a
priori, the objective validity of these conceptions and the possibility
of their syntheses. This is not merely a prudential rule, it is
essential to the very possibility of the proof of a transcendental
proposition. If I am required to pass, a priori, beyond the conception
of an object, I find that it is utterly impossible without the guidance
of something which is not contained in the conception. In mathematics,
it is a priori intuition that guides my synthesis; and, in this case,
all our conclusions may be drawn immediately from pure intuition. In
transcendental cognition, so long as we are dealing only with
conceptions of the understanding, we are guided by possible experience.
That is to say, a proof in the sphere of transcendental cognition does
not show that the given conception (that of an event, for example)
leads directly to another conception (that of a cause)--for this would
be a saltus which nothing can justify; but it shows that experience
itself, and consequently the object of experience, is impossible
without the connection indicated by these conceptions. It follows that
such a proof must demonstrate the possibility of arriving,
synthetically and a priori, at a certain knowledge of things, which was
not contained in our conceptions of these things. Unless we pay
particular attention to this requirement, our proofs, instead of
pursuing the straight path indicated by reason, follow the tortuous
road of mere subjective association. The illusory conviction, which
rests upon subjective causes of association, and which is considered as
resulting from the perception of a real and objective natural affinity,
is always open to doubt and suspicion. For this reason, all the
attempts which have been made to prove the principle of sufficient
reason, have, according to the universal admission of philosophers,
been quite unsuccessful; and, before the appearance of transcendental
criticism, it was considered better, as this principle could not be
abandoned, to appeal boldly to the common sense of mankind (a
proceeding which always proves that the problem, which reason ought to
solve, is one in which philosophers find great difficulties), rather
than attempt to discover new dogmatical proofs.

But, if the proposition to be proved is a proposition of pure
reason, and if I aim at passing beyond my empirical conceptions by
the aid of mere ideas, it is necessary that the proof should first
show that such a step in synthesis is possible (which it is not), before
it proceeds to prove the truth of the proposition itself. The so-called
proof of the simple nature of the soul from the unity of apperception,
is a very plausible one. But it contains no answer to the objection,
that, as the notion of absolute simplicity is not a conception which
is directly applicable to a perception, but is an idea which must be
inferred--if at all--from observation, it is by no means evident how
the mere fact of consciousness, which is contained in all thought,
although in so far a simple representation, can conduct me to the
consciousness and cognition of a thing which is purely a thinking
substance. When I represent to my mind the power of my body as in
motion, my body in this thought is so far absolute unity, and my
representation of it is a simple one; and hence I can indicate this
representation by the motion of a point, because I have made
abstraction of the size or volume of the body. But I cannot hence
infer that, given merely the moving power of a body, the body may be
cogitated as simple substance, merely because the representation in
my mind takes no account of its content in space, and is consequently
simple. The simple, in abstraction, is very different from the
objectively simple; and hence the Ego, which is simple in the first
sense, may, in the second sense, as indicating the soul itself, be
a very complex conception, with a very various content. Thus it is
evident that in all such arguments there lurks a paralogism. We
guess (for without some such surmise our suspicion would not be
excited in reference to a proof of this character) at the presence
of the paralogism, by keeping ever before us a criterion of the
possibility of those synthetical propositions which aim at proving
more than experience can teach us. This criterion is obtained from
the observation that such proofs do not lead us directly from the
subject of the proposition to be proved to the required predicate,
but find it necessary to presuppose the possibility of extending our
cognition a priori by means of ideas. We must, accordingly, always
use the greatest caution; we require, before attempting any proof,
to consider how it is possible to extend the sphere of cognition by
the operations of pure reason, and from what source we are to derive
knowledge, which is not obtained from the analysis of conceptions,
nor relates, by anticipation, to possible experience. We shall thus
spare ourselves much severe and fruitless labour, by not expecting
from reason what is beyond its power, or rather by subjecting it to
discipline, and teaching it to moderate its vehement desires for the
extension of the sphere of cognition.

The first rule for our guidance is, therefore, not to attempt a
transcendental proof, before we have considered from what source we
are to derive the principles upon which the proof is to be based,
and what right we have to expect that our conclusions from these
principles will be veracious. If they are principles of the
understanding, it is vain to expect that we should attain by their
means to ideas of pure reason; for these principles are valid only
in regard to objects of possible experience. If they are principles
of pure reason, our labour is alike in vain. For the principles of
reason, if employed as objective, are without exception dialectical
and possess no validity or truth, except as regulative principles of
the systematic employment of reason in experience. But when such
delusive proof are presented to us, it is our duty to meet them with
the non liquet of a matured judgement; and, although we are unable
to expose the particular sophism upon which the proof is based, we
have a right to demand a deduction of the principles employed in it;
and, if these principles have their origin in pure reason alone,
such a deduction is absolutely impossible. And thus it is
unnecessary that we should trouble ourselves with the exposure and
confutation of every sophistical illusion; we may, at once, bring
all dialectic, which is inexhaustible in the production of
fallacies, before the bar of critical reason, which tests the
principles upon which all dialectical procedure is based. The second
peculiarity of transcendental proof is that a transcendental
proposition cannot rest upon more than a single proof. If I am drawing
conclusions, not from conceptions, but from intuition corresponding
to a conception, be it pure intuition, as in mathematics, or empirical,
as in natural science, the intuition which forms the basis of my
inferences presents me with materials for many synthetical
propositions, which I can connect in various modes, while, as it is
allowable to proceed from different points in the intention, I can
arrive by different paths at the same proposition.

But every transcendental proposition sets out from a conception, and
posits the synthetical condition of the possibility of an object
according to this conception. There must, therefore, be but one ground
of proof, because it is the conception alone which determines the
object; and thus the proof cannot contain anything more than the
determination of the object according to the conception. In our
Transcendental Analytic, for example, we inferred the principle: Every
event has a cause, from the only condition of the objective
possibility of our conception of an event. This is that an event
cannot be determined in time, and consequently cannot form a part of
experience, unless it stands under this dynamical law. This is the
only possible ground of proof; for our conception of an event
possesses objective validity, that is, is a true conception, only
because the law of causality determines an object to which it can
refer. Other arguments in support of this principle have been
attempted--such as that from the contingent nature of a phenomenon;
but when this argument is considered, we can discover no criterion
of contingency, except the fact of an event--of something happening,
that is to say, the existence which is preceded by the non-existence
of an object, and thus we fall back on the very thing to be proved.
If the proposition: "Every thinking being is simple," is to be proved,
we keep to the conception of the ego, which is simple, and to which
all thought has a relation. The same is the case with the transcendental
proof of the existence of a Deity, which is based solely upon the
harmony and reciprocal fitness of the conceptions of an ens
realissimum and a necessary being, and cannot be attempted in any
other manner.

This caution serves to simplify very much the criticism of all
propositions of reason. When reason employs conceptions alone, only
one proof of its thesis is possible, if any. When, therefore, the
dogmatist advances with ten arguments in favour of a proposition, we
may be sure that not one of them is conclusive. For if he possessed
one which proved the proposition he brings forward to demonstration-
as must always be the case with the propositions of pure reason-
what need is there for any more? His intention can only be similar
to that of the advocate who had different arguments for different
judges; this availing himself of the weakness of those who examine
his arguments, who, without going into any profound investigation,
adopt the view of the case which seems most probable at first sight
and decide according to it.

The third rule for the guidance of pure reason in the conduct of a
proof is that all transcendental proofs must never be apagogic or
indirect, but always ostensive or direct. The direct or ostensive
proof not only establishes the truth of the proposition to be
proved, but exposes the grounds of its truth; the apagogic, on the
other hand, may assure us of the truth of the proposition, but it
cannot enable us to comprehend the grounds of its possibility. The
latter is, accordingly, rather an auxiliary to an argument, than a
strictly philosophical and rational mode of procedure. In one respect,
however, they have an advantage over direct proofs, from the fact that
the mode of arguing by contradiction, which they employ, renders our
understanding of the question more clear, and approximates the proof
to the certainty of an intuitional demonstration.

The true reason why indirect proofs are employed in different
sciences is this. When the grounds upon which we seek to base a
cognition are too various or too profound, we try whether or not we
may not discover the truth of our cognition from its consequences.
The modus ponens of reasoning from the truth of its inferences to the
truth of a proposition would be admissible if all the inferences
that can be drawn from it are known to be true; for in this case there
can be only one possible ground for these inferences, and that is
the true one. But this is a quite impracticable procedure, as it
surpasses all our powers to discover all the possible inferences
that can be drawn from a proposition. But this mode of reasoning is
employed, under favour, when we wish to prove the truth of an
hypothesis; in which case we admit the truth of the conclusion-
which is supported by analogy--that, if all the inferences we have
drawn and examined agree with the proposition assumed, all other
possible inferences will also agree with it. But, in this way, an
hypothesis can never be established as a demonstrated truth. The modus
tollens of reasoning from known inferences to the unknown proposition,
is not only a rigorous, but a very easy mode of proof. For, if it
can be shown that but one inference from a proposition is false,
then the proposition must itself be false. Instead, then, of
examining, in an ostensive argument, the whole series of the grounds
on which the truth of a proposition rests, we need only take the
opposite of this proposition, and if one inference from it be false,
then must the opposite be itself false; and, consequently, the
proposition which we wished to prove must be true.

The apagogic method of proof is admissible only in those sciences
where it is impossible to mistake a subjective representation for an
objective cognition. Where this is possible, it is plain that the
opposite of a given proposition may contradict merely the subjective
conditions of thought, and not the objective cognition; or it may
happen that both propositions contradict each other only under a
subjective condition, which is incorrectly considered to be objective,
and, as the condition is itself false, both propositions may be false,
and it will, consequently, be impossible to conclude the truth of
the one from the falseness of the other.

