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.

Georg Friedrich Meier: Thoughts on honour (1746)

Meier’s philosophical work has provided plenty of examples of something we’ve otherwise rarely seen in German philosophy in the first half of 18th century: applied philosophy, that is, application of philosophical concepts and theories to often very concrete questions of practical nature. His Gedancken von Ehre is no exception, being a discussion of honour or respect.

Although Meier’s final object lies then in practice, he begins his study with a theoretical part. Quite plausibly, we have to first know what honour is, before we can say, for instance, how much honour we should try to gain for ourselves. Furthermore, Meier adds, theoretical investigation of the notion of honour might awaken in us a desire to do honourable things.

Meier defines honour as the sum of all representations and judgements made by others of one’s perfections. More precisely, this sum, if it is unexpressed, can be called internal honour, while the expression of this internal honour through words and other signs is the corresponding external honour. An important detail is that the honour must be bestowed by others and so no one cannot honour oneself - not even God.

Meier notes that there is also another sense in which we can talk of external honour, that is, when we are speaking of compliments that people are forced to give because of some law. This law can be natural law - and then we are speaking of a good name of someone - or a civil law - for instance, when a person must be bestowed a title. Such external honours, Meier warns, are not really honours in his sense, which requires much more than mere following of a law.

The opposite of honour - dishonour or disrespect - and the corresponding internal and external dishonour can be defined by just replacing perfection with imperfection, Meier notes. From a lack of dishonour cannot be deduced the presence of honour, he adds, because between the two lies a state where other persons do not have any conception whatsoever of one’s perfections or imperfections. Indeed, most people are regarded in such an indifferent manner by persons not close to them

Because Meier defines honour through notions of representations and judgement, he can apply logic and psychology in his investigation. Thus, he notes that since judgements can be affirmative or negative, honour can be also given for a person not having certain imperfections. He immediately explains that in the latter case the lack of imperfection must imply the presence of perfection, since it is not yet an honour to be no murderer. Indeed, he adds, the concept of honour should be reserved to only those cases where the perfection of a person is exceptionally great, since otherwise every person would be honoured.

An important epistemological detail Meier points out is that honour should be based only on true representations and judgements. Thus, even if a person would compliment another, say, for being a great scholar, it would be no real honour if the person giving the compliment would have no idea what being a great scholar really means. All forms of flattery are then ruled out as not bestowing true honour. Then again, since an honour can remain unexpressed, lack of compliments does not either imply a lack of honour.

Honour is then clearly something else than mere fame, which means just people knowing someone, but not necessarily knowing them for a perfection - even murderers can be famous for being murderers. Even if the reason for one’s fame would be something good, that is, even if they would have a good reputation, this would still not guarantee that one is honoured, if the person in question would have no exceptional perfections.

Honour is also dependent on the context in which the person is evaluated, Meier emphasises. Thus, a soldier’s leadership skills can be honoured in the context of a small regiment, but not in the context of the whole army. Honour is also dependent on who does the honouring, and small-minded people can never really honour anyone, Meier insists, because they can never have a notion of what truly great perfection is.

What perfections can then be honoured? Meier thinks that practically anything. Some people think that e.g. beauty is not something that can be honoured, since one has no say on whether they are beautiful. Meier thinks that this argument fails, since even such perfections that seem to be up to us - say, our diligence - are ultimately decided by God. Thus, Meier sees no reason why things like beauty could not also be honoured.

Possible objects of honour are thus infinitely varied and similarly also possible objects of dishonour, Meier explains. Indeed, one person can have both perfections and imperfections and even most honoured people can have their dark side. In other words, if someone is respected, they can also be disrespected, just for different reasons.

Georg Friedrich Meier: Figure of a true philosopher (1745)

Meier’s philosophical work has so far been refreshingly different from what German philosophers of the period in general have been doing. We’ve already seen Meier tackle with the topic of humour, and now he will attempt to paint the picture of a true philosopher in his Abbildung eines wahren weltweisen.

Meier’s motive for writing his work is to eradicate prejudices laymen have against philosophers. Problem is, Meier says, that there are innumerably more philosophers in name only than there are real philosophers. By painting a general picture of a true philosopher Meier aims at silencing critics who fault philosophy for quirks of individual would-be philosophers.

