# Lectures on the Proofs of the Existence of God/Amplification of the Teleological Proof 1831

Kant has criticised this proof too, as well as the other proofs of the existence of God, and it was chiefly owing to him that they were discredited, so that it is now scarcely considered worth while to look at them closely. And yet Kant says of this proof that it deserves to be always regarded with respect. When, however, he adds that the teleological proof is the oldest, he is wrong. The first determination of God is that of force or power, and the next in order is that of wisdom. This is the proof we meet with first amongst the Greeks also, and it is stated by Socrates (Xenophon, Memor., at the end of Book First). Socrates takes conformity to an end, especially in the form of the Good, as his fundamental principle. The reason why he is in prison, he declares, is that the Athenians consider it to be good. This proof accordingly coincides historically with the development of freedom.
We have already considered the transition from the religion of power to the religion of spirituality in general. We have already had in the intermediate stages also the very same mediation which we recognise as present in the religion of beauty, but broken up and as yet devoid of any spiritual character. But since with that transition to the religion of spirituality there is added another and essential determination, we have first to bring out its meaning in an abstract way, and direct attention to it.
​Here we have the determination of freedom as such, of an activity as freedom, a working in accordance with freedom, no longer an unhindered working in accordance with power, but a working in accordance with ends. Freedom is self-determination, and what is active has self-determination implicitly as its end in so far as it spontaneously determines itself within itself. Power is simply the act of self-projection, and implies that there is an unreconciled element in what is projected; and though this is implicitly an image or picture of the power, still it is not expressly felt in consciousness that what creates simply preserves and produces itself in its creation in suchwise that the characteristics of the Divine itself appear in the creature. God is here conceived of as possessed of the characteristic of wisdom, of activity in accordance with an end. Power is good and righteous, but action in accordance with an end is what first constitutes this characteristic of rationality, according to which nothing comes out of the act but what had been already previously determined upon, that is, this identity of the creating power with itself.
The difference which exists among the proofs of the existence of God consists simply in the difference of their determination. There is in them a mediation, a starting-point, and a point at which we arrive. In the Teleological and Physico-theological Proofs both points possess in common the characteristic of conformity to an end. We start from a form of Being which is actually characterised as in conformity with an end, and what is thereby mediated is the idea of God as positing and working out an end. Being, considered as the immediate from which we start in the Cosmological Proof, is, to begin with, a manifold, contingent Being. In accordance with this, God is defined as necessity which has Being in-and-for-itself, the force or power which is above the contingent. The higher determination accordingly is, that conformity to an end is present in Being. The ​rational element already finds expression in the end in the form of a free self-determination and carrying out of this content, so that this content which at first in its character as an end is inward, is realised, and the reality corresponds to the notion or end.
A thing is good in so far as it fulfils its destiny or end, and this means that the reality is adequate to the notion or destined character. In the world we perceive a harmonious working of external things, of things which exist in a relation of indifference to each other, which come into existence accidentally so far as other things are concerned, and have no essential reference to one another. Still, although things thus exist apart from each other, there is evidence of a unity in virtue of which there is an absolute conformity amongst them. Kant states this in a detailed way, as follows. The present world reveals to us an inexhaustible scene of manifold life, of order, conformity to ends, and so on. This determination in accordance with an end is seen specially in what has life, both as it is in itself and in its relation to things outside of it. Man, the animal, is something inherently manifold, has certain members, entrails, &c., and although these appear to exist alongside of each other, still the general determination in accordance with an end is present through them all and maintains them. The one exists only through the other and for the other, and all the members and component parts of men are simply means for the self-preservation of the individual which is here the end. Man, all that has life in fact, has many needs: air, nourishment, light, &c., are necessary for his sustenance. All this actually exists on its own account, and the capacity of making it minister to an end is external to it. Animals, flesh, air, and so on, which are required by Man, do not in themselves declare that they are ends, and yet the one is simply a means for the other. There is here an inner connection which is necessary, but which does not exist as such. This inner connection is not ​made by the objects themselves, but is produced by something else, as these things themselves are. The conformity to an end does not produce itself spontaneously; the active working in accordance with an end is outside of the things, and this harmony which implicitly exists and posits itself, is the force which presides over these objects, which destines them to stand to each other in the relation of things whose existence is determined by an end. The world is thus no longer an aggregate of contingent things, but a collection of relations in conformity with an end, which, however, attach themselves to things from without. This relation of ends must have a cause, a cause full of power and wisdom.
This activity in accordance with an end, this cause, is God.
