Crusius, Christian August: Road to certainty and reliability – Using concepts and words

Crusius ends his discussion of concepts with a consideration of where we use them. He begins by noting that they form the building blocks for further concepts, and later on, propositions and deductions. Starting from the building of further concepts, Crusius notes that this can happen through distinguishing or combining or a combination of both. He points out that distinctions have already been dealt with and therefore turns his attention to combination of concepts.

Combination of concepts, Crusius notes, can happen without purposeful use of powers of understanding through imagination, for instance, while dreaming. The combination can also happen purposefully, he points out and adds that such a purposeful combination presupposes a previous distinguishing of a concept into more abstract concepts and a consciousness of a new combination of such abstractions. Such a recombination requires, according to Crusius, a shifting of attention to a direction where the abstractions seem united by some circumstance.

Parts forming the combined concept, Crusius notes, might then all be regarded as subordinated to the combination, for example, when we think of a straight line drawn toward the Sun. In other cases, he adds, the combined concepts are opposed to one another and connected to a third concept which forms the ground of the division, for instance, when I think of a line that is either curved or straight. In the latter case, Crusius explains, the concept of line is undetermined and we want to think it determinately, thus, we think it with more than one determination, both of which are opposed to one another, but subordinated to the concept of line. The opposition of curved and straight does not prevent representing this as one concept, he insists, because we are not thinking of a single line, but the essence of line in general.

The combination of concepts, Crusius points out, can be more or less arbitrary. Firstly, the parts can hang together by their nature and only their boundary might be arbitrary. Secondly, even the boundary might be derived from the nature of the parts, so that we combine them only insofar as we have regarded one part after another and finally regarded them altogether as a whole. Finally, the combination can be fully arbitrary.

Moving on to propositions and deductions, both of which Crusius will go on to handle in more detail later, he merely mentions the latter, while of the former he notes that they differ from combined concepts only by their purpose. Thus, with a combined concept one thinks both its parts and considers them only as a combined whole – like when thinking of an immortal God), while with propositions one thinks the compared concepts precisely for the purpose of representing their relation, like when one thinks that God is immortal.

All effects of understanding, whether concepts, propositions or deductions, Crusius thinks, represent certain possible or actual things, which are the object of our representations outside our thinking. Furthermore, he argues, when we think things, we must think them through certain properties, by which we designate them and distinguish them from one another. Crusius suggests calling these properties designating things as the object of thinking within thinking or understanding itself. Whether we are discussing the object outside or within thinking, he notes, the representations can change without the object changing. Thus, Crusius concludes, this changing activity in our representations must be distinguished from the objects of representation: he calls it the mode of representation.

Crusius divided the modes of representation into external or contingent mode and internal mode. Internal mode of representation, he explains, can be changed without changing the object outside thinking, that is, without meaning another object outside thinking. External or contingent mode of representation, on the other hand, can be changed without changing the object within the understanding, that is, it can be changed in such a manner that one still thinks about the previous properties of the object. In other words, if one changes the internal mode of representation, one still thinks about the previous object, but represents it through other properties: for example, when one thinks of God once as an eternal cause of the world and then as an entity that constantly thinks about all possible worlds.

Crusius makes the remark that in defining the same thing in different ways, we have different modes of representation. If the modes of representation are external or contingent, the change of definition retains even the same object within understanding. Thus the difference might consist only in that the parts of the concept are at one time thought in a different order after one another than at the other time, without ascribing to them a different relation to one another, for instance, when I say that soul is no body and then that bodies are not souls.

We use concepts to think and designate objects, Crusius continues, but we also need signs to designate concepts. These signs are used, he explains, to transmit our thoughts, since when we are used to signs, they suggest concepts to us by the rules of imagination. Then again, Crusius adds, signs are also used for our own convenience, since we cannot think of many concepts at the same time and with combined concepts we easily forget what they mean, but designating them with signs makes it easier to distinguish them from one another.

If signs should be fit to represent thoughts, from the standpoint of Crusius, there must potentially be many different signs that cannot easily be confused with one another, because there are many concepts and they have many relations. Furthermore, they should be easy to generate, manipulate and make note of. Crusius thinks that sounds that form words have all these properties, hence, regards it natural that words are used as signs for thoughts

Crusius defines language as a capacity to use words as signs for thoughts, although he adds immediately that this is true only of human language – other beings with reason can have language without words and instead some other signs for thoughts. Indeed, Crusius suggests, if we understand by language the sum of all such signs that express the internal state of spirits, even beasts can be said to have a language. Then again, he says, language is usually thought to consist of signs of abstract concepts.

If we want to use something as a sign for a thought, Crusius goes on, we must first have an idea of it. Crusius calls the idea of a word, whether spoken or written, the material meaning of this word. He then distinguishes the material meaning from the formal meaning of the word, which is the idea of a thing it should signify. Thus, when one cannot distinguish a word from other words, because it is spoken or written indistinctly, one does not understand its material meaning, but if the word is of unknown language, its formal meaning is unknown.

Experience shows, Crusius thinks, that words should be first connected to concrete concepts, because it would be inconvenient to try to define all of them. According to him, this is especially true when words are used for transmission of our thoughts, because the aim of such a transmission is usually to inform others about known truths. Furthermore, even if it would be possible, it would be of no use to give definitions of every word, because this would fix the meaning of the words only from the standpoint of the person defining them.

Using a sign, like a word, presupposes that the designated object appears sometimes with the sign. Thus, Crusius suggests, if we are accustomed that words and designated concepts occur together, it is said that we understand a language. In other words, hearing or reading the words of a language should bring to our mind the respective concepts, and furthermore, in thinking a concept, we should know the appropriate words designating them: both implications can appear without the other, but both are required, if we are to properly know a language.

Crusius divides understanding of language into immediate understanding, where the words make us instantly think the designated concepts, and mediate understanding, where the words of one language make us think of words of another language. He thinks this difference is remarkable, because the meaning of the translated words might not exactly convey the same meaning as the translation, because different languages have not named the exact same concepts. Furthermore, Crusius points out, the mediate understanding takes far more time, because it involves translation of the words to another language.

Understanding words becomes easier, Crusius holds, the more sensuous are the concepts designated by them, because we are very used to thinking sensuous concepts. On the contrary, if we designate abstract ideas with words, we must first carefully analyse concrete concepts designated by individual words and thus gradually build abstract concepts out of them. If someone cannot do this, Crusius points out, they are said to understand the words and still not know what to do with them.

Because words are just signs of concepts and change nothing in these concepts, Crusius clarifies the reader, it requires no particular type of knowledge to connect words with their concepts: if we wanted to do that, it would be like classifying a flower in a garden according to a sign filled with numbers, attached to that flower. Still, he adds, words are useful, because without them, the variety of concepts would lead us to inevitable confusion. They are external aids for knowledge, and our knowledge grows, when we learn more characteristics of the same concepts.

Crusius argues that words do not affect the mode of representation, because we can think the same things in different languages, and indeed, because we can forget the words and still know the things, not knowing how to express ourselves or choosing other words. Thus he concludes, we can have concepts without words, particularly with immediate sensations, but also with some abstract concepts. Crusius also warns the reader not to say that we think things through words, but at most that we combine a concept of thing with a concept of a word as a sign.

Words are signs of thoughts and thus should express the content and the differences of the thoughts conveniently. Sometimes, Crusius continues, we express complete, sometimes incomplete things, sometimes absolute things, sometimes relations. Of these various divisions he picks out especially the one between categorematic and syncategorematic words, where the former refers to situations, where the word could be used both as a subject and a predicate in the same proposition.

Words follow concepts, thus, Crusius notes, humans face difficulties in understanding one another, when concepts are not naturally determined, but based on arbitrary customs and purposes. In other words, when we want to communicate our thoughts to others, it is possible that some people due to their different concepts see things with different eyes and from another viewpoint that changes their external mode of representation and they might even ignore some circumstances we deem to be important. The result is that people do not understand each other completely: even the wisest sayings might be turned upside down by people who think they understand these perfectly.

Crusius turns next to speak of equivocity, where a word has more than one meaning. His general message is that equivocity or homonymy does not always imply obscurity of the meaning of the word or a confusion of concepts. Indeed, he points out, all languages have words that have more than one meaning without any confusion, because it is possible that in everyday use of the word the context provides the meaning. True, Crusius admits, sometimes there does arise obscurity of concept or even confusion, and therefore he separates mere grammatical equivocation from logical equivocation or ambiguity. In addition, he also mentions contingent or subjective equivocation where words are not actually equivocal, but their general concept just hasn’t been abstracted correctly from the examples.

Crusius starts to ponder the causes of equivocation. Sometimes, he says, it is based on a confusion of concepts, but often just giving a name of one thing to something else because of their greater or lesser similarity or connection. The reason for such a sharing of names might be that there are not enough words available and we still do not want to make up completely new and incomprehensible ones.

Crusius thinks that we should avoid ambiguity that is connected with obscurity and confusion. This means, he explains, that we should not use ambiguous words without adding determinations that highlight the uncertainty of their meanings in the context. Such determinations are either full nominal definitions of the words or mere auxiliary expressions, from which the meaning can be deduced. If it is nominal definitions that are used, we should pick a single distinct meaning of the ambiguous word or then distinguish all the common meanings of the word and retain the right to use all of them according to linguistic usage, but in such a manner that the obscurity is avoided through circumstances and additions.

In Crusius’s opinion, many philosophers are too strict when it comes to equivocity, demanding that a scholar should use a word constantly with the same meaning, although they cannot themselves apply this rule consistently. Indeed, Crusius emphasises that words are subservient to thoughts, thus, in common language we rarely meet a word, the meaning of which would not be a useful concept pointing to something real. Hence, in the determination of the meaning of words one should remain as much as possible with the common language and not deviate from it, if there is no danger of confusion and if there is no need to prevent inadequacies of knowledge. Otherwise other people wouldn’t understand what the scholar says, unless they took the arduous task of learning a new language. Still, Crusius concedes, because all concepts use words, it is allowed and required to give names for newly found concepts, but these novel names should be made as easy for the memory as possible, and concepts should be sufficiently significant, when making particular names for them.

