Georg Friedrich Meier: Thoughts on the condition of the soul after death – Against Israel Canz

The final chapter of Meier’s work is dedicated to a reading of Israel Gottlieb Canz’s 1741 book Überzeugender Beweis aus der Vernunft von der Unsterblichkeit sowohl der Menschen Seelen insgemein, als besonders der Kinder-Seelen (roughly: Convincing proof by reason of the immortality of both human soul in general and particularly child souls). Even judging from the title of the book it is obvious that Canz is attempting to do what Meier has deemed impossible. Meier himself considers Canz’s attempt more worthy of a closer look than those of other contemporaries. In addition, Canz represents a Wolffian of an earlier generation compared to Meier, thus, it is of interest to see what Meier particularly criticises in Canz’s ideas.

Canz begins his work with preliminary discussion about what the immortality of the human soul actually means. He particularly suggests that, if the human soul merely slept eternally after its death, this would be equal to destroying the soul. Meier does not agree with this, since true destruction would mean that the soul could not at all interact with other substances in the world. Furthermore, Meier thinks, even while sleeping, the soul could still have obscure representations, thus, sensations, feelings and desires.

Canz first argues that the soul is a simple thing and won’t thus disperse at the time of death, like material bodies would do. Meier is not interested in this argument, since he thinks that simplicity of the soul has nothing to do with its possible immortality. He does contradict Canz’s statement that a materialistic reading of the human soul would imply that the soul is completely dispersed after death. Instead, Meier points out a materialist could think that the soul is a bodily atom and therefore indivisible and separable from the body.

Meier picks up the argument, when Canz tries to prove that the human soul will retain its consciousness after death. Canz begins by stating that as long as a substance endures, it will retain its force. Meier considers this to be a too vague statement. We could say, Meier notes, that an actual substance always has some force, but this force could change, if the substance is finite and contingent. By this Meier means that a substance might be unable to do something that it could do earlier: an old cherry tree might not anymore produce fruits, while an old animal loses its ability to reproduce and an old scholar their ability to demonstrate. Hence, Meier concludes, nothing says that the soul couldn’t lose its consciousness or ability of clear representations after its death. Thus, if Canz wanted to prove otherwise, he should prove that the soul retains not just its force, but the same grade of force.

Canz continues by insisting that the soul always has the same essence. Meier admits this, because he thinks that the essence of the soul consists of the internal possibility of the soul to represent the world according to the place of the human body and that the soul necessarily has this possibility. Yet, Meier objects that although the essence of the soul remains, the same does not hold of the nature of the soul and especially of its force to think, which is contingent and variable. If the soul is actual, it has the possibility to think, Meier admits, but because it is finite, not everything possible is actually in it. Thus, the soul can remain a soul without actually thinking: indeed, we are human souls even before our birth and while sleeping.

Canz tries to further his proof by denying that anything could change its species. Meier admits that this is true enough, when we say that elephants cannot become mice and canaries cannot become horses. Yet, Canz is trying to suggest that a soul that now has distinct representations cannot become such that would have only confused or even only obscure representations. Meier points out that an opposite transition happens to the human soul during birth, so he finds no reason to doubt that a soul might return to its prenatal state through death.

Canz thinks he has established the position that the human soul must have reason, if it just is actual, just because it is always in itself possible that the soul has distinct representations. Meier emphasises once again that Canz has not managed to prove this result, because despite possibly having distinct representations, the soul might still not have enough force to actually form them. Thus, Meier continues, it is not contradictory to assume that a soul had been a mere animal before birth, without a physical possibility to use reason, and only after birth received physical possibility of reason. Indeed, he adds, such a change would not require a leap, but only a gradual development of our capacity to represent. It could well be that death would gradually diminish our capacities and make us physically incapable to reason, just like often happens in old age.

Canz goes on to argue that the human soul does not just stay in the same class of things after its death, but will always rise to higher levels and thus will have greater reason in the future. He justifies this with an analogy by saying that the state of the human soul before its birth was just a means for the goal of this life and thus less perfect. Indeed, Canz insists that all natural creatures go through a similar development of becoming more perfect, unless human will meddles with this natural progression. Meier finds all of this unconvincing. Firstly, he challenges the idea that means are always less perfect than the goal. Instead, means are the cause of the goal, and the cause is usually greater than its effect. Thus, although a single means might be less noble than the corresponding goal, all means are not. Indeed, Meier points out, wisdom and goodness of God is means for the glory that God receives in creation through them, still, wisdom and goodness must obviously be much nobler than God’s glory.

Hence, Meier continues, even Canz’s analogy of souls’ becoming more and more perfect after birth falls apart, because only God’s decree can guarantee it. In any case, Meier points out that we see old animals and plants becoming more imperfect without any human interference. The same fate appears to hold for old humans, as their faculties deteriorate, when they approach death. In addition, Meier makes the final move, the notion of hell is hard to reconcile with the idea of continuous perfection of the human soul.

Canz also uses an argument where the route to the conclusion is somewhat opposite. Now, he speaks of a principle that nature has gradually, throughout generations, perfected the world. He goes on to suggest that the world couldn’t constantly be improved if nature wouldn’t have also arranged for the continuing improvement of human souls. Meier sees nothing convincing in this argument, since there is no reason why human souls couldn’t improve the world just during this life.

Canz next proceeds to refute the possibility that the human souls would just sleep eternally after their death. He compares human souls with the sun and notes that if the sun would be covered by great clouds that prevented it from warming the earth, it would not be able to fulfil its inner drive. The same would happen, Canz argues, if the human soul would just sleep after death, as it would not even live, since its central drive would be stilled. Meier objects that even if the human soul would sleep, it might still act and live in some manner that is, by having obscure representations or dreams.

Canz also argues that nature never makes means that are useless. This would happen, he thinks, if the human soul was just sleeping after death and was unable to fulfil its drive to think. Meier points out that Canz appears to confuse ability and drive to think. Even if the human soul had the ability to think, its drive to think might be stilled and become so weak that it would not make us think anymore.

Canz goes on to insist that the human soul must have eternally those characteristics it has independent of its body, such as conceiving, judging and deducing. He again compares the human soul with the sun and considers the body to be like a cloud hindering the sun, so that a lack of body would just help the soul to think more clearly. Meier is adamantly against this idea, since he considers one of the main discoveries of the current philosophy that the soul is so closely connected to a body that it must have one also if it continued living after death. Thus, he sees a body as not just a hindrance of thinking, but required for focusing our thoughts, since they always need some object.

Canz continues to imagine the future disembodied state of the human soul and insists that it won’t need any sleep, because the need for it is caused by nothing else than the body being tired. We have already seen Meier being against the idea that the soul could exist without a body – and he points out that even the Bible speaks of the resurrection of bodies. Furthermore, he notes, even if the human soul would exist by itself, it would require sleep, because every finite force, and therefore also that of soul, weakens with time and loses the clarity of its representations. For instance, scholars who tire from reading lose their mental, not physical strength.

Meier has not found Canz’s bag of arguments convincing and thinks Canz is on even shakier grounds when attempting to show that the human soul remembers its previous life. Indeed, Canz tries to prove this with the rather incredible suggestion that the human soul can remember its previous life, because it can deduce from its state after death what its earlier life must have been. Meier points out, quite correctly, that this is not what we usually mean by memory, which requires a stronger awareness of having lived through past events.

Canz next goes on to argue that the continued existence of the human soul must have been something that God intends to occur. Most of his arguments involve basically the formula that destroying the human soul would be against God’s wisdom or goodness etc., and Meier’s counterpoint is often just that God looks for the best of the whole world and we might not know what that means for the human soul.

An interesting difference lies in what the two philosophers appear to say about the constitution of the world. Canz says that the world consists of a certain set of simple entities, and destruction of any of them would destroy the world and create a new one in its place, which would make God look like they made an error and had to correct it. Meier, on the other hand, considers the world to consist of not just a set of simple entities, but also of their spatio-temporal ordering. Thus, even the past entities of the world are still part of the world, even if they do not exist at this moment of time, just like Cicero is part of our world, even if he died in the Roman days.

Canz finally considers the question what happens to souls of small children who died before they had the chance to develop their reason. He is convinced that they will turn into fully reasoning persons at the time of death, just like tiny starlets that can finally shine, when the clouds have dispersed. Meier notes that Canz’s arguments here are even more dependent on unproven conjectures. Furthermore, he notes that Canz has difficulties with the objection concerning the oddness of how a child with nothing else, but obscure representations could suddenly have clear and distinct representations after death, especially as nature abhors such sudden leaps. Canz’s only answers are, firstly, an analogy that similar thing happens when we wake up from a deep sleep, and secondly, the first awakening of Adam to a full use of his faculties. Of the first answer, Meier points out that the sleeper in question, unlike a little child, has already had clear representations, while the case of Adam was explicitly a miraculous event.

Georg Friedrich Meier: Thoughts on the condition of the soul after death – Heaven and hell

After pondering our physical condition in the hypothesised life after death, Meier turns to the question what is our moral condition. By this moral condition or state of the soul he means everything that is dependent on its freedom, including free actions and capabilities together with all consequences following from them, such as rewards, punishments, perfections and imperfections.

Meier begins by dividing all good and evil into two types. The first of these types consists of goods and evils that is from a closer standpoint not dependent on the freedom of the soul, but either belong to its nature in a physically necessary manner or occur in combination with external causes we are used to call luck. Meier names these physical goods and evils, while the second type consists of moral goods and evils. The latter are then dependent from a closer standpoint on the freedom of the soul. Examples of such moral goods and evils are good actions, sins, virtues and vices.

As long as a finite substance exists, Meier insists, it acts. Now, every action causes a change or an accident in the finite substance, by which the sum of its perfections either increases or decreases. As long as a finite substance exists in the world, it is in connection with all other finite substances, which affect it and thus either increase or decrease its realities. If the soul continues living after death, Meier explains, this increase or decrease will also continue. Because our immortality is uncertain, it is also uncertain whether our soul will be happy or unhappy. If it is more blessed after death than in this life, we say that the soul is in heaven; but if it is more corrupt, we say that it is in hell.

