Chapter XI

The Tantalizing ‘Gap’ in Kant’s System

 

 

I am as it were mentally paralyzed even though physically I am reasonably well. I see before me the unpaid bill of my uncompleted philosophy, even while I am aware that philosophy ... is capable of completion. It is a pain like that of Tantalus though not a hopeless pain. The project on which I am now working concerns the ‘Transition from the metaphysical foundations of natural science to physics.’ It must be completed, or else a gap will remain in the critical philosophy. Reason will not give up her demands for this ... [AA12:254(Zw67:251)]

 

1. Förster’s Riddle: What Prompted Kant to Write Kt9?

       In the famous passage from his 1798 letter to Christian Garve, quoted above, Kant confesses that he sees a tantalizing ‘gap’ in his philosophical System, a gap connected in some way with the ‘transition’ project he was then working on, as contained in what we now call the Opus Postumum [Kt9]. Interpreters have typically taken ‘gap’ and ‘transition’ to refer to exactly the same thing, namely, to the book Kant hoped Kt9 would become. As a result, there has been a long-standing, twofold conundrum concerning Kant’s intentions in Kt9. First, Kant clearly states in the third Critique that this book (pub­lished in 1790) brings his ‘entire critical undertaking to a close’ [Kt7:170], so how can a new gap suddenly appear eight years later? And second, Kant’s Metaphysical Foundations of Natural Science [Kt3] had already accomplished, in 1786, a transition between the Critical System (especially Kt1) and physics, so why does there need to be another transition, between this first transition and physics? These twin problems have led some scholars to suppose that, when Kant mentions mental paralysis in his letter to Garve, he is actually alluding to the onset of senility, and that this affliction eventually caused the sage of Königsberg to waste the last years of his life writing nonsense.

       Eckart Förster has proposed an interesting alternative explanation which, he argues, could provide some much-needed clues for drawing together the diverse pieces of this puzzle.[1] He argues that Kant must not have intended the words ‘gap’ and ‘transition’ to refer to the same thing, because the idea for writing a transition can be traced ‘back at least to the year 1790’ [Fö87:536], yet no mention of a gap is ever made until September of 1798 [537]. He thinks this indicates that something must have ‘happened in 1798 which prompted Kant to reflect anew on his philosophy, and which brought to his attention a gap in the critical system that had previously escaped him’ [537]. Förster conjectures on the basis of an ingenious compilation of evidence that the event in question, which sparked Kant’s recognition of the gap, was the publication of a Prize Essay question by the Berlin Academy of Sciences, criticizing Kant’s view of mathematics and favoring ‘the general empirical origin of all our cognitions’ [q.i. 554]. This event, Förster conjectures, may have ‘led Kant to reflect anew on the role of mathematics in philosophy and hence, ultimately, to revise his position substantially’ [555]. Although he does not claim to have presented a thorough analysis, Förster points out that the theory of the role of mathematics in physics that Kant develops in Kt9 appears to be contrary to the official ‘Critical’ position [Fö87:549-552]. This difference, claims Förster, sug­gests that the word ‘gap’ refers to Kant’s sudden, painful realization that ‘the question of the objective reality of [Kt1’s] concepts and principles still awaited a satisfactory demonstration’ [Fö87:551]—a question that would therefore need to be answered in Kt9 as part of the transition.

       Förster defends his position by noting that Kt9 contains a ‘polemic against mathematical foundations’ [Fö87:550] that seems to contradict directly the view presented in Kt3, where mathematics is regarded as the necessary link between metaphysics and physics: ‘A pure philosophy of nature in general’, Kant explains, ‘may indeed be possible without mathematics; but a pure doctrine of nature concerning determinate natural things ... is possible only by means of mathematics’ [Kt3:470]. If in Kt9 ‘mathematics is expelled from the philosophia naturalis’, then, Förster concludes, ‘the very possibility of a “pure doctrine of nature ...” is now in question’ [Fö87:550]. Thus the new gap Kant supposedly recognized suddenly in September of 1798 was that the mathematical emphasis of Kt3 [see XI.3] must now be replaced by a nonmathematical defense of the objective reality (i.e., applicability to physics) of the categories and principles defended in Kt1.

       Förster’s solution to the riddle of Kt9, then, is that ‘transition’ refers to the book that was to be composed out of the notes contained in Kt9, whereas ‘gap’ refers to the recognition while writing this book that his former ‘Critical’ view of mathematics (as developed in Kt3) was mistaken and therefore needed to be replaced. Unfortunately, Förster overlooks several problems that render his novel explanation untenable. After calling attention to these problems, I shall propose solutions by showing how the terms ‘gap’ and ‘transition’ have clearly discernible meanings once Kt9 comes to be regarded as the final state­ment of Kant’s Critical mysticism, as hinted in II.1,4, X.1,4, and KSP1:III.4.

       The first problem raised by Förster’s conjecture is that it seems rather far-fetched to suppose that the person who is arguably the most influential philosopher in modern times, and who showed such extreme (often annoying) confidence in the validity of his work, would suddenly revise one of the most basic tenets of his (by then) well-established System, just because someone saw fit to question it. This would not be the recognition of a gap, but a revolu­tionary rejection of an important part of the Critical enterprise, in favor of something closer to traditional empiricism. Moreover, such an interpretation fails to explain why Kant repeatedly says Kt9 adopts the ‘highest stand­point of transcendental philosophy’ [e.g., Kt9:23,32]—to the extent that Jachmann calls it ‘his most important work’ [q.i. Ca81:408]. If Kt9 is intended to revise such basic Critical doctrines as the role of mathematics in physics, then it would hardly seem appropriate for Kant to call it the highest standpoint of his System, but, at best, a revision of the standpoint formerly adopted erroneously! Yet, as I shall argue shortly, no such problematic revision need be supposed, once the thoroughly perspectival structure of Kant’s philosophical System is taken into account. The views expressed in Kt9 are not intended to replace the views expressed in any of the three Critiques, but instead are intended to answer some of the same questions from a different standpoint. Solving this first problem, then, will require an explanation of how the apparently contradictory theories Kant proposes in Kt3 and Kt9 can be rendered compatible.

       The second problem arises when Förster [in Fö87:538] denies the tradi­tion­al view of Kt3, whereby it is regarded as a partial fulfillment of Kant’s plan to write a Metaphysics of Nature.[2] Förster rightly recognizes that Kt3 is ‘Kant’s philosophy of physics, or, rather, of physics’ rational part’ [544]; however, he believes its function in Kant’s System should be understood in connection not with the proposed Metaphysics of Nature, but with Kt1, as an extended foot­note to the Schematism: ‘Since the Schematism chapter dealt ex­clusively with time-determinations and inner sense, it did not specify the “suf­ficient” condi­tions of the application of the categories; it required supplementa­tion by a work that laid out the form and principles of outer intuition in their entirety’ [542]. Kt3 can thus serve ‘to supplement the Schematism and to complete the proof of the objective reality of the categories’ [543]. In fact, Förster goes so far as to conclude from certain comments in Kant’s Preface [Kt3:477-478] that Kt3 is not intended to be ‘part of the metaphysical system’ at all [Fö87:538-539]. He infers this from the fact that Kant uses a rather unfortunate metaphor in describ­ing the relation between Kt3 and ‘general metaphysics ... (properly, transcen­dental philosophy)’ [Kt3:478]: Kant says Kt3 is like ‘a shoot springing indeed from [the] root [of general metaphysics] but only hindering its regular growth’; hence in Kt3 Kant ‘plants this shoot apart ... [from] general metaphysics.’