In mathematics such subreptions are impossible; and it is in this
science, accordingly, that the indirect mode of proof has its true
place. In the science of nature, where all assertion is based upon
empirical intuition, such subreptions may be guarded against by the
repeated comparison of observations; but this mode of proof is of
little value in this sphere of knowledge. But the transcendental
efforts of pure reason are all made in the sphere of the subjective,
which is the real medium of all dialectical illusion; and thus
reason endeavours, in its premisses, to impose upon us subjective
representations for objective cognitions. In the transcendental sphere
of pure reason, then, and in the case of synthetical propositions,
it is inadmissible to support a statement by disproving the
counter-statement. For only two cases are possible; either, the
counter-statement is nothing but the enouncement of the
inconsistency of the opposite opinion with the subjective conditions
of reason, which does not affect the real case (for example, we cannot
comprehend the unconditioned necessity of the existence of a being,
and hence every speculative proof of the existence of such a being
must be opposed on subjective grounds, while the possibility of this
being in itself cannot with justice be denied); or, both propositions,
being dialectical in their nature, are based upon an impossible
conception. In this latter case the rule applies: non entis nulla sunt
predicata; that is to say, what we affirm and what we deny, respecting
such an object, are equally untrue, and the apagogic mode of
arriving at the truth is in this case impossible. If, for example,
we presuppose that the world of sense is given in itself in its
totality, it is false, either that it is infinite, or that it is
finite and limited in space. Both are false, because the hypothesis
is false. For the notion of phenomena (as mere representations) which
are given in themselves (as objects) is self-contradictory; and the
infinitude of this imaginary whole would, indeed, be unconditioned,
but would be inconsistent (as everything in the phenomenal world is
conditioned) with the unconditioned determination and finitude of
quantities which is presupposed in our conception.

The apagogic mode of proof is the true source of those illusions
which have always had so strong an attraction for the admirers of
dogmatical philosophy. It may be compared to a champion who
maintains the honour and claims of the party he has adopted by
offering battle to all who doubt the validity of these claims and
the purity of that honour; while nothing can be proved in this way,
except the respective strength of the combatants, and the advantage,
in this respect, is always on the side of the attacking party.
Spectators, observing that each party is alternately conqueror and
conquered, are led to regard the subject of dispute as beyond the
power of man to decide upon. But such an opinion cannot be
justified; and it is sufficient to apply to these reasoners the
remark:

    Non defensoribus istis
    Tempus eget.

Each must try to establish his assertions by a transcendental
deduction of the grounds of proof employed in his argument, and thus
enable us to see in what way the claims of reason may be supported.
If an opponent bases his assertions upon subjective grounds, he may
be refuted with ease; not, however to the advantage of the dogmatist,
who likewise depends upon subjective sources of cognition and is in
like manner driven into a corner by his opponent. But, if parties employ
the direct method of procedure, they will soon discover the
difficulty, nay, the impossibility of proving their assertions, and
will be forced to appeal to prescription and precedence; or they will,
by the help of criticism, discover with ease the dogmatical
illusions by which they had been mocked, and compel reason to renounce
its exaggerated pretensions to speculative insight and to confine
itself within the limits of its proper sphere--that of practical
principles.



CHAPTER II. The Canon of Pure Reason.

It is a humiliating consideration for human reason that it is
incompetent to discover truth by means of pure speculation, but, on
the contrary, stands in need of discipline to check its deviations
from the straight path and to expose the illusions which it
originates. But, on the other hand, this consideration ought to
elevate and to give it confidence, for this discipline is exercised
by itself alone, and it is subject to the censure of no other power.
The bounds, moreover, which it is forced to set to its speculative
exercise, form likewise a check upon the fallacious pretensions of
opponents; and thus what remains of its possessions, after these
exaggerated claims have been disallowed, is secure from attack or
usurpation. The greatest, and perhaps the only, use of all
philosophy of pure reason is, accordingly, of a purely negative
character. It is not an organon for the extension, but a discipline
for the determination, of the limits of its exercise; and without
laying claim to the discovery of new truth, it has the modest merit
of guarding against error.

At the same time, there must be some source of positive cognitions
which belong to the domain of pure reason and which become the
causes of error only from our mistaking their true character, while
they form the goal towards which reason continually strives. How
else can we account for the inextinguishable desire in the human
mind to find a firm footing in some region beyond the limits of the
world of experience? It hopes to attain to the possession of a
knowledge in which it has the deepest interest. It enters upon the
path of pure speculation; but in vain. We have some reason, however,
to expect that, in the only other way that lies open to it--the path
of practical reason--it may meet with better success.

I understand by a canon a list of the a priori principles of the
proper employment of certain faculties of cognition. Thus general
logic, in its analytical department, is a formal canon for the
faculties of understanding and reason. In the same way, Transcendental
Analytic was seen to be a canon of the pure understanding; for it
alone is competent to enounce true a priori synthetical cognitions.
But, when no proper employment of a faculty of cognition is
possible, no canon can exist. But the synthetical cognition of pure
speculative reason is, as has been shown, completely impossible. There
cannot, therefore, exist any canon for the speculative exercise of
this faculty--for its speculative exercise is entirely dialectical;
and, consequently, transcendental logic, in this respect, is merely
a discipline, and not a canon. If, then, there is any proper mode of
employing the faculty of pure reason--in which case there must be a
canon for this faculty--this canon will relate, not to the
speculative, but to the practical use of reason. This canon we now
proceed to investigate.



SECTION I. Of the Ultimate End of the Pure Use of Reason.

There exists in the faculty of reason a natural desire to venture
beyond the field of experience, to attempt to reach the utmost
bounds of all cognition by the help of ideas alone, and not to rest
satisfied until it has fulfilled its course and raised the sum of
its cognitions into a self-subsistent systematic whole. Is the
motive for this endeavour to be found in its speculative, or in its
practical interests alone?

Setting aside, at present, the results of the labours of pure reason
in its speculative exercise, I shall merely inquire regarding the
problems the solution of which forms its ultimate aim, whether reached
or not, and in relation to which all other aims are but partial and
intermediate. These highest aims must, from the nature of reason,
possess complete unity; otherwise the highest interest of humanity
could not be successfully promoted.

The transcendental speculation of reason relates to three things:
the freedom of the will, the immortality of the soul, and the
existence of God. The speculative interest which reason has in those
questions is very small; and, for its sake alone, we should not
undertake the labour of transcendental investigation--a labour full
of toil and ceaseless struggle. We should be loth to undertake this
labour, because the discoveries we might make would not be of the
smallest use in the sphere of concrete or physical investigation. We
may find out that the will is free, but this knowledge only relates
to the intelligible cause of our volition. As regards the phenomena
or expressions of this will, that is, our actions, we are bound, in
obedience to an inviolable maxim, without which reason cannot be
employed in the sphere of experience, to explain these in the same
way as we explain all the other phenomena of nature, that is to say,
according to its unchangeable laws. We may have discovered the
spirituality and immortality of the soul, but we cannot employ this
knowledge to explain the phenomena of this life, nor the peculiar
nature of the future, because our conception of an incorporeal
nature is purely negative and does not add anything to our
knowledge, and the only inferences to be drawn from it are purely
fictitious. If, again, we prove the existence of a supreme
intelligence, we should be able from it to make the conformity to aims
existing in the arrangement of the world comprehensible; but we should
not be justified in deducing from it any particular arrangement or
disposition, or inferring any where it is not perceived. For it is
a necessary rule of the speculative use of reason that we must not
overlook natural causes, or refuse to listen to the teaching of
experience, for the sake of deducing what we know and perceive from
something that transcends all our knowledge. In one word, these
three propositions are, for the speculative reason, always
transcendent, and cannot be employed as immanent principles in
relation to the objects of experience; they are, consequently, of no
use to us in this sphere, being but the valueless results of the
severe but unprofitable efforts of reason.

If, then, the actual cognition of these three cardinal propositions is
perfectly useless, while Reason uses her utmost endeavours to induce us
to admit them, it is plain that their real value and importance relate
to our practical, and not to our speculative interest.

I term all that is possible through free will, practical. But if the
conditions of the exercise of free volition are empirical, reason
can have only a regulative, and not a constitutive, influence upon
it, and is serviceable merely for the introduction of unity into its
empirical laws. In the moral philosophy of prudence, for example,
the sole business of reason is to bring about a union of all the ends,
which are aimed at by our inclinations, into one ultimate end--that
of happiness--and to show the agreement which should exist among the
means of attaining that end. In this sphere, accordingly, reason
cannot present to us any other than pragmatical laws of free action,
for our guidance towards the aims set up by the senses, and is
incompetent to give us laws which are pure and determined completely
a priori. On the other hand, pure practical laws, the ends of which
have been given by reason entirely a priori, and which are not
empirically conditioned, but are, on the contrary, absolutely
imperative in their nature, would be products of pure reason. Such
are the moral laws; and these alone belong to the sphere of the
practical exercise of reason, and admit of a canon.

All the powers of reason, in the sphere of what may be termed pure
philosophy, are, in fact, directed to the three above-mentioned
problems alone. These again have a still higher end--the answer to
the question, what we ought to do, if the will is free, if there is
a God and a future world. Now, as this problem relates to our in
reference to the highest aim of humanity, it is evident that the
ultimate intention of nature, in the constitution of our reason, has
been directed to the moral alone.

We must take care, however, in turning our attention to an object
which is foreign* to the sphere of transcendental philosophy, not to
injure the unity of our system by digressions, nor, on the other hand,
to fail in clearness, by saying too little on the new subject of
discussion. I hope to avoid both extremes, by keeping as close as
possible to the transcendental, and excluding all psychological,
that is, empirical, elements.

