Before entering the logic proper, Crusius introduces the reader to the most important terms used, with a full acknowledgement that they will be properly explained only within the logic itself. In effect, Crusius is presenting a preliminary division of the kinds of thoughts present in logic, and indeed, in any science, where by thoughts he means activities of understanding for representing something, no matter whether only in understanding or also e.g. in words. This division, he says, can be done either according to the internal distinction of their essence or according to the purpose for which they are introduced.
Starting with the internal distinction of the thoughts, Crusius notes that they either define a certain condition and activity of will or represent certain effects of understanding. He is quick with the first type, mentioning only that it includes at least explanations of our intentions. Thoughts representing effects of understanding, on the other hand, he divides into concepts, propositions and proofs. Of these, Crusius says, concepts include definitions that are abstract concepts that can distinguish something from everything else. He divides definitions into nominal definitions, which define a word for the sake of determining its meaning, and real definitions, which define a thing that is first thought in an unanalysed concept, which we want to change in such a manner that we can distinguish its parts with conscious abstraction and thud distinguish the thing from all others. Such real definitions, Crusius notes, are either first concepts, proof of which presupposes no other definition of thing and can thus be primary in regard to our knowledge, or deduced definitions.
Moving on to propositions, Crusius divides them according to their ground into arbitrary and real propositions. Arbitrary propositions, he explains, are not meant to indicate a truth independent of our will, but to show what one assumes to be or wants to be observed as true, like when one states that a circle is to have 360 degrees. A real proposition, on the hand, ascribes to things something that truly belongs to them and should not depend on our arbitrary choice, such as when we state that every circle has a middle point.
As one kind of real proposition Crusius indicates postulates, which must be supposed to be true, although they cannot be proven with regard to all conditions. He divides postulates into postulates according to truth and postulates according to humans. The first type of postulate, Crusius explains, contains in itself something false or uncertain that is still so insignificant that it can be disregarded or that plays no role in the consequences of the postulate, such as when we e.g. determine the meridian of a city only approximately. Postulate according to humans, on the other hand, does not contain in itself anything false, but is of such kind that it cannot really be proven otherwise, but by everyone perceiving and judging it by themselves, for instance, when certain experiential propositions are assumed to be universal. Crusius states that unlike divine knowledge, all human knowledge is ultimately based on postulates, which implies that there are certain questions the humans cannot be certain about. He emphasises that we shouldn’t postulate willy-nilly just anything, thus, that the right to postulate something must be proven carefully. He also notes that something can be postulated, although it might as well be provable.
Compared to postulates, Crusius divides propositions provable according to all conditions to propositions requiring their own particular proofs and to propositions, the truth of which is once and for all shown in logic. He includes in the latter type, for instance, experiences and immediate propositions or axioms. By experience Crusius means a proposition, in which the combination of subject and predicate or antecedent and consequence is perceived immediately through the sensation. He provides many different ways to divide experiences. Firstly, an experience can be an internal experience, which is perceived through internal sensation, or an external experience, which is perceived through external sensation. Then again, an experience can be a regular experience, where not just the combination of subject and predicate is sensed, but also the subject and the predicate themselves are something sensuous, or a reflective experience, where the combination of subject and predicate is sensed, but the subject and the predicate are abstract. Finally, an experience is either a pure experience or a mixed experience, where a proposition is connected with an experience through a deduction that is easy and requires nothing else, but assuming experience.
By an axiom or an immediate proposition Crusius means a proposition, in which is immediately perceived such a relation of subject and predicate that if we want to deny the latter, the subject cannot be thought anymore. He explains that an axiom differs from an internal experience, because in axiom we perceive through sensation only the connection of subject and predicate, since denying the connection would go against truth, but we still can think the concept of subject in itself without thinking the predicate. Thus, something might be an axiom, even if it is deduced through mere axioms, and furthermore, individual persons might require proofs of axioms, although by nature this axiom might not necessarily require any further proof.
Crusius divides axioms into three classes. Firstly, an axiom might be an axiom of identity, where denial of predicate would cause a contradiction. Secondly, it might be an axiom of causality, where a sufficient cause is connected to its nearest effect, without which the cause cannot be thought of. Finally, it might be an axiom of inseparable related concepts, where one simply perceives an impossibility to think the subject with the denial of predicate, although predicate is not the effect of the subject and denial of predicate does not cancel the content of subject and thus produces no contradiction.
Crusius also mentions hypothetical or merely seeming axioms. Such hypothetical axioms are generated by just arbitrarily concocting a definition or by joining such concepts, no necessity to combine which is immediately sensed. Such hypothetical axioms clearly cannot be assumed to be real axioms or even true propositions without proof. Thus, Crusius notes, if axioms are extended to include all propositions understandable from a definition, we must divide them into absolute or natural axioms and hypothetical axioms, because if this distinction is not made, anyone could prove anything by choosing suitable axioms.
Crusius notes that propositions requiring their own particular proofs could be divided into theorems, which are proven from many propositions and concepts together, and consequences or corollaries, which are proven from a single proposition assumed to be true. Then again, he continues, often to the definition of theorems is added the requirement that they must be very notable or not easily understandable and thus in need of a detailed proof, and then the propositions that would otherwise be theorems, but that are not significant enough are classed together with corollaries. Crusius suggests calling theorems in the first sense theorems by essence, while theorems in the second sense would be theorems by use. Furthermore, he mentions problems that are propositions explaining how a certain goal thought earlier in an undetermined idea should be determined. Such a problem, Crusius explains, is in its essence a theorem, but usually problems are distinguished from theorems.
Crusius explains that theorems and corollaries are not characterised by demonstrative method, because some sciences also use probable proofs, although mathematics by its nature uses always demonstrative methods. Thus, theorems of philosophy must be divided into demonstrative and probable theorems. One type of a probable theorem, according to Crusius is hypothesis, by which he means a proposition that is at first posited only as possible and then justified as probable by showing that it corresponds to actual conditions.
Crusius points out still further kinds of propositions. These include rules, which show a certain way to act, questions, which state something without affirming or denying it and posit a goal to decide whether it should be affirmed or denied, divisions, which aim to represent all possible determinations that an undetermined concept can have according to some aspect, and lemmas, which are borrowed from another science or from another part of same science to the current topic as grounds for proving certain things.
After concepts and propositions, Crusius turns to proofs, which he defines as distinct representations of a connection of a proposition with one or several other propositions that are assumed to be true, so that from this connection one knows that with the position of the truth of the other proposition also the first must be admitted as true. He notes that a proof concerns either the truth of a judgement of understanding or the reasonableness of one’s method, and this latter type he calls justification.
Furthermore, Crusius divides proofs into a priori proofs, where truth of a conclusion is derived from a ground that makes it true in such a manner that from this ground one understands not just that, but also why the conclusion is true, a posteriori proof, where one derives the truth of conclusion from a ground that only shows that the conclusion is true, but not why it is so, and mixed proofs, which share properties of both a priori and a posteriori proofs. He also divides a priori proofs into hypothetical proofs, where conclusion is contained in its justifying ground as a part, so that when the ground is thought distinctly, the conclusion is found and also assumed with the ground, and absolute proofs, where conclusion is not contained in its justifying ground, but only understood as a consequence inseparably connected with the ground. On the other hand, Crusius notes that a posteriori proofs prove either also the necessity or only the truth of the conclusion.
Crusius suggests further ways to divide proofs. Firstly, he says, proofs are either proofs according to truth, where the grounds of the proof are taken as true, or proofs according to a human, which show only that someone must admit something as true, because they assume certain propositions as true. Furthermore, Crusius notes that the method of proof is either demonstration or probability. Of the two methods, demonstration shows that the opposite of the conclusion cannot be thought at all, showing either that the opposite contradicts itself or that it cannot be thought due to the essence of our understanding. On the other hand, the method of probability shows that although the opposite can be thought, it cannot be assumed here as true. Crusius notes that probability is either common or infinite, so that the propositions shown by method of probability are either fully certain or reliable. Finally, he points out that usually proofs follow the propositions to be proved, and if they precede these propositions, they are called deductions.
At the very end of the chapter Crusius finally mentions the other way to divide thoughts, that is, according to their purpose. In this regard, he notes, thoughts are presented either because of objective or subjective causes. Presenting thoughts because of objective causes, Crusius explains, means that the nature of the topic in itself demands this, since the topic couldn’t otherwise be known distinctly and determinately enough, even by a trained understanding, or it could not be sufficiently proven or significant aspects of it would be ignored. According to him, all definitions of thoughts fall under this class.
Presenting thoughts because of subjective causes, Crusius continues, means that they are presented only because of subjective conditions, although the study of the topic in an abstract sense does not demand them, assuming that the reader of the study has been acquainted with science and its practical application. Thoughts presented in such a manner, he says, are called remarks or scholia. Scholia can then be divided into explanatory remarks, which improve the knowledge of the topic, for instance, by making it easier to understand, giving it a more secure foundation or giving insight how to use it, and into remarks that serve merely the enjoyment of the reader. If a scholium is of significant size, Crusius notes, it is called a digression.
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Crusius, Christian August: Road to certainty and reliability (1747)
Crusius seems to be going through different philosophical disciplines somewhat systematically. He started from practical philosophy, moved on to metaphysics and Weg zur Gewißheit und Zuverlässigkeit is a book on logic.
Just like Wolff, Crusius begins his treatise on logic with a preliminary study of philosophical disciplines. First, he defines philosophy as the sum of such cognitive states that have to do with truths of reason that have a constantly enduring object. Here, the truths of reason, he adds, are such that can be known from consideration of natural things, opposed to truths of revelation. Philosophical truth, as Crusius understands it, is such that can be known through mere reason and that must have an object that is either simply necessary and unchangeable or endures constantly in the current world so that it cannot naturally stop existing. Philosophy should then deal with the essence of things and the causes of what we perceive, Crusius thinks, because these are constant. Individuals, on the other hand, might not be, but if they are, they also are among objects of philosophy. Then again, variable individuals are dealt in philosophy only, if it sheds light on some constant objects.
Crusius combines this concept of philosophy with the goal of human nature in order to determine what good philosophy is like. Firstly, he says, good philosophy must be true and grounded in distinct concepts, correct proofs and insight about the true relations of things. Distinctness, Crusius adds, does not mean understanding something, but only an ability to distinguish the topic of the concept from other topics. Similarly, he adds, correct proofs do not always require geometric certainty, but probability suffices. Insight, finally, is not necessarily linked to any single method, according to Crusius. In addition, he states, good philosophy should not concern mere common and familiar things and also not mere perceptions of existence, but try to find their real grounds. The final requirements for good philosophy are that it is useful and sharp in the sense that it comes with a distinct representation of the manner in which it has been abstracted.
Just like many philosophers of the time, Crusius differentiates between philosophical and historical knowledge. Philosophical knowledge, he says, explains the grounds of things, while historical knowledge concerns only events in their existence. Philosophy does not exclude all historical knowledge, Crusius explains, because it should concern the existence of all unchanging things, but it cannot show the real ground for non-sensuously existing things, being able only to prove their existence. Then again, he adds, while philosophy is not opposed to historical knowledge, it is opposed to history of changing things, although this can be a means for knowing philosophical truths. Furthermore, even philosophical truths can be known historically, if one does not know how they are proven, while one can have philosophical knowledge of changeable things, if one knows their ground. Thus, Crucius concludes, philosophy is not identical with philosophical knowledge.
Crusius divides objects of philosophy into magnitudes of extension, which are dealt by mathematics, and anything else, which is dealt with philosophy in the strict sense of the word. Mathematics he particularly divides into pure mathematics studying magnitudes in abstract and applied mathematics studying magnitudes concretely in certain natural things. He then goes on to divide pure mathematics into arithmetics or study of discrete magnitudes, geometry or study of continuous magnitudes and algebra or study of magnitudes in general. Applied mathematics, Crusius states, could have an infinitely many kinds of objects, but as a part of philosophy it should study only unchangeable natural objects (thus, architecture, for instance, is not a part of philosophical applied mathematics, although its method would be philosophical). The proper parts of applied mathematic, he insists, fall into two broad categories: astronomical sciences dealing with magnitudes abstracted from celestial bodies (including Earth) and sciences of movements of natural bodies, such as mechanics and optics.
Crusius notes that mathematics has often been distinguished from philosophy proper, although the latter does not have any peculiar object of its own, but deals with everything that is not mathematical. He suggests that this habit implies that there must be more to this distinction, in other words, philosophy in a strict sense should be studied in a different manner from mathematics. Crusius begins to search for this distinction by thinking about the object of mathematics or quantities as quantities. In order to enable studying quantities, mathematics has to assume that nothing else is variable but the magnitude of the objects it studies, while everything else we perceive in these objects must be essential. In other words, he explains, the objects studied in mathematics must be so simple that change of any non-quantitative feature or quality would make it a different entity (for instance, a triangle that can have only a certain number of sides). This is something not true of objects of philosophy, which might change e.g. their figure without changing their essence.
Because the objects of mathematics are so simple, Crusius argues, a mathematician can take just a single thing and abstract from this one instance a definition that applies only to this kind of object. Thus, he adds, a mathematician could also define quantities by telling how they are generated, which is not true of philosophy. Then again, Crusius thinks that mathematics does not study goals or even causes, while in philosophy the essences of things might depend on goals and causes.
When it comes to mathematical methods, Crusius suggests, mathematics rarely divides things in species, since its objects are usually too simple for divisions. Because of this, he continues, mathematics rarely uses disjunctive proofs. Especially pure mathematics, on the other hand, has to use the strongest form of deduction or demonstration. This is connected to the fact that pure mathematics is heavily dependent on the proposition of contradiction, and indeed, Crusius thinks, it should use no other principles, because it investigates such abstract topics that could be understood from the definitions with the help of the principle of contradiction. Philosophy proper cannot do this, he adds, when studying e.g. concrete causes. Crusius discovers also a more logical feature characterising mathematics. That is, he says, mathematical propositions, where one quantity universally determines another, can be converted, so that the second quantity determines also universally the first quantity, while in philosophy proper converting a universal proposition leads in general to a mere particular proposition.