       The problem here is manifold: there are at least five weighty objections to this aspect of Förster’s interpretation. First, if Kt3 served such a key role in the completion of Kt1, then Kant would certainly have made a point of stressing this fact at some point in Kt1’s second edition (published one year after Kt3); yet the second edition’s only reference to Kt3 [Kt1:110n] makes no mention of any such radical change. Second, Kant would probably also have included these crucial new arguments themselves in the second edition (at least in sum­mary form), since without them the arguments in the Critique are supposedly ‘insufficient’; yet no such arguments numbered among the many revisions Kant made to Kt1 in 1787. Third, the analogy of the ‘shoot’ being entirely separable from the original plant, so that each can survive independently, would be wholly inappropriate if Förster’s position is correct. Instead of emphasizing the sufficiency of Kt1 to stand on its own, as Kant intended, just the opposite would be true: the mother plant’s roots (Kt1) would not be able to survive once the shoot (Kt3) were transplanted. Fourth, Förster’s accurate recognition of the need for a ‘completion’ of the Schematism, with its exclusive emphasis on time, is misplaced. For he neglects the fact that this need is actually satisfied in the very next chapter of Kt1, the Principles of Pure Understanding (and espe­cially in the second edition Refutation of Idealism), where space is reintroduced into the system of knowledge, and its formal characteristics defined. Finally, in Kt3 Kant clearly portrays his purpose as being, much like the purpose of his later Metaphysics of Morals (Kt6), not to provide a formal completion of Kt1, but to provide material for its proper application—i.e., ‘instances (cases in concreto) to realize the concepts and propositions of [Kt1]’ [Kt3:478]. And this is not the task of Critique, but of Critically enlightened metaphysics.

       The mistaken character of Förster’s interpretation of Kant’s analogy of the ‘shoot’ is made more obvious when we read Kt3:477-478, where Kant says Kt3’s separation from the rest of the System can be done ‘without mistaking its origination from metaphysics or ignoring its entire outgrowth from the system of general metaphysics. Doing this does not affect the completeness of the system of general metaphysics’ because this ‘separate metaphysics of corporeal nature’ is now to be viewed as a smaller part (i.e., a subsystem) within ‘the larger system of metaphysics in general’. Kant’s point, in other words, is simply that, in keeping with his usual systematic method, he will divide his subject-matter into different standpoints, and deal with each separately.[3] Kant is saying that, instead of mixing together topics that adopt different standpoints, he prefers to treat them separately, with the understanding that they all remain under the ‘umbrella’ of the System’s overall Perspective (i.e., the ‘Copernican’ Perspective, as he calls it in the Preface to Kt1’s second edition). Of course, this second problem gives rise to the need to determine more accurately the precise nature of the relationship Kant saw between Kt3 and the rest of his System—a task I shall attempt to fulfill in XI.3.

       In addition to the problems associated with Förster’s claim that Kant decided to make a fundamental revision in the core elements of his System at such a late stage in his life, and with his assumption that Kt3 fills a gaping hole in Kt1’s Schematism, a third problem now rears its ugly head: namely, Förster accepts the conventional view that Kant’s overall purpose in Kt9 was to con­struct his infamous ‘transition’. Because Kant says in his letter to Garve that his current project ‘concerns the “Transition from the metaphysical foundations of natural science to physics”’, commentators have typically assumed this, or something like it, was to be the title of that work [see e.g., Pa02:281n]. But this completely ignores the fact that a significant portion of Kt9, as we shall see, is concerned not with physics and theoretical reason but with theology and practical reason. It also ignores the fact that ‘Transition ...’ is only one of many potential titles Kant considers, and does not aptly reflect the book’s overall content [see XI.2]. Indeed, even a cursory reading of Kt9 reveals that Kant’s interests are much broader than simply to establish such a transition. This third problem, then, gives rise to the need to describe more fully Kt9’s true purpose.

       A fourth and final problem with Förster’s interpretation is that it fails to give an adequate explanation for why Kant would describe the gap in his System as giving rise to ‘a pain like that of Tantalus’. If the gap is really the recognition that his previous view of the relation between mathematics and physics is wrong, then this gap would not be tantalizing, but sickening, especially for someone who had devoted so much time and energy to the task of developing a System that rests (at least in part) on what would now be seen to be an incorrect view. The whole tenor of Kant’s remarks to Garve suggests that the gap in question is tantalizing because it would complete the System for the first time or in a new way, not because it would revise a System he had formerly thought to be complete. Providing an alternative interpretation that avoids this final problem will therefore require a more direct explanation of the implications of Kant’s allusion to the myth of Tantalus.

       Förster is aware of the importance of taking into consideration Kant’s reference to the myth of Tantalus, for he mentions it on several occasions [Fö87:533,537,549,551]. However, the most he ever says in the way of explaining why his description of the gap renders appropriate a comparison with the pain of Tantalus is that in September of 1798 ‘Kant could only see that, but not how, the Transition must achieve this goal’ [537]—i.e., the goal of filling the gap left by Kant’s supposed recognition of Kt3’s inadequacy. Yet such a perplexing situation would not be consistent with the type of tantalizing ‘pain’ symbolized by the myth in question. As we shall see in XI.4, the myth alludes to a pain caused by a desire of which both the cause (the ‘that’) and the means of satisfaction (the ‘how’) are fully known, but whose fulfillment is pre­vented by some extraneous factors that are out of the individual’s control. The alternative I shall suggest is perhaps most appealing in view of its ability to elucidate Kant’s analogy.

       In the remainder of this chapter I shall offer an alternative explanation of the facts—one that enjoys the benefits of Förster’s helpful suggestions, but provides solutions to the four problems raised above. I shall begin this task in the next section by reviewing some of Kant’s long-term motivations for constructing a philosophical System and how Kt9 fits in to his overall plan; this will provide an important background against which the issues we are considering can be accurately viewed. XI.3 will then provide a general overview of the architectonic relationships between the different books that constitute Kant’s System, including a new explanation of what Kant was aiming to accomplish in Kt9, thus solving the first three problems raised above. Finally, I shall demonstrate in XI.4 how this way of explaining the role of Kt9 provides an excellent solution to the fourth problem, by revealing the significance of Kant’s allusion to the myth of Tantalus.

 

2. The Tantalizing Content of Kt9

       The word ‘tantalizing’ may seem oddly out of place in a discussion of Kant’s writing, so much of which is characterized by his often dry and abstract style of reasoning. This is true, at least, until we recall our discussion in Chapter II of what may be the most unjustly neglected work in Kant’s corpus, his examination of Swedenborg’s mystical experiences in Kt18. Though com­paring the dangers of fanatical mysticism to those of speculative metaphysics, Kant nevertheless expresses the hope that mystical experiences and metaphysi­cal knowledge of spirits may convey some measure of reality or truth. This, together with its paradoxical and sometimes shocking insistence that such hopes are bound to be disappointed, makes Kt18 one of the only books Kant wrote that can legitimately be said to tantalize the reader.

