Fundamental Philosophy, Vol. 1 (of 2)
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Title: Fundamental Philosophy, Vol. 1 (of 2)
Author: Jaime Luciano Balmes
Translator: Henry F. Brownson
Release date: February 3, 2015 [eBook #48149]
Most recently updated: October 24, 2024
Language: English
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FUNDAMENTAL PHILOSOPHY.
by
REV. JAMES BALMES.
Translated from the Spanish by
Henry F. Brownson, M.A.
In Two Volumes.
VOL. I.
New York:
D. & J. Sadlier & Co., 164 William Street,
Boston:--128 Federal Street.
Montreal:--Cor. of Notre Dame and St. Francis Xavier Sts.
1856.
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1856,
By D. & J. Sadlier & Co.,
In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United States for
the Southern District of New York.
New York:
Billin & Brother, Printers, XX North William St.
CONTENTS OF VOL. I.
BOOK FIRST.
ON CERTAINTY.
CHAPTER PAGE
I. Importance and Utility of the Question of Certainty 3
II. True State of the Question 7
III. Certainty of the Human Race and Philosophical Certainty 14
IV. Existence of Transcendental Science in the Absolute
Intellectual Order 24
V. Transcendental Science in the Human Intellectual Order
cannot emanate from the Senses 32
VI. Transcendental Science.--Insufficiency of Real Truths 37
VII. The Philosophy of the Me cannot produce Transcendental
Science 41
VIII. Universal Identity 56
IX. Universal Identity,--Continued 64
X. Problem of Representation: Monads of Leibnitz 67
XI. Problem of Representation examined 71
XII. Immediate Intelligibility 76
XIII. Representation of Causality and Ideality 83
XIV. Impossibility of Finding the first Principle in the
Ideal Order 89
XV. The Indispensable Condition of all Human
Knowledge.--Means of perceiving Truth 92
XVI. Confusion of Ideas in Disputes on the Fundamental
Principle 102
XVII. Thought and Existence.--Descartes' Principle 105
XVIII. The Principle of Descartes, continued.--His Method 111
XIX. Value of the Principle, I Think:--Its Analysis 118
XX. True Sense of the Principle of Contradiction.--Kant's
Opinion 126
XXI. Does the Principle of Contradiction merit the Title of
Fundamental; and if so, in what Sense? 140
XXII. The Principle of Evidence 146
XXIII. The Criterion of Consciousness 151
XXIV. The Criterion of Evidence 157
XXV. The Objective Value of Ideas 163
XXVI. Can all Cognitions be reduced to the Perception of
Identity? 171
XXVII. Continuation of the same subject 176
XXVIII. Continuation of the same subject 183
XXIX. Are there true Synthetic Judgments _a priori_ in the
Sense of Kant? 188
XXX. Vico's Criterion 200
XXXI. Continuation of the same subject 212
XXXII. The Criterion on Common Sense 219
XXXIII. Error of Lamennais on Common Consent 230
XXXIV. Summary and Conclusion 253
BOOK SECOND.
ON SENSATION.
I. Sensation in Itself 249
II. Matter is incapable of Sensation 255
III. Sleep and Waking 263
IV. Relation of Sensations to an External World 267
V. An Idealist Hypothesis 273
VI. Is the External and Immediate Cause of Sensations a Free
Cause? 276
VII. Analysis of the Objectiveness of Sensations 279
VIII. Sensation of Extension 283
IX. Objectiveness of the Sensation of Extension 287
X. Force of Touch to make Sensations Objective 293
XI. Inferiority of Touch compared with other Senses 296
XII. Can Sight alone give us the Idea of a Surface? 302
XIII. Cheselden's Blind Man 310
XIV. Can Sight give us the Idea of a Solid? 315
XV. Sight and Motion 319
XVI. Possibility of other Senses 324
XVII. Existence of New Senses 328
XVIII. Solution of Lamennais' Objection 333
BOOK THIRD.
EXTENSION AND SPACE.
I. Extension Inseparable from the Idea of Body 339
II. Extension not Perceptible as the Direct and Immediate
Object of Sensations 345
III. Scientific Fruitfulness of the Idea of Extension 348
IV. Reality of Extension 357
V. Geometrical Exactness Realized in Nature 360
VI. Remarks on Extension 365
VII. Space.--Nothing 369
VIII. Descartes and Leibnitz on Space 375
IX. Opinion of those who attribute to Space a Nature
distinct from Bodies 380
X. Opinion of those who hold Space to be the Immensity of
God 382
XI. Fenelon's Opinion 386
XII. What Space consists in 391
XIII. New Difficulties 396
XIV. Another Important Consequence 400
XV. Illusion of Fixed Points in Space 403
XVI. Observations on Kant's Opinion 407
XVII. Inability of Kant's Doctrine to solve the Problem of
the Possibility of Experience 415
XVIII. The Problem of Sensible Experience 418
XIX. Extension abstracted from Phenomena 421
XX. Are there Absolute Magnitudes? 427
XXI. Pure Intelligibility of the Extended World 432
XXII. Infinite Divisibility 436
XXIII. Unextended Points 439
XXIV. A Conjecture on the Transcendental Notion of Extension 442
XXV. Harmony of the Real, Phenomenal, and Ideal Orders 446
XXVI. Character of the Relations of the Real Order to the
Phenomenal 450
XXVII. Whether every Thing must be in some Place 452
XXVIII. Contingency of Corporeal Relations 459
XXIX. Solution of two Difficulties 462
XXX. Passive Sensibility 466
XXXI. Possibility of a greater Sphere in active Sensibility 469
XXXII. Possibility of the Penetration of Bodies 480
XXXIII. A Triumph of Religion in the Field of Philosophy 483
XXXIV. Conclusion and Summing up 489
NOTES TO BOOK FIRST 495
NOTE TO BOOK SECOND 514
NOTES TO BOOK THIRD 517
INTRODUCTION.
The following translation of the great work of the lamented
James Balmes on Philosophy, was undertaken at my suggestion and
recommendation, and thus far I hold myself responsible for it. I have
compared a considerable portion of it with the original, and as far as
I have compared it, I have found it faithfully executed. The translator
appears to me to have rendered the author's thought with exactness and
precision, in a style not inferior to his own.
I have not added, as was originally contemplated, any Notes to those
of the author. To have done so, would have swelled the volumes to an
unreasonable size, and upon further consideration, they did not seem
to me to be necessary. They would, in fact, have been an impertinence
on my part, and the reader will rather thank me for not having done
it. The work goes forth, therefore, as it came from the hands of its
illustrious author, with no addition or abbreviation, or change, except
what was demanded by the difference between the Spanish and English
idioms.
James Balmes, in whose premature death in 1849, the friends of
religion and science have still to deplore a serious loss, was one of
the greatest writers and profoundest thinkers of Spain, and indeed
of our times. He is well and favorably known to the American public
by his excellent work on European civilization,--a work which has
been translated into the principal languages of Europe. In that work
he proved himself a man of free and liberal thought, of brilliant
genius, and varied and profound learning. But his work on the bases of
philosophy is his master-piece, and, taken as a whole, the greatest
work that has been published on that important subject in the
nineteenth century.
Yet it is rather as a criticism on the various erroneous systems of
philosophy in modern times, than as containing a system of philosophy
itself, that I have wished it translated and circulated in English.
As a refutation of Bacon, Locke, Hume, and Condillac, Kant, Fichte,
Schelling, and Spinoza, it is a master-piece, and leaves little to
desire. In determining the fundamental principles of philosophy, and
constructing a system in accordance with the real world, the author is
not always, in my judgment, successful, and must yield to his Italian
contemporary, the unhappy Abbate Gioberti.
When criticizing the errors of others, the distinguished author
reasons as an ontologist, but when developing his own system, he is
almost a psychologist. His ontology is usually sound, indeed, and
his conclusions are for the most part just, but not always logically
obtained. He recognizes no philosophical formula which embraces the
whole subject-matter of philosophy, and does not appear to be aware
that the _primum philosophicum_ is and must be a synthesis; and hence
he falls into what we may call, not eclecticism, but syncretism.
This is owing to the fact that his genius is critical rather than
constructive, and more apt to demolish than to build up.
What I regard as the chief error of the illustrious Spaniard, is his
not recognizing that conceptions without intuitions are, as Kant justly
maintains, empty, purely subjective, the mind itself; and hence, while
denying that we have intuition of the infinite, contending that we
have a real and objectively valid conception of it. Throughout his
book the reader will find him maintaining that the human mind may, by
discursion, attain to valid conceptions of a reality which transcends
intuition. This I regard as an error. Discursion is an act of
reflection, and though there is always less there can never be more in
reflection than in intuition. If we have no intuition of the infinite,
we have and can have no proper conception of it, and what is taken
to be a conception of it is simply the human mind itself, and of no
objective application or validity.
The excellent author is misled on this point, by supposing that in
intuition of the intelligible the mind is the actor and not simply the
spectator, and that an intuition of the infinite implies an infinite
intuition. In both cases he is mistaken. In intuition we are simply
spectators, and the object affirms itself to us. In intuition of the
infinite, it is not we who perceive and affirm the infinite, by our
own intellectual act, but the infinite that reveals and affirms itself
to our intellect. In apprehending the infinite as thus revealed and
affirmed, we of course apprehend it in a finite, not in an infinite
manner. That which is intuitively apprehended is infinite, but the
subjective apprehension is finite. The limitation is on the part of the
subject, not on the part of the object.
The error arises from failing to distinguish sharply between intuition
and reflection. In intuition the principal and primary actor is the
intelligible object. In reflection it is the intellective subject; in
the intuitive order the object presents itself as it is, with its own
characteristics; in the reflective order it is represented with the
limitations and characteristics of the thinking subject. As the subject
is limited, its conceptions are limited, and represent the infinite
not as infinite, but as the not-finite; and it is in the reflective
order, if we operate on our conceptions, instead of our intuitions,
only by a discursive process that we can come to the conclusion that
the not-finite is the infinite. The author not distinguishing the two
orders, and taking conceptions which belong to the reflective order
as if they belonged to the intuitive order, supposes that we may
have valid conceptions beyond the sphere of intuition. But a little
reflection should have taught him that, if he had no intuition, he
could have no conception of the infinite.
Following St. Thomas and all philosophers of the first order,
the author very properly maintains that it is by the divine
intelligibility, or the divine light, that the human mind sees whatever
it does see; but he shrinks from saying that we have intuition of God
himself. So far as we are to understand intuition of God as intuition,
or open vision of him as he is in himself, he is undoubtedly right.
But objects are intelligible only in the light of God, and it is only
by this light that we apprehend them. Do we ever apprehend objects by
the light of God without apprehending the light which renders them
apprehensible? In apprehending the object, we apprehend first of all
the light which is the medium of its apprehension. The light of God is
God, and if we have intuition of the light, we must have intuition of
him who is the true light that "enlighteneth every man coming into this
world." We cannot see God as he is in himself, not because he is not
intelligible in himself, but because of the excess of his light, which
dazzles and blinds our eyes through their weakness. So, very few of us
can look steadily in the face of the sun without being dazzled, yet not
therefore is it to be said we cannot and do not see the sun.
The author does not seem to be aware that _substance_ as distinguished
from being or existence is an abstraction, and therefore purely
subjective, and no object of intuition. Abstract from a thing all its
properties or attributes, and you have remaining simply zero. The
substance is properly the concrete thing itself, and in the real order
is distinguishable simply from its phenomena, or _accidents_,--an
abstract term,--not from its so-called attributes or properties.
Hence, the question, so much disputed, whether we perceive substances
themselves, is only the question, whether we see things themselves or
only their phenomena. This question the Scottish school of Reid and
Sir William Hamilton, have settled forever, and if it had not, Balmes
has done it, making the correction I have suggested, in a manner that
leaves nothing further to be said.
The author's proofs of the fact of creation are strong and well
put, but fail to be absolutely conclusive in consequence of his not
recognizing intuition of the creative act. They all presuppose this
intuition, and are conclusive, because we in reality have it; but by
denying that we have it, the author renders them formally inconclusive.
We have intuition of God, real and necessary being, we have also
intuition of things or existences, and therefore must have intuition
of the creative act, for things or existences are only the external
terminus of the creative act itself. Hence it is that Gioberti very
properly makes the ideal formula, or _primum philosophicum_, the
synthetic judgment, _Ens creat existentias_. Real and necessary Being
creates existences. This formula or judgment in all its terms is given
intuitively, and simultaneously, and it is because it is so given we
are able at one blow to confound the skeptic, the atheist, and the
pantheist. The illustrious Spaniard, uses in all his argument this
formula, but he does so unconsciously, in contradiction, in fact, to
his express statements, because he could not reason a moment, form a
single conclusion without it. His argument in itself is good, but his
explication of it is sometimes in fault.
If the learned and excellent author had recognized the fact that we
have intuition of the creative act of the first cause, and the further
fact that all second causes, in their several spheres and degree,
imitate or copy the first, he would have succeeded better in explaining
their operation. He does not seem to perceive clearly that the _nexus_
which binds together cause and effect is the act of the cause, which is
in its own nature causative of the effect, and by denying all intuition
of this _nexus_, he seems to leave us in the position where Hume left
us, because it is impossible to attain by discursion to any objective
reality of which we have no intuition.
These are all or nearly all the criticisms I am disposed to make upon
the admirable work of Balmes. They are important, no doubt, but really
detract much less from its value than it would seem. It has, in spite
of these defects, rare and positive merits. The author has not indeed
a synthetic genius, but his powers of analysis are unsurpassed, and
as far as my philosophical reading goes, unequalled. He has not given
us the last word of philosophy, but he has given us precisely the
work most needed in the present anarchical state of philosophical
science. Not one of the errors to be detected in his work is peculiar
to himself, and the most that the most ill-natured critic can say
against him is, that, while he retains and defends all the truth in
the prevailing philosophy of the schools, he has not escaped all its
errors. Wherever he departs from scholastic tradition he follows truth,
and is defective only where that tradition is itself defective. He has
advanced far, corrected innumerable errors, poured a flood of light on
a great variety of profound, intricate, and important problems, without
introducing a new or adding any thing to confirm an old error. This is
high praise, but the philosophic reader will concede that it is well
merited.
The work is well adapted to create a taste for solid studies. It is
written in a calm, clear, and dignified style, sometimes rising to true
eloquence. The author threw his whole mind and soul into his work, and
shows himself everywhere animated by a pure and noble spirit, free from
all pride of opinion, all love of theorizing, and all dogmatism. He
evidently writes solely for the purpose of advancing the cause of truth
and virtue, religion and civilization, and the effect of his writings
on the heart is no less salutary than their effect on the mind.
I have wished the work to be translated and given to the English
and American public, not as a work free from all objections, but as
admirably adapted to the present state of the English and American
mind, as admirably fitted to correct the more dangerous errors now
prevalent among us, and to prepare the way for the elaboration of a
positive philosophy worthy of the name. We had nothing in English
to compare with it, and it is far better adapted to the English and
American genius than the misty speculations we are importing, and
attempting to naturalize, from Germany. It will lead no man into any
error which he does not already entertain, and few, perhaps none, can
read it without positive benefit, at least without getting rid of many
errors.
With these remarks I commit these volumes to the public, bespeaking
for them a candid consideration. The near relation in which I stand
to the translator makes me anxious that his labors should be received
with a kindly regard. He who translates well a good book from a foreign
language into his own, does a service to his country next to that of
writing a good book himself.
O. A. BROWNSON.
AUGUST 7, 1856.
BOOK FIRST.
ON CERTAINTY.
FUNDAMENTAL PHILOSOPHY.
CHAPTER I.
IMPORTANCE AND UTILITY OF THE QUESTION OF CERTAINTY.
1. We should begin the study of philosophy by examining the question of
certainty; before raising the edifice, we must lay the foundation.
Ever since there has been philosophy, that is, ever since men first
reflected on themselves and the beings around them, they have been
engaged with those questions which have for their object the basis
of human knowledge, and this shows that on this subject serious
difficulties are encountered. Inquirers, however, have not been
discouraged by the sterility of philosophical labors; and this shows
that in the last term of the investigation an object of high importance
is discovered.
Philosophers have cavilled in the most extravagant manner upon the
questions of certainty; on few subjects has the history of the human
mind presented such lamentable aberrations. This consideration may
excite suspicion that such investigations offer nothing solid to the
mind, and serve only to feed the vanity of the sophist. But here, as
elsewhere, we attribute no exaggerated importance to the opinions of
philosophers, and we are very far from believing that they ought to be
regarded as the legitimate representatives of human reason. It cannot,
however, be denied that they are in the intellectual order the most
active portion of the human race. When the whole body of philosophers
dispute, humanity itself may be said to dispute. Every fact affecting
the human race merits a thorough examination; to undervalue it, on
account of the sophisms which envelop it, is to fall into the worst
of all sophisms. There should be no contradiction between reason and
common sense; yet such a contradiction there would be, if we should,
in the name of common sense, contemn what occupies the reason of the
most enlightened minds. Oftentimes it happens that what is grave and
significant, that which makes a thinking man meditate, is the result
neither of a disputation, nor of the arguments therein adduced, but
the simple existence of the dispute itself. In itself it is sometimes
of little importance, but by reason of what it indicates, of great
consequence.
2. All philosophical questions are in some manner involved in that of
certainty. When we have completely unfolded this, we have examined
under one aspect or another all that human reason can conceive of God,
man, and the universe. At first sight it may perhaps seem to be the
simple foundation of the scientific structure; but in this foundation,
if we carefully examine it, we shall see the whole edifice represented:
it is a plane whereon is projected, visibly and in fair perspective,
the whole body it is to support.
3. However limited may be the direct and immediate result of these
investigations, they are of incalculable advantage. It is highly
important to acquire science, but not less important to know its
limits. Near these limits there are shoals which the navigator ought to
know. It is by examining the question of certainty that we ascertain
the limits of human science.
In descending to the depths to which these questions lead us, the
understanding grows dim, and the heart is awed with a religious fear.
A moment ago we were contemplating the edifice of human knowledge,
and grew proud to see it with its colossal dimensions, its beautiful
forms, its fine and bold construction; we enter it, and are led through
deep caverns, and, as if by enchantment, the foundation seems to be
subtilized, to evaporate, and the superb edifice remains floating in
the air.
4. It must be remarked that in entering on the examination of
the question of certainty, we do not conceal from ourselves its
difficulties. To conceal would not be to solve them; on the contrary,
the first condition necessary to their complete solution, is to see
them with perfect clearness, and to feel their full force. It is no
humiliation to the human understanding to seek those limits beyond
which it cannot pass, but it is to elevate and confirm it. Thus the
intrepid naturalist, when in search of some object he has penetrated
to the bowels of the earth, feels a mixture of terror and pride to be
thus buried in subterranean caverns, with just light enough to see
immense masses barely suspended above his head and unfathomable abysses
beneath his feet. There is something sublime, something attractive
and captivating in the obscurity of the mysteries of science, in
uncertainty itself, in the very assaults of doubt, threatening to
destroy in one instant the work accomplished by the human mind only in
the space of long ages. The greatest men have at all times enjoyed the
contemplation of these mysteries. The genius which spread its wings
over the east, over Greece and Rome, over the schools of the Middle
Ages, is the same we now behold in modern Europe. Plato, Aristotle,
St. Augustine, Abelard, St. Anselm, St. Thomas of Aquin, Luis Vives,
Bacon, Descartes, Malebranche, and Leibnitz, all, each in his own way,
felt the sublime inspiration of philosophy.