Heaven and hell require actions, virtues, sins and vices, Meier says, thus, heaven and hell can be ascribed only to substances performing free actions. If a soul goes to heaven or hell, it must then be able to use its understanding and live like a person after its death. In other words, the soul must continue living after its death, it cannot sleep eternally or live only in a sensuous manner, but it must be conscious of itself, think reasonably and perform free actions. According to Meier, none of these things can be proven from reason, therefore it is uncertain whether there is heaven and hell for humans. Still, Meier considers it certain that if the soul can use its higher capacities after death, it will become either more blessed or more corrupt than in this life and that it is necessarily either in heaven or in hell. Furthermore, he is convinced, because of the Bible, that heaven and hell exist. Meier is also quick to add that while he thinks their existence is uncertain, he doesn’t deny it, and indeed, considers that high probability of heaven and hell can be proven by reason.

Meier explains that his purpose is not to do an exegetical treatise on what the Bible says about heaven and hell. Still, he emphasises that while some theologians have declared explanations of heaven and hell, other than their own, blasphemous, interpretations of the Bible can be objected with good conscience. Even so, Meier quickly adds that he won’t use biblical expressions to declare something about the Bible, but only as shorthands.

Reason cannot give as stimulating a concept of heaven as God reveals in the Bible, Meier continues. The Bible, he thinks, says that all moral evil with its bad consequences will disappear in heaven and all its denizens will be so perfect, despite their finity, that they will not be disturbed by anything in their happiness. Reason, on the other hand, cannot ascertain that souls in heaven will not sin, since even the most virtuous have in this life a capacity to sin, so that mere divorce from the body seems not reason enough to assume that sinning will end. Such a change we could understand, if it happened gradually, while sudden disappearance of sin would be a wonder, which cannot be proven by reason.

Similarly, Meier suggests, reason cannot tell with certainty whether there will be no consequences for sin in heaven, such as guilt and punishments. Sin naturally has consequences, according to Meier, and death as such could not take away these consequences, because it shouldn't break the order of nature. Thus, by reason we should assume that punishments continue in heaven, but God could miraculously suppress the natural order. This is in line with what the Bible tells us about the Saviour, Meier says, but reason cannot prove the existence of Christ. Meier also thinks that reason cannot say souls living in happier parts of heaven will remain there eternally. In order to remain, they would have to continue living virtuously, but we cannot be certain whether they won’t sin again. The Bible, on the other hand, assures us God will strengthen the souls in heaven so that they will not sin again, but this is a miracle that reason cannot prove.

So far Meier hasn’t been able to find anything certain about heaven, but there are such things, he assures us. Souls in heaven will be more blessed than they are in current life, in other words, in heaven blessedness must be greater than the opposite imperfection. Now, blessedness is not possible without virtue, so that the blessed in heaven will do more morally good than morally bad actions. They will especially do their duties toward God, but also toward themselves and others. Thus, Meier concludes, they will have to have good understanding, and clearer, more distinct and livelier concepts than in this world. Nothing else can we say about heaven with the help of reason, Meier insists.

Meier considers the question whether heaven is a reward for virtuous actions in this world. He thinks it cannot be just that, for then there could be people in heaven who would not act virtuously anymore after death or who would sin in heaven. Thus, blessedness in heaven should be a consequence of good deeds in heaven, although it could also be a reward for virtuous deeds in this world. Reason can regard heaven with certainty only as a natural reward or consequence of good actions, although it understands the possibility of God freely choosing to share extra rewards.

Meier thinks that everything he has said of heaven could be applied analogously to hell. The Bible gives a detailed view of the hell that reason could not demonstrate. Philosophers cannot say whether the damned could still make good actions, although we can assume that people who were more vicious than virtuous during their life will probably continue in the same manner and will thus find themselves in hell. To reason it seems probable that the damned can still do good things. Indeed, since no finite thing can be completely imperfect, in Meier’s opinion, reason cannot think a damned person without any perfections, because they must still have their essence, force and actuality. Reason might even assume that the damned will receive some rewards in hell, even if the Bible says that cannot happen, because good deeds will have their natural rewards, and where is a human being who would never do any good deeds?

Eternity of hell and punishment cannot be demonstrated by reason, Meier says. If hell had no exit, there would be no improvement nor conversion and God’s mercy would be eternally deprived from the damned. Reason can prove neither of these with certainty, because the amount of vice is contingent and thus damned could become virtuous and leave hell: God might harden the hearts of the damned, but reason cannot know this.

The only thing reason can say about hell with certainty, according to Meier, is that damned are less blessed there than in this life, and indeed, their unblessedness weighs clearly more than their remaining perfections, and all their unblessedness is based on sin and vice. The damned will have to do free actions in hell, hence, they will do more and greater sins than morally good actions. Because all sins presuppose practical errors, Meier thinks, the damned will have to think about many good and bad things, and these thoughts will either be as a whole false or then be so weak that they cannot determine the will of the damned. Indeed, they will have to have some satisfaction, but just of wrong things. The damned will sleep and be awake, and this will increase their pain, since the occasional sleep will make the pain clearer. Reason cannot say that the hell would be punishment only of sins in this world, since the damned will continue sinning and these sins will lead to at least natural punishments. Just like in the case of heaven, reason cannot say whether God will decree to those in hell additional punishments beyond the natural punishments.

Are the souls of the damned in hell physically more perfect than in this life? Will they have greater and stronger forces, will their powers of cognition and understanding be greater, will they have clearer, more distinct, more correct, more certain and livelier concepts than in this life? Meier reminds us that earlier we saw that we cannot decide on the basis of mere reason whether souls in general will be physically more or less perfect, yet, he at once adds, this is a different question. If the souls of the damned would be less perfect, they would not be as conscious of what was happening to them. Therefore, if the damned are to be punished properly, they should be more perfect. The problem is how could their will still be imperfect. Meier suggests that the damned must be lacking in truth, that is, their practical cognition must be either erroneous or not lively enough.

Meier still considers the question whether a dying person can know just on the basis of reason whether they are going to heaven or hell. He denies this, since we cannot know with certainty whether we have been more virtuous than vicious. Indeed, he adds, self-love often makes us confuse our vicious actions with virtuous deeds.

Meier concludes the chapter by considering attempted proofs for the immortality of the soul that are based on the goodness, wisdom and righteousness of God. Starting from goodness, he states that to show that something is in accord with the goodness of God, we should not just show that it is good in itself, but that it belongs to the best world. Indeed, something can be good in itself, but might cause imperfections in connection with other things: perfection of a part might contradict perfection of the whole. Meier thinks that we can know that all that happens in the world must be part of the best world, but we cannot beforehand say what is in accordance with God’s goodness. Indeed, even such a surprising thing as the fall of humans must have been for the best. Thus, he concludes, we cannot know whether denying immortality from the soul might serve other things, even if it takes some perfections away from the soul.

Meier thinks that it is even more difficult to argue anything on the basis of God’s wisdom: we know that best in every case is in accordance with God’s wisdom, but what is best? The system of the divine goals in the best world is incomprehensible to finite spirits, Meier insists, and we cannot do anything, but to wait for God’s plans to unfold. We cannot therefore say with certainty that immortality of our souls is in accordance with divine wisdom. It might seem unwise to first create something and then destroy it, Meier admits, but this is actually something we cannot be certain of: maybe human souls are so insignificant to the overall good of the universe that it is best to just get rid of them. Of course, we can abstractly say that human souls play an important part in achieving God’s goal of the best world and that eternally living soul would serve this goal better than a mortal spirit, but in relation to the whole creation of God the answer might be different. As a further point Meier notes the analogy that from an abstract viewpoint a sinless soul is better than sinful, but God has still allowed millions of souls to fall to sin.

Many people want to justify the immortality of human souls from divine righteousness, Meier notes, because God must reward and punish souls proportionally. Meier admits this, but immediately adds that we couldn’t then just assume that rewards and punishments in this world were not enough. At least natural rewards and punishments in this world are always equal to their causes and thus proportionate, although not always remarkable. Thus, if a virtuous person appears to face bad luck, they are either justly punished for some sins or then we are dealing with mere apparent evil. Meier considers the final objection that the free actions at the final moment of life should also require rewards and punishments, which cannot be given anymore in this life. His answer is that humans lose the ability for free actions long before the final moment of their life.

Georg Friedrich Meier: Thoughts on the condition of the soul after death – Will we have bodies in the beyond?

Having just shown how uncertain the question of our immortality is, Meier continues by investigating what we could say about our condition after death, assuming we exist at all. He notes that this condition has two different aspects: our moral state or condition or what is based on our freedom and our physical state or condition or what is not based on our freedom of soul, in other words, all the inner contingent features of the soul that are caused by natural necessity. Meier starts with a study of the physical condition, leaving the moral condition to a later chapter.

Meier begins by considering the condition of the soul at the very moment of death. He notes that people feel fear at impending death and thus think that death is something horrible. He then reassures the reader that this fear is either caused by something else than death itself or it is completely unfounded. Death itself is just a transition to a new condition and is therefore nothing to fear about, even if the condition after this transition or the end of our current condition might be.

Indeed, Meier goes on, all of our negative emotions in our current condition are caused by a clear feeling of imperfection. Thus, if it is probable that the soul is not even conscious of itself at the time of death, death has physically nothing to be afraid of. Now, death severs the connection of the soul and body, which makes all the feelings and sensations connected to organs of the body vanish. Dying soul cannot then immediately feel its body and it will not be conscious of the condition of the body and is even incapable of feeling pain. This still leaves the possibility that the soul might be in pain during the final moments just before death. Meier assures us that during these moments we have no external sensations and our soul probably sleeps without dreams.

Meier notes that before Christianity people often believed in reincarnation, probably because they couldn’t understand how soul could endure without a body. Since they knew of no other organic bodies than animals, they thought that the soul would occupy another human body or then some other animal body. Meier quickly dismisses the idea of reincarnation, not really with any arguments, but just by setting it aside. Still, he thinks that the idea of reincarnation contained the important notion that after its death the soul will have a new body.

Meier goes on to explain why we call a certain body our own. Firstly, we represent this body more strongly and more often than other bodies. Indeed, we immediately represent only our bodies, while the existence of other bodies we deduce from the effects they have on our sense organs. Furthermore, whenever we represent other bodies, we also represent our own body. Secondly, what we call our body is in most close combination with our soul, since our soul affects no other thing so immediately and strongly and no other finite thing affects our soul as immediately and strongly.

