mind fashions the mathematical unit. This book, its leaves, its letters,
or their parts, are they units? Where do I begin, where do I stop? In
the same way, I may call a library with many volumes, a house, a farm,
and finally the whole universe, a unit. Is not everything a part, is not
every part a thing? Is the color of a leaf less of a thing than that
leaf itself? Perhaps some would call the color simply an attribute and
the leaf its substance, because there might be a leaf without color, but
no color without a leaf. But as surely as we exhaust a heap of sand by
scattering it, just as surely do we remove all the substance of a leaf
when we take away its attributes one after the other. Color is only the
sum of reactions of leaf, light, and eye, and so is all the rest of the
matter of a leaf an aggregate of interactions. In the same way in which
our reason deprives a leaf of its color attributes and sets it apart as
a "thing itself," may we continue to deprive that leaf of all its other
attributes, and in so doing we finally take away everything that makes
the leaf. Color is in its nature no less a substance than the leaf
itself, and the leaf is no less an attribute than its color. As the
color is an attribute of a leaf, so a leaf is an attribute of a tree, a
tree an attribute of the earth, the earth an attribute of the universe.
The universe is the substance, substance in general, and all other
substances are but its attributes. And this world-substance reveals the
fact that the nature of things, the "thing itself" as distinguished from
its manifestations, is only a concept of the mind.

In its universal search from the attribute to the substance, from the
relative to the absolute, from the appearance of things to the true
things, the mind finally arrives at the understanding that the substance
is nothing but a sum of attributes collected by brain activity, and that
the mind itself, or reason, is a substantial being which creates
abstract mental units out of a multitude of sense perceptions and
conceives of the universe as an absolute whole, as an independent "thing
itself," by adding all its transient manifestations. In turning away
full of dissatisfaction from attributes, searching restlessly after the
substance, throwing aside phenomena, and forever groping for truth, for
the nature of things, for the "thing itself," and in finally realizing
that this substantial truth is merely the sum of all socalled untruths,
the totality of all phenomena, the mind proves itself to be the creator
of the abstract concept of substance. But it did not create this
concept out of nothing. On the contrary, it generated the concept of a
world substance out of attributes, it derived truth out of
manifestations of things.

The idealist conception that there is an abstract nature behind
phenomena which materialises itself in them, is refuted by the
understanding that this hidden nature does not dwell in the world
outside of the human mind, but in the brain of man. But since the brain
differentiates between phenomena and their nature, between the concrete
and the general, only by means of sense perception, it cannot be denied
that the distinction between phenomena and their nature is well founded;
only the essential nature of things is not found back of phenomena, but
by means of phenomena. This nature is materially existent and our
faculty of thought is a real and natural one.

It is true of spiritual things as well as of physical ones, in fact it
is true of all things, metaphysically speaking, that they are what they
are, not "in themselves," not in their abstract nature, but in contact
with other things, in reality. In this sense one might say that things
are not what they seem, but manifest themselves because they are
existent, and they manifest themselves in as many different ways as
there are other things with which they enter into relations of time and
space. But the statement that things are not what they seem requires, in
order to be rightly understood, the modification that whatever manifests
itself, exists in nature, and its existence is limited by its
manifestations. "We cannot perceive heat itself," says a book on physics
written by Professor Koppe, "we merely conclude from its manifestations
that it is present in nature." Thus reasons a naturalist who seeks to
understand a thing by practical and diligent study of its
manifestations, but who seeks refuge in the speculative belief in a
hidden "thing itself" whenever a lack of understanding of the
fundamentals of logic embarrasses him. We, on the contrary, conclude
that there is no such thing as "heat itself," since it cannot be found,
in nature, and we conceive of heat as effects of matter which the human
brain translated into the conception of "heat itself." Because science
was, perhaps, as yet unable to analyse this conception, the professor
says we cannot perceive the natural object which gives rise to this
conception. "Heat itself" is simply composed of the sum total of its
manifold effects, and there is nothing else to it. The faculty of
thought generalizes this variety of effects under the concept of heat in
general. The analysis of this conception, the discovery of the general
character of the various manifestations of heat, is the function of
inductive science. But the conception of heat separated from its effects
is a speculative idea, similar to Lichtenberg's knife without handle and
blade.

The faculty of thought in touch with sense perceptions produces the
nature of things. But it produces them no more independently of things
outside than do the eye, the ear, or any other sense of man. It is not
the "things themselves" which we see or feel, but their effects on our
eyes, hands, etc. The faculty of reason to generalize different
perceptions of the eye permits us to distinguish between concrete sights
and sight in general. The faculty of thought conceives of any concrete
sight as an object of sight in general. It furthermore distinguishes
between subjective and objective sight perceptions, the latter being
sights which are visible not alone to the individual eye, but to
eyesight in general. Even the visions of a spiritualist, or such
subjective impressions as forked lightning, circles of fire, caused by
excited blood of closed eyes, serve as objects for the critical
consciousness. A glittering object revealed by bright sunlight miles
away is no more and no less tangible in substance, no more and no less
true, than any optical illusion. A man whose ear is tingling hears
something, though it is not the tinkling of bells. Every sense
perception is an object, and every object is a sense perception. The
object of any subjective mind is a passing manifestation, and every
objective perception is but a perishable subject. The object of
observation may exist in a more tangible, less approachable, more
stable, or more general form, but it is not a "thing itself." It may be
perceived not alone by my eyes, but also by those of others, not by the
eyes, but also by the feeling, the hearing, the taste, etc. And it may
be noticed not alone by men, but also by other objects. But nevertheless
it appears only as a manifestation, it is different in different places,
it is not today what it is tomorrow. Every existence is relative, in
touch with other things, and entering into different relations of time
and space with them.

Every sense perception is an actual and natural object. Truth exists in
the form of natural phenomena, and whatever is, is true. Substance and
attribute are only terms for certain relations. They are not
contradictions, and, as a matter of fact, all contradictions disappear
before our faculty of generalization and differentiation. For this
faculty reconciles all contradictions by finding a general quality in
all differences. Existence, or universal truth, is the general object,
the raw material, of the faculty of thought. This material is of the
utmost variety and supplied by the senses. The senses reveal to us the
substance of the universe in the forms of concrete qualities, in other
words, the nature of perceptible matter is revealed to the faculty of
thought through a variety of concrete forms. It is not perceived as a
general essence, but only through interdependent phenomena. Out of the
interdependence of the sense perceptions with our faculty of thought
there arise quantities, general concepts, things, true perceptions, or
understood truths.

Essence and truth are two terms for the same thing. Truth, or the
essence and nature of things, is a theoretical concept. As we have seen,
we receive impressions of things in two ways, viz., a sense impression
and a mental impression, the one practical, the other theoretical.
Practice furnishes us with the sense impression, theory with the mental
nature of things.

Practice is the premise of theory, sense perception the premise of the
nature which is also called the truth. The same truth manifests itself
in practice either simultaneously or consecutively in the same place or
in different places. It exists theoretically as a homogeneous
conception.

Practice, phenomena, sense perceptions, are absolute qualities, that is
to say they have no quantitative limitation, they are not restricted by
time or space. They are absolute and infinite qualities. The qualities
of a thing are as infinite as its parts. On the other hand, the work of
the faculty of thought, of theory, creates at will an infinite number of
quantities, and it conceives every quality of sense _perceptions_ in the
form of quantities, as the essential nature of things, as truths. Every
conception has a quality of some sense perception for its object. Every
object can be conceived by the faculty of thought only as a quantitative
unit, as true nature, as truth.

The faculty of thought produces in contact with sense perceptions that
which manifests itself as true nature, as a general truth. A primitive
concept accomplishes this at first only instinctively, while a
scientific concept is a conscious and voluntary repetition of this
primitive act. Scientific understanding wanting to know an object, such
as for instance heat, is not hunting after the phenomena themselves. It
does not aim to see or hear how heat melts iron or wax, how it benefits
in one case or injures in another, how it makes eggs solid or ice
liquid, nor does it concern itself with the difference between the heat
of an animal, of the sun, or of a stove. All these things are from the
point of view of the faculty of understanding, only effects, phenomena,
qualities. It desires to get at the essence, the true nature of things,
it strives to find a general law, a concise scientific extract, of
things seen, heard, and felt. The abstract nature of things cannot be a
tangible object. It is a concept of theory, of science, of the faculty
of thought. The understanding of heat consists in singling out that
which is common to all phenomena of heat, which is essential or true for
all heat. _Practically the nature of heat consists of the sum total of
all its manifestations, theoretically in its concept, scientifically in
the analysis of this concept. To analyze the concept of heat means to
ascertain that which is common to all manifestations of heat._

The general nature of the thing is its true nature, the general quality
its true quality. We define rain more truly as being wet than as being
fertilizing, because it gives moisture wherever it falls, while it
fertilizes only under certain circumstances and in certain places. My
true friend is one who is constant and loyal to me all my life under all
circumstances. Of course, we must not believe in any absolute and
unconditional friendship any more than in any absolute and eternal
truth. Perfectly true, perfectly universal, is only the general
existence, the universe, the absolute quantity. But the real world is
absolutely relative, absolutely perishable, an infinity of
manifestations, an infinity of qualities. All truths are simply parts of
this world, partial truths. Semblance and truth flow dialectically into
one another like hard and soft, good and bad, right and wrong, but at
the same time they remain different. Even though I know that there is no
rain which is "fertile in itself," and no friend who is true in an
absolute sense, I may nevertheless refer to a certain rain as fertile in
relation to certain crops, and I may distinguish between my more or less
true friends.

The universe is the truth. The universe is that which is universal, that
is, things which exist and are perceived. The general mark of truth is
existence, because universal existence is truth. Now, existence is not a
general abstraction, but a reality in the concrete form of sense
perceptions. The world of sense perceptions has its true and perceptible
existence in the passing and manifold manifestations of nature and life.
Therefore all manifestations are recognized as relative truths, all
truths as concrete and temporal manifestations. The manifestation of
practice is considered as a truth in theory, and vice versa, the truth
of theory is manifested in practice. Opposites are mutually relative.
Truth and error differ only comparatively, in volume of degree, like
being and seeming, life and death, light and dark, like all other
opposites in the world. It is a matter of course that all things of this
world are worldly, consequently are of the same matter, the same nature,
the same family, the same quality. In other words, every volume of
perceptible manifestation forms in contact with the human faculty of
thought a being, a truth, a general thing. For our consciousness, every
particle of dust as well as every dust cloud, or any other mass of
material manifestations, is on the one hand an abstract "thing in
itself," and on the other a passing phenomenon of the absolute object,
the universe. Inside of this universe the various manifestations are
systematized or generalized at will and on purpose by means of our mind.
The chemical element is as much a manysided system as the organic cell
or the whole vegetable kingdom. The smallest and the largest being is
divided into individuals, species, families, classes, etc. This
systematization, this generalization, this generation of beings is
continued in an ascending scale up to the infinity of the universe, and
in the descending scale down to the infinity of the parts. In the eyes
of the faculty of thought all qualities become abstract things, all
things relative qualities.

Every thing, every sense perception, no matter how subjective or
shortlived it may be, is true, is a certain part of truth. In other
words, the truth exists, not only in the general existence, but every
concrete existence has also its own distinct generality or truth. Every
object, whether it be a mere passing idea, or a volatile scent, or some
tangible matter, constitutes a sum of manifold phenomena. The faculty of
thought turns various quantities into one, discerns the equality in
different things, seeks the unity in the multiplicity. Mind and matter
have at least actual existence in common. Organic nature agrees with
inorganic nature in being material. It is true that there are wide
divergences between man, monkey, elephant, and plants attached to the
soil, but even greater differences are reconciled under the term
"organism." However much a stone may differ from a human heart, thinking
reason will discover innumerable similarities in them. They at least
agree in being matter, they are both visible, tangible, and may be
weighed, etc. Their differences are as manifold as their likenesses.
Solomon truly says that there is nothing new under the sun, and Schiller
also says truly that the world grows old and again grows young. What
abstract thing, being, existence, generality is there that is not
manifold in its sense manifestations, and individually different from
all other things? There are no two drops of water alike. I am now in
many respects different from what I was an hour ago, and the likeness
between my brother and myself is only relatively greater than the
likeness between a watch and an oyster. In short, the faculty of thought
is a faculty of absolute generalization, it classes all things without
exception under one head, it comprises and understands everything
uniformly, while sense perceptions show absolutely everything in a
different, new and individual light.