Whatever tends to raise man to lofty contemplation in the sanctuary of
his soul, contributes to his aggrandizement; for it separates him from
natural objects, reminds him of his noble origin, and proclaims to him
his high destiny. In a mechanical and sensual age, when every thing
seems opposed to the activity of the powers of the soul, except when
they administer to the wants of the body, it is well to renew those
great questions in which the mind roams free and untrammelled over
unbounden realms of space.
Only intellect can examine itself. The stone falls, but knows not that
it falls; the ray calcines and pulverizes, ignorant of its power; the
flower knows not that its beauty is enchanting; and the brute beast
follows his instincts, but asks not the reason of them. Man alone, a
fragile organization, appearing for a moment on earth again to return
to the dust, harbors a spirit, which first inspects the external world,
and then, anxious to ascertain its own nature, enters into itself as
into a sanctuary, and becomes its own oracle. What am I? What do I do?
What do I think? What phenomena do I experience within myself? Why am I
subject to them? What is their cause, their order of production, their
relations? The mind asks itself these questions,--serious and difficult
indeed, but noble and sublime questions; an unfailing proof that there
is within us something superior to inert matter susceptible only of
motion and a variety of forms, that there is something, which, by an
internal activity, spontaneous and rooted in our very nature, presents
us an image of that infinite Activity, a single act of whose will
created the world from nothing.(1)
CHAPTER II.
TRUE STATE OF THE QUESTION.
5. That we have certainty, common sense assures us, but what is its
basis, and how it is acquired, are two difficult questions, which it is
for philosophy to answer.
Three very different questions are involved in that of certainty;
and if confounded, they contribute not a little to the creation of
difficulties, and the confusion of matters which, even when they have
their various aspects most accurately marked, are sufficiently hard and
complicated.
It will greatly conduce to the due determination of our ideas,
carefully to distinguish between the existence of certainty, its basis,
and the mode in which it is acquired. Its existence is an indisputable
fact; its basis the object of philosophical researches, and the mode of
acquiring it frequently a concealed phenomenon not open to observation.
6. That bodies exist is a fact that no man of sane mind can doubt. No
questions raised upon this point can ever shake our firm conviction
in the existence, without us, of what we call the corporeal world.
This conviction is a phenomenon of our existence. Explain it, perhaps
we cannot; but we certainly cannot deny it; we submit to it as to an
inevitable necessity.
What is the basis of certainty? Here we have not a simple fact, but
a question solved by every philosopher in his own way. Descartes and
Malebranche recur to the veracity of God; Locke and Condillac to the
peculiar character and evolution of certain sensations.
How does man acquire this certainty? He knows not: he had it before
reflecting on it; he is astounded to hear it made a matter of dispute,
and he might never have suspected it could be asked, why we are certain
that what affects our senses exists. It is of no use to ask him how
he made so precious an acquisition; he regards it as a fact scarcely
distinct from his own existence. He has no recollection of the order
of sensations in his infancy; he finds his mind now developed, but is
as ignorant of the laws of its development as he is of those which
presided over the generation and growth of his body.
7. Philosophy should begin by explaining, not by disputing the fact of
certainty. If we are certain of nothing, it is absolutely impossible
for us to advance a single step in any science, or to take any part
whatever in the affairs of life. A thorough-going skeptic would be
insane, and that too with insanity of the highest grade. To such a one,
all communication with other men, all succession of external actions,
all thoughts, and even acts of the will would be impossible. Let us,
then, admit the fact, and not be so extravagant as to say that madness
sits on the threshold of philosophy.
It is the part of philosophy to analyze, not to destroy its object;
for by destroying its object it destroys itself. Every argument must
have a resting-point, which must be a fact. Whether it be internal
or external, idea or object, the fact must exist: we must begin by
supposing something, and this something we call a fact. Whoever begins
by denying or doubting all facts, is like the anatomist, who, before
dissecting a corpse, burns it, and casts its ashes to the wind.
8. Philosophy then, it may be said, commences not with an examination,
but with an affirmation. Granted, and this is a truth whose admission
closes the door on much sophistry, and sheds a brilliant light over
the whole theory of certainty.
Philosophers are deceived when they imagine that they begin by
doubting. Nothing is more false; when they think, they affirm, if
nothing else, at least their own doubt: whenever they reason, they
assert the connection of ideas, that is, the whole logical world.
Fichte, who certainly was not easily satisfied with anything, begins
to treat of the basis of human knowledge by making an affirmation, and
this he confesses with an ingenuousness that does him honor. Speaking
of reflection, the foundation of his philosophy, he says: "The rules
to which this reflection is subject, are not proved to be valid, but
are tacitly presupposed to be known and admitted. They are, in their
remotest origin, derived from a principle, the legitimacy of which
can only be established on condition that _they are valid_. This is a
circle, but an _inevitable circle_. But supposing it to be inevitable,
and that we frankly confess it so to be, it is, in order to establish
the highest principle, allowable _to trust all the laws of general
logic_. We must start on the road of reflection with a proposition
conceded by all the world without any contradiction."[1]
[1] Fichte, _Grundlage der gesammten Wissenschaftslehre_. Theil. i., §
1. Ed. Berlin, 1845, p. 92.
9. Certainty is to us a happy necessity; nature imposes it, and
philosophers do not cast off nature. Pyrrho once came very near being
hit by a stone, but he very naturally took good care to get out of
its way, without stopping to examine whether it was a real stone, or
only the appearance of one. The bystanders laughed at him for this,
and, at the same time, showed how inconsistent this act was with his
doctrine; but he gave this answer, which, under the circumstances, was
exceedingly profound: "It is hard entirely to throw off human nature."
10. In sound philosophy, then, the question turns not upon the
existence of certainty, but upon its motives, and the means of
acquiring it. It is an inheritance of which we cannot divest ourselves,
although we repudiate those very titles which guaranty its possession
to us. Who is not certain that he thinks, feels, wills; that he has a
body, and that there are around him others similar to his, of which
the corporeal universe consists? Prior to all systems, humanity was in
possession of this certainty, so, also, is every individual, although
he may never during his whole life have once asked himself what the
world is, what bodies are, or in what sensation, thought, and will
consist. Not even if we examine the foundations of certainty and
acknowledge the serious difficulties concerning them, which arise from
ratiocination, is it possible to doubt everything. There never was, in
all the rigor of the word, a true skeptic.
11. It is the same with certainty as with other objects of human
knowledge. The fact is presented to us in all its magnitude, and with
all clearness; but we do not penetrate to its innermost nature. Our
understanding is as well provided with means to acquire knowledge
of phenomena in the spiritual as in the material order, and it is
sufficiently perspicacious to detect, delineate, and classify the laws
to which they are subject; but when it would ascend to the cognition
of the very essence of things, or would investigate the principles of
the science which makes its boast, it feels its strength fail, and the
ground whereon it stands, tremble and sink beneath its feet.
Happily, man possesses certainty independently of philosophical
systems, not limited to phenomena of the soul, but extending as far as
is needed in order to direct his conduct, both with regard to himself
and to external objects. Before inquiring if there is certainty, all
men were certain that they thought, willed, felt, that they had a body
whose motions were governed by the will, and that there existed an
assemblage of various bodies, called the universe. Since inquiries with
regard to certainty were first instituted, it has remained the same
with all men, even with those who disputed it; not one of whom could
ever go farther than Pyrrho, and succeed in casting off human nature.
12. We cannot determine to what extent the force of mind of some
philosophers, engaged in combatting nature, may have succeeded in
creating doubt on many points, but certain it is: first, that no one
ever went so far as to doubt the internal phenomena whose presence he
felt inwardly; second, that if indeed any one ever did persuade himself
that no external object corresponded to these phenomena, this must have
been so strange an exception as to merit, in the history of science,
and in the eyes of sound philosophy, no more weight than the illusions
of a maniac. If Berkely went so far as to deny the existence of
bodies, thus making the sophisms of reason triumph over the instincts
of nature, he is alone, and in opposition to all mankind, and richly
merits to have this saying applied to him: "Insanity is insanity still,
no matter how sublime it may be."
Those very philosophers, who carried their skepticism the farthest,
agreed upon the necessity of accommodating themselves in practice to
the appearances of the senses, and of reserving doubt for the world of
speculation. Philosophers may dispute on every thing as much as they
please, but, the dispute over, they cease to be philosophers, and are
again men, similar to other men, and, like them all, enjoy the fruits
of certainty. This, Hume, who denied with Berkely the existence of
bodies, confesses: "I dine," he says; "I play a game at backgammon;
I converse, and am happy with my friends; and when, after three or
four hours of amusement, I would return to these speculations, they
appear so cold, so strained, and so ridiculous, that I cannot find it
in my heart to enter into them any farther. Here, then, I find myself
absolutely and necessarily determined to live, and talk, and act, like
other people, in the common affairs of life."[2]
[2] _Treatise of Human Nature_, vol. i., p. 467.
13. We must, in discussing certainty, guard against the feverish desire
of shaking the foundations of human reason. We should, in this class
of questions, seek a thorough knowledge of the principles of science,
and the laws which govern the development of our mind. To labor to
destroy them is to mistake the object of true philosophy: we have
only to make them a matter of observation, just as we do those of the
material world, without any intention of disturbing the admirable order
prevailing in the universe. Skeptics, who, in order to render their
philosophy more solid, begin by doubting every thing, resemble the man,
who, desirous of ascertaining, and exactly determining the phenomena of
life, should bare his bosom, and thrust the knife into his heart.
Sobriety is as necessary to the health of the mind, as to that of
the body: there is no wisdom without prudence, no philosophy without
judgment. In the soul of man there is a divine light which directs him
with admirable certainty. If we do not persist in extinguishing it, its
splendor guides us, and when we reach the term of science it shows it
to us, and makes us read in distinct characters the words,--_enough,
you can go no farther_. These words are written by the Author of all
beings; he it is that has given laws to the body as well as to the
mind, and he contains in his infinite essence the ultimate reason of
all things.
14. The certainty which is prior to all examination is not blind; on
the contrary, it springs either from the clearness of the intellectual
vision, or from an instinct conformable to reason: it is not opposed
to reason, but is its basis. Our mind, in discursive reasoning, knows
truth by the connection of propositions, or by the light which is
reflected from one truth upon another. In primitive certainty the
vision is by direct light, and does not need reflection.
When, then, we note the existence of certainty, we do not speak of a
blind fact, nor do we seek to extinguish the light in its very source;
we would rather say, that it is more brilliant there than in its
radiations. We see a body whose splendor illumines the world in which
we live; ought we, if requested to explain its nature and its relations
with other objects, to begin by destroying these? When naturalists
would examine the nature of light, and determine its laws, they do not
begin by removing the light itself, and placing themselves in darkness.
15. True, this method of philosophizing is somewhat dogmatic, but
dogmatic as it is, it has on its side, as we have seen, Pyrrho,
Hume, and Fichte. It is not simply a method of philosophy, it is the
voluntary submission of our very nature to an inevitable necessity,
the combination of reason with instinct, a simultaneous attention to
different voices calling from the depths of our soul. According to
Pascal, "nature confounds the Pyrrhonians, and reason the dogmatists."
This passes for a profound saying, and is so under a certain aspect;
but it is notwithstanding somewhat inexact. The confusion is not the
same in both cases: reason does not confound the dogmatist, unless he
separates it from nature; but nature confounds the Pyrrhonian, either
alone or joined with reason. The true dogmatist founds his reason upon
nature; it knows itself, confesses the impossibility of proving every
thing, and does not arbitrarily assume any principle that it needs
unless nature itself furnishes it. And thus it does not confound the
dogmatist, when guided by it he seeks a sure foundation for it. Nature,
when it confounds the Pyrrhonian, attests the triumph of the reason of
dogmatists, whose principal argument against Pyrrhonians, is the voice
of nature itself. Pascal's thought would have been more exact if thus
worded: nature confounds the Pyrrhonian and is necessary to the reason
of dogmatists. This is less antithetical, but more true. Dogmatists
do not deny nature; reason without it is impotent; to exercise its
strength it needs a resting point. With such, Archimedes offered to
move the earth, without this his immense lever could not stir a single
atom.(2)
CHAPTER III.
CERTAINTY OF THE HUMAN RACE, AND PHILOSOPHICAL CERTAINTY.
16. Certainty does not originate in reflection; it is the spontaneous
product of man's nature, and is annexed to the direct act of the
intellectual and sensitive faculties. It is a condition necessary to
the exercise of both, and without it life were a chaos; we therefore
possess it instinctively, and without any reflection, and we enjoy the
fruit of this as of all those other benefits of the Creator, which are
inseparably joined to our existence.
17. It is, then, necessary to distinguish between the certainty of the
human race and philosophical certainty, although, to speak frankly, it
is not easy to conceive what can be the value of any human certainty
distinct from that of the human race. If we set aside the efforts
which the philosopher sometimes makes to discover the basis of human
knowledge, we shall readily find him confounded with the rest of
mankind. This cavil leaves no trace in his mind with respect to the
certainty of all that the human race is certain of. He then discovers
that the doubt which he felt was not a real doubt, although he may
have deluded himself into a contrary belief. His doubts were simple
suppositions, nothing more. When his meditation is over, and perhaps
even while it lasts, he finds that he is as certain as the most
ignorant individual of his internal acts, the existence of his own
body, of other bodies around him, and of a thousand other things, which
constitute the amount of knowledge requisite to the wants of life.
Question all, from the infant of a few summers, to the sage of many
years and mature judgment, on the certainty of their own existence,
their acts internal or external, their friends and relatives, the
people among whom they dwell, objects seen or heard of, and you will
not detect any hesitation in their answers, or any kind of difference
in the grades of their certainty. If they have no knowledge of the
philosophical questions touching these matters, you may read in their
countenances wonder and astonishment that any one should seriously
investigate things so _evident_.
18. Impossible as it is for us to know in what manner the sensitive,
intellectual, and moral powers of children are developed, it is equally
impossible to prove a _a priori_, by analyzing the operations of his
mind, that reflex acts do not concur to the formation of certainty;
but it will not be difficult to find proofs of this in the exercise
of these faculties when well developed. If we observe attentively,
we shall see that the child's faculties habitually operate in a
direct, not a reflex manner; which shows that the development is made
directly, not by reflection. Were the primitive development the work
of reflexion, the reflective power would be great in the child. But
this is not the case. Very few men are ever endowed with it, and in the
greater part of them it is very nearly null. They who attain to it,
acquire it only by assiduous labor, and not without great violence to
himself, can any one pass from direct to reflex cognition.
19. No matter what you teach a child, he perceives it indeed, but call
his attention to the perception itself, and his understanding is at
once obscured and confused. Let us make the experiment. Suppose we
would teach a child the elements of geometry.
"Do you see this figure bounded by three lines? It is called a
triangle; the lines are called sides, and the points where they unite
the vertices of the angles."--"I understand that."--"Do you see this
other figure bounded by four lines? It is called quadrilateral, and,
like the triangle, has its sides and vertices of angles."--"Very
well."--"Can a quadrilateral figure be a triangle, or _vice
versa_?"--"It cannot."--"Never?"--"Never."--"Why not?"--"One has three,
and the other four sides: how then can they be the same thing?"--"Who
knows? It may seem so to you, but--"--"See here! This has three, and
this four sides; and three and four are not the same thing."
Torture his understanding as much as you please, but you cannot drive
him from his position: and thus we see that his perception and his
reason operate directly, that is, by direct application to the object.
Of himself he does not direct his attention to his own internal acts,
does not think upon his own thoughts, does not combine reflex ideas,
nor seek in them the certainty of his judgment.
20. And here we detect a vital error in the art of thinking as it has
hitherto been taught. The young intellect is exercised in reflection,
the most difficult part of science, which is as inconsiderate as it
would be to commence his physical development by the most painful
gymnastic exercises. Man's scientific development should be governed by
his natural development, which is direct not reflex.
21. Let us apply this remark to the exercise of the senses. "Do you
hear that music?" asks the child.--"What music?"--"Did you not hear
it? Are you deaf?"--"It _seems_ to you that you hear it."--"But, sir,
I hear it so distinctly! How can it be possible?"--"But how do you
know?"--"I hear it."
From his _I hear it_ you cannot drive him: he will not hesitate a
moment, nor will he appeal to any reflex act in order to avoid your
importunities. "_I hear it_: do not you hear it?" He asks nothing
more, and all your philosophy cannot equal the _irresistible force_
of sensation which assures him that there is music, and that whoever
doubts it is either deaf or in jest.
22. Had the faculties of the child been developed by alternate direct
and reflex acts; had he, when acquiring knowledge of things, thought
of something besides the things themselves; evidently a continuation
of such acts would have left some impression on his mind, and urged
to assign the motives of his certainty, he would indicate those very
means that he made use of in the gradual development of his faculties;
he would abstract the object, retire into himself, think upon his own
thought in one way or another, and thus encounter the difficulty.
Nothing of this character takes place, which proves that no such
reflex acts have been performed, that there have been only perceptions
accompanied by internal consciousness and certainty of their existence;
but all in a confused, instinctive manner, without any thing like
philosophical reflection.
23. What has been said of the child, may be proved true also of adults,
however clear and perfect their intellect. If not initiated into
questions of philosophy, they will give very nearly the same answers to
difficulties proposed on the same matters, and even upon many others
more exposed to doubt. Experience proves better than all ratiocination
that no one acquires certainty by reflex acts.
24. Philosophers teach that the sources of certainty are the internal
sense or consciousness of acts, the external senses, common sense,
reason, and authority. A few examples will show us that there is
reflection in all these, and how most men, and even philosophers, when
they act like men and not like philosophers, think.
25. Suppose a clear-headed person, one however who is ignorant of the
questions of certainty, has just seen some monument, the _Escurial_
for instance, which leaves a lively and lasting impression on his
mind, and while he recollects his gratification on seeing it, try to
make him doubt the existence of this recollection in his mind, and
its correspondence as well with the act of seeing as with the edifice
itself, and he will very certainly think you are in jest, or will
be astounded, and will suspect you of being out of your senses. He
discovers no difference between things different as are the actual
existence of his recollection, its correspondence with the past act of
seeing, and the agreement of both with the edifice seen. He knows in
this case no more than a child of six years: "I recollect it, I saw it,
it is as I recollect it." This is all his science: he neither reflects,
nor separates; all is direct and simultaneous.