[*Footnote: All practical conceptions relate to objects of pleasure
and pain, and consequently--in an indirect manner, at least--to objects
of feeling. But as feeling is not a faculty of representation, but
lies out of the sphere of our powers of cognition, the elements of
our judgements, in so far as they relate to pleasure or pain, that
is, the elements of our practical judgements, do not belong to
transcendental philosophy, which has to do with pure a priori
cognitions alone.]

I have to remark, in the first place, that at present I treat of the
conception of freedom in the practical sense only, and set aside the
corresponding transcendental conception, which cannot be employed as
a ground of explanation in the phenomenal world, but is itself a problem
for pure reason. A will is purely animal (arbitrium brutum) when it
is determined by sensuous impulses or instincts only, that is, when
it is determined in a pathological manner. A will, which can be determined
independently of sensuous impulses, consequently by motives
presented by reason alone, is called a free will (arbitrium
liberum); and everything which is connected with this free will,
either as principle or consequence, is termed practical. The existence
of practical freedom can be proved from experience alone. For the
human will is not determined by that alone which immediately affects
the senses; on the contrary, we have the power, by calling up the
notion of what is useful or hurtful in a more distant relation, of
overcoming the immediate impressions on our sensuous faculty of
desire. But these considerations of what is desirable in relation to
our whole state, that is, is in the end good and useful, are based
entirely upon reason. This faculty, accordingly, enounces laws,
which are imperative or objective laws of freedom and which tell us
what ought to take place, thus distinguishing themselves from the laws
of nature, which relate to that which does take place. The laws of
freedom or of free will are hence termed practical laws.

Whether reason is not itself, in the actual delivery of these
laws, determined in its turn by other influences, and whether the
action which, in relation to sensuous impulses, we call free, may not,
in relation to higher and more remote operative causes, really form
a part of nature--these are questions which do not here concern us.
They are purely speculative questions; and all we have to do, in the
practical sphere, is to inquire into the rule of conduct which
reason has to present. Experience demonstrates to us the existence
of practical freedom as one of the causes which exist in nature,
that is, it shows the causal power of reason in the determination of
the will. The idea of transcendental freedom, on the contrary,
requires that reason--in relation to its causal power of commencing
a series of phenomena--should be independent of all sensuous
determining causes; and thus it seems to be in opposition to the law
of nature and to all possible experience. It therefore remains a
problem for the human mind. But this problem does not concern reason
in its practical use; and we have, therefore, in a canon of pure
reason, to do with only two questions, which relate to the practical
interest of pure reason: Is there a God? and, Is there a future
life? The question of transcendental freedom is purely speculative,
and we may therefore set it entirely aside when we come to treat of
practical reason. Besides, we have already discussed this subject in
the antinomy of pure reason.



SECTION II. Of the Ideal of the Summum Bonum as a Determining
            Ground of the Ultimate End of Pure Reason.

Reason conducted us, in its speculative use, through the field of
experience and, as it can never find complete satisfaction in that
sphere, from thence to speculative ideas--which, however, in the end
brought us back again to experience, and thus fulfilled the purpose
of reason, in a manner which, though useful, was not at all in accordance
with our expectations. It now remains for us to consider whether
pure reason can be employed in a practical sphere, and whether it will
here conduct us to those ideas which attain the highest ends of pure
reason, as we have just stated them. We shall thus ascertain
whether, from the point of view of its practical interest, reason
may not be able to supply us with that which, on the speculative side,
it wholly denies us.

The whole interest of reason, speculative as well as practical, is
centred in the three following questions:

    1. WHAT CAN I KNOW?
    2. WHAT OUGHT I TO DO?
    3. WHAT MAY I HOPE?

The first question is purely speculative. We have, as I flatter
myself, exhausted all the replies of which it is susceptible, and have
at last found the reply with which reason must content itself, and
with which it ought to be content, so long as it pays no regard to
the practical. But from the two great ends to the attainment of which
all these efforts of pure reason were in fact directed, we remain just
as far removed as if we had consulted our ease and declined the task
at the outset. So far, then, as knowledge is concerned, thus much,
at least, is established, that, in regard to those two problems, it
lies beyond our reach.

The second question is purely practical. As such it may indeed
fall within the province of pure reason, but still it is not
transcendental, but moral, and consequently cannot in itself form
the subject of our criticism.

The third question: If I act as I ought to do, what may I then
hope?--is at once practical and theoretical. The practical forms a
clue to the answer of the theoretical, and--in its highest form-
speculative question. For all hoping has happiness for its object
and stands in precisely the same relation to the practical and the
law of morality as knowing to the theoretical cognition of things and
the law of nature. The former arrives finally at the conclusion that
something is (which determines the ultimate end), because something
ought to take place; the latter, that something is (which operates
as the highest cause), because something does take place.

Happiness is the satisfaction of all our desires; extensive, in
regard to their multiplicity; intensive, in regard to their degree;
and protensive, in regard to their duration. The practical law based
on the motive of happiness I term a pragmatical law (or prudential
rule); but that law, assuming such to exist, which has no other motive
than the worthiness of being happy, I term a moral or ethical law.
The first tells us what we have to do, if we wish to become possessed
of happiness; the second dictates how we ought to act, in order to
deserve happiness. The first is based upon empirical principles; for
it is only by experience that I can learn either what inclinations
exist which desire satisfaction, or what are the natural means of
satisfying them. The second takes no account of our desires or the
means of satisfying them, and regards only the freedom of a rational
being, and the necessary conditions under which alone this freedom
can harmonize with the distribution of happiness according to
principles. This second law may therefore rest upon mere ideas of pure
reason, and may be cognized a priori.

I assume that there are pure moral laws which determine, entirely
a priori (without regard to empirical motives, that is, to happiness),
the conduct of a rational being, or in other words, to use which it
makes of its freedom, and that these laws are absolutely imperative
(not merely hypothetically, on the supposition of other empirical
ends), and therefore in all respects necessary. I am warranted in
assuming this, not only by the arguments of the most enlightened
moralists, but by the moral judgement of every man who will make the
attempt to form a distinct conception of such a law.

Pure reason, then, contains, not indeed in its speculative, but in
its practical, or, more strictly, its moral use, principles of the
possibility of experience, of such actions, namely, as, in
accordance with ethical precepts, might be met with in the history
of man. For since reason commands that such actions should take place,
it must be possible for them to take place; and hence a particular
kind of systematic unity--the moral--must be possible. We have
found, it is true, that the systematic unity of nature could not be
established according to speculative principles of reason, because,
while reason possesses a causal power in relation to freedom, it has
none in relation to the whole sphere of nature; and, while moral
principles of reason can produce free actions, they cannot produce
natural laws. It is, then, in its practical, but especially in its
moral use, that the principles of pure reason possess objective
reality.

I call the world a moral world, in so far as it may be in accordance
with all the ethical laws--which, by virtue of the freedom of
reasonable beings, it can be, and according to the necessary laws of
morality it ought to be. But this world must be conceived only as an
intelligible world, inasmuch as abstraction is therein made of all
conditions (ends), and even of all impediments to morality (the
weakness or pravity of human nature). So far, then, it is a mere idea-
though still a practical idea--which may have, and ought to have, an
influence on the world of sense, so as to bring it as far as
possible into conformity with itself. The idea of a moral world has,
therefore, objective reality, not as referring to an object of
intelligible intuition--for of such an object we can form no
conception whatever--but to the world of sense--conceived, however,
as an object of pure reason in its practical use--and to a corpus
mysticum of rational beings in it, in so far as the liberum
arbitrium of the individual is placed, under and by virtue of moral
laws, in complete systematic unity both with itself and with the
freedom of all others.

That is the answer to the first of the two questions of pure
reason which relate to its practical interest: Do that which will
render thee worthy of happiness. The second question is this: If I
conduct myself so as not to be unworthy of happiness, may I hope
thereby to obtain happiness? In order to arrive at the solution of
this question, we must inquire whether the principles of pure
reason, which prescribe a priori the law, necessarily also connect
this hope with it.

I say, then, that just as the moral principles are necessary
according to reason in its practical use, so it is equally necessary
according to reason in its theoretical use to assume that every one
has ground to hope for happiness in the measure in which he has made
himself worthy of it in his conduct, and that therefore the system
of morality is inseparably (though only in the idea of pure reason)
connected with that of happiness.

Now in an intelligible, that is, in the moral world, in the
conception of which we make abstraction of all the impediments to
morality (sensuous desires), such a system of happiness, connected
with and proportioned to morality, may be conceived as necessary,
because freedom of volition--partly incited, and partly restrained
by moral laws--would be itself the cause of general happiness; and
thus rational beings, under the guidance of such principles, would
be themselves the authors both of their own enduring welfare and
that of others. But such a system of self-rewarding morality is only
an idea, the carrying out of which depends upon the condition that
every one acts as he ought; in other words, that all actions of
reasonable beings be such as they would be if they sprung from a
Supreme Will, comprehending in, or under, itself all particular wills.
But since the moral law is binding on each individual in the use of
his freedom of volition, even if others should not act in conformity
with this law, neither the nature of things, nor the causality of
actions and their relation to morality, determine how the consequences
of these actions will be related to happiness; and the necessary
connection of the hope of happiness with the unceasing endeavour to
become worthy of happiness, cannot be cognized by reason, if we take
nature alone for our guide. This connection can be hoped for only on
the assumption that the cause of nature is a supreme reason, which
governs according to moral laws.