Kant remarks that this proof is the clearest of all, and can be understood by the ordinary man. It is owing to it that Nature first acquires an interest; it gives life to the knowledge of Nature, just as it has its origin in Nature. This is in a general form the Teleological Proof.
Kant’s criticism is accordingly as follows. This proof, he says, is defective above all, because it takes into consideration merely the form of things. Reference to an end applies only to the determination of form. Each thing preserves itself, and is therefore not merely a means for others, but is an end itself. The quality in virtue of which a thing can be a means has reference to its form merely, and not to its matter. The conclusion, therefore, does not carry us further than the fact, that there is a forming cause; but we do not prove by this that matter also has been produced by it. The proof, says Kant, does not therefore adequately express the idea of God as the creator of matter and not merely of form.
Form contains the characteristics which are mutually related; but matter is to be thought of as without form, and consequently as without relation. This proof therefore stops short at a demiurge, a constructor of matter, ​and does not get the length of a creator. So far as this criticism is concerned, we may undoubtedly say that all relation is form, and this implies that form is separated from matter. We can see that God’s activity would in this way be a finite one. When we produce anything technical we must take the material for it from the outside. Activity is thus limited and finite. Matter is thus thought of as permanently existing for itself, as eternal. That, in virtue of which things are brought into connection with each other, represents the qualities, the form, not the permanent existence of things as such. The subsistence or permanent existence of things is their matter. It is, to begin with, undoubtedly correct that the relations of things are included within their form; but the question is, Is this distinction, this separation between form and matter admissible, and can we thus put each specially by itself? It has been shown, on the contrary, in the Logic (Encyclop. Phil., § 129), that formless matter is a nonentity, a pure abstraction of the Understanding, which we may certainly construct, but which ought not to be given out to be anything true. The matter which is opposed to God as something unalterable is simply a product of reflection, or, to put it otherwise, this identity of formlessness, this continuous unity of matter is itself one of the specific qualities of form. We must therefore recognise the truth that matter which is thus placed on one side by itself, belongs itself to the other side, to form. But then the form is also identical with itself, relates itself to itself, and in virtue of this has just the very quality which is distinguished from it as matter. The activity of God Himself, His simple unity with Himself, the form, is matter. This remaining equal to self, this subsistence is present in the form in such a way that the latter relates itself to itself, and that is its subsistence, which is just what matter is. Thus the one does not exist apart from the other; on the contrary, they are both the same.
​Kant goes on to say, further, that the syllogism starts from the fact of the order and conformity to an end observable in the world. We find there arrangements in accordance with an end. It is this reference of things to an end, not found in the things themselves, which accordingly serves for the starting-point. We have in this way a third thing, a cause, posited. From the fact of arrangement in accordance with an end, we reason to the existence of its author, who has established the teleology of the relations. We cannot therefore infer the existence of anything more than what, so far as content is concerned, is actually given in presently existing things, and is in conformity with the starting-point. The teleological arrangement strikes us as wonderfully grand, as one of supreme excellence and wisdom; but a wisdom which is very great and worthy of admiration is not yet absolute wisdom. It is an extraordinary power which is recognised as present here, but it is not yet Almighty Power. This, says Kant, is a leap which we are not justified in taking, and so we take refuge in the Ontological Proof, and this starts from the conception of the most real Essence. The mere sense-perception, however, from which we start in the Teleological Proof, does not bring us so far as this totality. It must certainly be granted that the starting-point has a smaller content than what we arrive at. In the world there is merely relative and not absolute wisdom. We must look at this more closely. We have here a syllogism. We reason from the one to the other. We start with the peculiar constitution of the world, and from this go on to conclude the existence of an active force, of something that binds together things which exist apart from each other; this represents their inner nature, their potentiality, and is not present in them in an immediate way. The form of the reasoning process here produces the false impression that God has a basis from which we start. God appears as something conditioned. The arrangement of things in accordance ​with an end is the condition, and the existence of God is apparently asserted to be something mediated or conditioned. This is an objection upon which Jacobi laid special stress. We try, he says, to reach the unconditioned through the conditions. But, as we have already seen, this merely seems to be the case, and this false impression disappears of itself when we reach the real meaning of the result. So far as this meaning is concerned, it will be allowed that the process is merely the course followed by subjective knowledge. This mediation does not attach to God Himself. He is certainly the Unconditioned, infinite activity which determines itself in accordance with ends, and which has arranged the world on a teleological plan. We do not imagine, when we speak of that process of knowledge, that these conditions from which we start precede that infinite activity. On the contrary, this represents the process of subjective knowledge only, and the result we reach is that it is God who has established these teleological arrangements, and that therefore they represent something established in the first instance by Him, and are not to be regarded as something fundamental. The ground or principle from which we start disappears in what is characterised as the true principle. This is the meaning of the conclusion, that what conditions is itself in turn explained to be the conditioned. The result declares that to posit as the foundation what is itself conditioned would be to introduce a defective element. This procedure accordingly, both actually and as regards its end, is not merely subjective, not something which goes on merely in thought; on the contrary, this defective side is itself removed by means of the result. The objective thus asserts its presence in this form of knowledge. There is not only an affirmative transition here, but there is also a negative moment in it, which is not, however, posited in the form of the syllogism. There is therefore a mediation which is the negation of the first immediacy. The course followed by ​Spirit is, it is true, a transition to the activity which is in-and-for-itself and posits ends, but, it is involved in the course thus followed, that the actual existence of this teleological arrangement is not held to represent Being in-and-for-itself. This is found only in reason, the activity of eternal reason. That other Being is not true Being, but only an appearance or semblance of this activity.