In addition to this advantage of marketing philosophy for non-philosophers, Meier’s image should also serve philosophers themselves. It should serve as an instruction manual for becoming a philosopher and as a measuring stick, with which to evaluate development of oneself and others, even if no human being could ever completely fill the shoes shown in Meier’s image.

Meier borrows Baumgarten’s definition of philosophy as the highest science, concerning general properties of all things, which can be known without the help of faith. Meier admits that a perfect knowledge of philosophy cannot be reached by mere humans, but only by God, who knows literally everything. Meier’s image of a true philosopher takes into account the necessary limitedness of humans: true philosopher, he says, does not try to know more than is humanly possible. Furthermore, a true philosopher knows that humans have more important duties than learning philosophy, like serving other people.

Although humans cannot know everything and shouldn’t spend their lives solely with philosophy, within these limits the true philosopher tries to emulate the divine omniscience, Meier notes. This means, firstly, that the true philosopher should have extensive knowledge of all philosophical disciplines and other fields of learning. This does not mean that they should know everything in an equal fashion. Instead, Meier says, the true philosopher should choose one discipline that they learn extremely well. Thus, different philosophers could specialise in different topics.

Meier remarks that the true philosopher chooses the easiest route to knowledge. Thus, they do not try to learn all by themselves, but read philosophical books and listen to other philosophers. Still, they will also themselves strive to enrich the field of human knowledge with their own investigations.

Not all truths are of equal value, Meier says, but some are of more value and nobility than others. Some truths of lesser value even a true philosopher must know - some of these form a sort of philosophical ABC - but they should strive to know the more valuable ones. Nobility of a truth has nothing to do with it concerning concrete topics, Meier notes, although common people often discredit abstract truth as worthless. Indeed, he continues, the true philosophers are the best to recognise what sort of truth is noble. Meier himself points out two characteristics of such truths. Firstly, such truths and their consequences touch upon many important things, like religion, state, virtue and the happiness of whole humankind. Secondly, knowing noble truths requires more effort, while common truths are easy to know.

In addition to nobility, Meier adds, the true philosopher has to know fruitful truths, that is truths which have many useful consequences. In other words, the true philosopher is no bookworm, but knows what’s most helpful in different walks of life. Then again, Meier insists that all truths could be deduced from other truths and are in principle equally useful. True, we humans cannot always recognise such connections, but the true philosopher should still be ready that a seemingly useless truth will prove to be important for someone else.

Clarity is also a virtue of a true philosopher, Meier says. This means, firstly, that they try to use logic for clarifying what they know by finding signs required for defining things. Meier notes that this is not to be regarded as pedantry. Indeed, the true philosopher is not a mystic, who delights in inclarities. Still, Meier adds, the true philosopher know also the limits of definition and understands that everything cannot be defined so clearly. Thus, they are no charlatans who would offer mere tautologies, when definitions cannot be given. The true philosopher is especially keen on making their own special discipline as clear as possible, leaving petty things undefined.

Meier follows Baumgarten in accepting that clarity means not just logical acuteness, but also strength of representations. Thus, Meier wants that the true philosopher should not try to perfect just their understanding, but also their imagination, wit and other faculties. In other words, the true philosopher should be an aesthetician, who can tell beautifully and vividly about the things they know.

An evident, but quite crucial side of a true philosopher is, Meier emphasises, that they try to be as correct as is humanly possible. Again, this is not completely possible for a human being, but the true philosopher tries to at least minimise the possibility of an error by choosing wilful ignorance over an unfounded dogmatism. In other words, the true philosopher is no blind sectarian.

Truth for Meier does not mean just that something is correct, but also orderliness. Hence, he wants that the true philosopher should also know things in an ordered fashion. This means that the knowledge of the true philosopher is regulated in accordance with the highest principles of knowledge - principles of non-contradiction and sufficient reason. The knowledge of the true philosopher is so ordered in a hierarchy of disciplines, where some are dependent on more general disciplines.

In addition to having clear knowledge, Meier continues, the true philosopher should have a clear notion of knowing these things. In other words, they should be certain of their knowledge. The way to make one’s knowledge more certain, Meier says, is to demonstrate it, of if that is not possible, to back it up with lesser justifications. Of course, full certainty is not always possible for a human being nor is it a guarantee for the truth of something. Thus, Meier admits, the true philosopher is ready to accept things only hypothetically, until further evidence clears the matter.

