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with regard to certain conditions- is a merely accidental belief; in

the latter it is a necessary belief. The physician must pursue some

course in the case of a patient who is in danger, but is ignorant of

the nature of the disease. He observes the symptoms, and concludes,

according to the best of his judgement, that it is a case of phthisis.

His belief is, even in his own judgement, only contingent: another man

might, perhaps come nearer the truth. Such a belief, contingent

indeed, but still forming the ground of the actual use of means for

the attainment of certain ends, I term Pragmatical belief.

The usual test, whether that which any one maintains is merely his

persuasion, or his subjective conviction at least, that is, his firm

belief, is a bet. It frequently happens that a man delivers his

opinions with so much boldness and assurance, that he appears to be

under no apprehension as to the possibility of his being in error. The

offer of a bet startles him, and makes him pause. Sometimes it turns

out that his persuasion may be valued at a ducat, but not at ten.

For he does not hesitate, perhaps, to venture a ducat, but if it is

proposed to stake ten, he immediately becomes aware of the possibility

of his being mistaken- a possibility which has hitherto escaped his

observation. If we imagine to ourselves that we have to stake the

happiness of our whole life on the truth of any proposition, our

judgement drops its air of triumph, we take the alarm, and discover

the actual strength of our belief. Thus pragmatical belief has

degrees, varying in proportion to the interests at stake.

Now, in cases where we cannot enter upon any course of action in

reference to some object, and where, accordingly, our judgement is

purely theoretical, we can still represent to ourselves, in thought,

the possibility of a course of action, for which we suppose that we

have sufficient grounds, if any means existed of ascertaining the

truth of the matter. Thus we find in purely theoretical judgements

an analogon of practical judgements, to which the word belief may

properly be applied, and which we may term doctrinal belief. I

should not hesitate to stake my all on the truth of the proposition-

if there were any possibility of bringing it to the test of

experience- that, at least, some one of the planets, which we see,

is inhabited. Hence I say that I have not merely the opinion, but

the strong belief, on the correctness of which I would stake even many

of the advantages of life, that there are inhabitants in other worlds.

Now we must admit that the doctrine of the existence of God

belongs to doctrinal belief. For, although in respect to the

theoretical cognition of the universe I do not require to form any

theory which necessarily involves this idea, as the condition of my

explanation of the phenomena which the universe presents, but, on

the contrary, am rather bound so to use my reason as if everything

were mere nature, still teleological unity is so important a condition

of the application of my reason to nature, that it is impossible for

me to ignore it- especially since, in addition to these

considerations, abundant examples of it are supplied by experience.

But the sole condition, so far as my knowledge extends, under which

this unity can be my guide in the investigation of nature, is the

assumption that a supreme intelligence has ordered all things

according to the wisest ends. Consequently, the hypothesis of a wise

author of the universe is necessary for my guidance in the

investigation of nature- is the condition under which alone I can

fulfil an end which is contingent indeed, but by no means unimportant.

Moreover, since the result of my attempts so frequently confirms the

utility of this assumption, and since nothing decisive can be

adduced against it, it follows that it would be saying far too

little to term my judgement, in this case, a mere opinion, and that,

even in this theoretical connection, I may assert that I firmly

believe in God. Still, if we use words strictly, this must not be

called a practical, but a doctrinal belief, which the theology of

nature (physico-theology) must also produce in my mind. In the

wisdom of a Supreme Being, and in the shortness of life, so inadequate

to the development of the glorious powers of human nature, we may find

equally sufficient grounds for a doctrinal belief in the future life

of the human soul.

The expression of belief is, in such cases, an expression of modesty

from the objective point of view, but, at the same time, of firm

confidence, from the subjective. If I should venture to term this

merely theoretical judgement even so much as a hypothesis which I am

entitled to assume; a more complete conception, with regard to another

world and to the cause of the world, might then be justly required

of me than I am, in reality, able to give. For, if I assume

anything, even as a mere hypothesis, I must, at least, know so much of

the properties of such a being as will enable me, not to form the

conception, but to imagine the existence of it. But the word belief

refers only to the guidance which an idea gives me, and to its

subjective influence on the conduct of my reason, which forces me to

hold it fast, though I may not be in a position to give a

speculative account of it.

But mere doctrinal belief is, to some extent, wanting in

stability. We often quit our hold of it, in consequence of the

difficulties which occur in speculation, though in the end we

inevitably return to it again.

It is quite otherwise with moral belief. For in this sphere action

is absolutely necessary, that is, I must act in obedience to the moral

law in all points. The end is here incontrovertibly established, and

there is only one condition possible, according to the best of my

perception, under which this end can harmonize with all other ends,

and so have practical validity- namely, the existence of a God and

of a future world. I know also, to a certainty, that no one can be

acquainted with any other conditions which conduct to the same unity

of ends under the moral law. But since the moral precept is, at the

same time, my maxim (as reason requires that it should be), I am

irresistibly constrained to believe in the existence of God and in a

future life; and I am sure that nothing can make me waver in this

belief, since I should thereby overthrow my moral maxims, the

renunciation of which would render me hateful in my own eyes.

