Although it is very hard to establish a new and correct view of a subject which for more than two thousand years has been handled by innumerable writers, and which, moreover, does not receive additions through the growth of experience, yet this must not deter me from presenting to the thinker for examination the following attempt of this kind.
An inference is that operation of our reason by virtue of which, through the comparison of two judgments a third judgment arises, without the assistance of any knowledge otherwise obtained. The condition of this is that these two judgments have one conception in common, for otherwise they are foreign to each other and have no community. But under this condition they become the father and mother of a child that contains in itself something of both. Moreover, this operation is no arbitrary act, but an act of the reason, which, when it has considered such judgments, performs it of itself according to its own laws. So far it is objective, not subjective, and therefore subject to the strictest rules.
We may ask in passing whether he who draws an inference really learns something new from the new proposition, something previously unknown to him? Not absolutely; but yet to a certain extent he does. What he learns lay in what he knew: thus he knew it also, but he did not know that he knew it; which is as if he had something, but did not know that he had it, and this is [pg 293] just the same as if he had it not. He knew it only implicite, now he knows it explicite; but this distinction may be so great that the conclusion appears to him a new truth. For example:
The nature of inference consequently consists in this, that we bring it to distinct consciousness that we have already thought in the premisses what is asserted in the conclusion. It is therefore a means of becoming more distinctly conscious of one's own knowledge, of learning more fully, or becoming aware of what one knows. The knowledge which is afforded by the conclusion was latent, and therefore had just as little effect as latent heat has on the thermometer. Whoever has salt has also chlorine; but it is as if he had it not, for it can only act as chlorine if it is chemically evolved; thus only, then, does he really possess it. It is the same with the gain which a mere conclusion from already known premisses affords: a previously bound or latent knowledge is thereby set free. These comparisons may indeed seem to be somewhat strained, but yet they really are not. For because we draw many of the possible inferences from our knowledge very soon, very rapidly, and without formality, and therefore have no distinct recollection of them, it seems to us as if no premisses for possible conclusions remained long stored up unused, but as if we already had also conclusions prepared for all the premisses within reach of our knowledge. But this is not always the case; on the contrary, two premisses may have for a long time an isolated existence in the same mind, till at last some occasion brings them together, and then the conclusion suddenly appears, as the spark comes from the steel and the stone only when they are struck together. In reality the premisses assumed from without, both for theoretical insight and for motives, which bring about resolves, often lie for a long time in us, and become, partly [pg 294] through half-conscious, and even inarticulate, processes of thought, compared with the rest of our stock of knowledge, reflected upon, and, as it were, shaken up together, till at last the right major finds the right minor, and these immediately take up their proper places, and at once the conclusion exists as a light that has suddenly arisen for us, without any action on our part, as if it were an inspiration; for we cannot comprehend how we and others have so long been in ignorance of it. It is true that in a happily organised mind this process goes on more quickly and easily than in ordinary minds; and just because it is carried on spontaneously and without distinct consciousness it cannot be learned. Therefore Goethe says: “How easy anything is he knows who has discovered it, he knows who has attained to it.” As an illustration of the process of thought here described we may compare it to those padlocks which consist of rings with letters; hanging on the box of a travelling carriage, they are shaken so long that at last the letters of the word come together in their order and the lock opens. For the rest, we must also remember that the syllogism consists in the process of thought itself, and the words and propositions through which it is expressed only indicate the traces it has left behind it—they are related to it as the sound-figures of sand are related to the notes whose vibrations they express. When we reflect upon something, we collect our data, reduce them to judgments, which are all quickly brought together and compared, and thereby the conclusions which it is possible to draw from them are instantly arrived at by means of the use of all the three syllogistic figures. Yet on account of the great rapidity of this operation only a few words are used, and sometimes none at all, and only the conclusion is formally expressed. Thus it sometimes happens that because in this way, or even merely intuitively, i.e., by a happy apperçu, we have brought some new truth to consciousness, we now treat it as a conclusion and seek premisses for it, that is, we desire to prove it, for as a rule knowledge [pg 295] exists earlier than its proofs. We then go through our stock of knowledge in order to see whether we can find some truth in it in which the newly discovered truth was already implicitly contained, or two propositions which would give this as a result if they were brought together according to rule. On the other hand, every judicial proceeding affords a most complete and imposing syllogism, a syllogism in the first figure. The civil or criminal transgression complained of is the minor; it is established by the prosecutor. The law applicable to the case is the major. The judgment is the conclusion, which therefore, as something necessary, is “merely recognised” by the judge.
But now I shall attempt to give the simplest and most correct exposition of the peculiar mechanism of inference.