       Our detailed examination of Kt18 in II.2-3 revealed that this book gives us a good look at Kant’s dawning awareness of his special, Critical way of doing philosophy. Moreover, his study of Swedenborg’s mystical visions appears to have served as a catalyst prodding Kant to set out a complete System of Critical philosophy. Indeed, a proper understanding of Kt18, as forming a vital part of the Critical philosophy’s historical context, is necessary for anyone who wishes to understand the general purpose of Kant’s System, and so also, to interpret properly the purpose of Kt9. For if we keep in mind Kant’s founda­tional comparison between the sensation-dreams of those who claim to have mystical experiences and the reason-dreams of those who claim to have meta­physical knowledge, then the fact that Kant saw Kt18 as requiring him not to give up his love of metaphysics, but rather to reform it (by applying to it the Critical method he was gradually perfecting), clearly implies that he also hoped for the day when the same Critical reform could be applied to the claims of mystics.

       The connection between mysticism and metaphysics therefore represents not just a passing phase in Kant’s early development, but an undercurrent that can be seen operating throughout his entire System. For if no other message comes through the pages of Kt18, the notion that Kant saw the possibility of mystical experience and of metaphysical knowledge as standing or falling together, as two sides of the same coin, shines forth like the noonday sun. Inasmuch as Kt18 sets out for the first time a general problem that Kant devoted the rest of his life to solving, I portrayed it in II.4 as the ‘seed’ that eventually sprouted and grew into the ‘tree’ of Critical philosophy. The architectonic inter­pretation of the latter given in KSP1 (especially Chapter III and its detailed application in Part Three) facilitates a clearer understanding of how the three Critiques constitute Kant’s attempt to construct a secure metaphysical foundation for a rarefied form of mysticism. Although the ‘tree of Critical philosophy’ had matured by 1790, its ‘mystical fruit’ did not begin to ripen until shortly before 1798. For as we shall see, Kt9 was to be Kant’s attempt to complete at long last the cycle that began with Kt18, by bringing to full fruition the twofold task of Critical philosophizing.

       Kant believed Kt9 would be the greatest work of his entire System of Perspectives: it was to fill the final ‘gap’ by uniting the entire System under one idea. Unfortunately, he died before it could be completed. He left hundreds of pages of notes on his desk,[4] organized into (significantly enough) twelve folders, called ‘Convoluts’ in German and ‘fascicles’ or ‘bundles’ in English. Given Kant’s method of considering opposing viewpoints with all sincerity before making up his mind on any given issue [see KSP1:34-5], and given his Critical tendency to accept both extremes, as viewed from different perspectives, it is inevitable that an unfinished work will give rise to even more interpretive controversy and confusion than the works he completed [see Ad20:1-35]. Nevertheless, I believe that, armed with a clear understanding of the System it was intended to complete and with a recognition of its dependence on the principle of perspective, we can interpret these notes in such a way that they will appear not only to be surprisingly self-consistent and consistent with the rest of Kant’s System, but also to fulfill the function for which they were originally intended.

       I shall argue in this section that the function of Kt9 is to reveal the mystical seed of the Critical dream in its fully-formed state, as a thoroughly Critical mysticism. Whereas the Critical mysticism developed in Kt18 is concerned with the possibility of communion with spirits, the Critical mysticism devel­oped in Kt9 is concerned with the all-important question of the actuality of communion with God. In order to show that Kant’s Critical mysticism is evident quite apart from his (potentially) systematic defense of it in Kt9, I purposefully avoided using material from Kt9 in Chapter X. This should also serve to prove that Kant is not merely succumbing in his old age either to senility or to the Roman­ticist influences of Fichte and the other young idealists, as is generally assumed,[5] but is trying at last to realize the full implications of the plan he had been elaborating for over thirty years.

       In this crowning segment of his System of Perspectives Kant attempts to close the final gap in the overall System by expounding the metaphysical doc­trine of immediate experience, which serves as the correlate of Kt7 and Kt8 in the judicial wing of his System [see KSP1, Figure III.7] and as the synthesis of the metaphysical doctrines expounded in Kt3 and Kt6. Kemp Smith explains in Ke23:283n that Kant’s purpose in Kt9 is to determine ‘how the world of physical science stands related, on the one hand to the sensible world of ordi­nary consciousness, and on the other to the world of things in themselves.’ We can express this rather more accurately by saying his purpose is to demon­strate how immediate experience (‘the sensible world of ordinary conscious­ness’) is the synthetic root of both theoretical knowledge (‘the world of physical sci­ence’) and practical activity (‘the world of things in themselves’). As such, Kt9 clearly belongs to the judicial wing of Kant’s System. That this synthesis has a mystical character will be argued in XII.2-4.

       Of the various titles Kant suggests for Kt9, the one many scholars assume to be his preferred choice—and often regarded as the only option—is Transition from the Metaphysical Foundations of Natural Science [Kt3] to Physics.[6] However, this title completely ignores the important role Kt9 gives to our immedi­ate experience of practical reason; it therefore gives rise to the false assumption that the work belongs solely to the theoretical wing of the System. Kant’s mention of this title in his above-quoted letter to Garve, though largely responsible for this common assumption, could just as easily refer to only one aspect of the work he was then in the early stages of writing. Indeed, the twelfth fascicle bears a similar title [22.543], indicating that this was probably intended as the title of only one of Kt9’s main parts, not the whole book.[7] An­other set of prospective titles reflects Kant’s ‘newly acquired interest in Zoroaster’ during the final decade of his life [Ke23:607] and expresses the overall synthetic aim of Kt9 far more accurately. The rather Nietzschian title, Zoroaster, appears with two different subtitles: ‘Philosophy in the totality of its Conceptual Contents Gathered Together under One Principle’ can be regarded as implying Kant’s intention to show how his entire System of Perspectives springs forth from the common root of immediate experience [see KSP1:108-10,118-41]; and ‘The Ideal of the Physically and at the Same Time Morally Practical Reason United in One Sense-Object’ explicitly expresses his intention to synthesize the theoret­ical (‘physical’) and practical (‘moral’) standpoints in the judicial standpoint of immediate sense-experience.[8] These options should therefore be regarded as the most appropriate of the many prospective titles Kant puts forward in Kt9.

       The fact that Kant sorted the notes for Kt9 into twelve folders (with a brief thirteenth folder for concluding remarks) suggests that he probably had in mind an explicit patterning of this work along the lines of the architectonic division of the categories.[9] Unfortunately, the notes do not include a table of contents, or any other clear indication as to what the distinctive role of each part would be in the overall architectonic structure. The entire first fascicle [Kt9:21.1-158] and most of the seventh [22.48-131] are devoted primarily to expounding ‘the transcendental-philosophy’s highest standpoint in the two mutually related ideas, God and the world’[10]—i.e., their synthesis in the idea of ‘man in the world, as subject to the duty-principle’ [21.82]. But the remainder of Kt9 is devoted primarily to developing various themes in Kant’s philosophy of nature. Once we understand that for Kant ‘nature’ includes the inner world of the subject (psychologia rationalis) as well as the phenomenal world (physica rationalis) [see Kt1:874-5], we can agree with Vleeschauwer’s claim that, whereas Kt3 is Kant’s ‘metaphysics of corporeal nature’, Kt9 was intended to be his complete ‘metaphysics of nature’ [Vl62:178-9].

       In XII.3 I shall examine Kant’s metaphysics of nature in more de­tail, particularly with regard to its epistemological status in relation to the rest of his System. For the remainder of this chapter, let us examine how this way of inter­preting Kt9, as the ‘grand synthesis’ of Kant’s entire System of Perspec­tives, enables us to avoid all of the shortcomings of Förster’s interpretation.

