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The World As Will and Representation, by Arthur Schopenhauer
That's French for "the ancient system," as in the ancient system of feudal privileges and the exercise of autocratic power over the peasants. The ancien regime never goes away, like vampires and dinosaur bones they are always hidden in the earth, exercising a mysterious influence. It is not paranoia to believe that the elites scheme against the common man. Inform yourself about their schemes here.
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The World As Will and Representation
by Arthur Schopenhauer
Translated from the German by E.F.J. Payne
In Two Volumes
© 1969 Dover Publications, Inc.
© 1958 by The Falcon's Wing Press
•	Translator's Introduction
•	Preface to the First Edition
•	Preface to the Second Edition
•	Preface to the Third Edition
•	Selected Bibliography
•	Volume 1
o	First Book: The World as Representation. First Aspect
o	Second Book: The World as Will. First Aspect
o	Third Book: The World as Representation. Second Aspect
o	Fourth Book: The World as Will: Second Aspect
o	Appendix: Criticism of the Kantian Philosophy
o	Supplements to the First Book
o	First Half: The Doctrine of the Representation of Perception
	I. On the Fundamental View of Idealism
	II. On the Doctrine of Knowledge of Perception or Knowledge of the Understanding
	III. On the Senses
	IV. On Knowledge a Priori
o	Second Half: The Doctrine of the Abstract Representation or of Thinking
	V. On the Intellect Devoid of Reason
	VI. On the Doctrine of Abstract Knowledge, or Knowledge of Reason
	VII. On the Relation of Knowledge of Perception to Abstract Knowledge
	VIII. On the Theory of the Ludicrous
	IX. On Logic in General
	X. On the Science of Syllogisms
	XI. On Rhetoric
	XII. On the Doctrine of Science
	XIII. On the Methods of Mathematics
	XIV. On the Association of Ideas
	XV. On the Essential Imperfections of the Intellect
	XVI. On the Practical Use of Our Reason and on Stoicism
	XVII. On Man's Need for Metaphysics
o	Supplements to the Second Book
	XVIII. On the Possibility of Knowing the Thing-in-Itself
	XIX. On the Primacy of the Will in Self-Consciousness
	XX. Objectification of the Will in the Animal Organism
	XXI. Retrospect and More General Consideration
	XXII. Objective View of the Intellect
	XXIII. On the Objectification of the Will in Nature without Knowledge
	XXIV. On Matter
	XXV. Transcendent Considerations on the Will as Thing-in-Itself
	XXVI. On Teleology
	XXVII. On Instinct and Mechanical Tendency
	XXVIII. Characterization of the Will-to-Live
o	Supplements to the Third Book
	XXIX. On Knowledge of the Ideas
	XXX. On the Pure Subject of Knowing
	XXXI. On Genius
	XXXII. On Madness
	XXXIII. Isolated Remarks on Natural Beauty
	XXXIV. On the Inner Nature of Art
	XXXV. On the Aesthetics of Architecture
	XXXVI. Isolated Remarks on the Aesthetics of the Plastic and Pictorial Arts
	XXXVII. On the Aesthetics of Poetry
	XXXVIII. On History
	XXXIX. On the Metaphysics of Music
o	Supplements to the Fourth Book
	XL. Preface
	XLI. On Death and Its Relation to the Indestructibility of Our Inner Nature
	XLII. Life of the Species
	XLIII. The Hereditary Nature of Qualities
	XLIV. The Metaphysics of Sexual Love
	Appendix to the Preceding Chapter
	XLV. On the Affirmation of the Will-to-Live
	XLVI. On the Vanity and Suffering of Life
	XLVII. On Ethics
	XLVIII. On the Doctrine of the Denial of the Will-to-Live
	XLIX. The Road to Salvation
	L. Epiphilosophy
o	Index
Re: The World As Will and Representation, by Arthur Schopenh
Translator's Introduction
Arthur Schopenhauer was born in the Hanseatic	City of Danzig in 1788. His father was a well-to-do merchant of	rugged independence and wide cultural interests, and his mother a	woman of considerable intellectual gifts who in her day won fame as	an authoress. At an early age, the son showed outstanding mental	qualities, and soon embarked on an intensive study of the humanities,	the empirical sciences, and philosophy at the Universities of Gottingen	and Berlin. In 1813 he wrote his first work, On the Fourfold Root of	the Principle of Sufficient Reason, a thesis which gained for him the degree of doctor of philosophy of Jena University, and in which he	expounded his epistemology based on the Kantian doctrine of the	ideality of space, time, and the categories.
From 1814 to 1818 Schopenhauer lived in Dresden, where his	creative genius conceived and gave birth to a philosophical work	which, for its depth and range of thought as well as for the clarity and	brilliance of its style, was an outstanding achievement for so young a	man. It was the more remarkable in that, during the forty-one years	he was still to live after its publication, he did not consider it necessary	to modify or recast in any way the basic idea underlying this	work. Like Plato, he was deeply stirred by [x], by the wonder that	impels men to philosophize, and he instinctively viewed the world	with the objective eye of the genuine thinker. In his youth, he began	to keep note-books in which from time to time throughout his life he	recorded ideas as they occurred to him. Thus all such notes stemmed	from the original fundamental conception round which the whole of	his philosophical structure was built.
In 1844 a second edition of this main work was published in two	volumes, the first of which was virtually a reprint of the first edition	of 1819, whilst the second contained in fifty chapters supplementary	discussions on the theme of the first. The encyclopaedic range of	this supplementary volume is an indication of the depth and maturity	of Schopenhauer's thought, and stamps it as one of the most eminent	works in the whole province of philosophical literature. Like the first	a quarter of a century earlier, this second edition evoked little or no	response from the learned world of that time, which was still under	the influence of Hegel and other post-Kantian philosophers. After	1851, when his last major work was published, Schopenhauer ultimately acquired fame, and the interest that was now awakened in his	philosophy stimulated a demand for new editions of his works. In	1859, the year before his death, a third edition of Die Welt als Wille	und Vorstellung was published.
Schopenhauer himself has stated that his philosophy is the natural	continuation and completion of the Kantian, for he has taken as the	foundation of his own system of thought the ideality of space and	time and the Kantian thing-in-itself as expounded in the Critique of	Pure Reason.
In his essay On the Fourfold Root of the Principle of Sufficient	Reason, to which Schopenhauer frequently refers in this major work,	he discusses in detail the intellectual nature of perception and shows	that, from the meagre data supplied by our senses, our faculty of	cognition creates immediately and automatically a mental picture	of the external world in all its variegated wealth of detail. This mental	picture is a "re-presentation" of the data of the senses, a Vorstellung	of the intellect, and is something totally different from a mere figment	of the imagination. Of the twelve Kantian categories, Schopenhauer	rejects eleven as redundant, and retains only the category of causality.	He then discusses the a priori nature of time, space, and causality, and	shows that they are essentially the three innate functions of our intellect,	inasmuch as they enter inevitably and inseparably into the	framework of all possible experience, and are, in fact, the prerequisite	of all knowledge of this. Our knowing consciousness, says Schopenhauer,	is divisible solely into subject and object. To be object for the	subject and to be our representation or mental picture are one and the	same. All our representations are objects for the subject, and all objects	of the subject are our representations. These stand to one another	in a regulated connexion which in form is determinable a priori, and	by virtue of this connexion nothing existing by itself and independent,	nothing single and detached, can become an object for us. It is this connexion which is expressed by the principle of sufficient reason in	general. All our representations are divisible into four classes which	impart to the principle of sufficient reason its fourfold root. The first	aspect of this principle is that of becoming, where it appears as the	law of causality and is applicable only to changes. Thus if the cause	is given, the effect must of necessity follow. The second aspect	deals with concepts or abstract representations, which are themselves	drawn from representations of intuitive perception, and here the	principle of sufficient reason states that, if certain premisses are given,	the conclusion must follow. The third aspect of the principle is concerned	with being in space and time, and shows that the existence of	one relation inevitably implies the other, thus that the equality of the	angles of a triangle necessarily implies the equality of its sides and	vice versa. Finally, the fourth aspect deals with actions, and the principle	appears as the law of motivation, which states that a definite	course of action inevitably ensues on a given character and motive.	Thus the principle of sufficient reason deals only with our representation	in the widest sense, that is to say, with the form in which things	appear to us, not with that inscrutable metaphysical entity which appears	through this form, and which Kant calls the "thing-in-itself."	Because this "thing-in-itself" transcends the physical framework of	time, space, and causality, and therefore of our cognitive functions,	Kant regarded a knowledge of it as impossible. Schopenhauer admitted	this up to a point, although, by identifying the Kantian thing-in-itself with the will in ourselves, he maintained that experience itself	as a whole was capable of explanation; yet he did not imply by this	that no problems remained unsolved.
The first volume of this work contains the basic idea of Schopenhauer's	system divided into four books and followed by an appendix	consisting of a masterly criticism of the Kantian philosophy which	greatly facilitates the study of the three Critiques, and in which	Schopenhauer readily acknowledges his indebtedness to his master,	and just as readily subjects to a searching criticism those points in	which he considers that Kant has gone astray. The picture emerging	from a study of this first volume is that of an organically consistent	structure of thought based on inner and outer experience, and culminating	in three towers, in the metaphysics of nature, of art or	aesthetics, and of morality.
The second volume supplements the discussions in each of the four	books of the first, and represents the mature fruit of a lifetime's reflection	on the many problems raised by the main theme of Schopenhauer's	philosophy. The great all-embracing idea of the first volume	with all its ramifications is further investigated, developed and corroborated	in the second through the many references to art, life, and	the empirical sciences. On the one hand, we discern the shrewdness	of Schopenhauer's observation of the world and its many relations, a	quality in which he is unique, and, on the other, we are struck by the	psychological force and even fierceness with which he reveals the	deepest recesses of the human heart. Many have complained that his philosophy is sombre and pessimistic, but an impartial examination	will lead to the conclusion that it is neither more nor less pessimistic	than the teachings of Brahmanism, Buddhism, and Christianity, all of	which agree in preaching as the supreme goal deliverance from this	earthly existence. [1] In the history of philosophy Schopenhauer's name	will always be associated with a correct distinction between knowledge	of perception and abstract knowledge, with a proper analysis of consciousness,	of the so-called psyche, into will and intellect, with the	correct interpretation and utilization of the Platonic Ideas, and finally	with a true insight into the real nature of Christianity from both the	religious and philosophical points of view.
It is universally acknowledged by all who have read Schopenhauer's	works, even by those who do not share his views, that his prose is	second to none in beauty of style and in power and lucidity of expression.	Long periods are occasionally met with in his works, but there	is never a doubt as to the precise meaning of what he wrote. He	thought clearly and concisely, and expressed himself in clear and concise	language. He was discriminating in the choice of words and expressions,	and paid great attention even to punctuation. No translator	can take liberties with his prose without adversely affecting the translation,	which should aim at being as faithful as possible to the author's	original work, and yet avoid being too literal and therefore unreadable.	On the other hand, the translator must resist the temptation to	"correct" and touch up his author under the mistaken impression that	he is "improving" the work, a practice that was strongly condemned	by Schopenhauer.
One of the difficulties in rendering a German philosophical work	into English comes from the inability of the English language to reproduce	adequately and accurately some of the philosophical terms	and expressions of which there are so many in German. This language	is an admirable medium for the precise expression of abstract philosophical	ideas, and the translator must endeavour to keep as close as	possible to the meaning of the original. It is pertinent to the matter	to mention here one or two German words by way of showing that	the translator's task is not always easy, despite the fact that Schopenhauer	rarely resorted to the involved and long periods so characteristic	of the style of many German philosophers.
Anschauung is used by Schopenhauer to describe what occurs when	the eye perceives an external object as the cause of the sensation on	the retina. "Perception" has been selected as the nearest English	equivalent, although it may also be translated "intuition" in the sense	of an immediate apprehension.
Wahrnehmung is used to convey the idea of perception through any	or all of the five senses.
Vernehmen has no exact equivalent in English, and is philologically	related to Vernunft, the faculty of reason peculiar to man which	enables him to form concepts and words from the countless objects	perceived in the world of experience. Vernehmen means more than	mere sensuous hearing, and implies hearing by means of the faculty	of reason.
Grund and Vernunft are almost always translated by the word	"reason," yet the two German words differ widely in meaning. The	context usually enables one to see in which sense the word "reason"	is used.
Willkur means free will, free choice, arbitrary power, or caprice.	The expression "free will" is likely to give rise to a misconception,	since Schopenhauer uses the word to indicate will with the power of	choice, will determined by motives, conscious will as opposed to	blind impulse. Such will, however, is not absolutely free in the metaphysical	sense, in as much as a will determined by motives cannot be	free. Schopenhauer uses the expression liberum arbitrium indifferentiae	to convey the meaning of a will that is absolutely free in the metaphysical	sense before it has assumed the phenomenal form. He emphatically	denies the existence of such a freedom in the world of	phenomena.
Vorstellung is important, for it occurs in the German title of this	work. Its primary meaning is that of "placing before," and it is used	by Schopenhauer to express what he himself describes as an "exceedingly	complicated physiological process in the brain of an animal, the	result of which is the consciousness of a picture there." In the present	translation "representation" has been selected as the best English	word to convey the German meaning, a selection that is confirmed by	the French and Italian versions of Die Welt als Wille und Vorstellung.	The word "idea" which is used by Haldane and Kemp in their English	translation of this work clearly fails to bring out the meaning of	Vorstellung in the sense used by Schopenhauer. Even Schopenhauer	himself has translated Vorstellung as "idea" in his criticism of Kant's	philosophy at the end of the first volume, although he states in his essay, On the Fourfold Root of the Principle of Sufficient Reason,	that "idea" should be used only in its original Platonic sense. Moreover,	confusion results in the translation of Haldane and Kemp from	printer's errors in the use of "Idea" with a capital letter to render the	German Idee in the Platonic sense and of "idea" for the translation	of Vorstellung as used by Schopenhauer. In the present translation	Idee has been rendered by the word "Idea" with a capital letter.
After the publication of each of his works, Schopenhauer was in	the habit of recording in an interleaved copy additions and modifications	for incorporation in future editions. In the last ten years of his	life, he was engaged on these interleaved copies the blank pages of	which were gradually filled with additions and amendments. In many	instances these were completely edited and incorporated into the	original text. In some cases, however, they were fragmentary and indefinite	in form, whilst in others a brief reference was made to a	passage in Schopenhauer's manuscript-books which formed the storehouse	of his ideas and furnished essential material for all his works	after 1819.
In his last years, Schopenhauer had considered the possibility of a	complete edition of his works, but the rights of the six publishers	ruled out the realization of such a plan during his lifetime. Not till	1873 was it possible for Julius Frauenstadt, the philosopher's literary	executor, to publish an edition of the works which for many years	remained the standard, a reprint of it appearing as recently as 1922.
Until Schopenhauer's works were out of copyright, scholars had to	rely on Frauenstadt's edition as the standard, but with the suggestion	that it contained a number of errors, attempts were made to replace	it by a better and more reliable edition. By this time, however, editors	no longer had at their disposal all the material that Frauenstadt had	had as Schopenhauer's literary executor. After Frauenstadt's death	in 1879, Schopenhauer's manuscript-books went to the Berlin Library,	but by an oversight the interleaved copies of the works were	sold and for many years were not accessible to scholars. Only gradually	and by stages was it possible for them to complete their task of	the textual criticism and emendation of Schopenhauer's works.
The first stage was the publication in 1891 of Eduard Grisebach's	edition. At the time, scholars were surprised to learn from him that	the edition of Frauenstadt contained many hundreds of errors,	whereas his own gave not only the correct order of the works, in	accordance with Schopenhauer's wishes, but also a text that had been	compared with Schopenhauer's final editions and with the manuscript-books.	However, it was not long before G. F. Wagner discovered that	Grisebach himself had incorporated in his own edition many textual	inaccuracies from the edition of Frauenstadt.
The second stage came when the interleaved copies of the works	were again accessible to scholars. In 1911 Paul Deussen and his collaborators	were able to begin their fine edition of Schopenhauer's	works, and full advantage was taken of the possibility of obtaining	an accurate text from the interleaved copies and the manuscript-books.
The third and final stage in the work of textual criticism and correction	was taken up with an examination of the original manuscripts	of most of the works. In 1937 Dr. Arthur Hubscher was able for the	first time to use such manuscripts for the production of a new edition	with a text representing the last word in accuracy. By carefully comparing	these manuscripts with the traditional texts, he succeeded in	eliminating many errors and inaccuracies from the earlier editions,	and in producing a text that would have accorded with Schopenhauer's	views. A reprint of this edition appeared between 1946 and	1950, and it is the text of this which has been used in making the	present translation.
Reference has already been made to the only other English translation	of Die Welt als Wille und Vorstellung, which was made by R.	B. Haldane (later Lord Haldane) and J. Kemp between 1883 and	1886, and was freely consulted in the preparation of this new English	version of Schopenhauer's main work. However, the interests of truth	and the importance of this work in the history of philosophy require	that attention be drawn to the many errors and omissions in their	translation, over a thousand of which came to light when it was compared	with the German text, and which seriously detract from its merit as a work of scholarship.
In conclusion, the translator would like to express his deep appreciation	and gratitude to his many friends who, by their kindness and	encouragement, have sustained him in the long task of translation,	and in particular to his friend Dr. Arthur Hubscher of Munich, the	President of the Schopenhauer-Gesellschaft and one of the most eminent	living authorities on Schopenhauer and his philosophy, for his	valuable advice always so generously given, and for the benefits of	his wide scholarship in this field which have contributed so much to	the work of translation.
LONDON, 1957.
1. Cf. "East-West Fire ... Schopenhauer's Optimism and the Lankavatara	Sutra," C. A. Muses, 1955, passim.
I propose to state here how this book is to be read,	in order that it may be thoroughly understood. What is to be imparted	by it is a single thought. Yet in spite of all my efforts, I have	not been able to find a shorter way of imparting that thought than	the whole of this book. I consider this thought to be that which has	been sought for a very long time under the name of philosophy,	and that whose discovery is for this very reason regarded by those	versed in history as just as impossible as the discovery of the philosophers'	stone, although Pliny had already said to them: Quam	multa fieri non posse, priusquam sint facta, judicantur? (Historia	naturalis, 7, 1). [1]
According as we consider under different aspects this one thought	that is to be imparted, it appears as what has been called metaphysics,	what has been called ethics, and what has been called aesthetics;	and naturally it was bound to be all these, if it is what I	have already acknowledged it to be.
A system of thought must always have an architectonic connexion	or coherence, that is to say, a connexion in which one part always	supports the other, though not the latter the former; in which the	foundation-stone carries all the parts without being carried by them;	and in which the pinnacle is upheld without upholding. On the other	hand, a single thought, however comprehensive, must preserve the	most perfect unity. If, all the same, it can be split up into parts for	the purpose of being communicated, then the connexion of these	parts must once more be organic, i.e., of such a kind that every part supports the whole just as much as it is supported by the whole;	a connexion in which no part is first and no part last, in which the	whole gains in clearness from every part, and even the smallest part	cannot be fully understood until the whole has been first understood.	But a book must have a first and a last line, and to this extent will	always remain very unlike an organism, however like one its contents may be. Consequently, form and matter will here be in contradiction.
It is self-evident that in such circumstances, in order that the	thought expounded may be fathomed, no advice can be given other	than to read the book twice, and to do so the first time with much	patience. This patience is to be derived only from the belief, voluntarily	accorded, that the beginning presupposes the end almost as	much as the end the beginning, and that every earlier part presupposes	the later almost as much as the later the earlier. I say "almost,"	for it is by no means absolutely so; and whatever it was possible	to do to give priority to that which is in any case explained by what follows, and generally whatever might contribute to the greatest possible	comprehensibility and clearness, has been honestly and conscientiously	done. Indeed, I might to a certain extent have succeeded,	were it not that the reader, as is very natural, thinks when reading	not merely of what is at the moment being said, but also of its possible	consequences. Thus besides the many contradictions of the	opinions of the day, and presumably of the reader also, that actually	exist, as many others may be added that are anticipated and imaginary.	That, then, which is mere misunderstanding, must show	itself as lively disapproval, and it is the less recognized as misunderstanding	because, while the laboriously attained clearness of explanation	and distinctness of expression never leave one in doubt	about the direct meaning of what is said, yet they cannot express	its relations to all that remains. Therefore, as I have said, the first	reading demands patience, derived from the confidence that with	a second reading much, or all, will appear in quite a different light. Moreover, the earnest desire for fuller and even easier comprehension	must, in the case of a very difficult subject, justify occasional	repetition. The structure of the whole, which is organic and not like	a chain, in itself makes it necessary sometimes to touch twice on	the same point. This construction and the very close interconnexion	of all the parts have not allowed of that division into chapters and	paragraphs which I usually value so much, but have obliged me to	be content with four principal divisions, four aspects, as it were, of	the one thought. In each of these four books we have specially to	guard against losing sight, among the details that must needs be discussed,	of the principal thought to which they belong, and of the	progress of the exposition as a whole. And thus is expressed the	first, and like those that follow, absolutely necessary, demand on	the reader, who is unfriendly towards the philosopher just because	he is one himself.
The second demand is that the introduction be read before the	book itself, although this is not a part of the book, but appeared	five years previously under the title On the Fourfold Root of the	Principle of Sufficient Reason: a Philosophical Essay. Without an	acquaintance with this introduction and propaedeutic, it is quite impossible	to understand the present work properly, and the subject-matter	of that essay is always presupposed here as if it were included	in the book. Moreover, if it had not preceded this work by several	years, it would not be placed at the front of it as an introduction,	but would be incorporated in the first book, since this book lacks	what was said in the essay, and exhibits a certain incompleteness	because of these omissions, which must always be made good by	reference to that essay. However, my dislike of quoting myself, or of	laboriously expressing once again in different words what had already	been said adequately once, was so great that I preferred this	course, despite the fact that I could now give the subject-matter of	that essay a somewhat better presentation, particularly by clearing	it of many conceptions which arose from my excessive preoccupation	at that time with the Kantian philosophy, such as categories,	outer and inner sense, and the like. But even there those conceptions	occur only because I had as yet never really entered deeply	into them, and therefore only as a secondary affair quite unconnected	with the principal matter. For this reason, the correction of	such passages in that essay will come about quite automatically in	the reader's thoughts through his acquaintance with the present	work. But only if through that essay we have fully recognized what	the principle of sufficient reason is and signifies, where it is valid	and where it is not, that it is not prior to all things, and that the	whole world exists only in consequence of and in conformity to	it, as its corollary so to speak; that rather it is nothing more than	the form in which the object, of whatever kind it may be and always	conditioned by the subject, is everywhere known in so far as the	subject is a knowing individual; only then will it be possible to	enter into the method of philosophizing which is here attempted for	the first time, differing completely as it does from all previous	methods.
But the same dislike to quote myself word for word, or to say	exactly the same thing a second time in other and less suitable terms,	after I had already made use of better ones, has been the cause of	yet a second omission in book one of this work. For I have left out	all that is to be found in the first chapter of my essay On Vision and	Colours, which otherwise would have found its place here, word for	word. Therefore an acquaintance with that short earlier work is also	presupposed.
Finally, the third demand to be made on the reader might even	be taken for granted, for it is none other than an acquaintance with	the most important phenomenon which has appeared in philosophy	for two thousand years, and which lies so close to us, I mean the	principal works of Kant. Indeed, I find, as has already been said on	other occasions, that the effect those works produce in the mind to	which they really speak is very like that of an operation for cataract	on a blind man. If we wish to continue the simile, my purpose can	be described by saying that I wanted to put into the hands of those	on whom that operation has been successful a pair of cataract spectacles,	for the use of which that operation itself is the most necessary	condition. Therefore, while I start in large measure from what was	achieved by the great Kant, serious study of his works has nevertheless	enabled me to discover grave errors in them. I had to separate	these and show them to be objectionable, in order that I might presuppose	and apply what is true and excellent in his doctrine, pure	and clarified of them. But in order not to interrupt and confuse my	own exposition by frequent polemics against Kant, I have put this into	a special appendix. And just as, according as I have said, my work	presupposes an acquaintance with the Kantian philosophy, so too	does it presuppose an acquaintance with that appendix. Therefore,	in this respect, it would be advisable to read the appendix first, the	more so as its subject-matter has special reference to book one of	the present work. On the other hand, it could not from the nature	of the case be avoided that even the appendix should refer now and	again to the main text. The result of this is simply that the appendix,	as well as the main part of the work, must be read twice.
Kant's philosophy is therefore the only one with which a thorough	acquaintance is positively assumed in what is to be here discussed.	But if in addition to this the reader has dwelt for a while in the	school of the divine Plato, he will be the better prepared to hear	me, and the more susceptible to what I say. But if he has shared	in the benefits of the Vedas, access to which, opened to us by the	Upanishads, is in my view the greatest advantage which this still young century has to show over previous centuries, since I surmise	that the influence of Sanskrit literature will penetrate no less deeply	than did the revival of Greek literature in the fifteenth century; if,	I say, the reader has also already received and assimilated the divine	inspiration of ancient Indian wisdom, then he is best of all prepared	to hear what I have to say to him. It will not speak to him, as to	many others, in a strange and even hostile tongue; for, did it not	sound too conceited, I might assert that each of the individual and	disconnected utterances that make up the Upanishads could be derived as a consequence from the thought I am to impart, although	conversely my thought is by no means to be found in the Upanishads.
But most readers have already grown angry with impatience, and	have burst into a reproach kept back with difficulty for so long. Yet	how can I dare to submit a book to the public under demands and	conditions of which the first two are presumptuous and quite immodest,	and this at a time when there is so general an abundance	of characteristic ideas that in Germany alone such ideas are made	common property through the press every year, in three thousand	substantial, original, and absolutely indispensable works, as well as	in innumerable periodicals, and even daily papers; at a time when	in particular there is not the slightest deficiency of wholly original	and profound philosophers, but in Germany alone there are more	of them living simultaneously than several successive centuries have	had to show? How are we to reach the end, asks the indignant	reader, if we must set to work on a book with so much trouble and	detail?
As I have not the least thing to say in reply to such reproaches,	I hope only for some gratitude from such readers for having warned	them in time, so that they may not waste an hour on a book which	it would be useless for them to read unless they complied with the	demands I make, and which is therefore to be left alone, especially	as on other grounds one could wager a great deal that it can say	nothing to them, but on the contrary will always be only paucorum	hominum, and must therefore wait in calm and modesty for the few	whose unusual mode of thought might find it readable. For apart	from its intricacies, difficulties, and the efforts it demands of the	reader, what cultured man of this age, whose knowledge has almost	reached the magnificent point where the paradoxical and the false	are all one and the same to him, could bear to meet on almost every	page thoughts which directly contradict what he himself has nevertheless	established once for all as true and settled? And then how	unpleasantly disappointed will many a man find himself, when he	comes across no mention of what he thinks he must look for just in	this place, because his way of speculating coincides with that of a	great philosopher still living. [2] This man has written truly pathetic	books, and his single trifling weakness is that he regards as fundamental	inborn ideas of the human mind everything that he learnt	and approved before his fifteenth year. Who could endure all this?	Therefore, my advice is simply to put the book aside.
I am afraid, however, that even so I shall not be let off. The	reader who has got as far as the preface and is put off by that, has	paid money for the book, and wants to know how he is to be compensated.	My last refuge now is to remind him that he knows of	various ways of using a book without precisely reading it. It can,	like many another, fill a gap in his library, where, neatly bound, it	is sure to look well. Or he can lay it on the dressing-table or tea-table of his learned lady friend. Or finally he can review it; this is	assuredly the best course of all, and the one I specially advise.
And so, after allowing myself the joke to which in this generally	ambivalent life hardly any page can be too serious to grant a place,	I put my book forth in profound seriousness, confident that, sooner	or later, it will reach those to whom alone it can be addressed. For	the rest, I am resigned in patience to the fact that the same fate	will befall it in full measure which has always fallen to the lot of	truth in every branch of knowledge, in the most important branch	most of all. To truth only a brief celebration of victory is allowed	between the two long periods during which it is condemned as paradoxical,	or disparaged as trivial. The author of truth also usually	meets with the former fate. But life is short, and truth works far and	lives long: let us speak the truth.