Judging, this elementary and most important process of thought, consists in the comparison of two conceptions; inference in the comparison of two judgments. Yet ordinarily in text-books inference is also referred to the comparison of conceptions, though of three, because from the relation which two of these conceptions have to a third their relation to each other may be known. Truth cannot be denied to this view also; and since it affords opportunity for the perceptible demonstration of syllogistic relations by means of drawn concept-spheres, a method approved of by me in the text, it has the advantage of making the matter easily comprehensible. But it seems to me that here, as in so many cases, comprehensibility is attained at the cost of thoroughness. The real process of thought in inference, with which the three syllogistic figures and their necessity precisely agree, is not thus recognised. In inference we operate not with mere conceptions but with whole judgments, to which quality, which lies only in the copula and not in the conceptions, and also quantity are absolutely essential, and indeed we have further to add modality. That exposition of inference as a relation of three conceptions [pg 296] fails in this, that it at once resolves the judgments into their ultimate elements (the conceptions), and thus the means of combining these is lost, and that which is peculiar to the judgments as such and in their completeness, which is just what constitutes the necessity of the conclusion which follows from them, is lost sight of. It thus falls into an error analogous to that which organic chemistry would commit if, for example, in the analysis of plants it were at once to reduce them to their ultimate elements, when it would find in all plants carbon, hydrogen, and oxygen, but would lose the specific differences, to obtain which it is necessary to stop at their more special elements, the so-called alkaloids, and to take care to analyse these in their turn. From three given conceptions no conclusion can as yet be drawn. It may certainly be said: the relation of two of them to the third must be given with them. But it is just the judgments which combine these conceptions, that are the expression of this relation; thus judgments, not mere conceptions, are the material of the inference. Accordingly inference is essentially a comparison of two judgments. The process of thought in our mind is concerned with these and the thoughts expressed by them, not merely with three conceptions. This is the case even when this process is imperfectly or not at all expressed in words; and it is as such, as a bringing together of the complete and unanalysed judgments, that we must consider it in order properly to understand the technical procedure of inference. From this there will then also follow the necessity for three really rational syllogistic figures.
As in the exposition of syllogistic reasoning by means of concept-spheres these are presented to the mind under the form of circles, so in the exposition by means of entire judgments we have to think these under the form of rods, which, for the purpose of comparison, are held together now by one end, now by the other. The different ways in which this can take place give the three figures. [pg 297] Since now every premiss contains its subject and its predicate, these two conceptions are to be imagined as situated at the two ends of each rod. The two judgments are now compared with reference to the two different conceptions in them; for, as has already been said, the third conception must be the same in both, and is therefore subject to no comparison, but is that with which, that is, in reference to which, the other two are compared; it is the middle. The latter is accordingly always only the means and not the chief concern. The two different conceptions, on the other hand, are the subject of reflection, and to find out their relation to each other by means of the judgments in which they are contained is the aim of the syllogism. Therefore the conclusion speaks only of them, not of the middle, which was only a means, a measuring rod, which we let fall as soon as it has served its end. Now if this conception which is identical in both propositions, thus the middle, is the subject of one premiss, the conception to be compared with it must be the predicate, and conversely. Here at once is established a priori the possibility of three cases; either the subject of one premiss is compared with the predicate of the other, or the subject of the one with the subject of the other, or, finally, the predicate of the one with the predicate of the other. Hence arise the three syllogistic figures of Aristotle; the fourth, which was added somewhat impertinently, is ungenuine and a spurious form. It is attributed to Galenus, but this rests only on Arabian authority. Each of the three figures exhibits a perfectly different, correct, and natural thought-process of the reason in inference.
If in the two judgments to be compared the relation between the predicate of the one and the subject of the other is the object of the comparison, the first figure appears. This figure alone has the advantage that the conceptions which in the conclusion are subject and predicate both appear already in the same character in the premisses; while in the two other figures one of them must always [pg 298] change its roll in the conclusion. But thus in the first figure the result is always less novel and surprising than in the other two. Now this advantage in the first figure is obtained by the fact that the predicate of the major is compared with the subject of the minor, but not conversely, which is therefore here essential, and involves that the middle should assume both the positions, i.e., it is the subject in the major and the predicate in the minor. And from this again arises its subordinate significance, for it appears as a mere weight which we lay at pleasure now in one scale and now in the other. The course of thought in this figure is, that the predicate of the major is attributed to the subject of the minor, because the subject of the major is the predicate of the minor, or, in the negative case, the converse holds for the same reason. Thus here a property is attributed to the things thought through a conception, because it depends upon another property which we already know they possess; or conversely. Therefore here the guiding principle is: Nota notæ est nota rei ipsius, et repugnans notæ repugnat rei ipsi.
