The sixth volume of Wolff’s Jus naturae seems like the same kind of mishmash without any common theme as the previous one. Thus, Wolff merely begins with a new type of contract, this time, dominium utile, which means simply a right to use and enjoy freely something, where the substantial part of that property – the so-called dominium directum – belongs to someone else. In effect, the dominium directum is the more superior form of ownership, since the person with it can donate or sell the thing, although the person with the dominium utile would still retain their right to use and enjoy the thing. Both forms of ownership must have been constituted by a person who has previously had a full ownership of the thing in question: they might have either disposed of the dominium utile and dominium directum to two different persons, or they could have retained for themselves either the dominium utile or the dominium directum.
Now, Wolff goes through various types of dominium utile, first of which is called emphyteusis. In emphyteusis, the property in case is immovable (e.g. a piece of land), and the holder of dominium directum is provided an annual payment called canon by the holder of dominium utile or emphyteuta: in effect, this is the case of renting something for use. What this canon is can be determined freely by those making the contract – it can consist of money, but it can also consist of wheat, fruits, wine, eggs or really anything. Furthermore, the quantity of canon can be determined freely and it need not be proportional to the usefulness of the property for emphyteuta. The important point is that it must be paid, no matter of the financial situation of emphyteuta: for instance, if the case is of land, it must be paid, even if the harvest had been meagre. Of course, Wolff admits, it would be a decent thing to do, if the the holder of the dominium directum would let emphyteuta pay less or even not pay at all during bad years.
Now, Wolff continues, the contract at the base of emphyteusis can give the emphyteuta the right to hand over the property in question to another person, who then becomes the new emphyteuta. The contract might also specify that the holder of dominium directum is to be given what is called laudemium or honorary payment by the new emphyteuta, whenever this emphyteuta is changing. Then again, the person who has the dominium directum can hand over this ownership of the thing without asking emphyteuta anything.
Wolff notes that emphyteusis can have further conditions, for instance, it can last for some predetemined time or be granted to a certain group of persons (e.g. a family line). Naturally, when the time in question has elapsed or if there are no persons left that are specified in the contract, the emphyteusis is cancelled and the full right to the property is returned to the holder of dominium directum. On the other hand, if the holder of dominium directum dies without any heir, the emphyteuta does not get full rights, unless this has been expressly agreed upon in the contract. Instead, no one has in this case the dominium directum anymore. Then, Wolff explains, anyone would have the right to take this dominium directum and make it their own. If the person who does this happens to be emphyteuta, then the full rights return to them and emphyteusis ends.
Emphyteusis is a contract that can be repeated in the sense that if a person has acquired a right to use and enjoy some immovable property, they can sell or donate a further right to use and enjoy this same property to someone else (think of a renter of land renting a portion of this land to another person). This further contract is then called subemphyteusis. Largely the same considerations as concerned emphyteusis concern also subemphyteusis, but there is also the further condition that subemphyteusis cannot contradict what has been agreed concerning emphyteusis.
While in emphyteusis the original owner retains the primary ownership to a thing, which he then just, as it were, leases to someone else, the case is completely opposite in what Wolff calls contractus libellarius. Here, the original owner forfeits the ownership of a thing to someone else, but only on the condition that the new owner will provide an annual canon or payment to the original owner. Contractus libellarius has also a clause stating that after a certain period of time the new owner must renew the contract for a certain price. If the new owner fails to do this or fails to provide the annual payment, the thing in question is to be handed to a yet new owner, who then has to follow the same conditions for annual payment – unless, of course, the ownership of the thing returns to the original owner, which means then end for the contractus libellarius. Still, because the contractus libellarius means actual change of ownership, the new owner can otherwise use the thing as they want and even donate or sell it to someone else
Quite similar to contractus libellarius is jus censiticum, by which Wolff refers to a right of annual income that one has from immovable property that belongs to someone else. The similarity is even more marked in the case where this right is what Wolff calls census reservativus, where the owner has sold an immovable thing to someone else on the condition of annual income, the only differences being that census reservativus concerns explicitly immovable property and that there need not be any time limit attached to it. The other form of jus censiticum or census constitutus happens when a person buys or accepts as a donation for themselves jus censiticum to something.
The final type of dominium utile Wolff considers in this first chapter is jus superficiei, which concerns particularly property on someone else’s grounds. Usually, it means a right to have a building owned by oneself on the land of another person, but the right might also concern something else, like a garden or a forest. Jus superficiei must be conceded by the owner of the land – it can be freely determined whether the right is donated or sold or conceded for an annual payment. The building in question can already exist on the grounds or it might be constructed after the contract has been made. Furthermore, if the building burns down or is otherwise destroyed, the owner of the building, called also superficiarius, has the right to build a new one. Jus superficiei also extends to the use of the pathways the superficiarius has to go through when accessing the building. Since the building in question is owned by the superficiarius, they can naturally do with it anything that an owner can do, provided it does not break the rights of the landowner – they can e.g. donate, sell or rent the house to someone else.
The final thing Wolff deals with in the first chapter concerns the possible annual payments involved in any dominium utile. These payments, he notes,can be pensiones promobiles, that is, there might be a further condition that if the payment is not made on time, the required sum continues to increase.
maanantai 25. joulukuuta 2023
keskiviikko 22. marraskuuta 2023
Georg Friedrich Meier: Thoughts on honour – When to fear disrespect
The final chapter of Meier’s work concerns duties concerning disrespect. Meier notes that he can be quick about this topic, since matters concerning disrespect can in most cases be easily deduced from what we know about respect. Furthermore, he thinks it is on the whole better not to think as much about disrespect and related imperfections as about respect and perfections. Indeed, he notes, fear of disrespect should not be greater than love of honour, since an overdeveloped shame prevents all action.
Still, Meier continues, we can at least say that we are obligated to avoid being truly disrespected, as much as it is in our power. Meier justifies this by pointing out that our honour is diminished, if we are truly disrespected. True, we can be both respected and disrespected at the same time, still, our honour is greater, if we are not disrespected. Furthermore, Meier adds, we are obligated to avoid imperfection and true disrespect not just presupposes that we are imperfect in some manner, but also adds to our imperfection, because those who disrespect us are wont to harm us. Besides, we should imitate God, who is never disrespected. Fear of disrespect also helps us to avoid vice – another obligation we have – because vice is disrespectful. Finally, Meier notes, we have a natural feeling of shame that makes us want to avoid being despised or disrespected.
Of course, Meier admits, we are obligated to avoid being disrespected only insofar as it is possible. Here possibility means absolute possibility – we humans must always have some imperfections – but also hypothetical possibility – none of us can be universally honoured, so someone must disrespect us. What about the third type of possibility or moral possibility? Meier insists that it can never be morally required to be truly disrespected. Thus, all disrespect we cannot morally avoid must be mere apparent disrespect.
We are obligated to avoid disrespect, and in Meier's opinion this can happen only if we fear disrespect. Fear, on the other hand, requires representing something vividly as evil. Thus, we are obligated to evaluate disrespect correctly. Furthermore, since all our fears must be perfect, we are obligated to evaluate disrespect as clearly, correctly and vividly as possible.
In order to know whether we are disrespected as vividly and distinctly as possible, we should direct our attention to possible faults in our honour. Still, Meier warns, we should not direct too much attention to them, since defects in honour are not the greatest evil and so do not deserve too much of our attention. Then again, we shouldn’t also direct too little attention to these defects, since they are a great evil. Still, he emphasises, we should not let the faults in our honour prevent us from considering more important matters, like our higher duties, truth and virtue, our future honour and means to remove the defects of our honour. Meier advises us to pay more attention to our current defects than to our current honour, but less attention to our future defects than to our future honour. An obvious point is also that we should pay more attention to greater defects than to smaller ones: for instance, it is more important to know whether more honourable persons disrespect us than whether lowly people do so.
If we want to know the faults in our honour as correctly as possible, Meier instructs, we should not confuse apparent or undeserved disrespect with true one or confuse being ignored with being disrespected – we should understand that being ignored is a smaller evil than being disrespected. We should also not ascribe to ourselves greater or smaller defects than we actually have. Furthermore, Meier continues, we should not think defects in our honour to be the smallest nor the greatest evil and we should correctly estimate every kind of defect. Finally, we should understand that avoiding defects is partially, but not completely down to us.
If we want to be as certain about the defects in our honour as possible, Meier states, we shouldn’t consider the defects in our honour doubtful or improbable, if we can be convinced of them certainly or probably. Then again, we should not consider defects in our honour undeniably true, if they are just uncertain or even improbable. According to Meier, we should be more certain about greater defects of honour – for instance, whether God disrespects us – and we should also be more certain of current defects in our honour than of current honour, but more certain of future honour than of future defects in our honour.
Although we should know the defects in our honour as vividly as possible, Meier clarifies, we should not be too anxious of them, because a too strong feeling of anxiety doesn’t help anything. Still, we should also not completely ignore our defects. More precisely, Meier teaches, the whole anxiety over defects in our honour should not rise higher than the whole satisfaction with honour. Furthermore, anxiety over defects should never be so strong that it prevents us from finding and using means for getting rid of them.
Meier concludes from previous considerations that we are obligated to make a representation of disrespect a motive for avoiding vice and sins and for purifying ourselves from despicable imperfections as much as possible. This means that we err when we make disrespect the greatest, strongest or even only motive for avoiding evil actions, because there are more important and higher motives, but also when we do not use disrespect as a motive at all.
If we follow the previous rules, Meier says, we avoid all faults in our honour, but we also do so perfectly. We still have to make our actions proportional. In other words, we should not avoid defects in our honour too much, because it is not our greatest evil, but also not too little, and the nastier the type of defect, the more it should be avoided.
Correct avoidance of defects of honour should have a proper object, Meier says. This means, firstly, that we should never avoid apparent despise, which is actually true honour. Furthermore, we should never avoid defect of honour that we cannot hinder with all our forces. Indeed, Meier explains, we are obligated to understand that people will ignore and despise us without our being able to do anything. Finally, we shouldn’t avoid despise for such imperfections that we cannot avert: for instance, Meier points out, it would be a sin to be ashamed of natural ailments of one's body.
Just like with honour, Meier notes that the fear of disrespect must arise from obscure and from confused and from distinct representations, that is, we should follow our natural and inborn shamefulness, sensuous dislike of disrespect and free and distinct decision to avoid disrespect. Of these three, the natural drive by itself is to be used only for avoiding the most insignificant types of disrespect, sensuous dislike for more significant types and distinct decision for most significant types. Then again, even in the more significant cases, the less perfect forms of representation can help to strengthen the determination to avoid disrespect.
Meier thinks that we are obligated to prove our fear of disrespect also through works and thus to act according to it. We should avoid all despicable imperfections and actions, as much as it is in our power, for instance, we should avoid disgraceful actions and acts against rules of justice. We should not continue, but stop despicable things we have already done and replace them with respective honourable perfections. We should even apologise for disrespect we do not deserve, Meier insists, if it is otherwise worth it to apologise and if higher duties do not obligate us to entirely ignore apologising.
According to Meier, we are obligated to make use of all things, and this means also any disrespect afflicting us. In other words, if we are despised, we must take it as an opportunity to improve ourselves, that is, we should purify ourselves from imperfections for which we are disrespected. We should even thank our despisers for opening our eyes and giving us a motive for improving ourselves. Indeed, we should avoid mean persons, who think that the greatest good is to be found in a state of being ignored, because no great soul does not choose such phlegmatic way of life, but is not afraid, even if their first actions in the world caused some disrespect.
Still, Meier continues, we can at least say that we are obligated to avoid being truly disrespected, as much as it is in our power. Meier justifies this by pointing out that our honour is diminished, if we are truly disrespected. True, we can be both respected and disrespected at the same time, still, our honour is greater, if we are not disrespected. Furthermore, Meier adds, we are obligated to avoid imperfection and true disrespect not just presupposes that we are imperfect in some manner, but also adds to our imperfection, because those who disrespect us are wont to harm us. Besides, we should imitate God, who is never disrespected. Fear of disrespect also helps us to avoid vice – another obligation we have – because vice is disrespectful. Finally, Meier notes, we have a natural feeling of shame that makes us want to avoid being despised or disrespected.
Of course, Meier admits, we are obligated to avoid being disrespected only insofar as it is possible. Here possibility means absolute possibility – we humans must always have some imperfections – but also hypothetical possibility – none of us can be universally honoured, so someone must disrespect us. What about the third type of possibility or moral possibility? Meier insists that it can never be morally required to be truly disrespected. Thus, all disrespect we cannot morally avoid must be mere apparent disrespect.
We are obligated to avoid disrespect, and in Meier's opinion this can happen only if we fear disrespect. Fear, on the other hand, requires representing something vividly as evil. Thus, we are obligated to evaluate disrespect correctly. Furthermore, since all our fears must be perfect, we are obligated to evaluate disrespect as clearly, correctly and vividly as possible.
In order to know whether we are disrespected as vividly and distinctly as possible, we should direct our attention to possible faults in our honour. Still, Meier warns, we should not direct too much attention to them, since defects in honour are not the greatest evil and so do not deserve too much of our attention. Then again, we shouldn’t also direct too little attention to these defects, since they are a great evil. Still, he emphasises, we should not let the faults in our honour prevent us from considering more important matters, like our higher duties, truth and virtue, our future honour and means to remove the defects of our honour. Meier advises us to pay more attention to our current defects than to our current honour, but less attention to our future defects than to our future honour. An obvious point is also that we should pay more attention to greater defects than to smaller ones: for instance, it is more important to know whether more honourable persons disrespect us than whether lowly people do so.
If we want to know the faults in our honour as correctly as possible, Meier instructs, we should not confuse apparent or undeserved disrespect with true one or confuse being ignored with being disrespected – we should understand that being ignored is a smaller evil than being disrespected. We should also not ascribe to ourselves greater or smaller defects than we actually have. Furthermore, Meier continues, we should not think defects in our honour to be the smallest nor the greatest evil and we should correctly estimate every kind of defect. Finally, we should understand that avoiding defects is partially, but not completely down to us.
If we want to be as certain about the defects in our honour as possible, Meier states, we shouldn’t consider the defects in our honour doubtful or improbable, if we can be convinced of them certainly or probably. Then again, we should not consider defects in our honour undeniably true, if they are just uncertain or even improbable. According to Meier, we should be more certain about greater defects of honour – for instance, whether God disrespects us – and we should also be more certain of current defects in our honour than of current honour, but more certain of future honour than of future defects in our honour.
Although we should know the defects in our honour as vividly as possible, Meier clarifies, we should not be too anxious of them, because a too strong feeling of anxiety doesn’t help anything. Still, we should also not completely ignore our defects. More precisely, Meier teaches, the whole anxiety over defects in our honour should not rise higher than the whole satisfaction with honour. Furthermore, anxiety over defects should never be so strong that it prevents us from finding and using means for getting rid of them.
Meier concludes from previous considerations that we are obligated to make a representation of disrespect a motive for avoiding vice and sins and for purifying ourselves from despicable imperfections as much as possible. This means that we err when we make disrespect the greatest, strongest or even only motive for avoiding evil actions, because there are more important and higher motives, but also when we do not use disrespect as a motive at all.
If we follow the previous rules, Meier says, we avoid all faults in our honour, but we also do so perfectly. We still have to make our actions proportional. In other words, we should not avoid defects in our honour too much, because it is not our greatest evil, but also not too little, and the nastier the type of defect, the more it should be avoided.
Correct avoidance of defects of honour should have a proper object, Meier says. This means, firstly, that we should never avoid apparent despise, which is actually true honour. Furthermore, we should never avoid defect of honour that we cannot hinder with all our forces. Indeed, Meier explains, we are obligated to understand that people will ignore and despise us without our being able to do anything. Finally, we shouldn’t avoid despise for such imperfections that we cannot avert: for instance, Meier points out, it would be a sin to be ashamed of natural ailments of one's body.
Just like with honour, Meier notes that the fear of disrespect must arise from obscure and from confused and from distinct representations, that is, we should follow our natural and inborn shamefulness, sensuous dislike of disrespect and free and distinct decision to avoid disrespect. Of these three, the natural drive by itself is to be used only for avoiding the most insignificant types of disrespect, sensuous dislike for more significant types and distinct decision for most significant types. Then again, even in the more significant cases, the less perfect forms of representation can help to strengthen the determination to avoid disrespect.
Meier thinks that we are obligated to prove our fear of disrespect also through works and thus to act according to it. We should avoid all despicable imperfections and actions, as much as it is in our power, for instance, we should avoid disgraceful actions and acts against rules of justice. We should not continue, but stop despicable things we have already done and replace them with respective honourable perfections. We should even apologise for disrespect we do not deserve, Meier insists, if it is otherwise worth it to apologise and if higher duties do not obligate us to entirely ignore apologising.