Dresden, August 1818
Not to my contemporaries or my compatriots, but	to mankind I consign my now complete work, confident that it will	not be without value to humanity, even if this value should be	recognized only tardily, as is the inevitable fate of the good in	whatever form. It can have been only for mankind, and not for the	quickly passing generation engrossed with its delusion of the moment,	that my mind, almost against my will, has pursued its work	without interruption throughout a long life. As time has passed, not	even lack of sympathy has been able to shake my belief in its value.	I constantly saw the false and the bad, and finally the absurd and	the senseless, [3] standing in universal admiration and honour, and I	thought to myself that, if those who are capable of recognizing the	genuine and right were not so rare that we can spend some twenty	years looking about for them in vain, those who are capable of	producing it might not be so few that their works afterwards form	an exception to the transitoriness of earthly things. In this way, the	comforting prospect of posterity, which everyone who sets himself	a high aim needs to fortify him, would then be lost. Whoever takes	up and seriously pursues a matter that does not lead to material	advantage, ought not to count on the sympathy of his contemporaries.	But for the most part he will see that in the meantime the	superficial aspect of such matter becomes current in the world and	enjoys its day; and this is as it should be. For the matter itself also	must be pursued for its own sake, otherwise there can be no success,	since every purpose or intention is always dangerous to insight. Accordingly,	as the history of literature testifies throughout, everything	of value needs a long time to gain authority, especially if it is of	the instructive and not of the entertaining sort; and meanwhile the	false flourishes. For to unite the matter with the superficial aspect	of the matter is difficult, if not impossible. Indeed, this is just the	curse of this world of want and need, that everything must serve and	slave for these. Therefore it is not so constituted that any noble and	sublime endeavour, like that after light and truth, can thrive in it	unhindered, and exist for its own sake. But even when such an	endeavour has once been able to assert itself, and the idea of it is	thus introduced, material interests and personal aims will at once	take possession of it to make it their tool or their mask. Accordingly,	after Kant had brought philosophy once more into repute, it	was bound to become very soon the tool of political aims from	above, and of personal aims from below: though, to be accurate,	not philosophy, but its double that passes for it. This should not	even surprise us, for the incredibly great majority of men are by their	nature absolutely incapable of any but material aims; they cannot	even comprehend any others. Accordingly, the pursuit of truth alone	is a pursuit far too lofty and eccentric for us to expect that all or	many, or indeed even a mere few, will sincerely take part in it.	But if we see, as we do for instance in Germany at the moment, a	remarkable activity, a general bustling, writing, and talking on	matters of philosophy, then it may be confidently assumed that,	in spite of all the solemn looks and assurances, only real, not ideal,	aims are the actual primum mobile, [4] the concealed motive, of such	a movement; that is, that it is personal, official, ecclesiastical, political,	in short material interests which are here kept in view, and that	in consequence mere party ends set in such vigorous motion the	many pens of pretended philosophers. Thus intentions, not intelligence,	are the guiding star of these disturbers; and truth is certainly	the last thing thought of in this connexion. It finds no partisans;	on the contrary, it can pursue its way as silently and unheeded	through such philosophical contention and tumult as through the	winter night of the darkest century, involved in the most rigid faith	of the Church, where it was communicated only as esoteric doctrine	to a few adepts, or even entrusted only to parchment. In fact, I	might say that no time can be more unfavourable to philosophy than	that in which it is shamefully misused as a political means on the	one hand, and a means of livelihood on the other. Or are we to	believe that, with such effort and turmoil, the truth, by no means	their aim, will also come to light? Truth is no harlot who throws	her arms round the neck of him who does not desire her; on the	contrary, she is so coy a beauty that even the man who sacrifices	everything to her can still not be certain of her favours.
Now, if governments make philosophy the means to their political	ends, then scholars see in professorships of philosophy a trade that	nourishes the outer man just as does any other. They therefore	crowd after them in the assurance of their good way of thinking,	in other words, of the purpose or intention to serve those ends.	And they keep their word; not truth, not clarity, not Plato or	Aristotle, but the aims and ends they were appointed to serve are	their guiding star; and these at once become the criterion both of what	is true, valuable, and worthy of consideration, and of its opposite.	Therefore whatever does not comply with these aims, be it even the	most important and extraordinary thing in their department, is	either condemned, or, where this seems precarious, suppressed by	being unanimously ignored. Look only at their concerted indignation	at pantheism; will any simpleton believe that this proceeds from	conviction? How could philosophy, degraded to become a means of	earning one's bread, generally fail to degenerate into sophistry? Just because this is bound to happen, and the rule "I sing the song of	him whose bread I eat" has held good at all times, the making of	money by philosophy was among the ancients the characteristic	of the sophist. We have still to add that, since everywhere in this	world nothing is to be expected, nothing can be demanded, and	nothing is to be had for money except mediocrity, we have to put	up with this here also. Accordingly, in all the German universities we	see the cherished mediocrity straining to bring about from its own	resources, and indeed in accordance with a prescribed standard and	aim, the philosophy that still does not exist at all; a spectacle at	which it would be almost cruel to mock.
While philosophy has long been obliged to serve to such an extent	generally as a means to public ends on the one hand, and to private	ends on the other, I have followed my course of thought, undisturbed	by this fact, for more than thirty years. This I have done	simply because I was obliged to, and could not do otherwise, from	an instinctive impulse which, however, was supported by the confidence	that anything true that a man conceives, and anything obscure	that he elucidates, will at some time or other be grasped by another	thinking mind, and impress, delight, and console it. To such a man	we speak, just as those like us have spoken to us, and have thus	become our consolation in this wilderness of life. Meanwhile, the	matter is pursued on its own account and for its own sake. Now it	is a strange thing as regards philosophical meditations that only	that which a man has thought out and investigated for himself is	afterwards of benefit to others, and not that which was originally	destined for those others. The former is conspicuously nearest in character to perfect honesty, for we do not try to deceive ourselves,	or offer ourselves empty husks. In this way, all sophistication and all	idle display of words are then omitted, and as a result every sentence	that is written at once repays the trouble of reading. Accordingly,	my writings bear the stamp of honesty and openness so distinctly on	their face, that they are thus in glaring contrast to those of the	three notorious sophists of the post-Kantian period. I am always	to be found at the standpoint of reflection, in other words, of rational	deliberation and honest information, never at that of inspiration,	called intellectual intuition or even absolute thought; its correct names	would be humbug and charlatanism. Therefore, working in this	spirit, and meanwhile constantly seeing the false and the bad held	in general acceptance, indeed humbug [5] and charlatanism [6] in the	highest admiration, I long ago renounced the approbation of my	contemporaries. It is impossible that an age which for twenty years	has extolled a Hegel, that intellectual Caliban, as the greatest of	philosophers so loudly that the echo was heard throughout Europe,	could make the man who looked at this eager for its approbation.	No longer has it any crowns of honour to bestow; its applause is	prostituted, its censure signifies nothing. I mean what I say here, as	is obvious from the fact that, if I had in any way aspired to the	approbation of my contemporaries, I should have had to strike out	twenty passages that wholly contradict all their views, and indeed	must in part be offensive to them. But I should reckon it a crime on	my part to sacrifice even a single syllable to that approbation. My guiding star has in all seriousness been truth. Following it, I could	first aspire only to my own approval, entirely averted from an age	that has sunk low as regards all higher intellectual efforts, and from	a national literature demoralized but for the exceptions, a literature	in which the art of combining lofty words with low sentiments has	reached its zenith. Of course, I can never escape from the errors	and weaknesses necessarily inherent in my nature as in that of	everyone else, but I shall not increase them by unworthy accommodations.
Now, as regards this second edition, in the first place I am glad	that after twenty-five years I find nothing to retract; my fundamental	convictions have been confirmed, at any rate as far as I myself am	concerned. Accordingly, the alterations in the first volume, which	contains only the text of the first edition, nowhere touch what is	essential, but relate to matters of only secondary importance. For	the most part, indeed, they consist of very short explanatory additions	inserted here and there. The criticism of the Kantian philosophy	alone has received important corrections and lengthy additions, for these could not be brought into a supplementary book, like those	that have been received in the second volume by each of the four	books representing my own teaching. In the case of these, I have	chosen the latter form of enlargement and improvement, because the	twenty-five years that have elapsed since they were written have	produced so marked a change in my method of presentation, and in	the tone of my exposition, that it would not do to amalgamate the	contents of the second volume with those of the first into one whole,	as both would inevitably have suffered from such a fusion. I therefore	present the two works separately, and in the earlier exposition, even	in many places where I should now express myself quite differently,	I have altered nothing. This I have done because I wanted to guard	against spoiling the work of my earlier years by the carping criticism	of old age. What might need correction in this respect will set itself	right in the reader's mind with the aid of the second volume. Both	volumes have, in the full sense of the word, a supplementary relation	to each other, in so far as this is due to one age in man's life being,	in an intellectual regard, the supplement of another. We shall therefore	find that not only does each volume contain what the other	does not, but also that the merits of the one consist precisely in	what is wanting in the other. If therefore the first half of my work	excels the second half in what can be vouchsafed only by the fire	of youth and the energy of first conception, then the second will	surpass the first in the maturity and complete elaboration of the	ideas, which belongs only to the fruit of a long life, and of its application	and industry. For when I had the strength originally to	grasp the fundamental idea of my system, to pursue it at once into	its four branches, to return from these to the unity of their stem,	and then to make a clear presentation of the whole, I could not yet	be in a position to work through all the parts of the system with	that completeness, thoroughness, and fulness which are attained only	by many years of meditation on it. Such meditation is required to	test and illustrate the system by innumerable facts, to support it by	proofs of the most varied nature, to throw a clear light on it from	all sides, and then to place in bold contrast the different points of	view, to separate the manifold materials clearly and present them	in a systematic order. Therefore, although it was certainly bound	to be more pleasant for the reader to have the whole of my work in	one piece, instead of its consisting as now of two halves to be	brought together in use, let him reflect that this would have required	my achieving at one period of my life what is possible only in	two, since for this I should have had to possess at one period of life	the qualities which nature has divided between two quite different	periods. Accordingly, the necessity for presenting my work in two	halves supplementing each other is to be compared to the necessity	by which an achromatic object-glass, since it cannot be made out of	one piece, is produced by making it up out of a convex lens of	crown-glass and a concave lens of flint-glass, the combined effect	of which above all achieves what was intended. On the other hand,	the reader will find some compensation for the inconvenience of using two volumes at the same time in the variety and relief afforded	from the treatment of the same subject by the same mind, in the	same spirit, but in very different years. For the reader who is not	yet acquainted with my philosophy, however, it is generally advisable	to read first of all through the first volume without dragging in the	supplements, and to use these only on a second reading. For otherwise	it would be too difficult for him to grasp the system in its	continuity, as only in the first volume is it presented as such, while	in the second the principal doctrines are established individually in greater detail, and developed more completely. Even the reader who	might not decide on a second reading of the first volume will find it	better to read through the second volume by itself, and only after	the first volume. This he can do in the ordinary sequence of its	chapters, which certainly stand to one another in a looser connexion,	and the gaps in this will be completely filled by recollection of the	first volume, if the reader has really grasped that. Moreover, he will	everywhere find reference to the corresponding passages of the first	volume. For this purpose, in the second edition of the first volume I have furnished with numbers the paragraphs which in the first	edition were divided only by lines.
I have already explained in the preface to the first edition that	my philosophy starts from Kant's, and therefore presupposes a	thorough knowledge of it; I repeat this here. For Kant's teaching	produces a fundamental change in every mind that has grasped it.	This change is so great that it may be regarded as an intellectual	rebirth. It alone is capable of really removing the inborn realism	which arises from the original disposition of the intellect. Neither Berkeley nor Malebranche is competent to do this, for these men	remain too much in the universal, whereas Kant goes into the particular.	And this he does in a way which is unexampled either before	or after him, and one which has quite a peculiar, one might say	immediate, effect on the mind. In consequence of this, the mind	undergoes a fundamental undeceiving, and thereafter looks at all	things in another light. But only in this way does a man become	susceptible to the more positive explanations that I have to give.	On the other hand, the man who has not mastered the Kantian	philosophy, whatever else he may have studied, is, so to speak, in	a state of innocence; in other words, he has remained in the grasp	of that natural and childlike realism in which we are all born, and	which qualifies one for every possible thing except philosophy. Consequently,	such a man is related to the other as a person under age	is to an adult. That nowadays this truth sounds paradoxical, as it	certainly would not have done in the first thirty years after the appearance	of the Critique of Reason, is due to the fact that there has	since grown up a generation that does not really know Kant. It has	never done more than peruse him hastily and impatiently, or listen	to an account at second-hand; and this again is due to its having,	in consequence of bad guidance, wasted its time on the philosophemes	of ordinary, and hence officious and intrusive, heads, or even of	bombastic sophists, which have been irresponsibly commended to it.	Hence the confusion in the first conceptions, and generally the unspeakable	crudity and clumsiness that appear from under the cloak	of affectation and pretentiousness in the philosophical attempts of	the generation thus brought up. But the man who imagines he can	become acquainted with Kant's philosophy from the descriptions of	others, labours under a terrible mistake. On the contrary, I must	utter a serious warning against accounts of this kind, especially those	of recent times. In fact in the most recent years in the writings of the	Hegelians I have come across descriptions of the Kantian philosophy	which really reach the incredible. How could minds strained and	ruined in the freshness of youth by the nonsense of Hegelism still be	capable of following Kant's profound investigations? They are early	accustomed to regard the hollowest of verbiage as philosophical	thoughts, the most miserable sophisms as sagacity, and silly craziness	as dialectic; and by accepting frantic word-combinations in which	the mind torments and exhausts itself in vain to conceive something,	their heads are disorganized. They do not require any Critique of	Reason or any philosophy; they need a medicina mentis, first as a	sort of purgative, un petit cours de senscommunologie, [7] and after	that one must see whether there can still be any talk of philosophy	with them. Thus the Kantian doctrine will be sought in vain elsewhere	than in Kant's own works; but these are instructive throughout, even where he errs, even where he fails. In consequence of his originality,	it is true of him in the highest degree, as indeed of all genuine	philosophers, that only from their own works does one come to	know them, not from the accounts of others. For the thoughts of	those extraordinary minds cannot stand filtration through an ordinary	head. Born behind the broad, high, finely arched brows from under	which beaming eyes shine forth, they lose all power and life, and	no longer appear like themselves, when moved into the narrow	lodging and low roofing of the confined, contracted, and thick-walled	skulls from which peer out dull glances directed to personal ends.	In fact, it can be said that heads of this sort act like uneven mirrors	in which everything is twisted and distorted, loses the symmetry of	its beauty, and represents a caricature. Only from their creators themselves	can we receive philosophical thoughts. Therefore the man who	feels himself drawn to philosophy must himself seek out its immortal	teachers in the quiet sanctuary of their works. The principal	chapters of anyone of these genuine philosophers will furnish a	hundred times more insight into their doctrines than the cumbersome	and distorted accounts of them produced by commonplace minds that	are still for the most part deeply entangled in the fashionable philosophy	of the time, or in their own pet opinions. But it is astonishing	how decidedly the public prefers to grasp at those descriptions	at second-hand. In fact, an elective affinity seems to be at work	here by virtue of which the common nature is drawn to its like, and	accordingly will prefer to hear from one of its kind even what a great mind has said. Perhaps this depends on the same principle as	the system of mutual instruction according to which children learn	best from other children.
Now one more word for the professors of philosophy. I have always	felt compelled to admire not only the sagacity, the correct and	fine tact with which, immediately on its appearance, they recognized	my philosophy as something quite different from, and indeed dangerous	to, their own attempts, or in popular language as something that	did not suit their purpose; but also the sure and astute policy by	virtue of which they at once found out the only correct procedure	towards it, the perfect unanimity with which they applied this, and	finally the determination with which they have remained faithful to it.	This procedure, which incidentally commended itself also by the ease	with which it can be carried out, consists, as is well known, in wholly	ignoring and thus in secreting -- according to Goethe's malicious expression,	which really means suppressing what is of importance and	of significance. The effectiveness of this silent method is enhanced by	the corybantic shouting with which the birth of the spiritual children	of those of the same mind is reciprocally celebrated, shouting which	forces the public to look and to notice the important airs with which	they greet one another over it. Who could fail to recognize the purpose	of this procedure? Is there then nothing to be said against the	maxim primum vivere, deinde philosophari? [8] The gentlemen want	to live, and indeed to live by philosophy. To philosophy they are	assigned with their wives and children, and in spite of Petrarch's	povera e nuda vai filosofia, [9] they have taken a chance on it. Now	my philosophy is certainly not so ordered that anyone could live by	it. It lacks the first indispensable requisite for a well-paid professorial	philosophy, namely a speculative theology, which should and must be	the principal theme of all philosophy-in spite of the troublesome	Kant with his Critique of Reason; although such a philosophy thus	has the task of for ever talking about that of which it can know	absolutely nothing. In fact, my philosophy does not allow of the	fiction which has been so cleverly devised by the professors of philosophy	and has become indispensable to them, namely the fiction of	a reason that knows, perceives, or apprehends immediately and	absolutely. One need only impose this fiction on the reader at the	very beginning, in order to drive in the most comfortable manner	in the world, in a carriage and four so to speak, into that region	beyond all possibility of experience, wholly and for ever shut off	from our knowledge by Kant. In such a region, then, are to be found,	immediately revealed and most beautifully arranged, precisely those	fundamental dogmas of modern, Judaizing, optimistic Christianity.	My meditative philosophy, deficient in these essential requisites,	lacking in consideration and the means of subsistence, has for its	pole star truth alone, naked, unrewarded, unbefriended, often persecuted	truth, and towards this it steers straight, looking neither to	the right nor to the left. Now what in the world has such a philosophy	to do with that alma mater, the good, substantial university philosophy,	which, burdened with a hundred intentions and a thousand	considerations, proceeds on its course cautiously tacking, since at all	times it has before its eyes the fear of the Lord, the will of the	ministry, the dogmas of the established Church, the wishes of the	publisher, the encouragement of students, the goodwill of colleagues,	the course of current politics, the momentary tendency of the public,	and Heaven knows what else? Or what has my silent and serious	search for truth in common with the yelling school disputations of	the chairs and benches, whose most secret motives are always personal	aims? On the contrary, the two kinds of philosophy are fundamentally	different. Therefore with me there is no compromise and	there is no fellowship, and no one derives any advantage from me,	except perhaps the man who is looking for nothing but the truth;	none, therefore, of the philosophical parties of the day, for they all	pursue their own aims. I, however, have only insight and discernment	to offer, which suit none of those aims, because they are simply	not modelled on any of them. But if my philosophy itself were to	become susceptible to the professor's chair, there would have to be	a complete change in the times. It would be a fine thing, then, if	such a philosophy, by which no one can live at all, were to gain light	and air, not to mention universal regard! Consequently, this had to	be guarded against, and all had to oppose it as one man. But a man	has not so easy a game with disputing and refuting; moreover, these	are precarious and uncertain means, for the very reason that they	direct public attention to the matter, and reading my works might	ruin the public's taste for the lucubrations of the professors of philosophy.	For the man who has tasted the serious will no longer relish	the comic, especially when it is of a tedious nature. Therefore the	system of silence, so unanimously resorted to, is the only right one,	and I can only advise them to stick to it, and go on with it as long	as it works -- in other words, until ignoring is taken to imply ignorance;	then there will still just be time to come round. Meanwhile,	everyone is at liberty to pluck a little feather here and there for his	own use, for the superfluity of ideas at home is not usually very	oppressive. Thus the system of ignoring and of maintaining silence	can last for a good while, at any rate for the span of time that I	may yet have to live; in this way much is already gained. If in the meantime an indiscreet voice here and there has allowed itself to	be heard, it is soon drowned by the loud talking of the professors	who, with their airs of importance, know how to entertain the	public with quite different things. But I advise a somewhat stricter	observance of the unanimity of procedure, and, in particular, supervision	of the young men, who at times are terribly indiscreet. For	even so, I am unable to guarantee that the commended procedure will last for ever, and I cannot be answerable for the final result.	It is a ticklish question, the steering of the public, good and docile	as it is on the whole. Although we see the Gorgiases and Hippiases	nearly always at the top; although as a rule the absurd culminates,	and it seems impossible for the voice of the individual ever to penetrate	through the chorus of foolers and the fooled, still there is left	to the genuine works of all times a quite peculiar, silent, slow, and	powerful influence; and as if by a miracle, we see them rise at last	out of the turmoil like a balloon that floats up out of the thick	atmosphere of this globe into purer regions. Having once arrived	there, it remains at rest, and no one can any longer draw it down	again.
Frankfurt a. M., February 1844
Preface to the Third Edition
The true and the genuine would more easily obtain	a footing in the world, were it not that those incapable of producing	it were at the same time pledged not to let it gain ground. This	circumstance has already hindered and retarded, if indeed it has not	stifled, many a work that should be of benefit to the world. For me	the consequence of this has been that, although I was only thirty	years of age when the first edition of this book appeared, I live to	see this third edition not until my seventy-second year. Nevertheless,	I find consolation for this in the words of Petrarch: Si quis tota die	currens, pervenit ad vesperam, satis est (De Vera Sapientia, p.	140). [10] If I also have at last arrived, and have the satisfaction at	the end of my life of seeing the beginning of my influence, it is with	the hope that, according to an old rule, it will last the longer in	proportion to the lateness of its beginning.
In this third edition the reader will miss nothing that is contained	in the second, but will receive considerably more, since, by reason	of the additions made to it, it has, though in the same type, 136	pages more than its predecessor.
Seven years after the appearance of the second edition, I published	the two volumes of the Parerga and Paralipomena. What is	to be understood by the latter name consists of additions to the	systematic presentation of my philosophy, which would have found	their rightful place in these volumes. At that time, however, I had	to fit them in where I could, as it was very doubtful whether I	should live to see this third edition. They will be found in the second volume of the aforesaid Parerga, and will be easily recognized from	the headings of the chapters.
Frankfurt a. M., September 1859.
1. "How many things are considered impossible until they are actually done!"	[Tr.]
2. F. H. Jacobi.
3. The Hegelian philosophy.
4. "First motive." [Tr.]
5. Fichte and Schelling.
6. Hegel.
7. "A short course in common sense." [fr.]
8. "First live, then philosophize." [Tr.]
9. "Philosophy, thou goest poor and nude!" [Tr.]
10. "If anyone who wanders all day arrives towards evening, it is enough." [Tr.]
WORKS OF SCHOPENHAUER
German Editions:
Schopenhauers samtliche Werke. Ed. Paul Deussen. 13 vols. Munich:	R. Piper, 1911-42.
Schopenhauers samtliche Werke. Ed. Arthur Hubscher. 7 vols. Wiesbaden:	F. A. Brockhaus, 1946-50.
Schopenhauers handschriftlicher Nachlass.Ed. Arthur Hubscher. 5 vols.	Frankfurt am Main: Waldemar Kramer, 1966-- (vols. 1, 2 and	5 already published).
On the Fourfold Root of the Principle of Sufficient Reason.	On the Will in Nature. Trans. E. F. J. Payne (to be published	by Open Court Publishing Co. in one volume).
On the Freedom of the Will. Trans. Konstantin Kolenda. Library of	Liberal Arts, Bobbs-Merrill, New York, 1960.
On the Basis of Morality. Trans. E. F. J. Payne. Library of Liberal	Arts, Bobbs-Merrill, New York, 1965.
Selected Essays of Arthur Schopenhauer. Trans. and ed. E. Belfort	Bax. G. Bell & Sons, London, 1926.
The Pessimist's Handbook: A Collection of Popular Essays. Trans.	T. Bailey Saunders. Ed. Hazel Barnes. Bison Books, Lincoln:	University of Nebraska Press, 1964.
WORKS ON SCHOPENHAUER
Beer, Margrieta. Schopenhauer. London: T. C. & E. C. Jack, 1914.
Copleston, Frederick. Arthur Schopenhauer: Philosopher of Pessimism.	London: Burns, Oates and Washbourne, 1947.
Deussen, Paul. The Elements of Metaphysics. London: Macmillan &	Co., 1894.
Doring, W. O. Schopenhauer. Hamburg: Hansischer Gildenverlag,	1947.
Gardiner, Patrick. Schopenhauer. Baltimore: Penguin Books, 1963.
Hubscher, A. Arthur Schopenhauer: Mensch und Philosoph in seinen	Briefen. Wiesbaden: F. A. Brockhaus, 1960.
--. Schopenhauer: Biographie eines Weltbildes. Stuttgart: Reclam,	1967.
--. Schopenhauer-Bildnisse: Eine lkonographie. Frankfurt am	Main: Waldemar Kramer, 1968.
Pfeiffer, K. Arthur Schopenhauer: Personlichkeit und Werk. Leipzig:	A. Kroner, 1925.
Saltus, Edgar E. The Philosophy of Disenchantment. New York: Belford	Co., 1885 (New York: AMS Press, Inc.).
Schmidt, K. O. Das Erwachen aus dem Lebens-Traum. Pfullingen:	Baum Verlag, 1957.
Taylor, Richard. The Will to Live. New York: Anchor Books, 1962.
Wagner, G. F. Schopenhauer-Register. Stuttgart: Fr. Frommann,	1960.
Whittaker, Thomas. Schopenhauer. London: Constable, 1920.
Zimmern, Helen. Arthur Sclwpenhauer: His Life and His Philosophy.	London: Longmans, Green & Co., 1876.
Zint, Hans. Schopenhauer als Erlebnis. Munich: E. Reinhardt, 1954.
FIRST BOOK: THE WORLD AS REPRESENTATION. FIRST ASPECT
The Representation subject to the Principle of Sufficient	Reason: The Object of Experience and of Science.
Sors de l'enfance, ami, reveille-toi!
-- Jean-Jacques Rousseau
("Quit thy childhood, my friend, and wake up." [Tr.])
"The world is my representation": this is a truth	valid with reference to every living and knowing being, although	man alone can bring it into reflective, abstract consciousness. If he	really does so, philosophical discernment has dawned on him. It then	becomes clear and certain to him that he does not know a sun· and	an earth, but only an eye that sees a sun, a hand that feels an earth;	that the world around him is there only as representation, in other words, only in reference to another thing, namely that which	represents, and this is himself. If any truth can be expressed a priori,	it is this; for it is the statement of that form of all possible and	conceivable experience, a form that is more general than all others,	than time, space, and causality, for all these presuppose it. While	each of these forms, which we have recognized as so many particular	modes of the principle of sufficient reason, is valid only for a particular class of representations, the division into object and subject,	on the other hand, is the common form of all those classes; it is	that form under which alone any representation, of whatever kind	it be, abstract or intuitive, pure or empirical, is generally possible and	conceivable. Therefore no truth is more certain, more independent	of all others, and less in need of proof than this, namely that	everything that exists for knowledge, and hence the whole of this	world, is only object in relation to the subject, perception of the	perceiver, in a word, representation. Naturally this holds good of	the present as well as of the past and future, of what is remotest as	well as of what is nearest; for it holds good of time and space	themselves, in which alone all these distinctions arise. Everything	that in any way belongs and can belong to the world is inevitably	associated with this being-conditioned by the subject, and it exists	only for the subject. The world is representation.
This truth is by no means new. It was to be found already in the	sceptical reflections from which Descartes started. But Berkeley was	the first to enunciate it positively, and he has thus rendered an immortal	service to philosophy, although the remainder of his doctrines	cannot endure. Kant's first mistake was the neglect of this principle,	as is pointed out in the Appendix. On the other hand, how early this	basic truth was recognized by the sages of India, since it appears as	the fundamental tenet of the Vedanta philosophy ascribed to Vyasa,	is proved by Sir William Jones in the last of his essays: "On the	Philosophy of the Asiatics" (Asiatic Researches, vol. IV, p. 164):	"The fundamental tenet of the Vedanta school consisted not in denying	the existence of matter, that is, of solidity, impenetrability, and	extended figure (to deny which would be lunacy), but in correcting	the popular notion of it, and in contending that it has no essence independent	of mental perception; that existence and perceptibility are	convertible terms." These words adequately express the compatibility	of empirical reality with transcendental ideality.
Thus in this first book we consider the world only from the abovementioned	angle, only in so far as it is representation. The inner reluctance	with which everyone accepts the world as his mere representation	warns him that this consideration, quite apart from its truth,	is nevertheless one-sided, and so is occasioned by some arbitrary	abstraction. On the other hand, he can never withdraw from this	acceptance. However, the one-sidedness of this consideration will be	made good in the following book through a truth that is not so immediately	certain as that from which we start here. Only deeper investigation, more difficult abstraction, the separation of what is	different, and the combination of what is identical can lead us to this	truth. This truth, which must be very serious and grave if not terrible	to everyone, is that a man also can say and must say: "The world is	my will."
But in this first book it is necessary to consider separately that	side of the world from which we start, namely the side of the knowable,	and accordingly to consider without reserve all existing objects,	nay even our own bodies (as we shall discuss more fully later on),	merely as representation, to call them mere representation. That from	which we abstract here is invariably only the will, as we hope will	later on be clear to everyone. This will alone constitutes the other	aspect of the world, for this world is, on the one side, entirely representation,	just as, on the other, it is entirely will. But a reality that is	neither of these two, but .an object in itself (into which also Kant's	thing-in-itself has unfortunately degenerated in his hands), is the	phantom of a dream, and its acceptance is an ignis fatuus in philosophy.
That which knows all things and is known by none	is the subject. It is accordingly the supporter of the world, the universal	condition of all that appears, of all objects, and it is always presupposed;	for whatever exists, exists only for the subject. Everyone	finds himself as this subject, yet only in so far as he knows, not in so	far as he is object of knowledge. But his body is already object, and	therefore from this point of view we call it representation. For the body is object among objects and is subordinated to the laws of	objects, although it is immediate object. [1] Like all objects of perception,	it lies within the forms of all knowledge, in time and space	through which there is plurality. But the subject, the knower never	the known, does not lie within these forms; on the contrary, it is	always presupposed by those forms themselves, and hence neither	plurality nor its opposite, namely unity, belongs to it. We never	know it, but it is precisely that which knows wherever there is	knowledge.
