PART ONE
THE GENERAL STRUCTURE
OF KANT'S SYSTEM
by Stephen Palmquist (stevepq@hkbu.edu.hk)
Pure reason is in fact occupied with nothing but itself.... The unity of reason is the unity of system ... [Kt1:708]
Introductory Guidelines for Interpretation
If we take single passages, torn from their contexts, and compare them with one another, apparent contradictions are not likely to be lacking, especially in a work that is written with any freedom of expression. In the eyes of those who rely on the judgments of others, such contradictions have the effect of placing the work in unfavourable light; but they are easily resolved by those who have mastered the idea of the whole. [Kt1:xliv]
1. The Systematic Character of Kant's Philosophy
The most persuasive philosophical exposition is supported upon two pillars: a general context, or 'system', and the set of particular arguments composing that context. Any adequate explanation of the reason for the great influence of Kant's philosophy on subsequent philosophers must take into account the extent to which his work rests on a balanced relationship between these two aspects of philosophizing. We could indeed paraphrase a famous maxim of Kant's and say: 'Systems without arguments are empty, arguments without systems are blind' [cf. Kt1:75]. Most philosophers in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries tended to regard the former pillar as the stronger, or more important of the pair. Kant is no exception to this generalization. His goal was to set philosophy firmly upon 'the secure path of a science' [Kt1: viii]; and all 'true science', he suggests, must proceed 'systematically' [Kt6: 375]. It 'requires a systematic cognition drawn up according to deliberate rules' [Kt10:139(140)]. Thus, he refers to his three Critiques not only as systems in their own right, but also as building-blocks for a single philosophical 'System'.[1] The proper structure of such rational systems, he believes, stems from the 'architectonic unity' of reason itself [Kt1:861; cf. 502-3]. Thus he regards the completeness of his System as one of its most important characteristics [see e.g., xxxvii-xxxviii]. (Kant's love of systems can be seen in many of his other works as well. Perhaps the best example is Kt43, where he describes the entire universe in terms of a hierarchy of interrelated systems.)
In the twentieth century, by contrast, philosophers have more often tended to give priority to particular arguments, relegating all hopes of constructing a single coherent system of knowledge or experience to the domain of wishful thinking. The rise and widespread influence of Anglo-American (especially analytic) philosophy, with its emphasis on the scientific dissection of language, has been primarily responsible for this shift. However, the most influential alternative to analytic philosophy, existentialism, has contributed equally to this trend, inasmuch as its adherents tend to emphasize what might be called the 'synthetic' aspects of human experience and feeling to such an extent that both systematization and rigorous argumentation give way to the radical diversity of free choice. Foolish it would be for anyone to doubt the immense philosophical value of these two great schools of thought, for they have contributed much to virtually every aspect of philosophical inquiry, and are indeed the driving force behind other emerging trends in philosophy which have been gradually taking their place in the past few decades. But if, as is too often the case, the proponent of one school takes its methods to be the only valid way of doing philosophy, or even to be sufficient as tools for interpreting a philosophical System such as Kant's, fallacies and misjudgments almost inevitably result from its use. This is especially important to keep in mind when interpreting Kant, since, as we shall see [e.g., in IV.2], Kant regards both analysis and synthesis as essential to the task of doing philosophy.[2]
Among recent interpretations of Kant, Bennett's austere analysis is a good example of how the attempt to force Kant into an analytic mould gives rise to frequent oversights. He confidently writes with apparent certainty of 'the untruth' of, for instance, Kant's doctrine of substance [B17:202] after dividing Kant's exposition into discrete segments and then misconstruing the arguments he deems worthy of his efforts [181-201]. No attention is given to the role such doctrines play in Kant's overall System. Kant himself warns that no reader who approaches his explicitly synthetic System in this way will stand a fair chance of understanding it.[3] Moreover, he charges that to ignore this warning is to misunderstand his ideas intentionally, like his contemporary, Eberhard, who, Kant complains, 'sets out to misunderstand me, and to make me incomprehensible' [K2:11.33(Z1:136)]. Along these lines, Paton's criticism of the typical misinterpretations of Kant's moral philosophy also applies to Bennett's treatment of Kt1: 'The alleged inconsistency arises only because first of all a one-sided view is imposed on Kant by the critic, and then all deviations from this view are regarded as mere lapses. As a consequence Kant's views are made to look doubly ridiculous' [P3:183].
In hopes of avoiding such mistakes, Kant stresses not a few times that his System must be viewed as a whole in order for its parts to be understood properly. Thus, he says in K2:10.317(Z1:101):
Another peculiarity of this sort of science [i.e., the science of Critique] is that one must have an idea of the whole in order to rectify all the parts, so that one has to leave the thing for a time in a certain condition of rawness, in order to achieve this eventual rectification.
Kant describes the same process in Kt1:862-3, where he laments that much time must be spent 'in the collection of materials in a somewhat random fashion at the suggestion of an idea lying hidden in our minds' before 'it first become[s] possible for us to discern the idea in a clearer light, and to devise a whole architectonically in accordance with the ends of reason.' Such an 'integral whole', Kant explains elsewhere, 'if treated methodically, is what we call a system' [Kt30:276(62)]. The metaphysician, whose task it is to construct systems, must therefore 'hold his object [i.e., an idea] in midair before him, and must always describe and examine it, not merely part by part, but within the totality of a system as well (the system of pure reason)' [Kt65: 113]. 'For the essence and ultimate intention of metaphysics is to be a perfect whole: either nothing or everything.'[4] Accordingly, Kant asks his friend Garve to encourage the 'enemies' of Kt1 'not to grab everything or anything at all ... out of context, but to consider the work in its proper order' [K2: 10.319(Z1:102); s.a. Kt4:7].
An accurate analysis of any system such as Kant's, as well as of the individual arguments it contains, is therefore possible only if the analyst first understands (i.e., synthesizes) it as a whole. This means that, even if a writer does not always write with perfect clarity, the interpreter must begin with an open mind by adopting, so far as possible, both the specific terminology and the general assumptions of the original writer [cf. P8:21; s.e. his note 27]. The ability to determine faults in a theory by dissecting it in a way which lends itself readily to refutation can be a useful philosophical skill, no doubt; but to render the coherence obviously glimpsed by an original thinker visible to others in one's interpretation is a far more fundamental task.
The difference in emphasis between Kant and most of his interpreters suggests that the frequent disagreements among the latter are due not so much to the fact that, as Kant himself admits, his method of exposition is 'difficult, nay, even shrouded in obscurity' [Kt1:279; cf. Kt2:261], as to the interpretive technique they employ. Most interpreters tend to isolate a certain aspect of Kant's System, such as his use of 'transcendental arguments' [e.g., W2] or 'his theory of science' [S15:8], and then proceed as if it 'can be disconnected from the other layers of his complicated thinking and be given a separate interpretation and critical discussion' [8] without seriously damaging the accuracy and adequacy of the interpretation. They then naturally tend to regard this aspect of Kant's System as its central or key conception. But any attempt (analytic or otherwise) to grasp the supposed unity of his philosophy merely by examining the validity of a narrow cross-section of its arguments is bound to lead to the conclusion that Kant's work 'is not the exposition of a single unified system'.[5] Inevitably many of the arguments considered in this way by a given interpreter are found to be irrelevant, inconclusive, or incoherent, while a select few (usually conveniently consistent with the interpreter's own philosophical tendencies) are found to contain significant advances. The extent to which the interpreter thinks the conclusions established by the arguments judged to be valid are consistent with each other is the extent to which that interpreter will claim to have discovered a measure of systematic unity in Kant's exposition. It is usually not even considered as a serious option that such unity might be found where Kant thought it was: in the logical structure of reason's architectonic form, the organic whole which determines the content of every particular theory he propounds.
