is a separate, and, so far as I am concerned, an independent being, and is not me, but another me, and, therefore, in no sense a predicate of me. But here is still another difficulty. The moment you affirm the faculty of intelligence to be a cognitive force, and distinct from me, you declare intelligence cannot be a predicate of me. I am, then, in myself, incapable of intelligence. Now, how am I, essentially, that is to say, in my essence (esse), unintelligent, incapable of intelligence, ever to know? The knower would not be me, but a faculty of intelligence proved to be not me. How am I, essentially unintelligent, to be placed in such a relation with intelligence as to believe, and to have the right to affirm, that its acts, which are cognitions, are not its, but mine?

In activity there is a force that acts, which makes the effort; in sensibility there is a force that acts, for it demands an effort on the part of the subject to receive a sensation, as much as it does to perform an act in any other sense. Assume a being wholly passive, incapable of the least motion on its part, that is to say, a being absolutely dead, could it feel? could it receive an impression? could it experience a sentiment? Of course

Then in sensibility there is a force that feels. In understanding there is a force that knows. Now, is the force that acts, me or not me? the force that feels, me or not me? the force that knows, me or not me? Of course it is in each case me, I, myself. Then activity is simply myself acting; sensibility myself feeling; understanding myself knowing. I am myself each and all three, for each is only myself under a given aspect.

This granted, the distinction between the subject and the faculty, that is, between the subject and its inneity, must be abandoned. The faculty is the subject, that is, the subject under a given aspect. Now, since we have already identified the pure and transcendental cognitions with the faculty of intelligence, it follows that they are the subject, and nothing else. They are the understanding, and the understanding is the subject as cogni

tive. We can now easily grasp the essential features of Kant's doctrine of science.

The actual cognition, we have seen, consists of two parts, the cognition a priori, and the cognition a posteriori, the portion derived from experience, and the portion supplied by the subject experiencing. The empirical portion is merely the sensation, consequently, the actual cognition is sensation plus the subject, - the old doctrine attributed to Aristotle, with the famous reserve suggested by Leibnitz: Nihil in intellectu, quod non fuerit in sensu, NISI IPSE INTELLECTUS: Nothing can be in the mind but what is first in the senses, except the mind itself. Here is the germ of the Critik der reinen Vernunft, and all that Kant has done has been to develope and systematize the doctrine contained in this celebrated maxim.

We commend this fact to those zealous Kantians among us who are loud in condemning Locke for his alleged sensualism. The charge of sensualism against Locke comes with an ill grace from a follower of Kant; for, so far as it concerns the objects of knowledge, the Englishman is much less liable to it than the German. Locke, indeed, recognized only sensation as a source of primary ideas, yet he held, that logic, or what he calls Reflection, is capable of extending our knowledge, and of attaining, by way of deduction, of inference, from sensible data, to realities transcending the limits of sensation itself, which Kant denies, and labors at length to refute, in his "Transcendental Dialectics."

The great and important fact, which Kant seems to us to have recognized, is that contained in the reserve of Leibnitz already quoted, nisi ipse intellectus ; — namely, that, in every fact of experience, the subject enters for a part, and must count for something; and that, prior to experience, the understanding is not, as Locke alleged, a mere blank sheet void of all characters and of all ideas. It is the assertion of this fact, that has deceived so many in regard to the true character and worth of the Critical Philosophy, and made them

look upon the Critik der reinen Vernunft as a successful refutation of the Essay on the Human Understanding. Yet even here the difference between the two is more apparent than real, and, so far as real at all, is to the advantage of Locke.

Kant's doctrine concerning cognition a priori, pure cognition, and transcendental cognition, translated into the language of mortals, is, all simply, that a being, in order to know, must, prior to knowing, be able to know, - a doctrine which, so far as we recollect, Locke does not call in question. Locke, it is true, represents the mind, that is to say, the intelligent subject, prior to experience, to be a mere blank sheet, or piece of white paper, but obviously only in reference to actual objective knowledge, and he really means no more than Kant himself means by his assertion, that all our knowledge begins with experience. Kant asserts nothing as being prior to experience, but the subject inherently capable of experience; for this is the sum and substance of his whole doctrine concerning the pure and transcendental cognitions; but Locke asserts all this, for he does not resolve, as his pretended disciple, Condillac, does, the me into sensation, but asserts it as a substantive existence, and as an active and intelligent force, which he treats under the twofold aspect of sensation and reflection. He distinctly and expressly recognizes the me as a force capable of receiving sensations, and of working these sensations up "into that knowledge of objects which is called experience." If Kant asserts any thing more, we have not discovered it.