Thus, Meier concludes, if we can prove that the same things hold for some other body after our death, it can be shown that the soul will be connected to another body. Assuming then that the soul has after death representations of the bodies in the world and is connected to them, Meier insists that the level of these representations and connections varies quantitatively and one of these levels must be greatest. The body to which this greatest level applies will therefore be our own body. Furthermore, Meier adds, representing external things requires sensations, which also requires that the soul has its own body.

Meier makes the remark that the soul will then in a sense not die, since it will always be connected to a body – just not the same one that it had earlier. He quickly adds that this is not against the Bible, since the scripture does not deny that the soul will be embodied after its death. Of course, he notes, people have a tendency to ask for more detailed characteristics, when something is proven to exist, and if such characteristics cannot be described with any probability, they disbelieve the proof of the existence. Thus, people will want to know what our bodies after death will be like, and indeed, Meier says, there have been many speculations about them: they are shiny, weightless and have sense organs all over. Meier makes fun of all these speculations and tells the reader that some gourmands would probably insist that our new bodies must have a stomach, although actually nothing definite can yet be known about them.

Where do these new bodies then come from? Meier recounts that some newer philosophers suggest it will be a quintessence of our current bodies and thus resemble it in outline – a sort of astral body. He agrees that this would be in line with the principle that nature makes no leaps. Yet, he adds, we only have a very vague idea of the basic parts of the human body and we cannot comprehend how such an astral body would not even now interact with our visible body.

The next question Meier deals with concerns the constitution of the new bodies. Will they be more perfect or imperfect than the current ones and do they even belong to the same species? Meier will later argue that we cannot even know whether our soul will be more perfect or imperfect after our death, thus, he concludes, we also cannot say anything about the perfection of our future bodies. As for the question of the species of the body, Meier notes that nature mostly deals with similarities, but that organic processes also involve natural variety, such as when a caterpillar dies and becomes a butterfly. He also points out that before birth our bodies looked very different from what they look like after birth and suggests that the external shape is not an essential feature of the human bodies, but determined by the standpoint from which we represent the world.

Meier mentions theological discussions about souls sleeping for a while after death. He notes that there is no consensus how long this sleep would last, although some theologians have suggested it will last until resurrection. Meier thinks that the human reason can say nothing decisive about this issue, although a period of sleep appears probable, since death means passage from one body to another, which could imply that for a while we might have more obscure sensations. He adds that such a time of sleep should be especially accepted by those who believe that the soul will not have a body after death, since our soul in this life conceives things only in relation to its body and it would seem improbable that the soul gained completely new capacities. Then again, he immediately says, it also seems reasonable that the soul would be awake after death, because it should immediately be connected to another body, thus receiving new and therefore very clear representations.

The previous considerations of the physical state have been of no interest to moral or religion, Meier thinks, and then suggests a question that is: will the soul live after death spiritually or just sensuously? This question presupposes Leibnizian division of finite monads into three classes: the lowest class consists of elements of bodies that represent the world only obscurely, higher than these are sensuous souls that represent the world obscurely and clearly, but indistinctly, and the highest class is formed of finite spirits – including human souls – that represent at least parts of the world distinctly. Question is then whether souls can move from one class to another, either upwards or downwards

According to Meier, some philosophers have said that while there generally may be progress within a class, nothing can leave its class. Meier argues against this opinion, because we see things changing their classes daily: an ignorant person becomes learned, a caterpillar becomes a butterfly etc. The opinion is true if we speak of classes defined by essential differences, Meier admits, but we haven’t yet proven that, for instance, being unable to represent distinctly is an essential property of sensuous souls. A particular objection against souls changing their classes is that the souls are hindered by the limits of their force of representation. Meier notes that this argument just begs the question, since assuming sensuous souls to be incapable of becoming a spirit is just what had to be proven. Thus, Meier concludes, no one has yet proven that a soul could not move from one class to another.

Meier himself thinks that although it is not certain, it is at least very probable that an element of a body can become a sensuous soul and then a spirit. His argument hinges on the idea that a difference between obscure, clear, but indistinct, and distinct representations is just quantitative: an obscure representation becomes clear when its parts are forceful enough to distinguish the whole representation from other, while an indistinct representation becomes distinct, when its parts become clear representations. Thus, Meier insists, representative force that had represented only obscurely has to just grow and gain more parts to become more perfect. Experience seems to show that such growth happens, he adds, since babies still represent things obscurely. Corruption of representative force seems also possible, Meier adds, since no level of clarity is necessary and experience shows that e.g. formerly distinct representations are forgotten.

Meier foresees the objection that the ability to develop distinct representations is already a defining characteristic of spirits, which would lead us to straightforward idealism. He suggests that this is just a question of how to define words. By spirits, he thinks, is not usually meant any entities that have an absolute or abstract possibility for distinct representations. What is required, instead, is a hypothetical possibility for distinct representations in the current context. Furthermore, what is now hypothetically impossible can become hypothetically possible, thus, animals might in future become spirits, Meier concludes. In addition, while our soul is spirit as long as it is connected to a body in this world and hence belongs to the highest class of finite monads, it is possible that it will lose its higher capacities after death and even all consciousness. All of this depends on nothing but the decree of God.

Meier recounts that philosophers have argued that a soul will have a more perfect power of representation after death, because finite things must constantly increase their perfection, since perfection leads to more perfection, as a good tree bears only good fruits. He considers this a weak argument, since the good fruits might not anymore affect the finite thing that caused them. In addition, the human soul has many imperfections that can cause further imperfections that might overcome the perfections, just like imperfections of our body cause the ailments of old age. Meier mentions also an argument from analogy with birth: just like semen is turned more perfect in the womb, similar change happens when the soul gets a new body with its death. He points out that we cannot really say how good the analogy is, since we are not even sure whether the soul is not destroyed in death.

Could the soul just sleep eternally? If it will, Meier ponders, all its future representations will be obscure and it will descend to the level of mere elements of bodies. He notes that eternal sleep contains no contradiction, since clarity of our representations is not necessary. Furthermore, he says, eternal sleep is even hypothetically possible, because consciousness of the soul depends on constant help from God, and if God chooses not to help it anymore, the soul will sink into sleep. In addition, the soul could also be combined with a body similar to what it had before birth, which would also mean a relapse into eternal sleep. Then again, Meier admits, it is possible that God will continue helping the soul and that it will get a physically more perfect body that is better equipped for clear representations. Furthermore, although we cannot demonstrate anything certain about this question, Meier insists, it is more probable that it will not sleep eternally, since God cannot reward and punish us, if the soul sleeps eternally.

Assuming that the soul won’t sleep eternally after its death, Meier thinks he can prove that it will still sleep sometimes. If we assume immortality to be true, he suggests, the nature of our soul isn’t completely changed, and thus it will want to rest from time to time, as its clear representations become obscure: rest renews our powers and makes our representations very clear after a period of obscurity. According to Meier, if there was no sleep in heaven and hell, they wouldn’t feel as pleasurable and painful, but would eventually become obscure.

Supposing that the soul does not sleep eternally, will it retain its higher capacities or will it descend into a state of an animal? Like with many questions before, Meier has to conclude that this depends on God’s will and cannot thus be demonstrated. The supposed proofs Meier considers fall for the same errors as proofs against the soul changing its class after death.

Can the soul distinctly remember its state before death and can it know itself to be the same person as it was? Meier refers to some ancient philosophers who had assumed that the soul will forget everything of its current life: he explicitly mentions the story of Lethe, the mythical river of forgetfulness. Meier notes that there is no reason to assume that the soul won’t forget everything and in current life we have examples of people losing their memories due to a sickness. Some might even think it a good thing to forget all the pains of the current life, he adds. Then again, it is more natural and more probable to assume that the soul will remember itself.

Meier goes through some fanciful ideas of the places where souls will go after their deaths: some people think heaven lies at the centre of Earth and the hell on a comet, some think that souls remain on Earth, others believe they will sour the stars. Meier thinks it futile to investigate all these suggestions. What we can say, according to Meier, is that if the soul is immortal, it will find itself after death in such a position that is demanded by the standpoint from which it represents the world and through which it steps in close connection with things that are appropriate for the role it will play after death. Furthermore, he thinks it necessary that the soul will remain in the world, because the world is a series of all actual contingent things: even the biblical heaven and hell would be just parts of this world.

Even less can we say about the actions of the soul after death, Meier says. According to him, if the soul can use all its capacities, it will have many new representations. Thus, it will have many new desires and aversions and will move its new body in many ways. Anything else about these actions cannot be known, because the place the souls are in and the things they are in contact with determine their actions also.

What happens to the souls of children who die before they have learned to use their reason? Again, Meier thinks that we cannot really know. If the souls of children are not destroyed, they will certainly live forever, and then they will get new bodies, which might enable the use of higher capacities, Meier argues. Still, all of this is uncertain, and their current lack of higher capacities makes all of this slightly more improbable. The case is similar with old people who have exhausted their capacities and have come into a second childhood. Meier notes that some people suggest that the feebleness of the faculties of the elderly is wholly dependent on the frailty of their body and that freedom from this body would instantly return the higher capacities. He answers that considering the harmony of the soul and body, it is certain that the soul has something to do with their demented state.

Georg Friedrich Meier: Thoughts on the condition of the soul after death – Is there life after death?

This time we are considering the part of Meier’s treatise he himself considers the most important: he will show that the immortality of the soul is uncertain, making it thus even more uncertain what the life after death would be like. Meier begins from something he considers to be a proven fact, that is, the simplicity and immateriality of the soul. Like all simple beings, he continues, the soul has – or more likely, is – a force that supports its accidental features. This means that the soul exists as long as it retains its force, which is its nature.

This force or nature is the sufficient reason for the changes of the soul, Meier notes. Thus, as long as the soul exists, this nature acts, and this acting can be witnessed in the various ways its accidental features change. These changes are what the life of the soul consists of. As long as the soul exists, then, it lives, or the soul and its life are intrinsically entwined to one another. Meier adds the clarification that it is only the sensuous life he is speaking of and thus the only thing that needs to be proven is this sensuous life of the soul.

Meier follows the Wolffian tradition in stating that simple things like the soul cannot be taken apart, but they can only be destroyed through a complete annihilation, whereby nothing remains of the simple thing that does not exist anymore. Since the soul is a finite thing, it changes and can even fail to exist. Thus, Meier concludes, it is possible that it will be annihilated or that it dies after its death. Indeed, thinking the soul necessarily exists would be tantamount to equating it with God.