If, on the other hand, we compare two judgments with the intention of bringing out the relation which the subjects of both may have to each other, we must take as the common measure their predicate. This will accordingly be here the middle, and must therefore be the same in both judgments. Hence arises the second figure. In it the relation of two subjects to each other is determined by that which they have as their common predicate. But this relation can only have significance if the same predicate is attributed to the one subject and denied of the other, for thus it becomes an essential ground of distinction between the two. For if it were attributed to both the subjects this could decide nothing as to their relation to each other, for almost every predicate belongs to innumerable subjects. Still less would it decide this relation if the predicate were denied of both the subjects. From this follows the fundamental characteristic of the second [pg 299] figure, that the premisses must be of opposite quality; the one must affirm and the other deny. Therefore here the principal rule is: Sit altera negans; the corollary of which is: E meris affirmativis nihil sequitur; a rule which is sometimes transgressed in a loose argument obscured by many parenthetical propositions. The course of thought which this figure exhibits distinctly appears from what has been said. It is the investigation of two kinds of things with the view of distinguishing them, thus of establishing that they are not of the same species; which is here decided by showing that a certain property is essential to the one kind, which the other lacks. That this course of thought assumes the second figure of its own accord, and expresses itself clearly only in it, will be shown by an example:
In the first figure, on the other hand, this thought exhibits itself in a weak, forced, and ultimately patched-up form:
Take also an example with an affirmative minor:
As the guiding principle for this figure I therefore give, for the mood with the negative minor: Cui repugnat nota, etiam repugnat notatum; and for the mood with the affirmative minor: Notato repugnat id cui nota repugnat. Translated these may be thus combined: Two subjects which stand in opposite relations to one predicate have a negative relation to each other.
The third case is that in which we place two judgments [pg 300] together in order to investigate the relation of their predicates. Hence arises the third figure, in which accordingly the middle appears in both premisses as the subject. It is also here the tertium comparationis, the measure which is applied to both the conceptions which are to be investigated, or, as it were, a chemical reagent, with which we test them both in order to learn from their relation to it what relation exists between themselves. Thus, then, the conclusion declares whether a relation of subject and predicate exists between the two, and to what extent this is the case. Accordingly, what exhibits itself in this figure is reflection concerning two properties which we are inclined to regard either as incompatible, or else as inseparable, and in order to decide this we attempt to make them the predicates of one subject in two judgments. From this it results either that both properties belong to the same thing, consequently their compatibility, or else that a thing has the one but not the other, consequently their separableness. The former in all moods with two affirmative premisses, the latter in all moods with one negative; for example:
According to Kant (Die Falsche Spitzfinigkeit, § 4) this inference would only be conclusive if we added in thought: “Therefore some irrational beings are brutes.” But this seems to be here quite superfluous and by no means the natural process of thought. But in order to carry out the same process of thought directly by means of the first figure I must say:
which is clearly not the natural course of thought; indeed the conclusion which would then follow, “Some beings that can speak are irrational,” would have to be converted in order to preserve the conclusion which the [pg 301] third figure gives of itself, and at which the whole course of thought has aimed. Let us take another example:
When this is transposed into the first figure the minor must be converted, and thus runs: “Some metals are alkalis.” It therefore merely asserts that some metals lie in the sphere “alkalis,” thus [Figure 1], while our actual knowledge is that all alkalis lie in the sphere “metals,” thus [Figure 2]: It follows that if the first figure is to be regarded as the only normal one, in order to think naturally we would have to think less than we know, and to think indefinitely while we know definitely. This assumption has too much against it. Thus in general it must be denied that when we draw inferences in the second and third figures we tacitly convert a proposition. On the contrary, the third, and also the second, figure exhibits just as rational a process of thought as the first. Let us now consider another example of the other class of the third figure, in which the separableness of two predicates is the result; on account of which one premiss must here be negative:
As in the examples given above the compatibility of two properties is the problem of reflection, now their separableness is its problem, which here also must be decided by comparing them with one subject and showing [pg 302] that one of them is present in it without the other. Thus the end is directly attained, while by means of the first figure it could only be attained indirectly. For in order to reduce the syllogism to the first figure we must convert the minor, and therefore say: “Some rational beings are Buddhists,” which would be only a faulty expression of its meaning, which really is: “Some Buddhists are yet certainly rational.”
As the guiding principle of this figure I therefore give: for the affirmative moods: Ejusdem rei notœ, modo sit altera universalis, sibi invicem sunt notœ particulares; and for the negative moods: Nota rei competens, notœ eidem repugnanti, particulariter repugnat, modo sit altera universalis. Translated: If two predicates are affirmed of one subject, and at least one of them universally, they are also affirmed of each other particularly; and, on the contrary, they are denied of each other particularly whenever one of them contradicts the subject of which the other is affirmed; provided always that either the contradiction or the affirmation be universal.
In the fourth figure the subject of the major has to be compared with the predicate of the minor; but in the conclusion they must both exchange their value and position, so that what was the subject of the major appears as the predicate of the conclusion, and what was the predicate of the minor appears as the subject of the conclusion. By this it becomes apparent that this figure is merely the first, wilfully turned upside down, and by no means the expression of a real process of thought natural to the reason.