Crusius, Christian August: Road to certainty and reliability – Distinctness of concepts

It is in a sense logic, where one can best see that Crusius is not a part of Wolffian school: so different the manner he handles even this seemingly quite neutral discipline. Even with such concepts like distinctness of concepts, Crusius handles the topic in quite a different manner than Wolffians.

Before getting to the notion of distinctness, Crusius actually begins with the notions of truth and perfection of concept, which he emphasises to be two very different things. Concept is true, he says, if the (actual or possible) object supposedly corresponding to the concept has precisely that what is represented in the concept. Perfection of the concept, on the other hand, refers to the measure in which the concept represents its object. This perfection, Crusius adds, is also called the distinctness of the topic of the concept.

What does this perfection or distinctness then mean? Crusius explains that if we want to use concepts, we must be able to distinguish them in our understanding. Furthermore, he adds, if we are to make the most complete use of concepts, they must represent so many signs of a thing they are concepts of that we can through these signs recognise the corresponding thing outside our thought and distinguish it from other things. Crusius compares concepts here to a map: if it was completely black, we could not distinguish the countries at all, and if the borders would be drawn erroneously, we could not use the map as a criterion to distinguish countries in the world. The two types of perfection, he concludes, are essentially different, but the problem is that both are called distinctness. To make the difference of the two notions clear, Crusius calls the former or the capacity to distinguish a concept from other concepts in our understanding an ideal distinctness, while the latter or the capacity to use concept to distinguish objects outside thinking a characteristic distinctness.

Whatever the distinctness we are talking about, Crusius says, it depends partly on the characteristics of the concept itself, partly on the measure of liveliness, with which it is thought. The first aspect, he explains further, depends partly on whether the concept endures in the understanding constantly in the same manner and does not change anymore, since if it does not remain constantly similar, it cannot have any constant similarity or dissimilarity with other concepts. Partly it depends on the measure of the perfection of the content of the concept, that is, on whether the concept contains so many properties and signs that it enables distinguishing the concept constantly from other concepts – or even its object from other objects. The second aspect or the grade of liveliness, by which understanding thinks the concept, is important for distinctness of the concept, Crusius thinks, because without forceful enough activity understanding cannot use the concept for its purposes

Moving on specifically to the ideal distinctness, Crusius notes that it can be divided from the viewpoint of the method, by which one arrives at distinct concepts, and from the viewpoint of the type of knowledge, by which they are thought. Regarding the first type of division, he continues, distinct concepts can be reached through a good concrete idea – then we talk of common distinctness – or through an appropriate abstraction – then we talk of abstract or scholarly distinctness. Crusius notes as one type of abstract distinctness the logical distinctness, in which concept is distinguished from others through the specific method of abstraction used for reaching it. The other type of abstract distinctness, he adds, is the distinctness of essential content, where a concept is distinguished from others through the parts contained in it or through other circumstances connected to it.

Crusius turns his attention first to common distinctness, giving as an example our concept of sour, which we distinguish from the concept of sweet through our concrete idea of what both taste like. With many concepts, he notes, common distinctness is the only possible form of distinctness for us. It is adequate, Crusius thinks, only for such things that are immediately sensed or which are known through sensuous properties, that is, properties that we can think without scientific abstraction. Thus, common distinctness is enough for common practices in human life, but more intricate objects require also scholarly distinctness. Still, Crusius adds, common distinctness of concrete ideas provides us the matter to think about and the guiding thread of our thoughts. Furthermore, he notes, it is not just external sensations where common distinctness is available for us, since drive of conscience provides us a natural feeling of right and wrong that could have common distinctness, if the activity of conscience is not hindered.

Crusius turns his attention to logical distinctness, where one represents, firstly, something concrete, from which the abstract concept in question is to be found. Starting from this concrete, one starts to think away characteristics, until only the desired abstract concept remains and becomes apparent in its separation from other concepts. Crusius underlines that this kind of representation, based on the generation of concept, should not be confused with defining a thing through its manner of generation, since the latter is a form of distinctness of essential content. Logical distinctness, he continues, is especially important for simple concepts, since they cannot have common distinctness, which concerns only individuals, nor distinctness of essential content, since simple concepts cannot have parts required for it.

Moving then to the distinctness of essential content, Crusius points out that the parts used for it are not meant to be real parts, but conceptual or ideal parts, separated through scholarly abstraction. This form of distinctness, he says, is used in definitions, and therefore many scholars ignore other forms of distinctness (Crusius is possibly referring here to Wolffians). This type of distinctness has grades, since it can be made more perfect by dividing the parts of the concept further, but it must finally end with logical or common distinctness. Thus, Crusius concludes, distinctness does not end in obscurity, but in another type of distinctness. Furthermore, he adds, the division of concept does not provide distinctness, if the parts cannot be distinguished from one another, hence, the highest concepts of ontology must be the most logically distinct.

Crusius emphasises that ideal distinctness of concepts differs from distinctness of words, which means the capacity to use a word appropriately for distinguishing the corresponding concrete idea from others. He also distinguishes the ideal distinctness of a concept from the ease, by which it can be understood without great effort and subtle abstraction.

Distinctness, Crusius tells the reader, is opposed to obscurity, which thus has as many types as distinctness. Particularly, obscurity can concern concepts or words. Furthermore, Crusius adds, we can speak of the obscurity of things, which means simply imperfection of knowledge. Obscurity of things should not be confused with obscurity of concepts, he emphasises, because while a thing is obscure to us only if we do not know its whole nature, concepts of the aspects we do know of it can still be distinct. Indeed, although we would have a distinct concept, this distinctness might be based only on a few properties, so that the full nature of the thing might still remain obscure, because we do not know its other properties.

Crusius divides obscurity also according to causes generating it. Thus, obscurity might be subjective, if it is based on the circumstances of the person in question, so that other persons do not share these circumstances or at least they are not based on their essential facilities. The other type of obscurity, on the other hand, depends on the essential facilities of the persons of the same kind and is thus shared by all of them: Crusius calls this objective obscurity. So, words can be subjectively obscure, if a person is not familiar with the language, but they can also be objectively obscure, if they are not used so determinately that their meaning could be fixed with normal rules of interpretation. Similarly, a scholarly concept is subjectively obscure, if a person trying to learn that concept is weak of understanding, but objectively obscure, if there’s not enough signs to distinguish it from others. Finally, a thing is objectively obscure, if human understanding does not have capacities required for knowing what remains unknown about it.

Crusius offers some rules for making concepts more ideally distinct. Firstly, he begins, each concept that should be used constantly must be distinctly thinkable at least in some sense, thus, we should see what kind of distinctness a concept is capable of and how far the distinctness can be taken. Crusius divides concepts in this sense to three types: unanalysable concepts allow only common distinctness, the simple or fully analysed concepts allow only logical distinctness, while those in between allow all three kinds of distinctness. When deciding what kind of distinctness we want, we must know for what purpose they are required: for instance, for the purposes of human life the common distinctness is enough. Even with most of the scholarly things, Crusius thinks, it is enough to combine common distinctness with  the capacity to analyse things and thus the distinctness of essential content. Still, it is very useful for understanding, if a scholar tries to have all three forms of distinctness, wherever possible.

Crusius notes that we should try to think all the parts of a concept together at the same time, because in the combination of many partial properties lie the most beautiful points of distinction. Thus, when all these parts are represented together, the concept is more easily distinguished from others and so more distinct, just like a face is easier to recognise, when you look at all the parts all at once and not one after another.

Crusius suggests that we should try to apply abstract concepts to a corresponding concrete case, as if one would abstract them from this anew. He thinks this application is a means to make concepts more distinct, because this is the method by which we discover abstract concepts, and the more we use it, the more perfect our abstract concepts are. Crusius considers this application also a sign of distinctness, because just as we can reach abstract concepts from a corresponding concrete case, similarly we must be able to imagine the concrete case, when we think of the corresponding abstract concepts in a remarkably perfect manner. This means also that general abstractions should be applied to examples, from which they could be abstracted by removing the individuality of the examples and all the concepts not belonging to these abstractions.

Crusius notes particularly of causal abstractions that for their perfect distinctness it is not enough just to give an specific case corresponding to this abstraction. Instead, one should also make comprehensible the manner in which the causal abstraction connects to a given causal relation, so that one could distinguish the dependence of this particular effect from this particular cause from the dependence of another particular effect from another particular cause. Furthermore, Crusius adds, the link between the cause and any of its effects should be drawn through immediate links between a cause and an effect. Still, he admits, all of this is demanded only if our causal abstractions should be perfectly distinct, whereas we can be convinced of certain causal relations and even know them distinctly in the sense of distinguishing them from other causal relations, even if the structure of this particular causal relation is not yet known in a fully distinct manner.

Even if we don’t know an actual concrete case, to which we could apply the abstraction and thus prove its distinctness, Crusius suggests, we could also just merely imagine a possible case or at least find some analogical case to consider. Of course, he warns the reader, we should not be deceived by analogies, but distinctly abstract the point of similarity that should make apparent what is compared with the analogy, for instance, when we compare the human body to a hydraulic machine. If we do not fully understand the analogy, we should at least try to use our capacity of abstraction to provide two cases similar to one another where admitting the possibility or actuality of the first makes it necessary to admit also the other case. In other words, Crusius exemplifies, if a person wanted to make the idea of a generation of the soul of children from the souls of the parents distinct and for this reason compared it to the case of light or fire being lit by another light or fire, this comparison would help nothing for distinctness, because the compared circumstances are not similar in the important sense: the fire lighting the others does not generate the substance of the lighted fire.

Crusius states that thinking a magnitude distinctly requires measuring it and gaining a distinct concept of the unity we use for measuring. Thus, he explains, while extensive magnitudes are measured with other extensive magnitudes, what Crusius calls magnitudes of quality, such as force or action, should be measured through their known effects. Yet, he asks the reader also to be cautious when they choose the effect for measurement. For instance, if the magnitude of some quality is represented through an effect that it generates after a certain period of time, this does not mean that waiting for double amount of time would double the effect, because some forces lose their capacity through action – if I can learn something in an hour, I cannot learn twice as much by increasing the time.

