The first class of objects possible to our representative faculty, is that of intuitive, complete, empirical representations. They are intuitive as opposed to mere thoughts, i.e. abstract conceptions; they are complete, inasmuch as, according to Kant's distinction, they not only contain the formal, but also the material part of phenomena; and they are empirical, partly as proceeding, not from a mere connection of thoughts, but from an excitation of feeling in our sensitive organism, as their origin, to which they constantly refer for evidence as to their reality: partly also because they are linked together, according to the united laws of Space, Time and Causality, in that complex without beginning or end which forms our Empirical Reality. As, nevertheless, according to the result of Kant's teaching, this Empirical Reality does not annul their Transcendental Ideality, we shall consider them here, where we have only to do with the formal elements of knowledge, merely as representations.
The forms of these representations are those of the inner and outer sense; namely, Time and Space. But these are only perceptible when filled. Their perceptibility is Matter, to which I shall return further on, and again in § 21. If Time were the only form of these representations, there could be no coexistence, therefore nothing permanent and no duration. For Time is only perceived when filled, and its course is only perceived by the changes which take place in that which fills it. The permanence of an object is therefore only recognized by contrast with the changes going on in other objects coexistent with it. But the representation of coexistence is impossible in Time alone; it depends, for its completion, upon the representation of Space; because, in mere Time, all things follow one another, and in mere Space all things are side by side; it is accordingly only by the combination of Time and Space that the representation of coexistence arises.
On the other hand, were Space the sole form of this class of representations, there would be no change; for change or alteration is succession of states, and succession is only possible in Time. We may therefore define Time as the possibility of opposite states in one and the same thing.
Thus we see, that although infinite divisibility and infinite extension are common to both Time and Space, these two forms of empirical representations differ fundamentally, inasmuch as what is essential to the one is without any meaning at all for the other: juxtaposition having no meaning in Time, succession no meaning in Space. The empirical representations which belong to the orderly complex of reality, appear notwithstanding in both forms together; nay, the intimate union of both is the condition of reality which, in a sense, grows out of them, as a product grows out of its factors. Now it is the Understanding which, by means of its own peculiar function, brings about this union and connects these heterogeneous forms in such a manner, that empirical reality—albeit only for that Understanding—arises out of their mutual interpenetration, and arises as a collective representation, forming a complex, held together by the forms of the principle of sufficient reason, but whose limits are problematical. Each single representation belonging to this class is a part of this complex, each one taking its place in it according to laws known to us à priori; in it therefore countless objects coexist, because Substance, i.e. Matter, remains permanent in spite of the ceaseless flow of Time, and because its states change in spite of the rigid immobility of Space. In this complex, in short, the whole objective, real world exists for us. The reader who may be interested in this, will find the present rough sketch of the analysis of empirical reality further worked out in § 4 of the first volume of "Die Welt als Wille und Vorstellung,"[55] where a closer explanation is given of the way in which the Understanding effects this union and thus creates for itself the empirical world. He will also find a very important help in the table, "Prædicabilia à priori of Time, Space, and Matter," which is added to the fourth chapter of the second volume of the same work, and which I recommend to his attention, as it especially shows how the contrasts of Time and Space are equally balanced in Matter, as their product, under the form of Causality.
We shall now proceed to give a detailed exposition of that function of the Understanding which is the basis of empirical reality; only we must first, by a few incidental explanations, remove the more immediate objections which the fundamental idealism of the view I have adopted might encounter.
Now as, notwithstanding this union through the Understanding of the forms of the inner and outer sense in representing Matter and with it a permanent outer world, all immediate knowledge is nevertheless acquired by the Subject through the inner sense alone—the outer sense being again Object for the inner, which in its turn perceives the perceptions of the outer—and as therefore, with respect to the immediate presence of representations in its consciousness, the Subject remains under the rule of Time alone, as the form of the inner sense:[56] it follows, that only one representation can be present to it (the Subject) at the same time, although that one may be very complicated. When we speak of representations as immediately present, we mean, that they are not only known in the union of Time and Space effected by the Understanding—an intuitive faculty, as we shall soon see—through which the collective representation of empirical reality arises, but that they are known in mere Time alone, as representations of the inner sense, and just at the neutral point at which its two currents separate, called the present. The necessary condition mentioned in the preceding paragraph for the immediate presence of a representation of this class, is its causal action upon our senses and consequently upon our organism, which itself belongs to this class of objects, and is therefore subject to the causal law which predominates in it and which we are now about to examine. Now as therefore, on the one hand, according to the laws of the inner and outer world, the Subject cannot stop short at that one representation; but as, on the other hand, there is no coexistence in Time alone: that single representation must always vanish and be superseded by others, in virtue of a law which we cannot determine à priori, but which depends upon circumstances soon to be mentioned. It is moreover a well-known fact, that the imagination and dreams reproduce the immediate presence of representations; the investigation of that fact, however, belongs to empirical Psychology. Now as, notwithstanding the transitory, isolated nature of our representations with respect to their immediate presence in our consciousness, the Subject nevertheless retains the representation of an all-comprehensive complex of reality, as described above, by means of the function of the Understanding; representations have, on the strength of this antithesis, been viewed, as something quite different when considered as belonging to that complex than when considered with reference to their immediate presence in our consciousness. From the former point of view they were called real things; from the latter only, representations κατ' ἐξοχήν. This view of the matter, which is the ordinary one, is known under the name of Realism. On the appearance of modern philosophy, Idealism opposed itself to this Realism and has since been steadily gaining ground. Malebranche and Berkeley were its earliest representatives, and Kant enhanced it to the power of Transcendental Idealism, by which the co-existence of the Empirical Reality of things with their Transcendental Ideality becomes conceivable, and according to which Kant expresses himself as follows:[57] "Transcendental Idealism teaches that all phenomena are representations only, not things by themselves." And again:[58] "Space itself is nothing but mere representation, and whatever is in it must therefore be contained in that representation. There is nothing whatever in Space, except so far as it is really represented in it." Finally he says:[59] "If we take away the thinking Subject, the whole material world must vanish; because it is nothing but a phenomenon in the sensibility of our own subject and a certain class of its representations." In India, Idealism is even a doctrine of popular religion, not only of Brahminism, but of Buddhism; in Europe alone is it a paradox, in consequence of the essentially and unavoidably realistic principle of Judaism. But Realism quite overlooks the fact, that the so-called existence of these real things is absolutely nothing but their being represented (ein Vorgestellt-werden), or—if it be insisted, that only the immediate presence in the consciousness of the Subject can be called being represented κατ' ἐντελέχειαν—it is even only a possibility of being represented κατὰ δύναμιν. The realist forgets that the Object ceases to be Object apart from its reference to the Subject, and that if we take away that reference, or think it away, we at once do away with all objective existence. Leibnitz, while he clearly felt the Subject to be the necessary condition for the Object, was nevertheless unable to get rid of the thought that objects exist by themselves and independently of all reference whatsoever to the Subject, i.e. independently of being represented. He therefore assumed in the first place a world of objects exactly like the world of representations and running parallel with it, having no direct, but only an outward connection with it by means of a harmonia præstabilita;—obviously the most superfluous thing possible, for it never comes within perception, and the precisely similar world of representations which does come within perception, goes its own way regardless of it. When, however, he wanted to determine more closely the essence of these things existing objectively in themselves, he found himself obliged to declare the Objects in themselves to be Subjects (monades), and by doing so he furnished the most striking proof of the inability of our consciousness, in as far as it is merely cognitive, to find within the limits of the intellect—i.e. of the apparatus by means of which we represent the world—anything beyond Subject and Object; the representer and the represented. Therefore, if we abstract from the objectivity of an Object, or in other words, from its being represented (Vorgestellt-werden), if we annul it in its quality as an Object, yet still wish to retain something, we can meet with nothing but the Subject. Conversely, if we desire to abstract from the subjectivity of the Subject, yet to have something over, the contrary takes place, and this leads to Materialism.
