Refutation of the Argument of Mendelssohn for the Substantiality
or Permanence* of the Soul.
[*]
There is no philosophical term in our language which can express, without saying too much or too
little, the meaning of Beharrlichkeit. Permanence will be sufficient, if taken in an absolute, instead
of the commonly received relative sense. — Tr.
This acute philosopher easily perceived the insufficiency of the
common argument which attempts to prove that the soul— it being
granted that it is a simple being— cannot perish by dissolution or
decomposition; he saw it is not impossible for it to cease to be by
extinction, or disappearance.* He endeavoured to prove in his Phædo,
that the soul cannot be annihilated, by showing that a simple being
cannot cease to exist. Inasmuch as, be said, a simple existence cannot
diminish, nor gradually lose portions of its being, and thus be by
degrees reduced to nothing (for it possesses no parts, and therefore
no multiplicity), between the moment in which it is, and the moment in
which it is not, no time can be discovered— which is impossible. But
this philosopher did not consider that, granting the soul to possess
this simple nature, which contains no parts external to each other and
consequently no extensive quantity, we cannot refuse to it any less
than to any other being, intensive quantity, that is, a degree of
reality in regard to all its faculties, nay, to all that constitutes
its existence. But this degree of reality can become less and less
through an infinite series of smaller degrees. It follows,
therefore, that this supposed substance— this thing, the permanence of
which is not assured in any other way, may, if not by decomposition,
by gradual loss (remissio) of its powers (consequently by
elanguescence, if I may employ this expression), be changed into
nothing. For consciousness itself has always a degree, which may be
lessened.* Consequently the faculty of being
conscious may be
diminished; and so with all other faculties. The permanence of the
soul, therefore, as an object of the internal sense, remains
undemonstrated, nay, even indemonstrable. Its permanence in life is
evident,
per se, inasmuch as the thinking being (as man) is to itself,
at the same time, an object of the external senses. But this does
not authorize the rational psychologist to affirm, from mere
conceptions, its permanence beyond life.
*
[*]
Clearness is not, as logicians maintain, the consciousness of a
representation. For a certain degree of consciousness, which may
not, however, be sufficient for recollection, is to be met with in
many dim representations. For without any consciousness at all, we
should not be able to recognize any difference in the obscure
representations we connect; as we really can do with many conceptions,
such as those of right and justice, and those of the musician, who
strikes at once several notes in improvising a piece of music. But a
representation is clear, in which our consciousness is sufficient
for the consciousness of the difference of this representation from
others. If we are only conscious that there is a difference, but are
not conscious of the difference— that is, what the difference is—
the representation must be termed obscure. There is, consequently,
an infinite series of degrees of consciousness down to its entire
disappearance.
[*]
There are some who think they have done enough to establish a
new possibility in the mode of the existence of souls, when they
have shown that there is no contradiction in their hypotheses on
this subject. Such are those who affirm the possibility of thought— of
which they have no other knowledge than what they derive from its
use in connecting empirical intuitions presented in this our human
life— after this life bas ceased. But it is very easy to embarrass
them by the introduction of counter—possibilities, which rest upon
quite as good a foundation. Such, for example, is the possibility of
the work of a simple substance into several substances; and
conversely, of the coalition of several into one simple substance.
For, although divisibility presupposes composition, it does not
necessarily require a composition of substances, but only of the
degrees (of the several faculties) of one and the same substance.
Now we can cogitate all the powers and faculties of the soul— even
that of consciousness— as diminished by one half, the substance
still remaining. In the same way we can represent to ourselves without
contradiction, this obliterated half as preserved, not in the soul,
but without it; and we can believe that, as in this case every.
thing that is real in the soul, and has a degree— consequently its
entire existence— has been halved, a particular substance would
arise out of the soul. For the multiplicity, which has been divided,
formerly existed, but not as a multiplicity of substances, but of
every reality as the quantum of existence in it; and the unity of
substance was merely a mode of existence, which by this work alone
has been transformed into a plurality of subsistence. In the same
manner several simple substances might coalesce into one, without
anything being lost except the plurality of subsistence, inasmuch as
the one substance would contain the degree of reality of all the
former substances. Perhaps, indeed, the simple substances, which
appear under the form of matter, might (not indeed by a mechanical
or chemical influence upon each other, but by an unknown influence, of
which the former would be but the phenomenal appearance), by means
of such a dynamical work of the parent—souls, as intensive
quantities, produce other souls, while the former repaired the loss
thus sustained with new matter of the same sort. I am far from
allowing any value to such chimeras; and the principles of our
analytic have clearly proved that no other than an empirical use of
the categories— that of substance, for example— is possible. But if
the rationalist is bold enough to construct, on the mere authority
of the faculty of thought— without any intuition, whereby an object is
given— a self—subsistent being, merely because the unity of
apperception in thought cannot allow him to believe it a composite
being, instead of declaring, as he ought to do, that he is unable to
explain the possibility of a thinking nature; what ought to hinder the
materialist, with as complete an independence of experience, to employ
the principle of the rationalist in a directly opposite manner—
still preserving the formal unity required by his opponent?