Now, Meier admits, this argument determines the mortality of the soul only in itself or in abstraction. To determine whether the soul will truly die or not requires determining whether there are any actual causes that would annihilate it. Meier notes that if the soul is annihilated, it must be annihilated by some substance and its force, which has to be one of three kinds: the soul itself, some other finite substance and its force or God with their infinite power.

Meier quickly concludes that the soul cannot annihilate itself: if the soul is to do something, it must exist, excluding the possibility of the soul being annihilated when it acts. For a somewhat similar reason, Meier insists, a soul cannot be annihilated by other finite things. This proposition Meier bases on the general fact that when a finite thing acts on another finite thing, the other thing acts also in the same measure back to the original thing. This means that if a finite thing would annihilate another, this other thing would at the same time have to exist and act on the first thing, making the annihilation impossible.

The only option left is then that God might annihilate the soul. Meier notes that God should be able to do everything that is in itself possible, which implies that God must also be able to kill the soul. Of course, he adds, God might not choose to do so. Still, he thinks, we cannot really know what God has chosen about this matter. Following the common assumptions of the Wolffian tradition, Meier thinks that God has chosen to actualise the best possible world. Since we haven’t died yet, we cannot know by experience whether our soul will continue to live after it. Then again, if we wanted to demonstrate this future life without relying on experience, we would have to show that it is a necessary ingredient of the best possible world. Such a demonstration, in Meier's opinion, would require going through all the events of the actual world, which clearly exceeds our capacities.

Meier has concluded the main task of this chapter: he has shown we cannot be certain that God won’t destroy us and thus our immortality cannot be demonstrated. Then again, he adds, we also cannot demonstrate that immortality would be contradictory. Meier goes even so far as to argue that materialism is not incompatible with the immortality of the soul. Of course, he immediately adds, if the soul were just another name for the body or some part of it, like the brain, it would die at the same time as the body dies. Then again, materialism is compatible with the position that the soul is something different from the body, just as long as it will be material, for instance, an atom or a combination of atoms. As an atom, the soul could very well be immortal, and even if the soul were a combination of atoms, it might be such that it cannot be broken apart like ordinary matter.

As a conclusion of this chapter, Meier goes through a list of supposed proofs for the immortality of soul, showing all to be lacking. I shall go through these proofs and Meier’s criticism of them very quickly:

• Simplicity justifies immortality; Meier notes that this assumption ignores the possibility of God annihilating the soul
• Our drive for eternal life justifies immortality; Meir insists that even if we had such an innate drive, this would by itself justify immortality just as poorly as our sexual drive would prove we will have sex at some point
• Shared conviction of all nations justifies immortality; Meier notes that before Copernicus we could have with similar grounds said that the Sun truly rotates the Earth
• Failure of arguments against immortality justifies immortality; Meier thinks that this argument is as convincing as if he would say that the Moon must have telepathetic denizens, because we cannot prove it wrong.

Georg Friedrich Meier: Thoughts on the condition of the soul after death – What is immortality?

After the preliminary considerations, Meier begins his investigation by elucidation of what is meant by the soul being immortal. He notes that many earlier philosophers, especially those of Cartesian school, had said that the soul's immortality means that it will not be decomposed. Because they also thought that the soul was simple and thus composed of nothing further, they imagined they had sufficiently proven the soul to be immortal.

Meier notes that this Cartesian notion of immortality is simply inadequate: even if the soul cannot be destroyed, it might still fail to be immortal. As an extreme case of an opposite kind, Meier introduces Ludvig Thümmig’s notion of immortality. Thümmig had said that to be immortal, the soul must not just be indestructible, but it also must exist eternally after death, live after death and finally recollect its previous life. Meier thinks Thümmig includes in his notion things that are not really about the immortality of the soul, but about the condition of the soul after death. The true notion should then lie somewhere between Cartesian and Thümmig’s notions.

Meier starts his own discussion of immortality with a discussion of life, which he defines, following Baumgarten, as something continuing its own nature. By nature Meier means sum of all such inner determinations that causes changes in accidences or makes them actual. Thus, he elucidates, nature of something does not include just its essence and capacities, but also forces. One could then prove that something lives by showing, firstly, that it continues to have its capacities or forces, or secondly, by showing that it continues to have actual accidences or changes in them that depend on its particular nature. Meier notes that the latter method is more common and easier, and indeed, the only way we can prove the life of something from experience, because we cannot directly perceive capacities and forces. For instance, we can know a tree has not died during winter, only if we see it grow leaves again in spring.

Death Meier then defines as the opposite of life, that is, interruption in the nature of something. Hence, something can be known to have died, firstly, if we know a priori that its forces have disappeared, or secondly, if we know a posteriori that it has no natural changes or accidences anymore. Note that the dead thing can still change in a manner that does not belong to its particular nature, just like a dead tree can still rot.

Meier continues by defining human being as a complex consisting of a reasoning soul and a human body, which are in a close relation of correspondence. Humans thus have three types of life: life of their body, life of their soul and life of the whole human being. Meier notes that the life of a human being requires the life of the body and the soul. Then again, he adds, if a human body lives, so must its soul and the whole human being also. The death of the human being implies then the death of the body and the ensuing separation of the body and the soul, but it need not imply the death of the soul.

In separation from the body, Meier says, the soul has two kinds of life, because it has two types of forces. In regard to its lower capacities, based on indistinct representations, it has sensuous or animal life, while in regard to its higher capacities, based on distinct representations, it has spiritual life. Now, he adds, spiritual life requires sensuous life, but not the other way around, as we can see in a sleeping person. Soul can then also die in two senses: by losing its sensuous life and thus all representation or by losing its spiritual life and only distinct representations.

Meier defines mortal to be something that can die, while immortal things cannot die. Because what is impossible cannot be actual, assuming the immortality of the soul means, he explains, assuming that the soul cannot die and that it will continue living after the death of the human being. Because what is possible need still not be actual, mortality of the soul might not mean that it would actually die, although usually people assume that the mortality of the soul implies its eventual death.

Following common definitions in the ontology of his times, Meier notes that possibility and impossibility could be absolute or hypothetical. This implies then two senses of mortality and immortality. If something is absolutely or in itself mortal, it can die, when we do not regard its relation to other things. Hypothetically mortal, on the other hand, is mortal when regarded in relation to other things or in some context. Meier notes that the human body is mortal both in itself and hypothetically. Absolutely immortal is then something, the death of which would imply in itself a contradiction: this sort of immortality Meier reserves only for the highest being. Hypothetically immortal, then, is something which cannot die in some context. Meier notes that a thing can be absolutely mortal without being hypothetically mortal in all contexts, while hypothetically mortal is always absolutely mortal. Absolutely immortal, on the other hand, cannot die in any context and is therefore hypothetically immortal.

Meier notes that for the sake of religion and morality it is not enough to prove that the soul is immortal or continues living after death, because it could just sleep or live like an animal. Instead, if one wants to defend religion and morality with such proofs, they should also show that the soul is at least occasionally conscious of itself and of other things in the future life, that it uses at least occasionally its higher forces, that is, freedom and understanding, and that in its future state it also remembers what it did while attached to the body and even recognises its identity with its former state. These latter properties, Meier elucidates, do not characterise the immortality of the soul, but something more, namely the condition of the soul after the death.

Georg Friedrich Meier: Thoughts on the condition of the soul after death (1746)

Meier’s Gedanken von dem Zustande der Seelen nach dem Tode is a rare book for its time, since although it studies the condition of the human soul after death, it does not try to demonstrate that this soul will continue to exist then. Indeed, he says, most of the demonstrations suggested for the immortality of our souls seem convincing just because the conclusion has already been accepted. We believe in the afterlife, because the idea agrees with our hopes, and indeed, we picture the afterlife to be as we would like it to be: Meier mentions a noble who was certain that in the afterlife souls of the nobility won’t have to mingle with souls from the lower classes.

Meier still makes sure to ascertain that he isn’t trying to disprove the immortality of the soul either. The reason for such an explanation is clear, since Meier speaks of the pressure of religious zealots, who censure everyone who even appears to go against such central religious dogmas. Meier assures the reader that he believes in the immortality of the soul and the final judgement of all humans, just because the Bible has taught him so. He even admits that we can be morally certain of this immortality and commends anyone who wants to go even further and demonstrate it with complete mathematical certainty.

Still, Meier says, the aim of his work is to show that such a demonstration is impossible for human beings, although, as he immediately adds, human reason is not inevitably led to doubt the immortality of the human soul. He will even analyse some suggested demonstrations and show where they fail to prove what they set out to prove. Finally, Meier concludes, his work will make it clear that nothing certain can be revealed about the condition of our soul after death.

Meier emphasises that his work has not been motivated by mere arrogance. Instead, he wants to raise the value of faith and scripture by lowering the worth of the human reason. Furthermore, Meier insists, the distinction of the faith and the reason also defends the faith: if one would think that belief in the immortality of the soul is based on nothing else than supposed demonstrations of reason, the weaknesses of these demonstrations would place the faith also in jeopardy.

Meier scorns all those who prefer leaving people with the incorrect opinion that demonstration of the immortality of the soul is possible in the name of religion and morality. On the contrary, he says, religion and morality do not need such weak defences. Immortality does motivate us for morality and religion, but motives need not have mathematical, but mere moral certainty.

Morality specifically, Meier thinks, has motives, even if we didn’t believe in immortality, because it has good consequences even in this life, and at least philosophers are equipped to understand these motives. Even if other people would not recognise these motives, Meier says, they still wouldn’t all become murderers and robbers, if they did not believe in the immortality of the human soul. His justification is that people generally do not act on the basis of some theories, but on the basis of their passions and inclinations. Furthermore, he insists, universal lack of morality could not occur, since, for instance, a universal disregard of property rights would soon collapse, since no one could make sure that they could keep on to what they had stolen from others.

Even religion could exist with the belief in human immortality, Meier says. True, he admits, most non-believers in immortality are atheists. Still, the demonstration of God’s existence is independent of the truth of our immortality, and when we accept the existence of God already, we always have to accept religion also.

Georg Friedrich Meier: Thoughts on honour – When to fear disrespect

The final chapter of Meier’s work concerns duties concerning disrespect. Meier notes that he can be quick about this topic, since matters concerning disrespect can in most cases be easily deduced from what we know about respect. Furthermore, he thinks it is on the whole better not to think as much about disrespect and related imperfections as about respect and perfections. Indeed, he notes, fear of disrespect should not be greater than love of honour, since an overdeveloped shame prevents all action.