If we apply this metaphysics[1] to our study, the faculty of thought,
we see that its functions, like all other things, are material
manifestations, which are all equally true. All manifestations of the
mind, all ideas, opinions, errors, partake of a certain truth, all of
them have a kernel of truth. Just as inevitably as a painter derives all
forms of his creation from perceptible objects around him, so are all
ideas, images of true things, theories of true objects. So far as
perceptions are perceptions, it is a matter of course that all
perceptions perceive something. So far as knowledge is knowledge, it
requires no explanation that all knowledge knows something. This follows
from the rule of identity, according to which a equals a, or from the
rule of contradiction, according to which 100 is not 1,000.

All perceptions are thoughts. One might claim, on the other hand, that
all thoughts are not perceptions. One might define "perceiving" as a
special kind of thought, as real objective thought in distinction from
supposing, believing, or imagining. But it cannot be denied that all
thoughts have a common nature, in spite of their many differences.
Thought is treated in the court of the faculty of thought like all other
things, it is made uniform. No matter how different the thoughts I had
yesterday may be from those I have to-day, no matter how much the
thoughts of different human beings may vary at different times, no
matter how clearly we may distinguish between such thoughts as those
expressed by the terms idea, conception, judgment, conclusion,
impression, etc., they each and all possess the same common and
universal nature, because all of them are manifestations of mind.

It follows, then, that the difference between true and erroneous
thoughts, between understanding and misunderstanding, like all other
differences, is only relative. A thought "in itself" is neither false
nor true, it is either of these only in relation to some other object.
Thoughts, conceptions, theories, natures, truths, all have this in
common that they belong to some object. We have seen that any object is
a part of the multiplicity of sense perceptions in the world outside of
our brains. After as much of the universal being as constitutes the
object which is to be understood has been defined by some customary term
of language, truth is to be found in the discovery of the general nature
of this perceptible part of being.

The perceptible parts of being which constitute the things of this world
have not only a semblance and manifestation, but also a true nature
which is given by means of their manifestation. The nature of things is
as infinite in number as the world of sense perceptions is infinitely
divisible in space and time. Every part of any phenomenon has its own
nature, every special phenomenon has its general truth. A phenomenon is
perceived in touch with the senses, while the true or essential nature
of things is perceived in contact with our faculty of thought. In this
way we find ourselves face to face with the necessity of speaking here,
where the nature of things is up for discussion, simultaneously of the
faculty of thought, and on the other hand of dealing with the nature of
things when the faculty of thought is our main subject.

We said at the outset: The criterion of truth includes the criterion of
reason. Truth, like reason, consists in developing a general concept,
or an abstract theory, from a given sum of sense perceptions. Therefore
it is not abstract truth which is the criterion of true understanding,
but we rather refer to that understanding as being true which produces
the truth, or the general hall-mark of any concrete object. Truth must
be objective, that is to say it must be the truth about some concrete
object. Perceptions cannot be true to themselves, they are true only in
relation to some definite object, and to some outside facts. The work of
understanding consists in the abstraction of the general hall-mark from
concrete objects. The concrete is the measure of the general, the
standard of truth. Whatever is, is true, no matter how much or how
little true it may be. Once we have found existence, its general nature
follows as truth itself. The difference between that which is more or
less general, between being and seeming, between truth and error, is
limited to definite conditions, for it presupposes the relation to some
special object. Whether a perception is true or false will, therefore,
depend not so much on perception as on the scope of the question which
perception tries to solve of its own accord or which it is called upon
to solve by external circumstances. A perfect understanding is possible
only within definite limits. A perfect truth is one which is always
aware of its imperfection. For instance, it is perfectly true that all
bodies have weight only because the concept of "body" has previously
been limited to things which have weight. After reason has assigned the
conception of "body in general" to things of various weights, it is no
longer a matter for surprise to find that bodies must inevitably have
weight. Once it is assumed that the term "bird" was abstracted
exclusively from flying animals, we may be sure that all birds fly,
whether they are in heaven, on earth, or in any other place. And to
explain this we do not require the belief in _a priori_ conceptions
which are supposed to differ from empirical conceptions by their strict
necessity and generality. Truths are valid only under certain
conditions, and under certain conditions errors may be true. It is a
true perception that the sun is shining, provided we understand that the
sky is not covered by clouds. And it is no less true that a straight
stick becomes crooked in flowing water, provided we understand that this
truth is an optical one. _Truth is that which is common or general to
our reasoning faculty within a given circle of sense perceptions. To
call within a definite circle of sense perceptions that which is
exceptional or special the rule or the general, is error._ Error, the
opposite of truth, arises when the faculty of thought, or consciousness,
inadvertently or shortsightedly and without previous experience concedes
to certain phenomena a more general scope than is supported by the
senses, for instance when it hastily attributes to what is in fact only
an optical existence, a supposed plastic existence also.

The judgment of error is a prejudice. Truth and error, understanding and
misunderstanding, knowing and not knowing, have their common habitation
in the faculty of thought which is the organ of science. Thought at
large is the general expression of experienced facts perceived by the
senses, and it includes errors as well. Error is distinguished from
truth in that the former assigns to any definite fact of which it is a
manifestation, a wider and more general existence than is supported by
sense perceptions and experience. Unwarranted assumption is the nature
of error. A glass bead does not become a counterfeit, until it pretends
to be a genuine pearl.

Schleiden says of the eye: "When the excited blood expands the veins and
presses on the nerves, we feel it in the fingers as pain, we see it in
the eyes as forked lightning. And thus we obtain the irrefutable proof
that our conceptions are free creations of the mind, that we do not
perceive the external world as it really is, but that its reflex actions
on us simply give rise to a peculiar brain activity, on our part. The
products of this activity are frequently connected with certain
processes of the external world, but frequently they are not. We close
our eyes and we see a circle of light, but there is in reality no
shining body. It is easy to see that this may be a great and dangerous
source of errors of all kinds. From the teasing forms of a misty
moonlight night to the threatening and insanity-producing visions of the
believer in ghosts we meet a series of illusions which are not derived
from any direct processes of external nature, but belong to the field of
the free activity of the mind which is subject to error. It requires
great judgment and wide education, before the mind learns to break away
from all its own errors and to control them. Reading in general seems so
easy, and yet it is a difficult art. It is only by degrees that the mind
learns to understand which of the messages of the nerves may be trusted
and used as a basis for conceptions. The light, if we consider it
entirely by itself, is not clear, not yellow, nor blue nor red. The
light is a movement of a very fine and everywhere diffused substance,
the ether."

The beautiful world of light and splendor, of color and form, is
supposed not to be a perception of something which really is. "Through
the thick covering of the grape arbor, a ray of sunlight undulates into
the cooling shadows. You think you see the ray of light itself, but what
you really see is nothing but a flock of dust particles." The truth
about light and color is said to be that they are "waves rushing through
ether in restless succession at the rate of 160,000 miles per second."
This true physical nature of light and color is supposed to be so
illusive, that "it required the sharp intellects of the greatest
thinkers to reveal to us this true nature of light. We find that every
one of our senses is susceptible only to definite external influences,
and that the stimulation of different senses produces different
conceptions in our mind. Thus the sense organs are the mediators between
the external soulless world (undulations of the ether), which is
revealed to us by science, and the beautiful world of sense perceptions
in which we find ourselves with our minds."

Schleiden thus gives an illustration of the fact that there is still a
great deal of embarrassment, even in our times, when the understanding
of these two worlds is under discussion, that there is still much
helpless groping to explain the connection between the world of thought,
of knowledge or science, which is in this case represented by
undulations of the ether, and between the world of our five senses,
represented by the bright and colored lights of the eyes or of reality.
At the same time this illustration shows how queer the traditional
survivals of speculative philosophy sound in the mouth of a modern
scientist. The confused condition of this mode of thought is seen in the
distinction between "an external sense-perceived world of science" and
another one, "in which we find ourselves with our minds." The
distinction between the senses and the mind, between theory and
practice, between the special and the general, between truth and error,
has been noticed by such thinkers, but they have no solution for it.
They know there is something missing, but they do not know where to look
for it, and therefore they are confused.

The great scientific achievement of the XIXth century consists in the
victory over speculation, over knowledge without sense perception, in
the delivery of the senses from the thraldom of such knowledge, and in
the foundation of empirical investigation. To acknowledge the
theoretical value of this achievement means to come to an understanding
about the source of error. Contrary to a philosophy that tries to
discover truth with the mind, and error with the senses, we seek for
truth with the senses and regard the mind as the source of errors. The
belief in certain messages of the nerves which are alone worthy of
confidence and which can be understood only by degrees without any
specific mark of distinction, is a superstition. Let us have confidence
in all testimonials of the senses. There is nothing false to be
separated from the genuine. The supernatural mind idea is the only
deceiver whenever it undertakes to disregard the sense perceptions, and,
instead of being the interpreter of the senses, tries to enlarge their
statements and repeat what has not been dictated. The eye, in seeing
forked lightning or radiant circles when the blood is excited or a
pressure exerted on it, perceives no more errors than it does in
perceiving any other manifestation of the external world. It is our
faculty of thought which makes a mistake, by regarding without further
inquiry such subjective events as objective bodies. One who sees ghosts
does not commit any mistake, until he claims that his personal
apparition is a general phenomenon, until he prematurely takes something
for an experience which he has not experienced. Error is an offense
against the law of truth which prescribes to our consciousness that it
must remember the limits within which a perception is true, or general.
Error makes out of something special a generality, out of a predicate a
subject, and takes the part for the whole. Error makes _a priori_
conclusions, while truth, its opposite, arrives at understanding by _a
posteriori_ reasoning.

_A priori_ and _a posteriori_ understanding are related in the same way
as philosophy and natural science, taking the latter in the widest
meaning of the term, that of science in general. The contrast between
believing and knowing is duplicated in that between philosophy and
natural science. Speculative philosophy, like religion, lives on faith.
The modern world has transformed faith into science. The reactionists in
politics who demand that science retrace its steps desire its return to
faith. The content of faith is acquired without exertion. Faith makes _a
priori_ perceptions, while science arrives at its knowledge by hard _a
posteriori_ study. To give up faith means to give up taking things easy.
And to confine science to _a posteriori_ knowledge means to decorate it
with the characteristic mark of modern times, work.

It is not a result of scientific study, but merely a freak of
philosophy on the part of Schleiden to deny the reality and truth of
light phenomena, to call them fantasmagoria created by the free play of
the mind. His superstitious belief in philosophical speculation misleads
him into abandoning the scientific method of induction and speaking of
"waves rushing through ether in restless succession at the rate of
160,000 miles per hour" as being the real and true nature of light and
color, in contradistinction to the color phenomena of light. The
perversion of this mode of procedure becomes evident by his referring to
the material world of the eyes as a "creation of the mind" and to the
undulations of the ether, revealed by the "sharp intellect of the
greatest thinkers" as "physical nature."

The truth of science maintains the same relation to the sense perception
that the general does to the special. Waves of light, the so-called
truth of light and color, represent the "true" nature of light only in
so far as they represent what is common to all light phenomena, whether
they are white, yellow, blue, or any other color. The world of the mind,
or of science finds its raw material, its premise, its proof, its
beginning, and its boundary in sense perception.