Spinoza, who never thoroughly sifted the matter, and never therefore acquired a clear notion of it, nevertheless quite understood the necessary correlation between Subject and Object as so essential, that they are inconceivable without it; consequently he defined it as an identity in the Substance (which alone exists) of that which knows, with that which has extension.
Observation.—With reference to the chief argument of this paragraph, I take the opportunity to remark that if, in the course of this treatise, for the sake of brevity and in order to be more easily understood, I at any time use the term real objects, I mean by it nothing but the intuitive representations that are united to form the complex of empirical reality, which reality in itself always remains ideal.
In the Class of Objects for the Subject just described, the principle of sufficient reason figures as the Law of Causality, and, as such, I call it the Principle of Sufficient Reason of Becoming, principium rationis sufficientis fiendi. By it, all objects presenting themselves within the entire range of our representation are linked together, as far as the appearance and disappearance of their states is concerned, i.e. in the movement of the current of Time, to form the complex of empirical reality. The law of causality is as follows. When one or several real objects pass into any new state, some other state must have preceded this one, upon which the new state regularly follows, i.e. as often as that preceding one occurs. This sort of following we call resulting; the first of the states being named a cause, the second an effect. When a substance takes fire, for instance, this state of ignition must have been preceded by a state, 1o, of affinity to oxygen; 2o, of contact with oxygen; 3o, of a given temperature. Now, as ignition must necessarily follow immediately upon this state, and as it has only just taken place, that state cannot always have been there, but must, on the contrary, have only just supervened. This supervening is called a change. It is on this account that the law of causality stands in exclusive relation to changes and has to do with them alone. Every effect, at the time it takes place, is a change and, precisely by not having occurred sooner, infallibly indicates some other change by which it has been preceded. That other change takes the name of cause, when referred to the following one—of effect, when referred to a third necessarily preceding change. This is the chain of causality. It is necessarily without a beginning. By it, each supervening state must have resulted from a preceding change: in the case just mentioned, for instance, from the substance being brought into contact with free heat, from which necessarily resulted the heightened temperature; this contact again depended upon a preceding change, for instance the sun's rays falling upon a burning-glass; this again upon the removal of a cloud from before the sun; this upon the wind; the wind upon the unequal density of the atmosphere; this upon other conditions, and so forth in infinitum. When a state contains all the requisite conditions for bringing about a new state excepting one, this one, when at last it arrives, is, in a sense, rightly called the cause κατ' ἐξοχήν, inasmuch as we here have the final—in this case the decisive—change especially in view; but if we leave out this consideration, no single condition of the causal state has any advantage over the rest with reference to the determination of the causal connection in general, merely because it happens to be the last. Thus the removal of the cloud in the above example, is in so far the cause of the igniting, as it took place later than the direction of the burning-glass towards the object; but this might have taken place after the removal of the cloud and the addition of oxygen might have occurred later still: in this respect therefore it is the accidental order of things that determines which is the cause. On closer inspection, however, we find that it is the entire state which is the cause of the ensuing one, so that the chronological order in which its single conditions were brought about, is in all essential respects indifferent. With reference to a given case therefore, the last occurring condition of a state may be called the cause κατ' ἐξοχήν, because it completes the measure of the necessary conditions, and its appearance thus becomes the decisive change. For purposes of general consideration, however, it is only the entire state which, by bringing about its successor, can be regarded as the cause. The single requisites which, added together, complete and constitute the cause may be called causal elements (ursächliche Momente) or even conditions, and into these accordingly the cause may be subdivided. On the other hand, it is quite wrong to call the objects themselves causes, instead of the states: some would, for instance, call the burning-glass in the above example the cause of the ignition; while others, again, would call the cloud the cause; others the sun or the oxygen, and so on arbitrarily and without order. But it is absurd to call an object the cause of another object; first of all, because objects not only contain form and quality, but Matter also, which has neither beginning or end; secondly, because the law of causality refers exclusively to changes, i.e. to the entrance and exit of states in Time, wherein it regulates that special relation, in reference to which the earlier state is called cause, the later effect, and the necessary connection between both, the resulting of the one from the other.
I here refer the thoughtful reader to the explanations I have given in my chief work.[60] For it is of the highest importance that our conception of the true and proper meaning of the law of causality and the sphere of its validity should be perfectly clear and definite: before all things, that we should recognize, that this law refers solely and exclusively to changes of material states and to nothing else whatever; consequently, that it ought not to be brought in when these are not in question. The law of causality is the regulator of the changes undergone in Time by objects of our outer experience; but these objects are all material. Each change can only be brought about by another having preceded it, which is determined by a rule, and then the new change takes place as being necessarily induced by the preceding one. This necessity is the causal nexus.