Kemp Smith is the classical example of a commentator who commits this interpretive error. His standard procedure in K3 is to reject anything related to Kant's architectonic as a 'perverse' [184] form of philosophical magic-a kind of '"open sesame" for so many of the secrets of the Critique' [333]-which gives rise to his many mysterious, but 'artificial and extremely arbitrary' distinctions [332; s.a. 345,479]. These, Kemp Smith claims, are imposed as a 'despotic mandate' [419] on Kant's ideas in such a way that they often obscure 'his own real position' [332]. The resulting interpretation of Kant is itself so misguided that interpreters who are more sensitive to Kant's own intentions are forced simply to ignore the many errors in K3, lest their own work be bogged down with refuting Kemp Smith's interpretation (an interpretation whose influence has been far wider than many scholars recognize because its obscurities are imbedded in his translation of Kt1, which has unfortunately come to be used as the standard English edition). Fortunately, this situation is made less problematic by the fact that Paton has already accomplished in P2 the unenviable task of thoroughly refuting Kemp Smith's erroneous approach to interpreting Kt1.
The influence of Kemp Smith's anti-architectonic prejudice on English-speaking Kant scholarship nevertheless remains strong. Wolff, for instance, assumes throughout his book that exposing the complications and apparent inconsistencies arising out of Kant's adherence to his architectonic plan will 'carry us closer to the truth [than the architectonic itself], not farther from it' [W21:204; s.a. 191n], for such 'architectonic considerations ... obscure and misrepresent Kant's real teaching' [206; s.a. W13:60-1]. He then continues: 'The first aim of a commentary ... should be to show how this is so, and why it has happened.' Yet Wolff's own commentary does not live up to this maxim. Although he does make occasional-usually dogmatic-remarks about the evils of the architectonic, his main concern is with the detailed analysis of specific arguments. The extent of his explicit criticism of the architectonic is to compare the merits and conclusions of such arguments and to suggest that the less convincing of the apparently repetitive or contradictory ones were included 'arbitrarily' by Kant for no reason other than to 'serve the interests of systematic neatness more than the demands of logic' [W21:207-8]. No discussion of the form or content of the architectonic itself is ever attempted.
Understanding the details of Kant's arguments is eventually necessary if one wishes to judge the validity of his conclusions. But by concentrating exclusively on such details interpreters have created a situation in which 'the literature on Kant has somewhat the air of a multitude of reports from the blind wise men who encountered the elephant. Each one tells of the part on which his hands happened to fall, but a careful reader might fail to recognize the beast from their descriptions' [W23:xix]. This conundrum can be avoided only by paying close attention to the systematic context of each argument. Inasmuch as this latter requirement is logically prior to the former, it must be fulfilled before an interpreter has the right to pronounce judgment on the coherence or unity of a system. That is to say, the validity of Kant's architectonic must depend to an extent on the validity of the arguments it contains; but the extent of its unity can be properly discerned only by temporarily ignoring the question of the validity of his arguments and concentrating instead on the formal structure of the System they compose [see III.3-4]. For this alone will prepare the interpreter to launch out into the perilous waters of Kant's terminology and set forth an accurate interpretation of the elements of his System [see Part Three]. Only after grasping the System's general form and content can an interpreter judge accurately the intention and consequent success of each specific argument. For as Kant says in Kt2:263:
pure reason is a sphere so separate and self-contained that we cannot touch a part without affecting all the rest. We can do nothing without first determining the position of each part and its relation to the rest...as in the structure of an organized body, the end of each member can only be deduced from the full conception of the whole.
Contrary to the opinion of most commentators, therefore, I suggest that many of the ambiguities, repetitions and 'artificial' divisions which can admittedly be found in Kant's System are largely due not to his passionate 'servitude' to a worthless architectonic plan [W13:7; E3:194], but to his failure to grasp the logical form of the plan more fully and to use it more consistently in structuring his philosophical System. As a result I will not adopt the approach of ripping the text to shreds, leaving it in a heap, and blaming Kant for the mess. Instead, by unveiling in Chapter III the logical form which determines the structure of Kant's architectonic, I shall propose, in stark contrast to views such as Wolff's, that the 'interests of systematic neatness' actually are 'the demands of logic'. In adopting this approach, I will have to ignore or only briefly mention numerous minor ambiguities; and the multitude of meticulous studies of specific aspects of Kant's System will be of less use than if I were focusing my attention more narrowly.
Kant himself claims in reference to Plato that 'it is by no means unusual, upon comparing the thoughts which an author has expressed in regard to his subject ... to find that we understand him better than he has understood himself' [Kt1:370]. In other words, by viewing the writings of a past master in their entirety, an interpreter may be able to construct a systematic interpretation, even if the original writer was not always clear and consistent in expressing the nature or implications of some original idea(s). Kant believes that 'general overviews are indispensable for a proper digesting and arranging of data' [J1:40; s.a. K2:9.157-8]. Accordingly, the interpreter's first responsibility is to present such an overview of Kant's System, even though Kant's own overviews are sometimes difficult to reconcile with each other.
In order to provide a clear overview of Kant's System, the interpreter must try to achieve maximum consistency: 'If two possible reconstructions can be given, both of which are in accordance with the intuitive ideas and basic assumptions of the philosopher in question, but only one of them renders the theory as a consistent theory then the latter interpretation should be given the preference' [S15:28]. Kepler did something of this sort when he improved the accuracy of Copernicas' revolution in astronomy by proving that the planets follow an elliptical rather than a circular path, yet without denying his fundamental insights. Likewise, my goal will be to improve the accuracy of Kant's 'Copernican revolution' in philosophy by bringing out the profound consistency of the otherwise obscure details of his complex System. (The importance of this task is underlined when we find Kant, so often accused of inconsistency, declaring: 'Consistency is the highest obligation of a philosopher and yet the most rarely found' [Kt4:24].) What Wolff says with regard to the argument of the 'Transcendental Deduction' of Kt1 I would affirm as a guideline for achieving this goal of a consistent systematic presentation of the entire Critical edifice:
[An interpretation should specify] a step-by-step argument, with premises, inferences, and conclusions. Where reason tells me that [Kant's] argument has broken off or contradicted itself, I am justified in claiming a demarcation in the text. If the argument proceeds in step with the turning of the pages, so much the better, but if I must hunt back and forth for it, leaving it there and picking it up again here, still that will be all right so long as the end result is a coherent argument [or System]. Any interpretation no matter how complex, which can discover such an argument [or system] in the text, is preferable to any alternative reading, however simple, which leaves the text opaque. In this we have to do not with evidence and historical remains but with [architectonic] logic and rational comprehension. [W21:83-4]
Replacing the usual emphasis on rigorously debating over the truth of Kant's detailed arguments with an emphasis on consistently presenting the coherent structure of his System gives rise to the need for an interpretive tool which can fill the gap which will inevitably be created by the lack of formally established 'proofs'. Ultimately, as I have said, the validity of Kant's System must be tested by examining the extent to which his main arguments establish their intended conclusions, given their context in the System. However, not only could this task extend itself indefinitely, but it is in any case more important to devote full attention to the primary task of presenting the unity of Kant's System in clear and unambiguous terms. Hence, in order to enhance the persuasiveness of my presentation, I shall make ample use of a tool which is unfortunately rarely used intentionally by Kant scholars or other philosophers, even though it is now commonly recognized among scientists as a legitimate and valuable aid to explanation. That tool is the 'model'.