According to Meier, we are obligated to make use of all things, and this means also any disrespect afflicting us. In other words, if we are despised, we must take it as an opportunity to improve ourselves, that is, we should purify ourselves from imperfections for which we are disrespected. We should even thank our despisers for opening our eyes and giving us a motive for improving ourselves. Indeed, we should avoid mean persons, who think that the greatest good is to be found in a state of being ignored, because no great soul does not choose such phlegmatic way of life, but is not afraid, even if their first actions in the world caused some disrespect.
lauantai 28. lokakuuta 2023
Georg Friedrich Meier: Thoughts on honour – What should we do for honour
If the aim of the previous chapter was to show that honour is good, the aim of this chapter, for Meier, is to investigate what does this obligate us to. The first, and the most obvious, obligation or duty is that we should try to gain honour. Meier justifies this from the more general duty that we should try to perfect ourselves, firstly, as an end in itself, and secondly, as means to other ends. As we have just noticed, Meier thinks that honour is good and thus makes us more perfect. Furthermore, he says, being honoured helps us to motivate other humans to reach perfection and it also makes others appreciate works of God more. Thus, honour works also as means for other goods.
Meier argues for the duty of gaining honour in another manner. The most sublime duty for us humans, he says, is to imitate the highest being or God: humans are supposed to be mirrors of divine majesty. Now, he continues, God is in themselves the most honourable being and also is to be honoured through their external works. Thus, Meier concludes, being honoured makes us resemble God more. Furthermore, as an imitation of God, striving for honour is, Meier thinks, a religious action and so service to God. According to Meier, we are obligated to make our free actions an unbroken service of God, where gaining honour then helps.
Meier also notes that we are obligated to act virtuously. Therefore, we are obligated to everything, which makes virtuous actions easier. Now, virtue is one reason for being honoured, hence, setting honour as one’s goal motivates acting virtuously. New motives increase our capacities, Meier continues, and so honour makes virtuous actions easier. Furthermore, he adds, the noblest or heroic virtues require ignoring many other conveniences of life – indeed even very life itself. Such virtues, Meier assumes, especially require honour as their motive.
In addition to virtue, Meier also uses satisfaction as a justification for taking honour as an obligated end. Life without satisfaction is no life, he begins, so we are obligated to find true satisfaction. Because honour gives us true satisfaction, we are obligated to find honour.
All duties, beyond the highest, have their restrictions, since our capacities are limited, Meier thinks. He has argued that honour is not the highest good for humans and thinks that therefore we should try to reach honour only insofar as it is possible for us. By possibility Meier means, firstly, absolute possibility. In other words, we are obligated to find honour only in such a measure that does not overreach human capacities.
In addition, Meier is referring to physical possibility. In other words, we are obligated to strive for honour only in such a measure that agrees with our own individual capacities. This means that the obligation to gain honour concerns only those persons who have the capacity to gain honourable perfections: if they don’t do so, they are despised for wasting their talents. Then again, those without any talents have a privilege to not follow this obligation. Furthermore, Meier adds, everyone is obligated to reach only for such quantities of honour which are possible for their capacities.
The final meaning of the possibility for Meier is moral possibility. Thus, we are obligated to gain honour only insofar as it does not contradict higher duties. If it does contradict, it stops being duty and becomes a sin. Meier gives as an example of breaking this rule a person who just writes philosophy, ignoring his family and friends, and who even forgets eating.
All our duties are free actions, while freedom, Meier explains, is a capacity to desire something that we represent distinctly as good and to avoid something that we represent distinctly as bad. Thus, we are obligated to desire an object we should reach, but also to represent it in as perfect a manner as possible. This means that we have two further obligations concerning honour. Firstly, we should desire honour as strongly as possible – although not too much, since it is not our highest duty. Secondly, we are obligated to determine our desire for honour with the most perfect cognition of honour. In other words, we should represent honour as clearly, correctly, certainly and vividly as is possible for us.
Now, clarity of cognition, Meier says, depends on our attention. Therefore we are obligated to turn our attention towards honour and to represent it as vividly, distinctly and completely as befits the honour and as other duties requiring our attention allow. Meier notes some consequences this duty implies. Firstly, he begins, we are obligated to not concentrate our attention too much on honour, since honour should not be our only nor the greatest object of our attention. Secondly, we should take care that attention toward honour will not prevent us engaging with more important matters, such as religion and our inner perfections. Particularly, Meier thinks, we should remember to take care of our imperfections.
A further consequence Meier notes is that we should care for different kinds of honour only insofar as they deserve. This means that we should mostly look for being honoured by God. We are also, Meier continues, obligated to pay more often and stronger attention to more useful types of honour. Since he thinks that future honour we are just hoping for is the most useful in comparison with current honour or honour we have already enjoyed, we should especially strive for the honour after death.
When we desire honour, Meier says, we are obligated to represent honour as correctly as possible and to avoid all errors in evaluating it, since these errors might turn our road toward honour sinful. Thus, we are obligated not to confuse apparent honour with true honour. Furthermore, we are obligated not to think of the honour we possess or hope for as being greater than it actually is. Then again, since we cannot have correct mathematical cognition of the quantity of our honour, we should be modest in ascribing honour to ourselves. Because most people are not capable of honouring us correctly, we should particularly avoid the error of evaluating our honour according to the number of people who honour or even just flatter us.
A further consequence of our obligation to represent honour correctly, Meier insists, is that we should not ascribe to our honour more or less worth than it has the right to. Thus, we should value every kind of honour according to its merits, for instance, taking honour given by God as the highest possible. In addition, we should be aware that honour varies from time to time. Indeed, we are obligated to think of honour as a good that is not completely in our control.
We should not ascribe to ourselves honour in general or some kind of it, before we are convinced of it with certainty or at least with high probability. Now, Meier thinks that only our being honoured by God can be known by full, demonstrative certainty. In all other cases, we must then always fear that we are not honoured. Meier sees this fear as a positive thing, because it makes us serve the world more. Then again, Meier says, not every kind of honour needs to be as strongly convinced of as others. We should especially try to convince ourselves of higher kinds, thus, we should be more convinced of being honoured for virtue than of being honoured for external matters, like beauty. In addition, we are obligated to be more certain of our future than of our past or current honour and most certain of our honour after our death.
We are also obligated to know our honour as vividly as possible, that is, we have to feel its goodness and enjoy or be satisfied about it. Meier thinks that the most difficult thing regarding this duty is to keep the enjoyment in its proper limits, not too strong and not too weak. Just like with certainty, enjoyment of honour should always be proportional to the kind of honour, for instance, satisfaction from future honour should be stronger than satisfaction from past or present honour.
Vivid cognition of honour leads to desiring it, which leads to making it the goal of our actions. Thus, Meier concludes, we are obligated to make the honour a goal of our actions, as much as it is possible. We should avoid not taking honour at all or only very little as our goal, like some scholars who either disdain honour or want it only for the sake of providing economic benefits for them. Then again, we should also not take it as our only or highest goal. Our primary goal, Meier says, should be the glory of God and religion, and after these, the general good of the whole world. Next on the proper hierarchy of goals is our own happiness and well-being of other people and especially those in our own country. Only at this point comes the place of the honour, which means, Meier notes, that the honour should also be taken as a means for serving God, the world, humankind, the country and ourselves. Furthermore, lower kinds of honour should serve the goal of reaching higher kinds of honour.
Our goals are motives for our actions, in other words, we should take honour as a motive for our actions. Just like with goals, Meier suggests that we should refrain from not taking the honour as a motive at all or taking it only as a minuscule motive, but also not take it as a too strong motive. In addition, we are obligated to take honour as a motive of our actions in as perfect a manner as possible, which requires knowing it as clearly, correctly, certainly and vividly as possible. We should also, Meier continues, make the best kinds of honour stronger motives of our actions than worse kinds. As it should be obvious by now, Meier thinks that the honour given by God should be our highest motive, future honour should be a higher motive than past or present honour, and honour for the sake of virtue and science should be a higher motive than honour for the sake of external perfections.
All previous duties lead us to desire honour, thus, Meier concludes, we are obligated to desire honour. This means that we are obligated to desire honour in its most perfect form. In other words, the perfection we try to reach should be worthy and excellent, but we should also strive for this perfection in a perfect manner. This perfection of desire is generated, Meier thinks, when we see it is a consequence of best possible cognitions. Thus, we are obligated to desire honour according to the best possible cognition. In other words, our desire for honour should be determined through strictest mathematical cognition of honour. Hence, we are obligated to not desire honour more strongly or weakly than it is worth. If we desire it too strongly, we ignore God, ourselves and other people, but if we desire it too weakly, we do not reach the honour our perfections would deserve.
Meier thinks that we should desire honour in proportion to different kinds of honour. Thus, we are obligated to desire future honour stronger than current honour. This implies, Meier says, that flattery should be distrusted at all costs: completely reasonable people would honour each other silently – or at least use only as much words as the case necessitated. Further consequences Meier lists are that we are obligated to desire honour for the sake of virtue and truth more than other kinds of honour and that we are obligated to desire honour given by God more than honour given by humans. He also suggests that it is probable that beyond humans there are higher and more excellent happy spirits that we will come to know after our death and that we are therefore obligated to strongly desire honour given by these spirits.
In addition to true honour, Meier insists, we should not desire any other honour, because it is a sin to desire apparent honour. More specifically, pretentious honour must be completely despised, while erroneous honour is in some sense good, but we should not just cause it. In addition, Meier continues, we are obligated to desire only such honour that we are justified to believe that we will receive, because we shouldn’t hope for something we cannot achieve. Finally, we are obligated to desire honour only for such perfections that we know we are capable of possessing, or otherwise we would desire apparent honour.
All desires can arise from obscure, confused or distinct concepts. Meier thinks that all these kinds of concepts should be involved in our desire for honour. Desire for honour arising from obscure concepts Meier calls a natural drive to honour. This natural drive is very strong, and according to Meier, it should not be weakened, because nature should usually be followed: although natural drives are most imperfect of the types of desire, they are still very useful to us humans, since they are stronger than desires generated by clear and distinct concepts. If nature has not implanted a drive for honour in us, we should try to awaken it. Meier says that this is difficult, but can be done if we just often think clear, distinct and vivid concepts of honour: they will eventually sink into our mind as vivid and obscure concepts.
When the drive to honour has awakened, Meier continues, we are obligated to strengthen it. Yet, he warns the reader, we should not desire honour not merely through this natural drive, because we are obligated to to desire it according to our best knowledge. Indeed, Meier emphasised, it is vitally important to link our natural drive only to true honour, because obscure concepts often lead to error. We are obligated to use this drive especially to desire the most insignificant kinds of honour that we must desire, because these kinds would not gain anything from clarity of concepts. Then again, we are obligated to use the drive to honour to strengthen our clear and reasonable desires to the best and highest kinds of honour.
We are obligated to desire honour according to confused cognition. Like with natural drive for honour, Meier emphasises that we should not desire honour merely through confused concepts and that we should link this confused desire only to true honour, because confused concepts easily lead to error. Particularly, we should verify our confused desire for honour through correct taste or philosophical demonstration. Furthermore, Meier continues, we should especially desire confusedly such kinds of honour that are too important to be desired with obscure concepts, but not important enough to be desired with distinct cognition. Finally, we use the confused desire to strengthen the reasonable desire for the best kinds of honour.
If our confused cognition, from which sensuous desires are generated, is very strong, Meier explains, this generates a pleasant affection called joy. In the case of honour Meier calls this joy the love of honour. Thus, we are obligated to love honour and we should not weaken this affection: like natural drives, Meier insists, affections are a gift of nature, which will not lead us astray, if we just link them to true honour. We are obligated to enjoy past, present and future honour, and of these, the hope of future honour should be the greatest. In other words, we should hope for honour more strongly than enjoy any honour. Meier notes that it is ridiculous to enjoy current honour, if it is not weakened by concern for our imperfections, and too strong enjoyment of past honour is as ridiculous as when a nobleman who has no other current merits, but keeping the countryside clear of foxes reminisces of his past actions.
Finally, Meier says, we are obligated to desire honour through our freedom or through distinct concepts. Best kinds of honour should be desired reasonably: these include, as always, honour given by God, honour beyond death and honour for the sake of virtue and truth. In Meier’s opinion, the reasonable desire for honour must be the guide and leader of all other desires for honour. Since drive to honour and love of honour must follow the reasonable desire for honour, we must weaken our drive and love for apparent honour.
Mere desire for honour is not enough for reaching honour, Meier says, since honour is an external good requiring numerous actions, which use even the body as a tool. Thus, we are obligated to do all such external actions, without which the honour cannot be reached. In other words, we are obligated to act according to our desire for honour – of course, it should not be our only or greatest task. Furthermore, Meier adds, we are obligated to direct our whole external condition in such a manner that it corresponds in the best way possible with the measure of our honour, because correspondence of everything in us makes us more perfect and because we are obligated to show our honour to the whole world.
We are obligated to grow in honour, Meier thinks. This implies, firstly, that we should not reach for new levels of honour, before the earlier ones are firmly in our possession. Furthermore, we should particularly take care that our honour does not end before our life. Indeed, if we too suddenly obtain a very great level of honour, we are put in a precarious position where the growth of our honour becomes impossible or at least very difficult. Thus, we should not desire nor accept too sudden a swelling of honour, such as the wunderkinds often have.
Meier notes that it is a common weakness of all humans to find faults in others. Thus, no matter how honourable and honoured we are, people will question our honour. Since we are obligated to retain our honour, we should defend it against all opposition. This means, firstly, that we should defend our good name against all attacks with all the means allowed by natural and civil right, because such civil honour is one condition of internal honour. We should also defend our internal honour directly, and the best means for this is to ignore all the attacks and just act toward the eyes of the world in such a manner that proves we deserve honour. Yet, Meier admits, the best means requires time, and sometimes we need to act more quickly. In such situations, we can use words, but even then we should avoid any boasting and give the appearance that we are unwilling to speak of our perfections. Two false means for saving honour are to be avoided, Meier cautions the reader. Firstly, we should nor insult our despisers, because then we would try to retain honour through sin, and secondly, we should avoid duels and court proceedings, since no one cannot be forced to honour us.
If duties contradict one another, the lesser obligation should be discarded. Since obligation to honour is not our highest duty, Meier argues, we should ignore it, if it contradicts a higher obligation: for instance, we are to discard honour, if we are despised because of piety, virtue or duties toward our soul or homeland. Similarly, if different kinds of honour contradict one another, we are obligated to ignore lower kinds, e.g. we should ignore honour given by humans if it would prevent us being honoured by God.
Meier notes that it is a common conceit that we ascribe to ourselves perfections that are not due to us. This can happen also with honour, since it depends on us only partially. We should especially, Meier insists, recognise that we have not merely through ourselves created our honour, but honour, like all good, is also dependent on God, who has given us perfections and maintains them. Indeed, he concludes, honour should be seen as a gift from God. Furthermore, we should also be thankful of people who honour us, since without them we would not have honour.
Meier argues for the duty of gaining honour in another manner. The most sublime duty for us humans, he says, is to imitate the highest being or God: humans are supposed to be mirrors of divine majesty. Now, he continues, God is in themselves the most honourable being and also is to be honoured through their external works. Thus, Meier concludes, being honoured makes us resemble God more. Furthermore, as an imitation of God, striving for honour is, Meier thinks, a religious action and so service to God. According to Meier, we are obligated to make our free actions an unbroken service of God, where gaining honour then helps.
Meier also notes that we are obligated to act virtuously. Therefore, we are obligated to everything, which makes virtuous actions easier. Now, virtue is one reason for being honoured, hence, setting honour as one’s goal motivates acting virtuously. New motives increase our capacities, Meier continues, and so honour makes virtuous actions easier. Furthermore, he adds, the noblest or heroic virtues require ignoring many other conveniences of life – indeed even very life itself. Such virtues, Meier assumes, especially require honour as their motive.
In addition to virtue, Meier also uses satisfaction as a justification for taking honour as an obligated end. Life without satisfaction is no life, he begins, so we are obligated to find true satisfaction. Because honour gives us true satisfaction, we are obligated to find honour.
All duties, beyond the highest, have their restrictions, since our capacities are limited, Meier thinks. He has argued that honour is not the highest good for humans and thinks that therefore we should try to reach honour only insofar as it is possible for us. By possibility Meier means, firstly, absolute possibility. In other words, we are obligated to find honour only in such a measure that does not overreach human capacities.
In addition, Meier is referring to physical possibility. In other words, we are obligated to strive for honour only in such a measure that agrees with our own individual capacities. This means that the obligation to gain honour concerns only those persons who have the capacity to gain honourable perfections: if they don’t do so, they are despised for wasting their talents. Then again, those without any talents have a privilege to not follow this obligation. Furthermore, Meier adds, everyone is obligated to reach only for such quantities of honour which are possible for their capacities.
The final meaning of the possibility for Meier is moral possibility. Thus, we are obligated to gain honour only insofar as it does not contradict higher duties. If it does contradict, it stops being duty and becomes a sin. Meier gives as an example of breaking this rule a person who just writes philosophy, ignoring his family and friends, and who even forgets eating.
