PHIL 315: MODERN PHILOSOPHY

James Fieser

#CHAPTER 5

LATE MODERN AND 19TH-CENTURY PHILOSOPHY

Beginning in the late 18th-century, philosophers attempted to move away from the views of both the rationalists and empiricists, and two movements in particular emerged in reaction to Hume’s skeptical empiricism. The first was the school of Scottish common sense philosophy, championed by Thomas Reid, and adopted by later Scottish philosophers including Dugald Stewart and William Hamilton. Scottish common sense philosophers believed that we are all naturally implanted with an array of common sense beliefs and these beliefs are in fact the foundation of truth. The second movement, initiated by Immanuel Kant, was German idealism, which grounded philosophical truths in mind or spirit, rather than in external physical reality. Kant tried to take a middle road between rationalism and empiricism by stressing that, the while the mind plays a constructive role in knowledge, mental activity is limited to possible objects of experience. But Kant’s most influential followers, particularly Johann Gottlieb Fichte, and Georg Wilhelm Friedrich Hegel, were less restrained. Throughout the 19th-century these two movements impacted not only the field of philosophy, but the blossoming field of psychology as well.

            In Britain, the empiricist tradition was powerfully supported by John Stuart Mill, whose ethical and political thought has profoundly influenced democratic and liberal conceptions of community. But even in Britain, post-Kantian forms of idealism became quite prominent by the end of the century. New forms of resistance to rationalism and speculative thought generally also appeared at this time, particularly in the works of Søren Kierkegaard and Friedrich Nietzsche, both of whom are often regarded as forerunners of the 20^th century movement known as “existentialism.” Moreover Nietzche in particular has also been of source for developments in the later part of the 20^th century often lumped together under the term “post-modernism.” The 19^th century was indeed a time of cultural and intellectual turmoil, which produced currents that continue to run deep at the present day. Selections in this chapter are from the writings of (a) Reid, (b) Kant, (c) Hegel, (d) Kierkegaard, (e) Mill and (f) Nietzsche.

A. THOMAS REID

Scottish philosopher Thomas Reid (1710-1796) was educated in divinity and for some years was a minister. Later in life he held university teaching positions in Aberdeen and after that in Edinburgh. Reid was disturbed by the increasingly skeptical trend in philosophy, which he believed began with Descartes and culminated with Hume. In 1764 he published his Inquiry into the Human Mind on the Principles of Common Sense, in which he attributes the source of this skepticism to a faulty theory of perception. Reid refined his theory in two later works, Essays on the Intellectual Powers of Man (1785) and Essays on the Active Powers of Man (1788). The selections below are from Reid’s Inquiry; section titles are as appear in this work.

INTRODUCTION

In the Introduction to his Inquiry, Reid argues that modern philosophers adopted an erroneous philosophical position that he calls the theory of ideas. The specific mistake consists of holding that we never perceive real objects themselves, but only mental images (ideas) of those objects. For example, according to this view, when I look at a table in front of me, I do not actually see the real table, but only a mental copy of it. Hume clearly advocates this position in his Enquiry when writing that “nothing can ever be present to the mind but an image or perception, and that the senses are only the inlets, through which these images are conveyed.” According to Reid, this view leads to skepticism, since it eliminates the possibility of knowledge of the external world: all that we ever know are our mental images. In contrast to the theory of ideas, Reid offers his own theory of perception, a theory that explains how our senses give us direct knowledge of objects without relying on mental images as middlemen. For Reid, when I perceive the table in front of me, I have some conception of the real table itself, and instinctive principles of common sense convince me that the table indeed exists.

Sect. 5: Of Bishop Berkeley; the Treatise of Human Nature; and of Skepticism. Reid argues that Descartes, Malebranche and Locke quietly and unknowingly laid the foundation of philosophical skepticism. With Berkeley and Hume, though, we find blatant and outrageous skeptical assertions, such as the non-existence of the material world.

            The present age, I apprehend, has not produced two more acute or more practiced in this part of philosophy, than the Bishop of Cloyne, and the author of the Treatise of human nature [i.e., Hume]. The first [i.e., Berkeley] was no friend to skepticism, but had that warm concern for religious and moral principles which became his order: yet the result of his inquiry was, a serious conviction, that there is no such thing as a material world; nothing in nature but spirits and ideas: and that the belief of material substances, and of abstract ideas, are the chief causes of all our errors in philosophy, and of all infidelity and heresy in religion. His arguments are founded upon the principles which were formerly laid down by Descartes, Malebranche, and Locke, and which have been very generally received.

            And the opinion of the ablest judges seems to be, that they neither have been, nor can be confuted; and that he hath proved, by unanswerable arguments, what no man in his senses can believe.

            The second [i.e., Hume] proceeds upon the same principles, but carries them to their full length; and as the Bishop undid the whole material world, this author, upon the same grounds, undoes the world of spirits, and leaves nothing in nature but ideas and impressions, without any subject on which they may be impressed.

(1) According to Reid, Berkeley began by denying the material world; following in Berkeley’s footsteps, what else did Hume deny?

Reid is referring here to Hume’s view of personal identity, namely, that we do not have a unified notion of the self, but instead experience only a bundle of fleeting mental perceptions. Reid points out the absurdity of Hume’s view, and notes that Hume himself could not act consistently with it. Reid similarly notes that ancient skeptics were incapable of living in accord with their own skeptical philosophy.

            It seems to be a peculiar strain of humor in this author [i.e., Hume] to set out in his introduction, by promising, with a grave face, no less than a complete system of the sciences, upon a foundation entirely new, to wit, that of human nature; when the intention of the whole work is to show, that there is neither human nature nor science in the world. It may perhaps be unreasonable to complain of this conduct in an author, who neither believes his own existence, nor that of his reader; and therefore could not mean to disappoint him, or to laugh at his credulity. Yet I cannot imagine, that the author of the Treatise of human nature is so skeptical as to plead this apology. He believed, against his principles, that he should be read, and that he should retain his personal identity, till he reaped the honor and reputation justly due to his metaphysical acumen. Indeed he ingenuously acknowledges, that it was only in solitude and retirement that he could yield any assent to his own philosophy; society, like daylight, dispelled the darkness and fogs of skepticism, and made him yield to the dominion of common sense. Nor did I ever hear him charged with doing any thing, even in solitude, that argued such a degree of skepticism as his principles maintain. Surely if his friends apprehended this, they would have the charity never to leave him alone.

            Pyrrho the Elea, the father of this [skeptical] philosophy, seems to have carried it to greater perfection than any of his successors; for if we may believe Antigonus the Carystian, quoted by Diogenes Laertius, his life corresponded to his doctrine. And therefore, if a cart run against him, or a dog attacked him, or if he came upon a precipice, he would not stir a foot to avoid the danger, giving no credit to his senses. But his attendants, who, happily for him, were not so great skeptics, took care to keep him out of harm’s way; so that he lived till he was ninety years of age. Nor is it to be doubted, but this author’s friends would have been equally careful to keep him from harm, if ever his principles had taken too strong a hold of him.

            It is probable the Treatise of human nature was not written in company; yet it contains manifest indications, that the author every now and then relapsed into the faith of the vulgar, and could hardly, for half a dozen pages, keep up the skeptical character.

            In like manner, the great Pyrrho himself forgot his principles on some occasions; and is said once to have been in such a passion with his cook, who probably had not roasted his dinner to his mind, that with the spit in his hand, and the meat upon it, he pursued him even into the market-place.

            It is a bold philosophy that rejects, without ceremony, principles which irresistibly govern the belief and the conduct of all mankind in the common concerns of life; and to which the philosopher himself must yield, after he imagines he hath confuted them. Such principles are older, and of more authority, than philosophy: she rests upon them as her basis, not they upon her. If she could overturn them, she must be buried in their ruins; but all the engines of philosophical subtlety are too weak for this purpose, and the attempt is no less ridiculous, than if a mechanic should contrive an axis in peritrochio to remove the earth out of its place; or if a mathematician should pretend to demonstrate, that things equal to the same thing, are not equal to one another.

            Zeno endeavored to demonstrate the impossibility of motion; Hobbes, that there was no difference between right and wrong; and this author, that no credit is to be given to our senses, to our memory, or even to demonstration. Such philosophy is justly ridiculous, even to those who cannot detect the fallacy of it. It can have no other tendency, than to show the acuteness of the sophist, at the expense of disgracing reason and human nature, and making mankind Yahoos.

(2) What are some of the absurd views held by skeptics?

Sect 6: Of the Treatise of Human Nature. Hume published his Treatise of Human Nature anonymously. Even though everyone knew that Hume was the author, out of respect for Hume – whom Reid actually admired – Reid did not attack Hume by name. Reid points out how far Hume’s theory falls short of conveying a true account of human nature.

            There are other prejudices against this system of human nature, which, even upon a general view, may make one diffident of it.

            Des Cartes, Hobbes, and this author, have each of them given us a system of human nature; an undertaking too vast for any one man, how great soever his genius and abilities may be. There must surely be reason to apprehend, that many parts of human nature never came under their observation; and that others have been stretched and distorted, to fill up blanks, and complete the system. Christopher Columbus, or Sebastian Cabot, might almost as reasonably have undertaken to give us a complete map of America.

            There is a certain character and style in nature’s works, which is never attained in the most perfect imitation of them. This seems to be wanting in the systems of human nature I have mentioned, and particularly in the last. One may see a puppet make a variety of motions and gesticulations, which strike much at first view; but when it is accurately observed, and taken to pieces, our admiration ceases; we comprehend the whole art of the maker. How unlike is it to that which it represents, what a poor piece of work compared with the body of a man, whose structure the more we know, the more wonders we discover in it, and the more sensible we are of our ignorance! Is the mechanism of the mind so easily comprehended, when that of the body is so difficult? Yet by this system, three laws of association, joined to a few original feelings, explain the whole mechanism of sense, imagination, memory, belief, and of all the actions and passions of the mind. Is this the man that nature made? I suspect it is not so easy to look behind the scenes in nature’s work. This is a puppet surely, contrived by too bold an apprentice of nature, to mimic her work. It shows tolerably by candle light, but brought into clear day, and taken to pieces, it will appear to be a man made with mortar and a trowel. The more we know of other parts of nature, the more we like and approve them. The little I know of the planetary system; of the earth which we inhabit; of minerals, vegetables, and animals; of my own body, and of the laws which obtain in these parts of nature; opens to my mind grand and beautiful scenes, and contributes equally to my happiness and power. But when I look within, and consider the mind itself which makes me capable of all these prospects and enjoyments; if it is indeed what the Treatise of human nature makes it, I find I have been only in an enchanted castle, imposed upon by specters and apparitions. I blush inwardly to think how I have been deluded; I am ashamed of my frame, and can hardly forbear expostulating with my destiny: Is this thy pastime, O Nature, to put such tricks upon a silly creature, and then to take off the mask, and show him how he hath been befooled? If this is the philosophy of human nature, my soul enter thou not into her secrets. It is surely the forbidden tree of knowledge; I no sooner taste of it, than I perceive myself naked, and stripped of all things, yea, even of my very self. I see myself, and the whole frame of nature, shrink into fleeting ideas, which, like Epicurus’s atoms, dance about in emptiness.

(3) Reid describes Hume’s theory as a “puppet” and an “enchanted castle”. What is his point behind these metaphors?

Sect. 7: The System of all these Authors is the Same and Leads to Skepticism. Reid argues that no matter how Descartes and others attempted to avoid skepticism, the theory of ideas on which they proceeded is inherently skeptical.

            But what if these profound disquisitions into the first principles of human nature, do naturally and necessarily plunge a man into this abyss of skepticism? May we not reasonably judge so from what hath happened? Descartes no sooner began to dig in this mine, than skepticisms was ready to break in upon him. He did what he could to shut it out. Malebranche and Locke, who dug deeper, found the difficulty of keeping out this enemy still to increase; but they labored honestly in the design. Then Berkeley, who carried on the work, despairing of securing all, bethought himself of an expedient: by giving up the material world, which he thought might be spared without loss, and even with advantage, he hoped, by an impregnable partition, to secure the world of spirits. But, alas! the Treatise of human nature wantonly sapped the foundation of this partition, and drowned all in one universal deluge.

            These facts, which are undeniable, do indeed give reason to apprehend, that Descartes’s system of the human understanding, which I shall beg leave to call the ideal system, and which, with some improvements made by later writers, is now generally received, hath some original defect; that this skepticism is inlaid in it, and reared along with it; and, therefore, that we must lay it open to the foundation, and examine the materials, before we can expect to raise any solid and useful fabric of knowledge on this subject.

(4) According to Reid, how widespread is the “ideal system” (i.e., the theory of ideas)?

CHAPTER II. OF SMELLING

Going through each of our five senses, one by one, Reid attempts to show that we directly perceive external things.

Sect. 6: Apology for Metaphysical Absurdities. Sensation without a Sentient, a Consequence of the Theory of Ideas. Consequences of this Strange Opinion. Continuing his assault on the theory of ideas, Reid attacks Hume’s view that that we can we can have isolated sensations without having a permanent mind to perceive these.

            ... If there are certain principles, as I think there are, which the constitution of our nature leads us to believe, and which we are under a necessity to take for granted in the common concerns of life, without being able to give a reason for them; these are what we call the principles of common sense; and what is manifestly contrary to them, is what we call absurd.

(5) According to Reid, what is the litmus test for determining which philosophical theories we “call absurd”?

            Indeed, if it is true, and to be received as a principle of philosophy, that sensation and thought may be without a thinking being; it must be acknowledged to be the most wonderful discovery that this or any other age hath produced. The received doctrine of ideas is the principle from which it is deduced, and of which indeed it seems to be a just and natural consequence. And it is probable, that it would not have been so late a discovery, but that it is so shocking and repugnant to the common apprehensions of mankind, that it required an uncommon degree of philosophical intrepidity to usher it into the world. It is a fundamental principle of the ideal system, that every object of thought must be an impression, or an idea, that is, a faint copy of some preceding impression. This is a principle so commonly received, that the author above mentioned, although his whole system is built upon it, never offers the least proof of it. It is upon this principle, as a fixed point, that he erects his metaphysical engines, to overturn heaven and earth, body and spirit. And indeed, in my apprehension, it is altogether sufficient for the purpose. For if impressions and ideas are the only objects of thought, then heaven and earth, and body and spirit, and every thing you please, must signify only impressions and ideas, or they must be words without any meaning. It seems, therefore, that this notion, however strange, is closely connected with the received doctrine of ideas, and we must either admit the conclusion, or call in question the premises.

(6) What is the “fundamental principle of the ideal system,” which Reid ultimately rejects?

            Ideas seem to have something in their nature unfriendly to other existences. They were first introduced into philosophy, in the humble character of images or representatives of things; and in this character they seemed not only to be inoffensive, but to serve admirably well for explaining the operations of the human understanding. But since men began to reason clearly and distinctly about them, they have by degrees supplanted their constituents, and undermined the existence of every thing but themselves. First, they discarded all secondary qualities of bodies; and it was found out by their means, that fire is not hot, nor snow cold, nor honey sweet; and, in a word, that heat and cold, sound, color, taste, and smell, are nothing but ideas or impressions. Bishop Berkeley advanced them a step higher, and found out, by just reasoning, from the same principles, that extension, solidity, space, figure, and body, are ideas, and that there is nothing in nature but ideas and spirits. But the triumph of ideas was completed by the Treatise of human nature, which discards spirits also, and leaves ideas and impressions as the sole existences in the universe. What if at last, having nothing else to contend with, they should fall foul of one another, and leave no existence in nature at all? This would surely bring philosophy into danger; for what should we have left to talk or to dispute about?

(7) What were the main steps by which advocates of the ideal system eliminated all existence?

CHAPTER VII. CONCLUSION

Simplicity and the Principles of Nature. There is a disposition in human nature to reduce things to as few principles as possible; and this, without doubt, adds to the beauty of a system, if the principles are able to support what rests upon them. The mathematicians glory, very justly, in having raised so noble and magnificent a system of science, upon the foundation of a few axioms and definitions. This love of simplicity, and of reducing things to few principles, hath produced many a false system; but there never was any system in which it appears so remarkably as that of Descartes. His whole system concerning matter and spirit is built upon one axiom, expressed in one word, cogito. Upon the foundation of conscious thought, with ideas for his materials, he builds his system of the human understanding, and attempts to account for all its phaenomena: and having, as he imagined, from his consciousness, proved the existence of matter; upon the existence of matter, and of a certain quantity of motion originally impressed upon it, he builds his system of the material world, and attempts to account for all its phaenomena.