On the other hand, the first three figures are the ectypes of three real and essentially different operations of thought. They have this in common, that they consist in the comparison of two judgments; but such a comparison only becomes fruitful when these judgments have one conception in common. If we present the premisses to our imagination under the sensible form of two rods, we can [pg 303] think of this conception as a clasp that links them to each other; indeed in lecturing one might provide oneself with such rods. On the other hand, the three figures are distinguished by this, that those judgments are compared either with reference to the subjects of both, or to the predicates of both, or lastly, with reference to the subject of the one and the predicate of the other. Since now every conception has the property of being subject or predicate only because it is already part of a judgment, this confirms my view that in the syllogism only judgments are primarily compared, and conceptions only because they are parts of judgments. In the comparison of two judgments, however, the essential question is, in respect of what are they compared? not by what means are they compared? The former consists of the concepts which are different in the two judgments; the latter consists of the middle, that is, the conception which is identical in both. It is therefore not the right point of view which Lambert, and indeed really Aristotle, and almost all the moderns have taken in starting from the middle in the analysis of syllogisms, and making it the principal matter and its position the essential characteristic of the syllogisms. On the contrary, its role is only secondary, and its position a consequence of the logical value of the conceptions which are really to be compared in the syllogism. These may be compared to two substances which are to be chemically tested, and the middle to the reagent by which they are tested. It therefore always takes the place which the conceptions to be compared leave vacant, and does not appear again in the conclusion. It is selected according to our knowledge of its relation to both the conceptions and its suitableness for the place it has to take up. Therefore in many cases we can change it at pleasure for another without affecting the syllogism. For example, in the syllogism:
I can exchange the middle “man” for “animal existence.” In the syllogism:
I can exchange the middle “diamond” for “anthracite.” As an external mark by which we can recognise at once the figure of a syllogism the middle is certainly very useful. But as the fundamental characteristic of a thing which is to be explained, we must take what is essential to it; and what is essential here is, whether we place two propositions together in order to compare their predicates or their subjects, or the predicate of the one and the subject of the other.
Therefore, in order as premisses to yield a conclusion, two judgments must have a conception in common; further, they must not both be negative, nor both particular; and lastly, in the case in which the conceptions to be compared are the subjects of both, they must not both be affirmative.
The voltaic pile may be regarded as a sensible image of the syllogism. Its point of indifference, at the centre, represents the middle, which holds together the two premisses, and by virtue of which they have the power of yielding a conclusion. The two different conceptions, on the other hand, which are really what is to be compared, are represented by the two opposite poles of the pile. Only because these are brought together by means of their two conducting wires, which represent the copulas of the two judgments, is the spark emitted upon their contact—the new light of the conclusion.
Eloquence is the faculty of awakening in others our view of a thing, or our opinion about it, of kindling in them our feeling concerning it, and thus putting them in sympathy with us. And all this by conducting the stream of our thought into their minds, through the medium of words, with such force as to carry their thought from the direction it has already taken, and sweep it along with ours in its course. The more their previous course of thought differs from ours, the greater is this achievement. From this it is easily understood how personal conviction and passion make a man eloquent; and in general, eloquence is more the gift of nature than the work of art; yet here, also, art will support nature.
In order to convince another of a truth which conflicts with an error he firmly holds, the first rule to be observed, is an easy and natural one: let the premisses come first, and the conclusion follow. Yet this rule is seldom observed, but reversed; for zeal, eagerness, and dogmatic positiveness urge us to proclaim the conclusion loudly and noisily against him who adheres to the opposed error. This easily makes him shy, and now he opposes his will to all reasons and premisses, knowing already to what conclusion they lead. Therefore we ought rather to keep the conclusion completely concealed, and only advance the premisses [pg 306] distinctly, fully, and in different lights. Indeed, if possible, we ought not to express the conclusion at all. It will come necessarily and regularly of its own accord into the reason of the hearers, and the conviction thus born in themselves will be all the more genuine, and will also be accompanied by self-esteem instead of shame. In difficult cases we may even assume the air of desiring to arrive at a quite opposite conclusion from that which we really have in view. An example of this is the famous speech of Antony in Shakspeare's “Julius Cæsar.”
In defending a thing many persons err by confidently advancing everything imaginable that can be said for it, mixing up together what is true, half true, and merely plausible. But the false is soon recognised, or at any rate felt, and throws suspicion also upon the cogent and true arguments which were brought forward along with it. Give then the true and weighty pure and alone, and beware of defending a truth with inadequate, and therefore, since they are set up as adequate, sophistical reasons; for the opponent upsets these, and thereby gains the appearance of having upset the truth itself which was supported by them, that is, he makes argumenta ad hominem hold good as argumenta ad rem. The Chinese go, perhaps, too far the other way, for they have the saying: “He who is eloquent and has a sharp tongue may always leave half of a sentence unspoken; and he who has right on his side may confidently yield three-tenths of his assertion.”