No matter what suppositions you make, you can never get from the
majority of men any better account of the phenomena of the internal
sense, than you got from the supposed individual's recollection of
the _Escurial_: "all that I know is that it is so." There are here no
reflex acts; certainty attends the direct act, and no philosophical
considerations can add one iota to the security given by the very
force of things, and the instinct of nature.
26. Example of the testimony of the senses.
If we see any object, no matter what, at a proper distance and in
sufficient light, we judge of its size, figure, and color, and we
are very confident of the truth of our judgment, although we may
never, in all our life, have thought of a theory of sensation, or
of the relations of our organs, either to each other or to external
objects. No reflex act accompanies the formation of our judgment; all
is done instinctively, and without the intervention of philosophical
considerations. We see it, and nothing else: this is enough for
certainty. It is only after having handled books in which the question
of certainty is agitated, that we turn our attention to our own acts;
but this attention, it is to be remarked, lasts only so long as we are
engaged in the scientific analysis; when this is forgotten, which it
very soon is, we return to our general routine, and seldom recur to
philosophy.
Note well that we speak here of the certainty of the judgment formed
in consequence of sensation only in so far as it is connected with
the uses of life, and not at all of its greater or less exactness
with respect to the nature of things. Thus it matters little that we
consider colors as inherent qualities of bodies, although in reality
they are not; it is sufficient that the judgment formed does not
in any sense change our relations to objects, whatever may be the
philosophical theory.
27. Example of common sense.
In the presence of a numerous assembly, throw a quantity of printer's
types at random upon the ground, and tell the bystanders that their
names will all be found printed. They will all with one accord laugh at
your folly. But what is the reason of this? Have they all reflected
upon the basis of their certainty? Assuredly they have not.
28. Example of reason.
We all reason, and in many cases rightly. Without art or reflection
of any kind, we often distinguish the solid from the futile, the
sophistical from the conclusive. This does not require us to regard the
course of our understanding; without scarcely noticing it we follow
the right road; and a man may, in his life, have formed a thousand
rigorous and exact ratiocinations without ever having once attended
to his method of reasoning. Even those most versed in the dialectic
art, repeatedly forget it; they perhaps follow it very correctly in
practice, but they pay no express attention to any one of its rules.
29. Ideologists have written whole volumes on the operations of
our understanding, and the simple rustic performs these operations
without thinking that he performs them. How much has been written on
abstraction, generalization, and universals! Yet this is all well
regulated in the mind of every man, ignorant as he may be of a science
which examines it. In his language you will find the universal and the
particular expressed, and every thing occupying its proper place in his
discourse: he encounters no difficulty in his direct acts. But call
his attention to these acts themselves, to abstraction for example;
and what was in the direct act so clear and lucid, becomes a chaos the
moment it passes to the reflex order.
Thus we see that reflection, whose object is the act performed, is of
very little importance even in reasoning, its most reflective medium.
30. Example of authority.
All civilized people know the existence of _England_, but most of them
know this only from having heard or read of it, that is, by authority.
Their certainty of the existence of England evidently is not surpassed
by that of objects of their own vision; and yet how many of them have
ever thought of analyzing the foundations of such a certainty? Yet
is the certainty of those who have examined it greater than that of
those who have not examined it? In the present case, as in an infinity
of others analogous to it, there is no intervention of reflex acts:
certainty is here formed instinctively, and needs no medium invented by
philosophers.
31. These examples show that philosophers take a very different road
to certainty from that taught by nature. He who created all things
out of nothing, has provided them with all that is necessary to the
exercise of their functions according to their respective positions in
the universe; and one of the first necessities of an intelligent being
is the certainty of some truths. What would become of us, if before
beginning to receive impressions, and before the germination of primary
ideas in our understanding, we were obliged to perform the painful task
of elaborating some system capable of saving us from uncertainty? Were
it thus, our intellect would perish at its very birth, for no sooner
would it open its eyes to the light than it would be involved in the
chaos of its own cavils, and it could never, with its scattered forces,
succeed in dissipating the clouds which would arise on all sides, and
which would finally sink it in total darkness.
If the greatest philosophers, the most clear and acute intellects, the
strongest and most vigorous geniuses have labored to so little purpose
to establish solid principles, such as might serve for the foundations
of science, what would have happened had not the Creator succored us in
this necessity, and given certainty to the tender intellect, just as he
prepared for the preservation of the body the milk that nourishes and
the air that vivifies it?
32. If any part of science ought to be regarded as purely speculative,
it is undoubtedly the part which concerns certainty; and this
proposition, paradoxical as it may seem at first sight, is true, and
can be easily demonstrated.
33. What does philosophy here propose to do? To produce certainty? But
it exists independently of all philosophical systems, and mankind were
certain of many things before ever any one thought of such questions.
Moreover, since the question was first raised, few, compared with the
whole human race, have examined it; so it is now, and so it will be;
and all the theories invented on this point can have no effect upon the
fact of certainty. What has been said of its production may be said of
the attempt to consolidate it. When have the generality of men had, or
when will they have, time and opportunity to examine these questions?
34. Philosophy could here have produced nothing but skepticism, for the
variety and opposition of systems were more calculated to create than
to dissipate doubts. Happily nature is the most invincible opponent of
skepticism; the sage's dreams pass not from his library to the every
day uses of the life of ordinary men, or even of those who labor under
or imagine them.
35. Philosophy here can propose to itself no more reasonable object
than simply to examine the foundations of certainty, with the sole view
of more thoroughly knowing the human mind, not of making any change
in practice; just as astronomers observe the course of the stars,
investigate and determine the laws to which they are subject, without
therefore presuming to be able to modify them.
36. But even this supposition places philosophy in a very
unsatisfactory position; for if we recollect what we have already
established, we shall see that science observes a real and true
phenomenon, but gives it a gratuitous explanation, by making an
imaginary analysis of it.
Experience has in fact shown our understanding to be guided by no one
of the considerations made by philosophers; its assent, when it is
accompanied by the greatest certainty, is a spontaneous product of a
natural instinct, not of combinations; it is a firm adhesion exacted
by the evidence of the truth, the power of the internal sense, or
the impulse of instinct; not a conviction produced by a series of
ratiocinations. These combinations and ratiocinations therefore exist
only in the mind of philosophers, not in reality; when, therefore, they
attempt to designate the foundations of certainty, we are told what
could or should have been, but not what is.
If philosophers would only be guided by their own systems, and would
not forget them nor set them aside as soon as, or even before, they
have finished explaining them, it might be said, that even if no reason
can be given for human certainty, one can be given for philosophical
certainty; but since these same philosophers make no use of these
scientific means save when developing them _ex professo_, it follows
that their pretended foundations are a mere theory, having little or no
connection with the reality.
37. This demonstration of the vanity of philosophical systems relating
to the foundation of certainty, far from leading to skepticism, has a
directly contrary tendency; for it makes us appreciate at their true
value, the emptiness of our cavils, compares their impotence with the
irresistible force of nature, and thus destroys that foolish pride
which would make us superior to the laws imposed upon our understanding
by the Creator himself; it places us in the channel through which
the torrent of humanity has for ages run; and it disposes us to
receive with sound philosophy what the laws of our nature force us to
accept.(3)
CHAPTER IV.
EXISTENCE OF TRANSCENDENTAL SCIENCE IN THE ABSOLUTE INTELLECTUAL ORDER.
38. Philosophers have sought a first principle of human knowledge; each
has assigned his own, and now after so much discussion it is doubtful
who is right, or even if any one is right.
Before inquiring what the first principle is, they ought to have
ascertained whether there be any such principle. We cannot suppose this
last question to be answered affirmatively; for it is, as we shall
hereafter see, susceptible of different solutions, according to the
aspect under which it is seen.
The first principle of knowledge may be understood in either of two
senses; as denoting one first truth from which all others flow, or as
expressing a truth which we must suppose if we would not have all other
truths disappear. In the former sense it is a spring from which the
waters flow, which fertilize the intellect; in the second sense it is a
point whereon to rest a great weight.
39. Is there any one truth from which all others flow? There is in
reality, in the order of beings, in the universal intellectual order;
but in the human intellectual order there is none.
40. There is in the order of beings one truth, the origin of all
truths; for truth is reality, and there is one Being, author of all
beings. This being is a truth,--truth itself,--the plenitude of
truth,--for he is being by essence, the plenitude of being.
Every school of philosophy has in some sense recognized this unity of
origin. The atheist talks of the force of nature; the pantheist of
an only substance, of the absolute, of the unconditioned; both have
abandoned the idea of God, and now labour to replace it by something
which may be made the origin of the existence of the universe, and of
the development of its phenomena.
41. There is in the universal intellectual order one truth from which
all others flow; it is, that the unity of origin of all truths is
not only found in realized truths, that is, in beings considered in
themselves, but likewise in the concatenation of ideas representing
these beings. And thus if our understanding could ascend to the
knowledge of all truths, and embrace them in their unity and in all
the relations uniting them, it would see them after arriving at a
certain height, notwithstanding their dispersion and divergence as now
perceived by us, converge to a centre, in which they unite, like rays
of light in the luminous object from which they issued.
42. The most profound philosophical doctrines often appear in the
treatises of theologians explaining the doctrines of the church.
Thus St. Thomas, in his questions on the understanding of angels,
and in other parts of his works, has left us a very luminous and
interesting theory. According to him, spirits understand by a number
of ideas smaller in proportion to the superiority of their order; and
so the diminution goes on even to God, who understands by means of a
single idea which is his own essence. And thus according to the holy
doctor, not only is there one being, author of all beings, but also
one infinite idea which includes all ideas. Whoever fully possesses
this idea will see every thing in it; but since this full possession,
called comprehension in theology, is solely a property of the infinite
intelligence of God, creatures, when in the other life they shall
have obtained the beatific vision, will see more or fewer objects in
God according to the greater or less perfection in which they possess
it. How wonderful! The dogma of beatific vision well understood, is
also a truth which sheds much light upon philosophical theories.
Malebranche's sublime dream about ideas was, perhaps, a reminiscence of
his theological studies.
43. The transcendental science which embraces and explains them all,
is a chimera to our mind so long as we inhabit this earth, but it is a
reality to other spirits of a higher order, and it will also be so to
us when, freed from this mortal body, we attain the regions of light.
44. So far as we may conjecture from analogy, we have proofs of the
existence of this transcendental science, which includes all sciences,
and is in its turn contained in one sole principle, or rather, in one
only idea, in one only intuition. If we observe the scale of beings,
the grades of distinction between individual intelligences, and the
successive progress of science, the image of this truth will be
presented to us in a very striking manner.
One of the distinctive characteristics of our mind is its power of
generalization, of perceiving the common in the various, of reducing
the multiplex to unity; and this power is proportional to its degree of
intelligence.
45. The brute is limited to its sensations and the objects causing
them. It has no power of generalization or of classification; nothing
beyond the impression received or the instinct of satisfying its wants.
Man, however, as soon as he opens the eyes of his understanding,
perceives unnumbered relations; he applies what he has seen in one
case to different cases; he generalizes and infolds very many ideas
in a single idea. The child desires an object above his reach; he
immediately takes a chair or a stool, and improvises a ladder. A brute
will watch the object of its appetite whole hours when placed beyond
its reach, without ever thinking of doing like the child, and forming a
ladder. If every thing be so disposed as to enable it to climb, it will
climb, but it is incapable of thinking that in similar circumstances it
ought to act in like manner. In the former case, we see a being having
the general idea of a _means_, and its relation to the _end_, of which
it makes use when necessary: in the latter we see another being having
indeed before its eyes the end and the means, but not perceiving their
relation, unable to go beyond the material individuality of objects.
In the former there is perception of unity; in the latter there is no
bond to join the variety of particular facts.
It is seen by this simple example that the child will reduce all the
infinity of cases, in which an object may be placed beyond his reach,
to this one case; he possesses, so to speak, the formula of this little
problem. True, he does not render himself an account of this formula,
that is, does not reflect upon it; but he has it in reality; and if you
give him an opportunity he will at once apply it, which proves that
he has it. Or speak to him of things placed too high for his reach,
and point rapidly from one to another of the objects before him; he
will at all times instantly apply the general idea of an auxiliary
medium; he will avail himself perhaps of his father's arm, or that of a
servant, a chair, if in the house, a heap of stones, if in the fields;
he discovers in all things _the relation of the means to the end_. When
he sees the end, he immediately turns his attention to the means of
attaining it: the general idea seeks individualization in a particular
case.
46. Art is the collection of rules for doing any thing well; and is
the more perfect in proportion as each rule embraces a greater number
of cases, and consequently as the number of these rules is smaller.
Doubtless, buildings that were solid, well proportioned, and adapted
to the purpose for which they were destined, had been constructed
before the rules of architecture were reduced to formulas; but the
great progress of intelligence in the construction of buildings
consisted in ascertaining what there was common to all well-built
houses, in determining the cause of beauty and of solidity, in
themselves considered, by passing from the individual to the universal,
that is, by forming general ideas of beauty and solidity applicable to
an indefinite number of particular cases, by simplifying.
47. The same may be said of all other liberal and mechanical arts:
the progress of intelligence in all of them consists in reducing
multiplicity to unity, and including the greatest possible number of
applications in the least possible number of ideas. This is why lovers
of literature and the fine arts labor to discover an idea of beauty
in general, in order to attain a type applicable to all literary and
artistic objects. It is also obvious that those engaged in mechanical
arts always endeavor to govern their proceedings by a few rules, and he
is held to be the most skilful who succeeds in combining the greatest
variety of results with the greatest simplicity of means, by making
that, which others connect with many ideas, depend upon one idea alone.
When we see a machine produce wonderful effects by a very simple
process, we praise the artificer not less for the means than for the
end: this we say, is grand, and the simplicity with which it works is
the most astonishing.
48. Let us apply this doctrine to the natural and exact sciences.
The merit of our actual system of numeration consists in including the
expression of all numbers in a single idea, making the value of each
figure ten times that to the right, and filling all intervals with
zeros. The expression of infinite numbers is reduced to the simplicity
of a single rule based upon a single idea; the relation of position
with a tenfold value. Logarithms have enabled arithmetic to make a
great advance by diminishing the number of its fundamental operations,
since, with them it reduces multiplication and division to addition
and subtraction. Algebra is only the generalization of arithmetical
expressions and operations, their simplification. The application of
algebra to geometry is the generalization of geometrical expressions;
formulas of lines, figures, bodies, only the expression of their
universal idea. In this idea as in a type, geometry preserves its first
and generative idea, and it requires only the simplest applications
in order to form an exact calculation of all lines belonging to the
same class, which can possibly be met with in practice. In the simple
expression dz/dx = A, called the differential coefficient, is contained
the whole idea of infinitesimal calculus. It originated in geometrical
considerations, but so soon as its universality was conceived, it
poured a flood of light upon every branch of mathematical and natural
science, and led to the discovery of a new world, whose confines are
still unknown. The prodigious fecundity of this calculus emanates from
its simplicity, its prompt generalization of both algebra and geometry,
and its uniting them in a single point which is the relation of the
limits of the differentials of any function.
49. It is to this unity of idea that the human intellect in its
ambition aspires, and once obtained, it proves the cause of great
progress. The glory of the greatest geniuses is that they discovered
it: the advance of science has consisted in profiting by it. Vieta
explained and applied the principle of the general expression of
arithmetical quantities; Descartes extended this to geometrical
quantities. Newton established the principle of universal gravitation;
and he, at the same time with Leibnitz, invented the infinitesimal
calculus; and the exact and natural sciences march, by the light of a
vast flambeau, with gigantic strides along paths never before trodden.
And all this because intelligence has approached unity, and become
possessed of a generative idea, involving infinite other ideas.
50. It is worthy of remark, that as we advance in science, we meet
numerous points of contact, close relations, which no one at first
sight would have suspected. Ancient mathematicians discussed the conic
sections, but were far from imagining that the idea of the ellipse
could be the basis of a system of astronomy: the foci to them were
simple points, the curve a line, and the relations of both the object
of combinations at once profitless and without application. Ages pass
away, and these foci are the sun, the curve the orbit of planets. The
lines on the geometrician's table represented a world!
The intimate connection of mathematical and natural science cannot
be questioned; and who shall say to what extent both are connected
with ontological, psychological, theological, and moral science? The
extended scale over which beings are distributed may at first sight
seem to be an assemblage of unconnected objects, but seen with the
eyes of science, it is perceived to be a delicately worked chain,
whose links present, as we advance, greater beauty and perfection.
We see the different realms of nature united by close relations: the
sciences, of which they are the objects, mutually borrow each other's
light, and enter on each other's territory. The complication of
objects among themselves involves this complication of science; and
the unity of the laws imposed upon different orders of beings makes
all sciences approach, and tend to form, one only science. If it were
given us to see the identity of their origin, the unity of the end
and the simplicity of the means, we should come into the possession
of the true transcendental science, the only science which involves
all others, or more correctly speaking, the only idea in which every
thing is represented as it is, and every thing seen without any
necessity of combination, or effort of any kind, just as a magnificent
landscape, its outlines, form, and colors are pictured on a perfectly
clear mirror. In the meantime, we must rest satisfied with shadows of
reality, and must see in the instinctive tendency of our understanding
to simplify, to reduce every thing or make it approach as much as
possible to unity, the announcement, the sign of this single science,
this intuition of the one infinite idea; just as in the desire for
happiness which agitates our heart, the thirst after enjoyment which
torments us we discover a proof that all is not ended here below, and
that our soul has been created for the possession of a good not to be
attained in this mortal life.
51. If we compare men with men, and pay attention to the character
of genius, the most elevated point of human intelligence, we shall
see the truth of what has been said of the scale of human beings, and
the progress of science. Men of true genius are distinguished by the
unity and extent of their conceptions. If they treat a difficult and
complicated question, they simplify it, consider it from a high point
of view, and determine one general idea which sheds light upon all the
others. If they have a difficulty to solve, they show the root of the
error, and with a word dispel all the illusion of sophistry. If they
use synthesis, they first establish the principle which is to serve as
its basis, and with one dash trace the road to be followed in order to
reach the wished-for result. If they make use of analysis, they strike
in its secret resort the point where decomposition is to commence, they
at once open the object, and reveal to us its most obscure mysteries.
If there is question of a discovery, while others are seeking here
and there, they strike the ground with their foot, and exclaim, "the
treasure is here." They make no long arguments, nor evasions; their
thoughts are few but pregnant; their words are not many, but in each of
them is set a pearl of inestimable value.
52. No doubt there is in the intellectual order a single truth from
which all other truths emanate, one idea which includes all other
ideas. This philosophy teaches, and the efforts, the natural and
instinctive tendencies of every intelligence, toiling after simplicity
and unity, show it: such also is the dictate of common sense, which
considers that thought the highest and most noble which is the most
comprehensive and the most simple.(4)
CHAPTER V.