However simple therefore the law of causality is, we nevertheless find it expressed quite differently in all philosophical manuals, from the earliest down to the latest ages: namely, in a broader, more abstract, therefore less definite way. We are, for instance, informed, now, that it is that by which something else comes into being; now, that it is what produces another thing or gives it reality, &c. &c. Wolf says: Causa est principium, a quo existentia, sive actualitas, entis alterius dependet; whereas it is obvious that in causality we have only to do with changes in the form of uncreated, indestructible Matter, and that a springing into existence of what did not previously exist is an impossibility. Want of clearness of thought may, no doubt, in most cases have led to these views of the causal relation; but surely sometimes an arrière-pensée lurks in the background—a theological intention coqueting with the Cosmological Proof, for whose sake it is ready to falsify even transcendental, à priori truths, the mother's milk of human understanding. We find the clearest instance of this in Thomas Brown's book, "On the Relation of Cause and Effect," a work of 460 pages, which, in 1835, had already reached its fourth edition, and has probably since gone through several more, and which, in spite of its wearisome, pedantic, rambling prolixity, does not handle the subject badly. Now this Englishman rightly recognises, that it is invariably with changes that the causal law has to do, and that every effect is accordingly a change. Yet, although it can hardly have escaped him, he is unwilling to admit that every cause is likewise a change, and that the whole process is therefore nothing but the uninterrupted nexus of changes succeeding one another in Time. On the contrary, he persists in clumsily calling the cause an object or substance, which precedes the change, and in tormenting himself throughout his tedious book with this entirely false expression, which spoils all his explanations, notwithstanding his own better knowledge and against his conscience, simply in order that his definition may on no account stand in the way of the Cosmological Proof, which others might hereafter state elsewhere.—But what can a truth be worth which needs devices such as these to prepare its way?
And what have our own worthy, honest German professors of philosophy been doing in behalf of their dearly beloved Cosmological Proof, since Kant dealt it the death-blow in his Critique of Pure Reason?—they, who prize truth above everything. They were, indeed, at their wits' ends, for—as these worthies well know, though they do not say so—causa prima is, just as well as causa sui, a contradictio in adjecto, albeit the former expression is more generally used than the latter. It is besides usually pronounced with a very serious, not to say solemn, air; nay, many people, especially English Reverends, turn up their eyes in a truly edifying way when they impressively and emphatically mention that contradictio in adjecto: 'the first cause.' They know that a first cause is just as inconceivable as the point at which Space ends or the moment when Time first began. For every cause is a change, which necessarily obliges us to ask for the preceding change that brought it about, and so on in infinitum, in infinitum! Even a first state of Matter, from which, as it has ceased to be, all following states could have proceeded, is inconceivable. For if this state had in itself been the cause of the following ones, they must likewise have existed from all eternity, and the actual state existing at the present moment could not have only just now come into being. If, on the other hand, that first state only began to be causal at some given period, something or other must have changed it, for its inactivity to have ceased; but then something must have occurred, some change must have taken place; and this again obliges us to ask for its cause—i.e. a change which preceded it; and here we are once more on the causal ladder, up which we are whipped step by step, higher and higher, in infinitum, in infinitum! (These gentlemen will surely not have the face to talk to me of Matter itself arising out of nothing! If so, they will find corollaries at their service further on.) The causal law therefore is not so accommodating as to let itself be used like a hired cab, which we dismiss when we have reached our destination; rather does it resemble the broom brought to life by the apprentice-wizard in Göthe's poem,[61] which, when once set in motion, does not leave off running and fetching water until the old master-wizard himself stops it, which he alone has the power to do. These gentlemen, however, have no master-wizards among them. So what did they do, these noble, genuine lovers of truth, ever on the alert, of course, to proclaim the advent of real merit to the world as soon as it shows itself in their profession, who far from wishing to divert attention from the works of those who are really what they only seem to be, by craftily ignoring and meanly keeping them dark, are naturally foremost to acknowledge their worth—aye, surely, as surely as folly loves wisdom above everything? What did they do, I say, to help their old friend, the sorely distressed Cosmological Proof, now at its last gasp? Oh, they hit upon a shrewd device. "Friend," they said, "you are in sorry plight since your fatal encounter with that stubborn old man in Königsberg, and indeed your brethren, the Ontological and Physico-theological Proofs are in no better condition. Never mind, you shall not be abandoned by us (that is what we are paid for, you know); only you must alter your dress and your name—there is no help for it—for if we call you by your right name, everyone will take to his heels. Now incognito, on the contrary, we can take you by the arm, and once more lead you into society; only, as we have just said, it must be incognito! That is sure to answer! First of all, your argument must henceforth be called The Absolute. This has a foreign, dignified, aristocratic ring; and no one knows better than we do all that can be done with Germans by assuming airs of importance. Of course all know what the real meaning is, and pique themselves upon that knowledge. But you yourself must come forward disguised, in the form of an enthymeme. Be sure and leave behind you all those prosyllogisms and premisses, by which you used to drag us wearily up the long climax, for everyone knows how utterly useless they are. Come forward with a bold face and a self-sufficient, supercilious air, like a man of few words, and at one bound you will reach the goal. Exclaim (and we will chime in), 'The Absolute, confound it! that must exist, or there would be nothing at all!' Here, strike the table with your fist. Whence does the Absolute come? 'What a silly question! Did not I tell you it was the Absolute?'—That will do, forsooth! That will do! Germans are accustomed to content themselves with words instead of thoughts. Do we not train them to it from their cradle? Only look at Hegelianism! What is it but empty, hollow, nauseous twaddle! Yet how brilliant a career was that of this philosophical time-server! A few mercenary individuals had only to strike up a laudation of this stuff, and they at once found an echo to their voices in the empty hollow of a thousand numskulls—an echo which still continues to resound, and to extend—and behold! an ordinary intellect, a common impostor soon became a sublime thinker. Take heart, therefore! Besides, our friend and patron, we will also second you in other ways, for how, indeed, are we to get a living without you? So that carping old faultfinder, Kant, has been criticizing Reason, and clipping her wings, has he? Well, then, we will invent a new sort of Reason, such as has never been heard of—a Reason that does not think, but which has direct intuition—a Reason which sees Ideas (a high-flown word, made to mystify), sees them bodily; or which apprehends directly that which you and others seek to prove; or, again, a Reason which has forebodings of all this—this last for the benefit of those who do not care to make large concessions, but also are satisfied with very little. Let us thus pass off early inculcated, popular conceptions for direct revelations of this new kind of Reason, i.e. for inspirations from above. As for that old-fashioned Reason, which criticism has criticized away, let us degrade it, call it Understanding, and send it about its business. Well, and what is to become of real, true Understanding?—What in the world have we to do with real, true Understanding?—You smile incredulously; but we know our listeners, and the harum, horum we see on the students' benches before us. Bacon of Verulam already in his time said: 'Young men learn to believe at Universities.' Of this they can learn as much as they wish from us; we have a good stock of articles of faith on hand. Should any misgivings assail you, remember that we are in Germany, where what would have been impossible in any other country, has been found possible: where a dull-witted, ignorant, pseudo-philosopher, whose ineffably hollow verbiage disorganizes peoples' brains completely and permanently, a scribbler of nonsense—I am speaking of our dearly beloved Hegel—has not only been actually proclaimed a profound thinker with impunity, and even without incurring ridicule, but is readily accepted as such: yes, indeed, for this fiction has found credence for the last thirty years, and is believed to this day!—Once therefore we have this Absolute with your help, we are quite safe, in spite of Kant and his Critique.—We may then philosophise in a lofty tone, making the Universe proceed from the Absolute by means of the most heterogeneous deductions, one more tiresome than the other—this, by the way, being their only point of resemblance. We can call the world the Finite, and the Absolute the Infinite—thus giving an agreeable variety to our nonsense—and talk of nothing but God, explaining how, why, wherefore, by what voluntary or involuntary process he created or brought forth the world, showing whether he be within or without it, and so forth, as if Philosophy were Theology, and as if it sought for enlightenment concerning God, not concerning the Universe!"
