To unite divided parties it is best to proceed from the point wherein they agree. Philosophy is a science; in this all descriptions of philosophy are as agreed as they are divided in determining the object of this science. This division, may it not have arisen, because the conception of that science, which they unanimously asserted philosophy to be, had not yet been wholly developed? And may not the determination of this one characteristic, wherein they all agree, suffice to determine the conception of philosophy itself? A science has systematic form. All propositions in it are connected in one single fundamental proposition or principle, and unite with it to form a whole. This is universally conceded. But does this characteristic exhaust the conception of a science?
Supposing somebody were to build up ever so systematic a natural history of certain spirits of the air, on the unproven and unprovable assumption, that such creatures exist in the air, with human passions, inclinations, and conceptions, should we call such a system a science, no matter how closely its several parts might be connected with each other into a whole? On the other hand, supposing somebody were to utter a single proposition—a mechanic, for instance, the proposition that a pillar erected on a horizontal base in a right angle stands perpendicular, and will not incline toward either side, however far you extend it into infinity—a proposition which he may have heard at some time and approved as true in experience: would not all men concede that such a person had a scientific knowledge of the proposition, although he should not be able to evolve the deduction of his proposition from the first fundamental principle of geometry? Now, why do we call the fixed system, which rests on an unproven and unprovable first principle, no science at all, and why do we assert the knowledge of the mechanic to be science, although it does not connect in his reason with a system?
Evidently, because the first, in spite of its correct form, does not contain any thing that can be known; and because the second, although without a correct form, asserts something which is really known and can be known. The characteristic of science, therefore, seems to consist in the quality of its content and the relation thereof to the consciousness of the person of whom a knowledge is asserted; and the systematic form appears to be only accidental to the science; is not the object of science, but merely a means to attain that object.
This may, perhaps, be conceived in the following manner. If we suppose that from some reason or another the human mind can know only very little, and can have of every thing else only opinions, presentiments, or arbitrary meanings; and if we suppose, moreover, that from some reason or another the human mind can not well rest content with this limited or uncertain knowledge: then the only means of extending and securing that knowledge would be to compare all uncertain knowledge with the certain knowledge, and to draw conclusions from the equality or inequality of both as to the correctness or incorrectness of the former. If an uncertain knowledge were thus discovered to be equal to a certain knowledge, it might be properly assumed to be also certain; but if it were discovered unequal, it would now be definitely known as false, and could no longer deceive. We should be delivered from an error, although we might not have gained positive truth.
I speak plainer. Science is to be one and a whole. The proposition that a pillar erected in a right angle on a horizontal base occupies a perpendicular position, is doubtless a whole, and in so far a science for a person who has no connected knowledge of geometry.
But we also consider the whole geometry, which contains much more than that one proposition, a science. How then, and by what means do a multitude of very different propositions unite into one science, into one and the same whole?
Clearly by this, that the separate propositions are not science, but form a science only in the whole, and through their connection in the whole. But by a composition of parts you can not put something into the whole which is not to be found in one of the parts. Hence, if none of the connected propositions had certainty, there would also be no certainty in the whole formed by them. One of the propositions, at least, therefore, must be certain, and this one, perhaps, communicates its certainty to the others in this manner: that if the one is to be true, then the second must be true, etc. Thus a multiplicity of propositions would attain only one certainty, and result in only one science, for the very reason that they all have certainty and the same certainty. That one proposition which we have just now spoken of as positively certain, can not obtain its certainty from its connection with the others, but must have it beforehand; for by uniting parts you can not produce something which is in none of the parts. But all other propositions receive their truth from the first one. The first one must therefore be certain before all connection with the others; and all the others must receive their certainty only through and after the connection. From this it immediately appears that our above assumption is the only correct one, and that in a science there can only be one proposition which is certain before the connection with others. For if there were many such propositions, they would either be not at all connected with the former, and then they would not belong with it to the same whole; or they would be thus connected; but since they are only to be connected by one and the same certainty—that is, if the one theorem is true, then the other must be true—they can not have independent certainty; for in that case one proposition might have independent certainty, although others had no certainty, and hence they would not be connected through common certainty.
Such a proposition, which has certainty before and independent of all connection, is a fundamental principle. Every science must have a fundamental principle; nay, it might consist of simply such one principle, which in that case could not be called fundamental, however, since it would not be the foundation of others. But a science also can not have more than one fundamental principle, for else it would result in many sciences.