All our duties are free actions, while freedom, Meier explains, is a capacity to desire something that we represent distinctly as good and to avoid something that we represent distinctly as bad. Thus, we are obligated to desire an object we should reach, but also to represent it in as perfect a manner as possible. This means that we have two further obligations concerning honour. Firstly, we should desire honour as strongly as possible – although not too much, since it is not our highest duty. Secondly, we are obligated to determine our desire for honour with the most perfect cognition of honour. In other words, we should represent honour as clearly, correctly, certainly and vividly as is possible for us.
Now, clarity of cognition, Meier says, depends on our attention. Therefore we are obligated to turn our attention towards honour and to represent it as vividly, distinctly and completely as befits the honour and as other duties requiring our attention allow. Meier notes some consequences this duty implies. Firstly, he begins, we are obligated to not concentrate our attention too much on honour, since honour should not be our only nor the greatest object of our attention. Secondly, we should take care that attention toward honour will not prevent us engaging with more important matters, such as religion and our inner perfections. Particularly, Meier thinks, we should remember to take care of our imperfections.
A further consequence Meier notes is that we should care for different kinds of honour only insofar as they deserve. This means that we should mostly look for being honoured by God. We are also, Meier continues, obligated to pay more often and stronger attention to more useful types of honour. Since he thinks that future honour we are just hoping for is the most useful in comparison with current honour or honour we have already enjoyed, we should especially strive for the honour after death.
When we desire honour, Meier says, we are obligated to represent honour as correctly as possible and to avoid all errors in evaluating it, since these errors might turn our road toward honour sinful. Thus, we are obligated not to confuse apparent honour with true honour. Furthermore, we are obligated not to think of the honour we possess or hope for as being greater than it actually is. Then again, since we cannot have correct mathematical cognition of the quantity of our honour, we should be modest in ascribing honour to ourselves. Because most people are not capable of honouring us correctly, we should particularly avoid the error of evaluating our honour according to the number of people who honour or even just flatter us.
A further consequence of our obligation to represent honour correctly, Meier insists, is that we should not ascribe to our honour more or less worth than it has the right to. Thus, we should value every kind of honour according to its merits, for instance, taking honour given by God as the highest possible. In addition, we should be aware that honour varies from time to time. Indeed, we are obligated to think of honour as a good that is not completely in our control.
We should not ascribe to ourselves honour in general or some kind of it, before we are convinced of it with certainty or at least with high probability. Now, Meier thinks that only our being honoured by God can be known by full, demonstrative certainty. In all other cases, we must then always fear that we are not honoured. Meier sees this fear as a positive thing, because it makes us serve the world more. Then again, Meier says, not every kind of honour needs to be as strongly convinced of as others. We should especially try to convince ourselves of higher kinds, thus, we should be more convinced of being honoured for virtue than of being honoured for external matters, like beauty. In addition, we are obligated to be more certain of our future than of our past or current honour and most certain of our honour after our death.
We are also obligated to know our honour as vividly as possible, that is, we have to feel its goodness and enjoy or be satisfied about it. Meier thinks that the most difficult thing regarding this duty is to keep the enjoyment in its proper limits, not too strong and not too weak. Just like with certainty, enjoyment of honour should always be proportional to the kind of honour, for instance, satisfaction from future honour should be stronger than satisfaction from past or present honour.
Vivid cognition of honour leads to desiring it, which leads to making it the goal of our actions. Thus, Meier concludes, we are obligated to make the honour a goal of our actions, as much as it is possible. We should avoid not taking honour at all or only very little as our goal, like some scholars who either disdain honour or want it only for the sake of providing economic benefits for them. Then again, we should also not take it as our only or highest goal. Our primary goal, Meier says, should be the glory of God and religion, and after these, the general good of the whole world. Next on the proper hierarchy of goals is our own happiness and well-being of other people and especially those in our own country. Only at this point comes the place of the honour, which means, Meier notes, that the honour should also be taken as a means for serving God, the world, humankind, the country and ourselves. Furthermore, lower kinds of honour should serve the goal of reaching higher kinds of honour.
Our goals are motives for our actions, in other words, we should take honour as a motive for our actions. Just like with goals, Meier suggests that we should refrain from not taking the honour as a motive at all or taking it only as a minuscule motive, but also not take it as a too strong motive. In addition, we are obligated to take honour as a motive of our actions in as perfect a manner as possible, which requires knowing it as clearly, correctly, certainly and vividly as possible. We should also, Meier continues, make the best kinds of honour stronger motives of our actions than worse kinds. As it should be obvious by now, Meier thinks that the honour given by God should be our highest motive, future honour should be a higher motive than past or present honour, and honour for the sake of virtue and science should be a higher motive than honour for the sake of external perfections.
All previous duties lead us to desire honour, thus, Meier concludes, we are obligated to desire honour. This means that we are obligated to desire honour in its most perfect form. In other words, the perfection we try to reach should be worthy and excellent, but we should also strive for this perfection in a perfect manner. This perfection of desire is generated, Meier thinks, when we see it is a consequence of best possible cognitions. Thus, we are obligated to desire honour according to the best possible cognition. In other words, our desire for honour should be determined through strictest mathematical cognition of honour. Hence, we are obligated to not desire honour more strongly or weakly than it is worth. If we desire it too strongly, we ignore God, ourselves and other people, but if we desire it too weakly, we do not reach the honour our perfections would deserve.
Meier thinks that we should desire honour in proportion to different kinds of honour. Thus, we are obligated to desire future honour stronger than current honour. This implies, Meier says, that flattery should be distrusted at all costs: completely reasonable people would honour each other silently – or at least use only as much words as the case necessitated. Further consequences Meier lists are that we are obligated to desire honour for the sake of virtue and truth more than other kinds of honour and that we are obligated to desire honour given by God more than honour given by humans. He also suggests that it is probable that beyond humans there are higher and more excellent happy spirits that we will come to know after our death and that we are therefore obligated to strongly desire honour given by these spirits.
In addition to true honour, Meier insists, we should not desire any other honour, because it is a sin to desire apparent honour. More specifically, pretentious honour must be completely despised, while erroneous honour is in some sense good, but we should not just cause it. In addition, Meier continues, we are obligated to desire only such honour that we are justified to believe that we will receive, because we shouldn’t hope for something we cannot achieve. Finally, we are obligated to desire honour only for such perfections that we know we are capable of possessing, or otherwise we would desire apparent honour.
All desires can arise from obscure, confused or distinct concepts. Meier thinks that all these kinds of concepts should be involved in our desire for honour. Desire for honour arising from obscure concepts Meier calls a natural drive to honour. This natural drive is very strong, and according to Meier, it should not be weakened, because nature should usually be followed: although natural drives are most imperfect of the types of desire, they are still very useful to us humans, since they are stronger than desires generated by clear and distinct concepts. If nature has not implanted a drive for honour in us, we should try to awaken it. Meier says that this is difficult, but can be done if we just often think clear, distinct and vivid concepts of honour: they will eventually sink into our mind as vivid and obscure concepts.
When the drive to honour has awakened, Meier continues, we are obligated to strengthen it. Yet, he warns the reader, we should not desire honour not merely through this natural drive, because we are obligated to to desire it according to our best knowledge. Indeed, Meier emphasised, it is vitally important to link our natural drive only to true honour, because obscure concepts often lead to error. We are obligated to use this drive especially to desire the most insignificant kinds of honour that we must desire, because these kinds would not gain anything from clarity of concepts. Then again, we are obligated to use the drive to honour to strengthen our clear and reasonable desires to the best and highest kinds of honour.
We are obligated to desire honour according to confused cognition. Like with natural drive for honour, Meier emphasises that we should not desire honour merely through confused concepts and that we should link this confused desire only to true honour, because confused concepts easily lead to error. Particularly, we should verify our confused desire for honour through correct taste or philosophical demonstration. Furthermore, Meier continues, we should especially desire confusedly such kinds of honour that are too important to be desired with obscure concepts, but not important enough to be desired with distinct cognition. Finally, we use the confused desire to strengthen the reasonable desire for the best kinds of honour.
If our confused cognition, from which sensuous desires are generated, is very strong, Meier explains, this generates a pleasant affection called joy. In the case of honour Meier calls this joy the love of honour. Thus, we are obligated to love honour and we should not weaken this affection: like natural drives, Meier insists, affections are a gift of nature, which will not lead us astray, if we just link them to true honour. We are obligated to enjoy past, present and future honour, and of these, the hope of future honour should be the greatest. In other words, we should hope for honour more strongly than enjoy any honour. Meier notes that it is ridiculous to enjoy current honour, if it is not weakened by concern for our imperfections, and too strong enjoyment of past honour is as ridiculous as when a nobleman who has no other current merits, but keeping the countryside clear of foxes reminisces of his past actions.
Finally, Meier says, we are obligated to desire honour through our freedom or through distinct concepts. Best kinds of honour should be desired reasonably: these include, as always, honour given by God, honour beyond death and honour for the sake of virtue and truth. In Meier’s opinion, the reasonable desire for honour must be the guide and leader of all other desires for honour. Since drive to honour and love of honour must follow the reasonable desire for honour, we must weaken our drive and love for apparent honour.
Mere desire for honour is not enough for reaching honour, Meier says, since honour is an external good requiring numerous actions, which use even the body as a tool. Thus, we are obligated to do all such external actions, without which the honour cannot be reached. In other words, we are obligated to act according to our desire for honour – of course, it should not be our only or greatest task. Furthermore, Meier adds, we are obligated to direct our whole external condition in such a manner that it corresponds in the best way possible with the measure of our honour, because correspondence of everything in us makes us more perfect and because we are obligated to show our honour to the whole world.
We are obligated to grow in honour, Meier thinks. This implies, firstly, that we should not reach for new levels of honour, before the earlier ones are firmly in our possession. Furthermore, we should particularly take care that our honour does not end before our life. Indeed, if we too suddenly obtain a very great level of honour, we are put in a precarious position where the growth of our honour becomes impossible or at least very difficult. Thus, we should not desire nor accept too sudden a swelling of honour, such as the wunderkinds often have.
Meier notes that it is a common weakness of all humans to find faults in others. Thus, no matter how honourable and honoured we are, people will question our honour. Since we are obligated to retain our honour, we should defend it against all opposition. This means, firstly, that we should defend our good name against all attacks with all the means allowed by natural and civil right, because such civil honour is one condition of internal honour. We should also defend our internal honour directly, and the best means for this is to ignore all the attacks and just act toward the eyes of the world in such a manner that proves we deserve honour. Yet, Meier admits, the best means requires time, and sometimes we need to act more quickly. In such situations, we can use words, but even then we should avoid any boasting and give the appearance that we are unwilling to speak of our perfections. Two false means for saving honour are to be avoided, Meier cautions the reader. Firstly, we should nor insult our despisers, because then we would try to retain honour through sin, and secondly, we should avoid duels and court proceedings, since no one cannot be forced to honour us.
If duties contradict one another, the lesser obligation should be discarded. Since obligation to honour is not our highest duty, Meier argues, we should ignore it, if it contradicts a higher obligation: for instance, we are to discard honour, if we are despised because of piety, virtue or duties toward our soul or homeland. Similarly, if different kinds of honour contradict one another, we are obligated to ignore lower kinds, e.g. we should ignore honour given by humans if it would prevent us being honoured by God.
Meier notes that it is a common conceit that we ascribe to ourselves perfections that are not due to us. This can happen also with honour, since it depends on us only partially. We should especially, Meier insists, recognise that we have not merely through ourselves created our honour, but honour, like all good, is also dependent on God, who has given us perfections and maintains them. Indeed, he concludes, honour should be seen as a gift from God. Furthermore, we should also be thankful of people who honour us, since without them we would not have honour.
sunnuntai 22. lokakuuta 2023
Georg Friedrich Meier: Thoughts on honour – Is honour worth seeking?
One might think that Meier’s study of honour has been rather practical, since he has already given, for instance, good practices on how to gain honour. Yet, Meier refers by the epithet practical not to tips for good practices, but to questions of what one should do. In other words, it is only when we ask whether honour is worth seeking that we are doing practical philosophy.
On Meier’s terms, the question appears to have a rather easy answer. Honour has already been defined through various perfections: the person honoured must have true perfections, and the person honouring should have a clear, correct, certain and vivid understanding of these perfections. Meier admits that like all things human, honour must already imply some imperfections, but as these are due to human nature and not to anything essential to honour itself, these imperfections do not matter: otherwise, all science would be imperfect. Thus, as an effect of various perfections, honour itself must be a perfection.
Meier argues for the perfection of honour from another angle, also. Just like good causes prove the perfection of honour, so do its good consequences. Honour gives the honoured person the power to motivate others and thus endows them with a capacity to benefit humankind by making countless other people more perfect. Honour also benefits the honoured person, because it motivates everyone honouring to serve them, because those honouring love those honoured. Finally, honour makes honoured persons satisfied in a manner reminiscent of the satisfaction of God.
Previous arguments concern only the honour in this life, but Meier thinks that honour after one’s death is also valuable, since it is essentially similar honour as that before one’s death. Honour after one’s death indeed greatly expands the merits of a person, because it enables them to serve people even beyond their death. Furthermore, Meier thinks that happiness consists largely in hope and therefore hope of honour after death satisfies honourable persons even when they are living. Finally, Meier goes so far as to suggest that honour can give many personal advantages in the afterlife, picturing Saint Paul being served by his admirers in heaven.
Now, we could really end the text here, but Meier still has to consider all the objections against honour. With a decent ad hominem Meier suggests that many of these objections come from mean people, who despise honour, because they do not have any themselves. If we ignore this and look at the objections instead of the objectors, Meier notes that often human honour is disparaged as taking attention away from God, whose honour, on the other hand, is so great that nothing human can be compared with it. Meier notes that these are just excuses, since the honour of God and the honour of humans do not contradict one another and because humans do have their honourable perfections even if they are not as great as God’s.
Often honour is opposed with mere rhetorics, like when it is compared to a pleasant dream or mere nothingness. Meier thinks that anyone saying that honour isn’t anything real has no understanding what real means – such things are said by people thinking their own stomach is the most real thing. Then again, he adds, if you think eating, drinking and gold give you satisfaction, doesn’t honour make us more perfect than these external goods?
Meier notes that some people think honour as such is shameful and suspect people will just go on endlessly striving for more and more honour. He answers them that such supposed bad consequences of honour are actually consequences of its misuse. Indeed, he adds, all goods can be misused, even religion. Meier thinks that the drive for honour is not bad, if it stays in its proper limits. Besides, he admits all earthly goods leave humans wanting for more, even religious enjoyment, because finite can never be completely perfect.
Honour is good, Meier can then conclude, but how good is it compared to other goods? It isn’t the greatest good, Meier notes, since that place he reserves for religion. After religion, the hierarchy of goods, he says, starts with moral perfections and continues with all other perfections of higher mental capacities, including truth and science. Below these come all other mental perfections and then all other internal perfections. The lowest rung of the hierarchy of goods is reserved for all external perfections, which include also honour. Yet, Meier insists, it is on the higher scale of these external perfections, because it has the greatest good of a human being as its consequence and it makes a person more perfect than any other external good. Honour is then a true and important good, thus, Meier argues, both being ignored and being despised must be really bad. Indeed, he continues, if you are ignored, you won’t have great perfections, and if you are despised, you will have great imperfections.
The final question Meier considers here is whether apparent honouring or despising are truly good or bad. He begins by noting that both apparent honouring and apparent despising arise out of mistake or pretence. If a despicable person is honoured with pretension, Meier says, this is just ridicule and therefore no true good. Then again, if a despicable person is honoured because of a mistake, the honoured person appears to be served by this mistake, but the erroneous foundation causes more harm. If we change the despicable to an honourable person, pretentious honouring is not as great an evil, but it is still an evil, because pretentions are bad. Even less of an evil the case becomes, if the apparent honouring is based on error. Moving to apparent despise, Meier thinks that an erroneous despising of an honourable person is not as great an evil as despising someone for good reasons, but it is still an evil. Finally, pretentious despising of an honourable person is actually no real evil, but works more like a bitter medicine for avoiding hubris.
On Meier’s terms, the question appears to have a rather easy answer. Honour has already been defined through various perfections: the person honoured must have true perfections, and the person honouring should have a clear, correct, certain and vivid understanding of these perfections. Meier admits that like all things human, honour must already imply some imperfections, but as these are due to human nature and not to anything essential to honour itself, these imperfections do not matter: otherwise, all science would be imperfect. Thus, as an effect of various perfections, honour itself must be a perfection.
Meier argues for the perfection of honour from another angle, also. Just like good causes prove the perfection of honour, so do its good consequences. Honour gives the honoured person the power to motivate others and thus endows them with a capacity to benefit humankind by making countless other people more perfect. Honour also benefits the honoured person, because it motivates everyone honouring to serve them, because those honouring love those honoured. Finally, honour makes honoured persons satisfied in a manner reminiscent of the satisfaction of God.