From mathematics, Crusius turns to the division of philosophy proper. He begins by pointing out that some objects of philosophy proper are simply necessary or at least must exist in every possible world, while others are contingent in the sense that they could fail to exist, even if some world is assumed to exist. Crusius still does not want to divide philosophy into necessary and contingent parts, because in case of practical truths this division would cause difficulties. Instead, he advocates dividing philosophy into metaphysics, studying necessary theoretical truths, and disciplinal philosophy, studying both contingent and practical truths. Proceeding to metaphysics, Crusius divides it into ontology, studying the general essence of things in general and their a priori distinctions, theoretical natural theology, studying God, together with divine properties and actions, and cosmology, studying the necessary essence or world in general and everything derived from it a priori. He also mentions as an important part of cosmology the metaphysical pneumatology, studying the necessary essence of spirits.
Crusius divides the objects of disciplinal philosophy into three kinds: bodies, nature and use of understanding and truths pertaining to human will. The first type or the bodies, he says, is studied by physics, which reduces experiential truths about bodies to their causes and uses both to deduce more of their properties and effects. Crusius notes that physics contains innumerably many sub-disciplines, but that the physics proper deals with the most general truths concerning bodies. He also mentions as more particular parts of physics the medicinal sciences and teleology as the study of purposes of natural bodies.
Crusius is very brief on logic: he has plenty of time to delve on that topic later on. For now, he merely defines logic as the study of capacities and effects of understanding and its use in knowing truth and mentions that sometimes noology is separated from logic as an independent discipline studying the essence of understanding.
The final object of the disciplinal philosophy or human will, Crusius states, is studied by two sciences, thelematology and practical philosophy. Of these two, he explains, thelematology studies the essence, natural capacities and properties of will, while practical philosophy studies rules for directing its actions and passions. Crusius insists that unlike e.g. Wolffians had done, thelematology and the previously mentioned noology should not be classified within metaphysics, since neither of these two disciplines deals with necessary things.
Moving on to practical philosophy, Crusius divides it to natural right in the widest sense, studying human will in relation to divine natural laws, and prudence, studying human will in relation to its own purposes. He insists that the two disciplines should not be confused, although it has been done often, starting from ancient philosophy, so that the drive for happiness has been seen as natural law. Crusius further divides natural right into general practical philosophy, studying grounds of obligation and their consequences, kinds of duties and grounds of their application and collisions, and more determined disciplines, explaining main classes of duties, including ethics, studying virtuous direction of one’s own mind and other conditions, natural moral theology, studying immediate duties toward God, and natural right in the strict sense, studying duties of humans toward one another. The natural right in the strict sense, he notes, divides into universal public right, studying duties of rulers and subjects toward one another, and universal right of nations. Because natural laws are divine laws, he adds, all the parts of natural right in the wider sense form the practical part of natural theology. Finally, Crusius divides prudence into general prudence, studying general readiness of reasoning spirit to choose and apply means appropriate for goals, private prudence, studying goals of individuals, and state prudence, studying goals of community.
Crusius notes that he has used different words for the various divisions of philosophy, such as theory (Lehre) and science (Wissenschaft). He explains that science, when it is understood objectively and not as a capacity of understanding, means such a sum of scholarly truths that is of remarkable extension and that is collected together because of some reason, because it wouldn’t make sense to deal it as one whole without any reason to do so. Crusius adds that it is indifferent to science, what kind of proofs are used in it, as long as they are correct in their kind. By theory, on the other hand, Crusius means any piece of knowledge that is remarkably raised above common knowledge, whether according to matter, that is, by concerning things that could not be known without purposefully learning about them, or according to kind of knowledge, that is, as being logically better arranged than common knowledge.
Every science, then, has a reason or ground why this collection of truths is taken as a whole. Crusius divides these reasons into four kinds. First reason is that the truths of a science come under a common concept, which has species or individuals that we want to study: examples of sciences based on such a reason are physics and geometry. Second reason is that the truths of a science are parts, determinations or consequences of a real whole. Crusius suggests as examples in this case physiology and thelematology. He includes under this case also sciences that are further determinations of a concept that earlier was thought concretely and indeterminately, like with logic. The third reason is that the truths are derived from a general and determinate fundamental proposition, like with natural right, and finally, the fourth reason is that the parts of a science relate like means to an end, like in ethics and algebra.
According to Crucius, reasons or grounds of science should be adequate. He suggests several rules for deciding this. Firstly, Crusius says, a science should be extensive enough. This means, he explains, that it must have enough truths going beyond common knowledge, and if it is a philosophical science, it should study things that endure or that have principles that endure. Crusius notes that this criterion depends on the intended purpose of the science: according to some purpose, a science should be divided, while with another purpose it should be combined with other sciences. Thus, he confirms, the division of truths into different sciences should produce real usefulness. Then again, Crusius adds, if there is no reason important to do otherwise, one should not depart from common divisions of sciences. A possible important reason might be, Crusius suggests, if an essential class of truths would not be sufficiently perceived or if otherwise such truths would be confused. Finally, he notes, application of these rules is based on postulates that can be perceived, but not clearly proven, thus, there is much arbitrary in determining number and limits of sciences.
Crusius notes several consequences of his account of the rules for dividing sciences. Firstly, he says, even if these rules are followed perfectly, there still might be special needs for individual treatises having their own themes. Even further, Crusius says, for a special purpose, an extensive theory could be ordered differently than would be naturally correct. Finally, he notes, since sciences often depend on other sciences, there isa need for encyclopaedias that order sciences hierarchically.
Crusius envisions two reasons for studying philosophy. Firstly, he says, philosophy is useful in its matter, that is, the determined truths of philosophy, because truths about constant things can be used in all sciences as axioms for correct proofs. Indeed, Crusius adds, even truths about variable things are grounded in constant truths. The second reason to study philosophy, he continues, is that a thorough examination of philosophy leads to a cultivation of understanding philosophy, at least if philosophy is not studied just historically. Thus, Crusius thinks, although metaphysics is the first a priori science and physics the first a posteriori science, the study of philosophy should still start from logic.
Crusius notes that many oppose the notion that philosophy is useful and might even despise it. Sometimes, he explains, this attitude might be caused by its disordered state. A further reason, Crusius suggests, is that it is thought to be dispensable, because there are practically learned people, who know no philosophy. Furthermore, he adds, some might think philosophy is unuseful, because they suppose it cannot be applied in practical life, because its methods cannot be applied anywhere beyond philosophy, because philosophers disagree so much with one another and because there are philosophers who have had no success in practical life. Crusius notes that some think studying philosophy is even shameful, because it is a waste of time and a source of errors even in practical life.
Crusius admits that philosophy as precise knowledge of unchangeable truths of reason is not necessary for all professionals or even for all scholars, because human understanding does have a natural feeling of true and false. Still, he insists, philosophy is useful for the two earlier mentioned reasons that it teaches truths and improves our understanding. This indicates, according to Crusius, a moral necessity to learn philosophy, if one just is capable of this. Furthermore, he continues, one demands too much of philosophy, if one thinks that theoretical knowledge of philosophy alone should be enough for practical professions, when they still require more particular disciplines and even historical knowledge. Indeed, Crusius says, all useful scholarship requires well-based theory and many-sided exercise. He also points out that faults found in theories of a specific philosopher do not touch philosophy in general: it is not the fault of philosophy, if someone uses it incorrectly.
Still, Crusius thinks, philosophers themselves have a lot to blame for their negative reputation, since its history is a story of errors. Philosophy has to be dealt with carefully, he emphasises, but adds at once that this is taught by philosophy itself, especially in logic. Crusius admits that one still needs other means to avoid faulty philosophical concepts, in order to avoid partial bias, or one has to train one’s mind to be able to appropriate truth. This implies, he explains, that one should get used to paying attention to things, one should learn to be patient and diligent in order to not stop working too early, one should learn to be impartial, modest and prepared, one should not be too sceptical nor too eager to believe, one should less contradict others than to search for the truth, since disputation does not lead to anything positive, and one should be virtuous, in order to be worthy of divine providence.
Crusius suggests investigating the relation of philosophy and Christian theology, because they are often depicted as and sometimes are enemies, but need not be. He begins by noting that it is false to think that philosophical knowledge could generate a belief in the revealed truths, Furthermore, Crusius adds, philosophy cannot be used to gain the approval of the opponents of Christianity through the refutation of their errors. Similarly, he notes, based on revelation, philosophy cannot make people at current stage of humankind truly virtuous. Crusius also thinks that philosophy is not indispensable for theology, because a theologian can also use natural abilities of understanding. Indeed, he suggests, the danger of abusing philosophy in relation to theology is greater than in relation to other truths.
What reason is left for the theologian to learn philosophy? Crusius states that revelation does not free us from the duty to cultivate our understanding and to know God from divine works. Furthermore, he adds, philosophy helps to make theology more ordered and well founded and to show why objections against it are unfounded. Crusius also thinks that it shames atheists to see that believers can be sharp thinkers. Finally, he insists, study of theology becomes systematic through the habit of sharp thinking. Crusius emphasises that all heresies are not born of philosophy, since they can be also generated by lack or misuse of philosophy and not by true philosophy. Still, he thinks, one has to be careful in applying philosophy to theology, since the former often uses without restrictions propositions that need restrictions in the field of theology.
Crusius also thinks that philosophers can gain advantages from Christianity. Firstly, he says, Bible contains truths of theoretical natural theology and practical philosophy and of true historical conditions of the origin of the world and of its current state, thus, a philosopher could learn from it many truths they otherwise wouldn’t know. Furthermore, Crusius adds, a philosopher can find errors in their conclusions, if they find them contradicting with the Bible. He answers the objection that theological truths could not be philosophical by insisting that no matter what the source of true proposition (e.g. testimony of others or our own ingenuity), it can still be philosophical, as long as a constant ground for it could be found from the observation of natural things.
Crusius concludes the chapter by listing the most important and most general means for learning philosophy. First and foremost, he begins, one should search for a capacity to increase one’s capacity to learn, which means studying logic. Then, he continues, one should get as complete a concept of the whole area of philosophy as possible, because sciences hang so closely together that not knowing one can lead to errors in understanding others. Furthermore, Crusius says, one should get used to attending to everything one observes, since good attention can always reveal opportunities to learn new things or to make old truths more distinct. He warns the reader not to learn everything by oneself, because that leads usually to uniform understanding and one-sided knowledge of things, and in order not to rely just on one’s own meditation, one should read texts of others, especially when one is just starting to study. He also emphasises that these guidelines should be followed constantly, in order to make them a habit. Crusius especially underlines the need to study history of philosophy, because it is important to learn about possible theories and to show the importance of being careful, and to study mathematics, because it trains understanding and it helps to show the difference between mathematics and philosophy proper.
Just like Wolff, Crusius begins his treatise on logic with a preliminary study of philosophical disciplines. First, he defines philosophy as the sum of such cognitive states that have to do with truths of reason that have a constantly enduring object. Here, the truths of reason, he adds, are such that can be known from consideration of natural things, opposed to truths of revelation. Philosophical truth, as Crusius understands it, is such that can be known through mere reason and that must have an object that is either simply necessary and unchangeable or endures constantly in the current world so that it cannot naturally stop existing. Philosophy should then deal with the essence of things and the causes of what we perceive, Crusius thinks, because these are constant. Individuals, on the other hand, might not be, but if they are, they also are among objects of philosophy. Then again, variable individuals are dealt in philosophy only, if it sheds light on some constant objects.
Crusius combines this concept of philosophy with the goal of human nature in order to determine what good philosophy is like. Firstly, he says, good philosophy must be true and grounded in distinct concepts, correct proofs and insight about the true relations of things. Distinctness, Crusius adds, does not mean understanding something, but only an ability to distinguish the topic of the concept from other topics. Similarly, he adds, correct proofs do not always require geometric certainty, but probability suffices. Insight, finally, is not necessarily linked to any single method, according to Crusius. In addition, he states, good philosophy should not concern mere common and familiar things and also not mere perceptions of existence, but try to find their real grounds. The final requirements for good philosophy are that it is useful and sharp in the sense that it comes with a distinct representation of the manner in which it has been abstracted.
Just like many philosophers of the time, Crusius differentiates between philosophical and historical knowledge. Philosophical knowledge, he says, explains the grounds of things, while historical knowledge concerns only events in their existence. Philosophy does not exclude all historical knowledge, Crusius explains, because it should concern the existence of all unchanging things, but it cannot show the real ground for non-sensuously existing things, being able only to prove their existence. Then again, he adds, while philosophy is not opposed to historical knowledge, it is opposed to history of changing things, although this can be a means for knowing philosophical truths. Furthermore, even philosophical truths can be known historically, if one does not know how they are proven, while one can have philosophical knowledge of changeable things, if one knows their ground. Thus, Crucius concludes, philosophy is not identical with philosophical knowledge.
Crusius divides objects of philosophy into magnitudes of extension, which are dealt by mathematics, and anything else, which is dealt with philosophy in the strict sense of the word. Mathematics he particularly divides into pure mathematics studying magnitudes in abstract and applied mathematics studying magnitudes concretely in certain natural things. He then goes on to divide pure mathematics into arithmetics or study of discrete magnitudes, geometry or study of continuous magnitudes and algebra or study of magnitudes in general. Applied mathematics, Crusius states, could have an infinitely many kinds of objects, but as a part of philosophy it should study only unchangeable natural objects (thus, architecture, for instance, is not a part of philosophical applied mathematics, although its method would be philosophical). The proper parts of applied mathematic, he insists, fall into two broad categories: astronomical sciences dealing with magnitudes abstracted from celestial bodies (including Earth) and sciences of movements of natural bodies, such as mechanics and optics.
Crusius notes that mathematics has often been distinguished from philosophy proper, although the latter does not have any peculiar object of its own, but deals with everything that is not mathematical. He suggests that this habit implies that there must be more to this distinction, in other words, philosophy in a strict sense should be studied in a different manner from mathematics. Crusius begins to search for this distinction by thinking about the object of mathematics or quantities as quantities. In order to enable studying quantities, mathematics has to assume that nothing else is variable but the magnitude of the objects it studies, while everything else we perceive in these objects must be essential. In other words, he explains, the objects studied in mathematics must be so simple that change of any non-quantitative feature or quality would make it a different entity (for instance, a triangle that can have only a certain number of sides). This is something not true of objects of philosophy, which might change e.g. their figure without changing their essence.
Because the objects of mathematics are so simple, Crusius argues, a mathematician can take just a single thing and abstract from this one instance a definition that applies only to this kind of object. Thus, he adds, a mathematician could also define quantities by telling how they are generated, which is not true of philosophy. Then again, Crusius thinks that mathematics does not study goals or even causes, while in philosophy the essences of things might depend on goals and causes.