The other propositions which a science may contain get certainty only through their connection with the fundamental principle; and the connection, as we have shown, is this: If the proposition A is true, then the proposition B is also true; and if B is true, then must C be true, etc. This connection is called the systematic form of the whole, which results from the several component parts. Wherefore this connection? Surely not to produce an artistic combination, but in order to give certainty to propositions, which have not certainty in themselves. And thus the systematic form is not the object of science, but an accidence, a means, and on the condition that the science is to have a manifold of propositions. It is not the essence of science, but an accidental quality thereof Let science be a building, and let the chief object of this building be firmness. The foundation is firm, and as soon as it is laid down, the object would therefore be attained. But since you can not live on the foundation, nor protect yourself by its means against the arbitrary attacks of enemies, or the unarbitrary attacks of the weather, you proceed to erect walls, and over the walls you build a roof. All the parts of the building you connect with the foundation and with each other, and thus the whole gets firmness. But you do not build a building in order to connect the parts; rather you connect the parts in order to make the building firm; and it is firm in so far as all its parts rest upon a firm foundation.
The foundation is firm, for it is not built on another foundation, but rests on the solid earth. But whereupon shall we erect the foundation of our scientific structure? The fundamental principles of our systems must and shall be certain in advance of the system. Their certainty can not be proven within the system; but every possible proof in the system presupposes already their certainty. If they are certain, then of course all their results are certain; but from what does their own certainty follow?
And even after we shall have satisfactorily answered this question, does not a new and quite different one threaten us? We are going to draw our conclusions thus: If the fundamental principle is certain, then another proposition also is certain. How do we get at this then? What is the ground of the necessary connection between the two, whereby the one is to have the same certainty which belongs to the other? What are the conditions of this connection, and whence do we know that they are the conditions and the exclusive conditions and the only conditions of this connection? And how do we get at all to assume a necessary connection between different propositions, and exclusive but exhausted conditions of this connection?
In short, how shall the absolute certainty of the fundamental principle, and how shall the authority to draw from it conclusions as to the certainty of other propositions, be demonstrated? That which the fundamental principle is to have itself and to communicate to all other propositions which occur in the science, I call the inner content of the fundamental principle and of science generally; the manner in which it communicates this certainty to other propositions I call the form of science. The question is, therefore, How are form and content of a science possible? or how is science itself possible?
That which would give an answer to this question would be itself a science, and would be, moreover, the science of science generally.
It is impossible to determine in advance of the investigation whether such an answer is possible or not; that is, whether our whole knowledge has a cognizable, firm basis, or whether it rests, after all—however closely its separate parts may be connected—upon nothing, that is to say, upon nothing for us. But if our knowledge is to have a basis for us, then such an answer must be possible, and there must be a science which gives this answer. And if there is such a science, then our knowledge has a cognizable ground. Hence, in advance of the investigation, it is impossible to say whether our knowledge has a basis or has no basis at all; and the possibility of the science in question can only be demonstrated by its actual realization.
The naming of such a science, whereof the very possibility is as yet problematical, is altogether arbitrary. Still, if it should appear that all the territory hitherto considered useful for the cultivation of sciences has already been appropriated, and that only one piece of uncultivated land has been left vacant for the science of all other sciences; and if, moreover, it should appear that under a well-known name—the name of Philosophy—the idea of a science exists which pretends to be, or wishes to be, also a science, and is only in doubt where to settle down; then it might not be improper to assign this science to the empty and uncultivated place. Whether the word Philosophy has hitherto signified precisely that very same object is immaterial; and, moreover, if this science should really thus turn out to be a science, it would doubtless very justly discard a name which it has hitherto borne from a surely not over great modesty, namely, that of a Dilettanteism. The nation which shall discover this science is well worthy of giving it a name from its own language, and might name it simply Science, or the Science of Knowledge. What has been heretofore called philosophy would thus be the science of science generally.