The Cosmological Proof, with which we here have to do, and to which the above apostrophe is addressed, consists thus, properly speaking, in the assertion, that the principle of the sufficient reason of becoming, or the law of causality, necessarily leads to a thought which destroys it and declares it to be null and void. For the causa prima (absolutum) can only be reached by proceeding upwards from consequence to reason, through a series prolonged ad libitum; but it is impossible to stop short at the causa prima without at once annulling the principle of sufficient reason.
Having thus briefly and clearly shown the nullity of the Cosmological Proof, as I had in my second chapter already shown the nullity of the Ontological Proof, the sympathizing reader may perhaps expect me to do the same with respect to the Physico-theological Proof, which is a great deal more plausible. As, however, this belongs by its nature to a different department of philosophy, it would be quite out of place here. I therefore refer him to Kant's Critique of Pure Reason, as well as to his Critique of the Faculty of Judgment, where he treats this subject ex professo; I likewise refer him, as a complement to Kant's purely negative procedure, to my own positive one in "The Will in Nature,"[62] a work which, though small in bulk, is rich and weighty in content. As for the indifferent reader, he is free to let this and indeed all my writings pass down unread to his descendants. It matters not to me; for I am here, not for one generation only, but for many.
Now, as the law of causality is known to us à priori, and is therefore a transcendental law, applicable to every possible experience and consequently without exception, as will be shown in § 21; as moreover it decides, that upon a given, definite, relatively first state, a second equally definite one inevitably ensues by rule, i.e., always; the relation between cause and effect is a necessary one, so that the causal law authorizes us to form hypothetical judgments, and thereby shows itself to be a form of the principle of sufficient reason, upon which principle all judgments must be founded and, as will be shown further on, all necessity is based.
This form of our principle I call the principle of the sufficient reason of becoming, because its application invariably pre-supposes a change, the entering upon a new state: consequently a becoming. One of its essential characteristics is this: that the cause always precedes the effect in Time (compare § 47), and this alone gives us the original criterion by which to distinguish which is cause and which effect, of two states linked together by the causal nexus. Conversely, in some cases, the causal nexus is known to us through former experience; but the rapidity with which the different states follow upon each other is so great, that the order in which this happens escapes our perception. We then conclude with complete certitude from causality to succession: thus, for instance, we infer that the igniting of gunpowder precedes its explosion.[63]
From this essential connection between causality and succession it follows, that the conception of reciprocity, strictly speaking, has no meaning; for it presumes the effect to be again the cause of its cause: that is, that what follows is at the same time what precedes. In a "Critique of Kantian Philosophy," which I have added to my chief work, and to which I refer my readers,[64] I have shown at length that this favourite conception is inadmissible. It may be remarked, that authors usually have recourse to it just when their insight is becoming less clear, and this accounts for the frequency of its use. Nay, it is precisely when a writer comes to the end of his conceptions, that the word 'reciprocity' presents itself more readily than any other; it may, in fact, be looked upon as a kind of alarm-gun, denoting that the author has got out of his depth. It is also worthy of remark, that the word Wechselwirkung, literally reciprocal action—or, as we have preferred translating it, reciprocity—is only found in the German language, and that there is no precise equivalent for it in daily use in any other tongue.
