CHAPTER VTHE ANTINOMIES AND CRITICISM OF THE PROOFS OFTHE EXISTENCE OF GODSo far we have been considering the positive side of Kant's argument, his attempt to confirm the validity of the principles of science. We must now notice the negative side, his attempt to limit the application of these principles, and his denial of the possibility of knowledge in certain spheres.We saw that Kant in hisProlegomenasummed up the argument of the three chief divisions of theCritiqueas an answer to the questions: How is mathematics possible? How is pure science of nature possible? and, How is metaphysics possible? He qualified the last question by adding "as a natural disposition of the mind." The argument of theDialecticis that metaphysics, in the sense of inquiry into objects which transcend the bounds of experience, is not possible as a science, but that metaphysical questions arise naturally from the nature of human reason. They cannot be answered. All we can do is to see why we cannot answer them.Kant thought of knowledge as a process of extending the bounds of perception, of piecing together the fragmentary glimpses we get of the world, stretching them out in spatial and temporal determinations that go beyond what we have actually experienced, connecting and linking up the events which we perceive discontinuously. As science extends, the range of our knowledge widens, but the process of extension never reaches its completion. There are always more facts to be discovered and explained. Science, therefore, can never rest content with its achievements, but must always demand that the investigation of conditions should be pushed further back and on. From this sense of the incompleteness of all actual knowledge, and of all there is that might be but is not known, arises what Kant calls an ideal of reason, a demand that, in all investigation into the conditioned, we should go on till we come to the totality of conditions. This ideal he holds to be serviceable and necessary. It has, however, a natural tendency to pass from an ideal to an idea, and in so doing it gives rise to the contradictions with which theDialecticis concerned. If all our investigation is governed by the thought that it must go on until it reaches completion, we naturally speculate on the fulfilment of that ideal, and try to form an idea of that totality of conditions, of how we should think the world if we knew it in its completeness. Herein we hypostatize the ideal or make it an idea, and we fall into contradiction; for we cannot really know the whole without knowing all its parts. If we give up the slow and never-completed process of knowing one part after another, and try to jump to the idea of the whole, we reach quite contrary results, as we apply to the conception of the whole one or other of two assumptions implied in our investigation of the parts.Kant sharply distinguishes between the principles of the pure understanding and the ideas of reason. The former are implied in all our knowledge, and the fact that experience is not chaotic confirms them at every moment. The second are ideals which guide knowledge, but are never realised. He calls them ideas of reason, because it is the special task of reason to lay down rules for the proper and complete working of the understanding. This task, he thinks, is exemplified in the logical nature of the syllogism which brings into unity the judgments of the understanding. As he used the forms of judgment as a guiding thread to discover a complete list of categories of the understanding, so he uses the forms of syllogism to discover a complete list of the ideas of reason. In both cases Kant's reference to logical forms is far-fetched. Actually the list in theDialecticseems to be influenced by a number of considerations not always consistent.There are three main divisions of theDialectic. (The first Kant calls the paralogisms of rational psychology.) All knowing and experience imply the unity of the self which knows. In actual experience that unity is qualified by the nature of what it unites, but we may try to think of it apart from and independent of this. This leads to an attempt to know the self by asking what must be its nature if it has the unity implied in knowing, and to argue that the soul is a substance and simple, not affected by the changes in the matter which it knows and therefore immortal.The second division arises from the fact that in knowledge we are concerned with series--a series of addings together and a series of divisions, as of parts of space and time; a series of things arising one from the other, as in causation; and a series of things in dependence one upon the other. Theideasof reason come from the thought of these series completed, and produce what Kant calls antinomies. For if we start with the thought that what we are trying to apprehend must be a whole, we get one series of results; if with the thought that we can only apprehend the whole by going from condition to condition indefinitely, we get another. Kant distinguishes four antinomies, each with thesis and antithesis. The thesis of the first is, "The world has a beginning in time, and is limited also in regard to space"; the antithesis, "The world has no beginning and no limits in space, but is infinite, in respect both to time and space." The thesis of the second is, "Every compound substance in the world consists of simple parts, and nothing exists anywhere but the simple or what is composed of it"; the antithesis is the contrary of this. The thesis of the third is, "Causality, according to the laws of nature, is not the only causality from which all the phenomena of the world can be deduced. In order to account for these phenomena it is necessary also to admit another causality, that of freedom"; the antithesis, "There is no freedom, but everything in the world takes place entirely according to the laws of nature." The thesis of the fourth is, "There exists an absolutely necessary Being belonging to the world, either as a part or as a cause of it"; the antithesis is a denial of this.The problems of the third division of theDialecticarises from an attempt to think of a whole which shall include both the known world and the mind that knows. This attempt, which Kant calls the ideal of pure reason, leads to proofs of the existence of God.As theDialecticproceeds, it becomes clear that Kant has another list to hand. He enumerates, as the three great objects of metaphysical inquiry, God, Freedom, and immortality, and in his discussion of the ideas of reason he treats them principally as attempts to give definite and dogmatic answers to the problems suggested by these three topics.Immortality is the subject of what Kant calls the paralogisms of rational psychology. He argues that all attempts to prove the immortality of the soul by a priori arguments involve an argument of this kind: they begin by noting that death is always dissolution of some kind, that, therefore, what is not made up of parts and cannot be dissolved, cannot die. Then they urge that the soul is not made up of parts, and therefore cannot die. The fallacy in this argument is that it treats the unity of the self as though it were an object of knowledge. We can show that knowledge is only possible if the self has a unity other than that of a spatial whole, but we cannot therefore argue that it must be exactly like a spatial whole, in the sense that death in it can only be brought about by dissolution, but unlike a spatial whole in that in it there is nothing to be dissolved. The real nature of the unity of the self, Kant argues, cannot be known. All we can do is to reject a priori arguments either for or against its immortality.Freedom is treated in the third antinomy of pure reason, and to that Kant devotes most attention, but others of the antinomies are concerned with the difficulties arising from the application of spatial and temporal determinations to reality as a whole, and to the category of necessity. Kant makes a distinction between the first two and the second two antinomies. It is the first two that express the inadequacy of temporal or spatial determination to reality as a whole. All such determination implies measurement, and measurement is always a relation of part to part. The antitheses of both antinomies express the inadequacy of any number to the expression of the nature of the whole, the thesis the inadequacy of regarding reality as an aggregate or addition of any kind. Each is strong in what it denies, and Kant's solution is that both thesis and antithesis are false, because you cannot apply spatial or temporal determination to the world as a whole.In contrast the solution of the other antinomies is that both thesis and antithesis are true, and that is possible because they are concerned with different things. The third antinomy arises from the difficulty of applying the category of causation to the world as a whole. The assumption underlying the thesis is not, as is sometimes asserted, merely that the notion of infinity in itself implies a contradiction, but that a determinate result must have a determinate cause. If we think of what actually exists now as having been caused by what has preceded it, we must think of that which has had a determinate result being itself determinate. It is the familiar argument for a first cause. In causation we seem to be relating one event to another event, and are really only putting the question of origination further back. Yet, if we say that therefore we must suppose an absolute origination of change, a beginning of the series, we have to answer the question, How is it possible to think of the originating number of the series? For to think that something can arise from nothing is to contradict the principle of causation.Kant's solution to this difficulty is important, for it had great influence upon his ethical theory. The category of causation applies only to phenomena. If we think of things as phenomena we must recognise that they are subject to the principle of causation; if we think of them as things in themselves, the category of causation does not apply to them, and their action may be free. The same action may therefore on its phenomenal side be determined, and on its nominal side, as the action of a thing in itself, be free. This may seem to be solving one contradiction by propounding another, till we remember that in causation we do not explain the relation of cause to effect. The relation we discover is between one instance of cause and effect and another. Like causes have like effects. The principle applies, then, in so far as things are like one another. It applies to changes which are aggregates or complexes of simpler changes which are like other changes. If and in so far as there are things which are more than aggregates of their elements, and are therefore unique, there are things to whose changes no laws of cause and effect are adequate. The point may be illustrated by the way we think about character. If we think of a man's character as his characteristics, his being this or thatkindof person, we must think of his action as so far determined, but that does not prevent us from thinking of his