2. Models and Metaphors in Systematic Thinking
On the simplest level a model can be regarded as 'a sustained and systematic metaphor' [B21:236]. Indeed, the similarity between models and metaphors accounts in part for the poor reputation models have among most philosophers. For, as Black notes disapprovingly: 'To draw attention to a philosopher's metaphors is to belittle him-like praising a logician for his beautiful handwriting. Addiction to metaphor is held to be illicit, on the principle that whereof one can speak only metaphorically, thereof one ought not to speak at all' [25; cf. 45,47]. Anyone with this skeptical attitude will not find my use of models the least bit helpful, to say nothing of persuasive. But with the help of Black's defense of models as a philosopher of science, I shall attempt in this section to establish their value for philosophical inquiry in general [cf. 242-3; s.a. C10:83-8]. For models, like metaphors, furnish 'a distinctive mode of achieving insight, not to be construed as an ornamental substitute for plain thought' [B21:237].
Black proposes an '"interaction" view' of metaphor [B21:44], which regards them in terms of the interrelationships between different 'systems' of meaning: 'The metaphor works by applying to the principle subject [for us, Kant's philosophical System] a system of "associated implications" characteristic of the subsidiary subject' [44]. The subsidiary subject I have chosen below is a limited set of simple geometrical figures, such as circles and crosses. We will find that when Kant's System is mapped onto such figures, the resulting diagram, like a metaphor, 'selects, emphasizes, suppresses, and organizes features of the principal by implying statements about it that normally apply to the subsidiary subject' [44-5]. If the models I employ succeed in being more than just a 'trivial' translation of one set of ideas into another, they will also carry with them a 'cognitive content' [45-6] which would otherwise remain hidden. 'Use of theoretical models resembles the use of metaphors in requiring analogical transfer of a vocabulary. Metaphor and model-making reveal new relationships; both are attempts to pour new content into old bottles' [238-9]. The 'new content' revealed by my models will be their ability to clarify and highlight the systematic unity of Kant's System, which, as we saw in I.1, is nearly always neglected by his interpreters. Thus, although my use of models is by no means intended to do away with the need for the careful analysis of arguments, it should nevertheless help convince the reader of the importance of seeing such arguments in their proper, systematic context.
Four types of models are distinguished by Black: scale models, analogue models, mathematical models and theoretical models. Although the models I shall employ fit best into the 'theoretical' category, some of the characteristics of the other three types apply to them as well. Like a scale model, each model used in this book is 'a representation of the real or imaginary thing for which it stands [viz., Kant's System]: its use is for "reading off" properties of the original from the directly presented properties of the model' [B21:220]. They enable us 'to bring the remote and unknown to our own level of middle-sized existence' [221]. Thus, an ability to use these models in grappling with Kant's System can help the novice as well as the expert to grasp its complexities. Depicting the System's structure in geometrical models will also involve a 'change of medium', just as analogue models do [222]: 'An analogue model is some material object, system, or process designed to reproduce as faithfully as possible in some new medium the structure or web of relationships in an original.' Unlike a scale model, 'the making of an analogue model is guided by [this] more abstract aim of reproducing the structure of the original' [222]. Whenever the medium is changed in this way it is necessary to specify 'rules for translating the terminology applicable to the model in such a way as to conserve the truth value' [222]-a task I will undertake in III.3. Two points mentioned with regard to mathematical models are also relevant to my usage: (1) 'The original field is thought of as "projected" upon the [model]'; and (2) 'The "model" is conceived to be simpler and more abstract than the original' [223]. Some minor distortion of Kant's own presentation is therefore inevitable, inasmuch as the models cannot include every detail in his vast array of technical vocabulary. Since most of the factors included in Black's comprehensive list of the 'conditions for the use of a theoretical model' [230] have already been mentioned, it will suffice to say that he here adds 'generality' and 'precision' [226], both of which should characterize my use of models.
At this point the skeptic might argue that 'recourse to models smack[s] too much of philosophical fable and literary allegory to be acceptable in a rational search for the truth' [B21:231]. Black's rebuttal is pragmatic: 'recourse to models yields results' [231]. If scientists are in fact successfully using models [cf. R2:2-4], then it seems they should become more than just a topic for philosophers of science to discuss; in addition, philosophers should actually begin using models for their own purposes. Any such usage will indeed always involve the 'risk of fallacious inference from inevitable irrelevances and distortions in the model'.[6] But, as long as we remember that conceptual models can only 'furnish plausible hypotheses, not proofs' [B21:232], and must be supported by more literal accounts, it will be safe to experiment with their explanatory power.
Although 'we usually need intuitive grasp ... of its capacities', Black claims a model's 'picturability is of no importance' [B21:232-3]. 'A promising model is one with implications rich enough to suggest novel hypotheses and speculations in the primary field of investigation. "Intuitive grasp" of the model means a ready control of such implications' [233]. Black is certainly correct to point out that models do not have to be expressed in pictorial form. But in this book the models (being geometrical figures) happen to be pictorial, so it will be far more straightforward to supply the actual picture for each model than to work merely with its conceptual description. Indeed, not supplying pictures for models which lend themselves so readily to picturing would suggest an illegitimate bias against the theoretical value of such usage -a bias which rears its ugly head all too frequently today.[7] Black mentions several scientists who have such a bias, urging us not to 'treat the use of models as an aberration of minds too feeble to think about abstractions without visual aids' [235]. We should regard them not simply as 'a short cut to the consideration of deductive systems' [235-6], but 'as a rational method having its own canons and principles' [236].