 

3. Kt9 as the Grand Synthesis of Kant’s System

       In light of the foregoing introductory account of the content of Kt9, and recalling the crucial insight Kt18 gives us into Kant’s motives for constructing a philosophical System [see II.2-4], we can now return to the problems intro­duced in XI.1, in hopes of finding a fresh solution to each. The important task of solving the third problem, concerning the true role of Kt9 in Kant’s System, will require us to elaborate and defend the position that was put forward merely as an hypothesis in KSP1:98—namely, that Kt9 is a ‘Grand Unified Theory’ of Critical metaphysics. But any solution to that problem depends on how one solves the second problem, concerning the precise relationship between Kt3 and Kant’s other systematic works. I shall therefore begin my response to Förster by attempting to solve this second problem, pass from there to a consideration of the third and central problem, and conclude this section by considering the first problem, concerning the apparent change in Kant’s view of mathematics in Kt9, versus that in Kt3. Solving the fourth problem, concerning the full significance of Kant’s reference to the myth of Tantalus, can then occupy our full attention in the closing section of this chapter.

       In Kt1:869 Kant explains that a complete system of metaphysics must in­clude a speculative (i.e., theoretical) and a practical subsystem. He calls the former ‘metaphysics of nature’ and the latter ‘metaphysics of morals’. He then divides the former into four parts: ‘(1) ontology; (2) rational physiology; (3) rational cosmology; (4) rational theology’ [874]. The first corresponds to ‘transcendental philosophy’ itself, whereas the third and fourth are types of ‘tran­scendent physiology’ [873-874]. This leaves the second as ‘the doctrine of nature’ proper, which can itself be divided into ‘physica rationalis and psy­chologia rationalis’ [874-875], in accordance with the distinction between outer and inner sense. If we take into consideration the corresponding twofold divi­sion of the Metaphysics of Morals (between outer morality, or justice, and in­ner morality, or virtue) [see e.g., Kt6:205], this means Kant originally intended the overall division of the metaphysical wing of his System to cover four types of science: (1) science of body (i.e., rational physics); (2) science of mind (i.e., rational psychology); (3) science of right (i.e., rational politics); and (4) science of virtue (i.e., rational ethics). The architectonic relationship between these four branches of metaphysical science can be neatly expressed in terms of the following 2LAR:

 

 

Figure XI.1: Kant’s Four Divisions of Metaphysics

 

In Kt7:170 Kant explains that, although a third Critique is necessary, ‘no separate [i.e., third] division of Doctrine is reserved for the faculty of judgment’. Hence, no third book on metaphysics is necessary either: ‘with judgement Critique takes the place of Theory [i.e., of metaphysics]; ... the whole ground will be covered by the Metaphysics of Nature and of Morals.’

       In 1797 Kant published Kt6, explaining in the Preface [205] that this book expounds the ‘science of right’ and the ‘science of virtue’—the third and fourth divisions of metaphysics cited above. He also explains that this book ‘forms a counterpart to the ‘Metaphysical Principles of the Science of Nature,’ which have been already discussed in a separate work (1786)’ [205]. This passage, which Förster unfortunately never mentions,[11] clearly indicates that Kant eventually came to regard Kt3 as capable of serving as a sufficient realization of the ‘rational physics’ aspect of his planned Metaphysics of Nature.[12] He was no doubt aware of the fact that Kt3 does not contain a rational psychology, and may have decided that the Metaphysics of Nature no longer needs the latter, perhaps because psychology is better pursued as an empirical science.[13]

       Reverting back to this more conventional view of the role of Kt3 enables us not only to avoid the five objections raised in XI.1 against Förster’s prob­lematic position, but also to see more order in the overall structure of Kant’s System as it stood in 1798, when Kant wrote his letter to Garve. Pausing for a moment to recall the precise architectonic relationship between the books Kant had written up to this point may enable us to gain an invaluable clue as to the role of Kt9 in Kant’s System. As we saw in KSP1:III.4, the eight major works that make up the philosophical System Kant constructed during the thirty-one years following the publication of Kt18 can be classified into three types: those following the synthetic method (viz., the three Critiques); those companion volumes that support each Critique by following, for the most part, the analytic method (viz., Kt2, Kt5, and Kt8); and those developing the metaphysical im­plications of Critical philosophy (viz., Kt3 and Kt6). This classification of Kant’s main systematic works is depicted in Table XI.1 [cf. KSP1, Fig. III.9]. The nature of the first two types of sys­tem­atic works is relatively unproblemat­ic, but that of the third type requires more explanation, especially since this table reveals what appears to be a gap in Kant’s System as it stood in 1798.[14]

Table XI.1: Methods and Standpoints in Kant’s System

 

 

       The foregoing solution to the second problem raised in XI.1, together with this overview of the structural relationship between Kant’s main systematic writings, now gives rise to a rather obvious hypothesis as to how the third problem can best be solved: perhaps the ‘gap’ Kant mentions in his letter to Garve is identical to the gap represented by the question mark in Table XI.1; and perhaps Kant’s ultimate goal in writing Kt9 was to fill this final gap by writing a General Metaphysics that adopts (like Kt7 and Kt8) the judicial standpoint. In order for this hypothesis to carry much weight, two questionable points must be demonstrated: first, that Kant himself (in spite of his above-mentioned statement to the contrary) had at least considered the possibility of writing a third part to his Critical metaphysics; and second, that the contents of Kt9 justify regarding it as a ‘grand synthesis’ of this sort.

       We have already seen that Kant explicitly denies the need for a book that would fill the gap in the above table, for he asserts in Kt7:170 that the third Critique will not require a corresponding book in the Doctrinal part of his System (i.e., in metaphysics proper). But let us take a closer look at how he describes this situation. A few pages later [176-9], he states that philosophy technically consists of only two parts, the theoretical and practical, and that a third part is necessary only for the purpose of completing the task of establishing the Critical foundations for metaphysics. He then explains that ‘judgment’ is connected with the faculty of ‘pleasure or displeasure’ in order to ‘effect a transition from the faculty of pure knowledge, i.e., from the [theoreti­cal] realm of the concepts of nature, to that of the [practical] concept of free­dom, just as in its logical employment [i.e., within the theoretical system] it [i.e., judgment] makes possible the transition from understanding to reason’ [e.a.].

       This interesting, dual use of the word ‘transition’ gives us an important clue as to how best to interpret Kant’s use of the same word (Übergang) in his letter to Garve. Here in 1790, Kant is stating that the vital transition within the first Critique (via the role of judgment in the Principles of Pure Understanding) is analogous to the vital transition in the Critical philosophy as a whole (via the Critique of Judgment), and that metaphysics itself requires no such transition. Instead, he tells us, the principles of judgment can, ‘when needful be annexed to one or [the] other [division of pure philosophy] as occasion requires’ [Kt7:168]. This usage is especially interesting in view of the fact that Förster demonstrates, on the basis not of this passage, but of evidence found in letters to and from Kiesewetter, that Kant’s idea for writing the ‘Transition’ from Kt3 to physics ‘seems to go back at least to the year 1790’ [Fö87:536]. In other words, it seems that in the same year he published Kt7, where he claimed that a third transition is possible, though not necessary for the completeness of his overall System, Kant promised his friend Kiesewetter that he would some day attempt to write a third transition after all!