It is not allowable to draw conclusions from definitions. This rule signifies: from the fact that it is possible to think a certain characteristic in the description of a thing, which thing exists altogether independently of such a description, it is not allowable to conclude that this characteristic is therefore really discoverable in the thing; or, when we produce a thing after a conception formed of it, which conception expresses the purposes of the thing, it is not allowable to conclude from the thinkability of the purpose that it is actually realized. On no account, however, can the above rule signify that we must have no well-defined purpose in our bodily or mental labors, but must leave it to our fancy or to our fingers what the result of our labor shall be. The inventor of the aerostatic balls was perfectly warranted in calculating the relation of the gas in the balls to the weight of the atmosphere, and thus to discover the velocity of movement of his machine, although he did not know yet whether he would ever be able to discover a gas sufficiently lighter than air; and Archimedes was able to calculate the machine by which he could move the globe out of its place, although he knew well enough that he could find no place beyond the attraction of the earth from which to operate with his machine. Thus, also, with our science of knowledge. It is not as such something which exists independent of us, but rather something which must first be produced by the freedom of our mind, working in a certain direction, that is, if there is such a freedom, which, of course, can also not be known as yet. Let us determine this direction in advance, and obtain a clear conception of what is to be our work. Whether we can produce it or not will appear from the fact whether we do produce it, but this is not yet our purpose. We at present merely wish to see what it really is we intend to do.
1st. First of all, the described science is to be a science of science generally. Every possible science has one fundamental principle, which can not be proven in it, but must be certain in advance of it. But where, then, is this first principle to be proven? Evidently in that science which is to be the ground of all possible sciences. In this respect the science of knowledge would have a twofold object: Firstly, to show the possibility of fundamental principles generally; to show how, to what extent, and under what conditions, and perhaps in what degree something can be certain, and indeed to show what it really means to be certain; and, secondly, to prove particularly the fundamental principles of all possible sciences, which can not be proven in those sciences themselves.
Every science, which is to be a whole of component parts, has a systematic form. This form—the condition of the connection of the deduced propositions with the fundamental principle, and the ground which justifies us in drawing conclusions from this connection, that the deduced propositions have necessarily the same certainty which pertains to the fundamental principle—can also, like the truth of the fundamental principle, not be demonstrated in the particular science itself, but is presupposed as the possibility of its form. Hence, a general science of knowledge must, moreover, show up the ground for the systematic form of all possible sciences.
2d. The science of knowledge is itself a science. Hence it must also have one fundamental principle, which can not be proven in it, but must be presupposed for its very possibility as a science. But this fundamental principle can not be proven in another higher science, since otherwise this other higher science would be the science of knowledge. This fundamental principle of the science of knowledge, and hence of all sciences and of all knowledge, is, therefore, absolutely not to be proven; that is, it can not be deduced from a higher principle, the relation to which might demonstrate its certainty. Since, nevertheless, it is to be the basis of all certainty, it must be certain in itself, through itself, and for the sake of itself. All other propositions will be certain, because it can be shown that they are in some respect related to it, but this one must be certain merely because it is related to itself. All other propositions will only have a mediated certainty derived from it, but itself must have immediate certainty. Upon it all knowledge is grounded, without it no knowledge were indeed possible; but itself has its ground in no other knowledge, being, on the contrary, itself the ground of all knowledge. This fundamental principle is absolutely certain; that is, it is certain because it is certain. You can not inquire after its ground without contradiction. It is the ground of all certainty; that is, every thing which is certain is certain, because this fundamental principle is certain, and nothing is certain if it is not certain. It is the ground of all knowledge; that is, you know what it asserts, simply because you know any thing at all; you know it immediately when you know any thing at all. It accompanies all knowledge, is contained in all knowledge, and is presupposed by all knowledge. The science of knowledge, in so far as it is a science, and is to consist of more than its fundamental principle—which seems necessary, since it is to furnish the fundamental principles of all sciences—must have a systematic form. It is evident that it can not derive this form, either in regard to its determinateness or in regard to its validity, from any other science, since itself is to furnish all other sciences their systematic form. Hence, the science of knowledge must contain this form within itself, and must itself show up the ground of this form. Let us consider this a little, and it will directly appear what this assertion means. That whereof any thing is known we will, in the mean while, call the content, and that which is known thereof the form of a proposition. (In the proposition, gold is a body; that whereof is known is gold and the body; that which is known of them is, that they are in a certain respect equal, and might in so far replace each other. It is an affirmative proposition, and this relation is its form.)