From the analysis of the different functions of our intellect given in the whole of the preceding chapters, it is clear that for a correct use of it, either in a theoretical or a practical reference, the following conditions are demanded: (1.) The correct apprehension through perception of the real things taken into consideration, and of all their essential properties and relations, thus of all data. (2.) The construction of correct conceptions out of these; thus the connotation of those properties under correct abstractions, which now become the material of the subsequent thinking. (3.) The comparison of those conceptions both with the perceived object and among themselves, and with the rest of our store of conceptions, so that correct judgments, pertinent to the matter in hand, and fully comprehending and exhausting it, may proceed from them; thus the right estimation of the matter. (4.) The placing together or combination of those judgments as the premisses of syllogisms. This may be done very differently according to the choice and arrangement of the judgments, and yet the actual result of the whole operation primarily depends upon it. What is really of importance here is that from among so many possible combinations of those different judgments which have to do with the matter free deliberation should hit upon the very ones which serve the purpose and are decisive. But if in the first function, that is, in the apprehension through perception [pg 308] of the things and relations, any single essential point has been overlooked, the correctness of all the succeeding operations of the mind cannot prevent the result from being false; for there lie the data, the material of the whole investigation. Without the certainty that these are correctly and completely collected, one ought to abstain, in important matters, from any definite decision.
A conception is correct; a judgment is true; a body is real; and a relation is evident. A proposition of immediate certainty is an axiom. Only the fundamental principles of logic, and those of mathematics drawn a priori from intuition or perception, and finally also the law of causality, have immediate certainty. A proposition of indirect certainty is a maxim, and that by means of which it obtains its certainty is the proof. If immediate certainty is attributed to a proposition which has no such certainty, this is a petitio principii. A proposition which appeals directly to the empirical perception is an assertion: to confront it with such perception demands judgment. Empirical perception can primarily afford us only particular, not universal truths. Through manifold repetition and confirmation such truths indeed obtain a certain universality also, but it is only comparative and precarious, because it is still always open to attack. But if a proposition has absolute universality, the perception to which it appeals is not empirical but a priori. Thus Logic and Mathematics alone are absolutely certain sciences; but they really teach us only what we already knew beforehand. For they are merely explanations of that of which we are conscious a priori, the forms of our own knowledge, the one being concerned with the forms of thinking, the other with those of perceiving. Therefore we spin them entirely out of ourselves. All other scientific knowledge is empirical.
A proof proves too much if it extends to things or cases of which that which is to be proved clearly does not hold good; therefore it is refuted apagogically by these. The [pg 309] deductio ad absurdum properly consists in this, that we take a false assertion which has been made as the major proposition of a syllogism, then add to it a correct minor, and arrive at a conclusion which clearly contradicts facts of experience or unquestionable truths. But by some round-about way such a refutation must be possible of every false doctrine. For the defender of this will yet certainly recognise and admit some truth or other, and then the consequences of this, and on the other hand those of the false assertion, must be followed out until we arrive at two propositions which directly contradict each other. We find many examples in Plato of this beautiful artifice of genuine dialectic.
A correct hypothesis is nothing more than the true and complete expression of the present fact, which the originator of the hypothesis has intuitively apprehended in its real nature and inner connection. For it tells us only what really takes place here.
The opposition of the analytical and synthetical methods we find already indicated by Aristotle, yet perhaps first distinctly described by Proclus, who says quite correctly: “Μεθοδοι δε παραδιδονται; καλλιστη μεν ἡ δια της αναλυσεως επ᾽ αρχην ὁμολογουμενην αναγουσα το ζητουμενον; ἡν και Πλατων, ὡς φασι, Λαοδαμαντι παρεδωκεν. κ.τ.λ.” (Methodi traduntur sequentes: pulcherrima quidem ea, quæ per analysin quæsitum refert ad principium, de quo jam convenit; quam etiam Plato Laodamanti tradidisse dicitur.) “In Primum Euclidis Librum,” L. iii. Certainly the analytical method consists in referring what is given to an admitted principle; the synthetical method, on the contrary, in deduction from such a principle. They are therefore analogous to the επαγωγη and απαγωγη explained in chapter ix.; only the latter are not used to establish propositions, but always to overthrow them. The analytical method proceeds from the facts; the particular, to the principle or rule; the universal, or from the consequents to the reasons; the other conversely. Therefore it would [pg 310] be much more correct to call them the inductive and the deductive methods, for the customary names are unsuitable and do not fully express the things.
If a philosopher tries to begin by thinking out the methods in accordance with which he will philosophise, he is like a poet who first writes a system of æsthetics in order to poetise in accordance with it. Both of them may be compared to a man who first sings himself a tune and afterwards dances to it. The thinking mind must find its way from original tendency. Rule and application, method and achievement, must, like matter and form, be inseparable. But after we have reached the goal we may consider the path we have followed. Æsthetics and methodology are, from their nature, younger than poetry and philosophy; as grammar is younger than language, thorough bass younger than music, and logic younger than thought.