I term the idea of an intelligence in which the morally most perfect
will, united with supreme blessedness, is the cause of all happiness
in the world, so far as happiness stands in strict } relation to
morality (as the worthiness of being happy), the ideal of the
supreme Good. supreme original good, that pure reason can find the
ground of the practically necessary connection of both elements of
the highest derivative good, and accordingly of an intelligible, that
is, moral world. Now since we are necessitated by reason to conceive
ourselves as belonging to such a world, while the senses present to
us nothing but a world of phenomena, we must assume the former as a
consequence of our conduct in the world of sense (since the world of
sense gives us no hint of it), and therefore as future in relation
to us. Thus God and a future life are two hypotheses which,
according to the principles of pure reason, are inseparable from the
obligation which this reason imposes upon us.

Morality per se constitutes a system. But we can form no system of
happiness, except in so far as it is dispensed in strict proportion
to morality. But this is only possible in the intelligible world, under
a wise author and ruler. Such a ruler, together with life in such a
world, which we must look upon as future, reason finds itself
compelled to assume; or it must regard the moral laws as idle
dreams, since the necessary consequence which this same reason
connects with them must, without this hypothesis, fall to the
ground. Hence also the moral laws are universally regarded as
commands, which they could not be did they not connect a priori
adequate consequences with their dictates, and thus carry with them
promises and threats. But this, again, they could not do, did they
not reside in a necessary being, as the Supreme Good, which alone can
render such a teleological unity possible.

Leibnitz termed the world, when viewed in relation to the rational
beings which it contains, and the moral relations in which they
stand to each other, under the government of the Supreme Good, the
kingdom of Grace, and distinguished it from the kingdom of Nature,
in which these rational beings live, under moral laws, indeed, but
expect no other consequences from their actions than such as follow
according to the course of nature in the world of sense. To view
ourselves, therefore, as in the kingdom of grace, in which all
happiness awaits us, except in so far as we ourselves limit our
participation in it by actions which render us unworthy of
happiness, is a practically necessary idea of reason.

Practical laws, in so far as they are subjective grounds of actions,
that is, subjective principles, are termed maxims. The judgements of
moral according to in its purity and ultimate results are framed
according ideas; the observance of its laws, according to according
to maxims.

The whole course of our life must be subject to moral maxims; but
this is impossible, unless with the moral law, which is a mere idea,
reason connects an efficient cause which ordains to all conduct
which is in conformity with the moral law an issue either in this or
in another life, which is in exact conformity with our highest aims.
Thus, without a God and without a world, invisible to us now, but
hoped for, the glorious ideas of morality are, indeed, objects of
approbation and of admiration, but cannot be the springs of purpose
and action. For they do not satisfy all the aims which are natural
to every rational being, and which are determined a priori by pure
reason itself, and necessary.

Happiness alone is, in the view of reason, far from being the
complete good. Reason does not approve of it (however much inclination
may desire it), except as united with desert. On the other hand,
morality alone, and with it, mere desert, is likewise far from being
the complete good. To make it complete, he who conducts himself in
a manner not unworthy of happiness, must be able to hope for the
possession of happiness. Even reason, unbiased by private ends, or
interested considerations, cannot judge otherwise, if it puts itself
in the place of a being whose business it is to dispense all happiness
to others. For in the practical idea both points are essentially
combined, though in such a way that participation in happiness is
rendered possible by the moral disposition, as its condition, and
not conversely, the moral disposition by the prospect of happiness.
For a disposition which should require the prospect of happiness as
its necessary condition would not be moral, and hence also would not
be worthy of complete happiness--a happiness which, in the view of
reason, recognizes no limitation but such as arises from our own
immoral conduct.

Happiness, therefore, in exact proportion with the morality of
rational beings (whereby they are made worthy of happiness),
constitutes alone the supreme good of a world into which we absolutely
must transport ourselves according to the commands of pure but
practical reason. This world is, it is true, only an intelligible
world; for of such a systematic unity of ends as it requires, the
world of sense gives us no hint. Its reality can be based on nothing
else but the hypothesis of a supreme original good. In it
independent reason, equipped with all the sufficiency of a supreme
cause, founds, maintains, and fulfils the universal order of things,
with the most perfect teleological harmony, however much this order
may be hidden from us in the world of sense.

This moral theology has the peculiar advantage, in contrast with
speculative theology, of leading inevitably to the conception of a
sole, perfect, and rational First Cause, whereof speculative
theology does not give us any indication on objective grounds, far
less any convincing evidence. For we find neither in transcendental
nor in natural theology, however far reason may lead us in these,
any ground to warrant us in assuming the existence of one only
Being, which stands at the head of all natural causes, and on which
these are entirely dependent. On the other band, if we take our
stand on moral unity as a necessary law of the universe, and from this
point of view consider what is necessary to give this law adequate
efficiency and, for us, obligatory force, we must come to the
conclusion that there is one only supreme will, which comprehends
all these laws in itself. For how, under different wills, should we
find complete unity of ends? This will must be omnipotent, that all
nature and its relation to morality in the world may be subject to
it; omniscient, that it may have knowledge of the most secret feelings
and their moral worth; omnipresent, that it may be at hand to supply
every necessity to which the highest weal of the world may give rise;
eternal, that this harmony of nature and liberty may never fail; and
so on.

But this systematic unity of ends in this world of intelligences-
which, as mere nature, is only a world of sense, but, as a system of
freedom of volition, may be termed an intelligible, that is, moral
world (regnum gratiae)--leads inevitably also to the teleological
unity of all things which constitute this great whole, according to
universal natural laws--just as the unity of the former is according
to universal and necessary moral laws--and unites the practical with
the speculative reason. The world must be represented as having
originated from an idea, if it is to harmonize with that use of reason
without which we cannot even consider ourselves as worthy of reason-
namely, the moral use, which rests entirely on the idea of the supreme
good. Hence the investigation of nature receives a teleological
direction, and becomes, in its widest extension, physico-theology.
But this, taking its rise in moral order as a unity founded on the
essence of freedom, and not accidentally instituted by external commands,
establishes the teleological view of nature on grounds which must be
inseparably connected with the internal possibility of things. This
gives rise to a transcendental theology, which takes the ideal of
the highest ontological perfection as a principle of systematic unity;
and this principle connects all things according to universal and
necessary natural laws, because all things have their origin in the
absolute necessity of the one only Primal Being.

What use can we make of our understanding, even in respect of
experience, if we do not propose ends to ourselves? But the highest
ends are those of morality, and it is only pure reason that can give
us the knowledge of these. Though supplied with these, and putting
ourselves under their guidance, we can make no teleological use of
the knowledge of nature, as regards cognition, unless nature itself
has established teleological unity. For without this unity we should
not even possess reason, because we should have no school for reason,
and no cultivation through objects which afford the materials for
its conceptions. But teleological unity is a necessary unity, and
founded on the essence of the individual will itself. Hence this will,
which is the condition of the application of this unity in concreto,
must be so likewise. In this way the transcendental enlargement of
our rational cognition would be, not the cause, but merely the effect
of the practical teleology which pure reason imposes upon us.

Hence, also, we find in the history of human reason that, before the
moral conceptions were sufficiently purified and determined, and
before men had attained to a perception of the systematic unity of
ends according to these conceptions and from necessary principles,
the knowledge of nature, and even a considerable amount of intellectual
culture in many other sciences, could produce only rude and vague
conceptions of the Deity, sometimes even admitting of an astonishing
indifference with regard to this question altogether. But the more
enlarged treatment of moral ideas, which was rendered necessary by
the extreme pure moral law of our religion, awakened the interest,
and thereby quickened the perceptions of reason in relation to this
object. In this way, and without the help either of an extended
acquaintance with nature, or of a reliable transcendental insight (for
these have been wanting in all ages), a conception of the Divine Being
was arrived at, which we now bold to be the correct one, not because
speculative reason convinces us of its correctness, but because it
accords with the moral principles of reason. Thus it is to pure
reason, but only in its practical use, that we must ascribe the
merit of having connected with our highest interest a cognition, of
which mere speculation was able only to form a conjecture, but the
validity of which it was unable to establish--and of having thereby
rendered it, not indeed a demonstrated dogma, but a hypothesis
absolutely necessary to the essential ends of reason.

But if practical reason has reached this elevation, and has attained
to the conception of a sole Primal Being as the supreme good, it
must not, therefore, imagine that it has transcended the empirical
conditions of its application, and risen to the immediate cognition
of new objects; it must not presume to start from the conception which
it has gained, and to deduce from it the moral laws themselves. For
it was these very laws, the internal practical necessity of which led
us to the hypothesis of an independent cause, or of a wise ruler of
the universe, who should give them effect. Hence we are not entitled
to regard them as accidental and derived from the mere will of the
ruler, especially as we have no conception of such a will, except as
formed in accordance with these laws. So far, then, as practical
reason has the right to conduct us, we shall not look upon actions
as binding on us, because they are the commands of God, but we shall
regard them as divine commands, because we are internally bound by
them. We shall study freedom under the teleological unity which
accords with principles of reason; we shall look upon ourselves as
acting in conformity with the divine will only in so far as we hold
sacred the moral law which reason teaches us from the nature of
actions themselves, and we shall believe that we can obey that will
only by promoting the weal of the universe in ourselves and in others.
Moral theology is, therefore, only of immanent use. It teaches us to
fulfil our destiny here in the world, by placing ourselves in
harmony with the general system of ends, and warns us against the
fanaticism, nay, the crime of depriving reason of its legislative
authority in the moral conduct of life, for the purpose of directly
connecting this authority with the idea of the Supreme Being. For this
would be, not an immanent, but a transcendent use of moral theology,
and, like the transcendent use of mere speculation, would inevitably
pervert and frustrate the ultimate ends of reason.