TRANSCENDENTAL SCIENCE IN THE HUMAN INTELLECTUAL ORDER CANNOT EMANATE
FROM THE SENSES.
53. In the human intellectual order, such as it is in this life, there
is no one truth from which all others flow: philosophers have sought
one in vain; they have found none, for there was none to be found. In
fact, where could it be found?
54. Would it emanate from the senses?
Sensations are as various as the objects which produce them: by them we
acquire knowledge of individual and material things; but no one truth,
source of all other truths, can be found in any one of these, or the
sensations proceeding from them.
55. If we observe our impressions received through sensation, we shall
perceive that they are all equal so far as the production of certainty
is concerned. We are just as certain of the sensation caused by any
noise whatever, as we are of that produced by an object which we see,
an odorous body which we smell, a savory morsel which we taste, or any
thing which strongly affects our sense of touch. There is no gradation
in the certainty produced by these sensations: they are all equal; for
if we speak of sensation itself, we experience it in such a manner as
to leave no uncertainty; and if we speak of the relation of sensation
with the existence of the object causing it, we are just as certain
that the sensation called _sight_ corresponds to an external object
_seen_, as we are that an external object _touched_ corresponds to the
sensation called _touch_.
Hence we infer that no one sensation is the origin of the certainty
of other sensations; in this they are all alike: and most men have no
other reason than their experience why they should be sure of this
certainty. We are aware that what happens to individuals from whose
eyes cataracts have been removed, shows that simple sensation does not
suffice for the due appreciation of the object perceived, and that
one sense aids another: but this does not prove any one of them to be
preferable; for as the blind man, whose sight was suddenly restored,
did not form an exact judgment as to the size and distance of objects
seen by sight only, but required the assistance of touch; so is it
very probable that if a person of good eyesight had been deprived
from his birth of the sense of touch, he would not be able, were this
sense given him suddenly, to form an exact judgment concerning objects
touched, until, by the aid of sight, he had become accustomed to
combine the new and the old order of sensations, and learnt by practice
to determine the relations of sensation with its object, or to know by
sensation the properties of its object.
56. This fact of the blind man is however contradicted by others which
lead to a directly opposite result. The youth, upon whom the oculist,
Jean Janin, performed the same operation, and other persons blind from
their birth, whose eyesight Luigi de' Gregori partly restored, did not,
like the blind man of Cheselden, deem these objects stuck to their
eyes, but that they saw them as things really external and separate.
Rosmini thus relates it,[3] although he gives the preference to the
Cheselden case, which he says was repeated in Italy by the professor
Giacomo di Pavia with precisely the same results.
[3] _Saggio sull' origine delle idee_, p. 5, c. iv., tr. 11, p. 285,
where he cites the theoretico-chemical observations on the cataracts
of those born blind, by Luigi de' Gregori, professor of chemistry and
opthalmia, published at Rome in 1826.
57. It is not easy to ascertain how this combination of one sensation
with another enables us to judge rightly of external objects; chiefly
because the development of our sensitive and intellectual faculties is
completed before we can reflect upon it: and thus we find ourselves
certain of the existence and properties of things before we have
thought of certainty, and much less of the means of acquiring it.
58. But even supposing us, after occupying ourselves with sensations
and their relations with objects, to set aside the certainty which
we already have, and to act as if we sought it, we can find no one
sensation the basis of the certainty of the other sensations. We should
meet in that all the difficulties to be encountered in the others.
59. One of the chief difficulties upon this point is to determine the
relations of the sense of sight with that of touch, and how far the one
depends upon the other. We propose hereafter to examine these questions
at some length, and we shall therefore now refrain from entering upon
them, as well because they are not of a character to be incidentally
investigated, as because whatever their solution, it is not at all
opposed to what we shall here establish.
60. It would be of no advantage to us to know that the certainty of
all sensations was, philosophically speaking, founded upon that of
some one sensation. Every sensation is a contingent, individual fact:
how then are we to draw from it light to guide us to necessary truths?
No matter under what aspect we consider sensation, it is only an
impression received through our organs. We are sure of the impression
because it is intimately present to our mind; and its repetition aided
by other sensations, whether of the same or another sense, makes us
certain of its relations with the object producing it: but every thing
is done instinctively, with little or no reflection; and we are always
condemned, however much we reflect, to reach a point beyond which we
cannot pass, for nature herself there stops us.
61. Far then from finding in any sensation a fundamental fact on
which to found a philosophical certainty, we discover a collection of
particular and mutually distinct facts, equal, however, so far as the
production in us of that security which we call certainty is concerned.
It is of no use to decompose man, and reduce him first to an inanimate
machine, then allow him one sense, making him perceive different
sensations, afterwards grant him another sense, making him combine the
new and the old sensations, and so on synthetically to the possession
and exercise of them all. These things may do to entertain one's
curiosity, to nourish philosophical pretensions, or to give a show of
probability to imaginary systems; but they are in reality of little
or no use; the evolutions which the observer imagines do not resemble
those of nature; and the true philosopher ought to examine what really
is, not what is only in his conception.
Condillac, animating his statue by degrees, and making the whole sum
of human knowledge flow from one sensation, is like those priests who
got inside the statue of the idol, and thence emitted their oracles.
It is not the statue which receives animation, that speaks and thinks,
it is Condillac from within it. Let us, however, grant to the sensist
all he demands; let us allow him to regulate as he pleases the mutual
dependence of sensations; for the instant we require him to make
use only of pure sensations in his discussions, he will be utterly
disconcerted, how much soever he may suppose them to be transformed.
But we reserve these questions to the place in which we shall examine
the nature and origin of ideas.
62. Why are we sure that the agreeable sensation which we experience
in our sense of smell proceeds from an object called a _rose_? Because
we recollect having experienced the same sensation on a thousand other
occasions; because both sight and touch confirm the testimony of smell.
But how do we know that these sensations are something beside the
impressions received in our soul? Why may we not believe them to come
from some cause or other, without relation to external causes? Is it
because other men say the contrary? Are we certain that they exist? How
do they know what they tell us? How do we know that we hear rightly?
There is the same difficulty with the other senses as with that of
hearing, and if we doubt the testimony of three senses, why shall we
not doubt that of four? Reasoning is here of no avail; it would lead us
to cavils which would require an impassible doubt, and would tear from
us a security, of which, notwithstanding all our efforts, we cannot
despoil ourselves.
Moreover, if we appeal to the principles of reason, in order to prove
the truth of sensation, we leave the territory of sensations, and do
not place in them the primitive truth, origin of all other truths, nor
accomplish what we undertook.
63. Hence it follows: First, that there is no one sensation which is
the origin of the certainty of all others; this we have only indicated
here, reserving the demonstration of it to our treatise on sensations.
Secondly, although such a sensation were to exist, it could not serve
as the basis of any thing in the intellectual order, for with sensation
alone it is impossible even to think. Thirdly, that sensations, so far
from being able to serve as the basis of transcendental science, cannot
serve of themselves alone to establish any science; because necessary
truths cannot flow from them, since they are contingent facts.(5)
CHAPTER VI.
TRANSCENDENTAL SCIENCE.--INSUFFICIENCY OF REAL TRUTHS.
64. We have thought proper briefly to refute Condillac's system, not
on account of its intrinsic importance, or because it was not before
in sufficiently bad repute, but in order to clear the field for higher
and more strictly philosophical discussions. We should not omit to
guard philosophy against the prejudice cast upon it by a system as vain
as it is profitless. All that is most sublime in the science of the
mind disappears with the _statue-man_ and transformed sensations: we
vindicate the rights of human reason by showing that before entering
upon more transcendental questions it is indispensable to discard
Condillac's system; just as it is necessary before making a good road
to clear away the brushwood which obstructs the passage.
65. We come now to the proof that in the human intellectual order, such
as it is in this life, there is no one truth the source of all truths;
because no one truth includes them all.
Truths are of two kinds, real and ideal. We call facts, or whatever
exists, real truths; we call the necessary connection of ideas ideal
truths. A real truth may be expressed by the verb _to be_, taken
substantively, or at least it supposes a proposition in which this verb
has been taken in this sense: an ideal truth is expressed by the same
verb taken copulatively, as signifying the necessary relation of a
predicate with a subject, abstracting it, however, from both. _We are_,
that is, _we exist_, expresses a real truth, a fact. _Whoever thinks
exists_, expresses an ideal truth, for it does not affirm that there is
any one who thinks or exists, but that if there is any one who thinks,
he exists; or, in other words, it affirms a necessary relation between
thought and being. To real truths corresponds the real world, the world
of existences; to ideal truths the logical world, that of possibility.
The verb _to be_, is sometimes taken copulatively, although the
relation expressed by it be not necessary: such is the case with all
contingent propositions, and when the predicate does not belong to
the essence of the subject. Sometimes the necessity is conditional,
that is, it supposes a fact; and then there is no absolute necessity,
since the supposed fact is always contingent. When we speak of ideal
truths, we refer to those that express an absolute necessary relation,
abstracting it from all order of existence; and on the other hand,
we understand by real truths all those that suppose a proposition in
which a fact has been established. To this class belong the truths of
natural science, for they all suppose some fact which is the object of
observation.
66. No real finite truth can be the origin of all others. Truth of
this kind is the expression of a particular contingent fact, and
consequently can neither include other real truths or the world of
existences, nor ideal truths which refer only to necessary relations in
the world of possibility.
67. Were we to see intuitively infinite existence, cause of all
existences, we should know a real truth, origin of all others; but
as we know this infinite existence only by discursion and not by
intuition, it follows that we do not know the fact of that existence
in which the reason of all other existences is contained. Neither is
it possible for us, after having by means of discursion reached this
cognition, to explain from this point of view the existence of the
finite by the sole existence of the infinite; for if we abstract the
existence of the finite, the discursion, by which we attained to the
cognition of the infinite, disappears, and then our whole scientific
fabric tumbles to the ground. Demonstrate to a man by means of
discursion the existence of God, and require him, setting aside the
point of departure, and depending upon the sole idea of the infinite,
to explain not only the possibility, but also the reality of creation;
and he cannot do it. If he only sets aside the finite all his reasoning
fails, and no effort can prevent its failing; he is like an architect
who, after having built a superb cupola, is required to support it
although the foundations of the edifice are removed.
68. Take any real truth whatever, the plainest and most certain fact,
and yet we can derive nothing from it if ideal truth comes not to
fecundate it. We exist, we think, we feel; these are indubitable
facts, but science can deduce nothing from them; they are particular
contingent facts, whose existence or non-existence neither affects
other facts nor reaches the world of ideas.
These truths are of the purely sensible order, have not of themselves
any relation with the order of science, nor can they be elevated to it
if not combined with ideal truths. Descartes, when he brought forward
the fact of thought and existence, driven as he was by his attempt
to raise a scientific edifice, passed unawares from the real to the
ideal order. _I think_, he said; and had he stopped here he would have
reduced his philosophy to a simple intuition of consciousness; but
he wished to go farther, he wished to reason, and then of necessity
availed himself of an ideal truth: _whoever thinks exists_. Thus with
a universal and necessary truth he fecundated his individual and
contingent fact; and as he needed some rule to guide him in his onward
march, he sought one in the admissibility of the evidence of ideas.
And thus also we see how this philosopher, who so toiled in search
of unity, came all at once in contact with triplicity: _a fact_, _an
objective truth_, _a criterion_: a fact in the consciousness of the
subject; an objective truth in the necessary relation of thought with
existence; a criterion in the admissibility of the evidence of ideas.
We may defy all the philosophers in the world to reason upon any fact
whatever without the aid of ideal truth. We shall find in all facts the
same sterility as in the fact of consciousness. This is no conjecture,
but a rigid demonstration. Only one existence contains the reason of
all other existences; if, then, we do not immediately and intuitively
know it, we cannot discover any one real truth, origin of all others.
69. Even supposing there to be in the order of creation a fact of such
a nature, that the whole universe is only a simple development of
it, we should not therefore have found the real truth source of all
science, for it would not enable us to make any advance towards the
world of possibility, the ideal order, infinitely superior to that of
finite existences.
If we suppose the progress of natural science to lead to the discovery
of a single, simple law, which presides over the development of
all others, and the application of which, varied according to
circumstances, is a sufficient reason of all the phenomena now referred
to many and very complicated laws; this would, without doubt, be an
immense progress in sciences the object of which is the visible world;
but what would it give us to know of the world of intelligences? What
of the world of possibility?(6)
CHAPTER VII.
THE PHILOSOPHY OF THE ME CANNOT PRODUCE TRANSCENDENTAL SCIENCE.
70. The testimony of consciousness is sure and irresistible, but it
has no connection with that of evidence. The object of the one is a
particular and contingent fact; that of the other, a necessary truth.
That I now think, is to me absolutely certain; but this thought of
mine is not a necessary but a decidedly contingent truth; for I might
never have thought, or even existed: it is a purely individual fact, is
confined to me, and its existence or non-existence in nowise affects
universal truths.
Consciousness is an anchor, not a beacon: it saves the understanding
from shipwreck, but does not light it on its way; in the assaults
of universal doubt, consciousness is at hand to shield it from
destruction; but if asked to direct us, it gives us only particular
facts.
These facts have no scientific value, except when made objective, or
rather, when the mind, reflecting upon them, bathes them in the light
of necessary truths.
We think, we feel, we are free; these are facts; but of themselves they
are barren. If we would fecundate them, we must take them as a kind of
material of universal truths. Thought becomes immovable, it congeals,
if deprived of the impulse of these ideas; sensation is common to us
and the brutes; and liberty, without combination of motives presented
by reason, has no object, no life.
71. Here we discover the cause of the obscurity and sterility of German
philosophy since Fichte. Kant fixed himself upon the subject, without,
however, destroying objectivity in the internal world; and therefore
his philosophy, although containing many errors, offers to the mind
some luminous points: but Fichte went farther, planted himself upon the
_me_, and made no use of objectivity, save when it was necessary to the
more solid establishment of a fact of consciousness; and so he found
only realms of darkness and contradiction.
Men of gifted minds have labored in vain to make some ray of light
emanate from a point condemned to obscurity. The soul sees itself
in its own acts; and that it presents immediately to itself facts
conducing to its own cognition is the only title it has, more than
other beings distinct from it, to be conceived by itself. What would
it know were it not to perceive its own thought, its will, and the
exercise of all its faculties? How is it to discuss its own nature, if
not from data furnished by the testimony of its own acts? The _me_ then
does not see itself intuitively; is offered to itself only mediately,
by its acts; that is, so far as it is known, it is in the same category
as all other external beings, which are all known by their effects upon
us.
The _me_ in itself considered, is not a luminous point; it supports
the fabric of reason, but is not the rule according to which it is
to be constructed. The true light is found in objectivity, for it
is properly the object of knowledge. The _me_ can neither be known
nor thought, save inasmuch as it makes itself its own object, and
consequently places itself on a level with other beings subject to
intellectual activity, which operates only by virtue of objective
truths.
72. Intelligence cannot be conceived without at least internal objects;
but if the understanding do not conceive relations and consequently
truths in them, they will be sterile. These truths will have no
connection, will be isolated facts, if they involve no necessity;
and even those relations which refer to particular facts furnished
by experience will not be susceptible of any combination if they do
not, at least conditionally, involve some necessity. The brilliancy
of the light in the room where I now write is in itself a particular,
contingent fact, and science, as such, cannot make it its object except
by subjecting the movement of the light to geometrical laws, that is,
to necessary truths.
Science then may find a resting-point in the _me_ itself as subject,
but no point of departure. The individual is of no service to the
universal, nor the contingent to the necessary. Assuredly there would
be no such thing as the individual A's science, if the individual
A himself did not exist; but the science which stands in need of
the individual subject is not science properly so called, but the
collection of individual acts by which the individual perceives
science. This collection of acts is not the science perceived, which
is something common to all intellects, and does not need this or that
individual: the fund of truths constituting science does not spring
from this collection of individual acts, particular facts, which are
lost like minutest drops in the ocean of intelligence.
How then can science be based solely upon the subjective _me_? How
can the object be made to spring from this subject? Consciousness has
no connection with science, except in so far as it furnishes facts to
which we may apply objective, universal, and necessary principles,
independent of all finite individuality, constituting the patrimony of
human reason, but not requiring the existence of any man.
73. No analysis of the facts of consciousness will produce the origin
of the lights of science. Such an act would be either direct or
reflex. If direct, its value is objective not subjective, the act does
not found science, but the truth perceived, not the subject but the
object, not the _me_, but that which is seen by the _me_. If reflex, it
supposes another previous act, to wit, the object of reflection, which
is primitive, and not the act.
Neither is the combination of the direct with the reflex act of any
service to science, except as connected with necessary and objective
truths, which are independent of the subject. An act individually
considered, is an internal phenomenon, which, apart from objective
truths, teaches us nothing. It has, indeed, a scientific value, if
considered under the general ideas of being, cause, effect, principle
or product of activity, modification, or its relations with its
subject, which is the _substratum_ of other similar acts; that is, if
it be considered as a particular case, comprised in the general ideas
as a contingent phenomenon, to be appreciated by the help of necessary
truths, as an experimental fact to which a theory may be applied.
The reflex act is only a cognition of a cognition, feeling, or
some other internal phenomenon; and therefore all reflection upon
consciousness presupposes a prior direct act. The object of this
direct act is not the _me_; the fundamental principle of the cognition
therefore is not the _me_, as the object known, but only as the
necessary condition, since there cannot be thought without a thinking
subject.
74. These considerations destroy the very foundations of the system
of Fichte, and that of all who take the human me as their point of
departure on the voyage of science. The me, in itself, is not presented
to us; we know it only by its acts; and herein it participates of a
quality of other objects, the essence of which is not immediately
offered to us, but only what emanates from it by the exercise of their
activity upon us.
Thus guided by objective and necessary truths, which are the laws
of our understanding, the type of the relations of beings, and
consequently a sure standard of them, we ascend by reasoning to the
cognition of things themselves. We know that our mind is simple,
because it thinks, whereas the composite, the multiplex cannot
think. It is thus we know the _me_. We are conscious of its thinking
activity, and this is the material furnished by the fact, but then
comes the principle, the objective truth to illumine the fact, and
show the repugnance between thought and composition, and the necessary
connection between simplicity and consciousness.
Upon examination, this reasoning will be found to apply not only to the
_me_, but to every thinking being; and this is why we can extend our
demonstration to all such beings: the _me_, therefore, which applies
this truth, does not create, it only knows it, and knows itself to be a
particular case comprised in the general rule.
75. To pretend that truth has its source in the subjective _me_, is
to begin by supposing the _me_ to be an absolute, infinite being, the
origin of all truths, and the reason of all beings; which is equivalent
to making philosophy commence by deifying the human understanding. But
as one individual has no more right to this deification than another,
to admit it is to establish a rational pantheism, which, as we shall
hereafter see, is nearly, if not quite, identical with absolute
pantheism.