When we have learned that the nature, or the truth, of things is not
back of their phenomena, but can be perceived only by the help of
phenomena, and that it does not exist "in itself," but only in
connection with the faculty of understanding, that the nature is
separated from the phenomena only by thought; and when we see on the
other hand, that the faculty of understanding does not derive
conceptions out of itself, but only out of their relations with some
phenomenon; then this discussion of the "nature of things" is an
evidence that the nature of the faculty of thought is a conception which
we have obtained from its sense manifestations. To understand that the
faculty of thought, although universal in the choice of its objects, is
nevertheless limited in that it requires some object; to recognize that
the true thought process, that is to say the thought with a scientific
result, differs from unscientific thinking by consciously attaching
itself to some external object; to realize that truth, or universality,
is not perceived "in itself," but can be perceived only by means of some
given object; this frequently varied statement reveals the nature of the
faculty of thought. This statement re-appears at the end of every
chapter, because all special truths, all special chapters, serve only to
demonstrate the general chapter of universal truth.

FOOTNOTE:

[1] E. g., this all-embracing physics.--EDITOR.

IV

THE PRACTICE OF REASON IN PHYSICAL SCIENCE

Although we know that reason is attached to perceptible matter, to
physical objects, so that science can never be anything else but the
science of the physical, still we may, according to the prevailing ideas
and usage of language, separate physics from logic and ethics, and thus
distinguish them as different forms of science. The problem is then to
demonstrate that in physics as well as in logic, as also in ethics, the
general or intellectual perceptions can be practically obtained only on
the basis of concrete perceptible facts.

This practice of reason, to generate thought from matter, to arrive at
understanding by sense perceptions, to produce the general out of the
concrete, has been universally accepted in physical investigation, but
only in practice. The inductive method is employed, and one is aware of
this fact, but it is not understood that the nature of inductive science
is the nature of science in general, of reason. The process of thought
is misunderstood. Physical science lacks the theory of understanding and
for this reason often falls out of its practical step. The faculty of
thought is still an unknown, mysterious, mystical being for natural
science. Either it confounds the function with the organ, the mind with
the brain, as do the materialists, or it thinks with the idealists that
the faculty of thought is an imperceptible object outside of its field.
We see modern investigators marching toward their goal with firm and
uniform steps, so far as physical matters are concerned. But they
aimlessly grope around in the abstract relations of these things. The
inductive method has been practically adopted by natural science and its
successes have secured a great reputation for it. On the other hand, the
speculative method has become discredited by its failures. There is,
however, no conscious understanding of these various methods of thought.
We see the men of physical research, when they are outside of their
special field, offer lawyer-like speculations in lieu of scientific
facts. While they arrive at the special truths of their chosen fields by
sense perceptions, they still pretend to derive speculative truths out
of the depths of their own minds.

Listen to the following statements of Alexander von Humboldt, which he
makes in the initial argument of his "Cosmos" in regard to speculation:
"The most important result of physical research by sense perception is
this: that it finds the element of unity in a multitude of forms; that
it grasps all the individual manifestations offered by the discoveries
of recent times, carefully scrutinizes and distinguishes them; yet does
not succumb under their mass; that it fulfills the sublime mission of
the human being, of understanding the nature of things which is hidden
under the cover of phenomena. In this way our aim reaches beyond the
narrow limits of the senses, and we may succeed in grasping the nature
by controlling the raw material of empirical observation through ideas.
In my observations of the scientific treatment of general cosmic
phenomena, I am not deriving unity out of a few fundamental principles
found by speculative reason. My work is the expression of a thoughtful
observation of empirical phenomena seen as one and the same nature. I am
not going to venture into a field which is foreign to me. What I call
physical cosmology does not, therefore, aspire to the rank of a rational
science of nature.... True to the character of my former occupation and
writings, which were devoted to experiments, measurements, and
investigations of facts, I confine myself in this work to empirical
observations. It is the only ground on which I can move with a measure
of security." In the same breath Humboldt says that "without the earnest
desire for the knowledge of concrete facts any great and universal world
philosophy would be merely a castle in the air" and in another place
that "an understanding of the universe by speculative and introspective
reason would represent a still more sublime aim" than understanding by
empirical thought. And on page 68 of volume I. he says: "I am far from
finding fault with endeavors of others the success of which still
remains in doubt, when I have had no practical experience with them."

Now natural science shares with Humboldt the consciousness that the
practice of reason in physical research consists exclusively in
"perceiving the element of unity in a multitude of forms." But on the
other hand, though it does not always admit its belief in speculative
introspection as frankly as Humboldt does, it nevertheless proves that
it does not fully understand the practice of science and that it
believes in a metaphysical as well as a physical science by using the
speculative method in the treatment of so-called philosophical topics,
in which the element of unity is supposed to be discovered by
introspective reason instead of an analysis of multiform sense
perceptions, and it demonstrates its lack of unity by being unaware of
the unscientific character of disagreements, by believing in a
metaphysical science outside of the physical domain. The relations
between phenomenon and its nature, cause and effect, matter and force,
substance and spirit, are certainly physical ones. But what is there of
unity that science teaches about them? Plainly then, the work of
science, like that of the farmer, has so far been done only practically,
but not scientifically, not with a predetermination of success.
Understanding, that is to say the practice of understanding, is well
applied in science, I readily admit. But the instrument of this
understanding, the faculty of thought, is misunderstood. We find that
natural science, instead of applying this faculty scientifically, simply
experiments with it. What is the reason for this? Natural science has
neglected the critique of reason, the theory of science, logic.

Just as the handle and the blade of a knife constitute its general
content, so we found that the general content of reason was the
universal, the general "itself." We know that it does not produce this
content out of itself, but out of given objects, and these objects are
the sum of all natural or physical things. The object of reason is,
therefore, an infinite, unlimited, absolute quantity. This infinite
quantity manifests itself in finite quantities. In the treatment of
relatively small quantities of nature the true essence of reason, the
true method of understanding, is well recognized. It remains to be
demonstrated that the great relations of the world, the treatment of
which is still doubtful, are likewise intelligible by the same method.
Cause and effect, mind and matter, matter and force, are such great
world problems, and they are of a physical character. We shall
demonstrate that the most general distinction between reason and its
object furnishes the key to the solution of the great world problems.

+(a) Cause and Effect.+

"The nature of natural history," says F. W. Bessell, "lies in the fact
that it does not consider phenomena as facts in themselves, but looks
for their causes. The knowledge of nature is thus reduced to the minimum
number of facts." But the causes of the phenomena of nature had been
investigated even before the age of natural history. The characteristic
mark of natural history is not so much that it investigates causes, but
that the causes which it investigates have a peculiar nature and a
particular quality.

Inductive science has materially changed the conception of causes. It
has retained the term, but uses it in a different sense from that
employed by speculation. The naturalist conceives of causes differently
within his special field and outside of it; here, outside of his
specialty, he frequently indulges in introspective speculation, because
he understands science and its cause in a concrete, but not in a general
way. The unscientific forces are of a supernatural make-up, they are
transcendental spirits, gods, forces, little and big goblins. The
original conception of causes is an anthropomorphic one. In a state of
inexperience, man measures the objective by a subjective standard,
judges the world by himself. Just as he creates things with conscious
intent, so he attributes to nature his human manner, imagines the
existence of an external and creative cause of the phenomena of sense
perception, similar to himself who is the special cause of his own
creations. This subjective mood is to blame for the fact that the
struggle for objective understanding has so long been in vain. The
unscientifically conceived cause is a speculation of the _a priori_
kind.

If the term understanding is retained for subjective understanding, then
objective science differs from it in that such a science penetrates to
the causes of its objects not by faith or introspective speculation, but
by experience and induction, not _a priori_, but _a posteriori_. Natural
science looks for causes not outside or back of nature's phenomena, but
within or by means of them. Modern research seeks no external creator of
causes, but rather the immanent system, the method or general mode of
the various phenomena as they are given by succession in time. The
unscientifically conceived cause is a "thing in itself," a little god
who generates his effects independently and hides behind them. The
scientific conception of causes, on the other hand, looks only for the
theory of effects, the general element of phenomena. To investigate a
cause means then to generalize a variety of phenomena, to arrange the
multiplicity of experienced facts under one scientific rule. "The
knowledge of nature is thus reduced to the minimum number of facts."

The commonplace and inept knowledge differs from the most exalted,
rarest, and newly discovered science in the same way in which a petty
and childish superstition differs from the historical superstition of a
whole period. For this reason we may well choose our illustrations from
our daily circle, instead of looking for them in the so-called higher
regions of a remote science. Human common sense had long practiced the
investigation of causes by inductive and scientific methods, before
science realized that it would have to pursue its higher aims in the
same way. Common sense does arrive at the faith in a mysterious cause of
speculative reason, just like the naturalist, as soon as it leaves the
field of its immediate environment. In order to stand firmly on the
ground of real science, every one requires the understanding of the
manner in which inductive reason investigates its causes.

To this end let us glance briefly at the outcome of the study of the
nature of reason. We know that the faculty of understanding is not a
"thing in and by itself," because it becomes real only in contact with
some object. But whatever we know of any object, is known not alone
through the object, but also through the faculty of reason.
Consciousness, like all other being, is relative. Understanding is
contact with a variety of objects. To knowledge there is attached
distinction, subject and object, variety in unity. Thus things become
mutual causes and mutual effects. The entire world of phenomena, of
which thought is but a part, a form, is an absolute circle, in which the
beginning and end is everywhere and nowhere, in which everything is at
the same time essence and semblance, cause and effect, general and
concrete. Just as all nature is in the last instance one sole general
unity, in view of which all other unities become a multitude, so this
same nature, or objectivity, or world of sense perceptions, or whatever
else we may call the sum of all phenomena or effects, is the final cause
of all things, compared to which all other causes become effects. But we
must remember that this cause of all causes is only the sum of all
effects, not a transcendental or superior being. Every cause has its
effect, every effect causes something.

A cause cannot be physically separated from its effect any more than the
visible can be separated from the eye, the taste from the tongue, in
brief the general from the concrete. Nevertheless, the faculty of
thought may separate the one from the other. We must keep in mind that
this separation is a mere formality of thought, although it is a
formality which is necessary in order to be reasonable or conscious, in
order to act scientifically. The practice of understanding, or
scientific practice, derives the concrete from the general, the natural
things from nature. But whoever has been behind the scenes, and has
looked at the faculty of thought at work, knows that, conversely the
general is derived from the concrete, the concept of nature from natural
things. The theory of understanding or science teaches us that the
antecedent is understood by its consequent, the cause by its effect,
while our practical understanding regards the after as a consequence of
the before, the effect as a result of the cause. The faculty of
understanding, the organ of generalization, regards its opposite, the
concrete, as secondary, while the faculty of thought which understands
itself regards it as primary. However, the practice of understanding is
not to be changed by its theory, nor can it be; the theory intends
simply to render the steps of consciousness firm. The scientific farmer
differs from the practical farmer, not because he employs theory and
method, for both do that, but because he understands the theory, while
the practical man theorizes instinctively.

To continue: From a given multitude of facts, reason generates truth in
general, and out of a succession of forms and transformations it
abstracts the true cause, just as absolute multiplicity is the nature of
space, so absolute variability is the nature of time. Every particle of
time and space is new, original, and has never been there before. The
faculty of thought enables us to find our way through this absolute
medley by abstracting general concepts out of the multitude of things in
space, and tracing the variations of time to general causes. The entire
nature of reason consists in generalizing sense perceptions, in
abstracting the common elements out of concrete things. Whoever does not
fully understand reason by understanding that it is the organ of
generalization forgets that understanding requires an object which must
remain something outside of its conception, since such object cannot be
dissolved by its conception. The being of the reasoning faculty cannot
be understood any more than being in general. Or rather, being is
understood when we take it in its generality. Not being itself, but the
general element of being, is understood by the faculty of thought.