No proposition is possible without content or without form. It must contain something whereof we know, and something which is known thereof. Hence, the first principle of the science of knowledge must have both content and form. Now, this first principle is to be immediately and of itself certain, and this can only signify: its content must determine its form, and its form its content. Its form can only fit its content, and its content can only fit its form; every other form connected with that content, or every other content connected with that form, would cancel that principle itself, and thus annihilate all knowledge. Hence, the form of the absolute first principle of the science of knowledge is not only contained in that principle itself, but is also presented as absolutely valid for the content of that principle. Again: if there should be, besides this absolute first principle, still other fundamental principles of the science of knowledge—which in that case can only be partly absolute, and must be partly derived from the first principle, since otherwise in the first case they would not be fundamental principles, and in the latter case not connected with the first and highest principle—then the absolute part of these other fundamental principles could only be either the content or the form; and, likewise, the conditioned or derived part of these principles could only be either the content or the form. If the content of these other fundamental principles be their absolute or unconditioned part, then the absolute first principle of the science of knowledge must condition the form of those contents; or if the form of those other principles be the unconditioned part, then their content must be conditioned by the first principle of the science of knowledge; and thus indirectly also their form, that is, in so far as the form is to be form of the content. In either case, therefore, the form would be determined by the first absolute principle of the science of knowledge. And since it is impossible that there should be a fundamental principle not determined either in form or in content by the first absolute principle, (that is, if we are to have a science of knowledge at all,) it follows that there can only be three fundamental principles: one absolutely in and through itself determined both in form and in content; a second one determined through itself in form; and a third one determined through itself in content. If there are still other propositions in the science of knowledge, they must be determined both in regard to form and content by the fundamental principle. Hence, a science of knowledge must determine the form of all its propositions, in so far as they are separately considered. But such a determination of the separate propositions is only thus possible: that they reciprocally determine each other. But each proposition must be perfectly determined, that is, its form must suit only its and no other content, and its content must only suit its and no other form; for else such a proposition would not be equal to the first principle, in so far as that first principle is certain, and hence would not be certain. If, nevertheless, all the propositions of a science of knowledge are to be different, which they must be if they are to be many propositions and not one proposition, then no proposition can obtain its complete determination otherwise than through a single one of all propositions. And thus the whole series of propositions becomes determined, and no proposition can occupy another place in the system than that which it occupies. Each proposition in the science of knowledge has its position determined by a determined other proposition, and on its part determines the position of a determined third proposition. Hence, the science of knowledge establishes itself the form of its whole for itself This form of the science of knowledge is necessarily valid for its content. For if the absolute first principle was immediately certain, that is, if its form was fit only for its content, and its content only for its form, and if through this first principle all possible subsequent propositions are determined, immediately or mediately, in form or content; if all subsequent theorems, in other words, are, as it were, contained already in the first one, then it follows that what holds good for the first must also hold good in regard to the others; that is, that their form is only fit for their content, and their content only for their form. It is true, this relates only to the separate propositions; but the form of the whole is nothing but the form of the separate propositions, thought in one; and what is valid for each separate must be valid for all, thought as one.
But the science of knowledge is to give not only itself its own form, but is also to give all other possible sciences their form; and is to make certain the validity of this form for all other sciences. This can only be thought possible on condition that every thing which is to be a proposition of any other science must be already involved in some proposition of the science of knowledge, and hence must have obtained its proper form already in that science. This opens to us an easy way of getting back to the content of the absolute first principle of the science of knowledge, of which we can now say something more than was possible before. If we assume for the present that to be certain means simply to have an insight into the inseparability of a determined content from a determined form, (which is to be only a definition of a name, since a real definition of knowledge is simply impossible,) then we might understand already to some extent how the fact that the fundamental principle of all knowledge determines its form only through its content, and its content only through its form, could determine the form of all the content of knowledge; that is to say, if all possible content were contained in the content of that first principle. If, therefore, there is to be an absolute first principle of all knowledge, this assumption must be correct; that is, the content of this first principle must contain all other possible content, but must itself be contained in no other content. In short, it must be the absolute content.
It is easy to remember that, in presupposing the possibility of a science of knowledge, and particularly of its first principle, we always presuppose that there is really a system in human knowledge. If such a system, however, is to be in it, it can be shown—even apart from our description of the science of knowledge—that there must be such an absolute first principle. If there is not to be any such system, two cases only are possible. Either there is no immediate certainty at all, and then our knowledge forms many series or one infinite series, wherein each theorem is derived from a higher one, and this again from a higher one, etc., etc. We build our houses on the earth, the earth rests on an elephant, the elephant on a tortoise, the tortoise again—who knows on what?—and so on ad infinitum. True, if our knowledge is thus constituted, we can not alter it; but neither have we, then, any firm knowledge. We may have gone back to a certain link of our series, and have found every thing firm up to this link; but who can guarantee us that, if we go further back, we may not find it ungrounded, and shall thus have to abandon it? Our certainty is only assumed, and we can never be sure of it for a single following day.