This is a fitting place to make, in passing, a remark by means of which I should like to check a growing evil while there is yet time. That Latin has ceased to be the language of all scientific investigations has the disadvantage that there is no longer an immediately common scientific literature for the whole of Europe, but national literatures. And thus every scholar is primarily limited to a much smaller public, and moreover to a public hampered with national points of view and prejudices. Then he must now learn the four principal European languages, as well as the two ancient languages. In this it will be a great assistance to him that the termini technici of all sciences (with the exception of mineralogy) are, as an inheritance from our predecessors, Latin or Greek. Therefore all nations wisely retain these. Only the Germans have hit upon the unfortunate idea of wishing to Germanise the termini technici of all the sciences. This has two great disadvantages. First, the foreign and also the German scholar is obliged to learn all the technical terms of his science twice, which, when there are many—for [pg 311] example, in Anatomy—is an incredibly tiresome and lengthy business. If the other nations were not in this respect wiser than the Germans, we would have the trouble of learning every terminus technicus five times. If the Germans carry this further, foreign men of learning will leave their books altogether unread; for besides this fault they are for the most part too diffuse, and are written in a careless, bad, and often affected and objectionable style, and besides are generally conceived with a rude disregard of the reader and his requirements. Secondly, those Germanised forms of the termini technici are almost throughout long, patched-up, stupidly chosen, awkward, jarring words, not clearly separated from the rest of the language, which therefore impress themselves with difficulty upon the memory, while the Greek and Latin expressions chosen by the ancient and memorable founders of the sciences possess the whole of the opposite good qualities, and easily impress themselves on the memory by their sonorous sound. What an ugly, harsh-sounding word, for instance, is “Stickstoff” instead of azot! “Verbum,” “substantiv,” “adjectiv,” are remembered and distinguished more easily than “Zeitwort,” “Nennwort,” “Beiwort,” or even “Umstandswort” instead of “adverbium.” In Anatomy it is quite unsupportable, and moreover vulgar and low. Even “Pulsader” and “Blutader” are more exposed to momentary confusion than “Arterie” and “Vene;” but utterly bewildering are such expressions as “Fruchthälter,” “Fruchtgang,” and “Fruchtleiter” instead of “uterus,” “vagina,” and “tuba Faloppii,” which yet every doctor must know, and which he will find sufficient in all European languages. In the same way “Speiche” and “Ellenbogenröhre” instead of “radius” and “ulna,” which all Europe has understood for thousands of years. Wherefore then this clumsy, confusing, drawling, and awkward Germanising? Not less objectionable is the translation of the technical terms in Logic, in which our gifted professors of philosophy are the creators of a new terminology, [pg 312] and almost every one of them has his own. With G. E. Schulze, for example, the subject is called “Grundbegriff,” the predicate “Beilegungsbegriff;” then there are “Beilegungsschlüsse,” “Voraussetzungsschlüsse,” and “Entgegensetzungsschlüsse;” the judgments have “Grösse,” “Beschaffenheit,” “Verhältniss,” and “Zuverlässigkeit,” i.e., quantity, quality, relation, and modality. The same perverse influence of this Germanising mania is to be found in all the sciences. The Latin and Greek expressions have the further advantage that they stamp the scientific conception as such, and distinguish it from the words of common intercourse, and the ideas which cling to them through association; while, for example, “Speisebrei” instead of chyme seems to refer to the food of little children, and “Lungensack” instead of pleura, and “Herzbeutel” instead of pericardium seem to have been invented by butchers rather than anatomists. Besides this, the most immediate necessity of learning the ancient languages depends upon the old termini technici, and they are more and more in danger of being neglected through the use of living languages in learned investigations. But if it comes to this, if the spirit of the ancients bound up with their languages disappears from a liberal education, then coarseness, insipidity, and vulgarity will take possession of the whole of literature. For the works of the ancients are the pole-star of every artistic or literary effort; if it sets they are lost. Even now we can observe from the miserable and puerile style of most writers that they have never written Latin.24 The study of the classical authors is very properly called the study of Humanity, for through it the student first becomes a man again, for he enters [pg 313] into the world which was still free from all the absurdities of the Middle Ages and of romanticism, which afterwards penetrated so deeply into mankind in Europe that even now every one comes into the world covered with it, and has first to strip it off simply to become a man again. Think not that your modern wisdom can ever supply the place of that initiation into manhood; ye are not, like the Greeks and Romans, born freemen, unfettered sons of nature. Ye are first the sons and heirs of the barbarous Middle Ages and of their madness, of infamous priestcraft, and of half-brutal, half-childish chivalry. Though both now gradually approach their end, yet ye cannot yet stand on your own feet. Without the school of the ancients your literature will degenerate into vulgar gossip and dull philistinism. Thus for all these reasons it is my well-intended counsel that an end be put at once to the Germanising mania condemned above.