Therefore the world as representation, in which aspect alone we	are here considering it, has two essential, necessary, and inseparable	halves. The one half is the object, whose forms are space and time,	and through these plurality. But the other half, the subject, does not	lie in space and time, for it is whole and undivided in every representing	being. Hence a single one of these beings with the object completes	the world as representation just as fully as do the millions that	exist. And if that single one were to disappear, then the world as	representation would no longer exist. Therefore these halves are inseparable	even in thought, for each of the two has meaning and	existence only through and for the other; each exists with the other	and vanishes with it. They limit each other immediately; where the	object begins, the subject ceases. The common or reciprocal nature	of this limitation is seen in the very fact that the essential, and hence	universal, forms of every object, namely space, time, and causality,	can be found and fully known, starting from the subject, even without	the knowledge of the object itself, that is to say, in Kant's language,	they reside a priori in our consciousness. To have discovered this is	one of Kant's chief merits, and it is a very great one. Now in addition	to this, I maintain that the principle of sufficient reason is the common expression of all these forms of the object of which we are	a priori conscious, and that therefore all that we know purely a priori	is nothing but the content of that principle and what follows therefrom;	hence in it is really expressed the whole of our a priori certain	knowledge. In my essay On the Principle of Sufficient Reason I have	shown ia detail how every possible object is subordinate to it, that is	to say, stands in a necessary relation to other objects, on the one	hand as determined, on the other as determining. This extends so far	that the entire existence of all objects, in so far as they are objects,	representations, and nothing else, is traced back completely to this	necessary relation of theirs to one another, consists only in that relation,	and hence is entirely relative; but more of this later. I have	further shown that this necessary relation, expressed in general by the	principle of sufficient reason, appears in other forms corresponding	to the classes into which objects are divided according to their possibility;	and again that the correct division of those classes is verified	by these forms. Here I constantly assume that what was said in that	essay is known and present to the reader, for had it not already been	said there, it would have its necessary place here.
The main difference among all our representations	is that between the intuitive and the abstract. The latter constitutes	only one class of representations, namely concepts; and on earth	these are the property of man alone. The capacity for these which	distinguishes him from all animals has at all times been called reason	(Vernunft). [2] We shall consider further these abstract representations	by themselves, but first of all we shall speak exclusively of the intuitive	representation. This embraces the entire visible world, or the whole	of experience, together with the conditions of its possibility. As we	have said, it is one of Kant's very important discoveries that these very	conditions, these forms of the visible world, in other words, the most	universal element in its perception, the common property of all its	phenomena, time and space, even by themselves and separated from	their content, can be not only thought in the abstract, but also directly	perceived. This perception or intuition is not some kind of phantasm,	borrowed from experience through repetition, but is so entirely independent	of experience that, on the contrary, experience must be	thought of as dependent on it, since the properties of space and time,	as they are known in a priori perception or intuition, are valid for all	possible experience as laws. Everywhere experience must turn out in	accordance with these laws. Accordingly, in my essay On the Principle	of Sufficient Reason, I have regarded time and space, in so far as	they are perceived pure and empty of content, as a special class of	representations existing by itself. Now this quality of those universal	forms of intuition, discovered by Kant, is certainly very important, the	quality, that is, that they are perceivable in themselves and independently	of experience, and are knowable by their entire conformity	to law, on which rests mathematics with its infallibility. Not less remarkable,	however, is the quality of time and space that the principle	of sufficient reason, which determines experience as the law of causality	and of motivation, and thought as the law of the basis of judgements,	appears in them in quite a special form, to which I have given	the name ground of being. In time this is the succession of its moments,	and in space the position of its parts, which reciprocally determine	one another to infinity.
Anyone who has clearly seen from the introductory essay the complete	identity of the content of the principle of sufficient reason, in	spite of all the variety of its forms, will also be convinced of the importance	of the knowledge of the simplest of its forms as such for an	insight into his own inmost nature. We have recognized this simplest	form to be time. In time each moment is, only in so far as it has	effaced its father the preceding moment, to be again effaced just as	quickly itself. Past and future (apart from the consequences of their	content) are as empty and unreal as any dream; but present is only	the boundary between the two, having neither extension nor duration.	In just the same way, we shall also recognize the same emptiness in	all the other forms of the principle of sufficient reason, and shall see	that, like time, space also, and like this, everything that exists simultaneously	in space and time, and hence everything that proceeds from	causes or motives, has only a relative existence, is only through and	for another like itself, i.e., only just as enduring. In essence this view	is old; in it Heraclitus lamented the eternal flux of things; Plato spoke	with contempt of its object as that which for ever becomes, but never	is; Spinoza called it mere accidents of the sole substance that alone	is and endures; Kant opposed to the thing-in-itself that which is known	as mere phenomenon; finally, the ancient wisdom of the Indians	declares that "it is Maya, the veil of deception, which covers the eyes of	mortals, and causes them to see a world of which one cannot say	either that it is or that it is not; for it is like a dream, like the sunshine	on the sand which the traveller from a distance takes to be	water, or like the piece of rope on the ground which he regards as a	snake." (These similes are repeatedly found in innumerable passages	of the Vedas and Puranas.) But what all these meant, and that of	which they speak, is nothing else but what we are now considering,	namely the world as representation subordinated to the principle of	sufficient reason.
He who has recognized the form of the principle	of sufficient reason, which appears in pure time as such, and on which	all counting and calculating are based, has thereby also recognized	the whole essence of time. It is nothing more than that very form of	the principle of sufficient reason, and it has no other quality or attribute.	Succession is the form of the principle of sufficient reason in	time, and succession is the whole essence and nature of time. Further,	he who has recognized the principle of sufficient reason as it rules in	mere, purely perceived space, has thereby exhausted the whole nature	of space. For this is absolutely nothing else but the possibility of the	reciprocal determinations of its parts by one another, which is called	position. The detailed consideration of this, and the formulation of	the results flowing from it into abstract conceptions for convenient	application, form the subject-matter of the whole of geometry. Now	in just the same way, he who has recognized that form of the principle	of sufficient reason which governs the content of those forms (of	time and space), their perceptibility, i.e., matter, and hence the law	of causality, has thereby recognized the entire essence and nature of	matter as such; for matter is absolutely nothing but causality, as anyone	sees immediately the moment he reflects on it. Thus its being is	its acting; it is not possible to conceive for it any other being. Only as	something acting does it fill space and time; its action on the immediate	object (which is itself matter) conditions the perception in which	alone it exists. The consequence of the action of every material object	on another is known only in so far as the latter now acts on the	immediate object in a way different from that in which it acted previously;	it consists in this alone. Thus cause and effect are the whole	essence and nature of matter; its being is its acting. (Details of this	are to be found in the essay On the Principle of Sufficient Reason,	§ 21, p. 77.) The substance of everything material is therefore very	appropriately called in German Wirklichkeit, [3] a word much more	expressive than Realitat. That on which it acts, again, is always	matter; thus its whole being and essence consist only in the orderly	and regular change produced by one part of it in another; consequently,	its being and essence are entirely relative, according to a	relation that is valid only within its limits, and hence just like time	and space.
Time and space, however, each by itself, can be represented in	intuition even without matter; but matter cannot be so represented	without time and space. The form inseparable from it presupposes	space, and its action, in which its entire existence consists, always	concerns a change, and hence a determination of time. But time and	space are not only, each by itself, presupposed by matter, but a combination	of the two constitutes its essential nature, just because this,	as we have shown, consists in action, in causality. All the innumerable	phenomena and conditions of things that can be conceived could	thus lie side by side in endless space without limiting one another,	or even follow one another in endless time without disturbing one another. Thus a necessary relation of these phenomena to one another,	and a rule determining them according to this relation, would	then not be at all needful, or even applicable. Thus, in the case of	all juxtaposition in space and of all change in time, so long as each of	these two forms by itself, and without any connexion with the other,	had its course and duration, there would be no causality at all, and as	this constitutes the real essence of matter, there would also be no	matter. But the law of causality receives its meaning and necessity	only from the fact that the essence of change does not consist in the	mere variation of states or conditions in themselves. On the contrary,	it consists in the fact that, at the same place in space, there is now	one condition or state and then another, and at one and the same	point of time there is here this state and there that state. Only this	mutual limitation of time and space by each other gives meaning, and	at the same time necessity, to a rule according to which change must	take place. What is determined by the law of causality is therefore	not the succession of states in mere time, but that succession in respect	of a particular space, and not only the existence of states at a	particular place, but at this place at a particular time. Thus change,	i.e., variation occurring according to the causal law, always concerns	a particular part of space and a particular part of time, simultaneously	and in union. Consequently, causality unites space and time.	But we found that the whole essence of matter consists in action, and	hence in causality; consequently, space and time must also be united	in this, in other words, matter must carry within itself simultaneously	the properties and qualities of time and those of space, however much	the two are opposed to each other. It must unite within itself what is	impossible in each of those two independently, the unstable flight of	time with the rigid unchangeable persistence of space; from both it	has infinite divisibility. Accordingly, through it we find coexistence	first brought about. This could not be either in mere time, that knows	no juxtaposition, or in mere space, that knows no before, after, or	now. But the coexistence of many states constitutes in fact the essence	of reality, for through it permanence or duration first becomes possible.	Permanence is knowable only in the change of that which exists	simultaneously with what is permanent; but also only by means of	what is permanent in variation does variation receive the character	of change, i.e., of the alteration of quality and form in spite of the	persistence of substance, i.e., of matter. [4] In mere space, the world would be rigid and immovable, with no succession, no change, no action; but with action arises also the representation of matter. Again, in mere time everything would be fleeting, with no persistence, no juxtaposition, and therefore no coexistence, consequently no permanence or duration, and thus also once more no matter. Only through the combination of time and space arises matter, that is to say, the possibility of coexistence, and so of duration; and again, through duration the possibility of persistence of substance with change of states and conditions. [5] As matter has its essential nature in the union of time and space, it bears in all respects the stamp of both. It shows its origin from space partly through the form that is inseparable from it, and particularly through its persistence (substance), (since variation belongs to time alone, but in it alone and for it nothing is permanent). The a priori certainty of persistence or substance is therefore	to be wholly and entirely derived from that of space. [6] Matter	reveals its origin from time in quality (accident), without which it	never appears, and which is positively always causality, action on	other matter, and hence change (a concept of time). The conformity	to law of this action, however, always has reference to space and	time simultaneously, and only thus has meaning. The legislative force	of causality relates solely and entirely to the determination as to what	kind of state or condition must appear at this time and in this place.	On this derivation of the basic determinations of matter from the	forms of our knowledge, of which we are a priori conscious, rests our	knowledge a priori of the sure and certain properties of matter. These	are space-occupation, i.e., impenetrability, i.e., effectiveness, then extension,	infinite divisibility, persistence, i.e., indestructibility, and	finally mobility. On the other hand, gravity, notwithstanding its universality,	is to be attributed to knowledge a posteriori, although Kant	in his Metaphysical Rudiments of Natural Science (p. 71: Rosenkranz's	edition, p. 372) asserts that it is knowable a priori.
But as the object in general exists only for the subject as the representation	thereof, so does every special class of representations exist	only for an equally special disposition in the subject, which is called	a faculty of knowledge. The subjective correlative of time and space	in themselves, as empty forms, was called by Kant pure sensibility,	and this expression may be retained, as Kant was the pioneer here,	although it is not quite suitable; for sensibility presupposes matter.	The subjective correlative of matter or of causality, for the two are	one and the same, is the understanding, and it is nothing more than	this. To know causality is the sole function of the understanding, its	only power, and it is a great power embracing much, manifold in its	application, and yet unmistakable in its identity throughout all its	manifestations. Conversely, all causality, hence all matter, and consequently	the whole of reality, is only for the understanding, through	the understanding, in the understanding. The first, simplest, ever-present	manifestation of understanding is perception of the actual	world. This is in every way knowledge of the cause from the effect,	and therefore all perception is intellectual. Yet one could never arrive	at perception, if some effect were not immediately known, and thus	served as the starting-point. But this is the action or effect on animal	bodies. To this extent these bodies are the immediate objects of the	subject; through them the perception of all other objects is brought	about. The changes experienced by every animal body are immediately known, that is to say, felt; and as this effect is referred at once	to its cause, there arises the perception of the latter as an object. This	relation is no conclusion in abstract concepts, it does not happen	through reflection, it is not arbitrary, but is immediate, necessary,	and certain. It is the cognitive method of the pure understanding,	without which perception would never be attained; there would remain	only a dull, plant-like consciousness of the changes of the	immediate object which followed one another in a wholly meaningless	way, except in so far as they might have a meaning for the will either	as pain or pleasure. But as with the appearance of the sun the visible	world makes its appearance, so at one stroke does the understaading	through its one simple function convert the dull meaningless sensation	into perception. What the eye, the ear, or the hand experiences is not	perception; it is mere data. Only by the passing of the understanding	from the effect to the cause does the world stand out as perception	extended in space, varying in respect of form, persisting through all	time as regards matter. For the understanding unites space and time	in the representation of matter, that is to say, of effectiveness. This	world as representation exists only through the understanding, and	also only for the understanding. In the first chapter of my essay On	Vision and Colours, I have explained how the understanding produces	perception out of the data furnished by the senses; how by	comparing the impressions received by the different senses from the	same object the child learns perception; how this alone throws light	on so many phenomena of the senses, on single vision with two eyes,	on double vision in the case of squinting, or in the case where we	look simultaneously at objects that lie behind one another at unequal	distances, and on every illusion produced by a sudden alteration in	the organs of sense. But I have treated this important subject much	more fully and thoroughly in the second edition of my essay On the	Principle of Sufficient Reason (§ 21). All that is said there has its	necessary place here, and therefore ought really to be said again. But	as I am almost as reluctant to quote myself as to quote others, and as	I am unable to explain the subject better than it is explained there, I	refer the reader to that essay instead of repeating it, and here assume	that it is known.
The process by which children, and persons who are born blind	and have been operated on, learn to see; single vision of whatever is	perceived with two eyes; double vision and double touch, occurring	when the organs of sense are displaced from their usual position; the	upright appearance of objects, whereas their image in the eye is inverted;	the attributing of colour to external objects, whereas it is	merely an inner function, a division, through polarization, of the	activity of the eye; and finally also the stereoscope; all these are solid	and irrefutable proofs that all perception is not only of the senses, but	of the intellect; in other words, pure knowledge through the understanding	of the cause from the effect. Consequently, it presupposes	the law of causality, and on the knowledge of this depends all perception,	and therefore all experience, by virtue of its primary and entire	possibility. The converse, namely that knowledge of the causal law	results from experience, is not the case; this was the scepticism of	Hume, and is first refuted by what is here said. For the independence	of the knowledge of causality from all experience, in other words, its	a priori character, can alone be demonstrated from the dependence	of all experience on it. Again, this can be done only by proving, in	the manner here indicated, and explained in the passages above referred to, that the knowledge of causality is already contained in	perception generally, in the domain of which all experience is to be	found, and hence that it exists wholly a priori in respect of experience,	that it does not presuppose experience, but is presupposed	thereby as a condition. But this cannot be demonstrated in the manner	attempted by Kant, which I criticize in the essay On the Principle	of Sufficient Reason (§ 23).
Now we must guard against the grave misunderstanding	of supposing that, because perception is brought about	through knowledge of causality, the relation of cause and effect exists	between object and subject. On the contrary, this relation always occurs	only between immediate and mediate object, and hence always	only between objects. On this false assumption rests the foolish controversy	about the reality of the external world, a controversy in which dogmatism and scepticism oppose each other, and the former	appears now as realism, now as idealism. Realism posits the object as	cause, and places its effect in the subject. The idealism of Fichte	makes the object the effect of the subject. Since, however -- and this	cannot be sufficiently stressed -- absolutely no relation according to	the principle of sufficient reason subsists between subject and object,	neither of these two assertions could ever be proved, and scepticism	made triumphant attacks on both. Now just as the law of causality	already precedes, as condition, perception and experience, and thus	cannot be learnt from these (as Hume imagined), so object and subject	precede all knowledge, and hence even the principle of sufficient	reason in general, as the first condition. For this principle is only the	form of every object, the whole nature and manner of its appearance;	but the object always presupposes the subject, and hence between the	two there can be no relation of reason and consequent. My essay On	the Principle of Sufficient Reason purports to achieve just this: it	explains the content of that principle as the essential form of every	object, in other words, as the universal mode and manner of all objective	existence, as something which pertains to the object as such.	But the object as such everywhere presupposes the subject as its necessary correlative, and hence the subject always remains outside	the province of the validity of the principle of sufficient reason. The	controversy about the reality of the external world rests precisely on	this false extension of the validity of the principle of sufficient reason	to the subject also, and, starting from this misunderstanding, it could	never understand itself. On the one hand, realistic dogmatism, regarding	the representation as the effect of the object, tries to separate	these two, representation and object, which are but one, and to assume	a cause quite different from the representation, an object-in-itself	independent of the subject, something that is wholly inconceivable;	for as object it presupposes the subject, and thus always	remains only the representation of the subject. Opposed to this is scepticism, with the same false assumption that in the representation	we always have only the effect, never the cause, and so never real	being; that we always know only the action of objects. But this, it	supposes, might have no resemblance whatever to that being, and	would indeed generally be quite falsely assumed, for the law of	causality is first accepted from experience, and then the reality of experience is in turn supposed to rest on it. Both these views are	open to the correction, firstly, that object and representation are the	same thing; that the true being of objects of perception is their action;	that the actuality of the thing consists exactly in this; and that the	demand for the existence of the object outside the representation of	the subject, and also for a real being of the actual thing distinct from	its action, has no meaning at all, and is a contradiction. Therefore	knowledge of the nature of the effect of a perceived object exhausts	the object itself in so far as it is object, i.e., representation, as beyond	this there is nothing left in it for knowledge. To this extent, therefore,	the perceived world in space and time, proclaiming itself as nothing	but causality, is perfectly real, and is absolutely what it appears to	be; it appears wholly and without reserve as representation, hanging	together according to the law of causality. This is its empirical reality.	On the other hand, all causality is only in the understanding and for	the understanding. The entire actual, i.e., active, world is therefore	always conditioned as such by the understanding, and without this is	nothing. Not for this reason only, but also because in general no	object without subject can be conceived without involving a contradiction,	we must absolutely deny to the dogmatist the reality of the	external world, when he declares this to be its independence of the	subject. The whole world of objects is and remains representation,	and is for this reason wholly and for ever conditioned by the subject;	in other words, it has transcendental ideality. But it is not on that	account falsehood or illusion; it presents itself as what it is, as representation,	and indeed as a series of representations, whose common	bond is the principle of sufficient reason. As such it is intelligible to	the healthy understanding, even according to its innermost meaning,	and to the understanding it speaks a perfectly clear language. To dispute about its reality can occur only to a mind perverted by oversubtle	sophistry; such disputing always occurs through an incorrect	application of the principle of sufficient reason. This principle combines	all representations, of whatever kind they be, one with another;	but it in no way connects these with the subject, or with something	that is neither subject nor object but only the ground of the object;	an absurdity, since only objects can be the ground of objects, and	that indeed always. If we examine the source of this question about	the reality of the external world more closely, we find that, besides	the false application of the principle of sufficient reason to what lies	outside its province, there is in addition a special confusion of its	forms. Thus that form, which the principle of sufficient reason has	merely in reference to concepts or abstract representations, is extended	to representations of perception, to real objects, and a ground	of knowing is demanded of objects that can have no other ground	than one of becoming. Over the abstract representations, the concepts	connected to judgements, the principle of sufficient reason certainly	rules in such a way that each of these has its worth, its validity, its	whole existence, here called truth, simply and solely through the relation	of the judgement to something outside it, to its ground of knowledge,	to which therefore there must always be a return. On the other	hand, over real objects, the representations of perception, the principle	of sufficient reason rules as the principle not of the ground of	knowing, but of becoming, as the law of causality. Each of them has	paid its debt to it by having become, in other words, by having	appeared as effect from a cause. Therefore a demand for a ground of	knowledge has no validity and no meaning here, but belongs to quite	another class of objects. Thus the world of perception raises no question	or doubt in the observer, so long as he remains in contact with	it. Here there is neither error nor truth, for these are confined to the	province of the abstract, of reflection. But here the world lies open	to the senses and to the understanding; it presents itself with naive	truth as that which it is, as representation of perception that is developed	in the bonds of the law of causality.
So far as we have considered the question of the reality of the	external world, it always arose from a confusion, amounting even to	a misunderstanding, of the faculty of reason itself, and to this extent	the question could be answered only by explaining its subject-matter.	After an examination of the whole nature of the principle of sufficient	reason, of the relation between object and subject, and of the real	character of sense-perception, the question itself was bound to disappear,	because there was no longer any meaning in it. But this	question has yet another origin, quite different from the purely speculative one so far mentioned, a really empirical origin, although	the question is always raised from a speculative point of view, and in	this form has a much more comprehensible meaning than it had in	the former. We have dreams; may not the whole of life be a dream?	or more exactly: is there a sure criterion for distinguishing between	dream and reality, between phantasms and real objects? The plea that	what is dreamt has less vividness and distinctness than real perception	has, is not worth considering at all, for no one has held the two up	to comparison; only the recollection of the dream could be compared	with the present reality. Kant answers the question as follows: "The	connexion of the representations among themselves according to the	law of causality distinguishes life from the dream." But even in the	dream every single thing is connected according to the principle of	sufficient reason in all its forms, and this connexion is broken only	between life and the dream and between individual dreams. Kant's	answer might therefore run as follows: the long dream (life) has	complete connexion in itself according to the principle of sufficient	reason; but it has no such connexion with the short dreams, although	each of these has within itself the same connexion; thus the bridge	between the former and the latter is broken, and on this account the	two are distinguished. To institute an inquiry in accordance with this	criterion as to whether something was dreamt or really took place would, however, be very difficult, and often impossible. For we are	by no means in a position to follow link by link the causal connexion	between any experienced event and the present moment; yet we do	not on that account declare that it is dreamt. Therefore in real life	we do not usually make use of that method of investigation to distinguish between dream and reality. The only certain criterion for	distinguishing dream from reality is in fact none other than the wholly	empirical one of waking, by which the causal connexion between the	dreamed events and those of waking life is at any rate positively and	palpably broken off. An excellent proof of this is given by the remark,	made by Hobbes in the second chapter of Leviathan, that we	easily mistake dreams for reality when we have unintentionally fallen	asleep in our clothes, and particularly when it happens that some	undertaking or scheme occupies all our thoughts, and engrosses our	attention in our dreams as well as in our waking moments. In these	cases, the waking is almost as little observed as is the falling asleep;	dream and reality flow into one another and become confused. Then,	of course, only the application of Kant's criterion is left. If subsequently,	as is often the case, the causal connexion with the present,	or the absence of such connexion, cannot possibly be ascertained,	then it must remain for ever undecided whether an event was dreamt	or whether it really occurred. Here indeed the close relationship between	life and the dream is brought out for us very clearly. We will	not be ashamed to confess it, after it has been recognized and expressed	by many great men. The Vedas and Puranas know no better	simile for the whole knowledge of the actual world, called by them	the web of Maya, than the dream, and they use none more frequently.	Plato often says that men live only in the dream; only the philosopher	strives to be awake. Pindar says (Pyth. viii, 135): [x] ; (umbrae somnium homo),7 and Sophocles:
-- Ajax, 125.
(Nos enim, quicunque vivimus, nihil aliud esse comperio, quam	simulacra et levem umbram.) [8] Beside which Shakespeare stands most	worthily:
"We are such stuff
Is rounded with a sleep."
-- The Tempest, Act IV, Sc. 1.
Finally, Calderon was so deeply impressed with this view, that he	sought to express it in a kind of metaphysical drama, Life a Dream	('La Vida es Sueno').
After these numerous passages from the poets, I may now be permitted	to express myself by a metaphor. Life and dreams are leaves	of one and the same book. The systematic reading is real life, but	when the actual reading hour (the day) has come to an end, and we	have the period of recreation, we often continue idly to thumb over	the leaves, and turn to a page here and there without method or	connexion. We sometimes turn up a page we have already read, at	others one still unknown to us, but always from the same book. Such	an isolated page is, of course, not connected with a consistent reading	and study of the book, yet it is not so very inferior thereto, if we	note that the whole of the consistent perusal begins and ends also on	the spur of the moment, and can therefore be regarded merely as a	larger single page.
Thus, although individual dreams are marked off from real life	by the fact that they do not fit into the continuity of experience that	runs constantly through life, and waking up indicates this difference,	yet that very continuity of experience belongs to real life as its form,	and the dream can likewise point to a continuity in itself. Now if we	assume a standpoint of judgement external to both, we find no distinct	difference in their nature, and are forced to concede to the	poets that life is a long dream.
To return from this 'entirely independent empirical origin of the	question of the reality of the external world to its speculative origin,	we have found that this lay firstly in the false application of the principle	of sufficient reason, namely between subject and object, and	then again in the confusion of its forms, since the principle of sufficient	reason of knowing was extended to the province where the	principle of sufficient reason of becoming is valid. Yet this question	could hardly have occupied philosophers so continuously, if it were	entirely without any real content, and if some genuine thought and meaning did not lie at its very core as its real source. Accordingly,	from this it would have to be assumed that, first by entering reflection	and seeking its expression, it became involved in those confused and	incomprehensible forms and questions. This is certainly my opinion,	and I reckon that the pure expression of that innermost meaning of	the question which it was unable to arrive at, is this: What is this	world of perception besides being my representation? Is that of which	I am conscious only as representation just the same as my own body,	of which I am doubly conscious, on the one hand as representation,	on the other as will? The clearer explanation of this question, and its	answer in the affirmative, will be the content of the second book, and	the conclusions from it will occupy the remaining part of this work.
Meanwhile for the present, in this first book we	are considering everything merely as representation, as object for the	subject. And our own body, which is the starting-point for each of us	in the perception of the world, we consider, like all other real objects,	merely from the side of knowableness, and accordingly it is for us	only a representation. Now the consciousness of everyone, which is	already opposed to the explanation of other objects as mere representations,	is in even greater opposition when his own body is said to	be mere representation. Thus it happens that to everyone the thing-in-itself is known immediately in so far as it appears as his own body,	and only mediately in so far as it is objectified in the other objects of	perception. But the course of our investigation renders necessary this	abstraction, this one-sided method of consideration, this forcible separation	of two things that essentially exist together. Therefore this reluctance	must for the time being be suppressed, and set at rest by	the expectation that the following considerations will make up for	the one-sidedness of this one, towards a complete knowledge of the	nature of the world.
Here, therefore, the body is for us immediate object, in other	words, that representation which forms the starting-point of the subject's	knowledge, since it itself with its immediately known changes	precedes the application of the law of causality, and thus furnishes	this with the first data. The whole essence of matter consists, as we	have shown, in its action. But there are cause and effect only for the	understanding, which is nothing but the subjective correlative of	these. The understanding, however, could never attain to application,	if there were not something else from which it starts. Such a something	is the mere sensation, the immediate consciousness of the	changes of the body, by virtue of which this body is immediate object.	Accordingly the possibility of knowing the world of perception is	to be found in two conditions; the first is, if we express it objectively,	the ability of bodies to act on one another, to bring about changes in	one another. Without that universal property of all bodies no perception	would be possible, even by means of the sensibility of animal	bodies. If, however, we wish to express this same first condition subjectively, we say that the understanding first of all makes perception	possible, for the law of causality, the possibility of effect and cause,	springs only from the understanding, and is valid also for it alone;	hence the world of perception exists only for it and through it. The	second condition, however, is the sensibility of animal bodies, or the	quality possessed by certain bodies of being directly objects of the	subject. The mere changes sustained from without by the sense-organs	through the impression specifically appropriate to them can	themselves be called representations, in so far as such impressions	stimulate neither pain nor pleasure, in other words, have no immediate	significance for the will, and yet are perceived, i.e. exist only for	knowledge. To this extent, therefore, I say that the body is immediately known, is immediate object. The conception of object, however,	is not to be taken here in the fullest sense, for through this immediate	knowledge of the body, which precedes the application of the understanding	and is mere sensation, the body itself does not exist really	as object, but first the bodies acting on it. For all knowledge of an	object proper, in other words, of a representation of perception in	space, exists only through and for the understanding, and thus not	before, but only after, the application of the understanding. Therefore	the body as object proper, in other words, as representation of	perception in space, is first known indirectly, like all other objects,	through the application of the law of causality to the action of one of	its parts on another, as by the eye seeing the body, or the hand	touching it. Consequently the form of our own body does not become	known to us through mere ordinary feeling, but only through knowledge,	only in the representation; in other words, only in the brain	does our own body first present itself as an extended, articulate, organic thing. A person born blind receives this representation only	gradually through data afforded him by touch. A blind man without	hands would never get to know his form, or at most would infer and	construct it gradually from the impression on him of other bodies.	Therefore, if we call the body immediate object, we are to be understood	as implying this restriction.
Moreover, it follows from what has been said that all animal bodies	are immediate objects, in other words starting-points in the perception	of the world for the subject that knows all, and, for this very	reason, is never known. Knowledge, therefore, with movement consequent	on motives conditioned by it, is the proper characteristic of	animal life, just as movement consequent on stimuli is the characteristic	of the plant. But that which is unorganized has no movement	other than that produced by causes proper in the narrowest sense. I	have discussed all this at length in the essay On the Principle of	Sufficient Reason (second ed., § 20), in the Ethics (first essay, iii),	and in my Vision and Colours (§ i), to which therefore I refer the	reader.