When it comes to mathematical methods, Crusius suggests, mathematics rarely divides things in species, since its objects are usually too simple for divisions. Because of this, he continues, mathematics rarely uses disjunctive proofs. Especially pure mathematics, on the other hand, has to use the strongest form of deduction or demonstration. This is connected to the fact that pure mathematics is heavily dependent on the proposition of contradiction, and indeed, Crusius thinks, it should use no other principles, because it investigates such abstract topics that could be understood from the definitions with the help of the principle of contradiction. Philosophy proper cannot do this, he adds, when studying e.g. concrete causes. Crusius discovers also a more logical feature characterising mathematics. That is, he says, mathematical propositions, where one quantity universally determines another, can be converted, so that the second quantity determines also universally the first quantity, while in philosophy proper converting a universal proposition leads in general to a mere particular proposition.
From mathematics, Crusius turns to the division of philosophy proper. He begins by pointing out that some objects of philosophy proper are simply necessary or at least must exist in every possible world, while others are contingent in the sense that they could fail to exist, even if some world is assumed to exist. Crusius still does not want to divide philosophy into necessary and contingent parts, because in case of practical truths this division would cause difficulties. Instead, he advocates dividing philosophy into metaphysics, studying necessary theoretical truths, and disciplinal philosophy, studying both contingent and practical truths. Proceeding to metaphysics, Crusius divides it into ontology, studying the general essence of things in general and their a priori distinctions, theoretical natural theology, studying God, together with divine properties and actions, and cosmology, studying the necessary essence or world in general and everything derived from it a priori. He also mentions as an important part of cosmology the metaphysical pneumatology, studying the necessary essence of spirits.
Crusius divides the objects of disciplinal philosophy into three kinds: bodies, nature and use of understanding and truths pertaining to human will. The first type or the bodies, he says, is studied by physics, which reduces experiential truths about bodies to their causes and uses both to deduce more of their properties and effects. Crusius notes that physics contains innumerably many sub-disciplines, but that the physics proper deals with the most general truths concerning bodies. He also mentions as more particular parts of physics the medicinal sciences and teleology as the study of purposes of natural bodies.
Crusius is very brief on logic: he has plenty of time to delve on that topic later on. For now, he merely defines logic as the study of capacities and effects of understanding and its use in knowing truth and mentions that sometimes noology is separated from logic as an independent discipline studying the essence of understanding.
The final object of the disciplinal philosophy or human will, Crusius states, is studied by two sciences, thelematology and practical philosophy. Of these two, he explains, thelematology studies the essence, natural capacities and properties of will, while practical philosophy studies rules for directing its actions and passions. Crusius insists that unlike e.g. Wolffians had done, thelematology and the previously mentioned noology should not be classified within metaphysics, since neither of these two disciplines deals with necessary things.
Moving on to practical philosophy, Crusius divides it to natural right in the widest sense, studying human will in relation to divine natural laws, and prudence, studying human will in relation to its own purposes. He insists that the two disciplines should not be confused, although it has been done often, starting from ancient philosophy, so that the drive for happiness has been seen as natural law. Crusius further divides natural right into general practical philosophy, studying grounds of obligation and their consequences, kinds of duties and grounds of their application and collisions, and more determined disciplines, explaining main classes of duties, including ethics, studying virtuous direction of one’s own mind and other conditions, natural moral theology, studying immediate duties toward God, and natural right in the strict sense, studying duties of humans toward one another. The natural right in the strict sense, he notes, divides into universal public right, studying duties of rulers and subjects toward one another, and universal right of nations. Because natural laws are divine laws, he adds, all the parts of natural right in the wider sense form the practical part of natural theology. Finally, Crusius divides prudence into general prudence, studying general readiness of reasoning spirit to choose and apply means appropriate for goals, private prudence, studying goals of individuals, and state prudence, studying goals of community.
Crusius notes that he has used different words for the various divisions of philosophy, such as theory (Lehre) and science (Wissenschaft). He explains that science, when it is understood objectively and not as a capacity of understanding, means such a sum of scholarly truths that is of remarkable extension and that is collected together because of some reason, because it wouldn’t make sense to deal it as one whole without any reason to do so. Crusius adds that it is indifferent to science, what kind of proofs are used in it, as long as they are correct in their kind. By theory, on the other hand, Crusius means any piece of knowledge that is remarkably raised above common knowledge, whether according to matter, that is, by concerning things that could not be known without purposefully learning about them, or according to kind of knowledge, that is, as being logically better arranged than common knowledge.
Every science, then, has a reason or ground why this collection of truths is taken as a whole. Crusius divides these reasons into four kinds. First reason is that the truths of a science come under a common concept, which has species or individuals that we want to study: examples of sciences based on such a reason are physics and geometry. Second reason is that the truths of a science are parts, determinations or consequences of a real whole. Crusius suggests as examples in this case physiology and thelematology. He includes under this case also sciences that are further determinations of a concept that earlier was thought concretely and indeterminately, like with logic. The third reason is that the truths are derived from a general and determinate fundamental proposition, like with natural right, and finally, the fourth reason is that the parts of a science relate like means to an end, like in ethics and algebra.
According to Crucius, reasons or grounds of science should be adequate. He suggests several rules for deciding this. Firstly, Crusius says, a science should be extensive enough. This means, he explains, that it must have enough truths going beyond common knowledge, and if it is a philosophical science, it should study things that endure or that have principles that endure. Crusius notes that this criterion depends on the intended purpose of the science: according to some purpose, a science should be divided, while with another purpose it should be combined with other sciences. Thus, he confirms, the division of truths into different sciences should produce real usefulness. Then again, Crusius adds, if there is no reason important to do otherwise, one should not depart from common divisions of sciences. A possible important reason might be, Crusius suggests, if an essential class of truths would not be sufficiently perceived or if otherwise such truths would be confused. Finally, he notes, application of these rules is based on postulates that can be perceived, but not clearly proven, thus, there is much arbitrary in determining number and limits of sciences.
Crusius notes several consequences of his account of the rules for dividing sciences. Firstly, he says, even if these rules are followed perfectly, there still might be special needs for individual treatises having their own themes. Even further, Crusius says, for a special purpose, an extensive theory could be ordered differently than would be naturally correct. Finally, he notes, since sciences often depend on other sciences, there isa need for encyclopaedias that order sciences hierarchically.
Crusius envisions two reasons for studying philosophy. Firstly, he says, philosophy is useful in its matter, that is, the determined truths of philosophy, because truths about constant things can be used in all sciences as axioms for correct proofs. Indeed, Crusius adds, even truths about variable things are grounded in constant truths. The second reason to study philosophy, he continues, is that a thorough examination of philosophy leads to a cultivation of understanding philosophy, at least if philosophy is not studied just historically. Thus, Crusius thinks, although metaphysics is the first a priori science and physics the first a posteriori science, the study of philosophy should still start from logic.
Crusius notes that many oppose the notion that philosophy is useful and might even despise it. Sometimes, he explains, this attitude might be caused by its disordered state. A further reason, Crusius suggests, is that it is thought to be dispensable, because there are practically learned people, who know no philosophy. Furthermore, he adds, some might think philosophy is unuseful, because they suppose it cannot be applied in practical life, because its methods cannot be applied anywhere beyond philosophy, because philosophers disagree so much with one another and because there are philosophers who have had no success in practical life. Crusius notes that some think studying philosophy is even shameful, because it is a waste of time and a source of errors even in practical life.
Crusius admits that philosophy as precise knowledge of unchangeable truths of reason is not necessary for all professionals or even for all scholars, because human understanding does have a natural feeling of true and false. Still, he insists, philosophy is useful for the two earlier mentioned reasons that it teaches truths and improves our understanding. This indicates, according to Crusius, a moral necessity to learn philosophy, if one just is capable of this. Furthermore, he continues, one demands too much of philosophy, if one thinks that theoretical knowledge of philosophy alone should be enough for practical professions, when they still require more particular disciplines and even historical knowledge. Indeed, Crusius says, all useful scholarship requires well-based theory and many-sided exercise. He also points out that faults found in theories of a specific philosopher do not touch philosophy in general: it is not the fault of philosophy, if someone uses it incorrectly.
Still, Crusius thinks, philosophers themselves have a lot to blame for their negative reputation, since its history is a story of errors. Philosophy has to be dealt with carefully, he emphasises, but adds at once that this is taught by philosophy itself, especially in logic. Crusius admits that one still needs other means to avoid faulty philosophical concepts, in order to avoid partial bias, or one has to train one’s mind to be able to appropriate truth. This implies, he explains, that one should get used to paying attention to things, one should learn to be patient and diligent in order to not stop working too early, one should learn to be impartial, modest and prepared, one should not be too sceptical nor too eager to believe, one should less contradict others than to search for the truth, since disputation does not lead to anything positive, and one should be virtuous, in order to be worthy of divine providence.
Crusius suggests investigating the relation of philosophy and Christian theology, because they are often depicted as and sometimes are enemies, but need not be. He begins by noting that it is false to think that philosophical knowledge could generate a belief in the revealed truths, Furthermore, Crusius adds, philosophy cannot be used to gain the approval of the opponents of Christianity through the refutation of their errors. Similarly, he notes, based on revelation, philosophy cannot make people at current stage of humankind truly virtuous. Crusius also thinks that philosophy is not indispensable for theology, because a theologian can also use natural abilities of understanding. Indeed, he suggests, the danger of abusing philosophy in relation to theology is greater than in relation to other truths.
What reason is left for the theologian to learn philosophy? Crusius states that revelation does not free us from the duty to cultivate our understanding and to know God from divine works. Furthermore, he adds, philosophy helps to make theology more ordered and well founded and to show why objections against it are unfounded. Crusius also thinks that it shames atheists to see that believers can be sharp thinkers. Finally, he insists, study of theology becomes systematic through the habit of sharp thinking. Crusius emphasises that all heresies are not born of philosophy, since they can be also generated by lack or misuse of philosophy and not by true philosophy. Still, he thinks, one has to be careful in applying philosophy to theology, since the former often uses without restrictions propositions that need restrictions in the field of theology.
Crusius also thinks that philosophers can gain advantages from Christianity. Firstly, he says, Bible contains truths of theoretical natural theology and practical philosophy and of true historical conditions of the origin of the world and of its current state, thus, a philosopher could learn from it many truths they otherwise wouldn’t know. Furthermore, Crusius adds, a philosopher can find errors in their conclusions, if they find them contradicting with the Bible. He answers the objection that theological truths could not be philosophical by insisting that no matter what the source of true proposition (e.g. testimony of others or our own ingenuity), it can still be philosophical, as long as a constant ground for it could be found from the observation of natural things.
Crusius concludes the chapter by listing the most important and most general means for learning philosophy. First and foremost, he begins, one should search for a capacity to increase one’s capacity to learn, which means studying logic. Then, he continues, one should get as complete a concept of the whole area of philosophy as possible, because sciences hang so closely together that not knowing one can lead to errors in understanding others. Furthermore, Crusius says, one should get used to attending to everything one observes, since good attention can always reveal opportunities to learn new things or to make old truths more distinct. He warns the reader not to learn everything by oneself, because that leads usually to uniform understanding and one-sided knowledge of things, and in order not to rely just on one’s own meditation, one should read texts of others, especially when one is just starting to study. He also emphasises that these guidelines should be followed constantly, in order to make them a habit. Crusius especially underlines the need to study history of philosophy, because it is important to learn about possible theories and to show the importance of being careful, and to study mathematics, because it trains understanding and it helps to show the difference between mathematics and philosophy proper.
tiistai 3. joulukuuta 2024
Reasoned thoughts on the useful study and application of mathematical sciences (1747)
Surprisingly late in Wolff’s career appeared yet another part of his Vernünftige Gedancken -series. Yet, Vernünftige Gedancken von der nüzlichen Erlernung und Anwendung der mathematischen Wissenschaften was not a book specifically planned for the series, but actually a case of Wolff’s earlier book, originally written in Latin, translated to German by Balthasar Adolph von Steinwehr. I have not managed to ascertain what the original Latin work was called, so I am satisfied with reading this translation.
The book itself is not an independent treatise, but more like a study guide, meant to accompany Wolff’s earlier work on elements of mathematics. The most philosophically relevant part of the book is the first chapter, where Wolff outlines three different grades of knowledge. The first and lowest grade consists of understanding what is held to be true by others: Wolff calls this in some places also historical knowledge. This sort of knowledge requires first and foremost, in the case of mathematical sciences, studying definitions, theorems and solutions to problems, but does not hinge on proofs for the theorems or solutions.
Wolff points out many pedagogically important points for gaining historical knowledge of mathematics. Some of these points pertain to the order of study, for instance, that the definitions should be learned before theorems using those definitions, and within definitions, those required for understanding other definitions should be learned first. Wolff also notes that human understanding requires sensuous aid and thus points out the importance of examples. He also emphasises that the idea of examples is not to teach that e.g. this particular figure is a square, but to make the student learn how to recognise squares.
In addition to examples, Wolff underlines that especially in the case of arithmetics, a well planned presentation of the mathematical symbols is important in making the student follow what they are taught. Indeed, he insists, the very symbols themselves make us quickly understand what concepts are being spoken of (e.g. 3 + 3 + 3 + 3 = 12 tells a seasoned reader instantly that this is a question of combining a certain number of threes and that the = indicates the result of this combination).
Furthermore, Wolff adds, it helps us to comprehend intricate theorems, if we investigate what they mean in case of concrete examples. In the case of solutions, this means especially making calculations with specific numbers or drawing real figures. Such a repetitive practice of solutions ascertains that we have a capacity to use them in real life.
The second grade of knowledge, Wolff defines, comes about in being convinced of something. In mathematics, this requires going through proofs or demonstrations, and because demonstrations cannot be followed without understanding what is proven, the second grade of knowledge presupposes the first one. Demonstrations, Wolff says, consist of chains of reasoning or syllogisms, good grasp of which presupposes capacity in making judgements and concepts, but also in lower faculties of sense, imagination and memory. Thus, he suggests as a mediating step for students not yet able to follow demonstrations using mechanical proofs, in which e.g. a geometric figure is drawn and the theorem is ascertained through measuring devices and other instruments. Wolff immediately adds that such mechanical proofs tell us only that a theorem works in this particular case, but does not give us universal assurance.