            These principles, with regard to the material system, have been found insufficient; and it has been made evident that, besides matter and motion, we must admit gravitation, cohesion, corpuscular attraction, magnetism, and other centripetal and centrifugal forces, by which the particles of matter attract and repel each other. Newton, having discovered this, and demonstrated that these principles cannot be resolved into matter and motion, was led, by analogy and the love of simplicity, to conjecture, but with a modesty and caution peculiar to him, that all the phaenomena of the material world depended upon attracting and repelling forces in the particles of matter. But we may now venture to say, that this conjecture fell short of the mark. For, even in the unorganized kingdom, the powers by which salts, crystals, spars, and many other bodies, concrete into regular forms, can never be accounted for by attracting and repelling forces in the particles of matter. And in the vegetable and animal kingdoms, there are strong indications of powers of a different nature from all the powers of unorganized bodies. We see, then, that, although, in the structure of the material world, there is, without doubt, all the beautiful simplicity consistent with the purposes for which it was made, it is not so simple as the great Descartes determined it to be; nay, it is not so simple as the greater Newton modestly conjectured it to be. Both were misled by analogy, and the love of simplicity. One had been much conversant about extension, figure, and motion; the other had enlarged his views to attracting and repelling forces; and both formed their notions of the unknown parts of nature, from those with which they were acquainted.

The Implicit Skepticism of Descartes' Cogito. But to come to the system of Descartes, concerning the human understanding. It was built, as we have observed, upon consciousness as its sole foundation, and with ideas as its materials; and all his followers have built upon the same foundation and with the same materials. They acknowledge that Nature hath given us various simple ideas. These are analogous to the matter of Descartes's physical system. They acknowledge, likewise, a natural power, by which ideas are compounded, disjoined, associated, compared. This is analogous to the original quantity of motion in Descartes's physical system. From these principles, they attempt to explain the phaenomena of human understanding, just as in the physical system the phaenomena of nature were to be explained by matter and motion. It must, indeed, be acknowledged, that there is great simplicity in this system, as well as in the other. There is such a similitude between the two, as may be expected between children of the same father; but, as the one has been found to be the child of Descartes, and not of Nature, there is ground to think that the other is so likewise.

            That the natural issue of this system is skepticism with regard to everything except the existence of our ideas, and of their necessary relations, which appear upon comparing them, is evident; for ideas, being the only object of thought, and having no existence but when we are conscious of them, it necessarily follows that there is no object of our thought which can have a continued and permanent existence. Body and spirit, cause and effect, time and space, to which we were wont to ascribe an existence independent of our thought, are all turned out of existence by this short dilemma. Either these things are ideas of sensation or reflection, or they are not: if they are ideas of sensation or reflection, they can have no existence but when we are conscious of them; if they are not ideas of sensation or reflection, they are words without any meaning.

Berkeley's Resistence to Skepticism. Neither Descartes nor Locke perceived this consequence of their system concerning ideas. Bishop Berkeley was the first who discovered it. And what followed upon this discovery? Why, with regard to the material world, and with regard to space and time, he admits the consequence, That these things are mere ideas, and have no existence but in our minds; but with regard to the existence of spirits or minds, he does not admit the consequence; and, if he had admitted it, he must have been an absolute skeptic. But how does he evade this consequence with regard to the existence of spirits? The expedient which the good Bishop uses on this occasion is very remarkable, and shews his great aversion to skepticism. He maintains that we have no ideas of spirits; and that we can think, and speak, and reason about them, and about their attributes, without having any ideas of them. If this is so, my Lord, what should hinider us from thinking and reasoning about bodies, and their qualities, without having ideas of them? The Bishop either did not think of this question, or did not think fit to give any answer to it. However, we may observe, that, in order to avoid skepticism, he fairly starts out of the Cartesian system, without giving any reason why he did so in this instance, and in no other. This, indeed, is the only instance of a deviation from Cartesian principles which I have met with in the successors of Descartes; and it seems to have been only a sudden start, occasioned by the terror of skepticism; for, in all other things, Berkeley's system is founded upon Cartesian principles.

            Thus we see that Descartes and Locke take the road that leads to skepticism, without knowing the end of it; but they stop short for want of light to carry them farther. Berkeley, frightened at the appearance of the dreadful abyss, starts aside, and avoids it. But the author of the "Treatise of Human Nature," more daring and intrepid, without turning aside to the right hand or to the left, like Virgil's Alecto, shoots directly into the gulf.

Locke's Account of the Mind. We may observe, That the account given by the new system, of that furniture of the human understanding which is the gift of Nature, and not the acquisition of our own reasoning faculty, is extremely lame and imperfect.

            The natural furniture of the human understanding is of two kinds: First, The notions or simple apprehensions which we have of things; and, secondly, The judgments or the belief which we have concerning them. As to our notions, the new system reduces them to two classes -- ideas of sensation, and ideas of reflection: the first are conceived to be copies of our sensations, retained in the memory or imagination; the second, to be copies of the operations of our minds whereof we are conscious, in like manner retained in the memory or imagination: and we are taught that these two comprehend all the materials about which the human understanding is, or can be employed. As to our judgment of things, or the belief which we have concerning them, the new system allows no part of it to be the gift of nature, but holds it to be the acquisition of reason, and to be got by comparing our ideas, and perceiving their agreements or disagreements. Now I take this account, both of our notions, and of our judgments or belief, to be extremely imperfect; and I shall briefly point out some of its capital defects.

            The division of our notions into ideas of sensation, and ideas of reflection, is contrary to all rules of logic; because the second member of the division includes the first. For, can we form clear and just notions of our sensations any other way than by reflection? Surely we cannot. Sensation is an operation of the mind of which we are conscious; and we get the notion of sensation by reflecting upon that which we are conscious of. In like manner, doubting and believing are operations of the mind whereof we are conscious; and we get the notion of them by reflecting upon what we are conscious of. The idea of sensation, therefore, are ideas of reflection, as much as the ideas of doubting, or believing, or any other ideas whatsoever.

Hume's Skepticism. There is no doctrine in the new system which more directly leads to skepticism than this. And the author of the "Treatise of Human Nature" knew very well how to use it for that purpose; for, if you maintain that there is any such existence as body or spirit, time or place, cause or effect, he immediately catches you between the horns of this dilemma; your notions of these existences are either ideas of sensations, or ideas of reflection: if of sensation, from what sensation are they copied? If of reflection, from what operations of the mind are they copied?

            But, to pass over the inaccuracy of this division, it is extremely incomplete. For, since sensation is an operation of the mind, as well as all the other things of which we form our notions by reflection, when it is asserted that all our notions are either ideas of sensation or ideas of reflection, the plain English of this is, That humankind neither do nor can think of anything but of the operations of their own minds. Nothing can be more contrary to truth, or more contrary to the experience of humankind. I know that Locke, while he maintained this doctrine, believed the notions which we have of body and of its qualities, and the notions which we have of motion and of space, to be ideas of sensation. But why did he believe this? Because he believed those notions to be nothing else but images of our sensations. If, therefore, the notions of body and its qualities, of motion and space, be not images of our sensations, will it not follow that those notions are not ideas of sensation? Most certainly.

            It is indeed to be wished that those who have written much about sensation, and about the other operations of the mind, had likewise thought and reflected much, and with great care, upon those operations; but is it not very strange that they will not allow it to be possible for humankind to think of anything else?

            The account which this system gives of our judgment and belief concerning things, is as far from the truth as the account it gives of our notions or simple apprehensions. It represents our senses as having no other office but that of furnishing the mind with notions or simple apprehensions of things; and makes our judgment and belief concerning those things to be acquired by comparing our notions together, and perceiving their agreements or disagreements.

The Natural Judgments of Common Sense. We have shewn, on the contrary, that every operation of the senses, in its very nature, implies judgment or belief, as well as simple apprehension. Thus, when I feel the pain of the gout in my toe, I have not only a notion of pain, but a belief of its existence, and a belief of some disorder in my toe which occasions it; and this belief is not produced by comparing ideas, and perceiving their agreements and disagreements; it is included in the very nature of the sensation. When I perceive a tree before me, my faculty of seeing gives me not only a notion or simple apprehension of the tree, but a belief of its existence, and of its figure, distance, and magnitude; and this judgment or belief is not got by comparing ideas, it is included in the very nature of the perception. We have taken notice of several original Principles of belief in the course of this inquiry; and when other faculties of the mind are examined, we shall find more, which have not occurred in the examination of the five senses.

            Such original and natural judgments are, therefore, a part of that furniture which Nature hath given to the human understanding. They are the inspiration of the Almighty, no less than our notions or simple apprehensions. They serve to direct us in the common affairs o life, where our reasoning faculty would leave us in the dark. They are a part of our constitution; and all the discoveries of our reason are grounded upon them. They make up what is called the common sense of humankind; and, what is manifestly contrary to any of those first principles, is what we call absurd. The strength of them is good sense, which is often found in those who are not acute in reasoning. A remarkable deviation from them, arising from a disorder in the constitution, is what we call lunacy; as when a man believes that lie is made of glass. When a man suffers himself to be reasoned out of the principles of common sense, by metaphysical arguments, we may call this metaphysical lunacy, which differs from the other species of the distemper in this, that it is not continued, but intermittent: it is apt to seize the patient in solitary and speculative moments; but, when be enters into society, Common Sense recovers her authority. A clear explication and enumeration of the principles of common sense, is one of the chief desiderata in logic. We have only considered such of them as occurred in the examination of the five senses.

B. JAMES BEATTIE

Born in Laurencekirk, Kincardineshire, Scotland, James Beattie (1735–1803) was raised by his mother after his father’s death when he was seven. In 1753 he received his M.A. at Marischal College, Aberdeen, and, after a job as a schoolmaster, was appointed to the chair of moral philosophy and logic at his alma mater. Throughout his life, Beattie balanced his work as both a poet and philosopher. Along with Thomas Reid, George Campbell and other important figures, he was a member of the Aberdeen Philosophical Society, which between 1758 and 1773 met to read papers, frequently critiquing Hume. Less respectful of Hume’s views than others in the club, Beattie wrote a scathing attack on the philosopher; a first draft was complete in 1767 and it finally appeared in 1770 under the title Essay on the Nature and Immutability of Truth. The work met with instant public acclaim and three years later King George III gave Beattie a pension of £200 per year because of this work. Hume was deeply bothered by the harsh rhetoric Beattie employed against him in the Essay. Friends rallied to Hume’s defence and Beattie’s own supporters hailed his victory against Hume – a battle that is reflected in several items contained later in this collection.

THE CASTLE OF SCEPTICISM

In 1767, when Beattie was engrossed in writing his Essay, he composed a short fictional work titled “The Castle of Scepticism,” exposes the absurdity of sceptical philosophers of the modern period.

The Journey. As the story opens, Beattie falls asleep while reading Hume’s Essays, and dreams he is caught up in a crowd of philosophers who, travelling away from the beautiful Land of Truth, are on a pilgrimage to the Castle of Scepticism, where Hume rules as Governor. Along the way Beattie listens as philosophers of the time incessantly praise Hume. The landscape becomes dark and ugly as they enter a region called the Paradise of Perplexity; finally they approach the Castle.

Though I have no ambition to be thought a dreamer of dreams, nor any pretentions whatsoever to Second Sight, I find myself much disposed to lay before the world an account of a vision which lately made a strong impression upon my fancy; but of which I do not pretend to conjecture whether it issued through the gate of ivory, or through that of horn.

            I am almost ashamed to mention the circumstances in which I fell asleep: but I can say with a safe conscience, that I was never so overtaken before, which I hope will plead for my pardon with the good-natured Reader. After a night of most refreshing sleep I arose last Sunday morning in perfect health. The sweetness of the air, the serenity of the sky, the fragrance and verdure of the fields, the song of birds, and the murmurs of a stream, inspired (as Milton says) “Vernal delight and joy, able to drive all sadness but despair.” Every thing in nature seemed to rejoice; and for my own part I never in my life found my spirits more buoyant and chearful. After sauntering a while through the fields, (for I was then on a visit at a friend’s house in the country) I went into the garden, and sat down in an arbour; where, finding one of the volumes of Mr Hume’s excellent Essays, I began to read. But, I know not how it was, I had scarce gotten through half a dozen pages, when I felt myself unaccountably heavy; the longer I read, the more drousy I became: at last, I fell fast asleep.

            Methought I was hurried along in the midst of a multitude, who were going with great eagerness and expedition to see some curious sight. At first I imagined it might be an execution, or publick whipping, or some such delectable entertainment, that had so much roused the activity of my fellow-travellers: but on listening to the conversation of the better sort, I soon discovered that it was quite another matter. The words Ideas, Priestcraft, Sceptick, Quality, Faculty, Entity, &c. resounded on every side of me. As they were familiar enough to my ear, I suffered myself to be carried on by the croud; not doubting, but that I was got into a company of philosophers, or at least of students in philosophy; and that I should arrive at some Auditory erelong, and hear a dissertation on the nature of things.

            The day, methought, was warm, and the sky remarkably pure; yet a gentle breeze prevented the heat from growing excessive, so that we travelled very comfortably. The country was beautiful, but derived its charms rather from nature than from art. My companions told me, it was called by the vulgar The Land of Truth, but by the learned The Den of Prejudice. I could not help objecting to this denomination, particularly to the word Den, adding that I had never seen a pleasanter region or wider prospect in all my life: but they called me a fool, and a pedant. ....

            And now, we found ourselves suddenly, we knew not in what manner, hurried down a steep and almost perpendicular descent. A lofty and mishapen pile of ramparts, extending a great way on either hand, appeared at the bottom. The upper works were modern, but the foundations seemed to bear the marks of a very remote antiquity. This, they told me, was the Castle of Scepticism.

Entering the Castle. Before entering, the pilgrims sacrifice in the temple of a god of their choosing. The sacrificed object is “a very small parcel neatly wrapped up, and inscribed Common Sense.” The principal gods are those of Affectation, Ignorance, Self-Conceit, Fashion, Licentiousness, and Ambition. Some unsuspecting people, with large parcels of common sense, had been pulled along by the crowd and proceed to sacrifice at the temple of Hypothesis. Beattie is permitted to enter by paying a fee, without sacrificing his common sense.

            Before the great gate of the place stood a number of little temples in a very fantastick taste of architecture. It appeared by their respective inscriptions, which were in very large characters richly illuminated with the most gaudy colours, that they were dedicated to different divinities. But the names of the gods there worshiped bore no resemblance to those we commonly meet with in the systems of Pagan Theology. One temple was inscribed To Affectation, another To Ignorance, a third To Self-Conceit, a fourth To Fashion, a fifth To Licentiousness, a sixth To Ambition, and a seventh To Hypothesis. There were others, whose names I was not near enough to be able to read. My fellow-travellers told me, that it was the custom of those who wanted to be admitted into the castle, to present their offerings in some one of these temples, and asked me whether I had prepared mine. I told them, I had not; and desired to see theirs. They showed me a very small parcel neatly wrapt up, and inscribed Common Sense – at least I was told so; for most of the parcels were so exceedingly minute, as to be hardly visible to the naked eye. Every pilgrim now hastened to the shrine of his favourite divinity. The altars of Affectation, Ignorance, Fashion, and Licentiousness, were immediately crouded with ladies and fine gentlemen; certain personages, distinguished by a supercilious air, and look of great importance, took the road leading to the temples of Ambition and Self-Conceit; there were a few in shabby apparel, but well equipped with pens, inkhorns, and other implements of writing, who filed off to a dirty hovel which bore the name of Avarice: all these went forward with alacrity, and justled one another as they went. But it grieved me to the heart to observe the procedure of two or three persons of a most venerable appearance, and remarkable for the bulkiness of their offering; who, by their loitering steps, wry faces, and looking frequently behind them, seemed to be dragged against their wills, and as it were by some secret and unaccountable impulse, towards the temple of Hypothesis.