It follows from what has been said that all animals, even the most	imperfect, have understanding, for they all know objects, and this	knowledge as motive determines their movements. The understanding	is the same in all animals and in all men; everywhere it has the same	simple form, that is to say, knowledge of causality, transition from	effect to cause and from cause to effect, and nothing else. But the	degree of its acuteness and the extent of its sphere of knowledge vary	enormously, with many different gradations, from the lowest degree,	which knows only the causal relation between the immediate object	and indirect ones, and hence is just sufficient to perceive a cause as	object in space by passing from the impression experienced by the body to the cause of this impression, up to the higher degrees of	knowledge of the causal connexion among merely indirect objects.	Such knowledge extends to the understanding of the most complicated	concatenations of causes and effects in nature; for even this last degree	of knowledge still belongs always to the understanding, not to	the faculty of reason. The abstract concepts of reason can only serve	to handle what is immediately understood, to fix and arrange this, but	never to bring about understanding itself. Every force and law of	nature, every case in which such forces and laws are manifested, must first be known immediately by the understanding, must be intuitively	apprehended, before it can pass into reflected consciousness	in abstracto for the faculty of reason. Hooke's discovery of the law	of gravitation, and the reference of so many important phenomena	to this one law, were intuitive, immediate apprehension through the	understanding, and this was also confirmed by Newton's calculations.	The same may be said also of Lavoisier's discovery of acids and their	important role in nature, and of Goethe's discovery of the origin of	physical colours. All these discoveries are nothing but a correct immediate	return from the effect to the cause, which is at once followed	by recognition of the identity of the natural force which manifests	itself in all causes of the same kind. This complete insight is an expression,	differing merely in degree, of the same single function of	the understanding, by which an animal perceives as object in space	the cause affecting its body. Therefore all those great discoveries are,	just like perception and every manifestation of understanding, an	immediate insight, and as such the work of an instant, an apercu, a	sudden idea. They are not the product of long chains of abstract reasoning;	these, on the contrary, serve to fix the immediate knowledge	of the understanding for the faculty of reason by setting down such	knowledge in the abstract concepts of such reason, in other words, to	make it clear, to be in a position to point it out and explain it to	others. That keenness of the understanding in apprehending the	causal relations of objects indirectly known finds its application not	only in natural science (all the discoveries of which are due to it),	but also in practical life, where it is called good sense or prudence.	But in its first application it is better called acuteness, penetration,	sagacity. Strictly speaking, good sense or prudence signifies exclusively	understanding in the service of the will. However, the boundaries	of these concepts are never to be drawn sharply, for it is always	one and the same function of the same understanding at work in	every animal when perceiving objects in space. In its greatest keenness,	it accurately investigates in natural phenomena the unknown	cause from th.:: given effect, and thus provides the faculty of reason	with the material for conceiving general rules as laws of nature.	Again, it invents complicated and ingenious machines by applying	known causes to intended effects. Or, applied to motivation, it sees	through and frustrates subtle intrigues and machinations, or suitably arranges even the motives and the men susceptible to each of them,	sets them in motion at will as machines are set in motion by levers	and wheels, and directs them to its ends. Want of understanding is	called in the proper sense stupidity, and it is just dulness in applying	the law of causality, incapacity for the immediate apprehension of the	concatenations of cause and effect, of motive and action. A stupid	person has no insight into the connexion of natural phenomena, either	when they appear of their own accord or when they are intentionally	controlled, in other words made to serve machines. For this reason,	he readily believes in magic and miracles. A stupid man does not	notice that different persons, apparently independent of one another,	are in fact acting together by agreement; he is therefore easily mystified	and puzzled. He does not observe the concealed motives of	proffered advice, expressed opinions, and so on. But it is invariably	only one thing that he lacks, namely keenness, rapidity, ease in applying	the law of causality, in other words, power of the understanding.	The greatest and, in this respect, the most instructive example	of stupidity that I ever came across was that of a totally imbecile boy	of about eleven years of age in an asylum. He certainly had the	faculty of reason, for he spoke and comprehended, but in understanding	he was inferior to many animals. When I came, he noticed	an eye-glass which I was wearing round my neck, and in which the	windows of the room and the tops of the trees beyond them were	reflected. Every time he was greatly astonished and delighted with	this, and was never tired of looking at it with surprise. This was	because he did not understand this absolutely direct causation of reflection.
As the degree of acuteness of understanding varies a great deal as	between men, so does it vary even more as between the different species	of animals. In all species, even those nearest to the plant, there exists	as much understanding as is sufficient for passing from the effect in	the immediate object to the mediate object as cause, and hence for	perception, for the apprehension of an object. For it is just this that	makes them animals, since it gives them the possibility of movement	consequent on motives, and thus of seeking, or at any rate of grasping,	nourishment. Plants, on the other hand, have only movement	consequent on stimuli, the direct influence of which they must await	or else droop; they cannot go after them or grasp them. In the most accomplished animals we marvel at their great sagacity, such as the	dog, the elephant, the monkey, or the fox, whose cleverness has been	described by Buffon in so masterly a way. In these most sagacious	animals we can determine pretty accurately what the understanding	is capable of without the aid of reason, that is to say, without the aid	of abstract knowledge in concepts. We cannot find this out in ourselves,	because in us understanding and the faculty of reason are always	mutually supported. Therefore we find that the manifestations	of understanding in animals are sometimes above our expectation, sometimes below it. On the one hand, we are surprised at the sagacity	of that elephant which, after crossing many bridges on his journey	through Europe, once refused to go on one, over which he saw the	rest of the party of men and horses crossing as usual, because it	seemed to him too lightly built for his weight. On the other hand, we	wonder that the intelligent orang-utans, warming themselves at a fire	they have found, do not keep it going by replenishing it with wood;	a proof that this requires a deliberation that does not come about	without abstract concepts. It is quite certain that the knowledge of	cause and effect, as the universal form of the understanding, is a	priori inherent in animals, because for them as for us it is the preliminary condition of all knowledge of the external world through	perception. If we still want a special proof of this, let us observe, for	example, how even a quite young dog does not venture to jump from	the table, however much he wants to, because he foresees the effect	of the weight of his body, without, however, knowing this particular	case from experience. Meanwhile, in judging the understanding of	animals, we must guard against ascribing to it a manifestation of	instinct, a quality that is entirely different from it as well as from	the faculty of reason; yet it often acts very analogously to the combined	activity of these two. The discussion of this, however, does not	belong here, but will find its place in the second book, when we are considering the harmony or so-called teleology of nature. The twenty-seventh	chapter of the supplementary volume is expressly devoted	to it.
Lack of understanding was called stupidity; deficiency in the application	of the faculty of reason to what is practical we shall later recognize	as foolishness; deficiency in power of judgement as silliness;	finally, partial or even complete lack of memory as madness. But we	shall consider each of these in its proper place. That which is correctly	known through the faculty of reason is truth, namely an abstract	judgement with sufficient ground or reason (essay On the	Principle of Sufficient Reason, § 29 seqq.); that which is correctly	known by understanding is reality, namely correctly passing from the	effect in the immediate object to its cause. Error is opposed to truth	as deception of reason; illusion is opposed to reality as deception of understanding. The detailed discussion of all this is to be found in	the first chapter of my essay On Vision and Colours. Illusion comes	about when one and the same effect can be brought to pass by two	entirely different causes, one of which operates very frequently, the	other very rarely. The understanding, having no datum for determining	which cause operates in a given case, since the effect is identical,	always presupposes the ordinary cause, and because the activity	of the understanding is not reflective and discursive, but direct and	immediate, such false cause stands before us as perceived object,	which is just the false illusion. I have shown, in the essay referred to,	how in this way double sight and double touch occur, when the organs of sense are brought into an unusual position, and I have	thus given an irrefutable proof that perception exists only through the	understanding and for the understanding. Examples of such deception	of understanding, or illusion, are the stick that seems broken when	dipped in water, the images of spherical mirrors appearing with convex	surface somewhat behind them, with concave surface well before	them. To this class of examples also belongs the apparently greater	extension of the moon at the horizon than at the zenith. This is not	optical, for, as the micrometer proves, the eye apprehends the moon	at the zenith at an even greater angle of vision than at the horizon.	It is the understanding that assumes the cause of the feebler brightness	of the moon and of all stars at the horizon to be their greater	distance, treating them like earthly objects in accordance with atmospheric	perspective. Therefore it regards the moon at the horizon as	very much larger than at the zenith, and at the same time also considers	the vault of heaven to be more extended, and hence flattened	out, at the horizon. The same estimation, falsely applied according	to atmospheric perspective, leads us to suppose that very high mountains,	whose summits are visible to us only in pure transparent air,	are nearer than they really are, to the detriment of their height; as for	example, Mont Blanc seen from Salenche. All such deceptive illusions	stand before us in immediate perception which cannot be removed	by any arguments of reason. Such arguments can prevent	merely error, that is to say, a judgement without sufficient ground or	reason, by forming an opposite judgement that is true; for instance,	knowing in the abstract that the cause of the weaker light of the moon	and stars in the case cited is not the greater distance, but the cloudier	atmosphere at the horizon. But the illusion remains unshakable in all	the cases mentioned, in spite of all abstract knowledge; for the understanding	is completely and totally different from the faculty of reason,	a cognitive faculty that has been added to man alone; and indeed the understanding is in itself irrational, even in man. Reason can always	only know; perception remains free from its influence, and belongs to	the understanding alone.
With regard to the whole of our discussion so far,	we must still note the following. We started neither from the object	nor from the subject, but from the representation, which contains and	presupposes them both; for the division into object and subject is the	first, universal, and essential form of the representation. We therefore	first considered this form as such; then (though here we refer mainly	to the introductory essay) the other forms subordinate to it, namely	time, space, and causality. These belong only to the object, yet because	they are essential to the object as such, and as the object again	is essential to the subject as such, they can be found also from the	subject, in other words, they can be known a priori, and to this extent	are to be regarded as the boundary common to both. But they can	all be referred to one common expression, the principle of sufficient	reason, as is shown in detail in the introductory essay.
This procedure distinguishes our method of consideration wholly	and entirely from every philosophy ever attempted. All previous systems	started either from the object or from the subject, and therefore	sought to explain the one from the other, and this according to the	principle of sufficient reason. We, on the other hand, deny the relation	between object and subject to the dominion of this principle, and	leave to it only the object. One might regard the philosophy of identity,	which has arisen and become generally known in our day, as not	coming within the contrast above mentioned, in so far as it makes	its real first starting-point neither object nor subject, but a third	thing, namely the Absolute, knowable through reason-intuition, which	is neither object nor subject, but the identity of the two. As I am	completely lacking in all reason-intuition, I shall not venture to	speak of the aforesaid revered identity and of the Absolute. Yet,	since I take my stand merely on the manifestoes of the reason-intuiters,	which are open to all, even to profane persons like us, I	must observe that the aforesaid philosophy cannot be excepted from	the above-mentioned antithesis of two errors. For it does not avoid	those two opposite errors, in spite of the identity of subject and	object, which is not thinkable, but is merely intellectually intuitable,	or is to be experienced through our being absorbed in it. On the contrary,	it combines them both in itself, since it is itself divided into two	branches; first, transcendental idealism, that is Fichte's doctrine of the	ego; and consequently, according to the principle of sufficient reason,	the object can be produced from the subject or spun out of it; and	secondly, the philosophy of nature, which likewise represents the	subject as coming gradually out of the object by the application of a	method called construction, about which very little is clear to me,	though enough to know that it is a process according to the principle	of sufficient reason in various forms. I renounce the deep wisdom	itself contained in that construction, for as I wholly lack reason-intuition.	all those expositions which presuppose it must be to me like	a book with seven seals. To such a degree is this the case that, strange	to relate, with those doctrines of deep wisdom it always seems to me	as if I were listening to nothing but atrocious and what is more extremely	wearisome humbug.
The systems that start from the object have always had the whole	world of perception and its order as their problem, yet the object	which they take as their starting-point is not always this world or its	fundamental element, namely matter. On the contrary, a division of	these systems can be made in accordance with the four classes of possible	objects set out in the introductory essay. Thus it can be said that	Thales and the Ionians, Democritus, Epicurus, Giordano Bruno, and	the French materialists started from the first of those classes, or from	the real world. Spinoza (because of his conception of substance, as	merely abstract and existing only in his definition), and before him	the Eleatics, started from the second class, or from the abstract concept. The Pythagoreans and the Chinese philosophy of the I Ching	started from the third class, namely from time, and consequently from	numbers. Finally, the scholastics, teaching a creation out of nothing	through the act of will of an extramundane personal being, started	from the fourth class, namely from the act of will, motivated by	knowledge.
The objective method can be developed most consistently and carried	farthest when it appears as materialism proper. It regards matter,	and with it time and space, as existing absolutely, and passes	over the relation to the subject in which alone all this exists. Further,	it lays hold of the law of causality as the guiding line on which it tries	to progress, taking it to be a self-existing order or arrangement of	things, veritas aeterna, and consequently passing over the understanding,	in which and for which alone causality is. It tries to find the first	and simplest state of matter, and then to develop all the others from it, ascending from mere mechanism to chemistry, to polarity, to the	vegetable and the animal kingdoms. Supposing this were successful,	the last link of the chain would be animal sensibility, that is to say	knowledge; which, in consequence, would then appear as a mere	modification of matter, a state of matter produced by causality. Now	if we had followed materialism thus far with clear notions, then, having	reached its highest point, we should experience a sudden fit of the	inextinguishable laughter of the Olympians. As though waking from	a dream, we should all at once become aware that its final result,	produced so laboriously, namely knowledge, was already presupposed	as the indispensable condition at the very first starting-point, at mere matter. With this we imagined that we thought of matter, but in fact	we had thought of nothing but the subject that represents matter,	the eye that sees it, the hand that feels it, the understanding that	knows it. Thus the tremendous petitio principit [9] disclosed itself unexpectedly,	for suddenly the last link showed itself as the fixed	point, the chain as a circle, and the materialist was like Baron von	Munchhausen who, when swimming in water on horseback, drew his	horse up by his legs, and himself by his upturned pigtail. Accordingly,	the fundamental absurdity of materialism consists in the fact that it	starts from the objective; it takes an objective something as the	ultimate ground of explanation, whether this be matter in the abstract	simply as it is thought, or after it has entered into the form and is	empirically given, and hence substance, perhaps the chemical elements	together with their primary combinations. Some such thing	it takes as existing absolutely and in itself, in order to let organic	nature and finally the knowing subject emerge from it, and thus completely to explain these; whereas in truth everything objective is	already conditioned as such in manifold ways by the knowing	subject with the forms of its knowing, and presupposes these forms;	consequently it wholly disappears when the subject is thought away.	Materialism is therefore the attempt to explain what is directly given	to us from what is given indirectly. Everything objective, extended,	active, and hence everything material, is regarded by materialism	as so solid a basis for its explanations that a reduction to this	(especially if it should ultimately result in thrust and counter-thrust)	can leave nothing to be desired. All this is something that is given	only very indirectly and conditionally, and is therefore only relatively	present, for it has passed through the machinery and fabrication of	the brain, and hence has entered the forms of time, space, and	causality, by virtue of which it is first of all presented as extended	in space and operating in time. From such an indirectly given thing,	materialism tries to explain even the directly given, the representation	(in which all this exists), and finally even the will, from which	rather are actually to be explained all those fundamental forces	which manifest themselves on the guiding line of causes, and	hence according to law. To the assertion that knowledge is a	modification of matter there is always opposed with equal justice	the contrary assertion that all matter is only modification of the	subject's knowing, as the subject's representation. Yet at bottom, the	aim and ideal of all natural science is a materialism wholly carried	into effect. That we here recognize this as obviously impossible confirms another truth that will result from our further consideration,	namely the truth that all science in the real sense, by which I understand	systematic knowledge under the guidance of the principle	of sufficient reason, can never reach a final goal or give an entirely	satisfactory explanation. It never aims at the inmost nature of the	world; it can never get beyond the representation; on the contrary,	it really tells us nothing more than the relation of one representation	to another.
Every science invariably starts from two principal data, one of	which is always the principle of sufficient reason in some form as	organon; the other is its special object as problem. Thus, for example,	geometry has space as problem, the ground of being in space as	organon. Arithmetic has time as problem, and the ground of being	in time as organon. Logic has as problem the combinations of	concepts as such, the ground of knowledge as organon. History has	the past deeds of men as a whole as its problem, and the law of	motivation as organon. Now natural science has matter as problem,	and the law of causality as organon. Accordingly, its end and aim	on the guiding line of causality is to refer all possible states of matter	to one another and ultimately to a single state, and again to derive	these states from one another, and ultimately from a single state.	Thus in natural science two states stand opposed as extremes, the	state of matter where it is the least direct object of the subject, and	the state where it is the most direct object, in other words, the most	dead and crude matter, the primary element, as one extreme, and	the human organism as the other. Natural science as chemistry looks	for the first; as physiology for the second. But as yet the two	extremes have not been reached, and only between the two has	something been gained. Indeed, the prospect is fairly hopeless. The	chemists, assuming that the qualitative division of matter is not,	like the quantitative, an endless process, are always trying to reduce	the number of their elements, of which there are still about sixty;	and even if they eventually reached two, they would want to reduce these two to one. For the law of homogeneity leads to the assumption	of a first chemical state of matter which belongs only to	matter as such, and which preceded all others, these being not essential	to matter as such, but only accidental forms and qualities. On	the other hand, it cannot be seen how this state could ever experience	a chemical change, if there did not exist a second state to affect it.	Thus the same dilemma here appears in the chemical realm that	Epicurus met with in the mechanical, when he had to state how the	first atom departed from the original direction of its motion. In	fact this contradiction, developing entirely of itself and not to be	avoided or solved, might quite properly be set up as a chemical	antinomy. Just as an antinomy is to be found in the first of the	two extremes sought in natural science, so will there appear in the	second a counterpart corresponding to it. There is also little	hope of reaching this other extreme of natural science, for we see	more and more clearly that what is chemical can never be referred	to what is mechanical, and that what is organic can never be referred	to what is chemical or electrical. But those who today once more	take this old misleading path will soon slink back silent and ashamed,	as all their predecessors have done. This will be discussed in more	detail in the next book. The difficulties mentioned here only casually,	confront natural science in its own province. Regarded as philosophy,	it would be materialism; but, as we have seen, it carries death	in its heart even at its birth, because it passes over the subject and	the forms of knowledge that are presupposed just as much with	the crudest matter from which it would like to start, as with the	organism at which it wants to arrive. For "No object without subject"	is the principle that renders all materialism for ever impossible. Suns	and planets with no eye to see them and no understanding to know	them can of course be spoken of in words, but for the representation	these words are a sideroxylon, an iron-wood. [10] On the other hand	the law of causality, and the consideration and investigation of	nature which follow on it, lead us necessarily to the certain assumption	that each more highly organized state of matter succeeded	in .time a cruder state. Thus animals existed before men, fishes	before land animals, plants before fishes, and the inorganic before	that which is organic; consequently the original mass had to go	through a long series of changes before the first eye could be opened.	And yet the existence of this whole world remains for ever dependent	on that first eye that opened, were it even that of an insect. For	such an eye necessarily brings about knowledge, for which and in	which alone the whole world is, and without which it is not	even conceivable. The world is entirely representation, and as such	requires the knowing subject as the supporter of its existence. That	long course of time itself, filled with innumerable changes, through	which matter rose from form to form, till finally there came into	existence the first knowing animal, the whole of this time itself is	alone thinkable in the identity of a consciousness. This world is the	succession of the representations of this consciousness, the form of its	knowing, and apart from this loses all meaning, and is nothing at all.	Thus we see, on the one hand, the existence of the whole world	necessarily dependent on the first knowing being, however imperfect	it be; on the other hand, this first knowing animal just as necessarily	wholly dependent on a long chain of causes and effects which has	preceded it, and in which it itself appears' as a small link. These two	contradictory views, to each of which we are led with equal necessity,	might certainly be called an antinomy in our faculty of knowledge,	and be set up as the counterpart to that found in the first extreme	of natural science. On the other hand, Kant's fourfold antinomy	will be shown to be a groundless piece of jugglery in the criticism	of his philosophy that is appended to the present work. But the	contradiction that at last necessarily presents itself to us here	finds its solution in the fact that, to use Kant's language, time, space,	and causality do not belong to the thing-in-itself, but only to its	appearance or phenomenon, of which they are the form. In my	language, this means that the objective world, the world as representation,	is not the only side of the world, but merely its external side,	so to speak, and that the world has an entirely different side which	is its innermost being, its kernel, the thing-in-itself. This we shall	consider in the following book, calling it 'will' after the most immediate	of its objectifications. But the world as representation, with	which alone we are dealing here, certainly begins only with the	opening of the first eye, and without this medium of knowledge it	cannot be, and hence before this it did not exist. But without that	eye, in other words, outside of knowledge, there was no before, no	time. For this reason, time has no beginning, but all beginning is in	time. Since, however, it is the most universal form of the knowable,	to which all phenomena are adapted by means of the bond of	causality, time with its whole infinity in both directions is also present	in the first knowledge. The phenomenon which fills this first present	must at the same time be known as causally connected with, and	dependent on, a series of phenomena stretching infinitely into the	past, and this past itself is just as much conditioned by this first	present as, conversely, this present is by that past. Accordingly, the	past, out of which the first present arises, is, like it, dependent on	the knowing subject, and without this it is nothing. It happens of necessity, however, that this first present does not manifest itself as	the first, in other words, as having no past for its mother, and as	being the beginning of time; but rather as the consequence of the	past according to the principle of being in time, just as the	phenomenon filling this first present appears as the effect of	previous states filling that past according to the law of causality.	Anyone who likes mythological interpretations may regard the	birth of Chronos ([x]), the youngest of the Titans, as the description	of the moment here expressed, when time appears, although it	is beginningless. As he castrates his father, the crude productions	of heaven and earth cease, and the races of gods and men now	occupy the scene.
This explanation at which we have arrived by following materialism,	the most consistent of the philosophical systems that start	from the object, helps at the same time to make clear the inseparable	and reciprocal dependence of subject and object, together with the	antithesis between them which cannot be eliminated. This knowledge	leads us to seek the inner nature of the world, the thing-in-itself, no	longer in either of those two elements of the representation, but	rather in something entirely different from the representation, in	something that is not encumbered with such an original, essential, and	therefore insoluble antithesis.
Opposed to the system we have discussed, which starts from	the object to make the subject result from it, is the system that	starts from the subject and tries to produce the object therefrom.	The first has been frequent and general in all philosophy hitherto;	the second, on the other hand, affords us only a single example, and	that a very recent one, namely the fictitious philosophy of J. G.	Fichte. In this respect, therefore, he must be considered, however little genuine worth and substance his teaching had in itself. Taken	on the whole, it was a mere piece of humbug, yet it was delivered	with an air of the profoundest seriousness, with a reserved tone and	keen ardour, and was defended with eloquent polemic against weak	opponents, so that it was able to shine, and to seem to be something.	But genuine earnestness, which, inaccessible to all external influences,	keeps its goal, truth, steadily in view, was completely lacking in	Fichte, as in all philosophers who like him adapt themselves to	circumstances. For him, of course, it could not be otherwise. The philosopher always becomes such as the result of a perplexity from	which he tries to disengage himself. This is Plato's [x], [11]	which he calls a [x]. [11] But what distinguishes	ungenuine from genuine philosophers is that this perplexity comes to	the latter from looking at the world itself, to the former merely from	a book, a philosophical system which lies in front of them. This was	also the case with Fichte, for he became a philosopher merely	over Kant's thing-in-itself, and had it not been for this would most	probably have concerned himself with quite different things with	much greater success, for he possessed considerable rhetorical talent.	If he had penetrated only to some extent the meaning of the Critique of Pure Reason, the book that made him a philosopher, he would have	understood that its principal teaching was in spirit as follows. The	principle of sufficient reason is not, as all scholastic philosophy	asserts, a veritas aeterna; in other words, it does not possess an	unconditioned validity before, outside, and above the world, but only	a relative and conditioned one, valid only in the phenomenon. It	may appear as the necessary nexus of space or time, or as the law	of causality, or as the law of the ground of knowledge. Therefore	the inner nature of the world, the thing-in-itself, can never be found on the guiding line of this principle, but everything to which it	leads is always itself also dependent and relative, always only	phenomenon, not thing-in-itself. Further, this principle does not	concern the subject, but is only the form of objects, which are for	this very reason not things-in-themselves. With the object the subject	exists forthwith, and with the subject the object; hence the object	cannot be added to the subject or the subject to the object, merely as a consequent to its ground or reason. But Fichte did not take up	the least fragment of all this. The only thing that interested him in	the matter was setting out from the subject, which Kant had chosen	in order to show the falsity of the previous setting out from the	object, which had thus become the thing-in-itself. Fichte, however,	took this setting out from the subject to be the chief thing, and, like	all imitators, imagined that if he were to outdo Kant in this, he	would also surpass him. Now in this direction he repeated the	mistakes which the previous dogmatism had made in the opposite	direction, and which had thus been the cause of Kant's Critique.	Thus in the main nothing was changed, and the old fundamental	mistake, the assumption of a relation of reason or ground and	consequent between object and subject, remained just the same as	before. Hence the principle of sufficient reason retained as before an	unconditioned validity, and the thing-in-itself was now shifted into	the subject of knowing instead of into the object as previously. The complete relativity of both subject and object, indicating that the	thing-in-itself, or the inner nature of the world, is to be sought not	in them, but outside both them and every other thing that exists	only relatively, still remained unknown. Just as though Kant had	never existed, the principle of sufficient reason is for Fichte just	what it was for all the scholastics, namely an aeterna veritas. Just	as eternal fate reigned over the gods of the ancients, so over the God	of the scholastics reigned those aeternae veritates, in other words,	metaphysical, mathematical and metalogical truths, in the case of	some even the validity of the moral law. These veritates alone	depended on nothing, but through their necessity both God and the	world existed. Therefore with Fichte, by virtue of the principle of	sufficient reason as such a veritas aeterna, the ego is the ground of the	world or of the non-ego, the object, which is just its consequent, its	product. He has therefore taken good care not to examine further,	or to check the principle of sufficient reason. But if I am to state the form of that principle, under the guidance of which Fichte	makes the non-ego result from the ego as the web from the spider,	I find that it is the principle of sufficient reason of being in space.	For it is only in reference to this that those tortuous deductions of	the way in which the ego produces and fabricates out of itself the	non-ego, forming the subject-matter of the most senseless and	consequently the most tedious book ever written, acquire a kind of sense and meaning. This philosophy of Fichte, not otherwise even	worth mention, is therefore of interest to us only as the real opposite	of the old and original materialism, making a belated appearance.	Materialism was the most consistent system starting from the object,	as this system was the most consistent starting from the subject.	Materialism overlooked the fact that, with the simplest object, it	had at once posited the subject as wen; so Fichte too overlooked the	fact that with the subject (let him give it whatever title he likes)	he posited the object, since no subject is thinkable without object.	He also overlooked the fact that all deduction a priori, indeed all demonstration in general, rests on a necessity, and that all	necessity is based simply and solely on the principle of sufficient	reason, since to be necessary and to follow from a given ground or	reason are convertible terms. [12] But the principle of sufficient	reason is nothing but the universal form of the object as such;	hence it presupposes the object, but is not valid before and outside	it; it can first produce the object, and cause it to appear in accordance	with its legislative force. Therefore, generally speaking, starting from	the subject has in common with starting from the object the same	defect as explained above, namely that it assumes in advance what it	professes to deduce, that is to say, the necessary correlative of its	point of departure.
Now our method of procedure is toto genere different from these	two opposite misconceptions, since we start neither from the object	nor from the subject, but from the representation, as the first fact	of consciousness. The first, essential, fundamental form of this is	the division into object and subject; again, the form of the object is	the principle of sufficient reason in its different aspects. Each of	these rules its own class of representations so much that, as has been	shown, with the knowledge of that aspect or form the nature of the	whole class is known also, since this (as representation) is nothing	but this aspect or form itself. Thus time itself is nothing but the	ground of being in it, i.e., succession; space is nothing but the	principle of being in it, i.e., position; matter is nothing but causality;	the concept (as will appear at once) is nothing but reference to the	ground of knowledge. This complete and universal relativity of the	world as representation according to its most general form (subject	and object) as well as to the form that is subordinate thereto (principle of sufficient reason) suggests to us, as we have said, that	we look for the inner nature of the world in quite another aspect of	it which is entirely different from the representation. The next book	will demonstrate this in a fact that is just as immediately certain to	every living being.