SECTION III. Of Opinion, Knowledge, and Belief.

The holding of a thing to be true is a phenomenon in our
understanding which may rest on objective grounds, but requires, also,
subjective causes in the mind of the person judging. If a judgement
is valid for every rational being, then its ground is objectively
sufficient, and it is termed a conviction. If, on the other hand, it
has its ground in the particular character of the subject, it is
termed a persuasion.

Persuasion is a mere illusion, the ground of the judgement, which
lies solely in the subject, being regarded as objective. Hence a
judgement of this kind has only private validity--is only valid for
the individual who judges, and the holding of a thing to be true in
this way cannot be communicated. But truth depends upon agreement with
the object, and consequently the judgements of all understandings,
if true, must be in agreement with each other (consentientia uni
tertio consentiunt inter se). Conviction may, therefore, be
distinguished, from an external point of view, from persuasion, by
the possibility of communicating it and by showing its validity for
the reason of every man; for in this case the presumption, at least,
arises that the agreement of all judgements with each other, in
spite of the different characters of individuals, rests upon the
common ground of the agreement of each with the object, and thus the
correctness of the judgement is established.

Persuasion, accordingly, cannot be subjectively distinguished from
conviction, that is, so long as the subject views its judgement simply
as a phenomenon of its own mind. But if we inquire whether the grounds
of our judgement, which are valid for us, produce the same effect on
the reason of others as on our own, we have then the means, though
only subjective means, not, indeed, of producing conviction, but of
detecting the merely private validity of the judgement; in other
words, of discovering that there is in it the element of mere
persuasion.

If we can, in addition to this, develop the subjective causes of the
judgement, which we have taken for its objective grounds, and thus
explain the deceptive judgement as a phenomenon in our mind, apart
altogether from the objective character of the object, we can then
expose the illusion and need be no longer deceived by it, although,
if its subjective cause lies in our nature, we cannot hope altogether
to escape its influence.

I can only maintain, that is, affirm as necessarily valid for
every one, that which produces conviction. Persuasion I may keep for
myself, if it is agreeable to me; but I cannot, and ought not, to
attempt to impose it as binding upon others.

Holding for true, or the subjective validity of a judgement in
relation to conviction (which is, at the same time, objectively
valid), has the three following degrees: opinion, belief, and
knowledge. Opinion is a consciously insufficient judgement,
subjectively as well as objectively. Belief is subjectively
sufficient, but is recognized as being objectively insufficient.
Knowledge is both subjectively and objectively sufficient.
Subjective sufficiency is termed conviction (for myself); objective
sufficiency is termed certainty (for all). I need not dwell longer
on the explanation of such simple conceptions.

I must never venture to be of opinion, without knowing something, at
least, by which my judgement, in itself merely problematical, is
brought into connection with the truth--which connection, although
not perfect, is still something more than an arbitrary fiction.
Moreover, the law of such a connection must be certain. For if, in
relation to this law, I have nothing more than opinion, my judgement
is but a play of the imagination, without the least relation to truth.
In the judgements of pure reason, opinion has no place. For, as they
do not rest on empirical grounds and as the sphere of pure reason is
that of necessary truth and a priori cognition, the principle of
connection in it requires universality and necessity, and consequently
perfect certainty--otherwise we should have no guide to the truth at
all. Hence it is absurd to have an opinion in pure mathematics; we
must know, or abstain from forming a judgement altogether. The case
is the same with the maxims of morality. For we must not hazard an
action on the mere opinion that it is allowed, but we must know it
to be so. In the transcendental sphere of reason, on the other hand,
the term opinion is too weak, while the word knowledge is too strong.
From the merely speculative point of view, therefore, we cannot form
a judgement at all. For the subjective grounds of a judgement, such
as produce belief, cannot be admitted in speculative inquiries,
inasmuch as they cannot stand without empirical support and are
incapable of being communicated to others in equal measure.

But it is only from the practical point of view that a theoretically
insufficient judgement can be termed belief. Now the practical
reference is either to skill or to morality; to the former, when the
end proposed is arbitrary and accidental, to the latter, when it is
absolutely necessary.

If we propose to ourselves any end whatever, the conditions of its
attainment are hypothetically necessary. The necessity is
subjectively, but still only comparatively, sufficient, if I am
acquainted with no other conditions under which the end can be
attained. On the other hand, it is sufficient, absolutely and for
every one, if I know for certain that no one can be acquainted with
any other conditions under which the attainment of the proposed end
would be possible. In the former case my supposition--my judgement
with regard to certain conditions--is a merely accidental belief; in
the latter it is a necessary belief. The physician must pursue some
course in the case of a patient who is in danger, but is ignorant of
the nature of the disease. He observes the symptoms, and concludes,
according to the best of his judgement, that it is a case of phthisis.
His belief is, even in his own judgement, only contingent: another
man might, perhaps come nearer the truth. Such a belief, contingent
indeed, but still forming the ground of the actual use of means for
the attainment of certain ends, I term Pragmatical belief.

The usual test, whether that which any one maintains is merely his
persuasion, or his subjective conviction at least, that is, his firm
belief, is a bet. It frequently happens that a man delivers his
opinions with so much boldness and assurance, that he appears to be
under no apprehension as to the possibility of his being in error.
The offer of a bet startles him, and makes him pause. Sometimes it
turns out that his persuasion may be valued at a ducat, but not at
ten. For he does not hesitate, perhaps, to venture a ducat, but if
it is proposed to stake ten, he immediately becomes aware of the
possibility of his being mistaken--a possibility which has hitherto
escaped his observation. If we imagine to ourselves that we have to
stake the happiness of our whole life on the truth of any proposition,
our judgement drops its air of triumph, we take the alarm, and discover
the actual strength of our belief. Thus pragmatical belief has
degrees, varying in proportion to the interests at stake.

Now, in cases where we cannot enter upon any course of action in
reference to some object, and where, accordingly, our judgement is
purely theoretical, we can still represent to ourselves, in thought,
the possibility of a course of action, for which we suppose that we
have sufficient grounds, if any means existed of ascertaining the
truth of the matter. Thus we find in purely theoretical judgements
an analogon of practical judgements, to which the word belief may
properly be applied, and which we may term doctrinal belief. I
should not hesitate to stake my all on the truth of the proposition-
if there were any possibility of bringing it to the test of
experience--that, at least, some one of the planets, which we see,
is inhabited. Hence I say that I have not merely the opinion, but
the strong belief, on the correctness of which I would stake even many
of the advantages of life, that there are inhabitants in other worlds.

Now we must admit that the doctrine of the existence of God
belongs to doctrinal belief. For, although in respect to the
theoretical cognition of the universe I do not require to form any
theory which necessarily involves this idea, as the condition of my
explanation of the phenomena which the universe presents, but, on
the contrary, am rather bound so to use my reason as if everything
were mere nature, still teleological unity is so important a condition
of the application of my reason to nature, that it is impossible for
me to ignore it--especially since, in addition to these
considerations, abundant examples of it are supplied by experience.
But the sole condition, so far as my knowledge extends, under which
this unity can be my guide in the investigation of nature, is the
assumption that a supreme intelligence has ordered all things
according to the wisest ends. Consequently, the hypothesis of a wise
author of the universe is necessary for my guidance in the
investigation of nature--is the condition under which alone I can
fulfil an end which is contingent indeed, but by no means unimportant.
Moreover, since the result of my attempts so frequently confirms the
utility of this assumption, and since nothing decisive can be
adduced against it, it follows that it would be saying far too
little to term my judgement, in this case, a mere opinion, and that,
even in this theoretical connection, I may assert that I firmly
believe in God. Still, if we use words strictly, this must not be
called a practical, but a doctrinal belief, which the theology of
nature (physico-theology) must also produce in my mind. In the
wisdom of a Supreme Being, and in the shortness of life, so inadequate
to the development of the glorious powers of human nature, we may find
equally sufficient grounds for a doctrinal belief in the future life
of the human soul.

The expression of belief is, in such cases, an expression of modesty
from the objective point of view, but, at the same time, of firm
confidence, from the subjective. If I should venture to term this
merely theoretical judgement even so much as a hypothesis which I am
entitled to assume; a more complete conception, with regard to another
world and to the cause of the world, might then be justly required
of me than I am, in reality, able to give. For, if I assume
anything, even as a mere hypothesis, I must, at least, know so much
of the properties of such a being as will enable me, not to form the
conception, but to imagine the existence of it. But the word belief
refers only to the guidance which an idea gives me, and to its
subjective influence on the conduct of my reason, which forces me to
hold it fast, though I may not be in a position to give a
speculative account of it.

But mere doctrinal belief is, to some extent, wanting in
stability. We often quit our hold of it, in consequence of the
difficulties which occur in speculation, though in the end we
inevitably return to it again.

It is quite otherwise with moral belief. For in this sphere action
is absolutely necessary, that is, I must act in obedience to the moral
law in all points. The end is here incontrovertibly established, and
there is only one condition possible, according to the best of my
perception, under which this end can harmonize with all other ends,
and so have practical validity--namely, the existence of a God and
of a future world. I know also, to a certainty, that no one can be
acquainted with any other conditions which conduct to the same unity
of ends under the moral law. But since the moral precept is, at the
same time, my maxim (as reason requires that it should be), I am
irresistibly constrained to believe in the existence of God and in
a future life; and I am sure that nothing can make me waver in this
belief, since I should thereby overthrow my moral maxims, the
renunciation of which would render me hateful in my own eyes.