Meier is also adamant that the true philosopher should put their knowledge into practice. In principle, Meier says, this could be done with any knowledge. Yet, it is especially true about knowledge concerning ourselves, that is, anthropology, which Meier takes to be of utmost importance to the true philosopher. Furthermore, he continues, the true philosopher should take the duties of practical philosophy seriously and find in them motives for their actions.

Meier also notes the true philosopher should have good motives for learning philosophy. We have already mentioned one of them, namely, that of emulating God and thus perfecting oneself. In addition, he remarks, the true philosopher is motivated to help others, and in general, to work for the good of the whole humanity.

Christian August Crusius: Instruction to live reasonably - Cultivating oneself benefits all

The most general duties in natural law, Crusius begins, are those that we are obligated to perform to everyone, no matter what the particular stand in life is and no matter what further contracts or agreements we might have made with them. In other words, they are the duties that we should be able to deduce without any further assumptions from the basic principle of natural law.

One of these duties (or more likely, a combination of several related duties) is that we should always be joyfully ready to serve and help a person in need of assistance - for instance, if we find a lost tourist in our hometown, we should be ready to show where she has to go. This is a general duty, Crusius affirms, that we are obligated to perform to anyone, no matter who they are. Even our enemies do not make an exception, and furthermore, we shouldn’t even hate or envy them. Still, this does not mean we are not allowed to make any preferences, Crusius accedes, since we are more obligated to serve friends, as long as we do it fairly and equitably.

Crusius doesn’t think that we are obligated to serve people without any reward, but admits that usually services are to be paid for in some form. It is only when people do not have the means to pay that we might be obligated to help them without reward, and even this obligation is not so strict if the people in question can help themselves, if they are to blame for their condition or if someone else could help them. Furthermore, even if no other reward for a service can be expected, the one assisted is obligated to be thankful for help. Analogically to a demand for a reward, if someone offends us, we have a right to expect the offender to repay the deed.

Furthermore, Crusius continues, if circumstances permit it, we should try to be truthful, that is, what we think should correspond to what our words mean. Here the conditional is important, and Crusius is not willing to go down the route where Kant - at least as he is usually interpreted - would go. That is, Crusius does not want to say that we are always obligated to speak truth, because in some cases this might break some other duties. He still advises to avoid straight out lies, even if they were made with good intentions. Instead, Crusius allows dissemblance, for instance, using silence and gestures to suggest that things are otherwise than they actually are.

In addition to the duties aimed strictly toward other people, Crusius notes that dealings with other people create an obligation to do something for ourselves. That is, in order to serve others we have to have abilities by which we can help them, which means that we are obligated to cultivate our skills. Partially, Crusius reminds us, this duty of self-cultivation has already been dealt with in ethics, but there are still certain aspects of this cultivation that concern the natural law more. A particular example is the need for what Crusius calls decorum, in other words, what is considered to be external signs of virtue - say, one has to dress in a manner that a decent person is expected to dress in one’s own society. Although decorum is not virtue as such, it at least implies to the onlooker that she is seeing a virtuous person, Crusius suggests - or at least it doesn’t deter her. Thus, decorum is of assistance in making people want to ask help from you.

Crusius also notes that if a society is to work properly, all people cannot cultivate the same abilities, even if they were abilities required for the noblest causes. Thus, a need for particular life careers arises. Crusius considers the possibility that each person would pursue the career that is best suited to a person. Yet, he remarks, it is too difficult to determine what would be the best career for each person. Instead, Crusius advises everyone to strive for a career, which suits their wishes and doesn’t waste their talents - or even earlier, their parents should find out what the person likes and guide them toward it. This strategy works, Crusius thinks, because person’s desires usually show what they are most suited to do - desire for a certain career should come out naturally, and as all things natural are God’s design, this desire must be good.

Christian August Crusius: Instruction to live reasonably - No true happiness before death

As it must be evident by now, Crucius values virtuous living most highly. Still, he does not reject other possible goals at least if they do not contradict virtuous life, which would just eventually evoke the wrath of God.