From the law of causality spring two corollaries which, in virtue of this origin, are accredited as cognitions à priori, therefore as unquestionable and without exception. They are, the law of inertia and that of permanence of substance. The first of these laws avers, that every state in which a body can possibly be—consequently that of repose as well as that of any kind of movement—must last for ever without change, diminution, or augmentation, unless some cause supervenes to alter or annul it. But the other law, by which the eternity of Matter is affirmed, results from the fact, that the law of causality is exclusively applicable to states of bodies, such as repose, movement, form, and quality, since it presides over their temporal passing in or out of being; but that it is by no means applicable to the existence of that which endures these states, and is called Substance, in order precisely to express its exemption from all arising and perishing. 'Substance is permanent' means, that it can neither pass into, nor out of being: so that its quantity existing in the universe can neither be increased nor diminished. That we know this à priori, is proved by the consciousness of unassailable certainty with which, when we see a body disappear—whether it be by conjuring, by minute subdivision, by combustion, volatilisation, or indeed any process whatever—we all nevertheless firmly assume that its substance, i.e. its matter, must still exist somewhere or other in undiminished quantity, whatever may have become of its form; likewise, when we perceive a body suddenly in a place, where it was not before, that it must have been brought there or formed by some combination of invisible particles—for instance, by precipitation—but that it, i.e. its substance, cannot have then started into existence; for this implies a total impossibility and is utterly inconceivable. The certainty with which we assume this beforehand (à priori), proceeds from the fact, that our Understanding possesses absolutely no form under which to conceive the beginning and end of Matter. For, as before said, the law of causality—the only form in which we are able to conceive changes at all—is solely applicable to states of bodies, and never under any circumstances to the existence of that which undergoes all changes: Matter. This is why I place the principle of the permanence of Matter among the corollaries of the causal law. Moreover, we cannot have acquired à posteriori the conviction that substance is permanent, partly because it cannot, in most instances, be empirically established; partly also, because every empirical knowledge obtained exclusively by means of induction, has only approximate, consequently precarious, never unconditioned, certainty. The firmness of our persuasion as to this principle is therefore of a different kind and nature from our security of conviction with regard to the accuracy of any empirically discovered law of Nature, since it has an entirely different, perfectly unshakable, never vacillating firmness. The reason of this is, that the principle expresses a transcendental knowledge, i.e. one which determines and fixes, prior to all experience, what is in any way possible within the whole range of experience; but, precisely by this, it reduces the world of experience to a mere cerebral phenomenon. Even the most universal among the non-transcendental laws of Nature and the one least liable to exception—the law of gravitation—is of empirical origin, consequently without guarantee as to its absolute universality; wherefore it is still from time to time called in question, and doubts occasionally arise as to its validity beyond our solar system; and astronomers carefully call attention to any indications corroborative of its doubtfulness with which they may happen to meet, thereby showing that they regard it as merely empirical. The question may of course be raised, whether gravitation takes effect between bodies which are separated by an absolute vacuum, or whether its action within a solar system may not be mediated by some sort of ether, and may not cease altogether between fixed stars; but these questions only admit of an empirical solution, and this proves that here we have not to do with a knowledge à priori. If, on the other hand, we admit with Kant and Laplace the hypothesis, as the most probable one, that each solar system has developed out of an original nebula by a gradual process of condensation, we still cannot for a moment conceive the possibility of that original substance having sprung into being out of nothing: we are forced to assume the anterior existence of its particles somewhere or other, as well as their having been brought together somehow or other, precisely because of the transcendental nature of the principle of the permanence of Substance. In my Critique of Kantian Philosophy,[65] I have shown at length, that Substance is but another word for Matter, the conception of substance not being realisable excepting in Matter, and therefore deriving its origin from Matter, and I have also specially pointed out how that conception was formed solely to serve a surreptitious purpose. Like many other equally certain truths, this eternity of Matter (called the permanence of substance) is forbidden fruit for professors of philosophy; so they slip past it with a bashful, sidelong glance.
By the endless chain of causes and effects which directs all changes but never extends beyond them, two existing things remain untouched, precisely because of the limited range of its action: on the one hand, Matter, as we have just shown; on the other hand, the primary forces of Nature. The first (matter) remains uninfluenced by the causal nexus, because it is that which undergoes all changes, or on which they take place; the second (the primary forces), because it is they alone by which changes or effects become possible; for they alone give causality to causes. i.e. the faculty of operating, which the causes therefore hold as mere vassals a fief. Cause and effect are changes connected together to necessary succession in Time; whereas the forces of Nature by means of which all causes operate, are exempt from all change; in this sense therefore they are outside Time, but precisely on that account they are always and everywhere in reserve, omnipresent and inexhaustible, ever ready to manifest themselves, as soon as an opportunity presents itself in the thread of causality. A cause, like its effect, is invariably something individual, a single change; whereas a force of Nature is something universal, unchangeable, present at all times and in all places. The attraction of a thread by amber, for instance, at the present moment, is an effect; its cause is the preceding friction and actual contact of the amber with the thread; and the force of Nature which acts in, and presides over, the process, is Electricity. The explanation of this matter is to be found in my chief work,[66] and there I have shown in a long chain of causes and effects how the most heterogeneous natural forces successively come into play in them. By this explanation the difference between transitory phenomena and permanent forms of operation, becomes exceedingly clear; and as, moreover, a whole section (§ 26) is devoted to the question, it will be sufficient here to give a brief sketch of it. The rule, by which a force of Nature manifests itself in the chain of causes and effects—consequently the link which connects it with them—is the law of Nature. But the confusion between forces of Nature and causes is as frequent as it is detrimental to clearness of thought. It seems indeed as though no one had accurately defined the difference between these conceptions before me, however great may have been the urgency for such a distinction. Not only are forces of Nature turned into causes by such expressions as, 'Electricity, Gravity, &c., are the cause of so-and-so,' but they are even often turned into effects by those who search for a cause for Electricity, Gravity, &c. &c., which is absurd. Diminishing the number of the forces of Nature, however, by reducing one to another, as for instance Magnetism is in our days reduced to Electricity, is a totally different thing. Every true, consequently really primary force of Nature—and every fundamental chemical property belongs to these forces—is essentially a qualitas occulta, i.e. it does not admit of physical, but only of metaphysical explanation: in other words, of an explanation which transcends the world of phenomena. No one has carried this confusion, or rather identification, of causes with forces of Nature further than Maine de Biran in his "Nouvelles considérations des rapports du physique au moral," for it is essential to his philosophy. It is besides remarkable, that when he speaks of causes, he rarely uses the word cause alone, but almost always speaks of cause ou force, just as we have seen Spinoza above (§ 8) write ratio sive causa no less than eight times in the same page. Both writers are evidently conscious that they are identifying two disparates, in order to be able to make use of the one or the other, according to circumstances; for this end they are obliged to keep the identification constantly before their readers' mind.—
Now Causality, as the director of each and every change, presents itself in Nature under three distinct forms: as causes in the strictest acceptation of the word, as stimuli, and as motives. It is just upon this difference that the real, essential distinction between inorganic bodies, plants, and animals is based, and not upon external, anatomical, let alone chemical, distinctions.
A cause, in its narrowest sense, is that upon which changes in the inorganic kingdom alone ensue: those changes, that is to say, which form the theme of Mechanics, Physics, and Chemistry. Newton's third fundamental law, "Action and reaction are equal to one another," applies exclusively to this cause, and enunciates, that the state which precedes (the cause) undergoes a change equivalent to that produced by it (the effect). In this form of causality alone, moreover, does the degree of the effect always exactly correspond to the degree of the cause, so as to enable us accurately to calculate the one by means of the other.