The proper demonstrations, Wolff notes, can also be aided by sensuous means. In geometry this can be done by an image showing what kind of points, lines and figures are being discussed about. In case of arithmetic, a similar effect can be reached by using actual numbers, instead of letters, as long as the numbers are selected in such a manner that they themselves do not have properties that might simplify the proofs too much. Furthermore, the proofs themselves can be set out in such a manner that the student grasps easily what deductive moves are being made and how what is assumed is used in the proof. Finally, Wolff points out that in case of problems, it is helpful to turn their solutions into theorems, when following the proofs of these solutions.
The third and highest grade of knowledge, according to Wolff, is one in which we can use our knowledge to discover new, still unknown matters. He suggests that the way proofs are set up in mathematics is also helpful for learning how new truths are discovered – we just assume that the theorem is not known beforehand or turn these theorems into problems. Since all proofs are based on definitions and previously known propositions, the more one knows these, the more truths one is able to find out. Furthermore, Wolff adds, the earlier mentioned mechanical proofs can help us to discern unknown truths in individual cases, although we then have to learn to prove them universally.
The reason why Wolff goes through these three grades of knowledge is that often the student of mathematics is not learning a mathematical discipline just for the sake of the information, but also for generally improving their own understanding. Indeed, Wolff suggests that mathematics is especially suited for this task and that all students should therefore start by learning mathematics. If this is the motivation of the student, the first grade of knowledge will not be enough, since it at most trains our attention and faculty of conceiving, and indeed, a student just learning mathematical truths will forget them eventually, if they do not use them daily, like engineers do.
The true worth of mathematical studies, then, lies in second and third grades of knowledge or skills of understanding and making one’s own demonstrations. Wolff insists that these skills should not be then left unused, but applied also in other disciplines. He is eager to point out that his own philosophical works provide ample opportunities for this, since they are presented in the form of demonstrations. Indeed, Wolff emphasises, the philosophical method is precisely the same as the mathematical method.
In the rest of the book, Wolff goes painstakingly through the various parts of mathematics and suggests what parts of his mathematical work students with different ambitions and purposes should especially concentrate on. He points out that all students should have at least some grasp on arithmetics and geometry, since the rest of mathematics is essentially based on them. Furthermore, he instructs a student especially interested in discovering new truths to learn algebra, since it is a convenient tool for finding solutions to problems. In case of more applied fields of mathematics, he especially emphasises the importance of astronomy, since many important practical topics hinge on being able to calculate the apparent movements of stars.
The book itself is not an independent treatise, but more like a study guide, meant to accompany Wolff’s earlier work on elements of mathematics. The most philosophically relevant part of the book is the first chapter, where Wolff outlines three different grades of knowledge. The first and lowest grade consists of understanding what is held to be true by others: Wolff calls this in some places also historical knowledge. This sort of knowledge requires first and foremost, in the case of mathematical sciences, studying definitions, theorems and solutions to problems, but does not hinge on proofs for the theorems or solutions.
Wolff points out many pedagogically important points for gaining historical knowledge of mathematics. Some of these points pertain to the order of study, for instance, that the definitions should be learned before theorems using those definitions, and within definitions, those required for understanding other definitions should be learned first. Wolff also notes that human understanding requires sensuous aid and thus points out the importance of examples. He also emphasises that the idea of examples is not to teach that e.g. this particular figure is a square, but to make the student learn how to recognise squares.
In addition to examples, Wolff underlines that especially in the case of arithmetics, a well planned presentation of the mathematical symbols is important in making the student follow what they are taught. Indeed, he insists, the very symbols themselves make us quickly understand what concepts are being spoken of (e.g. 3 + 3 + 3 + 3 = 12 tells a seasoned reader instantly that this is a question of combining a certain number of threes and that the = indicates the result of this combination).
Furthermore, Wolff adds, it helps us to comprehend intricate theorems, if we investigate what they mean in case of concrete examples. In the case of solutions, this means especially making calculations with specific numbers or drawing real figures. Such a repetitive practice of solutions ascertains that we have a capacity to use them in real life.
The second grade of knowledge, Wolff defines, comes about in being convinced of something. In mathematics, this requires going through proofs or demonstrations, and because demonstrations cannot be followed without understanding what is proven, the second grade of knowledge presupposes the first one. Demonstrations, Wolff says, consist of chains of reasoning or syllogisms, good grasp of which presupposes capacity in making judgements and concepts, but also in lower faculties of sense, imagination and memory. Thus, he suggests as a mediating step for students not yet able to follow demonstrations using mechanical proofs, in which e.g. a geometric figure is drawn and the theorem is ascertained through measuring devices and other instruments. Wolff immediately adds that such mechanical proofs tell us only that a theorem works in this particular case, but does not give us universal assurance.
The proper demonstrations, Wolff notes, can also be aided by sensuous means. In geometry this can be done by an image showing what kind of points, lines and figures are being discussed about. In case of arithmetic, a similar effect can be reached by using actual numbers, instead of letters, as long as the numbers are selected in such a manner that they themselves do not have properties that might simplify the proofs too much. Furthermore, the proofs themselves can be set out in such a manner that the student grasps easily what deductive moves are being made and how what is assumed is used in the proof. Finally, Wolff points out that in case of problems, it is helpful to turn their solutions into theorems, when following the proofs of these solutions.
The third and highest grade of knowledge, according to Wolff, is one in which we can use our knowledge to discover new, still unknown matters. He suggests that the way proofs are set up in mathematics is also helpful for learning how new truths are discovered – we just assume that the theorem is not known beforehand or turn these theorems into problems. Since all proofs are based on definitions and previously known propositions, the more one knows these, the more truths one is able to find out. Furthermore, Wolff adds, the earlier mentioned mechanical proofs can help us to discern unknown truths in individual cases, although we then have to learn to prove them universally.
The reason why Wolff goes through these three grades of knowledge is that often the student of mathematics is not learning a mathematical discipline just for the sake of the information, but also for generally improving their own understanding. Indeed, Wolff suggests that mathematics is especially suited for this task and that all students should therefore start by learning mathematics. If this is the motivation of the student, the first grade of knowledge will not be enough, since it at most trains our attention and faculty of conceiving, and indeed, a student just learning mathematical truths will forget them eventually, if they do not use them daily, like engineers do.
The true worth of mathematical studies, then, lies in second and third grades of knowledge or skills of understanding and making one’s own demonstrations. Wolff insists that these skills should not be then left unused, but applied also in other disciplines. He is eager to point out that his own philosophical works provide ample opportunities for this, since they are presented in the form of demonstrations. Indeed, Wolff emphasises, the philosophical method is precisely the same as the mathematical method.
In the rest of the book, Wolff goes painstakingly through the various parts of mathematics and suggests what parts of his mathematical work students with different ambitions and purposes should especially concentrate on. He points out that all students should have at least some grasp on arithmetics and geometry, since the rest of mathematics is essentially based on them. Furthermore, he instructs a student especially interested in discovering new truths to learn algebra, since it is a convenient tool for finding solutions to problems. In case of more applied fields of mathematics, he especially emphasises the importance of astronomy, since many important practical topics hinge on being able to calculate the apparent movements of stars.
tiistai 24. syyskuuta 2024
Georg Friedrich Meier: Thoughts on the condition of the soul after death – Against Israel Canz
The final chapter of Meier’s work is dedicated to a reading of Israel Gottlieb Canz’s 1741 book Überzeugender Beweis aus der Vernunft von der Unsterblichkeit sowohl der Menschen Seelen insgemein, als besonders der Kinder-Seelen (roughly: Convincing proof by reason of the immortality of both human soul in general and particularly child souls). Even judging from the title of the book it is obvious that Canz is attempting to do what Meier has deemed impossible. Meier himself considers Canz’s attempt more worthy of a closer look than those of other contemporaries. In addition, Canz represents a Wolffian of an earlier generation compared to Meier, thus, it is of interest to see what Meier particularly criticises in Canz’s ideas.
Canz begins his work with preliminary discussion about what the immortality of the human soul actually means. He particularly suggests that, if the human soul merely slept eternally after its death, this would be equal to destroying the soul. Meier does not agree with this, since true destruction would mean that the soul could not at all interact with other substances in the world. Furthermore, Meier thinks, even while sleeping, the soul could still have obscure representations, thus, sensations, feelings and desires.
Canz first argues that the soul is a simple thing and won’t thus disperse at the time of death, like material bodies would do. Meier is not interested in this argument, since he thinks that simplicity of the soul has nothing to do with its possible immortality. He does contradict Canz’s statement that a materialistic reading of the human soul would imply that the soul is completely dispersed after death. Instead, Meier points out a materialist could think that the soul is a bodily atom and therefore indivisible and separable from the body.
Meier picks up the argument, when Canz tries to prove that the human soul will retain its consciousness after death. Canz begins by stating that as long as a substance endures, it will retain its force. Meier considers this to be a too vague statement. We could say, Meier notes, that an actual substance always has some force, but this force could change, if the substance is finite and contingent. By this Meier means that a substance might be unable to do something that it could do earlier: an old cherry tree might not anymore produce fruits, while an old animal loses its ability to reproduce and an old scholar their ability to demonstrate. Hence, Meier concludes, nothing says that the soul couldn’t lose its consciousness or ability of clear representations after its death. Thus, if Canz wanted to prove otherwise, he should prove that the soul retains not just its force, but the same grade of force.
Canz continues by insisting that the soul always has the same essence. Meier admits this, because he thinks that the essence of the soul consists of the internal possibility of the soul to represent the world according to the place of the human body and that the soul necessarily has this possibility. Yet, Meier objects that although the essence of the soul remains, the same does not hold of the nature of the soul and especially of its force to think, which is contingent and variable. If the soul is actual, it has the possibility to think, Meier admits, but because it is finite, not everything possible is actually in it. Thus, the soul can remain a soul without actually thinking: indeed, we are human souls even before our birth and while sleeping.
Canz tries to further his proof by denying that anything could change its species. Meier admits that this is true enough, when we say that elephants cannot become mice and canaries cannot become horses. Yet, Canz is trying to suggest that a soul that now has distinct representations cannot become such that would have only confused or even only obscure representations. Meier points out that an opposite transition happens to the human soul during birth, so he finds no reason to doubt that a soul might return to its prenatal state through death.
Canz thinks he has established the position that the human soul must have reason, if it just is actual, just because it is always in itself possible that the soul has distinct representations. Meier emphasises once again that Canz has not managed to prove this result, because despite possibly having distinct representations, the soul might still not have enough force to actually form them. Thus, Meier continues, it is not contradictory to assume that a soul had been a mere animal before birth, without a physical possibility to use reason, and only after birth received physical possibility of reason. Indeed, he adds, such a change would not require a leap, but only a gradual development of our capacity to represent. It could well be that death would gradually diminish our capacities and make us physically incapable to reason, just like often happens in old age.
Canz goes on to argue that the human soul does not just stay in the same class of things after its death, but will always rise to higher levels and thus will have greater reason in the future. He justifies this with an analogy by saying that the state of the human soul before its birth was just a means for the goal of this life and thus less perfect. Indeed, Canz insists that all natural creatures go through a similar development of becoming more perfect, unless human will meddles with this natural progression. Meier finds all of this unconvincing. Firstly, he challenges the idea that means are always less perfect than the goal. Instead, means are the cause of the goal, and the cause is usually greater than its effect. Thus, although a single means might be less noble than the corresponding goal, all means are not. Indeed, Meier points out, wisdom and goodness of God is means for the glory that God receives in creation through them, still, wisdom and goodness must obviously be much nobler than God’s glory.
Hence, Meier continues, even Canz’s analogy of souls’ becoming more and more perfect after birth falls apart, because only God’s decree can guarantee it. In any case, Meier points out that we see old animals and plants becoming more imperfect without any human interference. The same fate appears to hold for old humans, as their faculties deteriorate, when they approach death. In addition, Meier makes the final move, the notion of hell is hard to reconcile with the idea of continuous perfection of the human soul.
Canz also uses an argument where the route to the conclusion is somewhat opposite. Now, he speaks of a principle that nature has gradually, throughout generations, perfected the world. He goes on to suggest that the world couldn’t constantly be improved if nature wouldn’t have also arranged for the continuing improvement of human souls. Meier sees nothing convincing in this argument, since there is no reason why human souls couldn’t improve the world just during this life.
Canz next proceeds to refute the possibility that the human souls would just sleep eternally after their death. He compares human souls with the sun and notes that if the sun would be covered by great clouds that prevented it from warming the earth, it would not be able to fulfil its inner drive. The same would happen, Canz argues, if the human soul would just sleep after death, as it would not even live, since its central drive would be stilled. Meier objects that even if the human soul would sleep, it might still act and live in some manner that is, by having obscure representations or dreams.
Canz also argues that nature never makes means that are useless. This would happen, he thinks, if the human soul was just sleeping after death and was unable to fulfil its drive to think. Meier points out that Canz appears to confuse ability and drive to think. Even if the human soul had the ability to think, its drive to think might be stilled and become so weak that it would not make us think anymore.
Canz goes on to insist that the human soul must have eternally those characteristics it has independent of its body, such as conceiving, judging and deducing. He again compares the human soul with the sun and considers the body to be like a cloud hindering the sun, so that a lack of body would just help the soul to think more clearly. Meier is adamantly against this idea, since he considers one of the main discoveries of the current philosophy that the soul is so closely connected to a body that it must have one also if it continued living after death. Thus, he sees a body as not just a hindrance of thinking, but required for focusing our thoughts, since they always need some object.
Canz continues to imagine the future disembodied state of the human soul and insists that it won’t need any sleep, because the need for it is caused by nothing else than the body being tired. We have already seen Meier being against the idea that the soul could exist without a body – and he points out that even the Bible speaks of the resurrection of bodies. Furthermore, he notes, even if the human soul would exist by itself, it would require sleep, because every finite force, and therefore also that of soul, weakens with time and loses the clarity of its representations. For instance, scholars who tire from reading lose their mental, not physical strength.
Meier has not found Canz’s bag of arguments convincing and thinks Canz is on even shakier grounds when attempting to show that the human soul remembers its previous life. Indeed, Canz tries to prove this with the rather incredible suggestion that the human soul can remember its previous life, because it can deduce from its state after death what its earlier life must have been. Meier points out, quite correctly, that this is not what we usually mean by memory, which requires a stronger awareness of having lived through past events.