            Having no particular attachment to any of the Deities here worshipped, and being much at a loss about the method of preparing my offering, as well as somewhat uneasy at the thought of parting with it, I had almost resolved to go back: when I was given to understand by a very polite gentleman, who I thought belonged to the castle, that I might get in even without making an offering, provided I agreed to pay a certain pecuniary perquisite, the property of the Governour, which would be exacted as soon as I entered the gate. “We do not object,” continued he, “to the principles of any man: the sacrifice of Common Sense to the Divinities we worship is a kind of test by which we distinguish a friend from a stranger; if you choose to appear among us in the latter character, you need not expect any extraordinary civilities, but you may depend on meeting with no bad treatment.” I thanked the gentleman for his information, and went up to the gate.

            On one side of it stood a woman veiled, whose name I heard was Modesty; but, on peeping under her veil, I was shocked with a view of the most impudent countenance I ever beheld. On the other side stood Candour, as he was called; but by the uncommon torpor of his limbs, deadness of his eye, and thoughtlesness of his visage, which made me yawn to look at him, and still makes me yawn to think of him, I could not help being of opinion, that his true name must be Stupidity. The gate was opened by one who called himself Curiosity; a name which I heard with so much pleasure, that I believe I should have saluted him as a kinsman, if I had not got a glimpse of his face, which however he took some pains to conceal. His complexion was yellow; his nostrils distended, and elevated towards his eyes, as if he had continually smelt, or expected to smell, a disagreable odour; his brows overhung and almost covered his eyes, which by looking obliquely had contracted a most disagreeable squint; with a few yellow stumps of teeth he gnawed his skinny lips; his fists, though hid under his robe, were always clenched; rancour mingled with scorn seemed to glisten in his eye; and every part of his forehead was furrowed and twisted with habitual frowning. I had skill enough in physiognomy and genealogy, to perceive that this personage was of the family of Suspicion, and related by his mother to Captiousness, and by his grandmother to Discontent. Observing that I had no passport, he seized me rudely by the collar, and demanded in a thundering accent, whether I had any pocket-pistols, or daggers about me. I desired him to search, and satisfy his own eyes. “D–n my eyes,” he replied; “I never in my life believed them, nor any of my five senses, and if I had ten, I should be equally incredulous. This is a world in which we cannot be too diffident. Nature,” continued he, “is an infamous cheat; I would not take her word for a farthing: but there are some gentlemen in this castle, who have detected her impositions, and will detect yours too, let me tell you Sirrah, if you mean to put any tricks upon us.” I assured him I had no such views: and as the rest of the company were now arrived from the temples, he let me go forward, and went to receive them, grumbling and swearing all the while; though methought their passports, which every one held up in his hand, entitled them to be admitted without examination.

            After advancing a little way, we were overtaken by a Woman in a masque, very finely drest, who earnestly recommended to us a cordial of her own preparing, which she said was excellent, and peculiarly comfortable to the stomach of a Sceptick. Two or three grave persons refused it, and went on; but far the greater part, both males and females, pledged the lady. For my own part, being, as I thought, much fatigued with the journey, I could not resist the solicitation; but when I put my lips to the glass, I found myself in the condition of Tantalus; the liquor, of its own accord, flew off to the opposite side, and besprinkled all the lady’s rich stomacher and tucker, for handkerchief she wore none: on which she threw the glass at my head, and swearing a great oath desired me to get along, for a niggardly booby. “This comes,” said she, “of your not sacrificing. Had you made your offering, as the rest of the company did, and as a gentleman ought to do, I should not have met with this disaster.” She accompanied this short speech with many oaths, and hard names, and other figures of speech alluding to certain parts and functions of the human body which I do not choose to name: She even seemed disposed to enforce her rhetorick by manual application; but the violence of this transaction made her masque drop off, and discovered the self-same countenance, which I had found lurking at the gate under the veil of Modesty. The effects of her beverage were soon visible in those who tasted it; but I must be excused for not mentioning particulars: Suffice it to say, that the males and females became too attentive to one another, to take any more notice for the present either of me or of the Castle. I sneaked off with great expedition, and had seen most of the rarities of the place, before they were at leisure to think of them.

Skeptics. Inside, he encounters a series of absurd applications of sceptical doctrines. Pyrrho is a “vegetable in human shape,” only capable of eating and sleeping, and unaffected by anything else. An admirer of Pyrrho plugs his ears and attempts to suppress his other senses; he argues that sceptics must gain notoriety by contradicting commonly held beliefs. Beattie discovers two philosophers fighting over their respective – and virtually indistinguishable – sceptical contentions: one says he is certain of nothing but his own ignorance, the other that he is certain of nothing at all.

            It were endless to describe all that I saw in this place. In a very magnificent, though old-fashioned apartment, lay, what I at first sight took for an Egyptian mummy, but found on a closer inspection to be a living man. He was then in a profound sleep. I was informed however, that he awaked four times a day, half an hour each time, and then eat and drank voraciously, but never spoke a word; that many attempts had been made to engage his attention; that some had counterfeited convulsions, and others death, and that one man had made a show of hanging himself, in his presence; but all to no purpose: he continued to eat his victuals; and, though he looked up, and saw what was doing, never offered to stir or speak, nor seemed at all concerned. As this extraordinary indifference was judged to be the effect of scepticism and philosophy, he was regarded by all as a most respectable personage, and as one who, by attaining to Indisturbance, had improved human nature to its highest pitch of perfection. Many worshipped him as a god: and all agreed, that if Wisdom herself were to visit the earth, she would certainly assume the form and character of Pyrrho; for so, methought, they called this vegetable in human shape.

            I was desired to take notice of another very accomplished Sceptick, who, they told me, denied, and hoped in a short time to bring himself to doubt, his own existence. He had tied a bandage over his eyes, and stopt his ears, which however could not entirely prevent his hearing; his nostrils also were stuffed; and his tongue and palate, and the points of his fingers were seared with a hot iron. He expected soon, he said, to get the better of his external senses, and did not despair of mastering consciousness itself (though he owned it was a very troublesome inmate) and then, says he, “I flatter myself I shall be in a fair way of reaching the true Sublime of Scepticism, and seriously call my own entity in question. By the by,” added he, “it is strange, that so silly and so vulgar a prejudice, as this which all men entertain in favour of the reality of their own existence should have hitherto baffled all the attempts of our party. If I shall be so happy as to subdue it, by heavens! I shall be a greater man than even Pyrrho himself.” I asked him, how he came to conceive so violent a dislike to that opinion. To which he replied, “that he suspected Nature to be an imposter in all her declarations, particularly in those which are obvious to the vulgar. We want to distinguish ourselves from the herd of mankind by our superiour wisdom; and how is this to be done, pray? By falling in with their notions we shall never be able to raise ourselves into notice: we must therefore pursue the different and opposite method of denying whatever they affirm, and doubting whatever they hold for certain. Some of us have already gone considerable lengths in the prosecution of this plan, and astonished the world with many very pretty incredibilities: but this plaguy affair, the belief of our own existence, has still been an insuperable bar to our researches, and almost given the lye to our whole system.”

            “And is there no other way (said I) of raising yourselves into publick notice, than by contradicting the universal voice of nature and mankind? Bacon and Newton, Archimedes & Euclid, Homer and Virgil, pursued a very different method. I apprehend (continued I) that wherever there is real genius, it may distinguish itself sufficiently without quitting the track of Common Sense.” “And so (interrupted he) you would insinuate, that it is want of genius that puts us to this shift. We are much obliged to you for so polite a remark. Let me tell you, sir, our genius was never called in question before. What does it require no genius, to doubt! Does it require no genius, to frame objections! Does it require no genius, to astonish and puzzle mankind! Does it require no genius, to affirm what is incredible, and to deny what is self-evident! to disguise facts, and pervert the meaning of words!”

            “I ask your pardon, Sir; but permit me (for my information) to propose one question more. What reason have you to think so hardly of nature’s veracity, as to suspect all her declarations to be false?” “Because,” returned he, “the rest of mankind believe them to be true: this is a sufficient answer to your question; but I will give you another. Do you see or feel the pores in your skin?” I acknowledged I could do neither. “But your skin is all full of pores, is it not?” “It is.” “Then,” says he, “your senses deceive you, and nature is a cheat.” “What? (said I) would you have a physician explain all the mysteries of medicine to his patient, every time he comes to see him? Is it not enough, that he remove his disease, and tell him every thing which it is good for him to know? If you consult an Architect about repairing your house, will you call him a cheat and a scoundrel, if, together with his estimate, he does not give you in writing the grand-secret of masonry?” –

            Here we were interrupted by a squabble in the neighbourhood. Two philosophers, it seems, like Hudibras and the Conjurer, had fallen from dispute to fight, and were belabouring one another without mercy. After parting them with some difficulty, I begged to know the occasion of the fray; which I found to be this. One of the combatants had affirmed, that he was certain he knew nothing but his own ignorance. The other called him a traitor, and said, that his principles tended to the subversion of the state, if he held himself certain of any thing. “For my own part,” says he, “I maintain that all things are equally uncertain.” “Gentlemen,” said I, “your principles are so nearly the same, that I cannot wonder at your mutual antipathy; and from what I know of human nature, I may venture to prophesy, that you will never agree. A Scotch Seceder, who admits the lawfulness of the burgess-oath, has some charity for a church-of-england man; but consigns to the bottomless pit without hesitation or pity such of his own brethren as deny the lawfulness of that oath. To hate those the most who differ from you the least, is in the true spirit of polemick controversy. If Servetus has been a Pagan or Mahometan, John Calvin would not have bestirred himself so vigorously in getting him burned: but for a christian and a Protestant to own his ignorance of a point which his superior maintained to be quite clear and certain, was scandalous and intolerable. A Jansenist hates a Molinist as mortally as a Scotch Presbyterian: and I have known an orthodox divine to live in the strictest amity with a professed Atheist, who would not have kept company with a poor devil of a popish priest, or Methodist teacher.”

            A little further on, I met with a very ingenious Experimental philosopher, who they told me denied the existence of everything but himself. I found him employed in looking for the sun through a microscope. Another was examining a piece of rotten cheese with a telescope one hundred and twenty feet long. A third held a nosegay in his left-hand, and seemed to look at it through a magnifying glass which he held in his right. I took him for a disciple of Linnæus, reconnoitring the gender of the several plants that composed his nosegay; and could not help being surprised, when they told me, that the man was blind, and only meant to improve his smell by this contrivance. I was equally surprised to see another virtuoso, who had shut both his ears, feeling the strings of an Eolus’s harp, which was playing very sweetly, with the point of his great toe, to which he had fastened a couple of ear-trumpets. In a large and lofty apartment, with a vaulted roof, sat two philosophers engaged in earnest conversation. They spoke to each other through a speaking-trumpet, the sound of which was so exceedingly loud, and at the same time so indistinct by reason of a strong echo, that both were stunned with the noise, without understanding a single word of what was spoken. Another couple of grey-beards, who were engaged (as I afterwards learned) in a very profound metaphysical dispute, sat opposite to each other in two elbow chairs in an open area (for the walls of the castle were several miles in circuit) at the distance of two hundred yards; where they maintained the controversy in a whisper so soft, that I could hear nothing of it, though I held my ear within a foot of the mouth of one of the disputants.

            As I wished to obtain some information concerning these uncommon modes of perception and communication, I pretended to admire every thing I saw in those general terms of applause which have obtained to many a simpleton the character of a connoisseur and critick; uttering, on all occasions, the words, admirable! excellent! prodigious fine! wonderfully ingenious! and the like. My approbation did not pass unnoticed. One of the Ciceroni’s of the place seconded me with great warmth. “You have reason,” said he, “to admire these contrivances; all the world admires them.” It is thus that philosophers arrive at that sublime scepticism which so far transcends the conception of the generality of mankind, who, you know, have nothing to direct them but plain Common Sense. Did we examine things according to those laws of evidence, and with those faculties, which nature intended for the vehicles of truth and knowledge, we should never be able to disbelieve what is certain, nor to doubt of what is indubitable, but should be compelled, in spite of all our efforts, to deviate sometimes into the track of common sense, and to think, believe, and act, like the rest of the world. This Castle,” continued he, “has, in every age since its foundation, produced several of these admirable inventions; which however are all exceeded by the ingenuity and industry of our present Governour. He has lately invented and executed one of the boldest and happiest designs that ever entered into a metaphysical head; a design which establishes universal Scepticism at once, and beyond which our most sanguine adherents have nothing to expect or desire. The hint was taken from the London News Papers. You will perhaps remember an advertisement that appeared in opposition to the scheme of the Bottle Conjurer of ridiculous memory. It was given out, that a certain harlequin was arrived in town who would exhibit a much more extraordinary performance than that of a man jumping into a quart bottle; for that he would open his mouth wide, and jump down his own throat. Something very similar to this our Governour has accomplished. To show, that all inferences of reason are false or uncertain; and that the understanding acting alone does entirely subvert itself, and prove by argument that by argument nothing can be proved, he has contrived a puppet of mushrooms, cork, cobwebs, gossamer, and other fungous and flimsy materials, to which he gives the name of Reason. He performs with it several dextrous feats to the surprise of every spectator; and at last, by a wonderful apparatus in the machinery, he makes it to open its mouth, and with a sudden jerk throw its whole body, feet, head, trunk, legs, and arms, down its throat, where it totally disappears. He has published a full account of the whole affair in a very elaborate Treatise in three volumes [i.e., Hume’s Treatise of Human Nature], which has given us all the most perfect satisfaction. The method indeed by which this operation is performed is too subtle and intricate to be understood; and he never performs it except in the dark, or behind a screen; but as he himself has assured us that it is plain to a demonstration, every body is convinced. Our adversaries indeed call the fact impossible, and the doctrine it is intended to illustrate an absurdity; but what is this, opposed to our Governour’s affirmation? We Scepticks, you know, though we admit none of those tenets in which all the rest of mankind are agreed, yet believe in one another with the most implicit and most obstinate assurance, especially when our belief is required to something inconceivable. As the word of a Quaker is equivalent to another man’s oath in a court of justice, so the affirmation of a Sceptick in all points of philosophy is equivalent to a demonstration from an ordinary man, or rather indeed of superior authority.”

            “But (said I) is not belief and assurance of every kind incompatible with the principles of Scepticism? I think I have heard so; and I always thought, that the business of a Sceptick was only, to doubt.” “Right,” he replied; “where matters of common sense and common opinion are concerned, we have nothing to do but to doubt, and disbelieve; but with our own systems and notions the case is otherwise. The Greek word, from which we derive our name, does not signify, to doubt; but, to deliberate, and seek for. In the opinions and notions of the rest of mankind we seek for truth without finding it; in our own we find it without seeking. We take it for granted (and Scepticks take so little for granted, that surely the world cannot grudge them this one poor axiom) that all men, ourselves only excepted, are fools and knaves. Now if we be the only wise men upon earth, it clearly follows, that our systems and opinions are the only wisdom. And if so, where is the impropriety of that implicit faith which we repose in the doctrines, reasonings, and affirmations of one another? In respect of these, our belief is not only fixed but immoveable: and in avowing and vindicating this belief, I trust we are ready to bid defiance to the pillory, to the gallows, and (if there were any such thing) to damnation itself.”

Scientists. A natural philosopher attempts to look for the sun through a microscope. Another tries to train chickens to abandon their “custom” of laying eggs.

            This discourse beginning to grow dull, I expressed some impatience to see the other curiosities of the castle. I was then desired to take notice of an artist, who they told me was the greatest Critick of the age. I found him contemplating through a pair of spectacles a young woman’s face, and with a scale and compasses taking the exact dimensions and bearings of the several features, all which he entered upon paper. He often shook his head in token of disapprobation; and when all his calculations were finished, in the course of which he employed both fluxions and logarithms, he pronounced her to be an ugly slut: a decision which surprised me, as in my humble opinion she was very handsome.