individuality as something more than any sum or combination of characteristics, as something essentially alive, which escapes all attempts to bind it by rules. It is the difference in Kant's words between man regarded "from the point of view of anthropology," and man regarded as a responsible moral being. We shall see in the next chapter that this distinction is the basis of Kant's moral theory. Here it must be noted that he does not claim that his solution of the third antinomy proves the fact of freedom. That, he held, no merely intellectual argument could prove. It only defends the possibility of freedom.The third division of theDialecticis an examination of the proofs of the existence of God. When we study Kant's account of them, we find we are concerned not, as elsewhere in theDialectic, with a conflict springing from the nature of reason itself, but with the relation of thought and conduct. Kant distinguishes three proofs of the existence of God--the ontological, the cosmological, and the physico-theological--but he maintains that the last two really rest upon and imply the first. The first, the ontological proof, is the argument that the very conception of a perfect being implies existence. It is the only proof of moral importance, inasmuch as it attempts to argue a priori that a being of perfect morality must exist. Kant's answer to it is that, to argue that we could not conceive a perfect being unless we conceived that being's existence, is to suppose that to conceive of a thing, and to conceive of the same thing existing, is to conceive of different things. Existence, he says, adds nothing to the concept of an object. Kant's objection to the ontological proof has been criticised. But the proof either assumes that God is a being independent of and separate from the rest of reality, and then, as Kant says, we may conceive God as existing, but our conception not being necessitated, carries no necessity with it. (If I conceive a hundred dollars to be in my pocket, he says, I conceive them to be there; but that does not mean the dollars are there.) Or if we say that reality must be thought of as existing, the answer is, Yes, but must reality necessarily be thought of as morally perfect? It is this last assumption which alone makes the ontological proof worth proving; for arguments about the existence or non-existence of God are mere quarrels about words, except in so far as they are concerned with moral issues. But moral issues cannot be solved by a consideration of purely intellectual assumptions. The nature of the other two proofs of God's existence makes this clear. The second, the cosmological, is the argument that if anything exists, something must necessarily exist. Kant's answer is that this is sound so far as it goes, but it does not prove that what necessarily exists is a morally perfect being. The third, the physico-theological argument, is the familiar argument from design. Kant treats this argument with much greater respect than the other two, but insists that we must see how far it will carry us. If we are going to infer the nature of God from the nature of the world as we see it, we must do so honestly. But though we see design in the world, we do not see perfection, and on the basis of this argument we cannot ignore the imperfection and want of harmony which is as patent as the harmony and design.Kant's analysis of these proofs seems negative. Its real purport is to insist that religion cannot be dissociated from moral experience, that the knowledge of God, which is the concern of religion, is not got by intellectual speculation, but in the moral life. When he said that he had limited reason to make room for faith, he did not mean that men could not prove the existence of God, but might believe in it if they pleased. He meant that God is implied and known above all in moral action. His criticism of these classical proofs is thus the beginning of that revivified philosophy of religion whose chief representatives have been Schleiermacher and Ritschl.CHAPTER VIKANT'S MORAL THEORYKant's moral theory is an integral part of his philosophical system. If theCritique of Pure Reasonargues the impotence of reason in the sphere of speculation, theCritique of Practical Reasonaffirms its sovereignty in the sphere of practice. The secondCritiqueis thus the complement of the first. Kant's treatment of moral problems being largely the consequence of the conclusions of the firstCritique, his moral theory is thus mainly metaphysical. The title of one of his works on moral theory,Fundamental Principles of the Metaphysic of Morals, bears this out. There were, no doubt, other influences which had their effect on his conception of morality. He tells us himself that he was inspired by the teaching of Rousseau on the dignity and worth of man. He was undoubtedly repelled into a reaction against the sentimental school of Shaftesbury, which in its German adherents insisted on the agreeable and gentlemanly nature of virtue with an almost sickly sentiment. This reaction accounts for the extreme emphasis laid by Kant on the divorce between duty and any kind of inclination. But his doctrine as a whole can only be understood in the light of the conclusions of the firstCritique.Kant's conception of freedom or autonomy of the will is the key to his moral theory. "On the hypothesis of freedom of the will," he says, "morality together with its principle follows from it by mere analysis of the conception." We saw in the last chapter that Kant regarded human action, when looked at from an anthropological point of view, as phenomenal, and therefore subject to the law of cause and effect. If we think of man as a creature of inclination, with likes and dislikes, we seem, in considering men's differences from one another in this respect, to be dealing with matters of fact over which men have no control. We are born and grow up with different natures, with the result that one man likes one thing, another another; one man's temptations do not tempt another, what one man finds easy another finds difficult. We seem here to be in a world where causation rules. If men act differently, it is because their external environment, acting upon their different natures, calls out different responses. So far, then, says Kant, as men act according to inclination, do things because they like doing them, or avoid them because they dislike them, their actions are what he calls heteronomous, governed by laws over which they have no control. We assume, whenever we are trying to explain human actions, that they are the result of the interaction of character and environment, and are not to be praised or blamed but understood.Tout comprendre est tout pardonner.But when we consider our moral judgments we seem to be in a different world, for there are some actions which we think we or others ought to have done or ought not to have done, and this obligation has nothing to do with our likes and dislikes. If we look back upon a past action of our own, we may see why we did it, understand how the temptation to it appealed with peculiar strength to something in our nature, yet nevertheless we may say that we ought not to have done it, and with that judgment goes the conviction that we need not have done it. The conception of "what ought to be" is on a different plane from the conception of "what is," and assumes a different kind of causality. It assumes that, when we are done with our analysis of character, of a man's likes and dislikes and the effect of circumstances upon them, we can still assume that it is in his power to do what he ought and to abstain from doing what he ought not. We praise the first and blame the second, whether in ourselves or others, just because we assume, over and above inclination and disinclination, a possibility of acting or not acting as duty demands.Thus Kant analyses the assumption of moral judgment. But it is still no more than an assumption, and he has to ask how it can be reconciled with the seemingly contradictory principle of causation. The analysis of the third antinomy in the firstCritique, as we saw, prepared the way by maintaining that the same action might be phenomenally determined, and free as the action of a thing in itself, were there another form of causality--free causality or self-determination. For the existence of such another form of causality the firstCritiqueoffered no evidence. Kant's concern is to show that morality assumes it; for the claim of duty is that a man should not act as a creature of inclination, of likes and dislikes. Duty claims to cut across all such empirical considerations. The motive to do what duty demands must come from elsewhere. It may then be found to be a claim that man should act not as a part of the physical world, but as a moral being. For man, as well as an observer and understander of other men, is also a moral agent. As such he stands in quite different relations to other men. He treats them and himself as moral agents, responsible for their actions. As a member of the world of moral relations he acknowledges a system of rights and duties, he holds himself responsible to other men as they are responsible to him, and all this has nothing to do with what a man wants or does not want to do, with how easy or how difficult he may find it to perform what duty demands. In this he is assuming in himself and other men a power of determining the will in accordance with the moral law. That, just because it takes no account of likes and dislikes, cannot be derived from these or from considerations of circumstances or environment. It must be deducible from the nature of man as a moral being. In obeying the moral law, then, man will be obeying a law that comes from himself. His will will be self-legislative. This power of acting in accordance with a law that comes from the nature of man as a rational, responsible being, and not as a member of the world of causes and effects, is moral freedom; it is the assumption of all moral judgment and action. It cannot, Kant holds, beexplained. For all explanation is the work of the understanding, and that can explain only phenomena. It is enough that the firstCritiquehas shown that phenomenal causality is not inconsistent with the possibility of another causality. In the moral sphere we act and judge as if we were free. The moral law and duty make claims upon us on the same assumption. Moral freedom, then, is the ground of the possibility of moral experience.Kant's account of duty is determined by the sharp separation which he makes of man as moral agent and man regarded "from the point of view of anthropology." The commands of duty must be derived solely from the nature of man as a moral agent. If they were the consequence of man's empirical nature or his surroundings, they would have no claim to override his promptings of inclination or pleasure. He describes these commands as categorical, and the principle of morality as a categorical imperative. The meaning of this phrase lies in its opposition to hypothetical. Many commands and principles are, Kant says, hypothetical. They assume that men desire certain ends, happiness or health or success, and the