However, there must first be considered that class of representations	which belongs to man alone. The substance of these is the	concept, and their subjective correlative is the faculty of reason, just	as the subjective correlatives of the representations so far considered	were understanding and sensibility, which are also to be attributed to	every animal. [13]
As from the direct light of the sun to the borrowed	reflected light of the moon, so do we pass from the immediate	representation of perception, which stands by itself and is its own	warrant, to reflection, to the abstract, discursive concepts of reason	(Vernunft), which have their whole content only from that knowledge	of perception, and in relation to it. As long as our attitude is	one of pure perception, all is clear, firm, and certain. For there	are neither questions nor doubts nor errors; we do not wish to go	farther, we cannot go farther; we have rest in perceiving, and	satisfaction in the present moment. Perception by itself is enough;	therefore what has sprung purely from it and has remained true	to it, like the genuine work of art, can never be false, nor can it be	refuted through any passing of time, for it gives us not opinion,	but the thing itself. With abstract knowledge, with the faculty of	reason, doubt and error have appeared in the theoretical, care and	remorse in the practical. If in the representation of perception	illusion does at moments distort reality, then in the representation	of the abstract error can reign for thousands of years, impose its iron	yoke on whole nations, stifle the noblest impulses of mankind;	through its slaves and dupes it can enchain even the man it cannot	deceive. It is the enemy against which the wisest minds of all times	have kept up an unequal struggle, and only what these have won	from it has become the property of mankind. Therefore it is a good	thing to draw attention to it at once, since we are now treading the	ground where its province lies. Although it has often been said that	we ought to pursue truth, even when no use for it can be seen, since	its use may be indirect and appear when not expected, I find I must	add here that we should be just as anxious to discover and eradicate	every error, even when no harm from it can be seen, because this	harm may be very indirect, and appear one day when not expected;	for every error carries a poison within itself. If it is the mind, if	it is knowledge, that makes man lord of the earth, then no errors are	harmless, still less venerable and holy. And for the consolation of	those who devote their strength and life in any way or concern to	the noble and difficult struggle against error, I cannot refrain from	adding here that, so long as truth does not exist, error can play its	game, just as owls and bats do at night. But we may sooner expect that owls and bats will drive the sun back into the east than that any	truth that is known and expressed clearly and fully will again be	supplanted, so that the old error may once more occupy its extensive	position undisturbed. This is the power of truth, whose conquest is	difficult and laborious; but when victory for it is once gained, it can	never be wrested away again.
Besides the representations so far considered, namely those which	according to their construction could be referred to time, space, and	matter, if we see them with reference to the object, or to pure	sensibility and understanding (i.e., knowledge of causality) if we	see them with reference to the subject, yet another faculty of	knowledge has appeared in man alone of all the inhabitants of the	earth; an entirely new consciousness has arisen, which with very appropriate and significant accuracy is called reflection. For it is in	fact a reflected appearance, a thing derived from this knowledge of	perception, yet it has assumed a fundamentally different nature and	character. It is not acquainted with the forms of perception, and	in its regard even the principle of sufficient reason, which rules over	every object, has an entirely different form. It is only this new consciousness	at a higher potential, this abstract reflex of everything	intuitive in the non-perceptive conception of reason, that endows	man with that thoughtfulness which so completely distinguishes his consciousness from that of the animal, and through which his whole	behaviour on earth turns out so differently from that of his irrational	brothers. He far surpasses them in power and in suffering. They live	in the present alone; he lives at the same time in the future and the	past. They satisfy the need of the moment; he provides by the most	ingenious preparations for his future, nay, even for times that he	cannot live to see. They are given up entirely to the impression of	the moment, to the effect of the motive of perception; he is	determined by abstract concepts independent of the present moment.	He therefore carries out considered plans, or acts in accordance with	maxims, without regard to his surroundings, and to the accidental	impressions of the moment. Thus, for example, he can with composure	take cunning measures for his own death, dissemble to	the point of inscrutableness, and take his secret with him to the grave.	Finally, he has an actual choice between several motives, for only	in abstracto can such motives, simultaneously present in consciousness,	afford knowledge with regard to themselves that the one	excludes the other, and thus measure against one another their power	over the will. Accordingly, the motive that prevails, in that it decides	the matter, is the deliberate decision of the will, and it makes known	as a sure indication the character of the will. The animal, on the	contrary, is determined by the present impression; only the fear	of present compulsion can restrain his desires, until at last this fear	has become custom, and as such determines him; this is training.	The animal feels and perceives; man, in addition, thinks and knows; both will. The animal communicates his feelings and moods by	gesture and sound; man communicates thought to another, or conceals	it from him, by language. Speech is the first product and the	necessary instrument of his faculty of reason. Therefore in Greek and	Italian speech and reason are expressed by the same word, ([x]) il discorso. Vernunft (reason) comes from vernehmen, which is not	synonymous with hearing, but signifies the awareness of ideas communicated	by words. Only by the aid of language does reason bring	about its most important achievements, namely the harmonious	and consistent action of several individuals, the planned cooperation	of many thousands, civilization, the State; and then, science, the	storing up of previous experience, the summarizing into one concept	of what is common, the communication of truth, the spreading of	error, thoughts and poems, dogmas and superstitions. The animal	learns to know death only when he dies, but man consciously draws	every hour nearer his death; and at times this makes life a precarious	business, even to the man who has not already recognized this character	of constant annihilation in the whole of life itself. Mainly on	this account, man has philosophies and religions, though it is doubtful	whether that which we rightly esteem above all else in his conduct,	namely voluntary rectitude and nobility of feeling, have ever been	the fruit of them. On the other hand, there are on this path, as	certain creations belonging to them alone and as productions of	reason, the strangest and oddest opinions of the philosophers of	different schools, and the most extraordinary, and sometimes even	cruel, customs of the priests of different religions.
It is the unanimous opinion of all times and of all nations that	all these manifestations, so manifold and so far-reaching, spring from	a common principle, from that special power of the mind which	man possesses as distinct from the animal, and which has been	called Vernunft, reason, [x], ratio. All	men also know quite well how to recognize the manifestations of this	faculty, and to say what is rational and what is irrational, where	reason appears in contrast to man's other faculties and qualities,	and finally what can never be expected even from the cleverest	animal, on account of its lack of this faculty. The philosophers of	all times speak on the whole with one voice about this universal knowledge of reason, and moreover stress some particularly important	manifestations of it, such as the control of the emotions and	passions, the capacity to make conclusions and to lay down general	principles, even those that are certain prior to all experience, and	so on. Nevertheless, all their explanations of the real nature of reason	are irresolute, vague, not sharply defined, diffuse, without unity or a	central point, stressing one or another manifestation, and hence often at	variance among themselves. Besides this, many start from the contrast	between reason and revelation, a contrast wholly foreign to philosophy,	and serving only to add to the confusion. It is very remarkable	that hitherto no philosopher has referred all these manifold expressions	of reason strictly to one simple function which could be	recognized in all of them, from which they could all be explained,	and which would accordingly constitute the real inner nature of	reason. It is true that the eminent Locke in his Essay on the Human	Understanding (Book II, chap. xi, § § 10 and 11) very rightly states	that abstract, universal concepts are the characteristic that distinguishes	animal from man, and that Leibniz in complete agreement repeats this in the Nouveaux essais sur l'entendement humain (Book	II, chap. xi, §§ 10 and 11). But when Locke (Book IV, chap. xvii,	§ § 2 and 3) comes to the real explanation of reason, he entirely	loses sight of that simple main characteristic, and also falls into an	irresolute, indefinite, incomplete account of piecemeal and derivative	manifestations of it. In the corresponding passage of his work,	Leibniz also behaves in just the same way, only with more confusion	and vagueness. In the Appendix I have discussed in detail how much	Kant confused and falsified the conception of the nature of reason.	But he who will take the trouble to go through in this respect the	mass of philosophical writings that have appeared since Kant, will	recognize that, just as the mistakes of princes are expiated by whole	nations, so do the errors of great minds extend their unwholesome	influence over whole generations, centuries even, growing and	propagating, and finally degenerating into monstrosities. All this can	be deduced from the fact that, as Berkeley says, "Few men think; yet	all will have opinions." [13A].
The understanding has one function alone, namely immediate	knowledge of the relation of cause and effect; and perception of the	actual world, as well as all sagacity, good sense, and the inventive	gift, however manifold their application may be, are quite obviously	nothing but manifestations of that simple function. Reason also has	one function, the formation of the concept, and from this single	function are explained very easily and automatically all those	phenomena, previously mentioned, that distinguish man's life from	that of the animal. Everything that has been called rational or irrational everywhere and always points to the application or nonapplication	of that function. [14]
The concepts form a peculiar class, existing only in	the mind of man, and differing entirely from the representations of	perception so far considered. Therefore we can never attain to a	perceptive, a really evident knowledge of their nature, but only to an	abstract and discursive one. It would therefore be absurd to demand	that they should be demonstrated in experience, in so far as we	understand by this the real external world that is simply representation of perception, or that they should be brought before the eyes or	the imagination like objects of perception. They can only be conceived,	not perceived, and only the effects that man produces through	them are objects of experience proper. Such effects are language,	deliberate and planned action and science, and what results from	all these. As object of external experience, speech is obviously	nothing but a very complete telegraph communicating arbitrary signs	with the greatest rapidity and the finest difference of shades of	meaning. But what do these signs mean? How are they. interpreted?	While another person is speaking, do we at once translate his speech	into pictures of the imagination that instantaneously flash upon us	and are arranged, linked, formed, and coloured according to the	words that stream forth, and to their grammatical inflexions? What	a tumult there would be in our heads while we listened to a speech or	read a book! This is not what happens at all. The meaning of the	speech is immediately grasped, accurately and clearly apprehended,	without as a rule any conceptions of fancy being mixed up with it.	It is reason speaking to reason that keeps within its province, and	what it communicates and receives are abstract concepts, non-perceptive	representations, formed once for all and relatively few in	number, but nevertheless embracing, containing, and representing all	the innumerable objects of the actual world. From this alone is to be	explained the fact that an animal can never speak and comprehend,	although it has in common with us the organs of speech, and also	the representations of perception. But just because words express	this quite peculiar class of representations, whose subjective correlative	is reason, they are for the animal without sense and meaning.	Thus language, like every other phenomenon that we ascribe to	reason, and like everything that distinguishes man from the animal,	is to be explained by this one simple thing as its source, namely	concepts, representations that are abstract not perceptive, universal	not individual in time and space. Only in single cases do we pass	from concepts to perception, or form phantasms as representatives	of concepts in perception, to which, however, they are never adequate.	These have been specially discussed in the essay On the	Principle of Sufficient Reason (§ 28), and so I will not repeat this here.	What is there said can be compared with what Hume says in the	twelfth of his Philosophical Essays (p. 244), and Herder in the	Metacritic -- otherwise a bad book (Part I, p. 274). The Platonic	Idea that becomes possible through the union of imagination and	reason is the main subject of the third book of the present work.
Now although concepts are fundamentally different from representations	of perception, they stand in a necessary relation to them,	and without this they would be nothing. This relation consequently	constitutes their whole nature and existence. Reflection is necessarily	the copy or repetition of the originally presented world of perception,	though a copy of quite a special kind in a completely heterogeneous	material. Concepts, therefore, can quite appropriately be called representations	of representations. Here too the principle of sufficient	reason has a special form. The form under which the principle of	sufficient reason rules in a class of representations also always	constitutes and exhausts the whole nature of this class, in so far	as they are representations, so that, as we have seen, time is	throughout succession and nothing else, space is throughout position	and nothing else, matter is throughout causality and nothing else. In	the same way, the whole nature of concepts, or of the class of	abstract representations, consists only in the relation expressed in	them by the principle of sufficient reason. As this is the relation	to the ground of knowledge, the abstract representation has its whole nature simply and solely in its relation to another representation that is its ground of knowledge. Now this of course can again be	a concept or an abstract representation in the first instance, and	even this again may have only such an abstract ground of knowledge.	However, this does not go on ad infinitum, but the series of grounds	of knowledge must end at last with a concept which has its ground	in knowledge of perception. For the whole world of reflection rests on	the world of perception as its ground of knowledge. Therefore the	class of abstract representations is distinguished from the others, for	in the latter the principle of sufficient reason always requires only a	relation to another representation of the same class, but in the case	of abstract representations it requires in the end a relation to a	representation from another class.
Those concepts which, as just mentioned, are related to knowledge	of perception not directly, but only through the medium of one or	even several other concepts, have been called by preference abstracta,	and on the other hand those which have their ground directly in	the world of perception have been called concreta. This last name,	however, fits the concepts denoted by it only in quite a figurative	way, for even these too are always abstracta, and in no way representations	of perception. These names have originated only from a	very indistinct awareness of the difference they indicate; yet they	can remain, with the explanation given here. Examples of the	first kind, and hence abstracta in the fullest sense, are concepts such	as "relation," "virtue," "investigation," "beginning," and so on.	Examples of the latter kind, or those figuratively called concreta,	are the concepts "man," "stone," "horse," and so on. If it were not	somewhat too pictorial a simile, and thus one that verges on the	facetious, the latter might very appropriately be called the ground floor and the former the upper storeys of the edifice of reflection. [15]
It is not, as is often said to be the case, an essential characteristic	of a concept that it includes much under it, in other words, that	many representations of perception, or even abstract representations,	stand to it in the relation of ground of knowledge, that is to say, are	thought through it. This is only a derived and secondary characteristic	of a concept, and does not always exist in fact, although it must	always do so potentially. This characteristic arises from the fact	that the concept is a representation of a representation, in other	words, has its whole nature only in its relation to another representation.	But as it is not this representation itself. the latter indeed	frequently belonging to quite a different class of representations, in	other words, being of perception, it can have temporal, spatial, and	other determinations, and in general many more relations that are	not thought in the concept at all. Thus several representations	differing in unessential points can be thought through the same	concept, that is to say, subsumed under it. But this power of	embracing several things is not an essential characteristic of the	concept, but only an accidental one. Thus there can be concepts	through which only a single real object is thought, but which	are nevertheless abstract and general representations, and by no	means particular representations of perception. Such, for example, is	the concept one has of a definite town, known to one only from	geography. Although this one town alone is thought through it, yet	there might possibly be several towns differing in a few particulars,	to all of which it is suited. Thus a concept has generality not because	it is abstracted from several objects, but conversely because generality,	that is to say, non-determination of the particular, is essential	to the concept as abstract representation of reason; different things	can be thought through the same concept.
From what has been said it follows that every concept, just because	it is abstract representation, not representation of perception, and	therefore not a completely definite representation, has what is called	a range, an extension, or a sphere, even in the case where only a	single real object corresponding to it exists. We usually find that the	sphere of any concept has something in common with the spheres of	others, that is to say, partly the same thing is thought in it which	is thought in those others, and conversely in those others again	partly the same thing is thought which is thought in the first concept; although, if they are really different concepts, each, or at any rate	one of the two, contains something the other does not. In this	relation every subject stands to its predicate. To recognize this	relation means to judge. The presentation of these spheres by figures	in space is an exceedingly happy idea. Gottfried Ploucquet, who had	it first, used squares for the purpose. Lambert, after him, made use	of simple lines placed one under another. Euler first carried out the	idea completely with circles. On what this exact analogy between the	relations of concepts and those of figures in space ultimately rests, I am unable to say. For logic, however, it is a very fortunate	circumstance that all the relations of concepts can be made plain	in perception, even according to their possibility, i.e., a priori,	through such figures in the following way:
(1) The spheres of two concepts are equal in all respects, for	example, the concept of necessity and the concept of following from	a given ground or reason; in the same way, the concept of Ruminantia	and that of Bisulca (ruminating and cloven-hoofed animals); likewise that of vertebrates and that of red-blooded animals (though	there might be some objection to this by reason of the Annelida):	these are convertible concepts. Such concepts, then, are represented	by a single circle that indicates either the one or the other.
(2) The sphere of one concept wholly includes that of another:
(3) A sphere includes two or several which exclude one another,	and at the same time fill the sphere:
(4) Two spheres include each a part of the other:
(5) Two spheres lie within a third, yet do not fill it:
This last case applies to all concepts whose spheres have nothing	immediately in common, for a third one, although often very wide,	will include both.
All combinations of concepts may be referred to these cases, and	from them can be derived the whole theory of judgements, of	their conversion, contraposition, reciprocation, disjunction (this	according to the third figure). From them may also be derived the	properties of judgements, on which Kant based the pretended	categories of the understanding, though with the exception of the	hypothetical form, which is not a combination of mere concepts, but	of judgements; and with the exception of modality, of which the	Appendix gives a detailed account, as it does of all the properties	of judgements that are the basis of the categories. Of the possible	concept-combinations mentioned it has further to be remarked that	they can also be combined with one another in many ways, e.g., the	fourth figure with the second. Only if one sphere which wholly or partly	contains another is in turn included wholly or partly within a third,	do these together represent the syllogism in the first figure, that is	to say, that combination of judgements by which it is known that a	concept wholly or partly contained in another is also contained in a	third, which in turn contains the first. Also the converse of this,	the negation, whose pictorial representation can, of course, consist	only in the two connected spheres not lying within a third sphere. If	many spheres are brought together in this way, there arise long	chains of syllogisms. This schematism of concepts, which has been	fairly well explained in several textbooks, can be used as the basis	of the theory of judgements, as also of the whole syllogistic theory,	and in this way the discussion of both becomes very easy and simple.	For all the rules of this theory can be seen from it according to their	origin, and can be deduced and explained. But it is not necessary	to load the memory with these rules, for logic can never be of	practical use, but only of theoretical interest for philosophy. For	although it might be said that logic is related to rational thinking as	thorough-bass is to music, and also as ethics is to virtue, if we take	it less precisely, or as aesthetics is to art, it must be borne in mind	that no one ever became an artist by studying aesthetics, that a noble	character was never formed by a study of ethics, that men composed	correctly and beautifully long before Rameau, and that we do not	need to be masters of thorough-bass in order to detect discords. Just	as little do we need to know logic in order to avoid being deceived	by false conclusions. But it must be conceded that thorough-bass is	of great use in the practice of musical composition, although not for	musical criticism. Aesthetics and ethics also, though in a much less	degree, may have some use in practice, though a mainly negative	one, and hence they too cannot be denied all practical value; but of	logic not even this much can be conceded. It is merely knowing	in the abstract what everyone knows in the concrete. Therefore we	no more need to call in the aid of logical rules in order to construct	a correct argument, than to do so to guard against agreeing with a	false one. Even the most learned logician lays these rules altogether	aside in his actual thinking. This is to be explained as follows. Every	science consists of a system of general, and consequently abstract,	truths, laws, and rules referring to some species of objects. The	particular case which subsequently occurs under these laws is then	determined each time in accordance with this universal knowledge	that is valid once for all, because such application of the universal	is infinitely easier than investigation from the very beginning of	each individual case as it occurs. The universal abstract knowledge,	once gained, is always nearer at hand than the empirical investigation	of the particular thing. But with logic it is just the reverse. It is the	universal knowledge of the reason's method of procedure, expressed	in the form of rules. Such knowledge is reached by self-observation	of the faculty of reason, and abstraction from all content. But that	method of procedure is necessary and essential to reason; hence	reason will not in any case depart from it, the moment it is left to	itself. It is therefore easier and more certain to let reason proceed	according to its nature in each particular case, than to hold before	it knowledge of that case which is first abstracted from this procedure	in the form of a foreign law given from outside. It is easier because,	although in all the other sciences the universal rule is more within	our reach than is the investigation of the particular case taken by	itself, with the use of reason, on the contrary, its necessary procedure	in the given case is always more within our reach than is the	universal rule abstracted from it; for that which thinks within us	is indeed this very faculty of reason itself. It is surer, because it is easier for an error to occur in such abstract knowledge or in its	application than for a process of reason to take place which would	run contrary to its essence and nature. Hence arises the strange	fact that, whereas in other sciences we test the truth of the particular	case by the rule, in logic, on the contrary, the rule must always be	tested by the particular case. Even the most practised logician, if he	notices that in a particular case he concludes otherwise than as	stated by the rule, will always look for a mistake in the rule rather	than in the conclusion he actually draws. To seek to make practical use of logic would therefore mean to seek to derive with unspeakable	trouble from universal rules what is immediately known to us with	the greatest certainty in the particular case. It is just as if a man	were to consult mechanics with regard to his movements, or physiology	with regard to his digestion; and one who has learnt logic	for practical purposes is like a man who should seek to train a	beaver to build its lodge. Logic is therefore without practical use;	nevertheless it must be retained, because it has philosophical interest	as special knowledge of the organization and action of the faculty	of reason. It is rightly regarded as an exclusive, self-subsisting, self-contained,	finished, and perfectly safe branch of knowledge, to be	scientifically treated by itself alone and independently of everything	else, and also to be taught at the universities. But it has its real	value first in the continuity of philosophy as a whole with the	consideration of knowledge, indeed of rational or abstract knowledge.	Accordingly, the exposition of logic should not so much take the form of a science directed to what is practical, and should not	contain merely bare rules laid down for the conversion of judgements,	syllogisms, and so on, but should rather be directed to our knowing	the nature of the faculty of reason and of the concept, and to our	considering in detail the principle of sufficient reason of knowledge.	For logic is a mere paraphrase of this principle, and is in fact	really only for the case where the ground that gives truth to judgements	is not empirical or metaphysical, but logical or metalogical.	Therefore with the principle of sufficient reason of knowing must	be mentioned the three remaining fundamental laws of thought,	or judgements of metalogical truth, so closely related to it, out of	which the whole technical science of the faculty of reason gradually	grows. The nature of thought proper, that is to say, of the judgement	and syllogism, can be shown from the combination of the concept-spheres	according to the spatial schema in the way above mentioned,	and from this all the rules of the judgement and syllogism can be deduced by construction. The only practical use we can make of logic	is in an argument, when we do not so much demonstrate to our	opponent his actual false conclusions as his intentionally false ones,	through calling them by their technical names. By thus pushing the	practical tendency into the background, and stressing the connexion	of logic with the whole of philosophy as one of its chapters, knowledge	of it should not become less prevalent than it is now. For at the	present time everyone who does not wish to remain generally uncultured	or to be reckoned one of the ignorant and dull mob, must	have studied speculative philosophy. For this nineteenth century is	a philosophical one; though by this we do not mean that it possesses	philosophy or that philosophy prevails in it, but rather that it is	ripe for philosophy and is therefore absolutely in need of it. This	is a sign of a high degree of refinement, indeed a fixed point on the	scale of the culture of the times. [16]
However little practical use logic may have, it cannot be denied	that it was invented for practical purposes. I explain its origin in	the following way. As the pleasure of debate developed more and	more among the Eleatics, the Megarics, and the Sophists, and	gradually became almost a passion, the confusion in which nearly	every debate ended was bound to make them feel the necessity for a	method of procedure as a guide, and for this a scientific dialectic had	to be sought. The first thing that had to be observed was that the	two disputing parties must always be agreed on some proposition	to which the points in dispute were to be referred. The beginning	of the methodical procedure consisted in formally stating as such	these propositions jointly acknowledged, and putting them at the	head of the inquiry. These propositions were at first concerned only	with the material of the inquiry. It was soon observed that, even in	the way in which the debaters went back to the jointly acknowledged	truth, and sought to deduce their assertions from it, certain forms and	laws were followed, about which, although without any previous	agreement, there was never any dispute. From this it was seen that	these must be the peculiar and essentially natural method of reason itself,	the formal way of investigating. Now although this was not exposed	to doubt and disagreement, some mind, systematic to the point	of pedantry, nevertheless hit upon the idea that it would look fine, and	would be the completion of methodical dialectic, if this formal part	of all debating, this procedure of reason itself always conforming to	law, were also expressed in abstract propositions. These would then	be put at the head of the inquiry, just like those propositions jointly	acknowledged and concerned with the material of the inquiry, as the	fixed canon of debate, to which it would always be necessary to look	back and to refer. In this way, what had hitherto been followed as	if by tacit agreement or practised by instinct would be consciously	recognized as law, and given formal expression. Gradually, more or	less perfect expressions for logical principles were found, such as	the principles of contradiction, of sufficient reason, of the excluded	middle, the dictum de omni et nullo, and then the special rules of	syllogistic reasoning, as for example Ex meris particularibus aut	negativis nihil sequitur; a rationato ad rationem non valet consequentia;	[17] and so on. That all this came about only slowly and very	laboriously, and, until Aristotle, remained very incomplete, is seen	in part from the awkward and tedious way in which logical truths	are brought out in many of Plato's dialogues, and even better from	what Sextus Empiricus tells us of the controversies of the Megarics	concerning the easiest and simplest logical laws, and the laborious	way in which they made such laws plain and intelligible (Sextus	Empiricus, Adversus Mathematicos, 1. 8, p. 112 seqq.). Aristotle	collected, arranged, and corrected all that had been previously discovered,	and brought it to an incomparably higher state of perfection.	If we thus consider how the course of Greek culture had prepared for	and led up to Aristotle's work, we shall be little inclined to give	credit to the statement of Persian authors reported to us by Sir William	Jones, who was much prejudiced in their favour, namely that	Callisthenes found among the Indians a finished system of logic	which he sent to his uncle Aristotle (Asiatic Researches, Vol. IV,	p. 163). It is easy to understand that in the dreary Middle Ages the	Aristotelian logic was bound to be extremely welcome to the argumentative	spirit of the scholastics, which, in the absence of real	knowledge, feasted only on formulas and words. It is easy to see that	this logic, even in its mutilated Arabic form, would be eagerly	adopted, and soon elevated to the centre of all knowledge. Although	it has since sunk from its position of authority, it has nevertheless retained	up to our own time the credit of a self-contained, practical,	and extremely necessary science. Even in our day the Kantian philosophy,	which really took its foundation-stone from logic, has awakened	a fresh interest in it. In this respect, that is to say, as a means	to knowing the essential nature of reason, it certainly merits such	interest.
Correct and exact conclusions are reached by our accurately observing	the relation of the concept-spheres, and admitting that one	sphere is wholly contained in a third only when a sphere is completely	contained in another, which other is in turn wholly contained in the	third. On the other hand, the art of persuasion depends on our subjecting	the relations of the concept-spheres to a superficial consideration	only, and then determining these only from one point of view,	and in accordance with our intentions, mainly in the following way.	If the sphere of a concept under consideration lies only partly in another sphere, and partly also in quite a different sphere, we declare	it to be entirely in the first sphere or entirely in the second,	according to our intentions. For example, when passion is spoken of,	we can subsume this under the concept of the greatest force, of the	mightiest agency in the world, or under the concept of irrationality,	and this under the concept of powerlessness or weakness. We can	continue this method, and apply it afresh with each concept to which	the argument leads us. The sphere of a concept is almost invariably	shared by several others, each of which contains a part of the province	of the first sphere, while itself including something more besides.	Of these latter concept-spheres we allow only that sphere to be elucidated under which we wish to subsume the first concept, leaving the	rest unobserved, or keeping them concealed. On this trick all the	arts of persuasion, all the more subtle sophisms, really depend; for	the logical sophisms, such as mentiens, velatus, cornutus, [18] and so on,	are obviously too clumsy for actual application. I am not aware that	anyone hitherto has traced the nature of all sophistication and persuasion	back to this ultimate ground of their possibility, and demonstrated	this in the peculiar property of concepts, that is to say, the	cognitive method of reason. As my discussion has led me to this, I	will elucidate the matter, easy though it is to understand, by means	of a schema in the accompanying diagram. This shows how the	concept-spheres in many ways overlap one another, and thus enable	us freely to pass arbitrarily from each concept to others in one direction	or another. I do not want anyone to be led by this diagram into	attaching more importance to this short incidental discussion than it	has in its own right. I have chosen as an illustrative example the	concept of travelling. Its sphere overlaps into the province of four	others, to each of which the persuasive talker can pass at will. These	again overlap into other spheres, several of them into two or more	simultaneously; and through these the persuasive talker takes whichever	way he likes, always as if it were the only way, and then ultimately	arrives at good or evil, according to what his intention was.	In going from one sphere to another, it is only necessary always to	maintain direction from the centre (the given chief concept) to the	circumference, and not go backwards. The manner of clothing such	a sophistication in words can be continuous speech or even the strict	syllogistic form, as the hearer's weak side may suggest. The nature	of most scientific arguments, particularly of philosophical demonstrations,	is not at bottom very different from this. Otherwise how would	it be possible for so much at different periods to be not only erroneously	assumed (for error itself has a different source), but demonstrated	and proved, and then later found to be fundamentally false,	such as, for example, the philosophy of Leibniz and Wolff, Ptolemaic	astronomy, Stahl's chemistry, Newton's theory of colours, and so	on? [19]
Through all this, the question becomes more and	more pressing how certainty is to be attained, how judgements are to	be established, in what knowledge and science consist; for, together	with language and deliberate action, we extol these as the third great	advantage conferred on us by the faculty of reason.
Reason is feminine in nature; it can give only after it has received.	Of itself alone, it has nothing but the empty forms of its operation.	There is absolutely no other perfectly pure rational knowledge than	the four principles to which I have attributed metalogical truth, the	principles of identity, of contradiction, of the excluded middle, and	of sufficient reason of knowledge. For even the rest of logic is not	perfectly pure rational knowledge, since it presupposes the relations	and combinations of the spheres of concepts. But concepts in general	exist only after previous representations of perception, and in the	reference to these lies their whole nature; consequently, they presuppose	these representations. As this assumption, however, does not	extend to the definite content of concepts, but only to their general	existence, logic can, on the whole, pass for a pure science of reason.	In all the other sciences reason obtains its content from the representations	of perception; in mathematics from the relations of space and	time presented in intuition or perception prior to all experience; in	pure natural science, that is to say, in what we know about the	course of nature prior to all experience, the content of the science	results from the pure understanding, i.e., from the a priori knowledge	of the law of causality and of that law's connexion with those pure intuitions or perceptions of space and time. In all the other sciences	everything that is not borrowed from the sources just mentioned	belongs to experience. To know means generally to have within the	power of the mind, ready to reproduce at will, such judgements as	have their sufficient ground of knowledge in something outside them,	in other words, such judgements as are true. Thus only abstract	knowledge is rational knowledge (Wissen), and this is therefore	conditioned by the faculty of reason, and, strictly speaking, we cannot	say of the animals that they rationally know anything, although they have knowledge of perception, as well as recollection of it, and,	on this very account, imagination; this, moreover, is proved by their	dreaming. We attribute to them consciousness, and although the name	(Bewusstsein) is derived from wissen (to know rationally), the concept	of consciousness coincides with that of representation in general,	of whatever kind it may be. Thus to the plant we attribute life, but	not consciousness. Rational knowledge (Wissen) is therefore abstract	consciousness, fixing in concepts of reason what is known generally in	another way.