            A person who called himself the Genius of Metaphysick was continually busied in turning a large engine, like that described in Gulliver’s travels, which threw up an endless variety of combinations of words and letters, out of which were framed sentences and paragraphs, sections, chapters, and treatises. He told me, he was much employed, and had the custom of all the literati of the place, particularly of the Governour, who (he said) was his very good friend; adding, that if I had any job on hand in the book-making way, he would furnish me with materials in the neatest and newest fashion, and on the most reasonable terms.

            Another virtuoso was watching a hencoop full of chickens, and feeding them with various kinds of food; in order (as he told me) that they might become viviparous, and lay no more eggs, which seemed to him to be a very bad custom; eggs being much more liable to rottenness and other destructive accidents than live chickens are. “However,” said he, “I hope in time to get the better of this inconvenient custom, and substitute a much better one in its stead; for I am convinced there is no such thing as an innate principle or propensity, every thing that looks like it being the effect of habit and discipline. I have also,” continued he, “under my care some young children, whom I am teaching to believe, that two and two are equal to six, and a whole less than one of its parts; that ingratitude is a virtue, and honesty a vice; that a rose is one of the ugliest, and a toad one of the most beautiful objects in nature; that the affections arising from a diversity of sex are as natural where the species of the animals is different, as where it is the same; that virtue deserves punishment, and vice reward; that misery is the object of hope, happiness of fear, excellence of hatred, and disagreable qualities of love; – and when I have accomplished all this, I hope the world will confess the truth of my hypothesis.” And what good do you expect from all this,” said I. “What,” replied he, “but the discovery of truth, and the confirmation of my theory.” – “But what good may society expect from such discoveries?” – “Prithee, friend,” he answered, “be not impertinent; a fool may ask a question which twenty wise men cannot answer. To call in question the utility of our studies or principles, is not philosophy, but personal invective. If philosophical enquiry were to be confined to things useful, nine tenths of the literati of Europe would be left idle.”

            A little further, I saw an artist, who amused himself in a very extraordinary manner. He had taught a boy of four years old to crawl very stoutly on his hands and feet, and to bleat like a sheep. I found too that the child was dumb, because he had never heard any language spoken; and that by being constantly made to creep on all four, he could not walk upright without hazard of falling. He was fed with acorns, roots, and green herbs; and lay in the open air on a couch made of dung, straw, and withered leaves. His tutor had just then taken off a blistering plaister from his rump, and was applying to the wound the bloody end of a cat’s tail newly cut off; not doubting, as one informed me, but it would in a short time take root, and grow there: he had likewise clapt two small plaisters to the temples of the child, from which he expected to see a couple of horns begin to sprout in due season. When I asked the meaning of all this, I was told that this philosopher was of opinion, that man was originally a beast, and would never live agreeably to nature, till he had again relapsed into that state, – that he had begun to practise in the same manner upon a young female, and hoped soon to have a promising breed of human brutes, which by their superiority of strength and sagacity would be able to exterminate the present race of two-leg’d monsters, and re-establish the golden age.

            In an adjoining enclosure, I found a Sage at work upon a young child and a young monkey. He had cut off the thumbs of the one, and was endeavouring to fix them upon the paws of the other. I could not guess at the design of this operation; but the philosopher was very communicative, and explained himself as follows. “Sensation is in all animals the source not only of knowledge, but also of reason, memory, and all the other faculties. According to the opportunities which any animal by its situation enjoys of exercising more or less its powers of sensation, especially of coming in contact with other bodies, its other faculties, its memory, reason, imagination, will be more or less distinguished. Sluggish animals are never sagacious, because their want of experience makes them defective in understanding: and the same thing is true of very large ones, and nearly for the same reason; the unwieldiness of their bodies, and perhaps too a peculiar dulness in their sense of touch, disqualifies them for coming in contact with other bodies, and renders the intimations of their touch indistinct and unaffecting. If the elephant is mentioned as an exception, I would answer, that the flexibility and acute sense of his proboscis make amends for his lumpish figure, and supply him with many opportunities of information, and consequently accessions of sagacity, which other creatures do not enjoy. Dogs and foxes are very sagacious; because their size and way of life furnish them with the means of perceiving by frequent contact the nature of other things both animated and inanimated: and I have been told, that even in the new testament, a book which they say contains very little worthy of notice, the wisdom of the serpent is mentioned as extraordinary. The monkey’s opportunities of observation are still better, than those of the fox, the dog, or the serpent, on account partly of his extreme agility, but especially of that circumstance in his make of having his paw or hand divided into distinct fingers; and his sagacity is proportionable. Man, by virtue of his thumb, is still better qualified for diversified sensations; and hence his superiority in point of understanding and other internal faculties. Had he wanted the thumb, he would have been to all intents and purposes a monkey; and a dull one at best, as he is by no means so nimble as that sprightly animal. So that in fact it is from his Thumb alone, that man derives his superiority; and therefore Logicians ought to have distinguished him by this organ, and called him, not the reasonable, nor the risible, nor the moral, nor the religious, but the thumb-bearing animal.”

            “Your theory,” replied I, “is equally singular and new: and as a return for your frankness in explaining it, I shall mention a fact which perhaps you may think worth attending to. In the highlands of Scotland, where you know the gift of second sight is in great estimation, when a child happens to be born with two or more thumbs on one hand, it is always expected that he will distinguish himself by his sagacity in regard to future events, and that his prophetical abilities will be in proportion to the surplus of his thumbs above the usual number.” The Sage thanked me for my intelligence, with which he seemed highly delighted, and which he immediately committed to paper; telling me, it was altogether decisive, and would establish his theory beyond the possibility of confutation. I offered to convince him of the authenticity of my narrative, by procuring letters from my friends in that country; but that, he said, was unnecessary: “its coincidence with my theory,” added he, “is a sufficient proof that it is authentick; and it seems to be agreed among philosophers, that we cannot be too credulous in regard to those facts that make for our systems, nor too sceptical in regard to those of an opposite tendency.”

            At a little distance I found a man of a most curious aspect, all besmeared with blood, and encompassed with human carcasses which he had purchased from the hangman. These he was cutting into small parts; and he told me, he hoped soon from them to extract, by chemical operations, a species of Manure superior to all other sorts now in use: “and thus,” says he, “I shall show the world, what perhaps they never dreamed of before, that private vices are really publick benefits [i.e., Mandeville’s theory]; and consequently, that those who wish to see agriculture and industry flourish, would do well to promote felony, and encourage hangmen, to the utmost of their power.”

Voltaire. Moving through the Castle, Beattie debates with Voltaire about whether this is the best of all possible worlds.

            I instantly turned away from this horrid spectacle; and had not proceeded twenty paces, when a lean little old man [i.e., Voltaire], with his face screwed into a strange sarcastick grin, that seemed to be habitual to him, laid hold of one of the buttons of my coat, and asked me in French, “whether I believed every thing to be for the best.” As I wished to avoid, if possible, embroiling myself with these people, I should have endeavoured to shift the question if I had not been taken at unawares. But having no time to meditate evasions, my tongue naturally expressed the sentiments of my heart, and I answered, “Yes”: upon which the querist burst out into a fit of laughter so very obstreperous, that a croud began to gather about us. “And so,” continued he, “you believe, with one Pope an English poetaster, that Whatever is is right, and think Providence, no doubt, a mighty good sort of thing”: – here he interrupted his speech with a second fit of laughing much more violent than the first, in which he was joined by the whole company. I would fain have slunk away; but, the mob still increasing, I found myself hemmed in on all sides, and the frenchman proceeded thus. “I have laughed and sneered at every thing sacred and serious, these thirty years, but this notion of those canting hypocrites is the most ridiculous piece of Christian trumpery I ever met with. Hear me, but one moment, Gentlemen, hear me, you Mr All-for-the-best, and I will satisfy you of this presently. Those cruel and hypocritical blockheads the parsons, and some philosophic pedants too, have taken for granted, that all the events of life are directed by what they call Providence, that in a future and better state of existence every thing will appear to have been ordered for the best. This you know, Gentlemen, is the same thing with saying, that the present is the best of all possible worlds.”

            “I presume,” said I, interrupting him, “it is a very different thing. If we believe in a future world that shall be better than the present, we cannot surely believe the present to be the best world possible.” “Sir,” replied he, his eye glistening with inexpressible rage and disdain, my name is Voltaire – you have heard of me, I suppose; blockhead as you are, you must have heard of the greatest genius that ever appeared upon earth. I have proved Shakespear to be a madman Milton an idiot, and Homer a dreaming old-woman; rascals, whose works, for their pretending to dispute with me the sovereignty of genius, ought to be, and soon, I hope, will be, held, in universal detestation. There is not a father of the church, there is hardly a prophet, apostle, or evangelist, whom I have not rendered ridiculous: I have dressed them in sheeps skins with a vengeance; and if they were now to appear upon the earth, they would find it highly expedient to flee to dens and caves and desarts, to hide their disgrace. In my historical writings, which are models of every excellence that can take place in prose-composition, I have made the people of Europe believe my affirmations when contrary to the most authentick records, or even the testimony of their own senses. The very Booksellers I have outwitted; and there is not a great town in Europe, where my talents, as a cheat of the first magnitude, are not acknowledged and felt. I have been complimented in the name of almost all the sovereign princes of modern times; one of whom, a great hero, and an excellent writer and atheist, does me the honour to be one of my most servile imitators [i.e., Frederick the Great]. Sir, I am worth twelve hundred thousand livres. All the world admires me, and very justly, particularly the great world; and shall a sorry Peasant, with a threadbare coat, who I dare say will never in his life be worth ten pounds, – shall he pretend to contradict me?” The whole audience applauded this speech, and fell a hissing at me; on which I made another ineffectual effort to escape: and the orator proceeded.

            “I say, Gentlemen, the parsons and some canting philosophers have taken it in their heads, that this is the best of all possible worlds; which may be clearly inferred from that foolish expectation, they are known to entertain, of a better. Now this, I say, is the most ridiculous of all possible notions; and I will prove it such by a very pleasant story or apologue of my own invention.” Here he began a very tedious tale [i.e., Candide] where it seemed hard to determine, whether obscenity or blasphemy, whether absurd fiction or bad composition, was most prevalent. The audience laughed often, and the speaker almost continually; though the whole humour of the piece consisted in these words, The best of all possible worlds, which he repeated every minute, with certain droll gesticulations, whether his subject admitted them or not. The audience declared themselves fully satisfied; and said he had effectually and forever overturned the notion of a good providence; though to me his apologue seemed as little to effect that notion, as the story of Sindbad the sailor can be supposed to affect the discovery of a north-west passage to China. “Gentlemen,” resumed the Orator, “I am very happy in your approbation; and since I find you approve this sample of my abilities, I oblige myself to produce every year as long as I live half a dozen performances of the same character and tendency; and nothing shall be wanting on my part (and I think I can promise too for some of my friends) to exterminate that Scoundrel Religion from the face of the earth.”

Hobbes.  He next debates with Hobbes about whether people are in a state of war against each other.

            I was now left at my liberty again; and, after passing through two or three dark alleys in quest of an outlet into the fields (for by this time I was sick of the castle) I chanced to meet a croud of people, who were returning, as they told me, from seeing a very extraordinary personage [i.e., Thomas Hobbes]. One of them courteously offered to introduce me to him. We found him sitting in a narrow court, which was fortified with a ditch and rampart. He was armed cap-a-pie in the Gothick fashion, and held in each hand a cocked blunderbuss. Being somewhat disconcerted at the sight of such a figure, I happened to make a false step, at which he set up a loud laugh, which however ceased immediately on my assuring my guide, that I had received no harm. “What a pity”, exclaimed the Sages in armour, “you did not break your neck! it would have been the prettiest jest I have met with these many days. Laughter,” continued he, “being nothing but a sudden glory or exultation of mind arising from a sense of our own superiority to others, or to ourselves as we were formerly, it is impossible not to be greatly diverted when we see a beast, an idiot, a diseased person, a blind and lame beggar, or a dead man, who are so much and so obviously our inferiours in health, riches, understanding, sense and activity; and nothing is more mortifying, than to meet with one who is our superiour in wit or learning, which, however (added he) is not often my case.”

            I asked him in a very submissive manner (for I own I did not think myself out of danger while I was in his company) what could be his motive for putting on such a warlike appearance in a place where he seemed to be in no danger. “What?” said he, “have you not read my Leviathan and other works?” I told him, I had not as yet been so fortunate as to meet with them. “If you had,” replied he, “you would not have asked so silly a question. Man’s natural state is a state of war. All men have originally an equal right to all things, and an equal desire of power and superiority. Hence contention must of necessity arise, which produces violence, murder, rapine, and many other modifications of action which the vulgar reckon criminal. You, I know, would wish to possess my learning, wisdom, strength, armour, blunderbuss, and every thing else of mine which you may think it is better to have than to want; and nothing hinders you from attempting to divest me of these; but either the impossibility of success or the fear of punishment.”

            “Pardon me, Sir,” said I, interrupting him, “however much I may admire you for those abilities and acquisitions, I assure I would not do you any harm, or divest you of any one of them even though it were in my power. My conscience, Sir, would not allow me.” “Pshaw!” replied the philosopher, “what is Conscience? Nothing but the fear of inconvenience or punishment: believe me, it is nothing else. If it were not for human laws, that is, for the will of our Sovereigns, there would be no distinction between vice and virtue, and all things would be equally lawful to all. They, it seems, have in their great wisdom, declared Justice to be good, and Injustice to be evil, because of the conveniencies that result from every man’s possessing his own: but, previously to such declaration, and independently on it, theft and murder are as innocent as hunger and thirst.” This speech suggesting the expediency of securing my pockets, I was directing my hands that way, when I found that the Philosopher had rendered all precaution of this sort unnecessary; having already made himself master of my handkerchief and snuffbox, the only moveables which I usually carry about me. I could not help charging him with the theft, which he did not deny; “but can you prove it?” says he. I confessed I could not. “Then where is the harm?” said the sage of Malmsbury. “If it is not an object of human laws, it is neither a virtue, nor a vice: for moral distinctions, as I told you already, especially in matters of property, are nothing else than the judgments of sovereigns upon those actions that are subject to their cognisance and deliberation. I taught this doctrine to our governour,” continued he, “who is very fond of it, though he has given it a new turn in the expression. By the by, I think he owes me several acknowledgements which he has never paid; but he is a good lad, and has been very zealous in the common cause; and I heartily forgive him. – But here, take your things (said he, throwing them at me) – I mean not to keep them; for this good reason, that I have no use for them: I mean only to show you, how easy it is for us philosophers to confute the most favourite notions of the vulgar; and to prove the innocence of those actions which in all ages and nations have been accounted intrinsically flagitious.”

            “You know our governour, I suppose.” “I have not the honour,” I replied. “Pray,” says he, lowering his voice to a whisper, “are you well or ill affected to him?” – “Neither the one nor the other,” I answered; “I am not his subject.” “O,” said he, “that is another matter; I am sorry for it. Heard you no murmurings or grumblings as you came along? No appearance of a meeting or plot going forward?” “None,” I replied. “Pray (says he) if you hear of such a thing, as it is likely you may, be so good as send the malecontents to me. I would make inquiry myself; but I cannot think of leaving this fortress, where I am secure against violence of every kind. Besides I am much afraid of ghosts, though I deny their existence; and in those ugly long dark alleys, who know what might happen? G– preserve us! I shudder to think of it.” “Sure (said I) if you knew of any traitors, you would deliver them up to punishment; for if I am rightly informed, none ever asserted the independent and uncontroulable rights of governours, more strenuously than you.” “Perhaps (returned he) your informers may have been a little mistaken in that affair.” – “How!” said I, “do you not say, that princes or governours, as they enter into no contract with the people, cannot be answerable to them for any use they may make of their power?” “Yes (he replied) that is part of my doctrine, but not the whole. The people, I say, enter into a contract, not with the sovereign, but with one another; by which they bind themselves, every man for himself, that he will obey and support the sovereign to the utmost of his power, on condition that the rest of his fellow-subjects do the same. Now you must know that, in all conditional contracts, if one party fail in the performance the other stands acquitted from the obligation: if, for instance, I promise you a sum of money on condition of your giving me a horse, your refusing or neglecting to give him must entitle me to keep my money. And if so, when any one of our fellow-subjects withdraws his allegiance, all the rest must, according to the terms of the political contract, be at liberty to withdraw theirs.”      “I see very well the consequences of your theory,” replied I, “but permit me to ask you one question. Was this political contract entered into, previous to the existence of Sovereigns?” “Surely (he answered) for on this contract is founded the distinction of sovereign and subject.” “And previous too (continued I) to the establishment of moral distinctions?” “Most certainly,” said the philosopher, “for moral distinctions are established by the Sovereign.” “Pray,” sayd I, “could men enter into a contract or promise, who had no notion of the unlawfulness of falshood or treachery, but imagined that all sorts of human conduct were equally lawful?”