After presenting the previous rules, Crusius goes on to divide ideal distinctness in regard to the type of knowledge that one has of things in thinking them distinctly. Firstly, he begins, when we think of something, we may designate it positively, that is, assign to this thing something that could also be separated from it, like when we think that sun (a thing) shines (the additional thought). Then again, we could also designate the thing negatively, that is, separate an undetermined concept from something that does not belong to it, like when we think that God has no organs.

A positive concept, Crusius continues, is either absolute, representing abstraction from a single thing, or relative, representing abstraction from several things at the same time. He notes that relative concept presupposes that we represent at least two things with an absolute concept, and indeed, the better we understand what absolute lies on the basis of a relative concept, the more distinct the relative concept becomes. This explains, Crusius notes, why we desire knowledge of absolute matters, but this does not mean that knowledge of relative matters could not be certain.

When we represent something, Crusius goes on, we think it through what it is in itself or through concepts acting as signs representing its existence: the former he calls intuitive and the latter symbolic knowledge. This does not mean, he immediately adds, that in intuitive knowledge we would think without words and in symbolic knowledge with words. Instead, examples of symbolic knowledge, as Crusius conceives it, would be representing causes through their effects, effects through their causes, or things through their relations or through what they are not. Intuitive and symbolic knowledge have their own kind of distinctness, he adds, so that our knowledge of triangles is intuitively distinct, but our knowledge of the soul mostly just symbolically distinct. Although it might seem natural to favour intuitive over symbolic knowledge, Crusius insists that sometimes symbolic knowledge is the more important one: for instance, in geography it is not important whether we have experienced some lands, but it is essential to know their relations and connections with other lands.

Crusius tells the reader that the ability to recognise intuitive knowledge is based on assuming a completely correct and distinct internal sensation: as long as we are distinctly conscious that we have to to think a thing to be something in itself, our knowledge is to be regarded as intuitive. For instance, he explains, we have intuitive knowledge of triangles, since we are aware that we must think of them in a certain manner, that is, as a figure closed by three lines. If such a compulsion is not perceived, Crusius adds, but instead we observe that something else must be presupposed for thinking a thing, this knowledge is symbolic. Hence, he argues, the common concept of a curved line is symbolic, since we know that the curved line must be described in a certain manner, because it constantly deviates from its direction, but since we do not know how great the deviation is, we have to think the curve through its sensuous image.

Crusius points out that we cannot have complete intuitive knowledge of things, but must often satisfy ourselves with symbolic knowledge. Then again, he adds, we could not think at all, if we would have no intuitive knowledge of anything. Still, he concludes, even our best knowledge is at least partially undetermined, and in place of these unknown determinations we put symbolic knowledge. Knowledge of simple concepts, Crusius continues, is intuitive, but because we cannot think of simple concepts themselves without great difficulties, we are used to representing them symbolically through a concrete idea.

Crusius notes that when we abstract incomplete things and consider them in isolation, we can have intuitive knowledge of them: for instance, we have intuitive knowledge of straight-lined figures, of motion in general and of numbers determined by their own units. He emphasises that incomplete knowledge can be intuitive, since intuitiveness does not mean the same as completeness.

The more we have intuitive knowledge, Crusius suggests, the more perfect and appropriate this knowledge becomes, because it makes it easier to distinguish a concept from all others: a thing is best distinguished by what it is, since a sign might have defects that prevent it from completely corresponding to the thing it is supposed to signify. Thus, he concludes, what makes our knowledge more intuitive makes concepts more distinct for us. Then again, anything that does not make our knowledge more intuitive, like circular definitions, does not make it more distinct.

Crusius notes that some words we use are not connected to any concepts, while some concepts are found to be impossible, when we try to make them distinct. Sometimes such words and concepts are regarded as true and even sublime thoughts and confused with symbolic knowledge, which is then defined as what is left when all intuitive knowledge is taken away. Such a confusion can occur, Crusius explains, when these concepts are supposedly defined, but the definition is circular or parts of definition are again words without concepts or mere impossible concepts. Furthermore, he adds, we might not even really try to think the parts of concepts as really combined, as the words seem to indicate, but merely think them one after another, while further consideration would show that these parts contradict and cancel one another or at least nothing unsymbolic and absolute would be left, but merely relative symbols and figments of imagination. Finally, we might forget to provide an example for such concepts or words, but use them thoughtlessly or at least against the usual meaning of them.

In addition to using words without concepts and impossible concepts, Crusius finds another reason why the relation of intuitive and symbolic knowledge might be confused: it is not uncommon that we desire only intuitive knowledge in an incorrect place and are not satisfied with symbolic knowledge. For instance, he says, many atheists do not want to believe in God nor in any immaterial substance, because they cannot have intuitive knowledge of them. Indeed, Crusius insists it is an error to think that symbolic knowledge could not be certain, because certainty is not dependent on intuitiveness.

Crusius has looked at ideal distinctness from many different perspectives, but his account of characteristic distinctness is relatively short. Most important to recognise, he insists, is that characteristic distinctness differs from ideal distinctness: if characteristic distinctness is lacking, even ideally distinct concepts can be used only abstractly, but we cannot advance to application.

Since there are, Crusius thinks, two kinds of existence – physical existence that something is and moral existence that something should be – characteristic distinctness can concern either of them. In other words, if a concept is characteristically distinct according to physical existence, we can give an example of an existing object corresponding to that concept. Similarly, if a concept is characteristically distinct according to moral existence, we can always use the concept to determine, where we should, should not or are allowed to act in a certain manner.

Crusius divides characteristic distinctness into common and abstract or scholarly distinctness. A common distinction is caused by a good concrete idea, which can be both ideally and characteristically distinct. On the other hand, abstract or scholarly distinction is caused by an abstract idea, that is, criteria for the existence of something are given in abstract concepts, or in case of moral existence, abstract concepts can be used to define reasons why something should or may happen.

Crusius opposes the correct distinguishing of concepts, involving both ideal and characteristic distinctness, to three incorrect states: merely lacking distinction, false distinction and confusion. Starting with the first incorrect state, where some or all types of distinctness are lacking, Crusius emphasises that a reasonable person should not judge a thing or decide an action, if the required type of distinction is lacking, since if no judgement or decision is made, no error can occur. If all types of ideal distinctness are absent, he continues, the concept is completely obscure. Then again, if common distinctness is enough for recognising a thing and abstract distinctness is lacking, the concept is not obscure, but just unanalysed. If a concept is ideally distinct, it all depends on what type of distinction is lacking, for instance, if the concept has common distinction and lacks only the abstract distinction, while common distinction is enough for the purpose, then no error occurs, but greater perfection will not be reached.

By false distinction Crusius means supposed distinction, which is actually no distinction at all: the things that should be distinguished are not distinct, at least not in the manner indicated. Such false distinctions occur, he exemplifies, when we distinguish things through words which can actually refer to the same idea, or when we distinguish things through imagined abstractions that do not point to any real distinction in the objects. Another example Crusius provides happens when we try to use contingent properties to make stable distinctions, like when we use gradual distinctions to indicate essential differences.

Another prominent instance of false distinction, Crusius suggests, occurs when we indicate a point of distinction that does not differentiate the things we want to, even if it is based on a true property of one of the things. Thus, he explains, when someone distinguishes physical and moral necessity by saying that in the former the effect is generated according to laws of movement, while in the latter it is generated by acting through ideas, this distinction is false, because the important point of difference is actually that moral necessity leaves open the real possibility that things could go otherwise.

All the previous types of false distinction still allow the possibility that the falsely distinguished things still are really distinguished (just not in the sense indicated by the false distinction). Yet, it can also happen, Crusius clarifies, that the things are not distinguished, for instance, when one considers ideally distinguished objects, like perspectives to the same object, as objectively distinguished. Another example occurs when things that are externally connected are held as subsisting in each other, for instance, when soul is regarded as a form of body.

Crusius also suggests a few reasons why we might have false distinctions, first of them being that we humans are not attentive nor industrious enough. Indeed, he adds, many of us do not reflect ourselves nor our concepts and then get distracted by mere primary or material abstractions, hastily progressing from one to the other, without first making concrete concepts distinct and judging them appropriately. Crusius notes that with scholars this error is connected with the habit of always using the same patterns of thought without caution. Final cause he mentions is the inadequate subtility, where one does divide the concept again and again, but regards only some series of divisions necessary, disregarding others.

Confusion of concepts, in the sense Crusius means it, is in a sense opposite to false distinction: in it different things are considered similar or even same. The causes of confusion can be same as with false distinction, he explains, but we can go further, for instance, we might be deluded by common name, by which both are called, or by certain common concept belonging to both, which is still not sufficient enough for posited similarity. Thus, Crusius states, venereal love and friendly love are often thought as species of the same closest genus, but actually they are connected merely by the word “love”.

If the cause of confusion is a certain common concept belonging to the two things confused, Crusius adds, the blame for confusion might lie in that the same common concept is thought concretely, whatever it is in its kind, like when the true and false virtue are often confused, leading to people regarding every action or passion that they regard as worthy of admiration and even calling them virtue. The confusion is even easier, he notes, if the common concept is dissimilar or impure genus, for example, many believe that they remain free, even if they ascribe all their actions to a determining ground, because the opposite of their actions remains possible, confusing the ideal and real possibility. In the final example, Crusius continues, the common concept confusing two things is represented in a distinct abstract idea and lacking only in the application. Even so, he points out, the distinction in question might still not be sufficient for the search for similarity or sameness, because then one ignores a subtle, but significant circumstance forming the distinction.

Crusius, Christian August: Road to certainty and reliability – Modalities of subordination

Before moving on from the topic of subordination and distinction of concepts, Crusius takes some time to consider two related questions. Firstly, he entertains the possibility of presenting the various types of subordination and distinction as a kind of algebra, with symbols chosen to represent the different types. He seems optimistic about the possibility of such an endeavour, although it is not evident what he considers its benefits – at least the amount of symbols required is rather extensive.