I shall further take the opportunity of denouncing here the disorder which for some years has been introduced into German orthography in an unprecedented manner. Scribblers of every species have heard something of conciseness of expression, but do not know that this consists in the careful omission of everything superfluous (to which, it is true, the whole of their writings belong), but imagine they can arrive at it by clipping the words as swindlers clip coin; and every syllable which appears to them superfluous, because they do not feel its value, they cut off without more ado. For example, our ancestors, with true tact, said “Beweis” and “Verweis;” but, on the other hand, “Nachweisung.” The fine distinction analogous to that between “Versuch” and “Versuchung,” “Betracht” and “Betrachtung,” is not perceptible to dull ears and thick skulls; therefore they have invented the word “Nachweis,” which has come at once into general use, for this only requires that an idea should be thoroughly awkward and a blunder very gross. Accordingly a similar amputation has already been proposed in innumerable [pg 314] words; for example, instead of “Untersuchung” is written “Untersuch;” nay, even instead of “allmälig,” “mälig;” instead of “beinahe,” “nahe;” instead of “beständig,” “ständig.” If a Frenchman took upon himself to write “près” instead of “presque,” or if an Englishman wrote “most” instead of “almost,” they would be laughed at by every one as fools; but in Germany whoever does this sort of thing passes for a man of originality. Chemists already write “löslich” and “unlöslich” instead of “unauflöslich,” and if the grammarians do not rap them over the knuckles they will rob the language of a valuable word. Knots, shoe-strings, and also conglomerates of which the cement is softened, and all analogous things are “löslich” (can be loosed); but what is “auflöslich” (soluble), on the other hand, is whatever vanishes in a liquid, like salt in water. “Auflösen” (to dissolve) is the terminus ad hoc, which says this and nothing else, marking out a definite conception; but our acute improvers of the language wish to empty it into the general rinsing-pan “lösen” (to loosen); they would therefore in consistency be obliged to make “lösen” also take the place everywhere of “ablösen” (to relieve, used of guards), “auslösen” (to release), “einlösen” (to redeem), &c., and in these, as in the former case, deprive the language of definiteness of expression. But to make the language poorer by a word means to make the thought of the nation poorer by a conception. Yet this is the tendency of the united efforts of almost all our writers of books for the last ten or twenty years. For what I have shown here by one example can be supported by a hundred others, and the meanest stinting of syllables prevails like a disease. The miserable wretches actually count the letters, and do not hesitate to mutilate a word, or to use one in a false sense, whenever by doing so they can gain two letters. He who is capable of no new thoughts will at least bring new words to market, and every ink-slinger regards it as his vocation to improve the language. Journalists practise [pg 315] this most shamelessly; and since their papers, on account of the trivial nature of their contents, have the largest public, indeed a public which for the most part reads nothing else, a great danger threatens the language through them. I therefore seriously advise that they should be subjected to an orthographical censorship, or that they should be made to pay a fine for every unusual or mutilated word; for what could be more improper than that changes of language should proceed from the lowest branch of literature? Language, especially a relatively speaking original language like German, is the most valuable inheritance of a nation, and it is also an exceedingly complicated work of art, easily injured, and which cannot again be restored, therefore a noli me tangere. Other nations have felt this, and have shown great piety towards their languages, although far less complete than German. Therefore the language of Dante and Petrarch differs only in trifles from that of to-day; Montaigne is still quite readable, and so also is Shakspeare in his oldest editions. For a German indeed it is good to have somewhat long words in his mouth; for he thinks slowly, and they give him time to reflect. But this prevailing economy of language shows itself in yet more characteristic phenomena. For example, in opposition to all logic and grammar, they use the imperfect for the perfect and pluperfect; they often stick the auxiliary verb in their pocket; they use the ablative instead of the genitive; for the sake of omitting a couple of logical particles they make such intricate sentences that one has to read them four times over in order to get at the sense; for it is only the paper and not the reader's time that they care to spare. In proper names, after the manner of Hottentots, they do not indicate the case either by inflection or article: the reader may guess it. But they are specially fond of contracting the double vowel and dropping the lengthening h, those letters sacred to prosody; which is just the same thing as if we wanted to banish η and ω [pg 316] from Greek, and make ε and ο take their place. Whoever writes Scham, Märchen, Mass, Spass, ought also to write Lon, Son, Stat, Sat, Jar, Al, &c. But since writing is the copy of speech, posterity will imagine that one ought to speak as one writes; and then of the German language there will only remain a narrow, mouth-distorting, jarring noise of consonants, and all prosody will be lost. The spelling “Literatur” instead of the correct “Litteratur” is also very much liked, because it saves a letter. In defence of this the participle of the verb linere is given as the root of the word. But linere means to smear; therefore the favoured spelling might actually be correct for the greater part of German bookmaking; so that one could distinguish a very small “Litteratur” from a very extensive “Literatur.” In order to write concisely let a man improve his style and shun all useless gossip and chatter, and then he will not need to cut out syllables and letters on account of the dearness of paper. But to write so many useless pages, useless sheets, useless books, and then to want to make up this waste of time and paper at the cost of the innocent syllables and letters—that is truly the superlative of what is called in English being penny wise and pound foolish. It is to be regretted that there is no German Academy to take charge of the language against literary sans-culottism, especially in an age when even those who are ignorant of the ancient language venture to employ the press. I have expressed my mind more fully on the whole subject of the inexcusable mischief being done at the present day to the German language in my “Parerga,” vol. ii. chap. 23.