            This question disconcerted the sage in armour so much, that, instead of returning any answer, he began to survey me from head to foot, with a most furious look; on which I thought it high time to be going, and accordingly took to my heels, and ran a full quarter of a mile before I ventured to take breath. Nor should I even then have ventured stop, if a new and most amazing scene had not presented itself just as I turned the corner of a long narrow alley.

Hume. He finally meets Hume the Governor, who, standing on the edge of a deep pit, cordially invites people over, and then pushes them off. Lecturing Beattie on philosophy, Hume grabs hold of him, and is prepared to throw him over. Thunder roars overhead, though, and the frightened Hume lets go and falls to his knees, reciting the Apostle’s Creed. Beattie slowly wakes to the sound of church bells, and heads off to prayer.

            I found myself at the extremities of the castle. Bloody knives, halters, daggers, and other instruments of horror, strewed the ground; ravens croaked, and adders hissed, and owls shrieked from the ramparts; and the bats flew so thick that they were flapping me in the face every moment. At a little distance appeared a postern gate, beyond which the view terminated in utter darkness: and from this darkness issued a mixture of the most terrifying sounds, which it is impossible to describe. The screams of persons in agony, the creaking of engines, the clanking of chains, the fall of torrents, and the thunder of tempestuous fire bursting, as it were, the confinement of the furnace, assailed the ear at the same instant, and seemed sufficient to drive the stoutest heart to distraction. Close by the postern, stood the Governour, in gorgeous apparel, attended by a numerous company of priests, lawyers, and fine gentlemen; and with a show of extreme politeness, yet methought very officiously, invited travellers to the threshold, and then pushed them out headlong; smiling at the same time with a mixture of contempt and self-complacency; and now and then putting his hands in his pockets, and clinking his money. Seeing me a little shy, he addressed me in a most soothing manner in the English tongue; but there seemed to be something exotick in his pronunciation, for he spoke through his teeth like a Scotchman, and through his nose like a frenchman. He spoke much about ideas, and atoms, and doubts, and impostures, and parsons, and Epicurus, and machinery; and concluded a long harangue with a few corollaries, plausible indeed and well-disguised, but of such blasphemous import that my hair stood on end with horror. From a desire to hear him the more distinctly, I gradually drew nearer to him and nearer; till at last, methought he stretched out his huge hands (for he was a man of gigantick size) to lay hold upon me; when on a sudden, a peal of thunder burst over our heads, so loud and so terrible, as if the frame of nature had been going to pieces. The orator fell on his knees, and began to repeat the Apostles creed with the utmost vehemence of voice and gesture; The crouds and castle vanished; the darkness was dissolved, and the sun shone out with the most delightful brilliance. But my attention was now wholly engrossed by a shrill and sweet voice which seemed to come from a distance, and spoke these words: “Turn, ye mortals, from the path of the destroyer, and now listen to the words of Truth.” I was wonderfully affected with this address, and fixed myself in a posture of the most devout attention; when, methought, the voice gradually grew less and less articulate; and the next moment I found myself broad awake, and listening to the bell of the parish-church that now summoned me to prayers.

The End.

April. 1767.

JAMES HAY BEATTIE: DRUNKEN MODERN PHILOSOPHERS.

Born in Aberdeen, Scotland, James Hay Beattie (1768–1790) was the elder son of the philosopher and poet James Beattie. Shortly before his 19th birthday he was appointed assistant and successor to his ailing father. Weakened himself by an illness that lingered for a year, he died at age 22. Nothing would be known of James Hay Beattie were it not for a collection of his manuscripts that were published by his father, which was prefaced with an account of his brief life – emphasizing the progress of his education. The work was printed privately in 1794 under the title Essays and Fragments in Prose and Verse, with a run of only 200 copies for friends. The work contains a satirical poem titled “The Modern Tippling Philosophers” which suggest that many modern philosophers must have been drunk to say the absurd things that they did.

Father Hodge [Roger Bacon] had his pipe and his dram,

            And at night, his cloy’d thirst to awaken,

He was served with a rasher of ham,

            Which procured him the surname of Bacon.

He has shown, that, though logical science

            And dry theory oft prove unhandy,

Honest Truth will ne’er set at defiance

            Experiment aided by brandy.

Des Cartes bore a musquet, they tell us,

            Ere he wish’d, or was able, to write,

And was noted among the brave fellows,

            Who are bolder to tipple than fight.

Of his system the cause and design

            We no more can be posed to explain: –

The materia subtilis was wine,

            And the vortices whirl’d in his brain.

Old Hobbes, as his name plainly shows,

            At a hob-nob was frequently tried:

That all virtue from selfishness rose

            He believed, and all laughter from pride.

The truth of this creed he would brag on,

            Smoke his pipe, murder Homer, and quaff;

Then staring, as drunk as a dragon,

            In the pride of his heart he would laugh.

Sir Isaac [Newton] discover’d, it seems,

            The nature of colours and light,

In remarking the tremulous beams

            That swom on his wandering sight.

Ever sapient, sober though seldom,

            From experience attraction he found,

By observing, when no one upheld him,

            That his wise head fell souse on the ground.

As to Berkeley’s philosophy – he has

            Left his poor pupils nought to inherit,

But a swarm of deceitful ideas

            Kept, like other monsters, in spirit.

Tar-drinkers can’t think what’s the matter,

            That their health does not mend, but decline:

Why, they take but some wine to their water,

            He took but some water to wine.

One Mandeville once, or Man-devil,

            (Either name you many give as you please)

By a brain ever brooding on evil,

            Hatch’d a monster call’d Fable of Bees.

Vice, said he, aggrandizes a people;

            By this light let my conduct be view’d;

I swagger, swear, guzzle, and tipple:

            And d___ ye, ’tis all for your good.

[David Hume] ate a swinging great dinner,

            And grew every day fatter and fatter;

And yet the huge hulk of a sinner

            Said there was neither spirit nor matter.

Now there’s no sober man in the nation,

            Who such nonsense could write, speak or think:

It follows, by fair demonstration,

            That he philosophized in his drink.

As a smuggler even [Joseph] P[riestley] could sin;

            Who, in hopes the poor gauger of frightening,

While he fill’d his case-bottles with gin,

            Swore he fill’d them with thunder and lightning.

In his cups, (when Locke’s laid on the shelf)

            Could he speak, he would frankly confess it t’ye,

That, unable to manage himself,

            He puts his whole trust in Necessity.

If the young in rash folly engage,

            How closely continues the evil!

Old [Benjamin] Franklin retains, as a sage,

            The thirst he acquired when a devil.

That charging drives fire from a phial,

            It was natural for him to think,

After finding, from many a trial,

            That drought may be kindled by drink.

A certain high priest [Edmund Law] could explain,

            How the soul is but nerve at the most;

And how Milton had glands in his brain,

            That secreted the Paradise Lost.

And sure, it is what they deserve,

            Of such theories if I aver it,

They are not even dictates of nerve,

            But mere muddy suggestions of claret.

Our Holland philosophers say, Gin

            Is the true philosophical drink,

As it made Doctor [David] H[artley] imagine

            That to shake is the same as to think.

For, while drunkenness throb’d in his brain,

            The sturdy materialist chose (O fye!)

To believe its vibrations not pain,

            But wisdom, and downright philosophy.

Ye sages, who shine in my verse,

            On my labours with gratitude think,

Which condemn not the faults they rehearse,

            But impute all your sin to your drink.

In drink, poets, philosophers, mob, err;

            Then excuse, if my satire e’er nips ye:

When I praise, think me prudent and sober,

            If I blame, be assured I am tipsy.

Monty Python: Philosophers' Drinking Song. To show how James Hay Beattie was ahead of his time, for comparison, here’s the famous “Philosophers’ Drinking Song” by Monty Python.

Immanuel Kant was a real pissant

Who was very rarely stable.

Heidegger, Heidegger was a boozy beggar

Who could think you under the table.

David Hume could out-consume

Wilhelm Freidrich Hegel,

And Wittgenstein was a beery swine

Who was just as schloshed as Schlegel.

There's nothing Nietzche couldn't teach ya

'Bout the raising of the wrist.

Socrates, himself, was permanently pissed.

John Stuart Mill, of his own free will,

On half a pint of shandy was particularly ill.

Plato, they say, could stick it away--

Half a crate of whiskey every day.

Aristotle, Aristotle was a bugger for the bottle.

Hobbes was fond of his dram,

And René Descartes was a drunken fart.

'I drink, therefore I am.'

Yes, Socrates, himself, is particularly missed,

A lovely little thinker,

But a bugger when he's pissed

C. IMMANUEL KANT

German philosopher Immanuel Kant (1724-1804) was born in Königsberg, the capital of what was then East Prussia. He studied at the University of Königsberg, became a lecturer there in 1755, and finally in 1770 was appointed Professor of Logic and Metaphysics. Although Kant spent virtually all of his life in and around Königsberg, he was an avid reader of philosophical and scientific authors from other countries – especially France and England – which gave his own prolific writings a cosmopolitan feel. In 1781 he published his most influential work, the Critique of Pure Reason. The work is lengthy, technical, and, by his own confession, somewhat dry. To help readers follow its basic themes Kant wrote a summary, which appeared in 1783 under the title Prolegomena to Any Future Metaphysics (1783). Shortly after, Kant produced two influential works in moral theory: The Groundwork of the Metaphysics of Morals (1785) and the Critique of Practical Reason (1788). Kant retired from teaching in 1797 and died in 1804. The selections below are from Kant’s Prolegomena and Groundwork.

INTRODUCTION.

Kant’s philosophy in the Critique of Pure Reason and the Prolegomena is an attempt to resolve the dispute between rationalists and empiricists regarding the source of our foundational philosophical concepts. Descartes, for example, believed that causality is an innate idea that we know a priori. The term a priori refers to a type of instinctive or intuitive knowledge that we gain without any appeal to sense perception and experience. By contrast, empiricists, such as Locke and Hume, believed that our notion of causality is not innate, but instead known a posteriori. A posteriori knowledge, also called empirical knowledge, refers to experiential knowledge that we gain through our external senses or through introspectively experiencing our own feelings and mental operations. Kant opens the Prolegomena by discussing the rationalist/empiricist dispute over the idea of causality.

Implications of Hume’s Problem of Causality. Kant felt that Hume successfully pointed out problems with the standard rationalist view that our knowledge of cause-effect relations is a priori. However, Kant resisted Hume’s conclusion that we know causality empirically. Thus, Kant believes that we still need to address the problem that Hume raises with an alleged a priori notion of causality.

            Since the Essays of Locke and Leibniz, or rather since the origin of metaphysics so far as we know its history, nothing has ever happened which was more decisive to its fate than the attack made upon it by David Hume. He threw no light on this species of knowledge, but he certainly struck a spark from which light might have been obtained, had it caught some inflammable substance and had its smoldering fire been carefully nursed and developed.

            Hume started from a single but important concept in Metaphysics, viz., that of Cause and Effect (including its derivatives force and action, etc.). He challenges reason, which pretends to have given birth to this idea from herself, to answer him by what right she thinks anything to be so constituted, that if that thing be posited, something else also must necessarily be posited; for this is the meaning of the concept of cause. He demonstrated irrefutably that it was perfectly impossible for reason to think a priori and by means of concepts a combination involving necessity. We cannot at all see why, in consequence of the existence of one thing, another must necessarily exist, or how the concept of such a combination can arise a priori. Hence he inferred, that reason was altogether deluded with reference to this concept, which she erroneously considered as one of her children, whereas in reality it was nothing but a bastard of imagination, impregnated by experience, which subsumed certain representations under the Law of Association, and mistook the subjective necessity of habit for an objective necessity arising from insight. Hence he inferred that reason had no power to think such, combinations, even generally, because her concepts would then be purely fictitious, and all her pretended a priori cognitions nothing but common experiences marked with a false stamp. In plain language there is not, and cannot be, any such thing as metaphysics at all.

            However hasty and mistaken Hume’s conclusion may appear, it was at least founded upon investigation, and this investigation deserved the concentrated attention of the brighter spirits of his day as well as determined efforts on their part to discover, if possible, a happier solution of the problem in the sense proposed by him, all of which would have speedily resulted in a complete reform of the science.

(1) According to Kant, what did Hume infer from the problem of causality regarding human reason?

Hume’s Critics and the Larger Implication of Hume’s Problem. Some of Hume’s fellow Scottish philosophers – specifically Thomas Reid, James Oswald, and James Beattie – criticised Hume on the grounds that causality appears to be a dictate of common sense, which we cannot do without. Kant argues that Hume’s critics not only misunderstood Hume, but they also failed to see that Hume’s problem of causality was part of a much larger problem that we find with many other key notions in metaphysics.

            But Hume suffered the usual misfortune of metaphysicians, of not being understood. It is positively painful to see bow utterly his opponents, Reid, Oswald, Beattie, and lastly Priestley, missed the point of the problem; for while they were ever taking for granted that which he doubted, and demonstrating with zeal and often with impudence that which he never thought of doubting, they so misconstrued his valuable suggestion that everything remained in its old condition, as if nothing had happened.

            The question was not whether the concept of cause was right, useful, and even indispensable for our knowledge of nature, for this Hume had never doubted; but whether that concept could be thought by reason a priori, and consequently whether it possessed an inner truth, independent of all experience, implying a wider application than merely to the objects of experience. This was Hume’s problem. It was a question concerning the origin, not concerning the indispensable need of the concept. Were the former decided, the conditions of the use and the sphere of its valid application would have been determined as a matter of course.

(2) According to Kant, what is the central question raised by Hume’s problem of causality?

Kant’s reaction to Hume. Kant continues noting the profound impact that Hume’s problem had on Kant personally, and how it forced him to re-evaluate the entire subject of metaphysics.

            But to satisfy the conditions of the problem, the opponents of the great thinker should have penetrated very deeply into the nature of reason, so far as it is concerned with pure thinking, – a task which did not suit them. They found a more convenient method of being defiant without any insight, viz., the appeal to common sense. It is indeed a great gift of God, to possess right, or (as they now call it) plain common sense. But this common sense must be shown practically, by well-considered and reasonable thoughts and words, not by appealing to it as an oracle, when no rational justification can be advanced. To appeal to common sense, when insight and science fail, and no sooner-this is one of the subtle discoveries of modern times, by means of which the most superficial ranter can safely enter the lists with the most thorough thinker, and hold his own. But as long as a particle of insight remains, no one would think of having recourse to this subterfuge. For what is it but an appeal to the opinion of the multitude, of whose applause the philosopher is ashamed, while the popular charlatan glories and confides in it? I should think that Hume might fairly have laid as much claim to common sense as Beattie, and in addition to a critical reason (such as the latter did not possess), which keeps common sense in check and prevents it from speculating, or, if speculations are under discussion restrains the desire to decide because it cannot satisfy itself concerning its own arguments. By this means alone can common sense remain sound. Chisels and hammers may suffice to work a piece of wood, but for steel-engraving we require an engraver’s needle. Thus common sense and speculative understanding are each serviceable in their own way, the former in judgments which apply immediately to experience, the latter when we judge universally from mere concepts, as in metaphysics, where sound common sense, so called in spite of the inapplicability of the word, has no right to judge at all.

            I openly confess, the suggestion of David Hume was the very thing, which many years ago first interrupted my dogmatic slumber, and gave my investigations in the field of speculative philosophy quite a new direction. I was far from following him in the conclusions at which he arrived by regarding, not the whole of his problem, but a part, which by itself can give us no information. If we start from a well-founded, but undeveloped, thought, which another has bequeathed to us, we may well hope by continued reflection to advance farther than the acute man, to whom we owe the first spark of light.