One of the most important characteristics of models has so far gone unmentioned: viz., the role they have in original research. For 'models are sometimes not epiphenomena of research, but play a distinctive and irreplaceable part in scientific investigation: models are not disreputable understudies for mathematical formulas' [B21:236], nor for interpretations of philosophical systems! In my own case this has proven true of most of the models I use. Though each went through numerous revisions and mutations in the course of its use, a few basic models (viz., the circle and the cross) were presuppositions I brought to Kant's text with the aim of testing their applicability. Now this procedure may seem at first to be philosophically naive; yet it can be vindicated on two accounts. First, other interpreters tend to adopt a similar procedure, although usually more covertly than when their presuppositions are explicated in the form of clearly defined models. Caird's commentary [C1] is a good example of an interpreter imposing an outside pattern (Hegelianism) onto Kant's text. Kemp Smith's 'patchwork' theory [K3] and, more recently, Strawson's analytic interpretation [S17] are equally good examples. Hence, far from being a lazy method encouraging equivocation, the diagrammatic representations of my interpretation should be taken as an honest explication of the presuppositions I have actually employed.[8]
The second justification for employing models as presuppositions in an interpretation is that, as Black observes, scientists often use precisely the same method in their investigations, always being ready to discard the model if it fails to 'fit' adequately [B21:238]. Thus, after noting the similarity between models and metaphors [236-7, q.a.], Black continues:
Much the same can be said about the role of models in scientific research. If the model were invoked after the work of abstract formulation had already been accomplished, it would be at best a convenience of exposition... [However,] their outcomes are unpredictable. Use of a particular model may amount to nothing more than a strained and artificial description of a domain sufficiently known otherwise. But it may help us to notice what otherwise would be overlooked, to shift the relative emphasis attached to details-in short, to see new connections. [237]
A similar point is made rather more forcibly by Ramsey, one of the few scholars to have discussed at length the application of models to nonscientific disciplines. In his account of the way models enable 'each discipline [to provide] its understanding of a mystery which confronts them all' [R2:1], Ramsey leans heavily on Black's treatment, but also claims to go beyond it in certain respects [see ix]. His discussion of the role of 'disclosure' is particularly relevant to the use I shall make of models. True models usually have their origin, he says, 'in moments of disclosure or insight' [18]:
scientific models...enable a theory, a deductive system,...to be given in respect of phenomena which are at present uninterpreted and lack a scientific mapping. This possibility arises when and in so far as the phenomena display some sort of structure which, being echoed in the model, evokes a disclosure which includes both. [11]
... a theory may be so complex as to be quite bewildering and on this account it may make articulation problematical in the extreme...In this case, a model may simplify the phenomena and the treatment, by singling out 'fundamental notions' which again it echoes in the disclosure which it brings to birth. [12]
As a matter of empirical interest I should note that Kant's philosophy has repeatedly given rise to this sort of disclosure as I have grappled with his text, and that these disclosures have almost always been embodied in one of several models. Moreover, in order to be fair to the reader I should add that my inclusion of the most well-refined and textually compatible of these models is, like a good metaphor, quite purposefully 'calculated to evoke a disclosure' in the reader as well [R2:51]. Readers who are willing and able to take up the models as their own should be able to use them to articulate more precisely the details of Kant's System. For, as Ramsey says, 'the possibility of articulation is ... the basis of a model's usefulness. The great value of a model is that it enables us to be articulate when before we were tongue-tied' [12-3].
Ramsey sees 'a far-reaching parallel between models in science and models in theology' [R2:14], a similarity which can also be applied to philosophy[9] and to the interpretation of systematic writing [cf. 55]. Just as 'models ... make possible experimental verification for science and empirical fit for theology' [17-8], so also they facilitate the testing of logical coherence for philosophy and textual verification for the interpreter. Phillips may well be right when in P6:133-42 he accuses Ramsey of going too far when making such sweeping statements as: 'theorizing by models is the understanding of a mystery whose depths are never sounded by man's plumb-lines, however long and however diverse these lines may be, however far developed' [R2:20]. But Ramsey does seem to be making a valid point when he says more cautiously: 'in each case [models] point to mystery, to the need for us to live as best we can with [theoretical] uncertainties' [21]. In any case, an interpreter's use of models is much more tentative than the theological use Ramsey has in mind,[10] so the 'mystery' for interpreters is nothing more than the ambiguities and paradoxes which confront them when they interpret any difficult text.
Kant never argues for the relevance of models to philosophical inquiry, but he does discuss them briefly in Kt7:231-6. He defines 'a model image' as an 'in concreto' presentation of 'an aesthetic idea' [233; cf. note IX.12]-i.e., a noncognitive picture which represents an abstract concept or set of concepts [s.a. Kt1:598-9]. This is a surprisingly accurate description of the sort of models I shall use, considering the fact that Kant himself employs them only occasionally. However, he does make sufficient use of them, and of (especially geometrical) figures of speech,[11] to suggest that certain models may have been operating in his mind as he wrote. Such 'an implicit or submerged model operating in a writer's thought' Black calls an 'archetype' [B21:239]. 'By an archetype I mean a systematic repertoire of ideas by means of which a given thinker describes, by analogical extension, some domain to which those ideas do not immediately and literally apply' [241].
Although Kant does not construct an explicit or well defined model, he does make frequent use of many types of metaphor. For, as Rabel opines in R1:xiv, 'Kant was not, strictly speaking, an abstract thinker. Frequently a word conjured up a picture before his mind and then he completed his sentence by amplifying this picture.' Indeed, Kant's fondness for metaphor, sometimes used in places where a more abstract thinker would prefer merely a rigorous argument, may be one of the reasons why his exposition in Kt1 is so difficult for many (less metaphorically-minded) philosophers to follow.[12] Tarbet thoroughly examines Kant's use of metaphor in Kt1, arguing that it serves an 'important supporting role', though it does not generally interfere with the actual line of argument [T1:257; s.a. A16:301-319]. After describing several of the more common metaphors in Kt1,[13] he explains that 'the principle setting' for the whole work is based on a metaphor in which Kant is a lawyer working 'in a courtroom where reason presides as a judge' [T1:266; s.e. Kt1:116-7,286]; we readers, then, are apparently the members of the jury, assessing a case in which the judge is on trial. Kant fills out this metaphor with numerous terms drawn 'from the field of jurisprudence ... such as tribunal, case, validity, legal title, claim, cross-examining, appeal to testimony, pass judgment, rule, law, evidence, justify, illicit, right, legislation, cannon, lawgiver' [T1:265]. Given Kant's obvious love of metaphor, we can assume that his own usage will give us clues as to what kind of model can best be used to interpret his System.
3. Kant's Preference for Geometrical Metaphors
Among the many ways in which objects of experience display patterns which could be used in forming metaphors, Kant seems to hold geometry in the highest regard, calling it 'the prototype of sensitive cognition' [Kt19:395]. Thus, in an early essay (1755) on the nature of fire Kant says 'I have ... followed, as diligently as possible, the thread of experience and geometry' [Kt44:371; s.a. Kt12:475]. One year later he wrote an entire essay, the very title of which explicates his interest in 'Metaphysics Combined with Geometry' [Kt12]. Moreover, as we shall see in VII.2.A, an important task in the first part of Kt1 is to explain the peculiar certainty which Euclidian geometry appears to have.[14]
We should not be surprised to find, therefore, not only that Kant uses geometrical diagrams on occasion [e.g., in Kt12:481-2 and Kt10:103(109),108 (114),126(130)], but also that many of his favorite metaphors are, in fact, geometrical. For example, he approves of the practise of applying space 'as a diagram to the concept of time itself, in representing time by a line and its boundaries (moments) by points' [Kt19:405; s.a. Kt1:154,156]. In Kt18:338-9(69-70) he mentions the fact that 'the geometrician represents time by a line' as an example of material 'symbols' representing 'spiritual conceptions' in terms of 'pictures' or 'analogous ideas of our senses'. Elsewhere in Kt18 he explains the determining factors on the human will in terms of a 'point to which the lines of direction of our impulses converge' [334-5(63)]. Later he uses the same metaphor to note the danger of reason and experience appearing to be 'like two parallel lines' [358(99)], the solution to which is for reason to be guided 'not by the straight line of logic, but by giving the lines of evidence [from experience] an imperceptible twist', thus enabling the two to converge at a common 'point' [358-9(99)]. And in Kt6:233(49) Kant offers an 'analogy' between the legal 'conception of Right' and '[t]he Right in geometrical lines', where it refers to a 'Straight' line.