If we suppose individual reason to be only a phenomenon of the one
absolute reason, and consequently what we call spirits not to be
true substances, but modifications of a single spirit, and each
particular consciousness to be only a manifestation of the universal
consciousness, we can then conceive why the source of all truth is
sought in the _me_, and why we interrogate our own consciousness as
a kind of oracle through which the universal consciousness speaks.
But the difficulty is that such a supposition is gratuitous, and that
they who thus seek the reason of all truths, begin by establishing the
most incomprehensible and absurd of propositions. Who will persuade us
that our consciousness is only the modification of another? Who will
make us believe that what we call the _me_ is common to all men, to
all intelligent beings, and that the only difference between them is
the difference of the modifications of one absolute being? Why, then,
is not this absolute being conscious of every consciousness which it
comprises? Why does it not know that which it contains, and by which
it is modified? Why does it believe itself multiplex, if indeed it
be one? Where is the bond of this multiplicity? If each particular
consciousness were only a modification, would it preserve its unity,
and a connected series of all that happens to it, when this series,
this unity is wanting to the substance which it modifies?
76. However this may be, not even by supposing pantheism, can the
friends of subjective philosophy at all advance their pretensions.
With pantheism they legitimate, so to speak, their pretension, but
do not realize it. They call themselves gods, and as such, have a
reason for the source of truth being in them; but as there is in their
consciousness only one apparition of their divinity only one phase of
the orb of light, they can only see in it what it presents to them; and
their divinity finds itself subjected to certain laws which make it
impossible for it to give the light demanded by philosophy.
77. If we interrogate our consciousness upon necessary truths, we shall
perceive that, far from pretending to found or to create them, it both
knows and confesses them to be independent of itself. If, thinking
of this proposition: "It is impossible for a thing to be, and not be
at the same time;" we ask ourselves if the truth of this originates
in our thought, consciousness at once answers that it does not. The
proposition was true before our consciousness existed; and should it
now cease to exist, the proposition would still be true; true, also,
when we do not think of it: the soul is as an eye which contemplates
the sun, but is not, therefore, necessary to the existence of the sun.
78. Another consideration demonstrates the sterility of all philosophy
which seeks in the _me_ alone the sole and universal origin of human
knowledge. Every cognition requires an object; purely subjective
cognition is inconceivable; although we suppose the subject and object
to be identified, duality of relation, real or conceived, is still
necessary; that is, the subject as known must stand in a certain
opposition,--opposition at least conceived,--with itself as subject
knowing. Now, what is the object sought in the primitive act? Is it
something not the subject? Then the philosophy of the subject falls
into the current of other philosophies, since in this something which
is not the subject are objective truths. Is it the subject itself? Then
we ask, is it the subject in itself or in its acts; if the subject in
its acts, then the philosophy is reduced to ideological analysis, and
has no special characteristic; if the subject in itself, we say it
is not known intuitively, and least of all can they who call it the
_absolute_ pretend to this cognition; it is for them even more than
for others a dark abyss. In vain will you stoop over this abyss, and
shout for truth; the dull rumbling which reaches your ears is only the
echo of your own voice; the profound cavern rolls back to you only your
own words still more hollow and mysterious.
79. Eminent among the philosophers most given to empty cavils is the
author of the _Doctrine of Science_, Fichte, of whose system Madame de
Staël ingenuously remarked, that it very much resembled the awakening
of Pygmalion's statue from sleep, which, turning alternately to itself
and to its pedestal said, _I am, I am not_.
Fichte says, in the beginning of his work entitled _Doctrine of
Science_, that he proposes to seek the most absolute principle, the
absolutely unconditioned principle of all human knowledge. This his
method is erroneous: he begins by supposing what is unknown, and does
not even suspect that there may be a true multiplicity in the basis
of human cognitions. We believe that there may be, and that there
really is such a multiplicity, that the sources of our knowledge are
various, and of different orders, and that we cannot reduce them to
unity without leaving man and ascending to God. We repeat it, this
equivocation has become exceedingly general, and its only result
has been uselessly to fatigue inquiring minds or to drive them to
extravagant systems.
Few philosophers have toiled harder than Fichte after this absolute
principle; and yet, to speak plainly, he accomplishes nothing; he
either repeats Descartes' principle, or amuses himself with a play
upon words. We feel pity at seeing him labor so earnestly to so
little purpose. We beg the reader to follow us with patience in our
examination of the German philosopher's doctrine, not with the hope of
finding a thread to serve as a clue to the Dædalus of philosophy, but
in order to judge, with a knowledge of the cause, doctrines which have
made so much noise in the world.
"If this principle," says Fichte, "is absolutely the first, it can
neither be defined nor demonstrated. It must express the act, which
neither is nor can be presented among the empirical determinations of
our consciousness, but rather lies at the bottom of all consciousness,
and alone makes consciousness possible."[4]
[4] _Wissenschaftslehre, Th. 1, § 1_.
Without any antecedent, or any reason, without even taking the trouble
to show on what he bases it, Fichte assures us that the first principle
must express an act. Why may it not be an objective truth? This, at
least, would have deserved some attention, for all preceding schools,
the Cartesian included, located the first principle among objective
truths, not among acts. Descartes himself needed an objective truth in
order to establish the fact of thought and existence. "Whoever thinks
exists," or, in other words, "whoever does not exist cannot think."
80. This last remark shows one of the radical vices affecting the
doctrine of Fichte and other Germans, who attribute an altogether
unmerited importance to subjective philosophy. They accuse others of
too easily making the transition from the subject to the object, but
forget that they, at the same time pass, unauthorised by any reason or
title, from objective thought to the pure subject. Confining ourselves
to the passage of Fichte just cited, what, we ask, will an act be which
neither is nor can be presented among the empirical determinations
of our consciousness? The principle in question is not exempted from
being known because it is absolute; for if we do not know it, we cannot
assert that it is absolute; and if it is not, and cannot be presented
among the empirical determinations of our consciousness, it neither
is nor can be known. Man knows not that which is not present in his
consciousness.
The absolute principle upon which all consciousness rests, and which
makes it possible, either does or does not belong to consciousness.
If the former, it is liable to all the difficulties affecting the
other acts of consciousness; if the latter, it cannot be the object of
observation, and therefore we can know nothing of it.
Fichte confesses that in order to arrive at the primitive act, and
separate from it all that does not really belong to it, we must suppose
the rules of all reflection to be valid, and start with some one of the
many universally admitted propositions. "Conceding us," he says, "this
proposition, you must, at the same time, concede as act that which we
desire to place as the principle of the whole _Doctrine of Science_;
and the result of the reflection must be that this act is conceded to
us as the principle together with the proposition. We take any fact
of empirical consciousness, and strip it one after another of all its
empirical determinations, until reduced to all its purity it contains
that only which thought cannot absolutely exclude, and from which
nothing further can be taken."[5]
[5] _Ibid._
These words show that the German philosopher proposed ascending to a
perfectly pure and wholly indeterminate act of consciousness, which,
however, is impossible. Either he takes the act in a very broad sense,
and understands by it the _substratum_ of all consciousness, in which
case he only expresses in other words the idea of substance; or else
he speaks of an act properly so called, that is, of some exercise of
that activity, that spontaneity which we feel within ourselves; and
in this sense the act of consciousness cannot be separated from all
determination without destroying its individuality and existence. Man
cannot think without thinking something, desire without desiring
something, feel without feeling something, or reflect upon internal
acts without fixing his reflection upon something. There is some
determination in every act of consciousness: an act perfectly pure,
abstracted from every thing, and wholly indeterminate, is impossible,
absolutely impossible; subjectively, because the act of consciousness,
although considered in the subject, requires some determination;
objectively, because such an act is inconceivable as individual, and
consequently as existing, since it offers nothing determinate to the
mind.
81. Fichte's indeterminate act is only the idea of act in general. He
imagined he had made a great discovery when he conceived nothing in the
groundwork but the principle of act, that is, the idea of substance
applied to that active being whose existence consciousness itself makes
known to us.
If we may be allowed to say candidly what we think, our opinion is,
that Fichte, with all his analytical investigations, has not advanced
philosophy one step towards the discovery of the first principle. We
see from what has already been said how easy it is to stop him by
simply demanding an account of the suppositions made on the first page
of his book. Still, wishing, as we do, to oppose him with all fairness,
we will not take up his ideas without allowing him to explain them
himself.
"Every one admits the proposition: A is A; just as that A = A, because
such is the meaning of the logical copula; and indeed without the least
deliberation we perceive and affirm its complete certainty. Should any
one ask a demonstration of it, we should by no means give any, but
should maintain that the proposition is absolutely certain, that is,
without any further foundation. Thus incontestibly proceeding with
general consent, we claim the right to _suppose something absolutely_.
"We do not, in affirming the preceding proposition to be certain
in itself, suppose that A _is_. The proposition A is A, is not
equivalent to this: A _is_, or, _there is an_ A. (_To be_ placed
without a predicate has an entirely different meaning from _to be_
with a predicate, whereof more hereafter.) If we make A denote a
space contained between two straight lines, the proposition remains
exact, although the proposition, A _is_, be evidently false. But, we
assert: _if_ A _is_, A _is thus_. The question is in no wise whether
A is in general or not. The question is not of the _contents_ of the
proposition, but only of its _form_; not whereof we know something, but
what we know of any object whatever.
"Consequently, by the above assertion, that the proposition is
absolutely certain, this is established, that between the _if_ and
the _thus_ there is a necessary connection; and it is this necessary
connection between both which is supposed _absolutely_ and _without
other foundation_. I call this necessary connection provisionally = X."
All this show of analysis amounts only to what every logical student
knows, that in every proposition the copula, or the verb _to be_,
denotes not the existence of the subject, but its relation to the
predicate. There was no need of so many words to tell us so simple a
thing, nor of such affected efforts of the understanding in treating of
an identical proposition. But let us arm ourselves with patience, and
continue to listen to the German philosopher:
"But to return to A itself, _whether_ A is or not; nothing is as yet
affirmed thereon. The question then occurs: under what condition is A?
"X at least is supposed _in_ and _by_ the _me_, for it is the _me_
which judges in the above proposition, and indeed judges by X as by a
law, which consequently being given to the _me_, and by it established
absolutely and without other foundation, must therefore be given to the
_me_ by the _me_ itself."
82. What does all this Sanscrit mean? We will translate it into
English: in identical or equivalent propositions there is a relation
which the mind knows, judges, and according to which it decides upon
the rest: this relation is given to our mind; identical propositions
need no proof in order to obtain assent. All this is very true, very
clear, and very simple; but, when Fichte adds that this relation must
be given to the _me_ by the _me_ itself, he asserts what he neither
does nor can know. Who told him that objective truths come to us from
ourselves? Is one of the principal philosophical questions, such as
is that of the origin of truth, to be thus easily solved with a dash
of the pen? Has he, perchance, defined his _me_, or given us any idea
of it? Either his words mean nothing, or they mean this: I judge
of a relation; this judgment is in me; this relation, as known and
abstracted from real existence, is in me; all which may be reduced to
Descartes' more natural and simple expression: "I think, therefore I
exist."
83. Upon carefully examining Fichte's words, we clearly see that
he made no more progress than the French philosopher. He goes on:
"_Whether_ and _how_ A in general is supposed, we know not; but as
X must mark a relation between an unknown supposition of A and an
absolute supposition of A under the condition of this supposition,
in so far at least as that relation is supposed, A exists _in_ the
_me_, and is supposed _by_ the _me_, just as X. X is possible only in
relation to an A: but X is really supposed in the _me_, therefore A
also must be supposed in the _me_ in so far as X is referred to it."
What confusion and mystery in the expression of the commonest things!
How great Descartes appears beside Fichte! Each makes the fact of
consciousness revealing existence the beginning of his philosophy. The
one expresses his thoughts clearly, with simplicity and in a language
which all the world does or may understand; the other, in order to
seem an inventor, and to show that he has no master, envelops himself
in a cloud of mystery, with darkness all around, whence in a hollow
voice he pronounces his oracles. Descartes says: "I think, I cannot
doubt it, it is a fact attested to me by my internal sense; no one can
think without existing; therefore I exist." This is clear, simple, and
ingenuous; it manifests a true philosopher, one without affectation
or pretension. Fichte says: "Take any proposition whatever; for
example, A is A:" and then goes on to explain how the verb _to be_ in
propositions does not express the absolute existence of the subject,
but its relation with the predicate; the whole with a show of doctrine,
wearisome in its form, and ridiculous in its sterility; and this too
when he only wants to inform us that A is in the _me_, because the
relation of the predicate with the subject, that is, X, is possible
only in a being, since A denotes some being or other. Let us compare
the two syllogisms. Descartes says: "No one can think without existing;
but I think; therefore I exist." Fichte says literally what follows:
"X is only possible in relation to an A; but X is really supposed in
the _me_; therefore A must also be supposed in the _me_." There is at
bottom no difference at all, and the only difference in form is that
which exists between the language of a vain man and that of a sensible
man.
At bottom the syllogisms are not different, we repeat it. Descartes'
major proposition is: "Whatever thinks exists." He does not prove
it, and admits that it cannot be proved. Fichte's major is: "X is
possible only in relation to an A," or, in other words, no relation
of a predicate with a subject, in so far as it is known, is possible
without a being which knows. "X must mark a relation between an unknown
supposition of A and an absolute supposition of the same A, _at least
in so far as that relation is supposed_," that is, inasmuch as it is
known. And how does Fichte prove a relative supposition to suppose an
absolute supposition, that is, a subject in which it is supposed? Like
Descartes, he does not prove it at all. There is no relative A without
an absolute A; what does not exist cannot think. This is clear and
evident; farther than this neither Fichte nor Descartes goes.
Descartes' minor is: "_I think_;" this he does not prove, but refers to
consciousness beyond which he confesses that he cannot pass. Fichte's
minor is this: "X is really asserted in the _me_;" which is equivalent
to saying: the relation of the predicate with the subject is really
known by the _me_; and as, according to Fichte himself, the proposition
may be selected at pleasure, to say that the relation of the predicate
with the subject is known by the _me_, is the same as to say that any
relation whatever is known by the _me_; which in clearer terms may be
expressed thus, _I think_.
84. Here we would remark, that the difference, if any there be, is
altogether in favor of the French philosopher, who understands by
thought every internal phenomenon of which we are conscious. In order
to establish this fact, he has no need of analyzing propositions,
and confusing the understanding upon those very points where it most
requires clearness and precision. Fichte, to arrive at the same point,
takes a roundabout way. Descartes points his finger to it, and says:
_this is it_. The one acts like a sophist, the other like a true man of
genius.
Had the German philosopher confined his forms, little calculated as
they are to illustrate science, to what we have thus far examined,
their greatest inconvenience would have been to weary both the author
and his readers; but unfortunately his mysterious _me_, which makes its
appearance at the very vestibule of science, and which, in the eyes of
sound reason, can only be what it was to Descartes,--the human mind,
knowing its existence by its own thought,--goes on dilating in Fichte's
hands, like a gigantic spectre, which, beginning in a single point,
ends by hiding its head in the heavens and its feet in the abyss.
This _me_, absolute subject, is then a being which exists because it
supposed itself: it is a being which creates its own self, absorbs
every thing, is every thing, and is revealed in the human mind as in
one of the infinite phases of its infinite existence.
What we have thus far said, suffices to show the tendencies of Fichte's
system. We are here treating of certainty and its foundations; this,
then, is not the place to anticipate what we propose to say more at
length upon this system when we come to explain the idea of substance
and refute pantheism: for this is one of the gravest errors of modern
philosophy; everywhere, and under all aspects, it must be combatted,
but to do this we must attack it in its roots. This is why we have
examined at such length Fichte's fundamental reflection in his
_Doctrine of Science_, and stripped it of the importance which he
claimed for it, so as to make it the basis of a transcendental science;
for he flattered himself with being able to determine the absolutely
unconditioned principle of all human knowledge.(7)
CHAPTER VIII.
UNIVERSAL IDENTITY.
85. In order to give unity to science, some appeal to universal
identity; this, however, is not to discover unity, but to take refuge
in chaos. Universal identity is not only an absurdity, but a groundless
hypothesis. Excepting the unity of consciousness, we find in ourselves
nothing that is one; but multiplicity of ideas, perceptions, judgments,
acts of the will, impressions of various kinds; and in relation to
external objects, we perceive multitude in the beings which surround
us, or as some pretend, in their appearances. Where then are unity and
identity, for we can neither find them within nor without ourselves?
86. If it be said that nothing is offered to us but phenomena, and
that we do not attain to the reality, the absolute and identical
unity hidden beneath them, we can reply with this dilemma: either our
experience is confined to phenomena, or it reaches the very nature
of things: if the former, we cannot know what is concealed under the
phenomena, nor absolute and identical unity; if the latter, then nature
is not one but multiplex, for we everywhere encounter multiplicity.
87. It is curious to observe how easily men, the most skeptical in the
simplest things, suddenly become dogmatic at the very point where the
greatest motives of doubt are presented. With them the external world
is either a pure appearance, or a being having no resemblance to the
conception formed of it by the human race: the criterion of evidence,
that of consciousness, and that of common sense have little power to
command assent: the crowd alone should be satisfied with such weak
foundations; the philosopher demands others far more solid. But strange
as it may seem, the very philosopher who styled reality a deceitful
appearance, and saw obscurity in what the human race considered
luminous, so soon as he quitted the world of phenomena and arrived in
the dominions of the absolute, finds himself illumined by a mysterious
splendor, he requires no discussion, but by a most pure intuition, he
sees the unconditioned, the infinite, the one in which every thing
multiplex is involved, the great reality, the basis of all phenomena,
the great All which re-unites in its breast all existences, re-assumes
every thing, and absorbs every thing into most perfect identity. He
fixes his philosophic eye upon this focus of light and life, sees
it roll out like the ocean of existence in vast billows, and thus
explains what is various by what is one, the composite by the simple,
the finite by the infinite. All these prodigies do not require him to
leave himself; he has only to go on destroying all that is empirical,
to ascend even to pure act by mysterious by-paths unknown to all
except himself. This _me_, which may have believed itself an existence
perishable and dependent on another superior existence, is astounded
at finding itself so great; it discovers in itself the origin of all
beings, or, more correctly speaking, the only being, of which all
others are but phenomenal existences; it is the universe itself become
by a gradual development conscious of itself: whatever is without
itself, and at first appears distinct, is only itself, a reflection of
itself, presented to its eyes, and unfolded under a thousand different
forms like a magnificent panorama.
Let not the reader think we have imagined a system for the sake of
combatting it; the doctrine which we have here exposed, is the doctrine
of Schelling.
88. One cause of this error is the obscurity of the problem of knowing.
To know, is an immanent action, having, at the same time, relation to
an external object, excepting those cases in which the intelligent
being becomes, by a reflex act, its own object. In order to know a
truth, whatever it may be, the mind does not quit itself; it does not
operate beyond itself; its own consciousness tells it that it remains,
and that its activity is developed, within itself.