       We now have evidence of three kinds of transition, strongly suggesting that, when Kant uses this same word in his 1798 letter to Garve, he has in mind the extension of his ‘transitional’ writings beyond Kt7 and Kt8 to meta­physics itself. Such an interpretation requires us to assume that, between 1790 and 1798, Kant gradually changed his mind and came to see a third part of metaphysics no longer as an optional extra, but as an indispensable part of his System. Whereas in 1790 his friendly gesture to Kiesewetter committed him to writing only ‘a few sheets’ concerning this transition [q.i. Fö87:536], by 1798 this same project was causing him to experience ‘a pain like that of Tantalus’! What could have caused such a change to occur? My suggestion is that in 1790 Kant could not bring himself to add yet another project to the already heavy workload he had cut out for himself. Many of his letters, even from earlier years, allude to his concern about whether or not he would live long enough to complete his current plan for a System [see e.g., note XI.11]. As a 66-year-old philosopher, who was just on the verge of completing his Critical propaedeutic to metaphysics, Kant knew in 1790 that a considerable amount of work still lay ahead if he wished to expound the System’s metaphys­ical implications: Kt8, Kt6, and a more complete version of the Metaphysics of Nature still remained to be written, not to mention his various essays on history and politics. He already found it difficult to imagine living long enough to complete everything else he had planned, so how could he possibly commit himself to undertake yet another major work? Yet, as each year went by and he completed more and more of his other projects, it became more and more likely that he would complete them all with some time and energy to spare; hence, it gradually dawned on him that this third transition was too important to be merely ‘annexed’ to other parts of the System.

       As suggested in our discussion of the content of Kt9 in XI.2, the notes Kant left behind relate to far more than just a dry (and now mostly outdated) ‘Transition from [Kt3] to physics’. This, surely, was to be part of the project he was working on in 1798; and it is important to recognize that this transition would belong in a work on General Metaphysics, because such a book would pass from the theoretical standpoint of Kt3 to the more concrete, judicial standpoint of physics. Yet many of Kant’s notes relate to the practical side of his System, with the apparent intent of revealing how still another transition takes place, this time passing from the practical standpoint of Kt6 to the more concrete, judicial standpoint of real ethical judgments. As we shall see in XII.2, Kant has much to say in Kt9 about the immediacy of the moral law, which can be re­garded as the very ‘voice of God’ in our heart, and about the personhood of the God in whom we intuit all things—even though this same God is still beyond the grasp of our theoretical knowledge. In such notes Kant seems to be coming closer than ever before to achieving the goal of describing the ‘Critical mysti­cism’ which, as I have argued in X.1-4 [s.a. KSP1:321-323], characterized his own world view throughout his entire adult life.

       Our discussion of Kt18 in II.2-3 demonstrated that Kant first conceived of the laborious task of reforming metaphysics as part of a twofold problem. By 1798 Kant had satisfactorily accomplished his main task of thoroughly reforming the speculative tradition, not by disposing of metaphysics altogether, but by constructing a Critical metaphysics to put in its place. In the works composing the same philosophical System, he had also already made some significant progress in accomplishing his secondary task of thoroughly reforming the fanatical tradition, not by disposing of mysticism altogether, but by constructing a Critical mysticism to put in its place. For example, he argues in Kt7 that our experiences of beauty and purpose in art and nature reveal a depth of interaction between the noumenal and phenomenal worlds that provides a transcendental foundation for the kinds of experiences many mystics report of the ‘hand of God’ in nature. Likewise, he argues in Kt8 that religion gives us access to a power which, though arising out of morality, can alone fulfill the purpose of our moral nature, so long as we are willing to regard the moral law as the ‘voice of God’, commanding us in the depths of our heart. What remained to be accomplished in 1798 was therefore the same for mysticism as for metaphysics: to bring the entire System to fruition by synthe­sizing all its diverse strands under a single, all-encompassing idea.

       Although a detailed analysis of the text of Kt9 must be postponed until the next chapter, the foregoing hypothesis as to how Kant viewed its contents can be further substantiated by recalling the alternatives for prospective titles cited in XI.2. Such titles suggest that Kant’s purpose was indeed to construct one final (‘grand’) synthesis of his entire philosophical System—i.e., not just a synthesis of the Critical aspect of that system, as Kt7 had already accom­plished, but a synthesis of its metaphysical aspect as well—an ‘idea of the whole’ [see Kt1:xliv] that would bring together in one ‘Object’ the doctrines of theoretical reason (physics and psychology) as well as those of practical reason (politics and ethics). This would indicate that Kant intended Kt9 to be a General Metaphysics in a new form. The new factor, I believe, is precisely the judicial standpoint itself; inasmuch as it effects a synthesis between the theoretical and practical standpoints—i.e., between the exclusively theoretical ‘metaphysics of physics’ (Kt3) and the exclusively practical ‘metaphysics of morals’ (Kt6)—this judicial standpoint must be what Kant has in mind by his repeated references to the ‘highest standpoint of transcendental philosophy’.[15]

       If my argument is correct, if the ‘gap’ Kant refers to in his 1798 letter to Garve signals Kant’s recognition that a third part is also necessary in meta­physics, just as it was in the Critical works, then the new position Kant adopts in Kt9 reflects not so much a radical change of mind since writing Kt7 as a gradual increase in ambition. For Kant now saw before his eyes the possibility of composing a metaphysical Doctrine of the unity of all forms of human expe­rience under one transcendental idea, the idea of ‘man’ [see e.g., Kt9:27] as the being in whom ‘God and the world’[16] are united. In other words, he was reaching out to grasp the opportunity of accomplishing the ultimate goal he had set for himself in Kt18, by combining in one book the Critical metaphysics and the Critical mysticism. As such, Kant’s hope of filling the tantalizing gap in his System must refer to the entirety of Kt9, a book we can now regard most ap­propriately as an attempt to write what could be called his General Metaphysics of Experience. This interpretation fits in well with all the evidence we have been considering, and so provides the best model, as we shall see in Chapter XII, for making sense out of the many diverse twists and turns revealed by a detailed examination of Kt9’s text. Thus, when Kant writes to Garve, saying ‘It must be completed, or else a gap will remain ...’, the word ‘It’ should be taken to refer back to ‘The project’ as a whole, not only to the ‘Transition from [Kt3] to physics’; the latter forms only the part of the project he happened to be working on at the time.

       The solutions I have now proposed to the second and third problems men­tioned in XI.1 make it quite easy to solve the first problem as well. The fact that Kant’s attitude towards mathematics in Kt9 is different from that in Kt3 need not lead to Förster’s rather extreme (and less than flattering) conjecture. A potential difficulty in solving this problem as Förster presents it is that he gives only a few hints as to what he believes Kant’s new view actually is [Fö87:548-550], explaining that a detailed study of the text ‘obviously ... cannot here be given’ [551]. The passages Förster quotes from Kt9 do seem to indicate that, whereas establishing ‘the mathematical foundations of physics’ was an impor­tant part of Kt3, Kant now wishes to change his mind and say mathematics will not be part of this new transition from the Metaphysics of Nature to physics. From his brief description, Förster’s conviction that Kant did change his mind seems to follow as a direct result of his view that Kt3 is an extended footnote to Kt1. Once we recognize, by contrast, that Kt3 actually takes the place of the proposed Metaphysics of Nature in Kant’s System, the passages Förster quotes can be readily interpreted in quite a different way.