actions they advise are advised as means to such ends. The law of morality is quite different from such prudential maxims. It does not say, "If you want to be happy or to save your soul, then act thus and thus." Its commands are absolute, for they appeal to man simply as a rational being. They must therefore be derived solely from a consideration of man's rationality. It is difficult at first sight to see how any commands can be deduced from a consideration so abstract. How, we might say, can man's rationality be known and recognised except in the content of what he does and thinks?Kant seeks to derive his imperative from the contrast between acting as a moral agent and following inclination. Man regards himself as a moral agent, morally responsible for his conduct, and he regards others as morally responsible, whatever his or their particular nature or character may be. That means that he must act as he thinks any one else would be bound to act, and from this Kant deduces his formulation of the categorical imperative: "Act only according to that maxim which you can at the same time will to be a universal law." Another formula indicates more clearly the relation of duty to a society of moral agents responsible to one another: "Act so that you treat humanity, in your person and in the person of every one else, always as an end as well as a means, never merely as a means." It is only by following such imperatives that we can rise above the promptings of circumstance, for only thus is the will self-legislative. In obeying such an imperative our will is self-determined, for it is following a principle that is derived from man's nature as independent and transcendent of the world of phenomena. Hence in moral action we are in contact with the reality of things more truly than in any understanding of phenomena. The moral law has a dignity which no natural inclinations or likings can have, and the good-will, the will which follows such a law, has a similar worth and dignity. "There is nothing in the world--nay, even beyond the world--nothing conceivable, which can be regarded as good without qualification, saving alone a good will."Such in outline is Kant's account of morality. A discussion of some of the difficulties which a consideration of it suggests may help to make its purport more clear. Kant holds that the principles of right action can be deduced directly from the imperative he has formulated, and need take therefore no account of historical circumstance. Now, it is easy to show that, when we do an action which we know to be wrong, we are making an exception in our own favour. We cannot universalise the maxim of our own conduct. When we do what we know to be wrong, we recognise what is right. We say, "This is how any one ought to act in these circumstances, but I am not going to do it." We must learn to look upon ourselves as we should look upon and judge any other moral agent. If, when taxed with wrongdoing, we reply, "I wanted to do it," or "That is the kind of person I am," or "That is the way I am made," we are abandoning the moral position, and the answer is, "Whether you wanted it or not, you ought not to have done it," or, "Well, you ought to become different." But this does not help us when, looking at actions from a moral standpoint, it is difficult to say what ought to be done. Kant tries to show that wrong action, if universalised, is always contradictory. He takes the instance of telling a lie. If that were universal no one would believe any one else, and there would be no point in telling a lie. Lying is essentially parasitical. But this does not help us in the familiar problem in casuistry, whether it is allowable to tell a lie to save life. For here we have a conflict between two maxims, both of which can be universalised. We cannot regard such a situation as simply involving a question of telling the truth or of saving life. We must consider the circumstances of the case. This is even more evident if we apply Kant's rule to the question of whether celibacy is ever justified. If celibacy were universal, there would soon be nobody to be celibate, but it does not therefore follow that some people under certain circumstances ought not to be celibate. The question cannot be answered without reference to circumstances. The moral of this is that the categorical imperative does not enable us to act without individual moral judgment in individual cases. Further, in one of the instances which Kant gives he admits that there are certain ways of action which might be universalised, but which he nevertheless holds to be wrong. He instances the duty of being industrious. A society could quite well be imagined in which every one was lazy, but he says, "It cannot be willed." The ultimate appeal here is to what the moral reason wills. That means that we must admit that the moral reason or moral judgment has a content not derivable simply from the conception of the moral law; that there are certain kinds of life, certain kinds of action, which we judge to be good, and others which we judge to be bad. But, if this is so, we must give up the sharp separation Kant makes between the moral law and nature, and allow that things in nature can have a moral value. It may still be true that they only have moral value through their relation to a good will, and have no moral significance apart from such a relation.The difficulties created by Kant's sharp separation of the moral and the phenomenal worlds are equally apparent in his discussion of motives. He conceives the individual as phenomenal, to be determined solely by pleasure and pain. The power of the moral law is manifest, therefore, when its commands run counter to inclination, and the motive of respect for the moral law conquers inclination. It is true to say that a man's likes and dislikes in themselves are not to the point when we are asking what he ought to do, but Kant sometimes speaks as though there could be no moral value in an action which did not go against inclination. This is perilously near that morbid theory of conscience which assumes that the fact that an action would be very disagreeable to the agent is itself proof that the proposal to perform it is the voice of conscience. Here again we have to say that the fact that inclinations viewed merely as inclinations have no moral value, does not show that, relatively to the good will, one may not be better than another. There is nothing to be proud of in the fact that we dislike doing our duty.This sharp separation between the world of morality and science was somewhat tempered in Kant's thirdCritique, which we shall examine in the next chapter.CHAPTER VIITHE "CRITIQUE OF JUDGMENT"--ÆSTHETICS AND TELEOLOGYTheCritique of Judgmentis at once the most interesting and the most difficult of Kant's threeCritiques. It seems to cover a much wider ground than either of the two earlierCritiques. It concerns itself with the relation of empirical investigation to the a priori principles of understanding discussed in the firstCritique, with an attempt to bridge the gulf between the world of freedom and the world of nature as described in the secondCritique, with a discussion of the principles of æsthetics and of the conflict between the rival claims of the principles of mechanism and teleology, a conflict which, since the discoveries of Darwin and the increasing interest taken in biology, is becoming every day more important. On all these points Kant has much of importance to say. Modern theories of æsthetic are mainly based on an acceptance of the distinctions which he first laid down clearly. Much modern philosophy of a type which is little in sympathy with the doctrines of the firstCritique--Pragmatism, for example--is an elaboration of his account of the regulative principles which guide empirical investigation, while speculation on the rival methods of biology has hardly advanced beyond the solution suggested by Kant. Yet the very suggestiveness of this book makes it hard to understand. It is difficult to see the connection which Kant supposed to exist between these very various problems. The form of the book, like the form of the firstCritique, is marked by subdivisions suggested by formal logic, which seem to have little or no connection with the subjects discussed under them, so that the whole is a curious combination of formal system and discursive content. Kant himself regarded thisCritiqueas the triumphant vindication of his whole system, in that it brought together and reconciled subjects which he had previously distinguished too sharply. Many later writers have thought rather that in it the inconsistencies which they believe to exist in Kant's thought come to a head.We have not space here to vindicate theCritique of Judgmentas "the crowning phase of the critical philosophy," as a recent writer has called it, or to examine singly Kant's treatment of the various subjects of interest with which it is concerned. It is important, however, to follow the connection which Kant supposed to exist between these different subjects. If we can understand that, we shall gain considerable insight into Kant's system as a whole.Kant names the book theCritique of Judgment, or, more exactly, theCritique of the Faculty of Judgment. Judgment is distinguished from understanding, whose principles are more peculiarly the subject of the firstCritique. The understanding, according to Kant, is the faculty of rules. Judgment is shown in the application of rules to individual instances. It is the element of individuality and spontaneity in all thinking, for which no rules can be discovered. Judgment cannot be taught, different men possess it in different degrees; it is akin to genius. When, then, Kant turns to examine the faculty of judgment, he is asking whether the mind, in dealing with individuals in all their variety and difference, and in attempting to understand them, is guided by any general rules or principles. The import of this question becomes clear in his relation of it to the familiar question of causation. The principle of causation, as we have seen, is, according to Kant, an a priori principle of the understanding, and is assumed in all experience; but it does not of itself enable us to determine in any particular case what causes what. That is the task of empirical investigation, and needs, as we know, the imagination and insight of the individual investigator; in Kantian language, it is the work of the faculty of judgment. Besides the a priori principle of causation, therefore, we have an indefinite number of empirical causal laws. Kant asks whether the scientist in investigating such laws, and more particularly in considering their relation to one another, is guided by any principles. He finds that the scientist assumes that this indefinite variety is capable of being reduced to some kind of unity, assumes that there is continuity in nature, that knowledge will not remain an aggregate of disconnected rules. Chemistry, for example, has discovered that the overwhelming variety of natural changes can be reduced to the action and interaction of a small number of elements. The chemist proposes to go on and see whether the