This immanent action extends to objects the most distant in time and
place, and the most unlike in their nature. How is the mind to come in
contact with them? How is it to ascertain whether their representation
conforms to reality? There can be no cognition without this
representation; without conformity, there is no truth, cognition is a
pure illusion to which nothing corresponds, and the human understanding
is unceasingly the sport of vain appearances.
Undeniably this problem is liable to very serious difficulties, which
perhaps the science of man, while in this life, cannot solve. Here
arise all the ideological and psychological questions ever treated by
the most eminent metaphysicians. However, as it is not our intention
to anticipate what is to be hereafter considered, we shall confine
ourselves to the point of view indicated by our present question of
certainty and its fundamental principle.
89. Consciousness attests the fact of representation; without this
there is no thought; and the affirmation _I think_ is, if not the
origin of all philosophy, at least its indispensable condition.
90. Whence comes the representation? How is a being placed in such
communication with other beings, and this not by a transient but by an
immanent act? How explain the conformity between the representation
and the object? Does not this mystery indicate that there is unity,
identity, at the bottom of all things, that the being which knows, is
the very being known, which appears to itself under a distinct form,
and that what we call realities are only phenomena of one and the
same being, always identical, infinitely active, which develops its
strength in various ways, and forms by its development what we call the
universe? No! This neither is nor can be! It is an absurdity which the
most extravagant reason cannot accept: it is a resource as desperate as
it is impotent to explain a mystery, if you will, but one a thousand
times less obscure than the system which pretends to clear it up.
91. Universal identity explains nothing, but greatly confuses
everything; it does not dissipate the difficulty, but strengthens it,
and renders it insolvable. It certainly is no easy matter to explain
how the mind obtains the representation of things distinct from itself;
but it is no easier to show how the mind can have the representation of
itself. If there is unity, complete identity between the subject and
the object, how are the two presented to us as distinct things? How can
duality proceed from unity, or diversity spring from identity?
It is a fact testified by experience, not the experience of external
objects, but that of consciousness, by that which is most hidden in
our soul, that there is in every cognition a subject and an object,
perception and the thing perceived, and without this difference the
act is not possible. Even when by an effort of reflection, we take
ourselves for our own object, the duality appears; if it does not
exist, we imagine it, for without this fiction we cannot think.
92. Even in the most intimate and concentrated reflection, duality,
upon careful examination, is to be found, not by fiction, as it might
seem at first sight, but in reality. When the understanding turns
upon itself, it does not see its own essence, for it has no direct
intuition of itself: it sees its acts, and these it takes for its
object. The reflex act is not the act reflected. When I think that I
think, the first thought is distinct from the second, and so distinct
that one succeeds the other, for the reflective thought can exist only
subsequently to the thought reflected.
93. This is confirmed by a profound analysis of reflection. Is
reflection possible without an object reflected upon? Evidently not.
What is this object in the present case? The thought itself: then this
thought must have preceded the reflection. If it be supposed that they
must not of necessity follow in different instants of time, and that
the dependence is saved, notwithstanding the simultaneousness, still
the force of the argument is not lost; we grant, but do not concede,
that the simultaneousness is possible; but the dependence at least is
not possible without distinction. Dependence is a relation; relation
supposes opposition of extremes; and this opposition draws with it
distinction.
94. That these acts are distinct, although simultaneous, may be
demonstrated in another manner. One of them, that reflected upon, may
exist without the reflex act. We continually think, without thinking
that we think; and the same may be proved true of every reflection
whatever, whether it is occupied with the act thought, or it disappears
and leaves only the direct act: these acts are, therefore, not only
distinct but separable; therefore, the duality of the subject and the
object exists not only in the external world, but also in that which is
the most intimate and pure in our soul.
95. It avails not to say that the object of reflection is not any
determinate act, but thought in general. This is in many cases false;
for we not only think that we think, but that we think a determinate
thing. Moreover, although the object of reflection is sometimes thought
in general, not even then does the duality disappear: in that case
the subjective act is an individual act, existing in a determinate
instant of time, and its object is thought in general, that is, an
idea representative of all thought, an idea which involves a sort
of confused recollection of all past acts, or of what is called
activity, intellectual force. The duality then exists more evidently,
if possible, than when the object is a determinate thought. In one
instance at least two individual acts are compared; but in this case
an individual act is compared with an abstract idea, a thing existing
in one instant of time with an idea that either abstracts it, or
confusedly embraces all that has passed since the epoch when the
consciousness of the reflecting being commenced.
96. These arguments have much greater weight when directed against
those philosophers who place the essence of the mind not in the power
of thinking but in thought itself; who give to the _me_ no other
existence than what springs from its own knowledge, affirming that
it exists only because it _supposes_ itself, by knowing itself, and
only in so far as it _supposes_ itself, that is, in so far as it knows
itself. With this system there is duality, or rather plurality, not
only in the acts, but even in the _me_ itself; because this _me_ is an
act, and acts follow like a series of fluxions developed to infinity.
Thus, far from saving the unity and identity of subject and object,
plurality and multiplicity are established in the subject itself; and
the unity of consciousness itself, in danger of being broken by the
cavils of philosophers, is forced to take refuge in the obscurity of
invincible nature.
97. We have thus incontestably proved that there is in us a duality
of subject and object, that without it knowledge is inconceivable,
and that representation itself is a contradiction unless in one
sense or another we admit things really distinct in the recesses of
intelligence. We beg to observe that we have a sublime type of this
distinction in the august mystery of the Trinity, the fundamental dogma
of our holy religion, covered, indeed, with an impenetrable veil, but
which sends forth light to illustrate the profoundest questions of
philosophy. This mystery is not explained by feeble man, but is for him
a sublime explanation. Thus Plato availed himself of glimmerings from
this focus as a treasure of immense value to philosophical theories;
thus the Holy Fathers and theologians, in endeavoring to throw some
light upon it by arguments of congruity, have illustrated the most
occult mysteries of human thought.
98. The upholders of universal identity, besides contradicting a
primitive and fundamental fact of consciousness, signally fail in
their efforts to explain by it either the origin of intellectual
representation or its conformity to its object. Evidently no man has
an intuition of the nature of the individual _me_, and still less of
the absolute being which these philosophers suppose as the _substratum_
of whatever exists or appears. It is impossible for them to explain _a
priori_, without this intuition, the representation of objects or their
conformity to the representation. The fact, therefore, on which they
would base their whole philosophy, either does not exist, or is unknown
to us: in neither case can it serve as the foundation of a system.
Were this fact to exist, it could not be presented to our mind by
any enunciation to which we could arrive by reasoning. It must be
seen rather than known; either occupy the first place or none. If we
begin to reason without taking this fact for our basis, we start from
the apparent in order to attain to what truly is; we make use of an
illusion to arrive at reality. Thus it evidently follows from the
system of our adversaries that philosophy must either start with the
most powerful intuition, or else it cannot advance a single step.
99. The schools distinguish between the principle of being and the
principle of knowledge, _principium essendi et principium cognoscendi_;
but this distinction has no place in the system which we oppose; being
is there confounded with knowledge; what exists, exists because it is
known, and it exists only in so far as it is known. To draw out the
series of cognitions, is to develop the series of existences. They
are not even two parallel movements; they are but one movement; the
_me_ is the universe, and the universe is the _me_; whatever exists
is a development of the primitive fact, is the fact itself which is
displayed under different forms, extending like an infinite ocean; its
position is unlimited space; its duration eternity.(8)
CHAPTER IX.
UNIVERSAL IDENTITY,--CONTINUED.
100. These systems, as absurd as they are fatal, although under
distinct forms, and by various means, they tend to prepare the way for
pantheism, contain a profound truth which, disfigured by vain cavils,
seems to be an abyss of darkness, whereas it is in itself a ray of most
brilliant light.
The human mind seeks that by reason to which it is impelled by an
intellectual instinct; how to reduce plurality to unity, to re-unite,
as it were, all the variety of existences in a point from which they
all proceed, and in which they are all absorbed. The understanding
knows that the conditioned must be included in the unconditioned, the
relative in the absolute, the finite in the infinite, the various in
the one. In this, all religions, all schools of philosophy agree. The
proclamation of this truth belongs to no one of them exclusively; it is
to be met with in all countries of the world, in primitive times, back
even to the cradle of the human race. Beautiful, sublime tradition!
Preserved through all generations, amid the ebb and flow of events,
it offers us the idea of the Divinity presiding over the origin and
destiny of the universe.
101. Yes! The unity sought by philosophers is the Divinity itself,--the
Divinity whose glory the firmament declares, and whose august face of
ineffable splendor appears to us in our inmost consciousness. Yes! it
is the Divinity which enlightens and guides the true philosopher, but
blinds and confounds the proud sophist; it is what the true philosopher
calls GOD, and venerates and adores in the sanctuary of his soul, but
what the insensate philosopher, with sacrilegious profanation, calls
the _me_. Considering its personality, its consciousness, its infinite
intelligence, and its most perfect liberty, it is the foundation and
the copestone of religion: distinct from the world, it produced the
world from nothing, and preserves and governs it, and leads it by
mysterious paths to the destiny assigned in its immutable decrees.
102. There is then unity in the world; there is unity in philosophy.
In this all agree; the difference is that some separate, with the
greatest care, the finite from the infinite, the thing created from the
creative power, unity from multiplicity, and maintain the necessary
communication between the free will of the omnipotent agent and finite
existences, between the wisdom of the sovereign intelligence and the
fixed course of the universe: while others, affected with melancholy
blindness, confound the effect with the cause, the finite with the
infinite, the various with the one, and reproduce in the domain of
philosophy the chaos of primeval times; but all scattering and in
frightful confusion, without any hope of order or union: the earth of
these philosophers is void, and darkness is upon the face of their
deep; the spirit of God has not moved over the waters to fecundate the
chaos, and produce oceans of life and light out of darkness and death.
The absurd systems invented by philosophical vanity explain nothing;
the system of religion, which is that also of sound philosophy, and
of all mankind, explains everything: the intellectual, as well as the
corporeal world, is a chaos to the human mind the instant it abandons
the idea of God: restore this and order reappears.
103. The two capital problems: whence the intellectual representation,
and whence its conformity to objects, have with us a most simple
explanation. Our understanding, although limited, participates in the
infinite light; this light is not that which exists in God himself, but
a semblance communicated to a being created according to his image.
Illumined by this light, objects shine upon the eyes of our mind,
whether because they are in communication with it by means unknown to
us, or because the representation is given to us directly by God, in
the presence of objects.
The conformity of the representation to the thing represented, results
from the divine veracity. An infinitely perfect God cannot take
pleasure in deceiving his creatures. Such is the theory of Descartes
and Malebranche, eminent thinkers, who took no step in the intellectual
order, without looking to the Author of all light, and who never wrote
a page on which the name of God was not traced.
104. As will hereafter be seen, Malebranche admitted that man sees
every thing in God, even in this life; but his system, far from
identifying the human _me_ with the infinite being, carefully
distinguishes them, not finding other means to sustain and enlighten
the former than by approximating and uniting it to the second. To read
the great metaphysician's immortal work is enough to convince one
that his system was not that of this pure, primitive intuition, which
is an act required of all empiricism, and which seems to rise within
the limits of philosophy, from that intuition of the simple fact, the
origin of all ideas and all facts, in which one of the dogmas of our
religion, the beatific vision, seems realized upon earth in the domain
of philosophy. These are senseless pretensions, and as far from the
mind as from the system of Malebranche.(9)
CHAPTER X.
PROBLEM OF REPRESENTATION: MONADS OF LEIBNITZ.
105. The pretension to find a real truth, the fountain of all others,
is dangerous in the extreme, however indifferent it may at first sight
appear. Pantheism, and the deification of the _me_, two systems which
coincide at bottom, are a consequence not easy to be avoided if it be
attempted to establish all human science upon one fact.
106. The real truth or fact, which would serve as the basis of all
science, should be immediately perceived, otherwise it would lack the
character of origin and basis of other truths; because the medium by
which it should be perceived would itself have the better right to
the title of first truth. If this intermediate fact were the cause of
the other, evidently this latter would not be primitive; and if the
priority were given to the order of knowledge instead of the order of
being, we should still have the same difficulty as now to explain the
transition from subject to object, or the legitimacy of the medium by
which we perceive the primitive fact.
Since then, the immediate presence, the intimate union of the
understanding with the thing known is necessary, it is clear that as
the _me_ has this immediate presence only for itself and its own acts,
the fact sought for must be the _me_ itself. That which is immediately
present to us is the facts of consciousness; by them we place ourselves
in communication with what is distinct from us. In case then that we
must find a primitive fact, the origin of all others, this fact must be
the _me_. If we deny this consequence, we must deny the possibility
of finding any fact which may be the source of transcendental science.
Here we see how the apparently most innocent philosophical pretensions
lead to fatal results.
107. There is here certainly very little chance for evasion, but there
is one so specious as to merit an examination.
The fact, which is the scientific origin of all others, is not
necessarily their true origin. By distinguishing between the principle
of being and the principle of knowledge, all difficulty seems to be
avoided. It is absurd and contrary to common sense, that the _me_ is
the origin of all that exists; but not that it is the representative
principle of all that is or can be known. Representation is not
synonymous with causality. Ideas represent but do not cause the
objects represented. Why, then, is it not possible to admit a fact
representative of all that the human understanding can know? It is
certain that the perception of this fact must be immediate, that is, it
must be supposed intimately present to the understanding perceiving it;
for which reason, it can be nothing else than the _me_: this, however,
is not to deify the _me_, but only to concede to it a representative
force, which may have been given to it by a superior being. It makes
the _me_ not an universal cause, but a mirror which reflects the
internal and external worlds.
This explanation reminds us of the famous system of _monads_ advanced
by Leibnitz; an ingenious system indeed, the lofty flight of one of
the mightiest geniuses that ever honored the human race. The whole
world formed of invisible beings, all representative of the same
universe, whereof they are a part, but by a representation adequate to
their respective categories, and in conformity to their corresponding
point of view, according to the place which they occupy, unrolling
themselves in an immense series, which, commencing with the lowest
order, goes on ascending to the very portal of infinity; and at the
uppermost point of existences is the monad, which, in itself contains
the reason of all things, which has produced them from nothing, given
to them their representative force, and distributed them into their
proper categories, establishing among them a sort of parallelism of
perception, will, action, and motion, in such a manner that, without
any one communicating any thing to another, they all move on in most
perfect conformity, in ineffable harmony. This is grand, beautiful, and
wonderful; a colossal hypothesis which the genius of Leibnitz alone
could ever have conceived.
108. Having paid this tribute of admiration to the eminent author of
the _Monadology_, we observe that its gigantic conception is only an
hypothesis which all the talent of its inventor could never base upon
a single fact capable of giving to it an appearance of probability.
Omitting the very serious difficulties, which this system, doubtless
against the will of its author, opposes to the explanation of free
will, we shall confine ourselves to the examination of the bearings of
this system upon the question now before us.
In the first place, the representation of the monads, being a mere
hypothesis, can serve to explain nothing, unless philosophy is to be
made the sport of ingenious combination. The _me_ is a monad, that is,
an indivisible unity; of this there can be no doubt. The _me_ is a
monad representative of the universe: this is an absolutely gratuitous
assertion, and until it is proved in some way or other, we have the
right to ignore it.
109. Now, suppose the representative force, as understood by Leibnitz,
to exist in the _me_; this hypothesis does not impugn what has been
said against the primitive origin of transcendental science. On close
inspection, the hypothesis of Leibnitz will be found to explain the
origin of ideas, but not their connection. Make the soul a mirror, in
which, by an effect of the creative will, every thing is represented;
still it does not explain the order of these representations, show how
one of them springs from another, or assign to them any other bond
than the unity of consciousness. This system then is quite out of the
question: we are not disputing on the manner in which representations
exist in the soul, nor on their origin; but we are examining the
opinion which pretends to found all science upon a single fact, and to
unfold all ideas as simple modifications of that fact. This Leibnitz
never said, nor can any thing be found in any of his works to indicate
such a thought. Moreover, the difference between this system of
_Monadology_ and that of the German Philosophers, which we impugn, is
too palpable to escape any one.
I. So far is Leibnitz from advocating universal identity, that he
establishes an infinite plurality and multiplicity: his monads are
beings really different and distinct among themselves.
II. The whole universe, composed of monads, proceeded, according to
Leibnitz, from one infinite monad; and this procession was not by
emanation, but by creation.
III. In the infinite monad, in God, Leibnitz places the sufficient
reason of every thing.
IV. Knowledge has been freely given by God himself to the monads.
V. This knowledge, and the consciousness of it, belong to the monads
individually, and Leibnitz never even remotely took into consideration
this foundation of all things, which by its transformation ascends from
nature to consciousness, or descends from the region of consciousness
and is converted into nature.
110. These differences so marked need no comments; they show most
evidently that the philosophers of modern Germany cannot shield
themselves under the name of Leibnitz; although, in truth, these
philosophers have no failing of that kind: far from seeking guides,
they all aspire to originality, and this is one principal cause of
their extravagance, Hegel, Schelling, and Fichte, all pretend to
be founders of a philosophy; and Kant was so governed by the same
ambition, that he made very important alterations in the second
edition of his _Critic of Pure Reason_, lest he should be taken for a
plagiarist from Berkeley's idealism.(10)
CHAPTER XI.
PROBLEM OF REPRESENTATION EXAMINED.
111. All our knowledge is by representation, without which it would be
inconceivable; and yet what is representation in itself considered? We
cannot say: it enlightens us as to other objects, but not as to itself.
It is obvious that we do not attempt to conceal the very grave
difficulties which the solution of this problem offers: on the
contrary, we point them out with all clearness, in order to avoid that
vain presumption which is as fatal to science as to every thing else.
But let it not be supposed that we intend to banish this question from
the arena of philosophy: for many and serious as are its difficulties,
we are yet of opinion that they allow of sufficiently probable
conjectures.
112. The representative force may emanate from any one of these three
sources: identity, causality, or ideality. We will explain ourselves.
A thing may represent itself; and this we call representation of
identity. A cause may represent its effect; and this is what we
understand by representation of causality. A being, whether substance
or accident, may represent another distinct from itself, which is not
its effect; and this we call representation of ideality.
We do not see how it is possible to assign any other source of
representation: holding, therefore, the division to be complete, we
will examine its three points; and we beg to call the attention of the
reader more especially to this matter, because it is one of the most
important in philosophy.
113. That which represents must have some relation to the thing
represented: whether essential or accidental, inherent or communicated,
this relation must exist. Two beings, having absolutely no relation,
one of which nevertheless represents the other, are a monstrosity.
There is nothing without a sufficient reason; and there being no
relation between the thing representing, and that represented, there is
no sufficient reason of the representation.
It is here to be borne in mind that, for the present, we abstract
the nature of this relation; we do not assert it to be either real
or ideal; we only say that, between the thing representing and that
represented, there must be some link, whatever that link may be. Its
mysteries, its incomprehensibility, do not destroy its existence.