The simple truth is, that, touching objective knowledge, the only matter which Locke termed knowledge, Kant has made no advance on Locke, but virtually adopts Locke's general doctrine. He leaves, in the beginning, Locke where he is, and attempts to get behind experience, and make a critic of the experience-power; not the cognition, but the cognitive power (Erkenntnissvermögen); that is to say, to determine whether the sensation and reflection of Locke, or the knowledge, so called, obtained by them, or rather through them, could

claim any validity, or be worthy of any reliance. At best, he would only have left us the power of communicating with what lies outside of us, which Locke asserted; but, in reality, he has not left us even so much. For he has attempted to show that no experience is or can be valid without both synthetic judgments and synthetic conceptions, a priori, and that these judgments and conceptions are of no value, being nothing but pure, that is, empty conceptions. So that, with him we are worse off than we were with Locke; for if Locke was defective in not recognizing the subject in its completeness, Kant is still more defective, in that he, with Hume, recognizes in man no power of intelligence at all. Kant himself believed, many have since believed, that his Critic is a refutation of Hume; we regard it as the most masterly defence of Hume that man may be expected to produce. If Kant is right, man is incapable of demonstrating the reality of any existence outside of the subject, and the subject, for the want of a resisting medium, finally loses all apperception of itself, for Kant contends that the me can have intuition of itself only in the intuition of the diverse, that is, of the not me; and so all science vanishes, all certainty disappears, the sun goes out, the bright stars are extinguished, and we are afloat in the darkness, on the wild and tempest-roused ocean of universal Doubt and Nescience. Alas! we do not misrepresent the philosopher of Königsberg, for he himself, in the preface to his second edition, tells us, that the result of his whole investigation is, to rebuke dogmatism, "to demolish science to make way for faith."

The Critic of Pure Reason, we all know, is confessedly atheistic; it leaves no space for faith in God, and Kant was obliged to write his Critic of the Practical Reason in order to restore the faith it had overthrown. That is to say, the Critik der reinen Vernunft destroys all evidence of the existence of God, leaving us only a dim and flickering faith in our own me; but the reason always aspires to unity, to completeness, to the whole, which aspiration can be satisfied only by admitting the

notion of a God. In other words, the soul is conscious of a want; only God can meet this want; ergo, God is! The reasoning, by which Kant gets from the atheism of the Critik der reinen Vernunft to the quasi-theism of the Critik der practischen Vernunft, is admirably hit off by the following passage from that able, but not over and above saintly, Heinrich Heine, in his D'Allemagne, with which we conclude the present article.

"After the tragedy comes the farce. Kant had hitherto taken the terrible tone of an inexorable philosopher, carried heaven by assault, and put the whole garrison to the sword. You saw, extended lifeless on the ground, the old ontological, cosmological, and physico-theological body-guards of God, and God himself, deprived of demonstration, lay swimming in his own blood; henceforth no more divine mercy, no more paternal goodness, no more future rewards for present sufferings; immortality of the soul is in agony. Nothing is heard but the death-rattle and lamentations. . And Old Lampe, an afflicted spectator of this catastrophe, drops his umbrella; an agonizing sweat and great tears flow down his cheeks. Then Immanuel Kant is touched, and shows that he is not merely a great philosopher, but a brave man. He reflects, and, with a half gracious, half malicious air, says:

"Yes, Old Lampe must have a God, without which no happiness for the poor man. Now, man ought to be happy in this world, this is what the Practical Reason says. . . . I mean, yes, I myself mean,-that the practical reason, therefore, guaranties the existence of God.' In consequence of this reasoning, Kant distinguishes between theoretic reason and practical reason. And by the aid of this, as with a magic wand, he resuscitates the God which the theoretic reason had slain.

"Perhaps Kant undertook this resurrection not merely through friendship for poor Old Lampe, but through fear of the police. Did he act from conviction? Has he, in destroying all the proofs of the existence of God, wished to show us how deplorable it is to know nothing of God? He in this appears to do very much like my Westphalian friend, who broke all the lamps of the Rue Grohnd of Göttingen, and in the darkness made a long oration on the practical necessity of lamps, which he had stoned in a theoretic manner in order to show what we should be without their beneficent light.”*

* D'Allemagne, Tome I., pp. 170-172.