different elements may not themselves be seen to be forms of one substance.These assumptions are, according to Kant, quite different from the principles of the understanding. For the latter are grounds of the possibility of experience. We cannot deny them without making experience unmeaning. This cannot be said of the former. It obviously cannot be essential to experience that the multiplicity of the laws of nature should be reducible to unity, for such unity has never been discovered. Experience has been quite possible without it. This distinction between two kinds of principles Kant expresses by calling those with which we are now concerned regulative. The purpose they serve is the regulation and improvement of knowledge. They do not, like the principles of the understanding, prescribe to nature. We assume in them that nature is, in Kant's words, purposive to the understanding--that is, we first think out what order of nature would be intelligible, and then look to see whether we cannot discover in nature such an order. This assumption does not prove that there is any such order, but in science we act as if it were there to be found out.This suggestion of Kant's has been elaborated in many modern writers on philosophy, who have pointed out how much scientific method is governed by the notion of the most easily intelligible theory, and they have argued that science assumes, for the convenience of method, principles which it never completely proves. These principles are called sometimes methodological assumptions, sometimes postulates. The difference between such modern writers and Kant is that the former think that all a priori principles are of this nature, and that the principle of causation, for example, is itself only a postulate.The faculty of judgment, then, according to Kant, assumes for regulative purposes that nature is purposive to our understanding. What does this last phrase mean? We are often concerned to know the relation of things to our purposes. It has been pointed out that very many of our empirical concepts represent rather our practical interest in things than our desire to understand them as they are. Kant's phrase implies that, apart from any such relation to particular purposes, there is a more general purpose of mere intelligibility, which some objects obviously serve more than others.Here we pass to the consideration of art, for in our judgments of beauty Kant holds that we similarly disregard the relation of the beautiful object to any particular purpose, and seem to be concerned with general purposiveness. The judgment of beauty is, for Kant, the supreme act of the faculty of judgment. It is reflection on an individual for its own sake, without attempting to fit it to our desires or see it as an instance of our concepts or rules. Kant therefore proceeds to examine our judgments of beauty, which show how reflection on individual objects may display general rules, and then proceeds, in the last part of theCritique, to discuss the part played by the concept of purposiveness in our understanding of nature.It would seem at first sight that Kant is not interested in art for its own sake, but for the light which it throws upon the nature of our intellectual faculties. Nevertheless he is careful to insist on the distinction between artistic and scientific judgments. The judgment of beauty, he insists, is free, is not determined by a concept. We are not concerned, in such judgments, with asking what an object is. In so far as, in our appreciation of beauty, we bring in such considerations we are wrong. He therefore rules out any theory that beauty is concerned with faithful representation. Beauty consists in the form of an object, and in nothing else. The judgment of beauty, besides being free, is also disinterested. The relation of the beautiful object to our purposes is irrelevant to its beauty. The judgment of beauty cannot, therefore, be determined by rules of any kind. It is always individual and immediate, and the immediate feeling of beauty counts for more than any rules or canons of taste. Kant therefore vindicates art as independent of either science or morality. Yet, once we realise its independence, the nature of art throws light upon both science and morality; for the judgment of beauty, although free and not determined by concepts, claims universal validity. We might put Kant's point in another way by saying that art is significant, and yet is not significant of anythingin particular. Its meaning cannot be reduced to scientific statement nor abstracted from its form, and yet art has meaning. Kant finds the explanation of the fact that the judgment of beauty is free, and yet claims universal validity, in the suggestion that a beautiful object is one the contemplation of which arouses and enlivens the two faculties of the intelligence, the imagination and the understanding, in their proper proportion or harmony. All knowledge needs imagination, the power of seeing resemblances and differences in objects, and understanding which by concepts gives unity and rules to the imagination. In science the imagination is subordinate to the understanding, for the aim of science is definiteness and precision. In art the imagination is free, and yet art is not the mere seeing of resemblances and differences; it also has its unity. It aims at the best proportion of variety and unity. This is independent of the varying natures of individual persons, and therefore the judgment of beauty can claim to be universally valid.Beautiful objects, then, are "purposive to the understanding," inasmuch as their form stimulates in the most harmonious degree the two faculties of intelligence, and in art we find proof that there is a principle of general intelligibility, which may guide the work of the scientist. The purpose of the scientist is quite different from that of the artist, but if he is to reduce his facts to order and intelligibility he must be guided by a principle which is seen in its pure form in the artist.In the second place, an understanding of the nature of art has significance for moral theory, because the judgment of beauty is disinterested, and shows that pleasure may be independent of desire. In æsthetic pleasure we are not merely determined by our inclinations, for art is of all human activities free and creative. We enjoy art not because it serves any of our individual desires and purposes, it is enjoyed by something in us that is universal. Art, then, contradicts the position which Kant assumes in the secondCritique, that we cannot follow pleasure without being slaves of our phenomenal nature. It is a disinterested enjoyment, and is witness to the possibility of disinterested pleasure in the good. Further, Kant held that in one kind of æsthetic enjoyment, appreciation of the sublime, the contrast between our weakness and the vast extent and overwhelming powers of nature, calls forth in us a conviction accompanied by pleasure of the yet greater might of the moral law within us. Art therefore may become the symbol of morality, and the thirdCritiquedoes much to soften the rigour of the teaching of the second.In the last part of theCritique of JudgmentKant applies his doctrine of regulative principles to the understanding of nature. The faculty of judgment, as we saw, is concerned with the attempt to give unity to the detail of the natural world. In this work it has two regulative principles, mechanism and teleology. Reality cannot be formed according to both these principles; for mechanism assumes that reality can be regarded as a pattern or complex of recurring or interchangeable parts whose changes are necessitated, teleology that the world cannot be explained without supposing purpose to be an operating agency in change. Mechanism seeks to explain things as the necessary result of their original condition, teleology in the light of their highest development. The two principles have therefore been held to be inconsistent. The scientist, jealous for the validity of his discovery of mechanism, combats the very notion of purposive agency. The theologian thinks that to admit mechanism anywhere is to give up his whole position.Kant's solution of this antinomy is that both mechanism and teleology are only regulative principles. They tell us nothing of the ultimate nature of reality, except that we can explain much of it by regarding it as if it were a machine, and much by regarding it as if it were the field of purposive agency. Reality must be consistent with both these facts, but more we cannot say. The moral is that we should continue to treat them as regulative principles, and push each principle of explanation as far as it will go.Kant is here, as usual, the enemy alike of scientific and of theological dogmatism. He will not allow any limit to be set to the work of scientific investigation, and yet will not allow a principle of scientific method to be converted from an explanation of perceived facts into a theory of the universe.Besides mediating between the conflicting claims of mechanism and teleology, Kant also modifies the notion of teleology. When we think of reality as purposive, we do not necessarily think of it as having a definite purpose, as being subordinate, for example, to the well-being of man. The principle of purposiveness arises properly, he holds, from the contemplation of living things, from the perception of the difference between an organism and a machine. An organism is purposive in the sense in which a work of art is. In applying the principle we are trying to understand reality as though the relation of all the different things in it were like the relation of the parts of an organism or a picture. But this principle, like the principle of mechanism, does not carry us further than the facts we have examined, for an organism or a work of art can only be understood by study of the individual relations of all its parts. We can never know the universe as an organism, for we can never know all its parts. We can understand and put together more and more of them, but we never come to the end.The thirdCritique, then, enforces the lesson of the first, that knowledge is the work of individual finite minds, trying to understand elements in a whole that transcends the limits of their experience, pushing back the spatial and temporal limits which confine each individual, but never removing them altogether. The critical philosophy teaches the impossibility of absolute knowledge, but it does so not by suggesting general scepticism of all knowledge, but by enforcing the validity of scientific knowledge within its own limits.BIBLIOGRAPHYTRANSLATIONSThere are two accessible translations of theCritique of Pure Reason--Meiklejohn (Bell & Co.) and Max Müller (Macmillan).Kant's ethical writings have been translated by Abbott (Longmans).There is a translation of theCritique of Pure Reasonby Bernard (Macmillan), and of the first part of it, theCritique of Æsthetic Judgment, by Meredith (Clarendon Press). This last book has introductory essays and notes.The student beginning the study of Kant will findWatson's Selections from Kant(MacLehose & Sons) useful if he cannot read theCritiquesin full.