The more interesting question concerns different grades or modalities of subordination and distinction. In effect, Crusius supposes there to be three kinds of modalities for both subordination and distinction. The first of these he calls essential subordination, which connects concepts all the time. The sum of everything subordinated essentially to a thing forms then, Crusius says, the logical essence of that thing. Furthermore, he adds, this logical essence can be divided into contingent properties, essential to the thing only with the supposition of God having freely created the current world, and necessary properties, essential whatever God might choose to create.

The second modality of subordination, according to Crusius, is natural subordination. This means, he says, that two kinds of things are regularly connected, although the essence of the thing allows that in an extraordinary case this connection would be lacking. Crusius calls such naturally subordinated properties naturalia, an example of which would be five fingers of a human. He notes that naturalia can be based in the essence of a thing, like the human capacity to speak. Then again, Crusius thinks, it might also be generated by a regular connection to an external cause, like the tanned skin colour in areas with more sunlight.

The final modality of subordination, Crusius continues, is contingent subordination. Here, a thing is connected to some property only occasionally or accidentally. Crusius also points out that while a property might be just accidental, capacity for it could still be natural or even essential: for instance, while wisdom is an accidental property of human beings, capacity for wisdom is natural or even essential property of humans.

Distinction, Crusius suggests, comes also in three modalities. The first of these is the necessity of distinction, that is, the impossibility of subordination, where no possibility of combining concepts is possible, without contradicting their essence. Similarly, the second modality is the natural distinction or the unnatural subordination, where the combination of concepts can occur only in extraordinary cases, where some naturalia have been cancelled. The final modality is then the accidental distinction or the mere possibility of subordination, where nothing essential or natural prevents the combination of concepts, but in this particular case the concepts just have not been combined.

Crusius, Christian August: Road to certainty and reliability – Oppositions

Crusius moves from subordination – connection of concepts – to their distinction. Two concepts are distinct, he explains, when at least in one of the concepts is found something that cannot be said of the other. This means, Crusius adds, that some type of subordination cannot be found between them.

Distinction as such is not a very interesting notion, Crusius thinks, because types of distinction correspond simply with types of subordination, and furthermore, we can quite easily recognise distinct concepts through internal sense. A more important type of distinction, he says, is opposition, where the existence of one side of the opposition in a certain concept or subject prevents as such or in some measure the existence of the other side. Of opposition, Crusius adds, the most important kinds are the logical and the causal opposition.

The notion of logical opposition, Crusius begins, is based on the notion of logical subordination, where one concept comprehends all the individuals comprehended by another. On the basis of it, we can first define complete logical distinction or diversity, which means, he explains, that no individual comprehended in one concept is comprehended in the other, in other words, both concepts contain some positive or negative determination not contained in the other. If you are wondering, there is also partial logical distinction, which means that there are some individuals of one concept not comprehended under another, but this is not nearly as interesting a relation.

Complete logical diversity can be merely accidental, Crusius notes, if the diversity is caused only by the concepts being formed with different types of abstraction. Thus, he adds, concepts of human and understanding are completely logically diverse, but only because the concept of human is generated by logical abstraction, but the concept of understanding through metaphysical and qualitative abstraction. Then again, if we add the notion of subject to the latter – that is, if we think of something with understanding – we make the two concepts subordinated, because human is something with understanding. On the other hand, concepts of human and stone are completely logically diverse by themselves.

What is completely logically diverse, Crusius points out, might still not be opposed, which still requires that the concepts exclude one another in the same subject. Thus, understanding and will are completely logically diverse, but not opposed, because they can occur in the same subject.

Crusius divides oppositions into logical and real oppositions. Logical opposites exclude one another only in regard to a common concept or genus, so that an individual of this genus can belong only to one of the opposites, even if these opposites can occur at the same time in the same subject: thus, understanding and will can be called logical opposites, because the force that is understanding cannot be will, although a substance that has understanding can have also will. Real opposites, on the other hand, exclude one another from the same substance, like virtue and vice. An even stronger notion is what Crusius calls disparity, where the opposites cannot exist in the same subject even after one another: thus, eternal and contingent are disparate concepts, because what is at some point eterna can never be contingent.

Crusius states that oppositions can also be divided into those between contradictories and those between contraries. Contradictories come always in pairs, he explains, so that always one of them must hold, while the other is negated, like triangle and not-triangle. All other oppositions are those between contraries, Crusius continues, where the contrary opposite might be a partial or determined negation of a concept, like not-angled compared to triangle, or it might posit some substantial determination that excludes the concept in question, like circle compared to triangle. Contraries can thus be positive or negative and there can be more than two of them.

Crusius goes into more detail with the characteristics of contraries. He notes that they can be recognised as opposite either through senses, like sweet and sour, or from their abstract concepts, like virtue and vice. Furthermore, Crusius says, contraries can be merely comparative, where their distinction is based merely on different levels, such as fast and slow movement, but they can be also absolute contraries, so that their distinction is not just gradual, but a certain quality is cancelled through another, like with virtue and vice.  Finally, Crusius divides contraries also in complete or perfect contraries, where one cancels all the properties of the other, like living and lifeless do, and into partial or imperfect contraries, which are opposed only in relation to certain properties, but have many other properties in common, like waking and dreaming.

Moving on to causal opposition, Crusius begins by noting that it could mean that it is impossible that a certain effect would be caused by a certain cause. Then again, he adds, it could also mean that we are speaking of two kinds of activities of certain causes and we know that one hinders the other and cancels it completely or partially or at least modifies it. In both cases, he continues, one can speak either of causes or grounds of physical existence, like warmth and cold oppose one another, or of grounds of moral existence, such as laws conflicting one another. When we are speaking of causal opposites that hinder or modify one another, this might happen through activity, like in case of a collision between two movements, or then they might just prevent some condition of the other, like when our body hinders the consciousness of our own soul.

Crusius, Christian August: Road to certainty and reliability – Causal subordination

The other type of absolute subordination, according to Crusius, is causal subordination, where one thing, called ground, principle, reason or cause, either generates or enables another one, known as effect. The main theme in his writings about this notion is that earlier philosophers – especially Wolffians – had failed to recognise that there are many types of causal subordination and many types of grounds.

Firstly, Crusius begins, a ground can be a real ground, which is a principle of being or becoming: in other words, a real ground generates or enables something outside our thoughts. Such real grounds can be active or efficient causes that cause something through an active force, just like fire burns because it has a force to burn things. Then again, Crusius adds, a real ground can also be an existential ground that makes something else possible, impossible or necessary just by its own existence, without any active force, just like a signet impresses a certain figure just because it is shaped in a certain manner. He notes that in some cases an existential ground has no active force, for instance, when two sides and an angle determine the length of the third side of the triangle. Sometimes an existential ground does have some force, but this just does not affect the respect, in which this something is an existential ground: for example, a flying ball has a force that moves it, but the shape it makes on the sand it hits is determined just by the figure of the ball.

It is then obvious that the same thing can be in one sense an efficient cause and in another sense an existential ground. Thus, Crusius notes, bodies are existential grounds when they determine something through their figure, although the movement enabling the body to be an existential ground is based on some efficient cause within or without the body. He suggests that the same is true of all other things, so that even most perfect activities are in some other sense existential grounds: for instance, holiness of God is an efficient cause, but as an existential ground it restricts the possibility to pardon sins.

Crusius thinks that there can be mere existential grounds, but without the help of efficient causes they cannot generate substances, thoughts, volitions or movement. With such mere existential grounds, the relation is reciprocal, he adds, so that in the case of a triangle we could take any two sides and angle between them and determine the third side from these. Crusius emphasises that this is not true of efficient causes, since we cannot say that e.g. world is the ground of God. In case of an existential ground, the ground and the grounded are necessarily present at the same time, but with an efficient cause, the effect must be generated later than its cause exists, although the cause cannot be regarded as cause, before the effect exists.

In addition to real grounds, Crusius continues, there are also ideal or cognitive grounds that generate in understanding knowledge of something and also conviction of this knowledge. These ideal grounds, he adds, can be a priori, so that through it one knows not just that, but also why something is so, or it can be a posteriori, through which one knows only that something is so.

Crusius points out that something can be in one sense an ideal ground and in another sense a real ground: thus, sometimes we can know from efficient causes their or we can know from existential grounds what they determine. Yet, he emphasises, not all ideal grounds are real grounds, while all real grounds are not sufficient ideal grounds. Hence, ideal and real grounds must be distinguished, and even if one ground would be both at the same time, the distinction would be important, because these two roles of the same ground work in different manners.

Whether ideal or real, Crusius goes on, it is either sufficient for what it is ground of or then it is insufficient. Sufficient efficient cause in particular, he adds, is either fully determined, so that it acts in a certain manner and not otherwise, it is free and not determined to act in a certain manner in all respects. From a fully determined efficient cause, Crusius thinks, it is possible to determine its effect according to all respects, hence, a fully determined efficient cause is also a sufficient ideal ground a priori of its activities and effects. Freely acting causes, on the other hand, can in Crusius’s opinion be only sufficient real grounds, but at least for a finite understanding they cannot be ideal ground. What then is an insufficient efficient cause like? According to Crusius, it either lacks the force to fully generate its effect, or in case of free causes, they don’t want to do it anymore, either because they previously chose a certain goal that they have rejected or because they have just freely changed their volition. 

Crusius also defined the closely related notions of an adequate and an inadequate cause. Adequate cause is a sufficient ground that in the given conditions could not cause anything further, except through what it caused – Crusius notes that this is true of all unfree causes. Inadequate cause, on the other hand, is either not sufficient for more than what is taken as its effect or then it does not want anything more. The example Crusius gives is God, who supposedly is a sufficient cause of the origin of the world, but not its adequate cause: God’s will is enough for generating the world, but God could have created so much more.

Crusius divides causes in general into more distant causes and closer causes – eventually there is also the closest cause, so that between it and the effect considered there are no other causes anymore. Similar notions of distance and closeness can be applied to effects also.