Previous arguments concern only the honour in this life, but Meier thinks that honour after one’s death is also valuable, since it is essentially similar honour as that before one’s death. Honour after one’s death indeed greatly expands the merits of a person, because it enables them to serve people even beyond their death. Furthermore, Meier thinks that happiness consists largely in hope and therefore hope of honour after death satisfies honourable persons even when they are living. Finally, Meier goes so far as to suggest that honour can give many personal advantages in the afterlife, picturing Saint Paul being served by his admirers in heaven.
Now, we could really end the text here, but Meier still has to consider all the objections against honour. With a decent ad hominem Meier suggests that many of these objections come from mean people, who despise honour, because they do not have any themselves. If we ignore this and look at the objections instead of the objectors, Meier notes that often human honour is disparaged as taking attention away from God, whose honour, on the other hand, is so great that nothing human can be compared with it. Meier notes that these are just excuses, since the honour of God and the honour of humans do not contradict one another and because humans do have their honourable perfections even if they are not as great as God’s.
Often honour is opposed with mere rhetorics, like when it is compared to a pleasant dream or mere nothingness. Meier thinks that anyone saying that honour isn’t anything real has no understanding what real means – such things are said by people thinking their own stomach is the most real thing. Then again, he adds, if you think eating, drinking and gold give you satisfaction, doesn’t honour make us more perfect than these external goods?
Meier notes that some people think honour as such is shameful and suspect people will just go on endlessly striving for more and more honour. He answers them that such supposed bad consequences of honour are actually consequences of its misuse. Indeed, he adds, all goods can be misused, even religion. Meier thinks that the drive for honour is not bad, if it stays in its proper limits. Besides, he admits all earthly goods leave humans wanting for more, even religious enjoyment, because finite can never be completely perfect.
Honour is good, Meier can then conclude, but how good is it compared to other goods? It isn’t the greatest good, Meier notes, since that place he reserves for religion. After religion, the hierarchy of goods, he says, starts with moral perfections and continues with all other perfections of higher mental capacities, including truth and science. Below these come all other mental perfections and then all other internal perfections. The lowest rung of the hierarchy of goods is reserved for all external perfections, which include also honour. Yet, Meier insists, it is on the higher scale of these external perfections, because it has the greatest good of a human being as its consequence and it makes a person more perfect than any other external good. Honour is then a true and important good, thus, Meier argues, both being ignored and being despised must be really bad. Indeed, he continues, if you are ignored, you won’t have great perfections, and if you are despised, you will have great imperfections.
The final question Meier considers here is whether apparent honouring or despising are truly good or bad. He begins by noting that both apparent honouring and apparent despising arise out of mistake or pretence. If a despicable person is honoured with pretension, Meier says, this is just ridicule and therefore no true good. Then again, if a despicable person is honoured because of a mistake, the honoured person appears to be served by this mistake, but the erroneous foundation causes more harm. If we change the despicable to an honourable person, pretentious honouring is not as great an evil, but it is still an evil, because pretentions are bad. Even less of an evil the case becomes, if the apparent honouring is based on error. Moving to apparent despise, Meier thinks that an erroneous despising of an honourable person is not as great an evil as despising someone for good reasons, but it is still an evil. Finally, pretentious despising of an honourable person is actually no real evil, but works more like a bitter medicine for avoiding hubris.
keskiviikko 11. lokakuuta 2023
Georg Friedrich Meier: Thoughts on honour – How to gain honour
After determining what honour is and how to measure it, the next task Meier takes up is to give advice on how to gain honour. But first he has to decide whether one can have any say on whether one is honoured. Meier notes that being honoured has three conditions: one has to have honourable characteristics, other people must perceive these characteristics and these other people have to recognise the characteristics as honourable. Of these three conditions, the final one is such that the person seeking honour cannot themselves guarantee it – we cannot make others recognise what is honourable. Still, the first two conditions can be affected: one can make one’s characteristics honourable and one can show others these characteristics.
Starting from the first task, Meier notes that one should begin with a firm decision of improving one’s character: the road to honour is full of hardship and retaining honour is also difficult. A more concrete advice is to increase one’s potential for having many and great good characteristics. By potential, Meier says, can be meant, firstly, physical possibility. Physical possibility, then, increases when one gains more capacities to do things and refines capacities one already has. Thus, one has to first make an inventory of what capacities one has, either by nature or through practice. After that, one should augment the deficiencies in one’s system of capacities.
Some potential is connected to external circumstances, like one’s lifestyle or profession, Meier notes. Thus, one should aim for an honourable way of life, especially if one has not been born into one. Indeed, Meier continues, one should do more and choose a way of life that opens up new possibilities for improving one’s character and that best corresponds to one’s capacities.
Final way to understand potential, Meier says, is to think it refers to moral possibilities. In other words, Meier wants us to especially improve our capacities for good actions and to make our way of life agree with morality. It is then no wonder that Meier thinks piety to be the most important ingredient of honourable life.
Potential is still not enough, Meier adds, but one should also just gain many of these great potential characteristics. Of course, he explains, they have to be potentially reachable characteristics, because otherwise trying to reach them is just shameful. Because honour cannot be the price of many persons, Meier notes, one should try to gain more good characteristics than most people, especially people in the same life context, and in the best case, more than anyone else has.
Still, mere quantity is not enough, Meier warns, but one should also try to gain just the most fruitful and astounding characteristics. Again, the quality of these characteristics should top the characteristics of most other people, or in the best case, those of all people. But before one can do that, one should try to learn about the world, in order to know how great characteristics other people have had. Meier also suggests that one cannot really acquire good characteristics that would go against one’s nature: for instance, Cicero would have just been a bad poet. One good characteristic that everyone should acquire, Meier thinks, is obviously virtue.
Meier thinks that one should especially prefer to acquire such characteristics that are of advantage to other people. Persons ignoring this rule are often ignored and forgotten themselves, no matter how great they would be otherwise. Still, this does not mean that one should just blindly follow the taste of other people, unless their taste happens to be correct in its decisions.
Individual good characteristics are still not enough, Meier says, but they should be combined in a perfect manner. In other words, he explains, one should choose a single, especially useful characteristic for particular refining and then try to acquire such characteristics that aid in refining one’s central perfection. For this to work, one should try to know causal chains occurring between different characteristics.
It is not enough to have great characteristics, Meier insists, but one should also try to constantly improve those one already has. He notes disparagingly that only few scholars follow this rule, rest being satisfied with the status of the rabble of the scholarly world. In addition to acquiring good characteristics, Meier concludes, one should try to avoid bad characteristics, particularly such that could harm many people.
Now that one has honourable characteristics, these characteristics have to be made known to other people. Meier admits that some people might think this as vainglory, but being silent about one’s good qualities is just childish, he adds.
No one can be honoured by everyone, Meier emphasises, thus, once should try to choose the audience to which one markets oneself. Of course, he agrees, no one can foretell who might be interested in them in the future. Still they should at least try to pick a specific group of people from which to start, since it is easier to convince a small group of people of one’s honour. Furthermore, Meier reminds the reader, not all kinds of audience should be seeked: instead of flatterers, one should try to show one’s good qualities to virtuous people.
The most important rule Meier gives for showing one’s honourable characteristics is to help the world through the use of one’s talents: people who have been of most assistance have been honoured most. Meier notes that some glory seekers try to circumvent this rule by using money as a surrogate for true help, but this strategy brings only fame that lasts as long as some money remains.
It is not indifferent in which order one reveals one’s characteristics, Meier says. The order itself should be beautiful, in other words, one should try to be most useful with one’s main good characteristic. Furthermore, he adds, one should reveal one’s talents bit by bit, because otherwise one quickly has nothing to show anymore.
Meier admits that gaining honour is often down to luck. Even the opportunities to show one’s good characteristics may occur unexpectedly, thus, it is important to take advantage of all such possibilities. Furthermore, Meier notes, it is also important to avoid all situations which might have a cause to make someone despise you. For instance, Meier advises, one should not begin a task one cannot complete.
Road to honour is very difficult, Meier concludes, and one must work hard for the sake of it. Retaining honour is also an endless task and it just requires more and more every day. Furthermore, Meier advises not trying to use any shortcuts, like self-praise, which lead to no true honour.
Starting from the first task, Meier notes that one should begin with a firm decision of improving one’s character: the road to honour is full of hardship and retaining honour is also difficult. A more concrete advice is to increase one’s potential for having many and great good characteristics. By potential, Meier says, can be meant, firstly, physical possibility. Physical possibility, then, increases when one gains more capacities to do things and refines capacities one already has. Thus, one has to first make an inventory of what capacities one has, either by nature or through practice. After that, one should augment the deficiencies in one’s system of capacities.
Some potential is connected to external circumstances, like one’s lifestyle or profession, Meier notes. Thus, one should aim for an honourable way of life, especially if one has not been born into one. Indeed, Meier continues, one should do more and choose a way of life that opens up new possibilities for improving one’s character and that best corresponds to one’s capacities.
Final way to understand potential, Meier says, is to think it refers to moral possibilities. In other words, Meier wants us to especially improve our capacities for good actions and to make our way of life agree with morality. It is then no wonder that Meier thinks piety to be the most important ingredient of honourable life.
Potential is still not enough, Meier adds, but one should also just gain many of these great potential characteristics. Of course, he explains, they have to be potentially reachable characteristics, because otherwise trying to reach them is just shameful. Because honour cannot be the price of many persons, Meier notes, one should try to gain more good characteristics than most people, especially people in the same life context, and in the best case, more than anyone else has.
Still, mere quantity is not enough, Meier warns, but one should also try to gain just the most fruitful and astounding characteristics. Again, the quality of these characteristics should top the characteristics of most other people, or in the best case, those of all people. But before one can do that, one should try to learn about the world, in order to know how great characteristics other people have had. Meier also suggests that one cannot really acquire good characteristics that would go against one’s nature: for instance, Cicero would have just been a bad poet. One good characteristic that everyone should acquire, Meier thinks, is obviously virtue.
Meier thinks that one should especially prefer to acquire such characteristics that are of advantage to other people. Persons ignoring this rule are often ignored and forgotten themselves, no matter how great they would be otherwise. Still, this does not mean that one should just blindly follow the taste of other people, unless their taste happens to be correct in its decisions.
Individual good characteristics are still not enough, Meier says, but they should be combined in a perfect manner. In other words, he explains, one should choose a single, especially useful characteristic for particular refining and then try to acquire such characteristics that aid in refining one’s central perfection. For this to work, one should try to know causal chains occurring between different characteristics.
It is not enough to have great characteristics, Meier insists, but one should also try to constantly improve those one already has. He notes disparagingly that only few scholars follow this rule, rest being satisfied with the status of the rabble of the scholarly world. In addition to acquiring good characteristics, Meier concludes, one should try to avoid bad characteristics, particularly such that could harm many people.
Now that one has honourable characteristics, these characteristics have to be made known to other people. Meier admits that some people might think this as vainglory, but being silent about one’s good qualities is just childish, he adds.
No one can be honoured by everyone, Meier emphasises, thus, once should try to choose the audience to which one markets oneself. Of course, he agrees, no one can foretell who might be interested in them in the future. Still they should at least try to pick a specific group of people from which to start, since it is easier to convince a small group of people of one’s honour. Furthermore, Meier reminds the reader, not all kinds of audience should be seeked: instead of flatterers, one should try to show one’s good qualities to virtuous people.
The most important rule Meier gives for showing one’s honourable characteristics is to help the world through the use of one’s talents: people who have been of most assistance have been honoured most. Meier notes that some glory seekers try to circumvent this rule by using money as a surrogate for true help, but this strategy brings only fame that lasts as long as some money remains.
It is not indifferent in which order one reveals one’s characteristics, Meier says. The order itself should be beautiful, in other words, one should try to be most useful with one’s main good characteristic. Furthermore, he adds, one should reveal one’s talents bit by bit, because otherwise one quickly has nothing to show anymore.
Meier admits that gaining honour is often down to luck. Even the opportunities to show one’s good characteristics may occur unexpectedly, thus, it is important to take advantage of all such possibilities. Furthermore, Meier notes, it is also important to avoid all situations which might have a cause to make someone despise you. For instance, Meier advises, one should not begin a task one cannot complete.
Road to honour is very difficult, Meier concludes, and one must work hard for the sake of it. Retaining honour is also an endless task and it just requires more and more every day. Furthermore, Meier advises not trying to use any shortcuts, like self-praise, which lead to no true honour.
torstai 21. syyskuuta 2023
Georg Friedrich Meier: Thoughts on honour - How to measure it
A common feature of philosophical studies from the so-called Wolffian school is the desire to quantify the concepts they investigated. Mathematics was seen as something that complements the bare philosophical method. Thus, it is no wonder that Meier would dedicate a whole chapter to the question of how to quantify honour.
Meier begins by noting that because different people look at the same things from different perspectives, different people honouring the same person see different things to commend in them. Thus, the more people honour a person, the more honourable the person is. Meier immediately adds that he is speaking of humans honouring a person. God also can honour a person, he thinks, and this is the greatest honour imaginable. He leaves undecided whether there are any other beings beyond God and humans that could honour someone.
The number of honouring people, Meier notes, need not be limited to contemporaries, but can include future human beings. Indeed, he says, honour received after death is even greater than honour received while living. Thus, he concludes, it is rational to strive for eternal honour.
Although honour given in the future is greater than honour given by contemporaries, Meier remarks, a great number of people honouring one now can still make honour great. This happens especially, if the people honouring you include such that are not close to us or live somewhere else – it is no great feat if a king is honoured by his subjects.
Although the number of people honouring you is one factor determining the quantity of honour, Meier says, it is not the only factor. Thus, someone desiring honour should not just spend their time gathering followers. Still, he points out, it is a factor, and therefore it is foolish to think less followers would mean greater honour.
It is impossible that all contemporaries or future generations would honour the same person, Meier notes. Many contemporaries ignore a greatly honoured person, but many even disrespect them, because people have a tendency to find faults in others. Often this overtly critical stance is caused by envy, Meier explains. Sometimes it is caused by pride, which makes one underestimate others, while sometimes the cause is an excessive desire to ridicule things.
Continuing with the topic of disrespect toward otherwise greatly honoured persons, Meier notes that some people want to build their reputation on the ruins of others, thinking there can be only one greatly honoured person. Furthermore, some misanthropists are not pleased with the perfections of humans. Finally, a common reason for such disrespect, in Meier’s opinion, is that people are often more inclined to think of the evil in the world than what is good, because evil is actually rarer and strikes us more forcefully.
It is not just how many people honour, but who honours you that matters, Meier continues. Great people are able to perceive the worthiest features, while small-minded people enlarge insignificant details. Thus, Meier concludes, the greater the people honouring you, the greater the honour received.
The greatness in question can be internal, that is, the great person can have all the capacities for recognising the greatest perfections in someone. These capacities include, Meier says, both cognitive and volitional capacities. A clear consequence of this is one Meier has already noted, that is, that honour by God is the greatest kind. Furthermore, if there are beings, beyond God, who have greater understanding and will than humans, honour given by them is greater than that given by humans.
No human is perfect in all aspects, Meier points out. Thus, honour is greater, if the persons honouring you are themselves internally great in the same sense as you are. For instance, a soldier knows best when to honour other soldiers. On the other hand, sometimes we tend to belittle people who are perfect in a sense different from ours.
Greatness can also be external, by which Meier means an appearance of greatness, insofar as this appearance is well founded, that is based on inner greatness. What this external greatness adds to internal greatness is a great number of followers, which then magnifies also the honour bestowed by externally great people. Thus, Meier notes, honour given by princes is great, assuming that the princes are also internally great (no one wants to be honoured by Nero). Again, since God is honoured by everyone, honour received from them is the greatest.
An interesting corollary Meier notes is that maximising greatness of people honouring you is not compatible with maximising the number of people honouring you. That is, since there are not that many really great people, if you want to be honoured only by the greatest, you can be honoured only by a few people.
If the first two factors of honour concerned the people honouring, the next two consider the person honoured, and more precisely, the perfections ascribed to them. Firstly, Meier explains, the number of perfections affects the honour of the person having them. Honour of a person is greater, if they have more types of perfections or more perfections of the same type: for instance, a writer is honoured more, if in addition to being eloquent they have deep ideas.
Supposing a person does not have some perfections, even if they could have these, lessens their honour, Meier thinks. If they in some sense could not have these perfections, the effects on their honour depend on what this sense is. If we are speaking of absolute impossibility, Meier explains, then of course such lack will not take away from one’s honour: indeed, it might even be considered foolish to reach for such absolutely impossible perfections. If it is a case of physical impossibility, that is, a lack of capacities necessary for reaching a perfection, honour is reduced if and only if such a lack is shameful: it is dishonourable to understand nothing, but not to not understand religious mysteries. Finally, a lack of morally impossible, or as we would say, morally bad perfections is even a boost to one’s honour, at least if such perfection would really be morally bad (for instance, Meier notes, being educated does not take away one’s moral purity).
Although more perfections means more honour, Meier warns the reader not to reach for excessively many perfections. No human being is able to reach all human perfections, and indeed, some perfections might even be morally detrimental to a person, depending on their life context. Then again, Meier adds, one should not try to cultivate an excessively small number of perfections: for instance, a soldier trying to become a mere expert killer seems like a mere beast.
