Martin Knutzen: System of efficient causes, or a philosophical commentary on explaining the interaction of mind and body by physical influx (1745)

If there was one mainstay in pre-Kantian German philosophy, it was the question of the interaction between soul or mind and body. Thus, it is no wonder that we find Martin Knutzen, best known as the teacher of Kant, also tackling the question in his Systema causarum efficientium seu commentatio philosophica de commercio mentis et corporis per influxum physicum explicando.

The setting of the question is clear. We find that certain states of our mind correspond to certain states of our body. This is evident in case of sensations, when e.g. a visual experience corresponds to our eyes receiving light rays. Similar correspondence happens in some cases with emotions, for instance, when a feeling of rage is connected to rapid movement of heart. Finally, often our volitions (like me wanting something to eat) correspond to bodily movements (me moving toward the kitchen). Such correspondence asks for an explanation, Knutzen says, and it is the duty of philosophers to come up with such explanations.

As is familiar, three possible explanations were provided for the correspondence: firstly, the theory of physical influx, according to which mind and body really act upon each other, occasionalism, according to which God in each individual case arranges mind and body to change their state accordingly, and pre-established harmony, according to which mind changes its state according to its own laws and body according to its own laws, but God has ordered these changes to harmonise, when designing the world.

Knutzen does not add any further type of explanation, but suggests that these three explanations were the only ones possible. Explanation, he suggests, requires finding the cause for the correspondence. Such a cause can be either intrinsic to a human being as a combination of mind and body or extrinsic to it. If it is extrinsic, then we are suggesting, in the vain of occasionalism, that some entity outside the human being makes e.g. an arm move, whenever a certain type of volition occurs in the human mind. If the cause is intrinsic to a human being, Knutzen continues, then either one part of the human being (mind or body) affects the other part – this is obviously what the theory of physical influx says – or mind and body form closed causal chains, states of mind affecting further states of mind and states of body affecting only further states of body. In the latter case, the correspondence or harmony of mind and body is just a brute fact, which must then be further explained, as in the theory of pre-established harmony, by God fixing the causal chains of mind and body to harmonise with one another.

How then to decide between the three systems? Knutzen notes that the question cannot be decided by experience, since we cannot literally perceive mind and body acting on one another or God intervening in the causal chains, not to mention God making before the creation of mind and body a decision to harmonise them. What we are then left with is to find some reasons why we should prefer one system over the others.

Knutzen’s strategy is to ground his reasoning in the philosophical paradigm in Germany of his time, that is, Wolffian philosophy, by making references to Wolff’s works, whenever possible. Thus, Knutzen begins by pointing out that mind or soul is a simple substance, which has both intellect and free will and particularly has representations of its own body. As a simple substance, he continues, the mind is immaterial, while the body is a composite of many parts. Then again, even bodies must ultimately be composed of simple substances or elements, since otherwise a body would have an infinite amount of parts, which Knutzen thinks an absurd idea.

Knutzen goes on by defining what an action means: a thing acts, when it has in itself a reason why something else exists or changes. The reason in question is called a force, which is thus a tendency to act or generate and change things. Furthermore, Knutzen adds, force is always a sufficient reason for acting, that is, if no obstacle prevents, force generates an action, no matter what.

Following Leibniz’s relational definition, Knutzen takes space to be an order of coexisting things. A place of a thing is then just a definite mode of being in that order or of relating to other things. Thus, at least finite substances cannot exist in the same place at the same time. Motion, furthermore, is a change of place: thing changes its relation to other things. Because this change affects only the relations of a thing, it does not intrinsically affect the moving thing. The motion is still based on something more substantial, Knutzen says, namely, the motive force making a thing move.

All existing things must be determined in every manner, Knutzen says. Particularly, their relations to other coexisting things must also be determined, in other words, they must exist in some definite place. This truth, Knutzen continues, holds also of simple substances, such as the elements of the bodies. Furthermore, since bodies move, elements must also move. Then again, they do not fill a space or have an extension, since they have no parts, of which they would consist.