Crusius notes that the effect of a cause can be either absolute or relative. In the latter case, the effect is a change of some relation of a thing, but must be generated through some absolute change in some other thing. Thus, Crusius explains, the Sun causes in the summer an absolute effect by heating the atmosphere, but this increasing warmth causes only a relative effect in making a cellar colder than the air outside it, because the temperature of the cellar has not absolutely decreased.

Cause can be a cause in itself, Crusius states, so that this type of cause either always or at least regularly generates certain effect. It can also be an accidental cause, where only an accidental combination of circumstances leads the cause to produce the effect. Thus, Crusius explains, when a doctor gives to patient a regularly used medicine, this medicine is a cause in itself of curing the patient, even though it wouldn’t do it by itself. On the other hand, if the doctor happens to choose a wrong medicine and it still happens to be effective, the error is only an accidental cause of the patient being cured.

Crusius notes that a cause in itself can have different grades and it can be a cause in itself only for certain circumstances of the effect. One particular type of a cause in itself he mentions is what is called causa sine qua non, which is insufficient for generating an effect, but necessarily required for this. Yet, Crusius notes, this is not enough for calling something causa sine qua non: we should not take something as a cause in itself (and thus, not even as a causa sine qua non), if it is positively directed to generating or enabling a certain effect, but this same activity inseparably enables another effect, which the efficient cause has not wanted, but just was physically unable to hinder. The purpose behind this restriction is to show that God is not a causa sine qua non for sin: God made humans free, in order to enable moral virtue, and the possibility of sin was just a necessary concomitant. God could be called an accidental cause of sin, Crusius admits, but this does not incur any moral responsibility.

Crusius explains that if a thing is generated as an effect of certain causes, it does not follow that also its continued existence and its characteristics during its existence must depend from the same causes. Indeed, he emphasises, the continuing of a contingent thing requires at all moments a positive cause, thus, the survival of simple things requires divine conversation, and survival and characteristics of things dependent on simple things depends on the survival, characteristics and combination of them. These considerations lead Crusius to suggest some particular rules.

Firstly, when one is explaining an effect and searching for its sufficient ground, one must look for all three points and ask for the sufficient cause of the origin, continued existence and characteristics of the effect. Secondly, a true real or ideal ground of an effect might still be a sufficient ground for only one of these circumstances or even only for part of it. Thirdly, no finite substance in the world is a sufficient cause of an effect in respect of all the three circumstances, because the continued existence of the cause itself is dependent on many other causes that also have an influence on it. Fourthly, with regard to each circumstance should always be distinguished the causes of its possibility and actuality. Finally, with the enabling causes should again be studied which of them are active efficient causes and which are mere inactive existential grounds: for instance, lack of obstacles is an existential ground enabling self-improvement, while an active will to improve oneself is an efficient cause enabling it.

Causal relations depend ultimately, Crusius says, on substances that act on their own forces. These causes, he thinks, deserve to be called principal causes, while other causes are mere abstractions from principal causes. A principal cause, Crusius continues, is either matter or spirit. If it is matter, it is either a physical cause in the strict sense that causes its effect through an active moving force or it is a mechanical cause that determines its cause through the figure and position of its integral parts: thus, fire is a physical cause, while hammer is a mechanical cause. Crusius notes that all material effects involve both kinds of cause, because at least the figure of small particles influences the effect and a mere figure by itself could not have any effect without a moving force.

If a principal cause is a spirit, Crusius continues, it acts either through mere understanding or through will acting according to certain ideas. Furthermore, he says, its activity is either immanent, that is, affects only something within the spirit, or transient, that is, affects also something outside it. If the spirit in question is not free, Crusius calls it a spontaneously acting cause, and if it is free, he calls it a morally acting cause. Finally, he notes, even spiritual causes can be called physical in a more extended sense, so that any principal cause that is not mechanical would be physical.

Crusius goes through a list of causal abstractions, which are thus all separated from principal causes. First of these abstractions is a force, by which he means a property of some subject to make another thing possible. Such a force is either active force, attached to an efficient cause, or an inactive capacity, attached to a mere existential ground. When the force is actually generating something, Crusius explains, it is said to be in action. When the action generates something, the thing in which something is generated is called an object, which is then said to be in a state of passion. A passive object can be either completely passive or only partially passive and thus have its own internal activity, like a flame that changes its direction due to the effect of wind.

Because many principal causes and causal abstractions can be involved in the same causal relation, Crusius points out, we need terms to describe such an interaction of causes. Firstly, the causes can be coordinated, so that none of the causes can be regarded as more important than the others. Then again, Crusius adds, one of the causes can be a primary cause, because it contributes most to the effect. Other causes can then be called adjunct causes.

An important type of adjunct cause is that of subordinated or intermediate causes, by which Crusius means causes, through which another cause generates its effect. Such a subordinate cause might contribute something to the effect through its own force or it might be a mere condition enabling the effect. Furthermore, Crusius adds, it can act positively, generating circumstances, on which the effect depends on, or it can merely remove obstacles of the effect. Finally, the subordinate cause might be necessary for producing the effect, it might be a facilitating cause that regularly helps to produce the effect or it might be just a subsidiary cause that only occasionally helps the effect,

An important distinction under the subordinate causes is that between ministerial and instrumental causes. By a ministerial cause Crusius means a moral cause that is in its dignity not of a higher level than the cause using it: a primary example would be that of a ruler using their minister to make something happen. In the rare case of a minister using their ruler to do something, he adds, the ruler should not be called a ministerial cause, due to the ruler being of higher dignity, but a subordinate principal cause of the effect, which then forms a third possibility in addition to ministerial and instrumental causes. An instrumental cause, Crusius explains, is a subordinate cause that is not a moral cause. It can be active, like light, or passive, like a pen.

Another important type of adjunct cause is an impulsive cause that spurs another cause into activity. Such an impulsive cause can be merely material, so that its movement makes another material force active, or it is ideal, so that its activity involves a substance acting according to some ideas. An ideal impulsive cause, Crusius explains, can be itself a spirit, say, when a soul puts body in action, or it can be an impulsive cause in the strict sense, that is, when it puts some spirit in action, like when a spur makes a horse run. Such an impulsive cause in the strict sense can be either internal or external to the spirit in question. Furthermore, its effect on the spirit can happen through moral means, like when a speaker motivates someone to a decision, or it can act through ideas, but without generating a free activity, such as when certain sensations in the body make us sad. Crusius also calls the former sort of impulsive cause a moral cause, in distinction from any other efficient cause that he then calls a physically efficient cause.

Morally acting causes involve their own particular causal abstracts, Crusius notes. Such a cause strives toward some purpose or goal and uses some means, if the obtaining of the goal is not immediately in their own power. If morally acting causes have reason, striving toward a goal happens with decision and consciousness. Indeed, Crusius says, in a more strict sense only reasoning spirits have purposes and goals Such a spirit thinks about its purpose or goal before the means, but reaches the means before the goal.

Crusius distinguishes between different senses of the term purpose. Firstly, it can refer to a subjective purpose, which is a need felt by an active spirit. Secondly, it can refer to an objective purpose, which is the representation of the object that is needed. Finally, it can refer to a formal purpose, which is a relation of the object toward the spirit that desires it.

Purposes form series, Crusius points out, so that it is possible to distinguish between closer and more remote purposes. Particularly a purpose can be the highest or final purpose, while other purposes are intermediate in relation to it. All of these purposes, Crusius adds, are also impulsive causes for what the spirit does because of them: particularly a higher cause is an impulsive cause for lower purposes. Still, he adds, the concept of purpose still differs from that of impulsive cause, because there are other impulsive causes that do not act as purposes, but merely af efficient causes generating some need in the spirit. An example of such an impulsive cause, Crusius suggests, would be good works that spur one to love a person, although these good works are not the purpose or goal of the love (at least if the love in question is pure).

Crusius proceeds to divide the notion of means. Firstly, he says, we can distinguish between material means, that is, the particular intermediate cause the acting spirit uses for achieving some purpose, and formal means, that is, the way in which the acting spirit uses the material means. Crusius also emphasises that all intermediate causes are not means: for instance, when a wind rises during a battle, making smoke and dust fly into the face of the enemy, the wind is an intermediate cause of one’s victory, but not means to it, unless the circumstance is consciously taken advantage of.

Just like all intermediate causes, means can also be divided into those that generate the effect wholly or partially through their own force (Crusius calls these causative means) and those that are mere conditions required for generating the purpose: for instance, a motivational speech used by a leader to drive their army to battle is causative means, while the necessary equipment provided by the leader are mere conditions. Crusius notes that in the case of purposes with God as their efficient cause, created spirits are always at most conditions and not causative means, but it just makes the perfection of God more apparent, when no causative means are required.

Crusius thinks to have shown in his practical philosoy that the choice of purposes and means is regulated, on the one hand, by prudential obligations derived from the nature of purposes themselves, and on the other hand, by obligations legislated by the divine will. These rules then define the limits of what Crusius calls moral possibility (that something may happen), moral existence (that something should happen) and moral impossibility (that something should not happen). All of these characteristics, he adds, have their real and ideal grounds, thus, grounds in general could be divided into the grounds of physical and the grounds of moral possibility and actuality. These two types should not be confused, Crusius warns: a cause motivating us to do something is not by itself a ground obligating us to do something.

Crusius, Christian August: Road to certainty and reliability – Existential subordination

Crusius divides existential subordination into five classes, corresponding to kinds of abstraction. Firstly, he says, we have external subordination, where one idea or concept is externally abstracted from the other, like a place where a person lives is abstracted from that person. Secondly, we have metaphysical subordination, where an abstraction subsists in something concrete, like a figure in a body. Thirdly, we have mathematical subordination where an abstraction relates to something concrete as its integral part, being either continuous or discrete quantity, like 10 is a part of 100. Fourthly, we have a qualitative or physical subordination, where an abstraction relates to something concrete as a part that is not regarded as a magnitude or figure, but as a substance or a physical quality. Finally, we have logical subordination, where one individual is comprehended under another, like a human is related to a substance.