In addition to the number, Meier continues, one should also consider the greatness of the perfections ascribed to a person. Indeed, he adds, it is more honourable to have a few great, instead of many insignificant perfections. True honour, Meier thinks, requires more than just a run of the mill perfection. A perfection worthy of honour should not be simple, but a synthesis of many perfections. It should be noble and fruitful, in other words, it should have many great and important consequences. Finally, Meier adds, perfections caused by something great are noble are also worthy of honour, since effects equal their causes.
Types of perfections can also be compared to one another, Meier notes. Thus, moral perfections are greater than physical (a good character is more honourable than beauty), internal perfections are greater than external (richness is not a great perfection), perfections of soul are greater than perfections of body, perfections of the higher capacities of soul are greater than perfections of lower capacities (science is more honourable than poetry), and perfections of freedom or virtues are highest of them all.
While the first four factors of the quantity of honour concern the content, the next ones concern the form of honour, Meier clarifies. In other words, they relate to the cognitive state on which the honour a person receives from someone is based on. Thus, clarity of this cognitive state adds to the honour, letting the person honouring see more of the person honoured. For honour to be really great, the person honouring must know the sum of all honourable perfections as a whole, and they must find and distinguish many and great perfections in that whole, and they must see their order and connection. This means, again, that God is the best one to honour you, because God knows a person in the most detailed and systematic fashion.
What then gives a cognitive state or concept more clarity? In case of honour, Meier begins, perfections of the honoured person should not be dimmed by imperfections of the same person. Thus, the honour will be great, if the person honouring sees nothing but the perfections and ignores all the imperfections of the person honoured (no one honours you more than your own mother) or if they see these imperfections only dimly, like good friends, or if the person honouring regards the perfections of the honoured person so strongly that this suppresses all ideas of imperfection (this is how members of a sect honour their leaders).
Clarity is also strengthened by perfections of the honoured not being dimmed by perfections of other persons, Meier continues. Thus, the honour will be great, if the person honouring honours no one in addition to the honoured person (like students honour their teacher, because they know no other scholars), if the person honouring honours other only in smaller degree or if the person honouring honours the honoured person so strongly that all ideas of perfections of others are darkened.
Attention is the source of all clarity, Meier emphasises. Thus, the honour becomes clearer and greater, the more attention the honouring person can give to the perfections of the honoured person. Honour becomes stronger, when the honouring person concentrates more on observing the merits of the honoured person, it becomes more extensive, when the honouring person observes very many perfections of the honoured person, and it becomes more enduring, when the honouring person observes the perfections very long immediately after one another.
Especially three things make attention very great, Meier adds: curiosity, where everything new awakens attention, wonder or intuitive cognition of novelty and captivation or being conscious of something in so great a measure that other concepts are obscured. Thus he concludes, honour becomes clearer and greater, if the honouring person thinks about the perfections of the honoured person with great curiosity, as something new and extraordinary, if the honouring person wonders about the honoured person or if the person honouring is captivated by observing the merits of the person honoured.
Most important facet in the quantity of honour, according to Meier, is the truth of the cognition it is based on: the more correct is the judgement of perfections, the greater the honour. Truth of honour, Meier explains, is to be evaluated like truth of cognition and judgements in general.Thus, honour is more correct and greater, the less perfections are ascribed to the honoured person that they do not have and the more those that they do have, the less errors of quantity are discovered in the judgement of honour, so that perfections would not be evaluated too highly, and the more correctly the person honouring thinks about the order and connection, in which perfections of the honoured person are discovered.
Meier notes that judgements turn often false, when they are derived from preconceptions. Thus, he concludes, honour is more correct, if the honoured person is judged through the lens of preconceptions. This means that honour should be based on impartial judgements. For instance, honour bestowed on us by our friends is not always false, but it often is greater than is deserved. On the contrary, enemies honour us too little, but therefore honour bestowed by them is that much more valuable. More generally, honour given with reproach is more correct than honour without reproach.
In addition to truth, the certainty of cognition or judgement is also important: uncertain honour is weak like dreams, Meier compares. Humans are convinced of truth of a judgement in three manners, Meier says: by deducing it from more general truths, by basing it on their own experience or by hearing of experiences of others. The first route or a priori deduction is closed for us, Meier thinks, since we cannot know honourable perfections of humans from mere arguments. Experiences of others can reach at most moral certainty, so the only way to complete certainty is observation. Thus, the more the person honouring personally observes perfections of the honoured, the more certain and the greater is the honour (for instance, Homer is best honoured by a person who has read his works). Of course, Meier adds, experience can be deceptive, and therefore honour becomes certain only after a repeated observation of perfections.
When the person honouring merely hears about the perfections of the honoured person, the judgement of honour is generally uncertain, but this uncertainty has different degrees, Meier explains. The most extreme degrees in this continuum of honour are an honour based on well attested testimonies of first-hand witnesses and an honour based on stories that have travelled through many persons.
According to Meier, the liveliness of the cognition or judgement also affects the honour. The livelier the experience of the perfections, the greater the honour, and only lively honour fills the person honouring with the idea of the honoured. Great honour requires, hence, intuitive knowledge of the perfections. Thus honour based on mere words (e.g. a title) is a small honour.
What a lively cognition of perfections does, Meier continues, is that it causes pleasure. We are especially pleased about perfections that we are interested in, that we take part of and that are useful for us. If this liveliness is strong enough, it leads to desire and to pleasure. Thus, the more the perfections of a person please, the livelier and greater the honour. Since love is pleasure over someone’s perfections, Meier notes, the more the honoured person is loved, the greater the honour. We can love without honouring, like parents love their children, and we can honour without loving, like we honour Alexander the Great, but honour without love is infinitely smaller than honour with love, Meier insists.
Beyond the quality of cognition, the duration of the honour is a facet of its greatness. If the honour lasts longer, the greater it is, and the degree of honour can go up and down through its duration. If honour is very great from the start, it cannot be augmented, while small initial honour can be improved easily.
An important concept Meier introduces is the notion of fixed honour, where a person has reached so high a degree of honour that it becomes impossible for them to be despised or ignored. Although honour would be fixed, it can still change, because in an honoured man faults are so noticeable. Another reason for the change is that the clarity, truth, certainty and liveliness of cognition might be very variable, because of the nature of soul and human cognition in general, because of a too strong a desire for novelty and love of change or because the cognition of topics is determined by their desires and inclinations.
Honour of long length, Meier says, gains special strength if it isn’t interrupted by periods of disrespect. Honour can be regained after interruption of disrespect, but such regaining is much more difficult than original gaining of honour.
Meier begins by noting that because different people look at the same things from different perspectives, different people honouring the same person see different things to commend in them. Thus, the more people honour a person, the more honourable the person is. Meier immediately adds that he is speaking of humans honouring a person. God also can honour a person, he thinks, and this is the greatest honour imaginable. He leaves undecided whether there are any other beings beyond God and humans that could honour someone.
The number of honouring people, Meier notes, need not be limited to contemporaries, but can include future human beings. Indeed, he says, honour received after death is even greater than honour received while living. Thus, he concludes, it is rational to strive for eternal honour.
Although honour given in the future is greater than honour given by contemporaries, Meier remarks, a great number of people honouring one now can still make honour great. This happens especially, if the people honouring you include such that are not close to us or live somewhere else – it is no great feat if a king is honoured by his subjects.
Although the number of people honouring you is one factor determining the quantity of honour, Meier says, it is not the only factor. Thus, someone desiring honour should not just spend their time gathering followers. Still, he points out, it is a factor, and therefore it is foolish to think less followers would mean greater honour.
It is impossible that all contemporaries or future generations would honour the same person, Meier notes. Many contemporaries ignore a greatly honoured person, but many even disrespect them, because people have a tendency to find faults in others. Often this overtly critical stance is caused by envy, Meier explains. Sometimes it is caused by pride, which makes one underestimate others, while sometimes the cause is an excessive desire to ridicule things.
Continuing with the topic of disrespect toward otherwise greatly honoured persons, Meier notes that some people want to build their reputation on the ruins of others, thinking there can be only one greatly honoured person. Furthermore, some misanthropists are not pleased with the perfections of humans. Finally, a common reason for such disrespect, in Meier’s opinion, is that people are often more inclined to think of the evil in the world than what is good, because evil is actually rarer and strikes us more forcefully.
It is not just how many people honour, but who honours you that matters, Meier continues. Great people are able to perceive the worthiest features, while small-minded people enlarge insignificant details. Thus, Meier concludes, the greater the people honouring you, the greater the honour received.
The greatness in question can be internal, that is, the great person can have all the capacities for recognising the greatest perfections in someone. These capacities include, Meier says, both cognitive and volitional capacities. A clear consequence of this is one Meier has already noted, that is, that honour by God is the greatest kind. Furthermore, if there are beings, beyond God, who have greater understanding and will than humans, honour given by them is greater than that given by humans.
No human is perfect in all aspects, Meier points out. Thus, honour is greater, if the persons honouring you are themselves internally great in the same sense as you are. For instance, a soldier knows best when to honour other soldiers. On the other hand, sometimes we tend to belittle people who are perfect in a sense different from ours.
Greatness can also be external, by which Meier means an appearance of greatness, insofar as this appearance is well founded, that is based on inner greatness. What this external greatness adds to internal greatness is a great number of followers, which then magnifies also the honour bestowed by externally great people. Thus, Meier notes, honour given by princes is great, assuming that the princes are also internally great (no one wants to be honoured by Nero). Again, since God is honoured by everyone, honour received from them is the greatest.
An interesting corollary Meier notes is that maximising greatness of people honouring you is not compatible with maximising the number of people honouring you. That is, since there are not that many really great people, if you want to be honoured only by the greatest, you can be honoured only by a few people.
If the first two factors of honour concerned the people honouring, the next two consider the person honoured, and more precisely, the perfections ascribed to them. Firstly, Meier explains, the number of perfections affects the honour of the person having them. Honour of a person is greater, if they have more types of perfections or more perfections of the same type: for instance, a writer is honoured more, if in addition to being eloquent they have deep ideas.
Supposing a person does not have some perfections, even if they could have these, lessens their honour, Meier thinks. If they in some sense could not have these perfections, the effects on their honour depend on what this sense is. If we are speaking of absolute impossibility, Meier explains, then of course such lack will not take away from one’s honour: indeed, it might even be considered foolish to reach for such absolutely impossible perfections. If it is a case of physical impossibility, that is, a lack of capacities necessary for reaching a perfection, honour is reduced if and only if such a lack is shameful: it is dishonourable to understand nothing, but not to not understand religious mysteries. Finally, a lack of morally impossible, or as we would say, morally bad perfections is even a boost to one’s honour, at least if such perfection would really be morally bad (for instance, Meier notes, being educated does not take away one’s moral purity).
Although more perfections means more honour, Meier warns the reader not to reach for excessively many perfections. No human being is able to reach all human perfections, and indeed, some perfections might even be morally detrimental to a person, depending on their life context. Then again, Meier adds, one should not try to cultivate an excessively small number of perfections: for instance, a soldier trying to become a mere expert killer seems like a mere beast.
In addition to the number, Meier continues, one should also consider the greatness of the perfections ascribed to a person. Indeed, he adds, it is more honourable to have a few great, instead of many insignificant perfections. True honour, Meier thinks, requires more than just a run of the mill perfection. A perfection worthy of honour should not be simple, but a synthesis of many perfections. It should be noble and fruitful, in other words, it should have many great and important consequences. Finally, Meier adds, perfections caused by something great are noble are also worthy of honour, since effects equal their causes.
Types of perfections can also be compared to one another, Meier notes. Thus, moral perfections are greater than physical (a good character is more honourable than beauty), internal perfections are greater than external (richness is not a great perfection), perfections of soul are greater than perfections of body, perfections of the higher capacities of soul are greater than perfections of lower capacities (science is more honourable than poetry), and perfections of freedom or virtues are highest of them all.
While the first four factors of the quantity of honour concern the content, the next ones concern the form of honour, Meier clarifies. In other words, they relate to the cognitive state on which the honour a person receives from someone is based on. Thus, clarity of this cognitive state adds to the honour, letting the person honouring see more of the person honoured. For honour to be really great, the person honouring must know the sum of all honourable perfections as a whole, and they must find and distinguish many and great perfections in that whole, and they must see their order and connection. This means, again, that God is the best one to honour you, because God knows a person in the most detailed and systematic fashion.
What then gives a cognitive state or concept more clarity? In case of honour, Meier begins, perfections of the honoured person should not be dimmed by imperfections of the same person. Thus, the honour will be great, if the person honouring sees nothing but the perfections and ignores all the imperfections of the person honoured (no one honours you more than your own mother) or if they see these imperfections only dimly, like good friends, or if the person honouring regards the perfections of the honoured person so strongly that this suppresses all ideas of imperfection (this is how members of a sect honour their leaders).
Clarity is also strengthened by perfections of the honoured not being dimmed by perfections of other persons, Meier continues. Thus, the honour will be great, if the person honouring honours no one in addition to the honoured person (like students honour their teacher, because they know no other scholars), if the person honouring honours other only in smaller degree or if the person honouring honours the honoured person so strongly that all ideas of perfections of others are darkened.
Attention is the source of all clarity, Meier emphasises. Thus, the honour becomes clearer and greater, the more attention the honouring person can give to the perfections of the honoured person. Honour becomes stronger, when the honouring person concentrates more on observing the merits of the honoured person, it becomes more extensive, when the honouring person observes very many perfections of the honoured person, and it becomes more enduring, when the honouring person observes the perfections very long immediately after one another.
Especially three things make attention very great, Meier adds: curiosity, where everything new awakens attention, wonder or intuitive cognition of novelty and captivation or being conscious of something in so great a measure that other concepts are obscured. Thus he concludes, honour becomes clearer and greater, if the honouring person thinks about the perfections of the honoured person with great curiosity, as something new and extraordinary, if the honouring person wonders about the honoured person or if the person honouring is captivated by observing the merits of the person honoured.
Most important facet in the quantity of honour, according to Meier, is the truth of the cognition it is based on: the more correct is the judgement of perfections, the greater the honour. Truth of honour, Meier explains, is to be evaluated like truth of cognition and judgements in general.Thus, honour is more correct and greater, the less perfections are ascribed to the honoured person that they do not have and the more those that they do have, the less errors of quantity are discovered in the judgement of honour, so that perfections would not be evaluated too highly, and the more correctly the person honouring thinks about the order and connection, in which perfections of the honoured person are discovered.
Meier notes that judgements turn often false, when they are derived from preconceptions. Thus, he concludes, honour is more correct, if the honoured person is judged through the lens of preconceptions. This means that honour should be based on impartial judgements. For instance, honour bestowed on us by our friends is not always false, but it often is greater than is deserved. On the contrary, enemies honour us too little, but therefore honour bestowed by them is that much more valuable. More generally, honour given with reproach is more correct than honour without reproach.
In addition to truth, the certainty of cognition or judgement is also important: uncertain honour is weak like dreams, Meier compares. Humans are convinced of truth of a judgement in three manners, Meier says: by deducing it from more general truths, by basing it on their own experience or by hearing of experiences of others. The first route or a priori deduction is closed for us, Meier thinks, since we cannot know honourable perfections of humans from mere arguments. Experiences of others can reach at most moral certainty, so the only way to complete certainty is observation. Thus, the more the person honouring personally observes perfections of the honoured, the more certain and the greater is the honour (for instance, Homer is best honoured by a person who has read his works). Of course, Meier adds, experience can be deceptive, and therefore honour becomes certain only after a repeated observation of perfections.
When the person honouring merely hears about the perfections of the honoured person, the judgement of honour is generally uncertain, but this uncertainty has different degrees, Meier explains. The most extreme degrees in this continuum of honour are an honour based on well attested testimonies of first-hand witnesses and an honour based on stories that have travelled through many persons.
According to Meier, the liveliness of the cognition or judgement also affects the honour. The livelier the experience of the perfections, the greater the honour, and only lively honour fills the person honouring with the idea of the honoured. Great honour requires, hence, intuitive knowledge of the perfections. Thus honour based on mere words (e.g. a title) is a small honour.
What a lively cognition of perfections does, Meier continues, is that it causes pleasure. We are especially pleased about perfections that we are interested in, that we take part of and that are useful for us. If this liveliness is strong enough, it leads to desire and to pleasure. Thus, the more the perfections of a person please, the livelier and greater the honour. Since love is pleasure over someone’s perfections, Meier notes, the more the honoured person is loved, the greater the honour. We can love without honouring, like parents love their children, and we can honour without loving, like we honour Alexander the Great, but honour without love is infinitely smaller than honour with love, Meier insists.
Beyond the quality of cognition, the duration of the honour is a facet of its greatness. If the honour lasts longer, the greater it is, and the degree of honour can go up and down through its duration. If honour is very great from the start, it cannot be augmented, while small initial honour can be improved easily.