Now in this respect, the true opposite of rational	knowledge (Wissen) is feeling (Gefuhl), which we must therefore	discuss at this point. The concept denoted by the word feeling has	only a negative content, namely that something present in consciousness	is not a concept, not abstract knowledge of reason. However, be	it what it may, it comes under the concept of feeling. Thus the immeasurably	wide sphere of this concept includes the most heterogeneous	things, and we do not see how they come together so long as we	have not recognized that they all agree in this negative respect of not being abstract concepts. For the most varied, indeed the most hostile,	elements lie quietly side by side in this concept; e.g., religious feeling,	feeling of sensual pleasure, moral feeling, bodily feeling such as touch,	pain, feeling for colours, for sounds and their harmonies and discords,	feeling of hatred, disgust, self-satisfaction, honour, disgrace, right and	wrong, feeling of truth, aesthetic feeling, feeling of power, weakness,	health, friendship, and so on. Between them there is absolutely nothing	in common except the negative quality that they are not abstract	knowledge of reason. But this becomes most striking when even a	priori knowledge of perception of spatial relations, and moreover	knowledge of the pure understanding, are brought under this concept,	and generally when it is said of all knowledge, of all truth, of which	we are at first conscious only intuitively, but which we have not yet formulated into abstract concepts, that we feel it. To make this clear,	I will quote some examples from recent books, because they are	striking proofs of my explanation. I remember having read in the	introduction to a German translation of Euclid that we ought to make	all beginners in geometry draw the figures first before proceeding to	demonstrate, since they would then feel geometrical truth, before the	demonstration brought them complete knowledge. In the same way	F. Schleiermacher speaks in his Kritik der Sittenlehre of logical and	mathematical feeling (p. 339), and also of the feeling of the sameness	or difference of two formulas (p. 342). Further, in Tennemann's	Geschichte der Philosophie (Vol. I, p. 361), it says: "It was felt that	the false conclusions were not right, but yet the mistake could not be	discovered." Now so long as we do not consider this concept of feeling	from the right point of view, and do not recognize this one negative	characteristic that alone is essential to it, that concept is always	bound to give rise to misunderstandings and disputes on account of	the excessive width of its sphere, and of its merely negative and very	limited content, determined in an entirely one-sided way. As we have	in German the almost synonymous word Empfindung (sensation), it	would be useful to take over this for bodily feelings as a subspecies.	Undoubtedly the origin of this concept of feeling, out of all proportion	to the others, is the following. All concepts, and concepts only,	are denoted by words; they exist only for the faculty of reason and	proceed therefrom; hence with them we are already at a one-sided	point of view. But from such a point of view, what is near appears	distinct and is set down as positive; what is more distant coalesces,	and is soon regarded only as negative. Thus each nation calls all	others foreign; the Greeks called all other men barbarians. The Englishman	calls everything that is not England or English continent and	continental; the believer regards all others as heretics or heathens; the	nobleman considers all others as roturiers; to the student all others are Philistines, and so on. Reason itself, strange as it may sound,	renders itself guilty of the same one-sidedness, indeed, one may say	of the same crude ignorance from pride, since it classifies under the	one concept of feeling every modification of consciousness which does	not belong directly to its own method of representation, in other	words, which is not abstract concept. Hitherto it has had to atone for	this by misunderstandings and confusions in its own province, because	its own method of procedure had not become clear to it through	thorough self-knowledge, for even a special faculty of feeling was put	forward, and theories of it were constructed.
I have said that all abstract knowledge, i.e., all	knowledge of reason, is rational knowledge (Wissen), and I have just	explained that the concept of feeling is the contradictory opposite of	this. But, as reason always brings again before knowledge only what	has been received in another way, it does not really extend our	knowledge, but merely gives it another form. Thus it enables one to	know in the abstract and in general what was known intuitively and	in the concrete. But this is far more important than appears at first	sight when thus expressed. For all safe preservation, all communicability,	all sure and far-reaching application of knowledge to the practical,	depend on its having become a rational knowledge (Wissen),	an abstract knowledge. Intuitive knowledge is always valid only of	the particular case, extends only to what is nearest, and there stops,	since sensibility and understanding can really comprehend only one	object at a time. Therefore every continuous, coordinated, and	planned activity must start from fundamental principles, i.e. from an abstract knowledge, and must be guided in accordance therewith.	Thus, for example, knowledge which the understanding has of the	relation of cause and effect is in itself much more complete, profound,	and exhaustive than what can be thought of it in the abstract. The	understanding alone knows from perception, directly and completely,	the mode of operation of a lever, a block and tackle, a cog-wheel,	the support of an arch, and so on. But on account of the property	of intuitive knowledge just referred to, namely that it extends only to	what is immediately present, the mere understanding is not sufficient	for constructing machines and buildings. On the contrary, reason	must put in an appearance here; it must replace intuitions and perceptions with abstract concepts, take those concepts as the guide of	action, and, if they are right, success will be attained. In the same	way, we know perfectly in pure perception the nature and conformity	to law of a parabola, hyperbola, and spiral, but for this knowledge to	be reliably applied in real life it must first have become abstract	knowledge. Here, of course, it loses its character of intuition or perception,	and acquires instead the certainty and definiteness of abstract	knowledge. Thus the differential calculus does not really extend our	knowledge of curves; it contains nothing more than what was already present in the mere pure perception of them. But it alters the kind of	knowledge; it converts the intuitive into an abstract knowledge that	is so extremely important for application. Here another peculiarity	of our faculty of knowledge comes under discussion, and one that	could not be observed previously, until the difference between knowledge	of perception and abstract knowledge was made perfectly clear.	It is that the relations of space cannot directly and as such be translated	into abstract knowledge, but only temporal quantities, that is	to say numbers, are capable of this. Numbers alone can be expressed	in abstract concepts exactly corresponding to them; spatial quantities	cannot. The concept thousand is just as different from the concept ten	as are the two temporal quantities in perception. We think of a thousand	as a definite multiple of ten into which we can resolve it at will	for perception in time, in other words, we can count it. But between	the abstract concept of a mile and that of a foot, without any representation	from perception of either, and without the help of number,	there is no exact distinction at all corresponding to these quantities	themselves. In both we think only of a spatial quantity in general,	and if they are to be adequately distinguished, we must either avail	ourselves of intuition or perception in space, and hence leave the sphere of abstract knowledge, or we must think the difference in	numbers. If, therefore, we want to have abstract knowledge of space-relations,	we must first translate them into time-relations, that is,	numbers. For this reason, arithmetic alone, and not geometry, is the	universal theory of quantity, and geometry must be translated into	arithmetic if it is to be communicable, precisely definite, and applicable	in practice. It is true that a spatial relation as such may also be	thought in the abstract, for example "The sine increases with the	angle," but if the quantity of this relation is to be stated, number is required. This necessity for space with its three dimensions to be	translated into time with only one dimension, if we wish to have an	abstract knowledge (i.e., a rational knowledge, and no mere intuition	or perception) of space-relations -- this necessity it is that makes	mathematics so difficult. This becomes very clear when we compare	the perception of curves with their analytical calculation, or even	merely the tables of the logarithms of trigonometrical functions with	the perception of the changing relations of the parts of a triangle	expressed by them. What vast tissues of figures, what laborious calculations,	would be required to express in the abstract what perception here apprehends perfectly and with extreme accuracy at a glance, namely how the cosine diminishes while the sine increases, how the	cosine of one angle is the sine of another, the inverse relation of the	increase and decrease of the two angles, and so on! How time, we	might say, with its one dimension must torture itself, in order to	reproduce the three dimensions of space! But this was necessary if we	wished to possess space-relations expressed in abstract concepts for	the purpose of application. They could not go into abstract concepts	directly, but only through the medium of the purely temporal quantity,	number, which alone is directly connected to abstract knowledge.	Yet it is remarkable that, as space is so well adapted to perception,	and, by means of its three dimensions, even complicated relations can	be taken in at a glance, whereas it defies abstract knowledge, time on	the other hand passes easily into abstract concepts, but offers very	little to perception. Our perception of numbers in their characteristic	element, namely in mere time, without the addition of space, scarcely	extends as far as ten. Beyond this we have only abstract concepts,	and no longer perceptive knowledge of numbers. On the other hand,	we connect with every numeral and with all algebraical signs precise	and definite abstract concepts.
Incidentally, it may here be remarked that many minds find complete	satisfaction only in what is known through perception. What	they look for is reason or ground and consequent of being in space	presented in perception. A Euclidean proof, or an arithmetical solution	of spatial problems, makes no appeal to them. Other minds,	on the contrary, want the abstract concepts of use solely for application	and communication. They have patience and memory for abstract	principles, formulas, demonstrations by long chains of reasoning,	and calculations whose symbols represent the most complicated	abstractions. The latter seek preciseness, the former intuitiveness. The	difference is characteristic.
Rational or abstract knowledge has its greatest value in its communicability,	and in its possibility of being fixed and retained; only	through this does it become so invaluable for practice. Of the causal	connexion of the changes and motions of natural bodies a man can	have an immediate, perceptive knowledge in the mere understanding,	and can find complete satisfaction in it, but it is capable of being	communicated only after he has fixed it in concepts. Even knowledge	of the first kind is sufficient for practice, as soon as a man puts it into	execution entirely by himself, in fact when he carries it out in a practical	action, while the knowledge from perception is still vivid. But	such knowledge is not sufficient if a man requires the help of another,	or if he needs to carry out on his own part some action manifested at	different times and therefore needing a deliberate plan. Thus, for	example, an experienced billiard-player can have a perfect knowledge	of the laws of impact of elastic bodies on one another, merely in the	understanding, merely for immediate perception, and with this he	manages perfectly. Only the man who is versed in the science of	mechanics, on the other hand, has a real rational knowledge of those	laws, that is to say, a knowledge of them in the abstract. Even for the	construction of machines such a merely intuitive knowledge of the	understanding is sufficient, when the inventor of the machine himself	executes the work, as is often seen in the case of talented workmen	without any scientific knowledge. On the other hand, as soon as several	men and their coordinated activity occurring at different times	are necessary for carrying out a mechanical operation, for completing	a machine or a building, then the man controlling it must have drafted	the plan in the abstract, and such a cooperative activity is possible	only through the assistance of the faculty of reason. But it is remarkable	that, in the first kind of activity, where one man alone is supposed	to execute something in an uninterrupted course of action, rational	knowledge, the application of reason, reflection, may often be	even a hindrance to him. For example, in the case of billiards-playing,	fencing, tuning an instrument, or singing, knowledge of perception	must directly guide activity; passage through reflection makes it uncertain,	since it divides the attention, and confuses the executant.	Therefore, savages and uneducated persons, not very accustomed to	thinking, perform many bodily exercises, fight with animals, shoot	with bows and arrows and the like, with a certainty and rapidity	never reached by the reflecting European, just because his deliberation	makes him hesitate and hang back. For instance, he tries to find	the right spot or the right point of time from the mean between two	false extremes, while the natural man hits it directly without reflecting	on the wrong courses open to him. Likewise, it is of no use for me to	be able to state in the abstract in degrees and minutes the angle at	which I have to apply my razor, if I do not know it intuitively, in	other words, if I do not know how to hold the razor. In like manner,	the application of reason is also disturbing to the person who tries to	understand physiognomy; this too must occur directly through the	understanding. We say that the expression, the meaning of the features,	can only be felt, that is to say, it cannot enter into abstract	concepts. Every person has his own immediate intuitive method of	physiognomy and pathognomy, yet one recognizes that signatura	rerum more clearly than does another. But a science of physiognomy	in the abstract cannot be brought into existence to be taught and	learned, because in this field the shades of difference are so fine that	the concept cannot reach them. Hence abstract rational knowledge is	related to them as a mosaic is to a picture by a van der Werft or	a Denner. However fine the mosaic may be, the edges of the stones always remain, so that no continuous transition from one tint to	another is possible. In the same way, concepts, with their rigidity and	sharp delineation, however finely they may be split by closer definition,	are always incapable of reaching the fine modifications of perception,	and this is the very point of the example I have taken here	from physiognomy. [20]
This same property in concepts which makes them similar to the	stones of a mosaic, and by virtue of which perception always remains	their asymptote, is also the reason why nothing good is achieved	through them in art. If the singer or virtuoso wishes to guide his	recital by reflection, he remains lifeless. The same is true of the composer,	the painter, and the poet. For art the concept always remains	unproductive; in art it can guide only technique; its province is	science. In the third book we shall inquire more closely into the	reason why all genuine art proceeds from knowledge of perception,	never from the concept. Even in regard to behaviour, to personal	charm in mixing with people, the concept is only of negative value	in restraining the uncouth outbursts of egoism and brutality, so that	politeness is its commendable work. What is attractive, gracious, prepossessing	in behaviour, what is affectionate and friendly, cannot	have come from the concept, otherwise "We feel intention and are	put out of tune." All dissimulation is the work of reflection, but it	cannot be kept up permanently and without interruption; nemo potest	personam diu terre fictam, [21] says Seneca in his book De Clementia;	for generally it is recognized, and loses its effect. Reason is necessary	in the high stress of life where rapid decisions, bold action, quick and firm comprehension are needed, but if it gains the upper hand, if it	confuses and hinders the intuitive, immediate discovery of what is	right by the pure understanding, and at the same time prevents this	from being grasped, and if it produces irresolution, then it can easily	ruin everything.
Finally, virtue and holiness result not from reflection, but from the	inner depth of the will, and from its relation to knowledge. This discussion	belongs to an entirely different part of this work. Here I may	observe only this much, that the dogmas relating to ethics can be	the same in the reasoning faculty of whole nations, but the conduct	of each individual different, and also the converse. Conduct, as we	say, happens in accordance with feelings, that is to say, not precisely	according to concepts, but to ethical worth and quality. Dogmas concern	idle reason; conduct in the end pursues its own course independently	of them, usually in accordance not with abstract, but with	unspoken maxims, the expression of which is precisely the whole	man himself. Therefore, however different the religious dogmas of	nations may be, with all of them the good deed is accompanied by	unspeakable satisfaction, and the bad by infinite dread. No mockery	shakes the former; no father confessor's absolution delivers us from	the latter. But it cannot be denied that the application of reason is	necessary for the pursuit of a virtuous way of living; yet it is not the	source of this, but its function is a subordinate one; to preserve resolutions	once formed, to provide maxims for withstanding the weakness	of the moment, and to give consistency to conduct. Ultimately,	it achieves the same thing also in art, where it is not capable of anything	in the principal matter, but assists in carrying it out, just because	genius is not at a man's command every hour, and yet the	work is to be completed in all its parts and rounded off to a whole. [22]
All these considerations of the advantages, as well	as the disadvantages, of applying reason should help to make it clear	that, although abstract rational knowledge is the reflex of the representation	from perception, and is founded thereon, it is by no means	so congruent with it that it could everywhere take its place; on the	contrary, it never corresponds wholly to this representation. Hence,	as we have seen, many human actions are performed by the aid of reason and deliberate method, yet some are better achieved without their	application. This very incongruity of knowledge from perception and	abstract knowledge, by virtue of which the latter always only approximates	to the former as a mosaic approximates to a painting, is the	cause of a very remarkable phenomenon. Like reason, this phenomenon	is exclusively peculiar to human nature, and all the explanations	of it which have so frequently been attempted up to now are insufficient.	I refer to laughter. On account of this origin of the phenomenon,	we cannot refrain from speaking about it here, although once	more it interrupts the course of our discussion. In every case, laughter	results from nothing but the suddenly perceived incongruity between	a concept and the real objects that had been thought through it	in some relation; and laughter itself is just the expression of this	incongruity. It often occurs through two or more real objects being	thought through one concept, and the identity of the concept being	transferred to the objects. But then a complete difference of the	objects in other respects makes it strikingly clear that the concept	fitted them only from a one-sided point of view. It occurs just as	often, however, that the incongruity between a single real object and	the concept under which, on the one hand, it has been rightly subsumed,	is suddenly felt. Now the more correct the subsumption of such	actualities under the concept from one standpoint, and the greater	and more glaring their incongruity with it from the other, the more	powerful is the effect of the ludicrous which springs from this contrast.	All laughter therefore is occasioned by a paradoxical, and	hence unexpected, subsumption, it matters not whether this is expressed	in words or in deeds. This in brief is the correct explanation	of the ludicrous.
I shall not pause here to relate anecdotes as examples of this, for	the purpose of illustrating my explanation; for this is so simple and	easy to understand that it does not require them, and everything	ludicrous that the reader calls to mind can likewise furnish a proof	of it. But our explanation is at once confirmed and elucidated by	setting forth two species of the ludicrous into which it is divided, and	which result from this very explanation. Either we have previously	known two or more very different real objects, representations of perception	or intuition, and arbitrarily identified them through the unity	of a concept embracing both; this species of the ludicrous is called	wit. Or, conversely, the concept first of all exists in knowledge, and	from it we pass to reality and to operation on reality, to action. Objects	in other respects fundamentally different, but all thought in that	concept, are now regarded and treated in the same way, until, to the	astonishment of the person acting, their great difference in other	respects stands out; this species of the ludicrous is called folly. Therefore	everything ludicrous is either a flash of wit or a foolish action,	according as one proceeded from the discrepancy of the objects to	the identity of the concept, or the reverse; the former always arbitrary,	the latter always unintentional and forced from without. Apparently	to reverse the starting-point, and to mask wit as folly, is the	art of the jester and clown. Such a person, well aware of the diversity	of the objects, unites them with secret wit under one concept, and	then, starting from this concept, obtains from the subsequently discovered	diversity of the objects the surprise he had himself prepared.	It follows from this short but adequate theory of the ludicrous that,	setting aside the last case of the jester, wit must always show itself in	words, folly usually in actions, though also in words when it merely	expresses an intention instead of actually carrying it out, or again	when it shows itself in mere judgements and opinions.
Pedantry also is a form of folly. It arises from a man's having little	confidence in his own understanding, and therefore not liking to leave	things to its discretion, to recognize directly what is right in the particular	case. Accordingly, he puts his understanding entirely under the	guardianship of his reason, and makes use thereof on all occasions;	in other words, he wants always to start from general concepts, rules,	and maxims, and to stick strictly to these in life, in art, and even in	ethical good conduct. Hence that clinging to the form, the manner,	the expression and the word that is peculiar to pedantry, and with	it takes the place of the real essence of the matter. The incongruity	between the concept and reality soon shows itself, as the former	never descends to the particular case, and its universality and rigid	definiteness can never accurately apply to reality's fine shades of difference	and its innumerable modifications. Therefore the pedant with	his general maxims almost always comes off badly in life, and shows	himself foolish, absurd, and incompetent. In art, for which the concept	is unproductive, he produces lifeless, stiff, abortive mannerisms.	Even in regard to ethics, the intention to act rightly or nobly cannot	be carried out in all cases in accordance with abstract maxims, since	in many instances the infinitely nice distinctions in the nature of the circumstances necessitate a choice of right, proceeding directly from	the character. For the application of merely abstract maxims sometimes	gives false results, because they only half apply; sometimes it	cannot be carried out, because such maxims are foreign to the individual	character of the person acting, and this can never be entirely	hidden; hence inconsistencies follow. We cannot entirely exonerate	Kant from the reproach of causing moral pedantry, in so far as he	makes it a condition of the moral worth of an action that it be done	from purely rational abstract maxims without any inclination or	momentary emotion. This reproach is also the meaning of Schiller's	epigram Gewissensskrupel. When we speak, especially in political	matters, of doctrinaires, theorists, savants, and so forth, we mean	pedants, that is to say, persons who well know the things in the abstract,	but not in the concrete. Abstraction consists in thinking away	the closer and more detailed definitions, but it is precisely on these	that very much depends in practice.
To complete the theory, we still have to mention a spurious kind	of wit, the play upon words, the calembour, the pun, to which can be	added the equivocation, l'equivoque, whose chief use is in the obscene	(smut, filth). Just as wit forces two very different real objects under	one concept, so the pun brings two different concepts under one word	by the use of chance or accident. The same contrast again arises, but	much more insipidly and superficially, because it springs not from	the essential nature of things, but from the accident of nomenclature.	In the case of wit, the identity is in the concept, the difference in the	reality; but in the case of the pun, the difference is in the concepts	and the identity in the reality to which the wording belongs. It would be a somewhat far-fetched comparison to say that the pun is related	to wit as the hyperbola of the upper inverted cone is to that of the	lower. But the misunderstanding of the word, or the quid pro quo,	is the unintended calembour, and is related thereto exactly as folly	is to wit. Hence even the man who is hard of hearing, as well as the	fool, must afford material for laughter, and bad writers of comedy	often use the former instead of the latter to raise a laugh.
I have here considered laughter merely from the psychical side;	with regard to the physical side, I refer to the discussion on the subject	in Parerga (vol. II, chap. 6, § 96), p. 134 (first edition). [23]
By all these various considerations it is hoped	that the difference and the relation between the cognitive method of	reason, rational knowledge, the concept, on the one hand, and the	immediate knowledge in purely sensuous, mathematical perception	or intuition and in apprehension by the understanding on the other,	has been brought out quite clearly. Further, there have been also the	incidental discussions on feeling and laughter, to which we were almost	inevitably led by a consideration of that remarkable relation of	our modes of cognition. From all this I now return to a further discussion of science as being, together with speech and deliberate	action, the third advantage which the faculty of reason confers on	man. The general consideration of science which here devolves upon	us will be concerned partly with its form, partly with the foundation	of its judgements, and finally with its content.
We have seen that, with the exception of the basis of pure logic,	all rational knowledge has its origin not in reason itself, but, having	been otherwise gained as knowledge of perception, it is deposited in	reason, since in this way it has passed into quite a different method	of cognition, namely the abstract. All rational knowledge, that is to	say, knowledge raised to consciousness in the abstract, is related to	science proper as a part to the whole. Every person has obtained a	rational knowledge about many different things through experience,	through a consideration of the individual things presented to him; but	only the person who sets himself the task of obtaining a complete	knowledge in the abstract about some species of objects aspires to	science. Only by a concept can he single out this species; therefore at	the head of every science there is a concept through which the part	is thought from the sum-total of all things, and of which that science	promises a complete knowledge in the abstract. For example, the	concept of spatial relations, or of the action of inorganic bodies on	one another, or of the nature of plants and animals, or of the successive	changes of the surface of the globe, or of the changes of the	human race as a whole, or of the structure of a language, and so on.	If science wished to obtain the knowledge of its theme by investigating	every individual thing thought through the concept, till it had	thus gradually learnt the whole, no human memory would suffice, and	no certainty of completeness would be obtainable. It therefore makes	use of that previously discussed property of concept-spheres of including	one another, and it goes mainly to the wider spheres lying	generally within the concept of its theme. When it has determined	the relations of these spheres to one another, all that is thought in	them is also determined in general, and can now be more and more	accurately determined by separating out smaller and smaller concept-spheres.	It thus becomes possible for a science to embrace its theme	completely. This path to knowledge which it follows, namely that from the general to the particular, distinguishes it from ordinary rational	knowledge. Systematic form is therefore an essential and characteristic	feature of science. The combination of the most general	concept-spheres of every science, in other words, the knowledge of	its main principles, is the indispensable condition for mastering it.	How far we want to go from these to the more special propositions	is a matter of choice; it does not increase the thoroughness but the	extent of learning. The number of the main principles to which all	the rest are subordinated varies greatly as between the different sciences,	so that in some there is more subordination, in others more	coordination; and in this respect the former make greater claims on	the power of judgement, the latter on memory. It was known even to	the scholastics [24] that, because the syllogism requires two premisses, no	science can start from a single main principle that cannot be deduced	further; on the contrary, it must have several, at least two, of these.	The strictly classificatory sciences, such as zoology, botany, even	physics and chemistry, in so far as these latter refer all inorganic	action to a few fundamental forces, have the most subordination.	History, on the other hand, has really none at all, for the universal	in it consists merely in the survey of the principal periods. From	these, however, the particular events cannot be deduced; they are	subordinate to them only according to time, and are coordinate with	them according to the concept. Therefore history, strictly speaking,	is rational knowledge certainly, but not a science. In mathematics,	according to Euclid's treatment, the axioms are the only indemonstrable	first principles, and all demonstrations are in gradation strictly	subordinate to them. This method of treatment, however, is not essential	to mathematics, and in fact every proposition again begins a new	spatial construction. In itself, this is independent of the previous	constructions, and can actually be known from itself, quite independently	of them, in the pure intuition of space, in which even the	most complicated construction is just as directly evident as the axiom	is. But this will be discussed in more detail later. Meanwhile, every	mathematical proposition always remains a universal truth, valid for	innumerable particular cases. A graduated process from the simple	to the complicated propositions that are to be referred to them is also	essential to mathematics; hence mathematics is in every respect a	science. The completeness of a science as such, that is to say, according	to form, consists in there being as much subordination and as	little coordination of the principles as possible. Scientific talent in general, therefore, is the ability to subordinate the concept-spheres	according to their different determinations, so that, as Plato repeatedly	recommends, science may not be formed merely by something	universal and an immense variety of things placed side by side directly	under it, but that knowledge may step down gradually from	the most universal to the particular through intermediate concepts	and divisions, made according to closer and closer definitions. According	to Kant's expressions, this means complying equally with the	law of homogeneity and with the law of specification. From the fact that this constitutes real scientific completeness, it follows that the	aim of science is not greater certainty, for even the most disconnected	single piece of knowledge can have just as much certainty; its aim is	rather facility of rational knowledge through its form and the possibility,	thus given, of completing such knowledge. It is for this reason	a prevalent but perverted opinion that the scientific character of	knowledge consists in greater certainty; and just as false is the assertion,	following from this, that mathematics and logic alone are sciences	in the proper sense, because only in them, on account of their wholly a priori nature, is there irrefutable certainty of knowledge.	This last advantage cannot be denied them, but it does not give them	a special claim to the nature of science. For that is to be found not	in certainty, but in the systematic form of knowledge, established by	the gradual descent from the universal to the particular. This way of	knowledge from the universal to the particular, peculiar to the sciences,	makes it necessary that in them much is established by deduction	from previous propositions, that is by proofs. This has given	rise to the old error that only what is demonstrated is perfectly true,	and that every truth requires a proof. On the contrary, every proof or	demonstration requires an undemonstrated truth, and this ultimately	supports it or again its own proofs. Therefore a directly established	truth is as preferable to a truth established by a proof as spring water	is to piped water. Perception, partly pure a priori, as establishing	mathematics, partly empirical a posteriori, as establishing all the	other sciences, is the source of all truth and the basis of all science.	(Logic alone is to be excepted, which is based not on knowledge	of perception, but on reason's direct knowledge of its own laws.)	Not the demonstrated judgements or their proofs, but judgements	drawn directly from perception and founded thereon instead of on	any proof, are in science what the sun is to the world. All light proceeds	from them, and, illuminated thereby, the others in turn give light.	To establish the truth of such primary judgements directly from	perception, to raise such foundations of science from the immense	number of real things, is the work of the power of judgement. This	consists in the ability to carryover into abstract consciousness correctly	and exactly what is known in perception; and judgement accordingly is the mediator between understanding and reason. Only	outstanding and extraordinary strength of judgement in an individual	can actually advance the sciences, but anyone who has merely a	healthy faculty of reason is able to deduce propositions from propositions,	to demonstrate, to draw conclusions. On the other hand, to lay	down and fix in appropriate concepts for reflection what is known	through perception, so that, firstly, what is common to many real	objects is thought through one concept, and secondly, their points of	difference are thought through just as many concepts; this is done by	the power of judgement. From this what is different is known and	thought as different, in spite of a partial agreement; and what is	identical is known and thought as identical, in spite of a partial difference,	all according to the purpose and consideration that actually	exist in each case. This too is the work of judgement. Want of judgement	is silliness. The silly person fails to recognize, now the partial	or relative difference of what is in one respect identical, now the	identity of what is relatively or partially different. Moreover, to this	explanation of the power of judgement Kant's division of it into reflecting and subsuming judgement can be applied, according as it	passes from the objects of perception to the concept, or from the	concept to the objects of perception, in both cases always mediating	between knowledge of the understanding through perception and	reflective knowledge of reason. There can be no truth that could be	brought out absolutely through syllogisms alone, but the necessity of	establishing truth merely through syllogisms is always only relative,	indeed subjective. As all proofs are syllogisms, we must first seek for	a new truth not a proof, but direct evidence, and only so long as this	is wanting is the proof to be furnished for the time being. No science	can be capable of demonstration throughout any more than a building	can stand in the air. All its proofs must refer to something perceived,	and hence no longer capable of proof, for the whole world of	reflection rests on, and is rooted in, the world of perception. All ultimate,	i.e., original, evidence is one of intuitive perception, as the	word already discloses. Accordingly, it is either empirical or based	on the perception a priori of the conditions of possible experience.	In both cases, therefore, it affords only immanent, not transcendent	knowledge. Every concept has its value and its existence only in reference	to a representation from perception, although such reference	may be very indirect. What holds good of the concepts holds good	also of the judgements constructed from them, and of all the sciences.	Therefore it must be possible in some way to know directly, even	without proofs and syllogisms, every truth that is found through syllogisms	and communicated by proofs. This is most difficult certainly	in the case of many complicated mathematical propositions which we	reach only by chains of syllogisms; for example, the calculation of	the chords and tangents to all arcs by means of deductions from the	theorem of Pythagoras. But even such a truth cannot rest essentially and solely on abstract principles, and the spatial relations at the root	of it must also be capable of being so displayed for pure intuition	a priori, that their abstract expression is directly established. But	shortly we shall discuss demonstration in mathematics in detail.