Crusius takes a closer look at logical subordination, because all other cases of existential subordination can be turned into logical subordination. Thus, he says, one should investigate whether logical subordination is such in itself or only contingently: for instance, when we say “human has a head”, this is not a case of logical subordination, but we can turn it into a logical subordination by saying “human is something that has a head”. Furthermore, Crusius is adamant that the difference of various kinds of subordination is important and therefore other kinds should not be transformed into logical subordinations: if I say that a soul has an understanding (metaphysical subordination), I do not mean that soul is an understanding (which would be logical subordination, if it were true).

What the elements of logical subordination or logical abstractions are, Crusius explains, is representations of a set of individuals ignoring their individuality and showing them as similar: in other words, they are names of similar individuals. Such a logical abstraction, he adds, does not designate only a part of a concrete individual, but the whole individual. Furthermore, although only a part of its properties is selected to designate the whole, these properties are not regarded as independent, but as attached to a subject: for instance, Crusius suggests, in a concept of a scholar one thinks of a subject according to a certain quality, but when I say scholarship, I regard the same quality in abstraction from any individual subject. Hence, I can say that many people are scholars, but not that they are scholarships.

Crusius notes that logical abstraction can be regarded in two ways. Firstly, it can be regarded essentially or materially in regard to its essential content, that is, in regard to ideas thought under it. Secondly, Crusius adds, it can be regarded in relation to extension, that is, in regard to the set of individuals, which can be named by it. The more extensive a logical abstraction becomes, the less ideas one thinks in it, since otherwise it couldn’t name so many things that are dissimilar in many respects.

Logical subordinates, Crusius continues, either comprehend all individuals belonging to each other or then one or the other is more extensive than the other. In the latter case, he continues, the more extensive is called genus, while the other must then be species. A genus, Crusius divides, is either an essential genus by itself or contingent genus by accident. In the first case, all individuals subordinated to the genus belong to it essentially, even when regarded without particular purpose, as when substance is a genus of humans. In the second case, he compares, some contingent property is chosen arbitrarily and changed into a genus: for instance, when I say that all scholars are either sick or healthy, this does not mean that all sick people would be scholars, but only that sick individuals known to be scholars are scholars.

Crusius goes on making distinctions by noting that a genus is either a distant one, where there is always a possibility for an even closer genus, or a closest or proximate genus, where there isn’t such a possibility. Since the series of distant genera cannot be infinite, Crusius argues, there must also be the highest genus (thing in the most extensive sense of the word), and in relation to it all others are middle or subaltern genera.

Genus can be either a pure or an impure abstraction, Crusius muses. Furthermore, it is either homogenous or heterogeneous concept. A homogenous concept belongs to all its species or individuals in a completely same sense, for instance, human is animal in the same sense as dog, because both have body and soul. A heterogenous concept, on the other hand, does not belong to all its species or individuals in a completely same sense. Thus, although a certain similar part of concept might be a reason why the concept belongs to species or individuals, some species or individuals might add new circumstances and modifications of the same general concept: for instance, snowing in winter is said to be possible because of natural causes, but golden mountain is said to be possible, because it contains nothing contradictory.

Crusius notes that what holds of a genus, must hold also of species and individuals under it. He makes this statement more accurate by noting that its message concerns actually just pure genera: others it concerns only under the conditions, in which they are genera. Crusius also insists that before applying heterogenous genera to some individuals, these genera should be divided and their heterogeneity should be recognised, because otherwise one could apply to some of its individuals what could be said only of others – for instance, golden mountains could be called possible without explaining what type of possibility is meant.

Species is generated from a genus by adding an accident to the concept of genus. This accident, Crusius explains, can be either something that is in itself a determination, like the sameness of all sides in a triangle, or something that is made contingently into it, like clothes in a human being. The accident in question, Crusius continues, can be something that is found in all individuals belonging to it, like reason in a soul, or it is an external abstract, like time.

Crusius divides accidents into proper and common accidents. A proper accident does not belong to all existing individuals generally or at all times, but still cannot belong to individuals or species under other genera: in this sense, Crusius insists, virtue is a proper accident of entities with reason. A common accident, on the other hand, can also belong to individuals of other genus, just like being sick is a common accident of humans, because other beings beyond humans might be sick.

When a species is made by adding an accident to a genus, Crusius explains, either to each species is added another positive accident (say, when thinking and moving are suggested as species under the concept of action) or it is added only to one, while others are assumed to lack it, just like in the case of passive and active matter.

Crusius notes finally that an accident might imply in individuals no other difference but such that consists only in another state of the essence and depends on the different grade and direction of its forces and on the different relations of things toward another. He calls such an accident natural, because nature itself has made it into an accident, like speed or slowness of movement. On the other hand, Crusius points out, the accident might not be enough for distinguishing subordinated things: this he calls an arbitrary accident.

Crusius, Christian August: Road to certainty and reliability – Subordination of concepts

Crusius defines subordination or combination of concepts as a relation where one concept is where the other is also, at least under certain conditions. Subordination involves thus always two concepts: one of them is concrete, from which the other is abstracted, or then both concepts can be abstracted from one another.

Crusius divides subordination into relative and absolute subordination. The difference is rather simple: in a relative subordination, the subordinated concepts are represented through a predicate describing a relation (an example would be concepts of high and low), while an absolute subordination involves a natural combination of things that is not derived from the structure of our concepts (an example would be concepts of soul and understanding). Looking first at the relative subordination, Crusius notes that it concerns either an arbitrary relation, like that of people standing in a line, where one could begin from either end, or it is founded on something based on things themselves, for instance, when a mountain is designated as large and house as small compared to it.

Crusius also notes that from every absolute subordination could be abstracted a relative subordination, so that same concepts could be regarded as both relatively and absolutely subordinated: his example is that of father and son (a relative subordination), which involves also an absolute subordination of cause and effect. This means, he explains, that while sides of relation must exist at the same time, insofar as they are related (otherwise they wouldn’t be related), their absolute essences might still involve a difference of temporal priority: for instance, while parent as a parent must always have a child (otherwise they wouldn’t be a parent), parents still have existed before their children (just not as parents).

Such a temporal priority is not the only possibility, Crusius explains, but there could also be just a natural priority between concepts in a relative subordination: his example is divine understanding and divine will, neither of which can have existed without the other, although understanding is by nature prior to will. The final possibility, he concludes, is that the two concepts are just temporally simultaneous and by nature of equal worth, like two lines similar to one another.

I shall take a closer look at the different types of absolute subordination in later posts. For now, suffice it to say that Crusius divides absolute subordination into two classes: causal and existential subordination. He notes that this division is not completely exact, since causal relation can be arbitrarily represented also as existential subordination, say, when instead of pointing out that sun causes light we insisted on saying that sun is a light-giving body. Because of this possibility, Crusius concludes, we must be able to differentiate cases where concepts are by their nature existential abstracts from cases where they involve causal subordination.

Crusius, Christian August: Road to certainty and reliability – Divisions of concepts

The first element of thinking, Crusius states, is concepts or ideas. Concepts represent an object that differs from the concept, through which the object is thought, he adds. There are various ways to divide concepts, and the first way Crusius mentions is that according to the cause behind the concept: concept can be a sensation that represents an object, insofar as we sense it, or it can pertain to a memory, by representing something that we do not currently sense. The latter kind of concepts, he insists, are merely retained sensations or they are generated through imagination or through judgement or through both.

As to their content, Crusius continues, concepts can represent either individuals or abstractions. Abstract concepts, he notes, are also called predicables, because they are something that can be predicated of individuals. Individual concept is then simple or complex, depending on whether the individual in question is simple or complex. Individual can be represented through a sensation or it can be called by a name taken from an abstract idea.

Concept may also, Crusius adds, represent an absolute thing or a relative thing. The essence of a relative thing, he explains, consists of a relation, that is, of a concept that is abstracted from two or more things in such a manner that in it is represented something that could not be abstracted from one alone – Crusius exemplifies relative things with the concept of error. Then again, when thinking of an absolute thing, we should be thinking of something more than just concepts that belong together only because one has abstracted from several things at the same time. In other words, Crusius explains, an absolute thing is a unity not just because of our abstraction, but also outside our thought.

Absolute things represented in absolute concept are, Crusius recounts, physical, mathematical or merely existential beings. Physical things, he adds, are substances (like soul) or their active forces (like understanding) and effects (like light). Then again, mathematical beings are such that are determined merely through the type and magnitude of extension. Crusius notes that not all mathematical beings are absolute, but only such that are thought without relation to something else, like ball or triangle. Finally, mere existential beings are not active forces or substances nor magnitudes, but only some properties, regarded as possible or existing, such as immortality, space or property in general.

Crusius divides relative beings into moral, mathematical and relative beings in a strict sense. By moral beings he means such relations of things that they have toward purposes of a willing spirit, that is, relations that are means making certain goals possible or actual. If certain things are considered according to moral relations, Crusius notes, these concern either moral actions or things that are not as such moral, but that are connected to certain moral relations, like gold used as money or bills of exchange. Moral actions, he adds, are regarded either only as actions in general, without any indication of their goodness or badness, or they are represented as virtue or vice, prudence or stupidness.

Relative mathematical beings, Crusius notes, are magnitudes related to other magnitudes, such as square roots or sines. An important type of relative mathematical beings, he says, are mechanical beings that are appropriate for a determined purpose through the figure and placement of their parts, such as weight or barometer.

Finally, Crusius defines relative beings in a strict sense as certain parts or conditions that are taken together in one concept because of considerations of a thinking understanding, but where the relation in question does not occur between magnitudes or goals and means: an example of such a strict relative being is truth. He notes that relative beings in a strict sense include concepts that represent wholes, parts of which belong together only because of a certain consideration of an understanding, such as a poem or a speech.

Crusius notes that relative concepts representing relative things follow certain rules. Firstly, it is very convenient to distinguish them from absolute concepts, because otherwise errors occur especially in morality, for instance, when good of things is held to be absolute. Crusius insists also that relative things should not be understood as always of lesser importance than absolute things, since this depends on the issue in question: for example, it depends on the relation that creatures have toward God, whether they are in happy or unhappy condition. Then again, he notes, all relative entities presuppose certain absolute entities, that is, substances, forces and properties, without which relations would not be possible. Thus, Crusius concludes, we should distinguish in things their absolute and relative essence.