Let us realize, for instance, the process which takes place when reason
understands something it did not know before. Think of some peculiar,
unexpected and unknown chemical transformation which takes place
suddenly and without apparent cause in some mixture. Assume furthermore
that the same reaction takes place more frequently after that, until
experience demonstrates that this inexplicable change occurs whenever
sunlight touches the mixture. This already constitutes a certain
understanding of the process. Assume furthermore that subsequent
experience teaches us that several other substances have the faculty of
producing the same reaction in connection with sunlight. We have then
arranged the new reaction in line with a number of phenomena of the same
class, that is to say we have enlarged, deepened, completed our
understanding of it still more. And if we finally discover that a
special part of the sunlight unites with a special element of the
mixture and thereby produces this new reaction, we have generalized this
experience, or experienced this generalization, in a "pure" state, in
other words, the theory of this reaction is complete, reason has solved
its problem, and yet it has done nothing more than it did when it
classified the animal and vegetable kingdoms in families, genera,
species, etc. To find the species, the genus, the sex, etc., of anything
means to understand it.

Reason proceeds in the same way when it investigates the causes of
certain transformations. Causes are, in the last instance, not noticed
and furnished by means of sight, hearing, feeling, not by means of the
sense perceptions. They are rather supplied by the faculty of thought.
It is true, causes are not the "pure" products of the faculty of
thought, but are produced by it in connection with sense perceptions and
their material objects. This raw material gives the objective existence
to the causes produced by the mind. Just as we demand that a truth
should be the truth about some objective phenomenon, so we also demand
that a cause should be real, that it should be the cause of some
objective effect.

The understanding of any concrete cause is conditioned on the empirical
study of its material, while the understanding of any general cause is
based on the study of the faculty of reason. In the understanding of
concrete causes, the material of study varies, but reason maintains a
constant or general attitude. The cause, as a general cause, is a pure
conception, and it is based on the study of the multiformity of concrete
understandings of causes, or on the multiplied study of concrete causes.
Hence we are compelled to return to the concrete material of the general
concept, to the understanding of concrete causes, if we wish to analyze
the concept of a general cause.

When a stone falls into the water and causes ripples on the surface, the
stone is no more the cause of the ripples than the liquid condition of
the water. If the stone falls on solid substances, it causes no ripples.
It is the contact of the falling stone with liquid substances which
causes the ripples. The cause is itself an effect, and the effect, the
ripples, become a cause when they carry a piece of cork ashore. But in
either case the cause is based on a mutual effect, on the interaction of
the waves with the light condition of the cork.

A stone falling into the water is not a cause "in itself," not a cause
in general. We arrive at such a cause only, when the faculty of thought
uses concrete causes for its raw material and constructs out of them
the "pure" concept of the cause in general. A stone falling into the
water is only the cause of the subsequent ripples, and it becomes a
general cause only through the experience that ripples always follow the
falling of a stone into water.

We call cause that which generally precedes a certain manifestation, and
effect that which generally follows it. We refer to the stone as the
cause of ripples merely because we know that it always causes them when
falling into water. But since ripples sometimes appear without being
preceded by the fall of a stone, ripples have another general cause. So
far as there is anything general in ripples which precedes them, it is
the elasticity of the water itself which is the general cause of
ripples. Circular ripples, which are a special form of ripples, are
generally preceded by the falling of some body into the water, and this
body is then considered as their cause. The cause is always different in
proportion and to the extent of the phenomena under consideration.

We cannot ascertain causes by mere introspective reasoning, we cannot
derive them out of our head. Matter, materials, sense perceptions are
required for this purpose. A definite cause requires a definite
material, a definite amount of sense perceptions. In the abstract unity
of nature, the variations of matter are represented by the variations of
concrete quantities. Every quantity is given in time before and after a
certain other quantity, as antecedent and subsequent. The general
element of the antecedent is called cause, the general element of the
subsequent, effect.

When the wind sways a forest, the yielding character of the forest is as
much instrumental in producing this effect as the bending power of the
wind. The cause of a thing is its connection with other things. The fact
that the same wind leaves rocks and walls standing shows that the cause
is not qualitatively different from the effect, but that it is a matter
of aggregate effects. If nevertheless science or knowledge determines
any special fact to be the cause of any change, that is to say of any
succession of phenomena, this cause is no longer regarded as the
external creator, but merely as the general mode, the immanent method of
succession. A definite cause can be ascertained only when we have under
consideration a definite circle, series, or number of changes, the cause
of which is to be determined. And within a definite circle of succeeding
phenomena, that which generally precedes is their cause.

The wind which sways a forest differs from wind as a general cause only
in that the latter has other general effects, inasmuch as it howls in
one place, stirs up dust in another, or acts in many different ways. In
the special case of the forest, the wind is a cause only in so far as it
precedes the swaying of the trees. But in the case of rocks and walls,
the solidity precedes the wind and is therefore the general cause of
their resistance to the swaying power of the wind. In a still wider
circle of hurricane phenomena, a gentle wind may be regarded as a cause
of the stability of the objects last mentioned.

The _quantity_ or _number_ of given objects varies the name of their
cause. If a certain company of people return from a walk in a tired
condition, this change of condition is just as much due to the physical
weakness of the people as to the walk. In other words, a manifestation
has in itself no cause which can be separated from it. Everything which
was connected with a phenomenon has contributed toward its appearance.
In the case of the promenaders, the physical constitution of their
bodies has to be considered as well as the physical constitution and
length of the road and duration of the walk. If reason is nevertheless
called upon to determine the special cause of some concrete change, for
instance, of a tired feeling, it is simply a question of determining
which one of the various factors has contributed most to that feeling.
In this case as well as in all others, the work of reason consists in
developing the general from the concrete, that is to say in this case,
singling out from a given number of tired sensations that which
generally precedes the tired feeling. If most of the promenaders or all
of them are found to be tired, the walk will be considered as the cause.
But if only a few are tired, the weak constitution of these people will
be considered as the general cause of their tired condition.

To use another illustration: If the discharge of a shot frightens some
birds, this effect is due to the combined action of the shot and the
timidity of the birds. If the majority of the birds fly away, the shot
will be considered as the cause. But if the minority fly away, their
timidity will be regarded as the cause.

Effects are subsequences. Since all things in nature follow other things
and all things have an antecedent and a subsequent, we may call the
natural, the real, the sense perceptions absolute effects, having no
cause unless we find one with our faculty of thought by systematizing
the given material. Causes are mental generalizations of perceptible
changes. The supposed relation of cause and effect is a miracle, a
creation of something out of nothing. For this reason this relation has
been and still is an object of speculative reasoning. The speculative
cause creates its effects. But in reality the effects are the material
out of which the brain, or science, forms its causes. The cause concept
is a product of reason; not of "pure" reason, but of reason married to
the world of sense perceptions.

If Kant maintains that the statement: "Every change has its cause" is an
_a priori truth_ which we cannot experience because no one can possibly
experience all changes, although every one has the irrefutable feeling
of the correctness of this statement, we know now that this statement
expresses merely the experience that the phenomenon which we call reason
recognizes the uniform element in all multiformity. Or in other words,
we now know that the development of the general element out of the
concrete facts is called reason, thought, or mind. The secure knowledge
that every change has its cause is nothing else but the conviction that
we are thinking human beings. _Cogito, ergo sum._ I think, therefore I
am. We have experienced the nature of our reason instinctively even if
we have not analyzed it scientifically. We are as well aware of the
faculty of our reason to abstract a cause out of every given change, as
we are that every circle is round, that a is equal to a. We know that
the general is the product of reason, and reason produces this general
thing in contact with every given object. And since all objects before
and after a certain other object are temporal changes, it follows that
all changes which we as thinking beings experience must have a general
antecedent, a cause.

Already the English sceptic Hume felt that true causes are different
from assumed causes. According to him the concept of a cause contains
nothing but the experience of that which generally precedes a certain
phenomenon. Kant rightfully remarks on the other hand that the
conception of cause and effect expresses a far more intimate relation
than that indicated by a loose and accidental succession, and that the
concept of a cause rather comprises that of a certain effect as a
necessity and strict general result. Therefore he claimed that there
must be something _a priori_ in reason which cannot be experienced and
which extends beyond experience.

We reply to the materialists who deny all autonomy of the mind and hope
to detect causes by experience alone that the general necessity which
presupposes the relation of cause and effect represents an impossible
experience. And we reply to the idealists: Although reason explores
causes which cannot be experienced, this research cannot take place _a
priori_, but only _a posteriori_, only on the basis of empirically given
effects. It is true that the mind alone discovers the imperceptible and
abstract generality, but it does so only within the circle of certain
given sense perceptions.

+(b) Matter and Mind.+

The understanding of the general dependence of the faculty of thought on
material sense perceptions will restore to objective reality that right
which has long been denied to it by ideas and opinions. Nature with its
varied concrete phenomena which had been crowded out of human
considerations by philosophical and religious imaginings, and which has
been scientifically re-established again on special fields by the
development of natural sciences, gains general theoretical recognition
by the understanding of the functions of the brain. Hitherto natural
science has chosen for its object only special matters, special causes,
special forces, but has remained ignorant in general questions of
so-called natural philosophy regarding the cause of all things, of
matter, of force in general. The actual existence of this ignorance is
revealed by that great contradiction between idealism and materialism
which pervades all works of science like a red thread.

"May I succeed in this letter in strengthening the conviction that
chemistry as an independent science represents one of the most powerful
means for the higher cultivation of the mind, that its study is useful
not alone for the promotion of the material interests of mankind, but
because it permits a deeper penetration of the wonders of creation, with
which our existence, our welfare, and our development are intimately
connected."

In these words Liebig expresses the prevalent views which have
accustomed themselves to look upon material and spiritual differences as
absolute opposites. But the untenability of such a distinction is
vaguely felt even by the just quoted advocate of this view, who speaks
of material interests and of a mental penetration which is the condition
for our existence, welfare, and development. But what else does the term
material interests mean but the abstract expression of our existence,
welfare, and development? Are not these the concrete content of our
material interests? Does he not say explicitly that the penetration of
the wonders of creation promotes our material interests? And on the
other hand, does not the promotion of our material interests require a
penetration on our part of the wonders of creation? In what respect are
our material interests different from our mental penetration of things?

The superior, spiritual, ideal, which Liebig in conformity with the
views of the world of naturalists opposes to our material interests, is
only a special part of those interests. Mental penetration and material
interests differ no more than the circle differs from the square.
Circles and squares are contrasts, but at the same time they are but
different and special classes of form in general.

It has been the custom, especially since the advent of Christian times,
to speak contemptuously of material, perceptible, fleshly things which
are destroyed by rust and moths. And nowadays people continue on this
conservative track, although their antipathy against perceptible reality
has long disappeared from their minds and actions. The Christian
separation of mind and body has been practically abandoned in the age of
natural science. But the theoretical solution of the contradiction, the
demonstration that the spiritual is material and the material at the
same time spiritual, by which the material interests would be freed from
the stigma of inferiority, has not yet been forthcoming.

Modern science is natural science. Science is deemed worthy of its name
only in so far as it is natural science. In other words, only that
thought is scientific which consciously has real, perceptible, natural
things for its object. For this reason representatives and friends of
science can not be enemies of nature or of matter. Indeed they are not.
But the very existence of science shows that this nature, this world of
sense perceptions, this matter or substance, does alone and by itself
not satisfy us. Science, or thought, which has material practice or
being for its object, does not strive to reproduce nature in its
integrity, in its entire perceptible substance, for these are already
present. If science were to aim at nothing new, it would be superfluous.
It is entitled to special recognition only to the extent that it carries
a new element into matter. Science is not so much concerned in the
material of its study as in understanding. Of course it is the
understanding of this material which is desired, the understanding of
its general character, of the fixed pole in the succession of phenomena.
That which religion supernaturally separates from the material, which
science opposes to the material as something higher, diviner, more
spiritual, is in reality nothing but the faculty of rising above
multiformity, of proceeding from the concrete to the general.