Or the second case: Our knowledge consists of finite series, but of many finite series, each series ending in a fundamental principle, which has its ground in no other one, but only in itself; all these fundamental principles having no connection among each other, and being perfectly independent and isolated. In this case there are, perhaps, several inborn truths in us, all more or less inborn, and in the connection of which we can expect no further insight, since it lies beyond these inborn truths; or there is, perhaps, a manifold simple in the things outside of us, which is communicated to us by means of the impression produced upon us by the things, but into the connection whereof we can not penetrate, since there can not be any thing more simple than the simplest in the impression. If this second case is the truth, if human knowledge is in itself such a piecework—as the real knowledge of so many men unhappily is—if originally a number of threads lie in our minds, which are or can be connected with each other in no point, then again we may not be able to alter this state of things, and our knowledge is, as far as it extends, certain enough; but it is no unit, it is a manifold knowledge. Our building stands firm, but, instead of being a connected structure, it is an aggregate of chambers, from none of which we can enter the other; a building wherein we always get lost, and never feel ourselves at home. There is no light in it; and in spite of our riches we always remain poor, because we can never calculate them, never consider them as a whole, and hence never know what we really possess; we can never use part of it to improve the rest, because no part is relatable to the rest. Nay, more: our knowledge will never be completed; we must expect every day that a new inborn truth may manifest itself in us, or that experience may furnish us with a new simple. We must always be prepared to build a new house for ourselves. No general science of knowledge will be possible as containing the ground of other sciences. Each will be grounded in itself. There will be as many sciences as there are separate immediately certain propositions. But if neither the first case is to be correct, namely, that there are one or more mere fragments of a system, nor the second, that there are to be a manifold of systems, then a highest and absolute first fundamental principle must exist as the basis of a complete and unit-system in the human mind. From this first principle our knowledge may expand into ever so many series, each of which again may expand into series, etc., still all of them must rest firm upon one single link, which is not dependent upon another one, which holds itself and the whole system by virtue of its own power. In this link we shall possess a globe, holding itself firm by virtue of its own gravitation, the central point whereof attracts with almighty force whatsoever we have but erected upon its surface and perpendicularly, and not in the air or obliquely, and which allows no grain of dust to be torn away from its sphere of power.
Whether such a system and its condition, a first principle, exist, can not be decided in advance of the investigation. This fundamental principle can neither be proven as mere principle, nor as the basis of all knowledge. Every thing depends upon the attempt. If we shall find a proposition which has the internal conditions of the fundamental principle of all human knowledge, we shall try to discover whether it has also its external conditions, whether every thing we know or believe to know can be traced back to it. If we succeed in this, we shall have proven by the realization of the science of knowledge that it is possible, and that there is a system of human knowledge, whereof it is the representation. If we do not succeed in this, there either is no such system or we have merely failed in discovering it, and must leave the discovery to more fortunate successors. To maintain that there is no such system merely because we have failed to discover it would be an assumption, the refutation whereof is beneath the dignity of earnest investigation.
To develop a conception scientifically is to assign to it its place in the system of human sciences generally, that is, to show what conception determines its position in the system, and of which conception it determines the position. But the conception of the science of knowledge generally, as well as of knowledge generally, can evidently have no position in the system of all sciences, since it is itself rather the place for all scientific conceptions, and assigns to all their positions in itself and through itself. It is clear, therefore, that we can speak here only of a hypothetical development; that is, the question is, If we assume that there are sciences, and that there is truth in them, (which can not be known in advance of the science of knowledge,) how is the science of knowledge related to these sciences?
This question also is answered by the mere conception of that science. The latter sciences are related to it as the grounded is to its ground; they do not assign to it its place, but it assigns to them their places in itself and through itself. All we can, therefore, propose to ourselves here is a further explanation of this answer.
1. The science of knowledge is to be a science of all sciences. Here arises the question: How can the science of knowledge guarantee that it has furnished the ground, not only of all as yet discovered and known, but also of all discoverable and knowable sciences, and that it has completely exhausted the whole field of human knowledge?