In Kt7i:198n Kant notes that 'the compass and straight edge' are the only two instruments required to construct elementary geometrical figures. This suggests that the simplest or most basic figures are the straight line and the circle. Thus, after pointing out that 'the motion of a straight line round a fixed point ... describe[s] a circle', Kant praises the circle for having 'so much order' and 'a unity so perfect' [Kt15:93-4(263)]. 'There is no wonder of nature which, by the beauty or the order that prevails therein, gives more cause for astonishment', he goes on to say, than the 'common and simple' figure of a circle.[15] Likewise, referring primarily to its geometrical function, he states: 'In such a simple figure as a circle lies the key to the solution of a host of problems every one of which would separately require elaborate material' [Kt7:362]. Perhaps it is no accident, then, that Kant's geometrical metaphors are nearly always related either to the line and its two-dimensional derivative, the cross (two straight lines intersecting at right angles), or to the circle and its three-dimensional derivative, the sphere. Since the cross and the circle are the two figures I will use most frequently as models for interpreting Kant, let us take a brief look at how they function as metaphors or archetypal models, deeply ingrained into his own way of thinking.
We have already seen examples of how Kant regards a single line as a useful metaphor. In Kt20:134-5 the submerged model of a cross emerges when he explicitly develops a threefold 'analogy' between (1) the four points of the compass, as the only way to 'orient one's self ... in the world', (2) 'purely mathematical orientation ... in any given space', and (3) 'the ability to orient myself not merely in space (i.e., mathematically) but in thought as such (i.e., logically).' Here Kant is saying that a geometrical cross (2) has the same fourfold structure as the empirical tool (1), both of which have the same structure as the mental 'compass' of logic (3). (In III.3 I will examine the latter in detail [s.e. note III.15].) The importance of this model of fourfold division within the 'horizon' given by a particular 'standpoint' [see II.4; s.e. note II.21] becomes clear when we find Kant using it repeatedly as the structural basis for his various tables of categories [Kt1:95,106,200,348; Kt2:303; Kt4: 66; Kt6:398; Kt7:197; cf. Kt6:413]. In fact, at one point he even says 'we can diagram the schema' of such a table [Kt6:398; see note III.18], and maps it onto a square (the inversion of a cross [see Pq18:2.2]). But his dependence on this model is certainly not limited to these tables [see e.g., A16:318]. For it will turn out to be relevant over and over again in the interpretation of virtually every part of his System.
Kant's use of 'circle' and 'sphere' metaphors is even more explicit. He sometimes uses these terms as literal references to geometrical figures, or as part of common metaphors such as 'circular reasoning'.[16] But on other occasions he uses them to draw more philosophical analogies such as when he refers to 'the circle of the sciences' [Kt10:78(86)], the 'circle of experience' [Kt1:8], the 'sphere of knowledge' [e.g., 99], or 'the sphere of ethics' [Kt6: 233(49)], etc.[17] His most extensive uses come in Kt1:99, where he uses 'sphere' eleven times in a one-page description of the nature of 'disjunctive judgment', and in Kt10:102-9(107-15), where he uses it 37 times in less than nine pages to describe his entire theory of concepts, judgments, and inferences. Elsewhere he shows how the 'circle' metaphor can be applied to conceptual systems by comparing the relationship between the 'religion of reason' and the 'religion of revelation' to that between two concentric circles [Kt8:12(11); cf. D3:241]. Similarly, in his discussion of 'the vicissitude of human affairs' in Kt68:951 Kant says 'everything revolves in an eternal vortex and is driven around in a circle (so that it will not settle down into an inert heap).' Moreover, in Kt69:300 he compares the development of metaphysics itself to a circle:
the progress of pure reason towards its ultimate end...constitutes a circle whose boundary turns back on itself and so includes a totality of knowledge of the supersensible; beyond this circle there is nothing farther of this sort, and indeed it includes everything that can satisfy the need of such reason.
This leaves little doubt that if Kant had chosen a geometrical figure to serve as the best model for his System, it would have been the circle.
Although he was probably not thinking consciously in terms of a literal model at the time, Barth calls attention to 'the closed and rounded quality of the Kantian system'.[18] Perhaps without fully realizing it he has here pinned down a strange sense of circularity which Kant gives his reader in all three Critiques: a sense of being pushed forward along a curved 'path' of reasoning only to 'end where we started' [Kt5:437], but now fully equipped with a complete set of Critical tools. Wallace makes a similar observation when he says 'Kant ... claimed to lay down on principle the radius of the circle of human knowledge', a circle 'with normal humanity at the centre' [W5:155]. Kant himself never elaborates these archetypal metaphors in the form of such clear and consistent models; but my use of models at various points in this book should compensate for this neglect, at least in part. For these models unearth in Kant's writings what Black finds in the work of a contemporary scientist: viz., 'visible symptoms of a massive archetype awaiting to be reconstructed by a sufficiently patient critic' [B21:241].
4. The Scope of This Study
Kant attempted to organize the outlines of his three Critiques according to the formal structure determined by reason's architectonic logic.[19] In III.3 I will argue that this requires an overall division of each Critique into four parts, each of which is itself divided into three. The threefold divisions are 'synthetic' and proceed according to the pattern 'matter, form, synthesis', while the fourfold divisions are 'analytic' and consist in an introductory and a concluding part, interposed by two parts in which the main argument is presented from two opposing, though complementary, perspectives. Although Kant does not always follow such strict patterns in organizing the contents of his books, he does admit to using a similar circular pattern to organize his thinking: 'In every discourse I first prepare (the reader or the audience) for what I intend to say by indicating, in prospect, my destination and [I end by indicating], in retrospect, the starting point of my argument (without these two points of reference a discourse has no consistency)' [Kt65:113]. It seems legitimate, therefore, to use such a pattern, though worked out more consciously and in greater detail, to organize the twelve chapters of this book. In addition, since each chapter is in a sense a system in itself (i.e., a relatively independent, organized whole), each is divided into four main sections. If nothing else, consistency in following this pattern should help the reader to follow my exposition more easily. Accordingly, the scope and content of this study can be summarized as follows.