If, now, we take the above propositions— as they must be accepted as
valid for all thinking beings in the system of rational psychology— in
synthetical connection, and proceed, from the category of relation,
with the proposition: "All thinking beings are, as such,
substances," backwards through the series, till the circle is
completed; we come at last to their existence, of which, in this
system of rational psychology, substances are held to be conscious,
independently of external things; nay, it is asserted that, in
relation to the permanence which is a necessary characteristic of
substance, they can of themselves determine external things. It
follows that Idealism — at least problematical Idealism, is perfectly
unavoidable in this rationalistic system. And, if the existence of
outward things is not held to be requisite to the determination of the
existence of a substance in time, the existence of these outward
things at all, is a gratuitous assumption which remains without the
possibility of a proof.
But if we proceed analytically — the "I think" as a proposition
containing in itself an existence as given, consequently modality
being the principle— and dissect this proposition, in order to
ascertain its content, and discover whether and how this Ego
determines its existence in time and space without the aid of anything
external; the propositions of rationalistic psychology would not begin
with the conception of a thinking being, but with a reality, and the
properties of a thinking being in general would be deduced from the
mode in which this reality is cogitated, after everything empirical
had been abstracted; as is shown in the following table:
Now, inasmuch as it is not determined in this second proposition,
whether I can exist and be cogitated only as subject, and not also
as a predicate of another being, the conception of a subject is here
taken in a merely logical sense; and it remains undetermined,
whether substance is to be cogitated under the conception or not.
But in the third proposition, the absolute unity of apperception—
the simple Ego in the representation to which all connection and
separation, which constitute thought, relate, is of itself
important; even although it presents us with no information about
the constitution or subsistence of the subject. Apperception is
something real, and the simplicity of its nature is given in the
very fact of its possibility. Now in space there is nothing real
that is at the same time simple; for points, which are the only simple
things in space, are merely limits, but not constituent parts of
space. From this follows the impossibility of a definition on the
basis of materialism of the constitution of my Ego as a merely
thinking subject. But, because my existence is considered in the first
proposition as given, for it does not mean, "Every thinking being
exists" (for this would be predicating of them absolute necessity),
but only, "I exist thinking"; the proposition is quite empirical,
and contains the determinability of my existence merely in relation to
my representations in time. But as I require for this purpose
something that is permanent, such as is not given in internal
intuition; the mode of my existence, whether as substance or as
accident, cannot be determined by means of this simple
self—consciousness. Thus, if materialism is inadequate to explain
the mode in which I exist, spiritualism is likewise as insufficient;
and the conclusion is that we are utterly unable to attain to any
knowledge of the constitution of the soul, in so far as relates to the
possibility of its existence apart from external objects.
And, indeed, how should it be possible, merely by the aid of the
unity of consciousness— which we cognize only for the reason that it
is indispensable to the possibility of experience— to pass the
bounds of experience (our existence in this life); and to extend our
cognition to the nature of all thinking beings by means of the
empirical— but in relation to every sort of intuition, perfectly
undetermined— proposition, "I think"?
There does not then exist any rational psychology as a doctrine
furnishing any addition to our knowledge of ourselves. It is nothing
more than a discipline, which sets impassable
limits to speculative
reason in this region of thought, to prevent it, on the one hand, from
throwing itself into the arms of a soulless materialism, and, on the
other, from losing itself in the mazes of a baseless spiritualism.
It teaches us to consider this refusal of our reason to give any
satisfactory answer to questions which reach beyond the limits of this
our human life, as a hint to abandon fruitless speculation; and to
direct, to a practical use, our knowledge of ourselves— which,
although applicable only to objects of experience, receives its
principles from a higher source, and regulates its procedure as if our
destiny reached far beyond the boundaries of experience and life.