Canz next goes on to argue that the continued existence of the human soul must have been something that God intends to occur. Most of his arguments involve basically the formula that destroying the human soul would be against God’s wisdom or goodness etc., and Meier’s counterpoint is often just that God looks for the best of the whole world and we might not know what that means for the human soul.
An interesting difference lies in what the two philosophers appear to say about the constitution of the world. Canz says that the world consists of a certain set of simple entities, and destruction of any of them would destroy the world and create a new one in its place, which would make God look like they made an error and had to correct it. Meier, on the other hand, considers the world to consist of not just a set of simple entities, but also of their spatio-temporal ordering. Thus, even the past entities of the world are still part of the world, even if they do not exist at this moment of time, just like Cicero is part of our world, even if he died in the Roman days.
Canz finally considers the question what happens to souls of small children who died before they had the chance to develop their reason. He is convinced that they will turn into fully reasoning persons at the time of death, just like tiny starlets that can finally shine, when the clouds have dispersed. Meier notes that Canz’s arguments here are even more dependent on unproven conjectures. Furthermore, he notes that Canz has difficulties with the objection concerning the oddness of how a child with nothing else, but obscure representations could suddenly have clear and distinct representations after death, especially as nature abhors such sudden leaps. Canz’s only answers are, firstly, an analogy that similar thing happens when we wake up from a deep sleep, and secondly, the first awakening of Adam to a full use of his faculties. Of the first answer, Meier points out that the sleeper in question, unlike a little child, has already had clear representations, while the case of Adam was explicitly a miraculous event.
Canz begins his work with preliminary discussion about what the immortality of the human soul actually means. He particularly suggests that, if the human soul merely slept eternally after its death, this would be equal to destroying the soul. Meier does not agree with this, since true destruction would mean that the soul could not at all interact with other substances in the world. Furthermore, Meier thinks, even while sleeping, the soul could still have obscure representations, thus, sensations, feelings and desires.
Canz first argues that the soul is a simple thing and won’t thus disperse at the time of death, like material bodies would do. Meier is not interested in this argument, since he thinks that simplicity of the soul has nothing to do with its possible immortality. He does contradict Canz’s statement that a materialistic reading of the human soul would imply that the soul is completely dispersed after death. Instead, Meier points out a materialist could think that the soul is a bodily atom and therefore indivisible and separable from the body.
Meier picks up the argument, when Canz tries to prove that the human soul will retain its consciousness after death. Canz begins by stating that as long as a substance endures, it will retain its force. Meier considers this to be a too vague statement. We could say, Meier notes, that an actual substance always has some force, but this force could change, if the substance is finite and contingent. By this Meier means that a substance might be unable to do something that it could do earlier: an old cherry tree might not anymore produce fruits, while an old animal loses its ability to reproduce and an old scholar their ability to demonstrate. Hence, Meier concludes, nothing says that the soul couldn’t lose its consciousness or ability of clear representations after its death. Thus, if Canz wanted to prove otherwise, he should prove that the soul retains not just its force, but the same grade of force.
Canz continues by insisting that the soul always has the same essence. Meier admits this, because he thinks that the essence of the soul consists of the internal possibility of the soul to represent the world according to the place of the human body and that the soul necessarily has this possibility. Yet, Meier objects that although the essence of the soul remains, the same does not hold of the nature of the soul and especially of its force to think, which is contingent and variable. If the soul is actual, it has the possibility to think, Meier admits, but because it is finite, not everything possible is actually in it. Thus, the soul can remain a soul without actually thinking: indeed, we are human souls even before our birth and while sleeping.
Canz tries to further his proof by denying that anything could change its species. Meier admits that this is true enough, when we say that elephants cannot become mice and canaries cannot become horses. Yet, Canz is trying to suggest that a soul that now has distinct representations cannot become such that would have only confused or even only obscure representations. Meier points out that an opposite transition happens to the human soul during birth, so he finds no reason to doubt that a soul might return to its prenatal state through death.
Canz thinks he has established the position that the human soul must have reason, if it just is actual, just because it is always in itself possible that the soul has distinct representations. Meier emphasises once again that Canz has not managed to prove this result, because despite possibly having distinct representations, the soul might still not have enough force to actually form them. Thus, Meier continues, it is not contradictory to assume that a soul had been a mere animal before birth, without a physical possibility to use reason, and only after birth received physical possibility of reason. Indeed, he adds, such a change would not require a leap, but only a gradual development of our capacity to represent. It could well be that death would gradually diminish our capacities and make us physically incapable to reason, just like often happens in old age.
Canz goes on to argue that the human soul does not just stay in the same class of things after its death, but will always rise to higher levels and thus will have greater reason in the future. He justifies this with an analogy by saying that the state of the human soul before its birth was just a means for the goal of this life and thus less perfect. Indeed, Canz insists that all natural creatures go through a similar development of becoming more perfect, unless human will meddles with this natural progression. Meier finds all of this unconvincing. Firstly, he challenges the idea that means are always less perfect than the goal. Instead, means are the cause of the goal, and the cause is usually greater than its effect. Thus, although a single means might be less noble than the corresponding goal, all means are not. Indeed, Meier points out, wisdom and goodness of God is means for the glory that God receives in creation through them, still, wisdom and goodness must obviously be much nobler than God’s glory.
Hence, Meier continues, even Canz’s analogy of souls’ becoming more and more perfect after birth falls apart, because only God’s decree can guarantee it. In any case, Meier points out that we see old animals and plants becoming more imperfect without any human interference. The same fate appears to hold for old humans, as their faculties deteriorate, when they approach death. In addition, Meier makes the final move, the notion of hell is hard to reconcile with the idea of continuous perfection of the human soul.
Canz also uses an argument where the route to the conclusion is somewhat opposite. Now, he speaks of a principle that nature has gradually, throughout generations, perfected the world. He goes on to suggest that the world couldn’t constantly be improved if nature wouldn’t have also arranged for the continuing improvement of human souls. Meier sees nothing convincing in this argument, since there is no reason why human souls couldn’t improve the world just during this life.
Canz next proceeds to refute the possibility that the human souls would just sleep eternally after their death. He compares human souls with the sun and notes that if the sun would be covered by great clouds that prevented it from warming the earth, it would not be able to fulfil its inner drive. The same would happen, Canz argues, if the human soul would just sleep after death, as it would not even live, since its central drive would be stilled. Meier objects that even if the human soul would sleep, it might still act and live in some manner that is, by having obscure representations or dreams.
Canz also argues that nature never makes means that are useless. This would happen, he thinks, if the human soul was just sleeping after death and was unable to fulfil its drive to think. Meier points out that Canz appears to confuse ability and drive to think. Even if the human soul had the ability to think, its drive to think might be stilled and become so weak that it would not make us think anymore.
Canz goes on to insist that the human soul must have eternally those characteristics it has independent of its body, such as conceiving, judging and deducing. He again compares the human soul with the sun and considers the body to be like a cloud hindering the sun, so that a lack of body would just help the soul to think more clearly. Meier is adamantly against this idea, since he considers one of the main discoveries of the current philosophy that the soul is so closely connected to a body that it must have one also if it continued living after death. Thus, he sees a body as not just a hindrance of thinking, but required for focusing our thoughts, since they always need some object.
Canz continues to imagine the future disembodied state of the human soul and insists that it won’t need any sleep, because the need for it is caused by nothing else than the body being tired. We have already seen Meier being against the idea that the soul could exist without a body – and he points out that even the Bible speaks of the resurrection of bodies. Furthermore, he notes, even if the human soul would exist by itself, it would require sleep, because every finite force, and therefore also that of soul, weakens with time and loses the clarity of its representations. For instance, scholars who tire from reading lose their mental, not physical strength.
Meier has not found Canz’s bag of arguments convincing and thinks Canz is on even shakier grounds when attempting to show that the human soul remembers its previous life. Indeed, Canz tries to prove this with the rather incredible suggestion that the human soul can remember its previous life, because it can deduce from its state after death what its earlier life must have been. Meier points out, quite correctly, that this is not what we usually mean by memory, which requires a stronger awareness of having lived through past events.
Canz next goes on to argue that the continued existence of the human soul must have been something that God intends to occur. Most of his arguments involve basically the formula that destroying the human soul would be against God’s wisdom or goodness etc., and Meier’s counterpoint is often just that God looks for the best of the whole world and we might not know what that means for the human soul.
An interesting difference lies in what the two philosophers appear to say about the constitution of the world. Canz says that the world consists of a certain set of simple entities, and destruction of any of them would destroy the world and create a new one in its place, which would make God look like they made an error and had to correct it. Meier, on the other hand, considers the world to consist of not just a set of simple entities, but also of their spatio-temporal ordering. Thus, even the past entities of the world are still part of the world, even if they do not exist at this moment of time, just like Cicero is part of our world, even if he died in the Roman days.
Canz finally considers the question what happens to souls of small children who died before they had the chance to develop their reason. He is convinced that they will turn into fully reasoning persons at the time of death, just like tiny starlets that can finally shine, when the clouds have dispersed. Meier notes that Canz’s arguments here are even more dependent on unproven conjectures. Furthermore, he notes that Canz has difficulties with the objection concerning the oddness of how a child with nothing else, but obscure representations could suddenly have clear and distinct representations after death, especially as nature abhors such sudden leaps. Canz’s only answers are, firstly, an analogy that similar thing happens when we wake up from a deep sleep, and secondly, the first awakening of Adam to a full use of his faculties. Of the first answer, Meier points out that the sleeper in question, unlike a little child, has already had clear representations, while the case of Adam was explicitly a miraculous event.
sunnuntai 28. heinäkuuta 2024
Georg Friedrich Meier: Thoughts on the condition of the soul after death – Heaven and hell
After pondering our physical condition in the hypothesised life after death, Meier turns to the question what is our moral condition. By this moral condition or state of the soul he means everything that is dependent on its freedom, including free actions and capabilities together with all consequences following from them, such as rewards, punishments, perfections and imperfections.
Meier begins by dividing all good and evil into two types. The first of these types consists of goods and evils that is from a closer standpoint not dependent on the freedom of the soul, but either belong to its nature in a physically necessary manner or occur in combination with external causes we are used to call luck. Meier names these physical goods and evils, while the second type consists of moral goods and evils. The latter are then dependent from a closer standpoint on the freedom of the soul. Examples of such moral goods and evils are good actions, sins, virtues and vices.
As long as a finite substance exists, Meier insists, it acts. Now, every action causes a change or an accident in the finite substance, by which the sum of its perfections either increases or decreases. As long as a finite substance exists in the world, it is in connection with all other finite substances, which affect it and thus either increase or decrease its realities. If the soul continues living after death, Meier explains, this increase or decrease will also continue. Because our immortality is uncertain, it is also uncertain whether our soul will be happy or unhappy. If it is more blessed after death than in this life, we say that the soul is in heaven; but if it is more corrupt, we say that it is in hell.
Heaven and hell require actions, virtues, sins and vices, Meier says, thus, heaven and hell can be ascribed only to substances performing free actions. If a soul goes to heaven or hell, it must then be able to use its understanding and live like a person after its death. In other words, the soul must continue living after its death, it cannot sleep eternally or live only in a sensuous manner, but it must be conscious of itself, think reasonably and perform free actions. According to Meier, none of these things can be proven from reason, therefore it is uncertain whether there is heaven and hell for humans. Still, Meier considers it certain that if the soul can use its higher capacities after death, it will become either more blessed or more corrupt than in this life and that it is necessarily either in heaven or in hell. Furthermore, he is convinced, because of the Bible, that heaven and hell exist. Meier is also quick to add that while he thinks their existence is uncertain, he doesn’t deny it, and indeed, considers that high probability of heaven and hell can be proven by reason.
Meier explains that his purpose is not to do an exegetical treatise on what the Bible says about heaven and hell. Still, he emphasises that while some theologians have declared explanations of heaven and hell, other than their own, blasphemous, interpretations of the Bible can be objected with good conscience. Even so, Meier quickly adds that he won’t use biblical expressions to declare something about the Bible, but only as shorthands.
Reason cannot give as stimulating a concept of heaven as God reveals in the Bible, Meier continues. The Bible, he thinks, says that all moral evil with its bad consequences will disappear in heaven and all its denizens will be so perfect, despite their finity, that they will not be disturbed by anything in their happiness. Reason, on the other hand, cannot ascertain that souls in heaven will not sin, since even the most virtuous have in this life a capacity to sin, so that mere divorce from the body seems not reason enough to assume that sinning will end. Such a change we could understand, if it happened gradually, while sudden disappearance of sin would be a wonder, which cannot be proven by reason.
Similarly, Meier suggests, reason cannot tell with certainty whether there will be no consequences for sin in heaven, such as guilt and punishments. Sin naturally has consequences, according to Meier, and death as such could not take away these consequences, because it shouldn't break the order of nature. Thus, by reason we should assume that punishments continue in heaven, but God could miraculously suppress the natural order. This is in line with what the Bible tells us about the Saviour, Meier says, but reason cannot prove the existence of Christ. Meier also thinks that reason cannot say souls living in happier parts of heaven will remain there eternally. In order to remain, they would have to continue living virtuously, but we cannot be certain whether they won’t sin again. The Bible, on the other hand, assures us God will strengthen the souls in heaven so that they will not sin again, but this is a miracle that reason cannot prove.
So far Meier hasn’t been able to find anything certain about heaven, but there are such things, he assures us. Souls in heaven will be more blessed than they are in current life, in other words, in heaven blessedness must be greater than the opposite imperfection. Now, blessedness is not possible without virtue, so that the blessed in heaven will do more morally good than morally bad actions. They will especially do their duties toward God, but also toward themselves and others. Thus, Meier concludes, they will have to have good understanding, and clearer, more distinct and livelier concepts than in this world. Nothing else can we say about heaven with the help of reason, Meier insists.
Meier considers the question whether heaven is a reward for virtuous actions in this world. He thinks it cannot be just that, for then there could be people in heaven who would not act virtuously anymore after death or who would sin in heaven. Thus, blessedness in heaven should be a consequence of good deeds in heaven, although it could also be a reward for virtuous deeds in this world. Reason can regard heaven with certainty only as a natural reward or consequence of good actions, although it understands the possibility of God freely choosing to share extra rewards.