The second form of causality is the stimulus; it reigns over organic life, as such, i.e. over plant life and the vegetative, that is, the unconscious, part of animal life. This second form is characterized by the absence of the distinctive signs of the first. In it accordingly action and reaction are not equal, nor does the intensity of the effect by any means correspond throughout all its degrees to the intensity of the cause; in fact, the opposite effect may even be produced by intensifying the cause.
The third form of causality is the motive. Under this form causality rules animal life proper: that is, the exterior, consciously performed actions of all animals. The medium for motives is knowledge: an intellect is accordingly needed for susceptibility to motives. The true characteristic of the animal is therefore the faculty of knowing, of representing (Das Vorstellen). Animals, as such, always move towards some aim and end, which therefore must have been recognised by them: that is to say, it must have presented itself to them as something different from themselves, yet of which they are conscious. Therefore the proper definition of the animal would be: 'That which knows;' for no other definition quite hits the mark or can even perhaps stand the test of investigation. Movement induced by motives is necessarily wanting where there is no cognitive faculty, and movement by stimuli alone remains, i.e. plant life. Irritability and sensibility are therefore inseparable. Still motives evidently act in a different way from stimuli; for the action of the former may be very brief, nay, need only be momentary; since their efficacy, unlike that of stimuli, stands in no relation whatever to the duration of that action, to the proximity of the object, &c. &c. A motive needs but to be perceived therefore, to take effect; whereas stimuli always require outward, often even inward, contact and invariably a certain length of time.
This short sketch of the three forms of causality will suffice here. They are more fully described in my Prize-essay on Free Will.[67] One thing, however, still remains to be urged. The difference between cause, stimulus, and motive, is obviously only a consequence of the various degrees of receptivity of beings; the greater their receptivity, the feebler may be the nature of the influence: a stone needs an impact, while man obeys a look. Nevertheless, both are moved by a sufficient cause, therefore with the same necessity. For 'motivation'[68] is only causality passing through knowledge; the intellect is the medium of the motives, because it is the highest degree of receptivity. By this, however, the law of causality loses nothing whatever of its rigour and certainty; for motives are causes and operate with the same necessity which all causes bring with them. This necessity is easy to perceive in animals because of the greater simplicity of their intellect, which is limited to the perception of what is present. Man's intellect is double: for not only has he intuitive, but abstract, knowledge, which last is not limited to what is present. Man possesses Reason; he therefore has a power of elective decision with clear consciousness: that is, he is able to weigh against one another motives which exclude each other, as such; in other terms, he can let them try their strength on his will. The most powerful motive then decides him, and his actions ensue with just the same necessity as the rolling of a ball after it has been struck. Freedom of Will[69] means (not professorial twaddle but) "that a given human being, in a given situation, can act in two different ways." But the utter absurdity of this assertion is a truth as certain and as clearly proved, as any truth can be which passes the limits of pure mathematics. In my Essay on Free Will, to which the Norwegian Society awarded the prize, this truth is demonstrated more clearly, methodically, and thoroughly than has been done before by anyone else, and this moreover with special reference to those facts of our consciousness by which ignorant people imagine that absurdity to be confirmed. In all that is essential however, Hobbes, Spinoza, Priestley, Voltaire, and even Kant[70] already taught the same doctrine. Our professional philosophers, of course, do not let this interfere with their holding forth on Free Will, as if it were an understood thing which had never been questioned. But what do these gentlemen imagine the above-named great men to have come into the world for, by the grace of Nature? To enable them (the professors) to earn their livelihood by philosophy?—Since I had proved this truth in my prize-essay more clearly than had ever been done before, and since moreover a Royal Society had sanctioned that proof by placing my essay among its memoranda, it surely behoved these worthies, considering the views they held, to make a vigorous attack upon so pernicious a doctrine, so detestable a heresy, and thoroughly to refute it. Nay, this duty was all the more imperative as, in my other essay "On the Foundation of Morality,"[71] I had proved the utter groundlessness of Kant's practical Reason with its Categorical Imperative which, under the name of the Moral Law, is still used by these gentlemen as the corner-stone of their own shallow systems of morality. I have shown it to be a futile assumption so clearly and irrefutably, that no one with a spark of judgment can possibly believe any longer in this fiction.—"Well, and so they probably did."—Oh no! They take good care not to venture on such slippery ground! Their ability consists in holding their tongues; silence is all they have to oppose to intelligence, earnestness, and truth. In not one of the products of their useless scribblings that have appeared since 1841, has the slightest notice been taken of my Ethics—undoubtedly the most important work on Moral Philosophy that has been published for the last sixty years—nay, their terror of me and of my truth is so great, that none of the literary journals issued by Academies or Universities has so much as mentioned the book. Zitto, zitto, lest the public should perceive anything: in this consists the whole of their policy. The instinct of self-preservation may, no doubt, be at the bottom of these artful tactics. For would not a philosophy, whose sole aim was truth, and which had no other consideration in view, be likely to play the part of the iron pot among the earthen ones, were it to come in contact with the petty systems composed under the influence of a thousand personal considerations by people whose chief qualification is the propriety of their sentiments? Their wretched fear of my writings is the fear of truth. Nor can it be denied, that precisely this very doctrine of the complete necessity of all acts of the will stands in flagrant contradiction with all the hypotheses of their favourite old-woman's philosophy cut after the pattern of Judaism. Still, that severely tested truth, far from being disturbed by all this, as a sure datum and criterion, as a true δός μοι ποῦ στῶ, proves the futility of all that old-woman's philosophy and the urgent need of a fundamentally different, incomparably deeper view of the Universe and of Man;—no matter whether that view be compatible with the official duties of a professional philosopher or not.