In dealing with the determination of ends, we must further distinguish between Form and Content. If we consider form pure and simple, we have Being in accordance with an end which is finite, and, so far as form is concerned, its finitude consists in the fact that the end and means, or the material in which the end is realised, are different. This is finitude. We thus use a certain material in order to carry out our ends, since the activity and the material are different. The finitude of form is what constitutes the finitude of Being in accordance with an end. The truth of this relation, however, is not anything of this kind. On the contrary, the truth is in the teleological activity which is means and matter in itself, a teleological activity which accomplishes its ends through itself. This is what is meant by the infinite activity of the end. The end accomplishes itself, realises itself through its own activity, and thus comes into harmony with itself in the process of realising itself. The finitude of the end consists, as we saw, in the separableness of means and material. Viewed thus, the end represents what is as yet a technical mode of action. The truth of the determination of the end consists in the fact that the end has within itself its means, as also the material in which it realises itself. Regarded in this aspect, the end is true so far as the form is concerned, for objective truth consists simply in the correspondence between the notion and reality. The end is true only when what uses the means, and the means, as well as the reality, are identical with the end. The end thus presents itself as something which possesses reality in itself, and is not something ​subjective, one-sided, the moments of which exist outside of it. This is the truth of the end, while the teleological relation seen in finitude represents, on the contrary, something untrue. It is necessary to remark here that teleological activity as representing a relation thus defined in accordance with its truth, exists in the form of something higher, which is, however, at the same time present, and which we can certainly speak of as the Infinite, since it is a teleological activity which has both material and means in itself. Regarded from another point of view, however, it is finite as well. Teleological determination in this its true form, which is the form we require it to have, is found actually existing, though only in one of its aspects, in what has life, in what is organic. Life as the subject is the soul. This latter is the end, that is, it posits itself, realises itself, and thus the product is the same as the thing that produces. What has life is, however, an organism; the organs are the means. The living soul has a body in itself, and it is only in union with this that it constitutes a whole, something real. The organs are the means of life, and these very means, the organs themselves, are also the element in which life realises and maintains itself, they are material also. This is self-preservation. What has life preserves itself; it is beginning and end; the product is at the same time what begins. The living as such is constantly in a state of activity. The feeling of need is the beginning of activity, and impels to the satisfaction of the need, and this satisfaction, again, is the beginning of a new need. The living exists only in so far as it is constantly a product. This gives us the truth of the end so far as form is concerned. The organs of the living being are means, but they are equally the end; in exercising their activity they produce themselves only. Each organ maintains the other, and in this way maintains itself. This activity constitutes an end, a soul, which is present in every point of the organism. Every part of the ​body experiences sensation; the soul is in it. Here we have teleological activity in its true form. But the living subject is also something thoroughly finite. The teleological activity presents here the character of something which is formally true, but which is not complete. The living being produces itself; it has the material of production in itself. Each organ excretes animal lymph which is made use of by other organs in order to reproduce themselves. The living being has the material in itself, only this is merely an abstract process. Finitude shows itself in this, that while the organs draw their nourishment from themselves they employ material for this taken from the outside. Everything organic is related to inorganic Nature, which has a definite independent existence. Regarded in one aspect, the organism is infinite since it represents a circle of pure return into self; but it is at the same time in a state of tension relatively to external inorganic Nature, and has its needs. Here the means come from the outside. Man requires air, light, water; he also feeds on other living things, on animals which he in this way reduces to the state of inorganic Nature, to means. It is this relation particularly which leads to the idea of a higher unity representing that harmony in which the means correspond to the end. This harmony is not found in the subject itself, and yet it has in it the harmony which constitutes organic life, as we have seen. The whole construction of the organs, of the nerve and blood system, of the entrails, lungs, liver, stomach, and so on, presents a remarkable agreement. But does not this harmony itself demand something else outside of the subject? We may let this question alone at present; for if we get a grip of the notion of organism such as has been given, then this development of teleological determination is itself a necessary consequence of the living nature of the subject in general. If we do not get a grip of that notion, then the living being will not be the concrete unity referred ​to. In order to understand what life is, recourse is accordingly had to external mechanical modes of conception as illustrated by the action of the blood, and to chemical conceptions as seen in analysis of foods. It is not, however, possible by such processes to discover what life itself is. It is necessary to suppose the existence of some third thing which has brought these processes into existence. As a matter of fact, however, it is just the subject which is this unity, this harmony of the organism. Still this unity involves the relation of the living subject to external Nature, which is thought of as having a merely indifferent and accidental connection with the subject.
