From Enlightenment to Romanticism

What Kant Did in Philosophy

Immanuel Kant (1724—1804) developed his critical theory in a specific manner. Contrary to the empiricists who assert that all knowledge arises from experience, Kant argued for the existence of a number of "a priori" forms of knowledge that do not derive from experience. For instance, while the statement "a material object is extended" can be acquired through the observation of individual material things, the assertion "all material things are extended" cannot be derived from experience, as we do not have knowledge of all things in general, and we cannot even deduce the meaning of the term "all" from experience. Thus, this constitutes a pre-experiential form of knowledge. It takes the form of a judgment—an assertion about a certain sought-after object, a proposition that is accepted rather than proven. Twentieth-century analytic philosophy will begin to speak of "propositions," which differ from judgments in that propositions are validated using the resources of language that can affirm or deny a given statement, while unprovable propositions, the so-called protocols, cannot compel us to accept any underlying content.

These a priori judgments are synthetic, not analytic. Analytic judgments are easily obtained by examining the internal structure of a concept: for example, the concept of "wolf" inherently includes the notion of an animal, thus the statement "a wolf is an animal" is analytic; it does not generate new knowledge but analyzes the composition of the concept. Conversely, a synthetic judgment generates new knowledge; we learn that materiality is extension, even though this conclusion cannot be drawn from the structure of the concepts of "materiality" and "extension." Kant thus poses the question: how are a priori synthetic judgments possible?

Only transcendental aesthetics can answer this question, literally "the doctrine of the perception of what lies beyond our experience." Kant draws a strict distinction, one we must uphold, between the transcendental—beyond our consciousness—and the transcendental, accessible to consciousness yet beyond experience. God and immortality are transcendental; we cannot conceive of them, but they can be grasped, not by pure reason, but by practical reason as guidance for action, without which actions become meaningless. For instance, by not practically accepting God, we cannot practically accept infinity, and therefore we do not practically accept those finite actions that relate to infinity, which must be repeated and reproduced. However, pure reason, uninterested in actions but solely analyzing and contemplating, cannot comprehend the transcendental; it can only understand the transcendental as a given. For example, we cannot articulate what a wolf is in its essence outside the judgments we make about wolves (it is an animal, it can bite...), but we can assert that the wolf exists; it is real because there remains a residue of perception that confirms we have seen a wolf. We can no longer claim that we have seen or heard nothing of wolves.

Yet the essence of the wolf remains beyond our grasp. We can only perform a "transcendental synthesis of apperception," assembling impressions of the wolf such that it is recognized as a reality rather than a mere fantasy. It is real precisely because we coherently accept the impressions of it; no one would claim that a wolf is both an animal and a letter simultaneously, or that it is both an animal and a mode of action at once. There may be apparent contradictions, such as when we refer to a wolf as "gray" and "having gray fur"—the concept of "gray" does not mean it is entirely gray, as it does not preclude the existence of white teeth.

Kant termed our capacity to not only navigate our feelings or knowledge but also to perceive impressions as "understanding." Initially, understanding dismisses the judgment "a wolf is a letter," and subsequently, reason rejects the assertion "the wolf is gray, therefore, its teeth must also be gray; if its teeth are white, then it is not a wolf."

But what allows us to synthesize the wolf as a reality, even though it is a "thing in itself"? This is what Kant referred to as the "a priori forms of sensibility": space, time, and causality. The matter is not that, as Locke believed, we place all our ideas in space and time; we can indeed conceive of a mathematical formula outside of any spatial context as pure functioning, and here Locke was mistaken. It is not that, as the sensualists claimed, these forms make objects brighter, more vivid, and more convincing. Rather, it is only within these forms of sensibility that things can be contemplated at all, thus becoming objects of intellectual interest, "intuition," as Kant describes it, and not merely random and dispensable functions of the world. Kant's term "intuition" never denotes mere conjecture; it always implies a particular attention that is not distracted by the incidental circumstances of its occurrence. Understanding cannot contemplate; it can only oversee logic, whereas reason is capable of contemplation because it directs itself toward the object without controlling it, exhibiting an intrinsic interest in it. However, understanding possesses a remarkable faculty—the schemata of understanding—through which scientific knowledge is generated: for example, understanding knows that things can be alive or dead, and this schema allows the development of a science of living and dead matter.

Moreover, human beings do not simply take an interest in things; they also set goals. Here, understanding becomes not merely a creative capacity that engenders new sciences but also a creative ability that perceives the creative aspect within things—their potential to become different. Thus, alongside the critique of pure reason (that is, a critical evaluation of the conditions of our knowledge) and the critique of practical reason (a critical evaluation of the conditions of moral decisions), a critique of the faculty of judgment emerges, investigating how it is possible to make judgments about things that change during the very process of judgment. This critique introduces two pivotal concepts: "genius," the ability to make things different from what they are, and "taste," the ability to evaluate not just the fact that something has changed but how much it has changed.

Kant believed that states could soon arrive at a "perpetual peace" because they are interested not only in gaining benefits for themselves but also in being of use to others. This thesis of Kant's was criticized in our time by the leading French philosopher Jacques Derrida (1930—2004), who pointed out that self-serving utility is always an inherent characteristic of the state, while utility for others constitutes a relationship of lease or usufruct (the right to use and benefit from another's property). In this context, a usurping state can alter the conditions of the lease, even if all parties have agreed upon peace, thus acting as a provocateur of war.

Undoubtedly, just as the Reformation provoked the Counter-Reformation, the Enlightenment elicited a Counter-Enlightenment. Joseph de Maistre (1753—1821)—a thinker who endeavored to restore Europe to an original state of the "Christian world," devoid of confessional enmity and the desire to triumph over others' defeats—saw philosophy as a diplomatic tool akin to the development of postal services or railways. However, the problem was that he could neither become a professor at an old-style university, upholding established norms of argumentation, nor a tribune, since, unlike Germany, France lacked professors who were preachers, those inheriting pastoral roles such as Fichte, Hegel, and Schelling. It is worth noting that Fichte even delivered public lectures on Sundays, as if performing an intellectual liturgy. De Maistre wrote about politics without having a chair, a library, or a circle of friends. In contrast to Voltaire, who effortlessly established both a library and a platform for his views, de Maistre crafted his political theory alongside his eloquence and wit, seeking public recognition each time. One might say he was the first philosopher who, despite the "reactionary" nature of his political views, aspired to keep pace with contemporary trends and act according to the dictates of fashion.

For de Maistre, world history is catastrophic, as inventive humans create increasingly complex levers of influence over one another—from weaponry to diplomacy—thereby embroiling themselves in protracted wars that ultimately disrupt the entire infrastructure of knowledge and action. De Maistre did not hope to prevent catastrophe but believed that it was possible to recognize the signs of the times and to teach others how to discern them.