Still, Meier continues, we can at least say that we are obligated to avoid being truly disrespected, as much as it is in our power. Meier justifies this by pointing out that our honour is diminished, if we are truly disrespected. True, we can be both respected and disrespected at the same time, still, our honour is greater, if we are not disrespected. Furthermore, Meier adds, we are obligated to avoid imperfection and true disrespect not just presupposes that we are imperfect in some manner, but also adds to our imperfection, because those who disrespect us are wont to harm us. Besides, we should imitate God, who is never disrespected. Fear of disrespect also helps us to avoid vice – another obligation we have – because vice is disrespectful. Finally, Meier notes, we have a natural feeling of shame that makes us want to avoid being despised or disrespected.

Of course, Meier admits, we are obligated to avoid being disrespected only insofar as it is possible. Here possibility means absolute possibility – we humans must always have some imperfections – but also hypothetical possibility – none of us can be universally honoured, so someone must disrespect us. What about the third type of possibility or moral possibility? Meier insists that it can never be morally required to be truly disrespected. Thus, all disrespect we cannot morally avoid must be mere apparent disrespect.

We are obligated to avoid disrespect, and in Meier's opinion this can happen only if we fear disrespect. Fear, on the other hand, requires representing something vividly as evil. Thus, we are obligated to evaluate disrespect correctly. Furthermore, since all our fears must be perfect, we are obligated to evaluate disrespect as clearly, correctly and vividly as possible.

In order to know whether we are disrespected as vividly and distinctly as possible, we should direct our attention to possible faults in our honour. Still, Meier warns, we should not direct too much attention to them, since defects in honour are not the greatest evil and so do not deserve too much of our attention. Then again, we shouldn’t also direct too little attention to these defects, since they are a great evil. Still, he emphasises, we should not let the faults in our honour prevent us from considering more important matters, like our higher duties, truth and virtue, our future honour and means to remove the defects of our honour. Meier advises us to pay more attention to our current defects than to our current honour, but less attention to our future defects than to our future honour. An obvious point is also that we should pay more attention to greater defects than to smaller ones: for instance, it is more important to know whether more honourable persons disrespect us than whether lowly people do so.

If we want to know the faults in our honour as correctly as possible, Meier instructs, we should not confuse apparent or undeserved disrespect with true one or confuse being ignored with being disrespected – we should understand that being ignored is a smaller evil than being disrespected. We should also not ascribe to ourselves greater or smaller defects than we actually have. Furthermore, Meier continues, we should not think defects in our honour to be the smallest nor the greatest evil and we should correctly estimate every kind of defect. Finally, we should understand that avoiding defects is partially, but not completely down to us.

If we want to be as certain about the defects in our honour as possible, Meier states, we shouldn’t consider the defects in our honour doubtful or improbable, if we can be convinced of them certainly or probably. Then again, we should not consider defects in our honour undeniably true, if they are just uncertain or even improbable. According to Meier, we should be more certain about greater defects of honour – for instance, whether God disrespects us – and we should also be more certain of current defects in our honour than of current honour, but more certain of future honour than of future defects in our honour.

Although we should know the defects in our honour as vividly as possible, Meier clarifies, we should not be too anxious of them, because a too strong feeling of anxiety doesn’t help anything. Still, we should also not completely ignore our defects. More precisely, Meier teaches, the whole anxiety over defects in our honour should not rise higher than the whole satisfaction with honour. Furthermore, anxiety over defects should never be so strong that it prevents us from finding and using means for getting rid of them.

Meier concludes from previous considerations that we are obligated to make a representation of disrespect a motive for avoiding vice and sins and for purifying ourselves from despicable imperfections as much as possible. This means that we err when we make disrespect the greatest, strongest or even only motive for avoiding evil actions, because there are more important and higher motives, but also when we do not use disrespect as a motive at all.

If we follow the previous rules, Meier says, we avoid all faults in our honour, but we also do so perfectly. We still have to make our actions proportional. In other words, we should not avoid defects in our honour too much, because it is not our greatest evil, but also not too little, and the nastier the type of defect, the more it should be avoided.

Correct avoidance of defects of honour should have a proper object, Meier says. This means, firstly, that we should never avoid apparent despise, which is actually true honour. Furthermore, we should never avoid defect of honour that we cannot hinder with all our forces. Indeed, Meier explains, we are obligated to understand that people will ignore and despise us without our being able to do anything. Finally, we shouldn’t avoid despise for such imperfections that we cannot avert: for instance, Meier points out, it would be a sin to be ashamed of natural ailments of one's body.

Just like with honour, Meier notes that the fear of disrespect must arise from obscure and from confused and from distinct representations, that is, we should follow our natural and inborn shamefulness, sensuous dislike of disrespect and free and distinct decision to avoid disrespect. Of these three, the natural drive by itself is to be used only for avoiding the most insignificant types of disrespect, sensuous dislike for more significant types and distinct decision for most significant types. Then again, even in the more significant cases, the less perfect forms of representation can help to strengthen the determination to avoid disrespect.

Meier thinks that we are obligated to prove our fear of disrespect also through works and thus to act according to it. We should avoid all despicable imperfections and actions, as much as it is in our power, for instance, we should avoid disgraceful actions and acts against rules of justice. We should not continue, but stop despicable things we have already done and replace them with respective honourable perfections. We should even apologise for disrespect we do not deserve, Meier insists, if it is otherwise worth it to apologise and if higher duties do not obligate us to entirely ignore apologising.

According to Meier, we are obligated to make use of all things, and this means also any disrespect afflicting us. In other words, if we are despised, we must take it as an opportunity to improve ourselves, that is, we should purify ourselves from imperfections for which we are disrespected. We should even thank our despisers for opening our eyes and giving us a motive for improving ourselves. Indeed, we should avoid mean persons, who think that the greatest good is to be found in a state of being ignored, because no great soul does not choose such phlegmatic way of life, but is not afraid, even if their first actions in the world caused some disrespect.

Georg Friedrich Meier: Thoughts on honour – What should we do for honour

If the aim of the previous chapter was to show that honour is good, the aim of this chapter, for Meier, is to investigate what does this obligate us to. The first, and the most obvious, obligation or duty is that we should try to gain honour. Meier justifies this from the more general duty that we should try to perfect ourselves, firstly, as an end in itself, and secondly, as means to other ends. As we have just noticed, Meier thinks that honour is good and thus makes us more perfect. Furthermore, he says, being honoured helps us to motivate other humans to reach perfection and it also makes others appreciate works of God more. Thus, honour works also as means for other goods.

Meier argues for the duty of gaining honour in another manner. The most sublime duty for us humans, he says, is to imitate the highest being or God: humans are supposed to be mirrors of divine majesty. Now, he continues, God is in themselves the most honourable being and also is to be honoured through their external works. Thus, Meier concludes, being honoured makes us resemble God more. Furthermore, as an imitation of God, striving for honour is, Meier thinks, a religious action and so service to God. According to Meier, we are obligated to make our free actions an unbroken service of God, where gaining honour then helps.

Meier also notes that we are obligated to act virtuously. Therefore, we are obligated to everything, which makes virtuous actions easier. Now, virtue is one reason for being honoured, hence, setting honour as one’s goal motivates acting virtuously. New motives increase our capacities, Meier continues, and so honour makes virtuous actions easier. Furthermore, he adds, the noblest or heroic virtues require ignoring many other conveniences of life – indeed even very life itself. Such virtues, Meier assumes, especially require honour as their motive.

In addition to virtue, Meier also uses satisfaction as a justification for taking honour as an obligated end. Life without satisfaction is no life, he begins, so we are obligated to find true satisfaction. Because honour gives us true satisfaction, we are obligated to find honour.

All duties, beyond the highest, have their restrictions, since our capacities are limited, Meier thinks. He has argued that honour is not the highest good for humans and thinks that therefore we should try to reach honour only insofar as it is possible for us. By possibility Meier means, firstly, absolute possibility. In other words, we are obligated to find honour only in such a measure that does not overreach human capacities.

In addition, Meier is referring to physical possibility. In other words, we are obligated to strive for honour only in such a measure that agrees with our own individual capacities. This means that the obligation to gain honour concerns only those persons who have the capacity to gain honourable perfections: if they don’t do so, they are despised for wasting their talents. Then again, those without any talents have a privilege to not follow this obligation. Furthermore, Meier adds, everyone is obligated to reach only for such quantities of honour which are possible for their capacities.

The final meaning of the possibility for Meier is moral possibility. Thus, we are obligated to gain honour only insofar as it does not contradict higher duties. If it does contradict, it stops being duty and becomes a sin. Meier gives as an example of breaking this rule a person who just writes philosophy, ignoring his family and friends, and who even forgets eating.

All our duties are free actions, while freedom, Meier explains, is a capacity to desire something that we represent distinctly as good and to avoid something that we represent distinctly as bad. Thus, we are obligated to desire an object we should reach, but also to represent it in as perfect a manner as possible. This means that we have two further obligations concerning honour. Firstly, we should desire honour as strongly as possible – although not too much, since it is not our highest duty. Secondly, we are obligated to determine our desire for honour with the most perfect cognition of honour. In other words, we should represent honour as clearly, correctly, certainly and vividly as is possible for us.

Now, clarity of cognition, Meier says, depends on our attention. Therefore we are obligated to turn our attention towards honour and to represent it as vividly, distinctly and completely as befits the honour and as other duties requiring our attention allow. Meier notes some consequences this duty implies. Firstly, he begins, we are obligated to not concentrate our attention too much on honour, since honour should not be our only nor the greatest object of our attention. Secondly, we should take care that attention toward honour will not prevent us engaging with more important matters, such as religion and our inner perfections. Particularly, Meier thinks, we should remember to take care of our imperfections.

A further consequence Meier notes is that we should care for different kinds of honour only insofar as they deserve. This means that we should mostly look for being honoured by God. We are also, Meier continues, obligated to pay more often and stronger attention to more useful types of honour. Since he thinks that future honour we are just hoping for is the most useful in comparison with current honour or honour we have already enjoyed, we should especially strive for the honour after death.