CHAPTER V
THE ANTINOMIES AND CRITICISM OF THE PROOFS OFTHE EXISTENCE OF GOD
So far we have been considering the positive side of Kant's argument, his attempt to confirm the validity of the principles of science. We must now notice the negative side, his attempt to limit the application of these principles, and his denial of the possibility of knowledge in certain spheres.
We saw that Kant in hisProlegomenasummed up the argument of the three chief divisions of theCritiqueas an answer to the questions: How is mathematics possible? How is pure science of nature possible? and, How is metaphysics possible? He qualified the last question by adding "as a natural disposition of the mind." The argument of theDialecticis that metaphysics, in the sense of inquiry into objects which transcend the bounds of experience, is not possible as a science, but that metaphysical questions arise naturally from the nature of human reason. They cannot be answered. All we can do is to see why we cannot answer them.
Kant thought of knowledge as a process of extending the bounds of perception, of piecing together the fragmentary glimpses we get of the world, stretching them out in spatial and temporal determinations that go beyond what we have actually experienced, connecting and linking up the events which we perceive discontinuously. As science extends, the range of our knowledge widens, but the process of extension never reaches its completion. There are always more facts to be discovered and explained. Science, therefore, can never rest content with its achievements, but must always demand that the investigation of conditions should be pushed further back and on. From this sense of the incompleteness of all actual knowledge, and of all there is that might be but is not known, arises what Kant calls an ideal of reason, a demand that, in all investigation into the conditioned, we should go on till we come to the totality of conditions. This ideal he holds to be serviceable and necessary. It has, however, a natural tendency to pass from an ideal to an idea, and in so doing it gives rise to the contradictions with which theDialecticis concerned. If all our investigation is governed by the thought that it must go on until it reaches completion, we naturally speculate on the fulfilment of that ideal, and try to form an idea of that totality of conditions, of how we should think the world if we knew it in its completeness. Herein we hypostatize the ideal or make it an idea, and we fall into contradiction; for we cannot really know the whole without knowing all its parts. If we give up the slow and never-completed process of knowing one part after another, and try to jump to the idea of the whole, we reach quite contrary results, as we apply to the conception of the whole one or other of two assumptions implied in our investigation of the parts.
Kant sharply distinguishes between the principles of the pure understanding and the ideas of reason. The former are implied in all our knowledge, and the fact that experience is not chaotic confirms them at every moment. The second are ideals which guide knowledge, but are never realised. He calls them ideas of reason, because it is the special task of reason to lay down rules for the proper and complete working of the understanding. This task, he thinks, is exemplified in the logical nature of the syllogism which brings into unity the judgments of the understanding. As he used the forms of judgment as a guiding thread to discover a complete list of categories of the understanding, so he uses the forms of syllogism to discover a complete list of the ideas of reason. In both cases Kant's reference to logical forms is far-fetched. Actually the list in theDialecticseems to be influenced by a number of considerations not always consistent.
There are three main divisions of theDialectic. (The first Kant calls the paralogisms of rational psychology.) All knowing and experience imply the unity of the self which knows. In actual experience that unity is qualified by the nature of what it unites, but we may try to think of it apart from and independent of this. This leads to an attempt to know the self by asking what must be its nature if it has the unity implied in knowing, and to argue that the soul is a substance and simple, not affected by the changes in the matter which it knows and therefore immortal.
The second division arises from the fact that in knowledge we are concerned with series--a series of addings together and a series of divisions, as of parts of space and time; a series of things arising one from the other, as in causation; and a series of things in dependence one upon the other. Theideasof reason come from the thought of these series completed, and produce what Kant calls antinomies. For if we start with the thought that what we are trying to apprehend must be a whole, we get one series of results; if with the thought that we can only apprehend the whole by going from condition to condition indefinitely, we get another. Kant distinguishes four antinomies, each with thesis and antithesis. The thesis of the first is, "The world has a beginning in time, and is limited also in regard to space"; the antithesis, "The world has no beginning and no limits in space, but is infinite, in respect both to time and space." The thesis of the second is, "Every compound substance in the world consists of simple parts, and nothing exists anywhere but the simple or what is composed of it"; the antithesis is the contrary of this. The thesis of the third is, "Causality, according to the laws of nature, is not the only causality from which all the phenomena of the world can be deduced. In order to account for these phenomena it is necessary also to admit another causality, that of freedom"; the antithesis, "There is no freedom, but everything in the world takes place entirely according to the laws of nature." The thesis of the fourth is, "There exists an absolutely necessary Being belonging to the world, either as a part or as a cause of it"; the antithesis is a denial of this.
The problems of the third division of theDialecticarises from an attempt to think of a whole which shall include both the known world and the mind that knows. This attempt, which Kant calls the ideal of pure reason, leads to proofs of the existence of God.
As theDialecticproceeds, it becomes clear that Kant has another list to hand. He enumerates, as the three great objects of metaphysical inquiry, God, Freedom, and immortality, and in his discussion of the ideas of reason he treats them principally as attempts to give definite and dogmatic answers to the problems suggested by these three topics.
Immortality is the subject of what Kant calls the paralogisms of rational psychology. He argues that all attempts to prove the immortality of the soul by a priori arguments involve an argument of this kind: they begin by noting that death is always dissolution of some kind, that, therefore, what is not made up of parts and cannot be dissolved, cannot die. Then they urge that the soul is not made up of parts, and therefore cannot die. The fallacy in this argument is that it treats the unity of the self as though it were an object of knowledge. We can show that knowledge is only possible if the self has a unity other than that of a spatial whole, but we cannot therefore argue that it must be exactly like a spatial whole, in the sense that death in it can only be brought about by dissolution, but unlike a spatial whole in that in it there is nothing to be dissolved. The real nature of the unity of the self, Kant argues, cannot be known. All we can do is to reject a priori arguments either for or against its immortality.
Freedom is treated in the third antinomy of pure reason, and to that Kant devotes most attention, but others of the antinomies are concerned with the difficulties arising from the application of spatial and temporal determinations to reality as a whole, and to the category of necessity. Kant makes a distinction between the first two and the second two antinomies. It is the first two that express the inadequacy of temporal or spatial determination to reality as a whole. All such determination implies measurement, and measurement is always a relation of part to part. The antitheses of both antinomies express the inadequacy of any number to the expression of the nature of the whole, the thesis the inadequacy of regarding reality as an aggregate or addition of any kind. Each is strong in what it denies, and Kant's solution is that both thesis and antithesis are false, because you cannot apply spatial or temporal determination to the world as a whole.
In contrast the solution of the other antinomies is that both thesis and antithesis are true, and that is possible because they are concerned with different things. The third antinomy arises from the difficulty of applying the category of causation to the world as a whole. The assumption underlying the thesis is not, as is sometimes asserted, merely that the notion of infinity in itself implies a contradiction, but that a determinate result must have a determinate cause. If we think of what actually exists now as having been caused by what has preceded it, we must think of that which has had a determinate result being itself determinate. It is the familiar argument for a first cause. In causation we seem to be relating one event to another event, and are really only putting the question of origination further back. Yet, if we say that therefore we must suppose an absolute origination of change, a beginning of the series, we have to answer the question, How is it possible to think of the originating number of the series? For to think that something can arise from nothing is to contradict the principle of causation.
Kant's solution to this difficulty is important, for it had great influence upon his ethical theory. The category of causation applies only to phenomena. If we think of things as phenomena we must recognise that they are subject to the principle of causation; if we think of them as things in themselves, the category of causation does not apply to them, and their action may be free. The same action may therefore on its phenomenal side be determined, and on its nominal side, as the action of a thing in itself, be free. This may seem to be solving one contradiction by propounding another, till we remember that in causation we do not explain the relation of cause to effect. The relation we discover is between one instance of cause and effect and another. Like causes have like effects. The principle applies, then, in so far as things are like one another. It applies to changes which are aggregates or complexes of simpler changes which are like other changes. If and in so far as there are things which are more than aggregates of their elements, and are therefore unique, there are things to whose changes no laws of cause and effect are adequate. The point may be illustrated by the way we think about character. If we think of a man's character as his characteristics, his being this or thatkindof person, we must think of his action as so far determined, but that does not prevent us from thinking of his individuality as something more than any sum or combination of characteristics, as something essentially alive, which escapes all attempts to bind it by rules. It is the difference in Kant's words between man regarded "from the point of view of anthropology," and man regarded as a responsible moral being. We shall see in the next chapter that this distinction is the basis of Kant's moral theory. Here it must be noted that he does not claim that his solution of the third antinomy proves the fact of freedom. That, he held, no merely intellectual argument could prove. It only defends the possibility of freedom.