The nobler spiritual interests are not absolutely different from the
material interests, they are not qualitatively different. The positive
side of modern idealism does not consist in belittling eating and
drinking, the pleasure in earthly possessions and in intercourse with
the other sex, but rather in pleading for the recognition of other
material enjoyments besides these, as for instance those of the eye, the
ear, of art and science, in short of the whole man. You shall not
indulge in the material revelries of passion, that is to say you shall
not direct your thought one-sidedly to any concrete lust, but rather
consider your entire development, take into account the total general
extension of your existence. The bare materialist principle is
inadequate in that it does not appreciate the difference between the
concrete and the general, because it makes the individual synonymous
with the general. It refuses to recognize the quantitative superiority
of the mind over the world of sense perceptions. Idealism, on the other
hand, forgets the qualitative unity in the quantitative difference. It
is transcendental and makes an absolute difference out of the relative
one. The contradiction between these two camps is due to the
misunderstood relation of our reason to its given object or material.
The idealist regards reason alone as the source of all understanding,
while the materialist looks upon the world of sense perceptions in the
same way. Nothing is required for a solution of this contradiction but
the comprehension of the relative interdependence of these two sources
of understanding. Idealism sees only the difference, materialism sees
only the uniformity of matter and mind, content and form, force and
substance, sense perception and moral interpretation. But all these
distinctions belong to the one common genus which constitutes the
distinction between the special and the general.

Consistent materialists act like purely practical men without any
science. But, since knowing and thinking are real attributes of man
regardless of his party affiliation, purely practical men do not exist
in reality. Even the merest attempt at practical experiment on the basis
of experienced facts differs only in degree from scientific practice
based on theoretical principles. On the other hand, consistent
idealists are just as impossible as purely practical men. They would
like to have the general without the special, the spirit without matter,
force without substance, science without experience or material, the
absolute without the relative. How can thinkers who search for truth,
being, relative causes, such as naturalists, be idealists? They are so
only outside of their specialties, never inside of them. The modern
mind, the mind of natural science, is immaterial only so far as it
embraces all matters. But men like the astronomer Madler find so little
of the ridiculous in the current expectation of the materially increased
spiritual power after our "emancipation from the bonds of matter," that
he has nothing better to substitute for it and flatters himself with
having defined the "bonds of matter" as material attraction. Truly, so
long as mind is still conceived in the form of a religious ghost, the
expectation of an increased mental power after the emancipation from the
bonds of matter is not so much an object for ridicule as for compassion.
But if we regard mind as the expression of modern science, we offer the
better scientific explanation for the traditional faith. By bonds of
matter we do not mean, in that case, the bond of gravitation, but the
multiplicity of sense perceptions. And matter holds the mind in bondage
only so long as the faculty of thought has not overcome the multiplicity
of things. The emancipation of the mind from the bonds of matter
consists in developing the general element out of the concrete
multiplicity.

+(c) Force and Matter.+

The reader who has closely followed our main idea, which will be
further illustrated, will anticipate that the question of matter and
force finds its solution in the understanding of the relation between
the general and the special. What is the relation of the concrete to the
abstract? This is the common problem of those who see the active impulse
of the world either in the spiritual force or in the material substance,
who think to find the nature of things, the _non plus ultra_ of science,
in either of these facts.

Liebig, who is especially fond of straying from his inductive science
into the field of speculative thought, says in an idealist sense: "Force
cannot be seen, we cannot grasp it with our hands; in order to
understand its nature and peculiarities, we must investigate its
effects." And if a materialist replies to him: "Matter is force, force
is matter, no matter without force, no force without matter," it is
plain that either has determined this relation only negatively. In
certain shows, the clown is asked by the manager: "Clown, where have you
been?" "With the others," answers the clown. "And where were the
others?"--"With me."

In this case we have two answers with the same content, in the other we
have two camps which quarrel with different words about an indisputable
fact. And this dispute is so much more ridiculous because it is taken so
seriously. If the idealist makes a distinction between matter and force,
he does not mean to deny that the real phenomenon of force is
inseparably linked with matter. And if the materialist claims that there
is no matter without force and no force without matter, he does not mean
to deny that matter and force are different, as his opponent claims.

The dispute exists for a good reason and has its object, but this
object is not revealed in the dispute. It is instinctively kept under
cover by both parties, so that they may not be in a position where they
would have to acknowledge their own ignorance. Each wants to prove to
the other that the other's explanations are inadequate, and both
demonstrate this sufficiently. Büchner admits in the closing statements
of his "Matter and Force" that the empirical material is insufficient to
permit of definite answers to transcendental questions, and that
therefore no positive answer can be given to them. And he furthermore
says that the empirical material "is fully sufficient to answer them
negatively and to do away with hypothesis." This is saying in so many
words that the science of the materialist is adequate for the proof that
his opponent knows nothing.

The spiritualist or idealist believes in a spiritual, which means in a
ghostlike and inexplicable, nature of force. The materialist thinkers,
on the other hand, are skeptical. A scientific proof of faith or of
skepticism does not exist. The materialist has only this advantage over
his idealist opponent, that he looks for the transcendental, the nature,
the cause, the force, not back of the phenomenon, not outside of matter.
But he remains behind the idealist when he ignores the difference
between matter and force. The materialist dwells on the actual
inseparability of matter and force and does not admit any other reason
for a distinction between the two than "an external reason derived from
the demand of our mind for systematization." Büchner says in "Nature and
Mind," page 66: "Force and matter, separated from one another, are for
me nothing but thoughts, fantasies, ideas without any substance,
hypotheses which do not exist for any healthy study of nature, because
all phenomena of nature are rendered obscure and unintelligible by such
a separation." But if Büchner deals with any special department of
natural science in a productive way, instead of handling phrases of
natural philosophy, his own practice will show him that the separation
of forces from matter is not an "external," but an internal, an imminent
necessity, by which alone we are enabled to elucidate and understand the
phenomena of nature. Although the author of "Force and Matter" chose for
his motto: "Now, what I want is--facts," we assure the reader that this
device is more a thoughtless word than a serious opinion. Materialism is
not so coarse-grained that it wants purely facts. Those facts which
Büchner is looking for are by themselves not specifics for his desires.
The idealist likewise wants such facts. No student of nature wants mere
hypotheses. What all cultivators of the field of science want is not so
much facts as explanations or an understanding of facts. Even the
materialist will not deny that science, the "natural philosophy" of
Büchner not excepted, is more concerned with mental forces than with
bodily matter, that it cares more for force than for matter. The
separation of force and matter is derived from "the demand of our mind
for systematization." Very true! But so does all science emanate from
the demand of our reason for systematization.

The contradistinction between force and matter is as old as that between
idealism and materialism. The first conciliation between the two was
attempted by imagination which, through the belief in spirits,
suggested a secret nature as the cause of all natural phenomena. Science
has of late expelled many of these special spirits by replacing the
fantastic demons with scientific, or general, explanations. And after we
have succeeded in explaining the demon of "pure" reason, it is not
difficult to expel the special spirit of force by the general
explanation of its nature and thus to reconcile scientifically the
contradiction between spiritualism and materialism.

In the universe which constitutes the object of science and of the
faculty of reason, both force and matter are unseparated. In the world
of sense perceptions force is matter and matter is force. "Force cannot
be seen." Oh, yes! Seeing itself is pure force. Seeing is as much an
effect of its object as an effect of the eye, and this double effect and
other effects are forces. We do not see the things themselves, but their
effects on our eyes. We see their forces. And force cannot alone be
seen, it can also be heard, smelled, tasted, felt. Who will deny that he
can feel the force of heat, of cold, of gravitation? We have already
quoted the words of Professor Koppe to the effect that we "cannot
perceive heat itself, we merely conclude from its effects that this
force exists in nature." This is saying in other words that we do not
see, hear, or feel the things themselves, but their effects or forces.

It is just as true to say that we feel matter and not its force as it is
to say that we feel force and not matter. Indeed, both are inseparable
from the object, as we have already remarked. But by means of the
faculty of thought we separate from the simultaneously and successively
occurring phenomena the general and the concrete. For instance, we
abstract the general concept of sight from the various phenomena of our
sight and distinguish it by the name of power of vision from the
concrete objects, or substances, of our eyes. From a multitude of sense
perceptions we develop by means of reason the general element. The
general element of different water phenomena, for instance, is the water
power distinguished from the substance of the water. If levers of
different materials but of the same length have the same power, it is
plain that in this case force is different from matter only in so far as
it represents the general element of various substances. A horse does
not pull without force, and this force does not pull without the horse.
Indeed, in practice the horse is force and force is the horse. But
nevertheless we may distinguish the power of pulling from other
qualities of the horse, or we may refer to the common element in
different services of horses as general horse power, without thereby
starting from any other hypothesis than we do in distinguishing the sun
from the earth. For in reality the sun does not exist without the earth,
nor the earth without the sun.

The world of sense perceptions is made known to us only by our
consciousness, but consciousness is conditioned on the world of sense
perceptions. Nature is infinitely united or infinitely separated,
according to whether we regard it from the standpoint of consciousness
as an unconditional unit or from the standpoint of sense perceptions as
an unconditional multiplicity. There is truth in both unity and
multiplicity, but it is truth only relatively speaking, under certain
conditions. It matters a great deal whether we look about with the eyes
of the body or with the eyes of the mind. For the eyes of the mind,
matter is force. For the eyes of the body, force is matter. The abstract
matter is force, the concrete force is matter. Matter is represented by
the objects of the hand, of practice, while force is an object of
understanding, of science.

Science is not limited to the so-called scientific world. It reaches
beyond all classes, it belongs to the full depth and width of life.
Science belongs to thinking humanity in its entirety. And so it is with
the separation of matter and force. Only a stultified fanaticism can
ignore the practical distinction. The miser who accumulates money
without adding any wealth to his life process forgets that the valuable
element of money resides in its force, which is different from, its
substance. He forgets that not mere wealth as such, not the paltry gold
substance, lends a reasonableness to the quest for its possession, but
its spiritual content, its inherent exchange value, which buys the
necessities of life. Every scientific practice, which means every action
carried on with a predetermined success and with understood substances,
proves that the separation of matter and force, though only performed in
thought and existing in thought, is nevertheless not an empty phrase,
not a mere hypothesis, but a very fertile idea. A farmer manuring his
field is handling "pure" manuring force, in so far as it is immaterial
for the abstract conception whether he is handling cow dung, bone dust,
or guano. And in weighing bundles of merchandise, it is not the iron,
copper, stone, etc., which is handled by the pound, but their gravity.

True, there is no force without matter, no matter without force.
Forceless matter and matterless force are nonentities. If idealist
naturalists believe in an immaterial existence of forces which, so to
say, carry on their goblin-pranks in matter, forces which we cannot see,
cannot perceive by the senses and yet are asked to believe in, then we
say that such men are to that extent that naturists, but mere
speculators, in other words spiritualists. And the word of the
materialists who refer to the intellectual separation of matter and
force as a mere hypothesis, is quite as brainless.

In order that this separation may be appreciated according to its
merits, in order that our consciousness may neither etherealize force in
a spiritualist sense nor deny it in a materialist sense, and in order to
comprehend it scientifically, we have only to understand the faculty of
thought in general or "in itself," that is to say its abstract form. The
intellect can not operate without some perceptible material. In order to
distinguish between matter and force, these things must exist and be
experienced by sense perception. By means of this experience we refer to
matter as the expression of force and to force as the expression of
matter. The perceptible object which is to be studied is therefore
matter and force in one, and since all objects are in their tangible
reality such matter and force-things, the distinction made by the mind
consists in the general method of brain work, in the derivation of the
general unity, from the special multiplicity in any one and in all given
objects. The distinction between matter and force is summarized in the
universal distinction between the concrete and the abstract. To deny the
value of this distinction is equivalent to denying the value of any and
all distinction, equivalent to ignoring the function of the intellect
altogether.