Two things cannot occupy the same place at the same time, which means, Knutzen suggests, that a thing resists the other taking its place. When a thing moves, it takes the place of another thing, in other words, it must overcome this resistance through some force. Particularly, Knutzen concludes, the elements of the body must use force to overcome this resistance of other elements and push them away, thus, the elements truly affect one another. Since a cause can be known from its effect (an accepted truth in Wolff’s ontology), we could even say that through changes caused by other elements an element represents or perceives other elements.

If elements act upon another, we can thus say that some simple and perceiving things interact with each other. This raises the probability of the mind also interacting with its body, Knutzen suggests, since the mind would interact with the body by interacting with the elements, of which the bodies consist. Of course, there is still a possibility that a mind would be different from elements on this point: perhaps interaction with elements of matter is somehow an imperfection that would not befit the status of a mind. Yet, Knutzen points out, God is thought to act on elements, and as God is absolutely perfect, the interaction with elements cannot be an imperfection.

In addition to showing the probability of the system of physical influx or real interaction of the mind and the body, Knutzen adds some further points to convince the reader the choose this system over the others: occasionalism is based on God doing constant miracles, while the system of pre-established harmony cannot explain why the bodies should be created in the first place. Furthermore, Knutzen also tries to directly prove the truth of the interaction. Just like other simple substances, a human mind must exist in some place, and indeed, it exists in a place where it is constantly together with its body. Thus, the mind must move with its body. Either it is passively moved by the body – and the interaction is real – or mind moves itself – and then it must be able to push other simple things around it, in other words, to interact with them.

Opponents of the physical influx had often stated that such an influx is just an empty word that has no meaning. Knutzen thinks this is a false accusation, since we have a perfectly good explanation of what physical influence means: real interaction of a mind and its body. Then again, he admits we cannot completely comprehend what the physical influx is like, since an interaction of simple things is something we cannot fully understand: we humans require distinctions in our cognition, but such an interaction can only happen instantaneously and no distinctions can be made in instantaneous changes. This is still no detriment to the truth of physical influx, since there are many things, Knutzen says, we can know to be true, although we cannot intuitively grasp them.

A further common objection to the system of physical influx was that it breaks the law of nature which states that the quantity of the motion in the universe cannot be changed: when I will my hand to move, I create new motion. Knutzen’s answer is that this supposed law is based only on observations of material objects and their interactions and that we need not suppose that it is correct for the interaction of the mind and the body.

Knutzen also considers the objection that we really cannot derive a force for moving material objects from a force of representing things, which should be the essence of a human mind. Knutzen thinks such a derivation is fairly simple. A force of representation, he explains, does not mean just a passive capacity to represent things, but active striving to try to represent things. Since representations of the mind correspond to the states of the body, the force of representation must also involve a force to change the body and its place in the universe.

Finally, Knutzen answers some objections that suggest physical influx would degrade the worth of a human mind. Firstly, he says, physical influx does not make the mind completely passive and dependent on the body, since the mind can also affect the body and does also have activities beyond interaction with the body.

Furthermore, Meier continues, physical influx does not contradict the immortality of the mind. Such a denial of immortality was based on the supposition that since the theory assumes sensations to be caused by the body, the destruction of the body would lead to a life with no sensations and thus without any consciousness. Knutzen notes that there is no reason why we shouldn’t get new bodies after our death. In addition, even if we did not get a new body, we might have sensations of other kinds, such as direct experience of other minds. Finally, Knutzen concludes, even if we wouldn’t have any sensations, our mind could still do a lot of things, such a abstract reasoning, which would entail consciousness.

Georg Friedrich Meier: Figure of a critic (1745)

We’ve just seen Meier describe an ideal figure of a philosopher, and in the very same year he also published a work (Abbildung eines Kunstrichters) meant for describing an ideal figure of a philosopher. Just like in his figure of a philosopher, Meier draws heavily on the work of his teacher, Baumgarten. Difference is that in the case of a critic, Meier can only use his own lecture notes on Baumgarten’s aesthetics, since the latter had not yet published anything on the topic.