In case of abstractions, Crusius continues, we can think of not just their essence, but also the manner of abstraction, through which we isolate them in thoughts and regard them as particular concepts. Thus, we can distinguish material from reflected concepts. By material concepts Crusius means concepts that represent a certain object that is something else than a manner of abstraction, for instance, light. On the other hand, reflected concepts represent the manner of abstraction, according to which we regard certain concepts, such as genus and species. Some concepts belong to both classes, depending on the viewpoint, for example, substance can be regarded as a material concept, when we think it as a combination of a subject and a force, or as a reflected concept, when we think it as a genus of humans.

Crusius divides concepts also into determined and undetermined. A determined idea contains in itself such determinations, without which it cannot be thought completely and distinctly, while an undetermined concept lacks some determinations that are required for thinking it distinctly and completely. An undetermined concept, Crusius explains, is thought either in an obscure manner or then the thinker attaches to it some possible determinations that they have perceived in an example. Even if we do not know positive determinations of a concept, he adds, it can still be useful to represent what it is not and to determine it thus negatively.

Crusius explains that a concept is undetermined only, if it lacks such determinations that do not concern our arbitrary manner of consideration: thus, a concept of a human being can be perfect, even if we knew nothing about their clothing. Still, he adds, no other concepts are fully determined, except those representing individuals. With other concepts, Crusius thinks, they are to be regarded as determined, if they contain as many determinations as the purpose requires, so that one ignores other determinations, because they are arbitrary to the purpose.

As long as necessary determinations are lacking in a concept, Crusius states, it is partially unknown to us and thus a mystery. If a concept is not even negatively determined, so that it cannot be distinguished from anything else, it is of no use. Crusius thinks that if we add to a concept that we cannot determine some possible determinations just for the sake of distinctness, while remaining aware that these are only possible, but not necessarily true determinations, this does not harm truth, but is useful and often necessary.

Concepts represent an object, Crusius notes, but this object can be something outside our thought – the represented thing that is thought under certain properties for the sake of distinguishing it from other things – or then something inside thought – the representation of properties, by which the thing outside thought is designated. When we thus compare two concepts they can be objectively different, when one has another object outside thought than the other, like human and cow or love and hate, they can be ideally different, when they have the same object outside thought, but represent it through different properties and for different purposes, like rational creature and creature obliged to virtue, or the two concepts can mean exactly same.

Crusius divides concepts also into concrete or unanalysed concepts, analysed abstract concepts and simple concepts. Concrete or unanalysed concepts consist of a manifold of parts and properties, which are not precisely distinguished from one another: they might be represented through an example of this concept, but not thought with distinct separation. Analysed abstract concepts represent a distinct differentiation of their parts and separate such that essentially belongs to it from others, just like in most definitions. Finally, since the analysis cannot go on infinitely, we find simple concepts that cannot be analysed further. A concrete concept, Crusius suggests, is either not yet analysed or then human understanding cannot analyse it at all.

In relation to their usefulness or application, Crusius notes, concepts divide into characteristic and uncharacteristic. A characteristic concept helps to know and evaluate an example, while an uncharacteristic concept does not do this. Thus, Crusius explains, arteries can be defined as blood vessels that lead blood from heart to organs, but this is not a characteristic concept, because one still requires other signs for recognising arteries in the anatomy of the body.

Concentrating on the abstract concepts, Crusius divides them into a priori and a posteriori abstractions. In case of a priori abstractions, it is possible to know merely from the essence of the thing or from a comparison with the essence of God, why it must or can belong to something: for instance, this is the way we know that a human being is obligated to be virtuous. In case of a posteriori abstractions, we know only a posteriori that these abstractions belong or can belong to a thing: for instance, when we consider a colour or length of something.

Crusius divides a priori abstractions further into hypothetical and absolute a priori abstractions. Hypothetical a priori abstraction is abstracted as a part from a presupposed concrete concept, for instance, when we abstract the concept of a middle point from that of a circle. On the other hand, an absolute a priori abstraction is understood as inseparable from what it is abstracted from, for instance, when we regard humans as obligated to virtuous action.

Crusius notes that abstractions can also be divided into perfect and imperfect abstractions. Perfect abstractions can be thought without a connection to other abstractions from the same individual: thus, for instance, intelligence is a perfect abstraction in comparison with virtue, since one can be thought without the other. On the contrary, while an imperfect abstraction can be distinguished from any other abstraction, when they are thought together, there still are some other abstractions that cannot be separated in thought from the original: Crusius gives as examples the concepts of subject and force.

Crusius suggests that perfect abstractions can be thought without one another and they are ideally separable, although there can be other reasons why they are not really separable. On the other hand, imperfect abstractions can be distinguished and they are discernible, but they still must be thought together. With many imperfect abstractions, the relation is reciprocal, like with the concepts of subject and force. With others, the relation is one-sided, for example, will cannot be thought without understanding, but understanding can be thought without will.

Finally, Crusius divides abstractions into pure and impure. Pure abstractions are abstracted not just from the object, but also from essence naming it: for instance, the concept of understanding is a pure abstraction from the concept of a reasoning being, since it belongs to the essence of a reasoning being to have an understanding. On the other hand, impure abstraction is abstracted from individuals with a certain essence, but not from this essence: for example, mortality is an impure abstraction from the concept of a reasoning being, since a reasoning individual can be mortal, although it is not part of the essence of an reasoning individual that it must be mortal. Crusius explains that we need this distinction, because otherwise we might think that we have defined an essence, when we have just pointed out a property distinguishing individuals with that essence from others (thus, I cannot define willing substance by its having sensations). Furthermore, he adds, arguments holding of essence might not hold of impure abstractions, for example, God wills our happiness, because we are reasoning creatures, but this does not imply the happiness of our animal side.

Crusius, Christian August: Road to certainty and reliability – What understanding can do

Crusius defines understanding in the wide sense of the word as any ability of a substance to have ideas. In finite spirits, he explains, understanding consists of many fundamental capacities, thus, understanding is the sum of such capacities, by which a finite spirit represents something. Crusius notes that we also have a more restricted notion of understanding, which refers only to higher capacities of understanding that has achieved the level of reason.

Reason Crusius explains to mean such a grade of perfection of understanding that is it is capable of consciously knowing truth as truth. In finite spirits this means such a sum of cognitive capacities that enable conscious knowledge of truth. Crusius notes that we can speak of reason in another sense, as a sum of truths that can be known through the power of reason in the first sense, just from the consideration of natural things.

Reason in both senses, Crusius explains, can be regarded concretely, as it is found in a certain individual, or abstractly, when its essence is regarded in itself and the subjective conditions of particular persons are ignored. Thus, we get four different meanings for the word reason. Firstly, we have a concrete capacity of reason found in a particular subject. Secondly, we have the abstract human reason, which means the sum of essential capacities of human understanding in general, together with the effects that these capacities enable in themselves. Thirdly, we have the concrete sum of reasonable truths, known and considered as reasonable truths by a particular subject. Finally, we have the abstract sum of truths that can be known from the consideration of natural things through experience and correct deductions. Crusius notes that part of the truths included in the final sense of the reason might still be unknown to all humans, due to insufficient sensations and deductions.

The opinion of Crusius is that the first fundamental capacities of human understanding cannot be discovered, thus, that we can only distinguish capacities dependent on and derived from these fundamental capacities, as distinctly and in as orderly fashion as possible, and show how these derived capacities follow one another or receive new determinations through their use. Hence, he suggests as his next task to find the least complex cognitive capacities that we can know. These capacities Crusius will then call the main cognitive capacities and he will derive from them more complex capacities.

Crusius takes as the first main cognitive capacity sensing (Empfindung), which he defines as a state where understanding is immediately necessitated to think of a certain object as existing and present, so that the presentation of this thing is not first generated from other concepts through a deduction. Due to this immediacy, he explains, ideas of sensing or sensations are much livelier than others. Distinct sensations, Crusius states, engage understanding fully, and when we are dreaming, our representations are not distinct enough so that liveliest of them are confused with sensations, until we wake up.

Crusius divides sensing into external and internal sensing. In external sensing, he explains, we sense something that we represent as being outside the soul, while in internal sensing, we sense something that we represent as in our soul. Crusius identifies internal sensing also with the capacity of being conscious. Through internal sensing, he points out, we sense that we think, parts, properties and relations of our concepts, and certain activities and conditions of our will. Internal sensing does not then involve anything that happens in our body, which Crusius takes to be a type of external sensation. He also differentiates sensation from perception, which means either any representation at all or then a condition of understanding where representation becomes lively or we start to become conscious of it.

Both external and internal sensing, Crusius tells us, direct themselves in accordance with certain conditions of our body and are connected with certain changes in it, which is one reason why we know our body before others. External sensations correspond to certain organs in our body, and as long as the organs are in good condition, the sensations appear when the present objects cause changes in these organs. Thus, Crusius argues, not just the possibility and actuality, but also the characteristics of external sensations correspond positively to certain conditions in our body.

On the other hand, Crusius insists, characteristics of internal sensations do not follow the body, but their possibility and actuality and the reason for their ease and liveliness are negatively connected to conditions of the body. In other words, when our body is in bad condition, our internal sensations might be hindered. Crusius explains that for this reason babies and old people cannot think well and violent movement of bodily humours can hinder our thinking. Still, he says, because conditions of bodies can be only movements and representations are not movements, conditions of our bodies are not causes of representations.

Since causal relations cannot be sensed, Crusius explains, experience cannot tell generally what is the reason for the constant conjunction of changes in the body and changes in the understanding. He is still adamant that we need not assume an occasionalist explanation for this conjunction. Indeed, Crusius is very much against the idea, since occasionalism would make God the originator of sin and because it is connected with what he takes as a ridiculous hypothesis that animals are mere machines.

Crusius is equally critical of the Leibnizian idea of pre-established harmony. Indeed, he suggests that metaphysics has shown that matter and finite spirits must necessarily truly affect one another, because otherwise the existence of the world would have no purpose. Furthermore, Crusius thinks that mere mechanical structure of the body can only enable, but not cause certain movements in our bodies. He also finds it problematic that pre-established harmony would mean that the soul will fall into eternal sleep, after its body has been destroyed, unless it somehow gains a new body.