When we desire honour, Meier says, we are obligated to represent honour as correctly as possible and to avoid all errors in evaluating it, since these errors might turn our road toward honour sinful. Thus, we are obligated not to confuse apparent honour with true honour. Furthermore, we are obligated not to think of the honour we possess or hope for as being greater than it actually is. Then again, since we cannot have correct mathematical cognition of the quantity of our honour, we should be modest in ascribing honour to ourselves. Because most people are not capable of honouring us correctly, we should particularly avoid the error of evaluating our honour according to the number of people who honour or even just flatter us.

A further consequence of our obligation to represent honour correctly, Meier insists, is that we should not ascribe to our honour more or less worth than it has the right to. Thus, we should value every kind of honour according to its merits, for instance, taking honour given by God as the highest possible. In addition, we should be aware that honour varies from time to time. Indeed, we are obligated to think of honour as a good that is not completely in our control.

We should not ascribe to ourselves honour in general or some kind of it, before we are convinced of it with certainty or at least with high probability. Now, Meier thinks that only our being honoured by God can be known by full, demonstrative certainty. In all other cases, we must then always fear that we are not honoured. Meier sees this fear as a positive thing, because it makes us serve the world more. Then again, Meier says, not every kind of honour needs to be as strongly convinced of as others. We should especially try to convince ourselves of higher kinds, thus, we should be more convinced of being honoured for virtue than of being honoured for external matters, like beauty. In addition, we are obligated to be more certain of our future than of our past or current honour and most certain of our honour after our death.

We are also obligated to know our honour as vividly as possible, that is, we have to feel its goodness and enjoy or be satisfied about it. Meier thinks that the most difficult thing regarding this duty is to keep the enjoyment in its proper limits, not too strong and not too weak. Just like with certainty, enjoyment of honour should always be proportional to the kind of honour, for instance, satisfaction from future honour should be stronger than satisfaction from past or present honour.

Vivid cognition of honour leads to desiring it, which leads to making it the goal of our actions. Thus, Meier concludes, we are obligated to make the honour a goal of our actions, as much as it is possible. We should avoid not taking honour at all or only very little as our goal, like some scholars who either disdain honour or want it only for the sake of providing economic benefits for them. Then again, we should also not take it as our only or highest goal. Our primary goal, Meier says, should be the glory of God and religion, and after these, the general good of the whole world. Next on the proper hierarchy of goals is our own happiness and well-being of other people and especially those in our own country. Only at this point comes the place of the honour, which means, Meier notes, that the honour should also be taken as a means for serving God, the world, humankind, the country and ourselves. Furthermore, lower kinds of honour should serve the goal of reaching higher kinds of honour.

Our goals are motives for our actions, in other words, we should take honour as a motive for our actions. Just like with goals, Meier suggests that we should refrain from not taking the honour as a motive at all or taking it only as a minuscule motive, but also not take it as a too strong motive. In addition, we are obligated to take honour as a motive of our actions in as perfect a manner as possible, which requires knowing it as clearly, correctly, certainly and vividly as possible. We should also, Meier continues, make the best kinds of honour stronger motives of our actions than worse kinds. As it should be obvious by now, Meier thinks that the honour given by God should be our highest motive, future honour should be a higher motive than past or present honour, and honour for the sake of virtue and science should be a higher motive than honour for the sake of external perfections.

All previous duties lead us to desire honour, thus, Meier concludes, we are obligated to desire honour. This means that we are obligated to desire honour in its most perfect form. In other words, the perfection we try to reach should be worthy and excellent, but we should also strive for this perfection in a perfect manner. This perfection of desire is generated, Meier thinks, when we see it is a consequence of best possible cognitions. Thus, we are obligated to desire honour according to the best possible cognition. In other words, our desire for honour should be determined through strictest mathematical cognition of honour. Hence, we are obligated to not desire honour more strongly or weakly than it is worth. If we desire it too strongly, we ignore God, ourselves and other people, but if we desire it too weakly, we do not reach the honour our perfections would deserve.

Meier thinks that we should desire honour in proportion to different kinds of honour. Thus, we are obligated to desire future honour stronger than current honour. This implies, Meier says, that flattery should be distrusted at all costs: completely reasonable people would honour each other silently – or at least use only as much words as the case necessitated. Further consequences Meier lists are that we are obligated to desire honour for the sake of virtue and truth more than other kinds of honour and that we are obligated to desire honour given by God more than honour given by humans. He also suggests that it is probable that beyond humans there are higher and more excellent happy spirits that we will come to know after our death and that we are therefore obligated to strongly desire honour given by these spirits.

In addition to true honour, Meier insists, we should not desire any other honour, because it is a sin to desire apparent honour. More specifically, pretentious honour must be completely despised, while erroneous honour is in some sense good, but we should not just cause it. In addition, Meier continues, we are obligated to desire only such honour that we are justified to believe that we will receive, because we shouldn’t hope for something we cannot achieve. Finally, we are obligated to desire honour only for such perfections that we know we are capable of possessing, or otherwise we would desire apparent honour.

All desires can arise from obscure, confused or distinct concepts. Meier thinks that all these kinds of concepts should be involved in our desire for honour. Desire for honour arising from obscure concepts Meier calls a natural drive to honour. This natural drive is very strong, and according to Meier, it should not be weakened, because nature should usually be followed: although natural drives are most imperfect of the types of desire, they are still very useful to us humans, since they are stronger than desires generated by clear and distinct concepts. If nature has not implanted a drive for honour in us, we should try to awaken it. Meier says that this is difficult, but can be done if we just often think clear, distinct and vivid concepts of honour: they will eventually sink into our mind as vivid and obscure concepts.

When the drive to honour has awakened, Meier continues, we are obligated to strengthen it. Yet, he warns the reader, we should not desire honour not merely through this natural drive, because we are obligated to to desire it according to our best knowledge. Indeed, Meier emphasised, it is vitally important to link our natural drive only to true honour, because obscure concepts often lead to error. We are obligated to use this drive especially to desire the most insignificant kinds of honour that we must desire, because these kinds would not gain anything from clarity of concepts. Then again, we are obligated to use the drive to honour to strengthen our clear and reasonable desires to the best and highest kinds of honour.

We are obligated to desire honour according to confused cognition. Like with natural drive for honour, Meier emphasises that we should not desire honour merely through confused concepts and that we should link this confused desire only to true honour, because confused concepts easily lead to error. Particularly, we should verify our confused desire for honour through correct taste or philosophical demonstration. Furthermore, Meier continues, we should especially desire confusedly such kinds of honour that are too important to be desired with obscure concepts, but not important enough to be desired with distinct cognition. Finally, we use the confused desire to strengthen the reasonable desire for the best kinds of honour.

If our confused cognition, from which sensuous desires are generated, is very strong, Meier explains, this generates a pleasant affection called joy. In the case of honour Meier calls this joy the love of honour. Thus, we are obligated to love honour and we should not weaken this affection: like natural drives, Meier insists, affections are a gift of nature, which will not lead us astray, if we just link them to true honour. We are obligated to enjoy past, present and future honour, and of these, the hope of future honour should be the greatest. In other words, we should hope for honour more strongly than enjoy any honour. Meier notes that it is ridiculous to enjoy current honour, if it is not weakened by concern for our imperfections, and too strong enjoyment of past honour is as ridiculous as when a nobleman who has no other current merits, but keeping the countryside clear of foxes reminisces of his past actions.

Finally, Meier says, we are obligated to desire honour through our freedom or through distinct concepts. Best kinds of honour should be desired reasonably: these include, as always, honour given by God, honour beyond death and honour for the sake of virtue and truth. In Meier’s opinion, the reasonable desire for honour must be the guide and leader of all other desires for honour. Since drive to honour and love of honour must follow the reasonable desire for honour, we must weaken our drive and love for apparent honour.

Mere desire for honour is not enough for reaching honour, Meier says, since honour is an external good requiring numerous actions, which use even the body as a tool. Thus, we are obligated to do all such external actions, without which the honour cannot be reached. In other words, we are obligated to act according to our desire for honour – of course, it should not be our only or greatest task. Furthermore, Meier adds, we are obligated to direct our whole external condition in such a manner that it corresponds in the best way possible with the measure of our honour, because correspondence of everything in us makes us more perfect and because we are obligated to show our honour to the whole world.

We are obligated to grow in honour, Meier thinks. This implies, firstly, that we should not reach for new levels of honour, before the earlier ones are firmly in our possession. Furthermore, we should particularly take care that our honour does not end before our life. Indeed, if we too suddenly obtain a very great level of honour, we are put in a precarious position where the growth of our honour becomes impossible or at least very difficult. Thus, we should not desire nor accept too sudden a swelling of honour, such as the wunderkinds often have.

Meier notes that it is a common weakness of all humans to find faults in others. Thus, no matter how honourable and honoured we are, people will question our honour. Since we are obligated to retain our honour, we should defend it against all opposition. This means, firstly, that we should defend our good name against all attacks with all the means allowed by natural and civil right, because such civil honour is one condition of internal honour. We should also defend our internal honour directly, and the best means for this is to ignore all the attacks and just act toward the eyes of the world in such a manner that proves we deserve honour. Yet, Meier admits, the best means requires time, and sometimes we need to act more quickly. In such situations, we can use words, but even then we should avoid any boasting and give the appearance that we are unwilling to speak of our perfections. Two false means for saving honour are to be avoided, Meier cautions the reader. Firstly, we should nor insult our despisers, because then we would try to retain honour through sin, and secondly, we should avoid duels and court proceedings, since no one cannot be forced to honour us.

If duties contradict one another, the lesser obligation should be discarded. Since obligation to honour is not our highest duty, Meier argues, we should ignore it, if it contradicts a higher obligation: for instance, we are to discard honour, if we are despised because of piety, virtue or duties toward our soul or homeland. Similarly, if different kinds of honour contradict one another, we are obligated to ignore lower kinds, e.g. we should ignore honour given by humans if it would prevent us being honoured by God.

Meier notes that it is a common conceit that we ascribe to ourselves perfections that are not due to us. This can happen also with honour, since it depends on us only partially. We should especially, Meier insists, recognise that we have not merely through ourselves created our honour, but honour, like all good, is also dependent on God, who has given us perfections and maintains them. Indeed, he concludes, honour should be seen as a gift from God. Furthermore, we should also be thankful of people who honour us, since without them we would not have honour.

Georg Friedrich Meier: Thoughts on honour – Is honour worth seeking?