Meier’s intended audience is particularly the German speaking world. German philosophy and sciences are already respected, he states, but the same cannot yet be said of its taste. True, there are a lot of German critics, but without a model of what a critic should be like we cannot really say whether they are particularly good critics.

Meier begins with a short history of criticism, starting from the Renaissance, when scholars wanted to learn what wisdom was to be found in the texts of ancient authors. Before they could get to the actual content of these texts, the scholars had to discern what the words and expressions of the authors had meant. With this philological interest began the study of evaluating a text based merely on the words and expressions in order to see, for instance, whether some scribe had added things to the original work.

Later this study or critique was extended more generally into evaluation of all works of art. The purpose of critique was to find out what is perfect and what is imperfect in them and how to avoid the imperfections. Yet, Meier says, critique could be extended even further to evaluation of all finite things, because all things are perfect in some manner, whereas all finite things are in some measure imperfect. This means that absolutely anything, with the exception of God, can be evaluated by critique, even such seemingly frivolous things as wigs.

Critique or the art of evaluation can be divided into two parts, Meier notes. The theoretical part contains rules by which we can recognise perfections and imperfections in general, but doesn’t consider any particular kinds of objects. The practical part, on the other hand, tries to discern what is perfect and imperfect in particular kinds or even in individual objects. In other words, practical criticism takes an individual object, like Homer’s Odyssey, and evaluates it according to some given rules. Practical critique developed faster than theoretical, since e.g. Homer was evaluated long before Aristotle had written his Poetics. Then again, insufficient theoretical critique is bound to lead to bad practical critique, and therefore it is especially theoretical critique Meier is eager to develop in his work.

Theoretical critique should begin, Meier insists, what he calls instrumental critique or logic of critique that studies the very concepts of perfection and imperfection and the various methods of evaluating them. According to Meier, the logic of critique divides into two parts. The first part describes the methods for knowing perfections and imperfections distinctly, reasonably and philosophically. This is done by what he calls the intellectual capacity of evaluation. This intellectual capacity should be based on a distinct understanding of what is perfect and what imperfect and it should work in close conjunction with the reason.

The second part of the logic of critique, on the other hand, concerns taste, which gives rules for evaluating perfection and imperfection of things in a sensuous manner, that is, as beauty and ugliness. Just like the intellectual capacity of evaluation worked in conjunction with reason, taste should work in conjunction with the senses, for instance, when a musician can hear whether a melody is beautiful or not. Despite taste using non-distinct methods for its evaluations, it also can be perfected, Meier thinks. Furthermore, he continues, since many of our sensuous representations are not distinct, while all our distinct representations have some connection to what is sensed, taste must always provide the raw material for the judgemetns of intellectual evaluation. Thus, Meier concludes, improving the taste of the people is of utmost importance even from the perspective of the intellectual capacity of evaluation.

In addition to the logic of critique, theoretical critique also studies the perfections and imperfections of things. This study, Meier says, divides into two parts. The first part is more general, being like metaphysics of critiqued, because it studies, firstly, perfections belonging to all possible things, secondly, imperfections common to all finite things, and finally, perfections and imperfections belonging to highest genera of things. The second part, on the other hand, studies the further species of things and their perfections and imperfections. This second part has no clear boundary with the practical critique and could extend indefinitely, for example, to evaluation of general perfections and imperfections in comedies.

With these preliminaries in place, Meier can finally proceed to create his figure of a critic, by which he means a person capable of evaluating perfections and imperfections. Meier notes that his definition also covers critics who use only taste, but not the intellectual capacity of evaluation. This means that not all critics can explain why they evaluate things in the way they do.

The first characteristic of a good critic, Meier says, is that they should be able to evaluate, and even more, they should actually evaluate as many things as is possible for them. The possibility in this statement is not a mere empty expression, but points to clear limitations on what the critic should attempt to evaluate. Firstly, Meier points out, there are things no human being could evaluate. Furthermore, every individual human being has things they particularly cannot evaluate. Finally, Meier notes that moral possibility should also be taken into account: evaluating certain things could break a higher duty, while a critic could be obligated to evaluate other things.