An important concept Meier introduces is the notion of fixed honour, where a person has reached so high a degree of honour that it becomes impossible for them to be despised or ignored. Although honour would be fixed, it can still change, because in an honoured man faults are so noticeable. Another reason for the change is that the clarity, truth, certainty and liveliness of cognition might be very variable, because of the nature of soul and human cognition in general, because of a too strong a desire for novelty and love of change or because the cognition of topics is determined by their desires and inclinations.
Honour of long length, Meier says, gains special strength if it isn’t interrupted by periods of disrespect. Honour can be regained after interruption of disrespect, but such regaining is much more difficult than original gaining of honour.
lauantai 2. syyskuuta 2023
Georg Friedrich Meier: Thoughts on honour (1746)
Meier’s philosophical work has provided plenty of examples of something we’ve otherwise rarely seen in German philosophy in the first half of 18th century: applied philosophy, that is, application of philosophical concepts and theories to often very concrete questions of practical nature. His Gedancken von Ehre is no exception, being a discussion of honour or respect.
Although Meier’s final object lies then in practice, he begins his study with a theoretical part. Quite plausibly, we have to first know what honour is, before we can say, for instance, how much honour we should try to gain for ourselves. Furthermore, Meier adds, theoretical investigation of the notion of honour might awaken in us a desire to do honourable things.
Meier defines honour as the sum of all representations and judgements made by others of one’s perfections. More precisely, this sum, if it is unexpressed, can be called internal honour, while the expression of this internal honour through words and other signs is the corresponding external honour. An important detail is that the honour must be bestowed by others and so no one cannot honour oneself - not even God.
Meier notes that there is also another sense in which we can talk of external honour, that is, when we are speaking of compliments that people are forced to give because of some law. This law can be natural law - and then we are speaking of a good name of someone - or a civil law - for instance, when a person must be bestowed a title. Such external honours, Meier warns, are not really honours in his sense, which requires much more than mere following of a law.
The opposite of honour - dishonour or disrespect - and the corresponding internal and external dishonour can be defined by just replacing perfection with imperfection, Meier notes. From a lack of dishonour cannot be deduced the presence of honour, he adds, because between the two lies a state where other persons do not have any conception whatsoever of one’s perfections or imperfections. Indeed, most people are regarded in such an indifferent manner by persons not close to them
Because Meier defines honour through notions of representations and judgement, he can apply logic and psychology in his investigation. Thus, he notes that since judgements can be affirmative or negative, honour can be also given for a person not having certain imperfections. He immediately explains that in the latter case the lack of imperfection must imply the presence of perfection, since it is not yet an honour to be no murderer. Indeed, he adds, the concept of honour should be reserved to only those cases where the perfection of a person is exceptionally great, since otherwise every person would be honoured.
An important epistemological detail Meier points out is that honour should be based only on true representations and judgements. Thus, even if a person would compliment another, say, for being a great scholar, it would be no real honour if the person giving the compliment would have no idea what being a great scholar really means. All forms of flattery are then ruled out as not bestowing true honour. Then again, since an honour can remain unexpressed, lack of compliments does not either imply a lack of honour.
Honour is then clearly something else than mere fame, which means just people knowing someone, but not necessarily knowing them for a perfection - even murderers can be famous for being murderers. Even if the reason for one’s fame would be something good, that is, even if they would have a good reputation, this would still not guarantee that one is honoured, if the person in question would have no exceptional perfections.
Honour is also dependent on the context in which the person is evaluated, Meier emphasises. Thus, a soldier’s leadership skills can be honoured in the context of a small regiment, but not in the context of the whole army. Honour is also dependent on who does the honouring, and small-minded people can never really honour anyone, Meier insists, because they can never have a notion of what truly great perfection is.
What perfections can then be honoured? Meier thinks that practically anything. Some people think that e.g. beauty is not something that can be honoured, since one has no say on whether they are beautiful. Meier thinks that this argument fails, since even such perfections that seem to be up to us - say, our diligence - are ultimately decided by God. Thus, Meier sees no reason why things like beauty could not also be honoured.
Possible objects of honour are thus infinitely varied and similarly also possible objects of dishonour, Meier explains. Indeed, one person can have both perfections and imperfections and even most honoured people can have their dark side. In other words, if someone is respected, they can also be disrespected, just for different reasons.
Although Meier’s final object lies then in practice, he begins his study with a theoretical part. Quite plausibly, we have to first know what honour is, before we can say, for instance, how much honour we should try to gain for ourselves. Furthermore, Meier adds, theoretical investigation of the notion of honour might awaken in us a desire to do honourable things.
Meier defines honour as the sum of all representations and judgements made by others of one’s perfections. More precisely, this sum, if it is unexpressed, can be called internal honour, while the expression of this internal honour through words and other signs is the corresponding external honour. An important detail is that the honour must be bestowed by others and so no one cannot honour oneself - not even God.
Meier notes that there is also another sense in which we can talk of external honour, that is, when we are speaking of compliments that people are forced to give because of some law. This law can be natural law - and then we are speaking of a good name of someone - or a civil law - for instance, when a person must be bestowed a title. Such external honours, Meier warns, are not really honours in his sense, which requires much more than mere following of a law.
The opposite of honour - dishonour or disrespect - and the corresponding internal and external dishonour can be defined by just replacing perfection with imperfection, Meier notes. From a lack of dishonour cannot be deduced the presence of honour, he adds, because between the two lies a state where other persons do not have any conception whatsoever of one’s perfections or imperfections. Indeed, most people are regarded in such an indifferent manner by persons not close to them
Because Meier defines honour through notions of representations and judgement, he can apply logic and psychology in his investigation. Thus, he notes that since judgements can be affirmative or negative, honour can be also given for a person not having certain imperfections. He immediately explains that in the latter case the lack of imperfection must imply the presence of perfection, since it is not yet an honour to be no murderer. Indeed, he adds, the concept of honour should be reserved to only those cases where the perfection of a person is exceptionally great, since otherwise every person would be honoured.
An important epistemological detail Meier points out is that honour should be based only on true representations and judgements. Thus, even if a person would compliment another, say, for being a great scholar, it would be no real honour if the person giving the compliment would have no idea what being a great scholar really means. All forms of flattery are then ruled out as not bestowing true honour. Then again, since an honour can remain unexpressed, lack of compliments does not either imply a lack of honour.
Honour is then clearly something else than mere fame, which means just people knowing someone, but not necessarily knowing them for a perfection - even murderers can be famous for being murderers. Even if the reason for one’s fame would be something good, that is, even if they would have a good reputation, this would still not guarantee that one is honoured, if the person in question would have no exceptional perfections.
Honour is also dependent on the context in which the person is evaluated, Meier emphasises. Thus, a soldier’s leadership skills can be honoured in the context of a small regiment, but not in the context of the whole army. Honour is also dependent on who does the honouring, and small-minded people can never really honour anyone, Meier insists, because they can never have a notion of what truly great perfection is.
What perfections can then be honoured? Meier thinks that practically anything. Some people think that e.g. beauty is not something that can be honoured, since one has no say on whether they are beautiful. Meier thinks that this argument fails, since even such perfections that seem to be up to us - say, our diligence - are ultimately decided by God. Thus, Meier sees no reason why things like beauty could not also be honoured.
Possible objects of honour are thus infinitely varied and similarly also possible objects of dishonour, Meier explains. Indeed, one person can have both perfections and imperfections and even most honoured people can have their dark side. In other words, if someone is respected, they can also be disrespected, just for different reasons.
keskiviikko 9. elokuuta 2023
Martin Knutzen: System of efficient causes, or a philosophical commentary on explaining the interaction of mind and body by physical influx (1745)
If there was one mainstay in pre-Kantian German philosophy, it was the question of the interaction between soul or mind and body. Thus, it is no wonder that we find Martin Knutzen, best known as the teacher of Kant, also tackling the question in his Systema causarum efficientium seu commentatio philosophica de commercio mentis et corporis per influxum physicum explicando.
The setting of the question is clear. We find that certain states of our mind correspond to certain states of our body. This is evident in case of sensations, when e.g. a visual experience corresponds to our eyes receiving light rays. Similar correspondence happens in some cases with emotions, for instance, when a feeling of rage is connected to rapid movement of heart. Finally, often our volitions (like me wanting something to eat) correspond to bodily movements (me moving toward the kitchen). Such correspondence asks for an explanation, Knutzen says, and it is the duty of philosophers to come up with such explanations.
As is familiar, three possible explanations were provided for the correspondence: firstly, the theory of physical influx, according to which mind and body really act upon each other, occasionalism, according to which God in each individual case arranges mind and body to change their state accordingly, and pre-established harmony, according to which mind changes its state according to its own laws and body according to its own laws, but God has ordered these changes to harmonise, when designing the world.
Knutzen does not add any further type of explanation, but suggests that these three explanations were the only ones possible. Explanation, he suggests, requires finding the cause for the correspondence. Such a cause can be either intrinsic to a human being as a combination of mind and body or extrinsic to it. If it is extrinsic, then we are suggesting, in the vain of occasionalism, that some entity outside the human being makes e.g. an arm move, whenever a certain type of volition occurs in the human mind. If the cause is intrinsic to a human being, Knutzen continues, then either one part of the human being (mind or body) affects the other part – this is obviously what the theory of physical influx says – or mind and body form closed causal chains, states of mind affecting further states of mind and states of body affecting only further states of body. In the latter case, the correspondence or harmony of mind and body is just a brute fact, which must then be further explained, as in the theory of pre-established harmony, by God fixing the causal chains of mind and body to harmonise with one another.
How then to decide between the three systems? Knutzen notes that the question cannot be decided by experience, since we cannot literally perceive mind and body acting on one another or God intervening in the causal chains, not to mention God making before the creation of mind and body a decision to harmonise them. What we are then left with is to find some reasons why we should prefer one system over the others.
Knutzen’s strategy is to ground his reasoning in the philosophical paradigm in Germany of his time, that is, Wolffian philosophy, by making references to Wolff’s works, whenever possible. Thus, Knutzen begins by pointing out that mind or soul is a simple substance, which has both intellect and free will and particularly has representations of its own body. As a simple substance, he continues, the mind is immaterial, while the body is a composite of many parts. Then again, even bodies must ultimately be composed of simple substances or elements, since otherwise a body would have an infinite amount of parts, which Knutzen thinks an absurd idea.
Knutzen goes on by defining what an action means: a thing acts, when it has in itself a reason why something else exists or changes. The reason in question is called a force, which is thus a tendency to act or generate and change things. Furthermore, Knutzen adds, force is always a sufficient reason for acting, that is, if no obstacle prevents, force generates an action, no matter what.
Following Leibniz’s relational definition, Knutzen takes space to be an order of coexisting things. A place of a thing is then just a definite mode of being in that order or of relating to other things. Thus, at least finite substances cannot exist in the same place at the same time. Motion, furthermore, is a change of place: thing changes its relation to other things. Because this change affects only the relations of a thing, it does not intrinsically affect the moving thing. The motion is still based on something more substantial, Knutzen says, namely, the motive force making a thing move.
All existing things must be determined in every manner, Knutzen says. Particularly, their relations to other coexisting things must also be determined, in other words, they must exist in some definite place. This truth, Knutzen continues, holds also of simple substances, such as the elements of the bodies. Furthermore, since bodies move, elements must also move. Then again, they do not fill a space or have an extension, since they have no parts, of which they would consist.
Two things cannot occupy the same place at the same time, which means, Knutzen suggests, that a thing resists the other taking its place. When a thing moves, it takes the place of another thing, in other words, it must overcome this resistance through some force. Particularly, Knutzen concludes, the elements of the body must use force to overcome this resistance of other elements and push them away, thus, the elements truly affect one another. Since a cause can be known from its effect (an accepted truth in Wolff’s ontology), we could even say that through changes caused by other elements an element represents or perceives other elements.
If elements act upon another, we can thus say that some simple and perceiving things interact with each other. This raises the probability of the mind also interacting with its body, Knutzen suggests, since the mind would interact with the body by interacting with the elements, of which the bodies consist. Of course, there is still a possibility that a mind would be different from elements on this point: perhaps interaction with elements of matter is somehow an imperfection that would not befit the status of a mind. Yet, Knutzen points out, God is thought to act on elements, and as God is absolutely perfect, the interaction with elements cannot be an imperfection.
In addition to showing the probability of the system of physical influx or real interaction of the mind and the body, Knutzen adds some further points to convince the reader the choose this system over the others: occasionalism is based on God doing constant miracles, while the system of pre-established harmony cannot explain why the bodies should be created in the first place. Furthermore, Knutzen also tries to directly prove the truth of the interaction. Just like other simple substances, a human mind must exist in some place, and indeed, it exists in a place where it is constantly together with its body. Thus, the mind must move with its body. Either it is passively moved by the body – and the interaction is real – or mind moves itself – and then it must be able to push other simple things around it, in other words, to interact with them.
Opponents of the physical influx had often stated that such an influx is just an empty word that has no meaning. Knutzen thinks this is a false accusation, since we have a perfectly good explanation of what physical influence means: real interaction of a mind and its body. Then again, he admits we cannot completely comprehend what the physical influx is like, since an interaction of simple things is something we cannot fully understand: we humans require distinctions in our cognition, but such an interaction can only happen instantaneously and no distinctions can be made in instantaneous changes. This is still no detriment to the truth of physical influx, since there are many things, Knutzen says, we can know to be true, although we cannot intuitively grasp them.
A further common objection to the system of physical influx was that it breaks the law of nature which states that the quantity of the motion in the universe cannot be changed: when I will my hand to move, I create new motion. Knutzen’s answer is that this supposed law is based only on observations of material objects and their interactions and that we need not suppose that it is correct for the interaction of the mind and the body.
Knutzen also considers the objection that we really cannot derive a force for moving material objects from a force of representing things, which should be the essence of a human mind. Knutzen thinks such a derivation is fairly simple. A force of representation, he explains, does not mean just a passive capacity to represent things, but active striving to try to represent things. Since representations of the mind correspond to the states of the body, the force of representation must also involve a force to change the body and its place in the universe.
Finally, Knutzen answers some objections that suggest physical influx would degrade the worth of a human mind. Firstly, he says, physical influx does not make the mind completely passive and dependent on the body, since the mind can also affect the body and does also have activities beyond interaction with the body.
The setting of the question is clear. We find that certain states of our mind correspond to certain states of our body. This is evident in case of sensations, when e.g. a visual experience corresponds to our eyes receiving light rays. Similar correspondence happens in some cases with emotions, for instance, when a feeling of rage is connected to rapid movement of heart. Finally, often our volitions (like me wanting something to eat) correspond to bodily movements (me moving toward the kitchen). Such correspondence asks for an explanation, Knutzen says, and it is the duty of philosophers to come up with such explanations.
As is familiar, three possible explanations were provided for the correspondence: firstly, the theory of physical influx, according to which mind and body really act upon each other, occasionalism, according to which God in each individual case arranges mind and body to change their state accordingly, and pre-established harmony, according to which mind changes its state according to its own laws and body according to its own laws, but God has ordered these changes to harmonise, when designing the world.
Knutzen does not add any further type of explanation, but suggests that these three explanations were the only ones possible. Explanation, he suggests, requires finding the cause for the correspondence. Such a cause can be either intrinsic to a human being as a combination of mind and body or extrinsic to it. If it is extrinsic, then we are suggesting, in the vain of occasionalism, that some entity outside the human being makes e.g. an arm move, whenever a certain type of volition occurs in the human mind. If the cause is intrinsic to a human being, Knutzen continues, then either one part of the human being (mind or body) affects the other part – this is obviously what the theory of physical influx says – or mind and body form closed causal chains, states of mind affecting further states of mind and states of body affecting only further states of body. In the latter case, the correspondence or harmony of mind and body is just a brute fact, which must then be further explained, as in the theory of pre-established harmony, by God fixing the causal chains of mind and body to harmonise with one another.
How then to decide between the three systems? Knutzen notes that the question cannot be decided by experience, since we cannot literally perceive mind and body acting on one another or God intervening in the causal chains, not to mention God making before the creation of mind and body a decision to harmonise them. What we are then left with is to find some reasons why we should prefer one system over the others.
Knutzen’s strategy is to ground his reasoning in the philosophical paradigm in Germany of his time, that is, Wolffian philosophy, by making references to Wolff’s works, whenever possible. Thus, Knutzen begins by pointing out that mind or soul is a simple substance, which has both intellect and free will and particularly has representations of its own body. As a simple substance, he continues, the mind is immaterial, while the body is a composite of many parts. Then again, even bodies must ultimately be composed of simple substances or elements, since otherwise a body would have an infinite amount of parts, which Knutzen thinks an absurd idea.
Knutzen goes on by defining what an action means: a thing acts, when it has in itself a reason why something else exists or changes. The reason in question is called a force, which is thus a tendency to act or generate and change things. Furthermore, Knutzen adds, force is always a sufficient reason for acting, that is, if no obstacle prevents, force generates an action, no matter what.