            I therefore first tried whether Hume’s objection could not be put into a general form, and soon found that the concept of the connection of cause and effect was by no means the only idea by which the understanding thinks the connection of things a priori, but rather that metaphysics consists altogether of such connections. I sought to ascertain their number, and when I had satisfactorily succeeded in this by starting from a single principle, I proceeded to the deduction of these concepts, which I was now certain were not deduced from experience, as Hume had apprehended, but sprang from the pure understanding. This deduction (which seemed impossible to my acute predecessor, which bad never even occurred to any one else, though no one had hesitated to use the concepts without investigating the basis of their objective validity) was the most difficult task ever undertaken in the service of metaphysics; and the worst was that metaphysics, such as it then existed, could not assist me in the least, because this deduction alone can render metaphysics possible. But as soon as I had succeeded in solving Hume’s problem not merely in a particular case, but with respect to the whole faculty of pure reason, I could proceed safely, though slowly, to determine the whole sphere of pure reason completely and from general principles, in its circumference as well as in its contents. This was required for metaphysics in order to construct its system according to a reliable method. [Prolegomena, Introduction]

(3) According to Kant, Hume ultimately solved the problem of causality by contending that our experience (and not our a priori reason) gives rise to our notion of causality. By contrast, where does Kant think that the notion of causality springs from?

PREAMBLE ON THE PECULIARITIES OF ALL METAPHYSICAL KNOWLEDGE

In the Preamble to the Prolegomena, Kant establishes some terminology and conceptual distinctions upon which his whole philosophy depends.

Metaphysics deals with A Priori Knowledge. Unlike Hume who attempted to ground metaphysical notions such as causality in empirical experience, Kant insists that metaphysics involves a priori knowledge. In that sense, he believes, it is similar to our notions of mathematics.

            Sect. 1. If it becomes desirable to formulate any cognition as science, it will be necessary first to determine accurately those peculiar features which no other science has in common with it, constituting its characteristics; otherwise the. boundaries of all sciences become confused, and none of them can be treated thoroughly according to its nature.

            The characteristics of a science may consist of a simple difference of object, or of the sources of cognition, or of the kind of cognition, or perhaps of all three conjointly. On this, therefore, depends the idea of a possible science and its territory.

            First, as concerns the sources of metaphysical cognition, its very concept implies that they cannot be empirical. Its principles (including not only its maxims but its basic notions) must never be derived from experience. It must not be physical but metaphysical knowledge, viz., knowledge lying beyond experience. It can therefore have for its basis neither external experience, which is the source of physics proper, nor internal, which is the basis of empirical psychology. It is therefore a priori knowledge, coming from pure Understanding and pure Reason.

            But so far Metaphysics would not be distinguishable from pure Mathematics; it must therefore be called pure philosophical cognition; and for the meaning of this term I refer to the Critique of the Pure Reason (II. “Method of Transcendentalism,” Chap. I., Sec. 1), where the distinction between these two employments of the reason is sufficiently explained. So far concerning the sources of metaphysical cognition.

(4) According to Kant, what are some of the central features of metaphysical knowledge?

Analytical Judgments. Further clarifying the a priori nature of metaphysical notions, Kant distinguishes between two types of judgments: analytical and synthetical. Analytical judgments involve statements in which the predicate are contained in the subject, such as “All bachelors are unmarried men” and “triangles have three angles.” These statements are true or false based on the definitions of the words themselves; they also do not provide any new information beyond what is already stated in the subject of the statement. Synthetic statements, by contrast, do not have the predicate contained in the subject, such as “the door is brown.” As such, they are not true by definition; for example, the notion of “brown” is not part of the notion of “door”. Further, analytical statements provide us with new information – in this case, information that a particular object is brown.

Sect. 2. a. Of the Distinction between Analytical and Synthetical judgments in general. – The peculiarity of its sources demands that metaphysical cognition must consist of nothing but a priori judgments. But whatever be their origin, or their logical form, there is a distinction in judgments, as to their content, according to which they are either merely explicative, adding nothing to the content of the cognition, or expansive, increasing the given cognition: the former may be called analytical, the latter synthetical, judgments.

            Analytical judgments express nothing in the predicate but what has been already actually thought in the concept of the subject, though not so distinctly or with the same (full) consciousness. When I say: All bodies are extended, I have not amplified in the least my concept of body, but have only analyzed it, as extension was really thought to belong to that concept before the judgment was made, though it was not expressed, this judgment is therefore analytical. On the contrary, this judgment, All bodies have weight, contains in its predicate something not actually thought in the general concept of the body; it amplifies my knowledge by adding something to my concept, and must therefore be called synthetical.

            b. The Common Principle of all Analytical Judgments is the Law of Contradiction. – All analytical judgments depend wholly on the law of Contradiction, and are in their nature a priori cognitions, whether the concepts that supply them with matter be empirical or not. For the predicate of an affirmative analytical judgment is already contained in the concept of the subject, of which it cannot be denied without contradiction. In the same way its opposite is necessarily denied of the subject in an analytical, but negative, judgment, by the same law of contradiction. Such is the nature of the judgments: all bodies are extended, and no bodies are unextended (i. e., simple).

            For this very reason all analytical judgments are a priori even when the concepts are empirical, as, for example, Gold is a yellow metal; for to know this I require no experience beyond my concept of gold as a yellow metal: it is, in fact, the very concept, and I need only analyze it, without looking beyond it elsewhere.

(5) Explain how the law of contradiction applies to analytical judgments.

Synthetical Judgments. Turning to synthetical judgments, Kant notes that the most obvious kind of synthetical judgments are empirical (a posteriori), such as “the door is brown,” which we know through visual experience. However, in addition to empirical notions, Kant argues that mathematical and metaphysical judgments are also synthetical.

            c. Synthetical judgments require a different Principle from the Law of Contradiction. There are synthetical a posteriori judgments of empirical origin; but there are also others which are proved to be certain a priori, and which spring from pure Understanding and Reason. Yet they both agree in this, that they cannot possibly spring from the principle of analysis, viz., the law of contradiction, alone; they require a quite different principle, though, from whatever they may be deduced, they must be subject to the law of contradiction, which must never be violated, even though everything cannot be deduced from it. I shall first classify synthetical judgments.

1. Empirical judgments are always synthetical. For it would be absurd to base an analytical judgment on experience, as our concept suffices for the purpose without requiring any testimony from experience. That body is extended, is a judgment established a priori, and not an empirical judgment. For before appealing to experience, we already have all the conditions of the judgment in the concept, from which we have but to elicit the predicate according to the law of contradiction, and thereby to become conscious of the necessity of the judgment, which experience could not even teach us.

            2. Mathematical judgments are all synthetical. This fact seems hitherto to have altogether escaped the observation of those who have analyzed human reason; it even seems directly opposed to all their conjectures, though incontestably certain, and most important in its consequences. For as it was found that the conclusions of mathematicians all proceed according to the law of contradiction (as is demanded by all apodictic certainty), men persuaded themselves that the fundamental principles were known from the same law. This was a great mistake, for a synthetical proposition can indeed be comprehended according to the law of contradiction, but only by presupposing another synthetical proposition from which it follows, but never in itself. ...

            It might at first be thought that the proposition 7+5=12 is a mere analytical judgment, following from the concept of the sum of seven and five, according to the law of contradiction. But on closer examination it appears that the concept of the sum Of 7+5 contains merely their union in a single number, without its being at all thought what the particular number is that unites them. The concept of twelve is by no means thought by merely thinking of the combination of seven and five; and analyze this possible sum as we may, we shall not discover twelve in the concept. We must go beyond these concepts, by calling to our aid some concrete image, i.e., either our five fingers, or five points (as Segner has it in his Arithmetic), and we must add successively the units of the five, given in some concrete image, to the concept of seven. Hence our concept is really amplified by the proposition 7+5=12, and we add to the first a second, not thought in it. Arithmetical judgments are therefore synthetical, and the more plainly according as we take larger numbers; for in such cases it is clear that, however closely we analyze our concepts without calling visual images to our aid, we can never find the sum by such mere dissection.

(6) Although we might initially think that mathematical propositions are analytical (with the predicate contained in the subject), Kant believes that they are synthetic. Illustrating his point with the proposition “7+5=12” what does he say about the relation between the predicate “12” and the subject “7+5”?

Metaphysical Synthetic A Priori Judgments. Like mathematical judgments, Kant believes that metaphysical judgments are also synthetic a priori. That is, they are non-empirical yet provide us with new information.

Metaphysical judgments, properly so called, are all synthetical. We must distinguish judgments pertaining to metaphysics from metaphysical judgments properly so called. Many of the former are analytical, but they only afford the means for metaphysical judgments, which are the whole end of the science, and which are always synthetical. For if there be concepts pertaining to metaphysics (as, for example, that of substance), the judgments springing from simple analysis of them also pertain to metaphysics, as, for example, substance is that which only exists as subject; and by means of several such analytical judgments, we seek to approach the definition of the concept. But as the analysis of a pure concept of the understanding pertaining to metaphysics, does not proceed in any different manner from the dissection of any other, even empirical, concepts, not pertaining to metaphysics (such as: air is an elastic fluid, the elasticity of which is not destroyed by any known degree of cold), it follows that the concept indeed, but not the analytical judgment, is properly metaphysical. This science has something peculiar in the production of its a priori cognitions, which must therefore be distinguished from the features it has in common with other rational knowledge. Thus the judgment, that all the substance in things is permanent, is a synthetical and properly metaphysical judgment. ...

            The conclusion drawn in this section then is, that metaphysics is properly concerned with synthetical propositions a priori, and these alone constitute its end, for which it indeed requires various dissections of its concepts, viz., of its analytical judgments, but wherein the procedure is not different from that in every other kind of knowledge, in which we merely seek to render our concepts distinct by analysis. But the generation of a priori cognition by concrete images as well as by concepts, in fine of synthetical propositions a priori in philosophical cognition, constitutes the essential subject of Metaphysics.

(7) Although some judgments pertaining to metaphysics are analytical, Kant believes that metaphysical judgments properly speaking are synthetical. Give one of Kant’s examples of a synthetical metaphysical judgment.

Kant argues that the success of metaphysics depends on our ability to show how synthetic a priori judgments are even possible. That is, we need to see how the mechanism of human reason provides us with intuitive (non-empirical) knowledge that contains new information.

Sect. 5. We have above learned the significant distinction between analytical and synthetical judgments. The possibility of analytical propositions was easily comprehended, being entirely founded on the law of Contradiction. The possibility of synthetical a posteriori judgments, of those which are gathered from experience, also requires no particular explanation; for experience is nothing but a continual synthesis of perceptions. There remain therefore only synthetical propositions a priori, of which the possibility must be sought or investigated, because they must depend upon principles other than the law of contradiction.

            But here we need not first establish the possibility of such propositions so as to ask whether they are possible. For there are enough of them which indeed are of undoubted certainty, and as our present method is analytical, we shall start from the fact, that such synthetical but purely rational cognition actually exists; but we must now inquire into the reason of this possibility, and ask, how such cognition is possible, in order that we may from the principles of its possibility be enabled to determine the conditions of its use, its sphere and its limits. The proper problem upon which all depends, when expressed with scholastic precision, is therefore: How are Synthethetic Propositions a priori possible? ...

            Metaphysics stands or falls with the solution of this problem: its very existence depends upon it. Let any one make metaphysical assertions with ever so much plausibility, let him overwhelm us with conclusions, if he has not previously proved able to answer this question satisfactorily, I have a right to say this is all vain baseless philosophy and false wisdom. You speak through pure reason, and claim, as it were to create cognitions a priori by not only dissecting given concepts, but also by asserting connections which do not rest upon the law of contradiction, and which you believe you conceive quite independently of all experience; how do you arrive at this, and how will you justify your pretensions? An appeal to the consent of the common sense of mankind cannot be allowed; for that is a witness whose authority depends merely upon rumor. Says Horace: “To all that which you prove me in this manner, I refuse to give credence.” [Prolegomena, Preamble]

(8) According to Kant, why can’t we prove our metaphysical assertions by appealing to the common consent of humankind?

To answer the crucial question of how synthetic a priori judgments are possible, Kant divides the question into four separate questions, and address each of these individually: 1. How is pure mathematics possible? 2. How is pure natural science possible? 3. How is metaphysics in general possible? 4. How is metaphysics as a science possible?

HOW IS PURE MATHEMATICS POSSIBLE?

Kant believes that our notions of space and time are intimately connected with all judgments in mathematics. Our purest notions of space and time are instinctive components of our thinking and we do not simply infer them from our sensory experience of the physical world. In fact, to even make sense of our confusing sensory experiences, we must already have the mental concepts of space and time. In Kant’s words, our sense experiences provide us with the material of our perception, but our underlying intuitions of space and time provide its form.

Concepts of Space and Time underlie Mathematics. Granting that we have these inborn concepts of space and time, Kant believes that these concepts answer the question of “ how is pure mathematic possible”. For Kant, when we make synthetic a priori mathematical judgments, we draw from our concepts of space and time. This is seen most clearly in the field of geometry, which is the science of our pure concepts of space.

            Sect. 10. Now, the intuitions which pure mathematics lays at the foundation of all its cognitions and judgments which appear at once apodictic and necessary are Space and Time. For mathematics must first have all its concepts in intuition, and pure mathematics in pure intuition, that is, it must construct them. If it proceeded in any other way, it would be impossible to make any headway, for mathematics proceeds, not analytically by dissection of concepts, but synthetically, and if pure intuition be wanting, there is nothing in which the matter for synthetical judgments a priori can be given. Geometry is based upon the pure intuition of space. Arithmetic accomplishes its concept of number by the successive addition of units in time; and pure mechanics especially cannot attain its concepts of motion without employing the representation of time. Both representations, however, are only intuitions; for if we omit from the empirical intuitions of bodies and their alterations (motion) everything empirical, or belonging to sensation, space and time still remain, which are therefore pure intuitions that lie a priori at the basis of the empirical. Hence they can never be omitted, but at the same time, by their being pure intuitions a priori, they prove that they are mere forms of our sensibility, which must precede all empirical intuition, or perception of actual objects, and conformably to which objects can be known a priori, but only as they appear to us.

            Sect. 11. The problem of the present section is therefore solved. Pure mathematics, as synthetical cognition a priori, is only possible by referring to no other objects than those of the senses. At the basis of their empirical intuition lies a pure intuition (of space and of time) which is a priori. This is possible, because the latter intuition is nothing but the mere form of sensibility, which precedes the actual appearance of the objects, insofar as it, in fact, makes them possible. Yet this faculty of intuiting a priori affects not the matter of the phenomenon (that is, the sense-element in it, for this constitutes that which is empirical), but its form, viz., space and time. Should any man venture to doubt that these are determinations adhering not to things in themselves, but to their relation to our sensibility, I should be glad to know how it can be possible to know the constitution of things a priori, viz., before we have any acquaintance with them and before they are presented to us. Such, however, is the case with space and time. But this is quite comprehensible as soon as both count for nothing more than formal conditions of our sensibility, while the objects count merely as phenomena; for then the form of the phenomenon, i.e., pure intuition, can by all means be represented as proceeding from ourselves, that is, a priori.

(9) Kant argues that when we make synthetic a priori mathematical judgments we refer only to objects of the senses. What, in turn, is at the basis of our empirical sensory experiences?

Trancendental Idealism. In the Critique of Pure Reason Kant dubbed his theory of space and time “transcendental idealism,” by which he meant that pure notions of space and time are grounded only in our cognitive faculties, and are not derived through our experience of the world (“transcendental” being Kant’s word for our cognitive faculties). Unfortunately for Kant, the term “idealism” is a loaded word in philosophy, and, in its extreme form, such as we find in Berkeley, it involves a complete denial of the external material world. Kant denies that he is an idealist in this extreme sense.