Beyond these limitations, nothing as such should in principle limit the extent of what a critic should evaluate. Indeed, they should be ready to use their evaluating capacities in all walks of life and in all arts and fields of knowledge. Of course, Meier admits, there are physical limitations as to how much and how extensively a person can do evaluating work. Thus, it is reasonable for a critic to find a certain field of expertise, where to especially use their talents.

Since there are limits to what a critic can evaluate, Meier argues, they should especially concentrate on evaluating as great things as is possible for their capacities. By greatness Meier does not mean just quantitative greatness, although that is one possible way to choose the topics of evaluation. Instead, he says, things also have their own inner worth, depending on how much they support virtuous behaviour. In addition to such intrinsic worth, a thing can have worth due to the variety and worthiness of its consequences. Meier notes that neither the intrinsic worth nor the worth of the consequences should be left for the common people to decide, since even such a seemingly impractical study as philology can be worthwhile, because it teaches us to read and understand things.

When a critic has finally decided what to evaluate, they should try to discover as much perfections and imperfections in what is evaluated. Of course, there are limitations as to what can be found in a thing and also how much to put attention to a single thing - one should not put too much effort into evaluating wigs, Meier jokes. Still, even within these limits there are many perfections and imperfections to be found, since everything can be regarded from many angles - the intrinsic characteristics of things, their relations to other things, laws governing these relations etc. For instance, when evaluating Homeric poetry, one should surely contextualise it to the religious background of ancient Greeks, Meier points out.

When considering perfections and imperfections of a thing, Meier continues, a critic should concentrate on the greatest the thing has. This does not mean that a critic could not pay any attention to small details, but only that the attention should not be unproportionally great. Hence, when studying a tragedy, a critic should mainly concentrate on the question whether it fulfils the central purpose of all tragedies, that is, of inciting feelings of horror and compassion, and less on things like whether the costumes of the actors look realistic.

Thus far, Meier says, we have outlined the figure of a critic, but now we should paint it, in other words, we should not just say what a critic is to evaluate, but also how they should do it. The first rule Meier points out on this account is that a true critic should evaluate things with as great clarity as possible. As should be expected, Meier again points out that clarity has its limitations, since human beings do not have divine omniscience. Thus, again, the clarity used for evaluation should be in proportion to the worth of the thing evaluated. Furthermore, a critic should be ready to gradually increase the clarity of their evaluations.

A critic can use both an intellectual capacity of evaluation and taste for their evaluations, and both have their different forms of clarity: judgements of taste are more vibrant or lively, but judgements of the intellectual kind are more distinct. Meier notes that in any case taste must be used, but the intellectual capacity should be especially reserved for things deserving a more refined evaluation. The two capacities have also different criteria for a sufficiently clear evaluation: while using only taste, a critic can often merely say that the thing evaluated has something je ne sais quoi, but in a more intellectual evaluation such impreciseness would not be accepted.

The most important perfection of a critic, Meier says, is that of making as correct evaluations as possible. This means, mostly, that a critic should avoid errors as much as is possible. Of course, Meier admits, humans cannot avoid all errors, since they are just finite beings. In some cases this is not crucial, if the error is of no significance. Still, in many cases errors would be important. Thus, a true critic should be more inclined to abstain from evaluation and admit their ignorance than to make guesses without any good evidence. Even if a critic is convinced of the correctness of their evaluation, they should be prepared to correct their opinions later.

Although Meier spends considerable time to describe how to avoid error - mostly by getting rid of false presuppositions, such a person thinking their own skin colour should please everyone else best - he does also mention that correctness or truth comes in many grades and that for higher grades something more is required than just a lack of errors. This higher grade of truth consists essentially of integrating one’s evaluations to a system, where one can see, e.g. rules of evaluation ordered into a hierarchy of more and less important rules.