The only question is then what this secondary goal might be. A natural candidate might be satisfaction or pleasure caused by fulfillment of some desire. Since such pleasures are relative to desires, which humans have plenty, a single case of pleasure cannot be very high on the list of goals. What could be high is a state of ultimate happiness, in which all desires would be constantly fulfilled and no unhappiness would be anymore possible. Crucius notes that this rather sensualistic sounding end is something we cannot achieve during our temporal life, so that it cannot be any realistic goal for this life.

Crucius sets then his goal somewhat lower. Although we would not be in a pleasurable state, we could still be content, if we just were free from pain. Now, humans cannot be wholly content - this would mean that we wouldn’t be active anymore - but we could still be content in the sense of being pleased in some measure and being free of pain in some measure. The best state we could hope for during our temporal life would be such, in which the amount of pleasure would be remarkable, even if it must be just temporary.

Crucius goes into very particular details, when describing means for increasing happiness. Thus, he notes that one key element is to to make sure that desires are hindered as rarely as possible, and when they do, this hindrance must be as non-painful.To achieve this, Crucius notes, our desires should be such that they encourage us and others to act virtuously. Furthermore, to ease the pain, Crucius’ suggests the antidote of thinking pleasant things, which pushes bad thoughts away.

Although Crucius thus accepts pleasures in some measure, he is of the opinion that as a whole humans have a too strong desire for pleasure. Thus, he concludes, we should restrict desire for temporal satisfaction. Crucius therefore advocates continence of all sorts, whether it concerns gluttony or ambition. His particular target is sexuality, which he deems to be too strong a desire, useful only very rarely and detriment to virtue, unless bound by custom of marriage.

Christian August Crusius: Instruction to live reasonably - Evil behaviour and how to get rid of it

Crusius notes that none of us humans follow duties given in ethics perfectly. In other words, all people are in some measure evil, and because this is so common occurrence, Crusius suggests that humans must have a natural tendency to do evil.

Now, Crusius continues, it is interesting to ask what is the cause of this natural tendency. One possible suggestion could be that this cause lies somewhere outside humans, for instance, in the matter as such. Crusius notes that this explanation isn’t believable. True, matter might hinder our actions or then awaken some unpleasant sensations in us. Yet, neither of these need make us do anything evil - for instance, even if see horrific things, it is still down to us to decide how to react to them.

Similarly, the cause of evil cannot be any Satanic spiritual entity, Crusius notes. At most such a devilish figure could tempt human beings into evil actions. Still, even after being tempted, a person would have the choice whether to follow the suggestions of the tempter.

Crusius also denies that any divine entity could be behind human evil. It certainly couldn’t be God, Crusius says, because he has at most created the conditions, which allow the appearance of evil, but he still hasn’t caused this appearance. Furthermore, Crusius doesn’t believe that any Manichaean evil divinity could explain the problem of evil, because at most such a divinity could create a tendency to evil in humans. In addition, no other divinity beyond God can even exist, Crusius continues.

The reason for evil lies then in the human themselves, and the only question is whether it lies in their essential imperfection or in their arbitrary choices. The first of these was often dubbed metaphysical evil, but Crusius notes that due to its essentiality and necessity it is not true evil, but at most something that makes real evil possible. Indeed, he continues, trying to explain human evil through essential imperfection is just an attempt to confuse the difference between evil and good persons.

True evil, Crusius concludes, is thus caused by abuse of free will, when it has chosen a state that is contrary to what God has ordained. This abuse moves us away from our original state, which has been either indifferent to goodness and badness or then tends toward goodness. Crusius notes that this abuse or vice might be caused by two things: firstly, weakness of forces that should regulate us toward good decisions, and secondly, actively perverted direction of these regulating forces.

In addition to the division of vices by their cause, Crusius notes at least two ways to classify them. Firstly, vices can be divided according to the faculty it involves - understanding, will or both. Secondly, we can speak of simple or complex vices. Thus, there are simple vices of understanding, such as inattention or perverted curiosity for novelties, and simple vices of will, such as laziness and self-seeking. Of complex vices Crusius notes only three he considers most remarkable: avarice or perverted desire of wealth, lust or perverted desire for completely passive pleasures and ambition or perverted desire to be noticed by others.