In the professorial philosophy of our philosophy-professors we are still taught to this day, that perception of the outer world is a thing of the senses, and then there follows a long dissertation upon each of the five senses: whereas no mention whatever is made of the intellectual character of perception: that is to say, of the fact, that it is mainly the work of the Understanding, which, by means of its own peculiar form of Causality, together with the forms of pure sensibility, Time and Space, which are postulated by Causality, primarily creates and produces the objective, outer world out of the raw material of a few sensations. And yet in its principal features, I had stated this matter in the first edition of the present treatise[72] and soon after developed it more fully in my treatise "On Vision and Colours" (1816), of which Professor Rosas has shown his appreciation by allowing it to lead him into plagiarism.[73] But our professors of philosophy have not thought fit to take the slightest notice either of this, or indeed of any of the other great and important truths which it has been the aim and labour of my whole life to set forth, in order to secure them as a lasting possession to mankind. It does not suit their tastes, or fit into their notions; it leads to no Theology, nor is it even adapted to drill students for higher State purposes. In short, professional philosophers do not care to learn from me, nor do they even see how much they might learn from me: that is, all that their children and their children's children will learn from me. They prefer to sit down and spin a long metaphysical yarn, each out of his own thoughts, for the benefit of the public; and no doubt, if fingers are a sufficient qualification, they have it. How right was Macchiavelli when he said, as Hesiod[74] before him: "There are three sorts of heads: firstly, those which acquire knowledge of things and comprehend them by themselves; secondly, those which recognise the truth when it is shown them by others; and thirdly, those which can do neither the one nor the other."[75]—
One must indeed be forsaken by all the gods, to imagine that the outer, perceptible world, filling Space in its three dimensions and moving on in the inexorable flow of Time, governed at every step by the laws of Causality, which is without exception, and in all this merely obeying laws we can indicate before all experience of them—that such a world as this, we say, can have a real, objective existence outside us, without any agency of our own, and that it can then have found its way into our heads through bare sensation and thus have a second existence within us like the one outside. For what a miserably poor thing is mere sensation, after all! Even in the noblest of our organs it is nothing but a local, specific feeling, susceptible of some slight variation, still in itself always subjective and, as such therefore, incapable of containing anything objective, anything like perception. For sensation is and remains a process within the organism and is limited, as such, to the region within the skin; it cannot therefore contain anything which lies beyond that region, or, in other words, anything that is outside us. A sensation may be pleasant or unpleasant—which betokens a relation to the Will—but nothing objective can ever lie in any sensation. In the organs of the senses, sensation is heightened by the confluence of the nerve-extremities, and can easily be excited from without on account of their extensive distribution and the delicacy of the envelope which encloses them; it is besides specially susceptible to particular influences, such as light, sound, smell; notwithstanding which it is and remains mere sensation, like all others within our body, consequently something essentially subjective, of whose changes we only become immediately conscious in the form of the inner sense, Time: that is, successively. It is only when the Understanding begins to act—a function, not of single, delicate nerve-extremities, but of that mysterious, complicated structure weighing from five to ten pounds, called the brain—only when it begins to apply its sole form, the causal law, that a powerful transformation takes place, by which subjective sensation becomes objective perception. For, in virtue of its own peculiar form, therefore à priori, i.e. before all experience (since there could have been none till then), the Understanding conceives the given corporeal sensation as an effect (a word which the Understanding alone comprehends), which effect, as such, necessarily implies a cause. Simultaneously it summons to its assistance Space, the form of the outer sense, lying likewise ready in the intellect (i.e. the brain), in order to remove that cause beyond the organism; for it is by this that the external world first arises, Space alone rendering it possible, so that pure intuition à priori has to supply the foundation for empirical perception. In this process, as I shall soon show more clearly, the Understanding avails itself of all the several data, even the minutest, which are presented to it by the given sensation, in order to construct the cause of it in Space in conformity with them. This intellectual operation (which is moreover explicitly denied both by Schelling[76] and by Fries[77]), does not however take place discursively or reflectively, in abstracto, by means of conceptions and words; it is, on the contrary, an intuitive and quite direct process. For by it alone, therefore exclusively in the Understanding and for the Understanding, does the real, objective, corporeal world, filling Space in its three dimensions, present itself and further proceed, according to the same law of causality, to change in Time, and to move in Space.—It is therefore the Understanding itself which has to create the objective world; for this world cannot walk into our brain from outside all ready cut and dried through the senses and the openings of their organs. In fact, the senses supply nothing but the raw materials which the Understanding at once proceeds to work up into the objective view of a corporeal world, subject to regular laws, by means of the simple forms we have indicated: Space, Time, and Causality. Accordingly our every-day empirical perception is an intellectual one and has a right to claim this predicate, which German pseudo-philosophers have given to a pretended intuition of dream-worlds, in which their beloved Absolute is supposed to perform its evolutions. And now I will proceed to show how wide is the gulf which separates sensation from perception, by pointing out how raw is the material out of which the beautiful edifice is constructed.
Objective perception makes use, properly speaking, of only two senses; touch and sight. These alone supply the data upon which, as its basis, the Understanding constructs the objective world by the process just described. The three other senses remain on the whole subjective; for their sensations, while pointing to an external cause, still contain no data by which its relations in Space can be determined. Now Space is the form of all perception, i.e. of that apprehension, in which alone objects can, properly speaking, present themselves. Therefore those other three senses can no doubt serve to announce the presence of objects we already know in some other way; but no construction in Space, consequently no objective perception, can possibly be founded on their data. A rose cannot be constructed from its perfume, and a blind man may hear music all his life without having the slightest objective representation either of the musicians, or of the instruments, or of the vibrations of the air. On the other hand, the sense of hearing is of great value as a medium for language, and through this it is the sense of Reason. It is also valuable as a medium for music, which is the only way in which we comprehend numerical relations not only in abstracto, but directly, in concreto. A musical sound or tone, however, gives no clue to spacial relations, therefore it never helps to bring the nature of its cause nearer to us; we stop short at it, so that it is no datum for the Understanding in its construction of the objective world. The sensations of touch and sight alone are such data; therefore a blind man without either hands or feet, while able to construct Space for himself à priori in all its regularity, would nevertheless acquire but a very vague representation of the objective world. Yet what is supplied by touch and sight is not by any means perception, but merely the raw material for it. For perception is so far from being contained in the sensations of touch and sight, that these sensations have not even the faintest resemblance to the qualities of the things which present themselves to us through them, as I shall presently show. Only what really belongs to sensation must first be clearly distinguished from what is added to it by the intellect in perception. In the beginning this is not easy, because we are so accustomed to pass from the sensation at once to its cause, that the cause presents itself to us without our noticing the sensation apart from it, by which, as it were, the premisses are supplied to this conclusion drawn by the Understanding.