            Remark 3. ... I have myself given this my theory the name of transcendental idealism, but that cannot authorize any one to confound it either with the empirical idealism of Descartes, (indeed, his was only an insoluble problem, owing to which he thought every one at liberty to deny the existence of the corporeal world, because it could never be proved satisfactorily), or with the mystical and visionary idealism of Berkeley, against which and other similar phantasms our Critique contains the proper antidote. My idealism concerns not the existence of things (the doubting of which, however, constitutes idealism in the ordinary sense), since it never came into my head to doubt it, but it concerns the sensuous representation of things, to which space and time especially belong. Of these [viz., space and time], consequently of all appearances in general, I have only shown, that they are neither things (but mere modes of representation), nor determinations belonging to things in themselves. But the word “transcendental,” which with me means a reference of our cognition, i.e., not to things, but only to the cognitive faculty, was meant to obviate this misconception. Yet rather than give further occasion to it by this word, I now retract it, and desire this idealism of mine to be called critical. But if it be really an objectionable idealism to convert actual things (not appearances) into mere representations, by what name shall we call him who conversely changes mere representations to things? It may, I think, be called “dreaming idealism,” in contradistinction to the former, which may be called “visionary,” both of which are to be refuted by my transcendental, or, better, critical idealism.

(10) Kant argues that his transcendental idealism does not concern the existence of things; instead, what does it involve?

HOW IS THE SCIENCE OF NATURE POSSIBLE?

Solving the first question regarding mathematics, Kant turns to the second question, which concerns how the science of nature is possible. More exactly, Kant investigates the underlying cognitive principles that allow us to make judgments about things in the physical world.

Phenomena and Noumena. Throughout his writings, Kant relies on an important distinction between what he calls phenomena and noumena. Phenomena involve what I actually experience, and noumena involve things as they are in themselves apart from how I might experience them. For example, as I look at a desk I can make a list of all of its physical features that appear to my five senses, such as its color and texture. Apart from this list of sensory phenomena, though, there still remain features about the desk that I have no way of investigating or even describing. These hidden features are the noumena of the desk, and I am permanently prevented from knowing them. Kant argues here that our experience of the physical world is in general restricted to the phenomena, and cannot reveal anything about noumenal things in themselves.

            Sect. 14. Nature is the existence of things, so far as it is determined according to universal laws. Should nature signify the existence of things in themselves, we could never know it either a priori or a posteriori. Not a priori, for how can we know what belongs to things in themselves, since this never can be done by the dissection of our concepts (in analytical judgments)? We do not want to know what is contained in our concept of a thing (for the [concept describes what] belongs to its logical being), but what is in the actuality of the thing superadded to our concept, and by what the thing itself is determined in its existence outside the concept. Our understanding, and the conditions on which alone it can connect the determinations of things in their existence, do not prescribe any rule to things themselves; these do not conform to our understanding, but it must conform itself to them; they must therefore be first given us in order to gather these determinations from them, wherefore they would not be known a priori.

            A cognition of the nature of things in themselves a posteriori would be equally impossible. For, if experience is to teach us laws, to which the existence of things is subject, these laws, if they regard things in themselves, must belong to them of necessity even outside our experience. But experience teaches us what exists and how it exists, but never that it must necessarily exist so and not otherwise. Experience therefore can never teach us the nature of things in themselves.

(11) Why can’t we investigate things in themselves through a posteriori (i.e., empirical) reasoning?

Table of Judgments and the Categories. Kant argued earlier that our instinctive cognitive notions of space and time help organize the confusing influx of raw sensory perceptions that rush in through our senses. Kant argues further that in order to think about our various perceptions, we need additional instinctive cognitive notions that organize these experiences. He lays these out in two tables. The first (the logical table of judgments) shows the complete range of judgments that we in fact make about physical things. From this first table he derives the second one (the transcendental table of the pure concepts of the understanding); this lists the complete range of cognitive categories that we need to make all the judgments in the first table. Kant refers to the second table as a list of conceptual categories, which he believes supersedes Aristotle’s list of categories. Suppose, for example, that I make the judgment “all cows eat grass,” which, according to the first table, would be a universal judgment about quantity. For me to make this judgment about all cows, though, I need to first have a concept of “unity,” which is the first item in the second table. Thus, the twelve items in the two tables parallel each other, and are presented in four groups of three items.

            Sect. 21. To prove, then, the possibility of experience so far as it rests upon pure concepts [i.e., categories] of the understanding a priori, we must first represent what belongs to judgments in general and the various functions of the understanding, in a complete table. For the pure concepts of the understanding must run parallel to these functions, as such concepts are nothing more than concepts of intuitions in general, so far as these are determined by one or other of these functions of judging, in themselves, that is, necessarily and universally. Hereby also the a priori principles of the possibility of all experience, as of an objectively valid empirical cognition, will be precisely determined. For they are nothing but propositions by which all perception is (under certain universal conditions of intuition) subsumed under those pure concepts of the understanding.

LOGICAL TABLE OF JUDGMENTS.

1. As to Quantity.

            Universal.

            Particular.

            Singular.

2. As to Quality.

            Affirmative.

            Negative.

            Infinite.

3. As to Relation.

            Categorical.

            Hypothetical.

            Disjunctive.

4. As to Modality.

            Problematical.

            Assertorical.

            Apodictical.

TRANSCENDENTAL TABLE OF THE PURE CONCEPTS OF THE UNDERSTANDING [i.e., THE CATEGORIES].

1. As to Quantity.

            Unity (the Measure).

            Plurality (the Quantity).

            Totality (the Whole).

2. As to Quality.

            Reality.

            Negation.

            Limitation.

3. As to Relation.

            Substance.

            Cause.

            Community.

4. As to Modality.

Possibility.

            Existence.

            Necessity.

(12) The statement “all cows eat grass” is an example of a universal judgment regarding quantity. Make up a statement that illustrates another type of judgment on the first table.

The Categories as Universal Rules of Possible Experience. Kant argues that, in order for me to make any kind of judgment, my various experiences must be united within my own consciousness. It must also be united in a way that would hold as a rule for anyone’s experience. Otherwise, each of us would have an entirely different way of judging the world. Thus, the universal nature of the categories – or rules of possible experience –provides the solution to the question “How is the science of nature possible.” The answer is that universal categories constitute “universal laws of nature,” which allow us to scientifically investigate nature.

            Sect. 22. The sum of the matter is this: the business of the senses is to intuit – that of the understanding is to think. But thinking is uniting representations in one consciousness. ...

            Sect. 23. Judgments, when considered merely as the condition of the union of given representations in a consciousness, are rules. These rules, so far as they represent the union as necessary, are rules a priori, and so far as they cannot be deduced from higher rules, are fundamental principles. But in regard to the possibility of all experience, merely in relation to the form of thinking in it, no conditions of judgments of experience are higher than those which bring the phenomena, according to the various form of their intuition, under pure concepts of the understanding, and render the empirical judgment objectively valid. These concepts are therefore the a priori principles of possible experience.

            The principles of possible experience are then at the same time universal laws of nature, which can be known a priori. And thus the problem in our second question, “How is the pure Science of Nature possible?” is solved. For the system which is required for the form of a science is to be met with in perfection here, because, beyond the above-mentioned formal conditions of all judgments in general offered in logic, no others are possible, and these constitute a logical system. The concepts grounded thereupon, which contain the a priori conditions of all synthetical and necessary judgments, accordingly constitute a transcendental system. Finally the principles, by means of which all phenomena are subsumed under these concepts, constitute a physical system, that is, a system of nature, which precedes all empirical cognition of nature, makes it even possible, and hence may in strictness be denominated the universal and pure science of nature.

(13) In what sense are the rules of possible experience a priori?

The Categories involve Phenomena, not Noumena. Kant stresses that the above tables do not apply to things in themselves, but only to our mental arrangement of the phenomena that we experience.

            Sect. 30 ... This is therefore the result of all our foregoing inquiries: “All synthetical principles a priori are nothing more than principles of possible experience, and can never be referred to things in themselves, but to appearances as objects of experience. And hence pure mathematics as well as a pure science of nature can never be referred to anything more than mere appearances, and can only represent either that which makes experience generally possible, or else that which, as it is derived from these principles, must always be capable of being represented in some possible experience.”

            Sect. 31. And thus we have at last something definite, upon which to depend in all metaphysical enterprises, which have hitherto, boldly enough but always at random, attempted everything without discrimination. That the aim of their exertions should be so near, struck neither the dogmatical thinkers nor those who, confident in their supposed sound common sense, started with concepts and principles of pure reason (which were legitimate and natural, but destined for mere empirical use) in quest of fields of knowledge, to which they neither knew nor could know any determinate bounds, because they bad never reflected nor were able to reflect on the nature or even on the possibility of such a pure understanding.

(14) What must both pure mathematics and the pure science of nature refer to?

HOW IS METAPHYSICS IN GENERAL POSSIBLE?

Metaphysics is an investigation into the nature of reality, and often involves speculations about the existence of God, a spirit-realm, and the causes of the universe. The next question that Kant seeks to answer is “How is metaphysics in general possible.” Kant is highly critical of any dogmatic metaphysics that strays beyond the phenomenal world of appearances into the unknowable noumenal realm of things in themselves. Thus, he aims to dismiss many traditional metaphysical discussions and instead restrict metaphysics to the domain of possible experience as defined by the categories.

Applying the Categories beyond Experience. For Kant, the categories are required for ordering our experience of the physical world. However, he notes that it is very tempting to apply the categories when thinking about metaphysical issues beyond the realm of experience.

            Sect. 45. We have above shown ... that the purity of the categories from all admixture of sensuous determinations may mislead reason into extending their use, quite beyond all experience, to things in themselves; though as these categories themselves find no intuition which can give them meaning or sense in concrete, they, as mere logical functions, can represent a thing in general, but not give by themselves alone a determinate concept of anything. Such hyperbolical objects are distinguished by the appellation of Noumena, or pure beings of the understanding (or better, beings of thought), such as, for example, “substance,” but conceived without permanence in time, or “cause,” but not acting in time, etc. Here predicates, that only serve to make the conformity-to-law of experience possible, are applied to these concepts, and yet they are deprived of all the conditions of intuition, on which alone experience is possible, and so these concepts lose all significance.

            There is no danger, however, of the understanding spontaneously making an excursion so very wantonly beyond its own bounds into the field of the mere creatures of thought, without being impelled by foreign laws. But when reason, which cannot be fully satisfied with any empirical use of the rules of the understanding, as being always conditioned, requires a completion of this chain of conditions, then the understanding is forced out of its sphere. And then it partly represents objects of experience in a series so extended that no experience can grasp, partly even (with a view to complete the series) it seeks entirely beyond it noumena, to which it can attach that chain, and so, having at last escaped from the conditions of experience, make its attitude as it were final. These are then the transcendental ideas, which, though according to the true but hidden ends of the natural determination of our reason, they may aim not at extravagant concepts, but at an unbounded extension of their empirical use, yet seduce the understanding by an unavoidable illusion to a transcendent use, which, though deceitful, cannot be restrained within the bounds of experience by any resolution, but only by scientific instruction and with much difficulty.

(15) What causes the understanding to be “forced out of its sphere”?

The Antinomies. As we apply the categories when thinking about metaphysical issues beyond the realm of experience, we will inevitably be led into conflicting views on four specific issues. Kant argues that these four issues correspond with the four main divisions of the categories.

            Sect. 51. In the first place, the use of a system of categories becomes here so obvious and unmistakable, that even if there were not several other proofs of it, this alone would sufficiently prove it indispensable in the system of pure reason. There are only four such transcendent ideas, as there are so many classes of categories; in each of which, however, they refer only to the absolute completeness of the series of the conditions for a given conditioned. In analogy to these cosmological ideas there are only four kinds of dialectical assertions of pure reason, which, as they are dialectical, thereby prove, that to each of them, on equally specious principles of pure reason, a contradictory assertion stands opposed. As all the metaphysical art of the most subtle distinction cannot prevent this opposition, it compels the philosopher to recur to the first sources of pure reason itself. This Antinomy, not arbitrarily invented, but founded in the nature of human reason, and hence unavoidable and never ceasing, contains the following four theses together with their antitheses:

1.

Thesis: The World has, as to, Time and Space, a Beginning (limit).

Antithesis: The World is, as to Time and Space, infinite.

2.

Thesis: Everything in the World consists of [elements that are] simple.

Antithesis: There is nothing simple, but everything is composite.

3.

Thesis: There are in the World Causes through Freedom.

Antithesis: There is no Liberty, but all is Nature.

4.

Thesis: In the Series of the World-Causes there is some necessary Being.

Antithesis: There is Nothing necessary in the World, but in this Series All is incidental.

(16) According to Kant, these antinomies are “not arbitrarily invented”; instead, what are they founded on?

What is most troubling about the antinomies, according to Kant, is that we might employ rock-solid reasoning in defense of each of the theses and antitheses.

            Sect. 52. Here is the most singular phenomenon of human reason, no other instance of which can be shown in any other use. If we, as is commonly done, represent to ourselves the appearances of the sensible world as things in themselves, if we assume the principles of their combination as principles universally valid of things in themselves and not merely of experience, as is usually, nay without our Critique, unavoidably done, there arises an unexpected conflict, which never can be removed in the common dogmatical way; because the thesis, as well as the antithesis, can be shown by equally clear, evident, and irresistible proofs – for I pledge myself as to the correctness of all these proofs – and reason therefore perceives that it is divided with itself, a state at which the skeptic rejoices, but which must make the critical philosopher pause and feel ill at ease. ...

(17) What reaction might a skeptic have in showing the inherently contradictory nature of human reasoning?

Unlike the skeptic, Kant comes to reason’s defense and attempts to explain away the antinomies. Ultimately, he rejects each of the theses and antitheses in the first two antinomies, since they are self-contradictory. However, he accepts each of the theses and antitheses in the final two antinomies since he believes that we can hold these compatibly.

MORAL THEORY

Kant’s moral theory was influenced by the Samuel Pufendorf (1632-1694), who developed an elaborate account of how basic moral duties are instilled in our nature by God and are the foundation of both moral behavior and civilized society. According to Pufendorf, all duties into three principal groups: those to God, to oneself, and to others. According to Pufendorf, God gives us a natural knowledge of moral laws, which come to consciousness in the normal course of child development.  Kant agreed with Pufendorf that we know our moral duties by virtue of reason. He also held that we have duties to God, oneself, and others – although Kant considered duties towards God specifically a matter of religious obligation rather than moral obligation. Kant went a step further than Pufendorf, though, and argued that our various moral duties are founded on one general principle of duty – a principle that he called the categorical imperative. The following is from Kant’s Groundwork of the Metaphysics of Morals (1785).

Morality Not Based on Virtue, Happiness, or Consequences. Kant begins with a general account of willful decisions. The function of the human will is to select one course of action from among several possible courses. Our specific willful decisions are influenced by several factors, such as laziness, immediate emotional gratification, or what is best in the long run. Kant argues that in moral matters the will is ideally influenced only by rational considerations, and not by subjective considerations such as one’s emotions. This is because morality involves what is necessary for us to do – for example, you must keep your promises; only rational considerations, he argues, can produce necessity.

            For Kant, the rational consideration that influences the will must be a principle of obligation, since only principles can provide purely rational grounds for action. Also, the principle must be a command (or imperative) since morality involves a command for us to perform a particular action. Finally, the principle cannot be one that appeals to the consequences of an action. For example, Kant would reject the view that I should donate to charity merely because it brings happiness to the person receiving the money. The only principle that fulfills these requirements is the categorical imperative. This dictates that we act in a way that we could will to be universal – applying to all people – irrespective of our individual needs and wants. He argues that it is the principle that would be adopted by a good will.

Nothing can possibly be conceived in the world, or even out of it, which can be called good, without qualification, except a good will. Intelligence, wit, judgment, and the other talents of the mind, however they may be named, or courage, resolution, perseverance, as qualities of temperament, are undoubtedly good and desirable in many respects; but these gifts of nature may also become extremely bad and mischievous if the will which is to make use of them, and which, therefore, constitutes what is called character, is not good. It is the same with the gifts of fortune. Power, riches, honor, even health, and the general well-being and contentment with one’s condition which is called happiness, inspire pride, and often presumption, if there is not a good will to correct the influence of these on the mind, and with this also to rectify the whole principle of acting and adapt it to its end. The sight of a being who is not adorned with a single feature of a pure and good will, enjoying unbroken prosperity, can never give pleasure to an impartial rational spectator. Thus a good will appears to constitute the indispensable condition even of being worthy of happiness.