Following Leibniz’s relational definition, Knutzen takes space to be an order of coexisting things. A place of a thing is then just a definite mode of being in that order or of relating to other things. Thus, at least finite substances cannot exist in the same place at the same time. Motion, furthermore, is a change of place: thing changes its relation to other things. Because this change affects only the relations of a thing, it does not intrinsically affect the moving thing. The motion is still based on something more substantial, Knutzen says, namely, the motive force making a thing move.
All existing things must be determined in every manner, Knutzen says. Particularly, their relations to other coexisting things must also be determined, in other words, they must exist in some definite place. This truth, Knutzen continues, holds also of simple substances, such as the elements of the bodies. Furthermore, since bodies move, elements must also move. Then again, they do not fill a space or have an extension, since they have no parts, of which they would consist.
Two things cannot occupy the same place at the same time, which means, Knutzen suggests, that a thing resists the other taking its place. When a thing moves, it takes the place of another thing, in other words, it must overcome this resistance through some force. Particularly, Knutzen concludes, the elements of the body must use force to overcome this resistance of other elements and push them away, thus, the elements truly affect one another. Since a cause can be known from its effect (an accepted truth in Wolff’s ontology), we could even say that through changes caused by other elements an element represents or perceives other elements.
If elements act upon another, we can thus say that some simple and perceiving things interact with each other. This raises the probability of the mind also interacting with its body, Knutzen suggests, since the mind would interact with the body by interacting with the elements, of which the bodies consist. Of course, there is still a possibility that a mind would be different from elements on this point: perhaps interaction with elements of matter is somehow an imperfection that would not befit the status of a mind. Yet, Knutzen points out, God is thought to act on elements, and as God is absolutely perfect, the interaction with elements cannot be an imperfection.
In addition to showing the probability of the system of physical influx or real interaction of the mind and the body, Knutzen adds some further points to convince the reader the choose this system over the others: occasionalism is based on God doing constant miracles, while the system of pre-established harmony cannot explain why the bodies should be created in the first place. Furthermore, Knutzen also tries to directly prove the truth of the interaction. Just like other simple substances, a human mind must exist in some place, and indeed, it exists in a place where it is constantly together with its body. Thus, the mind must move with its body. Either it is passively moved by the body – and the interaction is real – or mind moves itself – and then it must be able to push other simple things around it, in other words, to interact with them.
Opponents of the physical influx had often stated that such an influx is just an empty word that has no meaning. Knutzen thinks this is a false accusation, since we have a perfectly good explanation of what physical influence means: real interaction of a mind and its body. Then again, he admits we cannot completely comprehend what the physical influx is like, since an interaction of simple things is something we cannot fully understand: we humans require distinctions in our cognition, but such an interaction can only happen instantaneously and no distinctions can be made in instantaneous changes. This is still no detriment to the truth of physical influx, since there are many things, Knutzen says, we can know to be true, although we cannot intuitively grasp them.
A further common objection to the system of physical influx was that it breaks the law of nature which states that the quantity of the motion in the universe cannot be changed: when I will my hand to move, I create new motion. Knutzen’s answer is that this supposed law is based only on observations of material objects and their interactions and that we need not suppose that it is correct for the interaction of the mind and the body.
Knutzen also considers the objection that we really cannot derive a force for moving material objects from a force of representing things, which should be the essence of a human mind. Knutzen thinks such a derivation is fairly simple. A force of representation, he explains, does not mean just a passive capacity to represent things, but active striving to try to represent things. Since representations of the mind correspond to the states of the body, the force of representation must also involve a force to change the body and its place in the universe.
Finally, Knutzen answers some objections that suggest physical influx would degrade the worth of a human mind. Firstly, he says, physical influx does not make the mind completely passive and dependent on the body, since the mind can also affect the body and does also have activities beyond interaction with the body.
Furthermore, Meier continues, physical influx does not contradict the immortality of the mind. Such a denial of immortality was based on the supposition that since the theory assumes sensations to be caused by the body, the destruction of the body would lead to a life with no sensations and thus without any consciousness. Knutzen notes that there is no reason why we shouldn’t get new bodies after our death. In addition, even if we did not get a new body, we might have sensations of other kinds, such as direct experience of other minds. Finally, Knutzen concludes, even if we wouldn’t have any sensations, our mind could still do a lot of things, such a abstract reasoning, which would entail consciousness.
torstai 3. elokuuta 2023
Georg Friedrich Meier: Figure of a critic (1745)
We’ve just seen Meier describe an ideal figure of a philosopher, and in the very same year he also published a work (Abbildung eines Kunstrichters) meant for describing an ideal figure of a philosopher. Just like in his figure of a philosopher, Meier draws heavily on the work of his teacher, Baumgarten. Difference is that in the case of a critic, Meier can only use his own lecture notes on Baumgarten’s aesthetics, since the latter had not yet published anything on the topic.
Meier’s intended audience is particularly the German speaking world. German philosophy and sciences are already respected, he states, but the same cannot yet be said of its taste. True, there are a lot of German critics, but without a model of what a critic should be like we cannot really say whether they are particularly good critics.
Meier begins with a short history of criticism, starting from the Renaissance, when scholars wanted to learn what wisdom was to be found in the texts of ancient authors. Before they could get to the actual content of these texts, the scholars had to discern what the words and expressions of the authors had meant. With this philological interest began the study of evaluating a text based merely on the words and expressions in order to see, for instance, whether some scribe had added things to the original work.
Later this study or critique was extended more generally into evaluation of all works of art. The purpose of critique was to find out what is perfect and what is imperfect in them and how to avoid the imperfections. Yet, Meier says, critique could be extended even further to evaluation of all finite things, because all things are perfect in some manner, whereas all finite things are in some measure imperfect. This means that absolutely anything, with the exception of God, can be evaluated by critique, even such seemingly frivolous things as wigs.
Critique or the art of evaluation can be divided into two parts, Meier notes. The theoretical part contains rules by which we can recognise perfections and imperfections in general, but doesn’t consider any particular kinds of objects. The practical part, on the other hand, tries to discern what is perfect and imperfect in particular kinds or even in individual objects. In other words, practical criticism takes an individual object, like Homer’s Odyssey, and evaluates it according to some given rules. Practical critique developed faster than theoretical, since e.g. Homer was evaluated long before Aristotle had written his Poetics. Then again, insufficient theoretical critique is bound to lead to bad practical critique, and therefore it is especially theoretical critique Meier is eager to develop in his work.
Theoretical critique should begin, Meier insists, what he calls instrumental critique or logic of critique that studies the very concepts of perfection and imperfection and the various methods of evaluating them. According to Meier, the logic of critique divides into two parts. The first part describes the methods for knowing perfections and imperfections distinctly, reasonably and philosophically. This is done by what he calls the intellectual capacity of evaluation. This intellectual capacity should be based on a distinct understanding of what is perfect and what imperfect and it should work in close conjunction with the reason.
The second part of the logic of critique, on the other hand, concerns taste, which gives rules for evaluating perfection and imperfection of things in a sensuous manner, that is, as beauty and ugliness. Just like the intellectual capacity of evaluation worked in conjunction with reason, taste should work in conjunction with the senses, for instance, when a musician can hear whether a melody is beautiful or not. Despite taste using non-distinct methods for its evaluations, it also can be perfected, Meier thinks. Furthermore, he continues, since many of our sensuous representations are not distinct, while all our distinct representations have some connection to what is sensed, taste must always provide the raw material for the judgemetns of intellectual evaluation. Thus, Meier concludes, improving the taste of the people is of utmost importance even from the perspective of the intellectual capacity of evaluation.
In addition to the logic of critique, theoretical critique also studies the perfections and imperfections of things. This study, Meier says, divides into two parts. The first part is more general, being like metaphysics of critiqued, because it studies, firstly, perfections belonging to all possible things, secondly, imperfections common to all finite things, and finally, perfections and imperfections belonging to highest genera of things. The second part, on the other hand, studies the further species of things and their perfections and imperfections. This second part has no clear boundary with the practical critique and could extend indefinitely, for example, to evaluation of general perfections and imperfections in comedies.
With these preliminaries in place, Meier can finally proceed to create his figure of a critic, by which he means a person capable of evaluating perfections and imperfections. Meier notes that his definition also covers critics who use only taste, but not the intellectual capacity of evaluation. This means that not all critics can explain why they evaluate things in the way they do.
The first characteristic of a good critic, Meier says, is that they should be able to evaluate, and even more, they should actually evaluate as many things as is possible for them. The possibility in this statement is not a mere empty expression, but points to clear limitations on what the critic should attempt to evaluate. Firstly, Meier points out, there are things no human being could evaluate. Furthermore, every individual human being has things they particularly cannot evaluate. Finally, Meier notes that moral possibility should also be taken into account: evaluating certain things could break a higher duty, while a critic could be obligated to evaluate other things.
Beyond these limitations, nothing as such should in principle limit the extent of what a critic should evaluate. Indeed, they should be ready to use their evaluating capacities in all walks of life and in all arts and fields of knowledge. Of course, Meier admits, there are physical limitations as to how much and how extensively a person can do evaluating work. Thus, it is reasonable for a critic to find a certain field of expertise, where to especially use their talents.
Since there are limits to what a critic can evaluate, Meier argues, they should especially concentrate on evaluating as great things as is possible for their capacities. By greatness Meier does not mean just quantitative greatness, although that is one possible way to choose the topics of evaluation. Instead, he says, things also have their own inner worth, depending on how much they support virtuous behaviour. In addition to such intrinsic worth, a thing can have worth due to the variety and worthiness of its consequences. Meier notes that neither the intrinsic worth nor the worth of the consequences should be left for the common people to decide, since even such a seemingly impractical study as philology can be worthwhile, because it teaches us to read and understand things.
When a critic has finally decided what to evaluate, they should try to discover as much perfections and imperfections in what is evaluated. Of course, there are limitations as to what can be found in a thing and also how much to put attention to a single thing - one should not put too much effort into evaluating wigs, Meier jokes. Still, even within these limits there are many perfections and imperfections to be found, since everything can be regarded from many angles - the intrinsic characteristics of things, their relations to other things, laws governing these relations etc. For instance, when evaluating Homeric poetry, one should surely contextualise it to the religious background of ancient Greeks, Meier points out.
When considering perfections and imperfections of a thing, Meier continues, a critic should concentrate on the greatest the thing has. This does not mean that a critic could not pay any attention to small details, but only that the attention should not be unproportionally great. Hence, when studying a tragedy, a critic should mainly concentrate on the question whether it fulfils the central purpose of all tragedies, that is, of inciting feelings of horror and compassion, and less on things like whether the costumes of the actors look realistic.
Thus far, Meier says, we have outlined the figure of a critic, but now we should paint it, in other words, we should not just say what a critic is to evaluate, but also how they should do it. The first rule Meier points out on this account is that a true critic should evaluate things with as great clarity as possible. As should be expected, Meier again points out that clarity has its limitations, since human beings do not have divine omniscience. Thus, again, the clarity used for evaluation should be in proportion to the worth of the thing evaluated. Furthermore, a critic should be ready to gradually increase the clarity of their evaluations.
A critic can use both an intellectual capacity of evaluation and taste for their evaluations, and both have their different forms of clarity: judgements of taste are more vibrant or lively, but judgements of the intellectual kind are more distinct. Meier notes that in any case taste must be used, but the intellectual capacity should be especially reserved for things deserving a more refined evaluation. The two capacities have also different criteria for a sufficiently clear evaluation: while using only taste, a critic can often merely say that the thing evaluated has something je ne sais quoi, but in a more intellectual evaluation such impreciseness would not be accepted.
The most important perfection of a critic, Meier says, is that of making as correct evaluations as possible. This means, mostly, that a critic should avoid errors as much as is possible. Of course, Meier admits, humans cannot avoid all errors, since they are just finite beings. In some cases this is not crucial, if the error is of no significance. Still, in many cases errors would be important. Thus, a true critic should be more inclined to abstain from evaluation and admit their ignorance than to make guesses without any good evidence. Even if a critic is convinced of the correctness of their evaluation, they should be prepared to correct their opinions later.
Although Meier spends considerable time to describe how to avoid error - mostly by getting rid of false presuppositions, such a person thinking their own skin colour should please everyone else best - he does also mention that correctness or truth comes in many grades and that for higher grades something more is required than just a lack of errors. This higher grade of truth consists essentially of integrating one’s evaluations to a system, where one can see, e.g. rules of evaluation ordered into a hierarchy of more and less important rules.
Closely connected to the demand of correctness is Meier’s insistence that a critic should be as certain as is possible of their evaluations. He notes that certainty comes in two different types, corresponding to the two types of evaluating capacity. In the intellectual evaluation, we have philosophical certainty, which is based on proofs. These proofs can be demonstrations, which conclude with fully certain statements, but they can also be just probable proofs, which can still create at least e.g. moral certainty. Here the probability can also be increased with a number of different proofs used to justify the evaluation.
An intellectual evaluation should always be backed up with taste. Thus, Meier argues, critics should be more than logicians and strive also for aesthetic or sensuous certainty. Sensuous certainty is based on immediate experience, which makes an evaluation sensuously plausible. Furthermore, because taste could be used in cases where intellectual evaluation is not possible, sensuous certainty is sometimes the best a critic can achieve.
If a critic is not convinced of their evaluations, they should not persuade others of their certainty. This does not mean that they should constantly try to give perfect justifications of their evaluations, Meier adds, because sometimes they just don’t have time for a proper proof, while at other times they have nothing but their taste to rely on. Even so, Meier notes, they should at least try to justify why they trust their taste and be prepared to find their evaluations shaken.
Sometimes intellectual evaluation and taste of a critic can be at odds with one another. Such contradictions obviously make their evaluations uncertain and should thus be avoided. Meier thinks that usually it is the intellectual capacity of evaluation that should be preferred, because taste is based on confused ideas and is hence prone to make more mistakes. Thus, Meier thinks that the statement that matters of taste cannot be disputed is proven false, because intellectual evaluation could well show the incorrectness of an evaluation of taste.
Evaluating things should not be just dead speculation, Meier thinks. Instead, evaluations should cause pleasant or unpleasant feelings in the critic and thus motivate them to action. Here the role of the sensuous capacity of evaluation or taste is especially important, Meier says, since intuitive understanding of things affects us more deeply than mere symbolic cognition.
A seasoned critic, Meier continues, knows how to do all the things described with incredible ease, being able to evaluate on a moment’s notice things they have never before even heard about, even if they are at the same time occupied by distracting thoughts. This seasoned ease, he states, is something that can be practised, for instance, by improving one’s cognitive skills in general.
Evaluation of a critic is usually not just something they make in their head, but also something they present to others, whether in oral or written fashion. Meier notes that not all evaluations should be presented at all. While truth as such is always a positive thing, its effect on people could be harmful. Of course, Meier admits, it is not the case that a critic should remain silent, if it causes some harm to someone: truth can have its martyrs. Still, it requires careful consideration whether expressing certain evaluation in public will do more harm than be of use.
If a critic decides to make their judgement known, they should present it in a manner that shows the critic to have followed all the previously mentioned rules of evaluation. Furthermore, a presentation of evaluation should also follow good morals. Meier ponders the question whether certain styles, like satire, should be allowed in critical evaluations. He comes to the conclusion that such are allowed, if the style matches the content.
The figure of the critic has been completed, Meier states, but few details have to be added. Thus, a good critic should make fair evaluations, which are proportional to the perfections and imperfections of the evaluated thing and impartial. They should also be prepared to become authorities in the field of criticism, who inspire others to imitate them, but not try to gain such authority by merely fulfilling the irrational wishes of the public audience. Furthermore, they should try to maintain balance in the realm of criticism, so that all critical authorities would have a chance to state freely their opinion, within the limits prescribed by customs and the law of the land, and so to balance their tastes. Finally, they should avoid a gloomy disposition and seek more for perfection in the things evaluated.
Critics should constantly try to improve their capacities of evaluation. Still, Meier concedes, these capacities will eventually diminish, when the critic turns into their second childhood. While an ageing critic can slow this process down with constant practice, this cannot go on forever. It would be best if the critic would then completely abstain from evaluations, but since we cannot expect rational behaviour from people in their second childhood, Meier suggests, the younger critics should just respectfully ignore the silliness of what an elderly critic says.
Meier’s intended audience is particularly the German speaking world. German philosophy and sciences are already respected, he states, but the same cannot yet be said of its taste. True, there are a lot of German critics, but without a model of what a critic should be like we cannot really say whether they are particularly good critics.
Meier begins with a short history of criticism, starting from the Renaissance, when scholars wanted to learn what wisdom was to be found in the texts of ancient authors. Before they could get to the actual content of these texts, the scholars had to discern what the words and expressions of the authors had meant. With this philological interest began the study of evaluating a text based merely on the words and expressions in order to see, for instance, whether some scribe had added things to the original work.
Later this study or critique was extended more generally into evaluation of all works of art. The purpose of critique was to find out what is perfect and what is imperfect in them and how to avoid the imperfections. Yet, Meier says, critique could be extended even further to evaluation of all finite things, because all things are perfect in some manner, whereas all finite things are in some measure imperfect. This means that absolutely anything, with the exception of God, can be evaluated by critique, even such seemingly frivolous things as wigs.