In my essay on the principle of sufficient reason, § 51, I already proposed a first classification of the sciences in accordance with the form of the principle of sufficient reason which reigns in them; and I also touched upon it again in §§ 7 and 15 of the first volume of this work. I will give here a small attempt at such a classification, [pg 317] which will yet no doubt be susceptible of much improvement and perfecting:—
I. Pure a priori Sciences.
1. The doctrine of the ground of being.
(a.) In space: Geometry.
(b.) In time: Arithmetic and Algebra.
2. The doctrine of the ground of knowing: Logic.
II. Empirical or a posteriori Sciences. All based upon the ground of becoming, i.e., the law of causality, and upon the three modes of that law.
1. The doctrine of causes.
(a.) Universal: Mechanics, Hydrodynamics, Physics, Chemistry.
(b.) Particular: Astronomy, Mineralogy, Geology, Technology, Pharmacy.
2. The doctrine of stimuli.
(a.) Universal: Physiology of plants and animals, together with the ancillary science, Anatomy.
(b.) Particular: Botany, Zoology, Zootomy, Comparative Physiology, Pathology, Therapeutics.
3. The doctrine of motives.
(a.) Universal: Ethics, Psychology.
(b.) Particular: Jurisprudence, History.
Philosophy or Metaphysics, as the doctrine of consciousness and its contents in general, or of the whole of experience as such, does not appear in the list, because it does not at once pursue the investigation which the principle of sufficient reason prescribes, but first has this principle itself as its object. It is to be regarded as the thorough bass of all sciences, but belongs to a higher class than they do, and is almost as much related to art as to science. As in music every particular period must correspond to the tonality to which thorough bass has advanced, so every [pg 318] author, in proportion to the line he follows, must bear the stamp of the philosophy which prevails in his time. But besides this, every science has also its special philosophy; and therefore we speak of the philosophy of botany, of zoology, of history, &c. By this we must reasonably understand nothing more than the chief results of each science itself, regarded and comprehended from the highest, that is the most general, point of view which is possible within that science. These general results connect themselves directly with general philosophy, for they supply it with important data, and relieve it from the labour of seeking these itself in the philosophically raw material of the special sciences. These special philosophies therefore stand as a mediating link between their special sciences and philosophy proper. For since the latter has to give the most general explanations concerning the whole of things, these must also be capable of being brought down and applied to the individual of every species of thing. The philosophy of each science, however, arises independently of philosophy in general, from the data of its own science itself. Therefore it does not need to wait till that philosophy at last be found; but if worked out in advance it will certainly agree with the true universal philosophy. This, on the other hand, must be capable of receiving confirmation and illustration from the philosophies of the particular sciences; for the most general truth must be capable of being proved through the more special truths. Goethe has afforded a beautiful example of the philosophy of zoology in his reflections on Dalton's and Pander's skeletons of rodents (Hefte zur Morphologie, 1824). And like merit in connection with the same science belongs to Kielmayer, Delamark, Geoffroy St. Hilaire, Cuvier, and many others, in that they have all brought out clearly the complete analogy, the inner relationship, the permanent type, and systematic connection of animal forms. Empirical sciences pursued purely for their own sake and without philosophical tendency are [pg 319] like a face without eyes. They are, however, a suitable occupation for men of good capacity who yet lack the highest faculties, which would even be a hindrance to minute investigations of such a kind. Such men concentrate their whole power and their whole knowledge upon one limited field, in which, therefore, on condition of remaining in entire ignorance of everything else, they can attain to the most complete knowledge possible; while the philosopher must survey all fields of knowledge, and indeed to a certain extent be at home in them; and thus that complete knowledge which can only be attained by the study of detail is necessarily denied him. Therefore the former may be compared to those Geneva workmen of whom one makes only wheels, another only springs, and a third only chains. The philosopher, on the other hand, is like the watchmaker, who alone produces a whole out of all these which has motion and significance. They may also be compared to the musicians of an orchestra, each of whom is master of his own instrument; and the philosopher, on the other hand, to the conductor, who must know the nature and use of every instrument, yet without being able to play them all, or even one of them, with great perfection. Scotus Erigena includes all sciences under the name Scientia, in opposition to philosophy, which he calls Sapientia. The same distinction was already made by the Pythagoreans; as may be seen from Stobæus (Floril., vol. i. p. 20), where it is very clearly and neatly explained. But a much happier and more piquant comparison of the relation of the two kinds of mental effort to each other has been so often repeated by the ancients that we no longer know to whom it belongs. Diogenes Laertius (ii. 79) attributes it to Aristippus, Stobæus (Floril., tit. iv. 110) to Aristo of Chios; the Scholiast of Aristotle ascribes it to him (p. 8 of the Berlin edition), but Plutarch (De Puer. Educ., c. 10) attributes it to Bio—“Qui ajebat, sicut Penelopes proci, [pg 320]quum non possent cum Penelope concumbere, rem cum ejus ancillis habuissent; ita qui philosophiam nequeunt apprehendere eos in alliis nullius pretii disciplinis sese conterere.” In our predominantly empirical and historical age it can do no harm to recall this.