It may be that people often speak in a lofty tone about sciences	which rest entirely on correct conclusions from sure premisses, and	are therefore incontestably true. But through purely logical chains of	reasoning, however true the premisses may be, we shall never obtain	more than an elucidation and exposition of what already lies complete	in the premisses; thus we shall only explicitly expound what was	already implicitly understood therein. By these esteemed sciences are	meant especially the mathematical, in particular astronomy. But the	certainty of astronomy arises from the fact that it has for its basis the	intuition or perception of space, given a priori, and hence infallible.	All spatial relations, however, follow from one another with a necessity (ground of being) that affords a priori certainty, and they can	with safety be derived from one another. To these mathematical provisions	is added only a single force of nature, namely gravity, operating	exactly in proportion to the masses and to the square of the	distance; and finally we have the law of inertia, a priori certain, because	it follows from the law of causality, together with the empirical	datum of the motion impressed on each of these masses once for all.	This is the whole material of astronomy, which, by both its simplicity	and its certainty, leads to definite results that are very interesting by virtue of the magnitude and importance of the objects. For example,	if I know the mass of a planet and the distance from it of its satellite,	I can infer with certainty the latter's period of revolution according	to Kepler's second law. But the basis of this law is that at this distance	only this velocity simultaneously chains the satellite to the	planet, and prevents it from falling into it. Hence only on such a	geometrical basis, that is to say, by means of an intuition or perception	a priori, and moreover under the application of a law of nature,	can we get very far with syllogisms, since here they are, so to speak,	merely bridges from one perceptive apprehension to another. But it is.	not so with merely plain syllogisms on the exclusively logical path.	The origin of the first fundamental truths of astronomy is really induction,	in other words, the summarizing into one correct and directly	founded judgement of what is given in many perceptions. From	this judgement hypotheses are afterwards formed, and the confirmation	of these by experience, as induction approaching completeness,	gives the proof for that first judgement. For example, the apparent	motion of the planets is known empirically; after many false hypotheses	about the spatial connexion of this motion (planetary orbit), the	correct one was at last found, then the laws followed by it (Kepler's laws), and finally the cause of these laws (universal gravitation). The	empirically known agreement of all observed cases with the whole of	the hypotheses and with their consequences, hence induction, gave	them complete certainty. The discovery of the hypothesis was the	business of the power of judgement which rightly comprehended the	given fact, and expressed it accordingly; but induction, in other words	perception of many kinds, confirmed its truth. But this truth could be	established even directly through a single empirical perception, if we	could freely pass through universal space, and had telescopic eyes.	Consequently, even here syllogisms are not the essential and only	source of knowledge, but are always in fact only a makeshift.
Finally, in order to furnish a third example from a different sphere,	we will observe that even the so-called metaphysical truths, that is,	such as are laid down by Kant in the Metaphysical Rudiments of	Natural Science, do not owe their evidence to proofs. We know immediately	what is a priori certain; this, as the form of all knowledge,	is known to us with the greatest necessity. For instance, we know	immediately as negative truth that matter persists, in other words,	that it can neither come into being nor pass away. Our pure intuition	or perception of space and time gives the possibility of motion; the understanding gives in the law of causality the possibility of change	of form and quality, but we lack the forms for conceiving an origin	or disappearance of matter. Therefore this truth has at all times been	evident to all men everywhere, and has never been seriously doubted;	and this could not be the case if its ground of knowledge were none	other than the very difficult and hair-splitting proof of Kant. But in	addition, I have found Kant's proof to be false (as explained in the	Appendix), and I have shown above that the permanence of matter	is to be deduced not from the share that time has in the possibility	of experience, but from that which space has. The real foundation of	all truths which in this sense are called metaphysical, that is, of abstract	expressions of the necessary and universal forms of knowledge,	can be found not in abstract principles, but only in the immediate consciousness of the forms of representation, manifesting itself	through statements a priori that are apodictic and in fear of no refutation.	But if we still want to furnish a proof of them, this can consist	only in our showing that what is to be proved is already contained	in some undoubted truth as a part or a presupposition of it. Thus,	for example, I have shown that all empirical perception implies the	application of the law of causality. Hence knowledge of this is a	condition of all experience, and therefore cannot be given and conditioned	through experience, as Hume asserted. Proofs are generally	less for those who want to learn than for those who want to dispute.	These latter obstinately deny directly established insight. Truth alone	can be consistent in all directions; we must therefore show such persons	that they admit under one form and indirectly what under	another form and directly they deny, i.e. the logically necessary connexion	between what is denied and what is admitted.
Moreover, it is a consequence of the scientific form, namely subordination	of everything particular under something general, and then	under something more and more general, that the truth of many	propositions is established only logically, namely through their dependence	on other propositions, and hence through syllogisms which	appear simultaneously as proofs. But we should never forget that this	entire form is a means only to facilitating knowledge, not to greater	certainty. It is easier to know the nature of an animal from the	species to which it belongs, and so on upwards from the genus, family, order, and class, than to examine the animal itself which is	given to us on each occasion. But the truth of all propositions deduced	by syllogisms is always only conditioned by, and ultimately	dependent on, a truth that rests not on syllogisms, but on perception	or intuition. If this perception were always as much within our reach	as deduction through a syllogism is, it would be in every way preferable.	For every deduction from concepts is exposed to many deceptions	on account of the fact, previously demonstrated, that many	different spheres are linked and interlocked, and again because their content is often ill-defined and uncertain. Examples of this are the	many proofs of false doctrines and sophisms of every kind. Syllogisms	are indeed perfectly certain as regards form, but very uncertain	through their matter, namely the concepts. For on the one hand the	spheres of these are often not defined with sufficient sharpness, and	on the other they intersect one another in so many different ways,	that one sphere is partly contained in many others, and therefore we	can pass arbitrarily from it to one or another of these, and again to	others, as we have already shown. Or, in other words, the minor and	also the middle term can always be subordinated to different concepts,	from which we choose at will the major term and the middle, whereupon the conclusion turns out differently. Consequently, immediate	evidence is everywhere far preferable to demonstrated truth,	and the latter is to be accepted only when the former is too remote,	and not when it is just as near as, or even nearer than, the latter.	Therefore we saw above that actually with logic, where in each individual case immediate knowledge lies nearer at hand than derived	scientific knowledge, we always conduct our thinking only in accordance	with immediate knowledge of the laws of thought, and leave	logic unused. [25]
Now if with our conviction that perception is the	first source of all evidence, that immediate or mediate reference to	this alone is absolute truth, and further that the shortest way to this	is always the surest, as every mediation through concepts exposes us	to many deceptions; if, I say, we now turn with this conviction to	mathematics, as it was laid down in the form of a science by Euclid,	and has on the whole remained down to the present day, we cannot help finding the path followed by it strange and even perverted. We	demand the reduction of every logical proof to one of perception.	Mathematics, on the contrary, is at great pains deliberately to reject	the evidence of perception peculiar to it and everywhere at hand, in	order to substitute for it logical evidence. We must look upon this as	being like a man who cuts off his legs in order to walk on crutches,	or the prince in Triumph der Empfindsamkeit who flees from the	beautiful reality of nature to enjoy a theatrical scene that imitates it.	I must now call to mind what I said in the sixth chapter of the essay	On the Principle of Sufficient Reason, which I assume to be quite	fresh and present in the reader's memory. Here then I link my observations	on to this without discussing afresh the difference between	the mere ground of knowledge of a mathematical truth which can be	given logically, and the ground of being, which is the immediate	connexion of the parts of space and time, to be known only from	perception. It is only insight into the ground of being which gives	true satisfaction and thorough knowledge. The mere ground of knowledge,	on the other hand, always remains on the surface, and can give	us a rational knowledge that a thing is as it is, but no rational knowledge	why it is so. Euclid chose this latter way to the obvious detriment	of the science. For example, at the very beginning, he ought to	show once for all how in the triangle angles and sides reciprocally	determine one another, and are the reason or ground and consequent	of each other, in accordance with the form which the principle of	sufficient reason has in mere space, and which there, as everywhere,	provides the necessity that a thing is as it is, because another thing,	quite different from it, is as it is. Instead of thus giving us a thorough	insight into the nature of the triangle, he posits a few disconnected,	arbitrarily chosen propositions about the triangle, and gives a logical	ground of knowledge of them through a laborious logical proof furnished	in accordance with the principle of contradiction. Instead of	an exhaustive knowledge of these space-relations, we therefore obtain	only a few arbitrarily communicated results from them, and are in	the same position as the man to whom the different effects of an	ingenious machine are shown, while its inner connexion and mechanism	are withheld from him. We are forced by the principle of contradiction	to admit that everything demonstrated by Euclid is so, but	we do not get to know why it is so. We therefore have almost the	uncomfortable feeling that we get after a conjuring trick, and in fact	most of Euclid's proofs are remarkably like such a trick. The truth	almost always comes in by the back door, since it follows per accidens	from some minor circumstance. Frequently, an apagogic proof	shuts all doors one after the other, and leaves open only one, through	which merely for that reason we must now pass. Often, as in the	theorem of Pythagoras, lines are drawn without our knowing why. It	afterwards appears that they were traps, which shut unexpectedly	and take prisoner the assent of the learner, who in astonishment has	then to admit what remains wholly unintelligible to him in its inner	connexion. This happens to such an extent that he can study the	whole of Euclid throughout without gaining real insight into the laws	of spatial relations, but instead of these, he learns by heart only a few	of their results. This really empirical and unscientific knowledge is	like that of the doctor who knows disease and remedy, but not the	connexion between the two. But all this is what results when we	capriciously reject the method of proof and evidence peculiar to one	species of knowledge, and forcibly introduce instead of it a method	that is foreign to its nature. In other respects, however, the way in	which this is carried out by Euclid deserves all the admiration that	for so many centuries has been bestowed on him. The method has	been followed so far, that his treatment of mathematics has been	declared to be the pattern for all scientific presentation. Men tried	even to model all the other sciences on it, but later gave this up without	really knowing why. In our view, however, this method of Euclid	in mathematics can appear only as a very brilliant piece of perversity.	When a great error concerning life or science is pursued intentionally	and methodically, and is accompanied by universal assent, it is always possible to demonstrate the reason for this in the philosophy	that prevails at the time. The Eleatics first discovered the difference,	indeed more often the antagonism, between the perceived, [x],	and the conceived, [x], [26] and used it in many ways for their	philosophemes, and also for sophisms. They were followed later by	the Megarics, Dialecticians, Sophists, New Academicians, and Sceptics;	these drew attention to the illusion, that is, the deception of the	senses, or rather of the understanding which converts the data of the	senses into perception, and often causes us to see things to which the	faculty of reason positively denies reality, for example, the stick	broken in the water, and so on. It was recognized that perception	through the senses was not to be trusted unconditionally, and it was	hastily concluded that only rational logical thinking established truth,	although Plato (in the Parmenides), the Megarics, Pyrrho, and the	New Academicians showed by examples (in the way later adopted	by Sextus Empiricus) how syllogisms and concepts were also	misleading, how in fact they produced paralogisms and sophisms that arise much more easily, and are far harder to unravel, than the	illusion in perception through the senses. But this rationalism, which	arose in opposition to empiricism, kept the upper hand, and Euclid	modelled mathematics in accordance with it. He was therefore	necessarily compelled to found the axioms alone on the evidence	of perception ([x]), and all the rest on syllogisms ([x]).	His method remained the prevailing one throughout all the centuries,	and was bound so to remain, so long as there was no distinction	between pure intuition or perception a priori and empirical perception.	Indeed, Euclid's commentator Proclus appears to have fully	recognized this distinction, as he shows in the passage translated	by Kepler into Latin in his book De Harmonia Mundi. But Proclus	did not attach enough weight to the matter; he raised it in too	detached a manner, remained unnoticed, and achieved nothing.	Therefore only after two thousand years will Kant's teaching,	destined to bring about such great changes in all the knowledge,	thought, and action of European nations, cause such a change in	mathematics also. For only after we have learnt from this great	mind that the intuitions or perceptions of space and time are quite	different from empirical perception, entirely independent of any	impression on the senses, conditioning this and not conditioned by	it, i.e., are a priori, and hence not in any way exposed to sense-deception -- only then can we see that Euclid's logical method of	treating mathematics is a useless precaution, a crutch for sound legs.	We see that such a method is like a wanderer who, mistaking at night a bright firm road for water, refrains from walking on it, and	goes over the rough ground beside it, content to keep from point	to point along the edge of the supposed water. Only now can we	affirm with certainty that that which presents itself to us as necessary	in the perception of a figure does not come from the figure on	the paper, perhaps very imperfectly drawn, or from the abstract	concept that we think with it, but immediately from the form of all knowledge, of which we are conscious a priori. This is everywhere	the principle of sufficient reason; here, as form of perception, i.e.,	space, it is the principle of the ground of being; but the evidence	and validity of this are just as great and immediate as that of the	principle of the ground of knowledge, i.e., logical certainty. Thus	we need not and should not leave the peculiar province of mathematics	in order to trust merely logical certainty, and prove mathematics	true in a province quite foreign to it, namely in the province	of concepts. If we stick to the ground peculiar to mathematics, we	gain the great advantage that in it the rational knowledge that	something is so is one with the rational knowledge why it is so. The	method of Euclid, on the other hand, entirely separates the two, and	lets us know merely the first, not the second. Aristotle says admirably	in the Posterior Analytics (I, 27): [x]. (Subtilior autem et praestantior ea est scientia,	qua QUOD aliquid sit, et CUR sit una simulque intelligimus, non	separatim QUOD, et CUR sit.) [27] In physics we are satisfied only	when the knowledge that something is thus is combined with the	knowledge why it is thus. It is no use for us to know that the	mercury in the Torricellian tube stands at a height of thirty inches,	if we do not also know that it is kept at this height by the counterbalancing	weight of the atmosphere. But are we in mathematics to	be satisfied with the qualitas occulta of the circle that the segments of	any two intersecting chords always form equal rectangles? That this	is so is of course proved by Euclid in the 35th proposition of the	third book, but why it is so remains uncertain. In the same way, the	theorem of Pythagoras teaches us a qualitas occulta of the right-angled	triangle; the stilted, and indeed subtle, proof of Euclid forsakes	us at the why, and the accompanying simple figure, already known to	us, gives at a glance far more insight into the matter, and firm inner	conviction of that necessity, and of the dependence of that property	on the right angle, than is given by his proof.
Even in the case when unequal sides contain the right angle, as	generally with every possible geometrical truth, it must be possible to	reach such a conviction based on perception, because its discovery	always started from such a perceived necessity, and only afterwards	was the proof thought out in addition. Thus we need only an analysis	of the process of thought in the first discovery of a geometrical truth,	in order to know its necessity intuitively or perceptively. It is	generally the analytic method that I desire for the expounding of	mathematics, instead of the synthetic method Euclid made use of.	But of course with complicated mathematical truths this will entail	very great, though not insuperable, difficulties. Here and there in	Germany men are beginning to alter the exposition of mathematics,	and to follow more this analytic path. The most positive work in this	direction has been done by Herr Kosack, instructor in mathematics	and physics at the Nordhausen Gymnasium, who added to the	programme for the school examination of 6 April 1852 a detailed	attempt to deal with geometry in accordance with my main principles.
To improve the method of mathematics, it is specially necessary	to give up the prejudice that demonstrated truth has any advantage	over truth known through perception or intuition, or that logical	truth, resting on the principle of contradiction, has any advantage	over metaphysical truth, which is immediately evident, and to which	also belongs the pure intuition of space.
What is most certain yet everywhere inexplicable is the content of	the principle of sufficient reason, for this principle in its different	aspects expresses the universal form of all our representations and	knowledge. All explanation is a tracing back to this principle, a	demonstration in the particular case of the connexion of representations	expressed generally through it. It is therefore the principle of	all explanation, and hence is not itself capable of explanation; nor is	it in need of one, for every explanation presupposes it, and only	through it obtains any meaning. None of its forms is superior to	another; it is equally certain and incapable of demonstration as	principle of ground of being, or of becoming, or of acting, or of	knowing. The relation of reason or ground to consequent is a necessary	one in anyone of its forms; indeed, it is in general the origin	of the concept of necessity, as its one and only meaning. There is	no other necessity than that of the consequent when the reason or	ground is given; and there is no reason or ground that does not	entail necessity of the consequent. Just as surely, then, as the	consequent expressed in the conclusion flows from the ground of	knowledge given in the premisses, so does the ground of being in	space condition its consequent in space. If I have recognized through	perception the relation of these two, then this certainty is just as	great as any logical certainty. But every geometrical proposition is	just as good an expression of such a relation as is one of the twelve	axioms. It is a metaphysical truth, and, as such, is just as immediately	certain as is the principle of contradiction itself, which is a metalogical	truth, and is the general foundation of all logical demonstration.	Whoever denies the necessity, intuitively presented, of the	space-relations expressed in any proposition, can with equal right	deny the axioms, the following of the conclusion from the premisses,	or even the principle of contradiction itself, for all these relations	are equally indemonstrable, immediately evident, and knowable	a priori. Therefore, if anyone wishes to derive the necessity of	space-relations, knowable in intuition or perception, from the	principle of contradiction through a logical demonstration, it is just	the same as if a stranger wished to enfeoff an estate to the immediate	owner thereof. But this is what Euclid has done. Only his axioms is	he compelled to leave resting on immediate evidence; all the following	geometrical truths are logically proved, namely, under the	presupposition of those axioms, from the agreement with the assumptions	made in the proposition, or with an earlier proposition, or	even from the contradiction between the opposite of the proposition	and the assumptions, or the axioms, or the earlier propositions, or	even itself. But the axioms themselves have no more immediate	evidence than any other geometrical proposition has, but only	greater simplicity by their smaller content.
When an accused person is examined, his statements are taken	down in evidence, in order to judge of their truth from their agreement	and consistency. But this is a mere makeshift, and we ought not	to put up with it if we can investigate the truth of each of his	statements directly and by itself, especially as he might consistently	lie from the beginning. But it is by this first method that Euclid	investigated space. He did indeed start from the correct assumption	that nature must be consistent everywhere, and therefore also in	space, its fundamental form. Therefore, since the parts of space stand	to one another in the relation of reason or ground to consequent,	no single determination of space can be other than it is without being	in contradiction with all the others. But this is a very troublesome,	unsatisfactory, and roundabout way, which prefers indirect knowledge	to direct knowledge that is just as certain; which further separates	the knowledge that something is from the knowledge why it is, to	the great disadvantage of science; and which finally withholds	entirely from the beginner insight into the laws of space, and indeed	renders him unaccustomed to the proper investigation of the ground	and inner connexion of things. Instead of this, it directs him to be	satisfied with a mere historical knowledge that a thing is as it is. But	the exercise of acuteness, mentioned so incessantly in praise of this	method, consists merely in the fact that the pupil practises drawing	conclusions, i.e., applying the principle of contradiction, but specially	that he exerts his memory in order to retain all those data whose	agreement and consistency are to be compared.
Moreover, it is worth noting that this method of proof was applied	only to geometry and not to arithmetic. In arithmetic, on the	contrary, truth is really allowed to become clear through perception	alone, which there consists in mere counting. As the perception of	numbers is in time alone, and therefore cannot be represented by a	sensuous schema like the geometrical figure, the suspicion that	perception was only empirical, and hence subject to illusion, disappeared	in arithmetic. It was only this suspicion that was able to	introduce the logical method of proof into geometry. Since time has	only one dimension, counting is the only arithmetical operation, to	which all others can be reduced. Yet this counting is nothing but	intuition or perception a priori, to which we do not hesitate to	refer, and by which alone everything else, every calculation, every	equation, is ultimately verified. For example, we do not prove that	(7 + 9) x 8 - 2 [divided by] 3 = 42, but refer to pure intuition in time, to counting;	thus we make each individual proposition an axiom. Instead of the	proofs that fill geometry, the whole content of arithmetic and algebra is	thus a mere method for the abbreviation of counting. As mentioned above, our immediate perception of numbers in time does not extend	to more than about ten. Beyond this an abstract concept of number,	fixed by a word, must take the place of perception; thus perception	is no longer actually carried out, but is only quite definitely indicated.	Yet even so, through the important expedient of the order of	ciphers, enabling larger numbers always to be represented by the	same small ones, an intuitive or perceptive evidence of every sum	or calculation is made possible, even where so much use is made	of abstraction that not only the numbers, but indefinite quantities	and whole operations are thought only in the abstract, and are	indicated in this respect, such as √r-b, so that they are no longer	performed, but only symbolized.
With the same right and certainty we could enable truth to be	established in geometry, just as in arithmetic, solely through pure	intuition a priori. In fact, it is always this necessity, known from	perception according to the principle of the ground or reason of	being, which gives geometry its great evidence, and on which the	certainty of its propositions rests in the consciousness of everyone.	It is certainly not the stilted logical proof, which is always foreign to the matter, is generally soon forgotten without detriment to	conviction, and could be dispensed with entirely, without diminishing	the evidence of geometry. For geometry is quite independent of	such proof, which always proves only what we are already through	another kind of knowledge fully convinced of. To this extent it is	like a cowardly soldier who gives another wound to an enemy killed	by someone else, and then boasts that he himself killed him. [28]
As a result of all this, it is hoped there will be no doubt that the	evidence of mathematics, which has become the pattern and symbol	of all evidence, rests essentially not on proofs, but on immediate	intuition or perception. Here, as everywhere, that is the ultimate	ground and source of all truth. Yet the perception forming the	basis of mathematics has a great advantage over every other	perception, and hence over the empirical. Thus as it is a priori, and consequently independent of experience which is always given only	partially and successively, everything is equally near to it, and we	can start either from the reason or ground or from the consequent,	as we please. Now this endows it with a complete certainty and	infallibility, for in it the consequent is known from the ground or	reason, and this knowledge alone has necessity. For example, the	equality of the sides is known as established through the equality of	the angles. On the other hand, all empirical perception and the	greater part of all experience proceed only conversely from the	consequent to the ground. This kind of knowledge is not infallible,	for necessity belongs alone to the consequent in so far as the ground	is given, and not to knowledge of the ground from the consequent,	for the same consequent can spring from different grounds. This	latter kind of knowledge is always only induction, i.e., from many	consequents pointing to one ground, the ground is assumed as certain;	but as all the cases can never be together, the truth here is never unconditionally certain. Yet all knowledge through sensuous perception	and the great bulk of experience have only this kind of truth.	The affection of a sense induces the understanding to infer the	cause from the effect, but since the conclusion from what is	established (the consequent) to the ground is never certain, illusion,	which is deception of the senses, is possible, and often actual, as	was said previously. Only when several or all of the five senses receive affections pointing to the same cause does the possibility of	illusion become small. Even then it still exists, for in certain cases,	such as with counterfeit coins, the whole sensitive faculty is deceived.	All empirical knowledge, and consequently the whole of natural	science, is in the same position, leaving aside its pure (or as Kant	calls it metaphysical) part. Here also the causes are known from the	effects; therefore all natural philosophy rests on hypotheses which	are often false, and then gradually give way to others that are more	correct. Only in the case of intentionally arranged experiments does	knowledge proceed from the cause to the effect, in other words, does	it go the sure and certain way; but these experiments are themselves	undertaken only in consequence of hypotheses. For this reason,	no branch of natural science, such as physics, or astronomy, or	physiology, could be discovered all at once, as was possible with	mathematics or logic, but it required and requires the collected and	compared experiences of many centuries. Only empirical confirmation	of many kinds brings the induction on which the hypothesis rests so	near to completeness that in practice it takes the place of certainty.	It is regarded as being no more detrimental to the hypothesis, its	source, than is the incommensurability of straight and curved lines to	the application of geometry, or perfect exactness of the logarithm,	which is incapable of attainment, to arithmetic. For just as the	squaring of the circle, and the logarithm, are brought infinitely near	to correctness through infinite fractions, so also through manifold	experience induction, i.e., knowledge of the ground from the	consequents, is brought to mathematical evidence, i.e., to knowledge	of the consequent from the ground, not indeed infinitely, but yet so	close that the possibility of deception becomes so small that we can	neglect it. But yet the possibility is there; for example, the conclusion	from innumerable cases to all cases, i.e., in reality to the unknown	ground on which all depend, is a conclusion of induction. Now	what conclusion of this kind seems more certain than the one that all	human beings have their heart on the left side? Yet there are	extremely rare and quite isolated exceptions of persons whose heart	is on the right side. Sense-perception and the science of experience	have therefore the same kind of evidence. The advantage that mathematics,	pure natural science, and logic as knowledge a priori have	over them rests merely on the fact that the formal element of	knowledge, on which all that is a priori is based, is given as a whole	and at once. Here, therefore, we can always proceed from the ground	to the consequent, but in the other kind of knowledge often only from	the consequent to the ground. In other respects, the law of causality,	or the principle of sufficient reason of becoming, which guides	empirical knowledge, is in itself just as certain as are those other	forms of the principle of sufficient reason followed by the abovementioned	sciences a priori. Logical proofs from concepts or	syllogisms have the advantage of proceeding from the ground to the	consequent, just as has knowledge through a priori perception; thus	in themselves, that is to say, according to their form, they are	infallible. This has been largely instrumental in bringing proofs	generally into such great repute. But this infallibility of theirs is	relative; they subsume merely under the main principles of science.	It is these, however, that contain the whole material truth of science,	and they cannot again be merely demonstrated, but must be founded	on perception. In the few mentioned a priori sciences this perception	is pure, but otherwise it is always empirical, and is raised to the	universal only through induction. If, therefore, in the sciences of	experience the particular is proved from the general, the general	nevertheless has again obtained its truth only from the particular;	it is only a granary of accumulated stocks, not a soil that is itself	productive.
So much for the establishment of truth. Of the source and possibility	of error, many explanations have been attempted since Plato's	metaphorical solutions of the dovecot, where the wrong pigeon is	caught, and so on (Theaetetus [197 fl.], p. 167 et seqq.). Kant's	vague, indefinite explanation of the origin of error by means of the	diagram of diagonal motion is found in the Critique of Pure Reason	(p. 294 of the first edition, and p. 350 of the fifth). As truth is the	relation of a judgement to its ground of knowledge, it is certainly	a problem how the person judging can really believe he has such	a ground and yet not have it, that is to say how error, the deception	of the faculty of reason, is possible. I find this possibility wholly	analogous to that of illusion, or deception of the understanding,	previously explained. My opinion is (and this gives that explanation	its place here) that every error is a conclusion from the consequent to	the ground, which indeed is valid when we know that the consequent	can have that ground and absolutely no other; otherwise it is not.	The person making the error either assigns to the consequent a	ground it cannot possibly have, wherein he shows actual want of	understanding, i.e., deficiency in the ability to know immediately the	connexion between cause and effect. Or, as is more often the case,	he attributes to the consequent a ground that is indeed possible,	yet he adds to the major proposition of his conclusion from the	consequent to the ground that the aforesaid consequent arises	always only from the ground mentioned by him. He could be	justified in doing this only by a complete induction, which, however,	he assumes without having made it. This "always" is therefore too	wide a concept, and should be replaced by sometimes or generally.	The conclusion would thus turn out to be problematical, and as such	would not be erroneous. That the man who errs should proceed in	the way mentioned is due either to haste or too limited a knowledge	of what is possible, for which reason he does not know the	necessity of the induction to be made. Error therefore is wholly analogous to illusion. Both are conclusions from the consequent to	the ground; the illusion, brought about always according to the law	of causality, by the mere understanding, and thus immediately, in	perception itself; the error, brought about according to all the forms	of the principle of sufficient reason, by our rational faculty, and	thus in thought proper, yet most frequently according to the law of	causality, as is proved by the three following examples, which may	be regarded as types or representatives of the three kinds of error.	(1) The illusion of the senses (deception of the understanding) gives	rise to error (deception of reason); for example, if we mistake a	painting for a high relief, and actually take it to be such; it happens	through a conclusion from the following major premiss: "If dark	grey here and there passes through all shades into white, the cause is	always the light striking unequally projections and depressions,	ergo-." (2) "If money is missing from my safe, the cause is	always that my servant has a skeleton key, ergo-." (3) "If the	solar image, broken through the prism, i.e., moved up or down, now	appears elongated and coloured instead of round and white as	previously, then the cause is always that in light there are differently	coloured, and at the same time differently refrangible, homogeneous	light-rays that, moved apart by their different refrangibility, now	give an elongated, and at the same time variously coloured, image,	ergo -- bibamus!" It must be possible to trace every error to such	a conclusion, drawn from a major premiss that is often only falsely	generalized, hypothetical, and the result of assuming a ground to	the consequent. Only some mistakes in calculation are to be excepted,	which are not really errors, but mere mistakes. The operation stated	by the concepts of the numbers has not been carried out in pure	intuition or perception, in counting, but another operation instead.