Meier thinks that everything he has said of heaven could be applied analogously to hell. The Bible gives a detailed view of the hell that reason could not demonstrate. Philosophers cannot say whether the damned could still make good actions, although we can assume that people who were more vicious than virtuous during their life will probably continue in the same manner and will thus find themselves in hell. To reason it seems probable that the damned can still do good things. Indeed, since no finite thing can be completely imperfect, in Meier’s opinion, reason cannot think a damned person without any perfections, because they must still have their essence, force and actuality. Reason might even assume that the damned will receive some rewards in hell, even if the Bible says that cannot happen, because good deeds will have their natural rewards, and where is a human being who would never do any good deeds?
Eternity of hell and punishment cannot be demonstrated by reason, Meier says. If hell had no exit, there would be no improvement nor conversion and God’s mercy would be eternally deprived from the damned. Reason can prove neither of these with certainty, because the amount of vice is contingent and thus damned could become virtuous and leave hell: God might harden the hearts of the damned, but reason cannot know this.
The only thing reason can say about hell with certainty, according to Meier, is that damned are less blessed there than in this life, and indeed, their unblessedness weighs clearly more than their remaining perfections, and all their unblessedness is based on sin and vice. The damned will have to do free actions in hell, hence, they will do more and greater sins than morally good actions. Because all sins presuppose practical errors, Meier thinks, the damned will have to think about many good and bad things, and these thoughts will either be as a whole false or then be so weak that they cannot determine the will of the damned. Indeed, they will have to have some satisfaction, but just of wrong things. The damned will sleep and be awake, and this will increase their pain, since the occasional sleep will make the pain clearer. Reason cannot say that the hell would be punishment only of sins in this world, since the damned will continue sinning and these sins will lead to at least natural punishments. Just like in the case of heaven, reason cannot say whether God will decree to those in hell additional punishments beyond the natural punishments.
Are the souls of the damned in hell physically more perfect than in this life? Will they have greater and stronger forces, will their powers of cognition and understanding be greater, will they have clearer, more distinct, more correct, more certain and livelier concepts than in this life? Meier reminds us that earlier we saw that we cannot decide on the basis of mere reason whether souls in general will be physically more or less perfect, yet, he at once adds, this is a different question. If the souls of the damned would be less perfect, they would not be as conscious of what was happening to them. Therefore, if the damned are to be punished properly, they should be more perfect. The problem is how could their will still be imperfect. Meier suggests that the damned must be lacking in truth, that is, their practical cognition must be either erroneous or not lively enough.
Meier still considers the question whether a dying person can know just on the basis of reason whether they are going to heaven or hell. He denies this, since we cannot know with certainty whether we have been more virtuous than vicious. Indeed, he adds, self-love often makes us confuse our vicious actions with virtuous deeds.
Meier concludes the chapter by considering attempted proofs for the immortality of the soul that are based on the goodness, wisdom and righteousness of God. Starting from goodness, he states that to show that something is in accord with the goodness of God, we should not just show that it is good in itself, but that it belongs to the best world. Indeed, something can be good in itself, but might cause imperfections in connection with other things: perfection of a part might contradict perfection of the whole. Meier thinks that we can know that all that happens in the world must be part of the best world, but we cannot beforehand say what is in accordance with God’s goodness. Indeed, even such a surprising thing as the fall of humans must have been for the best. Thus, he concludes, we cannot know whether denying immortality from the soul might serve other things, even if it takes some perfections away from the soul.
Meier thinks that it is even more difficult to argue anything on the basis of God’s wisdom: we know that best in every case is in accordance with God’s wisdom, but what is best? The system of the divine goals in the best world is incomprehensible to finite spirits, Meier insists, and we cannot do anything, but to wait for God’s plans to unfold. We cannot therefore say with certainty that immortality of our souls is in accordance with divine wisdom. It might seem unwise to first create something and then destroy it, Meier admits, but this is actually something we cannot be certain of: maybe human souls are so insignificant to the overall good of the universe that it is best to just get rid of them. Of course, we can abstractly say that human souls play an important part in achieving God’s goal of the best world and that eternally living soul would serve this goal better than a mortal spirit, but in relation to the whole creation of God the answer might be different. As a further point Meier notes the analogy that from an abstract viewpoint a sinless soul is better than sinful, but God has still allowed millions of souls to fall to sin.
Many people want to justify the immortality of human souls from divine righteousness, Meier notes, because God must reward and punish souls proportionally. Meier admits this, but immediately adds that we couldn’t then just assume that rewards and punishments in this world were not enough. At least natural rewards and punishments in this world are always equal to their causes and thus proportionate, although not always remarkable. Thus, if a virtuous person appears to face bad luck, they are either justly punished for some sins or then we are dealing with mere apparent evil. Meier considers the final objection that the free actions at the final moment of life should also require rewards and punishments, which cannot be given anymore in this life. His answer is that humans lose the ability for free actions long before the final moment of their life.
Meier begins by dividing all good and evil into two types. The first of these types consists of goods and evils that is from a closer standpoint not dependent on the freedom of the soul, but either belong to its nature in a physically necessary manner or occur in combination with external causes we are used to call luck. Meier names these physical goods and evils, while the second type consists of moral goods and evils. The latter are then dependent from a closer standpoint on the freedom of the soul. Examples of such moral goods and evils are good actions, sins, virtues and vices.
As long as a finite substance exists, Meier insists, it acts. Now, every action causes a change or an accident in the finite substance, by which the sum of its perfections either increases or decreases. As long as a finite substance exists in the world, it is in connection with all other finite substances, which affect it and thus either increase or decrease its realities. If the soul continues living after death, Meier explains, this increase or decrease will also continue. Because our immortality is uncertain, it is also uncertain whether our soul will be happy or unhappy. If it is more blessed after death than in this life, we say that the soul is in heaven; but if it is more corrupt, we say that it is in hell.
Heaven and hell require actions, virtues, sins and vices, Meier says, thus, heaven and hell can be ascribed only to substances performing free actions. If a soul goes to heaven or hell, it must then be able to use its understanding and live like a person after its death. In other words, the soul must continue living after its death, it cannot sleep eternally or live only in a sensuous manner, but it must be conscious of itself, think reasonably and perform free actions. According to Meier, none of these things can be proven from reason, therefore it is uncertain whether there is heaven and hell for humans. Still, Meier considers it certain that if the soul can use its higher capacities after death, it will become either more blessed or more corrupt than in this life and that it is necessarily either in heaven or in hell. Furthermore, he is convinced, because of the Bible, that heaven and hell exist. Meier is also quick to add that while he thinks their existence is uncertain, he doesn’t deny it, and indeed, considers that high probability of heaven and hell can be proven by reason.
Meier explains that his purpose is not to do an exegetical treatise on what the Bible says about heaven and hell. Still, he emphasises that while some theologians have declared explanations of heaven and hell, other than their own, blasphemous, interpretations of the Bible can be objected with good conscience. Even so, Meier quickly adds that he won’t use biblical expressions to declare something about the Bible, but only as shorthands.
Reason cannot give as stimulating a concept of heaven as God reveals in the Bible, Meier continues. The Bible, he thinks, says that all moral evil with its bad consequences will disappear in heaven and all its denizens will be so perfect, despite their finity, that they will not be disturbed by anything in their happiness. Reason, on the other hand, cannot ascertain that souls in heaven will not sin, since even the most virtuous have in this life a capacity to sin, so that mere divorce from the body seems not reason enough to assume that sinning will end. Such a change we could understand, if it happened gradually, while sudden disappearance of sin would be a wonder, which cannot be proven by reason.
Similarly, Meier suggests, reason cannot tell with certainty whether there will be no consequences for sin in heaven, such as guilt and punishments. Sin naturally has consequences, according to Meier, and death as such could not take away these consequences, because it shouldn't break the order of nature. Thus, by reason we should assume that punishments continue in heaven, but God could miraculously suppress the natural order. This is in line with what the Bible tells us about the Saviour, Meier says, but reason cannot prove the existence of Christ. Meier also thinks that reason cannot say souls living in happier parts of heaven will remain there eternally. In order to remain, they would have to continue living virtuously, but we cannot be certain whether they won’t sin again. The Bible, on the other hand, assures us God will strengthen the souls in heaven so that they will not sin again, but this is a miracle that reason cannot prove.
So far Meier hasn’t been able to find anything certain about heaven, but there are such things, he assures us. Souls in heaven will be more blessed than they are in current life, in other words, in heaven blessedness must be greater than the opposite imperfection. Now, blessedness is not possible without virtue, so that the blessed in heaven will do more morally good than morally bad actions. They will especially do their duties toward God, but also toward themselves and others. Thus, Meier concludes, they will have to have good understanding, and clearer, more distinct and livelier concepts than in this world. Nothing else can we say about heaven with the help of reason, Meier insists.
Meier considers the question whether heaven is a reward for virtuous actions in this world. He thinks it cannot be just that, for then there could be people in heaven who would not act virtuously anymore after death or who would sin in heaven. Thus, blessedness in heaven should be a consequence of good deeds in heaven, although it could also be a reward for virtuous deeds in this world. Reason can regard heaven with certainty only as a natural reward or consequence of good actions, although it understands the possibility of God freely choosing to share extra rewards.
Meier thinks that everything he has said of heaven could be applied analogously to hell. The Bible gives a detailed view of the hell that reason could not demonstrate. Philosophers cannot say whether the damned could still make good actions, although we can assume that people who were more vicious than virtuous during their life will probably continue in the same manner and will thus find themselves in hell. To reason it seems probable that the damned can still do good things. Indeed, since no finite thing can be completely imperfect, in Meier’s opinion, reason cannot think a damned person without any perfections, because they must still have their essence, force and actuality. Reason might even assume that the damned will receive some rewards in hell, even if the Bible says that cannot happen, because good deeds will have their natural rewards, and where is a human being who would never do any good deeds?
Eternity of hell and punishment cannot be demonstrated by reason, Meier says. If hell had no exit, there would be no improvement nor conversion and God’s mercy would be eternally deprived from the damned. Reason can prove neither of these with certainty, because the amount of vice is contingent and thus damned could become virtuous and leave hell: God might harden the hearts of the damned, but reason cannot know this.
The only thing reason can say about hell with certainty, according to Meier, is that damned are less blessed there than in this life, and indeed, their unblessedness weighs clearly more than their remaining perfections, and all their unblessedness is based on sin and vice. The damned will have to do free actions in hell, hence, they will do more and greater sins than morally good actions. Because all sins presuppose practical errors, Meier thinks, the damned will have to think about many good and bad things, and these thoughts will either be as a whole false or then be so weak that they cannot determine the will of the damned. Indeed, they will have to have some satisfaction, but just of wrong things. The damned will sleep and be awake, and this will increase their pain, since the occasional sleep will make the pain clearer. Reason cannot say that the hell would be punishment only of sins in this world, since the damned will continue sinning and these sins will lead to at least natural punishments. Just like in the case of heaven, reason cannot say whether God will decree to those in hell additional punishments beyond the natural punishments.
Are the souls of the damned in hell physically more perfect than in this life? Will they have greater and stronger forces, will their powers of cognition and understanding be greater, will they have clearer, more distinct, more correct, more certain and livelier concepts than in this life? Meier reminds us that earlier we saw that we cannot decide on the basis of mere reason whether souls in general will be physically more or less perfect, yet, he at once adds, this is a different question. If the souls of the damned would be less perfect, they would not be as conscious of what was happening to them. Therefore, if the damned are to be punished properly, they should be more perfect. The problem is how could their will still be imperfect. Meier suggests that the damned must be lacking in truth, that is, their practical cognition must be either erroneous or not lively enough.
Meier still considers the question whether a dying person can know just on the basis of reason whether they are going to heaven or hell. He denies this, since we cannot know with certainty whether we have been more virtuous than vicious. Indeed, he adds, self-love often makes us confuse our vicious actions with virtuous deeds.
Meier concludes the chapter by considering attempted proofs for the immortality of the soul that are based on the goodness, wisdom and righteousness of God. Starting from goodness, he states that to show that something is in accord with the goodness of God, we should not just show that it is good in itself, but that it belongs to the best world. Indeed, something can be good in itself, but might cause imperfections in connection with other things: perfection of a part might contradict perfection of the whole. Meier thinks that we can know that all that happens in the world must be part of the best world, but we cannot beforehand say what is in accordance with God’s goodness. Indeed, even such a surprising thing as the fall of humans must have been for the best. Thus, he concludes, we cannot know whether denying immortality from the soul might serve other things, even if it takes some perfections away from the soul.
Meier thinks that it is even more difficult to argue anything on the basis of God’s wisdom: we know that best in every case is in accordance with God’s wisdom, but what is best? The system of the divine goals in the best world is incomprehensible to finite spirits, Meier insists, and we cannot do anything, but to wait for God’s plans to unfold. We cannot therefore say with certainty that immortality of our souls is in accordance with divine wisdom. It might seem unwise to first create something and then destroy it, Meier admits, but this is actually something we cannot be certain of: maybe human souls are so insignificant to the overall good of the universe that it is best to just get rid of them. Of course, we can abstractly say that human souls play an important part in achieving God’s goal of the best world and that eternally living soul would serve this goal better than a mortal spirit, but in relation to the whole creation of God the answer might be different. As a further point Meier notes the analogy that from an abstract viewpoint a sinless soul is better than sinful, but God has still allowed millions of souls to fall to sin.
Many people want to justify the immortality of human souls from divine righteousness, Meier notes, because God must reward and punish souls proportionally. Meier admits this, but immediately adds that we couldn’t then just assume that rewards and punishments in this world were not enough. At least natural rewards and punishments in this world are always equal to their causes and thus proportionate, although not always remarkable. Thus, if a virtuous person appears to face bad luck, they are either justly punished for some sins or then we are dealing with mere apparent evil. Meier considers the final objection that the free actions at the final moment of life should also require rewards and punishments, which cannot be given anymore in this life. His answer is that humans lose the ability for free actions long before the final moment of their life.
keskiviikko 19. kesäkuuta 2024
Georg Friedrich Meier: Thoughts on the condition of the soul after death – Will we have bodies in the beyond?
Having just shown how uncertain the question of our immortality is, Meier continues by investigating what we could say about our condition after death, assuming we exist at all. He notes that this condition has two different aspects: our moral state or condition or what is based on our freedom and our physical state or condition or what is not based on our freedom of soul, in other words, all the inner contingent features of the soul that are caused by natural necessity. Meier starts with a study of the physical condition, leaving the moral condition to a later chapter.