Crusius notes that vicious behaviour is on the long run detrimental to a person. It involves always self-deception, since a vicious person has an improper notion of the worth of something. Furthermore, Crusius suggests, vicious person things wrongly that she can fulfil her desires, although they should be instead regulated. The result of this false idea is that the desire just grows and grows, when one gets used to pleasures and requires more stimulation to get to the same level of pleasure. If this continues, vices become habitual and enslave the person so that no free will can ever correct the situation.

Vicious person is then heading toward sickness of body and soul, Crusius notes. Furthermore, he continues, vicious people also hurt others, which alienates her from her fellow humans. But the worst consequence, according to Crusius, is that vicious person has lost her connection to God.

Vicious life is then painful, and this pain is sometimes good tool, by which a person can find an impetus for changing her life better. Generally, a person can cure her vicious behaviour by distancing oneself from all the things luring her to vicious actions and by strengthening both the motives pushing one toward good actions and forces necessary for doing those good actions.

Crusius notes that it is not clear how well repentance and struggle toward better life can heal the damage caused for oneself and for others by one’s own vicious behaviour. At least such corrective measures weaken the effects of vicious behaviour, but even a complete purification of one’s soul couldn’t really make damage undone. It is then unclear whether God will accept these measures or whether he has designed yet another form of punishment for the purpose of clearing one’s consciousness. Because this cannot be known from rational reasons, Crusius concludes, we must assume God has revealed his will on this matter, but this is more of a question of religion than of ethics.

Christian August Crusius: Instruction to live reasonably - Goal of human life

After a theoretical study of will and basic drives affecting it, Crucius turns his interest toward practical philosophy or morals, that is, the study of how will should be used. Wolffian systems of philosophy often included a discipline of general practical philosophy, which was meant to serve as a basis for all practical philosophy. Crucius admits that such a discipline exists, in a sense, but because of its abstract nature it should be merely included within more concrete practical disciplines.

The basic topic of morals - how will should be used - comprises actually two different, although related questions, Crucius continues. Firstly, there is the question of how human being can make herself happy. This question is dealt with a discipline quite unique to Crucius’ system - a study of happiness. It goes beyond mere question of obligations, because although Crusius admits that we are in a sense obligated to become happy and perfect ourselves, the study of happiness is more about finding the most advantageous means for happiness.

Human happiness involves satisfaction of basic human desires. Now, Crucius says, since one of these basic drives is a drive for good conscience, happiness involves also trying to follow the demands of conscience. Indeed, he adds, one might say that these demands are designed to make humans happy. The demands underlie the second question of morals: what should human beings do, in other words, what duties humans have?

Crucius notes that the demands of conscience - duties or moral laws - assume the existence of a lawgiver, who has decreed these laws. Our obligation to follow these laws, Crucius says, is not caused by the lawgiver forcing us to do something. Instead, the obligation is generated by all the goods the lawgiver or God gives to us - indeed, even the duties themselves are such goods. If a human being subjects his own will to divine will and follows the divine laws, Crucius concludes, he will be virtuous, and because of that, happy.

The sum of these divine laws, or natural law, forms the second major part of morals for Crucius. It divides into further disciplines according to the object of the duties: natural theology deals with human duties toward God, natural law in a more limited sense deals with human duties toward one another and ethics duties toward oneself. Crucius adds that humans also have duties toward animals and even inanimate objects, but these ares so few that the don’t warrant their own discipline. He also adds that we should start from ethics, because we must first perfect our own capacities, before we are able to fulfill other duties.

The aim of ethics is then to perfect human beings, and in order to know how to do it, Crucius says that we must first know the goal God has given to humanity. Before going into that, Crucius notes that God, as the wisest and most perfect being, must have created the whole world for some reason, which is also evident, he continues, from the wise organisation of the parts and whole of the world. The goal that God has envisioned for the whole world, Crucius emphasises, must be that the world can be known and enjoyed rationally. Then again, human beings appear to be only such rational beings, while animals and plants exist only for the sake of human cultivation.

Why God then had to create the world at all, when he could just have thought about it? Crucius’ answer is that God’s goal in creation must involve free actions, which make the fate of the world unpredictable. Furthermore, since God appears to have made humans social, these actions are probably united efforts of many humans. God wants that these actions are virtuous, so that he could reward humans. Then again, it depends on the human choices whether all of them can be rewarded or whether some of them must be punished.