Philosophy perhaps may be unable to explain the enigma; but it
can demonstrate the existence of the link. Thus, abstracting all
experience, it is possible to demonstrate _a priori_, that there is a
relation between the _me_ and other beings, by the mere fact of their
representation existing in the _me_.
The incessant communication of intelligences with each other, and with
the universe, proves that there is a point of union for them all.
Representation, alone, is a convincing proof of this: so many beings,
apparently dispersed and unconnected, are intimately united in some
centre, so that the simple phenomenon of intelligence leads us to
affirm the common link, the unity in which plurality is joined. This
unity, with pantheists, is universal identity; with us, it is God.
114. Here observe that this relation between the thing representing and
that represented, is not necessarily direct or immediate; it suffices
that it be with a third object: thus, they who explain representation
by identity, and they who account for it by intermediate ideas, must
equally admit it; for, on the present matter, there is no difference
between those who hold these ideas to be produced by the action of
objects upon our mind, and those who make them proceed immediately from
God.
115. Whatever represents any thing, contains in some sense the thing
represented; for an object cannot be represented unless it is in some
manner or other in the representation. It may be the object itself,
or its image; but this image cannot represent the object, unless it
is known to be its image. Every idea then involves the relation of
objectivity; otherwise it could not represent the object, but only
itself. The act of intelligence is immanent, but in such a manner, that
the intellect does not need to go out of itself to attain its object.
When we think of a star a million leagues distant, our mind certainly
does not go to the point where the star is; but by means of the idea,
it destroys in an instant this immense distance, and unites itself with
the star. What it perceives is not the idea, but its object: if this
idea did not involve a relation to the object, it would cease to be an
idea to the mind, and would represent nothing except itself.
116. There is then, in every perception, a connection of the being
that perceives with the thing perceived. When this perception is not
immediate, the medium must be such as to contain a necessary relation
to the object; it must conceal itself in order to offer to the eye of
the mind only the thing represented. From the instant that it presents
itself, and is seen, or even noticed, it ceases to be an idea and
becomes an object. The idea is a mirror, which is most perfect when it
creates the most perfect illusion. It must necessarily present only the
objects, and project them at the proper distance, without allowing the
eye to see the crystalline plane which reflects them.
117. This union of the thing representing, with that represented, of
the intellect with its objects, may, in some instances, be explained
by identity. In general, no contradiction is discovered in any thing
representing itself to the eye of the understanding, if we suppose
them to be united in some way or other. In case then that the thing
known is itself intelligent, we see no difficulty in its being its
own representation, and consequently none in confounding ideality
and reality in the same being. If an idea can represent an object,
why may it not represent itself? If an intelligent being can know an
object through the medium of an idea, why may it not know that object
immediately? The union of the thing known with the intellect is to
us a mystery, it is true; but is the union effected by the medium of
an idea less so? To the idea may be objected all that can be brought
against the thing itself; and it is even more inexplicable how one
thing represents another, than how it represents itself. The thing
representing and that represented, have between them a sort of relation
of containing and contained. It is easily conceived that the identical
contains itself, since identity expresses much more than to contain;
but it is not so easily conceived how the accident can contain the
substance, the transitory the permanent, the ideal the real. Identity
is then a true principle of representation.
118. We would here make the following remarks necessary to avoid
equivocations.
I. We do not assert a necessary relation between identity and
representation; for this would make every being representative, since
every being is identical with itself. We establish this proposition:
identity may be the origin of representation; but we deny the two
following: identity is the necessary origin of representation;
representation is a sign of identity.
II. We determine nothing as to the application of the relations between
representation and identity, so far as finite beings are concerned.
III. We abstract the duality which results from supposing only subject
and object, and enter into no question on the nature of this duality.
119. These ideas being fixed, we may observe that we have an
incontestable proof that there is no intrinsic repugnance between
identity and representation in two dogmas of the Catholic religion: the
beatific vision and the divine intelligence. The dogma of the beatific
vision teaches us that the human soul in the mansion of the blessed
is intimately united to God, and sees him face to face in his very
essence. No one ever said that this vision was made by the medium of an
idea, but theologians, and among them St. Thomas, expressly teach the
contrary. We have then identity united with representation, that is,
the divine essence representing, or rather presenting, itself to the
eyes of the human mind. The dogma of divine intelligence teaches that
God is infinitely intelligent. God does not need to go out of himself,
nor employ distinct ideas in order to understand; he sees himself in
his essence. Here, too, identity is united with representation, and the
intelligent being identified with the thing understood.(11)
CHAPTER XII.
IMMEDIATE INTELLIGIBILITY.
120. Neither active nor passive representation can be predicated of
all things; we mean to say, that there are some beings which are not
endowed with intellectual activity, and cannot be even passively the
object of the acts of the intellect.
As regards the power of active representation, which is at bottom
only the faculty of intelligence, it is evident that many beings are
destitute of it. There may be greater difficulty with regard to passive
representation, or the fitness to be the immediate object of the
intellect.
121. An object cannot be known immediately, that is, without the
mediation of an idea, if it do not itself perform the functions of this
idea, and unite itself to the intellect which is to know it. This alone
takes from all material objects the character of being _immediately
intelligible_: so that if a mind be imagined having no idea of the
corporeal universe, it could know nothing of it, although for all
eternity in the midst of it.
Hence it follows that matter neither is, nor can be, intelligent or
intelligible: the ideas which we have of it come from another source;
without them we might be united to matter, and never know or even
suspect its existence.
122. An opportunity is here presented of explaining an exceedingly
curious doctrine of St. Thomas. This eminent metaphysician was
of opinion that it required greater perfection to be immediately
intelligible than to be intelligent; so that the human mind, although
endowed with intelligence, does not possess intelligibility.
In his _Summa Theologica_,[6] the holy Doctor asks if the soul knows
itself by its essence, and answers that it does not, and thus defends
his position:
[6] P. 1^a, Q. 87^a, A. 1^o.
"Things are intelligible accordingly as they act, and not as they have
the power to act, as is said in the ninth book of Metaphysics (tex. 20
tr. 3). For any thing that comes under knowledge is being, is the true,
in so far as it is in act, and this is manifestly apparent in sensible
things. Thus the sight does not perceive that which may be colored,
but that only which actually is colored. And in the same manner as is
manifest, the intellect, in so far as it knows material things, knows
that only which is in act.... Hence, also, in immaterial substances,
each one is intelligible by its essence, accordingly as it is in act
by its essence. Therefore, the essence of God, which is a pure and
perfect act, is absolutely and perfectly intelligible by itself; thus
God knows, by his essence, not only himself but also all other things.
But the essence of the angel belongs to the class of intelligible
beings as an act, but not as a pure and complete act, wherefore his
understanding is not completed by his essence. For, although the
angel knows himself by his essence, he cannot know all things by his
essence, but knows those distinct from himself only by their images.
But the human intellect in the class of intelligible beings is only
a possible being.... Therefore, considered in its essence, it is an
intelligent power; hence of itself it has the faculty of understanding,
but not of being understood, except inasmuch as it acts. On this
account the Platonists placed the order of intelligible beings above
the order of intellect; because the intellect understands only by
participation of the intelligible; but according to them, that which
participates is beneath that of which it participates. If, then, the
human intellect places itself in act by the participation of separate
intelligible forms, as the Platonists held, it would know itself by
this participation of incorporeal things. But as it is natural to our
intellect in the present life to look to material and sensible things,
it follows that our intellect knows itself only as it is placed in act
by the species (ideas) abstracted from sensible things by the light
of the intellect acting, which is the act of the intelligible things
themselves.... Therefore our intellect does not know itself by its
essence but by its acts."
Such is the doctrine of St. Thomas. Cardinal Cajetan, one of the most
penetrating and subtile minds that ever existed, has a commentary on
this passage, worthy of the text. These are his words: "Two things
expressly follow, from what is said in the text. The first is, that our
intellect has of itself the faculty of understanding. The second is,
that our intellect has not of itself the faculty of being understood.
Hence the order of intellect is below the order of intelligible beings.
For if the perfection, which our intellect has of itself, is sufficient
to understand, but not to be understood, it necessarily follows that
greater perfection is required in a thing to be understood than to
understand. And because St. Thomas saw this consequence, which at
first sight does not seem true, and might even be objected to him, he
excludes this apprehension, by showing that this must be admitted to be
true not only by the Peripatetics, from whose doctrine it results, but
also by the Platonists."
But afterwards, in answer to an objection brought by Scotus, called
the Subtle Doctor, he adds: "But because in order to understand an
intellect and an intelligible object are required, and the relation of
the intellect to the intelligible, is the relation of the perfectible
to its perfection, since the intellect in act consists in its being
itself the intelligible thing, as is evident from what has been said
above; it follows that immaterial beings are divided into two orders,
intellects, and things intelligible. And as the intelligible consists
in perfective immateriality, it follows that any thing is intelligible
inasmuch as it is immaterially perfective. That intelligibility
requires immateriality is shown by this, that no material thing is
intelligible, unless, inasmuch as it is abstracted from matter.... It
has already been shown that any thing is intelligible by this, that not
only itself, but others, also, are in the intelligible order, either in
act or in potentiality; it is thus nothing more than to be perfected or
perfectible by the intelligible."
123. This theory may be more or less solid, but it is in either case
something more than ingenious; it raises a new problem in philosophy of
the highest importance: to assign the conditions of intelligibility. It
has moreover the advantage of being in accordance with a fact attested
by experience; this fact is the difficulty experienced by the mind in
knowing itself. If it is immediately intelligible, why does it not
know itself? What condition is wanting? Its intimate presence? It has
not only presence but identity. Perhaps the effort to know itself? But
the greater part of philosophy has no other end than this knowledge.
By denying immediate intelligibility to the soul, we can explain why
so great a difficulty is involved in ideological and psychological
investigations, by showing the reason of the obscurity experienced in
passing from direct to reflex acts.
124. The opinion of St. Thomas is not a mere conjecture: we may, in
order to establish it in some manner upon fact, assign a reason which
seems to us greatly to strengthen it, and which may be regarded as
merely an extension of the one already given.
A thing to be intelligible must have two qualities: immateriality,
and the activity necessary to operate upon the intelligent being.
This activity is indispensable, for in the act of intelligence, the
intellect is in some sense passive. When the idea is present, the
intellect cannot but know it: when it is wanting, it is impossible for
the intellect to know it. The idea, therefore, enables the intellect to
act; without it the intellect can do nothing. Consequently, if we admit
that any being can serve as idea to the intellect, we must concede that
being an activity to excite intellectual action; and so far we make it
superior to the intellect excited.
Thus we explain why our intellect, in this life at least, does not
know itself by itself. Experience shows that its activity needs to
be excited. Left to itself it is like one asleep; and this want of
activity in our mind, in the absence of exciting influences, is one of
the most constant of psychological facts.
This is not, however, to say that we have no spontaneity, and that no
action is possible without an external determining cause; but only
that this same spontaneous development would not exist, if we had not
previously been subjected to the influence of causes which brought out
our activity. We may learn things not taught us; but we could learn
nothing, if teaching had not presided over the first development of
our mind. There are, it is true, many ideas in our mind, which are not
sensations, and which cannot have emanated from them; but it is equally
true that a man, deprived of all his senses, could not think, because
his mind would want the exciting cause.
125. We have dwelt thus long upon the explanation of the problem of
intelligibility, because we consider it of scarcely less importance
than that of intelligence, although we do not find it treated in
philosophical works as it merits. We will now reduce this doctrine
to clear and simple propositions, so that the reader may form a
more complete conception of it; and also, in order to deduce some
consequences which have been only slightly indicated in our exposition:
I. A thing must be immaterial in order to be immediately intelligible.
II. Matter cannot be intelligible by itself.
III. The relations of spirits to bodies, or the representation of the
latter in the former, cannot be purely objective.
IV. Some other class of relations must necessarily be admitted to
explain the representative union of the world of intelligences with the
corporeal world.
V. Immediate objective representation supposes activity in the object.
VI. The power of an object to represent itself to the eyes of an
intelligence, supposes in it a faculty of acting on that intelligence.
VII. This faculty necessarily produces an effect, and consequently
involves a kind of superiority of the object over the intelligence.
VIII. An intelligent being is not necessarily immediately intelligible.
IX. Immediate intelligibility seems to require greater perfection than
intelligence.
X. Although not every intelligent being is intelligible, yet every
intelligible being is intelligent.
XI. God, who is in every sense infinite activity, is infinitely
intelligent and infinitely intelligible by himself.
XII. God is intelligible by all created intellects, provided it be his
will to present himself immediately to them, and strengthen and elevate
them as may be necessary.
XIII. There is no repugnance in immediate intelligibility being
communicated to some beings, which are consequently intelligible by
themselves.
XIV. Our soul, while united to our body, is not immediately
intelligible, and we know it only by its acts.
XV. In this want of immediate intelligibility is found the reason
of the difficulty of ideological and psychological studies, and
the obscurity which we experience in passing from direct to reflex
knowledge.
XVI. Therefore, the philosophy of the _me_, or that which seeks to
explain the internal and external world by starting from the _me_, is
impossible; it commences by denying one of the fundamental facts of
psychology.
XVII. Therefore, the doctrine of universal identity is also absurd,
since it gives both intelligence and immediate intelligibility to
matter, which can have neither.
XVIII. Spiritualism, therefore, is a truth which springs as well from
subjective as from objective philosophy, from intelligence as from
intelligibility.
XIX. We must, therefore, go beyond ourselves, and even rise above
the universe to find the origin of either subjective or objective
representation.
XX. Therefore, we must ascend to a primitive, infinite activity, which
places intelligences in communication among themselves and with the
corporeal world.
XXI. Therefore, purely ideological and psychological philosophy leads
us to God.
XXII. Therefore, philosophy cannot commence by a single fact, the
origin of all other facts, but must, and does end with this supreme
fact, the infinite existence, which is God.(12)
CHAPTER XIII.
REPRESENTATION OF CAUSALITY AND IDEALITY.
126. Besides the representation of identity, there is what I have
called the representation of causality. A being may represent itself,
a cause its effect. Productive activity is inconceivable, if the
principle of the productive act does not in some manner contain the
thing produced. Therefore we say that God, the universal cause of all
that does or can exist, contains in his essence all real and possible
beings in a virtual or eminent manner. A being can just as well present
whatever it contains in itself, as it can represent itself; causality,
therefore, under the conditions above explained, may be an origin of
representation.
127. And here we would remark how profound a philosopher St. Thomas
shows himself to be, when he explains the manner in which God knows
his creatures. In his _Summa Theologica_,[7] he asks if God knows
things distinct from himself, and answers in the affirmative; not that
he regards the divine essence as a mirror, but that by recourse to a
more profound consideration he seeks the origin of this knowledge in
causality. This is his doctrine in a few words: It is manifest that
God knows himself perfectly; therefore he knows all his power, and
consequently all the things to which it extends. Another reason, or
rather enlargement of the same reason, is, that the being of the first
cause is its intellect: all effects pre-exist in God as in their cause;
they must, therefore, be in him in an intelligible manner, since they
are his intellect itself. God then sees himself by his essence; but he
sees other things not in themselves, but in his essence, inasmuch as
his essence contains the similitude of everything.
[7] P. 1^a, Q. 14^a, A. 5^o.
The same doctrine is found in another place,[8] where he asks if they
who see the divine essence see all things in God.
[8] Q. 12^a, A. 8^o.
128. Representation of ideality is that which neither proceeds from the
identity of the thing representing with that represented, nor from the
relation of cause and effect. Our ideas are of this class, for they
are neither identical with their objects nor do they cause them. It is
impossible for us to know whether, besides this representative force
which we experience in our ideas, there are finite substances capable
of representing things distinct from, and not caused by, themselves.
Leibnitz maintains that there are such substances; but, as we have
seen, his system of monads must be regarded as merely hypothetical.
It is better to say nothing than to make conjectures which lead to no
result; we shall therefore content ourselves with establishing the
following propositions:
I. If any being represent another which is not its effect, it has not
this representative force of itself, but has received it from another.
II. The communication of intelligences can only be explained by
recurring to a first intelligence, which, being the cause of the
others, can give them the force to act upon one another, and
consequently to produce representation.
129. Causality may be a principle, but is not a sufficient reason, of
representation.
In the first place, a cause cannot represent its effect unless
intelligible in itself. Thus, although we attribute to matter an
activity of its own, we cannot concede it the power to represent
its effects, for want of the indispensable condition of immediate
intelligibility.
130. In order that effects may be intelligible in their cause, it must
of necessity possess the character of cause in its fulness, by uniting
all the conditions and determinations requisite to the production of
the effect. Free causes do not represent their effects, because these
effects with relation to their causes are found only in the sphere of
possibility. The production may be realized, but is not necessary; and
thus the possible, but not the real, is seen in the cause. God knows
future contingencies, which depend upon the human will, not precisely
because he knows the activity of man, but because he sees in himself,
without succession of time, not only all that may, but all that will
happen; since nothing can exist in the present or in the future without
his will or permission. He also knows future contingencies dependent
solely on his own will, because he knows from all eternity what he has
resolved, and his decrees are indefectible and immutable.
131. Even if we refer to the necessary order of nature, and suppose
one or more second causes to be known, it is not possible to see in
them all their effects with entire security, unless the cause act in
isolation, or all the others are known together with it. As experience
shows us that all the parts of nature are in intimate and reciprocal
communication, we cannot suppose the above isolation, and consequently
the action of every second cause is subjected to the combinations
of others, which may either impede or modify its effect. Hence the
difficulty of establishing general, and at the same time, perfectly
safe laws in all that concerns nature.
132. The preceding considerations, it is to be observed, demonstrate
anew the impossibility of transcendental science based upon a fact
from which all other facts proceed. Intellectual representation is
not explained by substituting necessary emanation for free creation.
Even supposing the variety of the universe to be purely phenomenal,
and at bottom only a being always one, identical, and absolute, it
cannot be denied that the phenomena are governed by certain laws, and
subject to various conditions. Either the human intellect can see the
absolute in such a way as to discern by a simple intuition whatever is
contained in it, all that it is or can be, under all possible forms;
or else it is condemned to follow the unfolding of the unconditioned,
the absolute, and the permanent, through its conditioned, relative, and
variable forms. The former, which is a sort of ridiculous plagiarism
from the dogma of beatific vision, is, in treating of the intellect in
its present state, so palpable an absurdity, as to merit neither debate
nor refutation. The latter subjects the intellect to all the fatigue of
investigation, and destroys at one blow all the illusory promises of
transcendental science.
133. The understanding is, in its acts, subject to a law of succession,
or the idea of time. The same thing obtains in nature, whether it is so
verified in reality, or time is considered as a subjective condition
which we transfer to objects; be this doctrine of Kant, which we shall
in due time examine, as it may, it is certain that succession, at
least for us, exists, and that we cannot ignore it. In this hypothesis
an infinite evolution can be known to us only in an infinite time.