Thus, while all the ambitious attempts of reason to penetrate beyond
the limits of experience end in disappointment, there is still
enough left to satisfy us in a practical point of view. No one, it
is true, will be able to boast that he knows that there is a God and
a future life; for, if he knows this, be is just the man whom I have
long wished to find. All knowledge, regarding an object of mere
reason, can be communicated; and I should thus be enabled to hope that
my own knowledge would receive this wonderful extension, through the
instrumentality of his instruction. No, my conviction is not
logical, but moral certainty; and since it rests on subjective grounds
(of the moral sentiment), I must not even say: It is morally certain
that there is a God, etc., but: I am morally certain, that is, my
belief in God and in another world is so interwoven with my moral
nature that I am under as little apprehension of having the former
torn from me as of losing the latter.

The only point in this argument that may appear open to suspicion is
that this rational belief presupposes the existence of moral
sentiments. If we give up this assumption, and take a man who is
entirely indifferent with regard to moral laws, the question which
reason proposes, becomes then merely a problem for speculation and
may, indeed, be supported by strong grounds from analogy, but not by
such as will compel the most obstinate scepticism to give way.* But
in these questions no man is free from all interest. For though the
want of good sentiments may place him beyond the influence of moral
interests, still even in this case enough may be left to make him fear
the existence of God and a future life. For he cannot pretend to any
certainty of the non-existence of God and of a future life, unless-
since it could only be proved by mere reason, and therefore
apodeictically--he is prepared to establish the impossibility of both,
which certainly no reasonable man would undertake to do. This would
be a negative belief, which could not, indeed, produce morality and
good sentiments, but still could produce an analogon of these, by
operating as a powerful restraint on the outbreak of evil
dispositions.

[*Footnote: The human mind (as, I believe, every rational being must
of necessity do) takes a natural interest in morality, although this
interest is not undivided, and may not be practically in
preponderance. If you strengthen and increase it, you will find the
reason become docile, more enlightened, and more capable of uniting
the speculative interest with the practical. But if you do not take
care at the outset, or at least midway, to make men good, you will
never force them into an honest belief.]

But, it will be said, is this all that pure reason can effect, in
opening up prospects beyond the limits of experience? Nothing more
than two articles of belief? Common sense could have done as much as
this, without taking the philosophers to counsel in the matter!

I shall not here eulogize philosophy for the benefits which the
laborious efforts of its criticism have conferred on human reason-
even granting that its merit should turn out in the end to be only
negative--for on this point something more will be said in the next
section. But, I ask, do you require that that knowledge which concerns
all men, should transcend the common understanding, and should only
be revealed to you by philosophers? The very circumstance which has
called forth your censure, is the best confirmation of the correctness
of our previous assertions, since it discloses, what could not have
been foreseen, that Nature is not chargeable with any partial
distribution of her gifts in those matters which concern all men
without distinction and that, in respect to the essential ends of
human nature, we cannot advance further with the help of the highest
philosophy, than under the guidance which nature has vouchsafed to
the meanest understanding.



CHAPTER III. The Architectonic of Pure Reason.

By the term architectonic I mean the art of constructing a system.
Without systematic unity, our knowledge cannot become science; it will
be an aggregate, and not a system. Thus architectonic is the
doctrine of the scientific in cognition, and therefore necessarily
forms part of our methodology.

Reason cannot permit our knowledge to remain in an unconnected and
rhapsodistic state, but requires that the sum of our cognitions should
constitute a system. It is thus alone that they can advance the ends
of reason. By a system I mean the unity of various cognitions under
one idea. This idea is the conception--given by reason--of the form
of a whole, in so far as the conception determines a priori not only
the limits of its content, but the place which each of its parts is
to occupy. The scientific idea contains, therefore, the end and the
form of the whole which is in accordance with that end. The unity of
the end, to which all the parts of the system relate, and through
which all have a relation to each other, communicates unity to the
whole system, so that the absence of any part can be immediately
detected from our knowledge of the rest; and it determines a priori
the limits of the system, thus excluding all contingent or arbitrary
additions. The whole is thus an organism (articulatio), and not an
aggregate (coacervatio); it may grow from within (per
intussusceptionem), but it cannot increase by external additions
(per appositionem). It is, thus, like an animal body, the growth of
which does not add any limb, but, without changing their
proportions, makes each in its sphere stronger and more active.

We require, for the execution of the idea of a system, a schema,
that is, a content and an arrangement of parts determined a priori
by the principle which the aim of the system prescribes. A schema
which is not projected in accordance with an idea, that is, from the
standpoint of the highest aim of reason, but merely empirically, in
accordance with accidental aims and purposes (the number of which
cannot be predetermined), can give us nothing more than technical
unity. But the schema which is originated from an idea (in which
case reason presents us with aims a priori, and does not look for them
to experience), forms the basis of architectonical unity. A science,
in the proper acceptation of that term. cannot be formed
technically, that is, from observation of the similarity existing
between different objects, and the purely contingent use we make of
our knowledge in concreto with reference to all kinds of arbitrary
external aims; its constitution must be framed on architectonical
principles, that is, its parts must be shown to possess an essential
affinity, and be capable of being deduced from one supreme and
internal aim or end, which forms the condition of the possibility of
the scientific whole. The schema of a science must give a priori the
plan of it (monogramma), and the division of the whole into parts,
in conformity with the idea of the science; and it must also
distinguish this whole from all others, according to certain
understood principles.

No one will attempt to construct a science, unless he have some idea
to rest on as a proper basis. But, in the elaboration of the
science, he finds that the schema, nay, even the definition which he
at first gave of the science, rarely corresponds with his idea; for
this idea lies, like a germ, in our reason, its parts undeveloped
and hid even from microscopical observation. For this reason, we ought
to explain and define sciences, not according to the description which
the originator gives of them, but according to the idea which we
find based in reason itself, and which is suggested by the natural
unity of the parts of the science already accumulated. For it will
of ten be found that the originator of a science and even his latest
successors remain attached to an erroneous idea, which they cannot
render clear to themselves, and that they thus fail in determining
the true content, the articulation or systematic unity, and the limits
of their science.

It is unfortunate that, only after having occupied ourselves for a
long time in the collection of materials, under the guidance of an
idea which lies undeveloped in the mind, but not according to any
definite plan of arrangement--nay, only after we have spent much
time and labour in the technical disposition of our materials, does
it become possible to view the idea of a science in a clear light,
and to project, according to architectonical principles, a plan of
the whole, in accordance with the aims of reason. Systems seem, like
certain worms, to be formed by a kind of generatio aequivoca--by the
mere confluence of conceptions, and to gain completeness only with
the progress of time. But the schema or germ of all lies in reason;
and thus is not only every system organized according to its own idea,
but all are united into one grand system of human knowledge, of which
they form members. For this reason, it is possible to frame an
architectonic of all human cognition, the formation of which, at the
present time, considering the immense materials collected or to be
found in the ruins of old systems, would not indeed be very difficult.
Our purpose at present is merely to sketch the plan of the
architectonic of all cognition given by pure reason; and we begin from
the point where the main root of human knowledge divides into two,
one of which is reason. By reason I understand here the whole higher
faculty of cognition, the rational being placed in contradistinction
to the empirical.

If I make complete abstraction of the content of cognition,
objectively considered, all cognition is, from a subjective point of
view, either historical or rational. Historical cognition is
cognitio ex datis, rational, cognitio ex principiis. Whatever may be
the original source of a cognition, it is, in relation to the person
who possesses it, merely historical, if he knows only what has been
given him from another quarter, whether that knowledge was
communicated by direct experience or by instruction. Thus the Person
who has learned a system of philosophy--say the Wolfian--although he
has a perfect knowledge of all the principles, definitions, and
arguments in that philosophy, as well as of the divisions that have
been made of the system, possesses really no more than an historical
knowledge of the Wolfian system; he knows only what has been told him,
his judgements are only those which he has received from his teachers.
Dispute the validity of a definition, and he is completely at a loss
to find another. He has formed his mind on another's; but the
imitative faculty is not the productive. His knowledge has not been
drawn from reason; and although, objectively considered, it is
rational knowledge, subjectively, it is merely historical. He has
learned this or that philosophy and is merely a plaster cast of a
living man. Rational cognitions which are objective, that is, which
have their source in reason, can be so termed from a subjective
point of view, only when they have been drawn by the individual
himself from the sources of reason, that is, from principles; and it
is in this way alone that criticism, or even the rejection of what
has been already learned, can spring up in the mind.

All rational cognition is, again, based either on conceptions, or on
the construction of conceptions. The former is termed philosophical,
the latter mathematical. I have already shown the essential difference
of these two methods of cognition in the first chapter. A cognition
may be objectively philosophical and subjectively historical--as is
the case with the majority of scholars and those who cannot look
beyond the limits of their system, and who remain in a state of
pupilage all their lives. But it is remarkable that mathematical
knowledge, when committed to memory, is valid, from the subjective
point of view, as rational knowledge also, and that the same
distinction cannot be drawn here as in the case of philosophical
cognition. The reason is that the only way of arriving at this
knowledge is through the essential principles of reason, and thus it
is always certain and indisputable; because reason is employed in
concreto--but at the same time a priori--that is, in pure and,
therefore, infallible intuition; and thus all causes of illusion and
error are excluded. Of all the a priori sciences of reason, therefore,
mathematics alone can be learned. Philosophy--unless it be in an
historical manner--cannot be learned; we can at most learn to
philosophize.