Meier begins by considering the condition of the soul at the very moment of death. He notes that people feel fear at impending death and thus think that death is something horrible. He then reassures the reader that this fear is either caused by something else than death itself or it is completely unfounded. Death itself is just a transition to a new condition and is therefore nothing to fear about, even if the condition after this transition or the end of our current condition might be.
Indeed, Meier goes on, all of our negative emotions in our current condition are caused by a clear feeling of imperfection. Thus, if it is probable that the soul is not even conscious of itself at the time of death, death has physically nothing to be afraid of. Now, death severs the connection of the soul and body, which makes all the feelings and sensations connected to organs of the body vanish. Dying soul cannot then immediately feel its body and it will not be conscious of the condition of the body and is even incapable of feeling pain. This still leaves the possibility that the soul might be in pain during the final moments just before death. Meier assures us that during these moments we have no external sensations and our soul probably sleeps without dreams.
Meier notes that before Christianity people often believed in reincarnation, probably because they couldn’t understand how soul could endure without a body. Since they knew of no other organic bodies than animals, they thought that the soul would occupy another human body or then some other animal body. Meier quickly dismisses the idea of reincarnation, not really with any arguments, but just by setting it aside. Still, he thinks that the idea of reincarnation contained the important notion that after its death the soul will have a new body.
Meier goes on to explain why we call a certain body our own. Firstly, we represent this body more strongly and more often than other bodies. Indeed, we immediately represent only our bodies, while the existence of other bodies we deduce from the effects they have on our sense organs. Furthermore, whenever we represent other bodies, we also represent our own body. Secondly, what we call our body is in most close combination with our soul, since our soul affects no other thing so immediately and strongly and no other finite thing affects our soul as immediately and strongly.
Thus, Meier concludes, if we can prove that the same things hold for some other body after our death, it can be shown that the soul will be connected to another body. Assuming then that the soul has after death representations of the bodies in the world and is connected to them, Meier insists that the level of these representations and connections varies quantitatively and one of these levels must be greatest. The body to which this greatest level applies will therefore be our own body. Furthermore, Meier adds, representing external things requires sensations, which also requires that the soul has its own body.
Meier makes the remark that the soul will then in a sense not die, since it will always be connected to a body – just not the same one that it had earlier. He quickly adds that this is not against the Bible, since the scripture does not deny that the soul will be embodied after its death. Of course, he notes, people have a tendency to ask for more detailed characteristics, when something is proven to exist, and if such characteristics cannot be described with any probability, they disbelieve the proof of the existence. Thus, people will want to know what our bodies after death will be like, and indeed, Meier says, there have been many speculations about them: they are shiny, weightless and have sense organs all over. Meier makes fun of all these speculations and tells the reader that some gourmands would probably insist that our new bodies must have a stomach, although actually nothing definite can yet be known about them.
Where do these new bodies then come from? Meier recounts that some newer philosophers suggest it will be a quintessence of our current bodies and thus resemble it in outline – a sort of astral body. He agrees that this would be in line with the principle that nature makes no leaps. Yet, he adds, we only have a very vague idea of the basic parts of the human body and we cannot comprehend how such an astral body would not even now interact with our visible body.
The next question Meier deals with concerns the constitution of the new bodies. Will they be more perfect or imperfect than the current ones and do they even belong to the same species? Meier will later argue that we cannot even know whether our soul will be more perfect or imperfect after our death, thus, he concludes, we also cannot say anything about the perfection of our future bodies. As for the question of the species of the body, Meier notes that nature mostly deals with similarities, but that organic processes also involve natural variety, such as when a caterpillar dies and becomes a butterfly. He also points out that before birth our bodies looked very different from what they look like after birth and suggests that the external shape is not an essential feature of the human bodies, but determined by the standpoint from which we represent the world.
Meier mentions theological discussions about souls sleeping for a while after death. He notes that there is no consensus how long this sleep would last, although some theologians have suggested it will last until resurrection. Meier thinks that the human reason can say nothing decisive about this issue, although a period of sleep appears probable, since death means passage from one body to another, which could imply that for a while we might have more obscure sensations. He adds that such a time of sleep should be especially accepted by those who believe that the soul will not have a body after death, since our soul in this life conceives things only in relation to its body and it would seem improbable that the soul gained completely new capacities. Then again, he immediately says, it also seems reasonable that the soul would be awake after death, because it should immediately be connected to another body, thus receiving new and therefore very clear representations.
The previous considerations of the physical state have been of no interest to moral or religion, Meier thinks, and then suggests a question that is: will the soul live after death spiritually or just sensuously? This question presupposes Leibnizian division of finite monads into three classes: the lowest class consists of elements of bodies that represent the world only obscurely, higher than these are sensuous souls that represent the world obscurely and clearly, but indistinctly, and the highest class is formed of finite spirits – including human souls – that represent at least parts of the world distinctly. Question is then whether souls can move from one class to another, either upwards or downwards
According to Meier, some philosophers have said that while there generally may be progress within a class, nothing can leave its class. Meier argues against this opinion, because we see things changing their classes daily: an ignorant person becomes learned, a caterpillar becomes a butterfly etc. The opinion is true if we speak of classes defined by essential differences, Meier admits, but we haven’t yet proven that, for instance, being unable to represent distinctly is an essential property of sensuous souls. A particular objection against souls changing their classes is that the souls are hindered by the limits of their force of representation. Meier notes that this argument just begs the question, since assuming sensuous souls to be incapable of becoming a spirit is just what had to be proven. Thus, Meier concludes, no one has yet proven that a soul could not move from one class to another.
Meier himself thinks that although it is not certain, it is at least very probable that an element of a body can become a sensuous soul and then a spirit. His argument hinges on the idea that a difference between obscure, clear, but indistinct, and distinct representations is just quantitative: an obscure representation becomes clear when its parts are forceful enough to distinguish the whole representation from other, while an indistinct representation becomes distinct, when its parts become clear representations. Thus, Meier insists, representative force that had represented only obscurely has to just grow and gain more parts to become more perfect. Experience seems to show that such growth happens, he adds, since babies still represent things obscurely. Corruption of representative force seems also possible, Meier adds, since no level of clarity is necessary and experience shows that e.g. formerly distinct representations are forgotten.
Meier foresees the objection that the ability to develop distinct representations is already a defining characteristic of spirits, which would lead us to straightforward idealism. He suggests that this is just a question of how to define words. By spirits, he thinks, is not usually meant any entities that have an absolute or abstract possibility for distinct representations. What is required, instead, is a hypothetical possibility for distinct representations in the current context. Furthermore, what is now hypothetically impossible can become hypothetically possible, thus, animals might in future become spirits, Meier concludes. In addition, while our soul is spirit as long as it is connected to a body in this world and hence belongs to the highest class of finite monads, it is possible that it will lose its higher capacities after death and even all consciousness. All of this depends on nothing but the decree of God.
Meier recounts that philosophers have argued that a soul will have a more perfect power of representation after death, because finite things must constantly increase their perfection, since perfection leads to more perfection, as a good tree bears only good fruits. He considers this a weak argument, since the good fruits might not anymore affect the finite thing that caused them. In addition, the human soul has many imperfections that can cause further imperfections that might overcome the perfections, just like imperfections of our body cause the ailments of old age. Meier mentions also an argument from analogy with birth: just like semen is turned more perfect in the womb, similar change happens when the soul gets a new body with its death. He points out that we cannot really say how good the analogy is, since we are not even sure whether the soul is not destroyed in death.
Could the soul just sleep eternally? If it will, Meier ponders, all its future representations will be obscure and it will descend to the level of mere elements of bodies. He notes that eternal sleep contains no contradiction, since clarity of our representations is not necessary. Furthermore, he says, eternal sleep is even hypothetically possible, because consciousness of the soul depends on constant help from God, and if God chooses not to help it anymore, the soul will sink into sleep. In addition, the soul could also be combined with a body similar to what it had before birth, which would also mean a relapse into eternal sleep. Then again, Meier admits, it is possible that God will continue helping the soul and that it will get a physically more perfect body that is better equipped for clear representations. Furthermore, although we cannot demonstrate anything certain about this question, Meier insists, it is more probable that it will not sleep eternally, since God cannot reward and punish us, if the soul sleeps eternally.
Assuming that the soul won’t sleep eternally after its death, Meier thinks he can prove that it will still sleep sometimes. If we assume immortality to be true, he suggests, the nature of our soul isn’t completely changed, and thus it will want to rest from time to time, as its clear representations become obscure: rest renews our powers and makes our representations very clear after a period of obscurity. According to Meier, if there was no sleep in heaven and hell, they wouldn’t feel as pleasurable and painful, but would eventually become obscure.
Supposing that the soul does not sleep eternally, will it retain its higher capacities or will it descend into a state of an animal? Like with many questions before, Meier has to conclude that this depends on God’s will and cannot thus be demonstrated. The supposed proofs Meier considers fall for the same errors as proofs against the soul changing its class after death.
Can the soul distinctly remember its state before death and can it know itself to be the same person as it was? Meier refers to some ancient philosophers who had assumed that the soul will forget everything of its current life: he explicitly mentions the story of Lethe, the mythical river of forgetfulness. Meier notes that there is no reason to assume that the soul won’t forget everything and in current life we have examples of people losing their memories due to a sickness. Some might even think it a good thing to forget all the pains of the current life, he adds. Then again, it is more natural and more probable to assume that the soul will remember itself.
Meier goes through some fanciful ideas of the places where souls will go after their deaths: some people think heaven lies at the centre of Earth and the hell on a comet, some think that souls remain on Earth, others believe they will sour the stars. Meier thinks it futile to investigate all these suggestions. What we can say, according to Meier, is that if the soul is immortal, it will find itself after death in such a position that is demanded by the standpoint from which it represents the world and through which it steps in close connection with things that are appropriate for the role it will play after death. Furthermore, he thinks it necessary that the soul will remain in the world, because the world is a series of all actual contingent things: even the biblical heaven and hell would be just parts of this world.
Even less can we say about the actions of the soul after death, Meier says. According to him, if the soul can use all its capacities, it will have many new representations. Thus, it will have many new desires and aversions and will move its new body in many ways. Anything else about these actions cannot be known, because the place the souls are in and the things they are in contact with determine their actions also.
What happens to the souls of children who die before they have learned to use their reason? Again, Meier thinks that we cannot really know. If the souls of children are not destroyed, they will certainly live forever, and then they will get new bodies, which might enable the use of higher capacities, Meier argues. Still, all of this is uncertain, and their current lack of higher capacities makes all of this slightly more improbable. The case is similar with old people who have exhausted their capacities and have come into a second childhood. Meier notes that some people suggest that the feebleness of the faculties of the elderly is wholly dependent on the frailty of their body and that freedom from this body would instantly return the higher capacities. He answers that considering the harmony of the soul and body, it is certain that the soul has something to do with their demented state.
Meier begins by considering the condition of the soul at the very moment of death. He notes that people feel fear at impending death and thus think that death is something horrible. He then reassures the reader that this fear is either caused by something else than death itself or it is completely unfounded. Death itself is just a transition to a new condition and is therefore nothing to fear about, even if the condition after this transition or the end of our current condition might be.
Indeed, Meier goes on, all of our negative emotions in our current condition are caused by a clear feeling of imperfection. Thus, if it is probable that the soul is not even conscious of itself at the time of death, death has physically nothing to be afraid of. Now, death severs the connection of the soul and body, which makes all the feelings and sensations connected to organs of the body vanish. Dying soul cannot then immediately feel its body and it will not be conscious of the condition of the body and is even incapable of feeling pain. This still leaves the possibility that the soul might be in pain during the final moments just before death. Meier assures us that during these moments we have no external sensations and our soul probably sleeps without dreams.
Meier notes that before Christianity people often believed in reincarnation, probably because they couldn’t understand how soul could endure without a body. Since they knew of no other organic bodies than animals, they thought that the soul would occupy another human body or then some other animal body. Meier quickly dismisses the idea of reincarnation, not really with any arguments, but just by setting it aside. Still, he thinks that the idea of reincarnation contained the important notion that after its death the soul will have a new body.
Meier goes on to explain why we call a certain body our own. Firstly, we represent this body more strongly and more often than other bodies. Indeed, we immediately represent only our bodies, while the existence of other bodies we deduce from the effects they have on our sense organs. Furthermore, whenever we represent other bodies, we also represent our own body. Secondly, what we call our body is in most close combination with our soul, since our soul affects no other thing so immediately and strongly and no other finite thing affects our soul as immediately and strongly.
Thus, Meier concludes, if we can prove that the same things hold for some other body after our death, it can be shown that the soul will be connected to another body. Assuming then that the soul has after death representations of the bodies in the world and is connected to them, Meier insists that the level of these representations and connections varies quantitatively and one of these levels must be greatest. The body to which this greatest level applies will therefore be our own body. Furthermore, Meier adds, representing external things requires sensations, which also requires that the soul has its own body.
Meier makes the remark that the soul will then in a sense not die, since it will always be connected to a body – just not the same one that it had earlier. He quickly adds that this is not against the Bible, since the scripture does not deny that the soul will be embodied after its death. Of course, he notes, people have a tendency to ask for more detailed characteristics, when something is proven to exist, and if such characteristics cannot be described with any probability, they disbelieve the proof of the existence. Thus, people will want to know what our bodies after death will be like, and indeed, Meier says, there have been many speculations about them: they are shiny, weightless and have sense organs all over. Meier makes fun of all these speculations and tells the reader that some gourmands would probably insist that our new bodies must have a stomach, although actually nothing definite can yet be known about them.
Where do these new bodies then come from? Meier recounts that some newer philosophers suggest it will be a quintessence of our current bodies and thus resemble it in outline – a sort of astral body. He agrees that this would be in line with the principle that nature makes no leaps. Yet, he adds, we only have a very vague idea of the basic parts of the human body and we cannot comprehend how such an astral body would not even now interact with our visible body.
The next question Meier deals with concerns the constitution of the new bodies. Will they be more perfect or imperfect than the current ones and do they even belong to the same species? Meier will later argue that we cannot even know whether our soul will be more perfect or imperfect after our death, thus, he concludes, we also cannot say anything about the perfection of our future bodies. As for the question of the species of the body, Meier notes that nature mostly deals with similarities, but that organic processes also involve natural variety, such as when a caterpillar dies and becomes a butterfly. He also points out that before birth our bodies looked very different from what they look like after birth and suggests that the external shape is not an essential feature of the human bodies, but determined by the standpoint from which we represent the world.