Part One sets out Kant's fundamental assumptions and examines the general structure of his philosophical System. Here in Chapter I two essential interpretive guidelines have been considered: Kant's philosophy cannot be properly interpreted without understanding (1) its systematic character and (2) the role of metaphor in Kant's thinking. The use of models, though not essential to an interpretation, has been suggested as a valuable tool for clarifying the structure of any system. Chapter II defines the term 'perspective' as the 'context of' or 'way of considering' a question or set of questions, demonstrates the ubiquity of this notion in Kant's writings, and establishes its crucial role as the key principle governing his entire System. Three 'levels of perspectives' are proposed: (1) a set of four fundamental perspectives which operate in each Critique; (2) a set of three general perspectives, or 'standpoints', each corresponding to one Critique; and (3) a set of properly philosophical Perspectives, which must be rooted in the special 'Copernican' Perspective, upon which Kant's Critical philosophy is based. Chapter III then uses various hints from Kant to determine the nature of the architectonic pattern which gives Kant's System its 'Copernican' character. Although he assumes this pattern throughout his Critical writings, he never bothers to give a detailed formal account of it. Examining his System from this Logical Perspective enables us to understand his rationale for making so many threefold and fourfold distinctions, such as those which constitute his table of twelve categories. By clearly defining the general structure of the System, the way is prepared for a detailed interpretation of its content.
Part Two applies the guidelines established in Part One to the task of investigating the epistemological underpinnings of Kant's System. Chapter IV begins by defining the most general technical terms Kant uses to distinguish between various sorts of 'knowledge' and 'experience', and proceeds to show how they work together to form the four perspectives which function in each of his systems. The transcendental, logical, empirical and practical perspectives are regarded as establishing synthetic a priori, analytic a priori, synthetic a posteriori and analytic a posteriori knowledge, respectively. Chapter V then deals with the foremost 'metacritical' question: what is Kant's justification for assuming the 'thing in itself' as the radically unknowable starting point of his System,[20] and so for engaging in transcendental reflection? I suggest that 'faith' for Kant is not only a moral tool used for the systematic justification of the metaphysical ideas of God, freedom and immortality, but also a theoretical tool which is required to open the door to the entire Critical philosophy. Finally, the epistemological considerations of Part Two come to a head in Chapter VI, which applies the principle of perspective to Kant's theory of the 'object' of knowledge, attempting to clarify two ambiguous sets of terms which would otherwise stand in the way of a clear understanding of Kt1, and so also of his entire System. The terms 'thing in itself', 'transcendental object' and 'appearance' denote the object as viewed from the transcendental perspective, while 'positive noumenon', 'negative noumenon' and 'phenomenon' denote the same object viewed from the empirical perspective.
Part Three uses the formal principles established in Parts One and Two to construct a detailed interpretation of the elements of the three Critical systems themselves. Chapter VII goes into considerable detail in interpreting the Doctrine of Elements in Kt1 [s.a. Kt2] as a system based on the theoretical standpoint.[21] Chapters VIII and IX then apply the same principles to interpret, respectively, his system of moral philosophy [Kt4 and Kt5] and his system of aesthetic and teleological judgment [Kt7]. The standpoint assumed in each of these chapters shifts from the theoretical in Chapter VII to the practical in Chapter VIII, and again to the judicial in Chapter IX. But in each case the system in question is regarded as a progressive argument consisting of four stages, each of which contains three steps, and thus follows the pattern established in III.3.[22]
My method of exposition in Part Three (and throughout this book, though to a lesser extent) is to concentrate on presenting Kant's own words as the primary way of defending my interpretation. My own comments, as well as those of other interpreters, serve to connect these quotes together in a smooth and intelligible fashion (with due attention to their context) and to fill the gaps Kant occasionally leaves in his argument. This method is intended to maximize the accuracy of my account, thus demonstrating that the formal structure used is not just a fabrication artificially imposed on Kant's System, but is imbedded in the text itself. Although on numerous occasions it reveals the consistency of remarks which are often taken to be contradictory, such an approach also inevitably leaves some matters shrouded in obscurity, especially when interpreting those works [e.g., Kt7 and Kt9] in which Kant's adherence to architectonic logic tends to be less evident. In any case, it should be understood that my general assumption is not that Kant explicitly elaborates the details of his System in exactly the way I present them; rather it is that, if Kant had been able to see his System as clearly as we can see it with hindsight, he would have constructed it much along the lines followed in this study. Hence my intentions are not merely expository, but partially revisionary as well.[23]
Part Four offers a glimpse of the metaphysical implications of Kant's System, in light of the foundations established by his Critical philosophy. The ideas of God, freedom and immortality correspond, respectively, to three areas of metaphysical inquiry which are of utmost importance to philosophers: religion, science and politics. Each chapter in this concluding part summarizes a planned sequel to the present book, where the arguments outlined here will be presented in their full form [see note X.2]. Chapter X explains how Kant's entire System has a theological orientation, revolving as it does around the three basically theological ideas. A perspectival interpretation of Kant reveals that, in spite of the limitations it places on our knowledge of God, his Critical philosophy lays a non-reductionist foundation for a fundamentally affirmative approach to theology, religion and religious experience. Chapter XI explains how Kant's Critical philosophy was not intended to serve as the philosophical foundation for any particular version of natural science, but for all possible versions. Thus, the overthrow in the past two hundred years of the traditional systems of mathematics, logic, physics and scientific methodology, does not imply the falsity of Kant's philosophy of science, even though he sometimes took for granted in his arguments the truth of the now defunct systems. On the contrary, the perspectival focus of his own System, with its emphasis on both freedom and natural causality, seems to have been a major contributing factor in the shift in world view which made possible these very changes. Chapter XII concludes this study by suggesting that all Kant's diverse philosophical reflections converge on a specific view of the nature and purpose of human life in history, and of how our common destiny (as guided by the idea of immortality) can be realized through the implementation of a proper understanding of a Critical political system.
[1] See e.g., Kt4:3-8. In Kt1:835-47 Kant argues that 'morality' or 'freedom' [in Kt4] and 'purposiveness' or 'ends' [in Kt7] each constitute systems distinct from the system of 'nature' or 'causality' [in Kt1]. Although he occasionally refers to these three systems as 'critical idealism' [e.g., Kt2:293-4] and refers to them as composing a 'critical system' [e.g., Kt4:7,8; cf. Kt1:Axxi], he repeatedly warns that Criticism is merely an 'introduction' or 'propaedeutic' [Kt1:xliii,25,878] to his complete System, which he variously calls a System of 'pure reason' [Axxi,25-7,109,167,249,708,736,765-6,869; s.a. Kt4:3], of 'metaphysics' [Kt1:xxiii, xxxvi,21-4,869,874], or of 'transcendental philosophy' [25-6,107]. As we shall see in III.4 and throughout Part Four, Kant's System of Perspectives does indeed extend well beyond the three Critiques. Since the three Critical systems form only a part of his overall System, I will avoid using the common phrase 'Critical System'; instead, I will use the equally common phrase 'Critical philosophy' to refer to the three Critiques taken together, thus reserving the word 'System' (note the capital 'S') for the whole set of Kant's systematic writings, including not only the three Critiques, but his analytical and metaphysical works as well [see Figures III.9 and X.1].