What then, finally, is the goal of humanity or the reward God is willing to give to virtuous people? Crucius notes that this goal cannot be just knowledge, because cognitive is in his system just means for volition. Then again, although Crucius admits that humans have right to use goods of the world, none of them can really satisfy humans. Indeed, because humans have unlimited desires, true reward could only be endless life in another world. Crucius notes that such a moral proof of human immortality is its only possible proof, because all theoretical proofs of immortality fall short of convincing everyone - for example, simplicity of human soul does not mean its immortality, because animals also have simple souls without being immortal.

What kind of behaviour is then required of humans or what it means to be virtuous? Crucius notes that, firstly, this world is not a prison for human beings. Especially body is something that soul truly requires for living in the current world. Thus, Crucius continues, we must keep this vessel in good shape for the duration of our life. Particularly we have no right to forfeit the body given to our use or commit a suicide. In addition to body, Crucius continues, we must also train our understanding. In practice, this means that we must acquire as many concepts as possible and use our understanding in diverse manners.

Since both body and understanding are mere tools for will, the perfection of will is an essential element of virtuous behaviour. Here, the important thing is to retain the freedom of human will - affections should remain mild and strong passions should be avoided, lest we become slave of our drives. Particularly, all goals should be subordinated to conscience and obedience of God, since these cannot be subordinated to anything else. Finally, Crucius points out that subordination here does not mean simply that humans would be constantly thinking about such a goal. Instead, it means, says Crucius, that we should, from time to time, check our behaviour and see whether there is something to fix.

Christian August Crusius: Instruction to live reasonably - Basic drives

Just like will can affect understanding, Crusius notes, drives of the will can be controlled through understanding. That is, the more lively the representations of objects of drives are, the livelier the respective drives are. What does this liveliness of both representations and drives mean? Like Baumgarten before him, Crusius explains that liveliness of representations is definitely not the same thing as their distinctness. Indeed, the more distinct our ideas of sensible things become, the less we often feel the need to strive for those things, Crusius argues. Instead of distinctness, liveliness, for Crusius, is characterised by the heightened grade of activity, by which we represent something.

From the standpoint of drives, the liveliness of the respective representations differs from both the strength and longevity of drives. In other words, no matter how lively our thoughts of the objects of our drives, these drives might not be able to withstand resistance nor might they be able to continue over a long period of time. Indeed, all these three characteristics - liveliness, strength and longevity - are for Crusius independent. In fact, he reduces the traditional four temperaments to different combinations of the three characteristics: drives of phlegmatic are lacking in all three characteristics, drives of sanguine are lively, drives of choleric are strong and drives of melancholic last long.

Crusius notes that drives and desires come in many different grades, starting from temporary affections and ending with extremely forceful passions. Crusius goes through a various species of such affections and passions, which was a common topic in current discussions of will. What is more interesting is Crusius’s statement that drives and desires can create new drives and desires. Thus, we might wind up desiring a subspecies of an old desire (like desire for truth might lead into a desire for curiosity) or an individual under that class (like love of philosophy might lead into a love for a particular school of philosophy), we could wind up desiring means for fulfilling other desires (such as when we desire gold), parts of certain desired objects (like when desire for general tidiness evolves into a desire for cleanliness), consequences and effects (like when we love children of our friends) and even mere signs (when we desire medals given for honourable services) and things sensed at the same time (when we desire to live in place with good memories).

Desires and drives can thus be based on other desires and drives, but Crusius insists that such series of desires must end with some first desires: then again, there might well be many different first desires. Now, Crusius notes that some of these first desires are contingent in the sense that they are based on our upbringing, while others are ingrained in the God-designed essence of humanity - the latter he calls basic desires. Indeed, he continues, all reasoning entities must have such basic desires or drives, so that they can become happy by fulfilling those desires. No basic desire can be inherently evil, Crusius believes, because otherwise God wouldn’t have given such to us. Because all desires correspond to some concepts, all reasoning entities must have some innate concepts, Crusius concludes, although they need not be immediately conscious of these concepts.