Critique or the art of evaluation can be divided into two parts, Meier notes. The theoretical part contains rules by which we can recognise perfections and imperfections in general, but doesn’t consider any particular kinds of objects. The practical part, on the other hand, tries to discern what is perfect and imperfect in particular kinds or even in individual objects. In other words, practical criticism takes an individual object, like Homer’s Odyssey, and evaluates it according to some given rules. Practical critique developed faster than theoretical, since e.g. Homer was evaluated long before Aristotle had written his Poetics. Then again, insufficient theoretical critique is bound to lead to bad practical critique, and therefore it is especially theoretical critique Meier is eager to develop in his work.
Theoretical critique should begin, Meier insists, what he calls instrumental critique or logic of critique that studies the very concepts of perfection and imperfection and the various methods of evaluating them. According to Meier, the logic of critique divides into two parts. The first part describes the methods for knowing perfections and imperfections distinctly, reasonably and philosophically. This is done by what he calls the intellectual capacity of evaluation. This intellectual capacity should be based on a distinct understanding of what is perfect and what imperfect and it should work in close conjunction with the reason.
The second part of the logic of critique, on the other hand, concerns taste, which gives rules for evaluating perfection and imperfection of things in a sensuous manner, that is, as beauty and ugliness. Just like the intellectual capacity of evaluation worked in conjunction with reason, taste should work in conjunction with the senses, for instance, when a musician can hear whether a melody is beautiful or not. Despite taste using non-distinct methods for its evaluations, it also can be perfected, Meier thinks. Furthermore, he continues, since many of our sensuous representations are not distinct, while all our distinct representations have some connection to what is sensed, taste must always provide the raw material for the judgemetns of intellectual evaluation. Thus, Meier concludes, improving the taste of the people is of utmost importance even from the perspective of the intellectual capacity of evaluation.
In addition to the logic of critique, theoretical critique also studies the perfections and imperfections of things. This study, Meier says, divides into two parts. The first part is more general, being like metaphysics of critiqued, because it studies, firstly, perfections belonging to all possible things, secondly, imperfections common to all finite things, and finally, perfections and imperfections belonging to highest genera of things. The second part, on the other hand, studies the further species of things and their perfections and imperfections. This second part has no clear boundary with the practical critique and could extend indefinitely, for example, to evaluation of general perfections and imperfections in comedies.
With these preliminaries in place, Meier can finally proceed to create his figure of a critic, by which he means a person capable of evaluating perfections and imperfections. Meier notes that his definition also covers critics who use only taste, but not the intellectual capacity of evaluation. This means that not all critics can explain why they evaluate things in the way they do.
The first characteristic of a good critic, Meier says, is that they should be able to evaluate, and even more, they should actually evaluate as many things as is possible for them. The possibility in this statement is not a mere empty expression, but points to clear limitations on what the critic should attempt to evaluate. Firstly, Meier points out, there are things no human being could evaluate. Furthermore, every individual human being has things they particularly cannot evaluate. Finally, Meier notes that moral possibility should also be taken into account: evaluating certain things could break a higher duty, while a critic could be obligated to evaluate other things.
Beyond these limitations, nothing as such should in principle limit the extent of what a critic should evaluate. Indeed, they should be ready to use their evaluating capacities in all walks of life and in all arts and fields of knowledge. Of course, Meier admits, there are physical limitations as to how much and how extensively a person can do evaluating work. Thus, it is reasonable for a critic to find a certain field of expertise, where to especially use their talents.
Since there are limits to what a critic can evaluate, Meier argues, they should especially concentrate on evaluating as great things as is possible for their capacities. By greatness Meier does not mean just quantitative greatness, although that is one possible way to choose the topics of evaluation. Instead, he says, things also have their own inner worth, depending on how much they support virtuous behaviour. In addition to such intrinsic worth, a thing can have worth due to the variety and worthiness of its consequences. Meier notes that neither the intrinsic worth nor the worth of the consequences should be left for the common people to decide, since even such a seemingly impractical study as philology can be worthwhile, because it teaches us to read and understand things.
When a critic has finally decided what to evaluate, they should try to discover as much perfections and imperfections in what is evaluated. Of course, there are limitations as to what can be found in a thing and also how much to put attention to a single thing - one should not put too much effort into evaluating wigs, Meier jokes. Still, even within these limits there are many perfections and imperfections to be found, since everything can be regarded from many angles - the intrinsic characteristics of things, their relations to other things, laws governing these relations etc. For instance, when evaluating Homeric poetry, one should surely contextualise it to the religious background of ancient Greeks, Meier points out.
When considering perfections and imperfections of a thing, Meier continues, a critic should concentrate on the greatest the thing has. This does not mean that a critic could not pay any attention to small details, but only that the attention should not be unproportionally great. Hence, when studying a tragedy, a critic should mainly concentrate on the question whether it fulfils the central purpose of all tragedies, that is, of inciting feelings of horror and compassion, and less on things like whether the costumes of the actors look realistic.
Thus far, Meier says, we have outlined the figure of a critic, but now we should paint it, in other words, we should not just say what a critic is to evaluate, but also how they should do it. The first rule Meier points out on this account is that a true critic should evaluate things with as great clarity as possible. As should be expected, Meier again points out that clarity has its limitations, since human beings do not have divine omniscience. Thus, again, the clarity used for evaluation should be in proportion to the worth of the thing evaluated. Furthermore, a critic should be ready to gradually increase the clarity of their evaluations.
A critic can use both an intellectual capacity of evaluation and taste for their evaluations, and both have their different forms of clarity: judgements of taste are more vibrant or lively, but judgements of the intellectual kind are more distinct. Meier notes that in any case taste must be used, but the intellectual capacity should be especially reserved for things deserving a more refined evaluation. The two capacities have also different criteria for a sufficiently clear evaluation: while using only taste, a critic can often merely say that the thing evaluated has something je ne sais quoi, but in a more intellectual evaluation such impreciseness would not be accepted.
The most important perfection of a critic, Meier says, is that of making as correct evaluations as possible. This means, mostly, that a critic should avoid errors as much as is possible. Of course, Meier admits, humans cannot avoid all errors, since they are just finite beings. In some cases this is not crucial, if the error is of no significance. Still, in many cases errors would be important. Thus, a true critic should be more inclined to abstain from evaluation and admit their ignorance than to make guesses without any good evidence. Even if a critic is convinced of the correctness of their evaluation, they should be prepared to correct their opinions later.
Although Meier spends considerable time to describe how to avoid error - mostly by getting rid of false presuppositions, such a person thinking their own skin colour should please everyone else best - he does also mention that correctness or truth comes in many grades and that for higher grades something more is required than just a lack of errors. This higher grade of truth consists essentially of integrating one’s evaluations to a system, where one can see, e.g. rules of evaluation ordered into a hierarchy of more and less important rules.
Closely connected to the demand of correctness is Meier’s insistence that a critic should be as certain as is possible of their evaluations. He notes that certainty comes in two different types, corresponding to the two types of evaluating capacity. In the intellectual evaluation, we have philosophical certainty, which is based on proofs. These proofs can be demonstrations, which conclude with fully certain statements, but they can also be just probable proofs, which can still create at least e.g. moral certainty. Here the probability can also be increased with a number of different proofs used to justify the evaluation.
An intellectual evaluation should always be backed up with taste. Thus, Meier argues, critics should be more than logicians and strive also for aesthetic or sensuous certainty. Sensuous certainty is based on immediate experience, which makes an evaluation sensuously plausible. Furthermore, because taste could be used in cases where intellectual evaluation is not possible, sensuous certainty is sometimes the best a critic can achieve.
If a critic is not convinced of their evaluations, they should not persuade others of their certainty. This does not mean that they should constantly try to give perfect justifications of their evaluations, Meier adds, because sometimes they just don’t have time for a proper proof, while at other times they have nothing but their taste to rely on. Even so, Meier notes, they should at least try to justify why they trust their taste and be prepared to find their evaluations shaken.
Sometimes intellectual evaluation and taste of a critic can be at odds with one another. Such contradictions obviously make their evaluations uncertain and should thus be avoided. Meier thinks that usually it is the intellectual capacity of evaluation that should be preferred, because taste is based on confused ideas and is hence prone to make more mistakes. Thus, Meier thinks that the statement that matters of taste cannot be disputed is proven false, because intellectual evaluation could well show the incorrectness of an evaluation of taste.
Evaluating things should not be just dead speculation, Meier thinks. Instead, evaluations should cause pleasant or unpleasant feelings in the critic and thus motivate them to action. Here the role of the sensuous capacity of evaluation or taste is especially important, Meier says, since intuitive understanding of things affects us more deeply than mere symbolic cognition.
A seasoned critic, Meier continues, knows how to do all the things described with incredible ease, being able to evaluate on a moment’s notice things they have never before even heard about, even if they are at the same time occupied by distracting thoughts. This seasoned ease, he states, is something that can be practised, for instance, by improving one’s cognitive skills in general.
Evaluation of a critic is usually not just something they make in their head, but also something they present to others, whether in oral or written fashion. Meier notes that not all evaluations should be presented at all. While truth as such is always a positive thing, its effect on people could be harmful. Of course, Meier admits, it is not the case that a critic should remain silent, if it causes some harm to someone: truth can have its martyrs. Still, it requires careful consideration whether expressing certain evaluation in public will do more harm than be of use.
If a critic decides to make their judgement known, they should present it in a manner that shows the critic to have followed all the previously mentioned rules of evaluation. Furthermore, a presentation of evaluation should also follow good morals. Meier ponders the question whether certain styles, like satire, should be allowed in critical evaluations. He comes to the conclusion that such are allowed, if the style matches the content.
The figure of the critic has been completed, Meier states, but few details have to be added. Thus, a good critic should make fair evaluations, which are proportional to the perfections and imperfections of the evaluated thing and impartial. They should also be prepared to become authorities in the field of criticism, who inspire others to imitate them, but not try to gain such authority by merely fulfilling the irrational wishes of the public audience. Furthermore, they should try to maintain balance in the realm of criticism, so that all critical authorities would have a chance to state freely their opinion, within the limits prescribed by customs and the law of the land, and so to balance their tastes. Finally, they should avoid a gloomy disposition and seek more for perfection in the things evaluated.
Critics should constantly try to improve their capacities of evaluation. Still, Meier concedes, these capacities will eventually diminish, when the critic turns into their second childhood. While an ageing critic can slow this process down with constant practice, this cannot go on forever. It would be best if the critic would then completely abstain from evaluations, but since we cannot expect rational behaviour from people in their second childhood, Meier suggests, the younger critics should just respectfully ignore the silliness of what an elderly critic says.
keskiviikko 28. kesäkuuta 2023
Christian August Crusius: Draft of necessary truths of reason, in so far as they are set opposite to contingent ones - Spirits as part of moral universe
Crusius’ work culminates on the question of properties that free spirits have because of their moral attributes. He notes that such properties are essentially based on the infinite perfection of the divine will. Particularly important in this context are the divine holiness, the divine goodness and the divine righteousness. Since God necessarily has these properties, Crusius argues, free spirits must also necessarily have the properties based on these divine properties.
The properties Crusius is speaking about fall roughly into two categories. Firstly, since God wants the whole world to be perfect, Crusius begins, he also wants that free spirits would act in accordance with the rules of perfection, that is, that they would act virtuously. Of course, Crusius adds, this does not mean that God would force them to act virtuously, because then they would not be free beings. What God can do is to ensure that virtuous spirits will be happy and that those violating laws of perfection will be punished. All free spirits are thus necessarily subjected to the divine law, which God expects the free spirits to follow obediently.
In addition to this subjection to divine law, Crusius speaks of one other property, that is, immortality. He adds that it is not enough that a spirit is indestructible, in order for it to be immortal, but it must also be constantly alive and conscious of its own state. Thus, a free spirit is not by its essence immortal, even if we ignore the fact that God could annihilate even free spirits, because even hostile conditions of bodies can make spirits unconscious. Hence, Crusius concludes that we must show that God wants to prevent all the obstacles that could hinder the immortality of free spirits.
Crusius is particularly adamant that the Leibnizian notion of a pre-established harmony of souls and bodies does not in any way justify the immortality of free spirits, even if it would be true, which Crusius obviously does not accept, because he believes that souls and bodies do interact with each other. Indeed, he continues, since Leibnizians have to assume that before its harmonisation with a body the soul could not yet represent anything, it would be analogously plausible that the soul would lose all representations after this harmonious correspondence was over after the death of the body.
Crusius’ own justification of the immortality of free spirits is ultimately based on their being the main purpose in God’s plans for the world. In addition to freedom, God has given free spirits abilities to reason and abstract, consciousness and drives toward perfection, communion with God and virtue. All these attributes, Crusius argues, contribute in free spirits aiming for an indefinitely extended life in constant pursue of evermore perfect stages of virtue, which in fact should be the highest purpose of the world. If free spirits would not be immortal, God would have given these abilities in vain and the main purpose of the world would be defeated.
Crusius still considers the possibility that only some spirits would be able to reach immortality, while others would only serve as means for the blessed immortals to reach their goal. Crusius thinks this possibility is unbelievable, since God would not have given freedom to such beings that were only means for other beings. Indeed, Crusius points out, even spirits who have acted morally wrong have to be immortal, so that God can punish them for the whole eternity.
A more difficult problem Crusius faces when he considers the fate of babies who die before they could have developed their reason and thus their ability to act freely and make moral choices. Although he does not have even a very probable argument to back it up, Crusius does suggest that these children will probably continue living, even if their life after death will probably be less perfect than with those who have reached the maturity of moral beings.
Crusius is also uncertain what the life after death will be like. We might need no body anymore or we might receive a new kind of body or one exactly like the one we used to have - or we might go through all of these stages at different stages of our life after death. Crusius does insist that the life after death won’t include long periods of sleeplike condition, while waiting resurrection, as some Catholic thinkers had suggested. Crusius reasoning is that such long periods of passivity make us lose our abilities, so it would probably be harmful to our consciousness also.
The properties Crusius is speaking about fall roughly into two categories. Firstly, since God wants the whole world to be perfect, Crusius begins, he also wants that free spirits would act in accordance with the rules of perfection, that is, that they would act virtuously. Of course, Crusius adds, this does not mean that God would force them to act virtuously, because then they would not be free beings. What God can do is to ensure that virtuous spirits will be happy and that those violating laws of perfection will be punished. All free spirits are thus necessarily subjected to the divine law, which God expects the free spirits to follow obediently.
In addition to this subjection to divine law, Crusius speaks of one other property, that is, immortality. He adds that it is not enough that a spirit is indestructible, in order for it to be immortal, but it must also be constantly alive and conscious of its own state. Thus, a free spirit is not by its essence immortal, even if we ignore the fact that God could annihilate even free spirits, because even hostile conditions of bodies can make spirits unconscious. Hence, Crusius concludes that we must show that God wants to prevent all the obstacles that could hinder the immortality of free spirits.
Crusius is particularly adamant that the Leibnizian notion of a pre-established harmony of souls and bodies does not in any way justify the immortality of free spirits, even if it would be true, which Crusius obviously does not accept, because he believes that souls and bodies do interact with each other. Indeed, he continues, since Leibnizians have to assume that before its harmonisation with a body the soul could not yet represent anything, it would be analogously plausible that the soul would lose all representations after this harmonious correspondence was over after the death of the body.
Crusius’ own justification of the immortality of free spirits is ultimately based on their being the main purpose in God’s plans for the world. In addition to freedom, God has given free spirits abilities to reason and abstract, consciousness and drives toward perfection, communion with God and virtue. All these attributes, Crusius argues, contribute in free spirits aiming for an indefinitely extended life in constant pursue of evermore perfect stages of virtue, which in fact should be the highest purpose of the world. If free spirits would not be immortal, God would have given these abilities in vain and the main purpose of the world would be defeated.
Crusius still considers the possibility that only some spirits would be able to reach immortality, while others would only serve as means for the blessed immortals to reach their goal. Crusius thinks this possibility is unbelievable, since God would not have given freedom to such beings that were only means for other beings. Indeed, Crusius points out, even spirits who have acted morally wrong have to be immortal, so that God can punish them for the whole eternity.
A more difficult problem Crusius faces when he considers the fate of babies who die before they could have developed their reason and thus their ability to act freely and make moral choices. Although he does not have even a very probable argument to back it up, Crusius does suggest that these children will probably continue living, even if their life after death will probably be less perfect than with those who have reached the maturity of moral beings.
Crusius is also uncertain what the life after death will be like. We might need no body anymore or we might receive a new kind of body or one exactly like the one we used to have - or we might go through all of these stages at different stages of our life after death. Crusius does insist that the life after death won’t include long periods of sleeplike condition, while waiting resurrection, as some Catholic thinkers had suggested. Crusius reasoning is that such long periods of passivity make us lose our abilities, so it would probably be harmful to our consciousness also.
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