This should warn us not to commit one of the most disastrous interpretive errors, which is to emphasize Kt1 to such an extent that one believes with Heine that Kant's 'other writings are in a measure superfluous, or may at least be considered as commentaries' [H12:112]. Kant explicitly warns in Kt4:7 that his considerations subsequent to Kt1 'are not like props and buttresses which usually have to be put behind a hastily erected building, but they are rather true members making the structure of the system plain and letting the concepts [of God, freedom and immortality], which were previously thought of [in Kt1] only in a problematic way, be clearly seen as real.' Thus, Kant's analogy in Kt7:381 concerning the relation between various sciences applies also to the relation between the various aspects of his System: 'we must...work architectonically with [each] as a separate and independent building. We must treat [each] as a self-subsisting whole, and not as a wing or section of another building-although we may subsequently make a passage to or fro from one part to another.' In my interpretation such 'passages' are facilitated by emphasizing the systematic connections between different 'perspectives' [see Ch. II] and by using 'models' as intuitive aids [see I.3].
[2]This view could be regarded as one thing which distinguishes Kant's mature thought from some of his earlier philosophy. For in Kt17:276-8 he argues that philosophy proceeds analytically.
[3] Kt1:xliv.In Kt15:89(256) Kant explicitly contrasts the 'analytic' approach with the 'systematic' approach. Although he admits to adopting the former in Kt15, he clearly recognizes the dangers of depending exclusively on mere logical analysis. Indeed, at one point he alludes to alchemy in order to emphasize the futility and 'dryness' of 'too prolix an exposition' in analyzing a given idea: 'For I have as little taste as any body for the superfine wisdom of those, who fuse and sublimate secure and useful conceptions in their logical crucibles, till they evaporate in smoke and volatile salts' [74-5(234-5)].
[4] Kt69:259. Stebbing describes the nature of the scientific method in a surprisingly similar way in S14:227: 'Scientific thinking is controlled and directed thinking; it is essentially methodical.... Order is not the same as system. What is ordered are the particular facts; the system is the orderly arrangement that results.' Kant uses the word 'science' in this sense whenever he claims that his System intends to put metaphysics 'upon the secure path of a science' [Kt1:xiv], or that philosophy 'seeks [wisdom] by the path of science' [878]. Although Kant does suggest that Kt1 'is a treatise on the method, not a system of the science itself' [xxii], he immediately adds: 'But at the same time it marks out the whole plan of the science, both as regards its limits and as regards its entire internal structure.' This 'internal structure' consists of the 'elements' given in the main body of Kt1 (i.e., in the 'Doctrine of Elements'). Kant surely chose this term because he regarded these elements as themselves forming a system; and as Stebbing asserts, in science the 'facts' or 'objects' which are to be ordered are generally referred to as the 'elements' of the system [S14:227].
[5] K3:xxii; s.a. W5:158-9,219. The lack of unity which interpreters read into Kant's System gives rise to unfair claims such as Michalson's, that Kt1 is 'a perversely confusing and confused work' [M11:25; s.a. 21]. Gilson's charge is even more explicit: 'In spite of his efforts to multiply the internal connections between the several parts of his doctrine, Kant never succeeded in giving it an organic unity. It was not a question of cleverness, or of genius; the thing simply could not be done. Having cut loose from metaphysics, Kantism could not grow from within like a tree; because it did not germinate internally, but copied models outside it [viz., Newton and Rousseau], Kantism could be only a set of mutually unrelated adaptations' [G9:236]. As we shall see, this anti-metaphysical view of Kant is a gross misrepresentation; but two other points also arise out of Gilson's polemic. First, although it is undoubtedly true that Kant wrote so hastily [see K3:xix] that he was not always able to express coherently the pattern according to which he constructed his System, it is not for this reason any less true that he did intend to structure it according to some such pattern. He did not reject metaphysics; instead he took it from the realm of speculation and imbedded it in the realm of the systematization of experience [see IV.1 and Part Three]. The second point is that it is only because the general character of Kant's System is ignored by interpreters such as Gilson that his philosophy gives the impression of being a mere adaptation of the views of others. In fact, such suggestions are untenable and grossly unfair to Kant's genius [see e.g., note I.14].
[6] B21:232.In order to help guard against such errors I have adopted the practise of presenting a model only after the theory it represents has been fully explained in a purely conceptual form, even though the actual making of the model sometimes preceded the interpretation to which it is applied [see below].
[7] Some philosophers do find it helpful to use geometrical diagrams as models for clarifying their conceptual explanations. Although interpreters of Kant do not often adopt such an approach, there are some cases in which diagrams have been used effectively (albeit, without defending such usage) [see e.g., B27:48,72,81, 90; B28:136; K3:281; S11:cxxvi; S16:1051,1053; W21:114]. Capaldi's use of circles and arrows in C3:235-9 and Despland's use of concentric circles in D3:241 are especially noteworthy. Collins points out that 'Kant does not disdain the use of diagrams' [C11:102]. Indeed, we shall see in I.3 that Kant had a high regard for geometry and for the value of geometrical metaphors.
[8] SeenoteI.6.Inasmuch as the experimental application of geometrical models to Kant's System has proved to be successful, I could have merely presented my interpretation without specifying the interpretive tools used. The integrity of such an approach, however, seems to me to be questionable.
[9] Philosophical devices such as 'conceptual mapping', popularized by various analytic philosophers in this century, can be regarded as at least indirectly related to the use of models described in this section. Unfortunately, contemporary philosophers have generally been reluctant to draw any significant implications along these lines. In Pq18, by contrast, I explore in great detail various ways of using geometrical figures as models for logical patterns.
[10]Ramsey's point about 'mystery' would perhaps be more relevant if applied to models used in religious observances-i.e., in actions (rather than concepts).
[11]The function of a 'figure' of speech, according to O5:996, is to supply variety of expression, added force, or an element of beauty to otherwise dry notions. All these tasks, significantly enough, can also be fulfilled by using models. Moreover, 'figure' can be a synonym for 'diagram', which at least suggests the initial plausibility of the geometrical extension I shall give to Kant's figures of speech.
[12] In R1:xiii Rabel lays the blame on Kant's translators, who tend to replace 'Kant's colloquial intimacy...by a high-brow...solemnity.' 'Kant's style', he observes, 'is full of vigour and temperament and often glinting with subtle irony', yet most translations render it 'for the most part duller than it should be.'
[13] In T1:257-62 Tarbet discusses the metaphor of a dove's 'flight' in 'empty space', which Kant uses in Kt1:xiv-xv,9,375,591,597,619,658,665,666,717 [s.a. B9: 175n,256,262]. He mentions Kant's 'battle' metaphors in Kt1:xv,491-2,666-7, which often occur immediately after 'flight' metaphors. He adds that this or some other type of 'military metaphor is widely used-well over fifty times' [e.g., xv, xxx,A383-4,448,450,492,768,771,775,784,796]. Less frequent metaphors are those which are 'political' [A395,397,766-7,772,774], those 'which turn on images of the ocean' [A396,753,754], 'geographical metaphors' relating to cartography [vii,297,310], oceanography [294-5,A395-6], or travel [294-5,672], and metaphors from biology [24,387,805-6,863], merchant life [627,630] and government [695,769,817]. Tarbet also mentions Kant's 'path' and 'house' metaphors [T1:270]; but unfortunately, he overlooks Kant's important geometrical metaphors.