The third division of theDialecticis an examination of the proofs of the existence of God. When we study Kant's account of them, we find we are concerned not, as elsewhere in theDialectic, with a conflict springing from the nature of reason itself, but with the relation of thought and conduct. Kant distinguishes three proofs of the existence of God--the ontological, the cosmological, and the physico-theological--but he maintains that the last two really rest upon and imply the first. The first, the ontological proof, is the argument that the very conception of a perfect being implies existence. It is the only proof of moral importance, inasmuch as it attempts to argue a priori that a being of perfect morality must exist. Kant's answer to it is that, to argue that we could not conceive a perfect being unless we conceived that being's existence, is to suppose that to conceive of a thing, and to conceive of the same thing existing, is to conceive of different things. Existence, he says, adds nothing to the concept of an object. Kant's objection to the ontological proof has been criticised. But the proof either assumes that God is a being independent of and separate from the rest of reality, and then, as Kant says, we may conceive God as existing, but our conception not being necessitated, carries no necessity with it. (If I conceive a hundred dollars to be in my pocket, he says, I conceive them to be there; but that does not mean the dollars are there.) Or if we say that reality must be thought of as existing, the answer is, Yes, but must reality necessarily be thought of as morally perfect? It is this last assumption which alone makes the ontological proof worth proving; for arguments about the existence or non-existence of God are mere quarrels about words, except in so far as they are concerned with moral issues. But moral issues cannot be solved by a consideration of purely intellectual assumptions. The nature of the other two proofs of God's existence makes this clear. The second, the cosmological, is the argument that if anything exists, something must necessarily exist. Kant's answer is that this is sound so far as it goes, but it does not prove that what necessarily exists is a morally perfect being. The third, the physico-theological argument, is the familiar argument from design. Kant treats this argument with much greater respect than the other two, but insists that we must see how far it will carry us. If we are going to infer the nature of God from the nature of the world as we see it, we must do so honestly. But though we see design in the world, we do not see perfection, and on the basis of this argument we cannot ignore the imperfection and want of harmony which is as patent as the harmony and design.
Kant's analysis of these proofs seems negative. Its real purport is to insist that religion cannot be dissociated from moral experience, that the knowledge of God, which is the concern of religion, is not got by intellectual speculation, but in the moral life. When he said that he had limited reason to make room for faith, he did not mean that men could not prove the existence of God, but might believe in it if they pleased. He meant that God is implied and known above all in moral action. His criticism of these classical proofs is thus the beginning of that revivified philosophy of religion whose chief representatives have been Schleiermacher and Ritschl.
CHAPTER VI
KANT'S MORAL THEORY
Kant's moral theory is an integral part of his philosophical system. If theCritique of Pure Reasonargues the impotence of reason in the sphere of speculation, theCritique of Practical Reasonaffirms its sovereignty in the sphere of practice. The secondCritiqueis thus the complement of the first. Kant's treatment of moral problems being largely the consequence of the conclusions of the firstCritique, his moral theory is thus mainly metaphysical. The title of one of his works on moral theory,Fundamental Principles of the Metaphysic of Morals, bears this out. There were, no doubt, other influences which had their effect on his conception of morality. He tells us himself that he was inspired by the teaching of Rousseau on the dignity and worth of man. He was undoubtedly repelled into a reaction against the sentimental school of Shaftesbury, which in its German adherents insisted on the agreeable and gentlemanly nature of virtue with an almost sickly sentiment. This reaction accounts for the extreme emphasis laid by Kant on the divorce between duty and any kind of inclination. But his doctrine as a whole can only be understood in the light of the conclusions of the firstCritique.
Kant's conception of freedom or autonomy of the will is the key to his moral theory. "On the hypothesis of freedom of the will," he says, "morality together with its principle follows from it by mere analysis of the conception." We saw in the last chapter that Kant regarded human action, when looked at from an anthropological point of view, as phenomenal, and therefore subject to the law of cause and effect. If we think of man as a creature of inclination, with likes and dislikes, we seem, in considering men's differences from one another in this respect, to be dealing with matters of fact over which men have no control. We are born and grow up with different natures, with the result that one man likes one thing, another another; one man's temptations do not tempt another, what one man finds easy another finds difficult. We seem here to be in a world where causation rules. If men act differently, it is because their external environment, acting upon their different natures, calls out different responses. So far, then, says Kant, as men act according to inclination, do things because they like doing them, or avoid them because they dislike them, their actions are what he calls heteronomous, governed by laws over which they have no control. We assume, whenever we are trying to explain human actions, that they are the result of the interaction of character and environment, and are not to be praised or blamed but understood.Tout comprendre est tout pardonner.
But when we consider our moral judgments we seem to be in a different world, for there are some actions which we think we or others ought to have done or ought not to have done, and this obligation has nothing to do with our likes and dislikes. If we look back upon a past action of our own, we may see why we did it, understand how the temptation to it appealed with peculiar strength to something in our nature, yet nevertheless we may say that we ought not to have done it, and with that judgment goes the conviction that we need not have done it. The conception of "what ought to be" is on a different plane from the conception of "what is," and assumes a different kind of causality. It assumes that, when we are done with our analysis of character, of a man's likes and dislikes and the effect of circumstances upon them, we can still assume that it is in his power to do what he ought and to abstain from doing what he ought not. We praise the first and blame the second, whether in ourselves or others, just because we assume, over and above inclination and disinclination, a possibility of acting or not acting as duty demands.
Thus Kant analyses the assumption of moral judgment. But it is still no more than an assumption, and he has to ask how it can be reconciled with the seemingly contradictory principle of causation. The analysis of the third antinomy in the firstCritique, as we saw, prepared the way by maintaining that the same action might be phenomenally determined, and free as the action of a thing in itself, were there another form of causality--free causality or self-determination. For the existence of such another form of causality the firstCritiqueoffered no evidence. Kant's concern is to show that morality assumes it; for the claim of duty is that a man should not act as a creature of inclination, of likes and dislikes. Duty claims to cut across all such empirical considerations. The motive to do what duty demands must come from elsewhere. It may then be found to be a claim that man should act not as a part of the physical world, but as a moral being. For man, as well as an observer and understander of other men, is also a moral agent. As such he stands in quite different relations to other men. He treats them and himself as moral agents, responsible for their actions. As a member of the world of moral relations he acknowledges a system of rights and duties, he holds himself responsible to other men as they are responsible to him, and all this has nothing to do with what a man wants or does not want to do, with how easy or how difficult he may find it to perform what duty demands. In this he is assuming in himself and other men a power of determining the will in accordance with the moral law. That, just because it takes no account of likes and dislikes, cannot be derived from these or from considerations of circumstances or environment. It must be deducible from the nature of man as a moral being. In obeying the moral law, then, man will be obeying a law that comes from himself. His will will be self-legislative. This power of acting in accordance with a law that comes from the nature of man as a rational, responsible being, and not as a member of the world of causes and effects, is moral freedom; it is the assumption of all moral judgment and action. It cannot, Kant holds, beexplained. For all explanation is the work of the understanding, and that can explain only phenomena. It is enough that the firstCritiquehas shown that phenomenal causality is not inconsistent with the possibility of another causality. In the moral sphere we act and judge as if we were free. The moral law and duty make claims upon us on the same assumption. Moral freedom, then, is the ground of the possibility of moral experience.
Kant's account of duty is determined by the sharp separation which he makes of man as moral agent and man regarded "from the point of view of anthropology." The commands of duty must be derived solely from the nature of man as a moral agent. If they were the consequence of man's empirical nature or his surroundings, they would have no claim to override his promptings of inclination or pleasure. He describes these commands as categorical, and the principle of morality as a categorical imperative. The meaning of this phrase lies in its opposition to hypothetical. Many commands and principles are, Kant says, hypothetical. They assume that men desire certain ends, happiness or health or success, and the actions they advise are advised as means to such ends. The law of morality is quite different from such prudential maxims. It does not say, "If you want to be happy or to save your soul, then act thus and thus." Its commands are absolute, for they appeal to man simply as a rational being. They must therefore be derived solely from a consideration of man's rationality. It is difficult at first sight to see how any commands can be deduced from a consideration so abstract. How, we might say, can man's rationality be known and recognised except in the content of what he does and thinks?