The conditions involved in this relation do not form the sole basis of the development of what has life; still, if the living being did not find these conditions ready to hand, it could not possibly exist. The observation of this fact directly produces the feeling that there must exist something higher which has introduced this harmony. It at once awakens sympathetic attention and admiration in men. Every animal has its own narrow range of means of sustenance, and indeed many animals are limited to a single source of sustenance, human nature having in this respect also the most general character. This fact accordingly, that there exists for every animal this outward particular condition, rouses in Man that feeling of astonishment which passes over into a sense of exalted reverence for that third something which has brought about this unity. This represents Man’s elevation to the thought of that higher existence which produces the conditions necessary for the accomplishment of its end. The subject secures its own preservation, and the act whereby it does this is, further, in all living things an unconscious one, is what in animals we term instinct. The one gets its means of sustenance by force, the other produces it with the help of art. This it is which we term the wisdom of God in Nature, in which we meet with that infinitely manifold ​arrangement in respect of the various activities and conditions necessary to the existence of all particular things. When we consider all those particular forms in which the living being shows its activity, we find that they are contingent, so to speak; that they have not been produced by the subject itself, and necessitate the existence of a cause outside of them. The fact of life merely involves self-preservation in general; but living beings differ from one another in an infinite variety of ways, and this variety is the work of something other than themselves. The question is simply this, How does inorganic Nature pass over into organic Nature, and how is it possible for it to serve as a means for what is organic? We are here met by a peculiar conception of the way in which these two come together. Animals are inorganic as contrasted with men, and plants are inorganic as contrasted with animals. But Nature, which is in itself inorganic, as represented, for instance, by the sun, the moon, and in general by what appears in the form of means and material, is in the first instance immediate, and exists previous to the organic. Regarded in this way, the relation is one in which the inorganic is independent, while, on the other hand, the organic is what is dependent. The former, the so-called immediate, is the unconditioned. Inorganic Nature appears complete in itself; plants, animals, men, approach it in the first instance from the outside. The earth might have continued to exist without vegetation, the vegetable kingdom without animals, the animal kingdom without men. These various forms of existence thus seem to be independent and to be there for themselves. We are in the habit of referring to this as a matter of experience. Thus there are mountains without any vegetation, without animals and men. The moon has no atmosphere, there does not go on in it any meteorological process such as supplies the conditions necessary for vegetation. It thus exists without having any vegetative nature, and so on. ​Inorganic existence of this kind appears as independent, and Man is related to it in an external way. The idea thus arises that Nature is in itself a producing force which creates blindly, and out of which vegetation comes. From this latter in turn comes what is animal, and then finally Man possessed of conscious thought. We can undoubtedly assert that Nature produces stages of which the one is always the condition of that which follows. But then, since organic life and Man thus appear on the scene in an accidental way, the question arises whether or not Man will get what is necessary. According to the idea referred to, this is equally a matter of chance, since here there is no unity having a valid existence on its own account. Aristotle gave expression to the same idea. Nature is constantly producing living things, and the point is whether or not these will be able to exist. Whether or not any of the things thus produced will be able to maintain itself, is a pure matter of accident. Nature has already made an endless number of attempts, and has produced a host of monstrosities; myriads of beings of various forms have issued from her which were not, however, able to continue in existence, and besides, she did not concern herself at all with the disappearance of such forms of life. By way of proving this assertion, people are in the habit of directing attention specially to the remains of monsters which are still to be found here and there. These species disappeared, it is asserted, because the conditions necessary to their existence had ceased. Regarded in this fashion, the harmony which exists between the organic and the inorganic is held to be accidental. There is here no necessity to begin and ask about a unity. The presence of design is itself affirmed to be accidental. Now, here is what is really involved in this conception. What, speaking