[14]In Pq14 I discuss Kant's theory of geometry in detail, arguing that the overthrow of Euclidean geometry does not imply the overthrow of Kant's theory of geometry in Kt1 [s.a. XI.2].
[15]Kt15:94(264); s.a. 133(321). Kant warns in Kt23:393(167) that the 'beautiful' properties of the circle, such as its 'extensive utility and conformity-to-end', have tempted philosophers such as Pythagoras to commit the fallacy of attempting to 'resolve philosophically a mathematical problem': such a philosopher 'believes here to fall upon a secret, and on that account to see something exceedingly great, where he sees nothing' [167-8]. The use of geometrical figures as models in philosophy can escape this criticism, however, as long as it rests not on confusing the difference between a mathematical and a philosophical problem, but on the willingness to see an analogy between logical and geometrical structures [see III.3-4, Pq16 and Pq18].
[16] Of the 18 occurrences of 'circle' in Kt1 [as listed in Pq10:57], nine refer to a literal circle and eight to circular reasoning [Kt1:250,A245,A252,404,A366,A395, 417,721]. Of the 62 occurrences of 'sphere' and 'spheres' [as listed in Pq10:353], only two refer literally to the geometrical figure. Also of interest is Kant's five uses of the related words 'circumspect' and 'circumspection', which occur in conjunction with the key ideas of 'self-criticism' [Kt1:xxxi], 'transcendental reflection' [217], reason's own self-judgment [617] and the preparatory function of the 'sceptical procedure' [789,797].
[17] Kant uses a variety of words in Kt1 to modify 'sphere'. His most frequent references are to the spheres of 'knowledge' [99(eleven times),135,191,235,499], of a 'concept' [113(twice),180,604(twice),683(twice),687(twice)], of the 'understanding' [174,297,344,362,621,796], of the 'practical' [xxxviii,713,784,804,832], of 'reason' [425,497(twice),704], of 'logic' [ix,684], of 'experience' [281-2, 790], of the 'empirical' [706,790] and of 'objects' [309,507n]. Types of 'sphere' to which he refers only once are the spheres of 'non-mortal beings' [97], 'all that is possible' [97], 'judgment' [117], 'proof' [188], 'appearances' [310], 'principles' [315], 'objects of our thought' [343], 'the conditioned' [649] and 'creation' [658], as well as the 'mystical' [371n], 'moral' [374], 'transcendental' [740] and 'speculative' [851] spheres. In II.3.D we will see that Kant's 'sphere' metaphor is closely connected to his 'field' metaphor, and thus to the basic notion of a 'perspective'.
In B27:71 Buchdahl says Kant's use of the phrase 'sphere of reason' is 'a very appropriate model', in which '"reason" is compared...to a sphere'. He quotes Kt1:790, where Kant equates 'sphere' with 'the field of experience'. Buchdahl then agrees with the approach adopted here when he adds in B27:73: 'images can provide important schematizations of abstract arguments, and in particular of Kant's formal presentations.'
[18]B3:297e.a. MacKinnon adopts this metaphor in M1:259 when he says 'Kant's philosophy...is one of a charmed circle, and he is not claiming more than a relative validity for its categories.' As we shall see in II.4 and III.1, Kant's whole System is indeed relative in the sense that its validity is based on his 'Copernican' assumption. However, MacKinnon goes too far when he claims that the circular character of Kant's system is part of the 'agnostic strand' in his philosophy. For as we shall see in X.4, Kant's theoretical agnosticism is intended not to stand on its own, but to pave the way for what could be called 'true gnosis', which is ultimately realized in the silence of experience.
[19] Although scholars often talk about the importance of Kant's architectonic as a key factor in the construction of his System, few commentators (whether friend or foe) make any effort to explain its rational structure. Even Werkmeister, who rightly emphasizes the 'continuity' of Kant's thinking throughout his life's work [e.g., W17:8,29,188], uses 'architectonic' only eleven times [x,92,95,96,99,129, 131,133,151,159,197], even though the word appears in the title of his book. Moreover, rather than explaining its meaning, he merely mentions the word in passing, apparently treating it as synonymous with the 'inner development of Kant's thinking' in time [x]! Although the latter assumption might be more palatable to our modern ears, with our bias for the 'dynamic' over the 'static' [cf. Ap. III], it bears little resemblance, as we shall see, to Kant's own conception of architectonic as a fixed structure to be discovered by the philosopher. Of course, Kant's thought certainly did develop; but the nature of his architectonic can only be obscured by focussing on that temporal development rather than on the development of his ideas in reason [cf. Kt8:39(34)], which Kant regarded as the true mark of architectonic. At least part of my answer to the perennial question 'Why another book on Kant?' would be to point out that the present book fills this gap in the literature by offering an interpretation based on a thoroughgoing description of Kant's conception of reason's architectonic structure.
[20]That this is the only truly 'Kantian' way of regarding the thing in itself is argued in Appendix V.
[21]My general lack of attention to particular arguments in abstraction from their context [see I.1] will include those concerning the difference between the first and second editions of Kt1. I will assume the latter to be an updated version, slightly more adequate than the former as an expression of Kant's theoretical system. In other words, I assume that anything which is intended to be an element of the system will be discussed by Kant in both editions.
[22] As we shall see in IX.4, the third system, based on Kt7, does not fit into this pattern as neatly as the others [but see Ap. IX]. However, Kant rectifies this inconsistency in Kt8 [see X.3].
[23] The need to revise arises out of the fact that Kant himself occasionally falls victim to what he calls 'the usual fortune of the understanding, the shortest way being not the first which it becomes aware of' [Kt3:476n]. However, this need should not be misconstrued. Nearly all of my 'revisions' are not to be taken as ways of changing Kant's own views, but as ways of completing his partial exposition of them, by following his guidelines more strictly than he himself did. For I actually reject Kant's position only on a handful of mostly terminological matters, such as on the question of the possibility of analytic a posteriori knowledge [see IV.3, Ap. IV and Pq9].
Because my own position usually coincides with Kant's (as I understand it), I will not usually distinguish between his views and my own. As explained in Appendix I, my philosophical predisposition to a large extent predates my acquaintance with Kant's writings. Nevertheless, since Kant is, in my estimation, nearly always right in the philosophical positions he adopts, his System has served as a reliable vehicle in my own search for truth. Of course, it might be argued that what appears in this book is in some cases more an account of how I have succeeded in reading my own views into Kant's writings, than of the views Kant himself actually intended to convey. To guard against this danger, I have made every effort to insure that my interpretation (even in its 'revision') is faithful to the text, by quoting extensively from Kant's works. However, in response to anyone who still refuses to believe that Kant actually meant what I say he means, I would simply request that they take these ideas as an expression of my own attempt to construct a philosophical System by using Kant as a sounding board.