Kant seeks to derive his imperative from the contrast between acting as a moral agent and following inclination. Man regards himself as a moral agent, morally responsible for his conduct, and he regards others as morally responsible, whatever his or their particular nature or character may be. That means that he must act as he thinks any one else would be bound to act, and from this Kant deduces his formulation of the categorical imperative: "Act only according to that maxim which you can at the same time will to be a universal law." Another formula indicates more clearly the relation of duty to a society of moral agents responsible to one another: "Act so that you treat humanity, in your person and in the person of every one else, always as an end as well as a means, never merely as a means." It is only by following such imperatives that we can rise above the promptings of circumstance, for only thus is the will self-legislative. In obeying such an imperative our will is self-determined, for it is following a principle that is derived from man's nature as independent and transcendent of the world of phenomena. Hence in moral action we are in contact with the reality of things more truly than in any understanding of phenomena. The moral law has a dignity which no natural inclinations or likings can have, and the good-will, the will which follows such a law, has a similar worth and dignity. "There is nothing in the world--nay, even beyond the world--nothing conceivable, which can be regarded as good without qualification, saving alone a good will."
Such in outline is Kant's account of morality. A discussion of some of the difficulties which a consideration of it suggests may help to make its purport more clear. Kant holds that the principles of right action can be deduced directly from the imperative he has formulated, and need take therefore no account of historical circumstance. Now, it is easy to show that, when we do an action which we know to be wrong, we are making an exception in our own favour. We cannot universalise the maxim of our own conduct. When we do what we know to be wrong, we recognise what is right. We say, "This is how any one ought to act in these circumstances, but I am not going to do it." We must learn to look upon ourselves as we should look upon and judge any other moral agent. If, when taxed with wrongdoing, we reply, "I wanted to do it," or "That is the kind of person I am," or "That is the way I am made," we are abandoning the moral position, and the answer is, "Whether you wanted it or not, you ought not to have done it," or, "Well, you ought to become different." But this does not help us when, looking at actions from a moral standpoint, it is difficult to say what ought to be done. Kant tries to show that wrong action, if universalised, is always contradictory. He takes the instance of telling a lie. If that were universal no one would believe any one else, and there would be no point in telling a lie. Lying is essentially parasitical. But this does not help us in the familiar problem in casuistry, whether it is allowable to tell a lie to save life. For here we have a conflict between two maxims, both of which can be universalised. We cannot regard such a situation as simply involving a question of telling the truth or of saving life. We must consider the circumstances of the case. This is even more evident if we apply Kant's rule to the question of whether celibacy is ever justified. If celibacy were universal, there would soon be nobody to be celibate, but it does not therefore follow that some people under certain circumstances ought not to be celibate. The question cannot be answered without reference to circumstances. The moral of this is that the categorical imperative does not enable us to act without individual moral judgment in individual cases. Further, in one of the instances which Kant gives he admits that there are certain ways of action which might be universalised, but which he nevertheless holds to be wrong. He instances the duty of being industrious. A society could quite well be imagined in which every one was lazy, but he says, "It cannot be willed." The ultimate appeal here is to what the moral reason wills. That means that we must admit that the moral reason or moral judgment has a content not derivable simply from the conception of the moral law; that there are certain kinds of life, certain kinds of action, which we judge to be good, and others which we judge to be bad. But, if this is so, we must give up the sharp separation Kant makes between the moral law and nature, and allow that things in nature can have a moral value. It may still be true that they only have moral value through their relation to a good will, and have no moral significance apart from such a relation.
The difficulties created by Kant's sharp separation of the moral and the phenomenal worlds are equally apparent in his discussion of motives. He conceives the individual as phenomenal, to be determined solely by pleasure and pain. The power of the moral law is manifest, therefore, when its commands run counter to inclination, and the motive of respect for the moral law conquers inclination. It is true to say that a man's likes and dislikes in themselves are not to the point when we are asking what he ought to do, but Kant sometimes speaks as though there could be no moral value in an action which did not go against inclination. This is perilously near that morbid theory of conscience which assumes that the fact that an action would be very disagreeable to the agent is itself proof that the proposal to perform it is the voice of conscience. Here again we have to say that the fact that inclinations viewed merely as inclinations have no moral value, does not show that, relatively to the good will, one may not be better than another. There is nothing to be proud of in the fact that we dislike doing our duty.
This sharp separation between the world of morality and science was somewhat tempered in Kant's thirdCritique, which we shall examine in the next chapter.
CHAPTER VII
THE "CRITIQUE OF JUDGMENT"--ÆSTHETICS AND TELEOLOGY
TheCritique of Judgmentis at once the most interesting and the most difficult of Kant's threeCritiques. It seems to cover a much wider ground than either of the two earlierCritiques. It concerns itself with the relation of empirical investigation to the a priori principles of understanding discussed in the firstCritique, with an attempt to bridge the gulf between the world of freedom and the world of nature as described in the secondCritique, with a discussion of the principles of æsthetics and of the conflict between the rival claims of the principles of mechanism and teleology, a conflict which, since the discoveries of Darwin and the increasing interest taken in biology, is becoming every day more important. On all these points Kant has much of importance to say. Modern theories of æsthetic are mainly based on an acceptance of the distinctions which he first laid down clearly. Much modern philosophy of a type which is little in sympathy with the doctrines of the firstCritique--Pragmatism, for example--is an elaboration of his account of the regulative principles which guide empirical investigation, while speculation on the rival methods of biology has hardly advanced beyond the solution suggested by Kant. Yet the very suggestiveness of this book makes it hard to understand. It is difficult to see the connection which Kant supposed to exist between these very various problems. The form of the book, like the form of the firstCritique, is marked by subdivisions suggested by formal logic, which seem to have little or no connection with the subjects discussed under them, so that the whole is a curious combination of formal system and discursive content. Kant himself regarded thisCritiqueas the triumphant vindication of his whole system, in that it brought together and reconciled subjects which he had previously distinguished too sharply. Many later writers have thought rather that in it the inconsistencies which they believe to exist in Kant's thought come to a head.
We have not space here to vindicate theCritique of Judgmentas "the crowning phase of the critical philosophy," as a recent writer has called it, or to examine singly Kant's treatment of the various subjects of interest with which it is concerned. It is important, however, to follow the connection which Kant supposed to exist between these different subjects. If we can understand that, we shall gain considerable insight into Kant's system as a whole.
Kant names the book theCritique of Judgment, or, more exactly, theCritique of the Faculty of Judgment. Judgment is distinguished from understanding, whose principles are more peculiarly the subject of the firstCritique. The understanding, according to Kant, is the faculty of rules. Judgment is shown in the application of rules to individual instances. It is the element of individuality and spontaneity in all thinking, for which no rules can be discovered. Judgment cannot be taught, different men possess it in different degrees; it is akin to genius. When, then, Kant turns to examine the faculty of judgment, he is asking whether the mind, in dealing with individuals in all their variety and difference, and in attempting to understand them, is guided by any general rules or principles. The import of this question becomes clear in his relation of it to the familiar question of causation. The principle of causation, as we have seen, is, according to Kant, an a priori principle of the understanding, and is assumed in all experience; but it does not of itself enable us to determine in any particular case what causes what. That is the task of empirical investigation, and needs, as we know, the imagination and insight of the individual investigator; in Kantian language, it is the work of the faculty of judgment. Besides the a priori principle of causation, therefore, we have an indefinite number of empirical causal laws. Kant asks whether the scientist in investigating such laws, and more particularly in considering their relation to one another, is guided by any principles. He finds that the scientist assumes that this indefinite variety is capable of being reduced to some kind of unity, assumes that there is continuity in nature, that knowledge will not remain an aggregate of disconnected rules. Chemistry, for example, has discovered that the overwhelming variety of natural changes can be reduced to the action and interaction of a small number of elements. The chemist proposes to go on and see whether the different elements may not themselves be seen to be forms of one substance.