One might think that Meier’s study of honour has been rather practical, since he has already given, for instance, good practices on how to gain honour. Yet, Meier refers by the epithet practical not to tips for good practices, but to questions of what one should do. In other words, it is only when we ask whether honour is worth seeking that we are doing practical philosophy.

On Meier’s terms, the question appears to have a rather easy answer. Honour has already been defined through various perfections: the person honoured must have true perfections, and the person honouring should have a clear, correct, certain and vivid understanding of these perfections. Meier admits that like all things human, honour must already imply some imperfections, but as these are due to human nature and not to anything essential to honour itself, these imperfections do not matter: otherwise, all science would be imperfect. Thus, as an effect of various perfections, honour itself must be a perfection.

Meier argues for the perfection of honour from another angle, also. Just like good causes prove the perfection of honour, so do its good consequences. Honour gives the honoured person the power to motivate others and thus endows them with a capacity to benefit humankind by making countless other people more perfect. Honour also benefits the honoured person, because it motivates everyone honouring to serve them, because those honouring love those honoured. Finally, honour makes honoured persons satisfied in a manner reminiscent of the satisfaction of God.

Previous arguments concern only the honour in this life, but Meier thinks that honour after one’s death is also valuable, since it is essentially similar honour as that before one’s death. Honour after one’s death indeed greatly expands the merits of a person, because it enables them to serve people even beyond their death. Furthermore, Meier thinks that happiness consists largely in hope and therefore hope of honour after death satisfies honourable persons even when they are living. Finally, Meier goes so far as to suggest that honour can give many personal advantages in the afterlife, picturing Saint Paul being served by his admirers in heaven.

Now, we could really end the text here, but Meier still has to consider all the objections against honour. With a decent ad hominem Meier suggests that many of these objections come from mean people, who despise honour, because they do not have any themselves. If we ignore this and look at the objections instead of the objectors, Meier notes that often human honour is disparaged as taking attention away from God, whose honour, on the other hand, is so great that nothing human can be compared with it. Meier notes that these are just excuses, since the honour of God and the honour of humans do not contradict one another and because humans do have their honourable perfections even if they are not as great as God’s.

Often honour is opposed with mere rhetorics, like when it is compared to a pleasant dream or mere nothingness. Meier thinks that anyone saying that honour isn’t anything real has no understanding what real means – such things are said by people thinking their own stomach is the most real thing. Then again, he adds, if you think eating, drinking and gold give you satisfaction, doesn’t honour make us more perfect than these external goods?

Meier notes that some people think honour as such is shameful and suspect people will just go on endlessly striving for more and more honour. He answers them that such supposed bad consequences of honour are actually consequences of its misuse. Indeed, he adds, all goods can be misused, even religion. Meier thinks that the drive for honour is not bad, if it stays in its proper limits. Besides, he admits all earthly goods leave humans wanting for more, even religious enjoyment, because finite can never be completely perfect.

Honour is good, Meier can then conclude, but how good is it compared to other goods? It isn’t the greatest good, Meier notes, since that place he reserves for religion. After religion, the hierarchy of goods, he says, starts with moral perfections and continues with all other perfections of higher mental capacities, including truth and science. Below these come all other mental perfections and then all other internal perfections. The lowest rung of the hierarchy of goods is reserved for all external perfections, which include also honour. Yet, Meier insists, it is on the higher scale of these external perfections, because it has the greatest good of a human being as its consequence and it makes a person more perfect than any other external good. Honour is then a true and important good, thus, Meier argues, both being ignored and being despised must be really bad. Indeed, he continues, if you are ignored, you won’t have great perfections, and if you are despised, you will have great imperfections.

The final question Meier considers here is whether apparent honouring or despising are truly good or bad. He begins by noting that both apparent honouring and apparent despising arise out of mistake or pretence. If a despicable person is honoured with pretension, Meier says, this is just ridicule and therefore no true good. Then again, if a despicable person is honoured because of a mistake, the honoured person appears to be served by this mistake, but the erroneous foundation causes more harm. If we change the despicable to an honourable person, pretentious honouring is not as great an evil, but it is still an evil, because pretentions are bad. Even less of an evil the case becomes, if the apparent honouring is based on error. Moving to apparent despise, Meier thinks that an erroneous despising of an honourable person is not as great an evil as despising someone for good reasons, but it is still an evil. Finally, pretentious despising of an honourable person is actually no real evil, but works more like a bitter medicine for avoiding hubris.

Georg Friedrich Meier: Thoughts on honour – How to gain honour

After determining what honour is and how to measure it, the next task Meier takes up is to give advice on how to gain honour. But first he has to decide whether one can have any say on whether one is honoured. Meier notes that being honoured has three conditions: one has to have honourable characteristics, other people must perceive these characteristics and these other people have to recognise the characteristics as honourable. Of these three conditions, the final one is such that the person seeking honour cannot themselves guarantee it – we cannot make others recognise what is honourable. Still, the first two conditions can be affected: one can make one’s characteristics honourable and one can show others these characteristics.

Starting from the first task, Meier notes that one should begin with a firm decision of improving one’s character: the road to honour is full of hardship and retaining honour is also difficult. A more concrete advice is to increase one’s potential for having many and great good characteristics. By potential, Meier says, can be meant, firstly, physical possibility. Physical possibility, then, increases when one gains more capacities to do things and refines capacities one already has. Thus, one has to first make an inventory of what capacities one has, either by nature or through practice. After that, one should augment the deficiencies in one’s system of capacities.

Some potential is connected to external circumstances, like one’s lifestyle or profession, Meier notes. Thus, one should aim for an honourable way of life, especially if one has not been born into one. Indeed, Meier continues, one should do more and choose a way of life that opens up new possibilities for improving one’s character and that best corresponds to one’s capacities.

Final way to understand potential, Meier says, is to think it refers to moral possibilities. In other words, Meier wants us to especially improve our capacities for good actions and to make our way of life agree with morality. It is then no wonder that Meier thinks piety to be the most important ingredient of honourable life.

Potential is still not enough, Meier adds, but one should also just gain many of these great potential characteristics. Of course, he explains, they have to be potentially reachable characteristics, because otherwise trying to reach them is just shameful. Because honour cannot be the price of many persons, Meier notes, one should try to gain more good characteristics than most people, especially people in the same life context, and in the best case, more than anyone else has.

Still, mere quantity is not enough, Meier warns, but one should also try to gain just the most fruitful and astounding characteristics. Again, the quality of these characteristics should top the characteristics of most other people, or in the best case, those of all people. But before one can do that, one should try to learn about the world, in order to know how great characteristics other people have had. Meier also suggests that one cannot really acquire good characteristics that would go against one’s nature: for instance, Cicero would have just been a bad poet. One good characteristic that everyone should acquire, Meier thinks, is obviously virtue.

Meier thinks that one should especially prefer to acquire such characteristics that are of advantage to other people. Persons ignoring this rule are often ignored and forgotten themselves, no matter how great they would be otherwise. Still, this does not mean that one should just blindly follow the taste of other people, unless their taste happens to be correct in its decisions.

Individual good characteristics are still not enough, Meier says, but they should be combined in a perfect manner. In other words, he explains, one should choose a single, especially useful characteristic for particular refining and then try to acquire such characteristics that aid in refining one’s central perfection. For this to work, one should try to know causal chains occurring between different characteristics.

It is not enough to have great characteristics, Meier insists, but one should also try to constantly improve those one already has. He notes disparagingly that only few scholars follow this rule, rest being satisfied with the status of the rabble of the scholarly world. In addition to acquiring good characteristics, Meier concludes, one should try to avoid bad characteristics, particularly such that could harm many people.

Now that one has honourable characteristics, these characteristics have to be made known to other people. Meier admits that some people might think this as vainglory, but being silent about one’s good qualities is just childish, he adds.

No one can be honoured by everyone, Meier emphasises, thus, once should try to choose the audience to which one markets oneself. Of course, he agrees, no one can foretell who might be interested in them in the future. Still they should at least try to pick a specific group of people from which to start, since it is easier to convince a small group of people of one’s honour. Furthermore, Meier reminds the reader, not all kinds of audience should be seeked: instead of flatterers, one should try to show one’s good qualities to virtuous people.

The most important rule Meier gives for showing one’s honourable characteristics is to help the world through the use of one’s talents: people who have been of most assistance have been honoured most. Meier notes that some glory seekers try to circumvent this rule by using money as a surrogate for true help, but this strategy brings only fame that lasts as long as some money remains.

It is not indifferent in which order one reveals one’s characteristics, Meier says. The order itself should be beautiful, in other words, one should try to be most useful with one’s main good characteristic. Furthermore, he adds, one should reveal one’s talents bit by bit, because otherwise one quickly has nothing to show anymore.

Meier admits that gaining honour is often down to luck. Even the opportunities to show one’s good characteristics may occur unexpectedly, thus, it is important to take advantage of all such possibilities. Furthermore, Meier notes, it is also important to avoid all situations which might have a cause to make someone despise you. For instance, Meier advises, one should not begin a task one cannot complete.

Road to honour is very difficult, Meier concludes, and one must work hard for the sake of it. Retaining honour is also an endless task and it just requires more and more every day. Furthermore, Meier advises not trying to use any shortcuts, like self-praise, which lead to no true honour.

Georg Friedrich Meier: Thoughts on honour - How to measure it

A common feature of philosophical studies from the so-called Wolffian school is the desire to quantify the concepts they investigated. Mathematics was seen as something that complements the bare philosophical method. Thus, it is no wonder that Meier would dedicate a whole chapter to the question of how to quantify honour.

Meier begins by noting that because different people look at the same things from different perspectives, different people honouring the same person see different things to commend in them. Thus, the more people honour a person, the more honourable the person is. Meier immediately adds that he is speaking of humans honouring a person. God also can honour a person, he thinks, and this is the greatest honour imaginable. He leaves undecided whether there are any other beings beyond God and humans that could honour someone.

The number of honouring people, Meier notes, need not be limited to contemporaries, but can include future human beings. Indeed, he says, honour received after death is even greater than honour received while living. Thus, he concludes, it is rational to strive for eternal honour.

Although honour given in the future is greater than honour given by contemporaries, Meier remarks, a great number of people honouring one now can still make honour great. This happens especially, if the people honouring you include such that are not close to us or live somewhere else – it is no great feat if a king is honoured by his subjects.