            There are even some qualities which are of service to this good will itself and may facilitate its action, yet which have no intrinsic unconditional value, but always presuppose a good will, and this qualifies the esteem that we justly have for them and does not permit us to regard them as absolutely good. Moderation in the affections and passions, self-control, and calm deliberation are not only good in many respects, but even seem to constitute part of the intrinsic worth of the person; but they are far from deserving to be called good without qualification, although they have been so unconditionally praised by the ancients. For without the principles of a good will, they may become extremely bad, and the coolness of a villain not only makes him far more dangerous, but also directly makes him more abominable in our eyes than he would have been without it.

(1) According to Kant, why is morality not a matter of either (a) having certain character traits, like courage, or (b) producing good results or consequences through our actions?

            A good will is good not because of what it performs or effects, not by its aptness for the attainment of some proposed end, but simply by virtue of the volition; that is, it is good in itself, and considered by itself is to be esteemed much higher than all that can be brought about by it in favor of any inclination, nay even of the sum total of all inclinations. Even if it should happen that, owing to special disfavor of fortune, or the niggardly provision of a step-motherly nature, this will should wholly lack power to accomplish its purpose, if with its greatest efforts it should yet achieve nothing, and there should remain only the good will (not, to be sure, a mere wish, but the summoning of all means in our power), then, like a jewel, it would still shine by its own light, as a thing which has its whole value in itself. Its usefulness or fruitfulness can neither add nor take away anything from this value. It would be, as it were, only the setting to enable us to handle it the more conveniently in common commerce, or to attract to it the attention of those who are not yet connoisseurs, but not to recommend it to true connoisseurs, or to determine its value.

(2) For Kant, the will is the only thing that can be called “good” without qualification. What is it about the will that makes it good?

            Hypothetical vs. Categorical Imperatives. Kant distinguishes between types of imperatives. Imperatives in general are commands that dictate a particular course of action, such as “you shall clean your room.” Hypothetical imperatives are commands that depend on my preference for a particular end, and are stated in conditional form, such as, “If I want to lose weight, then I should eat less.” In this case, the command to eat less hinges on my previous preference to lose weight. However, hypothetical imperatives are simply not moral imperatives since the command is based on subjective considerations that are not absolute. A categorical imperative, by contrast, is an absolute command, such as “you shall treat people with respect,” which is not based on subjective considerations. Thus, the supreme principle of morality is a categorical imperative since it is not conditional upon one’s preferences.

            The conception of an objective principle, in so far as it is obligatory for a will, is called a command (of reason), and the formula of the command is called an imperative.

            Now all imperatives command either hypothetically or categorically. The former represent the practical necessity of a possible action as means to something else that is willed (or at least which one might possibly will). The categorical imperative would be that which represented an action as necessary of itself without reference to another end, i.e., as objectively necessary.

            Since every practical law represents a possible action as good and, on this account, for a subject who is practically determinable by reason, necessary, all imperatives are formulae determining an action which is necessary according to the principle of a will good in some respects. If now the action is good only as a means to something else, then the imperative is hypothetical; if it is conceived as good in itself and consequently as being necessarily the principle of a will which of itself conforms to reason, then it is categorical.

            Thus the imperative declares what action possible by me would be good and presents the practical rule in relation to a will which does not forthwith perform an action simply because it is good, whether because the subject does not always know that it is good, or because, even if it know this, yet its maxims might be opposed to the objective principles of practical reason.

            When I conceive a hypothetical imperative, in general I do not know beforehand what it will contain until I am given the condition. But when I conceive a categorical imperative, I know at once what it contains. For as the imperative contains besides the law only the necessity that the maxims shall conform to this law, while the law contains no conditions restricting it, there remains nothing but the general statement that the maxim of the action should conform to a universal law, and it is this conformity alone that the imperative properly represents as necessary.

(3) According to Kant, what kind of imperative is good only as a means to something else?

Kant next presents the single categorical imperative of morality: act only on that maxim by which you can at the same time will that it should become a universal law.

            There is therefore but one categorical imperative, namely, this: Act only on that maxim whereby you can at the same time will that it should become a universal law.

            Now if all imperatives of duty can be deduced from this one imperative as from their principle, then, although it should remain undecided what is called duty is not merely a vain notion, yet at least we shall be able to show what we understand by it and what this notion means.

Although there is only one categorical imperative, Kant argues that there can be four formulations of this principle:

The Formula of the Law of Nature: “Act as if the maxim of your action were to become through your will a universal law of nature.”

The Formula of the End Itself: “Act in such a way that you always treat humanity, whether in your own person or in the person of any other, never simply as a means, but always at the same time as an end.”

The Formula of Autonomy: “So act that your will can regard itself at the same time as making universal law through its maxims.”

The Formula of the Kingdom of Ends: “So act as if you were through your maxims a law-making member of a kingdom of ends.”

According to Kant, each of these four formulations will produce the same conclusion regarding the morality of any particular action. Thus, each of these formulas offers a step-by-step procedure for determining the morality of any particular action. We will consider only the first two of these formulations here. Kant presents this first formulation is the most fundamental one.

            The Formula of the Law of Nature. The formula of the law of nature provides a test for determining the morality or rightness of any act. I must ask whether the maxim of my action, which is a statement describing what I intend to do and giving the motive for it, could be consistently willed as a law of nature. If it can be willed consistently, then the action is moral. If not, then it is immoral. To illustrate this formulation, Kant uses four examples that cover the range of morally significant situations that arise. These examples include committing suicide, making false promises, failing to develop one’s abilities, and refusing to be charitable. In each case, the action is deemed immoral since a contradiction arises when trying to will the maxim as a law of nature.

            Since the universality of the law according to which effects are produced constitutes what is properly called nature in the most general sense (as to form), that is the existence of things so far as it is determined by general laws, the imperative of duty may be expressed thus:

Act as if the maxim of your action were to become by your will a universal law of nature.

            We will now enumerate a few duties, adopting the usual division of them into duties to ourselves and ourselves and to others, and into perfect and imperfect duties.

            1. A man reduced to despair by a series of misfortunes feels wearied of life, but is still so far in possession of his reason that he can ask himself whether it would not be contrary to his duty to himself to take his own life. Now he inquires whether the maxim of his action could become a universal law of nature. His maxim is: “From self-love I adopt it as a principle to shorten my life when its longer duration is likely to bring more evil than satisfaction.” It is asked then simply whether this principle founded on self-love can become a universal law of nature. Now we see at once that a system of nature of which it should be a law to destroy life by means of the very feeling whose special nature it is to impel to the improvement of life would contradict itself and, therefore, could not exist as a system of nature; hence that maxim cannot possibly exist as a universal law of nature and, consequently, would be wholly inconsistent with the supreme principle of all duty.

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(4) In Kant’s first formulation of the categorical imperative (i.e., the formula of the law of nature), what is the specific contradiction that arises in the suicide example?

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            2. Another finds himself forced by necessity to borrow money. He knows that he will not be able to repay it, but sees also that nothing will be lent to him unless he promises stoutly to repay it in a definite time. He desires to make this promise, but he has still so much conscience as to ask himself: “Is it not unlawful and inconsistent with duty to get out of a difficulty in this way?” Suppose however that he resolves to do so: then the maxim of his action would be expressed thus: “When I think myself in want of money, I will borrow money and promise to repay it, although I know that I never can do so.” Now this principle of self-love or of one’s own advantage may perhaps be consistent with my whole future welfare; but the question now is, “Is it right?” I change then the suggestion of self-love into a universal law, and state the question thus: “How would it be if my maxim were a universal law?” Then I see at once that it could never hold as a universal law of nature, but would necessarily contradict itself. For supposing it to be a universal law that everyone when he thinks himself in a difficulty should be able to promise whatever he pleases, with the purpose of not keeping his promise, the promise itself would become impossible, as well as the end that one might have in view in it, since no one would consider that anything was promised to him, but would ridicule all such statements as vain pretenses.

(5) What contradiction arises in the example of the deceitful borrower?

Let us consider this particular example in more detail. I need money. I formulate a “maxim”, a description of a possible action, including the reasons for it, namely “in order to get needed money, make a lying promise.” I ask whether the lying promise would work as a means to my end, namely, getting money. Suppose it would. Then my maxim passes the test of rationality posed by a hypothetical imperative. Next, I check this maxim against the categorical imperative. I ask, “could this maxim be a universal law of nature?” Well, suppose that everyone, as if by natural necessity, should lie when promising, or even, lie when promising to repay money. In that case, clearly there would be no promising, or promising to pay back money. But in that case I could no longer will the maxim even as hypothetical. Lying would not be a viable means to the end I seek. So I cannot even consistently imagine a coherent world in which my maxim becomes a universal law, like a law of nature. Kant thinks that that is one mark of an immoral maxim. You can see from this example some of the connections between being rational and being moral which Kant wants to establish. Morality requires rational consistency. It does not require producing good consequences, however. The badness of making a lying promise does not consist in the fact that it produces bad consequences. It might well produce very nice consequences, even for the person lied to!

            3. A third finds in himself a talent which with the help of some culture might make him a useful man in many respects. But he finds himself in comfortable circumstances and prefers to indulge in pleasure rather than to take pains in enlarging and improving his happy natural capacities. He asks, however, whether his maxim of neglect of his natural gifts, besides agreeing with his inclination to indulgence, agrees also with what is called duty. He sees then that a system of nature could indeed subsist with such a universal law although men (like the South Sea islanders) should let their talents rest and resolve to devote their lives merely to idleness, amusement, and propagation of their species – in a word, to enjoyment; but he cannot possibly will that this should be a universal law of nature, or be implanted in us as such by a natural instinct. For, as a rational being, he necessarily wills that his faculties be developed, since they serve him and have been given him, for all sorts of possible purposes.

(6) What contradiction arises from the example of neglecting one’s talents?

            4. A fourth, who is in prosperity, while he sees that others have to contend with great wretchedness and that he could help them, thinks: “What concern is it of mine? Let everyone be as happy as Heaven pleases, or as be can make himself; I will take nothing from him nor even envy him, only I do not wish to contribute anything to his welfare or to his assistance in distress!” Now no doubt if such a mode of thinking were a universal law, the human race might very well subsist and doubtless even better than in a state in which everyone talks of sympathy and good-will, or even takes care occasionally to put it into practice, but, on the other side, also cheats when he can, betrays the rights of men, or otherwise violates them. But although it is possible that a universal law of nature might exist in accordance with that maxim, it is impossible to will that such a principle should have the universal validity of a law of nature. For a will which resolved this would contradict itself, inasmuch as many cases might occur in which one would have need of the love and sympathy of others, and in which, by such a law of nature, sprung from his own will, he would deprive himself of all hope of the aid he desires.

(7) What contradiction arises in the example of failing to be charitable?

Let us consider this example a little further too. In this case my maxim is something like this; ignore the needs of others, in order to avoid interference with my own plans.” Suppose now that all people at all times should by a kind of natural necessity never help anyone else. Now, unlike the case of the lying promise, I can consistently conceive a world like that. But, could I consistently will it? Only if I cease to will that I should sometimes be helped. But there are a great many ends which I can rationally pursue only by means of the help of others. For example, if I accidentally get trapped with a broken arm under a fallen tree limb, I may need someone else to lift it and help me. In such a case I could not rationally pursue the end of continuing to live, without relying on others. So if I am a rational being I shall will that others sometimes help me. But if I universalize my maxim, (“don’t help others”) I will be willing that I not be helped. So here there is clearly a contradiction in willing . I cannot, being the sort of vulnerable being I am, consistently will this maxim, while continuing to will the sorts of things I naturally do will (such as staying alive). So “ignore the needs of others” does not pass the test imposed by the categorical imperative. For that imperative says, “Act as if the maxim of your action were to become by your will a universal law of nature.”

            Notice that what makes refusing to help those in need wrong is not that failing to do so would bring bad consequences. Even if, in attempting to help someone, I produce a bad consequence, such as injury to them, it would still be to my credit that I tried to help, and it would still be the case that the kind of action I attempted must be attempted by anyone deserving to be called good. Note also that the moral law does not tell me how much help I should give others. It certainly does not tell me that I have a duty to maximize benefit for others.

            The Formula of the End Itself. The formula of the end itself is more straightforward than the previous one: always treat people as an end and never only as a means. There are two points to this principle. First, when performing an action we should treat people as beings that are intrinsically valuable. Second, we should not use people as a means to achieve some further benefit. People have intrinsic value, Kant argues, because of their ability to act freely. This gives humans a level of dignity that other humans must respect.

            Supposing, however, that there were something whose existence has in itself an absolute worth, something which, being an end in itself, could be a source of definite laws; then in this and this alone would lie the source of a possible categorical imperative, i.e., a practical law.

            Now I say: man and generally any rational being exists as an end in himself, not merely as a means to be arbitrarily used by this or that will, but in all his actions, whether they concern himself or other rational beings, must be always regarded at the same time as an end. All objects of the inclinations have only a conditional worth, for if the inclinations and the wants founded on them did not exist, then their object would be without value. But the inclinations, themselves being sources of want, are so far from having an absolute worth for which they should be desired that on the contrary it must be the universal wish of every rational being to be wholly free from them. Thus the worth of any object which is to be acquired by our action is always conditional. Beings whose existence depends not on our will but on nature’s, have nevertheless, if they are irrational beings, only a relative value as means, and are therefore called things; rational beings, on the contrary, are called persons, because their very nature points them out as ends in themselves, that is as something which must not be used merely as means, and so far therefore restricts freedom of action (and is an object of respect). These, therefore, are not merely subjective ends whose existence has a worth for us as an effect of our action, but objective ends, that is, things whose existence is an end in itself; an end moreover for which no other can be substituted, which they should subserve merely as means, for otherwise nothing whatever would possess absolute worth; but if all worth were conditioned and therefore contingent, then there would be no supreme practical principle of reason whatever.

(8) What is Kant’s distinction between things and persons?

            If then there is a supreme practical principle or, in respect of the human will, a categorical imperative, it must be one which, being drawn from the conception of that which is necessarily an end for everyone because it is an end in itself, constitutes an objective principle of will, and can therefore serve as a universal practical law. The foundation of this principle is: rational nature exists as an end in itself. Man necessarily conceives his own existence as being so; so far then this is a subjective principle of human actions. But every other rational being regards its existence similarly, just on the same rational principle that holds for me: so that it is at the same time an objective principle, from which as a supreme practical law all laws of the will must be capable of being deduced. Accordingly the practical imperative will be as follows:

So act as to treat humanity, whether in your own person or in that of any other, in every case as an end, never as means only.

We will now inquire whether this can be practically carried out.

Examples. Using the same examples as above, Kant continues by showing how this formulation of the categorical imperative also confirms our basic duties.

To abide by the previous examples:

            Firstly, under the head of necessary duty to oneself: He who contemplates suicide should ask himself whether his action can be consistent with the idea of humanity as an end in itself. If he destroys himself in order to escape from painful circumstances, he uses a person merely as a mean to maintain a tolerable condition up to the end of life. But a man is not a thing, that is to say, something which can be used merely as means, but must in all his actions be always considered as an end in himself. I cannot, therefore, dispose in any way of a man in my own person so as to mutilate him, to damage or kill him. (It belongs to ethics proper to define this principle more precisely, so as to avoid all misunderstanding, e.g., as to the amputation of the limbs in order to preserve myself, as to exposing my life to danger with a view to preserve it, etc. This question is therefore omitted here.)

(9) With Kant’s second formulation of the categorical imperative (i.e., the formula of the end itself), why is suicide wrong?

Secondly, as regards necessary duties, or those of strict obligation, towards others: He who is thinking of making a lying promise to others will see at once that he would be using another man merely as a mean, without the latter containing at the same time the end in himself. For he whom I propose by such a promise to use for my own purposes cannot possibly assent to my mode of acting towards him and, therefore, cannot himself contain the end of this action. This violation of the principle of humanity in other men is more obvious if we take in examples of attacks on the freedom and property of others. For then it is clear that he who transgresses the rights of men intends to use the person of others merely as a means, without considering that as rational beings they ought always to be esteemed also as ends, that is, as beings who must be capable of containing in themselves the end of the very same action.

(10) Why would it be wrong to make a deceitful promise?