If we refer to phenomena of sense perception as forces of matter in
general, then this generalized matter is nothing but an abstract
conception. But if we mean by the term sense perception the various
concrete substances, then the general element which embraces the
differences of things and pervades and controls them is force producing
concrete effects. And whether we say matter or force, the mental which
science is studying, not with its hands, but with its brain, the
so-called essence, nature, cause, ideal, superior or spiritual, is the
generality comprising the special things.

V

"PRACTICAL REASON" OR MORALITY

+(a) The Wise and Reasonable.+

The understanding of the method of science, the understanding of the
mind, is destined to solve all the problems of religion and philosophy,
to explain thoroughly all the great and small riddles, and thus fully to
restore research to its mission of empirically studying details. If we
are aware that it is a law of reason to require some perceptible
material, some cause, for its operation, then the question regarding the
first or general cause becomes superfluous. Human understanding is then
seen to be first and last cause of all concrete causes. If we understand
that it is a law of reason to require for its operation some given
object, some beginning at which to start, then the question of the first
beginning must necessarily become inane. If we understand that reason
derives abstract units out of concrete multiplicities, that it
constructs truth out of phenomena, substance out of attributes, that it
perceives all things as parts of a whole, as individuals of some genus,
as qualities of some object, then the question regarding a "thing
itself," a something which in reality is back of all things, must needs
become irrelevant. In brief, the understanding of the interdependence of
reason reveals the unreasonableness of the demand for independent
reason.

Now, although the main object of metaphysics, the cause of all causes,
the beginning of all beginnings, the nature of things, causes little
inconvenience to modern science, and even though the needs of the
present have overcome the leaning for speculation, this practical
downfall of speculation does not suffice for the solution of its
problems. So long as the theoretical law is not understood, according to
which reason requires some concrete object for its operation, there is
no hope of abandoning objectless thought, this malpractice of
speculative philosophy, which pretends to generate knowledge without
intercourse with objective reality. Our naturalists demonstrate this
very clearly as soon as they turn from their tangible specialties to
abstract things. The dispute over questions of life's wisdom, of
morality, or the quarrel over the wise, good, right, or bad, reveals
that here is the boundary of scientific agreement. The scientific
explorers of the exact sciences abandon every day their inductive method
when dealing with social problems, and stray off into the regions of
speculative philosophy. Just as in physics they believe in imperceptible
physical truths, in "things themselves," so in social matters they
believe in the reasonable, wise, right, or bad, in the sense of "things
themselves," of absolute phases of life, of unconditional conditions. It
is here where the outcome of our studies, of the critique of pure
reason, must be applied.

In recognizing that consciousness, the nature of understanding, the
mental activity in its general form, consists in developing general
concepts out of concrete objects, we circumscribe this insight by
stating that reason develops its understanding out of contradictions.
It is the nature of the mind to perceive, in given phenomena of
different dimensions and different duration, the nature of things by
their semblance, and their semblance by their nature; to distinguish in
wants of various degrees the most essential and necessary from the less
pressing; to measure within a certain circle of magnitudes the large by
the small and the small by the large, or in other words to compare the
contrasts of the world with one another, to harmonize them by
explanation. Common parlance instinctively calls understanding judging;
judging requires a certain standard. Just as surely as we cannot
perceive any objects which are "in themselves" great or small, hard or
soft, clear or dark, just as surely as these terms denote certain
relations and require a certain standard by which their relations can be
determined, even so does reason require a certain standard for the
determination of that which is reasonable.

The fact that we consider certain actions, institutions, conceptions,
maxims of other periods, nations, or persons unreasonable is simply due
to the application of a different standard, because we ignore the
premises, the conditions, which cause another's reason to differ from
our own. Men who differ in their mental estimates, in their
understanding of things, may be likened to the thermometers of Reaumur
and Celsius, one of which designates the boiling point by 80 and the
other by 100. A different standard is the cause of this different
result. On the so-called moral field there is no scientific agreement,
such as we enjoy in some physical matters, because we lack the uniform
standard which natural science has long since found. It is still
attempted to perceive the reasonable, good, right, etc., without
empirical data, by speculative reasoning without experience. Speculation
seeks the cause of all causes, the immeasurable cause; truth "itself,"
the unconditional and standardless truth; the unlimited good, the
unboundedly reasonable, etc. The absence of a standard is the essence of
speculation, and its practice is characterized by unlimited
inconsistency and disagreement. If there are followers of certain
positive religions who agree in the matter of morals, they owe this to
the positive standard which certain dogmas, doctrines and commandments
have given them. But if any one tries to perceive things by "pure"
reason, the dependence of this reason on some standard will be
demonstrated by its "impure," that is to say individual, perceptions.

Sense perception is the standard of truth, or of science in general. The
phenomena of the outside world are the standard of physical truths, and
man with his many wants is the standard of moral truth. The actions of
man are determined by his wants. Thirst teaches him to drink, need to
pray. Wants are regulated in the South by southern conditions, in the
North by northern conditions. Wants rule time and space, nations and
individuals. They induce the savage to hunt and the gourmand to indulge.
Human wants give to reason a standard for judging what is good, right,
bad, reasonable, etc. Whatever satisfies our need is good, the opposite
is bad. The physical feeling of man is the object of moral standards,
the object of "practical reason." The contradictory variety of human
needs is the basis for the contradictory variety of moral standards.
Because a member of a feudal guild prospered in a restricted
competition, and a modern knight of industry in free competition,
because their interests differ, therefore their views differ, and the
one justly considers an institution as unreasonable which the other
regards as reasonable. If the intellect of some person attempts to
define by mere introspection the standard of reasonableness as a general
thing, this person makes himself or herself the standard of humanity. If
reason is credited with the faculty of finding within itself the source
of moral truth, it commits the speculative mistake of attempting to
produce understanding without perceptible objects. The same mistake is
to blame for the idea that man is subordinate to the authority of
reason, for the demand that man submit to the dictates of reason. This
idea transforms man into an attribute of reason, while in reality reason
is an attribute of man.

The question whether man depends on reason or reason on man is similar
to the one whether the citizen exists for the state or the state for the
citizen. In the last and highest instance, the citizen is the primary
fact and the state is modified according to the requirements of the
citizen. But whenever the dominant interests of the citizenship have
acquired the authority in the state, then the citizen is indeed
dependent on the state. This is saying in so many words that man is
guided in minor matters by more important ones. He sacrifices the less
important, minor, particular things to the great, essential, general
things. He subordinates his desire for more individual indulgence to his
fundamental social needs. It is not pure reason, but the reason of a
weak body or of a limited purse which teaches man to renounce the
pleasures of dissipation for the benefit of the general welfare. The
wants of the senses are the material out of which reason fashions moral
truths. To single out the essential need among different physical needs
of various degrees of intensity or extension, to separate the true from
the individual, to develop general concepts, that is the mission of
reason. The difference between the apparently and the truly reasonable
reduces itself to the difference between the special and the general.

We recall that reason requires sense perceptions for its existence and
operation, that it needs some object which it can perceive. Existence is
the condition or premise of all understanding. Just as the understanding
of true existence is the function of natural science, so the
understanding of reasonable existence is the function of wisdom. Reason
in general has the mission of understanding things as they are. As
physical science it has to understand what is true, as wisdom, what is
reasonable. And just as true may be translated by general, so reasonable
may be translated by generally appropriate to need. We saw a while ago
that a sense perception is not true "in itself," but only relatively
true, that it is called true or general only in relation to other
perceptions of lesser importance. In the same way, no human action can
be reasonable or appropriate "in itself," it can be reasonable only in
comparison with some other action which attempts to accomplish the same
purpose in a less practicable, that is an impracticable, form. Just as
the true, the general, is conditioned on the relation to some other
object, on a definite quantity of phenomena, on definite limits, so the
reasonable or practicable is based on definite conditions which make it
reasonable or unreasonable. The end in view is the measure of the
practicable. The practicable can be determined only by some definite
object that is wanted. Once this object is known, then that action is
called reasonable which accomplishes it in the fullest, most general
way, and all other actions appear unreasonable compared to it.

In view of the law which we evolved by our analysis of pure reason and
which showed that all understanding, all thought, is based on some
perceptible object, on some quantity of sense perceptions, it is evident
that everything distinguished by our faculty of distinction is a certain
quantity and that, therefore, all distinctions are only quantitative,
not absolute, only graduated, not irreconcilable. Even the difference
between the reasonable and the unreasonable, or in other words between
that which is momentarily or individually reasonable and that which is
generally reasonable, is merely a quantitative distinction, like all
others, so that the unreasonable may be conditionally reasonable, and
nothing is unreasonable but that which is supposed to be unconditionally
reasonable.

If we understand that reason requires some perceptible object, some
perceptible standard, then we shall no longer try to understand the
absolutely reasonable, the purely reasonable. We shall then limit
ourselves to look for the reasonable, as for all other things, in
concrete objects. The definite, accurate, certain, uniform result of
some understanding depends on the definite formulation of the task, on
the accurate limitation of the perceptible quantity which is to be
understood. If a certain moment, a certain person, a certain class, a
certain nation are given and at the same time an essential need, a
general and predominating purpose, then the question regarding the
reasonable or suitable is easily answered. It is true that we may also
know something of things which are generally reasonable for mankind in
the aggregate, but in that case our standard must be abstract mankind
instead of some concrete part of it. Science may study the anatomical
structure of some concrete body as well as the general type of the human
body, but this again it can do only when it supplies the faculty of
understanding with general instead of individual material. If science
divides the whole human race into four or five races, by establishing a
certain standard of physiognomy, and later on discovers some individuals
or tribes whose characters are so peculiar and rare that they cannot be
classed under any of the established races, the existence of such
exceptions is not a crime against the physical order of the world, but
merely a proof of the inadequacy of our scientific classification. If,
on the other hand, some conventional mode of thought considers a certain
action as universally reasonable or unreasonable and then encounters
opposition in actual life, convention fancies itself exempt from the
work of understanding and assumes to deny civic rights in the moral
order of the world to its opponents. Instead of realizing the limited
applicability of its rules by the existence of opposing practices,
convention seeks to establish an absolute applicability of its rules by
simply ignoring the cause of the opposition. This is a dogmatic
procedure, a negative practice, which ignores facts on the pretense
that they are irrational, but it is not a positive understanding, not an
intelligent knowledge, such as manifests itself by the conciliation of
contradictions.

If our study aims to ascertain what is universally human and reasonable,
and if these predicates are given only to actions which are reasonable
and practicable for all men, at all times, and under all conditions,
then such concepts are absolute, indeterminate, and to that extent
meaningless, indefinite generalities. We are stating such universal and
indeterminate, and therefore unimportant and unpractical concepts, when
we say that physically the whole is greater than a part, or that morally
the good is preferable to the bad. The object of reason is that which is
general, but it is the generality of some concrete object. The practice
of reason deals with individual and concrete objects, with the things
which are the opposite of the general, with special and concrete
knowledge. In order to perceive in physics whether we are dealing with a
part or with the whole object, we must handle definite and concrete
objects or phenomena. If we desire to ascertain what is morally
preferable as good or bad, we must start out with a definite quantity of
human needs. Abstract and general reason, with its socalled eternal and
absolute truths, is a phantasmagoria of ignorance which binds the rights
of the individual with crushing chains. Real and true reason is
individual, it cannot produce any other but individual perceptions, and
these perceptions cannot be generalized to any greater extent than the
general material with which they operate. Only that is universally
reasonable which is acknowledged to be so by all reasons. If the reason
of some time, class, or person is referred to as rational, and if some
other time, class or person considers it irrational; if, for instance,
the Russian noble considers serfdom a rational institution and the
English bourgeois the so-called liberty of his wage worker, both of
these institutions are not absolutely rational, but only relatively,
only in a more or less limited circle.