Although the number of people honouring you is one factor determining the quantity of honour, Meier says, it is not the only factor. Thus, someone desiring honour should not just spend their time gathering followers. Still, he points out, it is a factor, and therefore it is foolish to think less followers would mean greater honour.

It is impossible that all contemporaries or future generations would honour the same person, Meier notes. Many contemporaries ignore a greatly honoured person, but many even disrespect them, because people have a tendency to find faults in others. Often this overtly critical stance is caused by envy, Meier explains. Sometimes it is caused by pride, which makes one underestimate others, while sometimes the cause is an excessive desire to ridicule things.

Continuing with the topic of disrespect toward otherwise greatly honoured persons, Meier notes that some people want to build their reputation on the ruins of others, thinking there can be only one greatly honoured person. Furthermore, some misanthropists are not pleased with the perfections of humans. Finally, a common reason for such disrespect, in Meier’s opinion, is that people are often more inclined to think of the evil in the world than what is good, because evil is actually rarer and strikes us more forcefully.

It is not just how many people honour, but who honours you that matters, Meier continues. Great people are able to perceive the worthiest features, while small-minded people enlarge insignificant details. Thus, Meier concludes, the greater the people honouring you, the greater the honour received.

The greatness in question can be internal, that is, the great person can have all the capacities for recognising the greatest perfections in someone. These capacities include, Meier says, both cognitive and volitional capacities. A clear consequence of this is one Meier has already noted, that is, that honour by God is the greatest kind. Furthermore, if there are beings, beyond God, who have greater understanding and will than humans, honour given by them is greater than that given by humans.

No human is perfect in all aspects, Meier points out. Thus, honour is greater, if the persons honouring you are themselves internally great in the same sense as you are. For instance, a soldier knows best when to honour other soldiers. On the other hand, sometimes we tend to belittle people who are perfect in a sense different from ours.

Greatness can also be external, by which Meier means an appearance of greatness, insofar as this appearance is well founded, that is based on inner greatness. What this external greatness adds to internal greatness is a great number of followers, which then magnifies also the honour bestowed by externally great people. Thus, Meier notes, honour given by princes is great, assuming that the princes are also internally great (no one wants to be honoured by Nero). Again, since God is honoured by everyone, honour received from them is the greatest.

An interesting corollary Meier notes is that maximising greatness of people honouring you is not compatible with maximising the number of people honouring you. That is, since there are not that many really great people, if you want to be honoured only by the greatest, you can be honoured only by a few people.

If the first two factors of honour concerned the people honouring, the next two consider the person honoured, and more precisely, the perfections ascribed to them. Firstly, Meier explains, the number of perfections affects the honour of the person having them. Honour of a person is greater, if they have more types of perfections or more perfections of the same type: for instance, a writer is honoured more, if in addition to being eloquent they have deep ideas.

Supposing a person does not have some perfections, even if they could have these, lessens their honour, Meier thinks. If they in some sense could not have these perfections, the effects on their honour depend on what this sense is. If we are speaking of absolute impossibility, Meier explains, then of course such lack will not take away from one’s honour: indeed, it might even be considered foolish to reach for such absolutely impossible perfections. If it is a case of physical impossibility, that is, a lack of capacities necessary for reaching a perfection, honour is reduced if and only if such a lack is shameful: it is dishonourable to understand nothing, but not to not understand religious mysteries. Finally, a lack of morally impossible, or as we would say, morally bad perfections is even a boost to one’s honour, at least if such perfection would really be morally bad (for instance, Meier notes, being educated does not take away one’s moral purity).

Although more perfections means more honour, Meier warns the reader not to reach for excessively many perfections. No human being is able to reach all human perfections, and indeed, some perfections might even be morally detrimental to a person, depending on their life context. Then again, Meier adds, one should not try to cultivate an excessively small number of perfections: for instance, a soldier trying to become a mere expert killer seems like a mere beast.

In addition to the number, Meier continues, one should also consider the greatness of the perfections ascribed to a person. Indeed, he adds, it is more honourable to have a few great, instead of many insignificant perfections. True honour, Meier thinks, requires more than just a run of the mill perfection. A perfection worthy of honour should not be simple, but a synthesis of many perfections. It should be noble and fruitful, in other words, it should have many great and important consequences. Finally, Meier adds, perfections caused by something great are noble are also worthy of honour, since effects equal their causes.

Types of perfections can also be compared to one another, Meier notes. Thus, moral perfections are greater than physical (a good character is more honourable than beauty), internal perfections are greater than external (richness is not a great perfection), perfections of soul are greater than perfections of body, perfections of the higher capacities of soul are greater than perfections of lower capacities (science is more honourable than poetry), and perfections of freedom or virtues are highest of them all.

While the first four factors of the quantity of honour concern the content, the next ones concern the form of honour, Meier clarifies. In other words, they relate to the cognitive state on which the honour a person receives from someone is based on. Thus, clarity of this cognitive state adds to the honour, letting the person honouring see more of the person honoured. For honour to be really great, the person honouring must know the sum of all honourable perfections as a whole, and they must find and distinguish many and great perfections in that whole, and they must see their order and connection. This means, again, that God is the best one to honour you, because God knows a person in the most detailed and systematic fashion.

What then gives a cognitive state or concept more clarity? In case of honour, Meier begins, perfections of the honoured person should not be dimmed by imperfections of the same person. Thus, the honour will be great, if the person honouring sees nothing but the perfections and ignores all the imperfections of the person honoured (no one honours you more than your own mother) or if they see these imperfections only dimly, like good friends, or if the person honouring regards the perfections of the honoured person so strongly that this suppresses all ideas of imperfection (this is how members of a sect honour their leaders).

Clarity is also strengthened by perfections of the honoured not being dimmed by perfections of other persons, Meier continues. Thus, the honour will be great, if the person honouring honours no one in addition to the honoured person (like students honour their teacher, because they know no other scholars), if the person honouring honours other only in smaller degree or if the person honouring honours the honoured person so strongly that all ideas of perfections of others are darkened.

Attention is the source of all clarity, Meier emphasises. Thus, the honour becomes clearer and greater, the more attention the honouring person can give to the perfections of the honoured person. Honour becomes stronger, when the honouring person concentrates more on observing the merits of the honoured person, it becomes more extensive, when the honouring person observes very many perfections of the honoured person, and it becomes more enduring, when the honouring person observes the perfections very long immediately after one another.

Especially three things make attention very great, Meier adds: curiosity, where everything new awakens attention, wonder or intuitive cognition of novelty and captivation or being conscious of something in so great a measure that other concepts are obscured. Thus he concludes, honour becomes clearer and greater, if the honouring person thinks about the perfections of the honoured person with great curiosity, as something new and extraordinary, if the honouring person wonders about the honoured person or if the person honouring is captivated by observing the merits of the person honoured.

Most important facet in the quantity of honour, according to Meier, is the truth of the cognition it is based on: the more correct is the judgement of perfections, the greater the honour. Truth of honour, Meier explains, is to be evaluated like truth of cognition and judgements in general.Thus, honour is more correct and greater, the less perfections are ascribed to the honoured person that they do not have and the more those that they do have, the less errors of quantity are discovered in the judgement of honour, so that perfections would not be evaluated too highly, and the more correctly the person honouring thinks about the order and connection, in which perfections of the honoured person are discovered.

Meier notes that judgements turn often false, when they are derived from preconceptions. Thus, he concludes, honour is more correct, if the honoured person is judged through the lens of preconceptions. This means that honour should be based on impartial judgements. For instance, honour bestowed on us by our friends is not always false, but it often is greater than is deserved. On the contrary, enemies honour us too little, but therefore honour bestowed by them is that much more valuable. More generally, honour given with reproach is more correct than honour without reproach.

In addition to truth, the certainty of cognition or judgement is also important: uncertain honour is weak like dreams, Meier compares. Humans are convinced of truth of a judgement in three manners, Meier says: by deducing it from more general truths, by basing it on their own experience or by hearing of experiences of others. The first route or a priori deduction is closed for us, Meier thinks, since we cannot know honourable perfections of humans from mere arguments. Experiences of others can reach at most moral certainty, so the only way to complete certainty is observation. Thus, the more the person honouring personally observes perfections of the honoured, the more certain and the greater is the honour (for instance, Homer is best honoured by a person who has read his works). Of course, Meier adds, experience can be deceptive, and therefore honour becomes certain only after a repeated observation of perfections.

When the person honouring merely hears about the perfections of the honoured person, the judgement of honour is generally uncertain, but this uncertainty has different degrees, Meier explains. The most extreme degrees in this continuum of honour are an honour based on well attested testimonies of first-hand witnesses and an honour based on stories that have travelled through many persons.

According to Meier, the liveliness of the cognition or judgement also affects the honour. The livelier the experience of the perfections, the greater the honour, and only lively honour fills the person honouring with the idea of the honoured. Great honour requires, hence, intuitive knowledge of the perfections. Thus honour based on mere words (e.g. a title) is a small honour.

What a lively cognition of perfections does, Meier continues, is that it causes pleasure. We are especially pleased about perfections that we are interested in, that we take part of and that are useful for us. If this liveliness is strong enough, it leads to desire and to pleasure. Thus, the more the perfections of a person please, the livelier and greater the honour. Since love is pleasure over someone’s perfections, Meier notes, the more the honoured person is loved, the greater the honour. We can love without honouring, like parents love their children, and we can honour without loving, like we honour Alexander the Great, but honour without love is infinitely smaller than honour with love, Meier insists.

Beyond the quality of cognition, the duration of the honour is a facet of its greatness. If the honour lasts longer, the greater it is, and the degree of honour can go up and down through its duration. If honour is very great from the start, it cannot be augmented, while small initial honour can be improved easily.

An important concept Meier introduces is the notion of fixed honour, where a person has reached so high a degree of honour that it becomes impossible for them to be despised or ignored. Although honour would be fixed, it can still change, because in an honoured man faults are so noticeable. Another reason for the change is that the clarity, truth, certainty and liveliness of cognition might be very variable, because of the nature of soul and human cognition in general, because of a too strong a desire for novelty and love of change or because the cognition of topics is determined by their desires and inclinations.

Honour of long length, Meier says, gains special strength if it isn’t interrupted by periods of disrespect. Honour can be regained after interruption of disrespect, but such regaining is much more difficult than original gaining of honour.