From all this it is evident that rational psychology has its
origin in a mere misunderstanding. The unity of consciousness, which
lies at the basis of the categories, is considered to be an
intuition of the subject as an object; and the category of substance
is applied to the intuition. But this unity is nothing more than the
unity in thought, by which no object is given; to which therefore
the category of substance— which always presupposes a given intuition—
cannot be applied. Consequently, the subject cannot be cognized. The
subject of the categories cannot, therefore, for the very reason
that it cogitates these, frame any conception of itself as an object
of the categories; for, to cogitate these, it must lay at the
foundation its own pure self—consciousness— the very thing that it
wishes to explain and describe. In like manner, the subject, in
which the representation of time has its basis, cannot determine,
for this very reason, its own existence in time. Now, if the latter is
impossible, the former, as an attempt to determine itself by means
of the categories as a thinking being in general, is no less so.*
[*]
The "I think" is, as has been already stated, an empirical
proposition, and contains the proposition, "I exist." But I cannot
say, "Everything, which thinks, exists"; for in this case the property
of thought would constitute all beings possessing it, necessary
being Hence my existence cannot be considered as an inference from the
proposition, "I think," as Descartes maintained— because in this
case the major premiss, "Everything, which thinks, exists," must
precede— but the two propositions are identical. The proposition, "I
think," expresses an undetermined empirical intuition, that perception*
(proving consequently that sensation, which must belong to
sensibility, lies at the foundation of this proposition); but it
precedes experience, whose province it is to determine an object of
perception by means of the categories in relation to time; and
existence in this proposition is not a category, as it does not
apply to an undetermined given object, but only to one of which we
have a conception, and about which we wish to know whether it does
or does not exist, out of, and apart from this conception. An
undetermined perception signifies here merely something real that
has been given, only, however, to thought in general— but not as a
phenomenon, nor as a thing in itself (noumenon), but only as something
that really exists, and is designated as such in the proposition, "I
think." For it must be remarked that, when I call the proposition,
"I think," an empirical proposition, I do not thereby mean that the
Ego in the proposition is an empirical representation; on the
contrary, it is purely intellectual, because it belongs to thought
in general. But without some empirical representation, which
presents to the mind material for thought, the mental act, "I
think," would not take place; and the empirical is only the
condition of the application or employment of the pure intellectual
faculty.
Thus, then, appears the vanity of the hope of establishing a
cognition which is to extend its rule beyond the limits of experience—
a cognition which is one of the highest interests of humanity; and
thus is proved the futility of the attempt of speculative philosophy
in this region of thought. But, in this interest of thought, the
severity of criticism has rendered to reason a not unimportant
service, by the demonstration of the impossibility of making any
dogmatical affirmation concerning an object of experience beyond the
boundaries of experience. She has thus fortified reason against all
affirmations of the contrary. Now, this can be accomplished in only
two ways. Either our proposition must be proved apodeictically; or, if
this is unsuccessful, the sources of this inability must be sought
for, and, if these are discovered to exist in the natural and
necessary limitation of our reason, our opponents must submit to the
same law of renunciation and refrain from advancing claims to dogmatic
assertion.
But the right, say rather the necessity to admit a future life, upon
principles of the practical conjoined with the speculative use of
reason, has lost nothing by this renunciation; for the merely
speculative proof has never had any influence upon the common reason
of men. It stands upon the point of a hair, so that even the schools
have been able to preserve it from falling only by incessantly
discussing it and spinning it like a top; and even in their eyes it
has never been able to present any safe foundation for the erection of
a theory. The
proofs which have been current among men, preserve their
value undiminished; nay, rather gain in clearness and
unsophisticated power, by the rejection of the dogmatical
assumptions of speculative reason. For reason is thus confined
within her own peculiar province— the arrangement of ends or aims,
which is at the same time the arrangement of nature; and, as a
practical faculty, without limiting itself to the latter, it is
justified in extending the former, and with it our own existence,
beyond the boundaries of experience and life. If we turn our attention
to the
analogy of the nature of living beings in this world, in the
consideration of which reason is obliged to accept as a principle that
no organ, no faculty, no appetite is useless, and that nothing is
superfluous, nothing disproportionate to its use, nothing unsuited
to its end; but that, on the contrary, everything is perfectly
conformed to its destination in life— we shall find that man, who
alone is the final end and aim of this order, is still the only animal
that seems to be excepted from it. For his natural gifts— not merely
as regards the talents and motives that may incite him to employ them,
but especially the moral law in him— str&ch so far beyond all mere
earthly utility and advantage, that he feels himself bound to prize
the mere consciousness of probity, apart from all advantageous
consequences— even the shadowy gift of posthumous fame— above
everything; and he is conscious of an inward call to constitute
himself, by his conduct in this world— without regard to mere
sublunary interests— the citizen of a better. This mighty,
irresistible proof— accompanied by an ever—increasing knowledge of the
conformability to a purpose in everything we see around us, by the
conviction of the boundless immensity of creation, by the
consciousness of a certain illimitableness in the possible extension
of our knowledge, and by a desire commensurate therewith— remains to
humanity, even after the theoretical cognition of ourselves bas failed
to establish the necessity of an existence after death.