Closely connected to the demand of correctness is Meier’s insistence that a critic should be as certain as is possible of their evaluations. He notes that certainty comes in two different types, corresponding to the two types of evaluating capacity. In the intellectual evaluation, we have philosophical certainty, which is based on proofs. These proofs can be demonstrations, which conclude with fully certain statements, but they can also be just probable proofs, which can still create at least e.g. moral certainty. Here the probability can also be increased with a number of different proofs used to justify the evaluation.

An intellectual evaluation should always be backed up with taste. Thus, Meier argues, critics should be more than logicians and strive also for aesthetic or sensuous certainty. Sensuous certainty is based on immediate experience, which makes an evaluation sensuously plausible. Furthermore, because taste could be used in cases where intellectual evaluation is not possible, sensuous certainty is sometimes the best a critic can achieve.

If a critic is not convinced of their evaluations, they should not persuade others of their certainty. This does not mean that they should constantly try to give perfect justifications of their evaluations, Meier adds, because sometimes they just don’t have time for a proper proof, while at other times they have nothing but their taste to rely on. Even so, Meier notes, they should at least try to justify why they trust their taste and be prepared to find their evaluations shaken.

Sometimes intellectual evaluation and taste of a critic can be at odds with one another. Such contradictions obviously make their evaluations uncertain and should thus be avoided. Meier thinks that usually it is the intellectual capacity of evaluation that should be preferred, because taste is based on confused ideas and is hence prone to make more mistakes. Thus, Meier thinks that the statement that matters of taste cannot be disputed is proven false, because intellectual evaluation could well show the incorrectness of an evaluation of taste.

Evaluating things should not be just dead speculation, Meier thinks. Instead, evaluations should cause pleasant or unpleasant feelings in the critic and thus motivate them to action. Here the role of the sensuous capacity of evaluation or taste is especially important, Meier says, since intuitive understanding of things affects us more deeply than mere symbolic cognition.

A seasoned critic, Meier continues, knows how to do all the things described with incredible ease, being able to evaluate on a moment’s notice things they have never before even heard about, even if they are at the same time occupied by distracting thoughts. This seasoned ease, he states, is something that can be practised, for instance, by improving one’s cognitive skills in general.

Evaluation of a critic is usually not just something they make in their head, but also something they present to others, whether in oral or written fashion. Meier notes that not all evaluations should be presented at all. While truth as such is always a positive thing, its effect on people could be harmful. Of course, Meier admits, it is not the case that a critic should remain silent, if it causes some harm to someone: truth can have its martyrs. Still, it requires careful consideration whether expressing certain evaluation in public will do more harm than be of use.

If a critic decides to make their judgement known, they should present it in a manner that shows the critic to have followed all the previously mentioned rules of evaluation. Furthermore, a presentation of evaluation should also follow good morals. Meier ponders the question whether certain styles, like satire, should be allowed in critical evaluations. He comes to the conclusion that such are allowed, if the style matches the content.

The figure of the critic has been completed, Meier states, but few details have to be added. Thus, a good critic should make fair evaluations, which are proportional to the perfections and imperfections of the evaluated thing and impartial. They should also be prepared to become authorities in the field of criticism, who inspire others to imitate them, but not try to gain such authority by merely fulfilling the irrational wishes of the public audience. Furthermore, they should try to maintain balance in the realm of criticism, so that all critical authorities would have a chance to state freely their opinion, within the limits prescribed by customs and the law of the land, and so to balance their tastes. Finally, they should avoid a gloomy disposition and seek more for perfection in the things evaluated.

Critics should constantly try to improve their capacities of evaluation. Still, Meier concedes, these capacities will eventually diminish, when the critic turns into their second childhood. While an ageing critic can slow this process down with constant practice, this cannot go on forever. It would be best if the critic would then completely abstain from evaluations, but since we cannot expect rational behaviour from people in their second childhood, Meier suggests, the younger critics should just respectfully ignore the silliness of what an elderly critic says.