Philosophy is the system of all philosophical cognition. We must use
this term in an objective sense, if we understand by it the archetype
of all attempts at philosophizing, and the standard by which all
subjective philosophies are to be judged. In this sense, philosophy is
merely the idea of a possible science, which does not exist in
concreto, but to which we endeavour in various ways to approximate,
until we have discovered the right path to pursue--a path overgrown by
the errors and illusions of sense--and the image we have hitherto tried
in vain to shape has become a perfect copy of the great prototype.
Until that time, we cannot learn philosophy--it does not exist; if it
does, where is it, who possesses it, and how shall we know it? We can
only learn to philosophize; in other words, we can only exercise our
powers of reasoning in accordance with general principles, retaining at
the same time, the right of investigating the sources of these
principles, of testing, and even of rejecting them.

Until then, our conception of philosophy is only a scholastic
conception--a conception, that is, of a system of cognition which we
are trying to elaborate into a science; all that we at present know
being the systematic unity of this cognition, and consequently the
logical completeness of the cognition for the desired end. But there
is also a cosmical conception (conceptus cosmicus) of philosophy,
which has always formed the true basis of this term, especially when
philosophy was personified and presented to us in the ideal of a
philosopher. In this view philosophy is the science of the relation
of all cognition to the ultimate and essential aims of human reason
(teleologia rationis humanae), and the philosopher is not merely an
artist--who occupies himself with conceptions--but a lawgiver,
legislating for human reason. In this sense of the word, it would be
in the highest degree arrogant to assume the title of philosopher,
and to pretend that we had reached the perfection of the prototype
which lies in the idea alone.

The mathematician, the natural philosopher, and the logician--how
far soever the first may have advanced in rational, and the two latter
in philosophical knowledge--are merely artists, engaged in the
arrangement and formation of conceptions; they cannot be termed
philosophers. Above them all, there is the ideal teacher, who
employs them as instruments for the advancement of the essential
aims of human reason. Him alone can we call philosopher; but he
nowhere exists. But the idea of his legislative power resides in the
mind of every man, and it alone teaches us what kind of systematic
unity philosophy demands in view of the ultimate aims of reason.
This idea is, therefore, a cosmical conception.*

[*Footnote: By a cosmical conception, I mean one in which all men
necessarily take an interest; the aim of a science must accordingly
be determined according to scholastic conceptions, if it is regarded
merely as a means to certain arbitrarily proposed ends.]

In view of the complete systematic unity of reason, there can only
be one ultimate end of all the operations of the mind. To this all
other aims are subordinate, and nothing more than means for its
attainment. This ultimate end is the destination of man, and the
philosophy which relates to it is termed moral philosophy. The
superior position occupied by moral philosophy, above all other
spheres for the operations of reason, sufficiently indicates the
reason why the ancients always included the idea--and in an especial
manner--of moralist in that of philosopher. Even at the present day,
we call a man who appears to have the power of self-government, even
although his knowledge may be very limited, by the name of
philosopher.

The legislation of human reason, or philosophy, has two objects-
nature and freedom--and thus contains not only the laws of nature,
but also those of ethics, at first in two separate systems, which,
finally, merge into one grand philosophical system of cognition. The
philosophy of nature relates to that which is, that of ethics to
that which ought to be.

But all philosophy is either cognition on the basis of pure
reason, or the cognition of reason on the basis of empirical
principles. The former is termed pure, the latter empirical
philosophy.

The philosophy of pure reason is either propaedeutic, that is, an
inquiry into the powers of reason in regard to pure a priori
cognition, and is termed critical philosophy; or it is, secondly,
the system of pure reason--a science containing the systematic
presentation of the whole body of philosophical knowledge, true as
well as illusory, given by pure reason--and is called metaphysic. This
name may, however, be also given to the whole system of pure
philosophy, critical philosophy included, and may designate the
investigation into the sources or possibility of a priori cognition,
as well as the presentation of the a priori cognitions which form a
system of pure philosophy--excluding, at the same time, all
empirical and mathematical elements.

Metaphysic is divided into that of the speculative and that of the
practical use of pure reason, and is, accordingly, either the
metaphysic of nature, or the metaphysic of ethics. The former contains
all the pure rational principles--based upon conceptions alone (and
thus excluding mathematics)--of all theoretical cognition; the latter,
the principles which determine and necessitate a priori all action.
Now moral philosophy alone contains a code of laws--for the regulation
of our actions--which are deduced from principles entirely a priori.
Hence the metaphysic of ethics is the only pure moral philosophy, as
it is not based upon anthropological or other empirical
considerations. The metaphysic of speculative reason is what is
commonly called metaphysic in the more limited sense. But as pure
moral philosophy properly forms a part of this system of cognition,
we must allow it to retain the name of metaphysic, although it is not
requisite that we should insist on so terming it in our present
discussion.

It is of the highest importance to separate those cognitions which
differ from others both in kind and in origin, and to take great
care that they are not confounded with those with which they are
generally found connected. What the chemist does in the analysis of
substances, what the mathematician in pure mathematics, is, in a still
higher degree, the duty of the philosopher, that the value of each
different kind of cognition, and the part it takes in the operations
of the mind, may be clearly defined. Human reason has never wanted
a metaphysic of some kind, since it attained the power of thought,
or rather of reflection; but it has never been able to keep this sphere
of thought and cognition pure from all admixture of foreign
elements. The idea of a science of this kind is as old as
speculation itself; and what mind does not speculate--either in the
scholastic or in the popular fashion? At the same time, it must be
admitted that even thinkers by profession have been unable clearly
to explain the distinction between the two elements of our
cognition--the one completely a priori, the other a posteriori; and
hence the proper definition of a peculiar kind of cognition, and
with it the just idea of a science which has so long and so deeply
engaged the attention of the human mind, has never been established.
When it was said: "Metaphysic is the science of the first principles
of human cognition," this definition did not signalize a peculiarity
in kind, but only a difference in degree; these first principles
were thus declared to be more general than others, but no criterion
of distinction from empirical principles was given. Of these some are
more general, and therefore higher, than others; and--as we cannot
distinguish what is completely a priori from that which is known to
be a posteriori--where shall we draw the line which is to separate
the higher and so-called first principles, from the lower and
subordinate principles of cognition? What would be said if we were
asked to be satisfied with a division of the epochs of the world
into the earlier centuries and those following them? "Does the
fifth, or the tenth century belong to the earlier centuries?" it would
be asked. In the same way I ask: Does the conception of extension
belong to metaphysics? You answer, "Yes." Well, that of body too?
"Yes." And that of a fluid body? You stop, you are unprepared to admit
this; for if you do, everything will belong to metaphysics. From
this it is evident that the mere degree of subordination--of the
particular to the general--cannot determine the limits of a science;
and that, in the present case, we must expect to find a difference
in the conceptions of metaphysics both in kind and in origin. The
fundamental idea of metaphysics was obscured on another side by the
fact that this kind of a priori cognition showed a certain
similarity in character with the science of mathematics. Both have
the property in common of possessing an a priori origin; but, in the
one, our knowledge is based upon conceptions, in the other, on the
construction of conceptions. Thus a decided dissimilarity between
philosophical and mathematical cognition comes out--a dissimilarity
which was always felt, but which could not be made distinct for want
of an insight into the criteria of the difference. And thus it
happened that, as philosophers themselves failed in the proper
development of the idea of their science, the elaboration of the
science could not proceed with a definite aim, or under trustworthy
guidance. Thus, too, philosophers, ignorant of the path they ought
to pursue and always disputing with each other regarding the
discoveries which each asserted he had made, brought their science
into disrepute with the rest of the world, and finally, even among
themselves.

All pure a priori cognition forms, therefore, in view of the
peculiar faculty which originates it, a peculiar and distinct unity;
and metaphysic is the term applied to the philosophy which attempts
to represent that cognition in this systematic unity. The speculative
part of metaphysic, which has especially appropriated this
appellation--that which we have called the metaphysic of nature--and
which considers everything, as it is (not as it ought to be), by means
of a priori conceptions, is divided in the following manner.

Metaphysic, in the more limited acceptation of the term, consists of
two parts--transcendental philosophy and the physiology of pure
reason. The former presents the system of all the conceptions and
principles belonging to the understanding and the reason, and which
relate to objects in general, but not to any particular given
objects (Ontologia); the latter has nature for its subject-matter,
that is, the sum of given objects--whether given to the senses, or,
if we will, to some other kind of intuition--and is accordingly
physiology, although only rationalis. But the use of the faculty of
reason in this rational mode of regarding nature is either physical
or hyperphysical, or, more properly speaking, immanent or transcendent.
The former relates to nature, in so far as our knowledge regarding
it may be applied in experience (in concreto); the latter to that
connection of the objects of experience, which transcends all
experience. Transcendent physiology has, again, an internal and an
external connection with its object, both, however, transcending
possible experience; the former is the physiology of nature as a
whole, or transcendental cognition of the world, the latter of the
connection of the whole of nature with a being above nature, or
transcendental cognition of God.

Immanent physiology, on the contrary, considers nature as the sum of
all sensuous objects, consequently, as it is presented to us--but
still according to a priori conditions, for it is under these alone
that nature can be presented to our minds at all. The objects of
immanent physiology are of two kinds: 1. Those of the external senses,
or corporeal nature; 2. The object of the internal sense, the soul,
or, in accordance with our fundamental conceptions of it, thinking
nature. The metaphysics of corporeal nature is called physics; but,
as it must contain only the principles of an a priori cognition of
nature, we must term it rational physics. The metaphysics of
thinking nature is called psychology, and for the same reason is to
be regarded as merely the rational cognition of the soul.

Thus the whole system of metaphysics consists of four principal
parts: 1. Ontology; 2. Rational Physiology; 3. Rational cosmology;
and 4. Rational theology. The second part--that of the rational doctrine
of nature--may be subdivided into two, physica rationalis* and
psychologia rationalis.