       Kant’s references to a new role for mathematics in Kt9 simply indicate that, because a new standpoint is being adopted, this work must also adopt a new way of looking at mathematics. Kt3 had properly established from the the­o­reti­cal standpoint the crucial role mathematics must play in the metaphysics of cor­poreal nature. The remaining need in Kt9 was to examine from the judicial standpoint the being of nature (corporeal and incorporeal) as experienced (see note XI.15); and here, mathematics can be put aside as irrelevant. Thus, when Kant asks himself whether or not ‘the mathematical foundations of physics’ is an issue that ‘belongs to the Transition’, he is not asking (as Förster supposes) whether or not the Kt3 view needs to be revised [see Fö87:548-549]; rather, by this question, together with his negative answer, Kant is say­ing that, because this topic was already adequately dealt with from the theoreti­cal standpoint in Kt3, there is no need for it to reappear when the standpoint changes to the judi­cial, as in the transition section of Kt9. In other words, he is assuming not only that the function of mathematics in Kt3 and that of this new, nonmathe­mat­ical transition in Kt9 are compatible, but also that they serve parallel functions from their respective standpoints. This parallelism can be further compared to the moral basis of Kt6, in the form of the conscience.[17] By putting together these three branches of Kant’s most mature conception of metaphysics, we can construct the following table:

 

Table XI.2:

A Comparison between the Three Books of Metaphysics

 

       We can now reconsider the passage from Kt3:470, quoted in XI.1 (and in Fö87:550) and see that it actually supports this solution to the problem. Kant does not say a Philosophy of Nature is absolutely impossible without mathematics. On the contrary, he says a general doctrine of this sort (i.e., a General Metaphysics of Experience) ‘may indeed be possible without mathematics’ [Kt3:470]; only the Philosophy of Nature considered from the theoretical standpoint, as a doctrine of ‘determinate natural things’—i.e., as the particular ‘doctrine of body and doctrine of soul’ (the first half being given in Kt3)—is impossible without considering the function of mathematics. Once we recognize that Kant intended Kt9 to become the exposition of this General Metaphysics (and that, as such, it assumes a standpoint that synthesizes the theoretical and the practical standpoints), there is no need to regard the anti-mathematical ‘polemic’ in Kt9 as contradicting the mathematical emphasis in Kt3; for its subject-matter is to be considered from the standpoint of the judicial wing of Kant’s System. Kt9 is therefore bound to be misunderstood, even by the most meticulous specialist, if it is read through the closed and relatively bland spectacles of Kt1 and Kt3, rather than through the more open and fresh spectacles of Kt7 and Kt8, where Kant’s Critical mysticism comes to the fore.

4. What was ‘Tantalizing’ about Kant’s Final Dream?

       The common supposition that Kt9 contains the gropings of a formerly great philosopher as he enters senility is, as Förster rightly says [Fö87:534], not supported by the actual contents of the text. But what has been ignored by previous interpreters is that Kt9 is also not a completely sober work. Rather, in these notes we see Kant, as it were, becoming intoxicated with the tantalizing prospects of finally bringing to completion the task he had set for himself more than thirty years before. Having established in II.2-3 the roots of Kant’s motivations for constructing his System of Critical philosophy, and their connection with both mystical and metaphysical ‘dreams’, we are now in a position to understand more fully why the gap he mentions tantalized him as his life drew to a close. As I argued in XI.3, the word ‘gap’ must refer to the General Metaphysics of Experience, for which the eight completed books in his System (viz., Kt1, Kt2, and Kt3 from the theoretical standpoint; Kt4, Kt5, and Kt6 from the practical standpoint; and Kt7 and Kt8 from the judicial standpoint) had prepared the way. In other words, the gap is to be filled by the book Kt9 was intended to be, whereas the transition between Kt3 and physics is the specific aspect of Kt9 that Kant was working on in September of 1798. This means that, although Förster is right in refusing to identify the gap with the transition, the intricate and rather untenable hypothesis he proposes to explain their difference is superfluous.

       The main task of this concluding section of our look at Förster’s riddle will be to demonstrate the appropriateness of Kant’s reference to the ‘pain of Tantalus’. Before doing so, however, I shall respond to two objections a supporter of Förster’s interpretation might make to the view I have presented. The first is that Kant explicitly describes the gap as being in his ‘critical system’, yet if we distinguish between the broad sense of ‘Kant’s System’, as referring to all nine of his major systematic works, and the narrow sense of these words, as referring only to the three Critiques, then the gap as I have interpreted it is not actually a part of the Critical wing of his System. The gap as Förster sees it, by contrast, is located more appropriately, at the very heart of the first Critique itself!

       My response to this objection is to say that Kant often uses the same term in both a narrow, technical sense, and elsewhere in a broad, looser sense.[18] Thus it is not unreasonable to suppose that Kant, whose whole way of doing philosophy had become known by 1798 as the ‘Critical philosophy’, would use this phrase to include the works that set forth the metaphysical implications of the three Critiques. Although it would have been more accurate to say he saw a gap in the metaphysical application of his Critical philosophy, Kant’s loose reference to the gap as being somewhere in the Critical philosophy need not imply the sudden recognition of any major defect in one or more of the Critiques themselves. Moreover, on Förster’s interpretation, whereby the gap refers to the need for a new way of defending the objective validity of the categories and so also the connection between metaphysics and physics, the gap would be more appropriately described as a localized error in the first Critique, than as an empty hole in the overall System. Kant’s wording implies that an entire book is missing, not just an argument within a book.

       A second objection is that my interpretation does not explain why Kant made no mention of the gap before 1798. Förster’s key hypothesis rests on the assumption that this timing is a vital clue to the proper explanation of the facts. This is what leads him to conjecture that the publication of Selle’s prize essay question prompted Kant to reconsider the role of mathematics in philosophy. There is, however, a much simpler and less presumptuous alternative. Kant’s use of the word ‘gap’ in his letter to Garve is most likely nothing more than an off-the-cuff remark, intended as part of his metaphorical reference to the myth of Tantalus.[19] So let us now examine that myth in more detail.

       Tantalus was a legendary Greek king who had found much favor in the sight of the gods. He was not only often entertained at their table, but ‘was himself on occasion their host’ [Ro58:68]. However, at one point in the story he does something that ‘offend[s] them beyond pardon.’ In one version, he serves the gods human flesh to test their omniscience, while in another he steals their nectar and serves it to his fellow humans. As punishment he is made to be ‘forever hungry and thirsty; he stands in a pool of water up to his chin, but whenever he tries to drink, it drops away from him. Overhead are boughs laden with fruit, but when he reaches for it, the wind blows it away’ [68].

       Förster’s interpretation portrays Kant as knowing what needs to be done, just as Tantalus knew that food and drink would satisfy his hunger and thirst. However, it requires us to identify the unfulfilled desire with something (a missing theory) that Kant could not at that point see clearly, whereas for Tantalus the everlasting torment was caused not so much by his lack of food and drink, but by their close proximity combined with their inaccessibility. If Kant used this analogy with as much care as he normally did when speaking metaphorically [see Ax89 and Ta68], then the true referent of the ‘gap’ must be something he both desired and saw before him, but was prevented from reach­ing (i.e., describing) by some uncontrollable force—a force that he says makes him ‘as it were mentally paralyzed’. The word ‘gap’ would then be carefully chosen to put a vivid picture before our eyes: the final book of his System is being compared to Tantalus’ lips and hands; and the ‘pain’ is caused on the one hand by the gap between these lips and the ‘water’ of Kant’s theoretical system (especially Kt3), and on the other hand by the gap between these hands and the ‘fruit’ of Kant’s practical system (especially Kt6). So the word ‘gap’ is an intentionally metaphorical descrip­tion of the relation between the book he was then working on (viz., Kt9) and the rest of his philosophical System, as depicted in the following diagram:

 

   

 

Figure XI.2

General Metaphysics as Filling a Synthetic Gap

 

Recognizing the metaphorical sense of Kant’s use of ‘gap’ makes it clear that he had in fact refers to this gap on numerous previous occasions, except that elsewhere he normally referred to it literally (e.g., when discussing the parallels between metaphysics and critique).