It is not necessary to state that I do not mean to question the great
importance of our reason by the foregoing remarks. Even though reason
cannot independently, or absolutely, discern the objects of the
speculative introspection, such as the objects of the moral world, the
true, the beautiful, the right, the bad, the reasonable, etc., it
nevertheless is well fitted to distinguish relatively, by means of
concrete sense perceptions, between general and concrete things, between
the object and its manifestation, between fundamental needs and fanciful
appetites. Although we may dispense with the belief in absolute reason
and consequently realize that there can be no absolute peace, still we
may call war an unmitigated evil when comparing it with the peaceful
interests of our time or of our class. Not until we abandon our
fruitless exploring trip after absolute truth, shall we learn to find
that which is true in space and time. It is precisely the consciousness
of the relative applicability of our knowledge which is the strongest
lever of progress. The believers in absolute truth have adopted the
monotonous diagram of "good" men and "rational" institutions as a basis
for their views of life. For this reason they oppose all human and
historical institutions which do not fit into their pattern, but which
reality nevertheless produces without regard to their brains. Absolute
truth is the arch foundation of intolerance. On the other hand tolerance
proceeds from the consciousness of the relative applicability of
"eternal truths." The understanding of pure reason leads to the
realization that the consciousness of the universal interdependence of
reason is the true road toward practical reason.

+(b) Morality and Right.+

The nature of our task limits us to the demonstration that pure reason
is a nonentity, that reason is the sum of all acts of individual
understanding, that it deals only seemingly with pure and general, but
in reality with practical, or concrete, perceptions. We have been
discussing that philosophy which pretends to be the science of pure or
absolute understanding. We found its aim to be idle, inasmuch as the
development of speculative philosophy represents a succession of
disappointments, because its unconditional or absolute systems proved to
be limited in space and time. Our presentation of the matter has
revealed the relative character of so-called eternal truths. We
perceived that reason was dependent on sense perceptions, we found that
any truth required definite limits for its determination. As regards
more especially life's wisdom, we saw that the acquired knowledge of
"pure" reason manifested itself in practice by the dependence of the
wise or the rational upon concrete sense perceptions. If we now apply
this theory to morality as such, we must be able to establish harmony
also in this field, where there is some doubt as to what is right and
wrong, by means of the scientific method.

Pagan morality is different from Christian morality. Feudal morality
differs from modern bourgeois morality as does bravery from solvency. In
brief, we need no detailed illustration to show that different times and
nations have different moralities. We have but to understand that this
change is necessary, a special characteristic of the human race and of
its historical development, and we shall then exchange the belief in
"eternal truths," which every ruling class claims to be identical with
its own selfish laws, for the scientific knowledge that absolute right
is purely a concept which we derive by means of the faculty of thought
from the various successive rights. Right as an absolute concept means
no more and no less than any other general concept, for instance, the
head in general. Every real head is a concrete one and belongs either to
man or to some other animal, it is either long or broad, narrow or wide,
in other words it has special peculiarities. But at the same time, every
concrete head has certain general qualities which are universal in all
heads, for instance the quality of being the superintendent of the body.
Moreover, every head has as many general as individual traits, it is no
more personal than it is common. The faculty of thought abstracts the
general traits from the actual concrete heads and in this way creates
the concept of the absolute head. Just as the absolute head, or _the_
head, is composed of the general qualities of all heads, so the absolute
right stands merely for the general characters of all rights. Both of
these concepts exist merely as ideas, not as objects.

Every real right is a concrete right, it is right only under certain
conditions, at definite periods, for this or that nation. "Thou shalt
not kill," is right in peace, but wrong in war; it is right for the
majority of bourgeois society that wishes to see the outbursts of
passion controlled in the interest of its own predominant needs, but
wrong for the savage who has not arrived at the period where a peaceful
and social life is appreciated, and who therefore would consider the
above commandment as an immoral restriction of his liberty. For the love
of life, murder is a detestable abomination, for revenge it is a sweet
satisfaction. In the same way robbery seems right to the robber, wrong
to the robbed. There can be no question of any absolute wrong in such
cases, only of wrong in a relative sense. An action is wrong in a
general sense only in so far as it is generally disliked. Plain robbery
is wrong in the opinion of the great majority today because our
generation takes more interest in bourgeois affairs of commerce and
industry than in the adventures of the knights of the road.

If there were such a thing as an absolutely right law, dogma, or action,
it would have to serve the welfare of all mankind under all conditions
and at all times. But human welfare is as different as men,
circumstances, and time. What is good for me is bad for another, and the
thing which may be beneficial as a rule may be injurious as an
exception. What promotes some interests in one period may interfere with
them in another. A law which would presume to be absolutely right would
have to be right for every one and at all times. No absolute morality,
no duty, no categorical imperative, no idea of _the_ good, can teach
man what is good, bad, right, or wrong. That is good which corresponds
to our needs, that is bad which is contrary to them. But is there
anything which is absolutely good? Everything and nothing. It is not the
straight timber which is good, nor the crooked. Neither is good, or
either is good, according to whether I need it or not. And since we need
all things, we can see some good in all of them. We are not limited to
any one thing. We are unlimited, universal, and need everything. Our
interests are therefore innumerable, inexpressibly great, and therefore
every law is inadequate, because it always considers only some special
welfare, some special interest. And for this reason no right is right,
or all of them are right, and it is as right to say "Thou shalt not
kill" as it is to say "Thou shalt kill."

The difference between good needs and bad needs, right wants and wrong
wants, like that between truth and error, reasonable and unreasonable,
finds its conciliation in the difference between the concrete and the
general. Reason cannot discover within itself any positive rights or
absolutely moral codes any more than any other speculative truth. It
cannot estimate how essential or unessential a thing is, or classify the
quantity of concrete and general characters, until it has some
perceptible material to work upon. The understanding of the right, or of
the moral, like all understanding, strives to single out the general
characteristics of its object. But the general is only possible within
certain defined limits, it exists only as the general qualities of some
concrete and determined perceptible object. And if any one tries to
represent some maxim, some law, some right in the light of an absolute
maxim, law or right, he forgets this necessary limitation. Absolute
right is merely a meaningless concept, and it does not assume even a
vague meaning until it is understood to stand for the right of mankind
in general. But morality, or the determination of that which is right,
has a practical purpose. Yet, if we accept the general and unconditional
right of mankind as a moral right, we necessarily miss our practical
aim. An act or a line of action which is universally or everywhere right
requires no law for its enforcement, for it will recommend itself. It is
only the determined and limited law, adapted to certain persons,
classes, nations, times, or circumstances, which has any practical
value, and it is so much more practical the more defined, exact, precise
and the less general it is.

The most universal and most widely recognized right or need is in its
quality no more rightful, better, or valuable than the most
insignificant right of the moment, than the momentary need of some
individual. Although we know that the sun is hundreds of thousands of
miles in diameter, we are nevertheless free to see it no larger than a
plate. And though we may acknowledge that some moral law is
theoretically or universally good or holy, we are free in practice to
reject it momentarily, in parts, or individually, as bad and useless.
Even the most sacred right of the most universal extent is valid only
within certain definite limits, and within particular limits an
otherwise very great wrong may be a valid right. It is true that there
is an eternal difference between assumed and true interests, between
passion and reason, between essential, predominating, general,
well-founded needs and inclinations, and accidental, subordinate,
special appetites. But this difference is not one of two separated
worlds, a world of the good and a world of the bad. It is not a
positive, general, continuous, absolute difference, but merely a
relative one. Like the difference between beautiful and homely, it
depends on the individuality of the person who distinguishes. That which
is a true and fundamental need in one case, is a secondary, subordinate,
and wrong desire in another.

_Morality is the aggregate of the most contradictory ethical laws which
serve the common purpose of regulating the conduct of man toward himself
and others in such a way that the future is considered as well as the
present, the one as well as the other, the individual as well as the
genus. The individual man finds himself lacking, inadequate, limited in
many ways. He requires for his complement other people, society, and
must therefore live and let live. The mutual concessions which arise out
of these relative needs are called morality._

The inadequacy of the single individual, the need of association, is the
basis and cause of man's consideration for his neighbor, of morality.
Now since the one who feels this need, man, is necessarily an
individual, it follows that his need must likewise be individual and
more or less intensive. And since my neighbors are necessarily different
from me, it requires different considerations to meet their needs.
Concrete man needs a concrete morality. Just as abstract and meaningless
as the concept of mankind in general is that of absolute morality, and
the ethical laws derived from this vague idea are quite as unpractical
and unsuccessful. Man is a living personality, whose welfare and
purpose is embodied within himself, who has between himself and the
world nothing but his needs as a mediator, who owes no allegiance to any
law whatever from the moment that it contravenes his needs. The moral
duty of an individual never exceeds his interests. The only thing which
exceeds those interests is the _material power_ of the generality over
the individuality.

If we regard it as the function of reason to ascertain that which is
morally right, a uniform scientific result may be produced if we agree
at the outset on the persons, conditions, or limits within which the
universal moral right is to be determined; in other words, we may
accomplish something practical if we drop the idea of absolute right and
search for definite rights applicable to well-defined purposes by
clearly stating our problem. The contradiction in the various standards
of morality, and the many opposing solutions of this contradiction, are
due to a misunderstanding of the problem. To look for right without a
given quantity of sense perceptions, without some definite working
material, is an act of speculative reason which pretends to explore
nature without the use of senses. The attempt to arrive at a positive
determination of morality by pure perception and pure reason is a
manifestation of the philosophical faith in understanding _a priori_.

"It is true," said Macaulay in his History of England, in speaking of
the rebellion against the lawless and cruel government of James II.,
"that to trace the exact boundary between rightful and wrongful
resistance is impossible: but this impossibility arises from the nature
of right and wrong, and is found in every part of ethical science. A
good action is not distinguished from a bad action by marks so plain as
those which distinguish a hexagon from a square. There is a frontier
where virtue and vice fade into each other. Who has ever been able to
define the exact boundary between courage and rashness, between prudence
and cowardice, between frugality and avarice, between liberality and
prodigality? Who has ever been able to say how far mercy to offenders
ought to be carried, and where it ceases to deserve the name of mercy
and becomes a pernicious weakness?"

It is not the impossibility of accurately determining this limit to
which the nature of the difference between right and wrong, in the sense
of Macaulay, is due. It is rather due to the vague thought which
believes in an unlimited right, in absolute virtues and faults, which
has not risen to the understanding that the terms good, brave, right,
and bad are valid always and everywhere only in relation to some
concrete individual who reasons, and that they have no validity in
themselves. Courage is foolhardiness in the eyes of the cautious, and
caution is cowardice in the opinion of the daring. The revolt against
existing governments is always right in the eyes of the rebels, always
wrong in the opinion of the attacked. No action can be absolutely right
or wrong.

The same qualities of man are good or bad, according to his needs and
their uses, according to time and place. Here trickery, slyness, and bad
faith prevail, there loyally, frankness and straightforwardness. Here
compassion and charity serve their purpose and promote welfare, there
ruthless and bloody severity. The quantity, the more or less beneficial
effect of a human quality, determines the difference between virtue and
vice.

Reason can distinguish between right and wrong, virtue and vice, only to
the extent that it can measure the relative quantity of right in any
faculty, rule, or action. No categorical imperative, no ethical code,
can serve as a basis for the real practical right. On the contrary,
ethics finds its justification in the actual righteousness of
perceptible objects. For general reason, frankness is not a better
quality than slyness. Frankness is preferable to slyness only inasmuch
as it is quantitatively, that is to say, more frequently, better, and
more generally appreciated than slyness. It follows that a science of
right can serve as a guide in practice only to the extent that practice
has served as a basis for science. Reason cannot determine the action of
man beforehand, because it can only experience, but not anticipate
reality, because every man, every situation, is new, original, exists
for the first time, and because the possibilities of reason are confined
to understanding _a posteriori_.