generally, we call inorganic Nature as such is thought of as having an independent existence, while the organic is attached to it in an external fashion, so that ​it is a mere matter of chance whether or not the organic finds the conditions of existence in what confronts it. So far as the form of what essentially constitutes the conception is concerned, we have to remark that inorganic Nature is what comes first, is what is immediate. It was in harmony with the childlike ideas of the Mosaic age that the heavens and the earth, light, and so on, should have been thought of as created first, while the organic appeared later in point of time. The question is this: Is that the true definition or essential nature of the notion of the inorganic, and do living things and Man represent what is dependent? Philosophy, on the other hand, explains the truth involved in the definition of the notion; and apart from this, Man is certain that he is related to the rest of Nature as an end, and that Nature is meant to be a means so far as he is concerned, and that this represents the relation in which the inorganic in general stands to the organic. The organic is in its formal aspect, and by its very nature, something which exists in accordance with an end. It is means and end, and is therefore something infinite in itself. It is an end which returns back into itself; and even regarded as something dependent on what is outside of it, it has the character of an end, and consequently it represents what is truly first in comparison with what has been termed the immediate, in comparison, that is, with Nature. This immediacy is merely one-sided determination, and ought to be brought down to the level of something that is merely posited. This is the true relation. Man is not an accident added on to what is first; but, on the contrary, the organic is itself what is first. The inorganic has in it merely the semblance of Being. This relation is logically developed in Science itself.
This relation, however, still involves an element of separation, as seen in the fact that the organic, regarded from one side, is related outwardly to inorganic Nature, ​which is not posited as existing in the organic itself. The living being develops out of the germ, and the development is the action of the limbs, the internal organs, and so on; the soul is the unity which brings this about. The truth, however, of organic and inorganic Nature here also is simply the essential relation between the two, their unity and inseparability. This unity is a third something which is neither the one nor the other. It is not found in immediate existence. The absolute determination which brings both, the organic as well as the inorganic, into unity, namely, the subject, is the organic; while the other appears as object, but changes itself into the predicate of the organic, into something which is held to belong to it. This is the reciprocal element in this relation. Both are put into one, and in this one each is something dependent and conditioned. We might call this third something, the thought to which consciousness raises itself, God, using the word in a general sense. It falls, however, very far short of the Notion of God. Taken in this sense, it represents the activity of production, which is a judgment whereby both sides are produced together. In the one Notion they harmonise and exist for one another. The thought to which we rise, namely, that the truth of the relation of ends is this third something, is thus absolutely correct, taking that third thing in the sense in which it has just been defined. Taken thus, however, it is defined in a formal way, and the definition rests, in fact, on something whose truth it is. It is itself living activity; but this is not yet Spirit, rational action. The correspondence between the Notion as representing the organic, and reality as representing the inorganic, simply expresses the essence of life itself. It is involved in a more definite form in what the ancients called the νοῦς. The world is a harmonious whole, an organic life which is determined in accordance with ends. It was this which the ancients held to be νοῦς, and, taken in a more ​extended signification, this life was also called the world-soul, the λόγος. All that is posited here is simply the fact of life, and it is not implied that the world-soul is distinguished as Spirit from this active life belonging to it. The soul is simply the living element in the organic; it is not something apart from the body, something material, but is rather the life-force which penetrates the body. Plato accordingly called God an immortal ξῶον, that is, an eternally living being. He did not get beyond the category of life. When we grasp the fact of life in its true nature, it is seen to be one principle, one organic life of the universe, one living system. All that is, simply constitutes the organs of the one subject. The planets which revolve round the sun are simply the giant members of this one system. Regarded in this fashion, the universe is not an aggregate of many accidents existing in a relation of indifference, but is a system endowed with life. With this thought we have not, however, yet reached the essential characteristic of Spirit.