Thus touch and sight have each their own special advantages, to begin with; therefore they assist each other mutually. Sight needs no contact, nor even proximity; its field is unbounded and extends to the stars. It is moreover sensitive to the most delicate degrees of light, shade, colour, and transparency; so that it supplies the Understanding with a quantity of nicely defined data, out of which, by dint of practice, it becomes able to construct the shape, size, distance, and nature of bodies, and represents them at once perceptibly. On the other hand, touch certainly depends upon contact; still its data are so varied and so trustworthy, that it is the most searching of all the senses. Even perception by sight may, in the last resort, be referred to touch; nay, sight may be looked upon as an imperfect touch extending to a great distance, which uses the rays of light as long feelers; and it is just because it is limited to those qualities which have light for their medium and is therefore one-sided, that it is so liable to deception; whereas touch supplies the data for cognising size, shape, hardness, softness, roughness, temperature, &c. &c., quite immediately. In this it is assisted, partly by the shape and mobility of our arms, hands, and fingers, from whose position in feeling objects the Understanding derives its data for constructing bodies in Space, partly by muscular power, which enables it to know the weight, solidity, toughness, or brittleness of bodies: all this with the least possible liability to error.
These data nevertheless do not by any means yet give perception, which is always the work of the Understanding. The sensation I have in pressing against a table with my hand, contains no representation of a firm cohesion of parts in that object, nor indeed anything at all like it. It is only when my Understanding passes from that sensation to its cause, that the intellect constructs for itself a body having the properties of solidity, impenetrability, and hardness. If in the dark, I put my hand upon a flat surface, or lay hold of a ball of about three inches in diameter, the same parts of my hand feel the pressure in both cases; it is only by the different position which my hand takes that, in the one or in the other case, my Understanding constructs the shape of the body whose contact is the cause of the sensation, for which it receives confirmation from the changes of position which I make. The sensations in the hand of a man born blind, on feeling an object of cubic shape, are quite uniform and the same on all sides and in every direction: the edges, it is true, press upon a smaller portion of his hand, still nothing at all like a cube is contained in these sensations. His Understanding, however, draws the immediate and intuitive conclusion from the resistance felt, that this resistance must have a cause, which then presents itself through that conclusion as a hard body; and through the movements of his arms in feeling the object, while the hand's sensation remains unaltered, he constructs the cubic shape in Space, which is known to him à priori. If the representation of a cause and of Space, together with their laws, had not already existed within him, the image of a cube could never have proceeded from those successive sensations in his hand. If a rope be drawn through his hand, he will construct, as the cause of the friction he feels and of its duration, a long cylindrical body, moving uniformly in the same direction in that particular position of his hand. But the representation of movement, i.e. of change of place in Space by means of Time, never could arise for him out of the mere sensation in his hand; for that sensation can neither contain, nor can it ever by itself alone produce any such thing. It is his intellect which must, on the contrary, contain within itself, before all experience, the intuitions of Space, Time, and together with them that of the possibility of movement; and it must also contain the representation of Causality, in order to pass from sensation—which alone is given by experience—to a cause of that sensation, and to construct that cause as a body having this or that shape, moving in this or that direction. For how great is the difference between a mere sensation in my hand and the representations of causality, materiality, and mobility in Space by means of Time! The sensation in my hand, even if its position and its points of contact are altered, is a thing far too uniform and far too poor in data, to enable me to construct out of it the representation of Space, with its three dimensions, and of the influences of bodies one upon another, together with the properties of expansion, impenetrability, cohesion, shape, hardness, softness, rest, and motion: the basis, in short, of the objective world. This is, on the contrary, only possible by the intellect containing within itself, anterior to all experience, Space, as the form of perception; Time, as the form of change; and the law of Causality, as the regulator of the passing in and out of changes. Now it is precisely the pre-existence before all experience of all these forms, which constitutes the Intellect. Physiologically, it is a function of the brain, which the brain no more learns by experience than the stomach to digest, or the liver to secrete bile. Besides, no other explanation can be given of the fact, that many who were born blind, acquire a sufficiently complete knowledge of the relations of Space, to enable them to replace their want of eyesight by it to a considerable degree, and to perform astonishing feats. A hundred years ago Saunderson, for instance, who was blind from his birth, lectured on Optics, Mathematics, and Astronomy at Cambridge.[78] This, too, is the only way to explain the exactly opposite case of Eva Lauk, who was born without arms or legs, yet acquired an accurate perception of the outer world by means of sight alone as rapidly as other children.[79] All this therefore proves that Time, Space, and Causality are not conveyed into us by touch or by sight, or indeed at all from outside, but that they have an internal, consequently not empirical, but intellectual origin. From this again follows, that the perception of the bodily world is an essentially intellectual process, a work of the Understanding, to which sensation merely gives the opportunity and the data for application in individual cases.
I shall now prove the same with regard to the sense of sight. Here the only immediate datum is the sensation experienced by the retina, which, though admitting of great variety, may still be reduced to the impression of light and dark with their intermediate gradations and to that of colours proper. This sensation is entirely subjective: that is to say, it only exists within the organism and under the skin. Without the Understanding, indeed, we should never even become conscious of these gradations, excepting as of peculiar, varied modifications of the feeling in our eye, which would bear no resemblance to the shape, situation, proximity, or distance of objects outside us. For sensation, in seeing, supplies nothing more than a varied affection of the retina, exactly like the spectacle of a painter's palette with divers splashes of colour. Nor would anything more remain over in our consciousness, were we suddenly deprived of all our Understanding—let us say by paralysis of the brain—at a moment when we were contemplating a rich and extensive landscape, while the sensation was left unchanged: for this was the raw material out of which our Understanding had just before been constructing that perception.
Now, that the Understanding should thus be able, from such limited material as light, shade and colour, to produce the visible world, inexhaustibly rich in all its different shapes, by means of the simple function of referring effects to causes assisted by the intuition of Space, depends before all things upon the assistance given by the sensation itself, which consists in this: first, that the retina, as a surface, admits of a juxtaposition of impressions; secondly, that light always acts in straight lines, and that its refraction in the eye itself is rectilinear; finally, that the retina possesses the faculty of immediately feeling from which direction the light comes that impinges upon it, and this can, perhaps, only be accounted for by the rays of light penetrating below the surface of the retina. But by this we gain, that the mere impression at once indicates the direction of its cause; that is, it points directly to the position of the object from which the light proceeds or is reflected. The passage to this object as a cause no doubt presupposes the knowledge of causal relations, as well as of the laws of Space; but this knowledge constitutes precisely the furniture of the Intellect, which, here also, has again to create perception out of mere sensation. Let us now examine its procedure in doing so more closely.