Meier mentions theological discussions about souls sleeping for a while after death. He notes that there is no consensus how long this sleep would last, although some theologians have suggested it will last until resurrection. Meier thinks that the human reason can say nothing decisive about this issue, although a period of sleep appears probable, since death means passage from one body to another, which could imply that for a while we might have more obscure sensations. He adds that such a time of sleep should be especially accepted by those who believe that the soul will not have a body after death, since our soul in this life conceives things only in relation to its body and it would seem improbable that the soul gained completely new capacities. Then again, he immediately says, it also seems reasonable that the soul would be awake after death, because it should immediately be connected to another body, thus receiving new and therefore very clear representations.
The previous considerations of the physical state have been of no interest to moral or religion, Meier thinks, and then suggests a question that is: will the soul live after death spiritually or just sensuously? This question presupposes Leibnizian division of finite monads into three classes: the lowest class consists of elements of bodies that represent the world only obscurely, higher than these are sensuous souls that represent the world obscurely and clearly, but indistinctly, and the highest class is formed of finite spirits – including human souls – that represent at least parts of the world distinctly. Question is then whether souls can move from one class to another, either upwards or downwards
According to Meier, some philosophers have said that while there generally may be progress within a class, nothing can leave its class. Meier argues against this opinion, because we see things changing their classes daily: an ignorant person becomes learned, a caterpillar becomes a butterfly etc. The opinion is true if we speak of classes defined by essential differences, Meier admits, but we haven’t yet proven that, for instance, being unable to represent distinctly is an essential property of sensuous souls. A particular objection against souls changing their classes is that the souls are hindered by the limits of their force of representation. Meier notes that this argument just begs the question, since assuming sensuous souls to be incapable of becoming a spirit is just what had to be proven. Thus, Meier concludes, no one has yet proven that a soul could not move from one class to another.
Meier himself thinks that although it is not certain, it is at least very probable that an element of a body can become a sensuous soul and then a spirit. His argument hinges on the idea that a difference between obscure, clear, but indistinct, and distinct representations is just quantitative: an obscure representation becomes clear when its parts are forceful enough to distinguish the whole representation from other, while an indistinct representation becomes distinct, when its parts become clear representations. Thus, Meier insists, representative force that had represented only obscurely has to just grow and gain more parts to become more perfect. Experience seems to show that such growth happens, he adds, since babies still represent things obscurely. Corruption of representative force seems also possible, Meier adds, since no level of clarity is necessary and experience shows that e.g. formerly distinct representations are forgotten.
Meier foresees the objection that the ability to develop distinct representations is already a defining characteristic of spirits, which would lead us to straightforward idealism. He suggests that this is just a question of how to define words. By spirits, he thinks, is not usually meant any entities that have an absolute or abstract possibility for distinct representations. What is required, instead, is a hypothetical possibility for distinct representations in the current context. Furthermore, what is now hypothetically impossible can become hypothetically possible, thus, animals might in future become spirits, Meier concludes. In addition, while our soul is spirit as long as it is connected to a body in this world and hence belongs to the highest class of finite monads, it is possible that it will lose its higher capacities after death and even all consciousness. All of this depends on nothing but the decree of God.
Meier recounts that philosophers have argued that a soul will have a more perfect power of representation after death, because finite things must constantly increase their perfection, since perfection leads to more perfection, as a good tree bears only good fruits. He considers this a weak argument, since the good fruits might not anymore affect the finite thing that caused them. In addition, the human soul has many imperfections that can cause further imperfections that might overcome the perfections, just like imperfections of our body cause the ailments of old age. Meier mentions also an argument from analogy with birth: just like semen is turned more perfect in the womb, similar change happens when the soul gets a new body with its death. He points out that we cannot really say how good the analogy is, since we are not even sure whether the soul is not destroyed in death.
Could the soul just sleep eternally? If it will, Meier ponders, all its future representations will be obscure and it will descend to the level of mere elements of bodies. He notes that eternal sleep contains no contradiction, since clarity of our representations is not necessary. Furthermore, he says, eternal sleep is even hypothetically possible, because consciousness of the soul depends on constant help from God, and if God chooses not to help it anymore, the soul will sink into sleep. In addition, the soul could also be combined with a body similar to what it had before birth, which would also mean a relapse into eternal sleep. Then again, Meier admits, it is possible that God will continue helping the soul and that it will get a physically more perfect body that is better equipped for clear representations. Furthermore, although we cannot demonstrate anything certain about this question, Meier insists, it is more probable that it will not sleep eternally, since God cannot reward and punish us, if the soul sleeps eternally.
Assuming that the soul won’t sleep eternally after its death, Meier thinks he can prove that it will still sleep sometimes. If we assume immortality to be true, he suggests, the nature of our soul isn’t completely changed, and thus it will want to rest from time to time, as its clear representations become obscure: rest renews our powers and makes our representations very clear after a period of obscurity. According to Meier, if there was no sleep in heaven and hell, they wouldn’t feel as pleasurable and painful, but would eventually become obscure.
Supposing that the soul does not sleep eternally, will it retain its higher capacities or will it descend into a state of an animal? Like with many questions before, Meier has to conclude that this depends on God’s will and cannot thus be demonstrated. The supposed proofs Meier considers fall for the same errors as proofs against the soul changing its class after death.
Can the soul distinctly remember its state before death and can it know itself to be the same person as it was? Meier refers to some ancient philosophers who had assumed that the soul will forget everything of its current life: he explicitly mentions the story of Lethe, the mythical river of forgetfulness. Meier notes that there is no reason to assume that the soul won’t forget everything and in current life we have examples of people losing their memories due to a sickness. Some might even think it a good thing to forget all the pains of the current life, he adds. Then again, it is more natural and more probable to assume that the soul will remember itself.
Meier goes through some fanciful ideas of the places where souls will go after their deaths: some people think heaven lies at the centre of Earth and the hell on a comet, some think that souls remain on Earth, others believe they will sour the stars. Meier thinks it futile to investigate all these suggestions. What we can say, according to Meier, is that if the soul is immortal, it will find itself after death in such a position that is demanded by the standpoint from which it represents the world and through which it steps in close connection with things that are appropriate for the role it will play after death. Furthermore, he thinks it necessary that the soul will remain in the world, because the world is a series of all actual contingent things: even the biblical heaven and hell would be just parts of this world.
Even less can we say about the actions of the soul after death, Meier says. According to him, if the soul can use all its capacities, it will have many new representations. Thus, it will have many new desires and aversions and will move its new body in many ways. Anything else about these actions cannot be known, because the place the souls are in and the things they are in contact with determine their actions also.
What happens to the souls of children who die before they have learned to use their reason? Again, Meier thinks that we cannot really know. If the souls of children are not destroyed, they will certainly live forever, and then they will get new bodies, which might enable the use of higher capacities, Meier argues. Still, all of this is uncertain, and their current lack of higher capacities makes all of this slightly more improbable. The case is similar with old people who have exhausted their capacities and have come into a second childhood. Meier notes that some people suggest that the feebleness of the faculties of the elderly is wholly dependent on the frailty of their body and that freedom from this body would instantly return the higher capacities. He answers that considering the harmony of the soul and body, it is certain that the soul has something to do with their demented state.
keskiviikko 22. toukokuuta 2024
Georg Friedrich Meier: Thoughts on the condition of the soul after death – Is there life after death?
This time we are considering the part of Meier’s treatise he himself considers the most important: he will show that the immortality of the soul is uncertain, making it thus even more uncertain what the life after death would be like. Meier begins from something he considers to be a proven fact, that is, the simplicity and immateriality of the soul. Like all simple beings, he continues, the soul has – or more likely, is – a force that supports its accidental features. This means that the soul exists as long as it retains its force, which is its nature.
This force or nature is the sufficient reason for the changes of the soul, Meier notes. Thus, as long as the soul exists, this nature acts, and this acting can be witnessed in the various ways its accidental features change. These changes are what the life of the soul consists of. As long as the soul exists, then, it lives, or the soul and its life are intrinsically entwined to one another. Meier adds the clarification that it is only the sensuous life he is speaking of and thus the only thing that needs to be proven is this sensuous life of the soul.
Meier follows the Wolffian tradition in stating that simple things like the soul cannot be taken apart, but they can only be destroyed through a complete annihilation, whereby nothing remains of the simple thing that does not exist anymore. Since the soul is a finite thing, it changes and can even fail to exist. Thus, Meier concludes, it is possible that it will be annihilated or that it dies after its death. Indeed, thinking the soul necessarily exists would be tantamount to equating it with God.
Now, Meier admits, this argument determines the mortality of the soul only in itself or in abstraction. To determine whether the soul will truly die or not requires determining whether there are any actual causes that would annihilate it. Meier notes that if the soul is annihilated, it must be annihilated by some substance and its force, which has to be one of three kinds: the soul itself, some other finite substance and its force or God with their infinite power.
Meier quickly concludes that the soul cannot annihilate itself: if the soul is to do something, it must exist, excluding the possibility of the soul being annihilated when it acts. For a somewhat similar reason, Meier insists, a soul cannot be annihilated by other finite things. This proposition Meier bases on the general fact that when a finite thing acts on another finite thing, the other thing acts also in the same measure back to the original thing. This means that if a finite thing would annihilate another, this other thing would at the same time have to exist and act on the first thing, making the annihilation impossible.
The only option left is then that God might annihilate the soul. Meier notes that God should be able to do everything that is in itself possible, which implies that God must also be able to kill the soul. Of course, he adds, God might not choose to do so. Still, he thinks, we cannot really know what God has chosen about this matter. Following the common assumptions of the Wolffian tradition, Meier thinks that God has chosen to actualise the best possible world. Since we haven’t died yet, we cannot know by experience whether our soul will continue to live after it. Then again, if we wanted to demonstrate this future life without relying on experience, we would have to show that it is a necessary ingredient of the best possible world. Such a demonstration, in Meier's opinion, would require going through all the events of the actual world, which clearly exceeds our capacities.
Meier has concluded the main task of this chapter: he has shown we cannot be certain that God won’t destroy us and thus our immortality cannot be demonstrated. Then again, he adds, we also cannot demonstrate that immortality would be contradictory. Meier goes even so far as to argue that materialism is not incompatible with the immortality of the soul. Of course, he immediately adds, if the soul were just another name for the body or some part of it, like the brain, it would die at the same time as the body dies. Then again, materialism is compatible with the position that the soul is something different from the body, just as long as it will be material, for instance, an atom or a combination of atoms. As an atom, the soul could very well be immortal, and even if the soul were a combination of atoms, it might be such that it cannot be broken apart like ordinary matter.
As a conclusion of this chapter, Meier goes through a list of supposed proofs for the immortality of soul, showing all to be lacking. I shall go through these proofs and Meier’s criticism of them very quickly:
This force or nature is the sufficient reason for the changes of the soul, Meier notes. Thus, as long as the soul exists, this nature acts, and this acting can be witnessed in the various ways its accidental features change. These changes are what the life of the soul consists of. As long as the soul exists, then, it lives, or the soul and its life are intrinsically entwined to one another. Meier adds the clarification that it is only the sensuous life he is speaking of and thus the only thing that needs to be proven is this sensuous life of the soul.
Meier follows the Wolffian tradition in stating that simple things like the soul cannot be taken apart, but they can only be destroyed through a complete annihilation, whereby nothing remains of the simple thing that does not exist anymore. Since the soul is a finite thing, it changes and can even fail to exist. Thus, Meier concludes, it is possible that it will be annihilated or that it dies after its death. Indeed, thinking the soul necessarily exists would be tantamount to equating it with God.
Now, Meier admits, this argument determines the mortality of the soul only in itself or in abstraction. To determine whether the soul will truly die or not requires determining whether there are any actual causes that would annihilate it. Meier notes that if the soul is annihilated, it must be annihilated by some substance and its force, which has to be one of three kinds: the soul itself, some other finite substance and its force or God with their infinite power.
Meier quickly concludes that the soul cannot annihilate itself: if the soul is to do something, it must exist, excluding the possibility of the soul being annihilated when it acts. For a somewhat similar reason, Meier insists, a soul cannot be annihilated by other finite things. This proposition Meier bases on the general fact that when a finite thing acts on another finite thing, the other thing acts also in the same measure back to the original thing. This means that if a finite thing would annihilate another, this other thing would at the same time have to exist and act on the first thing, making the annihilation impossible.
The only option left is then that God might annihilate the soul. Meier notes that God should be able to do everything that is in itself possible, which implies that God must also be able to kill the soul. Of course, he adds, God might not choose to do so. Still, he thinks, we cannot really know what God has chosen about this matter. Following the common assumptions of the Wolffian tradition, Meier thinks that God has chosen to actualise the best possible world. Since we haven’t died yet, we cannot know by experience whether our soul will continue to live after it. Then again, if we wanted to demonstrate this future life without relying on experience, we would have to show that it is a necessary ingredient of the best possible world. Such a demonstration, in Meier's opinion, would require going through all the events of the actual world, which clearly exceeds our capacities.
Meier has concluded the main task of this chapter: he has shown we cannot be certain that God won’t destroy us and thus our immortality cannot be demonstrated. Then again, he adds, we also cannot demonstrate that immortality would be contradictory. Meier goes even so far as to argue that materialism is not incompatible with the immortality of the soul. Of course, he immediately adds, if the soul were just another name for the body or some part of it, like the brain, it would die at the same time as the body dies. Then again, materialism is compatible with the position that the soul is something different from the body, just as long as it will be material, for instance, an atom or a combination of atoms. As an atom, the soul could very well be immortal, and even if the soul were a combination of atoms, it might be such that it cannot be broken apart like ordinary matter.
As a conclusion of this chapter, Meier goes through a list of supposed proofs for the immortality of soul, showing all to be lacking. I shall go through these proofs and Meier’s criticism of them very quickly:
- Simplicity justifies immortality; Meier notes that this assumption ignores the possibility of God annihilating the soul
- Our drive for eternal life justifies immortality; Meir insists that even if we had such an innate drive, this would by itself justify immortality just as poorly as our sexual drive would prove we will have sex at some point
- Shared conviction of all nations justifies immortality; Meier notes that before Copernicus we could have with similar grounds said that the Sun truly rotates the Earth
- Failure of arguments against immortality justifies immortality; Meier thinks that this argument is as convincing as if he would say that the Moon must have telepathetic denizens, because we cannot prove it wrong.
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