As regards the content of the sciences generally, this is really	always the relation of the phenomena of the world to one another	according to the principle of sufficient reason, and on the guiding line	of the Why, which has validity and meaning only through this	principle. Explanation is the establishment of this relation. Therefore,	explanation can never do more than show two representations standing	to each other in the relation of that form of the principle of	sufficient reason ruling in the class to which they belong. If it has	achieved this, we cannot be further asked the question why, for the	relation demonstrated is that which simply cannot be represented	differently, in other words, it is the form of all knowledge. Therefore	we do not ask why 2 + 2 = 4, or why the equality of the angles	in a triangle determines the equality of the sides, or why any given	cause is followed by its effect, or why the truth of a conclusion	is evident from the truth of the premisses. Every explanation not [29]	leading back to such a relation of which no Why can further	be demanded, stops at an accepted qualitas occulta; but this is also	the character of every original force of nature. Every explanation of	natural science must ultimately stop at such a qualitas occulta, and	thus at something wholly obscure. It must therefore leave the inner	nature of a stone just as unexplained as that of a human being; it	can give as little account of the weight, cohesion, chemical properties,	etc. of the former, as of the knowing and acting of the latter. Thus, for	example, weight is a qualitas occulta, for it can be thought away,	and hence it does not follow from the form of knowledge as something necessary. Again, this is the case with the law of inertia, which	follows from the law of causality; hence a reference to this is a	perfectly adequate explanation. Two things are absolutely inexplicable,	in other words, do not lead back to the relation expressed by	the principle of sufficient reason. The first of these is the principle of	sufficient reason itself in all its four forms, because it is the principle	of all explanation, which has meaning only in reference to it; the	second is that which is not reached by this principle, but from which	arises that original thing in all phenomena; it is the thing-in-itself,	knowledge of which is in no wise subject to the principle of sufficient	reason. Here for the present we must rest content not to understand	this thing-in-itself, for it can be made intelligible only by the following	book, where we shall also take up again this consideration	of the possible achievements of the sciences. But there is a point	where natural science, and indeed every science, leaves things as	they are, since not only its explanation of them, but even the	principle of this explanation, namely the principle of sufficient reason,	does not go beyond this point. This is the real point where philosophy	again takes up things and considers them in accordance with its	method, which is entirely different from the method of science. In the	essay On the Principle of Sufficient Reason, § 51, I have shown how	in the different sciences the main guiding line is one form or	another of this principle; in fact, the most appropriate classification	of the sciences might perhaps be made in accordance therewith. But,	as I have said, every explanation given in accordance with this	guiding line is merely relative. It explains things in reference to one	another, but it always leaves unexplained something that it presupposes.	In mathematics, for example, this is space and time; in	mechanics, physics, and chemistry, it is matter, qualities, original forces, laws of nature; in botany and zoology, it is the difference of	species and life itself; in history, it is the human race with all its	characteristics of thought and will. In all these it is the principle of	sufficient reason in the form appropriate for application in each case.	Philosophy has the peculiarity of presupposing absolutely nothing	as known; everything to it is equally strange and a problem; not only	the relations of phenomena, but also those phenomena themselves,	and indeed the principle of sufficient reason itself, to which the	other sciences are content to refer everything. In philosophy, however,	nothing would be gained by such a reference, for one link	of the series is just as foreign and strange to it as another. Moreover,	that kind of connexion is itself just as much a problem for philosophy	as what is joined together by that connexion, and this again is as	much a problem after the combination thus explained as before it.	For, as we have said, just what the sciences presuppose and lay	down as the basis and limit of their explanation is precisely the	real problem of philosophy, which consequently begins where the	sciences leave off. Proofs cannot be its foundation, for these deduce unknown principles from others that are known; but to it everything	is equally unknown and strange. There can be no principle in	consequence of which the world with all its phenomena would first	of all exist; therefore it is not possible, as Spinoza wished, to deduce	a philosophy that demonstrates ex firmis principiis. Philosophy is also	the most universal rational knowledge (Wissen), whose main principles,	therefore, cannot be deductions from another principle still	more universal. The principle of contradiction establishes merely	the agreement of concepts, and does not itself give concepts. The principle of sufficient reason explains connexions and combinations	of phenomena, not the phenomena themselves. Therefore, philosophy	cannot start from these to look for a causa efficiens or a causa finalis	of the whole world. The present philosophy, at any rate, by no	means attempts to say whence or for what purpose the world exists,	but merely what the world is. But here the Why is subordinated to	the What, for it already belongs to the world, as it springs merely	from the form of its phenomenon, the principle of sufficient reason,	and only to this extent has it meaning and validity. Indeed, it might	be said that everyone knows without further help what the world is,	for he himself is the subject of knowing of which the world is	representation, and so far this would be true. But this knowledge	is a knowledge of perception, is in the concrete. The task of	philosophy is to reproduce this in the abstract, to raise to a permanent	rational knowledge successive, variable perceptions, and generally	all that the wide concept of feeling embraces and describes merely negatively as not abstract, distinct, rational knowledge. Accordingly,	it must be a statement in the abstract of the nature of the whole	world, of the whole as well as of all the parts. However, in order	not to be lost in an endless multitude of particular judgements, it	must make use of abstraction, and think everything individual in	the universal, and its differences also in the universal. It will therefore	partly separate, partly unite, in order to present to rational knowledge the whole manifold of the world in general, according to its	nature, condensed and summarized into a few abstract concepts. Yet	through these concepts, in which it fixes the nature of the world, the	whole individual as well as the universal must be known, and hence	the knowledge of both must be closely bound up. Therefore, aptitude	for philosophy consists precisely in what Plato put it in, namely in	knowing the one in the many and the many in the one. Accordingly,	philosophy will be a sum of very universal judgements, whose ground	of knowledge is immediately the world itself in its entirety, without	excluding anything, and hence everything to be found in human	consciousness. It will be a complete recapitulation, so to speak, a reflection of the world in abstract concepts, and this is possible only	by uniting the essentially identical into one concept, and by relegating	the different and dissimilar to another. Bacon already set philosophy	this task, when he said: ea demum vera est philosophia, quae mundi	ipsius voces fidelissime reddit, et veluti dictante mundo conscripta	est, et nihil aliud est, quam ejusdem SIMULACRUM ET REFLECTIO,	neque addit quidquam de proprio, sed tantum iterat et resonat	(De Augmentis Scientiarum, 1. 2, c. 13). [30] However, we take this in	a more extended sense than Bacon could conceive at that time.
The agreement which all aspects and parts of the world have with	one another, just because they belong to one whole, must also be	found again in this abstract copy of the world. Accordingly, in this	sum-total of judgements one could to a certain extent be derived from	another, and indeed always reciprocally. Yet in addition to this	they must first exist, and therefore be previously laid down as immediately	established through knowledge of the world in the concrete,	the more so as all direct proofs are more certain than those that are	indirect. Their harmony with one another, by virtue of which they	flow together even into the unity of one thought, and which springs	from the harmony and unity of the world of perception itself, their	common ground of knowledge, will therefore not be used as the first	thing for establishing them, but will be added only as confirmation	of their truth. This problem itself can become perfectly clear only	by its solution. [31]
After fully considering reason as a special faculty	of knowledge peculiar to man alone, and the achievements and	phenomena brought about by it and peculiar to human nature, it	now remains for me to speak of reason in so far as it guides man's	actions, and in this respect can be called practical. But what is here to	be mentioned has for the most part found a place elsewhere, namely	in the Appendix to this work, where I have had to dispute the existence of the so-called practical reason of Kant. This he represents	(certainly very conveniently) as the immediate source of all virtue,	and as the seat of an absolute (i.e., fallen from heaven) imperative.	Later in the Grundprobleme der Ethik I have furnished the detailed	and thorough refutation of this Kantian principle of morality. Here,	therefore, I have but little to say about the actual influence of	reason, in the true sense of the word, on conduct. At the beginning	of our consideration of reason we remarked in general terms how the	action and behaviour of man differ from those of the animal, and	that this difference is to be regarded as solely the result of the	presence of abstract concepts in consciousness. The influence of these	on our whole existence is so decisive and significant that it places us	to a certain extent in the same relation to the animals as that between	animals that see and those without eyes (certain larvae, worms, and	zoophytes). Animals without eyes know only by touch what is immediately	present to them in space, what comes in contact with	them. Animals that see, on the other hand, know a wide sphere of	what is near and distant. In the same way, the absence of reason	restricts the animals to representations of perception immediately	present to them in time, in other words to real objects. We, on the	other hand, by virtue of knowledge in the abstract, comprehend	not only the narrow and actual present, but also the whole past and	future together with the wide realm of possibility. We survey life	freely in all directions, far beyond what is present and actual. Thus	what the eye is in space and for sensuous knowledge, reason is, to	a certain extent, in time and for inner knowledge. But just as the	visibility of objects has value and meaning only by its informing us of	their tangibility, so the whole value of abstract knowledge is always	to be found in its reference to knowledge of perception. Therefore,	the ordinary natural man always attaches far more value to what is	known directly and through perception than to abstract concepts, to	what is merely thought; he prefers empirical to logical knowledge.	But those are of the opposite way of thinking who live more in	words than in deeds, who have seen more on paper and in books than	in the actual world, and who in their greatest degeneracy become	pedants and lovers of the mere letter. Only from this is it conceivable	how Leibniz, Wolff, and all their successors could go so far astray	as to declare, after the example of Duns Scotus, knowledge of	perception to be merely a confused abstract knowledge! To Spinoza's	honour I must mention that his more accurate sense, on the contrary,	declared all common concepts to have arisen from the confusion of	what was known through perception (Ethics II, prop. 40, schol. 1).	It is also a result of that perverted way of thinking that in mathematics	the evidence peculiar to it was rejected, in order to accept	and admit only logical evidence; that generally all knowledge that	was not abstract was included under the broad name of feeling, and	disparaged; finally, that the Kantian ethics declared the pure, good	will, asserting itself on knowledge of the circumstances and leading	to right and benevolent action, as mere feeling and emotion, to be	worthless and without merit. Such ethics would concede moral worth	only to actions arising from abstract maxims.
The universal survey of life as a whole, an advantage which man	has over the animal through his faculty of reason, is also comparable	to a geometrical, colourless, abstract, reduced plan of his way of life.	He is therefore related to the animal as the navigator, who by means	of chart, compass, and quadrant knows accurately at any moment his	course and position on the sea, is related to the uneducated crew	who see only the waves and skies. It is therefore worth noting, and	indeed wonderful to see, how man, besides his life in the concrete,	always lives a second life in the abstract. In the former he is abandoned to all the storms of reality and to the influence of	the present; he must struggle, suffer, and die like the animal. But	his life in the abstract, as it stands before his rational consciousness,	is the calm reflection of his life in the concrete, and of the world in	which he lives; it is precisely that reduced chart or plan previously	mentioned. Here in the sphere of calm deliberation, what previously	possessed him completely and moved him intensely appears to	him cold, colourless, and, for the moment, foreign and strange; he	is a mere spectator and observer. In respect of this withdrawal into	reflection, he is like an actor who has played his part in one scene,	and takes his place in the audience until he must appear again. In	the audience he quietly looks on at whatever may happen, even	though it be the preparation of his own death (in the play); but	then he again goes on the stage, and acts and suffers as he must.	From this double life proceeds that composure in man, so very	different from the thoughtlessness of the animal. According to	previous reflection, to a mind made up, or to a recognized necessity,	a man with such composure suffers or carries out in cold blood what	is of the greatest, and often most terrible, importance to him, such	as suicide, execution, duels, hazardous enterprises of every kind	fraught with danger to life, and generally things against which his	whole animal nature rebels. We then see to what extent reason is	master of the animal nature, and we exclaim to the strong: [x] ! (ferreum certe tibi cor!) [Iliad, xxiv, 521.] [32] Here it can	really be said that the faculty of reason manifests itself practically,	and thus practical reason shows itself, wherever action is guided by	reason, where motives are abstract concepts, wherever the determining	factors are not individual representations of perception, or the	impression of the moment which guides the animal. But I have	explained at length in the Appendix, and illustrated by examples, that	this is entirely different from, and independent of, the ethical worth	of conduct; that rational action and virtuous action are two quite	different things; that reason is just as well found with great wickedness	as with great kindness, and by its assistance gives great effectiveness	to the one as to the other; that it is equally ready and of service	for carrying out methodically and consistently the noble resolution as	well as the bad, the wise maxim as well as the imprudent. All this	inevitably follows from the nature of reason, which is feminine,	receptive, retentive, and not self-creative. What is said in the Appendix	would be in its proper place here, yet on account of the	polemic against Kant's so-called practical reason it had to be relegated to that Appendix, to which therefore I refer.
The most perfect development of practical reason in the true and	genuine sense of the word, the highest point to which man can	attain by the mere use of his faculty of reason, and in which	his difference from the animal shows itself most clearly, is the	ideal represented in the Stoic sage. For the Stoic ethics is originally	and essentially not a doctrine of virtue, but merely a guide to the	rational life, whose end and aim is happiness through peace of mind. Virtuous conduct appears in it, so to speak, only by accident, as	means, not as end. Therefore the Stoic ethics is by its whole nature	and point of view fundamentally different from the ethical systems	that insist directly on virtue, such as the doctrines of the Vedas,	of Plato, of Christianity, and of Kant. The aim of Stoic ethics is	happiness: [x] (virtutes omnes finem habere beatitudinem)	it says in the description of the Stoa by Stobaeus (Eclogae,	1. II, c. 7, p. 114, and also p. 138). Yet the Stoic ethics teaches that	happiness is to be found with certainty only in inward calm and	in peace of mind ([x]), and this again can be reached only	through virtue. The expression that virtue is the highest good means	just this. Now if of course the end is gradually lost sight of in	the means, and virtue is commended in a way that betrays an	interest entirely different from that of one's own happiness, in that	it too clearly contradicts this, then this is one of the inconsistencies	by which in every system the directly known truth, or, as they say, the felt truth, leads us back on to the right path, violating all syllogistic	argument. For instance, we clearly see this in the ethics of	Spinoza, which deduces a pure doctrine of virtue from the egoistical	suum utile quaerere through palpable sophisms. According to this, as	I have understood the spirit of the Stoic ethics, its source lies in the	thought whether reason, man's great prerogative, which, through	planned action and its result, indirectly lightens the burdens of life	so much for him, might not also be capable of withdrawing him at	once and directly, i.e., through mere knowledge, either completely	or nearly so, from the sorrows and miseries of every kind that fill	his life. They held it to be not in keeping with the prerogative of	reason that a being endowed with it and comprehending and	surveying by it an infinity of things and conditions, should yet be	exposed to such intense pain, such great anxiety and suffering, as	arise from the tempestuous strain of desiring and shunning, through	the present moment and the events that can be contained in the	few years of a life so short, fleeting, and uncertain. It was thought	that the proper application of reason was bound to raise man above	them, and enable him to become invulnerable. Therefore Antisthenes	said: [x] (aut mentem parandam, aut laqueum.	Plutarch, De Stoicorum Repugnantia, c. 14) ;33 in other words, life	is so full of troubles and vexations that we must either rise above	it by means of corrected ideas, or leave it. It was seen that want	and suffering did not result directly and necessarily from not having,	but only from desiring to have and yet not having; that this desiring	to have is therefore the necessary condition under which alone not	having becomes privation and engenders pain. [x] (non paupertas dolorem efficit, sed cupiditas),	Epictetus, fragm. 25. [34] Moreover, it was recognized from	experience that it is merely the hope, the claim, which begets and	nourishes the wish. Therefore neither the many unavoidable evils common to all, nor the unattainable blessings, disquiet and trouble	us, but only the insignificant more or less of what for man is avoidable	and attainable. Indeed, not only the absolutely unavoidable or	unattainable, but also what is relatively so, leaves us quite calm;	hence the evils that are once attached to our individuality, or the	good things that must of necessity remain denied to it, are treated	with indifference, and in consequence of this human characteristic	every wish soon dies and so can beget no more pain, if no hope	nourishes it. It follows from all this that all happiness depends on	the proportion between what we claim and what we receive. It is	immaterial how great or small the two quantities of this proportion	are, and the proportion can be established just as well by diminishing	the first quantity as by increasing the second. In the same way, it	follows that all suffering really results from the want of proportion	between what we demand and expect and what comes to us. But	this want of proportion is to be found only in knowledge, [35] and	through better insight it could be wholly abolished. Therefore	Chrysippus said: [x]	(Stobaeus, Eclogae, 1. II, c. 7; [Ed. Heeren], p. 134), [36] in other	words, we should live with due knowledge of the course of things	in the world. For whenever a man in any way loses self-control, or is	struck down by a misfortune, or grows angry, or loses heart, he shows	in this way that he finds things different from what he expected, and	consequently that he laboured under a mistake, did not know the	world and life, did not know how at every step the will of the individual	is crossed and thwarted by the chance of inanimate nature, by	contrary aims and intentions, even by the malice inspired in others.	Therefore either he has not used his reason to arrive at a general knowledge of this characteristic of life, or he lacks the power of	judgement, when he does not again recognize in the particular what	he knows in general, and when he is therefore surprised by it and	loses his self-contro1. [37] Thus every keen pleasure is an error, an illusion,	since no attained wish can permanently satisfy, and also because	every possession and every happiness is only lent by chance for an	indefinite time, and can therefore be demanded back in the next hour.	But every pain rests on the disappearance of such an illusion; thus	both originate from defective knowledge. Therefore the wise man always	holds himself aloof from jubilation and sorrow, and no event	disturbs his [x].
In conformity with this spirit and aim of the Stoa, Epictetus begins	with it and constantly returns to it as the kernel of his philosophy,	that we should bear in mind and distinguish what depends on us and	what does not, and thus should not count on the latter at all. In this	way we shall certainly remain free from all pain, suffering, and	anxiety. Now what depends on us is the will alone, and here there	gradually takes place a transition to a doctrine of virtue, since it is	noticed that, as the external world that is independent of us determines	good and bad fortune, so inner satisfaction or dissatisfaction	with ourselves proceeds from the will. But later it was asked whether	we should attribute the names bonum et malum to the two former or	to the two latter. This was really arbitrary and a matter of choice,	and made no difference. But yet the Stoics argued incessantly about	this with the Peripatetics and Epicureans, and amused themselves	with the inadmissible comparison of two wholly incommensurable	quantities and with the contrary and paradoxical judgements arising	therefrom, which they cast at one another. An interesting collection	of these is afforded us from the Stoic side by the Paradoxa of Cicero.
Zeno, the founder, seems originally to have taken a somewhat different	course. With him the starting-point was that a man, in order	to attain the highest good, that is to say, bliss through peace of mind,	should live in harmony with himself. ([x]) . -- Consonanter vivere: hoc est secundum	unam rationem et concordem sibi vivere. Stobaeus, Ecl., 1. II,	c. 7, p. 132. Also: [x]	. Virtutem esse animi afjectionem secum per totam vitam consentientem, ibid., p. 104). [38] Now this was possible only by a man	determining himself entirely rationally according to concepts, not according	to changing impressions and moods. But as only the maxims	of our conduct, not the consequences or circumstances, are in our	power, to be capable of always remaining consistent we must take	as our object only the maxims, not the consequences and circumstances,	and thus the doctrine of virtue is again introduced.
But the moral principle of Zeno -- to live in harmony with oneself	-- seemed even to his immediate successors to be too formal and	empty. They therefore gave it material content by the addition "to	live in harmony with nature" ([x]), which, as	Stobaeus mentions loc. cit., was first added by Cleanthes, and which	greatly extended the matter through the wide sphere of the concept	and the vagueness of the expression. For Cleanthes meant the whole	of nature in general, but Chrysippus meant human nature in particular	(Diogenes Laertius, vii, 89). That which was alone adapted to	the latter was then supposed to be virtue, just as the satisfaction of	animal impulses was adapted to animal natures; and thus ethics was	again forcibly united to a doctrine of virtue, and had to be established	through physics by hook or by crook. For the Stoics everywhere	aimed at unity of principle, as with them God and the world were	not two different things.
Taken as a whole, Stoic ethics is in fact a very valuable and estimable	attempt to use reason, man's great prerogative, for an important	and salutary purpose, namely to raise him by a precept above the	sufferings and pains to which all life is exposed:
"Qua ratione queas traducere leniter aevum:
Ne te semper inops agitet vexetque cupido,
Ne pavor et rerum mediocriter utilium spes," [39]
-- (Horace, Epist. I, xviii, 97.)
and in this way to make him partake in the highest degree of the	dignity belonging to him as a rational being as distinct from the animal.	We can certainly speak of a dignity in this sense, but not in any	other. It is a consequence of my view of Stoic ethics that it had to be	mentioned here with the description of what the faculty of reason is,	and what it can achieve. But, however much this end is to a certain	extent attainable through the application of reason and through a	merely rational ethic, and although experience shows that the happiest	are indeed those purely rational characters commonly called	practical philosophers -- and rightly so, because just as the real, i.e.,	theoretical, philosopher translates life into the concept, so they translate	the concept into life -- nevertheless we are still very far from	being able to arrive at something perfect in this way, from being	actually removed from all the burdens and sorrows of life, and led	to the blissful state by the correct use of our reason. On the contrary,	we find a complete contradiction in our wishing to live without suffering,	a contradiction that is therefore implied by the frequently used	phrase "blessed life." This will certainly be clear to the person who	has fully grasped my discussion that follows. This contradiction is	revealed in this ethic of pure reason itself by the fact that the Stoic is	compelled to insert a recommendation of suicide in his guide to the	blissful life (for this is what his ethics always remains). This is like	the costly phial of poison to be found among the magnificent ornaments	and apparel of oriental despots, and is for the case where the	sufferings of the body, incapable of being philosophized away by any	principles and syllogisms, are paramount and incurable. Thus its sole	purpose, namely blessedness, is frustrated, and nothing remains as a	means of escape from pain except death. But then death must be	taken with unconcern, just as is any other medicine. Here a marked	contrast is evident between the Stoic ethics and all those other ethical	systems mentioned above. These ethical systems make virtue directly	and in itself the aim and object, even with the most grievous sufferings,	and will not allow a man to end his life in order to escape from	suffering. But not one of them knew how to express the true reason	for rejecting suicide, but they laboriously collected fictitious arguments	of every kind. This true reason will appear in the fourth book	in connexion with our discussion. But the above-mentioned contrast	reveals and confirms just that essential difference to be found in the fundamental principle between the Stoa, really only a special form	of eudaemonism, and the doctrines just mentioned, although both	often agree in their results, and are apparently related. But the abovementioned	inner contradiction, with which the Stoic ethics is affected	even in its fundamental idea, further shows itself in the fact that its	ideal, the Stoic sage as represented by this ethical system, could never	obtain life or inner poetical truth, but remains a wooden, stiff lay-figure	with whom one can do nothing. He himself does not know	where to go with his wisdom, and his perfect peace, contentment, and	blessedness directly contradict the nature of mankind, and do not	enable us to arrive at any perceptive representation thereof. Compared	with him, how entirely different appear the overcomers of the	world and voluntary penitents, who are revealed to us, and are actually produced, by the wisdom of India; how different even the Saviour	of Christianity, that excellent form full of the depth of life, of the	greatest poetical truth and highest significance, who stands before us	with perfect virtue, holiness, and sublimity, yet in a state of supreme	suffering. [40]
1. On the Principle of Sufficient Reason, 2nd ed., § 22.
2. Only Kant has confused this conception of reason, and in this connexion I	refer to the Appendix as well as to my Grundprobleme der Ethik, "Grundlage	der Moral," § 6, pp. 148-154 of the first edition (pp. 146-151 of the second).
3. Mira in quibusdam rebus verborum proprietas est, et consuetudo sermonis	antiqui quaedam efficacissimis notis signat. Seneca, Epist. 81.
"The appropriateness of expression for many things is astonishing, and the	usage of language, handed down from the ancients, expresses many things in the most effective manner." [Tr.]
4. It is explained in the Appendix that matter and substance are one.
5. This shows the ground of the Kantian explanation of matter "that it is	what is movable in space," for motion consists only in the union of space and time.
6. Not, as Kant holds, from the knowledge of time, as is explained in the	Appendix.
7. "Man is the dream of a shadow." [Tr.]
8. "I see that we who are alive are nothing but deceptive forms and a	fleeting shadow-picture." [Tr.]
9. "Begging of the question." [Tr.]
10. A word coined by Schopenhauer from two Greek words to express a	contradiction or absurdity. [Tr.]
11. "Astonishment -- a very philosophical emotion." [Theaetetus, 155D. Tr.]
12. On this see The Fourfold Root of the Principle of Sufficient Reason,	second edition, § 49.
13. To these first seven paragraphs belong the first four chapters of the first	book of supplements.
13A. [Three Dialogues between Hylas and Philonous, no. 2, Tr.]
14. With this paragraph are to be compared §§ 26 and 27 of the second	edition of the essay On the Principle of Sufficient Reason.
15. Cf. chaps. 5 and 6 of volume 2.
16. Cf. chaps. 9 and 10 of volume 2.
17. "From merely particular or negative premisses nothing follows." "A	conclusion from the consequent to the ground is not valid." [Tr.]
18. "lying, veiled, horned [dilemma]." [Tr.]
19. Cf. chap. 11 of volume 2.
20. I am therefore of the opinion that the science of physiognomy cannot go	any further with certainty than to lay down a few quite general rules. For example, intellectual qualities are in the forehead and the eye; ethical	qualities, manifestations of the will, are to be read in the mouth and the lower	half of the face. Forehead and eye elucidate each other; either of them	seen without the other can be only half understood. Genius is never without	a high, broad, finely arched brow, but such a brow is often without genius.	Intellect may be inferred from a clever appearance the more certainly, the	uglier the face is, and stupidity the more certainly from a stupid appearance,	the more beautiful a face is, because beauty, as fitness and appropriateness to	the type of humanity, carries in and by itself the expression of mental	clearness; the opposite is the case with ugliness, and so on.
21. "No one can wear a mask for long." "Dissimulation soon reverts to its	own nature." [Tr.]
22. Cf. chap. 7 of volume 2.
24. Suarez, Disputationes metaphysicae, disp. III, sect. 3, tit. 3.
26. We must not think here of Kant's misuse of these Greek expressions which	is condemned in the Appendix.
27. "But more accurate and preferable to mere knowledge is that knowledge	which not only says that something is, but also why it is so, and not that knowledge which teaches separately the That and the Why." [Tr.]
28. Spinoza, who always boasts of proceeding more geometrico, has actually	done so more than he himself knew. For what to him was certain and settled from an immediate perceptive apprehension of the nature of the world, he	tries to demonstrate logically and independently of this knowledge. But of course he arrives at the intended result predetermined by him, only by taking	as the starting-point concepts arbitrarily made by him (substantia, causa sui,	and so on), and by allowing himself in the demonstration al1 the freedom of	choice for which the nature of the wide concept-spheres affords convenient	opportunity. Therefore, what is true and excel1ent in his doctrine is in his case,	as in that of geometry, quite independent of the proofs. Cf. chap. 13 of	volume 2.
29. Translator's note: Dr Arthur Hubscher of the Schopenhauer Society of	Germany is of the opinion that "not" should be deleted. In a letter he states	that "im Text selbst habe ich das 'nicht' nicht gestrichen. Es steht in allen van	Schopenhauer besorgten Ausgaben. Die Handschrift besitzen wir nicht. Ich nehme an, dass es sich um einen Fluchtigkeitsfehler Schopenhauers handelt,	wie sie ofter bei ihm vorkommen .... In diesem Falle scheint mir die	Sache nicht ganz eindeutig entschieden zu sein, so dass ich in den Textbestand	nicht eingreifen wollte."
30. "That philosophy only is the true one which reproduces most faithfully the	statements of nature, and is written down, as it were, from nature's dictation,	so that it is nothing but a copy and a reflection of nature, and adds nothing	of its own, but is merely a repetition and echo." [Tr.]
32. "Truly hast thou a heart of iron!" [Tr.]
33. "We must procure either understanding or a rope (for hanging ourselves)."
34. "It is not poverty that pains, but strong desire." [Tr.]
35. Omnes perturbationes judicio censent fieri et opinione. Cicero, Tusc., iv, 6.	("All dejected moods, so they teach, rest on judgement and opinion." [Tr.])	[x] (Perturbant homines non res ipsae, sed de rebus opiniones.) Epictetus, c. V.	("It is not things that disturb men, but opinions about things," [Tr.])
36. "We must live according to the experience of what usually happens in	nature." [Tr.]
37. [x] . (Haec est causa mortalibus	omnium malorum, non posse communes notiones aptare singularibus.)	Epictetus, Dissert. III, 26. ("For this is the cause of all evil for men, namely	that they are not able to apply universal concepts to particular cases." [Tr.])
38. "To live in harmony, i.e., according to one and the same principle and in	harmony with oneself." [Tr.]
"Virtue consists in the agreement of the soul with itself during the whole	of life." [Tr.]
39. "That thou mayest be able to spend thy life smoothly, Let not everpressing	desire torment and vex thee, Or fear or hope for things of little	worth." [Tr.]
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