These assumptions are, according to Kant, quite different from the principles of the understanding. For the latter are grounds of the possibility of experience. We cannot deny them without making experience unmeaning. This cannot be said of the former. It obviously cannot be essential to experience that the multiplicity of the laws of nature should be reducible to unity, for such unity has never been discovered. Experience has been quite possible without it. This distinction between two kinds of principles Kant expresses by calling those with which we are now concerned regulative. The purpose they serve is the regulation and improvement of knowledge. They do not, like the principles of the understanding, prescribe to nature. We assume in them that nature is, in Kant's words, purposive to the understanding--that is, we first think out what order of nature would be intelligible, and then look to see whether we cannot discover in nature such an order. This assumption does not prove that there is any such order, but in science we act as if it were there to be found out.
This suggestion of Kant's has been elaborated in many modern writers on philosophy, who have pointed out how much scientific method is governed by the notion of the most easily intelligible theory, and they have argued that science assumes, for the convenience of method, principles which it never completely proves. These principles are called sometimes methodological assumptions, sometimes postulates. The difference between such modern writers and Kant is that the former think that all a priori principles are of this nature, and that the principle of causation, for example, is itself only a postulate.
The faculty of judgment, then, according to Kant, assumes for regulative purposes that nature is purposive to our understanding. What does this last phrase mean? We are often concerned to know the relation of things to our purposes. It has been pointed out that very many of our empirical concepts represent rather our practical interest in things than our desire to understand them as they are. Kant's phrase implies that, apart from any such relation to particular purposes, there is a more general purpose of mere intelligibility, which some objects obviously serve more than others.
Here we pass to the consideration of art, for in our judgments of beauty Kant holds that we similarly disregard the relation of the beautiful object to any particular purpose, and seem to be concerned with general purposiveness. The judgment of beauty is, for Kant, the supreme act of the faculty of judgment. It is reflection on an individual for its own sake, without attempting to fit it to our desires or see it as an instance of our concepts or rules. Kant therefore proceeds to examine our judgments of beauty, which show how reflection on individual objects may display general rules, and then proceeds, in the last part of theCritique, to discuss the part played by the concept of purposiveness in our understanding of nature.
It would seem at first sight that Kant is not interested in art for its own sake, but for the light which it throws upon the nature of our intellectual faculties. Nevertheless he is careful to insist on the distinction between artistic and scientific judgments. The judgment of beauty, he insists, is free, is not determined by a concept. We are not concerned, in such judgments, with asking what an object is. In so far as, in our appreciation of beauty, we bring in such considerations we are wrong. He therefore rules out any theory that beauty is concerned with faithful representation. Beauty consists in the form of an object, and in nothing else. The judgment of beauty, besides being free, is also disinterested. The relation of the beautiful object to our purposes is irrelevant to its beauty. The judgment of beauty cannot, therefore, be determined by rules of any kind. It is always individual and immediate, and the immediate feeling of beauty counts for more than any rules or canons of taste. Kant therefore vindicates art as independent of either science or morality. Yet, once we realise its independence, the nature of art throws light upon both science and morality; for the judgment of beauty, although free and not determined by concepts, claims universal validity. We might put Kant's point in another way by saying that art is significant, and yet is not significant of anythingin particular. Its meaning cannot be reduced to scientific statement nor abstracted from its form, and yet art has meaning. Kant finds the explanation of the fact that the judgment of beauty is free, and yet claims universal validity, in the suggestion that a beautiful object is one the contemplation of which arouses and enlivens the two faculties of the intelligence, the imagination and the understanding, in their proper proportion or harmony. All knowledge needs imagination, the power of seeing resemblances and differences in objects, and understanding which by concepts gives unity and rules to the imagination. In science the imagination is subordinate to the understanding, for the aim of science is definiteness and precision. In art the imagination is free, and yet art is not the mere seeing of resemblances and differences; it also has its unity. It aims at the best proportion of variety and unity. This is independent of the varying natures of individual persons, and therefore the judgment of beauty can claim to be universally valid.
Beautiful objects, then, are "purposive to the understanding," inasmuch as their form stimulates in the most harmonious degree the two faculties of intelligence, and in art we find proof that there is a principle of general intelligibility, which may guide the work of the scientist. The purpose of the scientist is quite different from that of the artist, but if he is to reduce his facts to order and intelligibility he must be guided by a principle which is seen in its pure form in the artist.
In the second place, an understanding of the nature of art has significance for moral theory, because the judgment of beauty is disinterested, and shows that pleasure may be independent of desire. In æsthetic pleasure we are not merely determined by our inclinations, for art is of all human activities free and creative. We enjoy art not because it serves any of our individual desires and purposes, it is enjoyed by something in us that is universal. Art, then, contradicts the position which Kant assumes in the secondCritique, that we cannot follow pleasure without being slaves of our phenomenal nature. It is a disinterested enjoyment, and is witness to the possibility of disinterested pleasure in the good. Further, Kant held that in one kind of æsthetic enjoyment, appreciation of the sublime, the contrast between our weakness and the vast extent and overwhelming powers of nature, calls forth in us a conviction accompanied by pleasure of the yet greater might of the moral law within us. Art therefore may become the symbol of morality, and the thirdCritiquedoes much to soften the rigour of the teaching of the second.
In the last part of theCritique of JudgmentKant applies his doctrine of regulative principles to the understanding of nature. The faculty of judgment, as we saw, is concerned with the attempt to give unity to the detail of the natural world. In this work it has two regulative principles, mechanism and teleology. Reality cannot be formed according to both these principles; for mechanism assumes that reality can be regarded as a pattern or complex of recurring or interchangeable parts whose changes are necessitated, teleology that the world cannot be explained without supposing purpose to be an operating agency in change. Mechanism seeks to explain things as the necessary result of their original condition, teleology in the light of their highest development. The two principles have therefore been held to be inconsistent. The scientist, jealous for the validity of his discovery of mechanism, combats the very notion of purposive agency. The theologian thinks that to admit mechanism anywhere is to give up his whole position.
Kant's solution of this antinomy is that both mechanism and teleology are only regulative principles. They tell us nothing of the ultimate nature of reality, except that we can explain much of it by regarding it as if it were a machine, and much by regarding it as if it were the field of purposive agency. Reality must be consistent with both these facts, but more we cannot say. The moral is that we should continue to treat them as regulative principles, and push each principle of explanation as far as it will go.
Kant is here, as usual, the enemy alike of scientific and of theological dogmatism. He will not allow any limit to be set to the work of scientific investigation, and yet will not allow a principle of scientific method to be converted from an explanation of perceived facts into a theory of the universe.
Besides mediating between the conflicting claims of mechanism and teleology, Kant also modifies the notion of teleology. When we think of reality as purposive, we do not necessarily think of it as having a definite purpose, as being subordinate, for example, to the well-being of man. The principle of purposiveness arises properly, he holds, from the contemplation of living things, from the perception of the difference between an organism and a machine. An organism is purposive in the sense in which a work of art is. In applying the principle we are trying to understand reality as though the relation of all the different things in it were like the relation of the parts of an organism or a picture. But this principle, like the principle of mechanism, does not carry us further than the facts we have examined, for an organism or a work of art can only be understood by study of the individual relations of all its parts. We can never know the universe as an organism, for we can never know all its parts. We can understand and put together more and more of them, but we never come to the end.
The thirdCritique, then, enforces the lesson of the first, that knowledge is the work of individual finite minds, trying to understand elements in a whole that transcends the limits of their experience, pushing back the spatial and temporal limits which confine each individual, but never removing them altogether. The critical philosophy teaches the impossibility of absolute knowledge, but it does so not by suggesting general scepticism of all knowledge, but by enforcing the validity of scientific knowledge within its own limits.
BIBLIOGRAPHY
TRANSLATIONS
There are two accessible translations of theCritique of Pure Reason--Meiklejohn (Bell & Co.) and Max Müller (Macmillan).
Kant's ethical writings have been translated by Abbott (Longmans).
There is a translation of theCritique of Pure Reasonby Bernard (Macmillan), and of the first part of it, theCritique of Æsthetic Judgment, by Meredith (Clarendon Press). This last book has introductory essays and notes.
The student beginning the study of Kant will findWatson's Selections from Kant(MacLehose & Sons) useful if he cannot read theCritiquesin full.