We have considered the formal aspect of the relation of ends. The other aspect is that of the content. The question here may take any of the following forms: What are the essential characteristics of the end, or what is the content of the end which is being realised, or how are these ends constituted in respect of what is called wisdom? So far as the content is concerned, the starting-point is the same as that of experience. We start, that is, from immediate Being. The study of ends in the form in which we actually meet with them, has, when pursued from this side, contributed more than anything else to the neglect of the teleological proof, so much so indeed that this latter has come to be regarded with disdain. We are in the habit of speaking of the wise arrangements of Nature. The various and manifold kinds of animals are, as regards the real nature of the life they have, finite. The external means necessary for ​this life actually exist; life in its various forms is the end. If accordingly we ask what the substance of this end is, it is seen to be nothing else save the preservation of these insects, of these animals, &c. We may indeed find pleasure in contemplating their life; but the necessity of their nature and destiny is of an absolutely insignificant kind, or, to put it otherwise, is an absolutely insignificant conception. When we say, God has made things thus, we are making a pious observation, we are rising to God; but when we think of God we have the idea of an absolute, infinite end, and these petty ends present a sharp contrast to what we recognise as His actual nature. If we now consider what goes on in higher spheres of existence, and look at human ends, which we may regard as relatively the highest of all, we see that they are for the most part frustrated and disappear, leaving no permanent result. In Nature millions of seeds perish just when they begin to exist, and without ever being able to develop the life-force in them. The life of the largest portion of living things is based on the destruction of other living things; and the same holds good of higher ends. If we traverse the domain of morality, and go on even to its highest stage, namely, civil life, and then consider whether the ends here are realised or not, we shall find, indeed, that much is attained, but that still more is rendered abortive, and destroyed by the passions and wickedness of men; and this is true of the greatest and most exalted ends. We see the earth covered with ruins, with remains of the splendid edifices and works left by the finest nations whose ends we recognise as having a substantial value. Great natural objects and human works do indeed endure and defy time, but all that splendid national life has irrecoverably perished. We thus see how, on the one hand, petty, subordinate, even despicable designs are fulfilled; and, on the other, how those which are recognised as having substantial value are frustrated. We are here certainly ​forced to rise to the thought of a higher determination and a higher end, when we thus lament the misfortune which has befallen so much that is of high value, and mourn its disappearance. We must regard all those ends, however much they interest us, as finite and subordinate, and ascribe to their finitude the destruction which overtakes them. But this universal end is not discoverable in experience, and thus the general character of the transition is altered, for the transition means that we start from something given, that we reason syllogistically from what we find in experience. But then what we find present in experience is characterised by limitation. The supreme end is the Good, the general final-end of the world. Reason has to regard this end as the absolute final-end of the world, and must look upon it as being based purely on the essential nature of reason, beyond which Spirit cannot go. Reason in the form of thought is, however, recognised as being the source of this end. The next step accordingly is that this end should show that it is accomplished in the world. But the Good is what has a determinate character in-and-for-itself by means of reason; and to this, Nature stands opposed, partly as physical Nature which follows its own course and its own laws, and partly as the natural element in Man, his particular ends which are opposed to the Good. If we go by what our senses show us, we find much that is good in the world, but also an infinite quantity of evil, and we would just have to reckon up the amount of evil, and the amount of good which does not attain realisation, in order to discover which preponderates. The Good, however, is something absolutely substantial; it belongs to the very essence of its nature that it should be realised. But it is something which merely ought to be real, for it cannot reveal itself in experience. It stops short with being something which ought to exist, something which is a postulate. But since the Good has not itself the power thus to realise itself, it is necessary to postulate a ​third thing through which the final-end of the world will be realised. This is an absolute postulate. Moral good belongs essentially to Man; but since his power is finite, and since the realisation of the Good in him is limited owing to the natural element attaching to him, since, in fact, he is himself the enemy of the Good, it is not within his power to realise it. The existence of God is here conceived of simply as a postulate, as something that should be, and which should have for Man subjective certainty, because the Good represents what is ultimate in his reason. But this certainty is merely subjective; it remains merely a belief, an ideal, and it cannot be shown that it actually exists. Aye, if the Good is to be really moral and present, then we should have to go the length of requiring and presupposing the perpetual existence of the discord, for moral Good can only exist and can only be in so far as it is in conflict with evil. It would thus be necessary to postulate the perpetual existence of the enemy, of what is opposed to the Good. If, then, we turn to the content, we find it to be limited; and if we go on to the supreme end, we find ourselves in another region, where we start from what is inward, not from what is actually present and supplied by experience. If, on the other hand, we start from experience, the Good, the final-end is something subjective merely, and in this case the contradiction between Man’s finite life and the Good would have to exist always.