Thus, by a metaphysical necessity, we are unable to know not only the
future evolution of the absolute, but also the present and the past.
This evolution being absolutely necessary, according to the doctrine
to which we have reference, an infinite succession must have preceded
us; thus the present organization of the universe must be regarded as
one round of an unlimited ladder, which in the past as in the future,
has no measure but eternity. We can know the present state of the
world solely by observation, and then only to a very limited degree; we
must, therefore, of necessity, deduce it from the idea of the absolute,
by following it in its infinite evolution. Were this not, however,
in itself radically impossible, it would, nevertheless, labor under
the inconvenience of being too long a task to be accomplished in the
life-time of any one man, or even in that of all men who have ever
lived, taken collectively.
134. But let us return to the representation of causality. The ideal
representation may be reduced to that of causality; for since a spirit
can have no idea of an object not produced by it, unless communicated
to it by another spirit, the cause of the thing represented, we infer
that all purely ideal representations proceed either directly or
indirectly, mediately or immediately, from the cause of the objects
known. And since, on the other hand, as we have already seen, the first
being knows things distinct from himself only, as he is their cause; we
hold the representation of ideality to be reduced to that of causality,
thus in part verifying the principle of Vico, the profound Neapolitan
thinker: "the intellect only knows what it does."
135. From this doctrine flow two consequences of which we must take
note:
I. There are only two primitive sources of intellectual representation:
identity and causality. That of ideality is necessarily derived from
that of causality.
II. In the real order, the principle of being is identical with the
principle of knowledge. That only which gives being can give knowledge.
The first cause can give knowledge only in so far as it gives being: it
represents because it causes.
136. The representation of ideality, although connected with that
of causality, is yet really distinct from it. The explanation of
its nature belongs indeed to the treatise on ideas; but we cannot
relinquish, without an illustration, a point so closely connected with
the problem of intellectual representation.
Some conceive ideas to be a sort of image or copy of the object;
but this is true only with respect to the representations of the
imagination, that is, the purely corporeal; and even here it is
necessary to suppose the external world to be such as the senses
present it, which, however, under many aspects, is not true. To be
convinced how illusory is the theory founded on the likeness of
sensible things, we have only to ask, what the image of a relation
is, or, how causality, substance, and being are portrayed. In the
perception of these ideas, there is something more profound than any
thing apparent in sensible things, something of an entirely different
order. Necessity has led us to compare the understanding to an eye
which sees, and the idea to an image present; but this is only a
comparison; the reality is something more mysterious, more secret, more
intimate: there is an ineffable union between the perception and the
idea: man cannot explain it, but he experiences it.
137. Our consciousness attests that there is in us unity of being, that
the soul is at all times identical with itself, and that it remains
constant notwithstanding the variety of ideas and of acts which pass
over it, like waves over the surface of a lake. Ideas are a mode of
being of the mind: but what is this mode? In what does it consist?
Does the production and reproduction of ideas proceed from a distinct
cause which continually acts upon our soul, and produces immediately
those modes of being which we call representations, or ideas? Or must
we admit that there has been given to the mind an activity to produce
these representations, subject, however, to the determination of
exciting causes? These are questions which, for the present, we shall
only indicate.(13)
CHAPTER XIV.
IMPOSSIBILITY OF FINDING THE FIRST PRINCIPLE IN THE IDEAL ORDER.
138. We shall in vain seek in the region of ideas for that which we
could not find in that of facts, for there is no ideal truth, the
origin of all other truths.
Ideal truth only expresses the necessary relation of ideas, abstracting
the existence of the objects to which they relate: hence it follows,
first of all, that ideal truths are absolutely incapable of producing
the knowledge of reality.
No ideal truth can lead to any result in the order of existences,
unless there be some fact to which it applies. Otherwise, however
fruitful it may be in the order of ideas, it will be absolutely sterile
in that of facts. The fact without the ideal truth remains in its
isolated individuality, incapable of producing any thing more than
cognition of itself: but in return, the ideal truth, apart from the
fact, remains purely objective in the logical world, and has no means
of descending to that of existences.
139. Let us apply this doctrine to the most certain and most evident
ideal principles, to those which contain the most general ideas, and
which ought, therefore, to possess the fecundity in question, if,
indeed, it be anywhere to be encountered.
"It is impossible for the same thing to be and not be at the same
time." This is the famous principle of contradiction, which may
undoubtedly claim to be regarded as one source of truth to the human
understanding. The ideas contained in it are the clearest and most
simple conceivable; in it is affirmed the repugnance of being to
not-being, and of not-being to being, at the same time, which is most
evident. But what advance can we make with this principle alone?
Present it to the most penetrating mind, to the most powerful genius;
leave them alone with it, and there will result only a sterile,
although pure and most clear intuition. Since it does not affirm that
any thing is or is not, nothing can be inferred either for or against
any existence: it only offers to the mind this conditional relation:
that if any thing does exist, it is repugnant for it not to exist at
the same time that it exists, or to exist at the same time that it does
not exist. But if the condition of existence or non-existence be not
given, _yes_ and _no_ in the real order are indifferent; nothing is
known concerning them, however great the evidence in the ideal order.
To pass from the logical world to that of reality, all that is required
is a fact to serve as a bridge. If this fact be offered to the
understanding, the two banks are joined, and science commences. I feel,
I think, I exist: these are facts of consciousness; combine any one of
them with the principle of contradiction, and what before were sterile
intuitions become prolific ratiocinations, embracing at once the world
of ideas, and that of reality.
140. Even in the purely ideal order, the principle of contradiction
is sterile unless joined with particular truths of the same order. In
geometry, for example, it is often argued thus: such a quantity is
either greater or less than another, or equal to it; for otherwise it
would be both greater and less, equal and unequal, at the same time,
which is absurd. Here the principle of contradiction is effectively
applied, not alone, but together with a particular truth which makes
such an application available. Thus, in the above argument, no use
could be made of the principle of contradiction, to prove equality or
inequality were not the existence or non-existence of one of the two
previously proved or supposed: since this neither does nor can result
from the principle of contradiction which includes, not a particular
idea, but the most general ideas presented to the human mind.
141. General truths, of themselves, even in the purely ideal order,
lead to nothing, because of the indeterminateness of the ideas which
they contain; and, on the other hand, particular truths of themselves
produce no result, because they are limited to what they are, making
reasoning, which cannot take one step without the aid of general ideas
and propositions, impossible. Light results from the union of one with
the other; separated they afford only an abstract and vague intuition,
or the contemplation of a particular truth, which, limited to a
contracted sphere, can give no knowledge of beings considered under a
scientific aspect.
142. We shall see when we come to treat of ideas, that our mind has
two very distinct classes of them; the one supposes space, and cannot
abstract it, such are all geometrical ideas: the other does not relate
to space, and includes all non-geometrical ideas. These two orders of
ideas are separated by an impassable abyss, if the two orders are not
approximated by a simultaneous use of both. The ideal order is not
complete without this approximation; and the real order of the universe
is turned into a chaos, or rather disappears, if real and ideal truths
are not combined, in both the geometrical and non-geometrical orders.
From all geometrical ideas imaginable, considered in all their ideal
purity, nothing would result for the ideal non-geometrical order, for
the world of material, much less of immaterial realities; and, on the
other hand, from non-geometrical ideas alone we could not get so much
as the idea of a right line. This observation shows that there is for
us in the ideal order no one truth, the origin of all other truths; for
if we take the geometrical order, we are limited to those combinations
which do not go out of it; if the non-geometrical order, we lack the
idea of space, without which we lose even the possibility of conceiving
the corporeal world.(14)
CHAPTER XV.
THE INDISPENSABLE CONDITION OF ALL HUMAN KNOWLEDGE.--MEANS OF
PERCEIVING TRUTH.
143. We have not been able to discover, either in the real or the ideal
order, a truth, the origin of all other truths to our intellect while
in this life. Therefore it stands proved that transcendental science
properly so called is for us a chimera. Our cognitions must, doubtless,
have some resting-point, and this we shall now investigate.
For the better understanding of the subject now before us, we will
recall the true state of the question. We do not seek a first
principle, which of itself alone illumines or produces all truths;
but we seek a truth which shall be the indispensable condition of
all knowledge; for this reason, we do not call it an origin, but a
resting-point. The edifice does not originate in the foundation,
but rests upon it. We must consider the principle sought for as
a foundation, just as in the preceding chapters, we treated of
discovering a seed. These two images _seed_ and _foundation_, perfectly
express our ideas, and exactly trace the limits of the two questions.
144. Is there a resting-point of all science, and of all knowledge,
scientific or not scientific? If there is, what is it? Are there many,
or only one? Evidently there must be a resting-point. If asked the
reason of an assent, we must at last come to a fact or a proposition,
beyond which we cannot go; for we cannot admit the process _ad
infinitum_. This is the point where we must of necessity stop, and
consequently the resting-point of certainty.
145. Starting with a given assent, we may, perhaps, arrive at different
principles, independent one of the other, all equally fundamental, as
regards our mind: in this case there will be not only one, but many
resting-points.
We do not believe it possible to determine _a priori_, whether there
is unity or plurality for our intellect in this matter. That human
science must be reduced to a single principle is a proposition that
has been asserted, but never yet proved. Since the source of all
truth, as has been shown in the preceding chapters, is not in man, it
is evident that the principles, on which his knowledge is founded,
must be communicated. Who shall assure us that they are not many in
number, and of different orders? Nothing then in the present question
can be resolved _a priori_, and we must descend to ideological and
psychological observations.
146. Our mind acquires truth, or at least the appearance of truth; that
is to say, that in one way or another, it performs those acts which we
call perception and sensation. Whether the reality does or does not
correspond to the acts of our soul, is at present of no consequence, is
not what we now seek: we place the question on a ground accessible to
the most skeptical; for even they do not deny perception and sensation;
although they destroy reality, they admit appearance.
147. The means by which we perceive truth are of different orders; and
this is why truths perceived correspond equally to different orders,
parallel, so to speak, with the respective means of perception.
Consciousness, evidence, and intellectual instinct or common sense, are
the three means; to which correspond truths of consciousness, necessary
truths, and common-sense truths. These are distinct, different, and
in many cases unconnected with each other; and he, who seeks to
acquire complete and accurate ideas upon matters relating to the first
principle of human knowledge, must mark out their limits with great
care.
148. That means which we have called consciousness, or the intimate
sense of that which passes within us, that which we experience, is
independent of all the others. Destroy evidence, destroy intellectual
instinct, yet consciousness remains. In order to feel, and to be sure
that we feel, and what we feel, we need only experience. If we suppose
the principle of contradiction to be doubtful, still it will not shake
our certainty that we suffer when we suffer, that we rejoice when we
rejoice, that we think when we think. The presence of the act, or the
impression at the bottom of our soul, is intimate, immediate to us,
and of irresistible efficacy to place us above all doubt. Sleeping or
waking, sane or insane, the testimony of consciousness is the same;
there may be an error in the object, but there can be none in the
internal phenomenon. The lunatic who believes that he counts numberless
bags of dollars, certainly does not count them, and in this he is
deceived; yet he has in his mind the consciousness of what he does, and
in this he is infallible. A man who dreams that he has fallen into the
hands of robbers, is deceived as to the external object, but not as
regards the act by which he believes it.
Consciousness is independent of all extrinsic testimony; its necessity
is inevitable, its force irresistible in producing certainty; it is
infallible in what concerns only itself; if it exist it must give
testimony of itself; if it does not exist it cannot give it. In it
reality and appearance are confounded; it cannot be apparent without
being real; the appearance alone is already a true consciousness.
149. We include in the testimony of consciousness all that which we
experience in our soul, all that which affects what some call the human
_me_, ideas, thoughts of every class, acts of the will, sentiments,
sensations; in a word, every thing of which we can say: I experience it.
150. Manifestly the truths of consciousness are rather facts to be
pointed out, than combinations to be enunciated. This is not to say
that they cannot be enunciated, but that in themselves they abstract
all intellectual form, are simple elements, in ordering and comparing
which the intellect may occupy itself, but which of themselves give no
light, _represent_ nothing, but only _present_ what they are; that they
are mere facts, beyond which we cannot go.
151. The habit of reflecting upon consciousness, and of joining purely
intellectual operations with facts of simple internal experience, makes
it difficult to conceive this isolation, in which every thing purely
subjective is by its nature found. We endeavor to abstract reflection,
but we reflect upon our very effort to abstract it. Our intellect is
a fire, which, extinguished on one side, burns on the other; the very
effort to extinguish it ordinarily makes it burn brighter. Hence the
difficulty of distinguishing the two characters of purely subjective
and purely objective, to mark the dividing line between evidence and
consciousness, between the known and the experienced. Nevertheless,
the separation of two such different elements may be made easy, by
considering that brutes are, in their own way, conscious of what they
inwardly experience; not supposing them to be mere machines, we must
allow them consciousness, or the intimate presence of their sensations.
Without this even sensation is inconceivable, for that can have no
sensation which does not perceive that it feels. Brutes reflect not
on what passes within themselves; they experience it, but nothing
more. Sensations succeed one another in their soul, connected only
by the unity of the being experiencing them; but they do not take
them for objects and consequently, do not combine or transform them
in any manner; they leave them as they are, simple facts. From this
we may derive some light for the conception of what the simple facts
of consciousness are in us when abandoned to themselves, perfectly
isolated, separated from purely intellectual operations, and under no
subjection to reflective activity, which, combining them in various
ways, and elevating them to the region of the purely ideal, presents
them to us in such a manner as to make us forget their primitive purity.
An effort is necessary in order clearly to perceive what the facts
of consciousness are, and what its testimony is; for without this it
is impossible to advance one step in the investigation of the first
principle of human knowledge. Confusion on this point makes us fall
into transcendental equivocations. We shall hereafter have occasion to
observe this, and we have already encountered lamentable examples of
such deviations in the errors of the philosophy of the _me_.
152. Evidence is usually called an intellectual light. This is a
very happy metaphor, and even exact; but, like all metaphors, it has
the defect of being of but little service to explain the mysteries
of philosophy. We also find intellectual light in many acts of
consciousness. There is also a sort of clear light in that intimate
presence by which an operation or an impression is offered to the mind;
it shines upon the eye of the soul, and makes it see what is before
it. If, then, we define evidence only by calling it the light of the
intellect, we confound it with consciousness, or, at least, by the use
of ambiguous language, give others occasion of confounding them.
Let us not be thought to blame those who have used the metaphor of
light, or to flatter ourselves with being able to define evidence
with all exactness; for who can express in words this phenomenon of
our mind? If we are to have any metaphor, that of the intellectual
light seems to be the most adequate. For, in truth, when we fix our
attention upon evidence, in order to examine its nature and its effects
on the mind, it very naturally presents itself under the image of a
light, whose splendor illumines the objects, and enables the mind to
contemplate them: but this, we repeat, is not enough. We will, then,
although we do not undertake exactly to define it, point out a mark to
distinguish it from every thing else.
153. Evidence is always accompanied by the necessity, and consequently,
by the universality, of the truths which it attests. There is no
evidence of the contingent, except in so far as subjected to a
necessary principle.
Let us explain this doctrine by comparing examples taken respectively
from consciousness and evidence.
That there is in me a being which thinks, I know, not by evidence,
but by consciousness. That whatever thinks exists, I know, not by
consciousness, but by evidence. In both cases the certainty is
absolute, irresistible; but in the first it rests upon a particular,
contingent fact; in the second upon a universal and necessary truth.
That I think is certain for me, but not necessarily so for others;
the disappearance of my thought does not overturn the world of
intelligences; if my thought should now cease to exist, truth in itself
would suffer no change; other intellects might and would continue to
perceive truth; and neither in the real nor in the ideal order would
there be less concert and harmony.
I ask myself if I think, and in the bottom of my soul I read that I do
think: I ask myself if this thought is necessary, and not only does
experience tell me that it is not, but I can find no reason why it
should be necessary. Even supposing that my thought ceases to exist,
I perceive that I continue to reason in due form. Thus I examine what
would have happened if I had not existed, or what may hereafter happen
if I cease to exist; and I assent to principles and draw conclusions
without transgressing any law of the intellect. The ideal world and
the real world are presented to my eyes as a magnificent spectacle
at which I indeed assist, but from which I may withdraw without the
representation undergoing any change, except that I should leave vacant
the imperceptible place which I now occupy. But it is very different
with the truths which are the object of evidence. It is not necessary
for me to think; but it is so necessary for whatever thinks to exist,
that no efforts of mine could suffice to abstract this necessity for
one moment. If, taking an absurd position, I suppose the contrary,
and imagine for an instant the relation between thought and being
to be cut short, I break the chain which supports the order of the
entire universe; every thing is reversed, thrown into confusion;
and I know not if what I see be chaos or nonentity. What has taken
place? The intellect has only suffered a contradiction, at the same
time affirming and denying thought, because it affirmed a thought to
which it denied existence. It has violated a universal and absolutely
necessary law, the violation of which throws every thing into chaos.
Not the certainty of the soul's existence, supported by the testimony
of consciousness, suffices to prevent the confusion: the intellect by
contradicting itself has denied itself; from its insensate words, not
being, but nonentity has resulted, not light, but darkness; and this
darkness cast over whatever exists or is possible turns back upon it
and involves it in eternal night.
154. We have here fixed and defined the conditions of consciousness and
evidence. The object of the former is the individual, the contingent;
that of the latter the universal and the necessary. Only in God, the
source of all truth, the universal and necessary principle of being
and of knowledge, is consciousness identified with evidence; and it is
not possible to abstract the testimony of his consciousness, without
annihilating everything. What would remain in the world were I to
disappear? the creature asks itself, and answers: _everything except
myself_. Were God to ask himself this question, he would answer:
_nothing_.
155. We have given the name of intellectual instinct to the impulse
which in many cases produces certainty without the aid of the testimony
either of consciousness or of evidence. If you show a man a target,
then blindfold his eyes, and turn him around at random several times,
and, after this, place a bow in his hands, and assure him that the
arrow will strike the precise centre of the target, he will say that
this is impossible; and nothing can induce him to believe so great an
absurdity. And why not? Because of the testimony of consciousness? No!
For the question is now of external objects. Neither does he depend on
evidence; for the objects of evidence are things necessary, and it is
not intrinsically impossible for the arrow to hit the mark assigned.
On what then rests his profound conviction that this is not possible?
If we suppose him to know nothing of theories, of probabilities, and
combinations, to have no knowledge of this science, and never to have
so much as thought of such things, his certainty is just as great as
it would be were he able to base it upon some sort of calculation. All
the bystanders, whether rude or cultivated, ignorant or learned, need
no reflection to be equally certain; all will say, or think, "this is
impossible; it cannot happen." We again ask, what is the foundation
of so strong a conviction? Not springing from consciousness, or from
either mediate or immediate evidence, it manifestly can have no other
origin than tha
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