[*Footnote: It must not be supposed that I mean by this appellation
what is generally called physica general is, and which is rather
mathematics than a philosophy of nature. For the metaphysic of nature
is completely different from mathematics, nor is it so rich in results,
although it is of great importance as a critical test of the
application of pure understanding-cognition to nature. For want of
its guidance, even mathematicians, adopting certain common notions-
which are, in fact, metaphysical--have unconsciously crowded their
theories of nature with hypotheses, the fallacy of which becomes
evident upon the application of the principles of this metaphysic,
without detriment, however, to the employment of mathematics in this
sphere of cognition.]

The fundamental idea of a philosophy of pure reason of necessity
dictates this division; it is, therefore, architectonical--in
accordance with the highest aims of reason, and not merely
technical, or according to certain accidentally-observed
similarities existing between the different parts of the whole
science. For this reason, also, is the division immutable and of
legislative authority. But the reader may observe in it a few points
to which he ought to demur, and which may weaken his conviction of
its truth and legitimacy.

In the first place, how can I desire an a priori cognition or
metaphysic of objects, in so far as they are given a posteriori? and
how is it possible to cognize the nature of things according to a
priori principles, and to attain to a rational physiology? The
answer is this. We take from experience nothing more than is requisite
to present us with an object (in general) of the external or of the
internal sense; in the former case, by the mere conception of matter
(impenetrable and inanimate extension), in the latter, by the
conception of a thinking being--given in the internal empirical
representation, I think. As to the rest, we must not employ in our
metaphysic of these objects any empirical principles (which add to
the content of our conceptions by means of experience), for the purpose
of forming by their help any judgements respecting these objects.

Secondly, what place shall we assign to empirical psychology,
which has always been considered a part of metaphysics, and from which
in our time such important philosophical results have been expected,
after the hope of constructing an a priori system of knowledge had
been abandoned? I answer: It must be placed by the side of empirical
physics or physics proper; that is, must be regarded as forming a part
of applied philosophy, the a priori principles of which are
contained in pure philosophy, which is therefore connected, although
it must not be confounded, with psychology. Empirical psychology
must therefore be banished from the sphere of metaphysics, and is
indeed excluded by the very idea of that science. In conformity,
however, with scholastic usage, we must permit it to occupy a place
in metaphysics--but only as an appendix to it. We adopt this course
from motives of economy; as psychology is not as yet full enough to
occupy our attention as an independent study, while it is, at the same
time, of too great importance to be entirely excluded or placed
where it has still less affinity than it has with the subject of
metaphysics. It is a stranger who has been long a guest; and we make
it welcome to stay, until it can take up a more suitable abode in a
complete system of anthropology--the pendant to empirical physics.

The above is the general idea of metaphysics, which, as more was
expected from it than could be looked for with justice, and as these
pleasant expectations were unfortunately never realized, fell into
general disrepute. Our Critique must have fully convinced the reader
that, although metaphysics cannot form the foundation of religion,
it must always be one of its most important bulwarks, and that human
reason, which naturally pursues a dialectical course, cannot do
without this science, which checks its tendencies towards dialectic
and, by elevating reason to a scientific and clear self-knowledge,
prevents the ravages which a lawless speculative reason would
infallibly commit in the sphere of morals as well as in that of
religion. We may be sure, therefore, whatever contempt may be thrown
upon metaphysics by those who judge a science not by its own nature,
but according to the accidental effects it may have produced, that
it can never be completely abandoned, that we must always return to
it as to a beloved one who has been for a time estranged, because the
questions with which it is engaged relate to the highest aims of
humanity, and reason must always labour either to attain to settled
views in regard to these, or to destroy those which others have
already established.

Metaphysic, therefore--that of nature, as well as that of ethics,
but in an especial manner the criticism which forms the propaedeutic
to all the operations of reason--forms properly that department of
knowledge which may be termed, in the truest sense of the word,
philosophy. The path which it pursues is that of science, which,
when it has once been discovered, is never lost, and never misleads.
Mathematics, natural science, the common experience of men, have a
high value as means, for the most part, to accidental ends--but at
last also, to those which are necessary and essential to the existence
of humanity. But to guide them to this high goal, they require the
aid of rational cognition on the basis of pure conceptions, which,
be it termed as it may, is properly nothing but metaphysics.

For the same reason, metaphysics forms likewise the completion of
the culture of human reason. In this respect, it is indispensable,
setting aside altogether the influence which it exerts as a science.
For its subject-matter is the elements and highest maxims of reason,
which form the basis of the possibility of some sciences and of the
use of all. That, as a purely speculative science, it is more useful
in preventing error than in the extension of knowledge, does not
detract from its value; on the contrary, the supreme office of
censor which it occupies assures to it the highest authority and
importance. This office it administers for the purpose of securing
order, harmony, and well-being to science, and of directing its
noble and fruitful labours to the highest possible aim--the
happiness of all mankind.



CHAPTER IV. The History of Pure Reason.

This title is placed here merely for the purpose of designating a
division of the system of pure reason of which I do not intend to
treat at present. I shall content myself with casting a cursory
glance, from a purely transcendental point of view--that of the nature
of pure reason--on the labours of philosophers up to the present time.
They have aimed at erecting an edifice of philosophy; but to my eye
this edifice appears to be in a very ruinous condition.

It is very remarkable, although naturally it could not have been
otherwise, that, in the infancy of philosophy, the study of the nature
of God and the constitution of a future world formed the commencement,
rather than the conclusion, as we should have it, of the speculative
efforts of the human mind. However rude the religious conceptions
generated by the remains of the old manners and customs of a less
cultivated time, the intelligent classes were not thereby prevented
from devoting themselves to free inquiry into the existence and nature
of God; and they easily saw that there could be no surer way of
pleasing the invisible ruler of the world, and of attaining to
happiness in another world at least, than a good and honest course
of life in this. Thus theology and morals formed the two chief
motives, or rather the points of attraction in all abstract inquiries.
But it was the former that especially occupied the attention of
speculative reason, and which afterwards became so celebrated under
the name of metaphysics.

I shall not at present indicate the periods of time at which the
greatest changes in metaphysics took place, but shall merely give a
hasty sketch of the different ideas which occasioned the most
important revolutions in this sphere of thought. There are three
different ends in relation to which these revolutions have taken
place.

1. In relation to the object of the cognition of reason,
philosophers may be divided into sensualists and intellectualists.
Epicurus may be regarded as the head of the former, Plato of the
latter. The distinction here signalized, subtle as it is, dates from
the earliest times, and was long maintained. The former asserted
that reality resides in sensuous objects alone, and that everything
else is merely imaginary; the latter, that the senses are the
parents of illusion and that truth is to be found in the understanding
alone. The former did not deny to the conceptions of the understanding
a certain kind of reality; but with them it was merely logical, with
the others it was mystical. The former admitted intellectual
conceptions, but declared that sensuous objects alone possessed real
existence. The latter maintained that all real objects were
intelligible, and believed that the pure understanding possessed a
faculty of intuition apart from sense, which, in their opinion, served
only to confuse the ideas of the understanding.

2. In relation to the origin of the pure cognitions of reason, we
find one school maintaining that they are derived entirely from
experience, and another that they have their origin in reason alone.
Aristotle may be regarded as the bead of the empiricists, and Plato
of the noologists. Locke, the follower of Aristotle in modern times,
and Leibnitz of Plato (although he cannot be said to have imitated
him in his mysticism), have not been able to bring this question to
a settled conclusion. The procedure of Epicurus in his sensual system,
in which he always restricted his conclusions to the sphere of
experience, was much more consequent than that of Aristotle and Locke.
The latter especially, after having derived all the conceptions and
principles of the mind from experience, goes so far, in the employment
of these conceptions and principles, as to maintain that we can
prove the existence of God and the existence of God and the
immortality of them objects lying beyond the soul--both of them of
possible experience--with the same force of demonstration as any
mathematical proposition.

3. In relation to method. Method is procedure according to
principles. We may divide the methods at present employed in the field
of inquiry into the naturalistic and the scientific. The naturalist
of pure reason lays it down as his principle that common reason,
without the aid of science--which he calls sound reason, or common
sense--can give a more satisfactory answer to the most important
questions of metaphysics than speculation is able to do. He must
maintain, therefore, that we can determine the content and
circumference of the moon more certainly by the naked eye, than by
the aid of mathematical reasoning. But this system is mere misology
reduced to principles; and, what is the most absurd thing in this
doctrine, the neglect of all scientific means is paraded as a peculiar
method of extending our cognition. As regards those who are
naturalists because they know no better, they are certainly not to
be blamed. They follow common sense, without parading their
ignorance as a method which is to teach us the wonderful secret, how
we are to find the truth which lies at the bottom of the well of
Democritus.

    Quod sapio satis est mihi, non ego curo Esse quod
    Arcesilas aerumnosique Solones. PERSIUS
            -- Satirae, iii. 78-79.

is their motto, under which they may lead a pleasant and praiseworthy
life, without troubling themselves with science or troubling science
with them.

As regards those who wish to pursue a scientific method, they have
now the choice of following either the dogmatical or the sceptical,
while they are bound never to desert the systematic mode of procedure.
When I mention, in relation to the former, the celebrated Wolf, and
as regards the latter, David Hume, I may leave, in accordance with
my present intention, all others unnamed. The critical path alone is
still open. If my reader has been kind and patient enough to accompany
me on this hitherto untravelled route, he can now judge whether, if
he and others will contribute their exertions towards making this
narrow footpath a high road of thought, that which many centuries have
failed to accomplish may not be executed before the close of the
present--namely, to bring Reason to perfect contentment in regard to
that which has always, but without permanent results, occupied her
powers and engaged her ardent desire for knowledge.




End of Project Gutenberg's The Critique of Pure Reason, by Immanuel Kant