       Kant’s famous letter to Garve was written in response to a letter wherein Garve describes his long-standing and agonizing physical illness (‘a malignant tumor of the face’), yet expresses surprise over the fact that he is still able to think clearly [Zw67:250-1n]. Kant replies in a way that might seem rather un­sym­pa­thetic. Immediately before the passage quoted at the beginning of this chapter, he says: ‘I wonder though whether my own fate, involving a similar striving [i.e., ‘to work for the good of mankind’], would not seem to you even more pain­ful, if you were to put yourself in my place’ [AA12:254(Zw67: 251)]. If Kant had the temerity to say such a thing in response to the sufferings of a long-standing friend, he must have been quite serious about his subsequent ref­erence to Tantalus. In other words, he must have been feeling that, because his Critical philosophy had questioned the omniscience of the (false) gods of mankind (through the transcendental limits of knowledge established in Kt1), or perhaps because one of its central goals was to offer the ‘nectar of the gods’ to mankind (through the moral law established in Kt4), he was being punished by being kept from describing the dream he saw so clearly, right before his eyes.

       In conclusion let us take note of the one and only qualification Kant puts on his metaphorical reference to Tantalus: whereas Tantalus was condemned to endure his torment forever, Kant stresses that his own tantalizing pain ‘is not a hopeless pain’, because ‘[r]eason will not give up her demands for this’. In fact, this may not be so much a qualification as a reminder of how appropriate the analogy is. From Tantalus’ point of view, after all, the food and drink must have seemed to be well within his reach. A desirable object cannot tantalize us unless there is some hope that the goal can be reached. In the same way, Kant’s plan to write a grand synthesis as the final conclusion to his Critical meta­physics, whereby his lifelong adherence to a Critical mysticism quite distinct from that of Swedenborg’s could come fully into view, must have seemed to Kant to be just within his reach, if only he could think clearly for a few more years. Once this is understood, however, we can see that his mental paralysis may have been caused not so much by senility (which normally has physical roots), but by the simple fact that, as we shall see in our final Chapter, any attempt to describe the indescribable is bound to leave philosophers speechless.

       Kant’s reference to the hopefulness of reaching his goal only emphasizes the appropriateness of the comparison with Tantalus. For as it turned out, Kant left the philosophical world with a text (Kt9) that will forever tantalize its readers precisely because it seems to put us within reach of a philosophical vision of the unity of Mind and Nature in their inner and outer aspects, yet as we shall see in Chapter XII, recedes just beyond our reach when we try to describe that vision in rationally coherent words and arguments. Kant himself may have recognized the necessity of our continued failure in this regard. Indeed, before the dreams of Kt18 ever awakened in him the desire to construct a System of Critical philosophy, Kant explained in the conclusion of Kt43 that ‘a great vision’ of Nature is available to all who are open to it, even though the resulting experience cannot be fully described. His words, as quoted in X.4, allude to the tantalizing pain involved in trying to express the inex­pressible—a pain he had felt for so much of his life and hoped in 1798 finally to express[20]—and would perhaps have made a fitting conclusion to Kt9 as well:

 

In the universal silence of Nature and in the calm of the senses the immortal soul’s faculty of knowledge speaks an ineffable language and gives undeveloped concepts, which are indeed felt, but do not let themselves be described. [Kt43:367]

 

  [1].  Fö87:533-55. I would like to thank Professor Förster for kindly providing me not only with an off­print of his stimulating article, but also with an early draft of his translation of selections from Kt9.

  [2].  As early as the Preface to the first edition of Kt1 [Axxi] Kant announces that he hopes to produce ‘a system of pure (speculative) reason ... under the title Metaphysics of Nature’ [s.a. Kt6:205; Kt7:170-1]. He then says it will adopt the method of ‘analysis’, as compared to the synthetic method of the Critique. This distinction confirms the accuracy of the schematic map of the nine basic works in Kant’s System proposed in KSP1:III.4 [s.e. Fig. III.9]. As we shall see in XI.3, this systematic schema seems to have dawned on Kant only gradually and in part, though the basic distinction between critique as synthetic and metaphysics as ana­lytic remained virtually unchanged throughout his writings.

  [3].  The word ‘separately’ here does not imply a complete detachment from the overall System, but simply indicates Kant’s strategy of ‘divide and conquer’, as elaborated in II.4 and III.4 of KSP1.

  [4].  An English edition of these posthumously published notes has only recently appeared. In his translation of Kt9, Förster, gives an excellent history of the troubles that have plagued various attempts to publish Kt9 [Fö93:xvi-xxix]. In a nutshell, the (private) owners of the manuscript have not always been amenable to its scholarly examination.

  [5].  Cf. Co60b:380. Vleeschauwer claims in Vl62:4 that Kt9 ‘allows us to see Kant caught in the meshes and wedged between the two [movements, the Enlightenment and Romanticism], an easy target of criticism.’ However, this could just as well be said of Kant’s entire System of Perspectives. For he may have seen his System heading towards the position adopted in Kt9 from the start, so that the Romantic movement should be regarded as developing naturally out of Kant’s critique of certain Enlightenment tendencies, rather than as presenting him with new ideas that he could adopt only by contradicting his Critical position. Along these lines Vleeschauwer says Kt9 ‘is not made up of a series of random speculations attributable to the senility of the master ..., but is rather the swan-song of a great logician. It is simply the final stage ... of the Critical philosophy which Kant reached in the silence of his old age’ [179]. His suggestion that it may have been intended as a third edition of Kt1 seems obviously incorrect.

                  Kemp Smith clearly demonstrates in Ke23:627-36 that Kant was influenced by the new idealist trend, but he admits that Kant’s adoption of their new terminology (e.g., their talk of the self ‘positing itself’ in the object) was probably motivated by a desire to show that these new views ‘do not require, and cannot justify, any departure from the strict letter of the Critical Philosophy’ [631; s.a. Co60b:386]. However, Kemp Smith, with his allergy to anything architectonic, believes Kt9 was intended as nothing but a ‘supplement’ to the System [Ke23:631], and ultimately proves only ‘how dissatisfied Kant had become with much that is fundamental in his theory of knowledge’ [636]. Unfortunately, Kemp Smith’s entire treatment of Kt9 is thoroughly muddled by his undefended assumption (following Adickes in Ad20) that in Kt9 ‘the doctrine of double affection becomes the main subject of argument and exposition’ [Ke23:614; s.a. 610,634]. He does quote numerous passages that he believes indicate that ‘Things in themselves are ... assumed [by Kant] to affect the noumenal self’ [616-7], yet he never explains what it is about any given passage that requires such an interpretation. What he fails to consider is that the reason in some respects ‘Kant’s doctrine of noumenal affection receives ... but scanty attention [in Kt9], and why he propounds it in ... obscure and quite general terms’ [626] is that Kant has no intention of defending such an absurd doctrine [see KSP1:169n,392-4]!

  [6].  See e.g., Fö93:xxxiv-xxxvii and Ke23:607n; but cf. El70:214. Adickes, in his influential German edition of Kt9 [Ad20], and Förster, in his recent English translation, both rely heavily on this assumption in the dating and even organization of the text. The result of this last vestige of the ‘patchwork’ approach to interpreting Kant is that Kt9 unfortunately ends up appearing to lack the very thing Kant intended it to be: an idea of the whole. Förster himself recognizes that Kt9 goes ‘far beyond’ the topic of the ‘Transition’ [Fö93:xxxvii], but is unable to explain why (or how it all fits together), precisely because he never questions his basic assumption regarding ‘the problem [Kant] initially set out to solve.’