After all these considerations, Crusius is certain that there occurs some real interaction between soul and body and that this interaction at least enables sensation. Still, he notes that it is not the case of movements affecting our sense organs changing directly into ideas of soul, since ideas are spiritual activities, not physical movements. Furthermore, Crusius is convinced that sensations – or ideas in general – are not outside our soul nor things between substances and accidents that we just observe.

Crusius begins his own explanation of the interaction by noting that we can observe sensations directing themselves according to certain states of body. He has also argued in his metaphysical writings that souls can move, which explains the possibility of matter and soul interacting. Bodily movements cannot directly generate sensations, Crusius thinks, because then the effect would be more perfect than the cause. Similarly, he suggests, an idea cannot be the closest nor sufficient cause of motion, because an idea contains only activity for representing something in understanding and does not by itself enable activity outside the soul. Crusius concludes that when an idea seems to follow bodily motion, this motion is a condition, the presence of which enables an idea to be generated through a mental activity. When a bodily motion appears to follow an idea, this motion must be generated as an additional state from the effect of a mental activity caused by the idea.

With the particular case of external sensing, Crusius determines further, movement in the organs of external sense causes a movement in the substance of soul through stirring of nerve fluid, because movement can only cause movements. This movement in the soul is then a condition for activation of some mental capacities that are true effective causes of representation. Crusius explains that we cannot further determine this process, since we are unable to sense what is simple and even the smallest organic parts of sense organs are still greater than the fluid matter in nerves and the smallest movements of its parts. In addition, he states, deductions can at most convince us of the existence of this process, but not reveal its further characteristics. In any case, Crusius thinks, laws of external sensation are contingent, and God could have provided us with very different sense organs: more perfect spirits follow more perfect laws of sensation.

In case of internal sensing, Crusius adds, the process is somewhat different. When the soul consciously thinks, it posits its own substance in movement. In other words, Crusius explains, the mental activity generating our consciousness is combined with another that causes a certain movement of the substance of the soul. This movement should be able to push away the matter surrounding our soul, and if this isn’t so, our consciousness can be completely or partially hindered. Determined characteristics of this movement cannot be known, Crusius notes, but its effects can be felt on our foreheads.

Crusius answers the objection that so many motions of the soul could not all co-exist with the assumption that these movements are quick like lightning. He also counters the objection that the soul should have unnaturally precise knowledge of the direction of these movements, in order to not be mistaken of them, by suggesting that it is not absurd to ascribe to soul ideas of all the motions it produces in the body. The soul is not just conscious of them: every soul must have an idea about its body, in order to be alive, but consciousness requires further conditions and need not be connected with all ideas.

Sensing, Crusius thinks, is our first and original cognitive capacity, providing a basis for all our thoughts: we are combined with a world and form a part of it and this combination happens through our own body, so that the activity of our thoughts must be combined with the movement of matter in and through our body. On the contrary, he adds, God requires no such conditions and hence perceives things in a completely different manner. Indeed, Crusius insists, God could create beings that did not need sensations for thinking and the Bible suggests we will have such cognition in the next life.

The second main capacity of understanding Crusius mentions is memory or the capacity to continue having ideas that have already existed. In other words, memory either retains for a while the original vividness of ideas, or after this vividness has diminished, reproduces it wholly or partially under certain conditions. We need memory, Crusius explains, because otherwise we couldn’t use our ideas further: we know only as much as we have in our memory.

From memory and internal sensing, Crusius notes, is generated our capacity to recollect or to recognise that an idea is the same as the one we had earlier. This recollection requires memory, so that we can have earlier ideas, and internal sensing, so that we are conscious that an idea is the same as earlier. Crusius is careful to distinguish this human power of recollection from the general capacity of memory that makes an idea lively also in the absence of its object and thus makes an animal having this idea act like the object would be present. Because internal sensing requires bodily efforts, he adds, recollection also requires bodily efforts.

Crusius explains that we need not assume any special fundamental force behind our capacity of memory: every idea is an activity with a certain grade of strength and duration, and just like in physics movement tends to continue, if nothing hinders it, same holds of ideas as mental activities. Still, Crusius emphasises, since we do not know the ultimate constituents of mental activities, we cannot say whether memory is based on just one or many fundamental forces.

Third main capacity of understanding, Crusius says, is judgement or the capacity to use one’s thoughts for the purpose of evaluating what is true and false. Judging presupposes sensation and memory, he notes, but also a capacity to distinguish one idea from another. Judgement could then be taken also as a capacity for making division of ideas. Through such a division, Crusius explains, a part or condition of an idea is regarded by itself in its isolation and differing from others. In other words, it involves abstracting, that is, isolating a concept in thoughts from another, in which it is contained or to which it is connected, and regarding it by itself. Abstraction does not destroy the whole, Crusius points out, but merely highlights some aspect of it.

Abstraction does not work in isolation, when judging, but only in connection with internal sensing or consciousness. Thus, Crusius explains, if the effects of judgement lack a sufficient grade of consciousness, understanding cannot make use of it: it doubts and does not make decisions. Furthermore, he adds, because irrational animals do not have consciousness, they cannot make judgements, even if they would have as fine ideas as humans. Finally, Crusius notes, because internal sensing can make our body exhausted, it is understandable that a really concentrated judicious meditation meddles with the force of our body.

Crusius divides abstraction into causal abstraction, which differentiates thing generating or enabling from thing generated or enabled, and existential abstraction, which differentiates things, which are together or follow one another without one generating or enabling the other. Furthermore, he divides existential abstraction into logical abstraction, which starts from individuals, but ignores individuality in thoughts, generating a universal concept (e.g. abstracting a concept of human in general from individual humans), external abstraction, which separates something from its external conditions or relations (e.g. abstracting a place and time from a human being), metaphysical abstraction, which distinguishes characteristic from its subject, (e.g. abstracting humanity from a human being), mathematical abstraction, which differentiates manifold into integral parts (e.g. dividing body into two parts) and physical abstraction, which differentiates manifold into non-integral parts (e.g. dividing soul into understanding and will).

The final main capacity of understanding Crusius mentions is ingenuity or the capacity to make discoveries by moving from one idea to a new, but connected idea, but not through abstracting division.This ingenuity, he explains, is not the capacity to perceive or affirm possible connections, which requires mere judgement. Indeed, Crusius adds, it is the hardest capacity of understanding to explain, and there’s less to learn about its fundamental essence. It might well be, he surmises, that in the hidden essence of ideas lies something that awakens a similarity with other ideas and thus unites them. Since such a process does not require consciousness, Crusius explains, animals might have ingenuity.

After the least complex capacities of understanding Crusius moves to the most important derived capacities, one of which – recollection – he has already mentioned. After it, the first derived capacity he mentions is the imagination, which is a capacity of using a lively idea in making other ideas lively. Crusius notes that rational beings imagine consciously, but in irrational animals the imagination has a true effect on determining their actions. He also divides imagination into imagination of memory, which reawakens ideas that have been thought earlier, and imagination of ingenuity, which awakens new ideas.

Next derived capacity Crusius investigates is the capacity to develop imperfect ideas by making them more determined, somewhat like colouring a pencilled sketch. He notes that it involves more than just making ideas more distinct, which requires nothing else but judgement. Crusius divides this capacity into two types: first of them involves positing from a concept of cause its nearest effects, for instance, in discovering causal deductions, while the second involves positing from an undetermined concept its possible determinations, for instance, in discovering disjunctive existential deductions.

The final derived capacity mentioned by Crusius is the capacity of making deductions. He lists this capacity only for the sake of completionism, but says it will be investigated in more detail later. He does remark that this capacity requires especially sharpness of internal sensing and attention. Since these are so difficult, Crusius remarks, people often make only easy deductions or even no deductions at all.

Having gone through this list of cognitive capacities, Crusius notes that external sensing, memory and ingenuity and imagination are called lower capacities of understanding, while higher capacities include internal sensing, judgement, capacity of developing ideas and capacity of making deductions. The reason for the division is, he says, that we share the lower capacities with irrational animals, while higher capacities belong only to rational entities. Whether lower or higher, all these various capacities, Crusius thinks, can have only three effects: concepts, propositions and deductions. Furthermore, all capacities of understanding can be cultivated, Crusius explains. This cultivation can be material, where we find more truths to know and use them more time, or it can be formal cultivation, where we ponder truths with more thoroughness and sharpness.

The capacities of understanding, Crusius continues, are by their nature earlier than capacities of will. Still, he admits, experience shows us that drives of will affect these capacities: we can direct our sense organs to objects we desire, we can choose to retain a current representation in our judgement etc. This means, firstly, that the state of understanding can be evaluated morally. Secondly, it means, Crusius notes, that effects of understanding can be divided into pure or unmixed, which are not affected by the activity of will, and mixed, which are so affected. Pure effects include, he thinks, sensing, retaining ideas in memory, distinguishing, at least insofar as it consists only in being aware of certain distinctions present in concepts, propositions or deductions, and free play of imagination, where we imagine now this, then that concept. Mixed effects, on other hand, include propositions and deductions, since they both require keeping attention willfully on relations of ideas, and also purposeful observing and reflecting.

Crusius notes that when we become accustomed to judging – that is, doing abstraction – our memory and ingenuity appear to weaken. This occurs, because we are habituated to start analysing new ideas, which makes it more difficult to retain this idea in our minds for a while, for the sake of memorising it or finding ingenious connections involving it. This is why adults seem not to have as good a memory as youngsters, Crusius explains, although the truth is that adults just use memory differently, memorising more easily ideas known through judgement. When reaching old age, he continues, the body starts to hinder our internal sensing, through the stiffening of nerve fluids, which makes it harder to recollect what lies in our memory to gain what truly lies in our memory. Just like memory, Crusius thinks, a free play of ingenuity appears to weaken with years, if one is accustomed to stifle its wilder suggestions, but practical and political ingenuity can still increase.