Crusius remarks that basic desires should not be confused with seemingly universal desires, objects of which could be derived through abstraction from any desires. Such abstract desires include a desire to avoid pain, desire for our own existence, a desire for applying one’s own capacities to the fullest extent and a desire to take advantage of suitable opportunities. A particularly important abstract desire is the sum of all desires that constitutes a desire for happiness, which Crusius defines as sum of all possible pleasures and a complete lack of pain. This desire is important, Crusius thinks, because it leads to a further desire for everlasting happiness, which has an infinite object and thus leads humans to accept the existence of God (note how Kant’s idea of God as a postulate for morality follows a similar path). Although all humans seem to share this desire, like all abstract desires, it is not truly a basic desire - indeed, happiness means different thing for different people, because it is a sum of their peculiar desires. Animals, Crusius adds, do not have this desire, since they do not have the requisite capacity for abstraction.

Of the true basic desires or drives, some are specific to humans. In fact, they are also such desires that have abstract objects and cannot thus belong to mere animals. Although these basic human desires should be common to all human beings, Crusius emphasises that they can exist in different force in different individuals. Furthermore, these drives can be hindered by one another or even some other drives, thus making it not obvious that everyone follows them.

Crusius counts three basic human desires, first of which is a desire to perfect oneself and one’s own capacities. This basic drive involves many other desires, such as desires to use and improve our cognitive abilities, to act according to best of reasons and to perfect our body. All these various desires require us to achieve a certain place in human society - freedom, power, riches, friendship and power. Finally, we also try to see and own perfect things, whether this perfection means real force inherent in these things or an ideal perfection, such as order and regularity.

The second basic human desire, Crusius says, is a drive for love. Love, in its moral sense, Crusius defines as a habit of regarding goals of another person as goals of oneself and of taking pleasure in well-being of others. When loving another person, Crusius continues, we do not aim at our own happiness, but at a mutual feeling of love, which would mean unification of the two persons involved. This love is not to be confused, Crusius warns, with such emotions like affection toward children or sexual desire. Particularly, it should be distinguished from so-called self-love, which is actually just satisfaction with one’s own perfections. This drive for love, Crusius admits, is universal, but sadly very weak and easily overpowered by other desires.

The final basic human drive Crusius admits in the drive to know the laws God has appointed for our behaviour. This drive could also be called drive for conscience, where conscience means judgement about the morality of one’s own actions. Crusius, thus, does not equate conscience with a consciousness of one’s faults, but more as a knowledge of one’s obligations and duties. Because we humans have this drive for knowing moral law, Crusius continues we must have an innate idea of this law. He does not mean that individual duties would be implanted in us, but only a general rule of action: do what is in accordance with the perfection of God, with one’s own relation to God and with the essential perfection of human nature and avoid the opposite. Since this drive for conscience is in our own nature, Crusius adds, we must have an innate idea of God and a natural respect for him. Just like our desire for love, the desire for conscience can be suppressed by stronger desires. Still, when these desires dissipate after we have done the objectionable deed, the conscience often reawakens and causes disagreeable pangs.

In addition to basic human desires, we share some basic desires with other animals. These animal desires concern only the goals of our animal nature, such as nourishment and reproduction. Crusius notes that we cannot really a priori determine what all these desires are, but we can only empirically search for their most general classes. Crusius counts two of these classes: drives to affect one’s body in a certain manner and drives to achieve a certain state of one’s body. The drives of the first class differ from one animal to another, depending on their specific capacities of e.g. movement. In any case, Crusius is certain that such drives presuppose soul having an innate idea of one’s own body and thus speak against the notion of soul moving from one body to another.

The second class might be further described as a drive for achieving pleasant bodily feelings. These feelings are attached to some bodily states - for instance, to certain smells and tastes - and are not necessarily connected with the perfection of body, just like pain is no signal of our body becoming more imperfect. Of specific drives, Crusius notes that a drive for nurturing children is clearly a drive of the first class, while sexual drives are caused by drives from both classes.

The relationship between human reason and animal drives is complicated. Animal drives are naturally strong and at least partially independent, which can be seen e.g. by the fierceness of bodily pains. Then again, Crusius admits that making our representations more distinct can dampen the animal drives. Furthermore, reason might add something to animal drives, such as when it combines sexuality with love.