Absolute right, or right in itself, is an imagined right, is a
speculative desire. A scientifically universal right requires certain
definite and perceptible premises which form the basis of the
determination of the general. Science is not a dogmatic infallibility
which may say: This or that is right, because it is so understood.
Science requires for its perceptions some external object. It can
perceive right only if it rightly exists. The universal existence is the
material, premise, condition, and cause of science.

From the foregoing follows the postulate that morality must be studied
inductively or scientifically, not speculatively by the method of
traditional philosophy. We must not attempt to study absolute, but only
relative rights, only rights based on certain premises, and only this
can be the moral problem of reason. Thus the belief in a moral order of
the world is dissolved in the consciousness of human freedom. The
understanding of reason, of knowledge, of science, includes the
understanding of the limited validity of all ethical maxims.

Whatever impressed man as salutary, valuable, divine, was exhibited by
him in the tabernacle of faith as the most venerable thing. The Egyptian
worshipped the cat, the Christian venerates the divine providence. So,
when his needs led him to live a well-regulated life, the benefits of
the law inspired him with such a high opinion of its noble origin that
he adopted his own handiwork as a gift of heaven. The invention of the
mouse-trap or other useful appliances pushed the cat out of its exalted
position. Whenever man becomes his own master, takes care of himself,
and provides for himself, then all other providences become useless, and
his own mastership makes all superior tutelage unbearable. Man is a
jealous creature. Ruthlessly he subordinates everything to his own
interests, even God and His commandments. No matter how great or
venerable an authority any code may have acquired by long and faithful
service, as soon as new needs oppose it, they degrade the divine
authority to the ranks of human law and transform ancient right into
modern wrong. The Christian frivolity refused to respect the threat of
physical retribution which the Hebrew had anointed as an authority in
moral questions and revered under the maxim: Eye for eye, tooth for
tooth. The Christian had learned to cherish the blessings of
peacefulness; he carried submissive tolerance into the holy land, and
decorated the vacant tabernacle with the gentle injunction to offer the
left cheek when the right was tired of cuffs. In our times which are
Christian in name, but very anti-Christian in deeds, the long venerated
tolerance has long gone out of use.

Just as every religion has its own peculiar God, so every time has its
own peculiar right. To this extent, religion and morality are in harmony
with the worship of their sanctum. But they become arrogant upstarts
whenever they assume to exceed their natural boundaries, whenever they
attempt to saddle upon all circumstances, under the pretense of offering
something incomparable, absolute, permanent, that which is divine and
right at certain times and under definite conditions; whenever they
proclaim a successful remedy for their own peculiar disease as a
universal patent medicine for all diseases; whenever they overbearingly
forget their descent. A law is originally dictated by some individual
need, and then mankind with its universal needs is supposed to balance
itself on the thin rope of this one rule. Originally that which is
really good is right, and thereafter only some decreed right is supposed
to be really good. That is the unbearable arrogance. Ordained right is
not satisfied to serve as the right of this time, this nation or
country, this class or caste. It wants to dominate the whole world,
wants to be absolute right, just as if a certain pill could be absolute
medicine, could be good for everything. It is the mission of progress to
repulse this assumption, to pluck this peacock feather out of the tail
of the rooster, by leading mankind on beyond the boundaries prescribed
by ordained law, by extending the world for him, by conquering for his
cramped interests a wider liberty. The migration from Palestine to
Europe where the consumption of pork does not cause leprosy emancipates
our natural freedom from a once divine restriction by making it
irrelevant. But progress does not deprive one God of his shoulder straps
for the purpose of decorating some other God with them. That would
merely be an exchange, not an acquirement. Evolution does not drive the
saints of tradition out of the country; it simply retires them from the
wrongfully occupied field of universality into their peculiar
boundaries. Progress picks up the child and then pours the water out of
the bath tub. Though the cat may have lost its aureole and ceased to be
a God, it does not give up catching mice; and though the Jewish rules
for bodily cleanliness at certain definite times have long been
forgotten, a clean body is still highly respected. The present wealth of
civilization is due only to the economical administration of the
acquirements of the past. Evolution is as much conservative as it is
revolutionary, and it finds as much wrong as right in every law.

It is true that the believers in absolute duty scent a difference
between moral and legal right. But their self-interested narrowness does
not permit them to realize that every law is originally moral and that
every special morality is gradually reduced to the level of a mere law.
Their understanding reaches into other times and other classes, but does
not reach their own time and class. The laws of the Chinese and
Samoyeds are understood to refer to the peculiar requirements of those
people. But the rules of bourgeois society are supposed to be far more
sublime. Our present day institutions and moral codes are either
regarded as eternal truths of nature or reason, or as permanent oracular
expressions of a pure conscience. Just as if the barbarian did not have
a barbarian reason; as if the Turk did not have a Turkish conscience and
the Hebrew a Hebrew one; as if man could follow the dictates of some
absolute conscience, instead of the conscience being conditioned on the
man.

Whoever limits the purpose of man to the love and service of God, and to
eternal blessedness hereafter, may devoutly recognize the traditions of
abstract morality as authoritative and guide himself accordingly. But
whoever regards development, education, and blessedness on earth as
man's life purpose, will not think that the questioning of the assumed
superiority of traditional morals is irrelevant. It is only the
consciousness of individual freedom which creates sufficient unconcern
for the rules made by others to permit a brave advance, which
emancipates us from the striving for an illusory absolute ideal, for
some "best world," and which restores us to the definite practical
interests of our time and personality. At the same time we are thus
reconciled with the world as it really is, because we no longer regard
it as the unsuccessful realization of that which ought to be, but rather
as the systematization of that which cannot but be. The world is always
right. Whatever exists, is right and is not fated to be otherwise until
it changes. Wherever there is existence, which is power, there is also
right without any further condition, because it is right in a formative
stage. Weakness has no other right than that of striving for supremacy
and then enforcing a recognition of its long denied needs. The study of
history shows us not only the negative and ridiculous side of the
religions, customs, institutions and ideas of the past, but also their
positive, reasonable and necessary side. It explains to us, for
instance, that the deification of animals was due to an enthusiastic
recognition of their usefulness. And so the study of history shows not
alone the inadequacy of the things of the present, but also demonstrates
that they are the reasonable and necessary conclusions from the premises
of previous stages.

+(c) The Holy.+

In the well-known statement: The end sanctifies the means, the developed
theory of morality finds its practical expression. This maxim, used in
an ambiguous sense, may stand as a common reproach for us and for the
Jesuits. The defenders of the society of Jesus make efforts to prove
that it is a malignant attempt to discredit their clients. We shall not
try to speak for either party to this dispute, but will devote ourselves
to the subject matter itself, and seek to substantiate the truth and
reasonableness of this maxim, to rehabilitate it in the public opinion.

It will be sufficient for the refutation of the most general opposition
to understand that end and means are very relative terms, that all
concrete ends are means and all means are ends. There is no more of a
positive difference between great and small, right and wrong, virtue
and vice, than there is between end and means. Considered as something
integral by itself, every action has its own end and its means are the
various moments of which even the shortest action is composed. Every
concrete action is a means in relation to other actions which aim at the
same common effect. But in themselves actions are neither ends nor
means. Nothing is anything by itself. All being is relative. Things are
what they are only within and by their interrelations. Circumstances
alter cases. In so far as every action is accompanied by other actions,
it is a means, and serves a common end which exceeds its own special
end; but inasmuch as every action is complete in itself it is an end
which includes its own means. We eat in order to live; but so far as we
are living while we are eating, we are living in order to eat. As life
to its functions, so the end is related to its means. Just as life is
simply the sum of all life's functions, so the end is the sum of all its
means. The difference between means and end reduces itself to that
between the concrete and the general. And all abstract differences
reduce themselves to this difference, because the faculty of abstraction
or distinction reduces itself to the faculty of distinguishing between
the concrete and the general. But this distinction presupposes the
existence of some material, some given objects, some circle of sense
perceptions by which it manifests itself. If this circle is found in the
field of actions or functions, in other words, if a previously defined
number of different actions is the object of our study, then we refer to
the general character of these objects as the general end and to every
more or less extended part of them, or to every function, as a means.
Whether any definite action is considered as an end or as a means,
depends on the question whether we consider it as a whole in relation to
its own parts, or as a part of some whole in which it is connected with
other parts, with other actions. From a general point of view which has
all human actions for the object of its study, and encompasses them all,
there exists only one end, viz., the human welfare. This welfare is the
end of all ends, is the final end, is the real, true, universal end
compared to which all special ends are but means.

Now, our claim that the end sanctifies the means can have absolute
validity only in regard to some absolute end. But all concrete ends are
relative and finite. The one and sole absolute end is human welfare, and
it is an end which sanctifies all rules and actions, all means, so long
as they are subservient to it, but which reviles them as soon as they go
their own way without serving it. The human weal is literally and
historically the origin of the holy. That which is hale is holy. At the
same time we must not ignore the fact that the weal, or hale, in
general, the hale which sanctifies all means, is but an abstraction, the
real content of which is as different as are the times, the nations, or
persons which are seeking for their welfare. It must be remembered that
the determination of that which is holy or for the human weal requires
definite conditions, that no action, no means, is holy in itself, that
each one of them is sanctified only by definite relations. It is not
every end which sanctifies the means, but the holy end which sanctifies
its own means. But since every real and concrete end is only relatively
holy, it can sanctify its own means only relatively.

The opposition against our maxim is not so much directed against it, as
against the wrong application of it. Recognition is denied and the
socalled sanctified ends are accorded only limited means, because there
is lurking in the background the consciousness that these ends have only
a relative holiness. On the other hand our defense of the maxim does not
imply that the various nominally holy means and ends are sanctified
because some authority, some scriptural statement, some reason or
conscience, has declared them to be so, but only in so far as they
answer the common end of all ends, the human welfare. Our maxim of ends
does not at all teach that we should sacrifice love and truths to
sanctified faith, but neither does it demand that we should sacrifice
faith for love and truth. It merely states the fact that, whenever some
superior end has been determined by sense perceptions or circumstances,
all means contrary to that end are unholy, and that on the other hand
means which are generally unholy may become temporarily and individually
sanctioned by their relation to some momentary or individual welfare.
Wherever peacefulness is actually in favor as a sanctified means, war is
unholy. When, on the other hand, man seeks his salvation in war, then
murder and incendiarism are holy means. In other words, our reason
requires for a valid determination of that which is sanctified certain
definite material conditions or facts as premises; it cannot determine
_the_ holy in general, not _a priori_, not philosophically in the old
speculative way, but only in concrete cases, _a posteriori_, only
empirically.

If we understand that human welfare is the end of all ends, the ideal
of all means; if we furthermore dispense with all special determinations
of this welfare, with all personal ideas of it, and recognize that it is
different under different circumstances, then we understand at the same
time that no means is sanctified beyond the sanctity of its end. No
means, no action, is positively sanctified or makes for human welfare
under all circumstances. According to circumstances and relations one
and the same means may be good or bad. A thing is good only to the
extent that its results are good, only to the extent that there is good
in its end. Lying and cheating are bad only because they result
injuriously for ourselves, because we do not wish to be lied to or
cheated. But whenever a sanctified end is in question, the deceptive
means used in lying and cheating are called tricks of war. If any one is
firmly rooted in the goodness of chastity because he thinks it was
ordained by God, we cannot discuss the matter with him. But if one
honors virtue for the sake of virtue and abhors vice for the sake of
vice, in other words, for their consequences, he admits that he
sacrifices the lust of the flesh to the end of good health. In short, he
admits that the means are sanctified by the end.

In the Christian conception of the world, the commandments of its
religion are absolutely good for all time, they are considered good
because Christian revelation declares them to be so. This conception
does not know that, for instance, its acme of virtue, the specifically
Christian virtue of abstemiousness, received its value only by contrast
with corrupt heathenish licentiousness, but that it is not a virtue
when compared to reasonable and normal satisfaction of material needs.
It deals with certain means which it calls indiscriminately good without
any relation to their ends, and others which it calls indiscriminately