  [7].  The ‘Transition’ is required by ‘the doctrine of method’ [Kt9:21.387(13)] as a ‘bridge’ [21.476 (40)]; without Kt9, the passage from Kt3 to physics would be a ‘leap’ rather than a ‘step’ [21.387(13); 21.525(37)]. Taken together, such passages provide strong evidence for regarding Kt9 as the third constituent of systemj, rather than as a long footnote to an already completed systemt. In Kt9: 21.407(19) Kant adds that ‘a leap ... entirely destroys what is systematic, and, hence ... it cannot be tolerated in a philosophy such as physics ought to be ...’.

  [8].  Kt9:21.4(Ke23:607). In Ke23:610n Kemp Smith presents these two references as possible titles for Kt9. Without providing a reference, Bax says Kt9 ‘was to be entitled “The System of Pure Philosophy in its whole Content”’ [Ba03:liv; cf. Kt9:21.156(255)]—a suggestion that corre­sponds well with the two titles quoted by Kemp Smith.

  [9].  Kemp Smith criticizes Kant’s attempts to apply his architectonic in Kt9 [see Ke23:607-41].

[10].    Kt9:21.35. Thus, one of Kant’s many definitions of transcendental philosophy in Kt9 is ‘the doctrine of God and the World’ [21.6].

[11].    Instead, Förster argues that Kant did not regard Kt3 as part of the proposed Metaphysics of Nature, citing as his main evidence the fact that Kant refers in the second edition Preface of Kt1 (written in 1787, one year after Kt3) to the need for a ‘metaphysics of nature’ [Kt1:xliii; see Fö87:538]. However, what Kant actually says in that passage is as follows: ‘I must be careful with my time if I am to succeed in my proposed scheme of providing a metaphysics of nature and of morals ...’ [Kt1:xliii]. The words ‘to succeed in my proposed scheme’ could easily be interpreted to mean ‘to complete the scheme I have already started’. This, at least, makes for a more reasonable explanation than Förster’s conjecture that Kt3 was intended to complete a missing link in the argument of Kt1.

[12].    That this was not Kant’s original conception of the function of this book is indicated in a let­ter to Schütz (13 September 1785), where Kant describes Kt3 ‘as a chapter containing the concrete application of the Metaphysics of Nature ... This preliminary work is given out in ad­vance because the metaphysic must retain its character as entirely pure, whereas here an empiri­cal concept is presupposed’ [q.i. Pa02:277; cf. AA10:382-3(Zw67:119)]. But Kt6:205 seems to leave no alternative ex­cept that Kant at some point changed his mind on this issue, perhaps in order to preserve the integrity of the architectonic structure of his System (see below).

[13].    As Paulsen puts it in Pa02:287, ‘psychology according to Kant is an ex­pe­riential science, and as such ..., does not belong to philosophy in the proper sense of the word.’ Likewise, Kant himself appears to be repealing his commitment to include rational psychology in the Metaphysics of Nature when he writes in Kt3:471: ‘the empirical doc­trine of the soul ... can ... never become anything more than a historical ... natural doctrine of the internal sense, i.e., a natural description of the soul, but not a science of the soul ... This is the reason why in the title of this work ... we have employed ... the general name of natural science’—i.e., rather than calling it merely the Metaphysical Foundations of Rational Physics.

                  A further explanation for Kant’s failure to write the second half of the Metaphysics of Nature (i.e., rational psychology) is as follows. Aside from ontology (transformed into transcendental philoso­phy in Kt1) and rational physics (as transformed in Kt3) there are three remain­ing parts in Kant’s description of the contents of the Metaphysics of Nature: rational psychol­ogy, rational cosmology, and rational theology. These correspond to the three ideas of reason which, in the Dialectic of Kt1, are regarded as illusory when viewed from the theoretical standpoint. Thus it is not surprising that Kant does not include them in that work. However, filling the metaphysical gap left by the illusory character of any theoretical treatment of these ideas may well have been part of the purpose of Kt9—i.e., to discuss these three remaining topics from their proper, judicial standpoint.

[14].    In KSP1:III.4 the information in the table given here appears in the form of a rather complex dia­gram (using three crosses, connected by a triangle). The only three debatable points in this analy­sis of Kant’s architectonic are: (1) the placement of Kt3, which I have de­fended above; (2) the placement of Kt8, which I have defended at length in VI.2 [s.a. KSP1:319-321]; and (3) the filling of the one remaining gap in the table, which is the main focus of the present chapter.

[15].    On this basis we can now answer the second question asked in the first para­graph of XI.1: Kt3 and Kt9 both provide a kind of ‘transition to physics’; but the former is primarily a theoretical transition from Kt1 to physics, whereas the latter is an all-inclusive judicial transi­tion between physics and morals that includes the former as one of its many ‘sub-transitions’. Kant had said in Kt7 that aesthetic judgment needs no metaphysics because it is noncognitive. Understood in this light, his repeated references to the unifying ‘sense-object’ in Kt9 provide yet another indication of the judicial character of the transitions it effects. The Meta­physics of Nature and the Metaphysics of Morals can be scientific because they are cognitive, but judicial metaphysics, like the judicial Critique, must focus more directly on our imme­diate experience. This may be why Kant at first said there is no need for such a (quasi-)science, and also why it turned out to be so difficult to express once he began to compose it.

[16].    Kant first mentions this twofold idea at the very outset of Kt9 [21.9], and repeatedly returns to it throughout the first and seventh fascicles. The unity of God and Nature in a human being’s own experience of personhood appears to be the most fundamental point where Kant’s Critical metaphysics and his Critical mysticism become one [see XII.4].

[17].    Förster unfortunately obscures the role of systemp in Kt9 by translating Kant’s technical term, Gesinnung as ‘character’, rather than as ‘conscience’ [Kt9:(293)]. The German clearly reveals, however, that this term is the moral correlate of the Sinnung, or sense-object of systemt.

[18].    A good example is his twofold use of the terms ‘a priori’ and ‘transcendental’ [see KSP1:107-11].

[19].    This is supported by the fact, mentioned by Förster in Fö87:537, that the very earliest refer­ences to a ‘gap’ appear in the notes Kant made in preparation for writing his 1798 letter to Garve.

[20].    Indeed, I would suggest that this problem of ineffability (almost enjoyed in 1755!) only began to impress Kant as a pain in 1766, when the seriousness of the gap between genuine knowledge and the mystical/metaphysical dreams of human sensation/reason first became clear to him [see Ch.II]. Initial denial of this painful aspect of the gap may be one explanation for the rather flippant pos­ture Kant adopted in Kt18. If so, then Kant’s later reference to the pain of Tantalus might also have been related, at least indirectly, to the real psychological pain he experienced from Swedenborg’s failure to respond to the serious letter of inquiry Kant had sent him several years be­fore writing Kt18 [see note II.3 and Ma69:15]. Kant’s real reason for complaining so sarcastical­ly about having read through Swedenborg’s lengthy book full of ‘nonsense’ [Kt18:359-60(101)] was in all proba­bility not how expensive the book was, but how frustrated Kant was at not having found therein the response he believed Swedenborg had promised to give.

 

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