Thus, while all the ambitious attempts of reason to penetrate beyond

the limits of experience end in disappointment, there is still

enough left to satisfy us in a practical point of view. No one, it

is true, will be able to boast that he knows that there is a God and a

future life; for, if he knows this, be is just the man whom I have

long wished to find. All knowledge, regarding an object of mere

reason, can be communicated; and I should thus be enabled to hope that

my own knowledge would receive this wonderful extension, through the

instrumentality of his instruction. No, my conviction is not

logical, but moral certainty; and since it rests on subjective grounds

(of the moral sentiment), I must not even say: It is morally certain

that there is a God, etc., but: I am morally certain, that is, my

belief in God and in another world is so interwoven with my moral

nature that I am under as little apprehension of having the former

torn from me as of losing the latter.

The only point in this argument that may appear open to suspicion is

that this rational belief presupposes the existence of moral

sentiments. If we give up this assumption, and take a man who is

entirely indifferent with regard to moral laws, the question which

reason proposes, becomes then merely a problem for speculation and

may, indeed, be supported by strong grounds from analogy, but not by

such as will compel the most obstinate scepticism to give way.* But in

these questions no man is free from all interest. For though the

want of good sentiments may place him beyond the influence of moral

interests, still even in this case enough may be left to make him fear

the existence of God and a future life. For he cannot pretend to any

certainty of the non-existence of God and of a future life, unless-

since it could only be proved by mere reason, and therefore

apodeictically- he is prepared to establish the impossibility of both,

which certainly no reasonable man would undertake to do. This would be

a negative belief, which could not, indeed, produce morality and

good sentiments, but still could produce an analogon of these, by

operating as a powerful restraint on the outbreak of evil

dispositions.

*The human mind (as, I believe, every rational being must of

necessity do) takes a natural interest in morality, although this

interest is not undivided, and may not be practically in

preponderance. If you strengthen and increase it, you will find the

reason become docile, more enlightened, and more capable of uniting

the speculative interest with the practical. But if you do not take

care at the outset, or at least midway, to make men good, you will

never force them into an honest belief.

But, it will be said, is this all that pure reason can effect, in

opening up prospects beyond the limits of experience? Nothing more

than two articles of belief? Common sense could have done as much as

this, without taking the philosophers to counsel in the matter!

I shall not here eulogize philosophy for the benefits which the

laborious efforts of its criticism have conferred on human reason-

even granting that its merit should turn out in the end to be only

negative- for on this point something more will be said in the next

section. But, I ask, do you require that that knowledge which concerns

all men, should transcend the common understanding, and should only be

revealed to you by philosophers? The very circumstance which has

called forth your censure, is the best confirmation of the correctness

of our previous assertions, since it discloses, what could not have

been foreseen, that Nature is not chargeable with any partial

distribution of her gifts in those matters which concern all men

without distinction and that, in respect to the essential ends of

human nature, we cannot advance further with the help of the highest

philosophy, than under the guidance which nature has vouchsafed to the

meanest understanding.

CHAPTER III. The Architectonic of Pure Reason.

By the term architectonic I mean the art of constructing a system.

Without systematic unity, our knowledge cannot become science; it will

be an aggregate, and not a system. Thus architectonic is the

doctrine of the scientific in cognition, and therefore necessarily

forms part of our methodology.

Reason cannot permit our knowledge to remain in an unconnected and

rhapsodistic state, but requires that the sum of our cognitions should

constitute a system. It is thus alone that they can advance the ends

of reason. By a system I mean the unity of various cognitions under

one idea. This idea is the conception- given by reason- of the form of

a whole, in so far as the conception determines a priori not only

the limits of its content, but the place which each of its parts is to

occupy. The scientific idea contains, therefore, the end and the

form of the whole which is in accordance with that end. The unity of

the end, to which all the parts of the system relate, and through

which all have a relation to each other, communicates unity to the

whole system, so that the absence of any part can be immediately

detected from our knowledge of the rest; and it determines a priori

the limits of the system, thus excluding all contingent or arbitrary

additions. The whole is thus an organism (articulatio), and not an

aggregate (coacervatio); it may grow from within (per

intussusceptionem), but it cannot increase by external additions

(per appositionem). It is, thus, like an animal body, the growth of

which does not add any limb, but, without changing their

proportions, makes each in its sphere stronger and more active.

We require, for the execution of the idea of a system, a schema,

that is, a content and an arrangement of parts determined a priori

by the principle which the aim of the system prescribes. A schema

which is not projected in accordance with an idea, that is, from the

standpoint of the highest aim of reason, but merely empirically, in

accordance with accidental aims and purposes (the number of which

cannot be predetermined), can give us nothing more than technical

unity. But the schema which is originated from an idea (in which

case reason presents us with aims a priori, and does not look for them

to experience), forms the basis of architectonical unity. A science,

in the proper acceptation of that term. cannot be formed

technically, that is, from observation of the similarity existing

between different objects, and the purely contingent use we make of

our knowledge in concreto with reference to all kinds of arbitrary

external aims; its constitution must be framed on architectonical

principles, that is, its parts must be shown to possess an essential

affinity, and be capable of being deduced from one supreme and

internal aim or end, which forms the condition of the possibility of

the scientific whole. The schema of a science must give a priori the

plan of it (monogramma), and the division of the whole into parts,

in conformity with the idea of the science; and it must also

distinguish this whole from all others, according to certain

understood principles.

No one will attempt to construct a science, unless he have some idea

to rest on as a proper basis. But, in the elaboration of the

science, he finds that the schema, nay, even the definition which he

at first gave of the science, rarely corresponds with his idea; for

this idea lies, like a germ, in our reason, its parts undeveloped

and hid even from microscopical observation. For this reason, we ought

to explain and define sciences, not according to the description which

the originator gives of them, but according to the idea which we